Every year my father reads the Holly Bough from cover to cover on Christmas Day. It’s a Cork publication and the content is, perhaps, not at the cutting edge of journalism. On the cover it describes itself as “A Cork Institution since 1897”. Its articles are full of quirkiness (the girl who was called Tanora – apparently only Cork people know what Tanora is, imagine) and nostalgia. It has several pages of pictures of Cork people in foreign parts holding aloft copies of last year’s Holly Bough. Are you getting a picture here? Nevertheless, I was really very pleased to come home and see that my loving husband had picked me up a copy. My ambition is now to get a picture in it for next year.
Mr. Waffle
Gotcha!
Horrid Henry has a game that he plays with his friends that is modelled on Monopoly. It’s called Gotcha and features dragons’ lairs instead of streets and rubies instead of money but the principles are similar. In an ill-fated moment of inspiration, Mr. Waffle suggested to the boys that he and they might make Gotcha themselves and, with the aid of pictures printed out from the internet, an old packet of Rice Krispies and a Pritt stick, they did.
They, therefore, successfully created a game even duller than Monopoly which one or other of the boys always wants to play but never both together. Mr. Waffle and I have put in many unhappy hours on the Gotcha board. Yesterday afternoon we stayed at home, the weather was inclement. Daniel tired of the rugby on the television and begged to play Gotcha instead so he and I did so. If I never play Gotcha again, it won’t be too soon.
Worst First Thinking
On the Free Range Kids blog they have a category described as “worst first thinking”. Essentially, it’s the idea that when looking at a whole range of possible outcomes, the first that is considered is the worst even if it is the most unlikely.
I was put in mind of this when Mr. Waffle went to photograph traffic chaos at the local school at 9 in the morning. The residents’ association is appealing to the council for a better traffic management plan [don’t mock, someday you too will be in your 40s and a stalwart of the local residents’ association]. He was approached by a man wearing a fluorescent jacket of power wanting to know why he was taking photographs of the children. When Mr. Waffle was able to re-assure him that he was taking photos of the traffic [and, obviously enough, had photographic evidence to prove it], the man was very pleasant and obliging, explaining the measures which the school had taken to address the issues. But it did strike me that there was a certain amount of paranoia in evidence. The principal in my children’s own school though in many ways terrific also has a slight streak of paranoia about this. The school yard is visible from the windows of a nearby hotel and the children are told not to go too near the hotel side of the yard lest they be photographed by the hotel guests. This seems an extremely unlikely contingency to me.
In a sort of related issue, a colleague of mine lives in one of Dublin’s more affluent suburbs and there have been a number of burglaries in her estate. Most recently a widow who lives across the road met the burglar who was doing the house next door and he threatened her with a gun. I appreciate that this is terrifying but I am not sure that the solution, as suggested by my colleague is a good one. She is encouraging the widow not to answer the door without checking who it is first, ideally by intercom. The neighbours are also going to look at putting gates on the estate. The guards have advised that gated estates get burgled less. I suppose this may be true but I am not sure that it is so good for social cohesion to bar admittance in this way.
That’s enough about the end of society for one evening.
How the Mighty have Fallen
Daniel:What are the dark ages?
Me:Well, after the Fall of Rome..
Him: With the Goths and the Vandals and the Ostrogoths..
Me: That’s it. Well people forgot about a lot of the things that they used to know and there wasn’t much science but then the renaissance came [Insert digression here on the topic “what do you think renaissance means?”*]
Mr. Waffle: But before that the flame of civilisation was kept alive by monks on a tiny island. Do you know where that was?
Children in chorus: Ireland.
Mr. Waffle: That’s right and there’s a story about how Charlemagne the great Emperor wanted to know about solar eclipses and an Irish monk had to explain it to him.
Herself (slightly sourly): And only look at us now.
*Is it any wonder my poor children tend to wander away from the table over dinner?
Daring
Me: What’s the most annoying aspect of my OCD tendencies?
Him: The way we can never eat until you’ve tidied up.
Is it That Time of Year Already?
Me: You know that Thursday is November 1.
Him: Yes.
Me: You know what that means, don’t you?
Him: Oh God, 30 days of writer’s block.
Oh yes indeed, for the 7th year in a row, I will be posting every day for the month of November. And I still haven’t worked out how to put the wretched badge in my sidebar.