I went out to dinner with three friends this evening and then we went to a comedy gig afterwards. Great evening or super-spreader event? Perhaps a bit of both. I miss the old days when going out didn’t feel mildly criminal.
Reading etc.
More Covid
Two of my colleagues have Covid this week. Both fine, thankfully but not loving the general prevalence levels.
Meanwhile my brother-in-law and his family were due to go skiing in Austria for a week at the start of December. Alas, that adventure has been cancelled as Austria is in lock down.
In unrelated news, my teeth having basically caused me no problems whatsoever for the first 51 years of my life have really pulled out all the stops this year. I was sitting at my desk minding my own business when I noticed that a bit of tooth had crumbled off. This was at the site of an enormous filling and it had already been earmarked as problematic but having spent most of October in the dentist’s chair, I was holding off doing anything about it until next year. Until, of course, it fell out of my head. I’m back in for treatment on Friday afternoon. Sigh.
I met a friend for lunch and he told me how his daughter had to do research on Muhammad Ali for school, so she dutifully prepped away, she was on top of the Rumble in the Jungle. She went into school the next day and the teacher asked her, “What were some of the key events leading to Indian independence?” Mahatma Gandhi was who she was supposed to research apparently.
He also offered me this story which he believes to be true. I really hope it is. The teacher asked a child to get a guillotine, off she skips out of the class. She is gone for ages but finally comes back with 15 other children. “Sorry miss, I thought you said the Gaelic team”.
And finally, in the good news category, Emily Bell’s book is in the bestseller list. Extremely pleased by association.
Out and About
Mr. Waffle is still sick.
It was a beautiful day. On the way home from mass, Daniel looked at me warily and said, “Please don’t suggest a cycle”. I am afraid that that is exactly what I did.
We met friends in the park who invited us to go to see Eurydice in the Met in the cinema (live streamed from NY to your local picture house). I blithely said yes for me and Mr. Waffle, the boys politely but firmly refused the generous offer. I thought it was the “Orpheus and Eurydice” with tunes but it turns out that it is an original composition. I fear the worst. As Mr. Waffle said about these much loved friends of ours, “It’s not just that they love opera but they love hard opera.” A three hour treat for December.
We had a lovely cycle. Even the boys didn’t hate it.
I peeled off and went to the museum to see the Eileen Gray exhibition, sending the boys on home on the basis that they had suffered enough. The exhibition was mildly interesting. I’m more of a good mahogany furniture kind of person than a modernist so not really for me but I could see it was good, if you see what I mean. Apparently she left Ireland in horror after they did up her family home. I mean, you can see where she was coming from. What an absolutely horrific thing to happen to a perfectly nice square Georgian house.
I was quite taken by the practicality of some of her more famous pieces. The chair that acknowledges that people sit to one side.
The “practical for breakfast in bed” table:
She had an extraordinary life and lived until 98 working away into the 70s. She lived long enough to see her furniture and ideas come back into fashion and in some ways, she’s the godmother of open plan living (though she seemed to have moved away from that in later life). Interesting.
Change and Decay
My Monday night book club is more than 20 years old. People have dropped in and out over the years. I was off in Brussels myself for 5 years. Shortly before I went away, we got a new member. A friend of a friend. I didn’t really get to know her as I was off in Brussels for most of her tenure and by the time I came back, she’d married an Austrian and moved to Austria.
I remember visiting her once in her family home in the midlands accompanied by my friend. I remember it because they lived in an actual castle, a mock gothic 19th century castle. Freezing, naturally. And as well as being a very nice woman she was also very beautiful and she looked slightly otherworldly standing in the door of her castle welcoming us in (though wearing a warm woolly jumper rather than a diaphanous dress which would have been more in keeping as it was, as indicated above, freezing). She died at the weekend. She had cancer. She was only in her early 50s. I have been rejoicing recently in the many successes of my book club friends. That’s middle age for you. So is this, I suppose.
When my father died, one of his friends wrote to me; a lovely letter with a long description of his friendship with my father in their early university years, nearly 80 years ago. He is almost the last of my father’s circle of friends left alive. He’s in his mid-90s and is in reasonably good nick. His wife died at the weekend. She was in her 80s and had been ill. I feel very sad for him. He has two sons whom he adores and grandchildren too but I’m not sure how long he will last without his wife of more than 50 years.
I’m going to the funeral on Wednesday with my sister. More gloomy updates to follow, doubtless.
Sunday
Today is the feast day of St. Laurence O’Toole, patron saint of Dublin. We heard a lot about him in mass this morning. This made me think that it might have been amusing to have named the boys Fionn and Barra in a Cork tribute. They were not amused by this hilarious suggestion. Sometimes I feel I am “wasting my sweetness on the desert air”.
I went off to visit the Museum of Literature in the afternoon. I’ve heard mixed reviews. I thought it was interesting enough – though a bit pricey at a tenner in. A bit too much Joyce and UCD for me notwithstanding the quote below which I enjoyed.
And a great Brendan Behan quote too (though I was confused by the 1997 date for the quote as he died in 1964 – I mean was this live reporting from the underworld? – but on googling this quote seems to have been from a collection of his columns published in 1997).
I’m glad that I’ve listened to the Ulysses audiobook in preparation for the hundredth anniversary of its publication next February because the city is going to go crazy.
All the Christmas lights are up and town is full of people. Are we due another “meaningful Christmas”? I’m not sure I’m able for that.
The weather continues unseasonably mild. We tried to turn on the Aga yesterday but couldn’t get the wretched thing to light. As I fiddled with the pilot light, Mr. Waffle hovered in the background saying, “Swim, little polar bears, swim!” I sometimes feel he is not a fan. I see from the manual that it needs to be serviced regularly so perhaps a man can come and service it and get it lit as well. For the moment, it’s probably as well that we didn’t light it because we would bake.
In other news, herself continues to have the time of her life in England where all her vegan food needs are met. She is off to Paris for the weekend with a friend in a couple of weeks. And then skiing in December although she may sell her skiing tickets and go to a friend’s house instead with a group from college. “In December, what will her parents say?” I said, moved to sympathy by the thought of a bunch of college students descending upon them in the run up to Christmas. “I think if we stay in the east wing, we won’t bother them,” she said. Impossible to know whether she is joking or not. It is a far cry from my own college experience where the odd weekend in Kerry was the height of excitement available. Is she doing any work? I think so. Excitingly, the last trip she has booked is home to us on December 15. Very thrilling.
Reading
A Woman of Substance by Barbara Taylor Bradford
I heard this author on an old “Desert Island Discs” and thought that I would try her amazing bestseller. I came to it with an open mind. Honestly, I found it pretty tedious. It’s about a self-made millionaire who drags herself up by her bootstraps. Not for me but can millions of people be wrong?
The Dark Days Club by Alison Goodman
Regency romance meets demon slaying. A friend thought it might appeal and I can see why but it didn’t really.
The Long Long Afternoon by Inga Vesper
An excellent whodunnit written in English by a German author. I am filled with envy.
Trouble at Law by Cyril Hare
Another whodunnit: a legal one from the golden age of crime fiction. I quite enjoyed it but the plot was a bit challenging to follow; much turns on the Statute of Limitations.
Making it Up as I Go Along by Marian Keyes
Appealing short essays by the ever excellent Marian Keyes.
Kiss Myself Goodbye by Ferdinand Mount
This is an interesting which I found really enjoyable. The author investigates his rich aunt’s secret life story. I will tell you this, it is quite the story.
Magpie Murders by Anthony Horowitz
Another detective story. Only alright. It’s a story within a story and, if you ask me, he could have done without the framing device.
Nothing to Envy: Real Lives in North Korea by Barbara Demick
I found this really, really interesting. The clue is in the title. North Korea is a very odd place and people lead extraordinary lives cut off from the rest of the world. This book was published in 2010, I think so perhaps things have changed a bit but not much, I’d say.
Diary of a Somebody by Brian Bilston
This guy writes funny poems and he got a whole book out of it. Not bad. Mr. Waffle really enjoyed it.
Giggling in the Shrubbery by Arthur Marshall
A lovely collection of letters from (largely) English women about their experience of boarding school in the first half of the 20th century.
Apeirogon by Colum McCann
This is a beautifully written book. In essence it’s about the fathers of two young girls (one Israeli, one Palestinian) who were killed respectively by a Palestinian suicide bomber and an Israeli soldier. But it goes all over the place in an interesting way. It reminds me a bit of WG Sebald’s meanderings. I really liked it but it was very, very sad so possibly not ideal pandemic reading.
Diary of an MP’s Wife by Sasha Swire
I quite enjoyed this entitled Tory view from the inside of British politics over the period 2021-2020 but it ultimately became a bit tedious. I would recommend all the same.
The Man Who Died Twice by Richard Osman
This is the second in the Thursday murder club books. These are lovely books. Great characters, great plots, set in an old people’s home.
An Education by Lynn Barber
This is a memoir by a well-known journalist. The author is very frank and does not spare herself or anyone else. Harsh at times but interesting.
The Once And Future Witches by Alix Harrow
I don’t know what possessed me to borrow this. It is basically a fantasy novel set in the late 19th century about three sisters who are also witches. I got into it in the end but it was a bit of a slog.
The Lost Words by Robert MacFarlane
This is really a children’s book but I heard someone talking about it on a podcast and got it out of the library. It is beautifully illustrated and a clever idea: it is a series of poems about words for things from the natural world that are apparently disappearing from children’s vocabularies. Not arcane words but very ordinary ones like conkers and bluebells. Seems a bit unlikely to me. Nevertheless would make a lovely present for the under 6 in your life.
The Farm by Lough Gur by Mary Fogarty
I loved this book. It’s the story of Mary O’Brien as told to her (Anglo-Irish) friend and covers the period 1858-78. It was first published in 1937 and apparently generated a storm of controversy as people thought it was all strongly edited by the friend. But it rang true for me. My mother was born in that part of the world in 1936 and was brought up on a reasonably big farm nearby. A lot of the experiences described as happening on a farm in the 1850s weren’t too hugely different from what my mother told me about her own upbringing on a farm in the 40s (my grandfather used to go out on his horse and trap and pick up people to work in the house in hiring fairs; there was an old neighbour who never washed as it “took all the oils out of your skin”; my grandmother fed dozens of people who worked on the farm every day). Our heroine attended the same girls boarding school that my mother subsequently attended and all the boarding school stuff brought back memories of my mother. The nuns woke them in the morning by saying “Praise be to Jesus” and until I read that I had forgotten my mother telling me about it (still a practice in the late 40s/early 50s when she was there). Mind you, my mother was never a morning person and I’m not quite sure that this wake up call had the effect intended.
It was lent to me by a friend (she of the 50th birthday in Holland) who is from the same part of the world and she loved it as well. It may be a bit specific but if you’re from North Cork or South Limerick, this is the book for you.
Re-educated: How I Changed My Job, My Home, My Husband and My Hair by Lucy Kellaway
Again, a really enjoyable book. I’m on a bit of a roll here. What I liked about this was how her views changed as she went through the experience. I have lots of views on people who know nothing about teaching but decide to set up a teaching charity (her); academies in the UK (where she taught) and the belief that just because you’ve had a great career in the city, you’ll make a great teacher. However, the author does acknowledge her failings and definitely learns something along the way but the idea that teaching is a vocation which can be done by a gifted amateur with little training, is, in fairness, anathema to most Irish people. Teachers are relatively highly paid here, go through lengthy and rigourous training and are hugely respected. Also Ireland is still a much more equal society than England (I mean almost everyone in Ireland was poor 150 years ago). All of that helps to bring about better outcomes across all schools. But in fairness, she can’t change the world and she is trying. She puts into words some thoughts about the middle-class safety net that means that children can fail or try other avenues in a way that is much less open to working class children which expressed something I have been reflecting on a bit myself. Recommended.
Baby it’s Cold Outside by Emily Bell
Exciting disclaimer: this was written by a relative. It’s for a Christmas readership and, as Mr. Waffle said, it’s like a love letter to Dublin. If you plan to visit Dublin you could do a lot worse than follow in our heroine’s footsteps around the city. It is mostly very sweet but occasionally acerbic and laugh aloud funny. I would really recommend as a fun Christmas read. Updated to add: I understand it’s currently 99 p on Kindle. Get that Christmas shopping done early etc.