Mr. Waffle: Did you see that Ming has resigned?
Me (long pause): Is he the leader of the military junta in Burma?
Mr. Waffle: No, the British Liberal Democrats. [Pause] As we’re Irish, do you think that we’re allowed to pronounce it Menzies?
Reading etc.
Apparently, American lives have second acts after all
Congratulations, Mr. Gore.
Procrastination is the thief of time
I have been busy this past week, breakfast and dinner meetings and much running about.  I have neglected my family.  I have neglected ringing my friend F to thank her for dinner last Tuesday and tell her I had a nightmare about her fridge.  I am haunted by its order and cleanliness. And I have neglected my blog.  So, this evening, instead of doing anything useful (um, arguably, the blog is not useful), I allowed my poor husband to labour into the night on the computer and watched some television instead. I got sucked into the vortex of “The Day after Tomorrowâ€. May I make a recommendation? Save yourselves; it’s very dull and cold in the eye of the storm but somehow compelling. I’m easily compelled.  I’m off to bed with a hot water bottle.
Almost touched by greatness
Yesterday, the Princess and I went to see Ratatouille. Paris looked delightful and I said to her that we might go there together one day. She seemed unmoved by the proffered treat but I was misty eyed at the thought of mother-daughter bonding. Maybe she was dubious about hygiene standards in the kitchens there.
Today, at lunch time, I sneaked off to a short film about Rubens in the gallery. On my way in I noticed a small fat man kissing the hand of a tall blond woman. She looked mildly familiar. Once I got in, there was a speech welcoming Princess Mathilde (aha, that’s who she was, future queen of Belgium, assuming that there is a Belgium to be queen of) who, in many ways, sounded like the rest of the working mother brigade as the speaker referred to her younger son who was 2 today and her older son who was laid up with measles.
The film reminded me that when my daughter and I have our trip to Paris, we must see the Marie de Medici cycle in the Louvre. I really recommend clicking on the link, Marie de Medici had a busy life and capturing it in pictorial form required all of the painter’s genius.
I passed Mathilde again on the way out having her hand kissed by some other fat man and chatting amiably to the event organiser but it was all very peaceful. Given that Mathilde is Belgium’s answer to Princess Diana (except that she appears to be smarter, saner and somewhat plainer) I was expecting slightly more of a throng than two but apparently not.
Weekend reading round-up
From the Observer magazine:
“…a plethora of other 12-step programmes, including Clutterers Anonymous and Obsessive Compulsive Anonymous – two meetings you hope don’t ever get mixed up or invited over to each other’s houses.”
From the Irish Times birth announcements (fadas omitted apologies to purists):
Cuireann Seamus agus Rhonda an-fhailte roimh Aengus Seosamh Alan, A rugadh i Melbourne, An Astrail ar an 18u Mean Fomhair, 2007. Dearthair le h-aghaidh Annabelle agus Charlotte.
Seamus and Rhonda are delighted to announce the safe arrival of Aengus Seosamh Alan on September 18, 2007…a brother for Annabelle and Charlotte.
Buiochas le Dia”
Does anyone else feel that Annabelle and Charlotte were named at a time when the family felt less enthusiasm for the Irish language?
Betjeman at bedtime, surprisingly pleasant.
Scattered Showers
I am reading “The Pope’s children” about how Ireland has changed in the last 10 years. The author classifies people in groups. I asked my loving husband “are we Kells angels?” “No” he said, he’s read it all the way to the end, “we’re Hicos.”
“Sorry?”
“Hibernian cosmopolitans: we’ve lived abroad for a bit and we have seen what works elsewhere”.
“Yes, I was just thinking that when I was watching the Princess’s show at the end of her course – child care is so well managed here. I just wish she hadn’t flapped her arms, jumped and stuck out her tongue while the other four year old children stood in line singing to variations on ‘Water Music’ (I love the middle classes). I suppose I wasn’t as embarrassed as the father who’s son spent the performance with his hand down the front of his trousers clutching his penis”.
“Anyway, we’re always going on about it and annoying everyone”.
“Ah yes”
“And we’re vaguely worried about the direction the country is going”.
“Yes!”
“And we would pay more taxes for better healthcare.”
“Yes!!”
We’re off to Ireland for a fortnight’s holiday tomorrow. Let’s hope we don’t manage to irritate too large a proportion of our long suffering friends and families.