I had to leave at 6 in the morning for a work trip recently and searched blearily in the drawer for a travel sized toothpaste. It was only when I was going to bed in my hotel that night that I realised that I had inadvertently packed bubblegum flavoured kiddie toothpaste. Alas.
Travel
Dingle – Part 2
Wednesday
Having had a very successful dinner at the cousins’ B&B the previous night, we developed a plan to go on a cliff walk to the beach just across the road. The fathers would drive towels and picnics to the beach and the mothers would shepherd the children along the cliff path. I instantly felt that the fathers were getting a far better deal. Somewhat to my astonishment, this turned out not to be the case. The weather was beautiful, the children were cheerful and the walk was pleasant. We spent the day at the beach and the Princess got the chance to walk up the road and renew her acquaintance with the shopkeeper who had given her a lift the previous day.
That night all the children stayed in another cousin’s house and six of the grown-ups were able to go out to dinner together. Let joy be unconfined.
Thursday
We collected the children from their cousin’s house and went for a walk in the damp.
Reaction had set in, they were all tired and cranky. We trudged back to the house. The day was redeemed by an evening trip to the merries in the driving rain. The children had a fantastic time. Almost certainly the highlight of their summer. I felt mildly ill after a ride which should have been called the whiplash and knew myself to be as old as time.
Friday
The children and I spent the morning in Dingle’s really excellent library. We all read books peacefully and I actually heard lots of Irish spoken though one of the librarians was from the North which meant that a fair bit of it was impenetrable to me. On a whim I asked the librarian whether our Dublin library cards might work there. They would not but they would issue temporary cards for our stay. Too late, alas, for this trip but filed away for future knowledge and may some day be useful for you to know also, gentle reader.
We met an old friends of mine from college and her family for lunch. During our college careers I had often visited her in Dingle. This time was, however, the first time I had actually been able to see the mountains on the Dingle peninsula. We reminisced fondly over the endless rain that had been a feature of our youth. Her four children and our three bonded and Daniel continues to speak with a midlands accent (where they now live) as a tribute to this encounter. They also bought us lunch – what’s not to love?
That afternoon, using the local knowledge from lunch we went to the beach where, some 20 years previously, I had swum with the Dingle dolphin. I very rapidly turned tail; dolphins are enormous. Of course, Fungi was not then the celebrity that he is today. I brought the children and the cousins to the same cove but Fungi chose to bond with the dozens of boats driving tourists round the bay. Some of us saw him once in the distance. Not, regrettably, Michael, who was inclined to cry.
That night, Mr. Waffle and I went out to dinner while my saintly parents-in-law babysat. All very satisfactory.
And do you know what? The weather was so fine that we never got to visit the aquarium. Saved for next year.
Saturday
Our lovely landlady came to say goodbye. We had a long chat with her (as Gaeilge, very thrilling). She knew a number of the teachers from the children’s school who also come from that neck of the woods – further thrill. We brought her out to the car to meet the children (they were already strapped in for the journey) and finally they spoke some Irish. Not much and that little not grammatical but, you know, it was something. Our landlady and her husband are both local native speakers who moved to Dublin. They spoke Irish to their children but our landlady said that her mother always said what odd accents the children had. She also said that there was a lot more Irish spoken 20 years ago. A former colleague of mine from this part of the world, who has now retired, told me how when he was 12 he won a scholarship to a school in Killarney (this was before free-second level education). A lot of the local clever boys did. This was a school near the Gaeltacht which promoted and supported the Irish language. Yet, somehow, the boys from the Gaeltacht didn’t feel happy speaking to each other in Irish (although this was strongly encouraged) in front of their peers. He described to me the huge sense of relief the boys from the Gaeltacht felt when they sat on the bus home together at the end of term and could relax and speak Irish again. It’s all a bit depressing, really. However, on a cheerful note, have a link to the cups song and “Wake Me Up” in Irish just in case you are the only person who hasn’t seen them.
Dingle – Part 1
Did I tell you we were spending a week in Kerry with Mr. Waffle’s family? Well we did. Just for a change this year, we went to Dingle.
Saturday
It’s a long, long drive from Dublin to Dingle. We spent all day in the car, much of it, it felt, crawling through the picturesque town of Adare. Dingle is in the Gaeltacht (the Irish speaking part of the country) and the children’s fears were divided between concern that they have to speak Irish and fear that they might run into their teachers, several of whom are from the Dingle peninsula.
As we passed the sign saying “An Ghaeltacht”, I said to them, “Right so, only Irish from now on.” “No,” said Michael, “we only have to speak Irish where they can hear us.” Regrettably, they severely overestimated the strength of the Irish language in the Gaeltacht and I think about two words of Irish passed Michael’s lips during our stay.
Sunday
The children were delighted to discover that there was to be no escape from mass in Kerry. And in Irish to boot. Having recently learnt the Irish mass off by heart for their first communion, they were very sound on the responses. The church was heaving with huge crowds standing at the back (last experienced in other parts of the country about 1983) and we ended up sitting right at the front so the priest was able to get the full benefit of Daniel’s clear articulation of the responses (they were taught to speak out for their communion) and Michael’s regular audible whisper, “Is it over yet?” The Princess got to sit beside the mayor of Kerry. If the mayor of Kerry is at your mass, it is not going to be a short one. A nice lady beside us was delighted with Daniel’s responses, patted him on the shoulder and told him, in Irish, that he was a good boy. Virtue rewarded.
Monday
Our second trip to the beach. Imagine going to Kerry and getting two fine days in a row. I had intimated to the boys (who loath the beach) that trips to the beach would be limited and indoor activities would abound because I had hardly thought that the weather would permit two consecutive days on the beach but so it was. They were only slightly mollified by the presence of their cousins.
Tuesday
In the morning the boys and I went into Dingle and shopped while the Princess and her father climbed Mount Brandon. In the afternoon, I took herself and the boys went off with their father and cousins. She was keen to go to the beach and the boys had dug their heels in and refused to go again. I was keen to go to the beach where we had been the previous day [subsequently identified as the most dangerous place to swim where a local has never been seen swimming – we were led astray by all the foreigners swimming; we’re mercifully all still alive] but he took us to Wine Strand which was, I felt, less good and less near a tea shop (but, you know, we’re alive). There was some coldness on parting and I said, rather rashly, that we would be perfectly fine to make our own way home.
After about an hour on the beach, we were ready to go. “Let’s start walking home,” I said, “I don’t want to bother Daddy and the boys.” There was a horrified pause. “Can’t we get a taxi?” said she. Oh my city child. “It’s only 11 kms.” We walked up from the beach with our gear and our sandy body board and I recalled my own late teens and early 20s when I used to hitch hike all over West Cork. “Come on, we’ll hitch,” I said. “REALLY?” she said. I stuck out my thumb. We were picked up immediately by a silent Cork man who dropped us at the main road. Somewhat heartened, she tried herself. A lovely matronly Dublin lady with an immaculate car picked us up immediately. She would have driven us all the way back to our house but I felt we hadn’t walked at all yet and asked her to put us down in the next townland. We thought we might get a cup of tea there. A chat with an English tourist revealed that there wasn’t even a bar (horror) but there was a shop.
We walked five minutes up the road to the shop. We were there a long time as the Princess likes leisure to choose and there were no other customers. We told the shopkeeper about our hunt for tea and on hearing that we were on foot, he promptly shut up shop and drove us himself to the nearest bar. He too wanted to drop us home but I was keen that we should walk at least a little of the way. It was only as he drove off that we realised that the bar was closed. Woe, no tea. We walked for a bit. We saw a lot of caterpillars.
We brought one home:
Mr. Waffle rang to see whether he could collect us from the beach. “Oh no,” I said mysteriously, “we’re nearly home”. We stuck out our thumbs and to my indignation (having being picked up immediately previously) had to wait nearly five minutes before a hired car pulled in. The driver was a Dubliner who lived in America and the Princess piled in with his American daughters in the back. He drove us home and on my instruction pulled up out of sight of the house. We walked in to cries of acclaim – “What a distance you have walked, you must be exchausted!” Triumph.
More tomorrow. Maybe.
I Probably Couldn’t Have Danced All Night
Mr. Waffle’s sister got married in London recently and we all went over for the weekend. It was extremely exciting, though, somewhat damp, all weekend. In advance the Princess had asked anxiously whether they drank tea in England and after being reassured on this point was able to enjoy a weekend of unalloyed pleasure.
The children were really very good on the journey. Not having been on a plane with them since 2008, I was astounded how much easier it was to travel with them. We didn’t even lose Michael once.
On Saturday, we had photos in advance of the wedding and arrived in time to see the bride and groom emerge from a taxi. My sister-in-law was quite delightfully relaxed about her wedding arrangements. When I asked her how she was going to get to the venue she said, “Well there’s a bus that goes right past the door but we think we’ll get a cab.” Their photographer was a friend and he did a superb job. Want to see? Alright, go on so.
The flower girls were terrific. Apparently, upon being complimented by one of the guests on her shoes, herself said, “They may be pretty to look at but they are murder to wear.” The boys didn’t disgrace us but I think Michael read “Captain Underpants” throughout the ceremony. When he was upbraided for this, the groom’s mother, who used to teach, commented very kindly, that it was nice to see young boys reading.
The ceremony itself was very short and the registrar was lovely. The bride was beautiful and the groom handsome (really, it’s true, you saw the photos) and I cried but not too much, I trust.
We drove to the reception on a London bus and the groom’s mother had saved the children seats at the front up top which filled them with joy. Getting on the bus was something of a highlight for them.
The reception was in trendy Soho and it was very trendy and the food was superb. The speeches were great and the bride spoke which I always like. Best of all, from the craven parents’ point of view, there was a special room for the children where they got chicken and chips and access to a large DVD player.
Mortifyingly, when the children started to get tired about 9, just before the dancing started, we wilted and faded also and went back to warm embrace of Jury’s Islington – we got very wet on the way wandering around Soho trying to get a cab.
The next day we threw ourselves into touring London but not before, to the children’s intense chagrin, going to mass. It was a children’s mass and it was heaving. The priest summoned the children to the altar and talked to them about the Holy Land. He asked a couple of questions which I really feel were for the honours rather than the ordinary level paper; sample – does anyone know why the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is famous? Needless to say, my lot didn’t have a clue but I could hear the answer being shouted aloud from the enormous group of children gathered around the altar. They all got a little card from the Holy Land whether they knew the answer or not. Not so Godless England, it turns out.
After mass we went to visit a friend of Mr. Waffle’s who lives nearby in the most envy inducing house (Georgian, 4 stories over basement). Very gratifyingly, she gave us a tour from attic to basement. Is there anything more appealing than exploring other people’s houses? She had very kindly offered to house us for the weekend but I felt that five of us would be a bit much – actually, having seen the house, not at all. The boys disappeared to the games room in the basement where they played to their hearts’ content with her 9 year old and were only removed from the house under duress. This remains the high point of their trip to London. When we subsequently, back in Dublin, used their Christmas vouchers to buy lego Lord of the Rings for the x-box, I heard Daniel earnestly explain to the salesman how they had played it with their Dad’s friend’s son in London and it was amazing. I was a bit put off by the 12 label and asked the salesman whether he thought it was alright for 7 year olds. “Well,” he said, “there’s nothing in it that wasn’t in the film and it’s in lego.” This was good advice. In fact when we got it home and took off the wrapping, it said age 7 underneath. Baffling. I digress.
We went to the science museum which was alarmingly busy and where we lost Michael a number of times. The children quite enjoyed it but I found it hot and hair-raising trying to keep track of them. Mr. Waffle and herself peeled off to Madame Tussaud’s and I took the boys back to the hotel on the tube which proved surprisingly stress free.
Then we all went out for pizza that night – cousins, uncles, aunts and the bride – which was really lovely.
I suppose, my predominant emotion for the weekend was surprise. Everything was much, much easier and more enjoyable than I expected. I had significantly under-estimated how much easier it would be to travel with the children; the effort the poor bride would put in to making the day great fun for them; and how handy it would be that our extended family took over the hotel. And right after surprise, was delight to see the happy couple very happily married.
Eavesdropping
I was on the train from Limerick to Dublin last night and found myself distracted from my book by the conversation of four young men opposite.
Boy no.l: I am well-pleased with my skipping.
Boy no.2: You’re in the gym all the time alright.
Boy no.4: Diet is very important too.
No. 1: Absolutely, I ballooned in second year because I ate take away all year.
No. 2: I make a mean omelette actually.
No. 3: What do you put in it?
No. 2: I fry up onions… [insert your own description of how to make an omelette here].
[Is it all the images of male supermodels pressuring these young men to worry about their appearance?]
Pause
No. 1: UCC girls are really pretty. But they really know it.
No. 4: They don’t look after themselves like us though, they kind of let themselves go.
No. 3: Yeah, they’re all a bit over-weight. When do you ever see them in the gym?
No. 1: Trinity girls are well fit though. Of course they’re stuck up and all English.
No. 2: UCD girls are beautiful. And they are really natural and down to earth.
[Can I point out here that I was a UCC girl?]
Pause
No. 3: Have you ever seen Blood Diamonds?
Others: No.
No. 3: You have to see it, it’s one of the ten best films I’ve ever seen. It’s set in Sierra Leone.
No. 1 : Where is Sierra Leone?
No. 3 : In West Africa.
[Go Leonardo Di Caprio]
Pause
No. 3: I went to look at a flat and it had an outside toilet.
No. 1: No way, I don’t believe it.
No. 3: Really, I couldn’t stop laughing, it was like something out of the 1980s.
[As someone who lived through the 1980s, I longed to reassure them that despite all our problems, we did have indoor plumbing.]
I’m practising to be the next Maeve Binchy.
Kerry – Part 2
Thursday, August 23
My sister-in-law who had been stuck in Dublin for work had joined the party the previous evening and we really needed her because it was pouring rain and fresh, enthusiastic recruits were essential to keep the children cheerful. We made the obligatory trip to Daniel O’Connell’s ancestral home which is, crucially, an indoor attraction. It was fine though not precisely new to any of us.
It was, mercifully, the last day of pirate camp. I suppose we could have baled out but the rain held off in the afternoon and I felt that the objection was more to the wet suit than pirate camp itself. They went. When we went to collect them, Michael was frozen. He had fallen into the water getting out of his kayak and this did nothing to improve his mood. He also had to stay in his wetsuit and pirate gear for a group photo which I can’t see them being able to use as Michael is in the front row bawling his eyes out. Oh well, we live and learn.
Friday, August 24
We decided to go to Valentia. We repeated all the things we had done the previous year but this time it didn’t rain. There was candle making.
There was the pet farm. This is the closest you are ever likely to get to being a farmer in west Kerry.
We fed lambs from bottles. We fed chickens and horses. We fed the lizard, the ferrets (with care) and the hamsters. We did not feed the pigs.
The children love this place and though it’s a bit rough and ready I can see us visiting here every year.
Then it was off to the ice cream shop, into the bookshop in Knightstown and back to the mainland on the ferry. Duration 2 minutes.
All in all very satisfactory and that was before the adults all escaped for dinner in Waterville leaving the babysitter with 6 children, one DVD and an encouraging word. I did drive her home afterwords to the scenic part of the Ring of Kerry where she lives (read very windy drive in the dark and the wet) so it wasn’t all bad.
Saturday, August 25
When the landlady came to take the keys back, she said that we had had the best week of the summer. What could be more gratifying?
