On July 11, I saw this post about candy crush. Normally, that kind of thing wouldn’t be for me but I was on holidays with the children and I had time and I thought, why not? Why not? I will tell you why not. That wretched game has taken over my summer; I’ve hardly read a book. The only saving grace is that I refuse to pay money to buy more lives so I have to stop occasionally. Otherwise I would never stop. And I understand that there are 395 levels with more added all the time. I am doomed.
My Biggest Fan
My daughter comments on my return to blogging after a short break: “I see thou hast updated, wretch.”
Hoist with my own Petard
I went to the bakery before lunch and bought some buns for after lunch for herself and Daniel (Michael does not eat sweet things or much at all really – he is an exceptional child – we’re just back from a check-up with the doctor where he was found to be perfectly well except for being in the third percentile for weight for his age. If there were no corn flakes, he would starve. I despair. I also digress). I gave Daniel a yellow one and herself a pink one.
Herself: Why did I get the pink one?
Me: You like the pink ones, you’ve had them before.
Her: But Daniel got a yellow one.
Me: Well, I just thought that he mightn’t like a pink one.
Her (pointing to the pink bun): Is this a sexist bun?
The Agony and the Ecstacy
My brother who, despite his many flaws which I would be only too happy to list, given half a chance, is very kind and generous. Last Sunday, Cork played Dublin in the all-Ireland senior hurling championship in Croke Park the national stadium. My brother got tickets for himself and Daniel to go together (the other two children being uninterested in the prospect). Daniel was extremely excited. I was torn; obviously, I wanted Cork to win, more particularly since Dublin had already beaten Cork in the football and if they beat them in hurling as well (not a traditional Dublin strength) the children would be unbearable. On the other hand, it was Dan’s first match at Croke Park and I really wanted his team to win.
It was a very close match and according to my brother, Daniel really enjoyed it. But, in the end, it was clear that Cork were going to win. Daniel wept into his Dublin flag for the last 10 minutes. My brother said that Cork and Dublin fans alike tried to comfort him but he was inconsolable. When I asked him later what people had said to him he said, “I didn’t listen, I was too sad.” Alas, it is hard to be seven and see your team lose.
Here are the rivals before the match. They posed with a baseball bat for reasons which are not now clear to me. Obviously, a hurley would have been better.
Garryvoe Part 2
For the second week of our holiday in Cork, we booked the children on to a computer course. Herself did it last year and loved it and all three of them were old enough to partake this year. I prayed that the weather would break because I couldn’t stand it if for the finest summer since 1976 I sent them in to look at a screen all day. My prayers were largely answered. The weather was pretty awful:
This left me free to do a range of things with my free time: spend time with my parents; go shopping; force my sister to look at a large house which was deeply unsuitable for her needs but really lovely aside from the dead pigeon on the drawing room windowsill and the damage to the west wing from the largely collapsed roof and, of course, the derelict listed house next door which was included as part of the sale.
The children meanwhile really, really loved their course. But they were exhausted. We got back early one evening and we ate early and I sent the boys to bed. I was just about to turn my attention to herself when she remarked in tones of outrage, “Do you realise that you sent the boys to bed at 7?” “Yes,” I replied. “You cunning, little vixen,” said she. Really, cunning, little vixen? I have a lot to put up with.
Anyhow, after two weeks we returned to Dublin. The children were delighted to be back pointing out familiar landmarks to each other. “Ah the sights and sounds of Dublin,” said their father. “Tobacco,” shouted the children happily from the back seat. Something needs to be done about the illegal cigarette trade alright.
Holidays – Garryvoe Part 1
Did you know we went to East Cork to stay in our friends’ house? We have excellent friends; a lifetime of careful choosing.
So, in a very 1950s way, Mr. Waffle worked in Dublin and came down at the weekends and I stayed in Cork with the children. The weather was quite outstanding. This did not overcome Michael’s permanent objection to going to the beach but we forced him there; an exercise that requires more enthusiasm on the part of a parent than you might imagine.
The children spread their wings in a mild way. I went for a swim and left them in the house. The three of them went to the nearby playground together, played and came back. They quite enjoyed being out without their loving parents and I am quite pleased with how responsible herself is becoming. Regrettably, she is getting a bit sophisticated for playgrounds.
We made our annual pilgrimage to Leahy’s fun farm which, as usual, delivered the goods. My cousin, who is a farmer’s son and father of three small children, is underwhelmed by Leahy’s but then he has to go and milk cows whenever his brother goes off golfing, so he and his family are more jaded when it comes to farm animals.
There was a climbing thingy:
There was a snake:
There were (new this), mice to put in your hair:
The Princess made friends with a little French girl and the pair of them ran around together. As ever, her parents were utterly unimpressed by an Irish child who spoke good French. There is a reason why sang froid is a French expression. In an effort to keep her French up over the summer, I have offered to pay her €8.25 [a figure subject to intense negotiation] if she reads one of the Harry Potter books in French. She got to page 87 when the e-reader died. What are we to make of this? Insights thus far: “you-know-who” in French is “tu-sais-qui” when speaking to children and “vous-savez-qui” for adults. Watch this space for more exciting updates. We’ve just purchased a new e-reader. Sigh.
My brother and mother came to visit us for the day. My mother has not been well and it was lovely to get her out of the city. The loveliness was somewhat compromised by my father calling to say that my aunt and two of my cousins had come to visit my mother. He had been peacefully reading the Telegraph when they arrived and although he was happy to welcome them, he was even happier when I said that they should come to us. Meanwhile, my brother had taken the children and the house key to the beach and turned off his mobile phone. So my mother and I sat in the rather toasty car contemplating breaking in. I mulled on the state of disorder which would greet my cousins and aunt. Eventually the sandy ones returned with a very melted packet of chocolate fingers. It all passed off peacefully but I retired to bed with a migraine at 9. Visitors are tiring.
We have been to East Cork many times but never to Cloyne so I forced the children to visit. It is full of interesting things. Despite this photo, they did not like it and they did not find it interesting:
But look, it has a round tower:
An effigy of Bishop Berkeley who spent nearly 20 years here (though he died elsewhere):
It also has a rather fancy marble stone memorial to the man who was a leading light in the British and Foreign Bible Society:
But no, they remained resolutely unimpressed. Can you take more of this tomorrow?
