Daniel: Why isn’t there a chicken in my egg?
Me: Because it’s not fertilised.
Daniel: Oh it’s only the egg?
Me: Yes, and a chicken is like a baby…
Daniel: I see, there can’t be a chicken unless there’s a sperm to mind the egg.
An Outing
I am always trying to prod my little family to go on outings. Last Sunday, I made them go to Carlingford, which is supposed to be picturesque and charming.
We arrived to a light but persistent drizzle. We had to abandon the picnic but lunch in a nice pub where the staff were fantastic did much to cheer us all up. We emerged in slightly heavier rain. Undaunted, we decided to go for a nice walk at the base of the mountain. Based on the only map available, I thought it would take about 15 minutes.
An hour later we were still tramping along the path in driving rain, peering at the only map we had (you’ve seen it, we were inspecting it on the camera screen) wondering where we had gone astray. There may have been beautiful views, in fact I am sure there were but it was hard to see through the cloud. We cut cross-country and squelched back to the village. Soaking. Oh so wet.
On the plus side, there was a sale in the village hall (dry! indoors!) and we bought lemon curd, sage jelly and jam from this woman. The sage jelly is one of the best things I’ve ever tasted and herself has already polished off half the lemon curd. But yet, the family consensus is that I am barred from taking them on any further outings.
No sooner had we left Carlingford, than the sun came out. It was quite warm for the remainder of the day. It gave us a chance to dry out the coats.
Rubbing Salt in the Wound
Email from husband following conversation the evening before about economic woes – you know how it is, we talk of little else.
Subject: Wondered how Iceland was getting on ?
Much better than us, it seems
http://www.independent.co.uk/news/business/analysis-and-features/iceland-the-broken-economy-that-got-out-of-jail-2349905.html
On the plus side, even the OECD no longer believes that happiness is solely dependent on GDP. Just as well, eh?
Reading
“The Sexual Paradox: Extreme Men, Gifted Women and the Real Gender Gap” by Susan Pinker [New Year’s Resolution]
This book suggests that women’s and men’s brains are different and this is why women tend not to be as successful as men in their careers. Despite seeming like a cop out there are some interesting ideas here. And, really, why is it that a majority of those who suffer from Aspergers are men?
“The Alchemyst: The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel” by Michael Scott
“The Magician” by Michael Scott
“The Sorceress” by Michael Scott
Books 1-3 in a teenage fantasy series written by an Irish author pretending to be American (our heroes are American twins). Drags somewhat but I’m on volume 3. I’m not exactly dying to check out volume 4 though.
“Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close” by Jonathan Safran Foer [New Year’s Resolution]
This is about a clever, slightly weird, child whose father died in the Twin Towers. It’s also a hymn to the wonderfulness of New York and the huge variety of odd people who live there. It left me cold. The child is supposed to be winsome but I just found him really, really annoying. I thought that the whole thing was a bit cloying and over-sentimental. That’s just me, there were two pages of critical plaudits at the start of the book.
“Last Orders” by Graham Swift [New Year’s Resolution]
My husband said I wouldn’t like this but I did, in the mildest possible way. It’s about a bunch of older working class men who go to throw their friend’s ashes off the end of a pier. That’s it. It’s a gentle, easy book. Very nicely written though and the author is great at drawing characters which is good because plot is not his long suit.
“The Jane Austen Book Club” by Karen Joy Fowler [New Year’s Resolution]
This book was such a surprise. I wasn’t particularly looking forward to it but I found it very clever and immensely enjoyable. The story is about a group of people (all women, bar one) who meet to talk about each of Jane Austen’s books in turn. The characters and their stories are entertaining in themselves but if you know Jane Austen’s books reasonably well, then you can see how in each chapter there are events which echo events in Austen’s books. Absolutely terrific on a range of levels.
“Park and Ride: Adventures in Suburbia” by Miranda Sawyer[New Year’s Resolution]
It turns out Miranda Sawyer likes the suburbs after all. I started this expecting to be smug about my urban life and getting a chance to look down on the suburbs. Fortunately enough, Ms. Sawyer starts with exactly the same perspective. By the end she is singing the praises of suburban life and I can see where she’s coming from. I’m not quite ready for the long commute yet though.
“I Shall Wear Midnight” by Terry Pratchett
Another Tiffany Aching novel. Terry Pratchett is reliably excellent. What greater praise can one give?
“A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian” by Marina Lewycka
I resisted reading this as I did not enjoy “Two Caravans” by the same author. This is much better. Very, very funny. And lots of Ukrainian history for free.
“The Inheritance of Loss” by Kiran Desai [New Year’s Resolution]
Another Booker prize winning book set in India. For my money, every bit as dull as “The God of Small Things”. Yeah, I know, you loved it. But, it just did not work for me at any level. There is no real plot. There are lots of interwoven stories only two of which interested me slightly. I found the our heroine’s character slight and under-developed. It is well written I suppose but exceptionally good writing would be needed to make up for the shortcomings of character and plot in my view. No more Booker winners for me.
Reading
“The Water Beetle” by Nancy Mitford
I’ve been reading/re-reading Nancy Mitford novels although, annoyingly, both Love in a Cold Climate and The Pursuit of Love have, unaccountably, disappeared from the shelves. I quite enjoyed this series of essays, though I have now had three versions (Decca, Deborah and Nancy) of the sisters’ story of how their Nanny said to Diana on her wedding day (when she complained something was torn), “Who’ll be looking at you?” And really, one version would probably have been enough. These essays are very readable but a bit forgettable. One of them features “Eire”. Her views are as might be expected.
“The Blessing” by Nancy Mitford
It has to be said that a strong element of sameness runs through the work of Miss Mitford. I wouldn’t read three or four in a row, if I were you. That said, I enjoyed this story of an eight year old boy who tries to keep his parents’ marriage on the rocks as new potential partners woo him to get to his parents. Last time I read it, I didn’t have an eight year old of my own at home.
“Pilules Bleus” by Frederik Peeters [New Year’s Resolution]
This “graphic memoir” [term dug up from trawling the internet] describes the relationship between the author and his girlfriend and her young son. His girlfriend and her son are HIV positive and the book focuses on how this affects their lives together. For me, the part about the small boy was particularly touching. I wasn’t convinced, however, that this memoir worked well in graphic format. Easy read though and thought provoking.
“The Summer Without Men” by Siri Hustvedt
I love Siri Hustvedt, I love the way she thinks and the way she writes and I did enjoy this book. However, it is packaged as a novel and it’s not really a novel. She would have done better, I think, to have bitten the bullet and turned it into a series of prose pieces and short stories. Only for hardcore fans, I feel.
I met my friend R while I was reading this and showed it to him. R is always recommending books to me that I really find tough, tough going. R, recoiled in horror, “I hate her,” he said with unusual vehemence. You might like to know that following years of recommendations both ways, the only book we both liked was “Havoc in its Third Year” by Ronan Bennett. You may wish to rush out and buy it as it clearly has immensely wide appeal.
“The Bonesetter’s Daughter” by Amy Tan [New Year’s Resolution]
This is a bit forgettable and the heroine is very annoying. There is a framing device – a 20th century American daughter and you become engaged by her concerns – and then she disappears for 100s of pages. Very annoying indeed. But you know, lots about upheavals in 20th century China, if that’s your thing.
“Broderies” by Marjane Satrapi [New Year’s Resolution]
Another French graphic novel. I preferred this one. The author is Iranian and this is a series of stories told by nine Iranian women to each other. The stories are all about sex but the effect is, generally, not salacious but more about the relationship between the women in the group.
“Chance Witness” by Matthew Parris [New Year’s Resolution]
This is a book by a very odd man. Mostly, the book is about his life in politics under Margaret Thatcher and his views on this are interesting. But what I found more interesting was how awkward a person he still seemed to feel in his late 40s. Constantly tormented by guilt about all kinds of things especially whether he had stood up for gay rights sufficiently. It makes him tortured but interesting, I suppose.
His description of the interview he had with Mrs. Thatcher when resigning as an MP [she was not pleased – he was causing a by-election] is hilarious – he feels honour bound to tell her he’s gay and he thinks that lots of gay men are natural conservatives and perhaps the party might be friendlier. Her response? “There, dear,” she breathed. That must have been very hard to say.”
And I’m also going to include his best anecdote which arose in the context of his laudable efforts as an MP to stop prostitution being an imprisonable offence for women.
‘Are you the prostitutes from Birmingham?’
It had been idiotic to put the question like that – I realized this the moment I said it. But there seemed little doubt they were. Before daring to make such an inquiry in the Central Lobby of the House of Commons I had hung close by to listen in, and all these women had strong Birmingham accents. They were overdressed, mutton dressed as lamb, and more than a few appeared to have hit the lipstick with a vengeance. They had to be of doubtful virtue.
There was an awful pause. They were temporarily too affronted to reply. ‘No,’ said their leader. ‘We’re a Catholic women’s group and we’ve come to lobby for the rights of the unborn child.’
“Old School” Tobias Wolff [New Year’s Resolution]
I think Tobias Wolff is a great writer. This is a story about a smart boys’ school in America in the early 60s. All the boys are obsessed with writing and with Hemmingway. There are some small tragedies and these are beautifully resolved.
Toujours Belle
Are you really back for week 2? I applaud your enthusiasm.
Saturday, August 13
The rain, oh lord the rain. The local summer festival was cancelled. We went into Lorient and watched Mr. Popper’s Penguins. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen Jim Carrey speak French. My children exclaimed loudly at intervals throughout the film. We were surrounded by perfectly silent, perfectly behaved French children.
Sunday, August 14
We went to mass. It went on forever. The children were restive. The French children were, of course, saintly.
We went for a walk in the afternoon through the woods
That evening we attended the rescheduled poissonade (you will recall that it was rained off on the previous evening) where the Princess had mussels and chips and candy floss (sequentially).
And, ultimate poor parenting accolade, the leader of the band had to interrupt his singing to say, “We’ve found a little boy here, his name is Daniel, he’s wearing glasses and a stripy jumper..” Oh dear.
That night and every night thereafter, Michael asked, “How many days, including today, until the rescue ferry comes to bring us home?”
Monday, August 15
We did some more wading in rock pools. We forked out €60 to see the most depressing circus ever which even the children found depressing. Mr. Waffle bought “Breton pour des Nuls”. He tells me that links with Irish are not very obvious.
Tuesday, August 16
Down by the rock pools, the princess sat on my lap, “Ouch, ouch, get off!” “What?” “You were sitting on a wasp, my knee, my knee, my knee, the pain.” “It could have been worse,” said she, “it could have been my bottom.” Indeed.
That night she and her father went back to the abbey to look at bats and hear a talk. They left at 7 and weren’t back until nearly midnight by which time I was sitting up in bed a nervous wreck. They liked the bats.
Wednesday, August 17
We finally got to the flying fish adventure centre.
Thursday, August 18
We went to the Manoir de Kernault in the morning which had an exhibition about a famous French radio broadcaster. Children are sub-optimal company for those actually hoping to hear any of the broadcasts.
We also visited a Dolmen.
My husband, at my prompting, told me that I pronounce the word “du” incorrectly. Further, I cannot pronounce the words jeu, jus and joue in a way that makes them sound at all dissimilar. I am doomed. By tacit agreement, the short lived experiment of making Mr. Waffle my French teacher was abandoned.
The Princess went horse riding again. The boys were tired of it and spent the afternoon on a merry go round instead.
Mr. Waffle and I went for dinner to an immensely elaborate restaurant entrusting the children again to the intrepid babysitter. The restaurant was in a very industrial suburb (we were able to park in the DIY superstore across the road) and the decor reminded me vaguely of a very smart hairdresser but the food was fantastic and the service excellent [none of the chilly hauteur which we encountered in Pont Aven]. “A triumph” says the Michelin guide, oh yes indeed. If you find yourself in Lorient, do not hesitate. The memory of the crab soup will remain with me forever.
Friday, August 19
We went to the beach along the path. We made still more blackberry jam. We watched the squirrels in the garden and the hermit crabs in the rock pools.
Saturday, August 20
We gave the house back to its lovely owners. They wished us bon voyage and sped us on our way with a present of a box of Breton biscuits. We went to a hotel on the way to the ferry. It had television. The children nearly died of happiness.
Sunday, August 21
We went to Bréhat a small island about 10 minutes off the coast. It sounds delightful; there are no cars, there is a delightful micro climate and it is surrounded by a spectacular archipelago.
All these things are true but, the, rather rich, home owners in Bréhat do not fancy people looking at their tasteful houses, so it mostly consists of lanes with high walls.
Mr. Waffle found it strongly reminiscent of the part of suburbia where he spent his youth in Dublin. And there are millions of tourists. It is, frankly, not untamed. Alas, not a success.
Monday, August 22
We got the rescue ferry! Michael nearly died of happiness. We met old friends on board who were moving back to Ireland after 22 years in Brussels. Ah nostalgia.
Tuesday, August 23
And we’re back. Faerie hands have painted the outside of the house while we were away – alright, Glenn the painter, then – and the sunflower had come out. Home again, home again jiggedy jig.