Michael has become obsessed with current affairs in general and elections in particular. The recent Assembly elections in Northern Ireland were of huge interest and last weekend he was to be found happily poring over pie charts in the paper and seeing to what extent his predictions had come true (he had higher hopes for Alliance, in case you’re interested). On Monday the paper also covered the Northern Ireland elections. “Are they still going on about that?” asked Michael. “Well, the election was only on Friday, so yes. Are you no longer interested?” “No, I’ve moved on to Nord Rhein Westphalia where the upcoming elections are to be an early judgement on Olaf Scholz’s success as Chancellor,” he said. I’ll keep you posted lads.
Dinnertime Conversation
Me: That’s a peculiar noise Daniel.
Him: I yawned, hiccuped and burped all at the same time.
Me: Indeed?
Him: It’s like my body took a screenshot.
Post-Covid Reminder
A friend invited me to a book reading and dinner after work a couple of weeks ago and very pleasant and entertaining it was too. It reminded me though of all the times we lost during Covid and how very grateful I am to have them back.
Michael (my resident news analyst and pessimist) tells me that energy rationing is next but at least we’ll be able to see each other. However, I would not describe myself as delighted by what this full page ad that appeared in the paper portends.
Supporters’ Club
Mr. Waffle is a faithful attender at Daniel’s matches. Dan seems to appreciate the support and I think his father quite enjoys watching him play.
On Tuesday evenings Mr. Waffle plays soccer down the road with some other men from work. One Tuesday evening Daniel announced to Michael and myself, “I am going down to the field of dreams.” We were startled and confused. He clarified that he was off to support his father in his Tuesday night kick around. I was quite touched as was his father but it is unclear if the standard of soccer will encourage him to go again.
WB
Daniel: We’re doing The Lake Isle of Innisfree in school.
Mr. Waffle [to my sister and her partner who have joined us for dinner]: God, when we went to Sligo last year on holidays, we found Yeats didn’t look much outside there for inspiration. All his poems feature places in Sligo.
My sister’s partner [sotto voce]: Sailing to Byzantium
Long pause
Daniel: Where do you think he left from?
Bring Flowers of the Fairest
I remember commenting to a Northern Protestant friend that although the devil has the best tunes (he definitely does, Protestant hymns are so much better that we have taken some, in a spirit of ecumenicism, I assume – indeed, when the Church of Ireland bishops came out and said that Covid was particularly difficult for their services because they hadn’t been able to sing and singing was such an intrinsic part of their worship, it was hard to argue), they are really missing out on the Marian hymns. She was puzzled but intrigued.
I explained to her that May is the month of our Lady. When I was in primary school we had May altars. I used to make little ones at home with flowers from the garden. I also remember picking cherry blossoms for my Nana who came to visit regularly so I may have slightly conflated the delight at her visit with the general pleasure of picking flowers for display.
In primary school each year on a glorious May day we would parade around the school yard with a statue of Mary on a plinth, balanced precariously on the shoulders of sixth class girls, saying prayers and singing hymns led by the principal – who was a nun – with a loudhailer. I wouldn’t say I loved it – and sadly, I never got to carry around the statue which was a very coveted role – but I liked it better than lessons and the flowers and the hymns were always nice.
I am reminded of this because the weather is beautiful this weekend (top tip for any tourists out there, the nicest weather in Ireland is always in May/early June) and the Botanic Gardens and the Phoenix Park, both of which I graced with my presence (making poor old Michael come with me both times, Daniel was at matches, fortunately for him) were delightful. And at mass this morning the final hymn was Bring Flowers of the Fairest which filled me with nostalgic joy.
