In a seasonal development, we walked up to the Hellfire Club at the weekend. I am still stiff. When did my children become faster and fitter than me?
On Saturday afternoon, Mr. Waffle took the boys out and the Princess and I stayed at home. After reading peacefully downstairs for a bit, I went upstairs to see what she was up to. She was sitting in bed reading a book of poetry which had been given to her by a kind relative. “Come downstairs,” I said. She did and we had a Victorian hour while she lay on the rug in front of the fire and read me out the poems she liked. She has also drafted two poems both of which I wanted to put up here but neither of which I have permission to circulate to a wider audience [though one of them is on the wall at school – glory!].
I was very proud on Sunday when she did a prayer from the altar at mass. If you’re 9, it’s no joke to face the entire congregation – admittedly the church was not exactly full but there must have been well over 100 people and most of them were at least 50 years older than her. Alas, as you know pride comes before a fall. My particular fall was to be nabbed by the mass organiser and asked to do a reading or an opening prayer at the next mass which does not fill me with enthusiasm but I could hardly refuse. Oh well.
And in exciting news, my sister-in-law is stranded in New York where she went for a meeting last Saturday. Unfortunate.
And why am I up at all hours writing about random items from my weekend here? I will tell you, of course I’ll tell you. I made a brack from a recipe in the Irish Times [scroll down, scroll down]. I let the raisins and sultanas soak overnight. This evening I folded in the rest of the ingredients. It has been cooking at gas mark 2 for the past 5 hours. Is it cooked? No, it isn’t. This reminds me of the great plum pudding disaster of 2011. No more seasonal baking for me thanks.