Archives for June 2024

A Weekend Away

1 June, 2024
Posted in: Boys, Family, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel

In early May we went to London. I feel, in a very tempting fate way, that we have mastered our formula for London visits.

Friday 10 May

We flew out of Dublin about midday (very civilised) and were in our hotel in Soho by about 3. I love the Elizabeth line, the existence of which was brought to our attention by the London relatives. It is a short five minute walk from our hotel (Hazlitt’s where I have now decided that we will stay every time we go to London or until we can no longer afford it).

We went for a wander around the city and, as a special treat to Mr. Waffle, went to the London Transport museum. They had this enormously annoying wheeze where you pay for admission and then you can go “anytime you like” for the next 12 months. I mean, this is not great for a visitor. £25 each to get in but more interesting than you might think. But still.

After that heady excitement, we met Mr. Waffle’s sister and her husband for dinner in this old fashioned but charming restaurant called Rules. Apparently, it’s where Edward VII and Lillie Langtry hung out. And, ideally, also very close to our hotel.

We missed the aurora borealis though. A neighbour posted a picture to the group chat.

Saturday, 11 May

I was slightly worried about Michael being home alone. Daniel was off to the darkness into light walk in the Phoenix Park (a 3.30 am start) and then straight on to Donegal for a weekend away with friends. Spoiler alert: Michael was unphased and quite enjoyed being home alone, I mean, really, don’t we all?

After a sustaining breakfast, Mr. Waffle and I took ourselves to the Sargent exhibition in the Tate Britain which was the (ostensible) reason for our trip. I really loved it and would have recommended it to you except that I think it may now be over.

While we were there we had a more general look around which I really enjoyed but Mr. Waffle was wilting slightly.

We texted Mr. Waffle’s sister for advice on where to go next and she suggested that we get the boat to the Oxo Tower. Boat services are a bit irregular on a Saturday but we were leading a charmed life and one just pulled up shortly after we arrived. It was a lovely trip and I found myself reflecting how much more alive the Thames feels than the Liffey – more like a real artery.

We then strolled along the South Bank in the glorious weather – not too hot, not too cold – and went up to the top of the Oxo Tower where we had slightly overpriced cold meat but never mind the width, feel the quality. What a view. We got to sit outside and look out over the river. I don’t have a good photo of that but I do have this from round the back.

Then, feeling extremely daring, we took the bus back to Soho. You know how unnerving it is to try to take buses as a tourist. Anyhow success attended our efforts and I got to sit upstairs which is delightful anywhere.

We recovered for a bit before going out for dinner in the opera house in Covent Garden. This is another of my sister-in-law’s top tips. Great food -loads of restaurants – and a beautiful view.

Sunday May 12

We got up and had breakfast out; Soho abounds in breakfast opportunities. Then we went to mass at 11. Check out from the hotel was at 12 but what mass would last more than 45 minutes? And does St. Patrick’s in Soho (a five minute walk from our hotel) strike you as the kind of place where they would have a long mass? Well, it turns out – as my ultra Catholic friend told me – that it is well known in traditional Catholic circles; that, my friends, means a long mass. The church was beautifully restored, the congregation were very young, multinational and chic and I felt quite elderly (whereas in Dublin I’m generally the youngest person in the church). There were two charming young women giving out hymn books at the door. Mercifully Ascenscion Thursday is celebrated on the day in England (in Ireland it moves to the following Sunday) so it was not a special mass. Nonetheless, everything that could be sung, was sung, we had a good, but long (quelle surprise), sermon, and it was hard to get out of the church without shaking the priest’s hand which led to a press of people like at a wedding when everyone is congratulating the bride and groom. Mr. Waffle slunk out at 12 (before communion) to check us out of the hotel. I stayed to the bitter end which was after 12.30. Even my ultra Catholic friend said, “How did they make a normal mass last 90 minutes?”, he also said, “You always get the best masses.” Depends on your criteria, I guess. Needless to say, the priest said mass with his back to the congregation and sprinkled water on us and made free with the incense. I lit a candle for herself who was beginning her exams, I can only hope that it is a particularly effective candle. A highlight of the service for me was when an elderly, slightly odd soul in a mechanised wheelchair to which were attached many plastic bags, came zooming up the aisle and had to be chased by one of the nice young women and stopped from reaching the altar.

Happily the hotel seemed unconcerned by our late check out and we left our luggage there and went to visit the Handel Hendrix house, yet another recommendation from my sister-in-law and it does what it says on the tin: it’s where both Handel and Jimi Hendrix lived when they were in London. Fun and nearby. What’s not to love? Though I inadvertently took away their bracelet to open the lockers and Mr. Waffle ran back with it through the toasty streets of London while I waited by the window of the Liberty shop. Look, I had a blister.

Then we took ourselves off to the airport where we had a bite to eat in the Perfectionist restaurant (really pretty good). I enquired of Michael how things were at home.

Him: I’m fine. Studying John Stuart Mill.

Me: Enjoy JSM.

Him:He’s absolutely tearing up the idea of first past the post and advocating for (what we now know of as) the dutch model of all country STV, it’s very enjoyable.

I am pleased that he has chosen to study something which fills his heart with joy.

Agent of Chaos

2 June, 2024
Posted in: Princess, Siblings

My brother stayed over recently.

In the morning before he left for work I was talking on the phone to the Princess who was about to start an exam. He had a word with her as well and wished her luck.

When I came to leave for work, could I find my phone? I could not. I hunted. I woke Michael up and phoned my phone 6 times from his. On the sixth time, my brother answered, somewhat sheepishly. He had taken my phone into his office (“I must have picked it up from the table when I was going out, it’s the same as mine” said he not at all as contritely as I would have liked).

I had to swing by his office to get it and, of course, couldn’t call him when I was outside. I was rage filled but got it back eventually. It was only when I got into work that my colleagues pointed out that I could have made everyone’s life (particularly Michael’s) a bit easier by calling myself from my work mobile. Let’s not forget who the real victim is here.

Travel and Culture

3 June, 2024
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Mr. Waffle, Reading etc., Travel

Mr. Waffle went to La Rochelle on a work soccer trip. I begged him not to have a heart attack; he did not and a good time was had by all etc.

Daniel went on a post-exam trip to Sardinia with his fellow students. Hats off to the Airbnb owner who thought it was a good idea to have 14 students in his villa. It took them 45 minutes to walk from the villa to the beach and an hour to walk to the nearest shop. They were car free by necessity. Notwithstanding these significant difficulties, a good time was, almost miraculously, had by all.

At home, rather more prosaically, I went to the RHA annual exhibition. Not too bad. My favourite rotating exhibit is below.

But I liked quite a number of things. It compared favourably with the TUD graduate show (as it ought, I suppose) which I did not hugely enjoy. In previous years there were more paintings, I love a painting. Though I did enjoy talking to the young game designers who, very patiently, talked me through their video games. And I liked the large lego characters so it wasn’t a complete washout.

I also liked the view.

I was at the Hugh Lane gallery recently (where a lot of stuff is in storage as they are about to do a job on the roof) where you can have the impressionists pretty much to yourself which is enjoyable. Hugh Lane who led the campaign for the gallery of modern art – and donated many of its pictures – had a great eye. He loved Mancini though who has not really stood the test of time – I don’t mind him but he’s not exactly a name to conjure with. Lane’s own portrait by Mancini is slightly (presumably unintentionally) hilarious.

I went to hear Olivia Laing talk about her work in a tent (Dublin Literary Festival). The Princess gave me one of Olivia Laing’s books for Christmas and I have not yet read it: on the strength of the talk, I will throw myself into it in due course. I read an interview with Olivia Laing where she said that her mother always says to her “Why don’t you ever tell Irish people that your mother is Irish?” I was quite disappointed that she didn’t follow that advice as we would have loved that in the tent.

I went to a talk in the library about servants in the big house. More interesting than I expected. More Irish people rising up the ranks than I expected; I thought all of the upper servants were imported from England but apparently not. Another day, I tried to go to a consultation in the library but when I got there it was closed and I was directed to another branch. I was filled with rage and fired off an indignant email. Oh God. It wasn’t too bad but I probably would have worded it differently if I knew there had been a death in the service.

Mr. Waffle and I went to the Maritime museum in Dun Laoghaire on a rainy Sunday. It is very much a rainy Sunday activity. However, you see below the highlight, a rotating lighthouse light taken from a real lighthouse (in Howth across the bay) when it was decommissioned. It sits on 14 litres of mercury which feels like a disaster waiting to happen but so far so good.

As part of our going commitment to the art of film, Mr. Waffle and I went to “Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga”. A terrible mistake. Some people liked it, I gather. We were not among their number.

Mr. Waffle and I went back to Altamont House. Still lovely. The house is closed but I am now solidly of an age to enjoy gardens. I recommend.

For reasons I won’t bore you with ( you thought there was no editorial function? Think again) Mr. Waffle and I went in to Halford’s in Carlow town to buy a bike rack on the way back. Staff were very pleasant but had no knowledge of bike racks. I really am afraid that disaster will befall me in England as I try to bring home the Princess’s college bike.

My friend had free tickets for Bloom (a garden festival in the Phoenix Park) and asked me whether I would like to go. I had been once before and not enjoyed it much but going with a friend just made it a much better adventure. Had a great time.

Gutted that I have to go back to work tomorrow after the bank holiday weekend. It seems so wrong.

Last, but by no means least, our local film maker is making another documentary which meant that he could not chair the residents’ committee AGM so Mr. Waffle was, slightly to his chagrin, in the chair. The film maker was filming it as part of his film – who is going to buy this documentary we ask ourselves? However, I guess he knows what he’s at as he’s had loads of things in the cinema and on the TV so this could be Mr. Waffle’s ticket to fame. Mr. Waffle is unconvinced.

Early June Round Up

23 June, 2024
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Family, Michael, Princess, Siblings, Travel

Monday, 3 June

I left you on the June bank holiday. Well, on the Monday my brother dislocated his shoulder. He was out cycling and hit a bump and with those stuck to the pedal shoes, you’re a bit doomed if you go over. My sister rescued him and brought him to hospital. It took them three goes to get his shoulder back in and they knocked him out the last time. Grim. He’s still not quite right and is gutted that he is probably going to miss the Ring of Kerry cycle for the first time in years. I mean, whatever floats your boat but it wouldn’t be for me. Very hilly.

Thursday 6 June

I laid down the law and said as the guys were at home relaxing they were going to have to start cooking dinner one night a week each. Honestly, best decision ever. I am now only cooking dinner two nights a week. I rejoice. Like myself, Michael is not a cooking enthusiast but he is competent. Daniel is always making delicious new things he sees on the internet. Very gratifying.

Friday 7 June

On the way home from voting (locals and Europeans), I stopped to admire a house which has no front garden but has a wildly impressive range of plants growing up the walls. The owner was bringing stuff into the house from his car and I admired his plants. He promptly gave me a present of two sunflower plants. A delightful democratic dividend.

Mr. Waffle then drove me out to the airport and I flew to Heathrow. Some time ago, my sister-in-law suggested she, I, my sister and the Princess should have a weekend in the Cotswolds to celebrate the end of the Princess’s undergraduate college career. When I agreed to this, I did not realise what would be in my future (a trip to Donegal for a birthday the following weekend, followed by collecting herself the Monday and Tuesday after and then a work trip to Strasbourg on the Wednesday – I did not know this at the time of the Cotswolds weekend but I was extremely relieved when my work trip was subsequently cancelled).

My sister and I met in Heathrow and drove to Oxford where we picked up herself and my sister-in-law and took ourselves to lower Swell adjacent to Stow-on-the-Wold (do we love English place names? We do). I was impressed by how easy the hire car was to drive. I did feel sorry for my children learning to drive in a 2014 diesel station wagon but I suppose if they pass the test in our car they will be ready for any challenges the motoring world may throw at them.

Our airbnb was lovely and it boasted a cute nearby pub from the 1700s where we went on the first night. I got my first glimpse of the extraordinary gardening prowess of people who live in the Cotswolds.

Saturday, 8 June

Stow-on-the-Wold is lovely and very near Lower Swell. We repaired there for breakfast and very much enjoyed having a look around the town.

It allegedly has the oldest pub in England. Allegedly it is also the inspiration for the Prancing Pony in the Lord of the Rings books. Though this is a bit of a hotly contested title.

I was disgusted to discover we missed one of Stow’s main attractions, St. Edward’s Church, though we basically parked beside it. Next time. I was foolishly relying on Uncle Jack and Aunt Cecilia’s 1937 guide book by Mr. HJ Massingham (bang up to date from when they visited in 1940) and, I can tell you, guide book technology has really advanced since 1937.

The Cotswolds are absurdly pretty but also very heavily touristed. There are a lot of cars and a lot of tour buses. We made the unwise choice to visit Bourton-on-the-Water. Mr. Massingham has some very temperate praise to bestow upon it: “Bourton has been called the Venice of the Cotswolds, but this is obviously a misreading for the Wigan of the Cotswolds. The only thing to do at Bourton is to stand and stare at those lovely bridges and pray for the death of the Progress all round you..” It is very pretty but it is a terrible place to visit. Mr. Massingham’s prayers have not been answered and it is a tiny village heaving with tourists. I, sadly, cannot recommend. This picture from there is artfully shot to avoid the press of people.

Undaunted (well, perhaps a little daunted) we went for a walk around the outskirts of the town and, although we got lost several times, it was very pretty and the weather was beautiful. Overall a win.

We had a really good early dinner in Stow (the hero town of our visit) and we were all delighted (I would plug the restaurant if I could remember its name). The nice people at the table beside us recommended Broadway as a place to visit and as we finished dinner relatively early we took ourselves there for a look. It’s a lovely spot. I nearly keeled over with delight to see that it is the home of the Lygon Arms.

This is where Jack and Cecilia stayed in 1940 and I had the papers to prove it.

We went in for a drink which was very pleasant but it would be fair to say the staff did not share my excitement that my great aunt and uncle had stayed there in 1940 with one man kindly commenting, “Yes madam, we’ve been here since 1537”.

Sunday, June 9

We went to visit Daylesford which is a shop that the Princess was mildly interested in investigating. It was grand as it was nearby but I wouldn’t go out of my way to inspect it.

We then took ourselves to Moreton-in-Marsh for a quick look around. It’s Mitford territory.

Also, again, Prancing Pony territory.

Then we drove off to Oxford where we said farewell to my sister-in-law who got the train back to London. I have to say, she is a pleasure to travel with and extremely good at organising things. Would 100% travel with sister-in-law tours again.

My sister and I went for lunch with the Princess and some friends (I have not said where herself was at college until now in the interests of privacy – yes sometimes I believe in this – a bit – but now that she has left, I have thoughts which I will share in due course). I wasn’t sure how this would go but it was actually very pleasant. A triumphant weekend. Then on our way back to the car after lunch my poor sister fell and hurt her knee. I had to scurry off to get the bus to Heathrow and the Princess had to scurry with me to show me where to get it due to my legendarily poor sense of direction. My sister was staying an extra day to visit a friend but she didn’t enjoy it a whole lot due to a swollen knee. Alas. I did feel bad abandoning her.

Overall, notwithstanding some quibbles, I would love to go to the Cotswolds again – almost every corner of it (them? what is a Cotswold?) seems to be absolutely beautiful – but my big lesson would be not to rely on a guidebook from 1937. Please let me have your Cotswolds recommendations for my next trip.

Mid June Round Up

30 June, 2024
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Family, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel

Friday, 14 June, 2024

Our next door neighbour turned 60 – honestly looks absolutely amazing, an inspiration to us all -and invited us to a party in Donegal where her mother was from. We decided to proceed slowly (it’s a long way from Dublin) and set off Friday evening after work. We stayed in Monaghan at Castle Leslie about which I have heard plenty. The Castle was full for a wedding so we stayed in the lodge. I guess I must have been through Monaghan before but I’ve never stayed there. It feels very northern (though in the Republic). Castle Leslie is only 20kms from Armagh and it was obviously cut off from it’s natural hinterland by the Border. There used to be a train line but it was shut down, in the 20s I think, following partition. Odd spot.

The lodge was quite pleasant in a Victorian gothic kind of way (it reminded me a bit of UCC) but the rooms, though nice were a bit bland – an interior designer’s country house. But fine and the food was good at breakfast and reasonable at dinner.

We went for a walk up to view the castle. Holy mother of God, it is so ugly. Scottish baronial (not a style I am partial to, I must confess) but an insult to that name. It is the ancestor of a million McMansions. I regret to say that I have no photos but doubtless the website will give you an idea. The older church in the grounds is a much nicer building.

I was a bit confused by the Protestant church, as the guide to the peerage in the main house had the young Leslies attending Downshire and Ampleforth (Catholic boarding schools in England), but apparently one of the baronets married an American (sister to Winston Churchill’s mother) and her son either converted or was always Catholic. Apparently he was a big supporter of independence and while his father (a staunch unionist) was parading the Ulster volunteers at the front of the house, he was sneaking out the back to join the rebels. I think it is to the staunch unionist, or possibly his father, that we owe the insult to Scottish baronial style as the architect (I looked him up) seems otherwise to have produced inoffensive enough buildings albeit in the heavy style of the time. I can imagine him getting directions. There is a loggia round the back. Honestly, not awful but not consistent with the style elsewhere. Inside there is a portrait gallery filled with, I’m sorry, terrible paintings by this 19th century baronet. There are also frescoes, the less said of these the better.

However, overall, it’s actually grand inside with lovely views and the interior is much less bland than the lodge.

I wouldn’t mind staying in the main house some time, if it didn’t beggar us.

The grounds are massive and lovely to stroll around provided you keep your back to the castle (“where every prospect pleases and only man is vile” or words to that effect as someone or other said).

In the car on the way up there, I was congratulating myself on currently having no injuries. Hubris. Alas, I gave my toe an almighty wallop on a hidden step in the very fancy bathroom attached to our room and was convinced I had broken it. However, it was fine in a couple of days so possibly I exaggerated the pain.

Saturday, June 15, 2024

It has been a long held ambition of mine to visit the Ulster American folk park. My children will tell you that I love a folk park. Mr. Waffle said to me, “When will we be this close again?” so rather than go immediately to Donegal as we had originally intended we stopped off. Well, what a treat for folk park lovers. Firstly, it’s pretty empty and secondly, it’s excellent. It’s built around the old Mellon homestead. When Mr. Mellon went to America he became one half of Carnegie Mellon and his descendants bought the house and provided seed funding for the park and possibly still provide money for all I know. My friend from Belfast remembers it opening in 1976 and he says it was such a grim time in the North, its opening was a positively thrilling event. I was thrilled, I can tell you.

There is a slightly dull exhibition which tells you about the lives of three emigrants whose houses you will see in the park; one is, no surprises, young Mellon; another is a Catholic young man whose mother wanted him to be a priest and who ended up as bishop of New York (dream big young man) and is buried under the altar of the cathedral there; and the third is a relatively rich man who went trapping and ended up with a house in the American South (where you ask? You might well ask but I have forgotten. Alas.)

We pushed fairly quickly through this and started in the park proper. You start off in Ulster. They’ve moved buildings into the park from other parts of the North which was something I thought only Americans did. They had people dressed up in old fashioned clothes to tell you about the history of the houses. They also have turf fires going in the houses (very bad for the bogs, I know, but so pleasant) and somehow the smoke coming up from the chimneys made it all seem so authentic (though the spotless nature of everything slightly detracted from that, surely, even in Ulster, labourers’ cottages were never so clean and tidy?). God, I was delighted. When people ask whether I would prefer to have the power to fly or be invisible (more frequent than you might think), I always pick invisible as I just want to see into other people’s houses, so the visit to the park is basically a superhero adventure.

Then having seen old Ulster, you’re brought to a town to get on a ship to the new world. The town is fantastic: shops and pubs brought from all over the place. We were chatting to the man in the draper’s and he told us that it originally came from Derry. This was my favourite part.

I was amused to see this sign which the authorities have obviously not yet removed in their post-Brexit cull.

Then you go into a big shed and you’re on the quays with a ship awaiting your departure and a ticket office on the quayside.

You get on the ship, you come out the far side and, hey presto, you’re in the new world. I thought it was really cleverly done.

Once you clear the town, you’re into all sorts of American homesteads many of them (possibly all of them) brought from America. How extraordinary. One of the guides said that the house brought from Tennessee ran into some difficulties as it was set up in a bog in Northern Ireland but they seem to have addressed this.

After our successful tour of Ulster and the US, we pushed on to Donegal. Although it was alternately overcast and lashing rain in the Ulster American folk park, the sun was splitting the stones in Donegal and we had the most beautiful drive into Falcarragh.

Our hosts had laid on all kinds of trips during the day – a walk up Mount Errigal, a boat ride to Inishbofin – but none of these things would be much fun in the rain. How great was my FOMO when I discovered that the weather had been beautiful all day on the Donegal coast? Very great, I have to tell you. Many of our neighbours were there and if another one told me about the amazing swim they had on Inishbofin, I was not going to be responsible for my actions. You can’t have it all, I suppose.

The party was great, however, with music and dancing and food and cake. I took these, not great, photos from the balcony of the hotel at 22.33 and 00.38. What a glorious day.

Overall, a good day. It was my mother’s anniversary – she died five years ago and I think she would have been delighted to think of me having such an enjoyable day.

Sunday, June 16, 2024

We checked out in the morning and heard the hotel staff speaking fluent Irish to each other; it was so nice to hear Irish being used in that way. Utterly incomprehensible, mind you. Mr. Waffle chatted away as Gaeilge but I could only watch and admire.

We went for a walk on the beach and a bite of lunch before heading back to Dublin. Honestly the weather was much more what I expect from Donegal in June.

The house was empty when we got home which was a bit weird. The guys were in Cork for the weekend helping their aunt empty out the attic before the roofers came. Augean stables spring to mind.

Monday, 17 June 2024

I was up with the lark to get the ferry to Wales.

Then I drove to Oxford – about four and a half hours solid – went into town and helped herself pack up her things. I thought she might be sad about saying goodbye but she was quite cheerful. When we had finished the epic packing task we went out for dinner with her young man. I retired to my bed exhausted about 10.

Tuesday, 18 June 2024

I insisted on us setting off at the crack of dawn as I am always worried something terrible will happen near Birmingham and I am terrified by the prospect of having to overnight in Holyhead due to having missed the ferry.

We had breakfast in Oxford and set off before 10 (ok, technically, possibly not the crack of dawn). Despite the best of intentions to travel along the M6 (tolled) motorway, we failed to find it. The main M6 is exhaustingly busy in my view. Nevertheless, as herself confidently predicted we made good time so I was merciful and we stopped in Conwy (which I find a charming town though a little down on its luck) for lunch.

We made the ferry no problem and were safely home by 7.30 or so. Still and all I was extremely grateful to all the gods that I did not after all have to travel for work the next day.

Herself came home with me but then promptly left two days later to fly to France for a post-college holiday (isn’t it well for them etc.). She will be restored to us on Tuesday, I am pleased to report.