Those of you following along at home will know that Mr. Waffle and I celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary in July. We celebrated on the August bank holiday weekend with his family and mine in a nice guest house in Wicklow where we have been before with the family.
There were various alarms in the approach – despite constant reminders, it came as a surprise to my brother; although my children knew they had to be there, their arrival was challenging in the case of the two who were abroad.
Herself was due to arrive from London at lunchtime the day before the dinner but missed her flight. After a fun day spent in Heathrow, where she learnt a great deal about airport administration and ticketing, possibly to the irritation of some staff members including the woman who said severely, “This young lady has been told she can’t get on a flight before 8 this evening”. The angel with the flaming sword was in an Aer Lingus uniform but apparently all the staff in Heathrow are subcontracted – who knew? I can’t help feeling that actual Aer Lingus staff would have been nicer. However, even her colleagues agreed that angel with the flaming sword was a bit grumpy (herself got to know them all) and the Princess finally got away on an earlier flight and was home by 8.
Meanwhile middle child was returning from a slightly disastrous sojourn in Paris. This child on crutches and a boot decided that rather than book a direct flight from Paris to Dublin – something that is readily available – that changing in Manchester was the better option. This may have saved €20 but it was €20 I was more than willing to pay. And it wasn’t just a quick stop in Manchester either; it was about 5 hours. Not really long enough to go into Manchester and explore (remember the crutches and the boot) but long enough to get a bus to the library in some nearby place and do some studying. I have so many thoughts. But I did get sent a picture of the police station in “Life on Mars” which seems to be relatively near Manchester airport – a genuinely excellent show which we watched over the winter and which has stood the test of time but not, I would say, worth travelling to Manchester for. It’s no Game of Thrones tour, I’ll say that. So, I was back to the airport at midnight to do another pick up.
Notwithstanding airline difficulties, I was extremely pleased to have all my children back in Ireland at the same time.
On Saturday we went off to Wicklow which took a lot longer than expected due to the Bray air show but we got there and we had tea and scones and then I found myself wondering what were we all going to do in the couple of hours before dinner. I had brought a photo album charting our 25 years together but that was hardly likely to keep us going until dinner time. My genius sister had prepared a quiz – and vitally – prizes. The quiz was all about Mr. Waffle and me so I really triumphed. So pleasing. Mr. Waffle felt it was unfair – he likes the sanctity of the quiz format to be respected, but I did not care.
The remainder of our time passed off without a hitch. I gave my speech (carefully prepared, heckled by my brother); Mr. Waffle gave his (invented on the spot, also heckled by my brother). I had wondered how the two sides of the family – who don’t see each other so often – would merge but that actually went really well. And I was thrilled that all the young cousins were there. It was really nice to do something to celebrate and I would totally recommend it.
The next day the party split up and my sister said she was going to the outlet shopping centre and a number of us said we would go with her. In fact, two cars were needed to get there. In each of these cars there was one person who knew it was wildly out of the way and assumed anyone with a modicum of intelligence would know that. The rest of us with our tenuous grasp of geography thought it was only half an hour away and did not know that we had committed to hours in the car. By the time we arrived there, all tempers were extremely frayed. I had Mr. Waffle drop myself and middle-child at the shopping centre and then sent him and Michael on his way back to Dublin; a long journey as became apparent on the trip down, and one they were not super looking forward to. Herself, who travelled in the other car, said things were no better there. In fact, no sooner did the other car arrive than having disgorged the Princess and my brother, they hightailed it back to Cork. As part of my, unstated, plan was to have them drive us to the station at the end of the day, that was a matter of regret. It’s not that the station is far but one of our number was, you will recall, on crutches and in a boot.
I am very ambivalent about outlet shopping. I hate everything about it in theory but I love it in practice. We actually had a great time and got loads of nice things but I hate myself for enjoying it. And the walk to the station was grand in the end.
Coda. When Mr. Waffle and I got engaged, we went to a lovely jeweller in the Galeries de la Reine in Brussels to look at rings. She asked our budget and said dubiously, “For a small budget like yours, I don’t think I have anything; come back for your 25th wedding anniversary”. It sounds like she was being mean but she was actually charming. Now that saintly Mr. Waffle has shelled out for our 25th anniversary extravaganza in Wicklow, he may think I have forgotten this, but I have not.
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