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Brussels Childbirth Trust Fete

20 June, 2004 at 5:49 pm by belgianwaffle

They didn’t need me on the champagne and strawberry stall after all so we all got to wander around in the drizzle together.

It was very English and very organised. You were given a time to go and queue for the various entertainments and marshalling was done by girl guides of varying degrees of ferocity. My English friend F asked whether I thought any other nation would be so horribly organised.  I pointed out that I had already seen a German lady leaving in a huff pulling her two children along behind her muttering under her breath “Hier ist alles sehr disorganasiert”.  These events tend to reinforce national stereotypes.

We took the Princess for a ride on a shetland pony and while waiting for our turn we saw a 10 year old girl guide saying sternly to a small child “don’t climb on the pony – hop on”. Since he was only about three we felt that this might be a challenge for him, but she was adamant and eventually there were tears and a parent had to lift him on.  This boded ill for our adventure. As we waited, a five year old said loudly to his parents “What a big willy that horse has”. Everyone chatted nervously about the weather. Finally it was our turn. The Princess took one look at the pony and refused to go next or near it. As we tried to put her in the saddle she clung to us in a most affecting manner and shot evil glances at the girl guide. Eventually she consented to be photographed pulling the pony’s mane. Our photographic archive is complete.

We also took her to dig for buried treasure. This involved digging up sand from a small basin with a spoon. Eventually you would come across a worthless small object perfect for babies to chew and choke on. To be fair she didn’t come across any small object because on being given a spoon and a basin she, not unnaturally, assumed that the contents were for eating and began spooning sand into her mouth enthusiastically. We managed to stop her before she got to the treasure.

After winning a small prize in the raffle (every ticket wins a prize) and chewing on the plastic tape securing the three legged race area (I leave you to determine which member of our party decided that this was a good idea) we decided to head home. “Well” I said perkily to Mr. Waffle “that wasn’t so bad, was it?”  He hissed in an undervoice as we made our way through the phalanx of range rovers parked in the grounds “if you ever make me go to something like this again, I’ll divorce you.”  Not so good either then.


20 June, 2004 at 9:26 am by belgianwaffle

It is subscription renewal time. I will have to pay.  Is it worth it?  If I do decide to renew, I can give two free subscriptions to friends. Who is worthy?

In other book news. Next volume of the Shadowmancer man’s books was better but still not great. Reread “Pride and Prejudice” which is as brilliant as ever. Also finished rereading “A Short History of the World” by H.G. Wells and for a brief period knew who the Persians, Medes and Elamites actually were and what their role in history  was.  Bitterly regretted that University Challenge was over for the Summer and I had no chance to triumph. This is a great book- a readable summary of everything. Also, given that the author died in 1936, quite hilariously politically incorrect.

Am now reading “Notes on a Scandal” by Zoe Heller which is excellent, very funny and poignant and not for the reasons you might think. Still on chapter one of “The Bridge over the River Drina”.

Ill gotten gains

20 June, 2004 at 8:58 am by belgianwaffle

Well not really ill gotten.  Went and changed my train tickets and it costs 30 euros less to go the week after next.  I paid by credit card but the SNCF people refunded me CASH.  I spent the loot as follows:

1 coatstand (8 euros – well actually 10 because although they were willing to give it to us for 8, Mr. Waffle felt they needed the money more than we did.  A bit tiresome to get home, I carried it on my shoulder balanced like skis while Mr. Waffle pushed the Princess but we were something of a hazard to other road users – did have a surreal moment while waiting for the tram; best dressed diplomat and her husband came along, stopped to chat and hung up their purchases on the coatstand. Very appropriate for the land of Magritte).

Six porcelain cups and saucers (5 euors – a killing!  Mr. Waffle says that there is a gap in my life only porcelain can fill.  And I got a sugar bowl thrown in as well.  Slightly difficult to carry. Especially with a coatstand slung nonchalently over a shoulder)

2 cinema tickets (Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkabhan – only alright but we have broken our cinema jinx and actually got to see the film we wanted to see)

When we got home from the cinema last night, our babysitter told us that the Princess had woken up at 9.00 and insisted on playing until 11.00.  In our evil hearts we hoped that this would mean that she might wake up later this morning.  No. I have been up since 6.50.  Princess having stood up alone for the first time last night (gasps please) is anxious to keep practising in case she loses the knack. She has also said her first word. Cuckoo.  I’m trying not to draw any conclusions here.  This morning she pointed at her toy train and said choo-choo. Our genius.


on 20 June 2004 at 17:32

We think she may mean coucou which is the French for peekaboo as she usually says it after holding her bib up to her face.


on 21 June 2004 at 17:16

Ah… a multilingual upbringing “Dit ‘allo, Sprogette…” and all that. Impressive. Very impressive……:-)

Think Martin Amis

18 June, 2004 at 4:47 pm by belgianwaffle

I just got an email from a potential employer summoning me to an interview next Thursday.  That’s right when I’m supposed to be relaxing on the French coast. Cursed loudly and then remembered that the rest of the household is trying to sleep.  Blah.  Will have to speak to Messrs SNCF about cancelling/changing train tickets and bet I won’t get the bloody job either.

Also got the following in the same bumper crop of emails, from my greatest living fan, my friend C:

“Last few blogs v. good, I liked the structure of the ‘More Belgian than the Belgians themselves’. Try to cut down on cliches, though, good to have a few but you can have too many – one entry with ‘great unwashed’ and ‘alone and palely loitering’ etc.

You know my criticisms are all constructive, don’t you?”

Is she going off me?  Will I become entirely unread?  Am cut to the quick and await with bated breath a full retraction going forward.


on 18 June 2004 at 21:29

Thanks Jack.


on 19 June 2004 at 10:20

Waves from Switzerland.


on 20 June 2004 at 08:41

Big wave back.

House proud

17 June, 2004 at 8:23 am by belgianwaffle

The Princess has been up since 6.00.  She has used the time slot between 6 and 8 productively. She has mashed porridge into the putting green and shredded tissues around the dining room. Exhausted from her efforts she has just gone back to bed.

The French Mama will be here at 11.00 with her supporting cast. I lived with this girl for two years, she is not the kind of person to approve of shredded tissue and mashed porridge. So at 8.15, I hoovered the dining room.



on 18 June 2004 at 17:45

My A-number-one favorite non-American-English word is hoovered. I like it even better than boot. I may need to move to Europe simply so I can hoover the house rather than vacuuming it.


on 18 June 2004 at 21:28

How about these ?
Jumper. Tights. Handbag. Pavement. Lift. Crisps = Taytos (in Ireland). Red lemonade (ditto).
Glad to be of service… have a nice day now y’all !
Green snot (hard to spot on our green carpet), tissue, pre-enjoyed biscuits, half-eaten pieces of fruit behind furniture, crying over spilled milk… all ahead of you


16 June, 2004 at 9:15 pm by belgianwaffle

The French Mama is coming to stay tomorrow with husband and baby.  I will be too deeply consumed with envy peering at her latest purchases to concentrate on blogging.  Also, I will have to stop the Princess roughing up her tiny baby and stealing her cuddly toys.  There was a major scene in the supermarket this morning when I attempted to remove from her steely grasp a rubber toy she had found in the “toys for pets” section of the supermarket (I was trying to choose the right freezer bag on the adjoining display and I was distracted – does this strike you as an odd juxtaposition?  Do Belgians lure their pets into the kitchen with squeezy toys and then freeze them in 1 litre bags?).

The French Mama leaves on Saturday afternoon with her entourage and Sunday sees us going to the Brussels Childbirth Trust Funday where I will be in charge of a stall.  Clearly, I didn’t want to do this but a woman rang me and asked me to do it and my complete inability to say no did not desert me.  As you can imagine, my loving spouse is even more delighted than I am at the prospect of taking his daughter on shetland pony rides while I dole out strawberries and champagne to the great unwashed.

On Monday, the Princess and I will embark on a nine hour train journey to the west of France where my parents will be awaiting our arrival with bated breath.  I am dreading the journey as not only will it be a little hard to keep herself entertained for nine hours on the train but I have to change trains and will be bringing Princess, our gear, buggy and car seat.  I hope to rely on the kindness of strangers but this can sometimes go amiss.  Anyway, we’ll be gone for the week and Mr. Waffle will be left alone and palely loitering and working, obviously. You know, sometimes, being a kept woman is not so very bad.


on 17 June 2004 at 08:17

Very funny.


16 June, 2004 at 9:03 am by belgianwaffle

When I drive to my local bakery, I double park on the pavement outside with my hazard lights on while I make my purchases (this does not make me Belgian).

By doing this, I am giving the bus driver who must pick up people from the bus stop from behind where I am parked a difficult but not impossible task (this does not make me Belgian).

This, clearly illegal, double parking is carried out in front of a police station (this does not make me Belgian).

The other day, when I did my usual trick, a policewoman waved at me to move on (this does not make me Belgian).

I stopped to argue with her, pointing out that I would only be in the bakery for a moment (yes, I think that this makes me Belgian).

Though perhaps a real Belgian wouldn’t have given up on the argument so easily.


on 16 June 2004 at 21:02

And may I say how appropriate your nickname is every time you step into a motorised vehicle.

That’s Mr. Joyce to you

16 June, 2004 at 8:43 am by belgianwaffle

I see that google has acknowledged Bloomsday. James Joyce would doubtless be delighted.

Living the European Dream

13 June, 2004 at 10:52 pm by belgianwaffle

We were in the car the other day listening to Umberto Tozzi (no you probably don’t want to know) and Mr. Waffle explained to the Princess that she was in Belgium  listening to an Italian man singing in Spanish on a tape which her Irish parents bought in Portugal.  “La, la, la” she said sourly.  Umberto Tozzi isn’t to everyone’s taste.


on 14 June 2004 at 11:38

🙂 Nice one…


on 16 June 2004 at 00:28

“Mr Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls. He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a stuffed roast heart, liverslices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods’ roes. Most of all he liked grilled mutton kidneys which gave to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented urine.
Kidneys were in his mind as he moved about the kitchen softly, righting her breakfast things on the humpy tray. Gelid light and air were in the kitchen but out of doors gentle summer morning everywhere. Made him feel a bit peckish.
The coals were reddening.
Another slice of bread and butter: three, four: right. She didn’t like her plate full. Right. He turned from the tray, lifted the kettle off the hob and set it sideways on the fire. It sat there, dull and squat, its spout stuck out. Cup of tea soon. Good. Mouth dry.”
[Remembering Shem the Penman; for the day that’s in it….]


on 16 June 2004 at 08:45

And will you be partaking in the Bloomsday/Denny big breakfast. I see in the w/end Observer that Mr. Banville somewhat sourly comments that the breakfast will include that quintessentially Irish element, the hash brown.


on 16 June 2004 at 23:36

Banville is more or less on the money this time, sadly. The breakfast was Saturday – unless I’m much mistaken – 50,000 Denny Sausages consumed on teh Spire Plaza. (Don’t even ask….)
And truth to tell, I’m not much of a breakfast man these days. Had a ticket for the Joyce Centre Breakfast, but couldn’t see straight enough to get out of bed at the necessarily ungodly hour, so instead I set out to go swinging by Davy Byrne’s for a lunchtime glass of burgundy and a Gorgonzola sandwich. Ended up in the food court of the Liffey Valley. That more or less sums things up… 😉

It’s not quite a Jaguar

11 June, 2004 at 5:44 pm by belgianwaffle

This week, Mr. Waffle has needed the car to go to a training course in a distant suburb.  He comes home every night with personality tests for me.  You will, I am sure, be fascinated to hear that I am an outgoing consensus seeker who thinks inside the box.

The upshot of this (the absence of car, not the personality) is that the Princess and I have been travelling a lot by public transport this week and she adores it.  People smile, wave and chat to her.  There’s the excitement of people getting on and off at every stop. She can’t get enough of it.  It is a little tiring for me though and it takes us a lot longer to get anywhere, so I think next week it’ll be back to the car.

The car is a 1.4 litre ford focus. Nothing wrong with that really.  Though it is an American car and we should, I suppose, be supporting the sluggish European economy, although I would point out that the original Mr. Ford was a Cork man (or at least his parents were) but I’m not sure that that counts.

Really, I hanker after a Fiat. Before we got our family car we had a lovely 1.6 litre Bravo and it was full of vim and energy and used to sprint away at traffic lights.  True, it was not as full of vim and energy as D’s VW Beetle which had a 2.0 litre engine but in my heart of hearts I believed it was nippier.  When we left for Belgium we sold the Bravo to R; when we were in Ireland last week we visited him and it was a little odd to go round to our house (we lived in his house while he was away trying to bring peace to the Balkans) and see our car parked outside.  It appeared to have a dent.  Poor Bravo.

I love Fiats even though my parents always had Fiats when they were a byword for unreliability. My father had a theory that you should keep your car for as long as possible; if you sold it after a year or two then the price dropped hugely vis a vis a new car but only very slowly after that.  I think we must have had one car for 9 years.  It would never start in the cold and we had to push it down the hill to start it and, if it didn’t start, we had to phone the AA. I think everyone was grateful when the AA introduced home start and we could just leave the car in the driveway when it wouldn’t start and wait for the nice man to come round and fix it.

Once we had our ancient Fiat in France tugging round a trailor, a tent, 2 adults and 3 children and it sulked and refused to go any further as we were heading for the ferry home. Immense panic. The French sister organisation of the AA came to inspect.  No joy, the gear box was dead. The car could not do first, it could only be started in second.  My intrepid mother had them start it and she drove to the ferry stopping nowhere while the rest of us sat numb with fear with our hands over our eyes.  When we got to the ferryport she stopped at the top of a small hill. We looked at the steeply inclined ramp cars were chugging up to get on the ferry.  A first gear job.  We were foiled.  My mother is never foiled.  To our intense mortification and grudging admiration, she approached one of the men loading cars.  She explained our predicament.  They cleared the gangway and surrounding areas.  The rest of us pushed the car with the trailor attached and my mother got going and zoomed down the hill and up the ramp at 50kms an hour.
And still I hanker after a Fiat. And if we did get one, it would have to be a people mover, I suppose. And, alas, the Fiat people mover, the Multipla is the only ugly car that Fiat has ever made.  It’s all tragic really.


on 13 June 2004 at 22:51

Har di har.

LRB personals

9 June, 2004 at 2:39 pm by belgianwaffle

A particularly difficult choice this time but I’ve decided on:

“Collector of albums with palindromic associations (M, 33) seeks aibohphobic F Abba fan with copies of ELO’s Ole; Black Sabbath’s Live Evil (also the album of the same name by Miles Davis); Evil Live by Misfits; Ufo Tofu by Bela Fleck and the Flecktones: Aja by Steely Dan and Aoxomoxoa the Grateful Dead. It’s a niche request, but I figured I’d find someone in here. Box no. 11/03”

I swear I am not making these up. I couldn’t.

Just finished the latest Marian Keyes. Very good but not as good as it would have been if she’d had me and the Princess in for a cup of tea to discuss the writing process.

Biography and biographical details

8 June, 2004 at 3:58 pm by belgianwaffle

Read “The Road from Coorain” on my mother-in-law’s recommendation.  She is a big fan of biography which as she pointed out to me, presents particular problems.  I mean how many books of biography is the average person going to write?  So she finds a great book and she knows that there will never be more than one or two subsequent volumes, if that.  Unless, I suppose, you like the Beckhams.  “The Road from Coorain” didn’t do it for me but it was far better than the other thing I read last week.  On the basis of rave reviews, I bought two volumes of the “Shadowmancer” series at once.  It’s alright.  For teenagers and a bit too overtly religious – epic tale of a struggle between good and evil described somewhere, with accuracy, as a cross between His Dark Materials and Jamaica Inn.  Author is a vicar and so is the baddy in the story, so clearly the author has a sense of humour.  It is a bit worthy though.  Lots of biblical quotes which I suppose might be new to teenagers in godless England, but certainly aren’t to me.  A bit puritanical too – he is down on cards and beer.  However, further evidence of humour comes from the author biog at the front of the book.  He is described as follows:

“G.P. Taylor has spent the whole of his life searching for the the hidden secrets of the universe.  He lectures on the paranormal and folklore and lives in a secluded graveyard.”


on 10 June 2004 at 09:24


A week in the suburbs

7 June, 2004 at 3:18 pm by belgianwaffle

Sunday – Traffic Day

We arrived into Dublin airport (north of the city) at 11.30 where mother-in-law Waffle was kindly waiting to escort us to the distant suburb (south of the city) where the Waffle grandparents live. We collapsed into chez Waffle, exhausted, at 2.00.  Something will have to give.  The traffic in this city is appalling.
Noticed that it was kind of chilly. Was alarmed when m-i-l Waffle suggested that we might eat outside.  Asked whether this was what she had meant when she said it was very warm. Yes, apparently.  Began to regret bringing one pair of jeans and one pair of shorts for the week. Spilt tea on jeans.

Monday – Rainy day

Lunch time on Monday Mr. Waffle minded the Princess while I skipped off to meet my friend D for lunch.  All very nice but quid pro quo was that he skipped off to meet his friend in the afternoon leaving me with the Princess. For reasons that now elude me, I felt it important to get the Princess out of the house so took her in to a rain sodden hamlet. Passed Marian Keyes‘s house on the way and hovered anxiously outside hoping that she might come out and I could say “I really like your books and do you know that my husband was your next door neighbour growing up?”  I was hoping to get a cup of tea based on this tenuous connection. But no joy. I suppose it was wet, why would she want to leave the house?

Went home and waited for Mr. Waffle’s return. Went to the gate to greet him.  I took the Princess out in my arms saying “Daddy’s coming home”.  She started chanting “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy”. We arrived at the gate and no sign of himself.  However, the senior Waffles’ neighbour, a retired judge of blameless reputation, was pottering about in the front garden (the rain having, briefly, abated) and the Princess pointed her finger at him and said in loud, excited tones “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy”.  I thought that he looked rattled.

Tuesday – Lots of relatives day

My brother has just started working in Dublin and my kind parents-in-law had him round for dinner.  All very pleasant.  And Mr. Waffle and I were very relaxed because his saintly mother had minded the Princess for a large part of the day so we went out for lunch and a walk and a read of the paper over a cup of tea.  When we came back the Princess was cooing delightedly at her grandmother who was singing and playing the piano for her.  Her parents received a cool reception.  For the remainder of the holiday upon seeing her Granny, her highness would stretch out her chubby little arms and demand to be held by the person who she knew could meet her entertainment needs fully.

Parents in law are doing intensive Italian lessons and came back this evening anxious to practise on the assembled multitudes.  In fact, there were more people to practice on than you might think.  I speak Italian (I know, I know, I am so talented, why does no one want to employ me?), so does Mr. Waffle, a bit. So does his brother, G and so does G’s fiancee S.  In fact S is half Sicilian and G and S are getting married this Summer in Sicily.   And in case you were wondering, the publishing exec wasn’t there, but she speaks Italian too.

Wednesday – Sippy cup day

We bought the Princess a sippy cup. These are magic.  They don’t leak.  The Princess tested this thoroughly by shaking it upside down on her tights.  Not a drop escaped, her parents were jubilant, she was downcast.

We went to my friend C’s house for lunch.  C lives in a very convenient location in the city centre.  The only drawback is that her house is across the road from a methadone centre so there tend to be a lot of spaced out people wandering around with vacant expressions.  The Princess waved at them merrily and was indignant that they seemed to be largely indifferent to her cheery salute.  C was in the middle of packing boxes. She and her husband are moving to a leafier, drug free location.  Less central perhaps but drug free. The Princess had a wonderful time clambering over boxes and up stairs.  Bubble wrap is particularly appealing to babies.  C showed her how to use it by wrapping it round her (C’s) head.  Eventually the bubble wrap had to be moved to a place of safety.  It was then that I noticed that the sippy cup had disappeared.  C and her friend S who had been roped in to packing boxes carried out a thorough search for the sippy cup but it was nowhere to be found.  I rang Mr. Waffle who was shopping and asked him to buy another sippy cup.  We left C’s house and there was the Princess’s sippy cup, put safely on a windowsill across the road by some kind drug addict.  So now we have two, but really, you can’t have too many.

That evening I went out leaving the Princess to the care of her father and met friends in town.   D had rallied troops and I now know who my true friends are. C2 told me that she has my weblog as her home page.  She somewhat took from this by telling me that my best work was over.  “Peaked too early” she sighed, “the cabbage leaves, breastfeeding entry was the best one”. As my greatest fan (apart from my mother) she has taken it upon herself to email the best extracts to a group of our friends.  Just that one, it transpires. No wonder C1 kept asking me how my breasts were.

Thursday – Stalking day

I passed Marian Keyes’s house again.  Does she never come out?  I was armed with further information to ingratiate myself into her establishment: my parents in law were at her wedding; my mother-in-law once lent her a suit in which to do an interview.   Mr. Waffle says that if I keep hanging round her house like this, she will probably call the guards.

Friday – Escape day

My mother-in-law minded the Princess until 2 in the afternoon.  Mr. Waffle was at a conference but I was free to do whatever I wanted. I went into town. Superb.  Saw a Luas.   On the way back from the Dart (welcome to the world of Dublin public transport), I was busy reading one of the six books I had acquired in town.  I walked into a very tall person. It was C1.  Ladies and gentlemen, which book was I reading when I walked into my friend C1 who has been known to reduce strong men to tears with her criticism of their reading material? Was it either of the Booker nominated tomes I had purchased? No, indeed, it was Shadowmancer. C1 would doubtless have commented at greater length had she not still been slightly winded from my walking into her.

Saturday – Do we really have to go back tomorrow day

Just as we had got used to the joys of adoring grandparents, it was all about to end. We gave the Princess to her loving Granny and went off for lunch with a friend of Mr. Waffle’s. When we arrived there were two friends. Friend one is a young man with no interest in clothes and a trust fund. Friend 2 is the best dressed woman in Ireland.  We had only been expecting Friend 1, so my effort to dress up was minimal. I actually wore no make up. Friend 2 arrived looking perfect This is the girl who once said to me (seriously, I think) when I admired a beautiful skirt she was wearing “surprisingly difficult to accessorise”.    This is Ireland, we are a nation famed for our poor dress sense.  She spent too long in London at a formative age. When we left, I said to Mr. Waffle “I didn’t realise Friend 2 was coming, if I had, I would have dressed up more”. He said “Mmm, I know what you mean”. Does my training count for nothing?  The correct response is, of course, “Really?I thought you looked beautiful”.

Sunday – Travel back in state of nervous exhaustion day.

Mr. Waffle and Grandad Waffle entertained the Princess from an early hour while I slept in bed. They will get their reward in heaven. Then Grandad Waffle drove us all to the airport in a zippy 50 minutes. Having left at lunchtime, we got home about 7.00. Princess was pleased and surprised to see the flat again. She was very disappointed, however, that no stairs had been installed in her absence.

Nice to be home all the same.



on 07 June 2004 at 16:34

Me too! So glad that you’re back. Knowing that your return was scheduled for June 6, I still checked in every day just in case.
on 08 June 2004 at 00:37

Well, I think you looked very nice – make up or no….
Nothing boring about that entry, either.


on 08 June 2004 at 15:44

Thank you, thank you. I feel insanely popular. This blogging is excellent for the ego (unlike, say, rejection letters). Renee, I am touched by your missing me and FP you checked every day – superb, a woman with ankle tattoos has time for me! Jack, you are lying to me, I fear. We were the only people at Mao’s on Saturday lunchtime, so unless you moonlight as a waiter, you didn’t see quite how grim I looked. Your instincts, however, are good.


on 08 June 2004 at 21:08

It’s that obvious, eh? Ah well my lying heart was in the right place… AND I bet you looked grand anyhow.
See, I can say that sort of thing and get away with it at the moment because the Locotype is off meeting Pog in NY and thinking we don’t know about it …. 😉


on 09 June 2004 at 14:06

Really, are they going to meet? If so, why hasn’t he offered to meet me in Cork? Not exotic enough for him eh? And I bet that he’s terrified that I’d breastfeed the baby and mortify him.


on 11 June 2004 at 03:31

Harrumph. Well I suppose I should be flattered to be talked about. Unfortunately for the gossip-mongers (not naming any names jack), there was no meeting between myself and ms. pog – she was far too busy having fun sampling the culinary and alcohol-related delights – and I was simply bloody knackered every night from scandalous amounts of walking. They really should group interesting sights all in one place.As for Cork meetings, I’m always up for meeting interesting new people (Belgian-based or no) – I simply assumed my lack of expertise on Booker prize winners and such would be a problem – jack has that whole culture thing going on that I can’t match. I hang onto the youth and wit cards myself…


on 11 June 2004 at 03:41

ANYWAY, defending myself from these scurrilous jibes made me forget what I wanted to say in the first place – a highly entertaining account of your Dublin stay waffle. The wrong part of the country, but I suppose free child-minding can’t be sniffed at no matter where it’s from.I used to have one of those sippy cups when I was a wee lad – a great invention to be sure. I have to ask about this whole Italian thing though – is it a waffle family initiation or something? Did you learn in school?

(ps – I hadn’t actually thought about breastfeeding, but look at this way, surely you would prefer mortification on my part instead of intense interest??)


on 11 June 2004 at 17:49

Locotes, you had a sippy cup! You are such a baby, they weren’t even invented when I was little. Your comments re breastfeeding are very apt. Did Italian in college as an occasional student because I am just so stupendously fabulous (why, why, does no one want to employ me? Baffling). Very glad you’re back from the States. Where are the pics??


on 11 June 2004 at 18:12

I wouldn’t bother meeting him ‘waf. He’s too young AND have you noticed how he turns the knife at every opportunity: “jack has that whole culture thing going on that I can’t match. I hang onto the youth and wit cards myself…” Damning with faint praise: the type who wouldn’t even pour his sippy cup on you to put it out if you were on fire…


on 11 June 2004 at 18:17

.. would have to agree though that it’s a damn fine blog on your visit to Dublin, City of Dreams.
Particularly liked the bit about the judge…. 🙂


on 11 June 2004 at 20:23

Well the lack of employment thing is obviously a total mystery – I think we’re all agreed on that. The company bosses probably feel threatened that you’d have their job within a year.
As for the sippy cup – of course I’m not totally sure we’re talking about the same thing – the one we had leaked alright when we turned it upside down – so who knows.Yet again the age thing comes up – I forgot to mention it before, but that has to be the main reason why I’d never expected a meeting – mid-20’s seems to be a step away from nappies! This coming from veterans in their early 30’s probably…

And jack, what’s all this about turning the knife? There I was complementing your cultured person, and you come back with a whole comment slagging me off. AND advising waffle against me. *sigh* You poor insecure soul.


on 13 June 2004 at 20:48

Would agree with the Honourable Member for Cork South Central… they just reckon you’d have their jobs in a flash.
But I’m only thinking of Locotes own good about this meeeting thing – he’d probably end up playing Paul Martel to your Connie Sumner, and getting buried (by mr Waffle), wrapped in a valuable persian carpet in a land-fill somewhere out near Ballyguyroe…. 😉
Now you’ll all have to excuse me while I go work on my sense of personal worth…


on 13 June 2004 at 22:50

Thank you, thank you lads feeling much better about the unemployment thing now and fiercely popular. Have just spent an inordinate amount of time filling out a stupid application form and may even do a post on it…so needed the moral support.


on 14 June 2004 at 18:40

Ah-hah – I knew I had a use for something…



on 26 June 2005 at 16:40

Hello from Sweden!
Please tell me where Marian Keyes’ house is located?! I’ll be off to Dublin in two weeks.


on 28 June 2005 at 21:23

Hi Camilla, not sure, if I can hand out Ms. Keyes’s address, must maintain my status as trusted insider, but I can certainly tell you that it is in Dun Laoghaire which is a suburb about 15 kms outside Dublin and worth a visit in its own right for a walk along the sea front which is very pleasant. Have a great trip!


on 14 July 2005 at 20:47

Um, thanks, I guess.


on 14 July 2005 at 23:05

‘waf —- you don’t need to be nice to comment spammers 😉


on 16 July 2005 at 07:28

Oooh, what’s a comment spammer? You mean he didn’t mean it. Am gutted.


on 16 July 2005 at 22:08

He’s raising the Google profile – and other search engines’ ratings – of his porn site by linking to your blog. Kind of second class relic stuff. Approval(as opposed to Sanctity) by association.
His link to you is read as a trackback implying you support his activities …


on 17 July 2005 at 14:10

Gosh that’s really quite nasty. Thanks for the explanation Jack. Have deleted comment and feel enlighted though unnerved…


on 17 July 2005 at 14:31

Don’t give it any thought, ‘waf.
It’s like ‘cheep meds’, daily ‘Lorttarty’ wins and Dear Blessed in The Church of the Red Breast emails … just part of the rich tapestry that is net-life 😉


on 18 July 2005 at 19:12

Thanks all the same. Good to know. And that’s an interesting collection of links you have there.

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