belgianwaffle

Cork

Darkest Peru


Posted in: Cork, Ireland, Reading etc.

One of the nicest things about travelling by train is that the free travel scheme means that there is always a good sprinkling of pensioners which is nice in itself but also they bring out the best in students (the other hardy perennials on the train) who are always very polite to them and help them with their bags and generally restore your faith in humanity.

Anyhow, I was on the train up from Cork on a Saturday and three elderly gentlemen, travelling separately fell into conversation about a hurling match between Limerick and Tipperary. One of them was a priest and one of the other men asked him whether he had ever been on the missions at all. He had – 12 years in Korea and 30 in Peru from which he had lately retired. Did he know the two girls who were arrested for drug smuggling? He did indeed, had spoken to them several times. He also opined that the prison where they were serving their sentence was one of the better ones in Peru, he having visited several others for many years. As Fr. Brown says, you can’t be a priest without knowing quite a bit about human depravity. Many anecdotes followed – the lives on other inmates, the altar boy who showed him a local remedy for swelling, how to handle snakes with a stick on the way to school – but my favourite related to Brazil.

One of the other men had visited South America and travelled around (our pensioners, an adventurous bunch) and asked the priest about Manaus. He had been there, he had much to say about the rubber trade. One interesting thing was that the ships transporting rubber had to take rocks back to Manaus as ballast. The last place they passed through was Cork and so all this Cork rock ended up in Brazil. He said that the opera house in Manaus is built from Clonakilty stone. I don’t know whether this is true, but I really hope so.

Here endeth the lesson.

Bless You


Posted in: Cork, Ireland

I am spending a certain amount of time in hospitals. As you go in you have to rub disinfectant into your hands. At least once, I have taken the disinfectant and started to bless myself. Is it because hospitals are now like secular cathedrals or is it because I am losing my mind? I suppose the latter is a bit more likely though less poetic.

You Will Always Find Me in the Kitchen at Parties


Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland, Twins, Youngest Child

I had Michael in Cork for the weekend recently. One evening he, my father and I sat down to dinner together. My father is quite deaf. Michael was anxious to return to the iPad. But we were sitting at the dinner table. I was sitting in my mother’s place and perhaps something of her spirit infused me as I strained my (I like to think) not inconsiderable skills as a conversationalist to breaking point.

Me: Michael, ask Granddad what it was like at school when he was a little boy?
Michael (dutiful but indifferent): What was it like at school when you were a little boy, Granddad?
My father: What?
Me (loudly and in the face of Michael’s manifest indifference): He wants to know what it was like at school when you were a little boy.
My father (testily): I can’t remember, it was years ago.
Me (loudly): Michael, you like school, don’t you.
Michael (quietly): No.
My father: What’s that?
Me (loudly): Nothing.
[Several more minutes pass in vain attempts to promote conversation on my part – the other protagonists remain largely indifferent]
Me: Will we excuse Michael?
My father and Michael (in tones of considerable relief): Yes.

This Week’s Forced March


Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland, Middle Child, Twins

The children and I were in Cork this weekend. We went from Kinsale out to Summercove. We visited Charles Fort. This was greeted with reasonable levels of enthusiasm. The nice man at the entrance gave the children a cannon ball to lift and explained in some detail how to load and light a cannon which they enjoyed.

And then we went to the Bulman for lunch. All very satisfactory. Note soulful expression while herself waits for mussels.

The only fly in the ointment was the driving rain that accompanied our walk back to the car. We were passed by a couple of tourists who were readily identifiable by their all enveloping rain gear. Locals like ourselves looked damp and unprepared. [What? Rain? Here? In Cork? Who would ever bring an umbrella on a walk?]

Today was the day the clocks went forward. I wish I had realised this earlier. This morning at 10.15, the Princess and I went to visit my mother in the hospital. I breezily assured my father that we would be back for 11.40 to accompany him and the boys to mass. He looked dubious, as well he might, I realised, in retrospect, as it was 11.15 when I left. No one in my family went to mass today and it was all my fault. Alas.

I was going to bring my mother’s sewing table back to Dublin with me but lost my nerve at the prospect of bringing it and children and luggage. I had a quick look through the contents which included my brother’s report for second year in school, lots of thread, a 70s large capital letter still in its packet that had clearly been destined to be appliquéd to something and this school photo of me when I was about the same age as herself. I am always struck by how alike we look though I think I look considerably less sophisticated than she does.

Michael made me a card for Mother’s Day, herself gave me a paper rose (complex to make, I understand) and Daniel wrote me a poem which he sang aloud despite his embarrassment. Herself said bitterly, “The poem won.” Mr. Waffle said to her, “It’s not a competition; I know you and your mother think everything is a competition but it’s not.” Did you know that Mr. Waffle was brought up by hippies?

Here is the poem*:

I think you are nice even it you have head lice,**
I think you are kind, there’s not a nicer mother I can find,
I think you are calm, I won’t find a calmer person in my whole life span,
I think you’re swell, every time I hear your name it rings a bell,
I think you’re funnier than a magic racing bunny,
I think you’re superb, you’re better than Phinneas and Ferb.
That’s my song done, I hope you have fun.
Goodbye.

*Slightly idiosyncratic spelling and grammar amended.
** Not as far as I am aware but I am feeling slightly paranoid after our recent encounter with lice.

The poem was lovely but so were the rose and the card and the flowers and chocolates Mr. Waffle bought. It turns out that not everything is a competition. I hope that you had a lovely mother’s day.

Fishmonger to the Queen


Posted in: Cork, Ireland, Siblings

You may not remember this, but when the Queen of England visited Ireland, she went to the market in Cork.

She chatted to one of the fishmongers and he has made it his business to keep this in the forefront of people’s minds, inter alia, by hanging a large picture of himself and herself over his stall (“Rebel county, indeed” as Mr. Waffle remarked sardonically at the time). This drives my brother insane and my sister and I have had hours of harmless entertainment pointing to the marketing abilities of Mr. O’Connell.

Just when we thought it couldn’t get any better, he published a book. This is from the blurb:

In this heart-warming story, Pat O’Connell recalls the historic visit of Queen Elizabeth II to the English Market, which left a lasting impact not only on the market itself but also on his own life.

This is from my brother when he heard the news.

Why are they doing this to me………………I’ve had enough..this guy makes me want to buy frozen fish from an industrial fish farm in the south Pacific, with 3 gizillion food miles, online from a faceless global retailer that pays no tax, headquartered in the Caymen Islands (or maybe Ireland)….

And look, only look, at the cover of today’s Examiner: Pat getting fitted out for his trip to Buckingham Palace.

Hours of harmless entertainment for all the family.

Biblical Catastrophes


Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland

As I write there is a code red storm sweeping the country. It’s been a little unimpressive here in Dublin but talking to my sister in Cork, she said that she had never seen anything like it. Her office, north of the city had no electricity, no water (fun) and bits of the building blew away. On the 30 km drive back to the city, she passed 15 (15!) trees which had fallen on to the main road and were being chopped up to let traffic past by heroic council workers. She’s now safely at home.

And then Cork was battered by floods recently as well. To be fair Cork is always flooding. Corcaigh, the Irish for Cork, means “a marshy place”. Hey, building on the flood plain didn’t start today or yesterday. But still, I was on the phone to a colleague in Cork and he said, “I’ve got to leave now because the flood waters are rising” which was quite dramatic, I think you will agree.

Also, we have lice – only one of us so far but where will it all end?