Mr. Waffle

Queen of Cafés

4 September, 2026 2 Comments
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Twins

I met middle child and Mr. Waffle for lunch today in a café where I have been going for many, many years. I used to work near there and go there a fair bit but I work in a different part of town now and go much less frequently. Middle child had never been there – as Mr. Waffle said, they have anti-student prices – but enjoyed it. Both of my lunching partners were surprised to see one of the waitresses surge out from behind the counter and embrace me saying, “We haven’t seen you in ages.” I was a little surprised myself but gratified. “I have been here 19 years today and I remember you coming in when I started working here,” she said. When it came to time to leave she whispered to me, “Open your bag; we made extra scones today and I will give four to you”.

I remember once years ago at a slightly low point they gave me free cake. I tell you, loyalty has its privileges.

Silver!

4 September, 2026 2 Comments
Posted in: Family, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Twins, Youngest Child

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.

One Across

28 July, 2026
Posted in: Mr. Waffle

Happy anniversary to us.

Mayo for Sam

26 July, 2026
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Mr. Waffle

Mr. Waffle and I decided to go for a nice walk in Portrane today. The weather is a bit cooler and very pleasant. We began with breakfast in Avoca in Malahide Castle. How great was my indignation when I discovered that they stop serving breakfast at 11.30? Pretty great as by the time we got there it was 12.10. I had a steak sandwich for breakfast. Not a form of breakfast that has been hugely popular since the 19th century. I am a city person and breakfast should be served until at least 2 on a Sunday; everyone knows that and these suburban outlets need to pull up their socks.

On the way to our walk we bought strawberries and new Queens potatoes from a bored teenager at the side of the road. The best strawberries I have tasted all summer by some distance. Our walk was, as hoped, nice.

I forget what lovely beaches there are in north County Dublin – I don’t really think of Dublin as a very beachy place but it is. This beach compared favourably to those in the west of Ireland. High praise.

Apparently it is also a place where the rules on horse access to the beach are not fully observed. That horse poo did not smell like it had been there since May.

I went for a swim which was very nice but I was a bit nervous because a number of jellyfish corpses were visible on the strand. I didn’t see any in the sea but I couldn’t quite relax. With global warming the presence of jellyfish is becoming pretty common but it’s still a bit alarming to me. Herself says that it has led to mosquitos in London. She knows because she’s allergic and her leg swelled up like a balloon when she got bitten; even the pharmacist was impressed and gave her a course of penicillin.

Possibly related, I was the only person in the water which felt…peculiar? Did everyone else know something I did not? Was it the jellyfish? Was it the horse poo? It’s a blue flag beach and the local authorities had a sign up saying they tested the water most recently on July 13 and it was excellent. Let’s see whether I survive the night.

We hightailed it home after our walk as the All-Ireland Gaelic football final was on (the winner gets the Sam Maguire cup, hence the title of this post) and we didn’t want to get caught in match traffic. We actually made it home in time to watch the end of the match. Mayo were playing Kerry in the final. Mayo have not won the All-Ireland for 75 years and Kerry seem to win it all the time. Everyone in the country was supporting Mayo except people from Kerry. The consensus was that this Kerry team would win no bother.

The excitement of the All-Ireland final hit the European stage earlier. For Ireland’s EU Presidency Each Member State of the EU (26 excluding Ireland) is paired with an Irish county (also currently 26, if you don’t count the new Dublin divisions and somehow no one ever does) and the Netherlands got Mayo which led to this exchange in the European Parliament. I applaud the Dutch enthusiasm.

Mayo wear green and red and Kerry wear green and gold. During the World Cup there were memes doing the rounds featuring those colours (apologies to English people who may find these images upsetting). The World Cup was all really about Gaelic Athletic Association rivalries some people may be surprised to hear.

The story of the reason for Mayo’s 75 year drought which I must emphasise is completely untrue and known to be untrue by everyone is that the team which won the All-Ireland for Mayo in 1951 were returning home and a funeral cortege was ahead of them. The team were disrespectful and the parish priest put a curse on them and said that Mayo would not win again until all of the members of that team died. This is not traditionally a catholic priest power, in case you’re wondering. Anyway, Mayo have not won since though they have been to the final. One poor old gent survives from the 1951 team apparently.

Do you want to know who won now? I bet you do. It was Mayo.

Arts etc

22 July, 2026
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Mr. Waffle

Mr. Waffle and I went for a couple of tea time talks in the Tenement Museum in Henrietta Street. One on Dublin street traders and one on the markets in the city centre. Both a bit worthy but maybe not completely fascinating throughout.

We saw Project Hail Mary in the cinema. Mr. Waffle loved it. I thought it was grand. We also saw The Devil wears Prada 2. I loved it. Mr. Waffle thought it was grand. One thing did get my goat though. I have covered in the past how much I dislike Niall Williams’s books. Everyone else loves them but I find them a bit Oirish. Anyway, Kenneth Branagh who plays Miranda Priestly’s husband is waiting for her in a hotel room at a crucial point in the film and when she comes in he casts aside the book he was reading. “What was that?” you ask. “This is Happiness” by Niall Williams.

We also saw Disclosure Day. I thought it was grand. Mr. Waffle loathed it and kept pointing out plot holes on the newsroom aspect. Since this is a film about aliens on earth, I think there were areas where a greater suspension of disbelief was required. Anyhow, wouldn’t recommend. Mr. Waffle asked afterwards why Josh O’Connor (English) and Emily Blunt (also English) were given American accents but Colin Firth still had his English accent. Middle child and I explained to him that baddies are all English

We went to Altamount Gardens and Huntington castle in Carlow for a day out. Strong on peacocks. Grand. But not worth the €130 fine and 3 penalty points I got for speeding on the way home. And while I approve strongly of fines for speeding in the abstract, it was hard for me to rejoice in the concrete.

I went to a library talk on Dublin art and Hugh Lane. Fine but no substitute for the Hugh Lane Gallery which is closed for endless renovations. I also went to a talk on Hugh Lane and his own art collection and the role of women in supporting the Hugh Lane modern art gallery which was slow to get off the ground due to Dubliners’ dubiety about the whole project. These impressionists are alright for the French but I’m not sure whether we want them here kind of thing. Interesting.

I saw the Blake exhibition in the National Gallery a couple of times and dutifully went to several talks. I think I can take or leave Blake. He was, God love him, a bit of a tortured soul. On one of these trips I met a friend of Mr Waffle’s from school and his somewhat (but not that much) younger wife. I enquired about their children, starting secondary school kind of age – and she said, “And by the way, I’m pregnant.” Sooner them than us.

Herself was in New York and sent me this message.

Come on, she’s hilarious.

I went to the RHA annual exhibition which I found dull and another exhibition which I quite enjoyed. Here are some photos from the latter.

Mr. Waffle and I went to visit the James Joyce tower (museum of things Joyce and manned by enthusiastic Joyceans) and cycled around the salubrious precincts of Killiney and Dalkey and walked Dun Laoghaire pier. A grand day out.

We went to see the Messiah outdoors in Fishamble street (on the site where it was first performed) at lunch time but the timing was not entirely compatible with lunch and work. Still pleasant in its own way.

We have been looking at auctions a lot. It’s our age. I enjoyed the Morgan O’Driscoll Irish Art pre-sale investigation in the RDS; I enjoyed the Howth castle inspection rather less, especially as it cost me €20 to get in and the Irish art one was free. Increasingly, I find us looking in at items consigned for auction at the weekend. Where will this end? Ominous.

The 1926 census has been published online and there is great excitement. I still haven’t found my relatives – a mystery – but everyone else in Ireland has found theirs. The street whatsapp group was hopping with news of who lived here in 1926 on the day it was released. There was an excellent exhibition in Dublin castle, alas, now closed. The EU Presidency means that the castle is out of bounds for the rest of the year.

We went to see “The Good Luck Club” an Anu production about the Irish Sweepstakes. Their productions are always site specific and this one was in the National Archives. It was part of the Archive’s census centenary programme. But the play wasn’t about the census at all. It didn’t totally work for me but it got the usual rave reviews and was good in parts. Am I still going to go to whatever they offer for the theatre festival in the autumn? You betcha. General booking opens later this month and my fingers are already hovering over the keyboard.

We went to a talk on the sculptor Albert Power. If you’re Irish, you’ve seen his work around but he is a bit neglected as sculpture is a medium about which the Irish nation is, at best, ambivalent. Interesting.

We saw Sinéad Culbert the comedian. Her husband is Dutch. There’s a lot of humour to be wrung from Hiberno-Dutch relations.

I saw Tana French, whom I love, speak about her new book which I read but sadly did not love. The sooner she moves on from the Irish western rut she’s in, the better, as far as I’m concerned.

This isn’t exactly culture but where else to put it? Friends very kindly took us to a terrifyingly expensive dinner in Chapter 1 (possibly two Michelin stars, definitely one, great if your bank balance is feeling strong). When we waddled out of the restaurant later, Mr. Waffle’s bike lights and kickstand had been stolen. Great highs, great lows.

During the very hot spell we went to see “The Whiteheaded Boy” by Lennox Robinson in the Abbey. Lennox Robinson was a funny Cork dramatist who died in the late 1950s. This play was funny in places but overall only alright. A big part of the plot is about breach of promise. For my money, it’s hard to update that to the 1980s but that is what they attempted. The end was surprising, I will give them that. Due to the climactic conditions, Mr. Waffle, with some trepidation, wore his shorts to the national theatre. He works in a conservative profession and was not delighted to see a number of colleagues in the foyer when we arrived. He ran into one of them again shortly afterwards and she said tartly, “I see you are dressed on this occasion.”

How is your own cultural life going?

Jam Production Continues Unabated

21 July, 2026
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Mr. Waffle

Look at it.

Given our surfeit (what you see in the picture is only batch 1, batch 2 is already in pre-production and the plum harvest shows no sign of abating although the painters who are painting the fence – long overdue – keep standing on them which, maybe, is a mercy), I suggested to Mr. Waffle that we might give a souvenir pot to each family member who attends our anniversary dinner in a couple of weeks. “But half of them may not even want it,” he said. He is failing to get with the programme. Who knows whether we will even make this anniversary at this rate.