Daniel and his father were driving back from a GAA match discussing tactics. After a while Daniel interjected, quite animatedly, and without any apparently humorous intent “You know, Mum should let you talk more, you’re actually quite interesting.”
On the morning of Valentine’s Day, my husband woke me up with the words, “Happy Valentine’s Day”. I replied, “Oh [expletive deleted]!” He said, “Don’t worry, our truce has held, I haven’t bought you anything.”
That’s true love, right there.
Michael: Why did people let Draco do what he did?
Mr. Waffle: Draco Malfoy or, do you mean Lucius Malfoy?
Michael: No, I mean Draco the tyrant.
Mr. Waffle (beginning description): Well, I suppose he was a little bit draconian.
Daniel: Dad, he was Draco, he was literally draconian.
One from the Christmas holidays.
Herself (from the back seat in mock horror): This is so outrageous.
Mr. Waffle: Stop squawking back there.
Her: Do you want to reconsider your choice of language or do you want to keep using the oppressive, misogynistic language of the patriarchy?
Her (to me): Well, Mum, what do you think of Dad’s choice of language?
Me: I’m just so glad that it’s not me in the firing line.
Her: To be silent is to be complicit.
When I am in the car I always smile at cyclists if I catch their eye. Firstly, I’m mostly a cyclist myself and I always like to be reassured that drivers have seen me and, you know, all the better if they are cheerful about it. Secondly, I am in my car causing traffic and polluting the air and they are not.
However, I am aware that not everyone feels quite as warmly towards cyclists as I do. I hit a new low the other day. It was lunch time. I was wearing work clothes and I was pushing my bike on the pavement. The pavement was wide. The road was one way against me. Cars were parked right up to the kerb so there was no way that I could push it on the road and walk along side it.
A respectably dressed older gentleman, maybe in his late 60s, came up behind me and deliberately pushed against me and hissed, “Get off the pavement.” I have to say, I was a bit shook. He was quite angry. I mean, I feel I could have taken him, if it had come to a fight but it was so gratuitously unpleasant. I thought that he must really hate cyclists or, maybe more charitably, he was in the early stages of dementia. Although, as Mr. Waffle pointed out, if I had been a young man, he probably wouldn’t have behaved in that way.
Mr. Waffle is dipping a cautious toe into the world of the podcast. He is, frankly, dubious but he has downloaded an app on to his phone and is now mentally prepared to move slightly beyond that initial step. His tastes and mine don’t really chime so although I listen to a lot of podcasts, I am not quite sure what to recommend for him. We’ve spent the last half hour looking at options.
I thought “In Our Time” would be suitably worthy; sometimes I listen to it, if I’m feeling strong. “Would I like ‘Desert Island Discs’?” he asked me. I doubt it. I tried to sell him on some of the Slate podcasts but he was not keen. I recommended my hot favourite, ‘This American Life’ but I made him listen to it once before and he did not love it. “Try it all the same,” I urged but to no avail.
Any suggestions for what Mr. Waffle might try, internet denizens?