Mr. Waffle

Supporting the Arts

21 January, 2026
Posted in: Family, Mr. Waffle, Reading etc., Twins, Youngest Child

Our beloved youngest child was in two plays back to back in college last term. With terrifying frankness he told us not to bother with the first one as it wasn’t any good. But we dutifully went along to the second; say what you like about the beloved youngest child but he loves an audience and speaks loudly and clearly which are enough to make you the star of a college production. Inspired by this, he has decided that next year he might direct and star in a production of “John Bull’s Other Island” by Shaw which is out of copyright. He has decided to adapt the great man’s work for a modern audience and has been sequestered in his room for several days on this work but I think we’re nearly there. He has time.

In other student production news we went to see my niece’s school musical where she was the star. She has actually been in real films with famous people that had a cinematic release but I think it’s fair to say she has never been more excited to be in a production than this one. She was fantastic.

Mr. Waffle and I went to see Marty Supreme. Normally we go to the cinema on Mondays and have it to ourselves but we were home alone and decided to scamper out on a Thursday. On Mondays when the cinema is largely empty I lament the decline of cinema as a medium; on Thursday it was a full house. On the one hand, do I want my local cinema to close down? I do not. Does it need punters to remain open? Yes, yes it does. However, it was all very annoying, people were talking, checking phones, in and out to purchase popcorn; I think we’ll be sticking to Mondays. “The film?” you ask. It was alright, a bit long. I only went because I heard it was funny. Not hilarious now. Raised a smile occasionally. It’s the story of a table tennis champion/hustler set in America in the early 50s. The caper like nature of the plot reminded me a bit of Anora and the aesthetic was a bit Wes Anderson.

Last but not least we went to Collins Barracks over the weekend to see an exhibition on modern Ireland. Very right on and a lot of focus on the North (there was a lot of Dublin and NI and a certain amount of we lived in a repressive theocracy- was Ireland perfect? Nope. Were we operating under the ayatollahs? You might have thought so). Nevertheless I found it enjoyable. The only actual Cork thing I found (aside from a bit about lace making in Youghal, grand, I suppose) was this poster.

I very much enjoyed the “ over 6,000 in Cork alone”; they know how to appeal to the Cork punter.

I also liked this crisp related poster. As regular readers will know the island of Ireland is divided by two unrelated crisp providers with the same name. See below Mr Tayto, North (right) and South edition.

A classic poster.

I was less familiar with this one.

This open letter below is worth a read in its entirety. But here are some standout lines:

Here in Ireland there are on sale certain magazines which advocate pre-marital intimacy and which set forth chastity as an outmoded convention. Such magazines have been brought to our notice. We have actually seen them.

It’s the “We have actually seen them” that I particularly enjoy.

Also:

Many of these publications are on PUBLIC SALE. It is not always a matter of surreptitious, under-the-counter trading.

And furthermore:

IN view of these genuinely alarming facts, one may ask: Isn’t there a literary censorship operating in this country?

An explanation follows leading to the conclusion that “In practice, therefore, a considerable volume of printed material remains completely uncensored.” So now so.

It finishes on a very stern note:

Finally, it need hardly be stressed that those who, knowingly and deliberately, expose for sale such evil printed matter are guilty of mortal sin-the sin of corrupting innocence, of pandering to passion, of directing souls to Hell.

Here are some slippers Michael Collins wore; whether just once when he stayed over in someone’s house or for a prolonged period is unclear.

Pro-Home Rule mug and anti-Home salt cellar. Eggcellent.

The Gladstone chamber pot: a tasteful addition to any anti-Home Rule household. I was sorry not to see any products marked “Home Rule is Rome Rule” but you can’t have everything, I suppose.

Elsewhere in the museum, I was taken with this cartoon.

The perennial question: How Ya Gonna Keep ’em Down on the Farm (After They’ve Seen Paree)?

I went to see the annual Turner exhibition in the National Gallery as well. A mild January treat.

How are your own cultural outings going?

Epiphany!

6 January, 2026
Posted in: Mr. Waffle

Happy Women’s Christmas as it is known locally. To celebrate Mr. Waffle stayed home all morning waiting for the electrician to come. You will recall that the fan in the upstairs bathroom went before Christmas and, despite promises to the contrary, the electrician did not, in fact, come before Christmas. Over Christmas the light went too. We had to rely on these motion sensitive lights Mr. Waffle bought. For reasons which I believe to be obvious, they were not entirely satisfactory.

Anyway the electrician came (promised to be there by 10 arrived at 12) and now we have a light and a fan. Rejoice. Not quite gold, frankincense and myrrh but I’ll take it.

Important Jigsaw Update

2 January, 2026
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Siblings

I finished the cat jigsaw. I am re-gifting it to my sister. We’ll see how she gets on with it. In fairness, I think she likes the cat more than I do. Certainly since doing the jigsaw. I do feel a bit of an ingrate but I am very grateful for her other gifts including a notebook with my name embossed on it which I forgot in my listing of her largesse the other day so, look, you can’t win them all.

Mr. Waffle’s cousin and his three very cute Spanish children came to visit yesterday along with the in-laws. We made some further slight inroads into our Christmas cheese supply but we still have a mountain of cheese in the fridge. Michael was a hero with the young Hiberno-Spanish crowd taking them off to play card games in the dining room and saving them from expiring from boredom with the grown-ups where, to be fair to them, they had been politely listening to the very dull grown-up discussion.

I had to leave a bit early to go to a removal. A former colleague of mine has died. He was only 58 and it was entirely unexpected. He went out for a walk on St. Stephen’s Day and keeled over. Bit of a shock all round.

When I got home we had a zoom call with the London relatives which was surprisingly fun given the inevitable Covid memories it brought back. After that Mr. Waffle and I, wringing every minute out of the day, went to the cinema to see Eternity which I am pleased to pronounce quite good though a bit long. My new year’s resolution for 2024 was to see more films which we did. We fell off the wagon a bit last year but we are now back for 2026 (I mean, so far so good, it’s only January 2 we might need to see where we are in a couple of months).

Today Mr. Waffle and I went out to Howth for a walk along with the millions of tourists visiting Dublin (really, if you had time off between Christmas and New Year is this where you would come?). We were all rewarded as it was a beautiful day with spectacular views. If you are interested in these things the conical mountain in the distance in the picture (an extinct volcano, hence its shape), is the Sugar Loaf which we climbed on Wednesday. I’ve said it before and I will definitely say it again, Dublin has many, many flaws but its spectacular location is not one of them.

We went back into Howth village for a bite of lunch but were thwarted by the huge numbers thronging all the restaurants. I had really not anticipated that it would be impossible to get lunch in Howth at 2 pm on January 2nd but so it was. Annoying. And hungry making.

How is your own new year going so far? Any resolutions?

Christmas Update

31 December, 2025
Posted in: Dublin, Family, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Twins, Youngest Child

Still alive. A bit challenging this year. We had my brother and sister on Christmas Eve which was nice but I was starting, alas, to feel a little under the weather. Did 2 solid hours in Dublin’s newly minted Catholic cathedral make me feel better? It did not although the singing was beautiful and the archbishop gave a pro-migrant sermon of which I strongly approved. My brother was beside me and it is hard to believe that he had ever been to Christmas mass at all as he kept saying, “Surely, it must be about to end now.” Herself commented sagely that the flower arrangers etc. still had to be thanked. She was right although the thanks were mercifully less extensive than they tend to be in our local church.

We had exchanged presents with my sister earlier in the day as she was spending Christmas Day with her partner’s family. I always feel she does quite poorly out of this as she is very generous to the children and doesn’t get so much from us. She did not disappoint this year and I gleefully pocketed a blue book voucher and a nice candle and the children got untold largesse. She also gave me a novelty jigsaw which was a blown up picture of our cat. I think it’s going to kill me. And I’m also feeling a lot less enthusiastic about the cat.

Comparisons are odious but this jigsaw which I received from my middle child was much more satisfactory.

You’ll see there’s a piece missing. We spent days on our hands and knees on the floor looking for it but finally a couple of days ago we swept the jigsaw into its box and decided the piece was lost. This morning middle child found the missing piece. In a trouser pocket. Was I delighted? I was not.

Back to our chronology here, I felt ok when we got up on Christmas morning and v much enjoyed the present giving (good haul thanks) and receiving. Mr. Waffle does a treasure hunt for the children on Christmas morning and that was great too.

We were having the in-laws and my brother to Christmas lunch and the children were a great help in prepping and the table looked fantastic; the food wasn’t bad either. All in all pretty satisfactory though I am, if possible, even more grateful to the in-laws who host almost every year. This year they have moved out of their house to facilitate very significant renovations. If you pray to a deity, please remember them in your prayers, they’ll need it.

By the time evening rolled around, we were all a bit exhausted though we did play one game of 110 with my brother. Wouldn’t say everyone was totally into it.

I’ve no idea what happened on St. Stephen’s Day. I whined about being ill. The Princess admired the spectacular bruise which the dentist’s butchery had left her with. My brother hit the sales and we put him on the bus to Cork.

On Saturday I was still ill. So sorry for myself. Herself and myself went to look at the antiques shops on Francis Street (all still closed) and had lunch in the Argentinian place on Meath Street. I was exhausted after my mild outing.

To everyone’s horror we realised that we were booked in to see Dublin Gothic in the Abbey that evening. A three hour play about one Dublin building. And two, yes two, 15 minute intervals leading to a total run time of 3 and a half hours. While there were varying levels of enthusiasm when this Christmas treat was booked, I think that it would be fair to say that on Saturday night we all shared the exact same enthusiasm level namely zero. To be fair to the play, it wasn’t too bad but it was too long and we weren’t in the form to appreciate it as we might. It gave us something to talk about and there were some very interesting ideas and funny bits but you know, 3 and a half hours is a lot even when you want to go and you are in the whole of your health neither of which necessarily applied.

On Sunday I felt just well enough for a mild stroll around the Botanic Gardens. Very sorry for myself still.

On Monday I finally started to recover. We rejoice. Herself and myself and Mr. Waffle had a look at the antiques shops many, but by no means all, of which were open.

Then we went home and she packed and we dropped her to the airport to go back to London. Gutting. I felt very sad. But there you are, this is the lot of the Irish mother. I did it to my mother and she did it to her mother so I suppose we can only hope that some day she’ll move home again like my mother and I did. She’s starting a job and moving flat in January so exciting times ahead and I guess London isn’t so far.

Today my recovery continued apace and we climbed the Sugar Loaf. These pictures give the impression that we were there alone but in fact this was not at all the case and every family in Dublin appeared to be on the mountain having a health giving walk. It was a beautiful day and you could see snow on the higher mountains in the distance and all the way across to Snowdonia in Wales.

I am delighted to report that I have no plans for this evening. I hope that your Christmas passed off peacefully also and that you are recovering from the inevitable illness of the season. A very happy new year. More blogging in 2026; something for you to look forward to.

The Christmas Hits Keep Coming

23 December, 2025
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Twins

Last week I went in to Trinity for carols. I did it last year and it was lovely. The child who is in Trinity had an exam (at 5 in the afternoon, does that strike you as peculiar?); the other Dublin based child has no interest; and Mr. Waffle was busy at work so I went alone. I sloped out of work a bit early and headed in. Here is my news for you, if you want to go to the carol service in Trinity chapel at 5.05, don’t arrive at 5. This was the queue. Did I get in? I did not.

From outside the church I heard that great advent hymn “O Come, O Come Emmanuel” which could usefully have replaced some of the numbers I had heard other choirs deliver. Alas.

I gave it up as a bad job and, pausing only to note the bat signal

and the attractive Christmas tree (regular readers will recall my disastrous attempt to get to the lighting ceremony), I left Trinity in a state of damp gloom.

On my way home I passed Dublin castle which was advertising winter lights. They weren’t as good as the truly spectacular Collins Barracks lights that we saw last year but they weren’t bad and I pretty much had them to myself.

Speaking of lights – did I tell you we had a lighting up session for all the vulgar outdoor lights on the road? Well, we did. I used to hate outdoor lights but now I love them; you see change is possible though I remain slightly unsure about the large inflatable Santa across the road. It’s a lovely event usually but this year it was freezing, squally and wet and no amount of mince pies, mulled wine, gas fired braziers and neighbours could keep me beyond about 10 minutes but the lights are on now and I like them. Yes, probably even the Santa.

We had some carols at work and they were surprisingly good despite my expectations being extremely low.

We hosted Christmas drinks on Saturday afternoon which were broadly successful. Top tip though, if you are hoping to have your Christmas drinks catered, you need to start ringing around more than a month in advance. We did not have our drinks catered. It was nice but it also nearly killed me. We are fully stocked for Christmas (also, I note our floorboards need re-sanding).

One of our guests commented that she liked the ivy around the mirror. “Did you forage that?” she asked. “Um, yes, I suppose,” said I. “Sorry, I’m using my Dublin dialect, I meant did you strip it off the walls?” she clarified. Accurate.

We only got the tree up on Friday afternoon – everything was a bit late this year but it is a fine specimen even though we had to lop off the top. Every extra foot costs a tenner so Mr. Waffle would like us to think harder about our needs before sending him out to invest in a tree in future.

On Sunday we had middle child’s Swedish friend to lunch before she went home to Sweden. St Lucia is a big thing in Sweden at this time of year and she described the white dresses with the red sashes and the crown of lit candles that young girls wear. “Is it a bit dangerous?” I asked. Apparently it is; she described with some enthusiasm the various times young women’s hair had caught fire. “Would they not consider artificial candles?” I asked. “Only for very young children,” she said reprovingly. I see that, despite everything, the Viking spirit lingers on.

The house looks nice for Christmas and the Swedish friend commented, “The old core style you favour works really well for Christmas.” True. “Sorry,” she corrected herself, “I meant old-fashioned.” Probably best not to provide clarification there.

We have finally passed the winter solstice and the days are getting longer. It was always a holiday my father liked so I thought of him fondly on the day.

Herself went to the dentist yesterday and he gave her two fillings. He also seems to have made some kind of mistake with his injecting as her jaw has swelled like a balloon and she has the beginnings of a spectacular bruise. Alas. Even when I got my root canal done, I had nothing like this. She is sore and peeved. Herself, myself and Mr. Waffle went out for breakfast to cheer her up and then on a slightly overcast walk on Dun Laoghaire pier and a reviving cup of tea afterwards. She remains a bit glum. She’s just gone in to town to meet some school friends and show off her jaw.

It would not be Christmas if we did not need a tradesman who ignored us. The fan in the upstairs bathroom has gone and Mr. Waffle has already been available for three full days when the electrician faithfully promised he would come. Did he come? He did not. “Godot and Co. have still not arrived,” said Mr. Waffle gloomily on enquiry. Realistically, is the electrician likely to come before January? He is not. On the plus side the drains man came when expected (don’t ask) and I suppose if one tradesman out of two is going to let you down, I would much rather that the electrician was the disappointing one.

I trust your own Christmas preparations are proceeding apace.

Golden? Would you say Silence is Golden?

7 December, 2025
Posted in: Family, Mr. Waffle

I have Scholl sandals with wooden soles. I tend to wear them instead of slippers in the summer. The family hate them; I’m sure they’re good for my feet so I persist in the face of general disapproval. Mr. Waffle remarked, to general acclaim, at one point, “In summer, a mysterious figure stalks the house, I like to call her Madame de Clompidour”.

That is all. Unless you have an annoying slipper story of your own to share?