Princess

Have Nothing in your House that you do not Know to be Useful, or Believe to be Beautiful*

20 September, 2026 6 Comments
Posted in: Princess

I have been in lampshade hell recently (I will spare you the details, I am merciful). The upshot of it is that I have a newly acquired (not particularly cheap) 30cm diameter barrel lampshade with a William Morris print on it and no particular location for it. I said hopefully to Herself “Do you think you would like a William Morris lampshade in your newly decorated room at home?” “I would not,” said she, “William Morris is the ‘live, laugh, love’ of Victorian decor.” Sharper than a serpent’s tooth and all that for as the words left her mouth, I knew she was right.

*My mother was particularly fond of this William Morris quote and it seems apt here somehow.

My Latest Obsession

19 September, 2026 4 Comments
Posted in: Mr. Waffle, Princess

When we were in Sweden (full account to follow, I know, you can’t wait) one day at lunch time herself said that she had been working hard at reducing her time on the phone and had got it down to an average of 25 minutes a day which she felt was the minimum needed to function – messages, calls, banking etc. Mr. Waffle then looked at his screen time on his phone. An average of an hour a day. I looked at mine. Three and a half hours a day. I don’t think I have a spare minute in the day so how am I spending three and a half hours on my phone?

I immediately started to try to reduce my time. I am nothing if not competitive. I’ve given up doing sudoku on my phone and am doing it on paper. This has a treble advantage of reducing my screen time; when I do it at night, I just get tired and go to bed whereas I somehow never felt tired on my phone; and finally giving some relief to my aged arthritic fingers. The other thing I have done is turn my phone to silent permanently. It’s much less distracting that way and it turns out I do not need to see each of the many, many messages that come in on the “random ladies tennis” whatsapp group.

Still despite all my efforts although I’ve got it down to about an hour a day now I can’t seem to get it below that. Even at the end of the day when I feel I haven’t touched my phone there it is an hour a day. Herself just leaves it at home when she goes out. Maybe that is the move but I listen to my podcasts when I am out and about and I love them (podcasts don’t count as screen time – I mean the screen isn’t on – in case you thought that was where your vast screen time stats were coming from). I do seem to have a bit more time though and I am kicking myself that since I first got a smart phone (probably about 15 years ago) I have let so much of my life be mediated through it.

Any tips for reducing my use further?

London

11 September, 2026 2 Comments
Posted in: Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel

Friday 29 May 2026

We went to London for the June bank holiday to visit herself. Want to hear all about it? Possibly not but here it is, dragged out of the archive. Herself was leaving London and it seemed like a good idea to visit before she left.

We stayed in happening Spitalfields in a hotel that is part of a nice chain. We’d stayed in the sister establishment in Soho in the past and we needed somewhere a bit nearer to glamourous (ahem) Dalston where our firstborn was residing. She said, “It’s not close at all.” But it’s closer than Soho, is all I can say.

The hotel was lovely but like it’s sister establishment, not exactly dog-cheap. I went for a nap after arriving as I had a slight headache and was not delighted to see workmen on the scaffolding outside my window. I was even less delighted by the vigorous drilling right beside my head which made sleep elusive.

Once somewhat restored, we went out to dinner in a trendy London eatery with our firstborn. It was Japanese-Italian fusion and herself was keen to try it out. I think once we were finished dinner we all agreed that it was not a fusion that was wholly successful.

We went back to her house share after dinner. It was lovely to see her somewhere she was so happy. I was slightly depressed to note how much better value renting in London seems to be than renting in Dublin.

Unrelated: we saw this advertisement on the way back to the hotel. What?

Saturday 30 May 2026

Mr. Waffle and I went for breakfast on trendy Redchurch street as recommended by herself. I liked it. Then we went to Denis Sever’s house which was on the same street as our hotel. As you know, I like nothing better than a house which recreates little vignettes from another era (folk park anyone?) but for reasons I can’t explain this place didn’t do it for me. But grand, I suppose.

We met herself in Marylebone where we had a very nice lunch and then went to the Wallace collection for a wander around. It famously has Fragonard’s “The Swing” but I was surprised and rather pleased to see an old favourite – The Laughing Cavalier – which I didn’t even know was there.

You can also see Mazarin’s cutlery in the collection. I mean, why not?

By far my favourite picture though was this one of Napoleon’s tomb by Vernet. Come on, it has everything.

After our brush with the arts we went to a chemist herself is fond of – wouldn’t be my idea of thrill but each to their own.

Then we went for pizza in Islington which would have been grand except there was some Arsenal related excitement and everything was heaving with Arsenal fans. In fairness, good natured enough but loud and drunk and many.

Sunday 31 May, 2026

The room in our hotel were named after historical figures (we were in Daniel Mendoza, in case you are curious). When I went down for breakfast the next morning, the young waitress asked me, “Are you Mary Wollstonecraft?” and I must say, I rather enjoyed that.

Herself took us to the Towpath cafe for breakfast. We walked around Dalston which, away from the main street, is really pleasant and has excellent cycling infrastructure. I was pretty impressed by cycling provision all round in London. Surely, if they can do it in London, we can do it here.

We went to the Borough Market and Hackney Depot to a flea market. I felt about 102 and extremely untrendy. We bought her 1950s sandals (for a ball, she is still Oxford balling, they seem to go on forever) in the flea market and the owner of the stand ran after us with a matching bag which she pressed upon us. This was very kind of her and heartwarming. She gave the Princess a big hug. When did the English become a nation of huggers? Is it Princess Diana? I can’t see it happening here.

Mr. Waffle made it his business to buy her a lock for her bin which kept disappearing from her front garden. Someone had entered the garden and set some clothes on fire the previous night so I would have to say that the Dalston experience is an exciting urban one and it’s no surprise that jovial souls spirit bins away from front gardens. We picked up a big rock from a local strip of waste ground for her to put behind the gate to discourage further visitors. What a time to be alive.

And then it was time for us to go to the airport. The bus was pretty much stopped by a million Arsenal fans. Arsenal fans stopped the Windrush line by being on the line. I began to not love Arsenal fans, I will tell you that.

However, eventually we got on the lovely Elizabeth line and safely to the airport (full of Arsenal fans) and on to the plane home (also full of Arsenal fans).

Stay with me. Nordic charms to come. Bated breath etc. on your side, I am sure.

Silver!

4 September, 2026
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.

A Successful Campaign of Indoctrination

30 June, 2026
Posted in: Middle Child, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

Herself cycles in London; middle child cycles in Dublin; even youngest child is prepared to give it a go occasionally. I feel I have secured them for the cycling revolution.

I was surprised and delighted to discover that the middle child – with no prompting from me – has, this summer, begun to cycle longer distances with friends for fun. To Maynooth (about 30kms away); to Greystones (also about 30kms away); and back! I feel an inner sense of achievement, I can tell you.

Nine Lives

29 June, 2026
Posted in: Hodge, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

I’ve got a bit out of the habit of blogging recently. This is a shame because it is the only way I remember anything.

So, baby steps here, let me tell you about the (relatively brief) trauma of June 16. The cat went out the front door about 7 in the evening. Sometimes she likes to sit on the front step and survey her kingdom. She usually starts to meow to get back in about an hour later. On this evening, about 10.30, there was still no sign of her. Mr. Waffle and I walked up and down the road calling her name (does she know her name? I doubt it). I kept an eye out for a corpse in the middle of the (very quiet) road. I thought death was the only thing that would stop her coming back to enjoy the comforts of home.

Mr. Waffle goes to bed at 10.45 and feeds the cat then. From about 10.15 she sits on the corner of the rug keeping a weather eye on his movements. This prolonged absence so near feeding time was very unlike her. I put out a message on the road group chat and people started hunting for her in their gardens. Could she have dragged herself off to die somewhere of natural causes? Like all of us, she’s not getting any younger; 17 this year. I began to wonder how I would tell the children of the death of their beloved cat. My own cat died while I was teaching English in Italy and my mother felt it would upset me to know so I was kept in ignorance. When I went to visit my friend in Switzerland (train from Rome very exciting) who had seen everyone at home more recently than me, I asked her how everyone was and all was well until I came to the cat. “The cat is dead Anne,” said she baldly. So, you know, a moment I didn’t want to repeat for my children.

At 10.44, one minute before feeding time and about 10 minutes after my anxious alert to the neighbours, there was a meowing at the front door. She was back! It took a lot out of us. She seems fine, thanks for asking.