Princess

Just in Under the Wire

21 September, 2022 1 Comment
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings

It was the Princess’s 19th birthday in April. I always manage to do a birthday post before her brothers’ birthday on September 27, but it’s a bit tight this year, I would concede. I thought I might stop after she turned 18 but she asked me when I was going to put up her “GDPR breaching” birthday post, so I took this as royal permission to continue.

I usually look back on the 12 months up to her birthday when I write these and the first photo I came across was from late April 2021. It strikes me that she looks very young here even if she had just turned 18. She’s grown up an awful lot over the past year.

She became a big fan of getting up at the crack of dawn and cycling around the park during Covid. She was fit as a fiddle. I went with her a couple of times which was always very pleasant though early which is not where my strengths lie.

Building on her Dublin cycling, she went on a couple of very long cycles with my brother (40-50kms) which she seemed to enjoy. Here she is enjoying a late lunch after a 50km cycle. Whatever floats your boat, I guess. I think she cycles less in England but she still whizzes around on her bike in Dublin.

The big event for her last year was the Leaving Certificate. Covid uncertainty made it all pretty difficulty (would there be an exam, wouldn’t there? what would be examined?) but, in fairness to her, she worked very hard. We had some slight anguish about her French which she was doing outside school. The French woman who was doing conversation classes with her was a PhD student out in UCD with no real idea of what the expected level of French in Irish schools is. She (generously in her own mind) predicted a H2 (between 80 and 90 percent). We were all outraged on the Princess’s behalf. Students were allowed to sit the exams in person and get predicted grades from teachers and choose the higher of the two. She sat all the exams as well as getting the predicted grades and, very unsurprisingly, secured a H1 in French (over 90%) in the exam. In fact when she did the oral, the interviewer seems to have really stopped examining and started chatting explaining that the exam is designed for students with much lower levels of fluency. Herself noticed that the examiner made a couple of errors, so I think we knew we were alright there. She was pretty calm throughout the exams and broadly took things in her stride. Slight trauma about the physics exam (fine in the end, you’ll be pleased to hear) but otherwise she sailed through it.

The now traditional holiday with friends after the Leaving Cert was obviously much curtailed and instead of going abroad, she went to Killarney which, you know, was ok. Personally, I went to my friend’s parents’ holiday house in Rosscarbery so I know how it feels.

She finally got her braces off. Honestly, that whole process was disastrous. The pandemic delayed matters. The whole thing was lengthy and painful (and expensive, needless to say). But, I must say, her teeth look great. Still not sure that I would do it again. Or certainly not with the same orthodontist.

She had a summer of waiting. The exam results which are usually issued in mid-August were due to be later this year. She had a place in a college in England contingent on her results and she’d applied to colleges in Ireland as well but the tension in the run up to the results was significant.

While her brothers were off for a week in Cork we brought her out to dinner with just her parents – to celebrate the end of school and the end of the exams – which she is still young enough to enjoy.

She tidied out her room with alarming thoroughness and culled many books which ended up finding homes elsewhere in the house.

We went on what I thought might be our last family holiday (although in the event she came to Stockholm this year so my weeping and gnashing of teeth may have been premature). That holiday feels like a long long time ago now.

She and her brothers are getting on pretty well as they all shade from adolescence into adulthood. Of course they see a lot less of each other now which I feel may help a bit. They haven’t bickered much in years which I suppose is a good thing but sometimes I think it’s maybe because they lead such separate lives. I would love them to stay close. I am really close to my siblings even though we regularly drive each other crazy. And, as they say, it’s the longest relationship you are likely to have in your life, so it’s an important one.

She often seems more than two and a half years older than the boys. And, the fact that they are the exact same age means that they have much more in common with each other than they do with her. But I think, as they all get older, this will change. The boys will be in college next year (gasp) and they will all three have more in common again then.

To no one’s surprise (including her own, I think) she did very well in her exams and comfortably made her college offer in England. Still, I don’t think I will ever forget going into her bedroom after she had downloaded her results and seeing her radiating happiness. We were all delighted.

I honestly didn’t think that I would be the kind of person who would be sad when my children left home. Well, it turns out, I was totally wrong. I expected her to go to college in Ireland and I thought she wouldn’t move out until she’d got her degree which is what happened with me and my siblings and, indeed, most city dwellers in Ireland. There’s a tradition of not going away to college unless you have to. But I should have known that she would be different, she has always been fiercely independent and keen to live away. She loved her three months in France when she was 15 and I think it made her really determined to study abroad. All the same, 18 seems so young to leave home and I was stupidly unprepared for that development.

It was so sad saying goodbye but she was so happy to be there. Mr. Waffle and I flew to England with her and spent an exhausting time setting her up.

She took to college like a duck to water, she liked the work, she liked living in England, she made loads of friends and she was just very happy and excited. My dentist’s daughter also went to college in England. I saw a lot of my dentist in the six months after our daughters both started college (it was a tough time toothwise, let us not speak of it). His daughter was always on the phone to them, came home for all the holidays and they had been to visit her many times. I think she was probably miserable and homesick and though I was thrilled that herself was not, I couldn’t help but feel a bit envious of the dentist and his ongoing access to his daughter. Herself informed me tersely that she was not enjoying being compared to the dentist’s daughter.

One thing that was really good about her going to England was that the college year started in person as normal. In Ireland, we were much more cautious and her friends who went to college in Ireland took a lot of courses online from their bedrooms which was a bit grim.

I was thrilled when she came with us to the Netherlands for a long weekend but already after only a month of college, she seemed to have grown and changed a lot.

She got Covid in December and I felt so sorry for her. Firstly, she was sick as a dog and all alone in isolation in her college room. Secondly, she had planned to go on a college ski trip and a weekend in Paris with a friend both of which had been paid for and she couldn’t get refunded for either. Then I began to panic that she might not make it home for Christmas. I suppose there will come a time when she can’t make it home for Christmas but not while she’s in her teens. I nearly cried. But, I am delighted to report that she did make it home and she got to go and visit some of her friends’ houses in England over the (very long) winter break. After the first, longest term, we were beginning to get the hang of our new relationship. Still every time I leave her off to the airport, I feel a bit heartbroken.

We went to visit her in England at the February mid-term. I think she enjoyed showing us around. We met her friends. Better, she was really keen for us to meet her friends. They were lovely. They were particularly nice to her younger brothers which is generally the way to my heart. It was good to see her happy, established and settled.

Her aunt and uncle in London were a godsend as, if anything went wrong, they were nearby and when she went to London (which she did a fair bit) they very kindly put her up. She gets on very well with her London aunt the author (who has in an absolutely delightful development dedicated her latest book to her nieces, herself is thrilled) who is extremely kind to her.

My own brother and sister are fantastic as well. She is constantly broke so cash from kindly relatives is very welcome. She met my brother in London and they went to some cool restaurant she couldn’t otherwise have afforded to visit. When he left her he gave her a lump of cash which she promptly went and spent on a (lovely) coat. Improvident but I suppose you are only young once. All her Irish-based relatives are relieved by the current relative strength of the euro against the pound.

Having missed the debs at home due to Covid, it was the year of her first balls. She liked them.

She was home for a good long break over Easter – when she celebrated her birthday. I loved having her home for ages. Herself and Dan worked on the design of the Easter table. I was suitably impressed by their efforts.

It’s funny, I was walking through our local urban village with her recently and I asked whether she thought a lot had changed. “Well no,” she said, “because I’m home all the time.” To be clear, this is not, as they say, my truth.

This birthday post is a lot more about me and my feelings than it is about her, I think. That’s largely because she doesn’t live with us anymore and I just don’t know quite as much about her life as I did. I am so pleased that she is happy and well and things are going her way. But the granular detail I had about her life from living in the same house all the time, just isn’t there. And that takes more getting used to than I expected. I still occasionally lay the table for five.

This year with me not working and her more settled into college life, I expect to see a lot more of her. She will visit home a bit more. I will visit her in England more regularly. I feel, however, that this year we have set out the parameters for our future relationship with our adult child.

Daniel, unhelpfully, said to me, “By the time your child is 18 you have, on average, already spent 90% of the time you are going to spend with them.” However as my friend D pointed out, a lot of that time is spent walking up and down in the middle of the night with a crying baby, it’s not a lot of fun but the time now is all good.

In that spirit, Mr. Waffle and I are going to Paris at the weekend to see her. She’s spending the month of September there doing an internship. Isn’t it well for her?

Relationship Status: It’s Complicated

19 September, 2022 4 Comments
Posted in: Boys, Cork, Daniel, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings

Mr. Waffle and I were on a lovely walk (well lovely in parts, parts were a bit inhospitable, but the views were generally nice and the weather was fantastic) in Carlingford the week before last when my phone started pinging.

It was my Sunday afternoon book club speculating about the health of the Queen of England. They weren’t wrong, we arrived home in time to see the BBC read out news of her death. I was startled by how shaken I felt up there on the mountain. I mean, she was 96, it was hardly a complete surprise.

I suppose she reminds me a bit of my father who was of the same generation, just a year older; the old order changeth and all that. I remember my father telling me about the death of the old King – George V – in 1936 when my father was 10. There are few enough people now who remember that. I am surprised that, 100 years after independence, the death of a British monarch still has so much relevance here including for me

The Irish papers were full of the symbolic importance of her trip to Ireland in 2011. The children were in primary school at the time and the school closed down for the day as it was a bit close to the Queen’s visit to town. People were pretty nervous, I remember (presumably not as nervous as she was). It all went off peacefully though. She went to Cork (“Rebel County” snorted Mr. Waffle as gangs of school children waved flags to greet her on the Grand Parade). The fishmonger in the Market made a career from his brief encounter with her much to my brother’s ongoing chagrin. He feels that the fishmonger may have gone overboard on the marketing. He got a book out of the two minute encounter which was featured all over again in the Irish coverage of her death.

On the Sunday after she died, I was surprised when the priest prayed for her at mass. “We pray now for Queen Elizabeth II and that she will be forgiven her sins, and received into the Kingdom of Heaven,” intoned the priest. “That’s what we do when people die, we pray for them and for God to forgive them their sins,” he informed the slightly startled congregation.

This Sunday, I noticed on the missalette under the list of mass intentions (a list of people for whom parishioners have paid for masses to be said – don’t talk to me about the Reformation – for special intentions, anniversaries, exams, dead family members, whatever you’re having yourself) that on Monday, 19 September, somebody was having a mass said for Queen Elizabeth II (RD). RD stands for recently deceased. Like we didn’t know. There she was sandwiched in between Bennie and Maisie (anniversary) and Pat and Mary (deceased) and sitting underneath the information that it was the feast day of Saint Januarius, Bishop and Martyr.

The second reading from St. Paul (something of a pragmatist) to Timothy was timely:

My advice is that, first of all, there should be prayers offered for everyone – petitions, intercessions, and thanksgiving – and especially for kings and others in authority so that we may be able to live religious and reverent lives in peace and quiet. To do this is right, and will please God our saviour: he wants everyone to be saved and reach full knowledge of the truth.

It really feels like the end of an era.

Updated to add: this appeared in today’s Irish Times. My brother is going to get a hernia.

Stockholm – Part II (Now with Extra Luggage)

7 September, 2022 2 Comments
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel

Friday August 5

We went to the fun fair. We were inspired by our trip to Tivoli in Copenhagen years ago which probably remains our most successful day out ever. Gröna Lund was reasonably successful but, I’ll say it now, it’s no Tivoli.

The great thing about Tivoli was the lovely restaurants and walks as well as fairground rides appealing to young and middle aged alike. To be fair to Gröna Lund it does have some charming rides and attractions and lunch on site was grand if not spectacular. We all rather enjoyed the fun house.

I deeply, deeply regretted my choice to try the Monster ride but the boys seem to have enjoyed it. The children went on most of the rides but after the Monster ride, I felt a nice cup of tea was more my thing. Speaking of tea, I enjoyed the Fika ride concept.

It lashed rain on us but that beat the blistering heat of the previous day. I mean, we’re used to rain. Herself persuaded me to go on one of those chair rides with chains, you know the kind. It swung out over the Baltic in a rather charming way and I was really quite enjoying myself until I realised that I was wearing slip on sandals and that there was a good chance that one of them might end up in the Baltic with the attendant complications of being bare foot in a fun park in the centre of Stockholm. I spent the remainder of the ride with curled up toes and clenched teeth.

When we got home, Michael, Mr. Waffle and I went for a stroll to the Buddhist temple at the end of the road. Weird, right?

Over dinner, herself looked around the table and said, not in a pleased voice, “Why does everybody look like me?” I think she needs to spend more time with her family.

Saturday, August 6, 2022

Herself and myself decided to go into Stockholm for the day. We had an early start. We identified a car park in the Gamla Stan and got ourselves there with the help of Half-Right Helga without too much difficulty. But the parking meter was broken. I stood disconsolately in front of it it for a while poking it with my cards. Then I fell upon this lone Swede (it was early) going across the car park. He was so kind. He said I needed a local parking app. He found the app in the app store; he waited while I installed it (giving it all my credit card details, my life history, you know what these things are like). Then he showed me on the app where we were and how to pay. It took ages but he was chirpy, he was off to his boat to go sailing for the day and in no rush he said. Apparently Swedes own more boats per capita than any other nation on earth (so said our boat tour guide, certainly feels true).

We wandered around the old town which was charming and pretty much deserted. We had breakfast in a trendy cafe. Herself had given us a number of recommendations from Gwyneth Paltrow. I was pretty dubious but I have to say, Gwnny did not let us down. I am most surprised to find myself saying this but would definitely recommend.

Then we went shopping and we saw the sights and we just had a lovely, lovely time. You know those days when everything goes right? It was just delightful. As we drove home, I said to herself, “You know, I finally feel like a grown-up, driving with my daughter to a foreign capital city, getting home again and absolutely nothing going wrong.”

I must say that even now when I see a picture of the old town in Stockholm, my eyes are rivetted to the open air car park by the harbour and I think, “I parked there, yes there.” Achievement level unlocked, guys.

The five of us went back into town that evening. We needed another kind Swede to help us with the car park. Car parking in Stockholm is complex for the reasons outlined previously.

We had booked ourselves into a programme of Nordic songs in the Opera House. Herself felt we needed some culture. Definite win.

We arrived a bit early and had drinks on a beautiful terrace looking out over the city. The opera house itself was elaborate; the Nordic songs were interesting; the singer explained them to us in English; the performance was under an hour (there’s only so much Nordic opera that is really fun). I would really recommend, I have to say.

Although the singer explained the songs in English she was Swedish as were most of the audience although there were some foreigners (including a very forceful English woman who made an Opera House employee who she made find her another bathroom down a locked corridor because the queue in the open one was too long. “I’ll miss the start,” she said. “I don’t think you will,” said the employee who you would think might know. She prevailed. I was both disapproving and admiring). English is amazingly prevalent in Sweden. A lot of the cafe/restaurant staff who are not Swedish appear not to speak it which I find pretty startling. I mean they were serving Swedes, in Sweden and speaking to them in English. Peculiar. Though very useful for those of us whose Swedish language skills are rudimentary at best.

We had drinks in the old town and then went for dinner to the Flying Elk which was also a Gwyneth Paltrow recommendation. I had dutifully booked but that proved unnecessary. When we arrived, they said, “You’re the booking!” We were the booking, the place was pretty empty – a gastropub by the harbour – but perfectly pleasant.

Honestly a perfect day.

We went back to the car park and it appeared to be locked against us. We asked the bouncer in a club beside the locked entrance whether he had any idea what we might do. “It’s the same problem every night, people get locked out,” he said gloomily. We were even more gloomy. You will be pleased to hear – but not at all as pleased as we were – that we did eventually find our way back to the car via a night entrance quite a distance away.

Sunday, August 7, 2022

Feeling that further delights were available in town, herself went in to Stockholm on the bus. As she departed she announced that her phone battery was low and she might be uncontactable. Sigh.

Daniel emerged late from his bedroom. He had got up at 4.30 to see the sunrise and it was a very early start. Also, as he dolefully informed us, “4.30 is not sunrise time”.

After the excitements of the previous day we had a quiet time knocking around the house and swimming in the Baltic.

We went to the supermarket where some German tourists, taking us for Swedes asked where the milk was. We got chatting. “Actually, we’re going to Germany tomorrow,” I said chirpily. “Where are you going?” they asked. “To Berlin,” I said. The father actually physically recoiled in horror. “To Berlin?” he squeaked. This did not make me feel good about my choices. I went into mourning for the lovely Airbnb, the beautiful surroundings, the closeness to the delightful city of Stockholm. What, what were we thinking? The temperatures predicted for Berlin were horrifying. I was horrified.

We were distracted from our Berlin horror by two things: 1. herself had found a charger and called us to let us know that she’d missed the bus and could we collect her from town (we could and we did, that’s parents for you – she had, inevitably, found this very cool cafe quarter where, blindly following the directions of Half-Right Helga, we inadvertently drove through a pedestrianised street to pick her up) and 2. our luggage debacle.

When booking our flights via Expedia, we had neglected to add hold baggage – even Homer nods etc. We then found ourselves in this hideous loop where Expedia said only the airline could add luggage and the airline said that they couldn’t because we’d booked through Expedia. When we checked in online 24 hours before departure could we add luggage? We could not. Our lovely luggage with which we had only so recently been reunited. Poor Mr. Waffle spent a couple of hours on the Norwegian airlines helpline and was told maybe they could do something at the airport. A number of hideous plan Bs were developed. We went with the following.

Herself was flying to Dublin on the following day having had enough of Berlin for one summer. Mr. Waffle booked her an extra item of checked luggage (€35) and then as plans developed a further item of checked luggage (“So €70 total, not so bad I suppose,” said I. “Ah,” said Mr. Waffle “you assumed the second checked bag cost the same as the first.” So worse.) Michael and Mr. Waffle took the pessimistic view that we would not manage to get our luggage to Berlin and packed their hand baggage to the gunnels. Daniel and I were more optimistic. We put all of our essentials in one of the hold bags and hoped we wouldn’t have to unpack it and load some of the contents into our hand luggage. Herself was beyond delighted at the prospect of taking two large additional pieces of hold baggage.

We went down for a last walk to the seaside. Daniel pointed up to the moon and said, “Le lune”. He was somewhat mortified as it turned out there were French people nearby. Mr. Waffle reassured him, “They probably thought you were Swedish.” In case you were wondering it’s la lune and that’s a mistake he’s unlikely to make again.

We went to bed early. “We’ve to be up at 6.30,” I said to the children. Poor Daniel, continuing his bewilderment at the flight arrangements in Europe this summer protested, “But I thought the flight was at 12.” It was but with the three hour early check-in advice, the need to bring back the car and the hour long drive to the airport, this seemed the latest we could leave it.

Monday August 8, 2022

We got to the airport no problem. In fairness, returning the hire car was pretty smooth but, irritatingly, the petrol station at the airport had closed down so waiting to get there to fill up with petrol wasn’t the cunning move we had assumed it would be.

We went to check-in filled with trepidation. People, they took our luggage. We would have paid almost anything at that stage but it wasn’t too dear and it was ultimately pretty painless.

We went and spent a fortune on a last family breakfast in the airport to celebrate clearing the luggage hurdle.

We said goodbye to herself. We had been crimping her style with our inadequate airport expertise, but she still seemed moderately sad to say goodbye, I mean not extremely sad now, to be clear. She was going home to Dublin where my brother was staying in our house for a couple of weeks while we were away. Herself and my brother get on like a house on fire but nonetheless, in my view, he is a challenging housemate. “But,” I said to her, “if anyone can make him toe the line, it’s you.” “Yes,” she said, “if it were a film, I would be a sensitive but troubled teenage boy and he would be a wild horse that no one except me can tame.” Quite.

Anyway we got to our gate, herself got to her gate and there was, frankly, relief all round. Honestly the airport experience is now so uniformly vile. It’s just got worse and worse over my life time. My father’s experience of airports in the 60s, 70s, 80s and 90s (which he hated, he travelled regularly for work) is almost unrecognisable. Even my own experience from 20 years ago was way better. I suppose discouraging air travel is good for the climate emergency. I am discouraged.

Stay tuned for the next installment where our brave adventurers go to the fiery cauldron that is Berlin in a heatwave.

Stockholm – Part 1

6 September, 2022 Leave a Comment
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Family, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel

Monday, August 1, 2022

Mr. Waffle and I made a list of things that could go wrong with our complex travel arrangements.

1. Our taxi mightn’t come.

2. Lufthansa luggage check in wouldn’t work in advance and would there be a problem at the airport in the cold early hours of the following morning?

3. For reasons which seemed good to us at the time, we booked to travel to Stockholm via Frankfurt and gave ourselves an hour to make our connection in Frankfurt.

4. There was a good chance our luggage would get lost.

5. Herself was travelling to Stockholm from London separately and it was quite possible that we would be stuck in Stockholm without her or she would be stuck in Stockholm without us.

Over dinner that evening we mulled over our various problems. “And I’m not looking forward to the 6.15 start either,” I said gloomily. “What’s wrong with 6.15?” said Dan. Pause. “Wait, is it 6.15 in the morning?” To be fair, airport chaos wasn’t the issue it became when we originally booked the flight and we didn’t expect to have to be at the airport three hours before take off.

Tuesday, August 2, 2022

We made it safely to the gate, high as kites at having overcome obstacles one and two on our list. As we went through security, I saw Daniel and Michael chatting to a beautiful, tall, blonde stranger who, on closer inspection, turned out to be a girl from their class in primary school. She was off to a musical festival in Romania. Would you look at the young people?

Our connection at Frankfurt was tight but we made it and arrived safely in Stockholm. Our delight was tempered by the fact that our luggage, sadly, did not make it. But on the plus side, herself was there to greet us. She had been scheduled to fly via Copenhagen and arrive a bit later but when she got to the airport in London they put her on a direct flight instead. Mysterious but not unwelcome.

Stockholm airport is undergoing some redevelopment and signage for hire cars leaves a lot to be desired. This was not the Nordic efficiency we had hoped for. We schlepped for what felt like miles and then got a bus and we travelled in relative uncertainty that we were going in the right direction. At least we weren’t weighed down by our luggage.

We hired the Kia Sportage which has a very distracting instrument display which in no way showed how to turn off the wretched radio. We consulted the manual and the internet (we were not the first people to have this problem with the Kia Sportage) to no avail and ended up having to mute the wretched thing every time we got into the car for our week in Sweden. The standard handy bar under the front seat to move it forward was replaced by an automatic lever which moved it up/down and reclined the seat but never really got my little feet quite as close to the pedals as I would have liked.

I drove while Mr. Waffle played with the various buttons, bells and whistles. The built in sat nav introduced us to the concept of “turn half right” which was not something we were familiar with (slide right, is I think the more usual usage) and I found it trying enough as I navigated the tunnels of Stockholm. We were staying on the archipelago about 40 minutes drive from the city. As I stuggled with Half Right Helga (as we named the sat nav) and the various beeps (the Kia Sportage is a very judgey car, it beeps if you indicate you would like to change lane and there is another car beside you) and controls of a new car, I began to feel very warm. “Did you press a heating button?” I asked my husband accusingly. “No,” he said. My seat was feeling dangerously warm, like, uncomfortably, burningly warm. “Are you sure?” I yelped. “Oh yeah, actually, sorry, there’s a heated seat button here that seems to be pressed,” he said. It was a trying drive.

I am pleased to report that our hired house was delightful when we got there.

I was pretty impressed by the huge bank of solar panels out the back.

They had fake old plugs with USB ports. A bit weird but you know, very cottagecore.

We made a quick raid on the very expensive (dear God, Sweden is expensive) supermarket nearby and made dinner. At bed time we put everyone’s clothes in the wash – except for herself who had not lost her luggage and filled us all with sickening envy. Wasn’t it well for her? However she cooked dinner which was v welcome indeed, so much was forgiven.

Wednesday, August 3, 2022

Mr. Waffle has an admirable habit of turning off his phone about 8 in the evening and not turning it on again until he gets up the next day. On balance this is a very good thing. However, he woke up to a stream of texts indicating that our luggage would be sent out to us that very day if we confirmed in time. Gentle reader, we did not confirm on time. We were therefore fated to go another 24 hours without luggage.

We made a raid on the local shops for clothes. Did I mention that Sweden is expensive? We found a H&M (still expensive) and kitted ourselves out with some t-shirts, underwear and swimsuits.

The pool in the house was very satisfactory. We were delighted with ourselves. The only problem was the wind chimes on the porch which made a sound eerily like my work phone. My work phone that I had handed back to my employer with a skip in my step at the end of June, I might add. Nevertheless the chimes provoked an unpleasant Pavlovian response.

We had a walk down to the local beach.

Daniel volunteered to cook dinner and he picked up smoky barbecue ribs from Lidl. On inspection these appeared to be from from Watergrasshill which was a surprise. I mean I know, globalisation and all that. I bet I was one of the very few Swedish Lidl consumers that could tell you that driving through Watergrasshill before it was bypassed was always a bit exciting in winter as it was high up and likely to be icy even when nowhere else was. Fascinating, you say.

The children explored the joys of the trampoline.

Note her dress which she bought in a second hand shop in Berlin. She tells me that it comes from the DDR. You don’t get that much any more.

Thursday, August 4, 2022

On the hottest day of our trip to Sweden we drove into the city for the day. Look, this was not our best move but that’s easy to say with hindsight. The Swedes do not approve of driving into Stockholm which is an instinct I applaud. However, to support this laudable ambition, the cost of parking is terrifying. We will not speak of it.

We had booked ourselves on to a water bus tour. Stockholm is all islands and, if memory serves from the tour, has 57 bridges. We had loads of time to get to the quay from which our tour departed but somehow we whiled away the time – lunch, tea in the park, strolling around, buying phenomenally expensive peaked caps – and found ourselves undertaking a forced march around the harbour in the blazing sun at the hottest time of day.

We made it in time for the tour but I am not sure that we enjoyed it as much as we might have done as we were roasted and continued to bake in the open topped boat. The children told me that my face was like a tomato. Thanks guys.

We went home and had a restorative swim in the pool and a nice walk down to the seashore. And, let joy be unconfined, our luggage arrived.

Back to School

1 September, 2022 3 Comments
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Work

Well, we’re back from holidays, the boys are back at school, herself is on holidays in Spain and Mr. Waffle is back in his office. I am officially home alone. So far, I LOVE it. It helps that my former colleagues have been having a truly torrid time. I feel slightly guilty but mostly delighted not to be in the thick of it.

I have many, many tales to bring you from our summer holidays. Hold on to your hats etc.

Further Adventures

1 August, 2022 3 Comments
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Family, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Travel

Monday, July 25

I spent a good part of the morning doing logistics with herself for her trip to Paris in September. She was in Berlin, I was in Armagh. It seems extraordinary how much one can do online now (old crone speaks). Anyhow, eventually we finished up and Michael and I went out for a look around Armagh. We went to the county museum on the Mall which was small and contained the charming, slightly random, exhibits I associate with local museums.

We found a cannon from the Crimea. Mr. Waffle says that they must have brought home a boatload when they were coming; apparently the one on Dun Laoghaire pier is very similar.

We went to the Robinson Library which both of us really liked. Coincidentally, I think the Piranesi books we saw in Dublin were actually on loan from the Robinson Library. Archbishop Robinson was the big cheese locally and established both the library and the observatory and was determined to make Armagh a university city to rival Dublin. This did not happen but it was not for the want of trying on his part.

The librarian was lovely and very helpful. And then she left us alone with all the books without so much as a velvet rope to impede access. She also left a pair of magnifying glasses.

There was Swift’s own first edition of Gulliver’s Travels where he had made slightly irate amendments to the text which the publisher had changed without Swift’s permission; I think because the publisher didn’t want to go to gaol. Archbishop Ussher was also a big name locally and a first edition of one of his works was displayed. He’s the man who worked out that the date of creation was 22 October 4004 BC.

Michael retired to the house after our cultural odyssey but I went into town to see whether I could find a paper (yes) and a cup of tea (definitely not). It was 4 in the afternoon and the only suggestion the woman in the newsagent’s could make was that I could get a takeaway tea from the Spar. I mean, really. I took myself back to the house with the paper and made my own cup of tea. An economy, I suppose.

Tuesday, July 26 – Feast day of St. Anne

We were up with the lark (9 o’clock) to see Andy Pollak talk about whether the South is ready for re-unification. He thinks not, if I may summarise. It was funny because, aside from the obligatory man from the Department of Foreign Affairs, Michael and I were the only two Southerners there and it’s always interesting to hear what your neighbours are saying behind your back.

We found a nice cafe beside the cathedral and had breakfast and then went to have a look around the cathedral which had been closed the day before.

Mildly interesting and we had it to ourselves which I always enjoy.

And then onwards to the Jan Carson talk which was the reason we went on the trip in the first place.

“I’ll just double check the tickets,” I said to Michael. “1.30 is an odd time, maybe I have it wrong.” It was 1.30 but on the day before. I was furious with myself. Alas. We went to the Planetarium instead. It was fine in its way but aimed at a younger audience. It included an impressive exhibition of large lego dinosaurs (if that’s your thing) but our hearts weren’t in it when we should have been at the the talk.

We dutifully went to Archbishop Robinson’s observatory but you can’t get inside so we had to imagine what the Archbishop provided. Very impressive, I’m sure.

We cut our losses and drove home. It’s only an hour and a half away so we were home by late afternoon which was very pleasant too.

Wednesday, July 27

Mr. Waffle took me out to to breakfast to celebrate our 21st wedding anniversary which actually falls on the 28th but, look, we cut our cloth according to our measure.

Herself moved on to London on her European tour – her kind aunt and uncle let her stay in their place and she is pleased to be luxuriating in their empty house rather than sharing a dormitory in a Berlin hostel.

Our Ukranian cleaner came to our house with her sister who is visiting her. I decided to try out my fledgling Ukranian (one completed duolingo course, thanks for asking). It turns out I can only say certain set phrases. My comprehension is alright, actually, but my production is almost non-existant. I found myself listing the months of the year which, you know, isn’t a fantastic conversational gambit but the months of the year are weird in Ukranian, they’re named after plants and natural things and completely different from all the other Slavic languages. Also, to me, March (березень) and September (вересень) are almost identical (birch and gorse, I understand, in case you’re wondering). They were quite sympathetic but obviously baffled by my idiocy. To add to my difficulties, my cleaner’s sister has lived in Italy for many years. She speaks no English but good Italian. I also speak Italian and it’s much better than my Ukrainian, I can tell you. So we slipped and slid around English, Italian and Ukrainian for quite a while until I had to leave much to everyone’s relief.

Leaving Michael at home to recover from his exertions, I drove over to my friend’s house in a distant suburb to return the key to her Armagh house; give her a small present; and tell her about our doings. Then I drove to another friend’s new house in a different distant suburb; admired her new house and had a late lunch. I felt a bit guilty about not cycling but I have to recognise my not inconsiderable limitations. I could possibly have done with slightly fewer appointments but enjoyable all the same (world’s tiniest violin screeches). I actually still have my Covid wheeze although it is improving but I wonder am I absolutely 100%.

Thursday, July 28th

Michael and I went to Cork. In retrospect, the timing might have been better. We were barely unpacked from Armagh. But we took our bikes on the train which is a restful way to travel. We were staying in what I will have to get used to calling my sister’s house. I went in to the solicitor and signed the transfer in the afternoon. To be clear I am absolutely delighted that we are selling the house to my sister and not to a stranger; I know I can still stay there; and I have no need for a family home in Cork but it still felt a bit sad to be signing the papers. The end of an era, I guess. I feel that my links to Cork grow more and more tenuous and it is still very much where I am from and I miss it. To paraphrase James Joyce (whose father was from Cork, I might add) “When I die, Cork will be written in my heart.”

This is my 21st wedding anniversary and I am still pleased with my choice of husband. I am a genius. Yes it is all about me, thanks for asking.

The people organising Daniel’s course emailed that there was a chance to talk to the tutors on Friday. This is always a feature of the last day of this course – which herself did before Daniel – and I have never been able to go before because of work. And this was my last opportunity but, I had forgotten and Mr. Waffle was going to go again because I was in Cork. Such a waste because I am really interested in my children’s academic performance and he’s very much a “so long as they enjoyed it” man so our questions rarely overlap.

Friday, July 29

Michael and I had a look around the Crawford Gallery and the market. We visited my 93 year old aunt who was pleased to see us. My sister’s partner took Michael to spend an evening playing Magic The Gathering (if you don’t know, you’re better off) with a bunch of fellow enthusiasts and my sister and I went for a walk in the park. Tame pleasures but enjoyable.

In Dublin, Daniel had his last day on his course. It was great for him and he really enjoyed it. They have lots of quirky traditions one of which is formal Friday (worse when the weather was hotter but still odd, Dan says that many of the boys wear three piece suits, I mean how many boys have three piece suits?). Anyone else think that he looks like a Mormon missionary? You might like to note that his hair has been growing for two and a half months.

Saturday, July 30

Michael and I arrived back in Dublin in the late afternoon a bit exhausted from our excursions but, as I said to him, two full days with nothing planned before our trip to Stockholm. He was strangely uncomforted.

We are off to Stockholm on Tuesday and then onwards to Berlin. There will be no updates until the end of August when we get back from our holidays unless something really exciting happens. While we are away, my brother is staying in our house in Dublin along with herself (she is coming to Stockholm but leaving us when we fly to Berlin as she has had enough of Berlin for one summer) so the really exciting updates are likely to be Dublin ones.