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Princess

Continuing My Middle Aged Adventures

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Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Youngest Child

I am just in from visiting the Adam’s show room to inspect lots consigned for their upcoming “at home” auction. What a delight. Am I going to buy anything? Nope, but maybe next time.*

In fact, I went to quite a few house auctions last year. Since you ask, I didn’t actually buy anything but I enjoyed the experience. There’s nothing as good as poking around someone else’s house.

I am actively looking for a new dining room table having, with great reluctance, taken the one from my parents’ house in Cork which I never liked – a reproduction number with Queen Anne legs. However, a table in our dining room has improved it considerably and made it much more used so, as a concept, I welcome it. I just need a better table.

I have spent the past week clearing out the youngest child’s bedroom. All his stuff is now in his sister’s room. He currently has the box room and given that she has, alas, definitively moved out, if makes sense to move him to her double room. As part of this we are going to do up the box room a bit so her stuff is still in her old room. It’s horrific. I tell you this as I am keeping an eye out for a nice small desk for her as part of the move and saw a couple of possible candidates in my inspection at Adam’s. Though honestly clearing out the room made me mildly reluctant to ever bring anything into the house again. The whole thing took a lot out of me as I dug through the dusty Schliemann layers and sneezed through the process but it is done. Now to pin down the painter. I digress.

This whole house contents auction adventuring is not without its drawbacks. We went to inspect a house in the suburbs over the summer. The whole thing was basically a disaster. We spent two hours on the hottest day of the year trying to get there by the suburban rail line. There was some kind of fault and we ended up sheltering from the sun under a tiny canopy on a blistering platform. As I face into my 60th consecutive day of rain now, it’s hard to remember how unpleasant it was but I retain a feeling of mild rage which makes me think that I didn’t like it.

On the way home I went for a swim in Seapoint. This is quite the urban experience. When I was growing up in Cork, beaches were in the middle of nowhere and tennis courts were near the river surrounded by foliage. I have become more accustomed to Dublin where tennis courts can be right by the road or the train line and access to the sea is often via concrete. It’s hard to say Seapoint was at its best that day. It was very warm and it was full of people. Mr. Waffle declining the swimming opportunity went gloomily to sit on the ground beside a group of teenage boys who were playing loud music. They stopped him and pointed out that he was about to sit on dog poo and we were both suitably grateful and felt bad about our (mercifully silent) judgment of their loud music. I told a friend from Seapoint about this rather unsatisfactory experience. “I can only apologise,” said she, “if it’s any comfort my mother was flashed on the way to the beach the other day.” How would that be any comfort?

*Update: a not perfect – but better than mine – dining room table was on sale (estimate €600 to €1000) and it went for €60. It was a large Victorian mahogany table with 2 or 3 leaves and on castors (which is handy). I don’t know whether to be horrified (at the low esteem in which such items are held) or delighted (more bargains for me to find).

It’s a Jungle Out There

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Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Princess

Mr Waffle had a work triumph and we had a weekday outing to Howth to celebrate.

We had lunch and a walk. A classic combination. After lunch, I got a 99 and we went for a stroll on the pier. There weren’t any people around.

On the exposed pier, the seagulls saw me and my ice cream and started flapping around trying to take it from me. In the absence of other punters I was (if you’ll forgive me) a sitting duck. I scuttled along anxiously guarding my ice cream but a seagull came diving in from behind and took a big mouthful. They’re big animals, you know. In what I have to say was not my finest hour, I threw the ice cream on the ground and abandoning the others I dashed off the pier shouting at the seagulls “Take it you bastards”.

No Favours Received etc.

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Posted in: Princess, Reading etc.

I listen to a podcast called “As the Season Turns” which I enjoy in a mild way. It comes out on the first of every month and talks about what will happen over the month (nature wise not events). It’s sponsored by Ffern perfume and as I listened over the years I became more and more curious and eventually signed myself up to the “Ffern ledger” (I am alarmingly susceptible to advertising). I had to wait to get on the ledger, mind. Notions: queuing to buy something. But I did get on and eventually I was able to get my own barrel aged, small batch, whatever you’re having yourself, perfume made in Somerset. It comes with various small items and, unboxing, as I believe the expression is, is a joy. There’s also a short film every quarter. I don’t how much they pay the likes of Ruth Wilson and Bill Nighy for the slightly twee English material but there must be money in flogging stuff to me and my ilk.

I quite like the perfumes (they come quarterly on the 21st of the month) but to me they are heavy very adult scents like my mother used to wear. The first time I wore one, Herself said, “Is that your Ffern perfume – it smells very young!”. I guess everything is cyclical (insert your own joke here about the turning of the seasons).

Gloom, Gloomier, Gloomiest


Posted in: Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

Last night herself called about 9pm from her job in the City in London where she was waiting for some data to come in – a regular 10.30 finish genuinely seems normal, she is resigned but she is not loving it; middle child was lying on the sofa suffering from a really bad dose of food poisoning (origins a mystery); and youngest child rang from his Erasmus destination to say that he is still stuck in the middle of nowhere and the speedy bus service he was promised remains illusory as the buses are all on strike. And it’s still raining.

Driving me Crazy


Posted in: Middle Child, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

Progress towards full driving licences for all three children is slow. They’ve all passed their theory test including herself who finally did it last summer. To be honest, I was never very worried about the theory test even if there were a lot of hard questions about tractors (the licence also equips one to drive a tractor something I don’t expect to be a major feature of their lives but who can tell?) – I think they might all have got 100% – it’s the practical test I was more concerned about and I am right there. Herself is in England and so beyond help essentially – she’ll have to sort herself out, I think. I regret this but there it is.

The other two are at home and on our insurance policy at enormous expense (two twenty year olds on provisional licences, of course the expense is enormous). One of them has taken the test and failed. The other hasn’t taken the test yet. Part of the problem is that they don’t have much practice as our lifestyle does not involve much driving. Because of where we live it is almost always easier to cycle or take public transport. If we are going for longer distances we tend to take the motorway where learner drivers are not allowed. And, of course, they have to be accompanied by a qualified driver so we have to go with them when they drive which is a bit tedious and occasionally alarming. I suppose we will get there in the end.

We had a friend who lives in the Netherlands to stay recently (home for a month’s mind for a man she knew from college, very depressing, only in his mid-50s with young children). Her children are of an age with our children so we were asking about progress on driving and her eldest has passed the test. We were suitably impressed particularly when we heard about the Dutch system. Apparently the people who give you your lessons also pass you on the test. The lessons cost a fortune so the incentive to pass people is low. Her son passed on his third or fourth attempt and it is not at all unusual to have a lot of attempts. On one occasion, her son turned up to take his test but could not do so as the test centre had been burnt down by someone who had been failed 14 times. People, there’s a whole world out there.

Thorny Theological Questions


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Princess

Some time ago we had the tale of Lazarus and Dives at mass. You know the one, the rich man is at his table, the poor man at his gate begging. Then they both die and things are reversed – well the rich man is in Hell begging the poor man – who is in heaven – for a drop of water. I think we can all work out what the moral is there.

There is a slightly crazy older woman who attends mass regularly, she tends to walk about a bit but when she perches beside you it is slight purgatory as she speaks loudly and often asks for money (she lives in some kind of half way house near the church, I think). On this particular Sunday as the priest was sermonising away about Lazarus and Dives she sat beside me and asked me had I any money. As it happened I had €20 but that was all I had and I thought, “If I give her this €20 note she will literally sit beside me every time I go to the church ever.” So, quite untruthfully, I said, “No, I’m afraid I haven’t.” It all felt a bit on the nose. I was telling herself later on the phone and she said, “It’s not a lie, really it’s a mental reservation i.e. I have no money (for you).” Did I feel better? Can’t say I did really though I appreciated the vote of confidence.