belgianwaffle

Reading etc.

Be Thou My Vision

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Posted in: Reading etc.

This blog is turning into “Analysis of Hymns Old and New”. Thank you for your support in these trying times.

We had “Be Thou My Vision” at Mass on Sunday. I was belting it out without aid from the hymnal but I found that these lines:

Thou my great Father, and I Thy true son/
Thou in me dwelling and I with Thee one

Had been changed to these:

Thou my great father and I thy true heir/thou in me dwelling and I in thy care

On balance I approve the change but I found it slightly disconcerting on the day.

*Updated to add: Mr Waffle has pointed out to me that heir is not necessarily a gender neutral term. I’m just baffled.

Supporting the Arts

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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?

Projecting an Image

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Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Reading etc.

In the Irish National Gallery there’s a portrait of Joseph Leeson, later first Earl of Miltown, bigwig, painted by Pompeo Battoni who seems to have made a great living from painting grand tourists. Looks good, if a little portly, right?

In the same room, the authorities have chosen to hang a picture which is a parody of Raphael’s school of Athens by Joshua Reynolds. It was commissioned by Joseph Leeson’s nephew. It features the great and the good including Joseph Leeson, later first Earl of Milltown, bigwig. I am unclear how he felt about it but he is entirely recognisable and it somehow undercuts the adjacent formal portrait.

Truly, image management is a tricky issue.

Random Thoughts from the Aged

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Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland, Reading etc.

My father used to call those grey trousers he wore with a blazer his flannel bags. Does anybody say flannel bags anymore? I tried my children and they looked baffled.

When leaving the dinner table, the expression, “May I be excused?” was widespread in my youth. Has this too gone the way of the dodo?

At mass this morning, they said that the exit hymn is “God’s Spirit is in my Heart”. “What on earth is that?” I thought but once they started singing I found I knew all the words. I was sure, sure, sure that I hadn’t heard it since I was a teenager but the internet seems pretty firm that it first came out in 2002. I am baffled but maybe I did learn new hymns in my 30s? This seems very unlikely but who can say? Then Margaret Atwood was on Desert Island discs and she picked Beethoven’s pastoral symphony as one of her 8 discs. “Ho hum,” I thought, “I wonder what that is?” Yet another musical number Mrs. O’Shea taught the school choir, that’s what, though we learnt it with the following words which I feel Beethoven wouldn’t have approved of: Now winter is passing and soon it will be spring/with daffodils and tulips and birdies on the wing. I also recently heard for the first time in about 40 years “In an English Country Garden” – yet another number Mrs. O’Shea brought into our lives. It’s funny how these songs one learnt as a child can be really evocative.

I’ve been looking at slides from my childhood and although it is a pain to set everything up the images are so much better than the faded brown snaps from photo albums and I now respect my father’s commitment to slides though I was dubious for many years. When I see myself I recognise every single thing I am wearing and I know what feelings it evoked in me, what I loved, what I hated. I am fascinated by this as I am not very interested in clothes now. I wonder what happened to that youthful clothes lover.

I had lunch yesterday with my oldest friend, our parents were friends and as she is a year older than me (something she used to enjoy pointing out to me when we were little, but now, ah, how the tables have turned), I have known her since I was born. Anyway over Christmas she went to a 40th school reunion. “40, 40 years!” I screeched in horror. “That’ll be you this year,” she pointed out tartly. I am shocked. How did that happen? But also, perhaps it’s not as big a surprise as all that.

London


Posted in: Princess, Reading etc., Travel

Friday December 12

I went to London to see herself. Despite flying Ryanair, always a high risk option from the point of view of failing to meet baggage or other criteria, all went well and I landed safely in Gatwick without disgorging an extra cent. Gratifying.

I stayed in a rather pricey B&B in Chelsea where herself is temporarily resident (Chelsea rather than the B&B). I found Chelsea delightful but I do see that it is a bit old and expensive for a younger demographic. Her flat is lovely but she is moving on to somewhere that is probably more affordable.

Herself came and rescued me from the B&B and we walked down the charming streets of Chelsea to her flat.

We were going to the theatre that evening so I went back to my place to change (unnecessary, I had not understood the nature of the audience in the National Theatre) and we met in Sloane Square which confusingly seems to be sponsored by Ralph Lauren for Christmas.

Due to some timing issues we were dining after the theatre so I purchased a Marmite and cheese bun to keep the wolf from the door. Not as unpleasant as it sounds but wouldn’t rush back for another.

We were going to see Ballet Shoes. I had reread the Noel Streatfeild book in preparation (a particular delight in a year where I feel I have read too many new books and not reread enough old ones). The night before I had been for dinner with two friends from college one of whom was extremely familiar with the text and one of whom had never heard of it. The latter began to become concerned we had joined a cult as the former and I discussed the plot in granular detail. I digress slightly but we went to a fancy new rooftop restaurant on top of the old central bank building and it felt very swanky. It’s called Díon which is the Irish for roof which is kind of clever. One of my college friends said that her friend has given each of her four (!) children €70,000 to buy a house; as my other friend commented acerbically, “What are the rest of us who don’t have €70,000 to give to our children going to do?” What indeed? Is it any wonder my beloved first born thinks she has a better chance of getting a house in London. Sigh.

Anyway, back to Ballet Shoes. Obviously, I know it’s a children’s book. I don’t know why I didn’t think it would be a production broadly aimed at children. And so it was. The sets and costumes were really good. Some of the actors were outstanding but some were not. Posy Fossil was pretty mediocre. She was a good ballet dancer and I can see why they needed someone who could dance but there is a lot of acting as well. Theo Dane – a bit part in the book but somewhat expanded here – was very good.

There was a lot of dancing which I enjoyed but the children are the heart of the book. The actress who played Pauline was good but the one who played Petrova was only alright and the actress who played Posy was just not great. And they were all adults. I can’t help feeling I’d have been more forgiving on the acting front had they not all been in their 20s.

The audience demographics were interesting also. Despite it being a children’s Christmas treat there were almost no children there. In fact they were pretty much all old people (a good deal older than me, I would say). I found this a bit puzzling. Had they no grandchildren? I can’t help feeling that if herself had been 15 years younger we might both have enjoyed it a great deal more. So, I suppose, recommended, if you have children to accompany you.

Saturday December 13

We had a pricey but pleasant breakfast in Daylesford organic (a sort of Pain Quotidien equivalent).

We wandered around Chelsea for a bit. A previously unknown part of London for me but, I think it’s fair to say, a not completely unknown destination. I did like it very much. It feels weirdly suburban though for somewhere quite central.

I enjoyed this example of English humour.

We went in to the National Portrait Gallery and saw the Cecil Beaton exhibition which I enjoyed very much.

For the first time, I thought there might be something to abstract expressionism but, on balance, I still think not. It’s just Cecil Beaton’s genius made it seem momentarily appealing.

Given that he was so much a society photographer, there were lots of familiar faces. I was surprised though to see Hazel Lavery who looks like she does in her husband’s pictures but also less attractive. I understand that she was very beautiful but this picture does her no favours.

After our dose of culture we went for a cup of tea in a spot called 26 grains which I am pleased to approve. It was in a nice little courtyard slightly away from the main drag. The main drag was Covent Garden and it was very Christmassy and pretty but heaving.

We didn’t stay long. We hopped on a bus (upstairs, lovely views) to North London where Mr. Waffle’s sister, N, was singing in a Christmas concert and had procured tickets for us. We arrived a bit early and wandered around the streets of Islington. Herself was ecstatic and even ran into a friend from college. I thought it was nice and everything but not as lovely as Chelsea. I suppose these things may be age dependent.

The Christmas concert was a delight even though it featured several songs I had never heard. As you know, I am generally not a fan of this approach. However, I really, really liked four of the unknown numbers- so much so that I insisted on playing them for the troops when I got home, they were less keen; perhaps you had to be there. I thought it was really lovely anyway and I definitely wiped away una furtiva lacrima (surely, I am allowed to be pretentious here in the privacy of my own blog?).

After the concert, herself, myself and N went to the local Ottolenghi. I had never been before and was curious. It was very nice but more snacky than I expected. Strong on salads. I had the fish though and it was excellent.

Sunday December 14

After some reflection we went back to Daylesford for breakfast. My flight was at lunchtime and I didn’t have loads of time and it was handy. She’s obviously never darkened the door herself as she is living on shoestring. Mind you this shoestring is in part necessary because she’s just back from a fortnight in Japan with friends, so, you know, not all bad.

The main reason I left so early was so that I could get to my annual book club Christmas afternoon tea. I should really have just accepted that I was going to miss it this year. I was exhausted. I mean it was grand but I am just not the kind of person who can swan from plane to anything other than a quiet evening at home.

I trust your own Christmas preparations continue apace. I finally got my tree up and decorated the house this afternoon. I still have some Christmas cards to write and if you are one of the people who has not yet received one, I am very sorry but now I am off to the airport to collect herself so who knows when they will issue. Hurrah for the return of the firstborn though!

Have a picture of the tree in the upper courtyard of Dublin Castle which like mine (as of this afternoon) is up and decorated.

Meticulous Christmas Preparations Continue


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Reading etc.

I am a Christmas sandwich aficionado. I have been testing them all over town. I am pleased to announce that I have a winner for Christmas 2025. In fact, this is certainly the best Christmas sandwich I have ever eaten so I have called a halt to the competition some time before the big day.

I like the Pepper Pot cafe in the Powerscourt Centre and occasionally go there for their pear and bacon sandwich (recommended, they make their own bread, a key part of their success). I was there earlier in the month and noticed they had a Christmas sandwich and I ordered it. Sold out. I went two subsequent times and it was sold out each time. On my fourth time of asking the woman at the counter (whom I know sort of from my regular attendance) said, “Sold out” and then said, “It’s lovely, I’ve taken it home for my dinner”. Not, in fact, comforting. Seeing my face, doubtless like the lion in Jim “snarling with disappointed rage” (whatever the opposite of a poker face is, I am it), she said, “Hang on a minute” and disappeared off to the kitchen. She came back beaming, “We’ll have more in half an hour, if you can wait, they’re just waiting for the bread to finish baking”. I could wait. Boy was it worth the wait. Highly recommended though availability is limited.