belgianwaffle

Reading etc.

Reading


Posted in: Reading etc.

This Year’s For Me and You by Emily Bell

This was written by someone I know. That caveat aside, I really enjoyed it. It’s a funny Christmas read (although the author assures me that it is an appropriate read at any time of the year). I saved it up to read in December and I found it completely charming and very funny indeed in places. I am glad to finally know what hot yoga entails.

Stalking the Atomic City by Markiyan Kamysh

This is a very peculiar book written by a youngish man from Kiev whose father was one of the Chernobyl liquidators. He regularly visits the exclusion zone illegally. It’s quite short but the writing is more like poetry than prose (in translation at least). Interesting but weird.

The Bullet that Missed by Richard Osman

Another outing for the pensioner detectives – charming and readable as ever though the plots are getting more convoluted.

City of Heavenly Fire by Cassandra Clare

The final installment in this young adult series. Did I enjoy it? Yes. Is it pretty stupid? Yes also.

And Finally by Henry Marsh

Another book by the slightly odd neurosurgeon. He’s retired now. He is a strange man and this comes across in the book. At the same time a very sensitive compassionate person and someone marching to a different beat to the rest of humanity. Recommended.

Small Things Like These by Claire Keegan

This is a tiny novella which I was VERY reluctant to read but my objections were overcome. I am so glad that I let myself be convinced. It is a beautiful, beautiful book. The writing is gorgeous and evocative. The story is a bit like a fable but the people are real. It is a bit sad but also, as our friends the critics say, life-affirming. A truly wonderful Christmas read. It’s set in the 1980s in an Ireland I remember so clearly but it seems like a long time ago. Highly recommended but you would want to be in the whole of your health.

The Marriage Portrait by Maggie O’Farrell

I found this really hard going. It’s about a young Medici daughter who marries the Duke of Ferrara and then dies (honestly, not a spoiler). There was a lot of research went into it and you can tell. Not always an advantage.

The Idiot by Elif Batuman

Herself recommended this. It is about a college student who follows her romantic interest to Hungary. It feels entirely episodic like a series of articles strung together. There’s no real propelling forward of the narrative as a whole. That said some of the pieces are very good and the interactions of girls and their mothers is really well observed and frequently hilarious. I would try another.

Act of Oblivion by Robert Harris

I don’t know why I keep reading Robert Harris books when I really don’t go for him. It’s in hope. This is about the manhunt – in New England – for the regicides who signed the death warrant for Charles I. It’s just not for me. All very erudite and well-written but I found it a bit dull. There it is.

Your One Wild and Precious Life by Maureen Gaffney

Dear God in heaven. A friend gave me this when I took my break from work. It was kindly meant but self-help psychology is not a genre I read a lot. There is a reason for this. It drives me wild. I’ve been reading this in fits and starts since I got it last June. Everything is your mother’s fault or, if you are a mother, also your fault. I found myself passing my mother’s parenting style and my own under constant review as I read this and I did not enjoy it. I told various people about it as I ploughed through it and was asked subsequently, “How are you getting on with the wicked witch of the subconscious?”. Fair question. I was outraged to see in the acknowledgements that good friends of mine were thanked. It felt like they were out to get me too. I mentioned it to herself, “I’m surprised she didn’t thank her mother,” she said. I gave it to my sister when I was in Cork. She likes this kind of thing.

The Death of Grass by John Christopher

This was recommended in two podcasts I enjoy. It’s written in the 1950s and, the clue’s in the title, grass gets diseased and starts to die. It starts in the far East and then spreads and people begin to worry about starvation and order breaks down. It sounds like my cup of tea but though I found the concept clever, I just didn’t enjoy the novel. It felt way too dated for me.

I’m Sorry You Feel That Way by Rebecca Wait

I read a good review of this in the paper. I found it very interesting on the inner workings of a family – an English family – but, in some ways, universally applicable. Her characters are brilliantly drawn and lots happens to them. There are parts that are exceedingly funny. But yet, but yet, there’s something that didn’t quite work. I can’t put my finger on it. Might try another but wouldn’t be rushing out to buy one.

Une Femme by Annie Ernaux

This is a very short biography. It’s about the author’s mother’s life. It’s a companion piece to the book about her father which I read last year. Really, really good, beautifully written (v readable in French) and interesting but a bit grim. Not maybe a feelgood read.

Spare by Prince Harry

Sorry. It was on ten day non-reservable loan in the library and I couldn’t help myself. It’s not too bad actually. I watched him give an interview on the TV (Mr. Waffle sitting beside me reading the paper) and he talked a lot about his difficulties with the media. Mr. Waffle emerged briefly from his paper to say, “It’s like being cornered at a party by the man who wants to tell you about his dispute with the council.” Honestly, there is some truth in that. He is obsessed with the media. Overall, very readable though and mildly interesting in places.

Technological Issues or I’m Sure You Will Be Rivetted


Posted in: Reading etc.

I am an early adopter but I also tend to stick with things. This can be a poorish combination. I started this blog nearly 20 years ago (when blogging was new and exciting and I’m still going (even though it is definitely no longer new or at all exciting). When I started it was on the first blogging platform I came to on a list 20six (numbers tend to come before letters in these kind of lists).

When it folded, sometime in 2006, I think, I went on to WordPress. There are two types of WordPress blog – one that basically does all the work for you and one where you have to get your own domain name and which requires a bit of techy experticse to update. In retrospect, I cannot emphasise enough how much more suitable the former would have been for me but look, as the Irish politicians said after the banking crash, we are where we are. Over the years, I’ve paid for domain hosting (I know) and the odd tech person to do updates when it got beyond me and basically it’s been fine. I have enjoyed the WordPress experience.

The advent of the WordPress app was a boon allowing me to blog and note on the go (hold your uproarious laughter). It’s integrated with Jetpack which seems to be more statistical. I’ve never been super interested in my stats; I mean I would like to be an internet sensation but I’m ok with small numbers, it’s not like it’s a business or I’m trying to sell anything. So basically, Jetpack is not at all important to me. However, it seems to be a big part of the WordPress empire now. Since early November the app has been pretty glitchy – one of my most faithful readers cannot access my site at all. I am told to move to the Jetpack app which is even better (ahem) but if so I must get rid of the WordPress app as they don’t work together. Huh? And now when I publish my posts, I see that Jetpack is counting down the number of times I can share them (only 22 shares left!). I mean, I’m not hung up on stats but I would like to be in a position to let my 5 (or 6 on a good day) faithful readers know that there is deathless prose to be had. I see that if I “upgrade now” I can get more shares. If I click on the link I have to login to find out how much that service would be. Great. €25 a month apparently. I will not be paying that. I am filled with fury but it will pass. Sigh.

That is all.

This Blog is Tired


Posted in: Reading etc.

I despair of getting it to work at the moment. Its had a long November. Haven’t we all? Something has been swallowed up in the ether. Will it reappear? Who knows?

A Seasonal Recommendation


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Reading etc.

I know an author, oh yes. She has written a book (as authors do) and she suggests that, if I am short of content, I might give it a plug. I have not yet read it but I was in Eason’s on O’Connell street today and I was pleased to see it front and centre on the ground floor. If you are looking for a Christmas read, may I recommend Emily Bell’s “This Year’s for You and Me”? You will see that I am not alone in my recommendation as Eason’s has put it with best new fiction. If it’s anything like last year’s Christmas best seller by the same author, it’s a sweet and funny Christmassy tale. I am waiting until December to read my (already purchased to avoid disappointment etc.) copy.

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Mid-Term Round Up


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Reading etc., Twins, Youngest Child

The boys were off school last week. I’m not sure they were totally delighted to have their mother around the house arranging activities but they bore up.

Some friends of ours from Brussels, now also resident in Dublin, had an enormous wedding anniversary party – caterers, entertainment, marquee in the garden, the works. “Bring your teenagers,” they said, “there will be lots of young people.” I was a bit dubious but we brought the boys. They had the time of their lives. I was amazed to see them out on the dance floor dancing with enthusiasm. There was a big gang of teenagers, chatting and bonding away. It was brilliant.

Mr. Waffle and I meanwhile struggled slightly. There weren’t many people there that we knew aside from the hosts who were obviously busy and a couple of people we knew a little. We spent some time speaking to a lovely man – a retired solicitor now a psychotherapist – who Mr. Waffle had known professionally. We were joined by a woman I knew thirty years ago when we were on the same course as trainee solicitors. I was able to recognise her as she has not changed at all. She was beautiful then and is beautiful now. She was always really pleasant and very, very clever. I felt that the gods smiled upon her and gave her all the gifts at birth. We talked a bit about our children and then turned to work and, to my surprise, I found that like me she was taking a year out from work. “How exciting,” I said with enthusiasm. She put her hand on my shoulder and said, very gently and pleasantly, “I don’t know if you’ve heard but my husband died last year.” I actually can’t believe that I hadn’t heard – Dublin is tiny – but it was such a shock. There’s definitely a lesson there somewhere.

We were taken to talk to our (French) hostess’s relatives who were over from France and didn’t speak a great deal of English. As French speakers we were offered up. They were very nice but I feel that I spent a lot of the evening speaking to older slightly deaf gentlemen. The culminating insult was when our hostess’s uncle said to myself and Mr. Waffle, “You are retired too, I think?” I think not.

All in all, by the end of the evening, I was a shadow of my former self. The boys had an amazing time though and we had to pry them away when we were going home. So there’s that.

The Dublin marathon was on the bank holiday weekend and I cycled all around the city with supporting banners trying to see the several people I knew who were running and failed to see any of them. I think that they’re all crazy anyhow.

We went out to Dun Laoghaire, had a walk on the pier and dinner out with the cousins which was lovely. It reminds me how one of the main reasons we wanted to come home from Belgium all those years ago was so that the children would know their relatives and I am pleased how well it has worked out.

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Mr. Waffle moved office over the break and Michael and I helped unpack his boxes (Daniel was a bit sick). I will tell you this: there is a lot of stationery Mr. Waffle has acquired which he wishes his wife hadn’t been there to unpack (57 sets of file dividers anyone?). However, we finished quite speedily and Mr Waffle took us out for lunch so all’s well that ends well so long as he never brings his stationery stash home.

I took the boys to see an adaptation of an M.R. James short story in the Bewley’s Cafe theatre. I thought it would be suitably Halloweeny. “Who is this Mr. James anyway?” asked Dan. Things were a bit tense beforehand, a combination of lashing rain and a trip to the gallery failing to improve anyone’s mood. I pointed out to the boys a bunch of happy tourists enjoying the rain or at least not hating it as much as they were. Not a truly effective tactic. Mercifully, they quite enjoyed the play after so I’m going to call that a win.

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For his birthday we got Michael Kilkenomics tickets. It’s a festival of comedy and economics in Kilkenny. He loves economics, I thought he’d like it. I was disabused of this idiotic notion the second he opened the envelope. We got him something else. And really, I should have found a friend to go with but I brought him anyway in the vain hope that when he got there it might be more fun than he feared.

My first mistake was bringing our bikes on the train. Kilkenny is small and everything was within five minutes of the station. There was no need for bikes and it is a pain bringing your bike on any train other than Cork-Dublin (where they are handily accommodated in the Guard’s van). You have to fit it on a rack designed for strong young men with light bikes.

My next mistake was booking three talks. What was I thinking? We were exhausted after two. The talks were ok and there were even some funny bits. The first one was the worst – it was hosted by Dylan Moran (comedian who knows a lot more about economics than you might expect) and at least one of the speakers was a bit dull. Michael commanded my admiration by asking a question at the end in a theatre filled with about 300 men in their 60s. Again, what was I thinking booking this? We had both read the book “Chums” by Simon Kuper which is an easy read – as Michael said, “gossipy” so we went to a talk by him. It was fine – and the comedian host, Rosie Holt, pretty good but almost everything he said was covered in the book so, not exactly new. He did have one funny story though. Apparently when Prince Edward was at Cambridge he was accompanied everywhere by two security officers. Edward did anthropology and was not very good and the despair of his tutors etc. but one of his security officers became fascinated and started doing the reading and hanging behind to chat to the tutors. Great story, if true, as they say.

We were really drooping at this stage but, happily the final panel was the best. A former Argentinian finance minister was really interesting and all of those on stage (a manel, I fear – honestly, economics on the evidence of this day, is overwhelmingly male) were engaging. There were two things said about Brexit which I thought interesting. One was that this was the first time in a break up that Britain was involved in that it was the smaller, less important, less influential partner. Obviously, in the outgoing tide of colonialism, Britain has had a lot of break ups but it’s arguably always been in the more powerful position. The other was that Britain was a “new state” after Brexit. I knew what the host meant, a bit like French Republics – you know the way they’re on the fifth now – this is a change so fundamental in outlook as well as economics that it is something of a new country. I have to say that the only English person on the stage profoundly disagreed with that analysis but I think there’s something in it. The final question was what was the first thing you would you do if you were a finance minister in a new country. The English man said that he would make radical changes as the country would never be as united as now after an independence movement. Everyone else leapt in to say, “Absolutely not, a civil war is often item one on the agenda of newly independent countries”. But the English man stuck to his guns and it appeared to me stoutly maintained that this is generally not the case. I think he was wrong there but it’s been awhile since they’ve had an armed revolution in England.

Michael and I got back to Dublin exhausted. We were met by other exhausted people. Mr. Waffle had had his course all day and Daniel had gone to the Trinity open day, a reunion with the people from his summer course and a rugby match with his uncle where, I am pleased to report, Ireland won. It was a lot.

On the Sunday before return to school, there was a fair amount of hanging around the house recovering although Dan had a GAA match (of course). I had to go to a removal across town (elderly father of a friend) so I abandoned the men folk to their fate and that was that.

A little tiring overall though. How was your own mid-term?

Out and About


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Reading etc.

There’s a new Turner exhibition in the National Gallery which I went to see. Genius or no, I didn’t love it. I went to a talk after my tour of the exhibition which was pretty good actually. The audience, on a Wednesday lunch time was composed entirely of elderly women. For once, I felt positively youthful.

I went to the Hugh Lane gallery – always a delight though small, sometimes that can be part of the delightfulness. My visit coincided with that of the Portuguese President who was on a State visit and at the Garden of Remembrance across the road. The members of the army band took shelter in the gallery and I must say they have quite the uniform. A little cape and a kepi – who knew?

I went swimming again with my friend who is a daily swimmer. It was a beautiful day but a bit windy. We got in on the beach side of the swimming shelter and there was a very strong undertow. We were less than two metres from the rocks when my friend said, “Start swimming for the steps.” I did and I made very little progress but eventually got back to the steps and hauled myself out but not before being pushed over the metal banister by a powerful wave. It was really surprising and I thought I was pretty lucky to be with a friend who did so much winter swimming as otherwise, I don’t think I’d have noticed how quickly I was being pulled out to sea. Two older men got in after us and one of them got into trouble. A young couple grabbed the life belt and he went down to the edge of the water (getting his trousers wet) and tossed it into the sea. I could see that the swimmer (maybe in his early 60s) was torn between a macho desire to manage without the ring and self-preservation. Eventually he grabbed the ring. Exciting times, I can tell you.

Mr. Waffle and I went on a Dublin walking tour. I was a bit worried it would be basic and, at best, I expected to learn a couple of things I didn’t know already. I was quite wrong. It was definitely the honours course. The guide took a lot for granted. For example when talking about Dublin housing stock he said in passing, ” I presume you all know about the Church Street Disaster“. There was a general murmur of assent and, indeed, I am familiar with it but I wouldn’t call it mainstream knowledge in Dublin and what on earth the four American tourists on the tour could possibly have known about it, I don’t know. However, for Dublin residents, I thought it was fantastic and I am definitely going to go on another one of his tours.

Several people I know have taken in Ukrainian refugees. I am so impressed by this but mostly they tend to, at least, mention it. I think it is stratospherically virtuous and you could at least get some well-deserved praise. I was amazed when one friend of mine sent out a message asking whether anyone wanted to come to her house for a wreath making workshop with a young designer from Odessa who is living with her. I had had no idea. On inquiry, I found that this young woman has been living with them for the past six months. In fairness, they do have a big house but they also have two primary school age children and it’s a big commitment to bring a stranger into your house with no fixed end date. I am really lost in admiration. Also my wreath? My wreath is amazing.