Me (to Mr. Waffle) : In July you’ll be working, herself will be working and Daniel will be at his camp but Michael and I will be free. Maybe we’ll go away for a couple of days. Maybe to Northern Ireland.
Him: In July?
Let’s pause to sympathise with those who are responsible for promoting Northern Irish tourism.
A friend of mine’s brother died suddenly last month. He was 63 which is not as old as it once was and it was entirely unexpected.
I went up to leafy South Belfast for the funeral. I’ve never really ventured to the southern suburbs of Belfast before – I mean, why would I? – and I was surprised by just how pleasant and leafy it was.
The funeral was sad, the family were still in shock really. I had hoped that there would be more of a break between attending my friends’ parents funerals and their siblings’ funerals but there you are.
On my way back down to Dublin I stopped off at Lisburn for a look at the Linen Museum, advertised from the main road, in the firm belief that where there is a museum, there is a good tea shop. It is with regret that I inform you that this is not the case. I’d never been to Lisburn before. It’s a dormitory town for Belfast and on a Wednesday morning in May most of the inhabitants appeared to be school children or pensioners.
There was an exhibition in the museum on the foundation of Northern Ireland. A difficult time all round. I’m probably more used to a nationalist perspective on these matters. There was a panel about Oswald Swanzy’s murder. Not covered on the panel but it is my understanding that the local Cork IRA men asked to be deployed specially to Lisburn to take him out. If my experience is anything to go by, they must have stuck out like a sore thumb. I felt like I was the first Cork person to visit Lisburn since. Funny spot.
The main square is dominated by this eye-catching statue.
Again, a bit of a controversial subject.
The linen bit of the museum was really interesting. It was staffed by very knowledgeable locals who – when not dealing with primary school tours – had lots of time on their hands to talk to me. One man was spinning and I asked whether they used the thread in their looms in the museum. Apparently not because each person spins in a different way and you can only use thread that has been spun the same way on the loom.
They had a jacquard loom which looked immensely complex.
The woman who was in charge of the room with all the looms was very gloomy. “It’s like trying to raise the dead,” she said. Apparently, linen needs to be made in a damp place (weaver’s cottage ideal) and it does not take kindly to the dry museum air.
Apparently there are only four acres of land under flax in Ireland now which means that basically all Irish linen is made from flax grown abroad and some material labelled Irish linen is actually only packed in Ireland. I bought myself a table runner from one of the local companies that import flax and make their own linen. Another massive local company was Barbour which made thread. I remember the brand clearly from when I was growing up but apparently it is now no longer with us.
All very interesting actually and beautifully presented in the way of a small local museum.
A couple of days later, Mr. Waffle went to get some thread to repair a rent in a pillow case. Look what he found, inherited from my mother.
He says that he looked it up on eBay and people are willing to pay €10 for spools of Barbour thread. All I can say is that we are sitting on a goldmine.
A couple of years ago, an Italian friend of Mr. Waffle’s asked whether we would be interested in doing an exchange with her nephew in Rome and one of our sons in Dublin. Covid put paid to the original plan but now it is back and Daniel is going to Rome for a week and we’ll have an Italian teenager here.
I was a bit worried about Daniel flying on his own. I anxiously asked him whether he thought he would be ok and he pointed out to me that he had already flown to Paris on his own a number of years ago which, I confess, I had forgotten. He flew as an unaccompanied minor though so was thoughtfully shuttled about by a bored airline employee. Mr. Waffle is adamant that the humiliation of flying aged 16 as an unaccompanied minor (they have to wear a special label around their necks; they are herded together and most of them are under 12) would be the death of Daniel and that he will be perfectly fine on his own. He suggested that if I am concerned I could adopt his own mother’s technique of approaching someone I like the look of in the check-in queue and asking him or her to keep an eye on my child. More mortifying surely? Your views would be welcome on this issue which is the subject of animated domestic discussion. I am forced to point out that Daniel himself thinks he would be fine.
Daniel doesn’t speak any Italian but he is game for the trip to Rome and I do hope he will enjoy it. I lived in Rome for a while in my early 20s and absolutely loved it. I really feel for my children who have had so many of the normal teenage fun things denied to them but have had all of the angst and then some. Michael has astounded me by announcing that he wants to go on a school trip to Brussels to visit the European institutions. Under normal circumstances, he is not one for travel but the lure of a trip to the European institutions was too much for him to resist. I am not even joking.
Last night we told herself that the day she returns from England and Italian teenager will be arriving to stay with us. She is already a bit tetchy in the run up to her exams and I wouldn’t say this piece of information improved her mood. “I wouldn’t have come home at all had I known that there were to be Italian teenage boys or indeed teenage boys of any nationality in the house,” she announced imperiously. As her own brothers who live here are teenage boys that was always a pretty lofty aspiration, nonetheless, my hopes that she might entertain the Italian teenager (who will be 18 in August so possibly a bit old for Dan) were definitely delivered a blow. She’s hoping to go to Paris for a bit of the summer and if she does I fully plan to visit. Let us hope this will be welcome news in due course.
I have had to delay my year of rest and relaxation by a week or so due to an upcoming work crisis which my boss begged me to stay for. I am not immune to flattery (on the contrary) but given that I am counting the days extra time – and stressful extra time at that – seems a bit tedious. I will now be finishing on June 17 and I cannot wait. On the 20th I am off to England to collect herself staying with friends in England en route. I am thrilled.
It’s been a busy month. It would have been my mother’s 86th birthday on the 1st of February; the feast of St. Brigid (and from next year we’re going to get an extra bank holiday to celebrate it as well – a Covid dividend apparently). She was very fond of this poem and often quoted from it. Apparently we do all turn into our mothers.
At mass a small child was running around the church. I recognised her mother and realised that she was the last baby baptised before the pandemic started (I mean I think that the church was still baptising away, but the pre-baptism meeting with the outreach team was halted for the duration of the pandemic). It has been a long haul. Particularly for the parents of young children I would imagine.
Life is gradually getting back to normal. From tomorrow, we can stop wearing masks in most places. The other night Mr. Waffle went out for a drink with his friends; “just like a real boy,” said Daniel who in his sister’s absence is bidding fair to become our most sarcastic resident. It is not, however, that he never met his friends in the pub before but that it has been a couple of years since he has done so and the boys have just forgotten what it was like before.
Mr. Waffle and I went to the cinema for the first time since the pandemic started (if you don’t count the time we went to see the Met live streamed and I really don’t). We saw Belfast. It got rave reviews and I did quite enjoy it but it wasn’t as fantastic as everyone said. I asked my friend from Belfast (who grew up six minutes walk away from Kenneth Branagh’s street) what he thought and he said he felt that broadly it was quite realistic – though no one is buying that after a Presbyterian funeral the mourners were invited to do a bit of singing and dancing. My friend did comment that he felt Branagh really wanted it to be a musical but lacked the nerve to follow through on that ambition – you can see how a musical about the start of the Troubles might be.. challenging. Once you’ve heard that it’s hard to shake that insight. I was surprised how much a working-class Protestant childhood in Belfast in the 60s was like a middle-class Catholic childhood in Cork in the 70s. They even had the same Christmas tree as us. And also, a favourite song of my father’s – from some film I think – “Do not forsake me oh my darling” was featured on the soundtrack. I don’t think I’ve heard it since he died.
February is rugby season and Dan has been to see see the Irish team lose to France with his uncle a couple of weeks ago (did you see anyone you knew at the match? yes another uncle from the other side of the family – Ireland is tiny) and win against Italy today. Neither entirely satisfactory – the first for obvious reasons and the second because it was a massacre. Oh well. I remember two years ago when lock down started during the six nations – I am not a massive rugby fan but I am so glad to see it back. Poor Daniel has been injured again in GAA (no matches or training for a week says the physio), at least it isn’t rugby, I suppose, where his never give up attitude could be quite terrifying.
We had friends round to dinner. We went to an exhibition (on the Treaty in Dublin Castle – a bit dull but worthy and, you know, an exhibition).
My sister and I went on a food tasting tour in Cork. Not bad but it started at 10.30 and the first bite of food did not pass our lips until 11.45. Can I tell you how much I regretted skipping breakfast so that I would have room for all the food I was going to taste? Anyway, the best tip was always book a food tour when you go to a new city as, by definition, it will be run by people who love food and will be able to give you great restaurant tips for your stay. I give you this for free.
The tour guide described how he met Prince Albert of Monaco when he (the tour guide) was doing some yacht racing and Prince Albert asked him where he was from. Our guide said Ireland and Prince Albert said, “My mother was Irish.” “I know,” said the guide. I quite liked the modest assumption of Albert that we might not know who his mother was. She was American, of course, but we can be flexible when it suits us. She stayed in the Imperial Hotel when she came to Cork, if you’re interested. It’s also where I got my first morsel of food when on the food tour and where my granny and Aunt Cecilia used to meet for afternoon tea on a Saturday. A historic spot.
In other, it’s all over bar the shouting, news herself had some school friends visit her in England and then we came across to see her. God, it lashed rain. Due to a booking mishap we had to move accommodation during the two days we were there and we traipsed miserably about with our sodden bag rolling behind us.
However, notwithstanding the appalling climactic conditions, we had a lovely time overall. The Princess showed us around, found good places for us to eat and introduced us to her English friends (lovely, articulate, polite young people who were nice to her brothers – gold star). We went to a museum. I went to evensong where two of her friends sang (one of them is -gasp – Tiktok famous) and it was absolutely beautiful.
I said to her, “I see everyone’s wearing those pearls on their eyes now that you had a couple of years ago. ” Very fashion forward though I still think a bit daft looking. “Where did you get them?” I asked because they were definitely not available in the make up shops then. “From the wedding stationery bit of Eason’s,” she said. Maybe she’ll make a fortune yet as some kind of futurologist.
After our visit to herself in college, we went to London for a couple of days. Did you know that you can pay for transport in London with your contactless bank card? Hands down the most impressive transport innovation of my lifetime. Delighted.
We travelled by boat,
we went to the London Eye,
the Tower of London, Covent Garden, the British Museum (briefly to check out a complaint written in cuneiform which Daniel had seen on the internet), Hodge’s statue,
Leadenhall market (adjacent to Gracechurch street where, enthusiasts will remember Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner lived, Michael who spent the week reading Pride and Prejudice was resolutely unimpressed but I, a true fan, was charmed),
and Mr. Waffle’s sister’s family for dinner and an exciting chance to inspect their new house purchased last year.
It was all excellent though slightly exhausting. I was never happier to splurge on a taxi than when I had walked from Bloomsbury to the Tower of London. What was truly wonderful was having the London relatives on tap for advice on what to do and – possibly more importantly – where to eat near the various attractions. It was like having an expert guide with full knowledge of you and your family’s needs. In fact, actually, that was exactly what it was. It was the best trip I’ve had in a very long time (even pre-Covid). Still, I was possibly influenced by the fact that it was very, very nice to be abroad for the first time since summer 2019*.
I was a little unnerved when we got home and Michael said that it was good to be back somewhere the Russians were less likely to think of as a target. Does he not realise his sister is living in England? Oh the poor Ukrainians.
And in final it is over, surely it’s over, news, I’ve decided to take a bit of time off work. I am flattened. My mother died in June 2019, my father died in December 2020, work has been tough in the pandemic, herself has left home and her brothers will be finishing school next year and moving on to a new part of their lives. I feel a bit like it’s now or never. So I will be removing myself from the labour market from June 2022 until October 2023. I have no major plans, I will not be travelling the world or writing my novel. I might rejoin the tennis club; that’s about the height of it. Funnily enough one of my bookclub friends is also taking some time out. I am very conscious that I am lucky to be able to do this.
Let me know your own post pandemic plans.
*Updated to add: my sister points out that I was in the Netherlands last autumn. Mr. Waffle points out that we were also in England in the autumn. Oops.
Friday October 29, 2021
Over the summer we were invited to a friend’s 50th in Holland and we booked flights in what we thought might be an excess of optimism but here we were, actually going. The airport was quite busy but travelling through to our gate was relatively painless. The flight was completely full – every seat. Aside from masks, it felt very normal indeed. Our friend met us at the airport in Holland and dispatched us to our accommodation in a taxi which felt pleasingly decadent.
I was delighted with the Airbnb I found us in the Hague.
It was beside the beach (fine, technically Schevening) and although it was definitely not beach weather, it was nice to see the sea. It had the extraordinarily steep ladder like stairs which come as standard in Dutch houses. I have no idea how old people manage. Maybe all the cycling keeps them super fit?
We went to the supermarket and we were the only people wearing masks. The Dutch only have to wear masks on public transport and everyone has abandoned elsewhere.
That evening we went to our friend’s 50th birthday party. Lads, a hundred people, a buffet and not a mask to be seen anywhere. It was like the before times: I loved it. The boys went off to play cards with the birthday girl’s children and Mr. Waffle and I mingled. We had a grand old chat with an old friend of the birthday girl who has left a very successful career in the law to move into gin production. Do you think I am making this up?
The venue was delightful: a big old house in the middle of a park with a lake. Apparently it used to be owned by Shell for the purposes of entertaining Shell bigwigs before becoming a venue for hire. All going well with Shell eh?
At 9 I took myself off to the airport to meet herself off her plane from England. This was fraught with difficulties due to my imperfect understanding of the Dutch public transport system. I found myself cowering on the tram rehearsing the lines I would give to the ticket inspector when it became clear that my transport card had insufficient funds. Happily the moment never came and I scurried into central station in the Hague and on to my train to Schiphol without further difficulties.
God, it was so nice to see my first born child. She was in terrific form and wanted to go straight to the party which we dutifully did and I am happy to report that we were among the very last to leave.
Saturday, October 30, 2021
We had a quiet morning and then went for a ride on the big wheel by the beach before taking ourselves off to our friend’s house where the boys continued their game with their Hiberno-Dutch friends and a neighbour’s child. Our friend fed all of us, her own family and her two sisters. Quite heroic. And one of us is now a vegan. As well as her own party the previous night and all the attendant relatives in town, she also had a friend’s 50th dinner party that night and her third child’s confirmation the following day. It was a lot but she seemed in great form in fairness.
Sunday, October 31, 2021
We decided to go to the Escher exhibition in town which was pretty good and the boys found it mildly interesting too which is always a bonus.
Herself was keen to go to the Mauritshuis. Off she trotted on her own. She was supposed to have booked a ticket but she hadn’t. The doorman liked her earrings and let her in anyway.
Earrings are visible above in the accidentally Wes Anderson shot of herself and Michael.
The Mauritshuis was free in for young people and she was delighted with it; full of old friends. She went wild in the gift shop: that’s my girl.
We had a final lunch together at the airport. We had to abandon herself half way through to run for our flight. I was sad to say good bye and leave her eating alone in an enormous international airport but it was probably for the best: we made our flight but it was a bit tight. Schiphol is quite a large airport, isn’t it? And two of us were selected for a very slow and deliberate random bag check which did not help matters. There were tense times in our little group. Separately, our 18 year old made her flight with lots of time to spare and a slightly superior attitude.
We got home to lashing rain, a delighted cat and a stream of trick or treaters for whom we had neglected to buy any sweets. Alas.
“It’s starting to get a bit cold, finally,” I said to Mr. Waffle, “Will I switch on the Aga?” “Not the weekend of COP 26,” said he. Everyone’s a critic.
I must say, it was nice to be away, away. I’ve really missed going to different places. I had forgotten how absolutely charming Holland can be. I do feel lucky to have been able to go: I fear restrictions may be back again later in the year so the timing was good. Will Covid ever end?
Wednesday, October 6, 2021
Life meanders on notwithstanding the absence of herself. A man comes with a power hose and cleans the concrete in the garden. All the men folk hate it but I am delighted. A locksmith comes to fix the shed door and our new cleaner starts. It’s all go.
I have to go to Killarney for work – my first post Covid trip. Here’s a thing I didn’t know when I got on the train for a four hour journey at 11 in the morning: the trains no longer serve food. Unsatisfactory.
Thursday, October 7, 2021
It lashes rain for the duration of my trip to Killarney but at least I have some food for the train journey home.
I speak to herself. Apparently England is very “spenny”. I beg your pardon? I welcome the opportunity to get to grips with English student slang.
Friday, October 8, 2021
Following my root canal a couple of weeks ago, I get a crown put on a back tooth. This is not a pain free operation, people. By the time I get home, the inside of my mouth feels like a battle ground. I was more delighted than I can say when one of my bottom front teeth chipped at the back later that evening. Seriously, no, no I was not. Back to the dentist for me.
Saturday, October 9, 2021
I cycled 12 kms out to visit my mother’s college friend whose husband died in August. I think she was pleased to see me but she is no-nonsense and a dentist and she told me to stop feeling my tooth with my tongue. “I can’t help it,” I said plaintively. “Of course you can,” she said. Ah great to be reminded of what it feels like to be a hapless teenager.
Mr. Waffle the boys and I cycled into town (to say I am the slowest cyclist in the family, kind of understates how much slower I am than everyone else – I felt like an antelope separated from the heard by circling traffic but I got there in the end). We saw the only thing I could get tickets for in theatre festival which was only 20 minutes long which was a source of general delight. The theatre is owned by the father of one of the Princess’s friends and her friend was doing the tickets and her other friend’s mother was doing the lighting. All we were missing was herself. More pizza afterwards.
Sunday, October 10, 2021
Book club in real life. It was amazing. I had such a good time. And then cycling home I ran into my friend and her husband on the street. They’ve just moved back from Brussels and it was such a lovely surprise to see them. A very satisfactory Sunday.
Monday, October 11, 2021
Our next door neighbour’s elder child is in art school and she is going to paint a mural on the lane behind our back door. I am v excited. She came in with some sketches. Thrilling.
Tuesday, October 12, 2021
I spoke to herself. She seemed in reasonable form. Then I went home and inadvertently laid the table for dinner for 5. Alas we are only 4.
Wednesday, October 13, 2021
The boys had an assembly for their year in school. As Michael said to me, “Assemblies are never good news.” He said that they were all sitting round performing an examination of conscience while the year head paced up and down talking about their workload and how important it was to study this year. However, it was good news. They had the first two classes off and the school brought them in breakfast for world mental health day. More of this.
Thursday, October 14, 2021
Herself rang to say that we couldn’t blame her more than she blamed herself but that she had lost her passport in the pub the previous night.
Question for the audience: why is the Irish consulate on Cromwell Road? Does that strike you as a great address in all the circumstances? Before any firm moves were made to resolve the logistical nightmare, some kind humanitarian put up a post on the student facebook page saying that he had found it. Who knew students even used facebook? She doesn’t but her friend texted her.
She has to get some form of ID that is not her passport. I can’t face this again.
I was talking to my brother about Cromwell Road and mentioned perfidious Albion to which he said, “What does that mean, picky, over fussy and neat like you are, you sure you’ve got that phrase right?” “Perfidious, not fastidious,” I said tartly.
Friday, October 15, 2021
Mr. Waffle and Dan went out to watch the local football team in action (another draw, thanks for asking). We’ve all got very used to going out now, strange how quickly things have reverted to normal. Michael and I stayed in and watched “Blinded by the Light” which we both really enjoyed and there was no one to get annoyed with us for singing along.
Saturday, October 16, 2021
Very peaceful day in which nothing much happened. Hugely enjoyable.
Daniel had a hurling match he lost by a point but he seemed philosophical.
Sunday, October 17, 2021
Mr. Waffle and I went out for a cycle and visited his mother. We abandoned our poor sons to their homework. One of the big compensations of being a grown-up is having no homework, frankly.
Monday, October 18, 2021
It was 19 degrees today. 19 degrees in October. I was melting in my opaque tights. On the way home I cycled into a wand separating my cycle lane from general traffic. No injury you will be pleased to hear, other than to my dignity, naturally.
Daniel had GAA conditioning training out by the airport which, as he said, is convenient for no one. Mr. Waffle dropped him out and I collected him. It’s moving to the club next week. Thank God. I thought we’d be driving him out to the airport two nights a week in perpetuity. The GAA training is super intense: conditioning two nights a week; training two nights a week and at least one match every weekend. I have no idea how children who want to play more than one sport manage.
Tuesday, October 19, 2021
The principal sent out an email to parents and students about the dangers of “Squid Game”. Too late for us, we watched three episodes but we tired of it. The principal says, “It is the strong belief of many psychologists that the message and culture in this series is not good for anyone and that it is extremely dangerous for young people.” I’d say anyone who wasn’t watching has started now.
We had a great long conversation with herself. All is well in foreign lands.
Great sunset today.
