Travel

Stockholm – Part 1

6 September, 2022
Posted in: Family, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel, Twins, Youngest Child

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 mightnâ€™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.

Further Adventures

1 August, 2022
Posted in: Family, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Travel, Twins, Youngest Child

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 (Ð±ÐµÑ€ÐµÐ·ÐµÐ½ÑŒ) and September (Ð²ÐµÑ€ÐµÑÐµÐ½ÑŒ) 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.

Long Summer Ahead

20 June, 2022
Posted in: Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel, Twins, Youngest Child

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.

Matters Funereal

7 June, 2022
Posted in: Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Travel

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 â‚¬10 for spools of Barbour thread. All I can say is that we are sitting on a goldmine.

Summer Plans

15 May, 2022
Posted in: Belgium, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel, Twins, Work, Youngest Child

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.

Anois Teacht an Earraigh

27 February, 2022
Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel, Twins, Work, Youngest Child

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.