belgianwaffle

Twins

Liège


Posted in: Belgium, Mr. Waffle, Twins, Youngest Child

Can I tell you how surprised I am that my youngest child decided he wanted to go on an Erasmus trip? He was adamant that he wanted to go to Belgium where he was born and francophone Belgium to boot. I would have loved if he had gone to Brussels but the only university his faculty had an arrangement with was Liège so he decided to go there.

The preparatory period was not without its alarms. He discovered quite late in the process that he would be having a lot of lectures in French and he needed a certificate confirming his level of French was sufficient. This certificate was available from the Alliance Française at considerable expense and the test was after the date he was due to arrive in Belgium. His university authorities gave him a cert with a stamp. “How did they know you spoke French?” I asked. “They didn’t,” he said. I am very grateful to them for their flexibility; not a distinguishing characteristic of university administrators when I was in college.

Anyway, he got there and the day rolled round at last for his departure.

Thursday, January 29

I was working from home and took a half day only as we were travelling in the afternoon. If I have learnt anything from this experience it is that it is a terrible idea to try to work the morning you are travelling. You’re welcome.

I left the house in a state of some anxiety. We had a late lunch in the airport at this place called Fallow which I know to be vile yet I keep falling for its menu descriptions. I had the worst burger I have every had in my life and I dropped ketchup on the only pair of trousers I had brought for the weekend. A great start.

When we arrived in the airport, the car hire man said that he had upgraded us to a jeep. I am not the biggest jeep fan but this was not the biggest jeep. It was also canary yellow. I noticed that everyone treated me with a lot more caution than when I drive my ancient station wagon at home. There is something about a canary yellow jeep that says don’t mess with me.

Saintly Mr. Waffle drove us to Liège which is about an hour from the airport. We had agonised quite a bit about where to stay in Liège. The main university campus is a 15/20 minute drive outside the city and in the end we thought that it would be good to stay near there so the Erasmus student could acclimatise to his new surroundings. Huge mistake. We were in the middle of nowhere. Which is also where the campus is. It’s basically out in the woods.

The airbnb when we got there was lovely. And delightfully cosy. But actually trying to find it nearly sent us to an early grave.

“Who stays here?” said Mr. Waffle when we got in. Who indeed?

I signed up to uber eats something I had resisted to then but when the devil drives etc. I have to say, it was extremely efficient if not totally delicious.

Friday, January 30, 2026

First things first, we went in to the city for breakfast in the Pain Quotidien and very satisfactory it was too.

Himself went off to a welcome day (highlight was a tour of the opera house – whatever floats your boat, I guess) and Mr. Waffle and I had the day to explore.

Liège is a curious place. It was run by a prince bishop for about eight hundred years. It has all of the infrastructure you might imagine for such a place including a truly spectacular bishop’s palace. After 1795, there was no prince bishop but the area and the city became an industrial power house. An English guy called Cockerill seems to have been the main mover in the industrial revolution and there are still ample signs of his presence in street names and so on. In the industrial 19th century they built an opera house and the like. The city still reflects the money that was there in the past but like many another industrial region the post-World War II era has been one of long slow decline and Liège is left with the grandeur of another era and not a lot of money at present as far as I can see. Beside the river are acres and acres of rusting factory buildings from its heyday which is not the most attractive riverside feature.

I am developing a theory that the more affluent a place, the more likely it is to have good cycling provision. I will tell you, you would take your life in your hands cycling in Liège and the car is king with parking spaces everywhere.

As it was a prince-bishopric, churches are big in Liège. The biggest of all, the cathedral was knocked down in the revolution. It was replaced by the next best church which is now the cathedral and quite impressive all the same.

There are seven collegiate churches and all, I am sure, are well worth a visit but we only visited one. It looked a bit down at heel but we had it ourselves. Please admire St. Denis and a positively disturbing Curé of Ars.

Damp seems to be a bit of a problem.

Although there was some spectacular woodwork.

There was an absolutely terrifying confession box. What kind of psychopath installed this?

We went to the tourist office which was large, well-staffed and well-stocked and empty except for ourselves (to be fair the end of January is not perhaps the best time to visit). The man behind the desk seemed genuinely delighted to see us and was very helpful. Their guidebooks and maps were extremely useful so off we went to explore further.

I took us to the Curtius museum which was large but a bit dull. Mr Curtius supplied weapons for the Spanish army so munitions were big. The art collection was limited but there were a couple of examples of the lactation of St. Bernard. You were not aware of that? Well, here’s a treat for you.

Separately, I quite enjoyed the tranquil expression on the woman’s face in this offering.

There was also a very sad memorial to the Jewish population of Liège who were murdered during World War II.

The big thing to see is 374 steps known as the Montagne de Buren. It gives a good view and is not as hard to climb as you might expect.

Better than that is the way back down the scenic narrow roads.

These lead to the extraordinarily vast bishop’s palace complex which is across from where the cathedral once stood and is still the administrative centre for the province of Liège and the seat of the courts. We poked around a bit. I was unsurprised to see that the authorities in their wisdom had set aside one of the courtyards for parking.

We also had a look at the city hall.

Simenon was a local boy and apparently he liked this part of town. I suppose I should have brought one of his books to read on his home turf but I was not able for a French novel on top of the logistical challenge of installing a child in another country.

We went for a sustaining cup of tea and had this slightly intimidating cat glare balefully at us.

After Michael finished up, we went hunting for dinner. We had neglected to book for dinner believing we could stroll in anywhere. Apparently the burghers of Liège are good at booking ahead; we could not stroll in anywhere. We had a quite revolting dinner in a Danish tavern. I do not want to speak of it.

Saturday, January 31

We had a late start which Mr. Waffle did not enjoy. Is it my fault that he is always up and about at the crack of dawn?

He and I went for a nice walk in the nearby wood while our child slept on. God almighty this place is in the middle of nowhere.

We went to the supermarket and laid in stocks for the youngest child to survive in a foreign land. We checked out the Sart Tilman campus and we found where his faculty was. The area was full of young scouts in shorts; I had forgotten this aspect of Belgian life but scouts are very prevalent in Belgium. Millions of young children supervised by a couple of supremely laid back teenagers. It works for them, I guess.

We went to inspect the newly built and newly opened accommodation. When we arrived there both of those adjectives seemed inaccurate. The young man on reception in the old building confirmed he had our student’s name on the list but when asked whether the new accommodation would be open on Monday when he was due to move in, the student receptionist laughed and said laconically, “I doubt it.” This was not calculated to reassure the student and his parents.

We went into the local (one horse) town to recuperate. Pleasant enough in its way but not exactly hopping with life.

We pushed on and went into Liège to find dinner. It wasn’t as bad as the night before but it was hardly a triumph. It was a matter of some regret to me that despite Belgium being the home to really excellent food we had mostly mediocre meals. Alas.

Sunday, February 1

I made us all go to a long and quite early mass in the cathedral. The mass was described as “Irlandais” but all of the hymns were new to us and mostly French (some Latin). I just am unsure that this makes it an Irish mass.

Anyhow it was St. Bridget’s day and my mother’s birthday so it was nice to get an Irish mass, however served.

The closing hymn was Prince of Egypt by Hans Zimmer. Again I have some questions about the designation of this mass as Irish.

After a sustaining breakfast at the Pain Quotidien (eat what you know) we took our beloved child for an obligatory visit to the Bishop’s Palace. He was exhausted after this cultural adventure and we took ourselves back to our accommodation to regroup.

Mr. Waffle and I being gluttons for punishment went back into town to go to the art gallery to see a Doisneau exhibition. This was really great though heaving. Mr. Waffle actually met Doisneau when he (Mr. Waffle) lived in Paris and has one of his pictures signed by him. I had his picture “Les Locataires” on my bedroom wall for years. I hadn’t realised but Doisneau had taken lots of photos in working class Parisian suburbs and industrial towns. Really interesting. And all of the rest of the stuff you might expect.

I loved loads of the photos.

After a sustaining cup of tea we tackled the permanent collection. This was charming and, mercifully, small.

The picture they seemed proudest of was of Napoleon in Liège by Ingres and why wouldn’t they be?

But there were loads of other very enjoyable pictures. Paul Delvaux is big.

And there was also a Picasso.

There was a big picture by Constantin Meunier – another Belgian artist – who specialises in men doing hard physical work.

We had dinner in a pizzeria. Again, to be honest, a bit of a disappointment but look dinner is dinner. And as Liège is under touristed everyone was very excited to hear we were Irish, something other European destinations have become distressingly jaded by.

Monday, February 2

With some trepidation we brought Michael to his accommodation. The builders were on the same corridor as he was, fixing stuff. A woman was frantically cleaning in their wake. But his room was available. We rejoiced.

There was no wifi for the room and no electricity for the appliances in the communal kitchen. The washing machine was coming. This hilarious message came from the authorities the day after he moved in.

Within two weeks he had wifi (2 days later), kitchen appliances (1 day later) and washing machines (full two weeks he had to go into Liège to a launderette something not rendered easier by the ongoing bus strike).

I have to say that I did not feel fantastic leaving him with these rather meagre resources in a small dark room (which he, rather tactlessly, pointed out was bigger than the box room he has at home- he is to move to the firstborn’s room on his return from Liège as I have, with great reluctance, accepted that she’s unlikely to live at home again).

On the way to the airport Mr Waffle and I stopped in the small hamlet near his rooms where I had identified a supermarket which he might use. It dealt exclusively in luxury goods – you know the kind of thing, one perfect carrot on a silk cushion. Shortly after we left he had to buy toothpaste there. I was a bit surprised they had toothpaste but not at all surprised to hear it cost him a tenner. Teething problems, I guess (ha!).

Mr. Waffle and I headed off gloomily to the airport; however, for reasons which are not entirely clear we had lounge access. I would recommend. We discussed our worries in quiet with vast quantities of free food and drink. Could have been worse.

Let’s hope the student loves it in the end.

Plumbing the Depths


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

The washing machine broke a week ago last Tuesday. Bosch said it would take a week to send out a repairman. How could we last a week? We rang the plumber who said he could come the next day. He came. He said it would need a Bosch technician to repair it. He looked at our kitchen taps. A deeply unsatisfactory situation arose when the last plumber (now no longer on our books) came to look at the water pressure, broke the hot tap and replaced it with one that, ok, worked, but did not match the cold tap. A delightfully eclectic look. The new plumber said he could re-affix the old tap. Could he? Reader he could not. He said he would take it away with him and see if he could replace some element. He then replaced the non matching tap. For this, not entirely perfect, service he charged us €135.

I rang Bosch. They confirmed what was on the website, a technician could only be with us the following Tuesday. We washed by hand. Mr. Waffle, the youngest child and I went off for the bank holiday weekend (you will recall our new bank holiday on February 1 in honour of St. Bridget, a post-Covid reward for the people of Ireland) to set him up in university abroad where he will be spending a term under the Erasmus scheme. We left poor old middle child to fend without a dishwasher.

I must say, when we came back the house was spick and span but middle child had chosen to have six people around to dinner while we were away. That’s a lot of washing up to do by hand. The task was not rendered any easier by the replaced tap coming off (before it didn’t look great but at least it worked). Enterprising middle child had a pliers by the sink which was being used to turn on and off the hot tap. Again, I question our €135 expenditure on this.

The Bosch repair man came on Tuesday morning. He replaced a broken part and charged us €103 (labour and call out) plus €9 (parts). It works, I rejoice. This weekend Mr. Waffle and I are going to the plumbing shop to buy an entirely new kitchen tap set up. I can’t wait. You come here for the fascinating domestic logistics, I’m sure.

Gloom, Gloomier, Gloomiest


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

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

Domestic Admin Sunday


Posted in: Family, Mr. Waffle, Twins, Youngest Child

Poor old Mr. Waffle had to work today so I decided to offer my day up to the administration gods. It’s been awful.

The joy of changing electricity and gas suppliers is again upon me. Pray for me. Notwithstanding the excellent service of bonkers.ie (come on, great name, you’ve got to concede) which aids with comparing and switching, I really just want to stay with the same supplier and not install a new app, make up a new password and then receive a baffling new bill offering me huge insights (or, worst of all, if I was with this “new” supplier before finding my old password and being locked out until I do). Relatively straightforward in fairness to bonkers.ie but I had to upload a pdf of my last bill (log in to current supplier, download same) and add my details from the network provider (create account, go outside the front door find gas meter, read gas meter, input data, await two factor authentication etc.). But the upshot is that bonkers.ie says I will save €1,700 by switching so I guess I have to. Sigh.

I tried to log into my pensions portal. I have the login, I have the password but for some reason the two factor authentication number which should have come to my email, did not in fact come to my email. I looked at my statement and decided this is a problem for when I leave the workforce. I wrote to the UK tax authorities about my UK pension arrangements- quite limited now and available from aged 68 so not, in fact, an immediate priority but nonetheless, I dutifully wrote. Related, yesterday on the tram a nice man in his 30s offered me his seat – I had make up on, I’d slept for 10 hours the night before and I had played tennis that morning, I looked at my best – but he hopped out of his “give this up if an elderly or infirm person needs it” seat like a scalded cat; I was suitably grateful but declined the seat suffering from inner horror, obviously my internalised ageism is strong.

I discovered through inspection of my spam folder (see above re non-arrival of two factor authentication number), that the degree ceremony for the course I completed last year has passed and if I reply by January 16, they will send out my parchment by registered post. Although the deadline has passed, I am cautiously optimistic that the degree will make its way to me eventually (it’s an ill-wind etc.).

I have uploaded my bills to my medical insurer (my ongoing engagement with the dentist refers).

I have, I hope, managed to register correctly for US withholding tax in relation to a share holding so tiny that it probably costs more to keep (in administrative pain) than to sell.

I have finished putting together a photo album and sent it off to be printed (enormous expense twice a year and ongoing effort to keep it up to date). I use this crowd, if you have a recommendation, let me know.

I have cast my bread upon the waters in the hope that some commercial organisation will agree to host an anniversary dinner later in the year (honestly, they can probably have any money – look at the savings on the gas and electricity bills).

I am about to help my youngest child pack for 4 months abroad (more of which anon) – I see a chance to dispose of some of my excess crockery and cutlery.

I hope your Sunday has been less painful. I’m off to start packing.

Supporting the Arts


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?

Driving me Crazy


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

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

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

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