belgianwaffle

Youngest Child

Continuing My Middle Aged Adventures

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Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Youngest Child

I am just in from visiting the Adam’s show room to inspect lots consigned for their upcoming “at home” auction. What a delight. Am I going to buy anything? Nope, but maybe next time.*

In fact, I went to quite a few house auctions last year. Since you ask, I didn’t actually buy anything but I enjoyed the experience. There’s nothing as good as poking around someone else’s house.

I am actively looking for a new dining room table having, with great reluctance, taken the one from my parents’ house in Cork which I never liked – a reproduction number with Queen Anne legs. However, a table in our dining room has improved it considerably and made it much more used so, as a concept, I welcome it. I just need a better table.

I have spent the past week clearing out the youngest child’s bedroom. All his stuff is now in his sister’s room. He currently has the box room and given that she has, alas, definitively moved out, if makes sense to move him to her double room. As part of this we are going to do up the box room a bit so her stuff is still in her old room. It’s horrific. I tell you this as I am keeping an eye out for a nice small desk for her as part of the move and saw a couple of possible candidates in my inspection at Adam’s. Though honestly clearing out the room made me mildly reluctant to ever bring anything into the house again. The whole thing took a lot out of me as I dug through the dusty Schliemann layers and sneezed through the process but it is done. Now to pin down the painter. I digress.

This whole house contents auction adventuring is not without its drawbacks. We went to inspect a house in the suburbs over the summer. The whole thing was basically a disaster. We spent two hours on the hottest day of the year trying to get there by the suburban rail line. There was some kind of fault and we ended up sheltering from the sun under a tiny canopy on a blistering platform. As I face into my 60th consecutive day of rain now, it’s hard to remember how unpleasant it was but I retain a feeling of mild rage which makes me think that I didn’t like it.

On the way home I went for a swim in Seapoint. This is quite the urban experience. When I was growing up in Cork, beaches were in the middle of nowhere and tennis courts were near the river surrounded by foliage. I have become more accustomed to Dublin where tennis courts can be right by the road or the train line and access to the sea is often via concrete. It’s hard to say Seapoint was at its best that day. It was very warm and it was full of people. Mr. Waffle declining the swimming opportunity went gloomily to sit on the ground beside a group of teenage boys who were playing loud music. They stopped him and pointed out that he was about to sit on dog poo and we were both suitably grateful and felt bad about our (mercifully silent) judgment of their loud music. I told a friend from Seapoint about this rather unsatisfactory experience. “I can only apologise,” said she, “if it’s any comfort my mother was flashed on the way to the beach the other day.” How would that be any comfort?

*Update: a not perfect – but better than mine – dining room table was on sale (estimate €600 to €1000) and it went for €60. It was a large Victorian mahogany table with 2 or 3 leaves and on castors (which is handy). I don’t know whether to be horrified (at the low esteem in which such items are held) or delighted (more bargains for me to find).

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.