I was talking about Bottom in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” with the children for reasons which I have now forgotten. Daniel asked, “Is he from ‘The Taming of the Shrew’?” “No,” I said. “Oh yeah,” he said, “‘The Taming of the Shrew’ is not the one with all the animals in it despite having an animal in the title.” Fair point.
Mid Week Break
Mr. Waffle and I found a blue book voucher on the bookshelves and decided to go away mid-week. The excitement. If you gave us the blue book voucher, I am really sorry because we have no idea who gave it to us.
We went to Hunter’s Hotel where we last stayed in January 2003 just before we moved to Brussels. The hotel is nice but the food was terrible then. My sister-in-law who I normally find very reliable on these matters said, “But it’s really improved in the intervening 20 years”. I regret to inform you that it has not. Still a lovely setting though and a good spot for afternoon tea or breakfast but definitely not for dinner.
And we went for a walk in Glendalough. All of the pines on the way up to the Spinc – which is a walk we sometimes do – have been cut down and replaced by native trees. I am sure it will be lovely in 20 years but at the moment the walk up is the abomination of desolation.
You win some you lose some. Still nice views from the monastic site:
and from the top.
And I am very excited about the mid-week break as a concept. I suppose this will dissipate when I return to the salt mines in the near future.
I Knew You’d Want to Know
I cannot tell you how often I have got emails from friends and acquaintances, telling me that someone’s parent is dead saying “I knew you’d want to know.” My heart kind of sinks. I actually didn’t want to know at all and I glumly go about re-ordering my week to attend the funeral or removal, thinking that if I hadn’t known, I could just have sent a card.
One of my most used websites is rip.ie which i basically regard as a public service.
In Ireland, there are a lot of funerals in your life; that’s just how it is. You are honour bound to go to the funeral of someone you know’s parent. Unless you’re abroad. It doesn’t matter where the funeral is, if it is a friend’s parent and the funeral is on the island of Ireland, you schlep there. Sometimes the removal is sufficient. For someone less close if you have to travel more than an hour, you probably don’t have to go but context is all important and at the very least, you must send a card. There’s a whole set of unwritten rules which only fellow Irish people know how to apply and they will know, if you’ve fallen short. By God, they will know. My uncle’s funeral was on the day we were moving back from Belgium to Ireland in 2008. By car with our three small children and all the possessions the movers were not taking for us. I think, quite genuinely, my aunt never forgave me for not coming to my uncle’s funeral. My situation was not helped by my cousin (also a niece) flying home from New York to attend.
I have no idea how many dead bodies I have seen. Loads anyway. Even my kids have seen at least five or six. When I was a child and UCC was much smaller than it is today, my mother would have a look at the flag on the mast on the quad to see whether it was flying at half mast; just in case anyone was dead.
One day over the summer, I spent most of a beautiful day in the car to get to the removal of the parent of someone I worked with years ago. I was filled with rage. But when I got there I met loads of people I knew; the daughter of the dead woman was really pleased to see us all and I think it made a real difference to her at a horrible time. And I remembered all the random children of her friends who took time to come to my aunt’s funeral over the summer and how nice it was for us to have them there.
So, I suppose, yes, they’re all right, I did want to know after all.
Revolutionary Heroes as Crisps
Recently someone painted a junction box with a mash-up tribute to revolutionary hero Michael Collins and the tasty snack known as the chickatee. The artist had written Mickatee on the box over the picture of Collins done in the radioactive yellow associated with the snack. People went bananas (insert your own snack joke here).
My loving family found this very inspiring and came up with a range of crisp/revolution related puns including: “No man can Lay the boundary to a nation” and “We serve neither King nor Kettle“. Sadly I’ve forgotten the rest. Please feel free to share your own revolution/crisp related content in the comments.
Driving Lessons
We missed the boat with herself and, due to Covid, she went to England without ever learning to drive. I was determined to get the boys sorted. It took a lot more bureaucracy than I expected.
Firstly they needed to get public service cards. As they were under 18 at the the time, I had to go with them to the centre where you get your public service card. I was confused by the queuing system in the centre. I asked another person waiting whether we needed a ticket and she responded in Ukrainian, that she didn’t understand. Well, this was the opportunity I had been waiting for. My lessons, my duolingo and my time spent listening to Ukrainian in the cesspit that is YouTube shorts were about to pay off. I repeated my question in Ukrainian. She looked baffled. Her teenage sons sniggered unhelpfully. My teacher said that part of the difficulty might be in the way I pronounce “ticket”; apparently, it sounds like “flower”. Alas.
Anyway, eventually, we sorted Dan’s card and Michael was the beneficiary of the scoping exercise I had carried out with Dan the previous day. The next day Michael and I were in and out in 10 minutes. One of the officials was the mother of a friend of his from school and while this made no difference to the speediness of the operation, it made us feel very well connected to the corridors of bureaucratic power.
Later, I was appalled to see that the cards ran out on their 18th birthday in September. The idea of going through it all again was very distressing. I am, however, pleased to report that following their birthday, new cards arrived automatically in the post. The relief.
Once they got PS cards they were able to do the driver theory test. If you have just done your Leaving Certificate, prepping for the driver theory test presents precisely zero difficulties. They sailed through it unlike their mother who failed the mock test they made her do online. In my defence, I would say that I answered some questions with what I thought they would like you to do rather than what I would actually do and, it turns out, what I was doing was actually right. Who knew? It was ironic that I shortly afterwards received a notification that my own licence was due to expire. However renewal is, in fairness to the driving licence people, extremely easy, if you have a licence already. Crucially, no resitting of any tests is required. I mean, maybe it should be?
Once they had their theory tests and PS cards, the boys could apply for provisional licences. Daniel, as a glasses wearer, needed a piece of paper from the optician following an eye test. We did it. Then I realised that everyone who wants a driving licence has to do an eye test, not just people who wear glasses. On balance, a good thing but back to the optician with Michael, of course, on the morning of our flight to Argentina. The optician’s credit card machine was broken. Extra trip back. Sigh. Anyhow, Michael’s form in and everything in order. Hurrah.
Then we got a message about Daniel’s form. Due to his eye condition, he needed a medical form as well within ten days or the application would not be progressed, his fee would be forfeit and he would have to start again. I rang the helpdesk, they were helpful. “We’re going on holidays today, we won’t make the 10 day deadline,” I said. “You can go to any GP at all,” said the nice man at the other end of the line. “We’re going to Argentina,” I said. A pause. “Look,” he said, “I will flag it on the application and maybe they will wait but it might be rejected.”
When we returned from Argentina, Michael’s provisional licence was there waiting for him. We went to the GP with Dan as soon as we could get an appointment (she got to look at his injured shoulder as well, so a win as it is €70 for a GP visit and it is nice to get more than a quick once over and a form filled in) and put in the form and, hallelujah, it was accepted and he too got a provisional licence. Though the physio said that he couldn’t actually drive for at least a month so no urgency really then.
Michael had his first actual lesson on the road at the start of September and was genuinely horrified by the power of fourth gear. He has to have a number of lessons with an instructor before he can be put on our insurance and drive with a parent (something that will be possible at the end of the month and, quite frankly, something we’re all dreading).
It’s funny that Michael is the most advanced in his progress towards actually having a driving licence because he has zero interest in it really, it’s just something useful to have. The other two are much keener. The physio has finally cleared Dan to have lessons and I actually think he will quite enjoy it. This will make a pleasant contrast with Michael who heads out to lessons with the demeanour of a condemned man and comes back a shadow of his former self. When these lessons are costing you a fortune, it is hard to take this with equanimity.
A friend of Mr. Waffle’s points out, most unhelpfully, that it is hardly worth their while to learn on a manual gear stick as they will be phased out for all cars by the end of the decade. However, our current car, on which they will be learning to drive, is a manual car so I really don’t think we had a lot of choice. It’s much harder, of course, but it will make them mentally strong, I am sure.
They’ll both be on our car insurance in the next month or so. That’s two 18 year olds. I shudder to contemplate what the cost will be. Good job I’m planning to go back to work. I don’t at all remember learning to drive being so administratively challenging when I learnt. Although, I did nearly send my mother to an early grave with my near misses (favourite expression deployed on my rounding a bend too quickly in the city centre, “What would you have done, if there had been a cow lying in the middle of the road?”). I vividly remember her clutching the door handle and pumping an invisible brake with her foot. At the time, I thought she exaggerated but I did notice that as I became a more experienced driver those behaviours disappeared. I suppose it is all ahead of me.
London
Saturday, August 26, 2023
We went back to the airport AGAIN. I’ll tell you this, I feel rather differently now about a flight of a mere 50 minutes.
We were travelling to London for our friends’ 25th wedding anniversary. Very generously they were putting us up at the Caledonian club which is where they were having their party. It is in a very salubrious part of London. We went out for a slightly pricey lunch and were pretty excited to see a statute of San Martín on the way.
Not to mention the Argentinian embassy or possibly residence. We pressed on and I bought a signed copy of the new Kate Atkinson book of short stories in Hatchard’s (which it turns out is now Waterstone’s, who knew?) – spoiler alert, a bit disappointing.
Thrillingly, on the way back, we passed the house of Chips Channon. I had read volume I of his diaries earlier in the year and bored everyone about it. He has a lot of content about 5 Belgrave Square and the Amalienburg dining room he installed at truly staggering expense.
I posted these pictures to the family group chat and they got the level of enthusiastic response you might expect. Herself did offer the information that that she was staying around the corner from us. Our paths did not in fact cross in London as we went to our assorted parties for different ages.
At our party, each anniversary guest had got a personalised letter from our hosts, welcoming us and saying how glad they were that we could come. They are setting a pretty high bar for future celebrations.
My expectations for dinner were quite low (club, big group) but the food was excellent. The evening was fantastic also. The guests were all about the same age, and it turned out, shared a lot of interests. Both Mr. Waffle and I knew loads of people there (always a formula for a good night out) but met loads of interesting new people as well. Our hosts had a quiz which was surprising but such good fun. There were a lot of academics present and one round was about who had written various books and articles. My favourite moment was the man who had forgotten that he had written some article and whose table hadn’t got the question right. I might just mention that my table won the quiz. Just saying.
Sunday, August 27, 2023
The following morning we had a sustaining breakfast at the club. Our hosts had arranged for anyone who was interested to go on a tour of Buckingham Palace which was nearby. I was interested (more grist to the mill for my children who say I have bootlicker tendencies) and Mr. Waffle tagged along as well. One of our hosts led the group to the Palace holding the tickets above his head and we all dutifully followed in his wake. I was quite impressed by the power of holding tickets in the air. People just let us through as a group and a policeman even cleared a path for the stragglers in the group to catch up. There was an unnerving moment when it looked like we might miss our slot due to the press of people admiring the changing of the guard, but a policewoman from Northern Ireland chivvied us through a gap.
Buckingham Palace was heaving but there is an audio guide and it’s all very well managed. They have an absolutely stunning art collection.
I enjoyed the trip very much and we had lunch in the garden café afterwards. What’s not to love? Mmm, lovely shoe leather, so tasty, so delicious.
Mr. Waffle said to me later in tones of horror, “Did you see how much the tickets were?” £33 apparently. I suppose King Charles needs the money. You could convert your day ticket into a season pass at the exit but since it’s only open for a month, you’d need to live in London to get value for it. It seems an odd way to manage things.
After lunch, Mr. Waffle and I peeled off to go to Hazlitt’s hotel where we had booked ourselves an extra night. Very nice.
I was quite struck by how clean the streets of Soho were. I mean, how can Soho be cleaner than Dublin? The receptionist in the hotel was Italian and we had a little chat in Italian which I enjoyed. I was still in “io parlo Italiano” mode.
Monday, August 28, 2023
We went out for breakfast to a nice café. “Why are there so many people here when they should be at work?” I asked indignantly. Ah, it was a bank holiday in England. This makes the spotless streets of Soho even more impressive.
We had a very relaxed trip out to the airport and passed peacefully to our gate. There was a huge crowd from the last flight. “Poor souls,” I thought blithely, “there’s obviously some problem with their flight.” As time marched on, there was no sign of our flight being called. “I’m just going to ask someone at the gate what’s going on,” I said to Mr. Waffle.
I nabbed a man at the gate. “Your flight’s cancelled and it won’t be leaving today,” he said. “Nothing is leaving today, air traffic control is down all over the UK. Go back to arrivals and pick up your luggage.”
I scurried back to Mr. Waffle and told him the news, urging him to speed along so we could beat the inevitable queue at the Aer Lingus desk. “But there’s nothing on the monitor,” he quibbled. This was the greatest test of our marriage. “Do you trust me?” I asked. Notwithstanding his belief that I might well have misunderstood and that there were no notifications on the monitor or anywhere else, he got up and followed me. Ladies and gentlemen, a triumph for trust.
He went into baggage reclaim to get our luggage back and I pressed on back to departures to see whether I could rebook our flight or find out what was going on. It was beginning to get a bit chaotic; people were in big queues trying to check in; no sign of anyone on an Aer Lingus desk. Eventually a woman in Aer Lingus kit, stood up and addressed the milling hordes. “Go home, nothing is flying out today, Aer Lingus will contact you by text with alternative arrangements.” I managed to re-book us in to Hazlitt’s, it’s an ill wind etc.
Meanwhile, Mr. Waffle was trying and failing to find our luggage. “Ask someone,” I said firmly on the phone. “But there’s no point,” said he. I insisted, he did and he was pointed to a big pile of luggage in the corner including ours. It was my day of triumph.
We went back into Hazlitt’s and then contacted Mr. Waffle’s sister.
One of the things I like about her is that she is a very calm person and never seems to get annoyed; she reminds me a lot of my mother-in-law. We had told her that we would be in London but our schedule was too busy to see her but now we wanted to spend the afternoon with her. “Come round,” she said cheerfully. And we had a very pleasant afternoon in the sunny suburbs of North London. And they made us cake.
She and her husband gave us two excellent recommendations as well: go to Zedel’s for dinner and take the Elizabeth line to Heathrow in the morning. Zedel’s was great (unprepossessing at street level with an amazing dining room underground) and the Elizabeth Line (around the corner from our hotel) was the business.
By late that evening, however, we had received no word from Aer Lingus. I rang the help desk after dinner and didn’t really expect to get through at 10 on a Monday night but I did eventually and they stuck us on a flight at 10 in the morning.
Tuesday, August 29, 2023
Can I again recommend the Elizabeth line? So shiny, so new, so handy. We had breakfast at the Perfectionist cafe in Heathrow. Quite a hard name to live up to, particularly in an airport, but actually, in fairness, pretty good, though pricey.
The flight home was painless and that was that.
I put in a claim to Aer Lingus subsequently and to my absolute amazement and with a minimum of paperwork they paid for Hazlitt’s (not cheap), Zedel’s (only cheap if you go for the prix fixe menu, we did not) and even the Perfectionist café. Chapeau. Delighted with Aer Lingus. Will I fly Aer Lingus again? You betcha. Just, ideally, not anytime soon. I’d like to stay home for a while.