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London

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Posted in: Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel

Friday 29 May 2026

We went to London for the June bank holiday to visit herself. Want to hear all about it? Possibly not but here it is, dragged out of the archive. Herself was leaving London and it seemed like a good idea to visit before she left.

We stayed in happening Spitalfields in a hotel that is part of a nice chain. We’d stayed in the sister establishment in Soho in the past and we needed somewhere a bit nearer to glamourous (ahem) Dalston where our firstborn was residing. She said, “It’s not close at all.” But it’s closer than Soho, is all I can say.

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The hotel was lovely but like it’s sister establishment, not exactly dog-cheap. I went for a nap after arriving as I had a slight headache and was not delighted to see workmen on the scaffolding outside my window. I was even less delighted by the vigorous drilling right beside my head which made sleep elusive.

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Once somewhat restored, we went out to dinner in a trendy London eatery with our firstborn. It was Japanese-Italian fusion and herself was keen to try it out. I think once we were finished dinner we all agreed that it was not a fusion that was wholly successful.

We went back to her house share after dinner. It was lovely to see her somewhere she was so happy. I was slightly depressed to note how much better value renting in London seems to be than renting in Dublin.

Unrelated: we saw this advertisement on the way back to the hotel. What?

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Saturday 30 May 2026

Mr. Waffle and I went for breakfast on trendy Redchurch street as recommended by herself. I liked it. Then we went to Denis Sever’s house which was on the same street as our hotel. As you know, I like nothing better than a house which recreates little vignettes from another era (folk park anyone?) but for reasons I can’t explain this place didn’t do it for me. But grand, I suppose.

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We met herself in Marylebone where we had a very nice lunch and then went to the Wallace collection for a wander around. It famously has Fragonard’s “The Swing” but I was surprised and rather pleased to see an old favourite – The Laughing Cavalier – which I didn’t even know was there.

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You can also see Mazarin’s cutlery in the collection. I mean, why not?

By far my favourite picture though was this one of Napoleon’s tomb by Vernet. Come on, it has everything.

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After our brush with the arts we went to a chemist herself is fond of – wouldn’t be my idea of thrill but each to their own.

Then we went for pizza in Islington which would have been grand except there was some Arsenal related excitement and everything was heaving with Arsenal fans. In fairness, good natured enough but loud and drunk and many.

Sunday 31 May, 2026

The room in our hotel were named after historical figures (we were in Daniel Mendoza, in case you are curious). When I went down for breakfast the next morning, the young waitress asked me, “Are you Mary Wollstonecraft?” and I must say, I rather enjoyed that.

Herself took us to the Towpath cafe for breakfast. We walked around Dalston which, away from the main street, is really pleasant and has excellent cycling infrastructure. I was pretty impressed by cycling provision all round in London. Surely, if they can do it in London, we can do it here.

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We went to the Borough Market and Hackney Depot to a flea market. I felt about 102 and extremely untrendy. We bought her 1950s sandals (for a ball, she is still Oxford balling, they seem to go on forever) in the flea market and the owner of the stand ran after us with a matching bag which she pressed upon us. This was very kind of her and heartwarming. She gave the Princess a big hug. When did the English become a nation of huggers? Is it Princess Diana? I can’t see it happening here.

Mr. Waffle made it his business to buy her a lock for her bin which kept disappearing from her front garden. Someone had entered the garden and set some clothes on fire the previous night so I would have to say that the Dalston experience is an exciting urban one and it’s no surprise that jovial souls spirit bins away from front gardens. We picked up a big rock from a local strip of waste ground for her to put behind the gate to discourage further visitors. What a time to be alive.

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And then it was time for us to go to the airport. The bus was pretty much stopped by a million Arsenal fans. Arsenal fans stopped the Windrush line by being on the line. I began to not love Arsenal fans, I will tell you that.

However, eventually we got on the lovely Elizabeth line and safely to the airport (full of Arsenal fans) and on to the plane home (also full of Arsenal fans).

Stay with me. Nordic charms to come. Bated breath etc. on your side, I am sure.

Northern Adventure

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

You’re doubtless on the edge of your seat waiting to hear about our Nordic odyssey but first let me tell you about our Northern Ireland trip in May. “Exciting!” you shout.

Friday, May 1

You may recall that some time ago we tried to climb in the Mournes but were defeated due to problems with Mr. Waffle’s coat. A difficult time. We vowed to return and this time we stayed the night before in Carlingford which is nearby and would allow for an early start on Saturday.

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We stayed in Ghan house in Carlingford which is lovely but the last time we stayed there was during the pandemic (also lovely then) and we were assigned the same room so it reminded us a bit of that difficult time. But we had a nice lunch, a nice walk and a nice dinner, so what’s not to like?

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Saturday, May 2

We spent hours going up Slieve Binnian. It was very foggy as we panted up and as we passed fitter walkers coming down they said gloomily that the normally excellent view from the top was invisible. Was I downhearted? Honestly, a bit. However, we felt our way to the Mourne wall – a key landmark – here it is looking foggy and, well, wallish.

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Despite some incentive to turn back we followed the directions and instructions and clambered to the top where we were met with a less than stellar view.

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However, as we sat there recovering from our exertions, the clouds miraculously cleared.

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And it was, honestly, totally worth the effort; really recommended.

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We came back by a different route as I always enjoy a loop but it was a bit dull and quite long so if I were doing it again, I’d probably come back down the way I went up. Although the return did have its own quiet charms.

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By the time we got back to the car, we were keen for a restorative cup of tea and a snack so we went to the Percy French restaurant which is at the entrance to the luxury Slieve Donard hotel and, I can only hope, unrelated to it. It was quite vile and an insult to poor old Percy who gave us the song “The Mountains of Mourne“. However, it met our needs, in a very basic and uninspiring way and gave us the strength to push on to lovely Newforge House in Moira where we were booked in for the night.

At drinks before dinner we met the other guests. There was a Cork woman who had married a local who assured me she could drive from there to her mother’s house in Cork in 3 and a half hours (highly dangerous, I would have thought) and two newly engaged (to each other not in employment) doctors who had been to college in Cork. They told us all about their time working in Australia and their return to Dublin. Overall more Cork content than you usually get in Armagh. We got our room upgraded and we got an amazing dinner. Delight all round and the memories of the Percy French restaurant in Newcastle faded.

Sunday, May 3

After a superb breakfast, we went to mass locally. On that day there was an Ulster senior football match. Armagh were playing Down (supporters’ cry which never fails to amuse “Up Down!”) in Clones (Co. Mongahan, a neutral venue, I guess). It had been referred to at dinner the night before and I wasn’t sure that the Polish priest was going to be weighing in at mass but that’s where I was wrong. “I’m not going to pray for Co. Down today,” he said to his Co. Armagh audience, “because they don’t need it.” Daring. He was wrong too, they did need it. Armagh won by miles. Despite being visitors, Mr. Waffle and I were nabbed to bring up the gifts; I was very tense as I can never remember when anything happens in the service and I’m always afraid I’ll miss my cue. Mr. Waffle was on top of it, however, and all went off peacefully. Mass went on forever though.

The youngest child was still in Liège at that stage. He had been in Dublin for the week and had to get himself to the airport without parents to drop him off. We offered to pay for a taxi but he is very frugal and insisted on getting the bus. Everything went wrong: the bus stop moved; the bus didn’t come; there was a delay on the road. But look, even though he had to sprint, he got there in the end. I felt a bit bad but he survived and it doubtless made him stronger.

We took in Hillsborough Castle on the way home. It’s an odd spot. It’s run by the historic royal palaces organisation and they haven’t at all, even slightly, adapted for local mores. I found the tat in the shop (and I love an upmarket souvenir shop) very divorced from the context in which it sat. But it is an interesting building with lovely grounds so overall I would recommend but I would say, in all the years I have been visiting Northern Ireland, I have never been in a more British spot (and I have mostly been on the Antrim coast).

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Then it was back to Dublin. Stay tuned for further adventures.

More Power to her Elbow

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Posted in: Dublin, Ireland

I wouldn’t be a big fan of boxing as a sport but even I was aware that Katie Taylor, Irish boxing champion was having her final bout in Croke Park last night. The papers were full of it. By all accounts, as well as being a great boxer she is a very inspiring and worthy person. She did some kind of warm up session in Dublin City University (extensively covered) and did her weigh in in Trinity College (ditto). The French embassy cultural newsletter to which I am a subscriber told me about her French opponent. The neighbourhood whatsapp group gave a blow by blow account of her prowess last night (she won). The fight was on in every pub in the city. But I have to say, most surprising of all was mass this morning where we prayed for her to have a good retirement during the prayers of the faithful. Everyone’s jumping on her bandwagon.

Queen of Cafés

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Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Twins

I met middle child and Mr. Waffle for lunch today in a café where I have been going for many, many years. I used to work near there and go there a fair bit but I work in a different part of town now and go much less frequently. Middle child had never been there – as Mr. Waffle said, they have anti-student prices – but enjoyed it. Both of my lunching partners were surprised to see one of the waitresses surge out from behind the counter and embrace me saying, “We haven’t seen you in ages.” I was a little surprised myself but gratified. “I have been here 19 years today and I remember you coming in when I started working here,” she said. When it came to time to leave she whispered to me, “Open your bag; we made extra scones today and I will give four to you”.

I remember once years ago at a slightly low point they gave me free cake. I tell you, loyalty has its privileges.

Silver!

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

Those of you following along at home will know that Mr. Waffle and I celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary in July. We celebrated on the August bank holiday weekend with his family and mine in a nice guest house in Wicklow where we have been before with the family.

There were various alarms in the approach – despite constant reminders, it came as a surprise to my brother; although my children knew they had to be there, their arrival was challenging in the case of the two who were abroad.

Herself was due to arrive from London at lunchtime the day before the dinner but missed her flight. After a fun day spent in Heathrow, where she learnt a great deal about airport administration and ticketing, possibly to the irritation of some staff members including the woman who said severely, “This young lady has been told she can’t get on a flight before 8 this evening”. The angel with the flaming sword was in an Aer Lingus uniform but apparently all the staff in Heathrow are subcontracted – who knew? I can’t help feeling that actual Aer Lingus staff would have been nicer. However, even her colleagues agreed that angel with the flaming sword was a bit grumpy (herself got to know them all) and the Princess finally got away on an earlier flight and was home by 8.

Meanwhile middle child was returning from a slightly disastrous sojourn in Paris. This child on crutches and a boot decided that rather than book a direct flight from Paris to Dublin – something that is readily available – that changing in Manchester was the better option. This may have saved €20 but it was €20 I was more than willing to pay. And it wasn’t just a quick stop in Manchester either; it was about 5 hours. Not really long enough to go into Manchester and explore (remember the crutches and the boot) but long enough to get a bus to the library in some nearby place and do some studying. I have so many thoughts. But I did get sent a picture of the police station in “Life on Mars” which seems to be relatively near Manchester airport – a genuinely excellent show which we watched over the winter and which has stood the test of time but not, I would say, worth travelling to Manchester for. It’s no Game of Thrones tour, I’ll say that. So, I was back to the airport at midnight to do another pick up.

Notwithstanding airline difficulties, I was extremely pleased to have all my children back in Ireland at the same time.

On Saturday we went off to Wicklow which took a lot longer than expected due to the Bray air show but we got there and we had tea and scones and then I found myself wondering what were we all going to do in the couple of hours before dinner. I had brought a photo album charting our 25 years together but that was hardly likely to keep us going until dinner time. My genius sister had prepared a quiz – and vitally – prizes. The quiz was all about Mr. Waffle and me so I really triumphed. So pleasing. Mr. Waffle felt it was unfair – he likes the sanctity of the quiz format to be respected, but I did not care.

The remainder of our time passed off without a hitch. I gave my speech (carefully prepared, heckled by my brother); Mr. Waffle gave his (invented on the spot, also heckled by my brother). I had wondered how the two sides of the family – who don’t see each other so often – would merge but that actually went really well. And I was thrilled that all the young cousins were there. It was really nice to do something to celebrate and I would totally recommend it.

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The next day the party split up and my sister said she was going to the outlet shopping centre and a number of us said we would go with her. In fact, two cars were needed to get there. In each of these cars there was one person who knew it was wildly out of the way and assumed anyone with a modicum of intelligence would know that. The rest of us with our tenuous grasp of geography thought it was only half an hour away and did not know that we had committed to hours in the car. By the time we arrived there, all tempers were extremely frayed. I had Mr. Waffle drop myself and middle-child at the shopping centre and then sent him and Michael on his way back to Dublin; a long journey as became apparent on the trip down, and one they were not super looking forward to. Herself, who travelled in the other car, said things were no better there. In fact, no sooner did the other car arrive than having disgorged the Princess and my brother, they hightailed it back to Cork. As part of my, unstated, plan was to have them drive us to the station at the end of the day, that was a matter of regret. It’s not that the station is far but one of our number was, you will recall, on crutches and in a boot.

I am very ambivalent about outlet shopping. I hate everything about it in theory but I love it in practice. We actually had a great time and got loads of nice things but I hate myself for enjoying it. And the walk to the station was grand in the end.

Coda. When Mr. Waffle and I got engaged, we went to a lovely jeweller in the Galeries de la Reine in Brussels to look at rings. She asked our budget and said dubiously, “For a small budget like yours, I don’t think I have anything; come back for your 25th wedding anniversary”. It sounds like she was being mean but she was actually charming. Now that saintly Mr. Waffle has shelled out for our 25th anniversary extravaganza in Wicklow, he may think I have forgotten this, but I have not.

Long in the Tooth

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Posted in: Cork, Dublin, Ireland

I have returned from holidays – more’s the pity – and a full update on my trip will follow. Something for you to look forward to.

As now seems inevitable whenever I go away for any period of time, I chipped a tooth. I made an appointment with the dentist for shortly after our return. I am in the daring process of changing dentists. The whole thing has taken years. For a long time, I have suspected that my former dentist was very interventionist, he was certainly very expensive. Other friends who were with the same dentist had drifted away. His predecessor in title was a Cork man whose parents were doctors who had been a couple of years ahead of my father in college and who had been recommended to me by my friend whose father was my dentist when I was growing up.

When the recommended dentist retired, he sold the practice to new guy and I just stayed while feeling increasingly dissatisfied. Anyway the final straw on the new (about 5 years) dentist came at Christmas when he gave herself a standard filling and her face swelled up like a balloon. Look, he made a mistake, who hasn’t? But he didn’t say anything. When she went to the pharmacist for pain relief, the pharmacist thought she had had an extraction.

So I cast my bread upon the waters in the neighbourhood group chat and we have all moved to a local dental surgery which, at the very least has the merit of being nearby.

I was whizzing down there for my 9 o’clock appointment the other morning when my mobile rang. “Two minutes,” I said to the receptionist. I was honestly there about two minutes past nine but the dentist and nurse were standing in reception looking reproving. It turned out that the dentist was French. She was from Lille. She said, demonstrating very little faith in Irish people, “You wouldn’t know it.” “Au contraire,” said I, responding in French, “I have been there many times; I used to live in Brussels.” She smiled. She said to her dental nurse, “This is the first Irish person I have understood when speaking French.” I mean, a bit damned with faint praise, but she seemed warmer than she had been in reception. “I’m so glad that you understood my Belgian accent,” I abased myself. “Honestly there are worse accents, you could be from Marseille,” she said smiling. It was all going so well. As I was trying to think of other Lille facts with which to ingratiate myself with her, it came to me, “Wasn’t the guy from the south in Bienvenue chez les Ch’tis from Marseille?” This is a very funny films set near Lille. Well, I can tell you, the people of Lille do not like it. “People all over France quote lines from that film at me. It is terrible and not representative of the people of the North. Do you like Leap Year?” she asked me tartly. Of course I don’t like Leap Year it’s a dreadful film if you’re Irish. Anyway my chance to bond with the dentist ended abruptly. And I checked, the guy who comes north in Bienvenue chez les Ch’tis isn’t even from Marseilles.

But look she fixed my tooth and she said to me severely that I must wear my gum shield thing at night and she was so scary that I have been doing so since.

Meanwhile, I got a text message from old dentist telling me I have an appointment next week and to text yes to confirm or ring the practice number otherwise. He always answers that phone. I screwed my courage to the sticking point, rang and, unbelievably, got the voicemail which never happens. I left a message saying, “Thanks for everything but I’m changing dentists” and with one bound, our heroine was free.

I met a friend for lunch during the week and was telling him about my dental adventures including my regularly chipping teeth and he said, “Don’t you get the feeling that people aren’t really designed to last past 50 and everything just keeps going wrong from then on?” An unwelcome reflection. In fact, since he and his wife are the first of our friends to have a child get engaged, he is a regular source of reflection on my own mortality, so there is no need for him to add to it.