belgianwaffle

Arts etc

22 July, 2026 Leave a Comment
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Mr. Waffle

Mr. Waffle and I went for a couple of tea time talks in the Tenement Museum in Henrietta Street. One on Dublin street traders and one on the markets in the city centre. Both a bit worthy but maybe not completely fascinating throughout.

We saw Project Hail Mary in the cinema. Mr. Waffle loved it. I thought it was grand. We also saw The Devil wears Prada 2. I loved it. Mr. Waffle thought it was grand. One thing did get my goat though. I have covered in the past how much I dislike Niall Williams’s books. Everyone else loves them but I find them a bit Oirish. Anyway, Kenneth Branagh who plays Miranda Priestly’s husband is waiting for her in a hotel room at a crucial point in the film and when she comes in he casts aside the book he was reading. “What was that?” you ask. “This is Happiness” by Niall Williams.

We also saw Disclosure Day. I thought it was grand. Mr. Waffle loathed it and kept pointing out plot holes on the newsroom aspect. Since this is a film about aliens on earth, I think there were areas where a greater suspension of disbelief was required. Anyhow, wouldn’t recommend. Mr. Waffle asked afterwards why Josh O’Connor (English) and Emily Blunt (also English) were given American accents but Colin Firth still had his English accent. Middle child and I explained to him that baddies are all English

We went to Altamount Gardens and Huntington castle in Carlow for a day out. Strong on peacocks. Grand. But not worth the €130 fine and 3 penalty points I got for speeding on the way home. And while I approve strongly of fines for speeding in the abstract, it was hard for me to rejoice in the concrete.

I went to a library talk on Dublin art and Hugh Lane. Fine but no substitute for the Hugh Lane Gallery which is closed for endless renovations. I also went to a talk on Hugh Lane and his own art collection and the role of women in supporting the Hugh Lane modern art gallery which was slow to get off the ground due to Dubliners’ dubiety about the whole project. These impressionists are alright for the French but I’m not sure whether we want them here kind of thing. Interesting.

I saw the Blake exhibition in the National Gallery a couple of times and dutifully went to several talks. I think I can take or leave Blake. He was, God love him, a bit of a tortured soul. On one of these trips I met a friend of Mr Waffle’s from school and his somewhat (but not that much) younger wife. I enquired about their children, starting secondary school kind of age – and she said, “And by the way, I’m pregnant.” Sooner them than us.

Herself was in New York and sent me this message.

Come on, she’s hilarious.

I went to the RHA annual exhibition which I found dull and another exhibition which I quite enjoyed. Here are some photos from the latter.

Mr. Waffle and I went to visit the James Joyce tower (museum of things Joyce and manned by enthusiastic Joyceans) and cycled around the salubrious precincts of Killiney and Dalkey and walked Dun Laoghaire pier. A grand day out.

We went to see the Messiah outdoors in Fishamble street (on the site where it was first performed) at lunch time but the timing was not entirely compatible with lunch and work. Still pleasant in its own way.

We have been looking at auctions a lot. It’s our age. I enjoyed the Morgan O’Driscoll Irish Art pre-sale investigation in the RDS; I enjoyed the Howth castle inspection rather less, especially as it cost me €20 to get in and the Irish art one was free. Increasingly, I find us looking in at items consigned for auction at the weekend. Where will this end? Ominous.

The 1926 census has been published online and there is great excitement. I still haven’t found my relatives – a mystery – but everyone else in Ireland has found theirs. The street whatsapp group was hopping with news of who lived here in 1926 on the day it was released. There was an excellent exhibition in Dublin castle, alas, now closed. The EU Presidency means that the castle is out of bounds for the rest of the year.

We went to see “The Good Luck Club” an Anu production about the Irish Sweepstakes. Their productions are always site specific and this one was in the National Archives. It was part of the Archive’s census centenary programme. But the play wasn’t about the census at all. It didn’t totally work for me but it got the usual rave reviews and was good in parts. Am I still going to go to whatever they offer for the theatre festival in the autumn? You betcha. General booking opens later this month and my fingers are already hovering over the keyboard.

We went to a talk on the sculptor Albert Power. If you’re Irish, you’ve seen his work around but he is a bit neglected as sculpture is a medium about which the Irish nation is, at best, ambivalent. Interesting.

We saw Sinéad Culbert the comedian. Her husband is Dutch. There’s a lot of humour to be wrung from Hiberno-Dutch relations.

I saw Tana French, whom I love, speak about her new book which I read but sadly did not love. The sooner she moves on from the Irish western rut she’s in, the better, as far as I’m concerned.

This isn’t exactly culture but where else to put it? Friends very kindly took us to a terrifyingly expensive dinner in Chapter 1 (possibly two Michelin stars, definitely one, great if your bank balance is feeling strong). When we waddled out of the restaurant later, Mr. Waffle’s bike lights and kickstand had been stolen. Great highs, great lows.

During the very hot spell we went to see “The Whiteheaded Boy” by Lennox Robinson in the Abbey. Lennox Robinson was a funny Cork dramatist who died in the late 1950s. This play was funny in places but overall only alright. A big part of the plot is about breach of promise. For my money, it’s hard to update that to the 1980s but that is what they attempted. The end was surprising, I will give them that. Due to the climactic conditions, Mr. Waffle, with some trepidation, wore his shorts to the national theatre. He works in a conservative profession and was not delighted to see a number of colleagues in the foyer when we arrived. He ran into one of them again shortly afterwards and she said tartly, “I see you are dressed on this occasion.”

How is your own cultural life going?

Jam Production Continues Unabated

21 July, 2026 Leave a Comment
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Mr. Waffle

Look at it.

Given our surfeit (what you see in the picture is only batch 1, batch 2 is already in pre-production and the plum harvest shows no sign of abating although the painters who are painting the fence – long overdue – keep standing on them which, maybe, is a mercy), I suggested to Mr. Waffle that we might give a souvenir pot to each family member who attends our anniversary dinner in a couple of weeks. “But half of them may not even want it,” he said. He is failing to get with the programme. Who knows whether we will even make this anniversary at this rate.

I Despair

20 July, 2026 2 Comments
Posted in: Middle Child, Twins

You will recall that middle child is on crutches and has to wear a boot following an incident last Monday. Today we deposited our precious child at the airport to go to Paris for a bit. The journey passed off peacefully and the wheelchair assistance at both ends all worked fine. So far, so good.

Unwisely, however, I did not supervise the booking of accommodation. When I rang this evening to check that all was well, I was told that the flat is “6ème étage sans ascenseur”. This is a Paris classic, the maid’s room under the roof, 6th floor and no lift and just not suitable for someone on crutches. To add insult to injury, the bed is on a mezzanine. So you get up to the 6th floor and then you have to hop up the ladder to the bed. It is true that in the booking process I was asked to explain what a mezzanine was but I thought that my description would steer my beloved child away from the mezzanine option. More fool me.

By our mistakes we learn. Keep your fingers crossed that that ankle improves rapidly.

Exhausting Weekend Round-Up

19 July, 2026 1 Comment
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Mr. Waffle

Friday, July 17

You will recall that I do not work on Fridays. I recommend. I know it’s not good but the glorious weather continued. My friend and I had arranged to meet to go for a swim. I cycled to her house (almost the whole way via cycle lane); then we drove out to Howth in her luxurious car (I’m a bit ambivalent about this but there is something very luxurious about being up high on a leather seat) and had a lovely swim at Balscadden beach and lunch afterwards in Howth. A colleague texted me to confirm that something I was hoping would go at work went. The sun shone. All was right with the world.

We went back to my friend’s house and then I cycled home along by the sea side and through the park and even where I was with the traffic (hardly at all), I had dedicated cycle lanes. Living the dream, lads.

I stopped off on the way home to pick up “The Fellowship of the Ring” which I had ordered from the library a while ago and which had finally landed in my local branch. Thrills. I love the library, what a service.

When I got home, I made 7 kilos of jam. That’s right.

Hot work in the current climactic conditions.

And I made dinner. And afterwards we watched “The Fellowship of the Ring” until the DVD stopped working at the Council of Elrond and I felt a bit less warmly towards the library service.

Saturday, 18 July

First thing in the morning, Mr. Waffle and I went out to Dun Laoghaire to do one of Arran Henderson’s excellent walking tours. We’ve done them before and they have not disappointed. Dun Laoghaire did disappoint a bit though. Not because of the tour guide who is reliably excellent, full of enthusiasm and knows everything but a suburban seaside town just has less to offer than the city. Mr. Waffle is from that neck of the woods originally so I think he got more out of it that me. I’d really like to do an Arran Henderson tour of Cork but this, sadly, is not available.

A former colleague of Mr. Waffle’s was on the tour so the three of us went for lunch together. As we queued for the cafe in the people’s park (location delightful, food mediocre, alas), Mr. Waffle pointed out that the son of my father’s friend was in the queue behind us. His father and my father were friends from when they were in school in the 1930s and his father had died recently. I couldn’t go to the funeral as I was abroad so I turned around, sympathised, chatted and met his niece who had just finished school and was a very patient girl who listened to our reminiscing about childhood summers together in west Cork with no outward sign of boredom. While it was nice to see Mr. Waffle’s former colleague and my father’s friend’s son, it was a bit more socialising with acquaintances than I was quite prepared for.

After lunch we scooted home (no time for a swim, alas, which seemed like a real shame when we were right beside the sea) as I had a tennis match at 4. After tennis, I went round to a tennis friend’s house for a drink. There were four women – 3 Irish and one Polish. The Polish woman looked so elegant compared to us (no shade on my Irish friends but this dilution of the Irish gene pool cannot come soon enough); to be fair, we were fresh from the sweaty tennis court and she had come from a walk in the park, but still. We ended up staying for dinner (who can turn dinner for 2 – hostess and husband – into dinner for 5 at the drop of a hat, not me, but our hostess apparently) and I only staggered in home about 10.

We watched the second half of the “Fellowship of the Ring”. We were able to skip the scene with the Council of Elrond where the DVD refused to perform; perhaps someone had just been watching that scene over and over again? We’d all seen it before (Mr. Waffle under protest) but somehow the sudden appearance of Sean Bean (Boromir, in case you’re wondering), threw us a bit.

Sunday, July 19

After mass, Mr. Waffle and I went out for breakfast together then he, poor him, had to go to work. I went home and prepared myself for another tennis match. My ancient body did not welcome this development at all. I survived but it was warm and myself and my friend spent a lot of time talking. Two hours on court, about an hour’s tennis, I would say. The courts were quiet because it was baking.

After tennis, I came home and prodded the children to do various tasks that they regarded with low levels of enthusiasm and went into town to pick up labels for my jam (supremely unhelpful comment from Mr. Waffle, “I think we’ll know what it is.”).

But maybe I’ll give some away. Actually, I’ll have to, it’s a bumper year for plums. I’ve had to power up the shed fridge. This is what it looks like at the moment and I will be out doing a last sweep of the garden before bed later.

Also, unrelated, I grew these. I know anyone can grow montbretia and hydrangea and they will grow wild on the side of the road but I’m still pleased and look, lilies.

Trying

14 July, 2026 6 Comments
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Twins

After a lot of humming and hawing, middle child decided that it was time to get away for a working summer holiday and yesterday booked tickets and accommodation to depart tomorrow.

Last night as I was at my bookclub sitting in the back garden; enjoying the cheeseboard; and chatting merrily in a sort of end of term way, my phone began ringing off the hook. It was middle child injured in a park on the opposite side of the city but sounding reasonably cheerful, if immobile. My immediate reaction was to say, “Ring your father!” but then I remembered we are a one car family and I had the one car (serves me right for not cycling). Off I went to the rescue.

On the drive home, Mr. Waffle rang me to remind me that we had a double mattress in the boot and it would need to be removed to accommodate both the injured warrior and the injured warrior’s bicycle. Why did we have a mattress in the boot? Well, you may recall that I spent months swapping the content of the box room (the former fastness of youngest child) and the double room on the return (the Princess’s old room). I did this on the basis that she will probably never live at home again (sniff) and the youngest child should have the larger bedroom. For obvious reasons she was not pleased. He said he didn’t care beforehand and he was remarkably consistent afterwards. “How do you like your new bedroom?” I asked perkily. “Fine,” he said with zero enthusiasm, “but the mattress is really uncomfortable.” So we bought a new mattress and put the old one in the car to take to the dump. But then Mr. Waffle discovered that Dublin City Council are doing a mattress collection and all we had to do was email them and they would collect it from the front of the house. Great news. We await confirmation of our date but, in the meanwhile, the mattress is living in the boot.

I came home and dislodged the mattress. Meanwhile the texts from the park were becoming increasingly alarming: “I really can’t move at all.”; “Maybe I need to see a doctor?” I said to Mr. Waffle “Perhaps you should come too.” When we got to the park, Mr. Waffle went in to find the afflicted child and I looked for parking. Then Mr. Waffle called me to collect them. Mr. Waffle and I are not good at communicating directions of any kind to each other and it took some time to locate them. I heard Mr. Waffle say tetchily to the victim, “Your mother and I lack a common language for communicating directions.” I felt somehow that I was being blamed. One of us spent formative teen years orienteering and it wasn’t me. When we eventually found each other, the poor old victim was looking a bit miserable. A faithful friend had stayed with the victim to the end and I could tell that, eyeing the parents, she felt more support might be needed but we thanked her and sent her off into the night about which I felt a little guilty but we were in no position to offer anyone a lift home.

The victim’s poor ankle was swollen like a balloon and we felt that perhaps we should go to accident and emergency in the local hospital. Then we realised that three of us wouldn’t fit in the car with the bike. In retrospect, I feel we should have interrogated that assumption a bit further but as I said, we were tetchy. So I said grumpily, “You guys go in the car, I can cycle no problem” not for a second thinking that I would be left to cycle 3kms in the dark on a bike with a crossbar which was much too big for me. But my remarks were taken at face value and I found myself wobbling down the road in that lofty vehicle high dudgeon (not my joke, I suppose really high nelly here). It was ok but anytime I had to get on and off which was with surprising frequency, I kind of got my leg stuck in the basket at the back while swinging it over the crossbar so it could hardly be called elegant progress. I went through a park where someone was giving his XL bully dogs a run without muzzles or leads, one of them frolicking alongside me was some kind of enormous Doberman cross and I was nervous especially since I knew I wasn’t going to get up a head of speed on the bike but it just frolicked and left me to my cycling.

When I got home I hopped on my own normal sized bike and went to A&E. I foolishly thought it might be quiet on a Monday night in July. It was not. It was absolutely heaving and very miserable. We stayed until about 1 in the morning and did not even get to see the triage nurse let alone a doctor so I took an executive decision that we would go home and go to the private health clinic in the morning when it opened. I was a bit worried that the ankle might be broken and moving would make it worse but on the other hand, the child was exhausted and in pain and at the rate we were going, likely to be there all night. We went home.

After the misfortunate child (literally) crawled into bed, we put ice on the ankle and doled out powerful painkillers (the victim had some in stock having been prescribed them earlier by the dentist for impacted wisdom teeth, it hasn’t been a great time healthwise) and hoped for the best.

The swelling had gone down a bit in the morning but the ankle was still very sore so I took the morning off work (usually Mr. Waffle does this kind of thing but he had a conference in the morning and I, miraculously, had no meetings) and drove the afflicted child to the clinic. I was not delighted to be charged €75 almost before I got in the door. What am I paying an enormous sum in health insurance for, if I have to fork out in the clinic? This is not a question for Americans who seem to enjoy their own weirdly painful regime which is maybe even worse? On the plus side, a greater contrast to the hellish scenes of A&E the night before would be hard to imagine. The patient was seen immediately, x-rayed immediately, diagnosed immediately and the seats where we barely had to sit and wait were leather and not wipe clean plastic. Great news – no break! Less great news – a bad sprain, a torn ligament, crutches and a boot. The doctor looked slightly askance at the painkillers the dentist had prescribed and said that he would prescribe something less strong. I mean he didn’t know that the dentist looked at those wisdom teeth and said, “Wow, wow, wow!”

Anyway was this a child who was going to be going on a plane at 8 the following morning? It was not. When we got home we changed the flight booking. It was hard (expense, on hold to aer lingus – twice, you know the drill). But we did it. The question of accommodation we punted to another day and I went off into work on my bike to spend an afternoon catching up and Mr. Waffle promised to drop home over the afternoon to see how the sufferer was.

When I got home from work that evening like a damp, exhausted rag and told Mr. Waffle of my adventures he, very tactlessly, said, “But wasn’t this supposed to be a working holiday, is there any point going at all in a boot and crutches?” A fair point but an unwelcome one.

“And how is the sufferer?” you ask. Much improved after a day in bed and, as I write, at a friend’s house watching the world cup match.

How have the last 24 hours been for you?

By Our Mistakes We Learn

12 July, 2026 4 Comments
Posted in: Mr. Waffle, Siblings, Travel

Last year we went on holidays in late August/early September and I hated it. Too late. Never again.

Part of the reason was that we booked very late. June 16, in fact. Have we booked our summer holidays yet? I’m glad you asked. We have!

We are going away for three weeks in August. For the first time since herself was born, it is just Mr. Waffle and me. Though we have posted our itinerary in the family group chat and said if anyone wants to join us for a bit we will cover flights and accommodation but they’ll have to arrange it themselves (unless they want to join us in Flåm, they just can’t join us in Flåm, too expensive, too complex and no accommodation and no train tickets – more anon). So far, the response has been…lukewarm. And we are going on a thrilling odyssey in my view.

We will fly to Gothenburg, from there we will go by train first to Oslo for a couple of days, then onwards to Flåm (bet you’re excited to hear about Flåm now) and to Bergen. From Bergen we will fly to Reykjavik and then home. I am so looking forward to it.

Before we began the booking process, I had never heard of Flåm but there’s a fjord there and it’s a good thing to see apparently and I became determined to go. Mr. Waffle wrestled with Norwegian rail and bought us tickets from Oslo to Flåm. Not easy, they are very much in demand. We are spending two nights in Flåm, possibly one too many but we will not dwell on that as due to a severe shortage of accommodation we will be spending more per night on our hotel in Flåm then we have ever spent on a night’s accommodation before. When I tell you that Mr. Waffle refused to stay in a shared room in a hostel (we’re too old for that) and that was €250 per night, it will give you a slight inkling of the cost of the hotel. It had better be good is all I can say. We took a few days off after the excitement of the Flåm booking and then realised that we would want to leave Flåm by rail and perhaps those tickets might be difficult to get also. We got our tickets out.

Mr. Waffle has been reading a lot of Nordic crime in preparation for our trip. I hope it will not be directly relevant. More practically my sister has been to these parts very recently and given us her insights. She has a friend who lives in Gothenburg and is a big Nordic traveller. Still, I was a bit surprised when she rang me and said, “I’ve booked my summer holidays and at the start of July I’m flying to Bergen then on to Oslo by train and then on to Gothenburg also by train.” Great minds etc. I am pleased with her tips but since she didn’t go to Flåm (her loss) no insights on that one.

Please give me your Nordic tips.