My sister: You haven’t posted on the blog in a while.
Me: But you know what I’m doing, I talk to you all the time.
Her: I like to see the spin you put on it.
Adventures in Philology
I watched the Christmas Bake Off the other day.
Someone made a Battenberg. It was what I understod to be Battenberg in my youth: namely a triangular cake with chocolate on the outside and yellow and brown stripes on the inside as may be viewed at this link. I was aware of the rectangular marzipan coated pink and yellow offering as an alternative and, frankly, inferior Battenberg.
I was very surprised to hear that the triangular Battenberg was a Cork-only thing. I mean, who knew? Related, does every body know that a tory top is a pine cone? If not, why not?
The Journey of the Magi
A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.
Happy Women’s Christmas. If you are in the mood, I recommend this recording of T.S. Eliot reading this poem aloud.
Christmas Humour
My sister’s friend is the daughter of a former professor of mathematics who is also a well-known writer of joke books. An unusual combination but why not?
My sister was at her friend’s parents house over Christmas and told the author a joke she had heard. He said that in his line of work he hears a lot of jokes and most of them aren’t new and the ones that are new aren’t funny but that this one was both new and funny. Here it is and I’m sorry if you’ve heard it before.
I am the Ghost of Christmas Future Perfect Subjunctive, I am hear to tell you what would have happened were you not to have changed your ways.
Apparently in their house, the Wise Men travel to the crib from across the room as is the case in many other houses. I’m pretty sure though that it’s only in the retired maths professor’s house that the distance is measured for every day so that travelling at a constant speed they arrive in the crib on January 6.
Christmas Round Up
Daniel read at the carol service on the Friday evening before Christmas and he was absolutely fantastic. I was very proud of him. Mr. Waffle tends to regard our children’s successes and failures as their own but I regard everything as a reflection on me and I basked vicariously in his glory. The carols were nice too.
On Sunday we had our Christmas drinks party. Every year I am in the horrors in prospect and then quite pleased with it when in progress and delighted with myself afterwards. This year was no different. We had a moment of suprise when Daniel said, as I stood poised with a toothpick over a cocktail sausage, “I think those are the ones Michael puts in his mouth.” “And puts back in the box?” I asked in horror. Apparently so. Anyhow we had an unopened packet and we spoke to Michael about toothpicks being a single use item so a win overall.
On December 23, I queued outside Sheridan’s cheesemongers in town for 20 minutes. It was a small price to pay as my sister-in-law was making Christmas dinner but I think we can take it as a sign that the Dublin economy is still doing just fine.
It was a busy couple of days. For all of us, apparently.
On Christmas Eve, the children and I met and an old friend of mine and his children. We’ve been doing this for about 10 years now so that makes it a festive tradition, I suppose. I found old pictures of when the children were smaller and he and I were quite nostalgic. My children were politely indifferent.
When we got home, Mr. Waffle told us that the toilet seat upstairs had broken. I thought it a bit unlikely that he would succeed on his hunt for a replacement on Christmas Eve but I underestimated him. A Christmas miracle.
We went to midnight mass (starts at 9, over by 10.30) and so we had a pretty relaxed Christmas morning with no one up before 9.
Christmas presents this year were pretty successful overall. I rolled over Mr. Waffle’s subscription to the Economist and did not get him a copy of “Surveillance Capitalism” about which I had given strong hints and which filled him with fear because all he really wanted was the new Ross O’Carroll Kelly book which I dutifully delivered.
As we were going out to dinner herself did us all an amazingly elaborate Christmas breakfast which we all enjoyed though she was slightly frazzled. Christmas lunch with the cousins was very good and entirely labour free although Mr. Waffle and I felt a bit guilty; we’ll have them around for dinner in the new year.
Mr. Waffle and the children refused to go orienteering on St. Stephen’s Day but we did go for a walk so there was that. I was not as pleased by the situation as this picture might lead you to believe but my children were an absolute delight.
We did very little on the 27th and headed down to Cork on the 28th. We decided to have lunch in Milano’s in town when we got to Cork before pushing on to grace the relatives with our presence. I was ill-prepared for parking in town. I decided I would test out the city council’s park by phone service, it is not effective. I am €10 poorer and I still had to scoot off to buy parking discs – I met two traffic wardens and they told me that the park by phone service was down; where I might buy discs and that they would not clamp my car while I was gone. This is perhaps not fascinating but I had to get it off my chest. It ended up costing me €20 for an hour’s parking.
Nonetheless we went on to my parents’ house in reasonably good order. My sister and brother always get very extravagant presents for the children (and indeed me) and this year the children, yet again, cleaned up.
I gave my father a new cap – sorely needed – and it may have been my most successful present of the year. He wore it to mass on Sunday and we both thought it looked pretty good. He was chirpy on Sunday and as he and I drove back from mass together (leaving the others to toil on foot) we reprised together some of the more popular carols performed by the choir.
My brother, the boys and I went ice skating together which was moderately successful. We went to Kinsale for a walk with my sister. As I said cheerfully to my little group as I ushered them in to the car, “It’s not actually raining.” The children dutifully posed for the now traditional “caution children” shot.
After an hour or so patiently waiting outside in the damp, we finally got our lunch in the Bulman. While we were queuing, my sister’s friend came with her husband, her five year old, her brother and her 83 year old father. We chatted. Mr. Waffle suggested that we should give them our place in the queue. The rest of us were heartless. He is a better person than us but we were hungrier than him. Happily we were all seated at more or less the same time so the terrible ethical dilemma did not arise. Then we went on to Charles Fort which, alas, was closed. Curse you, OPW.
My sister and I went for a wander around the craft shops of the town and Mr. Waffle and the children went home (having driven to Kinsale in two cars which was handy if not ecologically sound). By the time I got back to Cork that evening, I was starting to feel ill. I was sick as a dog last night and was not wellfor our drive back to Dublin this morning but here I am in the comfort of my own home with as much lemsip at my disposal as I may need to see in the new year.
A very happy new year to you all and hope Christmas went well for you too.
One for Local Viewers
My aunt’s friend’s great niece has just moved back to Ireland with her family. She is six and has lived in America until now. She is finding the local school a bit different from what she was used to. For example: “Why,” she asked her mother, “does the teacher call me ciúnas ?”