belgianwaffle

By Our Mistakes We Learn

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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.

A Question of Taste

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Posted in: Middle Child, Siblings, Twins

My brother of whom I am fond when he is not driving me crazy has firm views on what size a television should be and his view is that it should be the size of one wall of your house. This is not a view I share.

Before we moved to this house he very kindly bought me a present of a television. I didn’t want a television, I thought my normal sized non-slimline TV was fine. In our old, small house, the new television loomed in the downstairs room where we basically did everything; I did not love it. When we moved to this house which is mercifully bigger, the new TV looked a lot better and I am now pretty pleased with it and would not part with it. It is about 15 years old but it has worked faithfully for us all these years with no problems of any kind. “What a successful present!” you say.

However, my brother is unhappy. Television technology has advanced and this TV which he kindly bought all those years ago is now too small he feels. It is a 32 inch screen (I’ve just measured it for you, you measure diagonally apparently). It drives my brother bananas and I would be lying if I didn’t say that this was, perhaps, not the least of its attractions. In his own house he has an enormous television which feels like it’s following you around the room. We enjoy regular free and frank exchanges of views on television sizes. I honestly thought that he was the odd one however some alarming evidence that there may be something in what he says has come my way recently.

Middle child had some friends around and reported to me the very unwelcome news that they said, “Why is your TV so old and small?” SMALL? What is this craziness? One of the offending children looked around the room and said, “It’s because they spent all their money on lamps.” Who doesn’t like mood lighting and despise the harsh central light? 20 year olds apparently. So long as my brother never finds out, we’re alright, I suppose. Might I ask, what size is your own television?

I Understand that the Alternative is Worse

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Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Middle Child, Twins

I was buying candles in a shop and the young man serving me said, “Why so many candles?” “I like to have them in stock, you never know when you’ll need them,” I replied. “I like the cut of your jib,” he said. “Oh,” I said delighted, “my children say that no one says that any more.” He said, not at all understanding my point, “I know, I found a list of phrases only old people use and I’m trying to bring them back into use.” Great, thanks.

I was out for dinner last night with two friends from college and I was telling them about this and they confirmed that nobody uses “cut of his jib” anymore. I asked whether anyone ever said “You’d drive a horse from his oats” anymore. One of them hadn’t even heard the expression and the other said she hadn’t heard it in years. I’m trying to bring it back here.

And we talked about the people we know who are retiring or retired and how they are finding it; many people are going back to college it seems; some are setting themselves up as consultants and some are living it up on their loot. I told them about my friend the banker who was forced to go to a pre-retirement seminar. The organisers said that everyone was over-provisioned for retirement (Mr. Waffle counsels that the organisers were speaking to a room full of bankers) as people see the bit at the start when everyone is travelling and so on (very expensive) and the bit at the end where people are getting care or in nursing homes or in and out of hospital (also very expensive) but tend to overlook the middle bit where people are just pottering around, not travelling extensively but not sick either and this is apparently the longest bit and cheap. They called it go-go, slow-go and no-go. The conference organisers also offered the sage advice that 60 is the new 50; 70 is the new 60; but 80 still 80. We appear to have reached a stage where we all found this interesting.

And the people we know who have not retired are at the top of their professions. I mean, one of them told me that her friend from school is now the principal in her old school. Every week brings more shocks of this nature as my generation is basically in charge of everything now (unless retired obvs). A friend from Brussels nearly fell off his chair when an ex of a mutual friend of ours (from 30 years ago now, everyone has moved on) turned up to give a keynote at a very important event as she herself is now a very important person. He recovered sufficiently to text me the news.

I am in the process of changing dentist. A long and fraught operation that I don’t want to speak of. The new dentist wanted to x-ray my teeth; they love an x-ray. In my experience, if you are a woman regardless of age (until now, she said darkly), the dentist will ask whether you are pregnant before giving you an x-ray. Did the new dentist ask? He did not. Furthermore, on inspecting the x-rays he said my teeth showed lots of evidence of “a life well-lived”. Not the compliment it might be on, say, your deathbed. I see shoals ahead on the tooth front.

I was chatting to my boss at work (I love her, so gratifying) about my extensive holiday plans (more anon) and she said, “Is your husband able to take that much time off work as well or is he retired?” My love dimmed a little. No, he’s not retired, how could youthful me have a husband who’s retired?

I have an app (BeReal) that prompts me to take a photo every day with the front camera and the back camera. I like it but it comes with messaging that I find dispiriting. On being presented with a photo of me looking, to my own eyes, perfectly normal, it will say comfortingly, “It’s ok, not to be ok.” Clearly, everyone else on the platform is so perky that my elderly visage causes the app serious alarm. Meta: it just pinged me now and I took a photo of this. It looked at my face and said anxiously, “How ya feelin’?”

Earlier today myself and middle child went swimming and we saw a seal. Mild thrill.

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There he is.

And we had ice cream.

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“What has this to do with today’s theme?” you ask. Well, the tide was very low and whereas normally in the spot where we swim you can launch yourself from the steps into the water, today you had to pick your way across rocks with water at ankle height. A bit uncomfortable but fine, or so I thought until a woman (and here’s the kicker) who looked about my own age came surging up to me and insistently offered her hand to me to help me get in. I refused but in the end I yielded and, very annoyingly, it was helpful.

And just this week I got a congratulatory message from the Health service telling me I am now eligible for the free bowel screening programme. Can’t wait.

Noticing any intimations of mortality yourself?

Travel is Broadening etc.

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Posted in: Travel, Work

I went to Cyprus for work. You know, work, so didn’t see much of Cyprus. I travelled with a colleague who was in a wheelchair and I am delighted to report that people are very nice to you if you are travelling in a wheelchair. Your pushing companion also gets to skip the queue.

I was staying in a hotel near the beach. Breakfast felt like I was on holidays.

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I mean come on.

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Was I delighted to be whisked away by minibus at the crack of dawn to the conference centre with windowless rooms? I am only human, I was not.

But we did get a tour of Nicosia in the evening where we saw the monument to liberation from the British (enjoyable).

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We also saw the archeological museum which was interesting.

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Not satisfied with my baking in Cyprus opportunities in May, I also went to a conference in Lisbon last month. Toasty, but I was last in Lisbon before I was married and I had forgotten how beautiful it is. I would definitely like to go back again on my own dime.

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Obligatory tram photo.

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On my return flight to Dublin on Saturday morning I was sitting on the aisle side with an American in the middle and an older woman from Cork at the window. I knew she was from Cork because I heard her telling the American man so. We waited a long time on the tarmac to get off (I missed the session in Dalkey book festival I had been scheduled to attend that afternoon, alas). The American and the Cork woman began to talk about politics and I started to feel sorry for him so I staged an intervention. “I heard you saying you were from Cork earlier,” I said to her. No further intervention was needed. We established the following over the body of the misfortunate American: she lived around the corner from my parents; she remembered them from when my brother had been a primary school pupil in the school where she taught (we verified his identity from the photo I have of him in his plum velvet communion suit which pops up whenever he calls me, I’m hilarious, it was the 70s); her son is married to a (very good) hockey player who was in my sister’s class in school; she lives next door to the mother of a friend of Mr. Waffle’s from college; and she plays bridge with my best friend from school’s mother. This is possibly the best illustration of why, fond as I am of Cork, I quite like the anonymity of the big city. I felt quite sorry for the poor American.

Anyway, been anywhere nice for work yourself?

Small World or Surprisingly Heartwarming

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Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Work

One of my younger colleagues was run over by a bike recently. As she described it, no one was really at fault (some poor bus stop positioning). The cyclist was injured, she was injured. She actually had to go to A&E to check nothing was broken. But in the end, all was well though she was a bit battered and bruised. As a cyclist, I always feel responsible for the actions of all cyclists so I was pleased to hear that the cyclist was very nice and no hard feelings on either side.

Actually she and the cyclist stayed in touch to check on each’s recovery and the other day over coffee she showed the rest of the team their whatsapp correspondence. Looking at the profile picture another young colleague said, “Wait a minute, I know him, he is really nice he’s in my dance class!”

Atmosphere

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Posted in: Dublin, Ireland

Last October I was cycling up Capel Street when I saw a line of men walking towards me. They stretched right across the road so I got off my bike and went to the side of the road. A young woman started filming them and one of the men took her phone and threw it on the ground. It was all pretty intimidating. I learned later that they were Schalke 04 fans. When they’d passed I saw that the Guards were following them in a van. I can’t say that I found it very reassuring.