belgianwaffle

Archives for January 2007

Happy new year


Posted in: Reading etc.

I have no new year resolutions.  I have no coherent thoughts about last year or this year.  Why don’t I share my thoughts on advertising instead?

Has anyone else seen the seiko watch advertisement that says “It’s your watch that says most about who you are”? Is this possibly the stupidest slogan in advertising history?

Belgian banks at the moment are really pushing the idea that their staff are just like you and you can bank with someone you identify with. Fortis, KBC, they’re all at. Unfortunately I can’t find any links to the ads because I am incapable of harnessing the power of the internet. These ads are mildly annoying and I do like the way that a bank rejoicing in the name of key trade sends them up.

Siblings


Posted in: Siblings

Me: If Dan (my brother) ever gets married his wife is in for a shock.

My mother (indignantly): Why? Your brother is very good you know.

Me: Yes, I know, but he’s not exactly Mr. New Man round the house is he?

My mother: He’s fantastic, before I got my cleaners in regularly he used to do an awful lot around the house.

Me (recognising a lost cause): Yes, ok, he is very good but he does have the odd fault.

My mother: Precious few.

Me: Outraged silence.

Meanwhile, my sister’s project has finally gone live in India. She rang this evening at 1.45 am local time to say that 100 people had been working flat out since 4 that afternoon and they’d just managed to get out an invoice. I didn’t like to say but I did think that maybe writing out the invoice by hand and delivering it on foot would be more efficient.

Home again, home again, jiggedy jig


Posted in: Family

We left my parents’ house in Cork yesterday morning at 10.50.  We took the 11.30 train to Dublin where we arrived at 14.30.   At Portlaoise, the train was nearly full and the Princess had to give up the two seats she was sprawling across to a mother and two children.  Great and vocal was her indignation.  We were deeply mortified as we tried to explain to her in furious whispers that the seats were not, in fact, hers.  “And would it be nice to leave these three people standing when you can sit there beside Daddy?”   To summarise, her view is that it would.  We taxied across the city to the airport arriving at about 15.15.  During the journey the Princess decided to strip to her vest and tights but, otherwise, it was uneventful.  

We then checked in and went through security and were safely in the cafeteria by 16.30.  At 17.30 we were preparing to board.  The flight was full of important Irish Europeans including the current and former secretaries general of the European Commission.  I like to think that our screaming children added their little mite to the happiness of these important souls.  Connecting with the citizen and all that.  An acquaintance of Mr. Waffle’s who is a pleasant man and was also travelling said to me that minding the children must be like “herding mice at a crossroads”.  “Who” enquired the Princess “is a mouse?”.   “You are” I said.  “And your brothers” added the jovial acquaintance.  “We are not” she huffed indignantly and, putting an arm around each brother, said “don’t mind him, my little brothers”.  When we actually got on the plane she saw this poor man coming down the aisle and she said quite audibly “Look, that’s the nasty man we met at the airport”.   Embarrassed smiles all round.    Mr. Waffle had the dubious pleasure of sitting with Daniel on his lap and the Princess beside him while I was across the aisle with Michael.  It was a long journey.  Daniel got the bottle of water with the squirty lid and amply dampened all within squirting range.  The Princess helpfully offered to mop up the damage with her dress (can I say how much I regret putting her in a dress that buttons up the front).  Once sitting happily in her vest and tights she proceeding to colour in all visible flesh with red marker. Meanwhile Michael was endearing himself to the two patient civil servants sitting beside me by tossing his bottle in the air for them to catch and ensuring that their suits would smell of sour milk at their meetings today. We arrived promptly at 20.30 and spent the next 20 minutes trying to clothe the Princess and cajole her off the plane while her brothers roared in indignation.  We emerged, picked up our ample baggage and taxied home for 21.30.  Sighs of relief all round.

Christmas Round-up


Posted in: Family

Christmas Eve

Princess: Can I have a sweetie?

Me: Sweetheart, you’ve had loads of sweeties since we’ve got home, so I think that today we’ll have a detox.

Mr. Waffle (anxiously): Does this mean that we have to squirt ginseng up her bottom.

Christmas morning

The Princess goes into the room (obviously dark, it’s still the middle of the night) lit only by Christmas tree lights and looks at all the presents under the tree. Before touching a present she runs anxiously to the fireplace and stares in awe at the empty milk glass, the apple core and the few biscuit crumbs left on Santa’s plate.

Christmas afternoon

The publishing exec prepares for the annual influx of her relatives for drinks. She is wearing very high heels and a very daring baby doll dress. It’s glamourous but, you know, daring. I look at her dubiously. “Oh” she says airily “I want to give them something to talk about in the car on the way home”.

Later Christmas afternoon

Mr. Waffle’s cousin upstages all other cousins by mincing up to an elderly aunty and going to kiss her on the cheek. He pulls back in alarm while surreptitiously wiping his mouth and says “Gosh, aunty, I was actually going for your cheek there”.

Little Christmas


Posted in: Princess

In Ireland and perhaps elsewhere, for all I know, January 6 used to be known as Little Christmas or Women’s Christmas. The idea was that women would get a break at Epiphany from the intense work that Christmas entailed. I was telling the Princess about this today. I explained that the women used to do all the cooking and cleaning and this was their chance for a break. “Amazing” said the Princess. “Did the men just do this?” she asked standing stock still and staring fixedly out the window. I like to think of this as a victory for equal opportunities. I am reminded of the Icelandic woman who told me about her son who was six. For all of his short life, the mayor of Rejkavik and the President of Iceland had been women. When the mayoral election came around there were candidates of both sexes and he asked his mother in amazement “can a man be mayor too?”

Women’s Christmas did not pass off very peacefully for the female members of the household. The Princess and I have been enjoying particularly poor relations recently. She will not do a thing for me, especially when the boys are there and random actions of mine can lead to screaming and hysterical crying from her. For example, this morning when I pulled the blind she began to cry loudly and shout “No, no, I want to eat my breakfast with the blind down.”

Later in the day we had the following conversation:

Her: Give me a biscuit or I’ll kill you.

Me: That’s not a very nice thing to say.

Her: Why?

Me: Well, it’s unpleasant to threaten people and in the long term, it’s probably not worth killing your mother for a biscuit. Think of it, then you’d be like Cinderella and Snow White with no Mummy.

Her: I was saying a joke. Sure, I wouldn’t even know how to kill you and I bet it would be really expensive anyway.

Given the way relations have been going, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised, if she’d been phoning round contract killers to see what their rates are.

Bedtime


Posted in: Princess

The Princess and I were looking at a picture of animals in a wood in her book.   We named them and the various flora surrounding them.  She pointed to a small insect “what’s that?”.  “I’m not sure” I said.  “Probably an insect” she said wisely.  “Yes, probably”, I agreed “what do you think it’s doing?”.  “Probably looking for hair to live in”.  Indeed.

Please see nostalgic video of Princess reciting a nursery rhyme when nothing lived in her hair, if you are so inclined.