belgianwaffle

Archives for June 2007

The problem with film festivals


Posted in: Mr. Waffle, Reading etc.

Me: Fancy going to a flick tonight.

Him: OK

Me: There’s the film festival at Flagey; how about “Reprise”?

Him: What’s it about?

Me: “Since their childhood, Eric and Phillip wanted to become writers. Their ambition grew through their adoration of the remarkable Norwegian writer Sten Egil Dahl. And one day, each one of them decides to send a story to an editor. Only Phillip’s story is accepted and published. But the sudden media attention he gets and his psychotic obsession of his girlfriend Kari push him beyond the bearable limits.  He ends up in a psychiatric clinic”

Him: Very Nordic.

Me:  Mmm.  There’s more – “The narrative style of Joachim Trier .. reminds one of Christoffer Boe (Reconstruction), without the science fiction. It gives a vibrant atmosphere to the movie, with flashbacks succeeding one another really quickly. You won’t end up on the wrong trail, because the clear emotional story, the catchy soundtrack, the adequate graphics and the intelligent montage, make Reprise one of the most remarkable first long feature of last year”.

Him: Adequate graphics eh?

Me: Silence

How I wish I lived my life by the boy scouts’ motto


Posted in: Family, Princess

Conversation at 9.30 yesterday evening:

Him: Tomorrow’s the last day at school and it has just occurred to me that we should probably buy presents for the teachers.

Me: Curse, curse, swear.

Him: Mmm.

Me: OK, we can cannabilise the present I got for my aunt, into three different presents and I’ll get her something else.

Him: And the other people in the garderie and so on?

Me: Snarl.

This morning

Me (in the boulangerie): And I’ll have three little packets of chocolates as well please.

Woman in shop: That will be 30 euros.

Me: 30 EUROS! Do you take cards?

Woman in shop: No.

Trek to bank tugging trailing Princess. Come back, buy world’s most expensive chocolates, turn up to school with sack of goodies.

Princess’s teachers: Oh presents how kind – much kissing. Presents are opened.

Teacher A: Oh, a book of, um, war photographs, how nice.

What can I say, my aunt is arty I thought a book of Robert Capa pics would be appealing.

Teacher B: Gosh, more war photographs, um, how interesting.

Teacher C: And some fridge magnets.

My aunt is also a bit hard to buy for, alright.

And so now I have no present for my aunt. In other news, the Princess may have lice again and we went to see Shrek yesterday, these items are not related but I thought I would include the former for completeness. She did not like Shrek. She sat on my lap, a ball of terror repeating “I want to go home” at regular intervals. She was particularly distressed by the irreverent portrayal of the Disney Princesses. Alas.

Feral cows or he who laughs last laughs longest


Posted in: Family, Reading etc.

My mother is afraid of cows. This is more of a problem than you might think since her father was a dairy farmer. When she was in primary school, she used to sit on the gate post until some kind passing soul would take her down and walk up the drive with her keeping her safe from marauding cows. I sometimes think that this might be part of the reason why she so enjoyed boarding school when she went. She was safe from the cows. She always said that she worked harder than us in school because she had more of an incentive “I knew, if I didn’t mind my lesson, I wouldn’t go to college and I would have to marry a farmer”. Her objection, you understand, was not to farmers per se but the farms that came with them. When we were small, I can remember going on a picnic and cows turning up in the field. My mother fled leaving her defenceless family to the mercy of the bovine invaders. I remember my father treacherously carrying me up to pat a cow on the nose saying “nice moo-cow”.

All this is by way of background. In the Irish Times a while ago, there was an article on feral cows. Apparently some unfortunate woman was set upon by her herd and killed. The article pointed out that bulls get a bad press but cows can be every bit as dangerous (cetainly trying to recast the villains there – a bit like John Waters and domestic violence). I spoke about it to my mother.

Her: I’m not a bit surprised that woman was attacked. She went out at twilight with a dog.

Me: At twilight?

Her: Cows are at their most dangerous at twilight.

Me (suppressing a snigger): Mooing at the moon and all that.

Her: Well, with all this factory farming, they’re not used to people any more. Mind you, they were always dangerous.

Me: Er, were they?

Her: I remember my mother going across the fields to visit Houlihans and encountering a herd of cows on the way back who chased her up the tree.

Me: No, really, what happened?

Her: She stayed there until your grandfather thought she’d been gone a long time and went out to look for her and drove off the cows.

Ramblers beware, you heard it here first.

Trendy


Posted in: Princess

Why you should not let your four year old pick out her own clothes.

Unlikely


Posted in: Reading etc.

Headline from Saturday’s Irish Times: “German and Polish relations hit new low over treaty”. Really? A passing acquaintance with 20th century history would suggest that this is improbable.

Mother knows best


Posted in: Princess

5.00 am Princess wakes howling in agony saying her tummy is very sore.

5.10 am I ring my parents for advice (why should I suffer alone?) and push on a screaming Princess’s abdomen in line with instruction from Cork. “Does it hurt particularly when you press for a while and let go suddenly?” Well, it’s a bit hard to tell when she is screaming all the time.

5.15 am My instinct tells me that something is wrong and my parents say, if I’m concerned go to a doctor. I pack her into the car, leaving loving husband to mind the boys and zoom off to accident and emergency in the local hospital. Princess sobs pitifully in the back of the car.

5.20am Arrive at hospital. Carry Princess around the building looking for night entrance. Explain to her that they are very unlikely to cut her open (though in the back of my mind I am worried she has appendicitis) and she miraculously calms down and perks up.

5.25am Hand over her medical details to friendly man on the desk.

5.26am Princess lies down on examining chair in a nice kiddie friendly room and chats animatedly to the charming nurse. Otherwise A&E is deserted. I marvel at its cleanliness and the efficiency of the Belgian health system. The nurse takes the Princess’s temperature. 37.8.

5.34am A weary doctor, clearly roused from her slumbers, comes and does a thorough examination on the Princess and pronounces her perfectly healthy. The Princess continues to chat happily, I die of mortification.

5.50am Back home, rang father to give him an update – look, he suffers from insomnia, it’s good for him to have something to listen to other than radio 4.

6.00am Back to sleep to prepare for the rigours of a day which includes a visit to the farm and the aquarium. Motherly instinct, eh?