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Archives for August 2009

The Rose of Tralee

31 August, 2009
Posted in: Ireland

Last week, like much of the nation, I sat down to watch the Rose of Tralee. It is what our American cousins call a beauty pageant, but it’s a weird one.

It started in 1959 as a way to boost Tralee and stay in touch with the Irish diaspora. Here’s how it works, women (under 28) are selected from Ireland and around the world. They must have some Irish link but it can be pretty tenuous (one Irish great-grandparent is fine). These are the “lovely girls” parodied by evil old Father Ted. The song, “The Rose of Tralee” features the line “She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer/but ’twas not her beauty alone that won me”. The organisers constantly emphasise this line and that it’s not about looks alone. The women meet the judges several times during the week long festival. Certainly, the participants tend to be easy on the eye but they are not all startlingly beautiful and several of them were grand big girls this time round. Gratifyingly, none of them looks as though she’s starving.

So, the format is that contestant goes onstage, talks about her Irish roots (if from abroad), has a small chat with the presenter and then demonstrates a talent. In the past, almost invariably, Irish dancing (and there are still a fair few among the diaspora who can do a very impressive slip jig). They all wear evening dresses. This is most emphatically not the kind of event where there is a swimsuit round.

They are an impressive bunch all the same. They stood there in front of a big audience – no visible nerves and chatted away happily. As time has gone on the cohort has grown more and more educated and now the Roses are overwhelmingly young professionals – a lot of accountants for some reason – or students finishing their degrees (it’s the only beauty pageant you’d be happy to see your daughter participating in). A doctor Rose (Perth and obstetrics, since you ask) wanted to do some suturing as her special talent but the television people demurred as it would be hard to capture successfully on screen. She belted out a very acceptable song instead.

Some of my highlights from this year’s event.

Derby Rose
Insensitive presenter: And you have a brother who is very severely handicapped?
Derby Rose: Yes, that’s right. He has Cornelia de Lange syndrome. [She explains a bit about it and says she loves her brother.]
Presenter: It’s genetic, isn’t it, so your children could have it.
Her: It’s possible but the odds against it are huge, it’s as unlikely as winning the lottery.
Presenter: And as your parents get older, who will look after your brother? I suppose it will be you.
Her: Well, yes, but I love him very much and will be happy to care for him.

Kilkenny Rose
Presenter: So how did you become a Rose?
Her: Ray, my mother always wanted me to do the Rose of Tralee.
Presenter: And we’ve met.
Her: Yes, I was at the young scientist exhibition (she’s a science teacher) and some of my students saw you. They went running up to you and, like a big eejit, I ran after them. My mother was there too to help with the students because of the cutbacks and she ran up to you too. She told you that she had always wanted me to be in the Rose of Tralee and you misunderstood and thought I was a former Rose. So, my mother said, “If Ray D’Arcy thinks that you were a former Rose you can definitely do it.”
Presenter: And was she delighted when you were selected?
Her: Actually, Ray, she died that week.
Presenter (slight pause): And your father’s dead too, isn’t he?
Her: Yes Ray, he died when I was very young.
Presenter: So, you’re an orphan.
Her: Yes, I am.
Presenter: But there was another man who was like a stepfather to you.
Her: Yes, Tom.
Presenter: But he’s dead too.
Her: Yes, he is, he died when I was 17.
Presenter: God, you’re like a black widow or something.
Was she cast down? No. Afterwards for her talent she did a science trick that you could use in the pub – sucking liquid into a glass using matches, an ashtray and a vacuum. Personally, I was hoping that she would win.

Dublin Rose
Presenter: So you’re a trainee solicitor in Arthur Cox.
Dublin Rose: That’s right.
Presenter: Of course, they’re acting in relation to NAMA.
Her: Yes, that’s right. It’s a great indication of the excellent service which the firm provides.
Presenter: And they acted for a bank as well. Any concerns about conflicts of interest there?
Her: No, Ray, we have what are called Chinese Walls… [it was at this point that Mr. Waffle retired saying that he couldn’t face a Rose of Tralee contestant explaining Chinese Walls to him]

San Francisco Rose
Presenter: So you work in IT.
Her: Yes, that’s right. In Kaiser Permanente.
Presenter: And what do they do?
Her: Healthcare.
Presenter: Oh great, can you explain President Obama’s plans for healthcare reform.
Her: How long do we have, Ray?

The winner was the London Rose – a management consultant (who had done a stint as a Japanese weather girl). We heard that she got 6 A1s in her Leaving Certificate and was a scholar in Trinity College. As it happens, I was at dinner on Saturday night with four former Trinity scholars and I asked them whether they thought that having a Rose of Tralee among their number debased the currency somewhat. The jury was divided. The women felt that it did rather. The men were just baffled.

You can watch it on the internet next year. Go on, you know you want to.

Women in pyjamas

30 August, 2009
Posted in: Reading etc.

There was a very annoyed woman writing in the Irish Times a while back about funding for equality measures. The tone of the article is, perhaps, a mistake in the current climate. Nevertheless, I was absolutely amazed by the levels of vitriol of almost all of the (overwhelmingly male) commenters. A little bit chilling.

Who says that the tax people have no sense of humour?

29 August, 2009
Posted in: Ireland, Mr. Waffle

Email

From: Mr. Waffle
To: His loving wife
Subject: Revenue and Bouncy Castle

Apparently banal request to renew my Revenue On-Line cert leads to this astonishing statement:

Renewing your ROS Digital Certificate

In order to renew your ROS digital certificate, ROS requires that you run third-party software provided by the Legion of the Bouncy Castle.
The Legion of the Bouncy Castle is a well-respected supplier of security software that is approved by the Office of the Revenue Commissioners for use with ROS.

They’re not joking.

Ephemera

28 August, 2009
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Michael

Daniel speaks in a mixture of the accents of the South African (Afrikaans speaking), Romanian and Dublin women who were his teachers in Montessori school. It is endearing and also slightly alarming.

Michael refers to his sandals as his “ankles”. He often begins sentences with “Well..” and when enthused about something will say “oh yes indeed”. His standard introduction line is “Hello, I am Michael, we are three.” It seems to work well for him.

Both of them say “I am he” when I would definitely say, “I am him”. I am not sure whether they are grammatically correct or not but it definitely sounds wrong.

The other day, I asked them how Dublin people say “book” – source of mild amusement something like bewk – they looked baffled. You know, the way Dublin people like Daddy say it, I encouraged. “Un livre” offered Michael, “l’histoire” said Daniel hopefully. Some confusion there, I fear.

End of an era

27 August, 2009
Posted in: Boys

Today, the boys started school. It passed off peacefully.

uniform

Holiday Week 2 – Kerry

27 August, 2009
Posted in: Family, Ireland

Saturday, August 15

So, you left us in Cork, now we are pressing on to the west. Very far west, Caherdaniel in fact, off the South West of the Ring of Kerry. Before we got to the distant outpost we has to endure a car journey. We played that game where one person starts a story and the next continued, it went like this:

Me: Once upon a time there was a beautiful Princess AND
Mr. Waffle: She was going on her holidays AND
Princess: She met a handsome Prince AND
Michael: Some baddies came out of the wood and attacked them AND
Daniel: Cut off their heads.

There is a reason for stereotypes, I suppose. We also played the Minister’s cat (at which Michael showed surprising facility for a boy who isn’t very sure about the order of the alphabet) and that game where one person hums a song and the others guess what it might be. Is it a sign of parenting failure that the only songs the boys could hum were the theme tunes of Bob the Builder, Fireman Sam (not v. hummable) and Postman Pat?

When we got to the tiny village of Caherdaniel in one of the most remote parts of the country, the children were delighted to see their Dublin grandparents in situ. Michael celebrated by breaking Daniel’s glasses. Inquiries in the local shop elicited the information that there was an optician’s in Caherciveen open every day and all hours. Correctly interpreting this to mean that the optician was open 9-5 (even during lunch time) Monday to Friday, we resigned ourselves to poor Danny bumbling around blindly for a day and a half.

The rest of us settled down and admired the view which the grandparents had kindly provided for us along with the house.
View

The Princess tried and failed to work up the courage to feed the horses and compromised by laying carrots, grass and other titbits on the wall for them to eat.
feeding
Horses

Sunday, August 16

The weather was fine. An exceptional circumstance. We went out blackberry picking which the children had never done before. The novelty wore off quickly for the boys (Daniel’s problem may well have been that he couldn’t actually see the blackberries) but herself could have gone on all day and delightedly filled half a bucket.
Blackberry

blckby 2

After lunch we rushed to the beach. A friend once described a holiday in Donegal where the family spent the whole time huddled in the hall with their beach gear and then when the sun came out they picked everything up and ran to the beach. Kerry is like that.

When I say that the weather was fine, you have to interpret that by local standards.
beach

Look, it’s not actually raining.
bch

At 4.00 we took ourselves off to a local GAA match. Michael instantly made friends with a little Kerry boy who had a ball. Young Mr. Kerry instantly began ordering around all of the little boys on the sideline and they were shortly playing away. As I commented to his mother, it is this spirit which explains Kerry’s continued success in Gaelic football (though, please note, Cork v. successful too and at hurling). She mentioned a bouncy castle and a raft race on a nearby beach so we took ourselves off there.
Bouncy castle

The children had a fantastic time wading into the water in their clothes. I was less enthused.

Wet

The rafts were constructed by the teams and there was some entertainment in trying to guess which would capsize first.
rafts

Esteemed grandfather ran into the landlord of his local pub in Dublin, because Ireland is like that. On the way home, I ran into my mother’s gardener, because Ireland is like that. Local gossip gleaned from Mr. Waffle revealed that he (the gardener) had bought land which was sold off when there was a dispute over Bono’s uncle’s will (not involving Bono because, I suppose, he has enough money already). What, you didn’t know that there are fewer than two degrees of separation beteween Bono and everyone in Ireland?

Monday, August 17

The Princess and I were up before 8 making blackberry jam because I promised her I would. There were no weighing scales and I was relying solely on my skill and judgement and this text message from my sister: “Other random jam making advice. Don’t use overripe fruit or jam will not set. Fruit and sugar should not occupy more than half of pan. Don’t use iron or zinc pans or jam will taste horrible. Setting points tests 1. cold plate. Put jam on cold plate and check if it wrinkles. 2. heat to a temperature of 220F to 222F 3. Flake test. Place spoon in jam let cool it should set and form small flakes (not recommended as not conclusive and tricky). 4. Volume test. Not even going to go there. Only for frequent jam makers in my opinion.”

You will be pleased to hear that the jam set. Though a bit too sweet. Everyone had homemade jam for breakfast. The Princess and I were very proud.
jam

Mr. Waffle prepared to take Daniel to Caherciveen to look for the optician. His father had been snoozing gently in the porch. Ah, I thought, age is catching up with the man who runs up mountains. He woke up and asked Mr. Waffle to drop him off in Waterville so that he could run cross country back to the house (10kms). My parents-in-law like to confound me. I took the other pair off to the beach as the sun was shining.

In the afternoon we went to Staigue Fort, a pre-historic ring fort, where I had never been before.
staigue

All very interesting and the boys liked it but I was terrified that they would somehow manage to toss themselves over the edge.
climbing

Tuesday, August 18

It rained on and off all day. We used up our one indoor trip (for a wet place, the Iveragh penninsula boasts very few indoor excitements) and visited the home of Daniel O’Connell. Michael swooned with happiness when he saw O’Connell’s duelling pistols. I’m not sure how much the boys took in; their sister on the other hand is now an O’Connell expert. Afterwards when asked by his grandmother what the Liberator had done, Daniel said, “He died.” True, I suppose.

We went out to Derrynane beach where the children took the opportunity to wade into the water and get their clothers wet.

wet2
That evening, friends of the grandparents called round. They are ultra runners. Mad. Off their heads. They once ran from Malin to Mizen head (length of Ireland) in 8 days. They make my f-in-law (has only run up over 200 mountains) seem positively sedentary.

Wednesday, August 19

“It rained and it rained, it bucketed down, teeming in torrents on mountain and town,” as Lynley Dodd would say. And nothing to do. We had booked the children in for riding and they were grimly determined to do it. They were led down the road by three, understandably, gloomy pre-teens. We splashed after and the horses hung their heads. The children, though, were ecstatic. So delighted that we booked them in again for Friday despite the enormous cost.

wet3

Thursday, August 20

More rain. Mr. Waffle and I at our wits’ ends. Grandparents considering, very cravenly, bowing out early and driving off to Dublin. As Mr. Waffle put it, “Kerry has 24 hours to prove itself to my parents.” He was reminded of a girl who was at college with him and used to do bus tours around the Ring of Kerry. Obviously, half the time it was a breathtaking, spectacular view and the other half it was impenetrable mist and rain. They used to keep postcards of the views on the bus and pass them around to the poor tourists showing them what they were missing. I suppose that they have DVDs now. Poor Americans.

We spent a good portion of the day driving round looking for the Skelligs chocolate factory. I’m not sure that you could say vaut le voyage – two rooms and a DVD on how chocolate is made. Nice chocolate though. The Princess, who had been reading “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” in the car was profoundly unimpressed. We investigated the Cill Rialaigh artists’ colony where we had lunch. Big city food and accompanying prices – €8 for a small bowl of kiddie pasta. At least the food was good and it made a welcome break from my staple diet in rural Ireland: toasted sandwich with salad and chips.

And it was still raining.

We went to Cahersiveen to look at the old RIC barracks, now a museum. This was my first visit to Cahersiveen and I had not previously been aware that its barracks was modelled on Neuschwanstein or as the brochure put it, it was designed in “the highly distinctive ‘Schloss’ style of architecture”. The usual story is told, Empire got the maps mixed up and the Kerry barracks went up in India somewhere and we got their Neuschwanstein. I find this a little unconvincing as this thing would be as odd there as it is here.
RIC

The literature on the barracks points out that “the major deficiency of the South Kerry tourism product lies in the lack of things for visitors to do when travelling around the west end of the Iveragh penisnsula.” They’re not kidding. I’m not sure that the barracks fits the bill though it does have a mildly interesting collection of old press cuttings, agricultural implements, Daniel O’Connell paraphernalia etc. However, we were very glad it was there and we didn’t have to stay outside in the hailstones (yes, really).

That evening we went out to dinner and left the children with saintly grandparents. Alas, another disappointment. Strike Parknasilla from the list. I was astonished at the numbers of families with small children staying in the extremely expensive hotel. Has nobody told them that the boom is over?

Friday, August 21

Bright, beautiful sunshine. The children went riding again. Everyone was much more cheerful this time. The Princess was led round by a French teenager with whom she chatted cheerily in French. I heard one of the Irish teenagers whisper to her friend, “Did you hear that little girl, she speaks Spanish and English?” To appreciate this fully, you should know that French is more or less compulsory in school from 13-15.

D
M
Ml

We then went to what my daughter declared “the best market ever”. It had the usual offerings plus some bric-a-brac and cheap second-hand children’s toys and books.

We spent the whole afternoon on the beach in glorious sunshine, made even better by the knowledge that the rest of the country was enjoying pouring rain. The sea was full of waves and children in wetsuits. My children are, officially, the only children in Ireland whose mean Mummy makes them go blue when they want to swim. I’m trying to toughen them up.

Saturday, August 22

Miserable, grim and very lengthy drive back to our nation’s capital. Sustained only by false memories of a full week of delightful sunshine in Kerry – blinded by Friday’s sunshine. This is why people like my sister-in-law believe that it never rained in Kerry in all the years she went there as a child (hollow laugh). Children ecstatic to be home and, more particularly, reunited with the television. Car has peculiar and unpleasant smell.

No more holidays until next year.

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