Archives for September 2012

Thursday, August 9

Another beautiful day made more beautiful by the certain knowledge that our fellow citizens at home were continuing to struggle in damp conditions. We went to the beach to celebrate.

Friday, August 10

The Princess and I went for a last trip to the beach.

Ever game, she went to pony camp in the afternoon but the boys bailed out and the four of us went to Doëlan where they enjoyed themselves more than you might expect paddling in the small harbour.

Saturday, August 11

Is there anything more depressing than cleaning a holiday home? It took three hours. Our kind landlords gave us caramel sweets and hydrangea to speed us on our way but we were left shadows of our former selves.

We went to Saint-Malo where we were spending the night before going for our ferry. It’s a very pretty, touristy walled town. It’s also almost entirely reconstructed having been bombed to bits during the Second World War. We went aboard a pirate ship which, surprisingly, turned out to be a mistake. The bare footed man in pirate dress treated us to a detailed talk on the historical role of corsairs and buccaneers [much nodding and smiling at us as the historical opposition of English and French interests was discussed – in vain did we protest that we were Irish and, historically, even less in favour of British naval supremacy than the French]. The children went careering around the deck in a spirited attempt to throw themselves overboard or at the very least hang themselves from the rigging.

A trip into the town led to Michael falling in love with a small bear in a tourist shop which he promptly named “Pooky the Second”. I said that if he still wanted him in the morning, we would buy him. Michael spent the remainder of the evening saying disconsolately “Pooky the Second” and a considerable portion of the next morning until, inevitably we purchased him. Yeah, go on, despise me.

Sunday, August 12

We shunned the breakfast buffet in the hotel on the grounds that it would have cost €50 for the five us. We had a lovely breakfast at a cafe inside the walled town instead. Since this cost €47 our saving was not as significant as we had hoped but on the plus side, it meant we were in town early and the tourists were fewer as we walked around the ramparts.

Also, of course, we were re-united with Pooky the Second. And his friend Jojo who had to be purchased for parity of esteem reasons.

Then, onwards to the ferry. Mr. Waffle brought the children to the cinema while I dined in solitary state in the waiter service restaurant with a copy of Saturday’s Irish Times. Oh the virtues of a kind husband.

Monday, August 13

The return. We were all glad to get back. We stopped for lunch in the Courtyard in Ferns where the food was fine and we were reminded that Irish people really are very friendly. The bar staff were lovely after a fortnight of slighty haughty French service.

Stay tuned for our trip to Kerry. Go on, you know you want to [insert hollow laugh here].

Saturday, August 18

My saintly parents-in-law regularly take a house in west Kerry to which their children and grandchildren are invited. Veterans of the long drive after their holidays in France, the children were very good on the 6 hour journey. We broke the journey for a cup of tea at my parents’ house in Cork which was, surprisingly, not very much out of our way. The best route for the journey from Dublin to SW Kerry continues to be a hotly debated topic.

Sunday, August 19

We had the fastest mass of the year in Caherdaniel coming in at just under 20 minutes. The church was packed confirming my view that the greater the number of the faithful the shorter the mass. We strolled down to the beach which though damp was greeted with enthusiasm by the children who all rolled up their trousers and waded into the sea. Inevitably, they all got soaked, but they were cheerful.

Later in the day we paid the inevitable visit to Staigue fort where it was, as ever, cold and damp. We got chatting to a Scottish couple with two small children who were exploring the damp fort also. Why, if you were Scottish would you choose to holiday in west Kerry? Madness.

Mr. Waffle’s uncle and aunt and a grandchild – a 10 year old boy, R, – were also staying nearby and we went to visit. R had an x-box. The boys nearly died of happiness. The Princess, her grandmother and I went to explore slightly twee but yet appealing ceramics. The Princess and I bought some Christmas tree decorations. The potter was next door in her workshop and she was lovely and very patiently answered the Princess’s many questions on her work.

And then, that evening, the first cousins arrived from Dublin. Oh joy.

Monday, August 20

It was a beautiful day. This was surprising. This summer in Ireland has been pretty awful and West Kerry is notoriously wet even in a good year. We went to the beach. I swam, the children swam. It was bracing. After a bit, I took the small ones back to the house (the boys and their two cousins). They went haring along and I panted after carrying various bits of gear. While holding the hand of a small child walking on a wall, I stepped in a big dollop of dog poo while wearing my very flat, very open sandals. The result was as might be expected and I asked them all to stop while I took off my shoe and tried to remove poo from my foot, the sole of my sandals and, particularly appealing this, the inside of the straps. They got tired of waiting and I found myself sprinting up the road after them clutching my shoe and laden down with various bags, not my finest moment.

The afternoon was to bring relief in the form of pirate camp. This was a sea sport camp for children aged 4-8 that my brother-in-law had spotted on the internet. We were delighted. We all felt that being together would make for greater enjoyment for the cousins and we could all relax in our various ways (reading the paper with a cup of tea or running up mountains or whatever). I took myself to the tea rooms in Caherdaniel a new and very welcome addition to the village. All was rosy. Upon collection, the children were less happy with the arrangement. “Pirate camp is boring,” said Michael. Oh dear. And 3 more afternoons to go. Sigh.

Tuesday, August 21

Another beautiful day dawned. We held our breath.

The Princess and I drove in to Kenmare which is full of things tourists like; it’s pretty, it has a bookshop, a tea room, several nice cafes, an antiques shop, a shop full of expensive pretty useless things and so on. We had a terrific time patrolling the town. We also achieved our objective of getting birthday presents for cousin R. On our way there we dropped my father-in-law in Sneem from whence he ran back to Caherdaniel. For fun.

When we got back after lunch we poured the unwilling pirates (Daniel stoic, Michael and his cousin requiring a combination of bribes and threats) into their wetsuits and took them to camp. We spent all the time they were at camp having a restorative cup of tea. Pirate camp was more successful as they had gone exploring rock pools with Captain Vinnie. Even Michael, grudgingly, conceded that this was quite good. He maintained his position, however, on the general undesirability of pirate camp.

The Princess was briefly, to her intense joy, adopted by a small dog. It followed us to the beach where one woman said loudly and pointedly, “There’s that dog that bit Amy.” I have to say that the dog was lovely with us and didn’t seem at all yappy. I said, “That’s not actually our dog.” But as the dog was at that point enthusiastically fetching sticks for the Princess I felt that this was not particularly credible. The dog’s owner turned out to be the woman who had rented the house to us who was unperturbed by her dog’s wanderings.

That evening all the children went to R’s house for his party and had a sleepover under the supervision of his saintly grandparents. The rest of us promptly went for dinner in the pub.

Wednesday, August 22

Another nice day. Quite astounding.

I took the four smaller children to visit an open farm. The farm itself was perfectly acceptable (and a very welcome addition to the frankly slender local tourist offerings) and the people who ran it were extremely kind but the children were not in the mood to be pleased. No sooner had we arrived than they all needed to go to the toilet – always welcome news to the adult in the party. They were all feeling somewhat tired from the excitement of the previous evening and they showed it: they broke the door to the fairy tree by over-enthusiastic hammering; the pigs were smelly; the digging was boring and all in all nothing was any good and could they please go home. Oh dear.

After lunch it was again time to pour the boys into their wetsuits for pirate camp. Michael’s reluctance reached fever pitch and when we got there he pointed in a pained fashion to the sign on the wall which read “Sea Sports”. “I don’t like sea and I don’t like sports,” he said bitterly, “when will you find me a summer camp, I actually like?” His brother continued unenthusiastic but resigned. Sharper than a serpent’s tooth etc.

Did I mention that Mr. Waffle got ticks while climbing the hills earlier in the week with herself and young R? I thought that you might like to know.

I think we’ll save the rest for part two now. Hang on to your hats.

Thursday, August 23

My sister-in-law who had been stuck in Dublin for work had joined the party the previous evening and we really needed her because it was pouring rain and fresh, enthusiastic recruits were essential to keep the children cheerful. We made the obligatory trip to Daniel O’Connell’s ancestral home which is, crucially, an indoor attraction. It was fine though not precisely new to any of us.

It was, mercifully, the last day of pirate camp. I suppose we could have baled out but the rain held off in the afternoon and I felt that the objection was more to the wet suit than pirate camp itself. They went. When we went to collect them, Michael was frozen. He had fallen into the water getting out of his kayak and this did nothing to improve his mood. He also had to stay in his wetsuit and pirate gear for a group photo which I can’t see them being able to use as Michael is in the front row bawling his eyes out. Oh well, we live and learn.

Friday, August 24

We decided to go to Valentia. We repeated all the things we had done the previous year but this time it didn’t rain. There was candle making.

There was the pet farm. This is the closest you are ever likely to get to being a farmer in west Kerry.

We fed lambs from bottles. We fed chickens and horses. We fed the lizard, the ferrets (with care) and the hamsters. We did not feed the pigs.

The children love this place and though it’s a bit rough and ready I can see us visiting here every year.

Then it was off to the ice cream shop, into the bookshop in Knightstown and back to the mainland on the ferry. Duration 2 minutes.

All in all very satisfactory and that was before the adults all escaped for dinner in Waterville leaving the babysitter with 6 children, one DVD and an encouraging word. I did drive her home afterwords to the scenic part of the Ring of Kerry where she lives (read very windy drive in the dark and the wet) so it wasn’t all bad.

Saturday, August 25

When the landlady came to take the keys back, she said that we had had the best week of the summer. What could be more gratifying?