Another Nablopomo is upon us. I will be posting every day in November. This post would be longer except I am unwell and going to bed early.
Let us hope that the quality of posting for the rest of the month will improve. As they say on “This American Life” – stay with us.
Yesterday, Mr. Waffle’s brother and his wife took our children and theirs to Tayto park. The park named after a potato crisp which proves that stereotypes are there for a reason.
It’s in Meath just on the outskirts of greater Dublin. The original plan was that we would rendez-vous at Tayto Park. Mr. Waffle and I spent quite a while trying to work out what to do near Tayto park in November and rapidly came to the conclusion that our best option after dropping the children would be to turn tail and go home. Happily, the cousins came in two cars and collected our children from home and dropped them back.
With a whole afternoon on our hands, we decided to go out to Howth for lunch and a walk. We went to the pier for lunch. Recession? It is over. We went to Aqua; next available table for two? 3.45.
[Conversation about Aqua at my bookclub this evening:
Friend A: It’s amazing.
Me: Maybe, but we didn’t get in.
Friend B: Yeah the food is fantastic.
Me: Yes, but we didn’t get in.
Friend A: And the view out is wonderful.]
We eventually found a table at another spot after queuing for a bit. Yes, really. We had to fight off some queue jumpers but, egged on by the woman behind us in the queue, we secured our table eventually. The minute we finished, about 2.15, two other enthusiastic diners hopped into our chairs.
The place was awash with tourists. Really, who says, “Long weekend in November, let’s go to Dublin!” Lots of people it transpires, almost all of them French, and fortune definitely favoured them, the weather has been delightful and yesterday it was so mild and sunny that lots of people were wearing shorts.
We then went off for our walk around the Hill of Howth which was pleasant but definitely busy. It was misty but pretty.
As we went around, a solitary Dutchman approached us from the opposite direction. He began declaiming. Initially, we thought he was speaking to someone else, but no he was addressing us. He said, irritably “If you go on, maybe six headlands, all the same, misty and then a lighthouse. About an hour’s walk and all the same.” Then he stalked off. “Was he comparing it unfavourably to all the cliffs in Holland?” we thought nastily. In any event, he clearly had no idea what the weather is normally like in Ireland in November or he would have been just delighted with his lot.
The children were returned to us at tea time happy to have done all manner of terrifying things including eating their own weight in crisps.
A satisfactory Sunday all round.
*If you are unfamiliar with the Dustin the Turkey number which inspired this title, may I direct your attention here.
I collected the boys from school today. As I shepherded my precious children along on their bikes, I was conscious that I was more than usually precarious on my own. Features for my added comfort included:
A basket which was very wobbly [I tried to get it fixed on Saturday but local bike shop had only one basket in stock and he didn’t recommend it – why, we ask ourselves] and liable to tip out its contents [in this case, one loose set of keys, one handbag, one long cylinder of wrapping paper and one bicycle lock] on the slightest provocation; and
Two heavy children’s schoolbags tied, reasonably securely, to the back carrier.
As I was turning right into heavy traffic my bike stopped moving. As the traffic was more or less at a standstill this wasn’t as awkward as it might have been and, happily, I didn’t fall over. I lifted up my, heavy, steed and moved to the side of the road. A strap from one of the school bags had got caught in the chain. As the bike is one which has a back pedal brake, extracting it was quite difficult and lengthy and made me and the strap absolutely filthy.
Once extracted, we then went home like the wind. I had undertaken to Herself that I would collect her from school at 3.35 in the car but warned that we might be a little late. This was before I realised that the boys’ extra-curricular courses started today [tin whistle and art, respectively, so far so good, tin whistle supplied, mercifully] and that they wouldn’t be out of school until 3.30 rather than 2.30 as usual. And then they took ages to emerge and I did not speed our passage home with my bicycle related difficulties.
I had no way of communicating with my first born other than by email [though as she informed me, a trifle coldly, I thought, I could have phoned the school] and although I sent her a mail saying that I would be late she only got it after 4 at which point she had been waiting for a while. I finally turned up at 4.15 the picture of guilt. How well I remember my mother doing the same thing to me. Alas.
Then this evening is filled with a different flavour of guilt (procrastinator’s guilt – are you familiar with this?) as I am avoiding packing for a trip to Cork with the family at the weekend for my sister’s birthday and for a work trip on Thursday and Friday. The plan is that my loving family will collect me at the station on Friday evening and we will drive to Cork. The logistics of packing for both events simultaneously is too much, so I have put it off until tomorrow which I know to be a mistake. Don’t mock the afflicted. Also, I have requirements for the children’s clothing for their aunt’s [significant] birthday party. I think everyone will need more information than, “Pack something nice to wear” or I will be sadly disappointed. And, of course, I have nothing to wear myself.
Still it could be worse, poor Mr. Waffle is at the AGM of the Residents’ Committee. He went off this evening looking very glum.
This is the kind of exciting news that posting every day brings. For completeness, have a picture of my sons disappearing into the fog on their bicycles this morning.
It all passed off very peacefully. The children dressed up.
They received extraordinary quantities of stuff.
Top prize goes to the couple across the road who noticed that our children hadn’t turned up at their door [they only had the stamina for one and a half sides of the street] and turned up at our door on Sunday with a bag of goodies for each of them.
Michael: Oh no, next Sunday, is going to be a long mass.
Me: Why do you say that?
Michael: Whenever it says on my calendar that it is a special occasion, there’s always a long mass.
Me [puzzled]: What does it say on your calendar?
Him: Remembrance Sunday.
Mr. Waffle: Ah, you’ll find that’s not celebrated here.
I woke up in Athlone this morning. I got the train to Dublin this afternoon. I drove to Cork this evening. I haven’t even the energy for a haiku. More tomorrow.