Michael

Stockholm – Part II (Now with Extra Luggage)

7 September, 2022
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel

Friday August 5

We went to the fun fair. We were inspired by our trip to Tivoli in Copenhagen years ago which probably remains our most successful day out ever. Gröna Lund was reasonably successful but, I’ll say it now, it’s no Tivoli.

The great thing about Tivoli was the lovely restaurants and walks as well as fairground rides appealing to young and middle aged alike. To be fair to Gröna Lund it does have some charming rides and attractions and lunch on site was grand if not spectacular. We all rather enjoyed the fun house.

I deeply, deeply regretted my choice to try the Monster ride but the boys seem to have enjoyed it. The children went on most of the rides but after the Monster ride, I felt a nice cup of tea was more my thing. Speaking of tea, I enjoyed the Fika ride concept.

It lashed rain on us but that beat the blistering heat of the previous day. I mean, we’re used to rain. Herself persuaded me to go on one of those chair rides with chains, you know the kind. It swung out over the Baltic in a rather charming way and I was really quite enjoying myself until I realised that I was wearing slip on sandals and that there was a good chance that one of them might end up in the Baltic with the attendant complications of being bare foot in a fun park in the centre of Stockholm. I spent the remainder of the ride with curled up toes and clenched teeth.

When we got home, Michael, Mr. Waffle and I went for a stroll to the Buddhist temple at the end of the road. Weird, right?

Over dinner, herself looked around the table and said, not in a pleased voice, “Why does everybody look like me?” I think she needs to spend more time with her family.

Saturday, August 6, 2022

Herself and myself decided to go into Stockholm for the day. We had an early start. We identified a car park in the Gamla Stan and got ourselves there with the help of Half-Right Helga without too much difficulty. But the parking meter was broken. I stood disconsolately in front of it it for a while poking it with my cards. Then I fell upon this lone Swede (it was early) going across the car park. He was so kind. He said I needed a local parking app. He found the app in the app store; he waited while I installed it (giving it all my credit card details, my life history, you know what these things are like). Then he showed me on the app where we were and how to pay. It took ages but he was chirpy, he was off to his boat to go sailing for the day and in no rush he said. Apparently Swedes own more boats per capita than any other nation on earth (so said our boat tour guide, certainly feels true).

We wandered around the old town which was charming and pretty much deserted. We had breakfast in a trendy cafe. Herself had given us a number of recommendations from Gwyneth Paltrow. I was pretty dubious but I have to say, Gwnny did not let us down. I am most surprised to find myself saying this but would definitely recommend.

Then we went shopping and we saw the sights and we just had a lovely, lovely time. You know those days when everything goes right? It was just delightful. As we drove home, I said to herself, “You know, I finally feel like a grown-up, driving with my daughter to a foreign capital city, getting home again and absolutely nothing going wrong.”

I must say that even now when I see a picture of the old town in Stockholm, my eyes are rivetted to the open air car park by the harbour and I think, “I parked there, yes there.” Achievement level unlocked, guys.

The five of us went back into town that evening. We needed another kind Swede to help us with the car park. Car parking in Stockholm is complex for the reasons outlined previously.

We had booked ourselves into a programme of Nordic songs in the Opera House. Herself felt we needed some culture. Definite win.

We arrived a bit early and had drinks on a beautiful terrace looking out over the city. The opera house itself was elaborate; the Nordic songs were interesting; the singer explained them to us in English; the performance was under an hour (there’s only so much Nordic opera that is really fun). I would really recommend, I have to say.

Although the singer explained the songs in English she was Swedish as were most of the audience although there were some foreigners (including a very forceful English woman who made an Opera House employee who she made find her another bathroom down a locked corridor because the queue in the open one was too long. “I’ll miss the start,” she said. “I don’t think you will,” said the employee who you would think might know. She prevailed. I was both disapproving and admiring). English is amazingly prevalent in Sweden. A lot of the cafe/restaurant staff who are not Swedish appear not to speak it which I find pretty startling. I mean they were serving Swedes, in Sweden and speaking to them in English. Peculiar. Though very useful for those of us whose Swedish language skills are rudimentary at best.

We had drinks in the old town and then went for dinner to the Flying Elk which was also a Gwyneth Paltrow recommendation. I had dutifully booked but that proved unnecessary. When we arrived, they said, “You’re the booking!” We were the booking, the place was pretty empty – a gastropub by the harbour – but perfectly pleasant.

Honestly a perfect day.

We went back to the car park and it appeared to be locked against us. We asked the bouncer in a club beside the locked entrance whether he had any idea what we might do. “It’s the same problem every night, people get locked out,” he said gloomily. We were even more gloomy. You will be pleased to hear – but not at all as pleased as we were – that we did eventually find our way back to the car via a night entrance quite a distance away.

Sunday, August 7, 2022

Feeling that further delights were available in town, herself went in to Stockholm on the bus. As she departed she announced that her phone battery was low and she might be uncontactable. Sigh.

Daniel emerged late from his bedroom. He had got up at 4.30 to see the sunrise and it was a very early start. Also, as he dolefully informed us, “4.30 is not sunrise time”.

After the excitements of the previous day we had a quiet time knocking around the house and swimming in the Baltic.

We went to the supermarket where some German tourists, taking us for Swedes asked where the milk was. We got chatting. “Actually, we’re going to Germany tomorrow,” I said chirpily. “Where are you going?” they asked. “To Berlin,” I said. The father actually physically recoiled in horror. “To Berlin?” he squeaked. This did not make me feel good about my choices. I went into mourning for the lovely Airbnb, the beautiful surroundings, the closeness to the delightful city of Stockholm. What, what were we thinking? The temperatures predicted for Berlin were horrifying. I was horrified.

We were distracted from our Berlin horror by two things: 1. herself had found a charger and called us to let us know that she’d missed the bus and could we collect her from town (we could and we did, that’s parents for you – she had, inevitably, found this very cool cafe quarter where, blindly following the directions of Half-Right Helga, we inadvertently drove through a pedestrianised street to pick her up) and 2. our luggage debacle.

When booking our flights via Expedia, we had neglected to add hold baggage – even Homer nods etc. We then found ourselves in this hideous loop where Expedia said only the airline could add luggage and the airline said that they couldn’t because we’d booked through Expedia. When we checked in online 24 hours before departure could we add luggage? We could not. Our lovely luggage with which we had only so recently been reunited. Poor Mr. Waffle spent a couple of hours on the Norwegian airlines helpline and was told maybe they could do something at the airport. A number of hideous plan Bs were developed. We went with the following.

Herself was flying to Dublin on the following day having had enough of Berlin for one summer. Mr. Waffle booked her an extra item of checked luggage (€35) and then as plans developed a further item of checked luggage (“So €70 total, not so bad I suppose,” said I. “Ah,” said Mr. Waffle “you assumed the second checked bag cost the same as the first.” So worse.) Michael and Mr. Waffle took the pessimistic view that we would not manage to get our luggage to Berlin and packed their hand baggage to the gunnels. Daniel and I were more optimistic. We put all of our essentials in one of the hold bags and hoped we wouldn’t have to unpack it and load some of the contents into our hand luggage. Herself was beyond delighted at the prospect of taking two large additional pieces of hold baggage.

We went down for a last walk to the seaside. Daniel pointed up to the moon and said, “Le lune”. He was somewhat mortified as it turned out there were French people nearby. Mr. Waffle reassured him, “They probably thought you were Swedish.” In case you were wondering it’s la lune and that’s a mistake he’s unlikely to make again.

We went to bed early. “We’ve to be up at 6.30,” I said to the children. Poor Daniel, continuing his bewilderment at the flight arrangements in Europe this summer protested, “But I thought the flight was at 12.” It was but with the three hour early check-in advice, the need to bring back the car and the hour long drive to the airport, this seemed the latest we could leave it.

Monday August 8, 2022

We got to the airport no problem. In fairness, returning the hire car was pretty smooth but, irritatingly, the petrol station at the airport had closed down so waiting to get there to fill up with petrol wasn’t the cunning move we had assumed it would be.

We went to check-in filled with trepidation. People, they took our luggage. We would have paid almost anything at that stage but it wasn’t too dear and it was ultimately pretty painless.

We went and spent a fortune on a last family breakfast in the airport to celebrate clearing the luggage hurdle.

We said goodbye to herself. We had been crimping her style with our inadequate airport expertise, but she still seemed moderately sad to say goodbye, I mean not extremely sad now, to be clear. She was going home to Dublin where my brother was staying in our house for a couple of weeks while we were away. Herself and my brother get on like a house on fire but nonetheless, in my view, he is a challenging housemate. “But,” I said to her, “if anyone can make him toe the line, it’s you.” “Yes,” she said, “if it were a film, I would be a sensitive but troubled teenage boy and he would be a wild horse that no one except me can tame.” Quite.

Anyway we got to our gate, herself got to her gate and there was, frankly, relief all round. Honestly the airport experience is now so uniformly vile. It’s just got worse and worse over my life time. My father’s experience of airports in the 60s, 70s, 80s and 90s (which he hated, he travelled regularly for work) is almost unrecognisable. Even my own experience from 20 years ago was way better. I suppose discouraging air travel is good for the climate emergency. I am discouraged.

Stay tuned for the next installment where our brave adventurers go to the fiery cauldron that is Berlin in a heatwave.

Stockholm – Part 1

6 September, 2022
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Family, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel

Monday, August 1, 2022

Mr. Waffle and I made a list of things that could go wrong with our complex travel arrangements.

1. Our taxi mightn’t come.

2. Lufthansa luggage check in wouldn’t work in advance and would there be a problem at the airport in the cold early hours of the following morning?

3. For reasons which seemed good to us at the time, we booked to travel to Stockholm via Frankfurt and gave ourselves an hour to make our connection in Frankfurt.

4. There was a good chance our luggage would get lost.

5. Herself was travelling to Stockholm from London separately and it was quite possible that we would be stuck in Stockholm without her or she would be stuck in Stockholm without us.

Over dinner that evening we mulled over our various problems. “And I’m not looking forward to the 6.15 start either,” I said gloomily. “What’s wrong with 6.15?” said Dan. Pause. “Wait, is it 6.15 in the morning?” To be fair, airport chaos wasn’t the issue it became when we originally booked the flight and we didn’t expect to have to be at the airport three hours before take off.

Tuesday, August 2, 2022

We made it safely to the gate, high as kites at having overcome obstacles one and two on our list. As we went through security, I saw Daniel and Michael chatting to a beautiful, tall, blonde stranger who, on closer inspection, turned out to be a girl from their class in primary school. She was off to a musical festival in Romania. Would you look at the young people?

Our connection at Frankfurt was tight but we made it and arrived safely in Stockholm. Our delight was tempered by the fact that our luggage, sadly, did not make it. But on the plus side, herself was there to greet us. She had been scheduled to fly via Copenhagen and arrive a bit later but when she got to the airport in London they put her on a direct flight instead. Mysterious but not unwelcome.

Stockholm airport is undergoing some redevelopment and signage for hire cars leaves a lot to be desired. This was not the Nordic efficiency we had hoped for. We schlepped for what felt like miles and then got a bus and we travelled in relative uncertainty that we were going in the right direction. At least we weren’t weighed down by our luggage.

We hired the Kia Sportage which has a very distracting instrument display which in no way showed how to turn off the wretched radio. We consulted the manual and the internet (we were not the first people to have this problem with the Kia Sportage) to no avail and ended up having to mute the wretched thing every time we got into the car for our week in Sweden. The standard handy bar under the front seat to move it forward was replaced by an automatic lever which moved it up/down and reclined the seat but never really got my little feet quite as close to the pedals as I would have liked.

I drove while Mr. Waffle played with the various buttons, bells and whistles. The built in sat nav introduced us to the concept of “turn half right” which was not something we were familiar with (slide right, is I think the more usual usage) and I found it trying enough as I navigated the tunnels of Stockholm. We were staying on the archipelago about 40 minutes drive from the city. As I stuggled with Half Right Helga (as we named the sat nav) and the various beeps (the Kia Sportage is a very judgey car, it beeps if you indicate you would like to change lane and there is another car beside you) and controls of a new car, I began to feel very warm. “Did you press a heating button?” I asked my husband accusingly. “No,” he said. My seat was feeling dangerously warm, like, uncomfortably, burningly warm. “Are you sure?” I yelped. “Oh yeah, actually, sorry, there’s a heated seat button here that seems to be pressed,” he said. It was a trying drive.

I am pleased to report that our hired house was delightful when we got there.

I was pretty impressed by the huge bank of solar panels out the back.

They had fake old plugs with USB ports. A bit weird but you know, very cottagecore.

We made a quick raid on the very expensive (dear God, Sweden is expensive) supermarket nearby and made dinner. At bed time we put everyone’s clothes in the wash – except for herself who had not lost her luggage and filled us all with sickening envy. Wasn’t it well for her? However she cooked dinner which was v welcome indeed, so much was forgiven.

Wednesday, August 3, 2022

Mr. Waffle has an admirable habit of turning off his phone about 8 in the evening and not turning it on again until he gets up the next day. On balance this is a very good thing. However, he woke up to a stream of texts indicating that our luggage would be sent out to us that very day if we confirmed in time. Gentle reader, we did not confirm on time. We were therefore fated to go another 24 hours without luggage.

We made a raid on the local shops for clothes. Did I mention that Sweden is expensive? We found a H&M (still expensive) and kitted ourselves out with some t-shirts, underwear and swimsuits.

The pool in the house was very satisfactory. We were delighted with ourselves. The only problem was the wind chimes on the porch which made a sound eerily like my work phone. My work phone that I had handed back to my employer with a skip in my step at the end of June, I might add. Nevertheless the chimes provoked an unpleasant Pavlovian response.

We had a walk down to the local beach.

Daniel volunteered to cook dinner and he picked up smoky barbecue ribs from Lidl. On inspection these appeared to be from from Watergrasshill which was a surprise. I mean I know, globalisation and all that. I bet I was one of the very few Swedish Lidl consumers that could tell you that driving through Watergrasshill before it was bypassed was always a bit exciting in winter as it was high up and likely to be icy even when nowhere else was. Fascinating, you say.

The children explored the joys of the trampoline.

Note her dress which she bought in a second hand shop in Berlin. She tells me that it comes from the DDR. You don’t get that much any more.

Thursday, August 4, 2022

On the hottest day of our trip to Sweden we drove into the city for the day. Look, this was not our best move but that’s easy to say with hindsight. The Swedes do not approve of driving into Stockholm which is an instinct I applaud. However, to support this laudable ambition, the cost of parking is terrifying. We will not speak of it.

We had booked ourselves on to a water bus tour. Stockholm is all islands and, if memory serves from the tour, has 57 bridges. We had loads of time to get to the quay from which our tour departed but somehow we whiled away the time – lunch, tea in the park, strolling around, buying phenomenally expensive peaked caps – and found ourselves undertaking a forced march around the harbour in the blazing sun at the hottest time of day.

We made it in time for the tour but I am not sure that we enjoyed it as much as we might have done as we were roasted and continued to bake in the open topped boat. The children told me that my face was like a tomato. Thanks guys.

We went home and had a restorative swim in the pool and a nice walk down to the seashore. And, let joy be unconfined, our luggage arrived.

Back to School

1 September, 2022
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Work

Well, we’re back from holidays, the boys are back at school, herself is on holidays in Spain and Mr. Waffle is back in his office. I am officially home alone. So far, I LOVE it. It helps that my former colleagues have been having a truly torrid time. I feel slightly guilty but mostly delighted not to be in the thick of it.

I have many, many tales to bring you from our summer holidays. Hold on to your hats etc.

Further Adventures

1 August, 2022
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Family, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Travel

Monday, July 25

I spent a good part of the morning doing logistics with herself for her trip to Paris in September. She was in Berlin, I was in Armagh. It seems extraordinary how much one can do online now (old crone speaks). Anyhow, eventually we finished up and Michael and I went out for a look around Armagh. We went to the county museum on the Mall which was small and contained the charming, slightly random, exhibits I associate with local museums.

We found a cannon from the Crimea. Mr. Waffle says that they must have brought home a boatload when they were coming; apparently the one on Dun Laoghaire pier is very similar.

We went to the Robinson Library which both of us really liked. Coincidentally, I think the Piranesi books we saw in Dublin were actually on loan from the Robinson Library. Archbishop Robinson was the big cheese locally and established both the library and the observatory and was determined to make Armagh a university city to rival Dublin. This did not happen but it was not for the want of trying on his part.

The librarian was lovely and very helpful. And then she left us alone with all the books without so much as a velvet rope to impede access. She also left a pair of magnifying glasses.

There was Swift’s own first edition of Gulliver’s Travels where he had made slightly irate amendments to the text which the publisher had changed without Swift’s permission; I think because the publisher didn’t want to go to gaol. Archbishop Ussher was also a big name locally and a first edition of one of his works was displayed. He’s the man who worked out that the date of creation was 22 October 4004 BC.

Michael retired to the house after our cultural odyssey but I went into town to see whether I could find a paper (yes) and a cup of tea (definitely not). It was 4 in the afternoon and the only suggestion the woman in the newsagent’s could make was that I could get a takeaway tea from the Spar. I mean, really. I took myself back to the house with the paper and made my own cup of tea. An economy, I suppose.

Tuesday, July 26 – Feast day of St. Anne

We were up with the lark (9 o’clock) to see Andy Pollak talk about whether the South is ready for re-unification. He thinks not, if I may summarise. It was funny because, aside from the obligatory man from the Department of Foreign Affairs, Michael and I were the only two Southerners there and it’s always interesting to hear what your neighbours are saying behind your back.

We found a nice cafe beside the cathedral and had breakfast and then went to have a look around the cathedral which had been closed the day before.

Mildly interesting and we had it to ourselves which I always enjoy.

And then onwards to the Jan Carson talk which was the reason we went on the trip in the first place.

“I’ll just double check the tickets,” I said to Michael. “1.30 is an odd time, maybe I have it wrong.” It was 1.30 but on the day before. I was furious with myself. Alas. We went to the Planetarium instead. It was fine in its way but aimed at a younger audience. It included an impressive exhibition of large lego dinosaurs (if that’s your thing) but our hearts weren’t in it when we should have been at the the talk.

We dutifully went to Archbishop Robinson’s observatory but you can’t get inside so we had to imagine what the Archbishop provided. Very impressive, I’m sure.

We cut our losses and drove home. It’s only an hour and a half away so we were home by late afternoon which was very pleasant too.

Wednesday, July 27

Mr. Waffle took me out to to breakfast to celebrate our 21st wedding anniversary which actually falls on the 28th but, look, we cut our cloth according to our measure.

Herself moved on to London on her European tour – her kind aunt and uncle let her stay in their place and she is pleased to be luxuriating in their empty house rather than sharing a dormitory in a Berlin hostel.

Our Ukranian cleaner came to our house with her sister who is visiting her. I decided to try out my fledgling Ukranian (one completed duolingo course, thanks for asking). It turns out I can only say certain set phrases. My comprehension is alright, actually, but my production is almost non-existant. I found myself listing the months of the year which, you know, isn’t a fantastic conversational gambit but the months of the year are weird in Ukranian, they’re named after plants and natural things and completely different from all the other Slavic languages. Also, to me, March (березень) and September (вересень) are almost identical (birch and gorse, I understand, in case you’re wondering). They were quite sympathetic but obviously baffled by my idiocy. To add to my difficulties, my cleaner’s sister has lived in Italy for many years. She speaks no English but good Italian. I also speak Italian and it’s much better than my Ukrainian, I can tell you. So we slipped and slid around English, Italian and Ukrainian for quite a while until I had to leave much to everyone’s relief.

Leaving Michael at home to recover from his exertions, I drove over to my friend’s house in a distant suburb to return the key to her Armagh house; give her a small present; and tell her about our doings. Then I drove to another friend’s new house in a different distant suburb; admired her new house and had a late lunch. I felt a bit guilty about not cycling but I have to recognise my not inconsiderable limitations. I could possibly have done with slightly fewer appointments but enjoyable all the same (world’s tiniest violin screeches). I actually still have my Covid wheeze although it is improving but I wonder am I absolutely 100%.

Thursday, July 28th

Michael and I went to Cork. In retrospect, the timing might have been better. We were barely unpacked from Armagh. But we took our bikes on the train which is a restful way to travel. We were staying in what I will have to get used to calling my sister’s house. I went in to the solicitor and signed the transfer in the afternoon. To be clear I am absolutely delighted that we are selling the house to my sister and not to a stranger; I know I can still stay there; and I have no need for a family home in Cork but it still felt a bit sad to be signing the papers. The end of an era, I guess. I feel that my links to Cork grow more and more tenuous and it is still very much where I am from and I miss it. To paraphrase James Joyce (whose father was from Cork, I might add) “When I die, Cork will be written in my heart.”

This is my 21st wedding anniversary and I am still pleased with my choice of husband. I am a genius. Yes it is all about me, thanks for asking.

The people organising Daniel’s course emailed that there was a chance to talk to the tutors on Friday. This is always a feature of the last day of this course – which herself did before Daniel – and I have never been able to go before because of work. And this was my last opportunity but, I had forgotten and Mr. Waffle was going to go again because I was in Cork. Such a waste because I am really interested in my children’s academic performance and he’s very much a “so long as they enjoyed it” man so our questions rarely overlap.

Friday, July 29

Michael and I had a look around the Crawford Gallery and the market. We visited my 93 year old aunt who was pleased to see us. My sister’s partner took Michael to spend an evening playing Magic The Gathering (if you don’t know, you’re better off) with a bunch of fellow enthusiasts and my sister and I went for a walk in the park. Tame pleasures but enjoyable.

In Dublin, Daniel had his last day on his course. It was great for him and he really enjoyed it. They have lots of quirky traditions one of which is formal Friday (worse when the weather was hotter but still odd, Dan says that many of the boys wear three piece suits, I mean how many boys have three piece suits?). Anyone else think that he looks like a Mormon missionary? You might like to note that his hair has been growing for two and a half months.

Saturday, July 30

Michael and I arrived back in Dublin in the late afternoon a bit exhausted from our excursions but, as I said to him, two full days with nothing planned before our trip to Stockholm. He was strangely uncomforted.

We are off to Stockholm on Tuesday and then onwards to Berlin. There will be no updates until the end of August when we get back from our holidays unless something really exciting happens. While we are away, my brother is staying in our house in Dublin along with herself (she is coming to Stockholm but leaving us when we fly to Berlin as she has had enough of Berlin for one summer) so the really exciting updates are likely to be Dublin ones.

More of It

31 July, 2022
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Family, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess

Tuesday, July 19

I had a headache all day, possibly due to the stifling heat and impending thunderstorms. All I was able for was to languidly turn the pages of the paper. There was an article by Jan Carson saying that she would be speaking at the John Hewitt summer school in Armagh. I think she is an absolutely brilliant author. I said to Michael, “Will we go?” We decided we would. I have a friend who has a second house up there (long story) and she kindly said we could stay for a couple of nights. We booked ourselves in to the Jan Carson event and a talk by Andy Pollak on whether the South is ready for reunification.

I went to bed early and woke up in the middle of the night, head still pounding, freezing, as temperatures had finally dropped and Mr. Waffle felt he needed all of the duvet, aurally assaulted as the seagulls who have taken up residence on our roof squawked dementedly (clearly trying to open a portal to some kind of seagull hell), and temporarily confused and unnerved by the recharging electric toothbrush in the corner flashing its green light on a regular basis. Look, at least the weather broke.

Wednesday, July 20

I awoke feeling the picture of health and chirpiness notwithstanding my disturbed night. I had lunch with a work friend in town and he complained bitterly about various work disasters and I truly sympathised and tried very hard not to appear smug.

I went in to Cos where there was a grumpy French shop assistant. “Vous êtes français?” I asked him. He was. Although not allowing himself to actually compliment my French (against the French honour code) he did ask me whether I was French too. I explained that I had lived for a long time in Belgium. He slightly unbent and told me that he had been to Eyeries in West Cork on his holidays. As a friend of mine used to say, “I’d say it’s the middle of nowhere but it’s not that central.” Anyhow, the shop assistant enjoyed himself and visibly thawed before my eyes as we chatted (there was no one else in the queue, you should know). As I finished up he said to me, “Vous n’avez pas perdu l’accent Belge!” Which, to be clear, coming from a French person is mildly insulting. I mean not for me, I was delighted.

Meanwhile, herself appeared to be enjoying herself with her friends. Here she is swimming away in Lake Geneva which she tells us she found delightful. I imagine it would be, particularly in a heatwave.

After her pleasant interlude on the Franco-Swiss border, she packed up and went to Berlin. A friend of hers from primary school is in Berlin. A group of primary school friends went over to visit her. I have known this young woman since she was 5 years old and she is a truly lovely person but slightly…vague. It was therefore not entirely surprising to find that she had booked herself a week in Ireland for the very week her friends were coming to Berlin. “We can meet for lunch in the airport,” she said cheerily. The others were not cheered though they seem to have had a good, if very warm, time clubbing away in Berlin. Herself remarked that even though her French is far better than her German (which is grand in fairness), the French took her prowess as par for the course and the Germans spent their time complimenting her on her excellent German.

Thursday, July 21 – Belgian National Day

It was Belgian National Day. Michael and I added the Brabançonne to our summer playlist to celebrate. We had the Marseillaise on the 14th which we found rousing so we thought we should continue to mine the rich seam of national anthems.

We drove to Kilkenny. It is an hour and a half from Dublin and quite delightful. We had a lovely time. I truly recommend Kilkenny Castle which is satisfyingly castle-like.

The town (technically it’s a city but it’s got a population of 20,000) is a joy to wander around and very lively. The medieval mile museum is excellent and the remains of the plinth from Nelson’s pillar are in the garden beside the design centre. Curious but not uninteresting.

We were so charmed that we intend to drag Mr. Waffle and Daniel here for a day out in the autumn.

Friday, 22 July

Our neighbours went to Copenhagen for the weekend to dine at Noma. Lads we are never ever going to keep up with these Joneses.

We picked up the English relatives from the ferry (surprisingly painless). Apparently when my five year old niece told her friend that they were going home to Ireland by ferry (a long way from London but actually with airport chaos etc not as long as you might think), her friend said, “Fairies aren’t real.” This created a lot of confusion all round but it now appears to be resolved.

Saturday, 23 July

We took the English relatives to Phoenix Park in the rain. Given the weather that they have been having, I’m not sure they even minded. As Mr. Waffle said, “Our first climate refugees.” Very depressing. When it was 40 degrees in London, they covered their windows with tin foil. They conceded that they looked crazy but it worked.

We had the cousins around for a barbecue and there were 11 of us in total (6 adults and 5 children). Did the weather clear up in the afternoon? It did. Did it start to lash just as the guests arrived for the barbecue? It did. We all squeezed into the kitchen and it was very nice to have all the cousins together (except herself) but slightly stressful.

Sunday, 24 July

The Dublin cousins went to Sicily and the London cohort decamped to their house. Not before my niece and I had finished making a couple of jars of jam. I spoke too soon when I said that the plum harvest had failed. She was very interested in the process. Mr. Waffle remarked that this must be what it’s like being grandparents. Not sure how I feel about that.

Michael and I packed ourselves up and went to Armagh in the afternoon. I felt very daring going to Northern Ireland in July but it was grand. Plenty of flags mind.

I will say this that Armagh is not the place to go if you are hoping to eat out on a Sunday evening but it is very pretty. And the burial site of Brian Boru. I mean, who knew?

My friend’s house is charming and has an excellent view of the cathedral.

We took ourselves off to the cinema that evening which was a two minute walk away. We saw the new Top Gun film which was grand and probably about the level we were able for.

Stay tuned for further adventures.

My Public Needs Me

27 July, 2022
Posted in: Boys, Cork, Daniel, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess

My thanks to both of the people (only one of whom is related to me) who asked about blog updates. Here we are, lots of news.

Sunday July 3 and Monday July 4

I took myself down to Cork to see my friend who was home from America with her four children. She had them entered for the Munster junior open and we spent a happy couple of hours on the porch of the tennis club watching them whack balls back and forth over the net with varying levels of success. A ticker tape ran through my head: “This is so much better than working”. I wonder when this will fade. My friend’s mother came down and sat with us for a while. It took me back about 40 years. Her parents have been really well but they are both entering into their 80s now and things are, alas, starting to go wrong and I’m not entirely sure how long they’ll be able to keep up a big house in Cork and another one in Singapore. I do feel for my friend, because it’s hard to be so far away when things start to go awry.

Separately she has four children to put through college in the US. She tells me it will cost €70,000 per child per year. It makes the English fees we are paying seem very modest (though they are well in excess of Irish college fees of about €3,000 a year). One of her children wants to study medicine and that goes on forever. They might send her to college in Ireland as even international student fees in Ireland are far cheaper than American fees. It’s an absolute nightmare. She explained something to me which I hadn’t previously understood. In America, it’s not really about what you study at undergraduate level but where you go. The natural Irish question “what do you want to study in college?” isn’t really so relevant for them.

In more positive news, we celebrated my aunt’s 93rd birthday while I was in Cork and Daniel finally tested negative for Covid on Sunday.

Tuesday, July 5

I spent the day at work clearing out my office, sending a couple of final emails and having meetings with colleagues. At the end of the day, I really felt finally finished with work.

Wednesday, July 6

Herself and myself went shopping. She turned herself into my personal shopper and it was amazing. Would 100% do again. Very entertaining and a great haul of clothes for me.

Thursday, July 7 – The wonderful everyday

I said to the children, “Is there anything you three would like to do? I mean all of you?” It turns out that there is. We went to Ikea for lunch.

Friday, July 8

I investigated the new local market. There was a Greek man selling olive oil. “Are you based in Carlow?” I asked. He was surprised but said that yes, he was based in Carlow. It’s just that my sister buys olive oil in bulk from a Greek man in Carlow and how many Greek olive oil sellers can there be in Ireland?

Herself decamped to Cork to grace her relatives there with her presence. An exciting weekend followed involving a visit to a spa, dinner out (twice!) shopping and a long cycle in West Cork. She pronounced herself very pleased.

Saturday, July 9

Mr. Waffle and I went to a local cafe for breakfast where one of Daniel’s GAA team mates turned up as a waiter. Apparently they schedule his shifts around his GAA commitments (peak employment, folks). We told Daniel when we got home. “Did you speak to him?” he asked in tones of horror. Yes, we did speak to the boy we have known since he was 4 who was also our waiter. Sorry about that.

I went with Daniel to test the cycle route to the course he is attending for three weeks. Michael and I cycled to the Casino Marino to check out the Piranesi exhibition, which was a little disappointing but the Casino is always nice. Lads, I was exhausted though. I cycled for miles.

Sunday, July 10

I had my lovely Sunday afternoon book club. We read a book set in Northern Ireland. One of our number is from the North and the kindest, gentlest woman you could imagine. The book was set in the 90s and I was trying to explain how I felt that the North, where the author grew up in the 90s, was more like the South in the 70s and 80s when I was growing up. I said, clumsily, “I feel that the North is about 10 years behind the South.” Don’t say that to someone from the North, even someone very kind and gentle. In an unaccustomedly tart tone she said, “That’s funny because in the North we always felt we were 10 years ahead of the South.” Cross-border dialogue at its best there.

Monday, July 11

Daniel started his course and pronounced himself pleased. Just as well as it is three weeks long.

Tuesday, July 12

Daniel came off his bike and was a bit shook up. He hurt hands, elbows and hip. He cycled home after the fall but he was really keen to go back to his course so I dropped him there in the car.

I dropped herself to the airport three hours before her flight to avoid airport chaos and she was at the gate in 20 minutes. It was ever thus. Needless to say, her flight was delayed.

I then took myself off to Clontarf where I met my friend, went for a really glorious swim and then lunch. Definitely living the dream here.

Wednesday, July 13

Daniel was much better. We rebandaged his various cuts and bruises and I ferried him to the course in the car. I must say it is super convenient to be able to do these slightly unexpected things – like driving an injured child – without trying to manage work as well.

I had a nice relaxing lunch with my sister-in-law across the city and we caught up on family news including that her son has bleached his hair blond. It’s the year for 16 year old boys in the family to do weird things to their hair.

Daniel met a friend of his cousin’s on his course. Because Ireland is tiny.

Mr. Waffle and I went to see David Sedaris live in the National Concert Hall which was pretty good; he does a great job reading his work. I was very impressed by how witty and spontaneous he was in the Q&A at the end. There were four questions and they were all asked by women. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before in a mixed group.

Thursday, July 14

Michael and I went to Castletown House. Largely unsatisfactory as I have been there a couple of times before and, although I was happy to go again, I wasn’t desperate to do so, and Michael found it a bit dull. On the plus side, it’s not far. Definite highlight was playing the Marseillaise in the car for the day that was in it. Very rousing.

We picked up a new bike for Michael from the bike shop where, we found out the hard way, they now work a four day week. I am in favour in theory but in practice was faintly irate when I turned up on Tuesday and found it shut. It’s run by a French woman and, as Mr. Waffle pointed out, this is what you get when your bike shop is run by a French socialist. I had a chat with them in the shop and they said that it was a way to attract staff (full employment again). Apparently when they went from 6 days to 5 there was almost no change in takings. Not sure whether it will be the same for 5 to 4 but good for them, I hope it works.

Friday, July 15

Myself and Michael went to Avondale, home of Charles Stewart and Parnell and site of a new treetop walk. The expedition was a bit more successful than our trip to Castletown but the treetop walk is a little tame. Sadly, Avondale House itself, where I was keen to gain free entry with my newly acquired heritage card, was closed.

Michael says he can’t wait for the July 2022 pages of the family photo album which will just feature him.

Saturday, July 16

It was toasty though nothing like as toasty as it was about to become. Mr. Waffle and I went out for a nice dinner together; my brother got us a voucher for my birthday in March and I was pretty pleased with it.

Meanwhile, my sister in Cork has decided to clear out my Aunt’s shed of the junk of ages. I’m not sure what prompted anyone to keep this printer but I think it’s time has now definitively passed.

Sunday, July 17

It was very hot. Limerick won the hurling all-Ireland. No one was as hot as the aide de camp in full military regalia with gloves who was in the crowd with the President or the Taoiseach or whatever bigwig was giving out the cup. He was pictured in the crowd photo with the cup winners on the front page of the Irish times. The poor man looked like a tomato.

Monday, July 18

Oh God so hot. 30 degrees. Michael and I cycled in to Dublin castle to see the other half of that Piranesi exhibition which – joy – was fully air-conditioned. I thought we might die on the cycle though.

I went out to my friend who has a large house by the sea for book club and sitting in her beautiful green garden with cooling sea breezes was definitely a highlight of the day for all of us. Though she somewhat raised the bar on the food stakes (rule is always frozen pizza) by making her own pizza in a pizza oven in the garden. I hope that people will have forgotten this by the time they are tucking in to Goodfella’s pizzas in my house in October when I am scheduled to host.

Stay tuned for further thrilling updates.