Boys

Putting the Fun in Funeral: December Round Up – Part 1

4 January, 2025
Posted in: Boys, Cork, Daniel, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Reading etc., Siblings

Friday, November 29

Several men came and scalped the garden front and back. Overall I am delighted as it was getting out of control, although some precious plants were lost in the take no prisoners approach adopted. This before and after picture in no way conveys the extent of the haircut. I appreciate this is technically not December but look, close enough.

Friday, December 6

Faithful old Saint Nicholas delivered chocolate to Ireland and England as part of his lifelong obligation to those born in Belgium. The now adults in question are very firm on their understanding of St. Nicholas’s obligations in this regard.

That evening Mr. Waffle and I went to Cork for the funeral of my friend’s mother (our families were friends and I have known her and her parents my whole life). Her mother had died in England (where she had lived for many years) and it took – I kid you not – nearly three weeks to get the body back to Ireland for the funeral. My friend – who is an only child- said that she was inundated with texts from people saying “I totally understand if you have chosen to celebrate her life privately in your own way” basically a “you never told me about the funeral” message because no one could believe it would take so long. I myself was on constant refresh on rip.ie. It’s not all just glamour. Regular readers will be interested to hear that rip.ie has been bought by the Irish Times and from January 1, 2025 putting a death notice up on the site will cost €100 (cost to date – zero). The nation is up in arms. Honestly though it will just turn up on the undertaker’s bill, be paid for from the estate and on the scale of things, it won’t really stand out but still and all.

Anyway, Mr. Waffle and I decided to go to Cork for the weekend. He booked the Imperial on the South Mall which was once the height of glamour (it’s where Grace Kelly stayed when she came to Cork, it’s where Michael Collins stayed the night before he was shot and it’s where my great uncle Jack and great aunt Cecilia stayed – for three months (!) in the 60s while getting work done on their house – when they retired back to Cork after years in England). I was quite excited, I can tell you. We took our bikes on the train. We actually met my brother on the train who was returning from Dublin, also with his bike in the guard’s van. When we were chatting he said that he would come to the funeral also. This was great and everything but I had specifically asked my sister to put me and Mr. Waffle on her car insurance so that we could drive down in her car. She was away but had said we could borrow her car drive to Clonakilty where the funeral was. My brother is already a named driver on her policy and was planning to drive her car down so that was €80 well spent. Sigh. As I say to my children about their Uncle’s unpredictability “He’s not a tame uncle, you know.” (Small prize if you know the literary reference I am making).

The Dublin to Cork train service is fantastic but on this occasion it was not fantastic and we arrived 55 minutes late (more than an hour they refund you half your ticket value – not bitter at all). Mr. Waffle enjoyed the hilarious series of messages on the way down including the, honestly desperate sounding one, “If there’s a train engineer on board can he or she please get out on to the platform” and the not reassuring, “there’s a problem with the engine but she’s still going and we’ll do the best we can.” Percy French eat your heart out etc.

I had booked us dinner at the last sitting of Jacob’s on the Mall and when I rang to see whether they could accommodate us later than 9.30 it was with regret but no surprise that I discovered that they could not. Our train pulled into the station at 9.35.

I mean was I delighted to hop on my bike as Storm Darragh was raging? Not really, I have to concede. My smugness did not keep me dry (don’t worry, my rain gear did). When we got to the hotel, despite Mr. Waffle having checked, they were not, in fact, set up for bikes. However, after thinking it over for a bit a nice Polish man (in Cork 20 years) decided that they could be stored in the boardroom. Mr. Waffle brought his own up the carpeted stairs but the nice Polish man took my dripping bike up at speed. They looked very comfortable there leaning nonchalantly against the book shelves but I’m not sure that you could say that it was, strictly speaking, designated bike parking.

At this stage it was nearly 10 and the hotel was not serving food. Mr. Waffle who, I sometimes think does not value his life, suggested we could go to “Fast Al’s pizza”. We went across the road to a bar/tapas place that didn’t start serving food until 10.45. Just that little bit too authentic. I asked them if they could recommend anywhere and they said that there was a new taco place at the end of the street. We splashed down the road to this establishment and it’s bright fluorescent interior. This was my dinner:

Here is what I missed:

Any port in a storm, I guess. And, in fairness the staff were very nice but it wasn’t really what I was hoping for.

We rang home to make sure that someone had fed the cat and then rang back to check that the children had eaten themselves. Yes on both counts.

Our bedroom in the hotel was fine and not very expensive but it compared unfavourably with the public spaces. The hotel is undergoing a renovation and it is probably timely.

Not my best day.

Saturday, December 7

Next morning, once Mr. Waffle had picked up a new shirt (a packing malfunction), it was up on the bikes again (rescued from their boardroom haven by our Polish friend) and out to my brother’s house in the lashing rain to drive together to Clonakilty. He had offered to pick us up at our hotel but I was so concerned that he would be late that I had insisted on going to him. His attitude is that it doesn’t matter if you are late for the mass, the important thing is that you are there to sympathise afterwards and go for lunch. I do not subscribe to this view and having gone to the trouble of coming to Cork the night before I was not going to be late for the funeral. I was totally vindicated in my approach in that my brother was still in bed when we arrived at his house. He was partially vindicated in that we arrived half an hour early for the mass which even I would concede was a bit early.

I was really pleased to be at the funeral and see my friend and I think she was glad to see us including in particular my wayward brother. There were lots of people I knew at the funeral, mutual friends and relations and, indeed, the undertaker who is now pretty familiar to me. The rain held off at the cemetery and that was something. It was a particular mercy for my friend’s English cousins who were on their first visit to Ireland and had the previous evening had their flight diverted from Cork to Dublin, driven down from Dublin to Clonakilty through the storm and arrived in the early hours of the morning. God love them, they definitely needed a break from the weather.

At lunch I was seated near a very nice priest who was a friend of the deceased. He was a fellow Corkonian and I enjoyed our conversation wherein we placed each other on the social scale (he came to rest just above me). He attended the school in Cork where traditionally all the sons of the merchant princes went; my father attended the school where the boys at the next rung of the ladder went – “two households both alike in dignity” etc. While the results achieved by the boys attending the former were generally mediocre – they had family businesses to go into – the latter school was known for its excellent academic results. I commented to my new friend that the results in the former school had improved immensely (really quite extraordinary it has some of the best results in the country). My husband who had, crucially, not been following the conversation in detail said, “Isn’t that where you say that all the rich but thick boys used to go?” My new friend took it in good part but also took the opportunity to point out to me that the former president of his past pupils’ union was sitting opposite.

He (the priest) had done his PhD in Germany under none other than Cardinal Ratzinger of whom he seemed very fond. Typical of his schooling that he would get to work with the big names, of course.

Sitting opposite me was a man from Clonakilty who was a cousin of the deceased. He was so interesting. He was, I think retired but while working had been involved with a furniture factory. This had seen him working in Northern Ireland during the troubles and in China in the 80s, I think, when it was even further away than it is now. He described how once when he was staying in Carrickfergus – a very loyalist town outside Belfast – he asked to get a taxi into St Gall’s GAA club in the city. Apparently reception told him that no one from Carrickfergus would take a taxi to West Belfast. I see. His best story, however, involved a statue to Michael Collins. Although Michael Collins was from Clonakilty for a very long time there was no statue to him as it was a bit politically contentious and unclear who would unveil it. However, after the Liam Neeson film a statue went up and Liam Neeson himself, very decently, came to unveil it dealing with any political issues. Our friend was at the reception for the great and the good at which Liam Neeson was the guest of honour. Much drink was taken and a select group of half a dozen, including our friend and Mr. Neeson, went out to the town looking for further refreshment. A car drew up beside them. “Liam, get in” said a voice from within. He resisted. The voice insisted pretty firmly. Eventually he got in. We were agog, who was it? His Hollywood bodyguard? His minder? His agent? Apparently it was his mother. I love an Irish Mammy story.

We drove back up to the city and, acting on an excellent tip from my brother, went to Orso for dinner. They only take walk ins and this was a godsend when everywhere except the taco place was fully booked for a Saturday night in December. We went for a stroll around town and took a turn on the big wheel while waiting for our table to come free but it was a bit cold and damp.

We found ourselves at a bit of a loose end after our early dinner so went to see “Conclave“. I wouldn’t entirely recommend but it does look beautiful. It’s about electing a pope and Ralph Fiennes is terrific in it. I am still finding it a bit strange to be in Cork without my parents which I know is faintly ridiculous but there we are.

We got a message from the children that another spatula arrived with the shopping delivery. We lost one a couple of weeks ago and due to some errors in the purchasing department we are now the owners of three shiny new ones. Spatulas for everyone for Christmas.

Sunday, December 8

We headed back to Dublin on the train. “Wasn’t it great how easy it was to bring the bikes on the train?” I said to Mr. Waffle. He conceded that it was but then asked the killer question, “But did we need the bikes?” On reflection, I regret to inform you that, on balance, it would probably have been more convenient not to have had the bikes in Cork. Bitter.

More December thrills to come. Stay with us as Ira Glass would say.

I forgot

23 November, 2024
Posted in: Boys, Family, Michael, Mr. Waffle

Saturday was a busy day.

We went to mass with the in-laws for my mother in law’s anniversary. The church was near the in-laws’ house and they had kindly asked us for a bite to eat after the mass.

When we accepted we hadn’t quite realised that Mr. Waffle’s brother would be in the pub (channelling his late father who always enjoyed both a celebration and running, he headed off to the pub shortly after mass for the annual drinks of the mountain running association), his niece at a party and that his sister-in-law,fresh from a work trip to Canada, would be cooking dinner for all of us and none of her own family. Never mind, we brought flowers. Did we leave the flowers behind us at home? Yes, yes we did. And (oh happy day) they are going to have us for Christmas as well.

Michael drove us home perfectly competently. I do hope he passes his driving test in January.

Anyway, I came home, went to bed and woke up in the middle of night with the realisation that I had forgotten to update the blog. I will backdate this. I am not even sorry as the young people say.

A New Dispensation

16 November, 2024
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Dublin, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle

I think I have said before that I’m finding it a bit logistically challenging to be the parent of three adults.

While I was really glad to have them all on the summer holidays with us this year; the organisation of this was complex.

For day to day matters, herself is in England so this is not really an issue. For her Dublin based sibings, however, logistics are a daily pain. When I was in college, my memory is that my mother cooked dinner every evening (always my mother, sign of the times) and if I was in, I had dinner and if not, I skipped it. But it just seems wasteful to cook for four when only two of us are going to be there. Whatsapp is full of “Who is home for dinner tonight?” messages.

Often the house is empty when I leave for work and when I come home which is not entirely unwelcome but just different. We’re a bit more atomised, I guess.

As you know, Mr. Waffle is Lord of Laundry but one morning he had to go to a meeting and asked me to put out the clothes. I went out to the back garden. Mr. Waffle was gone to his meeting, Daniel was already in a lecture and I was unsure of Michael’s whereabouts. I became surer when I tried to get back into the house after completing my labour of love and found the back door dutifully locked by Michael before he had left for college. Fortunately I had my phone and I rang him, “Where are you?”. “On the bus,” said he. He had to get off the bus, come home and let me in again. He was very apologetic but as he pointed out, he knew his father had gone out and who would have thought that I would be out putting out the washing? I can’t feel this would ever have happened back when they were all at school. Sometimes it’s more like four adults living together. Other times definitely not, I suppose.

Unrelated: I saw a giant chameleon on the street.

Patron of the Arts

5 November, 2024
Posted in: Boys, Cork, Dublin, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle

The autumn is a very exhausting time for those of us who are arts enthusiasts.

Kicking off the season is Heritage Week in late August. The clue is in the title and there is a brochure of activities nationwide. Since the children have grown up, I’ve largely given up on this one. My loss but time is finite.

Then it’s straight into the Dublin Fringe Festival in September. This year we went to see Killian Sundermann; a man who wrings quite a bit of humour out of being half-Irish half-German.

Sometime during September is Open House where various buildings not normally open to the public throw open their doors. Some that are already open to the public also get re-badged as open house venues. You’ve got to love architects, I saw a volunteer in front of Phibsborough shopping centre, quite possibly one of the ugliest buildings in Ireland and that is, regrettably, a competitive field. Again, I have gone into interesting buildings in the past but not this year. You have to pace yourself.

Then it’s the theatre festival. I went to three, yes three, plays this year. Exhausting. I went to see “Reunion” in the Gaiety. I generally find Mark O’Rowe plays just a bit too edgy for me. You would really want to be in the whole of your health to see, for example, “Howie the Rookie”. However, although this play was a bit edgy, it was also very funny and really well done. The Gaiety audience is a bit less sedate than the Abbey or the Gate and they gasped and laughed in ways that I found quite refreshing. Robert Sheehan was in it and pretty good I thought. Were the kids impressed or even a tiny bit interested that I saw a play with the guy from the Umbrella Academy which we watched on Netflix? You know the answer to this.

I also saw “Agreement” which is about the Good Friday Agreement and has been garlanded with laurels. I am sorry but I found it a bit dull. The playwright is from the North and it is always interesting to see a Northern take on things but I felt it was a bit unfair to Bertie Ahern and Tony Blair and positively sanctified Mo Mowlam. I was unconvinced. I went with Michael who thought it was great so maybe it was better if you hadn’t watched it all on the news in the 1990s.

We went to the latest Anu production “Starjazzer”. I generally like an Anu production; immersive and a little alarming. This one didn’t totally float my boat though. It was about two women dealing with poverty and domestic violence a century apart. In many ways it just wasn’t immersive enough or something. Suspension of disbelief was a bit of a challenge. Still I have a soft spot for Anu who gave me what I am beginning to think will be the most memorable theatre experience of my life.

Also in October is the Festival of History. It always has a fantastic programme of talks but I couldn’t face it on top of the constant plays.

Bear in mind that my programme of cinema attendance continues unabated during this difficult time for the culture maven. I saw an Iranian film, come on, an Iranian film called “My favourite Cake” which was sad and funny. I saw “Small Things Like These” at the weekend. A cousin is in it and she was fantastic, we are all very proud. She also met Ed Sheeran at the premiere so we were all thrilled for her by proxy.

Mr. Waffle and I went to a very disappointing exhibition of the bridges of Dublin in Dublin port; I would not recommend but I did enjoy exploring the new Dublin port greenway which was, the day we went full of walkers and cyclists admiring the new vistas opened up across the bay.

Then there’s the Dublin book festival this weekend. A truly excellent line up (including Jan Carson who I nearly saw before and who is a wonderful writer) but a part of me is relieved that I will be in Cork for the weekend and can’t even book anything.

Speaking of Cork, the Crawford gallery closed on September 22 for renovation and extension and won’t reopen until 2027. I anticipate slippage and the proposed extension looks horrific. Woe. I’d say it will be grand from the inside but the outside leaves a great deal to be desired.

And in final update from the arts there is a new Sarah Purser exhibition in the Hugh Lane Gallery which is lovely. I recommend.

Is it any wonder the blog was languishing with this full cultural programme?

Baltics VI – Estonia – Tartu to Tallinn

3 November, 2024
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel

Monday August 19

Absolutely everything of a cultural nature appeared to be closed. It is not the first time I have been caught out by this and doubtless it will not be the last.

Buoyed up by our experience the previous day we headed off on the electric bikes. The brakes were a on Dan’s on the downhill trip into town in the lashing rain and he fell over in a controlled but none the less alarming fashion. No harm done but a slightly unnerving start to the day all the same.

The Princess and I went to the shops where she looked at skincare and we acquired another very expensive but lovely Moomin mug. I think if we only buy one every 3-4 years the expense is bearable.

The weather cleared up and again, building on the success of the previous day, a select group went to inspect the ruined cathedral on the hill and the university.

After depositing Michael at home, I went back into town with Daniel to inspect the really excellent sports museum. Open on a Monday what’s not to love? It was small but interactive.

It had some nice memorabilia from previous Olympics.

This included a lot of Olympic mascots.

Surprisingly entertaining. We went for a cup of tea in the square with Mr. Waffle to recover. All museums are exhausting.

We all had a chance to look at this peculiar sculpture. It’s the artist and his son and he scaled himself down and the baby up and the result is, well, peculiar.

When we got home, we were reminded that herself is allergic to mosquitos by the arresting sight of what looked like an enormous bump on her forehead but was in fact a mosquito bite. I don’t have a photograph – I’m not a monster – but she was most displeased.

Her boyfriend is thinking of going into her father’s line of work and he asked her about what her father does. “I don’t know,” said she, “he types on his computer a lot and shouts at it a bit.” Such an accurate description of the day to day travails of many knowledge workers.

Saintly Daniel made dinner.

Tuesday August 20, 2024

This was “Re-independence day” when the Estonians got their independence back after the events of 1991. The net effect was that everything was closed again. Sigh. One of the children said to me, “What do people who don’t visit museums do when they go to visit cities?” and I honestly don’t know.

Daniel and I were up early looking for breakfast – everywhere was closed but we had a nice cycle around the city, I said to him encouragingly.

I am not really sure he was convinced. Before breakfast I find that enthusiasm levels can be low. Café Werner – famous local spot – eventually met our needs. I was extremely grateful.

It actually was a nice cycle and there were Estonia flags everywhere. Most houses seem to come equipped with a bracket from which to fly your flag. Perhaps a legacy of an earlier time.

After breakfast four of us left to drive to Tallinn and herself stayed on for the day to further sample the delights of Tartu (really probably my favourite place on the trip along with the Curonian Spit) and get the train later which was also a welcome development for her siblings who were crowded in the back of the car.

Our first port of call (har di har) in Tallinn was the ferry port. Happily we had a great deal of time on hand. It felt like we were driving around in circles but we did eventually reach our destination and send Michael off on the ferry to Helsinki to meet a Finnish friend from college. Again, I was slightly concerned about the fate of my chickadee but, spoiler alert, he was absolutely fine.

Daniel, Mr. Waffle and I repaired to a ramen place herself had recommended. Another triumph; the big revelation for me this holiday (aside from the Baltic Germans and the Teutonic knights I suppose – Mr. Waffle has just got a book about Baltic Germans out of the library so I look forward to further updates over the course of November) was my firstborn’s absolute genius for finding nice restaurants. You may recall that she had spent some time in Tallinn improving her Russian earlier in the summer so she had had ample opportunity to scout out the kind of place I like. People, she had not wasted her time.

After lunch we went to a nice park outside the city for a wander about – Mr. Waffle likes a park. I’m fond of a park myself provided it has a nice cafe. This one did. I enjoyed some miniature pancakes in the sun.

Access to our airbnb was a bit traumatic. It was in the pedestrian part of town and we had to park at the edge and lug the luggage from car to the flat and then up 5 flights of stairs. I say we but I was the one sitting in the car with the hazards on and then – traumatic enough in its own mild way – getting it to the car park. The accommodation was huge yet somehow unsatisfactory. Two of the bedrooms were divided from the living space by curtains. What is wrong with that very successful invention – the door?

The others were a bit flattened so I walked down to the station to meet herself.

When Mr. Waffle and I were young and used to go on skiing trips organised by my brother-in-law, people from the group would often ask him (b-in-l), “When’s happy hour?”. He would not know, having arrived at the same time as the rest of us. In our family locution when someone makes an unreasonable request which you cannot be expected to answer or know, the words “When’s happy hour?” are deployed to indicate that this is the case.

When the Princess and I returned to the flat, an exhausted me flopped on the sofa after a long day and some rash individual inquired, “What’s for dinner?” “When’s happy hour?” I replied grumpily. “This is unhappy hour,” said herself dolefully. Perhaps you had to be there but it effectively improved the mood.

We went to the supermarket and picked something up. I forgot my bag for life container (pictured below). Instead of writing it off, like a sensible person might, I wearily trekked back down the five flights of stairs and out to the supermarket. Great was my triumph on finding it but overall, possibly not the wisest thing I have ever done.

Nevertheless, after dinner we were all miraculously restored and went out for a drink. We returned to the restaurant in the main square where many years ago we had vareniki for the first time. Thrills.

Wednesday August 21, 2024

Mr. Waffle and I brought the car to the airport. Time was tight and I nearly had heart failure as I got us lost all over the city in an attempt to find a petrol station to fill up the car. As herself so wisely observed, we are not really car people.

When we returned the car it turned out that the boot remote control worked fine. You just needed to press it for a second longer. Can I say it again? We are not really car people.

On our return to the city, we had breakfast with herself but I was struck down by a migraine and retired to my bed until the middle of the afternoon when I gingerly emerged blinking in the sunlight.

Herself took us to a part of the city we had not been to before. The Tallinn locals seem to have made some kind of Faustian pact with tourism. The old town – which is lovely – is completely given over to tourists. It’s like Disney, no schools, few shops other than tourist ones and very few local residents as far as I can see. The part we went to that day was a shopping area outside the old town. It was nice and seemed to be almost tourist free. I found the whole thing slightly disturbing in a way I can’t entirely put my finger on.

We bought Daniel a new shirt as herself had booked us in to a fancy dinner place. We got him a grandfather shirt, something I last saw widely worn in the 1980s when I was in college. Is it back?

Our fancy restaurant had a tasting menu. Michael is not a fan of the tasting menu so it seemed a good thing to do while he was off in the flesh pots of Helsinki. I must say we had a really lovely time. And it was delicious.

Thursday August 22

Herself had identified somewhere out in the suburbs as a good spot for breakfast so with our local guide we got the tram successfully. Public transport in a foreign city; always such a challenge.

It was very Russian out there in the cafe in the suburbs. Interesting.

After breakfast we did some mild shopping. I love a high class souvenir shop and herself knew where to bring me. Satisfactory.

After lunch we went to the seaplane museum which is supposed to be excellent but I found it pretty dull. There was some interesting stuff about ice roads and how in winter in the old days there were all these roads on the sea but, I could take it or leave it (even if it does also feature a very claustrophobic submarine).

Leaving those with higher tolerances for seaplane trivia behind me I took a taxi to the port to collect Michael. The taxi driver spoke only Russian and Estonian so yet again I hauled out my limited Russian linguistic skills. You can tell how well it went because after my attempts at communication he said to me, “Are you Polish?”.

Michael made it back safely though completely exhausted. In my mind’s eye I had seen him playing very elaborate board games and not leaving the house. I think that is how he saw it in his mind’s eye also but his friend felt obliged to show him all the sights. Even though Michael reassured him that he had seen all the sights in Helsinki and really had no particular desire to see them again, his friend was not to be deterred. I think Michael was quite glad to be back in the bosom of his family.

It turns out that like his Latvian friend, his Finnish friend’s family were also Russian speakers. “This is beyond coincidence,” I announced to the family when we got home. “Twice is the definition of coincidence,” said herself. Truly I have a great deal to put up with.

Friday August 23, 2024

We went to visit the Kiek in de Kok tower which is an interesting and well laid out city museum with a restaurant with no savoury food. They are truly missing a trick there.

After lunch at home, I forced everyone out to recreate the photo we had taken when we were last in Tallinn. Very low levels of enthusiasm from the troops but I had the bit between my teeth.

We went for a wander round the old town which is nice, I mean it is, but somehow not as nice as it was when we were new to it in 2019. “Through a chink too wide there comes in no wonder” as Patrick Kavanagh would say. And I think we were all keen to get home by this stage so perhaps that accounted for it too.

Saturday August 24, 2024

We hauled the luggage downstairs and took off for the airport in two taxis. To my absolute delight – and hers – I had a Ukrainian taxi driver and we were able to have a mild conversation. I mean, she did lose me regularly but it was better than my Russian conversations. And it was Ukrainian independence day so that was nice.

And then we were at the airport, glad to be going home. It presented its own photo ops which I am a little curious about.

I wandered to the newsagents and there was the FT weekend. I forked out a fortune but it was a long enough flight, I reasoned. Yes, you have guessed it, for the second time I purchased a weekend edition I had already read (in fact, if you’re counting it was third time in all that I had purchased that edition). As Mr. Waffle said, the FT welcomes detail orientated purchasers.

Baltics V – Estonia – Pärnu to Tartu

2 November, 2024
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel

I know, when will it end?

Thursday August 15

We went into town for lunch and, with some difficulty, downloaded the parking app and parked before going to the Edelweiss cafe for lunch. As you might imagine. Fine if you like Bratwurst and Sauerkraut.

We hired bikes and used the excellent cycling infrastructure to get ourselves to the beach. The Baltics seem to be big on cycling in beach resorts. The beach was pretty busy but nice and the water was lovely. Herself said to me “We’re fooling ourselves when we say it’s Baltic when we get into the water in Ireland – this is much warmer.” Very true.

There were some tensions in relation to directions on the bikes but eventually peace was restored and we went and looked at the Tallinn Gate and an art Nouveau house.

When we got home my brilliant husband suggested take away for dinner. What a thrill. The actual take away was only ok and subsequently herself informed me that the review did indicate some food hygiene issues involving rodents. However I was not ill and sitting in the lovely garden eating my mediocre take away all was right with the world.

Friday August 16

Herself, Daniel and I decided to go into town for breakfast. As we were driving in, I realised that the parking app was on Mr. Waffle’s phone. My digital natives downloaded it double quick including using my face to add my credit card details. I now use my face instead of passwords for many things and I have a vague fear that if I am disfigured and in the hospital in addition to all my other problems I will not be able to pay for anything as I have no idea what my passcodes are. Anyhow, we had a delightful breakfast and last wander around Pärnu. My God, herself is really a genius at finding cafes and restaurants.

We packed up and left Pärnu to get the ferry from Virtsu. In case you were wondering, it is not hard to change the time on your ferry ticket if you arrive early.

We had a lovely, lovely lunch in Muhu which is a tiny sleepy little island.

Saarema, where we are staying is attached to Muhu by a bridge.

We had plenty of time to get to our airbnb so we went to have a look at a large tree in the centre of a football field on Saaremaa. As Daniel said, “A solid presence in midfield.” A real holiday sight.

Kuressaare where we were staying was a holiday town and it is very strange to think that it was guarded by dogs and soldiers in another time. It’s pretty, it has a castle and shortly after we arrived, a car rally passed through.

Estonia is a very digital place and when we got to the supermarket to lay in supplies for the evening there were no staff that we could see and we were invited to download an app to pay for our shopping. Sadly, Apple told me that it was “not available in your region”. I had travelled all day, had a trolley full of shopping I was anxious to pay for, impatient Estonian customers behind me and no way to pay. I am not enjoying the digital revolution as much as I might be. Eventually we found a till where you could pay without the app. Possibly we would have found it earlier if we spoke better Estonian. It took a lot out of me.

I also had not one but two mosquito bites on the sole of my foot and three on my heel. Overall, I was not totally enjoying myself.

Saturday August 17

The morning was more cheerful. Those of us who were interested had breakfast and a wander around town.

After lunch Michael, Mr. Waffle and I went for a visit to the castle.

Aside from the loss of Michael’s cap (with us since an emergency purchase in Stockholm at prohibitive expense), it was an entirely successful visit. There was a really interesting exhibition about what Kuressaare was like in Soviet times. A bit grim. It seems very alien and different from how it is now.

It also boasted an excellent gift shop and cafe. What more could the discerning tourist want?

Saaremaa is famous for having a number of meteorite strikes so we went to have a look. Would I have known that it wasn’t just a pond without the helpful signage? I doubt it.

There was much trauma when we got home as we tried to book our ferry back to the mainland for the following day. Apparently everyone wants to go back to the mainland on Sunday. We had some debate about when to go (it was a long drive and Mr. Waffle wanted us to go in the morning, I felt it wasn’t that long and wanted us to go in the afternoon). As we…debated the 10.15 and 14.40 slots disappeared before our eyes and we booked the last slot on the 8.30 just in time. This meant we would have to leave at 7 in the morning which in my view was not ideal.

Given that our morning was to be so cruelly curtailed, Daniel and I went out for an evening swim behind the castle. There were other people swimming there but the water was odd, weirdly like swimming in a peat lake in the Wicklow mountains and there were ducks bobbing about so I am not entirely sure you could say that we swam in open water.

Herself, yet again, starred and found us an amazing place for dinner. It was newly opened and run by a lovely local who was full of enthusiasm. I am so impressed by my daughter’s skills; I asked her to show me how she did it and, honestly, it seemed like a lot of work so I think I will just call her, if I ever need advice. She’s delighted, obviously.

Sunday August 18

We were up at 6 and all v grumpy. We found definitive photographic confirmation of Michael’s lost hat in castle but we were not going to be able to retrieve it before departure. Alas.

Our airbnb had an electric gate and when we went to leave, a very, very drunken man was clinging to it. To be fair to him, it was actually the night before. He tried to launch himself away from the gate several times and each time, he had to come back for support. I thought we’d never get out but eventually he sailed off and we were able to get on the road.

We made the ferry no problem and our journey back to the mainland was uneventful. We began our epic drive to Tartu. It was not as epic as we expected. Somehow google maps had allowed hours and hours for the 15 minute ferry ride and it quickly became apparent that rather than driving all day, we would be there for lunch time. We were all pretty pleased, especially Mr. Waffle who regards google maps as the work of Satan and here was the proof.

On the drive we saw many storks in nests. Michael told a KGB joke which I definitely wanted to repeat here but sadly have forgotten in the two months since I first heard it. Herself told us that Byron and Moore of Moore’s melodies were best buds. Who knew? This is how we beguiled our journey. Good job it wasn’t as long as we thought it was going to be.

We had considered cutting Tartu from our itinerary because it was so far east of Saaremaa and such a long drive. For a range of reasons, I am very glad we did not. Tartu is a lovely, lovely university town. Our airbnb was absolutely fantastic and though relatively small, it was perfectly laid out ( it was down the road from a spot where Lesya Ukrainka had lived – I was charmed though I must say my attempts to learn her easy poems in Ukrainian had completely failed).

Mr Waffle, the Princess and I hired e-bikes – another app of course – and whizzed around the city centre exploring tea, supermarket and tourist sights of interest. We discovered that Tartu was the 2024 European capital of culture. Fancy that. Daniel went out for a run and Michael stayed at home glad of a short break from his family.

Can you believe that there is more to come? I know, neither can I.