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Boys

Now So

16 September, 2022
Posted in: Boys, Michael

In Ireland now means shortly. “I’ll do it now” means “I’ll do it in a minute.” Meanwhile I fight a completely unavailing battle to retain the original meaning of “presently” i.e. shortly. Stay with me here.

At dinner the other night Michael asked me about something on the internet. “I’ll show it to you now,” I said meaning once we were finished dinner.

“So,” said Michael, “you won’t use presently to mean now but you use now to mean presently.”

I feel a bit hoist by my own petard.

Berlin – Part 3

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

Tuesday, August 16, 2022

This was our last day in Charlottenburg. For our second week we were going to somewhere slightly more outside the city with a swimming pool. I had had some communication with our Airbnb hostess already and I did not like the cut of her jib (she messaged that on arrival we would need to pay the Berlin guest tax and an extra daily fee to use the pool – these were covered in the small print of the Airbnb ad as I discovered on examination but if you ask me, the red hand rule should apply). Over yet another lovely breakfast in Savigny Platz, I mourned Charlottenburg, our charming apartment and our laid back musician host.

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Our new hostess informed us that check-in was at 4. She did not seem inclined to be flexible. We were due to check out from Jan’s place at 12. What would we do in the heat of the day with all our luggage? When Jan came to the flat accompanied by a huge bunny (somehow typical), he very kindly said, “Stay as long as you need to, I have to run to a class, can you keep the rabbit?” With that he threw a bunch of rabbit food pellets on the drawing room floor, dropped the bunny beside them and zoomed out the door.

Delighted with ourselves we left the bunny with his lunch and went out for ours to an Asian place around the corner.

After lunch we left Jan’s place and after some difficulty with the Berlin taxi app (it won’t let you register with a foreign number) got a taxi from across the road where the taxi driver was returning from his lunch.

Our new hostess – let us call her Margaret – was there to greet us when we arrived in her place deep in former East Berlin. I think, probably, her heart was in the right place, she was training in a Ukrainian teenager to work for her, but she put the heart cross ways on me. Unlike Jan’s house, hers was absolutely immaculate. The instructions on what we could and could not do and how all the appliances worked took forever. She lived downstairs and honestly, I was terrified to put a foot out of line for the duration of our stay. Had I had young children, I think I might have died of nervousness as the house was full of breakable china at child height. It felt…unfriendly. But I have to say she had the portable air conditioner as promised and the pool (daily fee dutifully paid) was super.

It was much more rural but that was part of the plan. Mr. Waffle and I went to the absolutely enormous local supermarket (the size of an IKEA, impossible to find anything due to too much stuff) and the boys attached Michael’s laptop to the TV and sat down (moving Margaret’s furniture, gasp) to play some game on the big screen.

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Wednesday, August 17, 2022

We had a swim in the morning and then Mr. Waffle and I decided to trek into town leaving the boys behind and imploring them to take great care not to upset our hostess. There was one bus stop nearby but the bus came every ten minutes (how often during our stay did I stand across the busy four lane road watching the bus arrive and depart without me? Very often) and it only took 15 minutes to get to the centre. It was kind of amazing because it really felt that we were staying out in the sticks particularly after the previous week when we had been right in the centre.

When we got into town, the Neues Museum had sold out for the day (do you detect a theme in our museum visits?). We went to the cathedral instead and climbed the 267 steps to get a view. Toasty and tiring but worthwhile.

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The cathedral itself is largely reconstructed. In a gesture which tells you a lot about the East German regime the only part of the cathedral undamaged during the war was the Hohenzollern chapel but when the rest of the (damaged) cathedral was being restored in 1975, the regime blew up that bit for ideological reasons. Apparently it was amazing and had survived the war entirely intact. Oh well.

Confusingly, a range of Hohenzollern tombs are still available to view inside.

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There was a large statue of Martin Luther at our bus stop in town.

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He’d been around.

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On the bus home there was a couple with a small baby who howled. I felt really sorry for them. The mother waved a muslin square over the pram but the baby continued to howl lustily. The mother was beautifully dressed and looked very fashionable and in control but from beneath her trendy sunglasses, a tear escaped and her husband patted her anxiously on the arm. When they got to their stop, they leapt off and the mother immediately took the baby in her arms. It reminded me so vividly of when herself was a small baby and it took me an hour and a half to drive the 20 minute journey to a friend’s house. Every time she cried, I stopped the car and sat in beside her and took her out of her car seat and sometimes cried myself. Ultimately, this is not recommended but having a small baby has its challenges.

We had a swim with the boys when we got home; getting full value for our daily pool charge.

We had dinner in an Australian bar in the Sony centre in town (judge away, I would). I had Currywurst again but I couldn’t recapture that first fine careless rapture. It was a handy spot because we were going to the cinema nearby afterwards.

As I was leaving the Gemäldegalerie on my recent trip, people had been putting out deckchairs on a small part of the vast desolate tree free plain that surrounds it. Upon inquiry it turned out that they were laying them out for an open air cinema screening. Notwithstanding my trauma, I was intrigued so I booked us four tickets to see “The Godfather – Part 1” which, as it happened, neither Mr. Waffle nor I had ever seen.

This was the night of the screening or return to the scene of the crime. There was an Arte short first on “The Thinker” by Rodin which, as Mr. Waffle said – sorry about this but it’s true – explains why no one ever watches Arte. Nevertheless, the setting was superb – by night, by day it obviously remains a boiling desolate plain – the temperature, just right and the seats more comfortable than you might expect. We all enjoyed “The Godfather”. Talk about the film that spawned a thousand tropes.

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As all had gone so well it was almost inevitable that something would go wrong on the trip home. And so it was. We had some difficulty getting the bus, so much difficulty in fact that we ended up having to get a taxi home. There were recriminations and a disagreement about which bus stop we should have stood at – sharpened by the sight of the last bus sailing past on the other side of the road – the curse of the Gemäldegalerie. Still, all in all, a pretty good day.

Thursday, August 18, 2022

In the morning, we got further value from our swimming pool fee and spent ages tossing a ball around the pool.

I finished the pack of 1980s perfume miniatures which I had been trailing around Europe with me. We found them in the bottom of my mother’s wardrobe and in a waste not want not spirit of which she would heartily approve, I have been using them up. I’d forgotten about those very heavy musky scents which were popular in 80s. I felt like a spy about to seduce James Bond at the casino tables. I have to say, I was glad to see the back of them and have done my duty.

Bathed in the last of the Opium, I trotted out to the bus stop accompanied by the men folk. We went in to the Fernsehturm which is a rotating tower. Tickets were a bit pricey but I recommend. I paid extra to be seated by the window in the restaurant (I mean, if you’re going to go to a rotating restaurant, surely it’s worth spending the extra money to sit at the edge).

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I said everyone could order what they wanted. Possibly a bit of a mistake. Maybe bread and water would have been better. However, as you might expect, great, rotating views over the city. Someone on tripadvisor complained that the views stayed the same as you rotated which we found mildly hilarious. Even with 90 minutes of rotating and no radical changes on each rotation, I thought there was plenty to see.

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For dinner we went to trendy Bergmanstrasse in Kreuzberg. It was trendy and there was a direct bus home. A win.

When we got home, I double checked with Mr. Waffle that he had put away Margaret’s outdoor cushions (he had been sitting on the large terrace overlooking the forest). That night there was a thunderstorm. I woke up and went to the window to see the lightening. What did I see on the terrace? Margaret’s sun umbrellas rolling around like marbles. One of them was perched precariously over the edge of the terrace hanging on by a spoke. Below it sat Margaret’s porsche. I ran out into the rain and rescued the umbrellas in the nick of time.

I told Mr. Waffle about our narrow escape in the morning and he was suitably contrite. At the time he was draping clothes over the spiral staircase down to the pool in the hopes that they would dry. This was in our apartment but I couldn’t feel that Margaret would approve. He did point out that we were both in our 50s and living in fear of this woman was ridiculous. But yet.

Friday August 19, 2022

The weather was a bit clammy but not too hot. We were within striking distance of trendy Prezlauerberg but public transport was not ideal so I decided to undertake what google maps assured me was a 15 minute scoot to get there. I got a bit lost and it took 40 mins instead of 15 – a taxi would possibly have been cheaper but never mind, it wouldn’t have given me the same sense of achievement.

Prezlauerberg is lovely. Lots of young families, trendy cafes and antique shops.

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I saw some more Stolpersteine as I wandered around. Definitely a constantly sobering sight.

That afternoon we went into the Neues Museum. There was a special exhibition on Schliemann. Mr. Waffle was the person who introduced me to the concept of the Schliemann layer, and here was a chance to find out all about him. He was an absolute disaster. He basically dug up without a care in the world for archaeological niceties. No wonder he found all those layers.

Good museum, though a little tiring.

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Entirely unrelated but Mr. Waffle and I were baffled by these large pipes we saw above head height all over the city. Apparently the water table is very high in Berlin and if you are doing any building work, the first thing you have to do is pump out the water from the site. Sub optimal.

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In other water related news, later that evening there was a problem with the water and I sent Margaret a message via Airbnb. She responded immediately: “The technician is coming.” Some time later, she messaged that the technician had been and the issue was resolved. When she said that the technician was coming, I didn’t think she meant then at 10.30 on a Friday night but clearly even plumbers tremble before Margaret’s forceful personality.


Saturday, August 20, 2022

After my triumph of the previous day, I persuaded a slightly reluctant Mr. Waffle to scoot into Prezlauerberg with me. Due to my efforts of the previous day, we got there no trouble. I was delighted with myself. We had breakfast and wandered around the Saturday market.

In the afternoon we went to the outdoor Berlin Wall Memorial. I thought it was really well done and very interesting.

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Mr. Waffle and Michael went back to the house but Dan and I stayed on for a bit. When it was time to leave, I realised I had made a terrible mistake. We got there by tram and bus relying on Mr. Waffle to navigate. For reasons unknown Google maps holds buses in utter disdain and did not include any bus routes and Mr. Waffle was not there with his bus app. We were on our own. We hopped on a tram anyway and got out at a junction that looked vaguely right. Spoiler alert, it was not right. We ended up tramping back in the rain for miles.

Daniel was terrific, patient, cheerful not at all grumpy.

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I on the other hand became gloomier and whinier by the second.

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Eventually we got to a familiar landmark – the Lidl near the house. We picked up dinner because it would have killed me to have to go out to the supermarket again that day.

Sunday, August 21, 2022

We went in to mass near Friedrichshain. I will tell you this, they can celebrate the 300th anniversary of the re-introduction of Catholicism to Brandenburg all they like, it’s still pretty difficult to find a Catholic church.

The priest was Brazilian and the congregation was small. He asked whether any of us were visitors from the altar. I was horrified, Catholicism is not a spontaneous audience inclusion kind of religion. Anyhow an American family took the hit and we looked at the floor. The priest included that line from the “Our father” – “for thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory”. Protestants include that as part of the prayer but Catholics do not. Had I got up at 8.30 to go to a Protestant service? Mr. Waffle pointed to the statue of the Virgin Mary which made that seem unlikely. In fact, reassuringly, the whole set-up screamed convent chapel and school and, on inspection so it proved. The school was called after Edith Stein who is one of Europe’s patron saints – who knew. Poor old Edith converted from Judaism to Catholicism and became a nun (I’m sure her family were horrified) and then, the Nazis carted her off and killed her anyhow. Depressing.

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We then had a lovely breakfast in a Russian cafe beside the local synagogue. I would give Berlin the best overall breakfast experience in Europe award.

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Afterwards we scooted the short distance home. Mr. Waffle had become so confident that he even stopped crouching on the scooter and was able to exchange some rudimentary conversation. We could legally have parked the scooters ourside Margaret’s house but I knew she wouldn’t like it so I hid them down the road.

We had a quiet afternoon: a swim; a walk in the forest near the house for me and Daniel and a scoot around the glorious allotments. I had learnt from our trip to the DDR museum that about the only individual indulgence that the regime tolerated was gardening. The regime wasn’t enthusiastic but ultimately decided that gardening might be a good place for the population to channel energies which might otherwise be used for protesting. Having so little for themselves, they seem to have poured their hearts and souls into these small allotments. They were amazing and the pictures don’t at all do justice to the variety and delight in these postage stamp sized plots.

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Monday, August 22, 2022

We got a taxi to the airport. Dan and our Kurdish taxi driver discovered a shared enthusiasm for Fenerbahçe FC. In discussing the fortunes of the club, Dan displayed a fluency and ability in German which was both reassuring (as he is studying it for his final school exam) and surprising (as he hadn’t spoken much German at all over the holiday, perhaps the occasion hadn’t really arisen). The taxi driver was from a place called Mardin. He was full of enthusiasm. “Is it very warm?” I wondered fresh from my fortnight of baking in Berlin. “Well, yes,” he said proudly, “it can get as hot as 50 degrees but it’s a dry heat.” Nevertheless, I think Mardin in summer time is not for me. It was his children’s first day back at school. “Ours are going back on Thursday,” said Mr. Waffle. “What, Thursday, this Thursday?” said Dan in horror. Poor Dan.

The airport experience was fine actually although we did spend some time queuing at the wrong check-in desk (maybe herself is right that we are holding her back with our poor airport performance). And then we were home and our luggage was home too.

If you are still reading, I salute you. More domestic news in due course.

Berlin – Part 2

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

Thursday, 11 August, 2022

Daniel and I went out to breakfast in the Literaturhaus. Michael was feeling a bit under the weather. Until that moment, it had not occurred to me that one of us might get Covid on holidays but it occurred to me pretty strongly at that point. You will be relieved to hear that his symptoms were not Covid like (he had a bit of an upset stomach – perhaps the influence of the Currywurst of dreams?) and was better by the evening.

Those of us who were well enough went to the KaDeWe for an air-conditioned lunch. Very nice actually – top floor, good views, not too dear and the food good in an upmarket self-service kind of way.

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My mother always spoke very fondly of the wonderfulness of the KaDeWe. She was not wrong. I enjoyed the food hall and, in particular its truffle based offerings.

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Michael having perked up somewhat when we got home, we went to dinner across the road to a lovely Italian restaurant.

Also food related I was gutted to see on our friend the internet that my favourite place for breakfast in the world – the Crawford gallery cafe in Cork – is closing down. They certainly knew how to charge and seemed to have a very loyal customer base so I am a little baffled. Alas.

Friday, 12 August, 2022

Leaving the menfolk at home to entertain themselves, I set off on a frolic of my own with only my mobile phone to guide me. Interest in Berlin’s art gallery was limited. Their loss.

Unlike many other museums in Berlin, the Gemäldegalerie is not on the Museum Island. I began my journey by getting the S-bahn two stops in the wrong direction. Then I had to go out on to the sun-drenched streets to find the U-bahn and I passed an air-conditioned shop. I went in. I bought a pair of jeans. It was hard to imagine ever wearing jeans again but I am wearing them as I type. They were a good buy but then I had to cart them around all day in 34 degree heat. Overall, perhaps not my brightest move.

Anyhow, I ploughed on. According to google maps it was a quick ten minute walk from the metro stop to the gallery. It was more than 10 minutes. It was beside a wide unshaded, busy road and 2 in the afternoon. I honestly thought I might die from heatstroke as I struggled along with my newly bought jeans. When I got to the place that google assured me was the Gemäldegalerie there was no sign of it. There were a couple of other cultural buildings but the place was basically deserted. I was in a wide barren plain with no hint of shade (technically a very large surface car and bus park). I asked all three passersby that I saw where it was but no joy. There seemed to be some kind of philharmonic orchestra place and a thing called the culture forum or something but of the Gemäldegalerie there was no sign. I was trotting around on the verge of collapse in an increasing state of desperation (of course still carrying the wretched jeans) when I met a dapper older gentleman in neatly ironed trousers and a blazer. He was going to the Gemäldegalerie and he would take me with him. Sadly not without standing in the sun for a further ten minutes pointing out other cultural glories within spitting distance. He was from Munich and also had a flat nearby from whence he had come to see the glories of the gallery. “I’m sorry,” I said, desperately, “I have to get out of the sun.” We went to the culture forum place. The Gemäldegalerie was inside. Honestly the signage left a lot to be desired. I scuttled to the bathroom to wash my face and hands.

Here is your correspondent upon gaining access to the bathroom. You might have thought that the gentleman from Munich should have known that I needed to get out of the sun without me telling him.

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However, my suffering for art was totally worth it. The place was deserted – maybe because tourists can’t find it? – and it had a wonderful collection.

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Lots of northern European stuff (Dürer, Van Eyck, Vermeer, Rubens) as you would expect but plenty of Italian paintings as well (Caravaggio, Botticelli, Titian) and ones you’d recognise.

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I spent two very happy hours there. A friend of mine describes visiting the National Gallery in London as like going to a party and finding an old friend in every room. It was like that. If you are interested in art, I cannot recommend it highly enough. Here is your correspondent after two calming hours in the gallery.

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It was still toasty enough when I emerged and I decided to try out the scooters with which Berlin is so plentifully supplied. I was able to practice in the large car park before scooting back to the metro by a slightly quieter road. Delighted with myself.

I have no recollection of what the menfolk said they did that day, possibly skulked at home like vampires trying to avoid the 34 degree heat (something to be said for that) but that evening, Mr. Waffle and I went out a walk around our lovely quartier and an ice cream and it was a very satisfactory conclusion to the day.

I also got a message from our Airbnb host asking if I could water the plants on the balcony. I obviously had been doing so all week because I’m not a monster. I asked whether he had a watering can. He did not (somehow unsurprising) and he referred me to the 500ml carafe in the kitchen. No wonder his plants had been wilting. I think I came just in time to save a couple from death. We spent a bit of time on the small balcony early in the morning and late in the evening when it wasn’t too warm. The street had lots of trees which provided a certain amount of protection and made for a lovely view.

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Saturday, August 13, 2022

Mr. Waffle and I went for breakfast on the Kurfürstendamm and I felt like a Mittel Europa sophisticate. We decided to tackle the Pergamon museum. We schlepped in to the Museumsinsel only to find that the tickets were sold out for the day. Alas.

Were we downhearted? A bit, to be honest. We went to the Jewish museum instead which I would recommend but sad in parts as you can imagine. However, the story of Jews in Berlin is about more than than the holocaust. Did you know that Felix Mendelssohn’s grandfather was a famous Jewish philosopher?

I liked this picture by Joseph Oppenheimer of two gentlemen heading to the opera.

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However, it was not all opera. One of the many things I found disturbing was a room where all of the anti-Jewish laws from the 30s and 40s were listed on long sheets of paper from floor to ceiling. You could flick through them like large posters in a shop and there were so many of them beginning with small changes and ending with destroy all records (at the end of the war). There’s something about the way the law was neatly used to limit and confine and eventually kill millions of people in a controlled and orderly fashion that I found particularly depressing.

There was some information about Kristallnacht and I noticed that a furrier’s shop which had been targeted was around the corner from where we were staying in chic Charlottenburg.

Sunday, August 14, 2022

August 15 is the Feast of the Assumption (in Italian it’s Ferragosto and marks the middle of the holiday season – and every year it reminds me of au pairing in Naples in the summer of 1988) and in German, it is, as we were reminded at Mass, Mariä Himmelfahrt which, I kind of find hilarious. It’s a bit like Cinderella (you know, Cendrillion in French, Cenerentola in Italian and Aschenputtel in German). Anyway we learnt that it was the 300th anniversary of Catholic emancipation in Brandenburg in a way that I don’t fully understand this seems to be thanks to the Belgians (which was pretty forward looking of them as their country didn’t yet exist). I have to say, I was quite surprised; it seems a bit late.

We went to the Pergamon Museum. It was very satisfactory. Part of it was closed. That was a definite win as there is only so much of antiquity you can take in on one trip. I thought that the Ishtar Gate and the Gate of Miletius were amazing. Huge and transported brick by brick to Berlin. And, although there was loads of other stuff to see, it didn’t feel overwhelming. We all really liked it.

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We went to the museum cafe after and a robot waiter (basically a tray on wheels with cat ears) was supposed to deliver our order. The human waiting staff seemed to find it very tedious. It was absolutely useless and slowed everything up. I think it’s a while before the robots will be coming for the service sector jobs.

That evening is was a balmy 31 degrees and I managed to persuade Mr. Waffle to go for a scooter ride with me around the streets of Charlottenburg. Although we have a combined age of 105, you will be pleased to hear that no accident befell us.

Monday, August 15, 2022

I went for a solo breakfast to the ludicrously named “What do you fancy love?” Grand but not sure it was worth the online enthusiasm. Breakfast featured the ubiquitous quark (described by our German teacher as a German cottage cheese which it is not at all but that’s the best I can do for you) which I hadn’t even thought of in years. Still a bit of an acquired taste if you ask me. I enjoyed ordering in German and engaging in mild small talk with my waiter. Unlike the French, the Germans are very encouraging when you speak their language and do not wince if you make a mistake.

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It was our last day in Charlottenburg and Mr. Waffle and I decided it was now or never for Schloss Charlottenburg. We left the boys at home (we are sometimes merciful) and slogged 2kms from the S-Bahn stop to the castle in the hottest part of the day (no I had learnt nothing from my Gemäldegalerie debacle and, as they say, I will not be taking questions at this time). As we got out of the train, I noticed a lady behind us looking a bit feeble and using a walker and puffing vigorously on a cigarette. There is a lot more smoking in Berlin than in Ireland. Anyway about 500m into our walk I saw her ahead of us. I know the heat slowed us down but still and all. I think there must have been some better exit which we failed to find, due to heat exhaustion. Like all of Berlin, the area was littered with scooters but, as I had forgotten my phone with its scooter unlocking app, they were sadly unavailable to us.

Anyway we arrived eventually. Sweating but with our marriage intact. People, what day of the week was it? When I used to go on holidays in France with my parents as a child they used to say often, like very often, “fermé lundi”. And they imported it into day to day speech and expanded its meaning to cover the idea of an annoying yet explicable closure of any establishment. You would think therefore that I might have remembered it and spared us the pain of a 4 km slog in the hottest part of a hot day to go to a closed monument. Sigh.

When we got home, the boys were cool and refreshed in the house. Daniel agreed to go for a walk in the Tiergarten with me. It is in the middle of Berlin and I heard a man on the S-bahn describe it as like New York’s Central park: a green lung in the centre of the city 5kms long and 2kms wide. Since then I had been desperate to go. It’s fine, nice even, but, you know, a park. We had a cup of tea in the English tea house which was pleasant but as Samuel Johnson said about the Giant’s Causeway worth seeing but not worth going to see. Or maybe I was just too hot to appreciate it fully.

We travelled on to the Kaiser Wilhelm Gedächtnis Kirche. A ruined church in the centre of Berlin, it’s been preserved as a memorial to the war. I don’t know that I was totally able to appreciate it after my long day of touristing.

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That evening it rained. A real thrill. We had dinner in a not very nice restaurant but it was lovely not to be sticking to our chairs in the heat. Over dinner I remarked that something was being thrown around “like snuff at a wake”. “What?” said the boys in unison. Apparently I had never said it before in their hearing. Perhaps an Irish phrase – it implies a slightly reckless plenty. I’ve passed it on to the next generation now anyhow, hard to see them using it. Still, I never thought I’d use this old person’s phrase myself and here we are.

Stay tuned for the next Berlin installment when our plucky band decamps to East Berlin. “More?” you gasp in horror. Yes, more.

Berlin – Part 1

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

Monday, 8 August 2022

We arrived safely in Berlin. Our luggage arrived safely in Berlin. We were able to travel direct to our Airbnb by train from the airport. The wonderful Germans, as a summer experiment, were charging €9 for all transport tickets for the month. We could have gone to Bavaria for €9 each but instead we just travelled all over Berlin. Honestly, what fantastic value. The public transport system in Berlin is excellent as well. I mean it was hot but already, financially, it felt like a big saving over Sweden.

The house when we got there was a 19th century flat with parquet floors and high ceilings. It was also home to two artists and their children. It was slightly disorganised and untidy but quite homely. I opened the door beside the bathroom and there was a biggish room filled to the ceiling with all sorts of random stuff recreating the effect in my parents’ attic. A very Bohemian vibe. “What exactly does Bohemian mean?” asked Dan. “You know, a bit arty,” I said. “Oh,” he said, “I thought it just meant poor.” Alas. I contacted our host Jan to ask where was the mobile air conditioning unit which was referred to in the ad. “It’s an old apartment with high ceilings, it holds the cool of the night into the day,” said he. Yeah, there was no air conditioning unit. And that was only partly true about holding the heat of the night when the temperature is over 30 degrees.

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We went out for our dinner on the street and discovered that we were staying in the most wonderful place: full of restaurants, cafes, and lovely old buildings, lively but very safe. Such were the gentrification levels that even in the arches of the city commuter railway (the S-Bahn), there were all sorts of lovely shops and cafes. In my previous experience railway arches leave a lot to be desired. The area is called Charlottenburg and I can unhesitatingly recommend it for all your Berlin accommodation needs. It’s perfect. We were about a minute’s walk from the S-Bahn station which was super handy but was a bit loud at night. Windows had to remain open all night or we would die.

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Tuesday, 9 August, 2022

Leaving the boys in bed to recover from the exertions of the previous day, Mr. Waffle and I went out for a stroll around the neighborhood. We were a stone’s throw from the Kurfürstendamm (Berlin’s main shopping street). It is very chic and I found myself saying mournfully, “You know O’Connell Street could be like this.” O’Connell Street is Dublin’s main street. It is not very chic but it has similar dimensions to the Kurfürstendamm .

We passed the house of Rudolf Diesel. Who knew Diesel was somebody’s name? Poor Rudolf, he has a lot to answer for though, like many another thing, I’m sure it seemed like a good idea at the time.

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As befits a trendy happening city like Berlin, there was a poster campaign supporting the introduction of a basic income scheme.

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We had breakfast in the garden of the Literaturhaus and it was absolutely lovely. I couldn’t help feeling (gleefully) that my gloom about Berlin had been entirely misplaced.

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There was a lot more mask wearing in Berlin than there had been in Sweden or than there is in Dublin (where masks have pretty much disappeared entirely) and on the non-air conditioned public transport that took a bit of getting used to but I was surprised how quickly we got used to it though always very warm.

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We went to the Brandenberg Gate for a look around and as we were standing in the shade panting from the heat, someone called out Daniel’s name and half a dozen beautiful girls descended upon him. It turned out that they were friends of his Italian exchange and Daniel had met them in Rome. The girls were in Berlin for the weekend. I mean, what are the odds? I was absolutely charmed. It ‘s so nice to see him having a chance to meet more people from other countries now that Covid is over (more over in Dublin than Berlin, mind).

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We walked down to the Holocaust memorial. Berlin is full of references to the Holocaust. Everywhere there are Stolpersteine – these show where Jewish families once lived before they fled or were taken to the concentration camps and killed. World War II is everywhere in Berlin; much more so than any other German city I have visited. In the station opposite the KaDeWe department store there is an enormous sign indicating that it was a point for deporting people to concentration camps and listing the destinations where most of them probably died.

We went to visit the DDR museum which is relatively small. It was strange for me because I was in Berlin in 1984 on a language exchange when the DDR was still with us and I kept looking at things and saying to myself, that happened after I was here. My host family let me see the wall I think, though they weren’t particularly keen, but only a day or two after my arrival, to my intense chagrin, they whisked me out of Berlin and brought me to Bavaria on a two week hiking holiday. I had plenty of walking and scenery at home, so I would have preferred to stay in Berlin. I do remember when we were leaving in the car, the East German border guards threatened not to let me through but in the end they relented (unusual). Now I find the idea of a long drive through East Germany fascinating but then I found it pretty dull and I retain no real recollection of the surrounding scenery or anything else. I didn’t think much of Benediktbeuren either. Teenagers are difficult to please.

My mother was in Berlin in the late 50s and as well as buying some dual language books in German and Russian (and not easy ones either, Gogol features) which still grace my parents’ bookshelves (her plan to teach herself Russian through German was largely unsuccessful), she was detained by the East German police for jay walking. She was a free spirit but this did make an impression. So over three generations, my mother was in Berlin before the wall went up, I was there during and herself was there after. Berlin has had quite the 20th century. It turns out that like the Balkans, Berliners make more history than they can consume locally.

I inspected every exhibit in the museum. Daniel tried out the full size Trabant they had installed.

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Here’s some East German propaganda indicating how dangerous it was for their citizens to go to the West. That’s why they had to wall them in. As they say on the airlines, “For your convenience, and especially for your safety.”

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The men lost interest before me and I came outside to find them sitting outside where the temperature had gone down (slightly) and there was a nice view of the cathedral. They seemed a bit put out by my desire to get full value by inspecting every single thing in the museum.

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When we got home the four of us spent a long time bouncing a small rubber ball across the dining room table trying to make it bounce seven times in a row. It was a game of Daniel’s invention and surprisingly entertaining but eventually Mr. Waffle made us stop in case we were driving the people downstairs crazy.

Wednesday, 10 August 2022

Mr. Waffle and I went out to breakfast again. Berlin is a city that appreciates breakfast. There were many, many options. We went to somewhere trendy and expensive. Nice but positively Swedish levels of expense and not a lot nicer than the 100s of other spots within a stone’s throw of the quite delightful Savigny Platz.

We went out to the computer museum. It was a bit of a trek and I put the boys in charge of getting us there which they did admirably.

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We got a guide to Berlin out of the library (pause to yet again sing the praises of the library service) and I found it great. There is something very satisfactory about a hard copy guidebook. I find it much more comprehensive and useful than internet advice. Possibly due to coming of age before the internet.

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The computer museum itself was not fantastic although there were a lot of free computer games once you got in. I was defeated on Pong by my sons despite having played it quite a bit at a friend’s house in the 70s. However, my hours of playing Tetris were not wasted as I managed to defeat Michael (actually, to be honest, they probably were wasted). It was quite toasty in the museum so we didn’t stay very long.

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The computer museum was on Karl Marx Allee which I found a bit unnerving. It was built as a socialist showcase and it felt very Eastern European to me. It was a bit like being behind the iron curtain. I mean, not really, but there was something creepy about it. I seem to have been too hot and tired to take any photos so you’re on your own there.

We took the U-bahn back to the Nikolai Viertiel. Our guide book described it as mostly being filled with exhausted tourists. We certainly contributed our mite to this. It was re-constructed by the East Germans and is largely pastiche. I’m not an architecture expert and maybe if I hadn’t known this I would have thought it was charming but it’s hard to work up enthusiasm when you know most of it was re-constructed in the 1980s.

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We decided it was time for dinner. We wandered from restaurant to restaurant in the restaurant filled Nikolai Viertel: “nichts frei”. Or on one occasion – “We only have one person in the kitchen, we can give you a table but you will have to wait an hour to eat.”

We had a footsore return to the S-bahn. As we crossed the desolate plain, Mr. Waffle said, “Let’s go to that van and get a Currywurst.” I was very much against, so against. But we did. And lads, it was the Currywurst of dreams. Possibly the best meal we had in Berlin. Was I hungry? Yeah, a bit.

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As we sat into the S-bahn, Mr. Waffle realised that we had forgotten the guidebook (a library book, remember) outside the Currywurst van. Like a saint, he went back to get it while the rest of us carried on home and I am pleased to report that it had suffered no injury.

Tune in for part 2 where I will try to keep excitement levels at an equivalent level.

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.

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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.

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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.

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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?

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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).

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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.

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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.”

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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Honestly a perfect day.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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

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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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