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Posted in: Dublin, Family, Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

Herself came home very briefly in March to come to her great uncle’s funeral. He was a lovely, lovely man. She was a prime favourite with him as he was a teacher and you know how a teacher loves a clever child. He was also absolutely hilarious and we all found him great company. The Christmas before last we were all together and, honestly, he was the star of the show.

This Christmas he came to our house just before Christmas and he seemed absolutely fine. His son was home from Spain for Christmas with his young family and the great uncle picked up a camp bed from us while he was here. I mean, just to show. And though he was 85, he was sharp as a tack and, just…well. But apparently not. He got sick after Christmas and went into hospital in late February and died in March.

His poor son in Australia flew home (36 hours as the Middle East was closed) and just missed seeing him before he died which was very sad but they were very close and spoke regularly so not so bad, I guess.

My sister-in-law came back from England as well and it was very nice to see her and the extended family. Poor old youngest child wasn’t able to get home from his Erasmus exile but watched the live stream from his student bedroom; I wouldn’t call it ideal.

The last surviving sibling in that family – my husband’s uncle was there as well. He’s really like his brothers and reminded me so much of my late father-in-law – just a very funny, charming person. It made me sad but he also made me laugh. He is almost 90 and seems very hale and hearty. Let us hope Mr. Waffle has these genes. The funeral was in the chapel attached to the school where the deceased uncle had attended himself, taught, and where his sons had also gone to school so he was very well known to the (pretty good) turn out of priests who were there for the service which was a good one. A clatter of young men from the school attended also which was a nice touch and came and dutifully shook hands with the relatives afterwards.

Outside the crematorium, keen eyed Mr. Waffle saw a memorial to Oscar Wilde’s father. Small world, eh?

We went for lunch with the mourners after and said goodbye to everyone. I really felt for the immediate family, they all seemed a bit shell-shocked. It’s definitely better for everyone when someone is well (and old obviously) and dies quickly but it’s such a shock for relatives in the moment; alas.

Turbulent Times

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Posted in: Dublin, Family, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

Mr. Waffle and I climbed the Sugar Loaf on Good Friday. It was extremely windy and we were nearly blown away. I have never before experienced such strong wind on that mountain which, despite the excellent views and impressive appearance, is generally an extremely straightforward climb. I once met a pre-school class on the top and one of the little girls had brought her bag on wheels (just to give you the picture).

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Still, despite the wind, it was a very satisfactory day out, all the more so as when we left Dublin it was absolutely lashing and we nearly didn’t go at all. In the end we brought our rain gear and didn’t even need it.

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I bought some linen napkins in Enniskerry afterwards. Middle aged thrills.

You might have thought that as my youngest child had returned to these shores (briefly, for Easter) from his Erasmus placement abroad, I would be spending all my time with him but you would have reckoned without his extremely full social calendar. He came back on Wednesday morning (April 1) and immediately plunged into a social whirl.

I was delighted with myself on Wednesday morning when I sent a message to the family group chat saying “Aaargh, youngest child’s flight is diverted to Heathrow, first born can you help?” Herself rang straight away with many questions and I revealed it was an April fool. Mr. Waffle was using the flight tracker and utterly baffled. Middle child sent a message saying, “You infidels have no need to blow up my phone before 8 in the morning” so not everyone was fooled. It was my greatest April fool ever and no one was even cross with me (which can be a risk).

Herself was due to come home on Saturday evening and I was dutifully waiting at the airport when looking at the flight tracker I saw her plane doing pretty elaborate loops. It was extremely windy and, alas, they took her back to London without landing. I was so relieved that she was alive that I resigned myself to her not being here for Easter. It was all pretty hairy she told us afterwards: “I’ve never been on a flight before where everyone screamed at the same time.”

She spent the night in the Radisson in Heathrow airport (congratulations to Hamish and Nishal on their wedding which was going really well judging by the background noises). And, thrills and delight got in to Dublin the next morning. Middle child and I had an extremely elaborate breakfast waiting for her (youngest child still in bed, note social life comments earlier) – see those new napkins getting their first outing.

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Weird aside, there were about 30 young men from an American school from Ohio at mass in their blazers and the priest said that they were here to play rugby. I have many questions.

We went to the in-laws for lunch (oh happy day) and spent the day with the extended family. It was really nice to see everyone and even though the children played monopoly together which, in my experience, is generally not a recipe for a good time, I think everyone did, in fact, have a good time.

On Monday we saw Mr. Waffle’s sister and her family for lunch; went for a walk; and then dropped herself to the airport. This was not without its alarms as BA had cancelled the return leg of her flight for their own obscure reasons but all was well in the end.

Today, Mr. Waffle and I cycled to Howth and although it was pretty pleasant it is quite far away and I am exhausted from my efforts.

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Our beloved youngest child is joining us for dinner tonight before he flies back to his Erasmus exile at the crack of dawn. It’s my last day off work and I guess the Easter excitement is nearly over.

How was your own Easter?

Domestic Admin Sunday


Posted in: Family, Mr. Waffle, Twins, Youngest Child

Poor old Mr. Waffle had to work today so I decided to offer my day up to the administration gods. It’s been awful.

The joy of changing electricity and gas suppliers is again upon me. Pray for me. Notwithstanding the excellent service of bonkers.ie (come on, great name, you’ve got to concede) which aids with comparing and switching, I really just want to stay with the same supplier and not install a new app, make up a new password and then receive a baffling new bill offering me huge insights (or, worst of all, if I was with this “new” supplier before finding my old password and being locked out until I do). Relatively straightforward in fairness to bonkers.ie but I had to upload a pdf of my last bill (log in to current supplier, download same) and add my details from the network provider (create account, go outside the front door find gas meter, read gas meter, input data, await two factor authentication etc.). But the upshot is that bonkers.ie says I will save €1,700 by switching so I guess I have to. Sigh.

I tried to log into my pensions portal. I have the login, I have the password but for some reason the two factor authentication number which should have come to my email, did not in fact come to my email. I looked at my statement and decided this is a problem for when I leave the workforce. I wrote to the UK tax authorities about my UK pension arrangements- quite limited now and available from aged 68 so not, in fact, an immediate priority but nonetheless, I dutifully wrote. Related, yesterday on the tram a nice man in his 30s offered me his seat – I had make up on, I’d slept for 10 hours the night before and I had played tennis that morning, I looked at my best – but he hopped out of his “give this up if an elderly or infirm person needs it” seat like a scalded cat; I was suitably grateful but declined the seat suffering from inner horror, obviously my internalised ageism is strong.

I discovered through inspection of my spam folder (see above re non-arrival of two factor authentication number), that the degree ceremony for the course I completed last year has passed and if I reply by January 16, they will send out my parchment by registered post. Although the deadline has passed, I am cautiously optimistic that the degree will make its way to me eventually (it’s an ill-wind etc.).

I have uploaded my bills to my medical insurer (my ongoing engagement with the dentist refers).

I have, I hope, managed to register correctly for US withholding tax in relation to a share holding so tiny that it probably costs more to keep (in administrative pain) than to sell.

I have finished putting together a photo album and sent it off to be printed (enormous expense twice a year and ongoing effort to keep it up to date). I use this crowd, if you have a recommendation, let me know.

I have cast my bread upon the waters in the hope that some commercial organisation will agree to host an anniversary dinner later in the year (honestly, they can probably have any money – look at the savings on the gas and electricity bills).

I am about to help my youngest child pack for 4 months abroad (more of which anon) – I see a chance to dispose of some of my excess crockery and cutlery.

I hope your Sunday has been less painful. I’m off to start packing.

Supporting the Arts


Posted in: Family, Mr. Waffle, Reading etc., Twins, Youngest Child

Our beloved youngest child was in two plays back to back in college last term. With terrifying frankness he told us not to bother with the first one as it wasn’t any good. But we dutifully went along to the second; say what you like about the beloved youngest child but he loves an audience and speaks loudly and clearly which are enough to make you the star of a college production. Inspired by this, he has decided that next year he might direct and star in a production of “John Bull’s Other Island” by Shaw which is out of copyright. He has decided to adapt the great man’s work for a modern audience and has been sequestered in his room for several days on this work but I think we’re nearly there. He has time.

In other student production news we went to see my niece’s school musical where she was the star. She has actually been in real films with famous people that had a cinematic release but I think it’s fair to say she has never been more excited to be in a production than this one. She was fantastic.

Mr. Waffle and I went to see Marty Supreme. Normally we go to the cinema on Mondays and have it to ourselves but we were home alone and decided to scamper out on a Thursday. On Mondays when the cinema is largely empty I lament the decline of cinema as a medium; on Thursday it was a full house. On the one hand, do I want my local cinema to close down? I do not. Does it need punters to remain open? Yes, yes it does. However, it was all very annoying, people were talking, checking phones, in and out to purchase popcorn; I think we’ll be sticking to Mondays. “The film?” you ask. It was alright, a bit long. I only went because I heard it was funny. Not hilarious now. Raised a smile occasionally. It’s the story of a table tennis champion/hustler set in America in the early 50s. The caper like nature of the plot reminded me a bit of Anora and the aesthetic was a bit Wes Anderson.

Last but not least we went to Collins Barracks over the weekend to see an exhibition on modern Ireland. Very right on and a lot of focus on the North (there was a lot of Dublin and NI and a certain amount of we lived in a repressive theocracy- was Ireland perfect? Nope. Were we operating under the ayatollahs? You might have thought so). Nevertheless I found it enjoyable. The only actual Cork thing I found (aside from a bit about lace making in Youghal, grand, I suppose) was this poster.

I very much enjoyed the “ over 6,000 in Cork alone”; they know how to appeal to the Cork punter.

I also liked this crisp related poster. As regular readers will know the island of Ireland is divided by two unrelated crisp providers with the same name. See below Mr Tayto, North (right) and South edition.

A classic poster.

I was less familiar with this one.

This open letter below is worth a read in its entirety. But here are some standout lines:

Here in Ireland there are on sale certain magazines which advocate pre-marital intimacy and which set forth chastity as an outmoded convention. Such magazines have been brought to our notice. We have actually seen them.

It’s the “We have actually seen them” that I particularly enjoy.

Also:

Many of these publications are on PUBLIC SALE. It is not always a matter of surreptitious, under-the-counter trading.

And furthermore:

IN view of these genuinely alarming facts, one may ask: Isn’t there a literary censorship operating in this country?

An explanation follows leading to the conclusion that “In practice, therefore, a considerable volume of printed material remains completely uncensored.” So now so.

It finishes on a very stern note:

Finally, it need hardly be stressed that those who, knowingly and deliberately, expose for sale such evil printed matter are guilty of mortal sin-the sin of corrupting innocence, of pandering to passion, of directing souls to Hell.

Here are some slippers Michael Collins wore; whether just once when he stayed over in someone’s house or for a prolonged period is unclear.

Pro-Home Rule mug and anti-Home salt cellar. Eggcellent.

The Gladstone chamber pot: a tasteful addition to any anti-Home Rule household. I was sorry not to see any products marked “Home Rule is Rome Rule” but you can’t have everything, I suppose.

Elsewhere in the museum, I was taken with this cartoon.

The perennial question: How Ya Gonna Keep ’em Down on the Farm (After They’ve Seen Paree)?

I went to see the annual Turner exhibition in the National Gallery as well. A mild January treat.

How are your own cultural outings going?

Too High or Too Low*


Posted in: Family, Ireland

I have this theory about Irish people that we always have to do things to an extreme extent. It’s only fair to say that I have found very little support for this view among other Irish people.

However, you will recall that for a long time we were the best Catholics. Now we are the best liberals. We always wanted to be the best Europeans. When we had the bailout we were the best country at taking our medicine; we were never going to default like the Argentinians (I mean, they took that to their own extreme).

I don’t know if it’s a post-colonial thing or a small country thing or what. When I was growing up it was drummed into us by home, school, society that if you were going abroad you were representing your country and you couldn’t let us down. I’m not talking about going abroad to perform in the maths Olympiad here, I’m talking about a camping holiday in France.

Though all this does remind me of a funny story my mother told me. Shortly after she finished her master’s degree in Cork, she got a DAAD scholarship to continue her chemistry studies in Freiburg in Germany. It was the late 50s/early 60s and Ireland was poor and Germany was enjoying its post-war economic miracle and it was a world leader in science. Her professor in UCC said to her, “They’ll have all kinds of equipment there you’ve never seen before but don’t go around saying ‘Ooh, I’ve never used that before’ – you’re a clever woman, you’ll work it out quickly enough.” And so she did.

Anyway, in case you didn’t know, one of the things we quite like about ourselves here is that we’re good at death: talking about it; managing the rituals associated with it and generally seeing it as part of life. Regular readers will know that I am blue in the face from going to funerals and removals (the evening event – handy if work means you can’t go to the funeral – though a couple of hours out of the office to attend a funeral is alright by most employers). I have seen more dead bodies than I can remember. I don’t think there is a person over, say, 10 in Ireland who hasn’t seen plenty of corpses. And many under 10s have seen them too, it’s just not all of them have had a grandparent die. My mother died in 2019 and we had a normal funeral, full church, lunch, lots of people we hadn’t seen in years, random relatives, colleagues and friends (hers, my father’s, mine, my siblings’), the lady captain of the golf club, whoever you’re having yourself, and every one of them had something comforting to say. When my father died over Christmas in 2020, at the height of Covid, there were only 9 mourners in the church for the funeral and it was quite grim. I liked the way though that during Covid, people started using the condolence section of that stellar resource rip.ie to write messages of sympathy. I have pages and pages from my father’s death notice. That’s something quite nice that remains a feature even though Covid is over and we’re all attending funerals to beat the band again.

So, I think my credentials as a funeral going Irish rip.ie enthusiast have been pretty firmly established here. Nonetheless, I saw this in the paper this morning and I thought this is ridiculous, we’ve overdone it again.

Seriously, RIP the podcast? They’ve got to be joking.

*Billy Joel fans will know that the next line of this immortal number is “Darling, I don’t know why I go to extremes”.

Random Thoughts from the Aged


Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland, Reading etc.

My father used to call those grey trousers he wore with a blazer his flannel bags. Does anybody say flannel bags anymore? I tried my children and they looked baffled.

When leaving the dinner table, the expression, “May I be excused?” was widespread in my youth. Has this too gone the way of the dodo?

At mass this morning, they said that the exit hymn is “God’s Spirit is in my Heart”. “What on earth is that?” I thought but once they started singing I found I knew all the words. I was sure, sure, sure that I hadn’t heard it since I was a teenager but the internet seems pretty firm that it first came out in 2002. I am baffled but maybe I did learn new hymns in my 30s? This seems very unlikely but who can say? Then Margaret Atwood was on Desert Island discs and she picked Beethoven’s pastoral symphony as one of her 8 discs. “Ho hum,” I thought, “I wonder what that is?” Yet another musical number Mrs. O’Shea taught the school choir, that’s what, though we learnt it with the following words which I feel Beethoven wouldn’t have approved of: Now winter is passing and soon it will be spring/with daffodils and tulips and birdies on the wing. I also recently heard for the first time in about 40 years “In an English Country Garden” – yet another number Mrs. O’Shea brought into our lives. It’s funny how these songs one learnt as a child can be really evocative.

I’ve been looking at slides from my childhood and although it is a pain to set everything up the images are so much better than the faded brown snaps from photo albums and I now respect my father’s commitment to slides though I was dubious for many years. When I see myself I recognise every single thing I am wearing and I know what feelings it evoked in me, what I loved, what I hated. I am fascinated by this as I am not very interested in clothes now. I wonder what happened to that youthful clothes lover.

I had lunch yesterday with my oldest friend, our parents were friends and as she is a year older than me (something she used to enjoy pointing out to me when we were little, but now, ah, how the tables have turned), I have known her since I was born. Anyway over Christmas she went to a 40th school reunion. “40, 40 years!” I screeched in horror. “That’ll be you this year,” she pointed out tartly. I am shocked. How did that happen? But also, perhaps it’s not as big a surprise as all that.