Family

Arts etc.

30 March, 2025 4 Comments
Posted in: Boys, Cork, Daniel, Family, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Reading etc., Siblings

Mr. Waffle and I went to see “Dr. Strangelove” at the Bord Gáis Energy Theatre. It’s where all the big shows that come to Dublin go. I find it unsatisfactory as a theatre as it is ginormous and a bit lacking in atmosphere. The sets were amazing but the play only alright. I don’t mind Steve Coogan but I don’t love, love, love him. However, the rest of the audience were apparently only there to see him and when he appeared on stage he had to break character to acknowledge the rapturous applause. I only went because Armando Ianucci was involved and I love him and had heard him interviewed about the play on “This American Life”. Honestly, I wouldn’t say it was his best work but I may have been prejudiced by the fact that everyone else found it hilarious and it only occasionally made me smile. I thought the woman beside me was going to have to be stretchered out such was her hilarity while I smiled thinly at the very odd joke that appealed.

Michael went to see “And Juliet” which was recommended by a commenter. His friend got tickets for her birthday and invited him along. He found it reasonably enjoyable. I am coming to the conclusion that my family may be hard to please.

I took a half day from work to see Michael in a lunchtime performance of a college play. It is doubtless his mother’s prejudice but I thought he was really excellent.

Mr. Waffle and I investigated an Argentinian Bakery in the Liberties. It is called Bakeology and I would recommend. Our empanada needs are met for the foreseeable.

There has been plenty of cinema in my life since I was here last. I enjoyed “A Real Pain” as did the Oscar voters. “Bridget Jones” did not trouble the Oscars but I must say I really enjoyed it. A friend and I went for dinner after work and then saw it in the Stella in Rathmines which I would recommend for a little treat.

Mr. Waffle and I went to see another Iranian film – “Seed of the Sacred Fig”. You would want to be in the whole of your health for these Iranian films, I will say that. Very worthy and good and all but I was a bit wrung by the end.

As part of the festival of the Francophonie we went to a Moroccan film (and international buffet – can I deny that this was the major temptation? I can not). The film was “Animalia” and it’s about a girl who marries into a rich family and struggles to adapt; she stays at home one day while they are all out and – plot twist – gets cut off from the family by an alien invasion. The budget doesn’t really stretch to aliens so it’s just lights in the sky and fog. It was ok, I would say. Buffet was great – lots of Moroccan specialties. We met the Moroccan ambassador (who had introduced the film) having a cigarette outside afterwards. “What did you think?” he asked. “It was delicious,” said Mr. Waffle. “No, the film,” I hissed. “Um, very thought provoking,” he said politely. “It was a bit strange alright,” said the ambassador “and what a time to screen it early evening during Ramadan.” Not something that had occurred to me, I must confess, but it certainly made me think that he had performed his part admirably for someone who hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since before dawn.

I saw Edmund de Waal give a talk in the Chester Beatty library. I found him an amazing, fascinating, heart warming speaker. If you ever get a chance you should definitely go and see him. This was all the more amazing as it was online (only the elect got in person tickets and I was consumed with envy as he passed around netsuke for people to hold) and online things are, as we all know, not as good as in person, and it was still absolutely amazing.

I went to a talk on the Flying Dutchman in art which appeared to be largely a plug for the Flying Dutchman which the Irish National Opera are running in the Bord Gáis theatre. My guess is that they may have overestimated the appetite of the Irish public for opera (it’s a big, big venue) but who knows? I once saw “Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg” from the gods of the Brussels opera house and it has effectively extinguished any desire I might have to ever see another Wagner opera so it’s a no from me. I was chatting to the INO people afterwards and told them how the Princess had done a project with them during Covid and it had saved her sanity. Like many another thing the Princess does, her application to take part in this project took her parents by surprise as we are not particularly in opera and she had certainly never seemed interested before but then she is a constant series of surprises to her parents.* This lovely woman Sharon Carty put in loads of time online one on one with her and she has an abiding enthusiasm for and interest in opera. So, it’s not like I’m not grateful to the INO, just not grateful enough.

I also went to a talk on Mazzolino and the renaissance in Ferrara. I mean, alright. Can’t say that I now love Mazzolino of whom I was entirely ignorant previously but interesting enough. I went to a talk on Sarah Cecilia Harrison whose portraits I really liked and who seems, in life, to have been a very interesting and extremely contrary person. Finally, in visual arts news did I mention that I went to a talk on Eileen Gray? I will say this, the more I hear about Le Corbusier the less I like him. While I was there I had a look at the Harry Clarke stained glass which is temporarily in Dublin as Cork’s Crawford museum is closed for renovations. It was strange to see these old friends in new surroundings. I think the detail below is a self-portrait of the artist. A handsome man whose private life was, I believe, complex.

Let me throw in some more pictures of his glass from Bewley’s cafe in Grafton street. Because I can.

As I mentioned above, the Crawford Gallery is closed for renovations. Alas, alack. It’s not open again until 2027. It is being extended. Here is the text about the extension.

Here is the artist’s impression of the extension.

Really, the glass box on the roof will ensure that the character of the gallery is “maintained and enhanced with great sensitivity”? It’s appalling. I mean, I feel you King Charles. I’m sure it will be lovely from the inside but it’s quite dreadful from the outside.

My sister is still cleaning out my parents’ house and I am generally pretty ruthless about saying I don’t want things but books are my Achilles heel. My grandmother bought a large mahogany book case and its contents from Canon Mulcahy in Kilmallock at some point – maybe in the 40s. The bookcase and all its contents made their way to my parents’ house probably in about 1970. This means that my parents’ house had a fine collection of 19th and early 20th century books with a strong focus on theology, if that was your thing, but also other books: Thom’s directories, etiquette books, (worthy) novels etc. My sister pulled from this range of books a physics primer from 1874 and asked whether I would like it. Well, as you can imagine, I should have said no but we have a physics student in the house and I was weak and said yes. I showed it to my physics student who said a lot has changed in physics since 1874 but whose eye was caught by the name on the flyleaf. We found our man – JJ Joyce – in the census. He was a Jeremiah Joyce son of James W Joyce who was a successful businessman in Kilmallock and who was very active in the land league. Kilmallock (which has a great deal of local history for such a small place) has an active local history society and we were able to find out much more about James W. He was gaoled for his activities in the land league and kept a diary – it mostly seems a bit dull about managing his business back in Kilmallock – but look, look at this entry, what did he get sent to himself in Limerick gaol? Yes indeed, the physics primer which we now held in our little paws.

So that was pretty cool. I rang my sister to tell her and she thought I had discovered that the book was valuable. Alas, no. But still, my physics student brought it in to college where it was an object of fascination to the young people. One of them had an uncle in Kilmallock so he got to keep it. This seems a much better fate for it than any other I can imagine although I do wish I’d taken a photo.

Yesterday Mr. Waffle and I went on a nearly 3 hour walking tour of the city – v good, I recommend Arran Henderson for all your walking tour needs; I always learn something new and I have lived here a long time. As we were looking at a Dominican church he said how intellectual and clever the Dominicans were. As though reading the minds of his audience, he said, “Have you heard the joke about the Dominicans and the Jesuits? As you know the Dominicans dealt with the Cathars and the Albigensian heresy and the Jesuits were set up as a counter reformation force. Have you ever met a Cathar?” The poor old Cathars. As we walked on Mr. Waffle murmured to me, “Just brute force, no subtlety or intelligence.”

In the afternoon, we went to a talk by fantastic author Jan Carson who I nearly saw in 2022 and have been keen to see since. The French literature festival put together an excellent programme – all free, you’ve got to love the French – and who was on it? No prizes. The links to French literature were a bit tenuous, I mean Jan Carson’s French publisher was there? I think Jan Carson is an extraordinarily talented writer and I loath magical realism which, honestly, is a big feature of her work but somehow it’s ok when she does it. But, you know, being a great writer does not necessarily translate to being a great speaker so I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. As they say, I need not have worried.

I found her really interesting. She comes from a very strict religious background. She’s from Ballymena in the North and when she was a little girl there was a sign on the roundabout saying “Ballymena still says no” and she thought it meant to line dancing as she had heard so much against it from the pulpit. Her family seem to have been very strict: no cinema, no theatre and the Bible as, if not the only book, certainly the main book available for reading at home. She attributes her interest in magical realism to hearing sermons on the Book of Revelation every Sunday between ages 10 and 12. When asked about her family and community’s attitude to her work she said that that was the first question she was always asked. She told a very moving story about a children’s play which she wrote which is currently on in the Lyric theatre in Belfast. Her mother a woman of 70 who had never been inside a theatre before, came to see it and sat and cried throughout the show. The mother said, “All these people are here, and they’re enjoying themselves and you wrote this.”

After this very touching reply, the next question came from an older gent with a booming voice and apparently unshakeable self-confidence. “Which lady writers have influenced you?” he said. “Do you like Simone de Beauvoir?” There was some hilarious confusion as she had just not heard the word “lady” and thought he meant French writers but the interviewer clarified. “I like Flannery O’Connor,” Jan Carson offered helpfully. “Is he an American?” our patrician gentleman boomed back slightly disapprovingly. He seemed not one whit discomfited by the information that Flannery O’Connor was a woman and it was poor old Jan Carson who seemed momentarily discombobulated.

Anyway recommended and not as well attended as it should have been. A win for me I guess as I got her to sign a book for me and there was almost no queue. She mentioned that she has another new book out next year. Bound to be worth a read.

Any cultural outings of your own?

*Text received last Monday: “I’m on a plane on my way to Warsaw. Did I mention I was doing this???” Reader, she did not.

Tick Tock Post: Unlikely to go Viral

17 February, 2025
Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland

I got the mantlepiece clock that my grandparents got for their wedding (in 1922 or 23) repaired. I remember it from my Granny’s house. It put in a good few years in the attic in my parents’ house after she died and eventually made it to my house where it has been sitting on the mantlepiece silently for many years.

Fixing it has been on my to do list for some considerable time. Recently, I took it to the (elderly, grumpy) clock repair man. It was pricey enough to get it fixed and, as the repairman unhelpfully, but honestly I concede, pointed out, the investment in repair in no way added to the commercial value of the clock (approximately zero). However, I am enjoying the full Westminster chime and the bongs on the hour and the more modest quarter hour chimes. I must confess though that there is some consumer resistance from other family members.

O Canada

17 January, 2025
Posted in: Family, Princess

Due to the very generous citizenship policy of Canada my husband (who was born in Canada but left aged 2) and all three of my children (who haven’t even been to Canada) are Canadian citizens. Herself went through the hoops required (I mean, fair enough, hoops are appropriate given her tenuous link to the motherland) and her Canadian passport arrived today. A nice passport, I must say, they’ve gone for navy with a certain amount of maple leaf and a very elaborate gold crest. If she moves to Canada, it will make London seem next door. Let’s hope she doesn’t move to Canada, shall we?

I told her it arrived and after preliminary excitement I said I would put it in her room. These were my instructions:

Thank you! Put all in white box under bed, side nearest window (my filing system). There should be a piece of paper on top saying “do not throw away”: reaffix.

There are times when she reminds me vividly of my father. Can I say again that my reputation for throwing things out has been very much exaggerated?

Is there anybody out there?

9 January, 2025
Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland, Reading etc.

My father used to listen to the shipping forecast at night. I imagine he got into the habit when he was younger and sailed a lot.

When we moved house in the early 1980s something about the way the walls of the house conducted sounds meant that his radio seemed louder in my room than in his. I resigned myself to hearing the shipping forecast boomed into my bedroom. I’ve always been a good sleeper which was just as well.

When he was old and deaf, the volume was quite terrifying. When I stayed in Cork, I would sometimes sleep with my head under the pillow to avoid being startled awake by the sounds of “Sailing By” which honestly sounded like it was being played live in my bedroom.

Since he died, I don’t think that I’ve listened to the shipping forecast. Recently, however, my podcast feed suggested a show on the shipping forecast and I had a listen on my commute home for nostalgia’s sake. It made me unexpectedly sad and I cycled home with tears streaming down my face.

Then, I came across this Dickens quote:

There are very few moments in a man’s existence when he experiences so much ludicrous distress as when he is in pursuit of his own hat.

I was reminded vividly of the time a daring gust of wind blew my father’s flat cap off his head and – ultimately – into the river. He was extremely cross but the rest of us were helpless with laughter which, obviously, didn’t make him any less cross.

Maybe he’s sending me a sign.

Still Putting the Fun in Funeral: December Round Up Part 3

7 January, 2025
Posted in: Boys, Cork, Daniel, Family, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Work

December 26, St Stephen’s Day

Mr. Waffle and I accompanied by our first born (the other children having elected to stay in bed) climbed the Sugar Loaf. It was very foggy on the drive to Wicklow but when we got to the peak of the (pretty tame) mountain it was peeping through the fog giving me an opportunity to take some excellent photos.

A problem we always have with our outings is that we never seem to be able to leave before 11.30. This means that we are always on our walk at lunch time. I believe that lunch should be a moveable feast, Mr. Waffle very firmly does not. He brought a spiced beef and cranberry sauce sandwich up the mountain with him for this very reason. Herself and myself spurned the sandwich option with contumely. Ladies and gentlemen, was that how we felt on the mountain? It was not and I must record Mr. Waffle’s nobility in sharing his slender supplies with his womenfolk. Possibly the best one third of a sandwich I have ever eaten.

You would not think it from the photos but it is actually a very easy climb made considerably easier by the rocks/steps that have now been put in place to avoid erosion. I remember once when the children were younger going up there one summer day and feeling quite proud of huffing up to the top with my three youngish children to find a whole class of kindergartners at the top accompanied by a couple of minders. I remember vividly that one of the little girls had one of those bags with wheels and she had just carried it up the mountain with her.

As we sat at the top, herself looked around and said, “This is the only place in Ireland where you don’t see fat people.” She paused and looked around again, “Except for you two, I guess.” Oh sharper than a serpent’s tooth etc.. Sensing that her addendum was not entirely welcome she added encouragingly, “Isn’t it good that you two are still just on the right side of overweight and can climb to the top?” I see.

When we got down, on a theoretical level, I was delighted to see that all of the usual hostelries we might frequent after a walk up a mountain were closed; people should have a break at Christmas. On a practical level, we were not delighted to be driving around trying to find somewhere to eat. We eventually got a table in Johnny Fox’s outside in the stable yard under a heater and a canvas awning. It’s grand, a bit touristy (though not, I concede on St. Stephen’s Day), lots of Irish stuff on the walls, you know the kind of thing, cosy inside, in fairness, but, heaters or no, a bit on the cheerless side in the stable yard. Look, it could have been worse but I can’t say it was a culinary thrill. Herself always enjoys the letter on the wall written by some misfortunate courtier in Buckingham Palace saying “The Queen regrets that she cannot join you for your hooley night…”. They invited her when she came to Ireland. Chancers.

On our way home I commented again that this was the first time in my whole life that I hadn’t been to Cork over Christmas. Then Mr. Waffle got a message from a friend that another friend’s father had died. In Cork. Turns out I would be spending part of the Christmas season in Cork after all.

Friday, December 27

The funeral was at 10 on Saturday morning (the man only died on St. Stephen’s Day so even by Irish standards this was a quite spectacularly quick turn around). Mr. Waffle and I decided to drive down to Cork and stay just one night in my brother’s house. I started to feel sick before we left home – comment from herself pre-departure “you look terrible” – and just felt worse and worse on the way down and by the time we got to Cork, I was dying. We got in to Jacob’s on the Mall for dinner but I was honestly in no position to enjoy it. After dinner we walked back to my brother’s place and I thought I was going to keel over. He was away (Tenerife, was pleasant I understand) and when we got back I just crawled into bed shivering and sniffing. I had a quite terrible night. It is so miserable to be sick away from home. My sister (who lives next door) had a veritable cornucopia of medication which she dropped in but I was beyond medical help.

Saturday, December 28

I felt like death and looked worse; like some diseased creature dug up from underground. Mr. Waffle said that if we were living in Cork I wouldn’t dream of going when I was so ill. This is true but having driven down I was determined to attend. We were off with the lark. The funeral was full of people who I hadn’t seen in years (Ireland is small and Cork is smaller still). I was glad that I was looking my best. To be clear, I was not looking my best, I looked like the creature from the Black Lagoon. We spent a good while outside the church chatting to friends and acquaintances with the particular and familiar Cork damp rising through my boots. A group arrived as the mass was finishing having been let down by the 7 am train to Cork from Dublin. One of them (the daughter of my first teacher in primary school – see what I mean about Cork?) shocked me to the core of my being as, having basically missed the mass, she was skipping the lunch also and off to meet some school friends. Maybe my brother is right, maybe you don’t have to attend the mass, just be seen afterwards.

Mr. Waffle’s friend gave one of the best eulogies I have ever heard. She was really close to her father and will really, really miss him. He was 89 and had an excellent life, so most people were celebrating but the family were, of course, very sad. Mr. Waffle’s friend (who is from Cork and whose parents were at college the same time as my mother and whose father was known professionally to my father – have I mentioned that Cork is small?) said to me sympathetically, “This must bring back memories of your own father’s funeral at this time of year”. It did, of course, but poor Daddy’s funeral was a Covid funeral with just 8 people in attendance and I couldn’t help comparing it to this lovely celebration of a man’s life.

But I thought about it and I realised that her father and mine had both had great lives; long and happy and really pretty good all round. I said to her, “Honestly, maybe the lives of the 20th century Cork doctor – masters of all they surveyed – were the best lives, lucky them.” And we both laughed.

We didn’t go to the cemetery as I thought I would die if I didn’t get indoors so we went off early to the local golf club which would be hosting the post-funeral lunch. There was a group of elderly (though spritely) neighbours of the dead man there already (doubtless also felt unable for the graveyard) and we joined them. I have to say, I thought they were a complete delight. One older lady reminded me so much of my own mother’s golf pals that I asked her whether she knew my mother but, alas, no. We did however establish that the sister of a friend of mine from college was her neighbour on the estate so we were both pretty pleased with that.

After lunch we hot footed it back to Dublin. Mr. Waffle nobly drove the whole way while I sat moaning faintly in the passenger seat and worrying that I might have passed the bug on to the elderly mourners. We got back about five and I crawled into bed and stayed there until midday the following day.

Sunday, December 29

I got up. This was my big achievement for the day along with finishing the jigsaw puzzle that I got for Christmas.

Monday, December 30

I did not leave the house. I felt ever so slightly better.

Tuesday, December 31

I left the house briefly. I felt like an explorer of a brave new world. And I finally started to feel better. Mr. Waffle was felled. He was completely dying. He is never sick and had completely forgotten what it was like. I chose to help him recover by saying things like: “How do you feel now, dying right? Well, imagine you’re standing outside a church on a damp winter’s day with the damp rising in your boots and 250kms to go before you can sleep in your own bed?”

It was a quiet new year’s eve. There was some plumbing problem I don’t want to speak about. Mr. Waffle is the plumbing person but I did my humble best and then updated the post it I had stuck on the downstairs bathroom earlier.

Wednesday, January 1, 2025

Recovering apace, I went out to the Turner exhibition in the national gallery. They come out every year in January as part of the Vaughan bequest. This year, for a change, we’ve swapped with the Scottish Vaughan bequest pictures. Enjoyable.

Thursday, January 2, 2025

My recovery continued and Mr. Waffle started to improve as well. To celebrate I took herself to Kildare village. I have written before about my rather conflicted views on outlet shopping but here we were again. In an effort to somehow make it better, I suggested we might take the train rather than drive. It’s a good 20 minutes walk from the station to the outlets we discovered. Herself was entranced to find the original Millie’s pharmacy in Kildare town. She buys a lot of her stuff from millies.ie and says they’re terrific. I had a lot of questions for the girl on the counter (not Millie). She said that there are two shops, one in Kildare town (the original) and another in Naas (Co. Kildare) and the warehouse is in Newbridge (also Co. Kildare). “And is Millie from Kildare herself?” I asked. “Well, her name’s Joanne but yeah, she only lives up the road.” Good woman Joanne.

We purchased various items including – exciting- bath mats and I was very close to buying a new suitcase when I remembered that I didn’t have a car and it was 20 odd minutes walk to the station (a literal road test, I guess). Overall a mildly pleasant day out but I couldn’t recommend the train approach, I regret to say. We did get to walk through the ruined monastery beside the centre of commerce. A plaque informed us that it was – no surprises here – dissolved by Henry VIII. “That psychotic murderer, ” I remarked mildly. Herself stopped me in my tracks by saying, “Well, I know he was very bad, of course, but I can’t help liking him, because, you know, he founded Christ Church and I was so happy there.” I knew no good would come from sending her to college in England.

We hot footed it back to Dublin to get herself home in time to meet a friend for dinner in one of the distant seaside suburbs with which Dublin is so richly provided. I got a migraine on the way home because the gods decided to punish me but at least I wasn’t driving, I suppose.

Friday, January 3, 2025

Mr. Waffle and I were both restored to health. Feeling that the drain/sewer situation still needed work he summoned Mr. AJ Drains to the house. Michael stayed in bed and the other pair and I headed out for breakfast leaving Mr. Waffle to meet AJ. Truly, the lot of the head of household is not always a happy one. On our return, all was well and AJ had gone, his important work complete, leaving only an unpleasant odour in his wake.

To celebrate (and to give the odour time to dissipate) we went for a walk in the park.

That evening we watched Gosford Park which I saw when it came out. “It’s a murder mystery,” said Mr. Waffle to the children. “Is it really?” said I. I can remember nothing.

Saturday, January 4, 2025

A quiet day with many slightly dull chores achieved. We went for tea in Bewley’s – tea shop and tea merchants – in town. They didn’t have lapsang, Earl Grey or rooibos tea. “The closest I can suggest is afternoon tea,” said our hapless waitress (hardly her fault). And they didn’t have cherry buns either. Truly, this life is sometimes a bed of thorns. That evening we went to see “We Live in Time” in the cinema. Spoiler alert coming, so look away if you plan to see it. I had thought that everyone knew that the heroine dies in the end. Look, you don’t, and the children were quite grumpy about my revealing this before we went in. It was grand. But we got sodden on the way there and back so not a total win.

Sunday, January 5, 2025

The return to work on Monday and the departure of my first born (also Monday) loomed, there’s no two ways about it. She and I ventured out to the suburbs to visit a friend of my mother’s from college which was amusing in a mild way. My mother’s friend is very funny. In college, she had stepped out with the younger brother of the man who we buried the previous weekend so we brought her the funeral missalette for a look. Not having seen the deceased in about 60 years, she thought he looked a lot older. Unsurprising.

Monday, January 6, 2025 – Women’s Christmas

When I was growing up January 6 was still a holiday, the last hurrah of Christmas. It was known as Women’s Christmas or Little Christmas and the idea was that women who had worked non-stop over Christmas would get a little break. Now alas it is, more often than not, the first day back at work after the holidays; just not as beloved as it once was. To add insult to injury, herself went back to England. Weeping, rending of garments etc. Despite the apocalyptic weather warnings her flight got off no bother and she returned to England without incident. That evening looking at the weather warnings I got a bit nervous myself. About 8.30 in the evening I drove in to the office to pick up my laptop and I texted staff not to come in – Tuesday is our anchor day. The thrills never stop.

Tuesday, January 7, 2025

I worked from home and held the first team meeting of the new year online. The sun shone, the weather was beautiful. There was absolutely no need for anyone to work from home or indeed for me to make an emergency trip to the office last night to pick up my laptop. Deep sigh.

On the plus side, I was able to direct activities on the home front in a way that wouldn’t have been possible had I been in the office. The children, who might have had other plans for the afternoon, were deployed to take down the Christmas tree and put away the decorations.

OK, that’s definitely the end of the Christmas season. More news as we get it.

December Round Up – Part 2

5 January, 2025
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Family, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings

Christmas Thrill

In mid-December, a colleague and I did a mock interview for the recently graduated son of a friend. He was a lovely guy and we both thought he stood an excellent chance of success. To my mild horror he sent me chocolates and a card in thanks which his mother assured me was off his own bat. I was then on tenterhooks until he was actually successful at the real interview. Go him. A pre-Christmas thrill.

Christmas Miracle

Herself went on holidays to Morocco with her boyfriend before she returned to me safe and well. When they were there their hotel was so scary that they moved to another. “What can we do to get our money back?” she asked me. “Nothing,” said I. Her boyfriend’s mother who is from New Jersey is made of sterner stuff and gave guidance on cutting a deal with the hotel which he duly did while herself cowered in the room (definitely her mother’s daughter). But then the boyfriend insisted that they eat the breakfast already paid for while the owner glowered at them (definitely his mother’s son). They visited the Pasha’s palace and to get their student reduction they both showed their student IDs. The attendant exclaimed in excitement over her boyfriend’s ID (Oxford) but treated hers (some would say from a well-known university also – though not the man selling tickets at the Pasha’s palace clearly) with cool indifference. They also went quad biking because she wants to send me to an early grave. But nevertheless she returned safe and well and is home until January 6. Hurrah.

Christmas Outings

Myself, herself and Mr. Waffle went to an Anu production of James Joyce’s “The Dead”. Overall very enjoyable with tons of audience participation but the venue (a big house on Merrion Square) was just a little too grand for the story. But seeing the well know actors and actresses so close up and interacting with them was good fun and would recommend. Pricey mind. Tickets were €65 a head and we are not on Broadway here. Still completely sold out early on for a longish run so I guess they know their market.

I am always booking things for our family with varying degrees of success. I booked the winter lights in Collins Barracks and myself, Mr. Waffle and Michael went along. It was cold and drizzly and an outdoor event. Enthusiasm levels were lowish but it was excellent. Only 15 minutes which may have been part of the reason for its success. It was clearly set up for much larger numbers which they didn’t get. A pity, I do hope they do it again next year all the same.

Michael went to Cork and Mr. Waffle went to a long Christmas lunch so the rest of us went to Smithfield to investigate the Christmas market. I would not totally recommend, but look we got a – not at all healthy – dinner and another trip on a big wheel. I’ve had worse.

We went out to see Love Actually on the big screen in the cinema. I didn’t think there would be any demand. More fool me; sold out. So we came home again and Mr. Waffle bought Christmas Eve at Miller’s Point from a streamer. I had been really keen to see this – it got great reviews but it hadn’t got a Dublin release. I found it…baffling. It’s a largely plot free adventure; it’s just a big Italian American family party and various personalities but nothing much happens. The reviews said it feels like being at a party. And kind of but like someone else’s family party where you don’t know anyone and just want to go home.

I got tickets for the Snowman in St Patrick’s cathedral. No one really fancied going but despite inclement weather in I went. I discovered that it’s a show for very young children – an actor reads out the story; a choir sings; an orchestra plays and loads of small children run up and down the aisle while their older siblings hiss furiously at their parents that they want to go home. I mean sweet but not for me. Good venue though.

While Michael was in Cork, the rest of us went for a walk up to the Hellfire club in the Dublin mountains and a cup of tea afterwards. In a mild way, a particularly successful outing.

Christmas Prep

I sent loads of Christmas cards. I got a reasonable haul in return but always a few from people one has missed. Sigh.

Everyone put up the outside Christmas lights on the road and we had mulled wine and mince pies with the neighbours. To think there was a time when I turned up my nose at outdoor lights. More fool me.

We laid in essential Christmas reading.

And the Christmas tree which the cat continues to regard with some suspicion.

One of the children had Christmas lunch for friends. How much did I enjoy laying the table for that? Very much indeed. How glad was I that I wasn’t the one creating a vegetarian wellington? Very glad indeed. Apparently it was excellent, thanks for asking.

Herself spent 45 minutes queuing at the cheese monger for me while I was at work. I gave her detailed instructions. She was to get Conté, Brie, Brillat Savarin, Tomme and a Camembert. She dutifully made her order gamely parrying alternative suggestions. The cheese monger asked if she’d like to try some. “No,” said she, “I don’t like cheese.” Her sacrifice is noted; I’d say he was a bit puzzled though.

I got my annual haircut. I didn’t get as much taken off as usual, I hope this isn’t a terrible mistake.

Hobbies Corner

I had my annual Christmas afternoon tea in the Westbury with my Sunday afternoon bookclub (booked in September) and our Kris Kindle gift exchange with the Monday bookclub. God I love my book clubs.

The 21st birthday of this blog passed by on December 10. It can now drink legally in America. It’s given me a lot of pleasure over the years. Here’s to the next 21, I guess.

Christmas can be a Sad Time

You may recall that my father died on Christmas Day in 2020. And I do think of him on Christmas Day but more I think of him on the winter solstice. He loved the summer and the sun and he was always delighted when the year was on the turn and the days were getting longer and warmer and celebrated it every year. And Christmas is, I suppose, a time when you do think of your dead relatives and all that has changed over your life time but I think particularly of my parents. I said to Mr. Waffle that this would be the first year in my whole life when I wouldn’t be spending part of the Christmas holidays in Cork.

Christmas Eve

My sister was coming for Christmas Eve. She came last year and it was super and low key and everyone enjoyed it. This year I went all out. I found it a bit unnecessarily stressful. As herself said (unhelpfully but I fear truthfully), “It was less work last year but everyone enjoyed it more.”

Mid afternoon we sat down and watched “A Muppet Christmas Carol”. We nearly forgot under the pressure of other work. I’m not sure Michael was delighted by my regular hopping up to check on things in the kitchen. I don’t think he felt it was in the Christmas spirit but I was basically doing a Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve. True to the informal spirit of the original idea, however, I had kind of forgotten until quite late in the day that a starter might be good, so that was challenging. Also, we had a vegetarian Finnish friend of Michael’s who was in Dublin for Christmas coming to dinner which created its own difficulties. As I was in the middle of prep, Mr. Waffle invited our neighbour in to induct her in the mysteries of the Aga which she would be using as part of her cooking for 13 the following day. We are still married.

Still notwithstanding the logistical difficulties it was lovely to see my sister and we all enjoyed chatting to the Finnish friend and dinner was broadly successful. Herself had the genius idea of lighting the fire in the dining room though (which we last did when we were getting the kitchen done and we had no back wall on the house – dark, chilly times) and it was lovely – really festive and not even too warm for the people with their backs to it which was a slight fear.

After dinner we all went to midnight mass (held at a punishingly early 8 pm) even the Finn who was an atheist but had Jewish/Lutheran grandparents so with the best will in the world was not fully up on the Catholic side of things but was willing to try anything once. The singing was beautiful and the mass was a reasonable length. I have passed another milestone remarking on the way home from the church that it was a “lovely mass”.

Christmas Day

Reasonable happiness all round with Christmas presents. I think that the stand out present was a hoodie for Mr. Waffle (who knew that that was what he wanted all along?). I got lots of nice things but was particularly impressed by the weather vane which demonstrated considerable planning work. Mr. Waffle did his now legendary Christmas treasure hunt for the children and they absolutely loved it. This time he wrote it in the form of a Sherlock Holmes short story. Genius.

Herself made Christmas breakfast with me as her dutiful assistant. It was excellent.

We then made our way to Mr. Waffle’s brother’s house where we were being hosted for Christmas dinner – I mean hurrah. It was a beautiful day and we had a short walk on the pier before lunch.

The in-laws hosted Mr. Waffle’s uncle and aunt as well as us and I have to say, Mr. Waffle’s uncle was the star of the show, he was completely hilarious. Though it was very sad that my nephew wasn’t there; however, he was off in Austria ski instructing having the time of his life and he did call right after dinner so, you know, not the worst thing either.

And then Michael drove us all home. Herself began the drive hyperventilating never having been driven by Michael before and about half way home she whispered to me, “This is incredible, he can actually drive.” Good man Michael. Has yet to sit his test though. Let us remain optimistic.

I’m not finished yet. More December to come.