I have had a cold for the past couple of days and I have been absolutely miserable. I worked my way through a full box of tissues and a Covid test (negative) while mainlining lempsip. When I am sick I completely fail to remember what it is like to be well and I think that I will be in the slough of despond forever. However, today I am much improved and the weather is a bit springy and I think I may survive after all. A corollary of my problem with being sick is that when I am well, I completely forget what it is like to be ill and think, “It would be nice to be in bed sick and just flick through a magazine”. Of course, it’s not nice because you’re sick. Though I have to say, I am quite indignant that I should be sick on my break from work. It’s like being sick on holidays; quite wrong. A further problem with my inability to remember what it is like to be ill is that I am quite unsympathetic when family members are ill. Intellectually, I sympathise but I just can’t remember what it’s really like; I’m sure I would be much more sympathetic if I could remember the pain.
Family
Christmas Round Up
Christmas Eve
We went to midnight mass on Christmas Eve (9 o’clock, midnight isn’t what it once was, inflation etc.) which was nice and the choir were in great voice. Herself and Daniel got trapped by the elderly priest who mans the side door.
Him: I haven’t seen you for a long time.
Her: I’m in England [as she explained she wanted him to understand that she was abroad and not like the other two pagans she was with].
Him: There are great Catholics in England. Look at Cardinal Newman, you can be like him.
Big ask.
Anyway, when we got home, the children disappeared up to bed and Santa got to work. At 11.30 herself arrived down looking for a snack in the kitchen which was Santa’s centre of operations. Who comes down hungry at 11.30 on Christmas Eve? Anyhow, Santa finished the present wrapping and brought herself out a snack to boot. What a saint.
I cracked open the After Eights at 11.55 and who could blame me?
Christmas Day
Santa was very tense this year but in fact, did a very good job, the children were broadly pleased.
Herself made brunch for us all. It was excellent.
We visited Mr. Waffle’s mother in the nursing home and then had a brief – though pleasant – walk.
Then we went home to make our very complex dinner. I had put the turkey in the oven before we went out. In fairness, the aga came into its own and overall dinner was v elaborate and v successful [my next door neighbour cooked for 18 and they had to drive to her daughter’s place to do some of the food as her oven was not big enough – the stress!]. However, our turkey was, alas, like ashes. To paraphrase Paul Hollywood, “very dry in the mouth.” But is that not what gravy and cranberry sauce are there for?
I spoke to my brother in France. Over the course of Christmas Eve the gas in his airbnb had got feebler and feebler. It ran out about 7 which was not a great time to ring the owner and explain the problem. Himself and his friend S were looking at charcuterie and cheese for their Christmas day lunch. However, they went for a walk around the town and found an open restaurant with a festive menu. My brother wanted to see what other options there were (this is so typical of him) but S insisted that they go there (my brother always characterises S as his pleasant but slightly dim friend from college but my sister says this is not so, it is just what my brother believes and S’s PhD from Cambridge and post-doc from MIT are strong arguments for S’s smarts but nothing has been as convincing as his bundling my brother into the restaurant there and then). Apparently dinner was delicious.
St. Stephen’s Day
The washing machine broke down again. We went to visit the cousins for lunch bringing with us a full load of damp laundry from the machine (happy Christmas!). The children were glad to see their cousins and lunch was delicious including very good turkey. If I ever have to cook Christmas dinner again and, honestly, my aim is not to, I will ask my sister-in-law for tips.
Daniel made Cajun turkey pizza for dinner which he said was a real success. The rest of us had our leftovers in other forms.
December 27 – 30
We went down to my sister in Cork for a few days. It’s amazing how good the road is now. Just over 3 hours each way which compares very favourably to the five hour trek which was a feature of my youth.
My sister and I did a tour of our relatives in North Cork and Limerick which was broadly successful – though God it is impossible to visit my Limerick relatives at any time of day without getting a full three course meal – v nice in fairness but it does make me think that they must regard my hospitality as well below par. We talked a lot about my father and my sister talked about the day he died. I think, it was a surprise to everyone but my sister felt particularly sorry for the junior doctor in charge.
The boys spent most of their time playing Magic with my sister’s partner. She says he enjoys it. I hope so for his sake.
Herself and myself went out for breakfast in Cork (difficult, many places closed, queues everywhere and the indignity of a queuing app nearly broke me). We had an unsatisfactory breakfast but a good trip to the Crawford gallery.
Then the boys joined us in town and we went up on the Ferris wheel. Mr. Waffle had met a friend for lunch but we met him in Waterstone’s after where as a Christmas treat he bought each child a book and then we went for tea and a bun. Where will it all end?
I thought my 93 year old aunt was in good nick. I got her a book of poems about cats (you’d be very surprised how many poets have penned cat verses) for Christmas and she was delighted. Honestly, I think it was the most popular Christmas present I gave anyone this year.
After our disastrous effort earlier in the week, I booked breakfast for myself, Mr. Waffle and herself (no one else wanted to come). Options were few. I booked Sophie’s at the Dean for 9 in the morning which was earlier than I would have liked but beggars can’t be choosers etc. The Dean is a new hotel beside the station part of the ubiquitous Press Up group which is basically a Dublin franchise. I see they are doing what they can to ingratiate themselves with the locals.
The views were really good but the food was only alright. The decor was odd, ski chalet meets marble palazzo. I remain on the hunt for a good Cork breakfast venue.
Herself expressed interest in a very nice but profoundly uncomfortable antique sofa and armchairs my mother bought at auction sometime in the 60s (the sofa is very like this but with fewer legs – it’s a two seater rather than a three seater). My sister was going to get rid of them and I was resigned (because although nice they are, see above, uncomfortable). I was delighted when herself said she wanted them (she said that if you weigh less – like her – they are less uncomfortable). But now I realise that I will move them to Dublin and by the time she comes to have her own flat, she won’t like them any more and I will have them forever. I am not sure that I am as pleased as I thought I was.
New Year’s Eve
Notwithstanding the thrills of Cork, it was nice to be home. The boys filled in their CAO forms today – a procedure which is more open to error than you might think. However, having seen how the English system operates, courtesy of herself, it could be a lot worse.
Herself went to Scotland to stay with a friend for new year’s. I spent the day doing jigsaws and eating stem ginger.
The new washing machine arrived at 8 in the morning and the men said we hadn’t paid for installation (no, but we would have, we would have, if we had known this was optional) and left us to our own devices. Mr. Waffle spent a happy time wrestling with it but it is now working, we are pleased. Michael audibly gasped when he saw it in all its glory when he came down for breakfast.
Lads, we are 2023 ready. May I join in the already deafening whatsapp chorus from the people on the road and wish you a very happy new year?
Pre-Christmas Round Up
Herself is home. Rejoice. Michael has returned from his school trip to Brussels. I think it was a good, if not always enjoyable experience for him.
I have been re-inventing myself. I went for my annual haircut and the hairdresser gave me layers. I now have the exact same haircut I had when I started college in 1986. I went on a very enjoyable shopping trip with herself looking for something for me to wear to our Christmas party. We were unsuccessful but I did get a striped chunky jumper which together with the haircut is giving strong 17 year old me energy. All I need is a pair of Docs.
Herself and myself went to the Messiah in St Patrick’s Cathedral It was nice but, it is long. Also we drove in which was extremely stressful. Christmas traffic is definitely back.
My brother has moved to France for a a couple of months. He is still alive after the drive down to the Alps, so good. He says that I should come skiing. The physio who is treating my wretched knee says that is something to aim for. I was hoping for better, more like “Of course!”
I had afternoon tea in the Westbury Hotel with my Sunday book club which is an experience I would truly recommend. However, I would not recommend it on the day that you yourself are having Christmas drinks in your house from 4.30 to 6.30. I also would not recommend having those drinks on the day of the World Cup final which goes to extra time and penalties. However.
The party – our first post-Covid – was reasonably successful. We had hoped that the young French student (who does conversation with the children) and his friends who live nearby would come and give out drinks and take coats. Sadly, due to the inability of Morocco to defeat France in the World Cup semis, they were not available (if France had not been in the final they would have been, try to keep up). We managed between the five of us but it was a bit stressful. Michael was particularly bitter having essentially spent the afternoon running up and down the stairs with coats. Dan had made a playlist for the party on Spotify which worked really well and we all cleaned like mad in advance and prepped cocktail sausages, mince pies, mulled wine and lots of beer. We encouraged people to bring their children. This worked pretty well when everyone’s children were primary school age but now that most of them are teenagers it’s a bit less successful. I felt particularly sorry for the 13 year old daughter of friends who moped on the sofa throughout. More successful was a friend’s 10 year old who ruled the roost over the assembled smaller children who had been sent to the utility room with the x-box and a large tub of sweets. Positively the best compliment I got all afternoon was from the adorable six year old daughter of a colleague of Mr. Waffle’s who told me that it was the best grown-up party she had ever been to. The children really enjoyed talking to the guests and, in particular, a gentle and charming friend of Mr Waffle’s who they found very entertaining. I am glad we went to the trouble of having it when they could all be there which was not easy. We’ll see if we can improve on the timing for next year.
Last night Mr. Waffle and I went to a carol service in the local church. Somewhat to my surprise, Michael joined us; the other two firmly refused – as Dan said in horror “What now, on a Monday?” I thought it was lovely and the church choir were really good. Mr. Waffle couldn’t get over, however, the amateur strings who joined them and were, um, less than perfect though greeted with great enthusiasm by the punters.
I have bought all the Christmas presents I am going to buy. I still have to buy food for Christmas dinner (and, curve ball, get a new inner tube for the back wheel of my bicycle which punctured on my epic trip to the physio this morning) but I am broadly ready. And yourself?
Home
Regular readers will be aware that I am from Cork and although I have now lived for longer out of Cork than I did in it, it will probably always be home to me. When my father died in December 2020, I remember thinking that for the first time I had no home in Cork. Your parents’ house is your house, it is, as my mother-in-law used to say, “where they always have to take you in”. A slightly grudging formulation I always felt, I mean surely home is where they always want to take you in?
I was delighted when my sister said that she wanted to buy my parents’ house. It was the best possible option for me. The house would stay in the family and someone else would, realistically, have to go through the lifetime’s worth of stuff accumulated by my parents. Probate took a while and so did the conveyancing process but now the house is finally my sister’s. The sale closed in early November. I am pretty sure I will always be welcome to stay with my sister but, of course, it’s no longer my parents’ house. She has lots of plans for renovations (very much needed) and changes. It is lovely to think of the house being looked after again as it was when my mother was well. She was the most competent person I ever met, she took upholstery lessons and re-upholstered the sofa, she painted, she moved furniture with abandon. She really had endless confidence that she could do anything and mostly she could. So this is completely a good news story but still I feel a bit sad. Another door closed, the end of an era.
On the One Hand, On the Other Hand
My Covid wheeze has finally gone (you will recall that I had Covid in June so it’s definitely taken a while). The pretty much constant cold I had for October has cleared up. I can travel outside without a packet of tissues for what feels like the first time in months. I rejoice in my lung and general otorhinolaryngological* health.
However, last week, I hurt my knee. It felt a bit like I’d pulled something. I have no recollection of anything in particular happening and I have been just waiting for it to get better. I thought about getting my skiing knee brace out of the shed but that just seemed defeatist. It hasn’t been improving but until the last couple of days, it hasn’t been getting worse either. However, this morning, I was pushing my bike across the road and had to scurry to get out of the way of an oncoming vehicle. Did my knee like the scurry? It did not. Cycling and walking are both a little bit sore. I was with Mr. Waffle when crossing the road. He has an appointment with the physio for next Tuesday to look at his sore back. It took so long to get the appointment that it is no longer sore, so he offered me the appointment instead. I think I will give it a go. Sigh.
*Many years ago, my father was offered a post working in otorhinolaryngology. He decided not to take it up and sent a telegram, “Regret cannot accept post otorhinolaryngology”. The woman in the post office refused to believe it was a real word and accused him of trying to dodge paying the proper per word fee. And my father’s story is the only reason I know the word but, you must concede, it’s a good word that deserves more publicity.
Aaargh
My brother decided to go to Tenerife for Christmas last year. On balance, I decided that on the first Christmas since our father died, it would not be great to leave my sister to celebrate Christmas alone with our elderly aunt (aunt is not really transportable so her Christmas has to be in Cork). We went to Cork en masse. It was pretty successful from our point of view but I would concede that it was a bit of a squash and a squeeze and, of course, my poor sister had loads of work to do as hostess.
Last year, my brother suggested putting my aunt in respite and having my sister come to Dublin. At the time, I thought it was an appalling and callous suggestion but, I have to say, now I am slightly more amenable. My brother is going away for Christmas again (Annecy, thanks for asking) and my sister has said, firmly but politely, that she’d prefer us to come to Cork after Christmas rather than for Christmas and that she doesn’t want my aunt to go into respite. I wanted to see her face to face for this to make sure that she meant it. I saw her last week, she meant it. We’re going to go down on the 27th.
Meanwhile my sister-in-law in Dublin had asked what our plans were and kindly offered to host us for Christmas day. At the time, I said that I was unsure but that we would probably be in Cork. I met my sister-in-law for lunch today and as agenda item 1, I was keen to share our Christmas news. Imagine my horror when she led with the news that, after some initial reluctance to go away for Christmas, she had taken up her brother’s invitation to spend the day in Wexford with him and his family. We both gasped on receipt of each other’s news, but sure here we are. We have agreed that we will go to their house for a family get together on St. Stephen’s Day which will be nice but not the same.
My other sister-in-law and her little family are staying in London which I totally understand.
So, in summary, I will be cooking Christmas dinner for just the five of us (possibly for the first time ever?). A change is as good as a rest, I guess.