Cork

I am Surprised

22 July, 2024
Posted in: Cork, Ireland, Reading etc.

My oldest friend was talking about her next door neighbours from when she was growing up and what they are up to now. I knew them a bit as well. I remember their dog. “Yes,” said my friend, “the boys were obsessed with World War II and that’s why they called the dog Rommel.” Until that very moment I had believed Rommel to be a perfectly normal name for a dog. It’s not like I hadn’t heard of Rommel the Desert Fox but until then, these two things had lived in different corners of my brain. I would say, I knew Rommel the dog first.

Late June/Early July Round Up – Bringing you Right Up to Date – Thrills

6 July, 2024
Posted in: Boys, Cork, Daniel, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Reading etc., Siblings

Friday, June 28, 2024

I was travelling to Cork for the the weekend and began receiving increasingly apocalyptic messages from the train people about how busy it was going to be. There were matches on, and festivals and concerts. As Mr. Waffle put it, “Overcrowding Taylor’s Version”. Honestly possibly followed by “I’m the problem it’s me”. It turns out everyone in the country is a Taylor Swift fan. Anyway, the trains were grand, you will be relieved to hear.

Saturday, June 29, 2024

The reason for my trip to Cork was to visit an old school friend. She has moved to the US and has an American husband and four American children but she bought a house in Kinsale years ago and they come to Ireland for a fortnight every summer. Genius.

I took the bus from Cork to Kinsale to see her. I haven’t been on the bus to Kinsale in years. The last time I took the bus, it was ancient, drafty, irregular and the journey took about an hour. Well, well, well things have changed I can tell you. It was a private operator (yeah, I know, they hoover up the profitable routes etc.) and the bus was convenient, punctual, clean, comfortable and speedy. It only took 25 minutes to get to Kinsale which is faster than I would do it in the car. God I was delighted.

My friend met me in the car park in town. She and her husband had had terrible food poisoning during the week and they were both still feeling a little delicate but definitely on the mend. She and I went out for a walk to the Bulman – a classic adventure – and had lunch. She couldn’t face the mussels – and who could blame her? – but I can confirm that they were very satisfactory.

Then we went back to her house so that I could inspect her children. They get bigger all the time don’t they? Her eldest son has just finished first year in college and her only daughter is starting in the autumn. All three boys still look more of less the same but her daughter has really grown up. She is a very pretty young woman and she made me feel about 102 through no fault of her own; it’s just I remember her aged 3.

While I was there, this super yacht passed by and apparently it belongs to some very rich American family who spent €80 million on it. My friends tell me the super rich Americans have bought the lovely house where my great uncle and aunt lived in the ’50s. I can tell you, the more I hear about this house, the greater my regret that my great aunt decided to sell it and move back to the city after my great uncle died. Oh well. I’m not super rich, but I’m happy.

My friend and I went back into town, explored the shops and had a cup of tea. The rain had held off for our walk in the morning but it made up for it in the afternoon. Still all grand; Kinsale is well supplied with shops worth exploring.

I was really glad I made the trip; my friend has made such an effort to stay in contact with her Irish friends and family and I am always impressed by her dedication. We met in New York last year when I was having my delightful break from work. Possibly there will be more of this kind of thing in our future.

I was staying in my brother’s house as my sister had visitors (she is in my parents’ house and my brother is in my aunt’s house which is next door, I am not sure how any of us feels about this) but I dropped in to see her in the evening. All very pleasant.

My brother had gone up to Dublin that afternoon (it’s like Lannigan’s Ball) so I had the house to myself for the evening.

Sunday, June 30, 2024

While I still bitterly lament the demise of the Crawford Gallery cafe (they have a new tenant, not at all as good), I am becoming very fond of the Good Day Deli which has an strong rus in urbe vibe and very good food.

After a quick breakfast and a farewell to my sister, I hightailed it back to Dublin. Not though before my sister had shown me a big picture of my mother and two of her classmates on the front page of the Irish Times. I can only speculate that the sight of a woman getting a master’s in science snagged the editor’s interest in the 1950s. I would say that was probably the last time a UCC conferring has featured on the front page of the Irish Times as they don’t like to include content from beyond the Pale, if at all possible. I have to say, not a great photo of my mother but there you are, exciting all the same.

Also, at the opposite end of the academic journey, my sister had found my father’s progression card from kindergarten to first grade. Goodness, gracious me, that card has had quite the journey.

Monday, July 1, 2024

Mr. Waffle and I went to see “Inside out”. It’s the kind of film that’s better if you have a young child to hand who can be persuaded to go with you. We did not.

Tuesday, July 2, 2024

Herself returned home. Let joy be unconfined etc. It is nice to have all five of us together.

Friday, July 5, 2024

I worked from home and so was in a position to see two of my three children go out for a morning run around the park. Michael a boy after my own heart, stayed in bed (he was up all night talking to his friends and following the UK general election). Where will it all end?

The Princess, Daniel and I went out for lunch together locally (Mr. Waffle was at a conference and Michael has no interest in food – how can he be my child?) and very pleasant it was too.

We spent the evening with all five of us hunched over the dining room table booking our summer holiday. Not everyone is available at the same time. The logistical challenge has left us all in an enfeebled state.

Saturday, July 6, 2024

I went to the Women Impressionists exhibition in the National Gallery. It was fine and I might go back and have another look but I was not overwhelmed. It had only four women impressionists – are there more? Don’t look at me. Berthe Morisot, Mary Cassat and Eva Gonzalès I had heard of but Marie Bracquemond was new to me. I am scheduled to go to a lecture on the exhibition next week and perhaps I will be in a better position to appreciate it thereafter. It’s one thrill after another here, right?

Weekend Round Up

29 April, 2024
Posted in: Cork, Ireland, Reading etc., Siblings

This wasn’t technically the weekend (last Wednesday in fact) but I went to “The Pull of the Stars” in the Gate with a friend and it was really very good. Anything Louise Lowe directs is excellent. The theme was not particularly appealing to me (set in a maternity hospital after the Rising and towards the tail end of World War I at the beginning of the Spanish flu) and the script was a bit heavy on exposition at times but she made it work. Recommended.

I went to Cork on Friday for the first time in ages. I had to sign documents for the solicitor for my aunt’s probate as, more’s the pity, I am her surviving executrix. I took the day off so had a bit of time in Cork to myself. I went to the Market – heaving – not really for vegetarians.

I went to Home Sense looking to replace a broken teapot. I didn’t find what I was looking for but there was a statue of the Sacred Heart for €179. Hard to know who’s going to buy that one.

I took myself off to the Crawford which was as lovely as ever. There was a flag exhibition.

Our neighbours had their own special place.

I was surprised to see the crochet sphinx, last seen by me in Belfast in August 2020 (a trying time). Memorable. Like meeting an old friend.

There was this exhibit that for me definitely falls into the “But is it art?” category but when I showed it to Mr. Waffle (our chief laundry officer) on my return home he was quite taken with it.

They also had this fantastic “Diary of a Victorian Dandy” series. The pictures are nearly life size and very clever and striking in the flesh as it were.

After my afternoon of art, law and commerce I headed towards my brother and sister’s houses. My parents and my aunt lived next door to each other. My sister has bought my parents’ house and my brother is staying in my aunt’s so that the generational pattern is repeating. Neither of them likes it when you say that. My sister is getting lots of work done so I was staying with my brother and aside from being freezing, the house was fine. When will it stop being perishing?

On Saturday my sister and I went through one of the wardrobes in her house. It contained, I fear, a range of toys purchased for my children as well as clothes of my mother’s from the 80s. I was weirdly sad to see them go. I remembered her wearing that check coat. Still it was in good nick and someone else might find a use for it. I felt a bit sad bringing the bags into the charity shop all the same. Still it is done. I felt very virtuous afterwards until my sister suggested going through one side of the bookcase. Having briskly disposed of the clothes, I found the books much harder. I gave my sister a pile to bring in the car next time she comes to Dublin (I was travelling by bike and train which does not readily lend itself to transportation of large piles of books). She will, inter alia, be bringing to my house in Dublin a brochure printed in Cork in 1929 celebrating the centenary of catholic emancipation; King Albert’s book produced to help Belgium in World War I; a world atlas from 1958; and a Heath Robinson book of contraptions. Eclectic. Catholic even.

That evening we went to a long deferred birthday dinner for me. My brother had booked this rather nice restaurant; all three of us went and he paid. We had the tasting menu and we all waddled home contentedly after.

On Sunday I was up with the lark to get the train that got into Dublin at lunch time as I had my Sunday afternoon book club and I was determined not to miss it. And very pleasant it was too. I feel a bit tired today though after my weekend of middle-aged dissipation. And how was your own weekend?

January Round Up

29 January, 2024
Posted in: Cork, Daniel, Family, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Reading etc., Siblings

Herself went back to England. Alas alack. We will not see her until Easter at the earliest. She is a bit preoccupied about her post-college employment/study plans and fears that she may have to move back home. She’s appalled. I’m delighted but I feel that one of the many irons she has in the fire will mean that her worst fears will not be realised.

Here she is the day she got back to college dutifully preparing not to remove her nose from the grindstone for many months.

I went to Cork and had a January Christmas dinner with my siblings. Honestly, not as satisfactory as an actual Christmas dinner but not too bad. We went to the River Lee hotel which used to be Jury’s where we went for post communion and confirmation lunches but has now gone upmarket. It was grand. Busy. A bit pricey for what it was, I thought.

I went for a walk in the Lee Fields (very unusually not underwater) with my sister and her partner.

I totally lost track of time meaning that I had to cycle to the station at epic speeds weaving through Sunday strollers like a middle aged man in lycra trying to set a new personal best time. I made it with minutes to spare. It took a lot out of me.

Michael had his play. It wasn’t too bad and he was on stage a lot. But whatever way you slice it, Hamlet is a long, long play and I was exhausted by the time it was over. Obviously worse for Michael but he got to be on stage which I think he rather enjoyed. A couple of his friends turned up with a sign saying we love gravedigger number 2 and I was charmed.

Over the holidays, while Mr. Waffle and I were at work and Michael was at endless Hamlet rehearsals, Daniel stepped up to the plate and cooked dinner a number of times. It was absolutely delicious. These talents did not come from me. He also has a new haircut. The young people; would you be up to them etc.? He has also been concussed by the GAA – the bane of my life. He’s recovering but it’s taking the best part of a week. First his tooth, now his head. He’s mostly been exhausted for days and days but he went back to college today and is feeling a bit perkier after doing some theoretical physics.

We had some friends around to dinner which was great but also exhausting. Timing meant that we were supposed to have Mr. Waffle’s aunt (home from Australia) and the cousins over for dinner the following night but happily the aunt cancelled – I mean sorry not to see her and sorry she was not feeling up to it but pleased not to be doing a second large catering event on the trot. I skipped out to my Sunday afternoon bookclub with, well, a skip in my step.

Speaking of book clubs, my Monday night book club has had a change in its operating model for the first time in 25 years; there are 12 of us and this year we all got to pick a book a month for the next year; two people were happy not to suggest and so December is still open – honestly, possibly a relief. Normally it’s a bit of chat on the night and a consensus. I felt very much the weight of responsibility in picking my one book for the year. Herself says that it is unfair on me as under the old system, due to my domineering ways, I got to pick way more than one book a year. The jury is currently out for obvious reasons but the 2024 selection does look quite worthy. That said, very much enjoying “Yellowface”. You may guess which was my suggestion.

February: Yellowface
March: The Saint of Lost Things
April: The Bee Sting
May: Demon Copperhead
June: The Vulnerables
July & August: Life in the Balance and A Place of Greater Safety
September: Harlem Shuffle
October: Enlightenment
November: A Tale of Love and Darkness

As part of my new year’s resolution , Mr. Waffle and I have been to the cinema twice this month. We saw “Poor Things” (really still not the better of it) and “The Holdovers” (quite sweet but would have been definitely a better viewing experience in the run up to Christmas rather than after it). More scintillating cinema reviews as we get them.

In tooth related news, my electric toothbrush disappeared for 24 hours and I carried out extensive inquiries, even texting my cleaner. It turned out to be on the stairs hidden by a banister. It was on the stairs because I had put it there to go back upstairs after its little adventure at the charging station which, for reasons I will not bore you with, is downstairs (see I do hold some things back). Oh great was the rejoicing among my children whom I am constantly upbraiding for their inability to see things sitting on the steps waiting to go upstairs.

And, in further tooth related news, my dentist has decreed that I need another crown. This is my third in as many years. What is it about my 50s? Are my teeth all going to crumble and fall out of my mouth having worked perfectly for all these years? Apparently yes. And today as I sat at my desk eating a sandwich, my temporary crown (installed following a, frankly unpleasant, session in the dentist’s chair) fell out. Back to the dentist this evening. Reinstalling was fine really but I look forward to the moment at the end of February when my permanent crown is installed. Sigh.

This weekend, we went to a Burns night supper with our friends. We went for the first time in 2020 and little though I knew it then, it was to be our last big night out before the pandemic. It was weird to be back but in a good way. I felt like a veteran this time and was ready for the “Address to a Haggis“. We had such a nice evening – I do hope we make the cut again!

I went to IMMA for the first time in ages on Saturday. I am always a bit ambivalent about modern art and indeed I found the RDS audiovisual winners in general not to my taste. However, there is also an exhibition called “self-determination” about the new nation states (including Ireland) that were established in the wake of WWI and that was really fascinating. It runs until April so if you’re local, you have plenty of time to go and see it. If that doesn’t float your boat, you can also inspect nightmare bunny (may not be the name chosen by the artist) who is outside the main entrance.

I went for a walk with friends in the park and despite the fact that rain threatened, it did not rain and we had our walk, a scone after and a chance to inspect the millions of deer with which the park is overrun.

At mass last Sunday we had to fill in a survey about which mass time suits us best; the beginning of the end for some masses I’d say. It’s inevitable with all the priests getting so old. Next weekend is our new post-Covid bank holiday weekend in celebration of St Bridget whose feast day is on February 1 so the priest referred to her and quoted the opening lines of that lovely poem “Anois teacht an Earraigh“. This made me think of my mother whose birthday was on February 1 and who always quoted that poem at this time of year. She always really enjoyed celebrating her birthday and it makes me really happy that it now has a bank holiday devoted to it which she would really have liked. But somehow, as the priest said the poem, I found myself just feeling sad and missing her. That’s the way it goes, I guess.

Christmas Eve, Sunday, December 24

Christmas Day fell on a Monday. I went to regular Sunday mass on the 24th in the morning. In the tussle between the (lovely) newish choir mistress and the (severe) retired choir mistress, the latter won out with traditional numbers including “O Come, O Come Emmanuel”. A perennial Advent favourite.

I zoomed home to watch “A Muppet Christmas Carol” with Michael and anyone else who was interested. As I say, year after year, an amazing Christmas film and Michael Caine’s best work.

My sister, in exile from Cork (the builders are in her house), was up with her partner’s parents in Dublin for Christmas. This was a source of some bitterness. It was her first Christmas ever out of Cork and it was not a concept that had a great deal of allure for her. However, we were all glad to see her and exchanged Christmas presents. Hers, as ever, much better than ours.

We had her to dinner and I got to deploy my Christmas ware; colour me delighted.

Due to an unfortunate miscommunication with chef (Mr. Waffle), dinner was roast beef and not chicken so the mountain of Christmas stuffing I had made the day before was not deployed. Never mind I have been working my way determinedly though it ever since. Stuffing for breakfast anyone?

I am pleased to announce that the Christmas pudding went up in very satisfactory flames (part of a Lismore Christmas hamper which I recommend). In fact in a development which I can only describe as unusual, everyone got a flaming little piece as it took quite a while to go out. Tasted grand too.

Our Christmas crackers came with a guessing game which nearly killed my sister as she collapsed in paroxysms of laughter at my utter inability to guess the name affixed to my forehead.

She then came with us to midnight mass (9pm, confusingly). Those of you who have been counting will realise that it was my second mass of the day which, honestly, felt like a lot. Herself and Mr. Waffle guessed what poets would be covered in the sermon. They got points for Patrick Kavanagh and John Betjeman but no Seamus Heaney. Hymns were broadly good (severe older choir mistress holding out) but we had “Love is Christmas” for communion which definitely came from the younger choir mistress (who is a saint and very talented but whose musical taste, sadly, does not chime with mine). “Because there are so few Christmas hymns,” I whispered to herself bitterly. “Don’t be churlish,” said she. Fair, but honestly, mass went on for so long that it felt like midnight and didn’t I deserve a “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” having been to two masses? Apparently not.

Christmas Day, Monday, December 25

We didn’t get up until 11 – recommended – and then exchanged presents which were broadly a success, I think, though hard to know whether Santa really did deliver for the children. I was pretty pleased anyhow.

We went off across town for Christmas dinner with the cousins. They had also invited Mr. Waffle’s aunt and uncle, their daughter and her children. So we were a big crowd and a good time was had by all. I did feel for my sister-in-law when the uncle and aunt were ill and unable to come but their grandson came (much admired slightly older second cousin to my guys) and brought, surprise, his girlfriend, who, double surprise, we discovered five minutes before sitting down to eat, is a vegan. My poor sister-in-law began anxiously listing the things the vegan could not eat: not the meat, not the potatoes done in duck fat, not the sprouts with bacon, not the parsnips with parmesan…”Do you eat mushrooms?” she asked. Fortunately the vegan said yes and my sister-in-law whipped them up. The rest of us got to eat the amazing Christmas dinner. Santa had brought Michael “Poetry for Neanderthals” and it was great to see almost all the cousins playing from the sophisticated 21-year-old with his vegan girlfriend to the 15 year old hostess. Only the eight year old was a bit shy and stayed chatting with the grown ups.

Then we packed ourselves up and came home where the children did Mr. Waffle’s Christmas treasure hunt which they love. He thought it would be really hard but it took them about 20 minutes. More challenging material required for 2024. It slightly reminds me of a six-year old’s birthday party where you have all these games prepared but 10 minutes in they’ve passed the parcel, played musical chairs and musical statues and ten six-year-olds are looking up at you hoping that you have something prepared for the next hour and fifty minutes.

We had a three way video call with my sister in Dublin (who, ironically, was eating her Christmas dinner at her partner’s sister’s house, a ten minute walk from where we were having our own Christmas dinner but the logistics of meeting up were a bit beyond us), my brother in the Canaries and me. He seems to be having a good time. “Did you go to mass?” I asked him because I enjoy torturing him. “Yes, yes,” he said, “we had the loaves and the fishes.” “On Christmas Day?!” I asked. “Ah, is it the same everywhere?” he asked. “I mean you couldn’t even make a guess for today of all days? I despair,” I said. Just as well I went twice I guess.

It was my father’s third anniversary but I had thought about him on the solstice and that seems like a better day to remember him for a lot of reasons.

St. Stephen’s Day, Tuesday, December 26

Herself made her Christmas breakfast which was deferred from Christmas Day due to logistical challenges and very nice it was too.

Mr. Waffle and I went for a walk in the park. This made me think “Windows has caused a general protection fault.”

I had a quintessential Christmas snack. Yes, yes, that is spiced beef.

That evening, herself and Daniel went out to visit friends. When I was collecting herself she asked, “When are we going to Cork?” This is the reason why I repeat logistics ad nauseam though, in fairness to her, herself is not usually the one caught out. “Tomorrow morning,” said I. Surprise, disquiet etc. I collected Dan as well and he, at least was aware of our plans. I’d told him loads of times apparently. Sigh.

Wednesday, December 27

We left for east Cork at 9.30 in the morning. Our friends’ house there where we have stayed many times over the years and for which we are very grateful has a fatal winter flaw. The heating is very eco-friendly and, for reasons I do not understand, this means that the house takes hours to heat up. The teenage neighbour was supposed to go in the day before and fire up the heating for which service we were to pay her a tenner. Money which we would more than gladly have paid had she done the job, but alas, you just can’t get the staff.

We turned on the heat and went out to a local hotel for lunch. Golf course view but, you know, grand.

Mr. Waffle and I went for a walk on the beach leaving the children behind. Bracing.

There was a portable sauna (it’s far from etc.) and people left it to swim in the sea. Extraordinary. And people were out surfing as well.

When we came back to the house it was

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, alas, still baltic. We tried and failed to get the stove to work (it is a capricious beast, I emailed our friends – in Madrid for Christmas isn’t it well for them etc. – and got this reply “No special tips for the stove but follow instructions. And then do so again. It is like prayer. It will be warm by morning.”). I had neglected to bring a hat from Dublin so I spent the evening with a tea cosy on my head. This must represent some kind of new low but it was warm. I discovered in the morning that poor Michael, who is far thinner than me, had gone to bed with his jumper, coat and trousers on over his pyjamas. Yes, yes it was warm in the morning.

Thursday, December 28

We had a further walk on the beach for enthusiasts in the morning.

We drove up to Cork and had a nice lunch in the city. Then we went to my sister’s house where she needed to deploy us moving boxes and furniture in advance of the arrival of the electrician scheduled for early next month. The builders have done a lot of work and the house looks pretty good if absolutely filthy and covered with builders’ dust. We worked away and then the boys went back with my sister and her partner to their temporary accommodation to play Magic (if you don’t know, lucky old you) and Mr. Waffle, herself and myself went into town for a poke around. The Crawford Gallery was open, always a delight; I will be sad when it closes up for a couple of years of works – in 2024, I think.

I have been nominated family keeper of photo albums. When we were moving boxes we found another photo album. The first half of the album is devoted to pictures of my father and his mates sailing and climbing mountains.

The second half is devoted entirely to me – on my own, with various relatives etc. – as, needless to say, it should be. Here I am with my Granny, my father’s mother. Note cigarette, a classic touch. She actually gave them up when I was 3 or 4 so I never really remember her smoking. She’s wearing the diamond engagement ring that we found earlier in the year when we were cleaning out Aunty Pat’s upstairs. I’m wearing it now. Herself suggests I should sell as with the development of such excellent lab grown diamonds, I am losing thousands every day I fail to dispose of it. I will not be disposing of it.

That evening we all went out for dinner in Blackrock castle. Honestly, in the past I have been underwhelmed by the food available but it was actually quite nice, handy for the road back to East Cork and a lovely setting. Herself got us talking about what minor super powers we would like to have. She wanted to always be able to order the things she would most like on the menu in a restaurant or maybe to know what clothes would suit her best just from looking at them on the rack; Daniel wanted to be able to avoid sporting injuries; Michael wanted to always know when the bus would come (the commute to college is trying for him); Mr. Waffle wanted to always be able to sleep at night (that’s actually my super power, it’s grand but not as good as he thinks it is); I wanted to be able to always find something to watch on TV that would appeal to all the family; my sister’s partner had the best answer though, after a moment’s pause he said, “I want to be able to answer questions like these.” Meta.

Friday, December 29

The morning brought further obligatory walks on the beach and between that and packing up and cleaning up, it was nearly 11 before we got on the road to Dublin.

Unusually enough, we decided to stop on the way for lunch. The road is so good now that unless we start quite late as we did this time, it’s hardly worth stopping. On this occasion, timing suggested that Abbeyleix would be a good place to stop. There is a really lovely old pub there called Morrissey’s and my strong memory is that I have had a sandwich there in the past. However, although the pub was otherwise unchanged from my last visit 20 odd years ago, there was no food to be had. A cafe across the road turned us away as they were fully booked though annoyingly enough almost entirely empty when we went in (I don’t doubt that they were fully booked for lunch but it is galling to be turned away from a largely empty establishment). We ended up schlepping about a kilometre out of town to “the hotel”. The hotel does not do lunch but there was a kind of trailer thing in the yard with a heated enclosure. Beggars cannot be choosers but I would not call it a vintage lunch experience. We went back to Morrissey’s to warm up and sat beside the stove (installed when the pub was opened in 1775 and still, I can attest, delightfully toasty). I had forgotten just how nice a pub it is but the absence of food in Abbeyleix is definitely off-putting for the casual visitor.

The rest of our journey was accomplished without further incident. Herself read us aloud extracts from the Farmers Journal. She reads it a couple of times a year and is a big devotee. I’m sure her great-grandfather would be proud of her knowledge of mart prices but we’re all a bit puzzled by her enthusiasm.

I returned to a threatening email from the library. In fairness, it was my third overdue reminder. I had taken out David Copperfield but I was finding it hard going and had only got to page 50. Since the library abolished fines, Mr. Waffle has been wondering how they are going to deal with useless people like me who occasionally (not always, not always) return their books late. Well now, I know, unless I return David Copperfield pronto, they will suspend my account. I would have returned it on the morrow but, of course, Monday being a bank holiday, the library was closed on Saturday (I love the library service and use it all the time but like the rest of us, it has its idiosyncrasies that you have to get to know).

Saturday , December 30

I finished my Christmas jigsaw puzzle. Delighted with myself. Time well spent.

New Year’s Eve, Sunday, December 31

Herself went off to England by ferry at 8 in the morning (flights too dear) to go to a New Year’s Eve party in London. You have to admire her dedication. She’s back tomorrow (by plane, return flight is cheaper but at 9.40 from Gatwick, alas for her). Hurrah.

Today is the feast day of the Holy Family. The priest went all out in his sermon which went on forever and, slightly bafflingly, encompassed the role of the family in resolving the war in Gaza. A fifty minute mass and no singing. Alas. The second reading was from the reliably irritating St. Paul and included this paragraph, never my favourite:

Wives, give way to your husbands, as you should in the Lord. Husbands love your wives and treat them with gentleness. Children be obedient to your parents always, because that is what will please the Lord. Parents, never drive your children to resentment or you will make them feel frustrated.

I remember my parents particularly enjoying the “children be obedient to your parents” line and us countering about driving children to resentment before extracting money to spend in the penny sweet shop across the road from the church. What a long time ago that seems now.

I really love this time of year but I realise that as I get older, it will always be tinged with a little melancholy. And perhaps, after all, this is a nice way to remember those who have died.

Anyhow, enough melancholy, onward and a very happy 2024 to you. Tell me, have you made any resolutions for the new year?