Our three apple trees have had a productive year. Again. I am exhausted from my jelly making efforts and out of jars but still the apples come.
Apple Jelly
Dublin
The Hedge Hating Peasantry
We had two men cutting back in our garden all day yesterday. They did a bit of a radical job but it can grow back over the next 12 months. I regret my lilac which they cut within an inch of its life last year. It grew back but, understandably, didn’t produce any flowers. “Next year,” thought I to myself. Alas, I didn’t single it out for protection and it has, yet again, been scalped.
Youngest child, who daily grows more like my father (who gave us the title of this post – it was what he always said gloomily when hedge clipping was imminent), says that it is awful when the garden is shorn but without the intervention of these men, I honestly think we might be fully overwhelmed.
Here’s the before.
And here’s the after. It actually doesn’t look that different in the photo but you will have to take my word for it that this is a radical change.
Under Egged
I went out for lunch during the week to a trendy cafe. I was alone – just me and the previous day’s paper. I ordered the Turkish eggs with curried cauliflower (see, trendy). It came and I started eating while reading the paper. There seemed to be a lot of cauliflower. I summoned the waiter. “Um, my Turkish eggs have no eggs.” “REALLY?” he yelped. He inspected. They have a new chef apparently. That is all.
More Power to her Elbow
I wouldn’t be a big fan of boxing as a sport but even I was aware that Katie Taylor, Irish boxing champion was having her final bout in Croke Park last night. The papers were full of it. By all accounts, as well as being a great boxer she is a very inspiring and worthy person. She did some kind of warm up session in Dublin City University (extensively covered) and did her weigh in in Trinity College (ditto). The French embassy cultural newsletter to which I am a subscriber told me about her French opponent. The neighbourhood whatsapp group gave a blow by blow account of her prowess last night (she won). The fight was on in every pub in the city. But I have to say, most surprising of all was mass this morning where we prayed for her to have a good retirement during the prayers of the faithful. Everyone’s jumping on her bandwagon.
Queen of Cafés
I met middle child and Mr. Waffle for lunch today in a café where I have been going for many, many years. I used to work near there and go there a fair bit but I work in a different part of town now and go much less frequently. Middle child had never been there – as Mr. Waffle said, they have anti-student prices – but enjoyed it. Both of my lunching partners were surprised to see one of the waitresses surge out from behind the counter and embrace me saying, “We haven’t seen you in ages.” I was a little surprised myself but gratified. “I have been here 19 years today and I remember you coming in when I started working here,” she said. When it came to time to leave she whispered to me, “Open your bag; we made extra scones today and I will give four to you”.
I remember once years ago at a slightly low point they gave me free cake. I tell you, loyalty has its privileges.
Long in the Tooth
I have returned from holidays – more’s the pity – and a full update on my trip will follow. Something for you to look forward to.
As now seems inevitable whenever I go away for any period of time, I chipped a tooth. I made an appointment with the dentist for shortly after our return. I am in the daring process of changing dentists. The whole thing has taken years. For a long time, I have suspected that my former dentist was very interventionist, he was certainly very expensive. Other friends who were with the same dentist had drifted away. His predecessor in title was a Cork man whose parents were doctors who had been a couple of years ahead of my father in college and who had been recommended to me by my friend whose father was my dentist when I was growing up.
When the recommended dentist retired, he sold the practice to new guy and I just stayed while feeling increasingly dissatisfied. Anyway the final straw on the new (about 5 years) dentist came at Christmas when he gave herself a standard filling and her face swelled up like a balloon. Look, he made a mistake, who hasn’t? But he didn’t say anything. When she went to the pharmacist for pain relief, the pharmacist thought she had had an extraction.
So I cast my bread upon the waters in the neighbourhood group chat and we have all moved to a local dental surgery which, at the very least has the merit of being nearby.
I was whizzing down there for my 9 o’clock appointment the other morning when my mobile rang. “Two minutes,” I said to the receptionist. I was honestly there about two minutes past nine but the dentist and nurse were standing in reception looking reproving. It turned out that the dentist was French. She was from Lille. She said, demonstrating very little faith in Irish people, “You wouldn’t know it.” “Au contraire,” said I, responding in French, “I have been there many times; I used to live in Brussels.” She smiled. She said to her dental nurse, “This is the first Irish person I have understood when speaking French.” I mean, a bit damned with faint praise, but she seemed warmer than she had been in reception. “I’m so glad that you understood my Belgian accent,” I abased myself. “Honestly there are worse accents, you could be from Marseille,” she said smiling. It was all going so well. As I was trying to think of other Lille facts with which to ingratiate myself with her, it came to me, “Wasn’t the guy from the south in Bienvenue chez les Ch’tis from Marseille?” This is a very funny films set near Lille. Well, I can tell you, the people of Lille do not like it. “People all over France quote lines from that film at me. It is terrible and not representative of the people of the North. Do you like Leap Year?” she asked me tartly. Of course I don’t like Leap Year it’s a dreadful film if you’re Irish. Anyway my chance to bond with the dentist ended abruptly. And I checked, the guy who comes north in Bienvenue chez les Ch’tis isn’t even from Marseilles.
But look she fixed my tooth and she said to me severely that I must wear my gum shield thing at night and she was so scary that I have been doing so since.
Meanwhile, I got a text message from old dentist telling me I have an appointment next week and to text yes to confirm or ring the practice number otherwise. He always answers that phone. I screwed my courage to the sticking point, rang and, unbelievably, got the voicemail which never happens. I left a message saying, “Thanks for everything but I’m changing dentists” and with one bound, our heroine was free.
I met a friend for lunch during the week and was telling him about my dental adventures including my regularly chipping teeth and he said, “Don’t you get the feeling that people aren’t really designed to last past 50 and everything just keeps going wrong from then on?” An unwelcome reflection. In fact, since he and his wife are the first of our friends to have a child get engaged, he is a regular source of reflection on my own mortality, so there is no need for him to add to it.