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Dublin

Month’s Mind

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not Oiling the Wheels

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Posted in: Dublin, Ireland

The centre of Dublin and many of the main roads around the country have been closed by protesting truckers and agricultural contractors (they are annoyed about the price of petrol and diesel, aren’t we all? I await my next electricity bill with some unease). They are also blocking some of the access to oil from the refineries/ports and we are beginning to run out of oil on the forecourts. As you know, I am a cyclist and I have been able to whizz around the city with less traffic than usual but this is all a bit weird. It reminds me a little bit of Covid; especially with the difficulties people are starting to have getting to hospital appointments; getting home help visits and so on; mercifully the schools are still off for the Easter holidays. I’ll tell you what, I’m not sure we’ve reached peak oil in this jurisdiction; a lot of things seem to need petrol to run. Here are some photos live from the front lines (commute to work).

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Turbulent Times

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How was your own Easter?

Weeping and Gnashing of Teeth


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland

My dentist has been at me to get a mouth guard for my night time teeth grinding. I had one before and I stopped using it because I hated it.

However, bits of my teeth kept chipping off in a most distressing manner and I resigned myself to the inevitable. I now have the most sophisticated mouth guard known to man. It is 3D printed. It is form fitting. It’s still very uncomfortable, thanks for asking.

I didn’t ask the dentist how much it would cost (€22 in any sports shop) expecting the expense to be relatively modest. When I got a bill for €495, I nearly keeled over. Apparently, it’s an orthodontic treatment technically. And I guess they charge what they like for orthodontic treatment? I suppose it’s another incentive to wear the wretched thing.

Continuing My Middle Aged Adventures


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

I am just in from visiting the Adam’s show room to inspect lots consigned for their upcoming “at home” auction. What a delight. Am I going to buy anything? Nope, but maybe next time.*

In fact, I went to quite a few house auctions last year. Since you ask, I didn’t actually buy anything but I enjoyed the experience. There’s nothing as good as poking around someone else’s house.

I am actively looking for a new dining room table having, with great reluctance, taken the one from my parents’ house in Cork which I never liked – a reproduction number with Queen Anne legs. However, a table in our dining room has improved it considerably and made it much more used so, as a concept, I welcome it. I just need a better table.

I have spent the past week clearing out the youngest child’s bedroom. All his stuff is now in his sister’s room. He currently has the box room and given that she has, alas, definitively moved out, if makes sense to move him to her double room. As part of this we are going to do up the box room a bit so her stuff is still in her old room. It’s horrific. I tell you this as I am keeping an eye out for a nice small desk for her as part of the move and saw a couple of possible candidates in my inspection at Adam’s. Though honestly clearing out the room made me mildly reluctant to ever bring anything into the house again. The whole thing took a lot out of me as I dug through the dusty Schliemann layers and sneezed through the process but it is done. Now to pin down the painter. I digress.

This whole house contents auction adventuring is not without its drawbacks. We went to inspect a house in the suburbs over the summer. The whole thing was basically a disaster. We spent two hours on the hottest day of the year trying to get there by the suburban rail line. There was some kind of fault and we ended up sheltering from the sun under a tiny canopy on a blistering platform. As I face into my 60th consecutive day of rain now, it’s hard to remember how unpleasant it was but I retain a feeling of mild rage which makes me think that I didn’t like it.

On the way home I went for a swim in Seapoint. This is quite the urban experience. When I was growing up in Cork, beaches were in the middle of nowhere and tennis courts were near the river surrounded by foliage. I have become more accustomed to Dublin where tennis courts can be right by the road or the train line and access to the sea is often via concrete. It’s hard to say Seapoint was at its best that day. It was very warm and it was full of people. Mr. Waffle declining the swimming opportunity went gloomily to sit on the ground beside a group of teenage boys who were playing loud music. They stopped him and pointed out that he was about to sit on dog poo and we were both suitably grateful and felt bad about our (mercifully silent) judgment of their loud music. I told a friend from Seapoint about this rather unsatisfactory experience. “I can only apologise,” said she, “if it’s any comfort my mother was flashed on the way to the beach the other day.” How would that be any comfort?

*Update: a not perfect – but better than mine – dining room table was on sale (estimate €600 to €1000) and it went for €60. It was a large Victorian mahogany table with 2 or 3 leaves and on castors (which is handy). I don’t know whether to be horrified (at the low esteem in which such items are held) or delighted (more bargains for me to find).

It’s a Jungle Out There


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Princess

Mr Waffle had a work triumph and we had a weekday outing to Howth to celebrate.

We had lunch and a walk. A classic combination. After lunch, I got a 99 and we went for a stroll on the pier. There weren’t any people around.

On the exposed pier, the seagulls saw me and my ice cream and started flapping around trying to take it from me. In the absence of other punters I was (if you’ll forgive me) a sitting duck. I scuttled along anxiously guarding my ice cream but a seagull came diving in from behind and took a big mouthful. They’re big animals, you know. In what I have to say was not my finest hour, I threw the ice cream on the ground and abandoning the others I dashed off the pier shouting at the seagulls “Take it you bastards”.