We have ants in the utility room. I blame the cat. We have scattered ant powder. Let’s see how that works out for us.
Dublin
Easter Round-Up
I came home from America on Wednesday morning, March 29 so I did not totally welcome that it was school quiz night on Thursday evening March 30. I will not miss being on the school parents’ council. However, it all passed off peacefully enough. Because Ireland is small, the son of my mother’s best friend from college has a child in our school. I was chatting to him on the night and we were exchanging reminiscences from our childhood. I recalled that his mother had mentioned to me that he always went to Cheltenham. “How did you get on?” I asked. “I’m not telling you because you’ll tell my mother,” said he. Badly, I surmise. That’s what she thought too when I told her.
Months ago, I booked the play “The Ocean at the End of the Lane” for myself, Mr. Waffle and the boys. It was on the Friday night (March 31) at the start of the school holidays. What could go wrong? Little did I think that the school would completely scupper us by scheduling Leaving Cert orals – German on Saturday, Irish orals for the Sunday and French orals for the Monday. “Leaving Cert Irish orals on Palm Sunday in a catholic school?!” said my sister. You betcha. Anyway, Daniel decided he was too busy/nervous to go to the play but Michael came with us and enjoyed it.
The orals were stressful and Daniel, who is really good felt that he did not totally do himself justice but I am sure he will be fine. Michael was happy enough. My dentist told me that his son got to re-schedule his orals because he was playing rugby for the Ireland U-19s. No such facility was offered for the theatre going public, I fear.
To celebrate the end of the orals and the proper start of their Easter holidays I offered to take the guys to the Dungeons and Dragons flick, Dan refused but Michael and I had a good time. It was funny, even if you knew absolutely nothing like me but, of course, Michael got lots more of the in-jokes.
Herself came home for the Easter holidays on Saturday April 1, having raided the second-hand shops in Sofia to good effect. Her friend’s mother in London washed the haul she and her friend acquired. Twice. Then she said, “Come into my laundry room and smell.” Apparently it still smelt of cigarettes. Alas.
Anyway it was nice to have her home. We saw lots of her. Mr. Waffle’s sister and family were over from London and we had everyone to Easter lunch at our house. It was lovely to see everyone. I think we all had a good time.
The youngest cousin brought bunny ears that she had got for Easter. We all got to try them. Big hit.
Herself turned 20 during her time at home (full post to follow eventually) and she and I went out to spend the voucher for afternoon tea in the Shelbourne that my brother had given me for my birthday. Really very pleasant.
We had a small birthday tea at home as well. I have some lessons to learn about large numbers of candles on cakes.
But we got there just in time.
Joe Biden came to visit and I had to travel through the city in the face of many warnings. I gambled and won as Joe and I had the city to ourselves all the other Dublin denizens having bailed out. I felt very much a part of the visit as helicopters hovered over my home making Dublin safe.
For our farewell dinner before herself went back to England, I booked an Ethiopian supper club. A set menu and a lot of eating with your hands. Latter was difficult but overall interesting. Something that looks a bit like a Breton pancake is the base layer of Ethiopian food and then various stews and dips are arranged on top. The Ethiopian national dish – the name of which eludes me – was the success of the evening.
The next day, we took herself to the airport to go back to England. She checked in on the drive to the airport. When we got there, the luggage machine told her that she was at the wrong airport. Further inspection revealed that instead of booking a Dublin to Gatwick flight she had in fact booked and checked into a Gatwick to Dublin flight. Miraculously a woman at the ticket desk was able to change her to a later flight that day to Gatwick for a change fee of €50 and no further cost. A triumph for Aer Lingus. We went off to Malahide for a breakfast celebration and then went home where her brothers were pretty surprised to see her back. She said that she had left home a couple of hours previously as a fully functioning adult but she had come back as a small child. In fairness, it was a most unlikely lapse. Her father went into work and I drove her out to the airport again. I felt like I spent the day on the road to the airport. And all for the purpose of sending away my beloved firstborn. Sigh. I hope your own Easter holidays were satisfactory.
Neighbours
Where I grew up, we didn’t really have neighbours. It was in the city but it was mostly college property near us rather than other families. Now I live on a street with lots of neighbours. Mr. Waffle is pretty sociable but I am still adjusting to this state of affairs.
We had a very neighbour-filled weekend. There was the street clean up which my loving husband co-ordinates (“Doing the council’s job for them,” he mutters darkly).
Our next door neighbours’ daughter is an artist and she did an amazing mural on the wall outside the garage. We had a small ceremony with crisps and champagne in the lane to celebrate.
Our neighbours two doors down have just celebrated 50 years of marriage and 48 years on the road. They had 16 of us around to celebrate. No caterers either. We were by far the most recent arrivals (10 years on the road). Most people had at least 20 years and our neighbour from across the road was born on the road and has been living here 71 years. When I mentioned that to Dan he was astounded, “He’s 71? I thought he was the same age as you.” He is in very good nick but still.
Anyhow, I feel very filled up with neighbourly goodwill this week. Perhaps I am beginning to get the hang of the neighbour thing.
Customer service
You will possibly not recall my ongoing engagement with my bank re very hefty charges. I got no reply to my letter of November and reminder of December. I got out the big guns in January and wrote a grand long letter pointing out their obligations under various regulations and guidelines and in particular how they were supposed to get back to me within 5 working days. I was quite pleased with myself.
A couple of days later a very young woman rang me from the bank all apologies for not having replied to my letter. I felt really sorry for her. “It’s terrible, isn’t it?” she said. “I’ve actually had to pay it myself.” I sympathised. “Well, then, bye,” said she and hung up. I feel had but I suppose that is the end of it. Sigh.
Exhausted
Leaving the children to study, Mr. Waffle and I spent the long weekend enjoying ourselves on a series of walks which they were, obviously, devastated, to miss.
On Sunday we explored the joys of Howth and Sutton. It’s really close to the city but I felt like I was on holidays, exploring the unknown on my bike by the beach. Recommended.
Beautiful sunset as well. The picture really doesn’t do it justice.
We stopped off for a cup of tea in the Marine Hotel in Sutton which is an odd spot. They have very firm rules about when they will serve you. Mr. Waffle who doesn’t really list patience among his many virtues was not delighted to be told to wait outside when there were free tables in the restaurant. We got our tea eventually although it was a long drawn out process. We need an alternative tea venue.
Then on the Monday we went to Wicklow and walked to Lough Dan. It was very beautiful though a long downhill followed, inevitably by a long trek back up. Vigorous.
Then Mr. Waffle went away for work. He reminded me anxiously of all the things that needed to be done in his absence including bringing in the green bin. When I went out to get it, I discovered that he had in fact brought it in himself before he left. An absence of trust there.
I dropped him to the airport (a – I shouldn’t be surprised but I was – lengthy process) and spent an afternoon running around doing various dull though almost continuous tasks (I cannot wait to step down from the parents council; we are currently at – v polite – war in relation to a proposed new cycle lane outside the school). The next day was the same. In the absence of a maths teacher in school – please do not ask me – the neighbour’s child who is doing a PhD in maths arrived in to give the children a grind. It went alright I think but they are absolutely flattened.
I had lunch with a friend in her house out in the suburbs – a longish cycle it transpires – and as well as lunch she gave me a plant (still alive today) and a clutch of magazines that her Dutch mother-in-law keeps for me on the Dutch royal family (they’re in Dutch, it’s educational). Very thrilling.
I collected Mr. Waffle from the airport at 11 last night and, as I said to him, I have never been gladder to welcome him home. “Imagine,” said he, “if you were working as well.” I am imagining. I suppose I would manage but I would not enjoy it.
It’s mid-term next week, thank God, we all really need a break from school.
Customer Experience of Dreams or a Vision of the Future of Retail
I am getting a new phone. It is not exactly dirt cheap. Mr. Waffle and I went into town to the Vodafone shop. There were no seats and a big wall of video. Three young people (staff) were standing in the shop and a four middle aged people (customers) were wandering around looking a bit baffled. A young woman came up to us. “Can I help you?” she asked. We explained what we were after. “You’ll need to talk to one of the people in green tops.”
There were two people in green tops. One was dealing with a customer. The other was scrolling through his phone. “I suppose he’s on his break,” I said to Mr. Waffle charitably. It was not, however, pleasing to be standing there in the queue while young man scrolled and ignored. Eventually we were seen by the other person in a green top, a young woman. “You might get it cheaper online,” she opined. I could have wished they had indicated that in the other shop I had previously browsed in but ok. Spoiler alert, I got it online, it was not cheaper. “I want to give my old phone to my son, I remember there was some complication last time, what do I need to do to unlock it?” “It can be complicated,” she conceded, “that’s why we don’t do it in basic retail outlets like this any more but let the customers do it themselves online.” To improve our service to you etc. As we left the shop, the young man was still scrolling away on his phone ignoring the customers.
“I suppose this is what full employment looks like,” says grumpy middle aged blogger.