belgianwaffle

Dublin

Green Shoots, Baby, We’re Back etc.


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland

Recently, Mr. Waffle and I went for dinner in our local gastro pub [insert obligatory ‘it’s far from gastro pubs we were reared’ comment here]. The main course was €29.90 and I thought to myself, that is quite pricy, is it not?

A couple of weeks ago at work, I felt a little sorry for myself and decided to go to somewhere nice for lunch – not super nice Michelin starred, white tablecloth now but nice and newly opened. I arrived at 12.45 on a rainy Wednesday in January looking for a table for one only to be told that they were fully booked, sorry.

Where will it all end?

Culture


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

A couple of weeks ago, Mr. Waffle and I took the children to see “Trauma” in the science gallery. It was, well, traumatic. Not unexpected you might argue. After the strain of the exhibition, I felt we ought to do something further of a cultural nature. It would be hard to overstate Michael’s bitterness on hearing this news.

Since we were in Trinity anyway and, one of the major advantages of a degree from Trinity is that it gets you in free to the Book of Kells, I suggested that we might go there and get some use out of Mr. Waffle’s degree. We passed the playing pitches on the way and I found myself, somewhat to my surprise, standing beside a man yelling “Come on Trinity” at a rugby game. How little we know our spouses. Happily Michael’s weary insistence that we might as well get it over with propelled us onwards.

The library is lovely, actually. I note that we went there this time last year so it seems to occur to me as a good outing in January. As ever, I sold it to the boys as being the model for the Jedi library which may be true. They were cynical and bitter, “You say that every time.”

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We didn’t stay long and it is genuinely interesting. Afterwards, as we emerged into the drizzle, having contemplated one of Ireland’s great treasures Michael said grudgingly, “I suppose it wasn’t too bad.” I think I will take that as a win.

Sunday Reflections


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Princess

Our church serves a diverse community. In the children’s choir, although all of the children are local, there are a number whose parents are from India, the Philippines, Romania (I think) and even Cork. Last weekend the children from the local school brought up the gifts. The priest called on Caspar and Anastasia to come up to the altar. What delightful names and not typical Dublin ones.

It’s all much more exciting than when I was a child and there was never anyone at mass who wasn’t from Cork, except for the odd priest from Kerry.

In one respect, however, matters are not improving. The choir mistress is both talented and dedicated but her musical tastes do not chime with mine and I wish that the choir would do some more classical church numbers. I expressed this to the Princess and she said, “Mum, these are new songs for the next generation; all ten of us.” Oh very funny.

My children continue to star in readings and prayers of the faithful and I am regularly congratulated on their prowess by elderly members of the congregation, leading to a definite instance of the sin of pride on my part, so it’s all going to hell in a handcart etc. Amusingly, last weekend herself had to read “When I was a child, I used to talk like a child, and think like a child, and argue like a child, but now I am a man, all childish ways are put behind me.” No better child to make it work for her.

The Perils of Public Transport


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Princess

It was windy and wet this morning and Mr. Waffle gave herself a lift to school. She rang me just before she got the bus home. Later she told me that this was the last moment before her life changed irrevocably (slight exaggeration but prepare yourself mentally).

She sat beside her friend and realised that she was feeling a bit damp. She hopped up and discovered that there was a distinct tang of urine from the plush seat and, now, her school skirt and tights were wet too. Some incontinent Dublin bus customer had pre-enjoyed her seat. As she said to me later when she had emerged from a lengthy shower and the skirt and tights were through the wash, “I know it’s an odd thing to say but I think it was worse that it was the wee of a person who would wee on a bus.” I totally know what she means.

I’d say she will be keener on the bike tomorrow regardless of the weather.

Annual Haircut


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland

I got my hair cut last week. My hairdresser says that in 32 years of cutting hair, he has never met anyone whose hair grows more slowly than mine. I had my last haircut in December 2014.

In the 13 months since it was last cut, it had grown out to look like this (including slightly askew glasses because now I need them to watch the television, sigh).

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A bit unruly. I wanted the hairdresser to cut it shorter than he did but he resisted. I think that, sadly, he thinks that I am too old for very short hair. He referred cheerily to the fringe he was cutting as “nature’s botox”. My hairdresser is  very trendy so I think the cut might be a bit fashion forward.  Or at least I thought so when I emerged from the hairdresser.  I only took this picture after I had washed it myself.  Is it just me, or does it look a bit early Aha?

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Well, it has a year to grow out, anyhow.

Surprisingly Successful


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Middle Child, Twins, Youngest Child

We went in to see the Science Gallery exhibition a while ago and it was closed unexpectedly. Alas. I had paid for 90 minutes parking and it was lashing rain. I cast around for some alternative suitable cultural institution nearby with a cafe and a bathroom. We stood gloomily in the rain and I suggested that we could go through Trinity to the National Gallery.

It wasn’t that near and, I couldn’t help thinking, as we trudged through the rain, they weren’t going to like it much either when we got there. Much of the gallery is closed for extensive building work but the Turner exhibition was out for January and many of the gallery’s most famous paintings are crammed into a couple of exhibition rooms. I brought the children in for what I promised was a very quick look before getting a cup of tea. But the boys, in particular, were so interested, looking at the paintings and reading the captions and asking about them, that we stayed for ages.

It’s been years since I’ve brought them to an art gallery and perhaps I have left it too long. Or perhaps all the years when they were dragged unwillingly at a young age have prepared them to be engaged viewers at ten. Or perhaps, it was still lashing outside and we had nowhere else to go. Still I was very heartened and I see a whole new world opening up.