belgianwaffle

Dublin

First World Problems


Posted in: Dublin, Family, Ireland, Middle Child, Princess, Twins, Work, Youngest Child

As the professionals say, posting has been light. I have found the past month or so demanding as I went back to work and the children went back to school.

During my first week back at work, I found myself slipping out of a meeting with important people to rescue Michael from school where he declared himself (convincingly) to be sick. Mr. Waffle, who normally does the sick child trip, was in a meeting with no phone coverage. I went to school where a surprised and delighted (and crucially, in my view, quite well) Michael greeted me with ecstasy which was rather charming. We went home. In the utility room was the corpse of a mouse which the cat had brought in for inspection. I disposed of it. Mr. Waffle came home and I hared off across town on my bike to my next meeting.

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We have a new childminder, who seems lovely, but we all have to get used to each other. And the children are still flattened from being back at school.

And then, this time of year brings heritage week (a man dressed up as Robert Boyle in the Casino Marino – excellent thanks although herself now wants a vacuum pump for Christmas); the Fringe Theatre Festival (Ashling Bea and James Walmsley – only mildly funny- and The Stoneybatter Strangler – really quite dreadful performed outdoors by a large cast with little talent and a chill wind blowing, mildly atmospheric in places); the Theatre Festival (A Feast of Bones – for children, a bit creepy but herself loved it and Sheridan’s The Critic where I struggled to stay awake for the first half but found the second half alright and the ending superb); Culture Night (where we saw a limited number of things: Tailor’s Hall, St. Audeon’s but had pizza); Open House (by now flagging, we only inspected two premises, one of them very small); and we went to the opening night of the documentary film festival where we saw “The Great Hip Hop Hoax” which was good but the interview with the Director afterwards was even better and added additional layers of context to what is already an extremely odd story; there was a fly-by (sounds more exciting than it was – lots of planes – new and old- flew up the river Liffey at quite dispersed intervals, town was jam packed and the children couldn’t be bothered to get out of the car to look); we went to the Dublin growers’ festival and got the apples from our three apple trees pressed into apple juice and possibly cider (the jury is still out on this last one); and the Princess and I went to Cork for the weekend (twice).

And I broke a molar and had to go for an unscheduled trip to the dentist.

And the boys turned 8.

And, as of today, Mr. Waffle is lame with a horribly swollen and blistered ankle. He is allergic to wasp stings and got stung yesterday. He also got stung the week before last. His parents have a wasp’s nest in the largest tree in their garden. One our children like to climb up and get stuck in.

Is it any wonder posting has been light?

Garryvoe Part 2


Posted in: Cork, Dublin, Family, Ireland

For the second week of our holiday in Cork, we booked the children on to a computer course. Herself did it last year and loved it and all three of them were old enough to partake this year. I prayed that the weather would break because I couldn’t stand it if for the finest summer since 1976 I sent them in to look at a screen all day. My prayers were largely answered. The weather was pretty awful:
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This left me free to do a range of things with my free time: spend time with my parents; go shopping; force my sister to look at a large house which was deeply unsuitable for her needs but really lovely aside from the dead pigeon on the drawing room windowsill and the damage to the west wing from the largely collapsed roof and, of course, the derelict listed house next door which was included as part of the sale.

The children meanwhile really, really loved their course. But they were exhausted. We got back early one evening and we ate early and I sent the boys to bed. I was just about to turn my attention to herself when she remarked in tones of outrage, “Do you realise that you sent the boys to bed at 7?” “Yes,” I replied. “You cunning, little vixen,” said she. Really, cunning, little vixen? I have a lot to put up with.

Anyhow, after two weeks we returned to Dublin. The children were delighted to be back pointing out familiar landmarks to each other. “Ah the sights and sounds of Dublin,” said their father. “Tobacco,” shouted the children happily from the back seat. Something needs to be done about the illegal cigarette trade alright.

Burnt to a Cinder


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland

The heat wave seems to be over. It’s probably for the best; we weren’t able for it. I took the children to a beach in North County Dublin a couple of weeks ago. It looked like this.

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We all came back burnt in parts: the Princess’s right shoulder, the back of Michael’s neck, Daniel’s lower back, my ankles. We recovered with lots of shade. I think that this was the longest continuous spell of good weather in Ireland since 1976. We were flabbergasted.

A description of my time in East Cork with the children will follow. Something for you to look forward to.

Cultural Activities


Posted in: Dublin, Family, Ireland

Things we have done in the holidays thus far:

St. Michan’s Church on Church Street

I had to practically beat the children to get out of the house to come here. The rain was coming down in sheets and even the short walk from the car to the church had us sodden. But it was so worth it. We have been here before. There are Mummys in the crypt [very dry apparently, unlike outside] and there is a great guide who makes the whole think immensely entertaining for children. They shook hands with the crusader [800 years old still quite a lot of face left – they know he was a crusader because his legs are crossed] and heard the gruesome story of the hanging, drawing and quartering of the Sheares brothers [involved in the 1798 rebellion – ended badly for them]. This was described in loving detail to the intense delight of all the children on the tour. There is also the family crypt of the Earls of Leitrim which has lain unused since the third earl (a bad lot) was buried there. The church boasts the font where Edmund Burke was baptised and the organ on which Handel practised the Messiah before the first performance in Fishamble Street. We ran into the vicar [I think, the titles of Protestant clergymen are always a mystery to me] who asked the children where they went to school and then surprised them by saying he was a neighbour of one of their classmates and horrified them by speaking to them in Irish. After this alarming encounter, they decided that it was best to leave again but not before writing in the visitors’ book. A number of American visitors had described their visits as “awesome” and “amazing”. Michael having laboriously written his name and address went for a more restrained “good”.

Henrietta Street

The Princess and I walked up and down Henrietta Street and admired the buildings. Number 14 was home to C.S Lewis’s great, great grandmother. I thought you would like to know. We went to the Uilleann Pipers house and had a look around. The boys sat in the car and refused to move.

Subsequently I went on my own to no.14 to see the Dublin Tenement Experience. This is a performance set in the 1913 Dublin lockout and using no.14 Henrietta Street which is largely unchanged since it was used as a tenement. The performance is done by the same people who did “The Boys of Foley Street” so I was prepared to be alarmed and to have plenty of audience participation. Maybe my previous knowledge of the company ruined it for me but it’s just not so real when you are accompanied by a bus load of elderly tourists from Northern Ireland. I thought it was mildly interesting and reasonably well done but I certainly wouldn’t have been gushing that it was the best thing I had ever seen as I heard one of my fellow participants say in awed tones to the woman on reception. Still and all, well worth a look.

Unrelated but as I was there they were filming an ad for C&A. The security man told me that they had been filming for 5 days for a 30 second slot. 5 days! So, if you see a nice old Georgian street in a C&A ad, you’ll know where it was shot.

No. 29 Fitzwilliam Street

The Princess and I had previously tried to visit this restored Georgian house but it was closed for renovations. This time we got in and I think she found it mildly entertaining but really more fun for me than for her. Sometimes she is a saintly child. Ironically, the ESB which funded the restoration of this house, knocked down all the rest of the terrace. There is some bitterness about this. It’s interesting though that Irish attitudes at the time were very ambivalent towards Georgian architecture and what it represented. I think now there has been a complete turn around and no one would argue for the wanton destruction of Georgian houses but certainly there’s still plenty of neglect in the centre of Dublin.

Glendalough

I forced the children to go to this world famous monastic site. They haven’t been for a couple of years. The traffic was dreadful. It took us an hour and a half to get there. The information that the American first children had recently been forced to go there left them unmoved other than leading to a slight fellow feeling. When we arrived I made them go on a mild walk.

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It went pretty well for the first half but by the second part of the circuit they were getting tired, hungry and fractious. Michael fell down a hill and was picked up by a kindly German tourist. Daniel got stung by nettles. We saw deer but even that was insufficient to rouse them to any great enthusiasm. The Phoenix Park has made them all a bit blasé about deer.

I got to use my picnic basket again. As I was unpacking it, two very small girls stood and watched me enviously. See below, Michael enjoying the picnic which, in his case, consisted of 5 cream crackers.

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After the picnic, I played hurling with Dan. Very poorly. A number of Americans stopped and took pictures of this native sport; unfortunately the quality of the play gave very little idea of what hurling is actually like.

After this I tried and utterly failed to get them to the monastic site. This is as close as we got to Glendalough this year.

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St. Audeon’s Church

For the best part of a year, I have been threatening to take my family to this city centre church. Mr. Waffle kindly minded the children one morning and I set off on my own. It is a lovely, lovely church managed by the Office of Public Works in co-operation with the local parish. It’s less showy than St. Patrick’s or Christ Church both of which are nearby but really peaceful and very appealing.

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The OPW has done a great job with the exhibition in the oldest part of the original church. There is still an unroofed part – the Portlester chapel – which is somehow particularly attractive in the centre of the city surrounded by very busy roads. It feels like it belongs somewhere else altogether. Petrie has a drawing of it from the 1800s and it is still very recognisable; although no one was hanging out washing while I was there.

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I will now force the children to come with me and see it because they have not suffered enough.

It’s All Weekends


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Middle Child, Twins

And finally, for my last trick, I have to describe the weekend of the street party. As Mr. Waffle said, for this to be a success there would have to be four fine Sundays in a row. We did not have four fine Sundays in a row. This mattered surprisingly little. And you know, the sense of obligation to get out and do something in the [limited supply of] sunshine is very tiring.

The children played soccer in the street for hours [Daniel, who had played a GAA match that morning and got a medal for his participation in the mini-league along with a bag and a wristband and cap, spent, by my calculation, seven hours that Sunday running after a ball]. The grown-ups resigned themselves to the weather and ate from the really excellent selection of food on offer. There was bunting. It was good. It would be great all the same if, just one year, it didn’t rain on the street party.

More weekends


Posted in: Dublin, Family, Ireland

My friend from school came to stay with her American husband and four American children. Even though our new house is much bigger, it was still something of a squash and a squeeze. But it was lovely to see them – we last saw them on December 29, 2010 when their youngest was a very sick baby. They are all well now and particularly polite in the manner of nice middle class American children: eye contact when talking to adults! Still a skill which some of my children have not mastered. The children all got on pretty well. My friend’s two youngest boys were particularly excited by the presence of my boys’ extensive arsenal of weapons from water pistol to plastic sub-machine gun and stocked them on the landing with great enthusiasm. When the three-year-old came up to me laughing and shot me, I played dead but his parents were appalled. They have no toy guns in their house. Culturally, there seems to be a difference in toy gun control between here and the US.

So, picture the scene, they arrived off the plane on Sunday morning, hired a car and turned up at our house having been travelled from their home in Vermont at 2pm US time on Saturday. Were the children cranky? They were not. Were they tired? No. Were they even particularly grubby? Not really. Instead of collapsing into their beds, they spent the afternoon with us at the church garden party. This event was, by the standards of these things, a huge success. Crucially, the sun shone. Members of the Indian Christian community [larger than you might think] performed a dance to Shiva the Destroyer in front of the priests’ dining room and all the cakes were sold. Herself was deputed to sell raffle tickets and to her great joy, our visitors bought €20 worth.

All was well with the world. And the children all slept all night. The Americans went to Cork on Tuesday and on to a wedding in Kerry on Friday before flying out of Shannon on Saturday. The horror. But they are brave souls.