belgianwaffle

Dublin

Weekend Round Up


Posted in: Belgium, Dublin, Family, Ireland

That’s actually the weekend from weeks and weeks ago. I’m behind. Anyhow, some of the people I used to work with in Brussels came over for the weekend. It was lovely to see them and the weather was spectacularly beautiful.

One of my former colleagues, T, stayed with us. She does not have children herself and one can only hope that she has not been put off the idea by Michael’s constant, mortifying whining – “How much longer is she staying?” He gave up his room, most unwillingly, and boy did he want everyone to know that he wasn’t happy about it.

Typical conversation:
Me: Michael, did you know that T is a twin also?
Michael: I…DON’T…CARE!
Me: Michael that’s very rude, say ‘sorry’.
Michael: Sorry.
Me: Like you mean it.
Michael: Daniel doesn’t say sorry like he means it.

Yes, Ireland of the 1,000 welcomes.

Fortunately, former colleague N, who is working in Dublin for 8 months, had arranged an elaborate programme as I was something of a broken reed. They walked around Howth Head in searing heat (unusual); they came to my housewarming on Saturday night; they went for a stroll around Dalkey on Sunday.

On Saturday, Mr. Waffle had to work and I took the children off to the beach in Portrane. I had never taken them there before and was a bit uncertain of the way but we made it. It is a lovely sandy beach that is shallow for miles. When I reached waist height in the water, I collapsed after the long trek and had my first swim of the season. It was all very pleasant in a mild way. When I saw those who had walked for 4 hours around Howth Head earlier that day, I knew that I had been wise to acknowledge my limitations and only walk into the sea.

Not a great shot of the beach but you can see that the sea is a long way away.
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They have also decided to go for an unusual juxtaposition of old and modern in the siting of their water tower beside the clock tower:
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On the housewarming, one of my former colleagues asking whether there were any single men coming. A rapid mental scan of my guest list confirmed that there were not. Woe. On the plus side, older married couples are great with the presents. We are groaning with fancy champagne stocks. The weather was terrific and we stayed outside until late. One set of neighbours had brought their 10 and 12 year old children and our children stayed up until 12 to entertain them – something that herself particularly enjoyed. She was hyper all evening letting people in and telling them where to put their tasteful gifts and chatting animatedly. A friend commented that it was a shame that the Princess had set her face against an Irish medium second level school as she didn’t think that her English needed further improvement. I was torn between smug delight and angst at the knowledge that herself had been letting her, occasionally forceful, personality shine forth on the guests. At one stage during the evening, she hugged me and said, “I love this party!” She is really one of these children who love to talk to adults. Also, she is very sociable, like her father.

And then on Sunday, out to Dalkey: it really was beautiful and quite unlike Ireland; my Brussels friends now have a deeply warped view of what the Irish summer is like. All to the good really.

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The Tactlessness of Youth


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland

Young trendy person in shop in Temple Bar: I love your briefcase, is it vintage?
Me: Actually, I got it as a present when I finished my first job.
Her: So it is then!

Tibradden


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland

We went off on an extended family outing to see the house that features in this book a couple of weeks ago. The house is open to the public a couple of times a year. My mother-in-law had read the book and enjoyed it and lent it out to most of us. We were curious. The author met us on the doorstep and showed us around. She was a delightful hostess but it was odd to be in her house and to know so much about her life. Not just the outer parts but her inner thinking also and the really upsetting things as well. I would have thought that it isn’t much fun for her either but she seemed quite cheerful. Weird but recommended, particularly, if you liked the book.

Incidentally, this being Ireland, it turned out that my mother-in-law had known the author’s mother’s parents well and lived next door to her editor’s aunt with whom the author had dined only the other day; my brother-in-law had worked with a friend of hers who had been to dinner the previous evening; and she and my husband had college friends in common.

Mocking the Exile


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

We were passing the Aviva stadium the other day and Mr. Waffle decided to relive with Daniel the time they had almost gone there [the crowd was too small – they didn’t end up in the main stadium]. They saw Lansdowne [a Dublin team] play Dolphin [a Cork one]. Lansdowne won.

Mr. Waffle: Remember the time we almost went to the Aviva stadium?
Daniel: Yes, Lansdowne beat Dolphin.
Michael: It was hard for Dolphin, they didn’t have much chance out of the water.
Daniel: But they live in schools, you’d think they’d be smart.
Mr. Waffle: They can’t be that smart, they keep getting caught in those tuna nets.

Oh we are all very funny.

Rainforest


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland

It’s been rainy and it’s been hot (by Irish standards). This was the view out the back window earlier this evening.

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The Church Garden Party


Posted in: Dublin, Family, Ireland

This event is likely to send me to an early grave. I was trapped into joining the organising committee and I am just not cut out for this kind of thing. It’s like a continuation of work by other means. At the lengthy meetings we usually fail to reach conclusions and all of the real work seems to be done elsewhere [how much have I enjoyed dropping in requests for funding, cakes and spot prizes to struggling local businesses?]. The parish priest keeps coming in and being anxious about insurance. We can’t have a stage, lest someone should fall. We will have to know the provenance of all cakes for insurance reasons. I can’t for the life of me see why. He says we can take names and phone numbers of the little old ladies who make cakes and if anyone gets ill we can show we made reasonable efforts. The parish priest and I had words on this point. I was tempted to say that this will make us “data controllers” but wiser counsels prevailed. He also insisted that no unaccompanied children under 18 should be allowed to attend. How we are supposed to police this is beyond me.

Worst of all though, I had to make an announcement at mass about the forthcoming excitement. This did not seem particularly challenging. Doesn’t my 10 year old daughter go on to the altar every Sunday and read a prayer of the faithful? Am I not used to making presentations at work? All I had to do was read out the printed text in front of me. I am good at reading. I bounded up on to the altar and surveyed the church. Do you know what, those Victoian gothic churches are built on massive lines. It was the largest space I had ever addressed. And although congregations are falling I thought, as I surveyed the large numbers looking up at me, they could do with falling a bit further. I started to read. I was quavery and short of breath. It was terrifying. I returned to my pew, absolutely mortified. Herself hissed at me, “You were terrible!” Worse, the little old lady beside me said, “You did fine.” After mass, I said to Mr. Waffle, “Tell me honestly, how bad was it?” “Well,” he said, “remember everyone has forgotten about it now except you.” Pause. “It was just the way you sounded like you were going to cry and that the announcement was really sad when you were talking about a party; that was a bit unfortunate.” Oh the mortification. And, of course, I have to go back and see the same people every Sunday forever. Oh horrors. I think I will cry now.