belgianwaffle

Dublin

Not a Complete Loss


Posted in: Dublin, Family, Ireland

We went for a walk in the Dublin mountains at the weekend. It was too cold and the children were cranky. Michael managed to give himself a heavy nosebleed by hitting himself hard on the head with a long stick (also ruining the photograph below).

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On the way home, Mr. Waffle dropped me and the boys in town to pick up new shoes for them. By complete co-incidence on the way home we passed the lighting ceremony for a Christmas tree. Attractions included the count down to lighting the tree (mercifully brief), the Lord Mayor, a choir, free hot chocolate and a free merry-go-round. This was populated in part by bused in middle class children wearing mustard hats and pink tights and swaddled in red coats and their anxious parents and in part by entirely unaccompanied local children in track suits having a terrific time on the merry-go-round and milling through the hot chocolate like there was no tomorrow. All surprisingly pleasant though bitterly cold. I think that we may say that the Christmas season has begun.

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New Perspectives


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland

An old friend from Brussels came to visit last week. We offered him tea but having spent two days at meetings in Dublin, he uttered words to the effect of “God, no, please, no more tea.”

He is a very kind, gentle English man and as we took him around our neighbourhood he became visibly concerned for us. I pointed out the house nearby where there was a particularly nasty murder some years ago (now part of a derelict terrace). Earlier Mr. Waffle had taken him to a famous public building where he was able to enjoy those special lights in the toilets which stop people being able to see their veins (think about that for a minute there). We talked him through the history of nearby former penal institutions. He remained determinedly upbeat and said how these fine old Georgian structures could be very successfully re-developed citing an old prison in Oxford which is now a chic hotel. We took him to a local pub which is very, ahem, traditional. I think, however, something may have snapped when he nearly stepped on a surprisingly large dead rat which was frozen on its back in rigor mortis (or perhaps cold) with its little paws still in the air.

It’s lovely here really. Very urban.

Again!


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Princess, Work

Could I be losing my mind? Really?

The Princess and I have joined the church choir. Rehearsals are at 7.15 on Thursday. Last Thursday, I hared home from work. I stopped off at home and picked up herself and we ran up to the church. The choir is composed of two elements. The first element consists of those who were auditioned and joined many years ago when the catholic church was a force to be reckoned with and the choir director was a successful professional singer who was never ever addressed by her first name. They can all sing and read music and are quite elderly. The second element consists of more recent additions who are willing to come to rehearsals.

I scurried into the pew. The nice lady beside me said, “You know, I think you’re an alto; the altos sit over there”. I went to the next pew where three rather frail but charming ladies made me welcome. “Are you sure you’re not a soprano?” they asked. “No,” I said with quiet confidence. I buried myself among them and tried to sing along. In case you don’t know this either, let me tell you now; the sopranos sing the tune and the altos make them sound nice by singing something completely different. I was all at sea and the lady beside pointed helpfully to the alto line in the music. I was forced to whisper, “I’m afraid I can’t read music.” She was visibly startled but said kindly, “I’m sure you’re doing the best with what God has given you, dear.” She had to run off at 8.00 to go home to her husband who had a carer until then. I was then doomed as she had a nice strong voice I could row in behind. The director had me come and sing near the piano. Never a good sign, I think you’ll agree.

The Princess meanwhile was doing fine by dint of standing beside her friend who has a really lovely voice and, like me, rowing in behind but with considerably more success. She was quite pleased with herself.

We got home about 9. Mr. Waffle said to me, “Did you remember the car?” “No,” I said, “we actually walked up.” “No, remember you drove to work?” he said. Oh woe. And I had had to fly home on a Dublin bike in the wet and would have loved to take the car which was waiting patiently in the office car park. I had to get the tram back in and rescue it. Can you believe that this is the second time I have done this in six weeks?

By the time I came home with the car, the Princess had been sick. She proceeded to get sick repeatedly until 4 in the morning when she dozed off. The poor child was actually green. I have never seen that before in real life. I stayed at home with her the next morning and she was almost recovered and by that evening she was fine. But really it made for a somewhat stressful 24 hours.

Is it any wonder I’m losing my mind?

Mr. and Mrs. Didactic Take Their Children to Town


Posted in: Dublin, Family, Ireland

On Sunday morning, we went to see “Ernest et Célestine”:

It was lovely. However, the IFI, in it’s wisdom not only had subtitles but had the sound slightly lowered and someone reading out the subtitles in English. I found this approach deeply unsatisfactory. Looking around the cinema, it seemed to me that the vast majority of the young patrons were either francophone or able to read. While it was undoubtedly a good approach for the small minority who were unable to read or speak French, it ruined it for everyone else. It’s actually surprisingly hard to concentrate on a film when it is in French with English subtitles which are read aloud.

In the row behind us there was a woman with her 11 grandchildren. With great fanfare each of them received sweets of some kind. One grandchild was sent to the Spar to get extra bottles of water to carry them through the 90 minutes of the film. Our lot, seeing the largesse being distributed at great length in the row behind asked whether they were going to get anything. “No, it’s 11 in the morning,” I said tartly. To be fair to them, they accepted this despite the ongoing distribution of bounty in the row behind for the duration of the film. Bah, humbug, I know.

After lunch in Milano’s – the excitement – we went off to see the launch of Bliain na Gaeilge. This was something of a damp squib. A cold nasty rain was raining and the Irish dancers and traditional musicians were huddled under a small awning. A number of young people were speaking Irish enthusiastically and the children spoke Irish for long enough to get the following: their faces painted and a balloon, notebook, pen and highlighter each. They were touchingly delighted by their haul of free goodies. We decided not to wait to see the Lord Mayor and battled driving wind and cold rain back to the car. Honestly, the children love it really.

Weekend Round-Up


Posted in: Dublin, Family, Ireland

The weekend was filled with excitement. Mr. Waffle’s sister came home from London with her fiancé [the man my children are calling Pruncle – short for pre-uncle obviously] and we all got to congratulate them and admire the ring. Although many details in relation to the wedding remain unsettled, the role of the flower girls has been discussed at considerable length and is the source of great joy to herself. Upon my asking Pruncle whether they intended to have lots of cousins at the wedding, he said “Well, I have no cousins, my parents are both only children.” He then cast a slightly nervous glance around the teeming masses of people in the room and said, “All this is quite new to me.” And then he had to play football in the garden for ages which was both virtuous and, I suspect exhausting. When driving home, I commented to the children how odd it was that both of Pruncle’s parents were only children. Michael was particularly fascinated by this and it was only when he asked why Pruncle’s parents weren’t grown-ups that I realised why.

On Sunday, Daniel really got the hang of cycling and is able to start by himself often – though not always.

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The Princess is now an old hand at her prayers of the faithful at mass and she loves it. At the start of mass, five children were brought up for a first annointing – a new ceremony (well post the baptism of my children anyhow) which extends the baptism process over two Sundays. “This will take forever,” I muttered bitterly. Michael, of all people, said, “Mummy, don’t be mean, it’s nice to see new children being welcomed into the church.” I felt suitably chastised. After mass there was tea and a biscuit in the sacristy for those who were so inclined and the Princess and I may have been inveigled into joining the church choir.

In the afternoon, in response to Michael’s repeated requests, we went to a games shop in town. There you can buy horrifically expensive very tiny models which you need to paint and assemble yourself and use them to play games so complex that the rules can’t be explained in a normal lifetime. There were two ten year olds there who had to come into the shop to play because they couldn’t understand the rules after 2 years of playing with the models. I really can’t see the attraction myself but the boys were transfixed. I see shoals ahead.

We wrenched them away from the Games Shop and took them to the Dublin Book Festival. My expectations for this were pitched low. We had tried to book tickets for a number of the children’s events and failed. I suspected that we might arrive to find that access was only by ticket holders to a session for adults chaired by Ireland’s cultural commentator in chief, Fintan O’Toole. I was quite prepared to sell the whole thing to the children as a walk up and down the quays.

However, the venue was open and it was lovely and really interesting to look around. Upstairs, there were books for children to read and beanbags to sit and read them on.
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There was a treasure hunt and each child who did it [and to my certain knowledge one who didn’t] got a bag containing bookmarks, two sweets and a small book. While the Princess was reading her book she looked up to see a woman staring at her. When she caught the Princess’s eye, the woman said, “I wrote that.”

They had this man called Niall de Burca do a storytelling session. He was phenomenal and the boys absolutely loved him. I have never seen them so engaged and entertained by a live performer. I know he’s an artist but I really wanted to ask him, “Do you do birthday parties?” I have never seen a group of children so entranced and he was at it for ages.

All in all, what with one thing and another, it was a busy weekend.

Worst First Thinking


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Mr. Waffle

On the Free Range Kids blog they have a category described as “worst first thinking”. Essentially, it’s the idea that when looking at a whole range of possible outcomes, the first that is considered is the worst even if it is the most unlikely.

I was put in mind of this when Mr. Waffle went to photograph traffic chaos at the local school at 9 in the morning. The residents’ association is appealing to the council for a better traffic management plan [don’t mock, someday you too will be in your 40s and a stalwart of the local residents’ association]. He was approached by a man wearing a fluorescent jacket of power wanting to know why he was taking photographs of the children. When Mr. Waffle was able to re-assure him that he was taking photos of the traffic [and, obviously enough, had photographic evidence to prove it], the man was very pleasant and obliging, explaining the measures which the school had taken to address the issues. But it did strike me that there was a certain amount of paranoia in evidence. The principal in my children’s own school though in many ways terrific also has a slight streak of paranoia about this. The school yard is visible from the windows of a nearby hotel and the children are told not to go too near the hotel side of the yard lest they be photographed by the hotel guests. This seems an extremely unlikely contingency to me.

In a sort of related issue, a colleague of mine lives in one of Dublin’s more affluent suburbs and there have been a number of burglaries in her estate. Most recently a widow who lives across the road met the burglar who was doing the house next door and he threatened her with a gun. I appreciate that this is terrifying but I am not sure that the solution, as suggested by my colleague is a good one. She is encouraging the widow not to answer the door without checking who it is first, ideally by intercom. The neighbours are also going to look at putting gates on the estate. The guards have advised that gated estates get burgled less. I suppose this may be true but I am not sure that it is so good for social cohesion to bar admittance in this way.

That’s enough about the end of society for one evening.