Dublin

Plum Tuckered Out

9 August, 2025
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Middle Child, Twins

It has been a bumper year for fruit here in Waffle Towers. I have never had seen so many plums on the plum tree out the front. I would pick up all the plums from the path and what I laughingly call the lawn every morning and by lunch time there would be the same again. And then all over again in the evening.

The fridge looked like this almost all the time.

A plastic bowl lived by the front door and anyone who was going out had to fill it with plums. We encouraged neighbours to come and take them. I was almost constantly in jam production mode. They all had to be stoned.

Then boiled.

One day I made 13 kgs of jam. 13 kgs.

I ran out of jam jars and had to get on to the neighbourhood whatsapp group to get more.

Happily the plum harvest is now complete just in time for the beginning of apple season (enthusiastic readers will recall that we have THREE apple trees in the back garden). I cut up loads of (it felt like 100s, can it have been 100s?) windfall apples this afternoon after my trip to watch more polo (I can see myself becoming a fan, we chatted to a lovely older gentlemen who told us more about the rules and his Argentinian friend whose ranch he went to a couple of years ago to play – he seemed a bit old for it but, I guess, the horse does most of the running – and who was here now on a visit and playing with a local team). This is the current situation in the kitchen on apple jelly production.

My beloved middle child who is interested in cooking made hot sauce this morning and very nice it was too but it only used two apples. More drastic measures are called for.

In other garden produce news, for my breakfast porridge in the morning I can now step into the garden and pick fresh berries. True, those berries are blackberries which were very much self-seeded. My tiny garden is out of control. A friend of mine said years ago, “Every garden has at least one thug.” And I found it comforting but now my garden seems to be entirely thugs as follows:

Brambles;
Convolvolus (everywhere, absolutely everywhere);
Coltsfoot (somehow also everywhere);
Some very invasive blue flower that Mr. Waffle’s friend gave to him as part of an Irish wildflower pack (hard not to be bitter about this one);
St John’s Wort;
Ivy;
Copious quantities of the usual dandelions, daisies and clover of course;
New this season: nettles and dockleaves;
Montbretia which I like but which we all know is basically a weed;
A Japanese anemone which I planted like a fool; and
Many other things that I do not know the names of but I know a weed when I see it.

Still, I grew these in my garden. It’s not all bad.

Updated to add: first batch of jelly complete.

Also jam storage space in the utility room is approaching capacity.

A Day Out Like No Other

8 August, 2025
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Mr. Waffle

The title of this post is the tag line for the horse show at the RDS (RDS stands for the Royal Dublin Society which owns the exhibition space and grounds I think it might have started out as some kind of body to promote science and culture in the 1700s ). On the tag line, I would have to disagree on a range of levels.

Firstly, it reminded me of lots of other days out at the RDS (the young scientist, the craft fair, the ideal home exhibition, even the Bruce Springsteen concert). It also reminded me a bit of the gardening show in the Phoenix Park (Bloom). The big difference between a good day and a bad day at any of these events I am beginning to realise is whether you were comped your tickets or not. If you have to fork out for your tickets your expectations are a lot higher.

Secondly, the clear implication is that you will have a good time. I did not have a good time.

The horse show is a bit of an institution (150 years old this year according to frequent announcements). When I was a child I would spend hours lying on the sofa watching the show jumping with my mother (in case you were wondering, as I was, Eddie Macken the undoubted star of those years is still alive – good for Eddie). Mr. Waffle and I have never been before because we usually take our holidays in the first three weeks of August. In a deeply regretted decision we are not taking our summer holidays until end August/start September this year so we decided to go and check out the horse show.

We arrived and forked out €65 for the pair of us to get in. Already I was not enthused. We were greeted by an information desk. Did they have a map of the area? No they were out, but I could take a picture of the A4 page on the desk. Did they have a schedule of events? No, they were out, but I could take a picture of the A4 page on the desk. Handier than downloading the pdf from the useless website but I felt strongly that I was not getting value for my €65. Was there anything going on today that the information desk man would recommend? “Well, the Aga Khan trophy is on in the afternoon.” I was thrilled at the prospect of seeing live what I watched from the sofa for years. How exciting; what a happy coincidence.

We wandered around the stalls. It’s a huge fair type thing really with lots of opportunities to buy horsey kit. Your horse blanket needs are met as are any requirements you may have for feed, horsey antiques, tweed, tack, saddles and so on. I was taken by a woman who had printed on her gilet (gilet sales also huge) an advertisement for hot and cold remedial horseshoeing; there’s a whole world out there. There were also an extraordinary number of stalls selling fedoras and panama hats and I have never seen so much hat wearing before; the horse enthusiasts are also hat enthusiasts. I thought some of them looked very dapper. It makes a change from the ubiquitous baseball cap. Somewhat to my surprise, the crowd was quite a bit younger than the Bruce Springsteen crowd though the hat wearers generally were not teenage girls who were very well represented.

I was keen to see actual horses and we wandered around and there were horses, I’m sure excellent horses, but they were doing nothing interesting, they were being shown. Men in bowler hats were jogging around fields with them. It was a bit dull if you know nothing about horses and I thought fondly of the excitement of the (free) polo match I went to see a couple of weeks ago. The greatest excitement was when the winner of the Irish draught stallions (section B), lost his sash and his man in a bowler hat tried to put it back on; an act the stallion regarded as clearly dangerous to his wellbeing as he reared up in indignation. Bowler hat prevailed in the end but it was a rare moment of entertainment in a dull day. Have a picture of the runner up of the draught stallion (section B) competition (referred to as the reserve champion- in case something happens to the actual champion?).

We went for lunch. The RDS map was pitifully inadequate and we ended up settling for the carvery option having tried and failed to find the sit down restaurant. I went for the vegetarian moussaka which even as I queued up with my tray, I felt was a mistake. It was a mistake. The moussaka contained one sad slice of aubergine and otherwise was composed entirely of potato with a layer of tomato sauce on top and three microscopic cubes of feta. It came with roast potato, turnip and carrot; not a combination I imagine that the Greeks envisaged when putting the dish together. It was not nice at all. Mr. Waffle had the salmon. Also not nice. I suppose if you go the carvery (at the horse show which is full of people who love a carvery) and have something else you only have yourself to blame. It was €49. So far we had paid over €100 between us to browse horse tat and see horses walking around fields. Was I downhearted? I was not because we would see the exciting horse jumping for the Aga Khan trophy.

Guess what? It turns out that to sit down and watch the horse jumping you need to have bought tickets. Further tickets on top of the €32.50 per ticket you had already paid to gain admittance. I don’t know how much they cost because they were sold out. There was, we discovered after much wandering about and elbowing through dense crowds, a place where you could stand to watch the horse jumping on our peasants’ tickets. However, it was full and closed. There were big screens but honestly you might as well have been at home on your sofa. Of course you could hear the excited roar of the crowd inside. “Is there anywhere,” I despairingly asked a man wearing an RDS t-shirt and denying entry to crowds of irate attendees, “we can see some horse jumping? It doesn’t have to be international standard.” “There’s going to be a horse race just behind the stand,” said he. “A horse race? Horses running? In that tiny field?” I asked incredulously. “Yes!” he said. We went. Were there horses running in the small field? What do you think? Ladies and gentlemen there were not.

I stomped to the exit, filled with rage. Mr. Waffle followed, honestly a bit afraid that he might be caught up in my general rage. “It’s not you, it’s the Aga Khan,” I said crossly. “But the Aga Khan isn’t here and I am,” he said nervously. We stopped again one last time at the information desk. “Is there anyone, anywhere doing anything interesting that we could see – dressage; jumping anything?” I asked. “Yes,” said the young woman on the desk brightly, “See here on the programme in this ring, it’s horse jumping.” I was already pretty familiar with the programme at this point and said coldly, “It’s not, it’s 148cm 6&7 year old ponies and they will be walking them around the ring to award a rosette to the best looking one.” “Oh right,” said she, “I actually don’t know anything about horses.”

There you have it. A big part of the problem I think is that most of the punters knew a lot about horses and horse related things and none of the staff seemed to know anything. The website was abysmal, if you wanted to find out how anything worked (a huge part of it is given over to FAQs for stallholders and participants who are surely minority players). If you were just a casual visitor who thought that it might be fun to check out, then disappointment was your lot. If you were horsey and knew from experience how it worked, I can see that it might have been fun. If you came in cold, it was no fun at all, it was like being mugged for your cash and your only reward was an opportunity to spend more cash on a panama hat you didn’t like. I cannot recommend.

Nice Weather for It

29 July, 2025
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland

We got our solar panels installed today; six men, seven hours, many logistical questions. But it is done. Will keep you posted on vast savings. I understand that much of the point of the exercise is to bore your friends and relations with the data from the app. Something for you to look forward to.

Surprising

27 July, 2025
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Mr. Waffle

Mr. Waffle and I had a great time in the Phoenix park today where we went to watch a polo match. Have you ever been? I can totally recommend. The rules are immensely complex and involve, inter alia, handicapping each player (you start at -2 and work your way up with +1 generally being international standard and 8-10 people in the world at +10); the direction of play reversing after every goal; and a lot about the line of play which I can’t say I totally understood. All of this (and more) was explained to me by a friendly Australian who was unfortunate enough to be sitting beside me. The commentator knew many of his audience were pretty ignorant and spent some time explaining the five kinds of foul in polo; to be honest not really time well-spent as far as I was concerned, I remain pretty confused on this point.

I have no idea what the standard of play was but it was extremely exciting as the horses and riders went tearing up and down the, I want to say, pitch. During the break all of the spectators went out and stamped the divots back in place which I found kind of hilarious. I will certainly be back with my new found polo knowledge. It is free to attend and numbers are low so they need all the support they can get.

Il Mio Onomastico

27 July, 2025
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland

When I was an au pair in Italy in the summer of 1988 (and can I tell you that it is appalling to think that the child I minded must now be 39), I awoke on the morning of July 26 to find a rather appealing pair of green ruffled pyjamas in a parcel on the end of my bed.

What was this for you ask (as did I). It was my saint’s name day. Not something I had ever been aware of before and certainly not something that was celebrated in Ireland. I was charmed; and I would remember occasionally over the years but mostly I forgot. However, yesterday, a religious friend texted me “Happy St Anne’s Day!” so I remembered and this morning lit a candle at the rather pedestrian statute in the church. Can’t say that St. Anne was experiencing a great deal of love on her name day judging by the number of candles lit but perhaps they had gone out overnight.

Update – Secular (patroness of the arts etc.)

1 July, 2025
Posted in: Dublin, Family, Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Princess

In rapid succession I went to the following events at an arts festival: David O’Doherty (covered earlier, try to keep up), Paul Murray (rather earnest but interesting author of, inter alia, “The Bee Sting”) and Louise Lowe. I found the last the most interesting (Mr. Waffle accompanied me – he was supposed to come to the other two as well but pressure of work prevented him and having run into loads of people I knew at both earlier events who were wondering why I was there on my own – not to mention the expense of getting two tickets when only one turned out to be needed – I was pretty pleased to have him there but I remain mildly resentful about his previous unavoidable absences, as you can possibly tell from this lengthy aside).

Louise Lowe is a director of a theatre company called ANU and I have been to loads of their productions and they are always interesting and usually good. I found her absolutely fascinating. She has a really unusual way of looking at things and she is intrigued by the audience and uses all kinds of different approaches to bring them closer to the production. So enthused am I that I have become a supporter – so far all this has got me is an opportunity for early access to tickets to a play I saw already last Christmas but I remain optimistic.

I have been to see the Mainie Jellett & Evie Hone exhibition in the National Gallery a couple of times. Interesting, but I did not love a lot of the art. Much like the Irish Times in the 1920s, it appears I am not ready for modernism in Irish art.

Like the curate’s egg though, good in parts.

Nice to see an old friend from the Crawford Gallery on tour anyhow.

My brother got me a voucher for an “art afternoon tea” in the Merrion hotel for Christmas. They have an amazing art collection and you get to look at it; get a brochure on it; and eat cakes inspired by it. Not cheap (though free to me) and quite difficult to get a booking but I would recommend. Herself accompanied me. We enjoyed our experience.

I was listening to the German classical music radio that Mr. Waffle favours when I heard this number I have not heard in over 40 years. We learnt it in school for choir. To be honest I thought it was a bit mawkish but hearing it really brought me back. It’s by Handel, apparently, who knew? I have to say, you’ve got to applaud Mrs. O’Shea’s vaulting ambition for the 14 year old girls in her charge.

Mr. Waffle and I went to tenth anniversary celebratory drinks for the Dublin Inquirer to which we subscribe. It’s run on a complete shoestring but I like their enthusiasm and I like getting a print edition delivered. The drinks were upstairs in a pub and a bit primitive but we got to meet all the journalists and the editor. We also met the mother of one of the journalists. It was that kind of evening. The journalist was American but her mother was Irish (though she had lived in America for many years) and had just that morning arrived in from the States to show support (“I’m here as a subscriber,” she said enthusiastically but she was the only subscriber who had travelled 5,000 kms to be upstairs in a pub). She told us that on arrival that morning, she had discovered through the inevitable channels that her old headmistress’s funeral was that very day so she and her mother (the journalist’s grandmother – are you still with me?) went to the funeral and had lunch in the convent with the nuns which she very much enjoyed. I enjoyed this exchange myself as it confirmed all my beloved stereotypes about Irish people and funerals.

Our media subscriptions may yet beggar us. We subscribe to the Inquirer, the Irish Times, the Guardian and the Canard Enchaîné which you might have thought was plenty. The other day Mr. Waffle said to me “According to Haaretz…” “Sorry, what?” I said. He said, “I’m a subscriber. I felt they needed some support.” I mean yes, but that’s a lot of news organisations to keep afloat.

We went to the Dalkey book festival. Dalkey is a lovely little village beside the sea near Dublin. Our hopes for a lovely day were dashed by the bucketing rain. We went on our bikes and although our rain gear is good it wasn’t exactly the pleasant cycling experience I had envisaged. Also Dalkey is full of electric SUVs. I mean it’s good that they are electric, I guess, but they steal up behind you and unnerve you as you cycle along, like a snowboarder swooshing down the mountain after you as you are attempting a tricky turn.

We went to a panel talk on the manosphere. I was very underwhelmed. No new insights and I have decided that a panel with four people and a host is never going to give you any depth. I bought this book all the same, I had heard the author on a couple of podcasts and the book sounded interesting, though like everyone else, she had no real chance to shine on the panel. Not a triumph.

What was a triumph was that I had booked a restaurant for dinner and despite the literature loving hordes who had descended on the town we got our dinner and a window seat from whence we could see the crowd at the pub across the road, come out, get driven in by the rain and come out again.

As we were sitting watching the crowds surge in and out of the pub we saw Mr. Waffle’s brother and his wife locking their bikes to the pole across the road so we rushed out to say hello. Then another friend came up and we all had a nice chat until the rain started again and we all scuttled back to our various locations.

After dinner we went to see Paul Howard talk about Ross O’Carroll Kelly. Wouldn’t be a massive fan myself but Mr. Waffle enjoys the books. Mr. Howard packed out the ballroom of the hotel and the local crowd loved him (technically, I think Ross may be from Foxrock but Dalkey appears to be close enough). It was grand but I spent much of the evening in shock as Mr. Waffle pointed out an apparently very elderly gent whom I did not recognise at all but turns out to have been one of my (younger) lecturers from college. Disturbing.

To recover, we had a drink in the town with the friend we had run into earlier and his wife who was one of the volunteers shepherding literature enthusiasts from venue to venue.

As you will be no doubt aware, Bloomsday was June 16. I’m not a huge Joyce fan but a friend of the Princess’s who is doing a PhD on Joycean stuff was over from England to give a lecture so we went along to show support. Mr. Waffle found it interesting; I thought it was quite hard going myself but we both agreed that it was better than the Dalkey panel, so there was that.

And finally in cultural news, Mr. Waffle and I saw “Jane Austen Ruined my Life”. Grand but nothing to write home about. A bilingual film about a French woman who loves Jane Austen. It is supposed to be set in a big English Georgian house but it is a quite obviously entirely French big house so I found that amusing. We get our thrills where we can.

How have your own cultural outings been going?