I was talking to my friend the tax lawyer recently. How many houses have you got now? I asked. Only two she said defensively. Really? Well, surely the one I live in doesn’t count?
Oh good Lord.
belgianwaffle
on 02 March 2006 at 22:04
And yet, I can’t quite sympathise Ms. Mortgage free.
This came from my father-in-law: “Trust all well: [logistics for getting from Dublin airport to the in-laws’ house at Christmas] have gotten a bit complicated as, on the day, Granny is working and brother/sister-in-law are at a christening, of all things. Granny and I have come up with the following. I go to airport with the Opel, with room for all luggage, Parent A and 3 kiddies securely strapped in rear, In the meanwhile whilst car is heading back to Monkstown, Parent B (sans luggage) takes the Aircoach to a south-side destination (say the Raddisson) where said Parent B will be picked up by me after depositing Parent A and threesome in Monkstown. If this seems workable, all you need to do is decide on who A and B are.”
At present, we are trying to persuade my poor father-in-law that it might be appropriate for us to get a cab.
on 06 December 2005 at 15:40
From the sound of it, one cab each would be the best bet.
0Friar Tuck
on 06 December 2005 at 16:16
Charter a coach. It will impress the hell out of the neighbors.kristin
(Homepage)
on 06 December 2005 at 16:32
I hate to ask, but are car seats a concern? Good Lord, three car seats. I can barely manage Lucy’s, let alone those for two infants and a princess.on 07 December 2005 at 09:28
Oh yes, Kristin, car seats are a serious concern. I’d rather not discuss,it’s just too complex. 0on 07 December 2005 at 15:39
or grandparents can take all 3 children and parents A and B go off gallavanting!!on 08 December 2005 at 15:09
Hmm, is that a bit overoptimistic?“Fresh Eire”
As hot as Barcelona and as stylish as Paris, but just minutes from Dublin, Dundrum has all the edginess of London high style with the chi-chi boutiques of New York. Welcome to the new style council.”
Excuse me? Dundrum? A distant and dull Dublin suburb whose major claim to fame is that it houses the state’s main asylum for the criminally insane. Stay away.
In other news, we went to Bruxelles-les-bains today.
A slightly odd experience: inspired by a Parisian idea, the Bruxellois import lots of sand, stands and water games along the canal. Herself loved it.
on 11 August 2005 at 10:28
‘Humdrum Dundrum’ sounds like a better title than ‘Fresh Eire’ then?
on 11 August 2005 at 19:23
LJ, still not good enough for me.
Pog, your way with words is marvellous. 
As you will know, if you have been reading this blog since its humble beginnings (yes, mother, this means you), I am a big fan of fluid pudding. Before I knew what a blog was, I was pregnant and sick and trawling the internet for fellow sufferers. And fluid pudding was pregnant too and she had her baby just after I had mine. And she wrote one of the funniest descriptions of giving birth that I have ever read. And generally she perked me up. And now she’s pregnant again, which is all to the good obviously. But she is sick, sick, sick. And when I was pregnant, I was really miserable and sick also. So I sympathise. It is in this mood that I encourage you to email sympathy to the fluid one and also that I offer the following: in her misery, fluid’s only comfort has been fantasising about Ben Folds (see Ben Folds Kisses the Orb) for details. Now, I can give you six degrees of separation from Ben Folds. Ben Folds is a big buddy of Neil Hannon from the Divine Comedy. I know this because I went to see a concert they did together and they were all pally on stage and talking about being great buddies. Since Mr. Hannon was very much the worse for wear, he did a lot of talking about this – you know how when you’re drunk you really want to tell the world what a great person your friend is, well, he did that in spades. Neil Hannon lives around the corner from my friends M & R (whom I may christen Gaza and Bosnia, for reasons which will become apparent in due course). Really, just around the corner about 10 doors down. I know this to be true because it was in the Irish Times when he paid an obscene amount of money for it. As it happens, M will be visiting us next week. And M knows no shame, so I will give him a description of Mr. Hannon and ask him to become his friend. It will be no problem for him. He is good at dealing with neighbours. Once that link is established it will be easy to get in touch with Mr. Folds and beg him to send you a get well card to the fluid one. I may have a little more difficulty with the intimate venue and the kissing. Leave it with me.
We aim to please. Hope you’re feeling a bit perkier.
We get Le Soir at the weekend. This weekend the colour supplement had an article about how cool Dublin is. It was slightly bizarre to see what the Belgians make of Dublin. On the whole, it wasn’t what you would call entirely accurate. Bono was described as a sort of patron saint of the city which, I suspect, locals would find particularly irritating. Certainly, I did, but then, I’m from Cork, so I can’t speak for them. Most of the article was about Temple Bar and how hip it is. Well, yes, in a sort of full of pubs and stag parties kind of way. Mostly locals wouldn’t be seen dead there. However, some merited praise of the Powerscourt Centre as a shopping location of interest. Didn’t mention at all some of the best things about Dublin like the boardwalk on the Liffey or, star sight (though a trifle inaccessible) the Casino Marino. Latter not very hip I suppose, but strolling on the former, definitely is. Lots of quotes from author Marian Keyes who was Mr. Waffle’s next door neighbour when he was growing up, so felt very well-connected ourselves.
We had a party on Saturday night for friends in Dublin. This was kindly co-hosted by Richard who agreed to let us use his house for our nefarious purposes. When I started writing this blog I was going to keep it deathly secret and build up a following by stealth on the internet but, frankly, two weeks in and with no one reading it, I felt that the party was the ideal opportunity to do some publicity. I told my friends, they were…interested. Sort of. My friend Cathy (I’m tired of thinking up imaginary names, it’s very tiring – I asked her siblings for suggestions for a code name but I just feel that their suggestions wouldn’t go down terribly well) rolled her eyes to heaven and said “My God, you’re already terminally indiscreet, are you sure you need a wider audience?” Yes, of course I do. However, I see that none of them has seen fit to comment on my blog. Very distressing. I am driven to the conclusion that they have not read it. I am quietly confident, nevertheless that a couple of days at home in the bosom of their families will force them to look for unusual avenues of entertainment and they will peruse this with, um, interest.
Party was slightly odd as Mr. Waffle was ill and we had to leave early so waved goodbye to our friends and left poor Richard holding the fort. I apologised profusely for abandoning him. “Not at all” he said affably “your friends are lovely people, whoever they are”. I understand that there were a number of exciting rows later in the evening. I particularly regret missing the row on benchmarking as the combatants were quite evenly matched…I understand it was a clash of the public and private sector titans. Richard said he was picking up glasses in the hope that the rowing parties would leave but they just dug their heels in and started to enjoy themselves while he gave up hope of ever getting to bed. A successful evening all round then.
In other news, I have done a lot of visiting since we returned. My friends are buying up the nicest houses in Dublin. I’m torn between envy and excitement. Largely envy.
Tomorrow will see our arrival in the real capital. I understand the local populace is waiting agog for the first viewing of princess waffle in some months.