We went to the zoo again because now that we have an annual membership, I am determined to drag them there whenever possible.
As ever, we spent ages in tiny and, as far as I can see, not particularly attractive playground:
We lingered to look at not very exotic pigs:
But I didn’t care because I hadn’t paid €50 for us to get in. So then we saw the tigers close up and the sea lions did amusing things. This only happened because I didn’t care.
On Saturday we went to Four Knocks. Mr. Waffle refused to believe that such a place existed. But it does. It comes from the Irish, na Fuarchnoic which means the cold hills. It’s a passage grave but it’s not a particularly well-known site.
You get into it by picking up the key from a local.
We didn’t tell the children what it was but as we approached it, the Princess said, “It’s a passage grave, isn’t it? Like Newgrange.” Some people are very smart.
When we got there, we opened up the door in the hill with our key.
We went in and closed the door. As our eyes grew used to the gloom the light shining through the roof illuminated the neolithic carvings on the lintel stones.
Unlike, Newgrange, the children were free to run around with the torch (essential piece of kit for this outing) and shout and roar. Obviously, this kind of thing is off putting if there are other people about. But we were all on our own.
And then afterwards, they could roll off the top.
It was really excellent and appealed to all members of the family in slightly different ways.
And then we went to Ardgillan Castle for a cup of tea and a look at the playground. And that was very pleasant too.
We went to the zoo. We invested in an annual family membership. At the cost of it, we will be frogmarching them to the zoo at regular intervals from now on.
We went to visit Castletown House. I got excellent value for my heritage card this year, I think I will renew it. Can this post get more fascinating? You may well ask.
The children were virtuous. Even though I insisted on reading to them long passages from this book.
Unrelated: I got a quite spectacular migraine yesterday. As well as classic symptoms (for me – aura, nausea, headache), I also got pins and needles in my fingers which I never had before. It was most unnerving. I took to my bed. I am slightly fragile today but otherwise well. Thank you for asking.
I was in Cork alone (!) recently. As I sat in to my seat on the train back to Dublin with my newspaper in my sweaty little paw, I was distressed to see that every other seat in the carriage was reserved for school boys. As it happened, 13 year old school boys from my husband’s old school. I felt that my quiet reading would be disturbed.
But I had nothing to fear. Mr. Waffle had always assured me that his old school was full of nerds but I didn’t really believe him until the moment I saw the young men pull out their chess boards and timers and start playing while singing Ave Maria. Unless Ave Maria is sitting high in the charts at the moment, I find this detail particularly baffling.
Acquaintance: You speak French, don’t you?
Me: Yes.
Her: Would you chat to my daughter before she does her [terminal school and very high stakes] oral examination.
Me: Of course, but I know several native French speakers and that would be much better for her, perhaps I could set that up.
Her: Oh, no, no, that would be no good.
Me: Sorry?
Her: Well, will the person giving her the oral exam be French?
Me: I shouldn’t think so but…
Her: Well then what advantage would it be to her to speak to a French person, it would only put her off. Of course, if you don’t want to do it..
Me: No, I’d be happy to, but you know, if you’re learning a foreign language, it’s best to speak to a native.
Her: That’s not true at all, I really don’t want to do that. It would be no good to her.
And she remained immovable. I despair.
I noticed on Sunday that the neighbour’s child took off her runner and had a good sniff inside while sitting on the altar. I think that this puts us ahead. On the other hand, maybe nobody noticed. We had the American priest again and he exhorted us to “Come Alive”. We had to shout it out regularly during mass so we all stared at the ground covered in mortification and trying not to catch anyone’s eye. Someone will have to talk to him about cultural differences.