Ireland

25 January, 2012

During dinner this evening, the carbon monoxide alarm went off for the first time ever. It’s very loud. My ears are still ringing. As Mr. Waffle wrestled with it, Michael kept posing questions through the ringing and things became a little tetchy. The alarm instructions (which, yes, we had to hand, OCD and its many uses) advised that we go outside and leave all the windows and doors open while we called the emergency services. We might well have done that had it been summer and not quite so rainy. Instead we stayed indoors, put the children to bed and later consulted the internet.

You will be relieved to hear that we’ve turned off all gas appliances (last serviced in October for heaven’s sake) and are sitting in the cold. Having re-checked with our original alarm and the spare (your point? it was sitting waiting in its packaging for this moment), all seems to be well now. However, a man will have to be summoned before we can put on the gas fired central heating, the cooker or the gas fire. Alas. I will be retiring to bed early with a hot water bottle.

Mr. Waffle (installer of the carbon monoxide alarms) is mildly triumphant. But he doesn’t feel the cold. Still, if you have gas appliances, I should, I suppose, take this opportunity to suggest that you invest in a carbon monoxide alarm.

3 January, 2012

Me: I see there’s a reference to you in that new book by [mildly famous person].
Friend M: I am so mortified.
Me: I didn’t even know you knew her, how do you know her?
Friend M: Through Anna.*
Me: Who’s Anna now?
Friend M: She’s the woman who was married to J before Mr. Waffle’s friend C.
Me (to my mother who was listening): Oh you know C, Mum, she’s the younger daughter of Mrs. H who taught me in Senior Infants.

*Names changed to protect the innocent.

30 December, 2011

We have been in Cork for the past couple of days with my family. My brother is cleaning out the attic. He found Monopoly, Cluedo and Guess Who. All of the pieces were there (miraculously). The children loved the games. One morning I found them playing Monopoly in preference to watching cartoons on the television. It was a bit stressful though as the Princess wiped the floor with her brothers. And it’s such a long game. Daniel wept for about an hour and a half as he was slowly bankrupted by herself. Echoing around the house were cries of “please, don’t make me sell my houses” followed by “please don’t make me mortgage my properties” followed by “please don’t make me sell my properties back to the bank” and then “please don’t buy my properties from the bank” and finally, “I hate you”. Kind of like the Celtic Tiger aftermath, I suppose.

Meanwhile, the grown-ups stayed up late playing cards. Despite my efforts to palm him off on someone else, I ended up playing with my husband. Regular readers will recall that my husband is a genius; but he is no good at cards. As my aunt said kindly, “It’s hard for people who didn’t grow up playing cards”. She didn’t partner him though. By common consent (with only one dissenting voice), I am the worst card player in my family so it was doubly unfair (arguably, at least I used this argument) and we were doomed, doomed. Mr. Waffle asked whether next time he can just hand over his money at the start and get it over with.

The Princess also asked to learn to knit over Christmas and my mother bought her wool and needles. I knitted a few rows myself and was amazed how it came back to me. I think I was ten the last time I lifted a knitting needle.

We left herself in Cork to bond with my family and brought Cluedo and Guess Who back to Dublin. We have our own version of monopoly which I bought in a flea market in Belgium. It has all the pieces but on inspecting it this evening, the boys were puzzled by the 10,000 franc note and the French names. But they are game. Unfortunately.

We enjoyed three evenings of undisturbed rest in Cork. My brother and sister have moved home temporarily and the house is full – my brother wasn’t clearing out the attic for the good of his health – so while there was room to squeeze in the children, there really wasn’t room for us as well. So, nobly, we stayed in the hotel around the corner. Next time, my sister says that we can have her bed and she’ll sleep in the hotel.

26 December, 2011

A colleague was telling me about a little boy in his children’s Irish language school who refused to speak Irish. He was hauled into the head’s office for a chat. “Why aren’t you speaking Irish?” she asked him. “Well, a mhÃºinteoir,” said the 5 year old, “say what you like, it’s a BÃ©arla world out there.”

He’ll go far.

24 December, 2011

I was in Cork visiting my parents last week and my mother bought me some spiced beef in the Market. This is a Cork speciality which is only available at Christmas. I brought it lovingly back to Dublin to cook. The whole house smelt of Christmas spices while it bubbled away reminding me of Christmases past. It tastes fantastic also.

There is only one problem, it sits in your fridge looking like a rhinoceros turd: