My bike, my beautiful expensive bike with a child seat on the back, was stolen.
I’d taken the lights off though.
Ireland
The End of Culture
I am not organising any further outings. On Sunday afternoon, we were supposed to go to a worthy theatre offering. When this treat was announced, the children were unenthusiastic. Daniel and Michael howled, “no”. Due to a series of accidents, we arrived 5 minutes late and latecomers were not admitted.
Oh I was cross. I have announced that I am organising nothing further and that the children might therefore miss seeing some architectural gems during the Open House weekend. They were gutted, as you might imagine.
A Tale of Two Cities
Dublin won the All-Ireland football final a couple of weeks ago.
This is what the north side of the city looked like:
The south side of the city looked just the same, except there was no bunting. All of Dublin’s inner suburbs were built by people who liked things to match.
The north of the city is GAA heartland. The south, not so much. A friend of mine went, along with thousands of others, to see the Dubliners show off the Sam Maguire cup. The master of ceremonies asked the crowd, “Is there anybody here from Raheny (north city)? The crowd went wild. “Is there anyone here from Dalkey (distant southern suburb)?” Complete silence, this despite the fact that one of the squad is actually from Dalkey.
While not wishing to single out Dalkey for punishment – it is a perfect pleasant place – I must tell you about the ad for “exclusive luxury homes in Dalkey” in the paper the other day. Among the benefits which the developers claim is that “it would be difficult to find a more appealing address”. They also point out that “There is no social and affordable housing within the development”. Do you think that I’m making this up?
Event Guide
Some colleagues said to me recently that I am like an event guide. This may be true. Sometimes I think the children wish that they could be let stay at home a bit.
We have been harvesting fruit:
Cycling in the city:
Watching canoe water polo (you haven’t lived):
Observing the man-made desert island in the Liffey (it’s art, someone lived there for a week, except for a break during the gale)
Chopping wood and doing other outdoorsy things in the forest:
Sampling culture night. The only actual culture we experienced was a quick concert for children in the Ark. This was a mixed experience. The performance, a violinist and a guitarist, was delightful [I subsequently discovered that they are married to each other and have two small children – her sister was in school with a colleague – welcome to Ireland]. The performers were terrific and very good at engaging the young audience. In one segment they played themes from television shows. On the very first one my boys were out of their chairs yelling “Ben 10” before the performers had played two notes. Mortifying but a triumph at the same time – see all those hours in front of the television weren’t wasted.
And then, on Sunday, I took my mother to watch the Solheim cup.
Some Confusion
The Princess and I went to visit St. Patrick’s cathedral at the weekend. Dublin’s best cathedral, since you’re asking.
Famously, Jonathan Swift was Dean of the cathedral. I said to herself, “I’ll give you 50 cents to spend (in the appallingly tacky shop which sits beside the Boyle monument -features statue of the grandfather of chemistry), if you find me a bust of Dean Swift.” Moments later, she came flying back to me, “I haven’t found Dean Swift, but can I have 25 cents for finding Jonathan Swift?”
An Outing
I am always trying to prod my little family to go on outings. Last Sunday, I made them go to Carlingford, which is supposed to be picturesque and charming.
We arrived to a light but persistent drizzle. We had to abandon the picnic but lunch in a nice pub where the staff were fantastic did much to cheer us all up. We emerged in slightly heavier rain. Undaunted, we decided to go for a nice walk at the base of the mountain. Based on the only map available, I thought it would take about 15 minutes.
An hour later we were still tramping along the path in driving rain, peering at the only map we had (you’ve seen it, we were inspecting it on the camera screen) wondering where we had gone astray. There may have been beautiful views, in fact I am sure there were but it was hard to see through the cloud. We cut cross-country and squelched back to the village. Soaking. Oh so wet.
On the plus side, there was a sale in the village hall (dry! indoors!) and we bought lemon curd, sage jelly and jam from this woman. The sage jelly is one of the best things I’ve ever tasted and herself has already polished off half the lemon curd. But yet, the family consensus is that I am barred from taking them on any further outings.
No sooner had we left Carlingford, than the sun came out. It was quite warm for the remainder of the day. It gave us a chance to dry out the coats.
