Michael said to me recently: Money is good but credit cards are gooder. With credit cards you can buy anything you want and you don’t have to pay any money.
I tried to put him right but he explained to me that he had seen credit cards in operation in the toy shops and knew that his approach worked. I fear that he may not realise what people are saying about this attitude.
In his defence, he is only five. I hope the subordinated bond holders will let him off with a stern talking to.
Dreadful event 1: Mr. Waffle’s bike was stolen from the back garden. To do this, the thieves had to toss it over an eight foot gate. It’s a big bike and it has a child seat. Mr. Waffle is bereft. I will be locking the back door more carefully. And, yes, we will be getting a shed.
Dreadful event 2: When we went to bed last night, we heard the cat mewing pitifully. An exhaustive search of the premises revealed that she was trapped in a drawer in the boys’ room. The idiot cat likes to climb into small spaces and one of us had accidentally shut her in while she was sleeping peacefully on the boys’ trousers. I can see this leading to difficulties in future. The cat was most reproachful and we were guilt-ridden.
On the plus side, the roof no longer leaks.
Princess: Everyone in my school wants to know whether I support Manchester United or Liverpool. What should I say?
Me: For personal reasons, I’d prefer if you said that you supported Preston North End. Would you do that?
Her: No.
Princess: Daddy, how do cheques work?
Him: Well, essentially, it’s a promise to pay. A long time ago, money was made of metal which was the actual value of the coin; but that was awkward to carry over long distances. So, they gave a piece of paper with a promise to pay and people trusted other people to pay out on that and that’s how banks came about.
Her (dubiously): People trusted the banks?
Him: Yes!
Her: But people trusted the Titantic not to sink.
Him: Well, funny you should mention that…
On Saturday, I went to see number 10, Henrietta Street as part of the Open House weekend where all sorts of places are thrown open to the public. Number 10 is a beautiful former townhouse which has been a convent since the start of the 20th century. It was restored in 2003 and an architect involved in the restoration gave a fantastic tour.
I have fallen in love with Henrietta Street and want to live there. It is quite beautiful to look at with the King’s Inns forming the end of the street and very large early Georgian houses on either side. The area is very urban and edgy (what some people might call rough and dangerous) and the houses are beautiful, listed, huge and, in many cases derelict. As recently as 1974 they were tenements with 36 families living in one of the houses. Hassett and Fitzsimons has one for sale with the fantastically engaging description “unique refurbishment opportunity”. €1.85 million before you have at all begun your unique refurbishing. When I told Mr. Waffle all this with shining eyes on my return, he started to bang his head against the fridge. I suppose my only hope of moving there is either a) win the lottery or b) become a nun.
During the week my brother brought us up an enormous quantity of apples from my parents’ house in Cork. We took ourselves off to West Wicklow on Sunday morning where a look branch of the slow food movement were making an apple pressing machine available to those with plentiful apple crops. This was terrific. There were lots of children to play together while the grown ups made apple juice. Those attending ranged from bohemian couples with children with unlikely names to elderly protestant ladies. Although we were a bit outside the general demographic, it was great fun and I am contemplating shelling out some of my income to be notified of future events where I will be able to overhear more conversations along the lines of “I knew, just by looking at them that your children had to be homeschooled…” and “Have you met …, she’s a herbalist.” Also the Princess made a friend. They discovered that they were both from Dublin and arranged to meet at the Spire. I knew she had met a soulmate when the new friend said to her father, “Daddy, I am meeting my new friend at the Spire, when would be an appropriate time for us to meet.” [Emphasis added] To her great chagrin, her father replied “In about 6 years.”
“