Friday night
7.00 – Arrive home from work
7.30 – Leave for 50th birthday
2.00 – Stumble into bed
Saturday
9.30 – GAA. Herself refused to play and the boys drew the line at hurling. Michael got lost. Not a success.
12.00 – Lunch
2.00 – Horseriding for children in the Dublin mountains. Their kind aunt got them vouchers. They absolutely loved it. I spoke to a mother on the sidelines. “Three children riding, it’s going to be bread and water for you from now on.” Hmm. They may have to contain their enthusiasm.
4.00 – Work thing for me.
Sunday
13.30 – Lunch at a friend’s house
16.30 – V. pleasant walk in the war memorial gardens at Islandbridge
18.00 – Arrival of Hodge.
Ireland
It’s getting closer
First it was in the school; now it’s in her class:
Oi done da
That is how my son Daniel now says, “I did that”. He has a very good ear for languages and for music as well. While the others still sound broadly the same, Daniel has now completely adopted the demotic lingua franca of the playground. I had no idea that bringing up my children in Dublin was going to mean kissing goodbye to grammar.
Lisbon II
The Irish people will be voting again on the Lisbon Treaty tomorrow.
I asked the Princess what she knew about it. It has been omnipresent, so I assumed that she must have some views. And she had. She had seen this poster and this one. I was fascinated that the yes campaign’s posters didn’t seem to have registered with her at all (and they were plentiful). There has been some fun had with posters on both sides, if you are so minded you might like to see the mocking posters which have been dreamt up such as these, these and this.
It’s been an interesting campaign. My personal highlight was watching Michael O’Leary and Declan Ganly debating on the television. This was fascinating as it was the reverse of what usually happens. Usually, the no side says something. And keeps saying it. And keeps saying. The yes side leaps to the Treaty and seeks to refute the no side comment by reading out chapter and verse. The net effect of this is that one retains the no side’s argument and the yes side’s counter argument is ineffectual, however, right it might be. Michael O’Leary did not know the Treaty in any detail. He kept repeating three things: 1. I live in Ireland, pay my taxes here and have created 1,000 jobs here; 2. Lisbon allows us to retain our Commissioner and 3. the ECB is bailing us out of the current banking mess. Ganley kept quoting the Nice Treaty on Commissioners and so on but it really didn’t matter as Michael just kept on making his three effective points. It was interesting to see the no side’s tactics being used against them and, much as Michael O’Leary irritates me, I have to take my hat off to him
So, just in case there was any doubt, I’ll be voting yes tomorrow (did I or did I not discover only this week that social insurance paid in another member state goes towards dental benefits here?) and keeping my fingers crossed.
Rough?
My brother tackled me last weekend about where we live. He has concerns that my children will end up wearing track suits all day every day and on remand in the district court. We had a robust discussion on the influence of parents versus that of peers, the nature of the local peers in what I would call a mixed area and whether it was fair to visit your social notions on your children which ended with one of us flouncing out of the room and banging the door. Isn’t it great the way when you are at your parents’ house you can revert to behaviour that was last given an airing in your teens?
Still, it all gave me pause for further thought. Our parish newsletter this week led with “The Gospel to the Gangland” which didn’t help. Then I went to a local park where F often takes the children. There were a bunch of Slovakian children there who seemed to know mine well. They were nice children and my boys were clearly delighted to see them. They were accompanied by a pleasant man (you know, not let out on their own running wild or anything) but I couldn’t help noticing that he had a tattoo on his neck. Did I not read somewhere that this is an invariable sign of gang membership? Or is it just a sign of a fondness for pain? In short, I feel that I am in territory where my mother never had to venture.
Give me a boy at seven
New acquaintance: And where did your husband go to school?
Me: Jesuit School X.
New acquaintance: Oh lovely, clever, sensitive boys.
I understand that Mr. Waffle’s school produced many chess champions but that they failed to star in rugby.