belgianwaffle

Ireland

Post Script


Posted in: Family, Ireland, Princess

I began my working life in 1991. That is a long time ago.

One day, I remember a male colleague asking whether I had a stamp. People used to borrow stamps, it was a thing. I did not. He was disappointed. He went off to look elsewhere. “Married women always have stamps,” he said firmly as he set off on his quest.

I am not sure whether he succeeded in finding a stamp but I remember the line. And now that I am a married woman I do, in fact, always have stamps. I can’t remember the last time someone asked to borrow a stamp though.

When I was in my 20s I wrote many, many letters but now my only correspondents are my daughter in England and my friend in America. I think they both regard letter writing as a quirky – though not unwelcome – habit on my part.

I was slightly horrified to find, after she died, that my mother had preserved all my letters to her. You might think I would welcome an insight into my thoughts in my 20s but this is not the case. I did enjoy some of the letters between her and her mother which also came my way as well as a couple of letters my grandmother had written home from America while she lived there.

I do miss letters.

Home Again, Home Again


Posted in: Cork, Ireland, Siblings, Travel

And I’m back from the fleshpots of Cork.

I had an exciting day. I went to the Glucksman for my breakfast (a gallery cafe – not bad but not at all as good as the old Crawford Gallery cafe for which I will probably grieve forever). They only had seats outside where I went with some trepidation but despite slight drizzle towards the end of breakfast, it was actually fine even though there were no outdoor heaters.

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Thrillingly, the Christmas craft fair was on in the Glucksman. I mean, I love any old craft fair but this one is really good. All the people manning the stalls had made the stuff themselves, which I really enjoy. I bought a Christmas decoration from a potter and a tea towel from a lovely man who draws lighthouses. We had a little chat, he’s originally from Antwerp. Not so many lighthouses in that neck of the woods. Honestly, I could have stayed for hours but I did not because I was already running late for my next event.

My sister had a spare ticket to an interview with some director from Cork I’d never heard of and I agreed to go with her. It was in the Triskel, Cork’s premier arts venue once a church and, still boasting the slightly uncomfortable benches which are part of any church experience. There were about 50 people there.

The director appeared, a guy called John Crowley. He was really interesting, a genuinely fascinating man; he was about the same age as me and a year behind me in college (I learn from Wikipedia but this is not quite how it describes his college career) and a stalwart of the Dramat but I can’t say I remember any productions in which he was involved. He talked about the films he had made (loads) and then I realised he was the director of Brooklyn and the Goldfinch (as he said, “one of those much more successful than the other, kind of you not to mention it”) and Life After Life and the second season of True Detective and tons and tons of stuff. He was super-understated and just very pleasant as well as knowledgeable. It was a revelation, he has a new film out which screened as part of the Cork film festival (We Live in Time) which I will definitely be going to see when it comes out. It struck me that if he were from Dublin I would definitely have read about him in the Irish Times and indeed this event but the Irish Times does have a tendency to gloss over people who don’t live in or come from Dublin. Is it any wonder Cork people are, I don’t want to say bitter, but bitter adjacent.

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And one final, thing as Columbo would say, a very famous chipper in Cork called Jackie Lennox’s closed down. It was such big news that it was even covered in the Irish Times. My brother queued for about three hours for fish and chips on its last day of operation.

Anyhow, when I was visiting my parents’ cemetery on Tory Top road (Cork word for a pine cone, unknown anywhere else), I passed the establishment in the photograph below. It has (you will have to take my word for it) the same lettering as the closed down chipper. It has obviously been here for some time. What is going on? A real mystery.

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Proustian


Posted in: Cork, Ireland, Siblings

I’m in Cork for the weekend for my sister’s birthday. I haven’t been down since the summer. I went to inspect my parents’ gravestone; newly inscribed. It was a bit damp and gloomy, perfect cemetery weather.

And I inspected the work my sister has done in her attic. It’s all thrills.

I went for a walk around the Honan Chapel and thought about how my family history intersected with this Celtic revival church.

Because I don’t live here or even visit very often now, Cork has become a place of memory and reminders of the past for me. I’m not sure how I feel about that.

Season of Mists etc.


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland

We had another bumper apple harvest this year. Falling fruit came and stripped the trees and took away 75kgs. But still, I have made enough apple jelly to sink a battle ship. I have also made apple sauce and apple tart.

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And I still have loads in the shed. And I put a box at the gate in which the children going to the school at the bottom of the road showed a rather tepid interest. They were free but they were apples. There are still loads of windfalls rolling around the back garden as well waiting to be swept up when I am feeling strong.

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This is on top of my jam production from earlier in the summer. Sadly the rhubarb and ginger was not a success. The rhubarb came from my mother’s friend’s garden in the suburbs and by the time I got my mitts on it, it was a bit past its best. I never really thought that I would be a jam and jelly maker but circumstances alter cases I guess.

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Patron of the Arts


Posted in: Cork, Dublin, Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Twins, Youngest Child

The autumn is a very exhausting time for those of us who are arts enthusiasts.

Kicking off the season is Heritage Week in late August. The clue is in the title and there is a brochure of activities nationwide. Since the children have grown up, I’ve largely given up on this one. My loss but time is finite.

Then it’s straight into the Dublin Fringe Festival in September. This year we went to see Killian Sundermann; a man who wrings quite a bit of humour out of being half-Irish half-German.

Sometime during September is Open House where various buildings not normally open to the public throw open their doors. Some that are already open to the public also get re-badged as open house venues. You’ve got to love architects, I saw a volunteer in front of Phibsborough shopping centre, quite possibly one of the ugliest buildings in Ireland and that is, regrettably, a competitive field. Again, I have gone into interesting buildings in the past but not this year. You have to pace yourself.

Then it’s the theatre festival. I went to three, yes three, plays this year. Exhausting. I went to see “Reunion” in the Gaiety. I generally find Mark O’Rowe plays just a bit too edgy for me. You would really want to be in the whole of your health to see, for example, “Howie the Rookie”. However, although this play was a bit edgy, it was also very funny and really well done. The Gaiety audience is a bit less sedate than the Abbey or the Gate and they gasped and laughed in ways that I found quite refreshing. Robert Sheehan was in it and pretty good I thought. Were the kids impressed or even a tiny bit interested that I saw a play with the guy from the Umbrella Academy which we watched on Netflix? You know the answer to this.

I also saw “Agreement” which is about the Good Friday Agreement and has been garlanded with laurels. I am sorry but I found it a bit dull. The playwright is from the North and it is always interesting to see a Northern take on things but I felt it was a bit unfair to Bertie Ahern and Tony Blair and positively sanctified Mo Mowlam. I was unconvinced. I went with Michael who thought it was great so maybe it was better if you hadn’t watched it all on the news in the 1990s.

We went to the latest Anu production “Starjazzer”. I generally like an Anu production; immersive and a little alarming. This one didn’t totally float my boat though. It was about two women dealing with poverty and domestic violence a century apart. In many ways it just wasn’t immersive enough or something. Suspension of disbelief was a bit of a challenge. Still I have a soft spot for Anu who gave me what I am beginning to think will be the most memorable theatre experience of my life.

Also in October is the Festival of History. It always has a fantastic programme of talks but I couldn’t face it on top of the constant plays.

Bear in mind that my programme of cinema attendance continues unabated during this difficult time for the culture maven. I saw an Iranian film, come on, an Iranian film called “My favourite Cake” which was sad and funny. I saw “Small Things Like These” at the weekend. A cousin is in it and she was fantastic, we are all very proud. She also met Ed Sheeran at the premiere so we were all thrilled for her by proxy.

Mr. Waffle and I went to a very disappointing exhibition of the bridges of Dublin in Dublin port; I would not recommend but I did enjoy exploring the new Dublin port greenway which was, the day we went full of walkers and cyclists admiring the new vistas opened up across the bay.

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Then there’s the Dublin book festival this weekend. A truly excellent line up (including Jan Carson who I nearly saw before and who is a wonderful writer) but a part of me is relieved that I will be in Cork for the weekend and can’t even book anything.

Speaking of Cork, the Crawford gallery closed on September 22 for renovation and extension and won’t reopen until 2027. I anticipate slippage and the proposed extension looks horrific. Woe. I’d say it will be grand from the inside but the outside leaves a great deal to be desired.

And in final update from the arts there is a new Sarah Purser exhibition in the Hugh Lane Gallery which is lovely. I recommend.

Is it any wonder the blog was languishing with this full cultural programme?

It’s Decorative Gourd Season


Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland

Every year, at Halloween I think about this article. And I am, apparently, not alone.

When I was a child, the following were standard at Halloween: Barmbrack; bobbing for apples (and pennies); trying to bite an apple hung on a string from the door frame; and getting your face covered in flour (surely you are familiar with the game where a grape is placed on top of a heap of flour and you each cut at the flour mountain in turn until the grape falls down and then get your face rubbed in the flour? No? Your loss.). As I write this list it seems bizarrely Victorian. There were, of course, plastic face masks held in place by elastic but they were barred in our house as my father was convinced that we would somehow melt them to our faces. He had a bizarre list of potential injuries to which he feared his children would succumb, these included, but were not at all limited to, fears that we would set ourselves on fire with the aid of our acrylic pyjamas; poke out each other’s eyeballs by looking through keyholes and putting pencils or screwdrivers through them; choke on chewing gum; and fall off the banisters and split our heads open on the cast iron radiator in the hall. I often think his time as a junior doctor in A&E must have been particularly formative.

Not at all standard were the American pumpkin and trick or treating and decorating your house. I thought I was above these vulgar things (what a tiresome ten year old I must have been, I blame my parents). Well, I’m not too proud to admit it, I was a fool. My objection to trick or treating was demolished by a trip to a friend’s house at Halloween in about 1980. We dressed up and went out to her neighbours and it was very exciting; I didn’t quite understand what we were doing but I liked it. I think it must have been the very beginning of trick or treating in Ireland. My father had heard of tick or treating and was appalled. He called it begging from the neighbours; little did he know that his first born and her best friend were out shaking down the wealthy of Sunday’s Well for their monkey nuts and satsumas. Sweets came later, I think. Then when I had children of my own, they had a fantastic time getting dressed and going around to the neighbours; it wasn’t just the sweets (and, honestly, 15 years ago still quite a few monkey nuts and satsumas), it was the feeling of mild danger being out in the dark with all of the decorations and other costumed children.

And the pumpkins. What fun we had decorating them (far superior to the traditional Irish turnip which is almost impossible to cut up even when you want to eat it let alone for decoration) and even though the children now have no interest, I enjoy it. Behold my selection for this year.

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I am particularly proud of the eyeball, I can tell you.

And then cycling home from work after dark at Halloween is quite a thrill. The city is alive with illegal firework displays. Dangerous, I know, and alarmingly noisy too but undeniably pretty and exciting.

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And how are you enjoying decorative gourd season yourself?