Ireland

Plague Diary – Part I

21 March, 2020
Posted in: Dublin, Family, Ireland, Travel

Tuesday, March 10, 2020

It was my birthday on March 10 and I had a post ready to go on the day but the internet swallowed it. Alas. It was reasonably quiet as Mr. Waffle was busy and we were off skiing at the weekend (hollow laugh). We went out to Portrane for a peaceful walk along the coast.

We had a cup of tea in the hotel at the end of the walk. Much social distancing but still very much open.

Michael bought me an enormous bouquet of flowers. I was really touched. He went out on his bike to get them while I was taking herself to the dentist to get her braces tightened (fortuitous timing in retrospect). I think he was a bit surprised by the cost of flowers but he bore it bravely.

Wednesday, March 11, 2020

All still pretty normal. My father was transferred to an orthopedic hospital which was very welcome but somewhat surprising.

Thursday, March 12, 2020

The Taoiseach announces schools, pre-schools and colleges are to close. My children are ecstatic.

One of our neighbours put a leaflet in the door offering to do shopping for older people and asking for volunteers to help out. Herself signed up and joined the Whatsapp group. For the moment it appears to be all willing volunteers and no one wanting our services but I suppose that may change.

Friday, March 13, 2020

We cancel our skiing holiday. Aer Lingus lets us change our booking at no cost. We book to go to Rome for a week in October. Fingers crossed. This doesn’t seem like a triumph but by the time my brother-in-law goes to re-book his flights, there seems to be some glitch on the website and he has to spend six hours on hold to the Aer Lingus helpdesk so, could have been worse. We are claiming from insurance for the chalet cost but Mr. Waffle is only moderately optimistic that it will be refunded.

Saturday, March 14, 2020

I drove down to Cork to visit my father in hospital. Normally I get the train but I decided, in the circumstances, that public transport probably wasn’t my best option. France closed the ski resorts. Too late for me. My brother, in Tignes, managed to pick up a flight home from Lyons on Tuesday for €1,000. Maybe the airlines won’t go under after all. I spent all of the three hour drive to Cork listening to Coronavirus podcasts. In retrospect, probably a mistake. My father was absolutely delighted to see me. When I arrived, he was gloomy and downcast and said that it was just as well I had come because he was probably going to die (he is normally not like this at all and appears to believe that he will live forever notwithstanding evidence to the contrary) but by the time I left an hour later he was laughing and cheerful. I was pleased I had come. His eyesight is so bad that he can’t read other than with a special light. He can’t listen to the radio unless the volume is deafening. I spoke to the nurse and she said I could bring in his lamp. I was a bit surprised but pleased.

Sunday, March 15, 2020

There was no mass. It was extremely odd. I went in to visit my father who was much more his normal self and only mildly pleased to see me which, in its own way, was a relief. I had cleaned his standard lamp with antibacterial spray (probably no harm in any event) but when I arrived in to the hospital with it clutched in my arms, I was told it couldn’t be let in which wasn’t entirely surprising but I did wish that they had told me the same thing the previous day. After visiting my father, I drove back to Dublin and listened to another three hours of Coronavirus podcasts. Probably peak panic.

Monday, March 16, 2020

My father’s hospital closed to visitors. I was doubly glad I had gone down at the weekend.

I can’t remember the last time I have been so keen to get into work. Once there, it was mostly logistics, getting any remaining outliers set up to work from home and agreeing various protocols. A lot of people were on leave anyhow as it was the Monday before a bank holiday and many of the rest were already set up to work from home. It was pretty empty.

At dinner, I asked, what we were all going to do in quarantine. Herself said that Shakespeare had written King Lear in quarantine. Setting the bar good and high for us all.

Tuesday, March 17, 2020

Undoubtedly the oddest St. Patrick’s Day I have ever had. No parades, obviously. I woke up the children by going around the house singing, “Hail Glorious St. Patrick” which was poorly received. I announced that we were going to climb a mountain in Wicklow and get some use out of the hiking boots we had bought for skiing. Also reasonably poorly received.

It was nice all the same though.

Since all the cafes were closed, I decided that we would take a picnic. We got a lovely picnic basket when we got married (great wedding present, if you’re looking for inspiration) but it is quite heavy so it only works for picnics where you picnic near the car, if you see what I mean. By the time we got back to the car after our walk to have our picnic the weather had clouded over a bit and we drove around looking for a handy state forest with a picnic table near the car park. We were all a bit hungry as well which is a dangerous time in family life. We drove into a forest car park, it wasn’t ideal but we went into the trees and I spread out the picnic blanket. Herself suggested that I move it away from the barbed wire. It didn’t rain but it was bleak. The vibe was more Von Trapp family fleeing the Nazis across the Alps than memorable fun day out. This picture fails to convey the utter bleakness of the event (barbed wire just out of shot).

By the time we had unpacked the picnic Michael and herself had already scampered back to the car clutching a bag of crisps each. Daniel stayed on like a trooper and Mr. Waffle and I each clutched a cup of tea from the thermos like drowning sailors who have been recently hauled from the water. I think we have to call it a failure, sadly. I tried to sell it as a bonding experience but the punters weren’t convinced.

The Taoiseach made an address to the nation that evening and I made the children watch. Michael said, “Gosh, these are historic times, somebody could have to write about living through this in the history exam in the future; I could be a person in history (this seems to be a question where they are asked to imagine they are a person living through say, the 1916 Rising or World War II and so on).” It might even be true, I suppose. I pointed out to him that my blog might be original source material for future history students and he said, “Poor them”. You wouldn’t want to be overly sensitive.

My brother got home from France safely and took himself off into self-isolation.

We always do the shopping online on Tuesday night for delivery on Thursday. It turns out we should have planned that a bit earlier. There were no online delivery slots to be had at all. We’ve signed up with a new supermarket which offered the 27th as its earliest delivery slot. Alas.

Wednesday, March 18, 2020

The first day with all five of us at home. It was very odd. The children were in their rooms; I was in the study and Mr. Waffle set up camp in the utility room. I was impressed by the work technology and surprised and pleased at how much we were able to get done. I was also impressed by the children, they had work to do from their teachers and they set to and started doing it.

Daniel and I made bread. We were very proud of ourselves. We finished the strong white flour.

I went out to get more flour from the supermarket. I tried four supermarkets, social distancing the while, but there was no flour to be had. At the rate things are going, it looks like this may be the case indefinitely. I am hoping that we may get some from our online delivery on March 27 but who knows? Did I think we were a nation of bakers? I did not.

Generally, I seemed to be driving the children crazy with my incessant questions about their study routines and asking them whether they had got enough exercise but I felt this was better than their father’s lax regime which would let them stay in bed until lunchtime.

My friend in Paris and I agreed that Daniel would not be travelling to them for Easter. I am now playing chicken with Aer Lingus and hoping that they will cancel the flight and give us a refund. We will see.

Thursday, March 19, 2020

It was Mr. Waffle’s 50th birthday. Poor Mr. Waffle. What an awful way to have to spend a big birthday. We were supposed to be off skiing and I’d booked us in to a nice Michelin starred restaurant for dinner in Tignes. Instead he was stuck at home on lock down. I had bought him a voucher for a rather expensive wine tasting course to be held over May, June and July which now may never happen and I am worried that I may never get my money back. It was a pretty poor present in the time of plague lock down.

We made him pancakes for breakfast. I insisted that he work in the study and I took the utility room which was fine except when one of my colleagues asked me during a video conference meeting whether I was stockpiling Rice Krispies for the apocalypse. I mean, maybe. These were low level treats for a 50th birthday, I feel.

I made French onion soup for lunch and an elaborate stew for dinner as well as the standard issue family birthday cake and between that and work being pretty busy, I was exhausted by the end of the day. I’m not sure that working from home is all it’s made out to be.

Still, we did our best for dinner, we got the good cutlery out and we gave the cut crystal glass ware I got from a friend an outing and we sang happy birthday and we’re all healthy so, he could have it a lot worse, I suppose.

Still driving the children crazy by inquiring about their study routines and forcing them outside for exercise.

Friday, March 20, 2020

I was on a half day and went into the office in the morning to pick up some papers and do some work that couldn’t readily be done at home. While I was there, a cleaner came and washed my door handle and light switch three times. Work is pretty deserted and it is very easy to maintain social distance and I cycled in and out. So, ok, I think but it is very hard to know what’s acceptable.

In any event, the children really welcomed the absence of their mother, however temporary. Cunningly, I had arranged for them to be on Skype with their French tutor (currently on lock down in Paris) on Friday morning from 9.30 to 11.00 so they felt my presence, even in my absence.

Daniel, Mr. Waffle and I played tennis in the afternoon. There are three public courts in the park near us. One was occupied by people playing tennis. The other two were occupied by people playing football: four young men in one case and parents with small children in the other. I passively aggressively started playing on the grass verge nearby to no avail. An Italian woman with two young children came up and I said, “There’s no point looking bitter because it won’t make any difference.” The parents then said, “Come on children, we’d better go, we’re getting the evil eye.” And I felt like a heel. Worse, I think I was a heel. The Italian woman then, fearlessly, went up to the four lads, told them it was a tennis court and not for football, and they could play football anywhere and they just meekly packed up and left to play elsewhere. I was very impressed.

My sister contacted me to say that there was a case of Coronavirus on my father’s ward. The story moved around a bit and I am still not clear whether the patient was in the room he was in or not. In any event, he is not being tested as he is asymptomatic which is good, I suppose. We’re all a bit nervous. My sister has been talking to him a bit and she says he is good form. He is not answering my calls. Unclear whether this is because he’s screening my calls or not getting to the phone on time.

Mr. Waffle turned up in the kitchen with our Seanad voting papers and we dutifully voted; a plague is no excuse for forgetting to vote.

Saturday, March 21, 2020

Still no word from my father. He’s talking to my sister though and he seems fine. Keep your fingers crossed. I thought we might need to self-isolate after visiting him but apparently not.

Otherwise, not a great deal achieved. Herself has decided to paint the ceiling of her bedroom during the pandemic. We got her paint.

How are things in your pandemic location?

Explore the Midlands

9 March, 2020
Posted in: Ireland, Siblings, Travel

For reasons to do with hotel points which are quite complex, my sister wanted to stay in the Sheraton in Athlone in winter. She and I ended up going there the last weekend in February. She said that I was surprisingly ungrateful for someone getting a free weekend away. In my defence, the midlands are not the most beautiful part of Ireland and nowhere in Ireland is beautiful in a cold, rainy February (fight me, tourist board).

Storm Jorge was raging during our trip and most of the midlands was even more sodden than usual so we decided not to go walking in Boora bog which a number of people have recommended but about which, to be honest, I remain a little unsure.

We had an excellent dinner in Thyme restaurant on Friday night which made me feel considerably more warmly towards the midlands than I had earlier. Then on Saturday, we woke up to lashing rain. We drove up to Roscommon to Strokestown House admiring the flooded fields on the way.

That thing sticking up above the water in the middle of the picture is the top of a gate. Once we got into Roscommon, it started to snow which was actually very pretty though hard to photograph as we speeded by in the car.

Strokestown House has the national famine museum which wasn’t bad but covered a lot of generic material which I would have known already. What was more interesting was the local material which dealt with the murder of Major Denis Mahon in 1847. He inherited Strokestown just before the onset of the famine in 1845 and evicted huge numbers of tenants sending many of them to North America on coffin ships. The museum, does, in fairness, point to how heavily indebted the estate was and the Major’s financial difficulties but the evidence points to a ruthless approach to a starving people.

The house itself is very interesting. It’s a (freezing) big Palladian pile designed by Richard Cassels (a man fond of curving wings see also Leinster House in Dublin and Powerscourt in Wicklow). The last of the family to live there was Olive Hales Pakenham-Mahon who died in 1981 and the house is basically as she left it, shabby furniture and all. She was the great-granddaughter of the murdered man. The young man who was our guide was perhaps not an expert on history or all things Palladian but he had his stock of stories about the house which were enjoyable. I asked him about how the murder was thought of in the town now and he was quite reserved on this point. He did say that everyone in the town knew who had killed the Major and two other people were hanged for it but even 170 odd years later he was strangely reluctant to talk about it. I’d say people have long memories around there.

We drove back via Longford town which is somewhat lacking in nice afternoon tea venues but I have to say we got a lot of tea for a small outlay in the Longford Arms and that was something, I suppose. That evening we had dinner in The Fatted Calf, Athlone’s most famous restaurant, and very nice it was too.

In summary, the midlands in February, better than you might expect. Best of all though was getting to spend the weekend with my sister. We should probably try to do it more often.

Alas

7 March, 2020
Posted in: Boys, Cork, Daniel, Dublin, Family, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings

Things are not going well. On Wednesday my 94 year old father fell at home. There was no one else in the house. He inadvertently turned off his mobile phone in the excitement so it was about an hour before my brother came home and found him. He seemed alright. The next day, Thursday, he got up and then he got stuck in the shower. His GP came round (now retired, old buddy of my Dad’s though much younger and has basically, as far as I can see, kept my father as his sole patient to tend to his needs) and said he suspected a broken pelvis and sent him off to the hospital by ambulance.

My brother went in with him. He enjoyed the usual on a trolley experience in A&E. I spoke to my father on his mobile phone. He was taken off for x-ray. My brother went home. I considered getting to Cork for the weekend once Mr. Waffle got back from Luxembourg where he had gone for work on Wednesday. The hospital went into lock down because they had a Corona virus case. My father’s mobile phone ran out of charge. That evening I rushed home, fed the boys and then drove for miles to collect herself from her friend’s school where he had been acting in the school play. Something by Harold Pinter. Honestly, notions. She quite enjoyed it, thanks for asking. Possibly the last outing before Corona virus shuts down all the schools.

On Friday morning, I woke up with a sore neck. I was stuck in the pose of a tortoise with neck jutting out of its shell. I have been here before. I limped around the house in agony and unable to bend. Herself said she was a bit snuffly and asked, hopefully, should she stay home as a friend of a friend living about 50 kms away had Corona virus. I sent her in. I limped in to work (unable to cycle, obviously). I sneezed on the tram and everyone around moved away in a marked manner. Good tip for anyone who would like a bit more space on public transport. At work, in a disturbing development, the only position in which I felt comfortable was hunched over my keyboard typing.

My sister spent Friday trying to get updates on my father. He spent the day phone free, visitor free in A&E on a trolley while the hospital dealt with its Corona virus problem by sending 60 staff into self-isolation, which is not great if you’re 94 or, indeed, any age.

Meanwhile, on Friday night herself was in her short film which was being screened as part of the Dublin film festival. Her father was only getting home from Luxembourg at 8.30 and could not attend, her aunt was supposed to come from Cork but was stuck in Cork on high alert for my father, her brothers were supposed to come but a friend of theirs from school was organising pizza and a film for another friend of theirs who is having chemotherapy and has stopped school for a bit (chemo, Corona virus, bit of both?) and they wanted to go, so I felt that they should and they could see the film another time. Her cousin and aunt from Dublin were coming. As we arrived at the cinema, her Dublin aunt texted that they were stuck in traffic. I sent herself scampering off to sit with her friends and sat near the front as I had forgotten my glasses (look, I had a lot on). I quite enjoyed the short film as it featured my first born and many of her friends. I enjoyed most of the other shorts screened as well. Aunt and cousin arrived but I did not see them, alas, as they arrived a bit late and had to leave early.

We had originally planned to have pizza as a big group after the screening but circumstances beyond everyone’s control meant that there were just a pair of us – myself and herself. But it’s an ill wind and it meant that we were able to drive out to the airport and collect her father rather than leave. My sister texted to say that the hospital had finally managed to get my father on to a ward 36 hours after being admitted with (it transpired) crushed vertebrae rather than a broken pelvis (a good news story, basically). Later I picked the boys up after their evening out. Did they have fun? They did. Did they have any trouble finding their friend’s house in the dark (they had to go alone on foot as I was at the film)? One did and one did not. Was there any reason why they would chose to travel separately through the mean streets in the dark given that they were going to the same place? Nobody told them they were to travel together. Was it not obvious? It was not. Anyway, in small world stories, Daniel (who was the one who got lost) ran into a friend from his GAA team who was out walking with his father. The father knew Dan’s friend’s father because they had gone to the same school and grown up on the same road and was able to escort Daniel safely to his destination. Big city, small community.

There was a bit of consternation on Friday as the nurse said to my sister that my father was cognitively impaired. He wasn’t when he went in on Thursday. However, I managed to talk to a nurse this afternoon (Saturday) who was pretty helpful and said that he had had a free and frank exchange of views with his consultant that morning about his medication and that he was perusing the papers my sister had delivered to the hospital and which had wended their way to his room. The nurse charged his phone for him and he called me about an hour ago. Mostly to say that he needed my sister to call him so that he could instruct her to bring various things in to the hospital for him; partly to check whether my brother had got off on his skiing holiday (he had with some misgivings); and partly to complain loudly about the quality of nursing care compared to in his day (which I’m sure was gratefully noted by the overworked staff on the premises). So cognitively he seems fine, if grumpy. Apparently, they are discharging people, Corona virus or no, so I am hopeful he might be able to move to some kind of step down facility early next week.

Meanwhile next Saturday, we are supposed to go skiing en famille ourselves. I appreciate that this is a bit #mymiddleclasshell but between my poor father possibly at death’s door (though things have improved on that front over the past 24 hours); my tortoise like posture and general misery; Corona virus diverse alarms; and a number of logistical difficulties on the accommodation front (we are in a chalet with friends of friends and there have been some unfortunate miscommunications including my brother being in and then out again, he is currently out but has found somewhere else to stay – he’s going for a week with friends this week and family next, isn’t it well for him?), I can’t say I’m looking forward to it as much as I was when we booked it last autumn.

Finally, finally in my litany of complaint and woe, regular readers will remember that I am in the church baptism group. The parish priest has taken it upon himself to have a display in the church on what each church group does. Our group was not enthused; we all have jobs to hold down and plenty to do otherwise. But one of our number organised us all to do pictures. I paid herself good money to paint two of the six symbols of baptism for me and Michael kindly dropped them around to the woman up the road who is on half a dozen church committees and undertook to drop them into the parish office. I couldn’t help to put them up in the church as I was collecting herself from her Pinter play on the other side of the city on display night but surely now our work was done. Not a bit of it, next up, we each had to lead the Stations of the Cross on different dates. I felt myself both theologically and practically unable to do so and said so. Surely this was the end of it? No, this morning a message arrives saying each of us had to turn up at a different mass over the next week and show off the stand. I am not pleased. With all the other things going on, this Greek chorus of pings from the baptism Whatsapp group was not what I needed. I am, frankly, peeved. This could yet tip me over the edge into godlessness. Herself would be delighted as I’ve told her she has to keep going to mass until she’s 18 and she is exploring all avenues for an earlier exit.

Anyone else got any news or have I absorbed it all?

A Low Point

22 February, 2020
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Dublin, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess

It’s been stormy. Our recycling bin blew over and the contents got wet. “Did you put them in the black bin?” I asked Mr. Waffle. “That would have been a terrible waste,” said he. Then he added, defiantly, “I dried them out by spreading them over the Aga.” I was not pleased. Was it for this that I spent my children’s inheritance?

The weather has been quite awful all month. Michael and Daniel spent much of their mid-term break holed up in the house (herself has an elaborate series of ongoing social engagements which mean she touches down in our sphere but rarely) so today Mr. Waffle and I forced them out for a walk on the pier in Dun Laoghaire after visiting his mother. They were very good despite the fact that it hailed on us. Good God in heaven.

I suppose snow is next.

Rainy Saturday

15 February, 2020
Posted in: Dublin, Family, Hodge, Ireland

We were all in reasonably good form this morning. Yesterday evening I had said that we were going for a walk in the mountains to look at the snow. This announcement was greeted with limited enthusiasm. Even I had second thoughts overnight and was contemplating getting out of bed early without truly looking forward to it and only sustained by the reflection that we would enjoy it in retrospect. I was awoken at 9ish by rain dashing against the bedroom window and the glad tidings that it was too wet for our walk were conveyed to the children by Mr. Waffle while I sat up in bed with my book.

I was summoned from my bed at 10 by indignant shouts from herself. The cat had got sick on her bed. One of the joys of adulthood is cleaning up cat vomit, I find. Normally this falls to Mr. Waffle’s lot but he was out getting bread so I was the chosen victim. Later, leaving the boys in the thrall of their electronic devices, Mr. Waffle, the Princess and I braved the rain and went to breakfast in a local cafe.

On our return we brought all the children to town to acquire new hiking boots (when will their feet stop growing?), a camp bed (can only be an improvement on the air mattress, surely), more candles and some Magic the Gathering Cards for the boys (if you don’t know, you’re better off). We got sodden but it was speedy. Then we came home and were still back in time to drop the cat vomit soiled duvet to the dry cleaners (the hilariously named “Day and Night” cleaners which closes at four). Then we came in, lit the fire and battened down the hatches. It’s been delightful.

How’s your own Storm Dennis day going?

An Attempt at Redress or a Vignette from a Wednesday Evening

10 February, 2020
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland

I went to a colleague’s father’s removal after work. Having dutifully sympathised with my colleague, I saw that there was an Aldi next door to the funeral home which was pretty handy as I had no plan for dinner. I graced it with my presence and picked up the ready-made lasagne (I’ve had worse). As I was going towards the till, I saw a bowl of hyacinths and picked them up as well.

When I got to the check-out, the queue was enormous. A man with two mountainous trolleys let me pass ahead of him with my two items. The hyacinths caused massive confusion and the assistant disappeared for ages into the back of the shop while I made apologetic grimaces to the kind humanitarian who let me pass ahead of him.

The hyacinths are blooming now and smell delightful. Every time I see them, I say a prayer for my colleague’s deceased father and also the man who let me pass him out at the Aldi check-out.