A quiet day at the ranch: tennis; driving across the city with the learner driver; art gallery and tea in Bewley’s with the middle child; and a chance to admire Dublin’s Christmas lights (it’s November, Christmas time!). For the season that appears to be in it – Santa and the Grinch driving up and down Grafton Street.
I have just arrived back in Dublin airport. I am sitting on the plane waiting patiently to be disgorged. I’ve met a number of people I know on the flight because, you know, this is Ireland. Do I feel up to other people? I do not. More tomorrow.
I cannot believe this, today I chipped another tooth (mercifully not visible but I can feel it). Not to worry though, I have another appointment with my interventionist dentist in December (I mean, even I would have to concede that intervention is required now). Will I ever get out of his clutches? Advice on this point would be very unwelcome so don’t do it.
I am travelling for work for the remainder of the week so think of me gamely typing out my updates for November on the app on the phone. There’s devotion for you. Let us hope travel gives me some news because, as you will see from this post, news is thin on the ground otherwise.
But, look, at least the rain has finally stopped.
Dear God, the weather has been appalling. The only comfort (she said piously) is that my siblings are on holidays (separately) in warm places and there is nothing better than being away and hearing that the weather is bad at home.
We have had biblical quantities of rain. I went to the National Gallery and contemplated this picture for a bit. I have become obsessed with rugs recently and the rug is a big feature here.
Also I enjoy that this picture which hangs nearby features on the wall in the other painting, if you see what I mean.
I drove Michael (he drove there for practice – still has to pass his test and still needs a qualified driver to accompany him anywhere, thanks for asking) to his rehearsals for a college play and called in on a friend of mine on the way home. I spent an hour or so with him drinking tea; admiring his art collection; and returning to him a piece that he and his partner had lent me for my office but which, sadly, I no longer have a home for now that I book into a different office every day I’m in (deep sigh). He has acquired a large Patrick Hennessy portrait recently and I am consumed with envy.
Mass this morning featured a sermon about Hell. Colour me surprised. This (new to me) priest, also led the congregation in singing. This led to some conflict with the (God love him) slightly odd American who spends his Sunday morning going to various churches around town and singing (solo from the pews, if there is no choir). The priest did all the hymns but when it came to Communion he was hamstrung by his other duties and our American saw his chance and gave a surprisingly uptempo Abide with Me. It was delivered at speed (possibly to frustrate the priest who might have joined in after Communion?) so it was difficult for other congregants to join in, even had they so wished. I will be watching this space for future developments.
Mr. Waffle and I went to an Argentinian brunch spot that I was keen to try out. Not bad but not everyone wants choripan and chips and 10.30 in the morning. Maybe more of a lunch spot.
I went to the Irish Museum of Modern Art (rain finally stopped but still overcast and chilly). When I arrived they asked whether I was there for the dance performance; I was not but I joined the crowd for a look. It was some kind of community outreach combined with the CoisCéim dance company (exclusive Irish lesson for you here, coiscéim is the Irish for footstep). I mean, ok, probably great if you were related to one of the non-professional dancers involved but didn’t love it. I’m probably just a philistine (as Mr. Waffle pointed out these ancient enemies of the Israelites, were unlikely to have predicted that this is how people would refer to them 3,000 years later).
I don’t absolutely love modern art but I did like this piece (those are toys) – A Portrait of Alice Liddell, after Lewis Carroll by Vik Muniz.
And this horse was good too.
I had a restorative cup of tea and I can tell you that the IMMA cafe (heaving) has really upped its game.
I passed the bridge near the station that used to boast a number of crowns (possibly built for a visit of George IV?). These were removed post-independence but the cushions on which they sat remain.
The writing of this update was interrupted to go and watch the end of the soccer. The life of the Irish soccer fan (not me generally I am, at absolute best, a fair weather fan) is filled with grief and heartache and it’s full of arcane calculations like if A draw with B and we beat C by X goals then maybe we can qualify but generally we don’t. However, we had to beat Hungary to get out of our group (is this the World Cup qualifier again? so soon? who can say?) and we were 2-1 down for ages, then we equalised, then in the last minute of the game we pulled ahead to win 3-2. Our team is coached by an Icelandic dentist, apparently, and middle child said with great satisfaction, once the jumping around the room ceased, “Hungary were flossed!” Indeed.
How was your own weekend?
When Mr. Waffle’s uncle K was a little boy he was taken by his father to see Dan Breen in hospital. They had been neighbours in Tipperary. Mr. Breen turned to young K and asked him what he would do, if he found an informer among his men. Young K was baffled by this and in the pause while he was collecting his thoughts, Mr. Breen sat up in the bed and said ferociously, “You’d plug him.” It made quite the impression on K, still a very peaceful soul.
If I don’t write this down here, who will ever know?
My father would have been 100 last March 25. Last March felt like a bit of a milestone as well because it was 5 years post the first Covid lock down. My father died on Christmas Day 2020 and those last nine months were made even grimmer by Covid. I think the very old and young people in education got the worst of Covid but it was no picnic for those in the middle either. It was pretty dreadful and I find few things more annoying than people who say, “Actually, I had a good Covid.” If it’s you, please stop it, but as Covid memories mercifully recede, it is something I am hearing more frequently and I don’t like it. Look, maybe you did have a good Covid (unlikely in my view, but I’ll allow it) but you must know lots of people didn’t and sharing this experience of yours is unlikely to make them feel better about that time. Anyway, here’s a thing about my father, he cycled all his life until he was well into his 80s – when cycling was unpopular and no grown ups cycled, he cycled, and now, partly inspired by his singular devotion to the convenience of the bicycle, I cycle every day too and I often think of him as I freewheel along.
My sister sent me flowers on our mother’s anniversary – what a nice thing. I think of my mother most days and what I really miss is her advice. Teenage me would be surprised. Also, she thought I was brilliant and was always on my side. And she was hilarious and practical and clever and I miss her very much.
Look, it’s almost the season (though I can 100% guarantee that picture was taken on Christmas Eve which was when our tree went up every year despite my pleas for an earlier date; as you can observe my pleas for a real tree were also in vain). And, speaking of practical, my mother made that dress I’m wearing though I am afraid I never liked it. Oh well.