Herself sent me an email:
From: Herself
To: Me
Re: Complete idiocy from the Irish Timeshttp://www.irishtimes.com/business/commercial-property/crane-survey-40-cranes-visible-over-dublin-city-centre-1.2598809
I did point out to her that journalists from the Irish Times weren’t the first people to use cranes as a symbol of economic dynamism.
I think she gets her judgemental streak from me.
We’ve been planning to go to Clare for quite a while. Ever since herself started studying the Burren in geography and asked why we had never been there.
A colleague had been encouraging me to try out youth hostels for some time saying that they have really gone upmarket with family rooms and it would be great for me and my family.
I put these elements together and booked us into a youth hostel in Clare. We booked to go in early March. I was only mildly put off when I got a phone call saying that the hostel didn’t open until after St. Patrick’s day and could we re-book. We did, for this weekend.
It’s a good three hour drive from Dublin and we set off on Friday morning. The children played an amusing and quite successful April’s fool joke by pretending that they all desperately wanted to go to the toilet as we were speeding along the motorway; they are using their increasing age and sophistication against us. It’s working. We stopped in Ballinasloe in Galway for lunch. It was lashing. Ballinasloe, famous for an annual horse fair in October, was grand but, frankly, not at its bright and beautiful best. I managed to get us lost on the way from Galway to Clare and we floundered around the back roads of the Burren for some time pausing occasionally to force the children out of the car to look at damp Karst landscapes. We saw Leamaneh castle which was impressive but not open to the public and surrounded by grazing cattle.
We arrived into the youth hostel in the late afternoon. I am sure that had I seen it in the late 1980s/early 1990s when I last graced youth hostels with my presence, I would have been suitably impressed. However, in the intervening 20 odd years, it appears that my standards have risen quite considerably. The bedroom smelt unpleasant. Mr. Waffle had suggested we bring towels. I said, “nonsense”. There were no towels. You were able to hire them for €2 a towel (it subsequently transpired that this was a mistake and we were refunded for our towel investment). There was a drip in the games room. The light fittings in the TV room did not work. Are you getting a picture?
All in all, it was not a hugely successful day. We went out to the local pub for dinner which was pleasant and afterwards we forced the children to go on a mild walk. Michael was particularly bitter until we found that the path led to a playground. Great happiness followed. Then we went back to the youth hostel and played pool. All my old skills came back to me; I was quite useless. But the children enjoyed it.
The next day, it was not raining. This was a surprising and very welcome development. We had a day of intense activity which was largely successful. We saw the Cliffs of Moher which continue to be impressive. However, we were greeted on entry to the car park by an extraordinarily rude employee. I think when this kind of thing happens in your own country, you are doubly annoyed a) it’s annoying and b) what will the poor tourists think? And there were plenty of them, mostly bus tours with lots of French and German teenagers. In the 20 years since I have last visited, direct access to the edge has been fenced off. Probably for the best.
Herself was quite impressed by the interpretative centre. After that we had more Karst, Caherconnell ring fort, the Burren interpretative centre and the cathedral in Kilfenora of which apparently the Pope is bishop – I doubt he gets there often.
After that we saw the Fr. Ted house. We had tried to book tea in advance but to no avail, alas, so we could only stand outside and admire.
From left Fr. Jack, Mrs. Doyle and Fr. Ted (out of shot, Fr. Dougal).
We then went to the Aillwee caves which was definitely the highlight of the day. We almost didn’t go to the accompanying birds of prey show which was an extra €15 for the lot of us. But we did. It was the best money we spent all weekend. The show was amazing. Michael demonstrated a knowledge of birds of prey which was startling and detailed. Herself got to hold an owl.
The birds flew really low over our heads and the whole thing was unnerving but fascinating. We quite enjoyed the caves too.
Then we had a successful pizza dinner in Ballyvaughan and another night in our communal room in the youth hostel. Everyone else complained about snoring and tossing and turning noises but Michael and I slept fine, thanks for asking.
This morning we visited Corcomroe Abbey which was very beautiful and lonely and quiet. It became considerably less so as a “Paddywagon” bus full of tourists deposited them as we were leaving but we had timed our adventure well.
Our final cultural stop of the day was over the boarder in Galway where we visited Dunguaire castle in Kinvara. It’s the first time I have ever been in one of those square stone castles (with which Ireland is very well endowed) and been warm. Their heating bill must be breathtaking. It was pleasant though.
Then lunch in Kinvara and about 2 and a half hours to get back to Dublin in the late afternoon. The children are back to school tomorrow after a very long Easter break and are not contemplating the prospect with any great enthusiasm. Still, I think that we all enjoyed the trip.
My father was 91 on Friday, March 25. Unfortunately, he celebrated his birthday in a hospital bed as he has broken his hip and then picked up the winter vomiting bug in both the hospital where he got the new hip and in the hospital he went to for rehabilitation (apparently you can get it multiple times, who knew?).
I went down to Cork on the Friday to see him – it was Good Friday as well which is, despite its name, a bit of a gloomy day for a birthday for a Catholic. He was pretty well, happily, and they may let him out on April 2 if all continues well; he is a pretty robust 91 year old (not, however, as robust as a neighbour’s 91 year old mother who we regularly see at mass although not on Easter Sunday as she was off in Lanzarote with the extended family). Keep your fingers crossed for my father’s safe escape and a more cheerful birthday lunch at home.
In other Cork news, my brother has used the opportunity of my father’s illness to tidy the parents’ house. This is a bit alarming as it consists of removing the accumulated debris of ages and stacking it on the floor. I have claimed for my own 1970s Monopoly, a dusty and ancient Othello set, many children’s books and a mysterious jigsaw map showing the “New County Boundaries in the United Kingdom and Ireland”. I say mysterious because on the cover there is a handwritten price label, clearly affixed at a jumble sale, saying €2. Who on earth would have bought this after 2002 and why? And most mysteriously of all, we made it over Easter and all of the pieces were there:
The weather recently has been cold but fine. We tried to go to Eagle’s Crag a couple of weeks ago but were defeated by a huge traffic jam in the Dublin mountains. A hummer and a horse box had, unsurprisingly, insufficient room to pass each other by on the narrow country road and neither would retreat. My sympathy is with the horse box. We ended up going for a walk in the pine forest instead. And that was fine too:
Still, I was pleased when, last Friday, we packed a picnic and went off to Eagle’s Crag. The picnic was, from the children’s perspective, the best part of the day. It was bitterly cold in the wind but it was sunny and clear with great views of two lakes.
So, this is the centenary of the 1916 uprising. Sadly, we haven’t got an additional bank holiday as the rebels chose Easter Monday for their revolution and it was already a holiday. What, what’s your point here?
In fact April 24th is the actual day of the rising but it is always celebrated at Easter so we have had much excitement in the run up to the big day.
Shortly before the Easter holidays started, the boys announced that on the following day (it was ever thus) they had to dress up in historical costume for school. Â Daniel was pretty sure that it was a figure from the Rising. Michael felt it was anyone from Irish history. So Daniel went as Michael Collins and Michael went as a druid. Their sister used all her genius to put together costumes for them at short notice. For added authenticity Daniel actually had coins from 1916 in his pocket. He knew they were there which I suppose helped him put in a solid performance as Michael Collins but he didn’t actually show them to anyone.
Michael Collins reads the papers:
Druid sacrifices a sheep:
They had the flag raising ceremony on proclamation day in both the primary and the secondary school. Michael was home sick and missed it but Daniel had a starring role – he got to read the Aisling poem aloud in front of the school. The short ceremony seems to have passed off pretty well.
Meanwhile in the secondary school, they had a very long ceremony involving much singing and speech making. Herself got to read her prize-winning 1916 poem out in front of the school. “Did they think it was good?” I asked proudly. “Well,” she said” I think that they were glad it was short.” They had had to listen to Douglas Hyde’s speech on “The Necessity for De-Anglicising Ireland“. Originally delivered in 1892, I think it may have lacked the zing of the modern TED talk and tried the largely teenage audience quite high. Though, as I pointed out to her, if they really believed in de-anglicising Ireland, the speech should have been delivered through Irish. That got a cool enough response.
This morning we went to inspect the various organised Rising related fun in the city centre on our bikes. The Princess who had, quite nobly, dragged herself from her sick bed to come along, greeted with horror the news that we were to travel by bike but it did work well, particularly when much of the city centre was car free. O’Connell Street, heart of the Rising, site of the GPO etc. was a little dull. Michael looked scornfully at the children singing beautifully on the makeshift stage and said, “I pity them, all the practising they had to do and now they have to wear these stupid clothes [sailor suits] and sing here on their day off school.”
We had better luck in the playground near the fruit market where children were in their 1916 gear and playing authentic games from the era. Michael joined in with enthusiasm and fitted in better than many with his slender frame and slightly pinched features (he’s like a supermodel, never eats enough). Daniel sat by the monument to deceased Irish patriots, site of former Bridewell, and looked appropriately gloomy. The children in the playground had obviously been given a bit of background about 1916 and told to go out and talk about it. I particularly enjoyed the young one who said, “The Volunteers, they think they’re amazing with their guns.” She then proceeded to sashay round the playground with her imaginary gun in a contemptuous manner. I heard another girl call out, “Hey guys, what do we think of the Volunteers?” So, you know, some anachronisms but actually quite endearing.
Michael picked up a sword balloon outside the fruit market which was probably the highlight of the day for him. You see him here posing with two members of Cumann na mBan.
“You know, my granny was in Cumann na mBan,” I told him. Level of interest: zero, alas.
For reasons unknown, there were a number of tanks and soldiers stationed on Smithfield Square also and we had an interesting chat with a soldier who had been in Chad and the Lebannon. Probably a highlight for me. The children ran into some classmates who had dressed up in 1916 gear which was exciting for them. We bought them food from the extensive range of food stands. It was, dare I say it, reasonably successful.
Hello, cruel world. A fortnight into the new job and I am absolutely flattened. I have gone from knowing everyone and everything to knowing no one and nothing. It’s very tiring. And I lost all my swipe cards on Friday night, so I may not even be able to get to my desk tomorrow. Quite the achievement.
So what news, I hear you ask. Well, the boys and I went to Cork. We went to Charles Fort and the Bulman for lunch. It didn’t rain on us. I call that a success. Then we saw a seal near the slip way beside the car park. Very exciting.
Nevertheless, probably the highlight was passing a shop selling holy statutes. Daniel looked dubiously at Padre Pio and asked, “Is that Obi Wan Kenobi?”
While the boys and I were in Cork, herself was in Rome for the week. Actually, Rome, Pompeii, Sorrento, Montecassino and Naples. Notwithstanding the exhausting programme, she had a wonderful time. She liked the Trevi fountain and the Map Room in the Vatican Museums the best.
Early on in proceedings, I got this email.
From: Herself
To: MeHave successfully ordered McDonald’s in Italian. Forgot to ask for ketchup and was thrown by the choice between mela and kiwi but all in all quite successful.
Clearly, the trip was not entirely about expanding culinary horizons.
The boys and Mr. Waffle featured briefly on Irish language television talking about house swapping. I was at work and the Princess was at school but the boys were off being minded by their father so they got to star. Actually every word they spoke was edited out so they were a bit crushed. Former colleagues of mine (husband and wife team) saw it and when they saw the photo albums (to show the TV people the houses we had stayed in), carefully labelled they said in unison “That is so typical of Anne.” My filing fame has spread and in the most positive way, I’m sure.
Last Monday night was a bit hideous. Daniel had GAA, Michael had scouts and herself was in a massive Dublin archdiocese concert. They were bringing 600 secondary school students together every night last week to sing a range of hymns. 2,000 years of liturgical music and the focus was very strongly on those pieces composed for saxophone and guitar. Sigh. Some of the pieces were composed for the event. I particularly enjoyed the combination of jazzy upbeat music and the very old testament type lyrics “If the just strike me down, it’s done out of kindness” and “Let all that stray from what is good, be thrown a rock of judgement”. I did not get any dinner but I did have a large packet of maltesers at the concert.
On Friday night, Daniel and herself had speaking parts at some ecumenical event. The service was “prepared by the Christian women of Cuba” and it was held at the local Protestant church. Michael refused point blank to attend saying that he was not going to Mass on Friday and Sunday. The booklet giving the details of readings etc. also featured a couple of prayers like our prayers of the faithful. This one caught my eye:
” We recognize that we did not lift up our voices sufficiently to denounce an injustice like the economic blockade that affected the Cuban people for more than 50 years. We recognize our responsibility in allowing walls to be built up which destroy community.”
In the end Michael had to go as I couldn’t and Mr. Waffle brought them all. Daniel and the Princess carried out their roles with aplomb but attendance was poor. Elderly local Protestants and Catholics turned out but not many of them. Mr. Waffle feels that the women of Cuba may have been expecting a different kind of congregation when they decided to put the butterfly hymn on the programme. Apparently, you haven’t lived until you have heard a group of elderly people singing: “If I were a wiggly worm I’d thank you Lord that I could squirm/ If I were a fuzzy, wuzzy bear /I’d thank you Lord for my fuzzy, wuzzy hair”.
Daniel got to deliver the immortal line: “We will now collect our butterflies and bring them to the Scared Prayer Space”.
I was, alas, not in attendance at the Cuban prayer gig, because on Tuesday morning, my poor father fell and broke his hip. My parents are now the proud possessors of four plastic hips. I went down to Cork to see him on Friday night. He was remarkably cheerful given that a) he had a newly inserted plastic hip b) he is nearly 91 c) he spent about 24 hours on a trolley in A&E, and d) he has acquired the winter vomiting bug while in the hospital. My sister and I left him with the paper which he read and my sister tells me he has started to eat again today. He is remarkably resilient.
Final news items. We had parent-teacher meetings for all three children. They are all fine. All of the secondary school teachers told us that herself makes regular announcements over the school intercom. They were more impressed by this achievement than any other as far as I can see. All to the good, I suppose. Also, unrelated, she has won a 1916 poetry competition.
That is all.
Updated to add: I forgot – the dishwasher is broken. A new pump is said to be coming but in the interim we are washing the dishes by hand. The novelty has worn off.
That really is all.
