Ireland

The Kids are Alright

6 November, 2014
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland

I was cycling along a quiet road while also using my phone. A passing motorist stopped in the middle of the road and got out of her car to upbraid me. Feeling slightly guilty, I stood there by the side of the road meekly apologising as this threatening middle aged woman roared at me.

To my amazement, a passing young woman in her little beanie hat interposed herself between me and the driver and said, “Leave her alone, stop shouting at her.” Then she turned to me and said, “Are you alright?” as the vanquished dragon drove off still seething. I was very touched. As someone pointed out to me later she probably thought I was a little old lady who needed to be defended.

Abuse about cycling while phoning in the comments please.

Scramble

4 November, 2014
Posted in: Dublin, Family, Ireland

Due to the works to which, apparently, the whole of Dublin city centre is subject indefinitely, the children’s school has no water tomorrow and will have to close.
Time this information was conveyed to the school: 2.00 pm
Time that Mr. Waffle and I learnt this information: 6.30 pm
Number of meetings Mr. Waffle and I have tomorrow morning: 1 each
Number of days which the children had off last week: 5 (mid-term)
Sentiments of children: Overwhelming delight
Sentiments of parents: Distinctly less delight

Any domestic crises yourselves?

Learning by Example

3 November, 2014
Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland, Princess

I do not like to keep things in the attic. My parents’ attic is full of stuff. Mr. Waffle’s parents’ attic is full of stuff. He said that when he was growing up, broken things were put in the attic to “self-heal”. I know what he means. I have never been in the attic of my house and, as far as I know, it is entirely empty. And I’d like it to stay that way.

I love things to be tidy. Colleagues have been known to recoil when entering my office. It’s tidy. My family are not tidy. If you don’t give things away, you cannot be tidy. I am like a changeling. I have been trying, with absolutely no success, to make the Princess tidy. She suffers from the twin issues of loving stuff and believing that it is not a problem, if you let stuff lie where it falls. She and I fundamentally differ in this regard.

For some time she has been waging a campaign to get into my parents’ attic. I have been a regular visitor as I have been looking for the leg of a table, the top of which is at the back of my parents’ wardrobe and the whole of which I am hoping to get to my house in due course. You would think that a large Victorian table leg would be easy to find, but you would be utterly wrong. I looked – several times; my sister looked; even my brother looked. To no avail.

On this last adventure, the Princess finally got her heart’s desire and came up to the attic with me. Her objective was to retrieve my Great Uncle Dan’s gas mask [given out during the war and definitely in the attic – but where?]. I didn’t hold out high hopes as, if a whole table leg could disappear, then finding a gas mask was a practically insuperable problem. We did not find the gas mask. We did, however, find the table leg under the eaves on the left. Rejoice. Here’s a picture of the table leg [currently residing in the utility room until the top can be brought up from Cork].

I stood there in the attic looking at the mountains of stuff and I said to my daughter, severely “Look around you; this is what happens, if you never throw anything out.” Then, I realised that her eyes were shining and the attic was possibly the most magical place she had ever been. She brought back to Dublin: an old dial phone, a mug with a rose, two boxes and a china bowl with a hole in the bottom. She is desperate to get back up. I may not quite have conveyed to her the message I was hoping to get across.

Cork News

2 November, 2014
Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland

Last weekend I went to Cork with the children. We left at 11 on Saturday morning with a view to arriving about 2 for a late lunch. We all had a bite to eat before we left but we were going to be hungry when we arrived. My saintly sister said that she would have lunch ready for us.

Regrettably, the Jack Lynch tunnel which guards the entrance to Cork from Dublin* was operating a contra-flow system due to works. Apparently the bank holiday weekend was the best time to do this. It took us two hours to cover 6kms and we arrived into my parents’ house at 4 starving and cranky.

My father, rather tactlessly, said, “Oh yes, I knew about that, it was in the Examiner.” “You didn’t think I might be interested?” I asked bitterly. Of course, this was the kind of news item that was never going to be covered in the Dublin Intelligencer. Anyhow, we recovered. I was amused to receive a, somewhat contrite, letter from him during the week with a cutting. The Dublin Intelligencer continues to be above matters in the second city so no news likely from there.

*Obviously, very easy to seal off when the revolution begins.

Holiday Continued

29 September, 2014
Posted in: Family, Ireland, Travel

Let me take you back to August. So we got off the ferry, back in Ireland and we were going directly to Kerry without passing through Dublin for fear of mutiny by the troops if we got home and then turned around the next day and drove straight to Kerry.

We had an unscheduled stop in Dungarvan when we got a flat tyre. As it could have happened while racing for the ferry in France in torrential rain the previous day, we felt that a flat tyre in Dungarvan had much to recommend it. After lunch we pushed on to Cork where we stayed overnight with my loving family.

For complex reasons we had a spare Cork parking disk which we didn’t need and as Mr. Waffle was going into the house he saw these French people with a FinistÃ¨re registered car trying to work out the parking regime in Cork. Feeling warmly towards the people of FinistÃ¨re he went up to them and in impeccable French offered them the parking disk. Were they surprised by a) his French or b) his kindness to strangers? Did they engage in general conversation which allowed him to remark we had just returned from our holiday in FinistÃ¨re? Didn’t I tell you they were French? I do love the sang froid of the French.

17 August

Our first full day in Kerry was a Sunday so began with a trip to mass which the troops greeted with their customary enthusiasm. We were staying in Dingle in ludicrously enormous holiday houses outside the town. The cousins, grandparents and aunts and uncles were staying across the road from us and there was a swing and a green area between the houses which the children played in happily.

We went to the beach in the afternoon but didn’t swim as the place was alive with jellyfish. Global warming apparently. The children were delighted to play in the sand with their cousins so all was well.

That night the parents of the children went out together. My sister-in-law and her husband from exotic London took all the children to the fair. Madness, but we were very grateful, as were the children.

18 August

We had a mild climb up Clogher Head and looked at the beautiful view. For his own obscure reasons, an Italian man was sitting at the top playing a flute so that was nice, if a little odd.

We had a lovely lunch in Ballydavid; a further swim with a jellyfish and a visit to Dingle’s excellent library. For the price of â‚¬2, you can get a temporary membership and borrow from your holiday address. Is that not wonderful?

19 August

My sister-in-law took her husband to the airport. This was not entirely without difficulty as, despite being over 30 and having lived in London for 13 years and looked after herself perfectly well, she is a youngest child and is therefore assumed by her parents to be incapable of the mildest adventure. I was startled when my mother-in-law asked me whether I thought my sister-in-law would be alright on the shortish drive to the regional airport. I felt she would. Apparently an offer by her mother to sit in the back seat to ensure that she was safe had been vigorously rebuffed by my sister-in-law. Youngest children also have their crosses to bear.

The Princess, her young cousins and her uncle and aunt climbed Mount Brandon. The boys, Mr Waffle and I baled out somewhat less than half way up. There were still great views.

Including, impressively, of my brother-in-law running up the mountain ahead of us.

Back at ground level we forced the boys to speak Irish in a local shop. It passed off peacefully.

20 August

We had a lovely dinner out leaving the children to the tender mercies of a teenage babysitter. She seemed fine on our return despite minding five young children. This was the last night for both sisters-in-law before they went off to London, so nearly at the end, alas.

21 August

The girls went for a trip to the acquarium with their London aunt before she left for the bright lights. A certain gloom overtook the party on the departure of the aunts. We all went on a very damp cliff walk.

There is nothing like Kerry in the rain. The children were cheered by a further trip to the funfair with a view later.

22 August

This was our last full day in Kerry and the weather was amazing. We spent all day at the beach in Ballydavid and had a beautiful lunch in the nearby pub. It was a lovely, lovely day and, handily enough, obliterated the rain soaked memory of the day before.

23 August

The end of the holidays; a long drive and finally we were home.

Last picture of Kerry from the road home:

So, excellent, I have finished my account of the summer holidays before the beginning of October, do you enjoy the immediacy of this blog?

They Also Serve Who Only Stand and Wait

28 September, 2014
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Middle Child, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

So we ran mass today. The woman from the parish council who normally does it was off in Siena on holidays. We had the intro (me), the prayers of the faithful (all the children) and the second reading (Herself).

She read beautifully. As she was reading, “There must be no competition among you, no conceit; but everybody is to be self effacing. Always consider the other person to be better than yourself..”, I was whispering to her father, “She’s so good at this, she really is superb at reading aloud much better than anyone else.” So very much taking the message of the reading to heart, then.

They all did fine for their prayers of the faithful but after delivering his, Michael went to the back of the altar where he appeared to believe he was invisible and began rotating in circles.

But what, you ask of my couple of lines of introduction, well, I went into the sacristy and told the parish priest that I would be doing the introduction. “Fine, fine,” said he. When mass actually started, I was surprised to see that someone else entirely was saying mass but I assumed that the parish priest had passed on the message. I went up to the altar and stood at the lectern opposite the priest. The elderly priest opened mass with a welcome. Then he pressed on completely ignoring me. I stood there opening my mouth like a landed fish and failing to get a word in edgeways. Eventually I slunk off the altar without saying anything still completely unnoticed by the priest who was well into his stride at this point. Why do these things always happen to me? Predictably, the children thought it was hilarious