Mr. Waffle

Mid-Term Round Up

9 November, 2022
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Dublin, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Reading etc.

The boys were off school last week. I’m not sure they were totally delighted to have their mother around the house arranging activities but they bore up.

Some friends of ours from Brussels, now also resident in Dublin, had an enormous wedding anniversary party – caterers, entertainment, marquee in the garden, the works. “Bring your teenagers,” they said, “there will be lots of young people.” I was a bit dubious but we brought the boys. They had the time of their lives. I was amazed to see them out on the dance floor dancing with enthusiasm. There was a big gang of teenagers, chatting and bonding away. It was brilliant.

Mr. Waffle and I meanwhile struggled slightly. There weren’t many people there that we knew aside from the hosts who were obviously busy and a couple of people we knew a little. We spent some time speaking to a lovely man – a retired solicitor now a psychotherapist – who Mr. Waffle had known professionally. We were joined by a woman I knew thirty years ago when we were on the same course as trainee solicitors. I was able to recognise her as she has not changed at all. She was beautiful then and is beautiful now. She was always really pleasant and very, very clever. I felt that the gods smiled upon her and gave her all the gifts at birth. We talked a bit about our children and then turned to work and, to my surprise, I found that like me she was taking a year out from work. “How exciting,” I said with enthusiasm. She put her hand on my shoulder and said, very gently and pleasantly, “I don’t know if you’ve heard but my husband died last year.” I actually can’t believe that I hadn’t heard – Dublin is tiny – but it was such a shock. There’s definitely a lesson there somewhere.

We were taken to talk to our (French) hostess’s relatives who were over from France and didn’t speak a great deal of English. As French speakers we were offered up. They were very nice but I feel that I spent a lot of the evening speaking to older slightly deaf gentlemen. The culminating insult was when our hostess’s uncle said to myself and Mr. Waffle, “You are retired too, I think?” I think not.

All in all, by the end of the evening, I was a shadow of my former self. The boys had an amazing time though and we had to pry them away when we were going home. So there’s that.

The Dublin marathon was on the bank holiday weekend and I cycled all around the city with supporting banners trying to see the several people I knew who were running and failed to see any of them. I think that they’re all crazy anyhow.

We went out to Dun Laoghaire, had a walk on the pier and dinner out with the cousins which was lovely. It reminds me how one of the main reasons we wanted to come home from Belgium all those years ago was so that the children would know their relatives and I am pleased how well it has worked out.

Mr. Waffle moved office over the break and Michael and I helped unpack his boxes (Daniel was a bit sick). I will tell you this: there is a lot of stationery Mr. Waffle has acquired which he wishes his wife hadn’t been there to unpack (57 sets of file dividers anyone?). However, we finished quite speedily and Mr Waffle took us out for lunch so all’s well that ends well so long as he never brings his stationery stash home.

I took the boys to see an adaptation of an M.R. James short story in the Bewley’s Cafe theatre. I thought it would be suitably Halloweeny. “Who is this Mr. James anyway?” asked Dan. Things were a bit tense beforehand, a combination of lashing rain and a trip to the gallery failing to improve anyone’s mood. I pointed out to the boys a bunch of happy tourists enjoying the rain or at least not hating it as much as they were. Not a truly effective tactic. Mercifully, they quite enjoyed the play after so I’m going to call that a win.

For his birthday we got Michael Kilkenomics tickets. It’s a festival of comedy and economics in Kilkenny. He loves economics, I thought he’d like it. I was disabused of this idiotic notion the second he opened the envelope. We got him something else. And really, I should have found a friend to go with but I brought him anyway in the vain hope that when he got there it might be more fun than he feared.

My first mistake was bringing our bikes on the train. Kilkenny is small and everything was within five minutes of the station. There was no need for bikes and it is a pain bringing your bike on any train other than Cork-Dublin (where they are handily accommodated in the Guard’s van). You have to fit it on a rack designed for strong young men with light bikes.

My next mistake was booking three talks. What was I thinking? We were exhausted after two. The talks were ok and there were even some funny bits. The first one was the worst – it was hosted by Dylan Moran (comedian who knows a lot more about economics than you might expect) and at least one of the speakers was a bit dull. Michael commanded my admiration by asking a question at the end in a theatre filled with about 300 men in their 60s. Again, what was I thinking booking this? We had both read the book “Chums” by Simon Kuper which is an easy read – as Michael said, “gossipy” so we went to a talk by him. It was fine – and the comedian host, Rosie Holt, pretty good but almost everything he said was covered in the book so, not exactly new. He did have one funny story though. Apparently when Prince Edward was at Cambridge he was accompanied everywhere by two security officers. Edward did anthropology and was not very good and the despair of his tutors etc. but one of his security officers became fascinated and started doing the reading and hanging behind to chat to the tutors. Great story, if true, as they say.

We were really drooping at this stage but, happily the final panel was the best. A former Argentinian finance minister was really interesting and all of those on stage (a manel, I fear – honestly, economics on the evidence of this day, is overwhelmingly male) were engaging. There were two things said about Brexit which I thought interesting. One was that this was the first time in a break up that Britain was involved in that it was the smaller, less important, less influential partner. Obviously, in the outgoing tide of colonialism, Britain has had a lot of break ups but it’s arguably always been in the more powerful position. The other was that Britain was a “new state” after Brexit. I knew what the host meant, a bit like French Republics – you know the way they’re on the fifth now – this is a change so fundamental in outlook as well as economics that it is something of a new country. I have to say that the only English person on the stage profoundly disagreed with that analysis but I think there’s something in it. The final question was what was the first thing you would you do if you were a finance minister in a new country. The English man said that he would make radical changes as the country would never be as united as now after an independence movement. Everyone else leapt in to say, “Absolutely not, a civil war is often item one on the agenda of newly independent countries”. But the English man stuck to his guns and it appeared to me stoutly maintained that this is generally not the case. I think he was wrong there but it’s been awhile since they’ve had an armed revolution in England.

Michael and I got back to Dublin exhausted. We were met by other exhausted people. Mr. Waffle had had his course all day and Daniel had gone to the Trinity open day, a reunion with the people from his summer course and a rugby match with his uncle where, I am pleased to report, Ireland won. It was a lot.

On the Sunday before return to school, there was a fair amount of hanging around the house recovering although Dan had a GAA match (of course). I had to go to a removal across town (elderly father of a friend) so I abandoned the men folk to their fate and that was that.

A little tiring overall though. How was your own mid-term?

Out and About

8 November, 2022
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Reading etc.

There’s a new Turner exhibition in the National Gallery which I went to see. Genius or no, I didn’t love it. I went to a talk after my tour of the exhibition which was pretty good actually. The audience, on a Wednesday lunch time was composed entirely of elderly women. For once, I felt positively youthful.

I went to the Hugh Lane gallery – always a delight though small, sometimes that can be part of the delightfulness. My visit coincided with that of the Portuguese President who was on a State visit and at the Garden of Remembrance across the road. The members of the army band took shelter in the gallery and I must say they have quite the uniform. A little cape and a kepi – who knew?

I went swimming again with my friend who is a daily swimmer. It was a beautiful day but a bit windy. We got in on the beach side of the swimming shelter and there was a very strong undertow. We were less than two metres from the rocks when my friend said, “Start swimming for the steps.” I did and I made very little progress but eventually got back to the steps and hauled myself out but not before being pushed over the metal banister by a powerful wave. It was really surprising and I thought I was pretty lucky to be with a friend who did so much winter swimming as otherwise, I don’t think I’d have noticed how quickly I was being pulled out to sea. Two older men got in after us and one of them got into trouble. A young couple grabbed the life belt and he went down to the edge of the water (getting his trousers wet) and tossed it into the sea. I could see that the swimmer (maybe in his early 60s) was torn between a macho desire to manage without the ring and self-preservation. Eventually he grabbed the ring. Exciting times, I can tell you.

Mr. Waffle and I went on a Dublin walking tour. I was a bit worried it would be basic and, at best, I expected to learn a couple of things I didn’t know already. I was quite wrong. It was definitely the honours course. The guide took a lot for granted. For example when talking about Dublin housing stock he said in passing, ” I presume you all know about the Church Street Disaster“. There was a general murmur of assent and, indeed, I am familiar with it but I wouldn’t call it mainstream knowledge in Dublin and what on earth the four American tourists on the tour could possibly have known about it, I don’t know. However, for Dublin residents, I thought it was fantastic and I am definitely going to go on another one of his tours.

Several people I know have taken in Ukrainian refugees. I am so impressed by this but mostly they tend to, at least, mention it. I think it is stratospherically virtuous and you could at least get some well-deserved praise. I was amazed when one friend of mine sent out a message asking whether anyone wanted to come to her house for a wreath making workshop with a young designer from Odessa who is living with her. I had had no idea. On inquiry, I found that this young woman has been living with them for the past six months. In fairness, they do have a big house but they also have two primary school age children and it’s a big commitment to bring a stranger into your house with no fixed end date. I am really lost in admiration. Also my wreath? My wreath is amazing.

Paris

12 October, 2022
Posted in: Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel

Friday, September 23, 2022

Mr. Waffle and I went off on our adventure to Paris to visit herself. V thrilling. The flight was uneventful although the journey to our airbnb from the airport felt good and long. The French metro tickets seemed so old fashioned compared to elsewhere. I was very impressed by London where I was just able to use my contactless bank card. The small rectangular Paris ticket seemed so strange. Apparently it is being phased out and I mildly regret not having kept a souvenir. I was charmed by this welcoming poster in the metro.

The airbnb was fine. The listing promised the best view in Paris and it was certainly a good view though the rest of the accommodation was a bit basique.

And frankly the sign in the lift indicating that the pest exterminators were coming on the following Tuesday to deal with the cockroaches was…unwelcome.

I think that the owner of the property may have been a Belgian as there were pictures of Baudouin and Fabiola in the bathroom. Others might have been baffled but my expertise in the field of Belgian royalty stood me in good stead. As my mother used to say, “knowledge is never wasted”.

Herself made her way around to us and we all went for dinner to a place on the quays in the centre of town. The food was fine but no more than it. The restaurant is related to the Tour d’Argent – the diffusion model, if you will – and I have to say that association is doing the Tour d’Argent no favours.

On our stroll around after dinner, we found ourselves passing the restaurant that saved our bacon when we were a hungry family of tourists looking for lunch in the centre of Paris many years ago. It was Asterix themed. We’re not proud. We took a photo to send to the boys but sadly they had forgotten this pivotal cultural moment.

After having put herself in a taxi, Mr. Waffle and I continued our 2022 tour of European city micro-mobility options by scooting back to the airbnb. Unlike in Berlin where you could basically drop your scooter anywhere, there are designated parking areas in Paris. A better solution, I think, although mildly less convenient for the user. Also cobblestones are a challenge.

Saturday, September 24, 2022

We went for breakfast in the Pain Quotidien (judge away) in Rue de Bretagne which was right beside us. Herself joined us and we went for a little flâne around the quartier, stopping to look in the shops and market stalls and a really excellent book shop. My goodness, you forget how heart-stoppingly beautiful Paris is.

After lunch we went to visit friends for tea. The mother and I shared a flat together in Brussels nearly thirty years ago and we have stayed in touch ever since – exchanging Christmas cards and our children – a source of enormous satisfaction to both of us. Their eldest daughter is abroad for college as well and their boys are teenagers. Slightly to my horror they are talking about buying a house in the country and downsizing to a smaller flat in Paris once the youngest starts college. How did we get so old? Also, their truly beautiful flat in the 16th, how can they bear to leave it and where will they put all their books?

Afterwards we went to inspect the Princess’s accommodation. It was in a very chic neighbourhood in an old building. So far so good. We passed the beautiful main entrance and I was delighted. We went on to the grim servants’ entrance behind and I was distinctly less entranced. She was on the 6th floor no lift.

Her landing was terrifying.

Honestly, if you were a location scout, you would say, “This is it, I’ve found the perfect spot for the crime scene.”

However, the flat itself was pleasant enough though small and boasting some slightly exciting plumbing arrangements.

She took us out for dinner to a local Korean place which was, honestly, nicer than where we had eaten on Friday night and far, far cheaper. It also boasted more wipe clean surfaces though.

To celebrate the saving over dinner we went to a local bar for a drink. People, I paid €7.30 for a cup of tea, surely a record etc.

Sunday, September 25, 2022

We went to Mass in the Marais. At the end of the service, we sang Salve Regina and all turned towards the statue of the Virgin Mary in a side chapel. Bit odd, I thought. Catholics please advise.

We met herself for a very expensive breakfast in Place des Vosges. When I was booking our airbnb, I saw one on Place des Vosges and when I went back to book, it was gone. Alas. Anyway, it was delightful. We re-created some pictures from when we were last in Paris together and what I find astounding is how much the iphone camera has improved since 2017.

We wandered past the Musée Carnavalet. It is free, so I was keen to go in. Mr. Waffle was dubious. It’s a museum of the city of Paris and weirdly like all of the other local city museums you have been to, although somewhat larger.

Undoubted highlight was reading some of the v angry comments on the experience. I particularly enjoyed the one that took the opportunity to have a dig at Paris mayor, Anne Hidalgo (patron saint of cyclists).

We had lunch in the courtyard outside which I thought was lovely and atmospheric and herself and Mr. Waffle thought was a public health hazard. As a pigeon flew up on the table beside us herself commented tartly, “Its first time performing this manoeuvre no doubt”.

After lunch, we tackled the Louvre. Free for the under 25s but €17 for each adult. Still worth it, people.

Mr. Waffle and herself tired and went for a cup of tea in Starbucks (in the Louvre, sacred blue etc) but I persevered.

They have such a good collection of French painters as well as everything else and I love a bit of Watteau, Fragonard, Boucher frills and froth as well as the quieter charms of Chardin.

I am not a massive Claude Lorrain fan which is a pity because the Louvre has quite the collection. I had a quick walk down the long gallery stopping at some of the particularly famous paintings (although the Mona Lisa had a queue with a line other very famous and beautiful pictures did not).

I went to an online talk about the Louvre before going and I offer you the information that Diane de Poitiers put her initials and Henri II’s all over the Louvre to the intense chagrin of his wife, Catherine de Medici. I am sure you are delighted to note that your correspondent is as didactic as ever.

We had dinner in a local restaurant. Fine and a moment of triumph when we addressed the waiter and he said, in French, “Oh sorry, I thought you were English.” We did ok actually in the speaking French to French people stakes (something which was not very difficult in the past). They seemed willing which was all I wanted really.

Monday, September 26, 2022

After breakfast out, we packed up, put our suitcases in left luggage and went for a walk in Montmartre. Mr. Waffle was reluctant as it so touristy but it was handy. It wasn’t bad, I thought. I mean, there’s no two ways about it, it is tourist central – we kept getting caught up with a large Spanish walking tour – but it’s not exactly like the rest of Paris is tourist free. And it is rather charming with good views. It is possible that the on/off rain showers may have scared off some of the tourists.

Observe the site where Saint Denis stopped to wash his severed head in a fountain. Not a great picture but, if you look closely, you will see the statue is carrying the head. This is a source of a great line from a French aristo who having been told the story by some cardinal said, “Il n’y a que le premier pas qui coûte”. It’s only the first step that counts. In other words, once he picks up his head and starts walking, well, the fact that it’s 6 kms is neither here nor there. A perennial favourite phrase with my mother.

By lunch time, the rain was torrential. We were to meet herself in a trendy place for lunch. Many of her friends had recommended it. We queued outside for a good half hour in the lashing rain before getting in. There were two queues: the queue for those with reservations and the one for those without. We were in the latter group, sadly.

When we got in, lunch was nice and it was all very happening. I can recommend Pink Mamma but I would also recommend that you book.

Then we said goodbye to herself and began our epic trek to airport. Nothing went wrong but it was just long. I felt bad leaving her sitting dripping on her own on the other side of the metro tracks but she made it home safely and I felt very proud of my small girl making her way in the big city. Also, I was quite pleased that she was coming home shortly.

We had such a good time. I was delighted. Mr. Waffle was reminded of when he lived in Paris in the early 90s and his parents came to visit him. Overall it went well but his father’s credit card had expired and getting cash abroad was not as easy then as it is now. The upshot of this was that he ended up subsidising them in their high rolling cafe adventures from his slender student savings and he still remembers the pain (fear not, they were good for the money but cash flow can be a problem, if you’re a student). No such difficulties occurred during our visit which was just as well as I think our daughter is more like her profligate mama than her prudent papa.

All in all, a triumph.

Patroness of the Arts

30 September, 2022
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Reading etc.

This is always a very busy time of year: there’s the Fringe Festival, the Theatre Festival, Culture Night (sadly missed it this year but we were in Paris – more of which anon – so basically a win), the Dublin Festival of History. It’s all go, I can tell you. With my new non-working status, I can bring a whole new energy to this which my family very much welcome.

Earlier in the year I booked for four people to go to Steward of Christendom in the Gate. It was cancelled twice (Covid, I guess) and we ended up going in late August which was perilously close to the cultural whirlwind that is autumn in Dublin. Also herself was there and I only had four tickets. Everyone wanted not to go (honestly, this is what I have to put up with) but herself won in the end as she was the one for whom a ticket hadn’t been bought in the first place. You would think as an English student she might want to go to this play by Sebastian Barry exploring the great sweep of history through one individual’s recollection of the tumultuous period around the foundation of the Free State. You might think that but you would be wrong.

Anyway, I thought it was really good. I saw it years ago, maybe in the 90s, in the Abbey, I think, and it made a big impression on me. What I didn’t remember from that previous performance is that the main character is in a county home with senile dementia. I think I didn’t know anyone with dementia then and what stayed with me was the loss and the change experienced by the main character rather than the situation in which he found himself. Also there wasn’t so much exploration then of how people loyal to the Crown managed that transition in 1922/23.

The others in the family were less enthused with Mr. Waffle saying, only half in jest, that it should have carried a warning that it dealt with difficult themes including dementia. Alas.

Mr. Waffle and I also went to a performance at the Fringe Festival. We often go to see a comedian in the Fringe (rather than a play) – only about an hour and a half and my experiences have been generally good. We both quite enjoyed “This is Toxic” by a comedian called Julie Jay. I mean, some dark themes and I emerged knowing more about Britney Spears than I had before, but overall very funny. Mr. Waffle was one of the few men in the audience. Make what you will of that.

I went on a tour of the Worth Library – a long held ambition of mine – as part of the festival of history. I had a cold on the day and it is housed in the offices of the Health Service Executive. In the invitation, I was asked to wear a mask. I hummed and hawed but decided to go. No one in the former Dr. Steeven’s hospital appeared to be wearing a mask except the librarian. When I arrived, he explained that I was the only person taking the 11 o’clock tour. To be honest, I had been hoping to avoid that level of scrutiny. He told me that I was a bit early – I was – and maybe I’d like to go to the ladies’ down the corridor while he turned on the lights. Sure, why not?

It’s one room. I learnt a lot about it, and antiquarian books in general, in the 45 minute one on one tour. The librarian had a northern accent, a mask, and as he said, much to my mortification, a speech impediment. I was mortified because I had to keep asking him to repeat things as he was hard to understand. Meanwhile I was pulling down my mask and blowing my nose every two minutes as we danced around the room maintaining a social distance. As though things were not difficult enough, my trusty ancient cords chose this moment to collapse. A bad habit of keeping my phone in my back pocket became too much for these old trousers to bear and the pocket tore taking a good wodge of fabric with it leaving my bottom at severe risk of exposure. I kept my jumper pulled down with one hand and blew my nose with the other but all in all, I wouldn’t call it an entirely comfortable experience.

During Covid, Mr. Waffle gave me a present of a National Gallery membership and I have been waiting for the correct moment to deploy it. That moment is now. I went to the Giacometti exhibition. I wouldn’t be a major Giacometti fan (he weeps) but I did find it pretty interesting. He had a much younger wife who survived him and fiercely promoted and guarded his legacy notwithstanding his taking up with a much younger again mistress who, like his wife, featured in the exhibition.

Having gazed my fill on Giacometti’s works, I went back to the closed cloakroom where I had left my waterproofs reasoning that no one would take them. Reasoning incorrect. They were gone. I went to all the desks but no joy. It was very wet outside. However, just as I was resigning myself to a damp cycle home and considerable investment, they turned up at one of the desks. Mysterious but very welcome. The security guard told me that the cloakrooms have been closed since Covid. This is ridiculous at this stage, frankly. And, once bitten, I’m not so sure I will abandon my coat again. Welcome to my world of first world problems.

Mr. Waffle and I went to the cinema on a Wednesday afternoon. I don’t think I’ve gone to the cinema in the middle of the working day since I was in college. We saw Official Competition which was quite funny in places but relied too much on one gag, I thought. On reflection, quite like the kind of film I used to go and see in college.

I took the opportunity of an empty foyer to insert myself in the “Don’t Worry Darling” drama.

We went with the boys to see “See How They Run”. It was only alright I thought. I’ve actually seen “The Mousetrap” but happily could remember nothing of the plot so the action was all new to me. We’re still searching for the high that was “Murder on the Orient Express”. I know that that Kenneth Branagh vehicle got very mixed reviews but, for us, it was a really great family film.

More cultural adventures to come. Be still my beating heart.

Just in Under the Wire

21 September, 2022
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings

It was the Princess’s 19th birthday in April. I always manage to do a birthday post before her brothers’ birthday on September 27, but it’s a bit tight this year, I would concede. I thought I might stop after she turned 18 but she asked me when I was going to put up her “GDPR breaching” birthday post, so I took this as royal permission to continue.

I usually look back on the 12 months up to her birthday when I write these and the first photo I came across was from late April 2021. It strikes me that she looks very young here even if she had just turned 18. She’s grown up an awful lot over the past year.

She became a big fan of getting up at the crack of dawn and cycling around the park during Covid. She was fit as a fiddle. I went with her a couple of times which was always very pleasant though early which is not where my strengths lie.

Building on her Dublin cycling, she went on a couple of very long cycles with my brother (40-50kms) which she seemed to enjoy. Here she is enjoying a late lunch after a 50km cycle. Whatever floats your boat, I guess. I think she cycles less in England but she still whizzes around on her bike in Dublin.

The big event for her last year was the Leaving Certificate. Covid uncertainty made it all pretty difficulty (would there be an exam, wouldn’t there? what would be examined?) but, in fairness to her, she worked very hard. We had some slight anguish about her French which she was doing outside school. The French woman who was doing conversation classes with her was a PhD student out in UCD with no real idea of what the expected level of French in Irish schools is. She (generously in her own mind) predicted a H2 (between 80 and 90 percent). We were all outraged on the Princess’s behalf. Students were allowed to sit the exams in person and get predicted grades from teachers and choose the higher of the two. She sat all the exams as well as getting the predicted grades and, very unsurprisingly, secured a H1 in French (over 90%) in the exam. In fact when she did the oral, the interviewer seems to have really stopped examining and started chatting explaining that the exam is designed for students with much lower levels of fluency. Herself noticed that the examiner made a couple of errors, so I think we knew we were alright there. She was pretty calm throughout the exams and broadly took things in her stride. Slight trauma about the physics exam (fine in the end, you’ll be pleased to hear) but otherwise she sailed through it.

The now traditional holiday with friends after the Leaving Cert was obviously much curtailed and instead of going abroad, she went to Killarney which, you know, was ok. Personally, I went to my friend’s parents’ holiday house in Rosscarbery so I know how it feels.

She finally got her braces off. Honestly, that whole process was disastrous. The pandemic delayed matters. The whole thing was lengthy and painful (and expensive, needless to say). But, I must say, her teeth look great. Still not sure that I would do it again. Or certainly not with the same orthodontist.

She had a summer of waiting. The exam results which are usually issued in mid-August were due to be later this year. She had a place in a college in England contingent on her results and she’d applied to colleges in Ireland as well but the tension in the run up to the results was significant.

While her brothers were off for a week in Cork we brought her out to dinner with just her parents – to celebrate the end of school and the end of the exams – which she is still young enough to enjoy.

She tidied out her room with alarming thoroughness and culled many books which ended up finding homes elsewhere in the house.

We went on what I thought might be our last family holiday (although in the event she came to Stockholm this year so my weeping and gnashing of teeth may have been premature). That holiday feels like a long long time ago now.

She and her brothers are getting on pretty well as they all shade from adolescence into adulthood. Of course they see a lot less of each other now which I feel may help a bit. They haven’t bickered much in years which I suppose is a good thing but sometimes I think it’s maybe because they lead such separate lives. I would love them to stay close. I am really close to my siblings even though we regularly drive each other crazy. And, as they say, it’s the longest relationship you are likely to have in your life, so it’s an important one.

She often seems more than two and a half years older than the boys. And, the fact that they are the exact same age means that they have much more in common with each other than they do with her. But I think, as they all get older, this will change. The boys will be in college next year (gasp) and they will all three have more in common again then.

To no one’s surprise (including her own, I think) she did very well in her exams and comfortably made her college offer in England. Still, I don’t think I will ever forget going into her bedroom after she had downloaded her results and seeing her radiating happiness. We were all delighted.

I honestly didn’t think that I would be the kind of person who would be sad when my children left home. Well, it turns out, I was totally wrong. I expected her to go to college in Ireland and I thought she wouldn’t move out until she’d got her degree which is what happened with me and my siblings and, indeed, most city dwellers in Ireland. There’s a tradition of not going away to college unless you have to. But I should have known that she would be different, she has always been fiercely independent and keen to live away. She loved her three months in France when she was 15 and I think it made her really determined to study abroad. All the same, 18 seems so young to leave home and I was stupidly unprepared for that development.

It was so sad saying goodbye but she was so happy to be there. Mr. Waffle and I flew to England with her and spent an exhausting time setting her up.

She took to college like a duck to water, she liked the work, she liked living in England, she made loads of friends and she was just very happy and excited. My dentist’s daughter also went to college in England. I saw a lot of my dentist in the six months after our daughters both started college (it was a tough time toothwise, let us not speak of it). His daughter was always on the phone to them, came home for all the holidays and they had been to visit her many times. I think she was probably miserable and homesick and though I was thrilled that herself was not, I couldn’t help but feel a bit envious of the dentist and his ongoing access to his daughter. Herself informed me tersely that she was not enjoying being compared to the dentist’s daughter.

One thing that was really good about her going to England was that the college year started in person as normal. In Ireland, we were much more cautious and her friends who went to college in Ireland took a lot of courses online from their bedrooms which was a bit grim.

I was thrilled when she came with us to the Netherlands for a long weekend but already after only a month of college, she seemed to have grown and changed a lot.

She got Covid in December and I felt so sorry for her. Firstly, she was sick as a dog and all alone in isolation in her college room. Secondly, she had planned to go on a college ski trip and a weekend in Paris with a friend both of which had been paid for and she couldn’t get refunded for either. Then I began to panic that she might not make it home for Christmas. I suppose there will come a time when she can’t make it home for Christmas but not while she’s in her teens. I nearly cried. But, I am delighted to report that she did make it home and she got to go and visit some of her friends’ houses in England over the (very long) winter break. After the first, longest term, we were beginning to get the hang of our new relationship. Still every time I leave her off to the airport, I feel a bit heartbroken.

We went to visit her in England at the February mid-term. I think she enjoyed showing us around. We met her friends. Better, she was really keen for us to meet her friends. They were lovely. They were particularly nice to her younger brothers which is generally the way to my heart. It was good to see her happy, established and settled.

Her aunt and uncle in London were a godsend as, if anything went wrong, they were nearby and when she went to London (which she did a fair bit) they very kindly put her up. She gets on very well with her London aunt the author (who has in an absolutely delightful development dedicated her latest book to her nieces, herself is thrilled) who is extremely kind to her.

My own brother and sister are fantastic as well. She is constantly broke so cash from kindly relatives is very welcome. She met my brother in London and they went to some cool restaurant she couldn’t otherwise have afforded to visit. When he left her he gave her a lump of cash which she promptly went and spent on a (lovely) coat. Improvident but I suppose you are only young once. All her Irish-based relatives are relieved by the current relative strength of the euro against the pound.

Having missed the debs at home due to Covid, it was the year of her first balls. She liked them.

She was home for a good long break over Easter – when she celebrated her birthday. I loved having her home for ages. Herself and Dan worked on the design of the Easter table. I was suitably impressed by their efforts.

It’s funny, I was walking through our local urban village with her recently and I asked whether she thought a lot had changed. “Well no,” she said, “because I’m home all the time.” To be clear, this is not, as they say, my truth.

This birthday post is a lot more about me and my feelings than it is about her, I think. That’s largely because she doesn’t live with us anymore and I just don’t know quite as much about her life as I did. I am so pleased that she is happy and well and things are going her way. But the granular detail I had about her life from living in the same house all the time, just isn’t there. And that takes more getting used to than I expected. I still occasionally lay the table for five.

This year with me not working and her more settled into college life, I expect to see a lot more of her. She will visit home a bit more. I will visit her in England more regularly. I feel, however, that this year we have set out the parameters for our future relationship with our adult child.

Daniel, unhelpfully, said to me, “By the time your child is 18 you have, on average, already spent 90% of the time you are going to spend with them.” However as my friend D pointed out, a lot of that time is spent walking up and down in the middle of the night with a crying baby, it’s not a lot of fun but the time now is all good.

In that spirit, Mr. Waffle and I are going to Paris at the weekend to see her. She’s spending the month of September there doing an internship. Isn’t it well for her?

Relationship Status: It’s Complicated

19 September, 2022
Posted in: Boys, Cork, Daniel, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings

Mr. Waffle and I were on a lovely walk (well lovely in parts, parts were a bit inhospitable, but the views were generally nice and the weather was fantastic) in Carlingford the week before last when my phone started pinging.

It was my Sunday afternoon book club speculating about the health of the Queen of England. They weren’t wrong, we arrived home in time to see the BBC read out news of her death. I was startled by how shaken I felt up there on the mountain. I mean, she was 96, it was hardly a complete surprise.

I suppose she reminds me a bit of my father who was of the same generation, just a year older; the old order changeth and all that. I remember my father telling me about the death of the old King – George V – in 1936 when my father was 10. There are few enough people now who remember that. I am surprised that, 100 years after independence, the death of a British monarch still has so much relevance here including for me

The Irish papers were full of the symbolic importance of her trip to Ireland in 2011. The children were in primary school at the time and the school closed down for the day as it was a bit close to the Queen’s visit to town. People were pretty nervous, I remember (presumably not as nervous as she was). It all went off peacefully though. She went to Cork (“Rebel County” snorted Mr. Waffle as gangs of school children waved flags to greet her on the Grand Parade). The fishmonger in the Market made a career from his brief encounter with her much to my brother’s ongoing chagrin. He feels that the fishmonger may have gone overboard on the marketing. He got a book out of the two minute encounter which was featured all over again in the Irish coverage of her death.

On the Sunday after she died, I was surprised when the priest prayed for her at mass. “We pray now for Queen Elizabeth II and that she will be forgiven her sins, and received into the Kingdom of Heaven,” intoned the priest. “That’s what we do when people die, we pray for them and for God to forgive them their sins,” he informed the slightly startled congregation.

This Sunday, I noticed on the missalette under the list of mass intentions (a list of people for whom parishioners have paid for masses to be said – don’t talk to me about the Reformation – for special intentions, anniversaries, exams, dead family members, whatever you’re having yourself) that on Monday, 19 September, somebody was having a mass said for Queen Elizabeth II (RD). RD stands for recently deceased. Like we didn’t know. There she was sandwiched in between Bennie and Maisie (anniversary) and Pat and Mary (deceased) and sitting underneath the information that it was the feast day of Saint Januarius, Bishop and Martyr.

The second reading from St. Paul (something of a pragmatist) to Timothy was timely:

My advice is that, first of all, there should be prayers offered for everyone – petitions, intercessions, and thanksgiving – and especially for kings and others in authority so that we may be able to live religious and reverent lives in peace and quiet. To do this is right, and will please God our saviour: he wants everyone to be saved and reach full knowledge of the truth.

It really feels like the end of an era.

Updated to add: this appeared in today’s Irish Times. My brother is going to get a hernia.