Mr. Waffle

The boys got Foil Arms and Hogg tickets for Christmas. They went with their father and their sister just before Easter and pronounced it satisfactory.

For Easter Sunday we had extended family round and it was lovely. Sadly my nephew was off in Germany with a friend (I mean not sadly for him but sadly for us as it would have been nice to have had all the cousins together) but otherwise we were all there. As the 11 of us sat down to lunch, herself said, “Have we any bubbles?” “Champagne? No,” I said. “Well even Prosecco or Moscato?” she asked. I would like to say that these are English notions but her paternal grandfather never met a celebration which he felt could not be made better by Prosecco so they are probably home grown notions. She did a great job in prepping the table. She’s quite arty; this did not come from me.

Dinner – cooked by Mr. Waffle – was reasonably successful although my four year old niece did not eat anything. “You’re not eating,” said Michael anxiously. “Michael, that you of all people should say that…” said her mother. Everyone laughed. Even Michael. He is like his grandmother who really enjoyed small children and was quite fascinated by them. Dinner was a triumph for the cat who after everyone had left the room, leapt up on the table, grabbed the remains of the leg of lamb and made off with it at speed.

There was a rather damp garden Easter egg hunt for my niece. The Easter eggs were small but many and I have never seen her more pleased than when she came in with her bucket of eggs. It was really great to have everyone together again.

The week after Easter, Mr. Waffle and I took ourselves for a walk to Portrane. We went there just as Covid was beginning and it was funny to be there now that it’s – apparently – all over.

I went to see “The Secrets of Dumbledore”. Absolutely no one in the family could face going with me, so I went on my own. At the start, Dumbledore outlines how to outwit Grindelwald: we need last minute plans, overlapping plans, confusing plans. My heart sank a bit as JK Rowling is a woman who likes a convoluted plot without making it an essential part of the plot if you see what I mean. It was alright actually but I do think the whole thing may be beginning to run out of steam.

Over the holidays I took herself to the dentist and then we bought her a ball dress. It took a lot out of both of us (far more than the dental visit which was benign by comparison). Part of the problem was that with her sylph like figure most things looked good on her and she tried on a lot of things. We bought this dress in the end. She is pleased. I hope she continues to be as she will have to get a lot of wear out of it.

I have discovered that she has become a coffee drinker. I suppose as addictive habits you pick up in college go, it could be worse. It’s always really sad when she goes back to England. Usually she’s quite perky but she was glum on this occasion – which made it worse – as she had upcoming exams and she had to unpack all her stuff from storage. Both of these weighed pretty heavily on her mind. She has on campus accommodation which I thought was terrific but it comes with the not inconsiderable downside that she has to pack up all her stuff in three large boxes for every holiday. She says third years have it down pat and only bring a t-shirt to college. For English students their parents can drive them up and down and help them with the packing but she has to do it by herself. Last time she grabbed some unfortunate random young man to help with her boxes. “Where are your parents?” he asked. “They’re not here,” she said (with a touch of bitterness, I’d say). He thought that her parents were dead and was both mortified and sympathetic until the boxes were moved and the matter was cleared up. I am beginning to realise that from now on holidays will be bookended by happy arrivals and gloomy departures. Oh well.

I trust your own Easter was satisfactory.