belgianwaffle

Mr. Waffle

Bitter, Bitter, Bitter is the Lemon to the Fritter


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Mr. Waffle

It was my birthday on March 10 and on March 9, Mr. Waffle took me to a nice restaurant for dinner. It was filled with tables of older women and we and 4 or 5 other couples were in an alcove away from the main restaurant. I asked our waiter who the women were (IFUW was my initial thought). “They are,” he announced proudly, “the mothers of the rugby players.” Scotland were to play Ireland the following day. We looked dubious, this seemed unlikely. Seeing our expressions he added, “Possibly also the grandmothers.” It was later explained that these were the wives or rugby officials. Clearly an older cohort. And that was all fine and dandy until they got our their guitars (I kid you not) and started belting out 70s numbers (“Torn Between Two Lovers, “Leaving on a Jet Plane”) as well as, of course, “Flower of Scotland” and the ever unappealing “Ireland’s Call”.

Alas, fair maiden.

High Standards


Posted in: Mr. Waffle, Princess

Michael: What’s an ego?
Herself: Well, there’s an ego and a super ego.
My sister: A super ego?
Herself: It’s the rules of society that stop you jumping the queue or taking another person’s sandwich. A baby, for example, doesn’t have a super ego.
My sister (faintly): Oh.

On relating this to the Princess’s loving father, he said, “Oh yes, I remember explaining that to her in some context or other. It doesn’t sound like she added much to the original lesson.”

Extra Time


Posted in: Ireland, Mr. Waffle

We’ve given up watching the news in the evenings; so, in fact, we’ve given up watching television altogether because all our TV watching consisted of the news and an hour of vain channel hopping thereafter. Now we sit and read and listen to music. We chat. It’s amazing how much of a difference it’s made to my evening. Apart from anything else, it’s delightful to be missing the economic doom news which RTE likes to lead with nightly. I’ll let you know when our resolve cracks.

Lord of Laundry


Posted in: Mr. Waffle

My saintly husband does all the laundry in our house. When he has to go to work early, he puts his clothes on the landing so that he will not wake me by looking for clothes in the dark. He is all virtue.

Recently, I had an early morning appointment at the dentist. I thought (for the first time, to my shame) I would take a leaf from Mr. Waffle’s book and leave my clothes on the landing. Unfortunately, after I had gone to bed, he saw them there and put them in the washing machine. In these circumstances, it is very hard to blame him. And then I had to go and get an injection in my gum. Alas.

We’re Alive!


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Twins, Youngest Child

During dinner this evening, the carbon monoxide alarm went off for the first time ever. It’s very loud. My ears are still ringing. As Mr. Waffle wrestled with it, Michael kept posing questions through the ringing and things became a little tetchy. The alarm instructions (which, yes, we had to hand, OCD and its many uses) advised that we go outside and leave all the windows and doors open while we called the emergency services. We might well have done that had it been summer and not quite so rainy. Instead we stayed indoors, put the children to bed and later consulted the internet.

You will be relieved to hear that we’ve turned off all gas appliances (last serviced in October for heaven’s sake) and are sitting in the cold. Having re-checked with our original alarm and the spare (your point? it was sitting waiting in its packaging for this moment), all seems to be well now. However, a man will have to be summoned before we can put on the gas fired central heating, the cooker or the gas fire. Alas. I will be retiring to bed early with a hot water bottle.

Mr. Waffle (installer of the carbon monoxide alarms) is mildly triumphant. But he doesn’t feel the cold. Still, if you have gas appliances, I should, I suppose, take this opportunity to suggest that you invest in a carbon monoxide alarm.

4S4Ever


Posted in: Mr. Waffle, Princess, Reading etc., Twins, Youngest Child

I got an iphone 4S for Christmas from my loving husband. I am finding it less than entirely intuitive. The children, however, are very taken with Siri and herself has been cross-questioning the phone.

Herself: What’s your name?
Siri: Siri, but you knew that already.
Herself: How old are you?
Siri: How does that concern you?
Herself: What is the best smartphone?
Siri: Wait…there are other phones?
Herself: What is your favourite colour?
Siri: There is no word for it in your language. It’s like blue but it has other dimensions.
Herself: Do you like biscuits?
Siri: This isn’t about me, it’s about you.
Herself: What is the best iphone?
Siri: You’re holding it in your hand.
Michael: You’re a poopy head.
Siri: I am sorry I did not understand that.
Herself: Sorry about my idiot brother.
Siri: No problem.
Herself: Thank you.
Siri: Why, thanks.