Princess

Thorny Theological Questions

5 January, 2026 2 Comments
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Princess

Some time ago we had the tale of Lazarus and Dives at mass. You know the one, the rich man is at his table, the poor man at his gate begging. Then they both die and things are reversed – well the rich man is in Hell begging the poor man – who is in heaven – for a drop of water. I think we can all work out what the moral is there.

There is a slightly crazy older woman who attends mass regularly, she tends to walk about a bit but when she perches beside you it is slight purgatory as she speaks loudly and often asks for money (she lives in some kind of half way house near the church, I think). On this particular Sunday as the priest was sermonising away about Lazarus and Dives she sat beside me and asked me had I any money. As it happened I had €20 but that was all I had and I thought, “If I give her this €20 note she will literally sit beside me every time I go to the church ever.” So, quite untruthfully, I said, “No, I’m afraid I haven’t.” It all felt a bit on the nose. I was telling herself later on the phone and she said, “It’s not a lie, really it’s a mental reservation i.e. I have no money (for you).” Did I feel better? Can’t say I did really though I appreciated the vote of confidence.

Christmas Update

31 December, 2025 4 Comments
Posted in: Dublin, Family, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Twins, Youngest Child

Still alive. A bit challenging this year. We had my brother and sister on Christmas Eve which was nice but I was starting, alas, to feel a little under the weather. Did 2 solid hours in Dublin’s newly minted Catholic cathedral make me feel better? It did not although the singing was beautiful and the archbishop gave a pro-migrant sermon of which I strongly approved. My brother was beside me and it is hard to believe that he had ever been to Christmas mass at all as he kept saying, “Surely, it must be about to end now.” Herself commented sagely that the flower arrangers etc. still had to be thanked. She was right although the thanks were mercifully less extensive than they tend to be in our local church.

We had exchanged presents with my sister earlier in the day as she was spending Christmas Day with her partner’s family. I always feel she does quite poorly out of this as she is very generous to the children and doesn’t get so much from us. She did not disappoint this year and I gleefully pocketed a blue book voucher and a nice candle and the children got untold largesse. She also gave me a novelty jigsaw which was a blown up picture of our cat. I think it’s going to kill me. And I’m also feeling a lot less enthusiastic about the cat.

Comparisons are odious but this jigsaw which I received from my middle child was much more satisfactory.

You’ll see there’s a piece missing. We spent days on our hands and knees on the floor looking for it but finally a couple of days ago we swept the jigsaw into its box and decided the piece was lost. This morning middle child found the missing piece. In a trouser pocket. Was I delighted? I was not.

Back to our chronology here, I felt ok when we got up on Christmas morning and v much enjoyed the present giving (good haul thanks) and receiving. Mr. Waffle does a treasure hunt for the children on Christmas morning and that was great too.

We were having the in-laws and my brother to Christmas lunch and the children were a great help in prepping and the table looked fantastic; the food wasn’t bad either. All in all pretty satisfactory though I am, if possible, even more grateful to the in-laws who host almost every year. This year they have moved out of their house to facilitate very significant renovations. If you pray to a deity, please remember them in your prayers, they’ll need it.

By the time evening rolled around, we were all a bit exhausted though we did play one game of 110 with my brother. Wouldn’t say everyone was totally into it.

I’ve no idea what happened on St. Stephen’s Day. I whined about being ill. The Princess admired the spectacular bruise which the dentist’s butchery had left her with. My brother hit the sales and we put him on the bus to Cork.

On Saturday I was still ill. So sorry for myself. Herself and myself went to look at the antiques shops on Francis Street (all still closed) and had lunch in the Argentinian place on Meath Street. I was exhausted after my mild outing.

To everyone’s horror we realised that we were booked in to see Dublin Gothic in the Abbey that evening. A three hour play about one Dublin building. And two, yes two, 15 minute intervals leading to a total run time of 3 and a half hours. While there were varying levels of enthusiasm when this Christmas treat was booked, I think that it would be fair to say that on Saturday night we all shared the exact same enthusiasm level namely zero. To be fair to the play, it wasn’t too bad but it was too long and we weren’t in the form to appreciate it as we might. It gave us something to talk about and there were some very interesting ideas and funny bits but you know, 3 and a half hours is a lot even when you want to go and you are in the whole of your health neither of which necessarily applied.

On Sunday I felt just well enough for a mild stroll around the Botanic Gardens. Very sorry for myself still.

On Monday I finally started to recover. We rejoice. Herself and myself and Mr. Waffle had a look at the antiques shops many, but by no means all, of which were open.

Then we went home and she packed and we dropped her to the airport to go back to London. Gutting. I felt very sad. But there you are, this is the lot of the Irish mother. I did it to my mother and she did it to her mother so I suppose we can only hope that some day she’ll move home again like my mother and I did. She’s starting a job and moving flat in January so exciting times ahead and I guess London isn’t so far.

Today my recovery continued apace and we climbed the Sugar Loaf. These pictures give the impression that we were there alone but in fact this was not at all the case and every family in Dublin appeared to be on the mountain having a health giving walk. It was a beautiful day and you could see snow on the higher mountains in the distance and all the way across to Snowdonia in Wales.

I am delighted to report that I have no plans for this evening. I hope that your Christmas passed off peacefully also and that you are recovering from the inevitable illness of the season. A very happy new year. More blogging in 2026; something for you to look forward to.

The Christmas Hits Keep Coming

23 December, 2025 6 Comments
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Twins

Last week I went in to Trinity for carols. I did it last year and it was lovely. The child who is in Trinity had an exam (at 5 in the afternoon, does that strike you as peculiar?); the other Dublin based child has no interest; and Mr. Waffle was busy at work so I went alone. I sloped out of work a bit early and headed in. Here is my news for you, if you want to go to the carol service in Trinity chapel at 5.05, don’t arrive at 5. This was the queue. Did I get in? I did not.

From outside the church I heard that great advent hymn “O Come, O Come Emmanuel” which could usefully have replaced some of the numbers I had heard other choirs deliver. Alas.

I gave it up as a bad job and, pausing only to note the bat signal

and the attractive Christmas tree (regular readers will recall my disastrous attempt to get to the lighting ceremony), I left Trinity in a state of damp gloom.

On my way home I passed Dublin castle which was advertising winter lights. They weren’t as good as the truly spectacular Collins Barracks lights that we saw last year but they weren’t bad and I pretty much had them to myself.

Speaking of lights – did I tell you we had a lighting up session for all the vulgar outdoor lights on the road? Well, we did. I used to hate outdoor lights but now I love them; you see change is possible though I remain slightly unsure about the large inflatable Santa across the road. It’s a lovely event usually but this year it was freezing, squally and wet and no amount of mince pies, mulled wine, gas fired braziers and neighbours could keep me beyond about 10 minutes but the lights are on now and I like them. Yes, probably even the Santa.

We had some carols at work and they were surprisingly good despite my expectations being extremely low.

We hosted Christmas drinks on Saturday afternoon which were broadly successful. Top tip though, if you are hoping to have your Christmas drinks catered, you need to start ringing around more than a month in advance. We did not have our drinks catered. It was nice but it also nearly killed me. We are fully stocked for Christmas (also, I note our floorboards need re-sanding).

One of our guests commented that she liked the ivy around the mirror. “Did you forage that?” she asked. “Um, yes, I suppose,” said I. “Sorry, I’m using my Dublin dialect, I meant did you strip it off the walls?” she clarified. Accurate.

We only got the tree up on Friday afternoon – everything was a bit late this year but it is a fine specimen even though we had to lop off the top. Every extra foot costs a tenner so Mr. Waffle would like us to think harder about our needs before sending him out to invest in a tree in future.

On Sunday we had middle child’s Swedish friend to lunch before she went home to Sweden. St Lucia is a big thing in Sweden at this time of year and she described the white dresses with the red sashes and the crown of lit candles that young girls wear. “Is it a bit dangerous?” I asked. Apparently it is; she described with some enthusiasm the various times young women’s hair had caught fire. “Would they not consider artificial candles?” I asked. “Only for very young children,” she said reprovingly. I see that, despite everything, the Viking spirit lingers on.

The house looks nice for Christmas and the Swedish friend commented, “The old core style you favour works really well for Christmas.” True. “Sorry,” she corrected herself, “I meant old-fashioned.” Probably best not to provide clarification there.

We have finally passed the winter solstice and the days are getting longer. It was always a holiday my father liked so I thought of him fondly on the day.

Herself went to the dentist yesterday and he gave her two fillings. He also seems to have made some kind of mistake with his injecting as her jaw has swelled like a balloon and she has the beginnings of a spectacular bruise. Alas. Even when I got my root canal done, I had nothing like this. She is sore and peeved. Herself, myself and Mr. Waffle went out for breakfast to cheer her up and then on a slightly overcast walk on Dun Laoghaire pier and a reviving cup of tea afterwards. She remains a bit glum. She’s just gone in to town to meet some school friends and show off her jaw.

It would not be Christmas if we did not need a tradesman who ignored us. The fan in the upstairs bathroom has gone and Mr. Waffle has already been available for three full days when the electrician faithfully promised he would come. Did he come? He did not. “Godot and Co. have still not arrived,” said Mr. Waffle gloomily on enquiry. Realistically, is the electrician likely to come before January? He is not. On the plus side the drains man came when expected (don’t ask) and I suppose if one tradesman out of two is going to let you down, I would much rather that the electrician was the disappointing one.

I trust your own Christmas preparations are proceeding apace.

London

19 December, 2025 6 Comments
Posted in: Princess, Reading etc., Travel

Friday December 12

I went to London to see herself. Despite flying Ryanair, always a high risk option from the point of view of failing to meet baggage or other criteria, all went well and I landed safely in Gatwick without disgorging an extra cent. Gratifying.

I stayed in a rather pricey B&B in Chelsea where herself is temporarily resident (Chelsea rather than the B&B). I found Chelsea delightful but I do see that it is a bit old and expensive for a younger demographic. Her flat is lovely but she is moving on to somewhere that is probably more affordable.

Herself came and rescued me from the B&B and we walked down the charming streets of Chelsea to her flat.

We were going to the theatre that evening so I went back to my place to change (unnecessary, I had not understood the nature of the audience in the National Theatre) and we met in Sloane Square which confusingly seems to be sponsored by Ralph Lauren for Christmas.

Due to some timing issues we were dining after the theatre so I purchased a Marmite and cheese bun to keep the wolf from the door. Not as unpleasant as it sounds but wouldn’t rush back for another.

We were going to see Ballet Shoes. I had reread the Noel Streatfeild book in preparation (a particular delight in a year where I feel I have read too many new books and not reread enough old ones). The night before I had been for dinner with two friends from college one of whom was extremely familiar with the text and one of whom had never heard of it. The latter began to become concerned we had joined a cult as the former and I discussed the plot in granular detail. I digress slightly but we went to a fancy new rooftop restaurant on top of the old central bank building and it felt very swanky. It’s called Díon which is the Irish for roof which is kind of clever. One of my college friends said that her friend has given each of her four (!) children €70,000 to buy a house; as my other friend commented acerbically, “What are the rest of us who don’t have €70,000 to give to our children going to do?” What indeed? Is it any wonder my beloved first born thinks she has a better chance of getting a house in London. Sigh.

Anyway, back to Ballet Shoes. Obviously, I know it’s a children’s book. I don’t know why I didn’t think it would be a production broadly aimed at children. And so it was. The sets and costumes were really good. Some of the actors were outstanding but some were not. Posy Fossil was pretty mediocre. She was a good ballet dancer and I can see why they needed someone who could dance but there is a lot of acting as well. Theo Dane – a bit part in the book but somewhat expanded here – was very good.

There was a lot of dancing which I enjoyed but the children are the heart of the book. The actress who played Pauline was good but the one who played Petrova was only alright and the actress who played Posy was just not great. And they were all adults. I can’t help feeling I’d have been more forgiving on the acting front had they not all been in their 20s.

The audience demographics were interesting also. Despite it being a children’s Christmas treat there were almost no children there. In fact they were pretty much all old people (a good deal older than me, I would say). I found this a bit puzzling. Had they no grandchildren? I can’t help feeling that if herself had been 15 years younger we might both have enjoyed it a great deal more. So, I suppose, recommended, if you have children to accompany you.

Saturday December 13

We had a pricey but pleasant breakfast in Daylesford organic (a sort of Pain Quotidien equivalent).

We wandered around Chelsea for a bit. A previously unknown part of London for me but, I think it’s fair to say, a not completely unknown destination. I did like it very much. It feels weirdly suburban though for somewhere quite central.

I enjoyed this example of English humour.

We went in to the National Portrait Gallery and saw the Cecil Beaton exhibition which I enjoyed very much.

For the first time, I thought there might be something to abstract expressionism but, on balance, I still think not. It’s just Cecil Beaton’s genius made it seem momentarily appealing.

Given that he was so much a society photographer, there were lots of familiar faces. I was surprised though to see Hazel Lavery who looks like she does in her husband’s pictures but also less attractive. I understand that she was very beautiful but this picture does her no favours.

After our dose of culture we went for a cup of tea in a spot called 26 grains which I am pleased to approve. It was in a nice little courtyard slightly away from the main drag. The main drag was Covent Garden and it was very Christmassy and pretty but heaving.

We didn’t stay long. We hopped on a bus (upstairs, lovely views) to North London where Mr. Waffle’s sister, N, was singing in a Christmas concert and had procured tickets for us. We arrived a bit early and wandered around the streets of Islington. Herself was ecstatic and even ran into a friend from college. I thought it was nice and everything but not as lovely as Chelsea. I suppose these things may be age dependent.

The Christmas concert was a delight even though it featured several songs I had never heard. As you know, I am generally not a fan of this approach. However, I really, really liked four of the unknown numbers- so much so that I insisted on playing them for the troops when I got home, they were less keen; perhaps you had to be there. I thought it was really lovely anyway and I definitely wiped away una furtiva lacrima (surely, I am allowed to be pretentious here in the privacy of my own blog?).

After the concert, herself, myself and N went to the local Ottolenghi. I had never been before and was curious. It was very nice but more snacky than I expected. Strong on salads. I had the fish though and it was excellent.

Sunday December 14

After some reflection we went back to Daylesford for breakfast. My flight was at lunchtime and I didn’t have loads of time and it was handy. She’s obviously never darkened the door herself as she is living on shoestring. Mind you this shoestring is in part necessary because she’s just back from a fortnight in Japan with friends, so, you know, not all bad.

The main reason I left so early was so that I could get to my annual book club Christmas afternoon tea. I should really have just accepted that I was going to miss it this year. I was exhausted. I mean it was grand but I am just not the kind of person who can swan from plane to anything other than a quiet evening at home.

I trust your own Christmas preparations continue apace. I finally got my tree up and decorated the house this afternoon. I still have some Christmas cards to write and if you are one of the people who has not yet received one, I am very sorry but now I am off to the airport to collect herself so who knows when they will issue. Hurrah for the return of the firstborn though!

Have a picture of the tree in the upper courtyard of Dublin Castle which like mine (as of this afternoon) is up and decorated.

Saint Nicolas

6 December, 2025
Posted in: Belgium, Family, Middle Child, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

He came – after all these years. As I write one of the Dublin based children is still in bed, so possibly excitement levels are not what they once were. But look, it’s the thought that counts!

I guess it’s a long time since 2006.

Old News from England

29 November, 2025
Posted in: Cork, Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel

Did I tell you about when Mr. Waffle and I went to Cambridge to visit herself earlier in the year? I did not. Well now, here’s something for you to look forward to. It was in March but look, we’re scraping the bottom of the barrel here content wise (I can hear my father spinning in his grave at this terrible construction but here we are).

Friday, 14 March 2025

There was rugby in Rome the weekend we were travelling. At the airport Mr. Waffle and I ran into not one, not two, but three people we knew: one off to the rugby; one going to a party in Cornwall; and one, like us, going to London. This last was the son of my mother’s friend from college and he was always a bit charming and feckless. This may have been why he and his wife were on stand by for the flight they were taking with their two teenagers. It all worked out in the end. It always does for the charming but feckless in my experience.

Mr. Waffle and I traveled with laptops and had to do a bit of work when we arrived. Were we pleased? We were not.

There was a formal dinner arranged in the Princess’s college for Patrick’s day and I was filled with pride when she got up at the drinks at start of the evening and read – in Irish – the poem that begins “Anois Teacht an Earraigh”; it’s a poem I love and her grandmother loved it too. She explained to the audience about wandering bards and how this poem would have been recited all over Ireland and now, she said, it’s come to Cambridge. My mother would have been delighted.

Herself had become great buddies with a guy from Cork and on chatting to him I discovered that he had gone to the primary school where my cousin had been headmaster for many years. Rather charmingly when we established this link, he said in awe struck tones “You know Mr. K?”. He obviously felt unable, even at that distance, to bandy around Mr. K’s first name as I had been doing so recklessly.

Look at me filled with delight dining with my firstborn (I am wearing my sail – our hotel offered bikes for guests and they were handy but I did worry slightly that I might take flight on my way to dinner).

Saturday 15, March 2025

We went on a punt. It was shockingly expensive and the young woman powering the punt, though very strong given her willowy frame, was distressingly ignorant about the sights. We were able to get the gist from other guides on nearby punts but not as good somehow.

We went to Fitzbillies, a popular Cambridge tea room. Fine but nothing to write home about in my view. There is a really lovely cafe where I always went for breakfast with herself on my visits and we definitely graced that with our presence at some point but, sadly, if you were thinking of visiting yourself, I cannot now summon its name to mind.*

Herself knowing my love of a good cemetery took us to a lovely one.

One of the Edgeworths is buried there (a sister of the better known Maria). A long way from home.

We checked out the Princess’s room. She did a great job of decorating it notwithstanding some challenges, the most serious of which was the quantity of furniture (particularly tables) which the university authorities provided with the room and which could not be removed for complex and doubtless administratively understandable reasons.

Sunday 16 March, 2025

Herself took us to Mass. It was very long and enthusiastic. There was an excellent sermon on a papal encyclical sent to America in which, to quote from Wikipedia “the pope addressed a heresy that he called Americanism and expressed his concern that the Catholic Church in the United States should guard against American values of liberalism and pluralism undermining the doctrine of the Church”. I mean, some of us felt that the topic choice was a bit tactless given that next up was some innocent young American woman telling us about the church’s charity work but ok.

After lunch we walked to Grantchester. My mother-in-law used to enjoy quoting the last couplet from Rupert Brooke’s The Old Vicarage, Grantchester “Stands the Church clock at ten to three?/And is there honey still for tea?” When we got there the clock did indeed stand at ten to three which was very gratifying.

I only took a picture after our cup of tea and the clock stands at five past four and I seem to have included some large bins in shot. Somehow, life never is as romantic as poetry. I mean, look, apparently Jeffrey Archer lives in the old vicarage now. Incidentally, whoever wrote the Wikipedia entry on Jeffrey Archer really hates him.

We all had dinner together on Sunday night and then Mr. Waffle and I headed home on Monday morning. A good time had by all etc.

Tomorrow is November 30. Are we all heaving a sigh of relief?

*Updated to add: Mr Waffle made it his mission to find out the cafe’s name. He did. It was Cafe Foy apparently.