In rapid succession I went to the following events at an arts festival: David O’Doherty (covered earlier, try to keep up), Paul Murray (rather earnest but interesting author of, inter alia, “The Bee Sting”) and Louise Lowe. I found the last the most interesting (Mr. Waffle accompanied me – he was supposed to come to the other two as well but pressure of work prevented him and having run into loads of people I knew at both earlier events who were wondering why I was there on my own – not to mention the expense of getting two tickets when only one turned out to be needed – I was pretty pleased to have him there but I remain mildly resentful about his previous unavoidable absences, as you can possibly tell from this lengthy aside).
Louise Lowe is a director of a theatre company called ANU and I have been to loads of their productions and they are always interesting and usually good. I found her absolutely fascinating. She has a really unusual way of looking at things and she is intrigued by the audience and uses all kinds of different approaches to bring them closer to the production. So enthused am I that I have become a supporter – so far all this has got me is an opportunity for early access to tickets to a play I saw already last Christmas but I remain optimistic.
I have been to see the Mainie Jellett & Evie Hone exhibition in the National Gallery a couple of times. Interesting, but I did not love a lot of the art. Much like the Irish Times in the 1920s, it appears I am not ready for modernism in Irish art.
Like the curate’s egg though, good in parts.
Nice to see an old friend from the Crawford Gallery on tour anyhow.
My brother got me a voucher for an “art afternoon tea” in the Merrion hotel for Christmas. They have an amazing art collection and you get to look at it; get a brochure on it; and eat cakes inspired by it. Not cheap (though free to me) and quite difficult to get a booking but I would recommend. Herself accompanied me. We enjoyed our experience.
I was listening to the German classical music radio that Mr. Waffle favours when I heard this number I have not heard in over 40 years. We learnt it in school for choir. To be honest I thought it was a bit mawkish but hearing it really brought me back. It’s by Handel, apparently, who knew? I have to say, you’ve got to applaud Mrs. O’Shea’s vaulting ambition for the 14 year old girls in her charge.
Mr. Waffle and I went to tenth anniversary celebratory drinks for the Dublin Inquirer to which we subscribe. It’s run on a complete shoestring but I like their enthusiasm and I like getting a print edition delivered. The drinks were upstairs in a pub and a bit primitive but we got to meet all the journalists and the editor. We also met the mother of one of the journalists. It was that kind of evening. The journalist was American but her mother was Irish (though she had lived in America for many years) and had just that morning arrived in from the States to show support (“I’m here as a subscriber,” she said enthusiastically but she was the only subscriber who had travelled 5,000 kms to be upstairs in a pub). She told us that on arrival that morning, she had discovered through the inevitable channels that her old headmistress’s funeral was that very day so she and her mother (the journalist’s grandmother – are you still with me?) went to the funeral and had lunch in the convent with the nuns which she very much enjoyed. I enjoyed this exchange myself as it confirmed all my beloved stereotypes about Irish people and funerals.
Our media subscriptions may yet beggar us. We subscribe to the Inquirer, the Irish Times, the Guardian and the Canard Enchaîné which you might have thought was plenty. The other day Mr. Waffle said to me “According to Haaretz…” “Sorry, what?” I said. He said, “I’m a subscriber. I felt they needed some support.” I mean yes, but that’s a lot of news organisations to keep afloat.
We went to the Dalkey book festival. Dalkey is a lovely little village beside the sea near Dublin. Our hopes for a lovely day were dashed by the bucketing rain. We went on our bikes and although our rain gear is good it wasn’t exactly the pleasant cycling experience I had envisaged. Also Dalkey is full of electric SUVs. I mean it’s good that they are electric, I guess, but they steal up behind you and unnerve you as you cycle along, like a snowboarder swooshing down the mountain after you as you are attempting a tricky turn.
We went to a panel talk on the manosphere. I was very underwhelmed. No new insights and I have decided that a panel with four people and a host is never going to give you any depth. I bought this book all the same, I had heard the author on a couple of podcasts and the book sounded interesting, though like everyone else, she had no real chance to shine on the panel. Not a triumph.
What was a triumph was that I had booked a restaurant for dinner and despite the literature loving hordes who had descended on the town we got our dinner and a window seat from whence we could see the crowd at the pub across the road, come out, get driven in by the rain and come out again.
As we were sitting watching the crowds surge in and out of the pub we saw Mr. Waffle’s brother and his wife locking their bikes to the pole across the road so we rushed out to say hello. Then another friend came up and we all had a nice chat until the rain started again and we all scuttled back to our various locations.
After dinner we went to see Paul Howard talk about Ross O’Carroll Kelly. Wouldn’t be a massive fan myself but Mr. Waffle enjoys the books. Mr. Howard packed out the ballroom of the hotel and the local crowd loved him (technically, I think Ross may be from Foxrock but Dalkey appears to be close enough). It was grand but I spent much of the evening in shock as Mr. Waffle pointed out an apparently very elderly gent whom I did not recognise at all but turns out to have been one of my (younger) lecturers from college. Disturbing.
To recover, we had a drink in the town with the friend we had run into earlier and his wife who was one of the volunteers shepherding literature enthusiasts from venue to venue.
As you will be no doubt aware, Bloomsday was June 16. I’m not a huge Joyce fan but a friend of the Princess’s who is doing a PhD on Joycean stuff was over from England to give a lecture so we went along to show support. Mr. Waffle found it interesting; I thought it was quite hard going myself but we both agreed that it was better than the Dalkey panel, so there was that.
And finally in cultural news, Mr. Waffle and I saw “Jane Austen Ruined my Life”. Grand but nothing to write home about. A bilingual film about a French woman who loves Jane Austen. It is supposed to be set in a big English Georgian house but it is a quite obviously entirely French big house so I found that amusing. We get our thrills where we can.
How have your own cultural outings been going?
