Cat, one of my commenters recommended trying rose petal jam. I was intrigued. We have a lot of roses. I tried it out. It’s a very instagrammable process but sadly I have given up instragram. I only made a small quantity. “Handmade in small batches” is very apt here I can tell you.
It’s fine but tastes more of lemon and sugar than roses. Maybe it needs to sit for a while. If you have rose petal jam recipes, I would be interested. Yes, yes, I have taken some time off work, why do you ask?
Last Friday night Michael, Mr. Waffle and I went to see “The Tin Soldier” in the Gate (Daniel was in Rome). It’s by the theatre company that did “A Feast of Bones” which remains one of the most successful plays, I ever forced my children to see. Friday night’s play was good but it wasn’t brilliant. There was some really amazing dancing in it and some very clever things but the script was a bit over complicated and didn’t quite hang together or I wasn’t smart enough to follow it fully – take your pick. The audience seemed to like it and so did Michael so a win overall. I don’t mean to boast but the main actor and I share a hair dresser and I thought his hair looked pretty good: I take my thrills where I can.
I have been to the TUD and NCAD graduate art shows. I haven’t bought anything but it’s just a question of time and wall space, I assume. There were some interesting things in both shows about young people’s experiences of the pandemic and the housing crisis and some pretty odd things that did not float my boat but I suppose that is the way of these things. The new building with beautiful views over the Dublin mountains was a bit of a star of the TUD show.
Our next door neighbour’s first born is about to become or is already an NCAD graduate [how can I keep up, only five minutes ago she was in primary school] and she painted this picture on the concrete wall in the lane opposite the back of our shed. Every time I take my bike out and see it, it fills me with joy. It’s based on a sketch she did from a boat off the Cork coast. She has yet to charge us for it despite constant urging her to do so. I think she feels it’s unfinished but I think it’s perfect.
I went to Bloom in the Phoenix Park for the first time. I have heard rave reviews. I am unconvinced. It’s €25 to get in and then you are invited to spend more money on food, plants, garden furniture, crafts, garden rooms, random gardening tat and random tat. The actual show gardens are relatively few and surrounded by people pressing against the ropes peering in. I do not think I will be back. I did buy a very lovely hand mirror from this crowd though. It seems to be a one man operation and I think Warren himself lovingly wrapped my mirror.
Here are the photos I got hanging over the ropes of some of the show gardens:
And here is the grim reality:
And here is a shot from inside the walled garden of the Phoenix park where you can get in for free all year round (except during Bloom, it transpires):
Mr. Waffle and the boys and I went to see “An Cailín Ciúin“. Loads of people had recommended it to me. One of my friends from bookclub went because the young star was in sixth class in her children’s school and all of the parents were encouraged to go (I mean it’s an Irish language film, I don’t think they were expecting even the modest success that they enjoyed). I was a bit reluctant as my experience of Irish films is that they are gloomy. But it won a couple of awards in Berlin and I decided to give it a go. It was gloomy. Really beautiful cinematography (often, in my view, the kiss of death in a film). I found myself thinking, “Of course the Germans loved it, it’s a certain vision of traditional Irishness”. It’s set in 1981 and the young protagonist is the same age as myself and although some elements are very recognisable (ah the uncomfortable plastic hairband), it didn’t seem to be quite the Ireland I remembered but I am a city child and it is a country story and, of course, recollections vary. It is beautifully shot and acted but there’s no getting away from it, it’s sad. Still the boys loved it.
A friend invited me to a book reading and dinner after work a couple of weeks ago and very pleasant and entertaining it was too. It reminded me though of all the times we lost during Covid and how very grateful I am to have them back.
Michael (my resident news analyst and pessimist) tells me that energy rationing is next but at least we’ll be able to see each other. However, I would not describe myself as delighted by what this full page ad that appeared in the paper portends.
I think all bookish people of a certain age know the name Kaye Webb. She was the reliably excellent editor of Puffin books and her name was on all of my favourites.
The OJGC lending library, you may wish to know was part of a club library. We had a large house and an attic room was assigned for our club meetings. Members were my older (by 11 months) friend who had lots of brilliant ideas, my brother, my sister and me. As neither of my siblings were great readers (being only 2 and 5 at the time they suffered from an obvious handicap) my friend and I were the mainstays of the library element of the club.
So when the radio show “Great Lives” – can be a bit hit and miss now – had a programme about Kaye Webb, I had a listen. She was married to Ronald Searle. I was completely astonished, it was like two of your friends being related and nobody telling you. That is all.
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.
Just Like You by Nick Hornby
God, I found this a bit tedious. Older white middle-class woman, younger black working-class man and their relationship. It could have been insightful but I did not find it so. I didn’t find it funny either which was my expectation for a Nick Hornby book. To be fair, I’m not sure it was meant to be funny.
The Ministry of Bodies by Seamus O’Mahony
I quite enjoyed this. It’s a, now retired, doctor’s slightly cynical account of life in Cork’s largest hospital. I recognised a couple of the characters which is always mildly entertaining.
The Building of Jalna by Mazo de la Roche
Somebody recommended the Jalna series of books to me. I tried this one (book 1 in the series). I think it’s one of those things you have to read at the right age and I was a bit old to be starting. It’s about 19th century settlers in Canada and follows their lives over different generations. Maybe better if you’re Canadian. I did enjoy discovering that the author’s real name is the much mor prosaic Maisie Roche
The Moving Finger by Agatha Christie
Standard Agatha Christie fare – anonymous letter writing and murder – but none the worse for that.
Agatha Raisin and the Dead Ringer by MC Beaton
I had never tried an Agatha Raisin book before. For all their, extremely numerous, shortcomings, I quite enjoy the author’s Hamish Macbeth books so I thought I would try this. Honestly, it is an absolutely awful book at every conceivable level and I actually found myself wondering whether the elderly author was completely well when she wrote it and I am baffled by her publisher’s decision to publish it.
The Plot by Jean Hanff Korelitz
I am not a huge fan of thrillers with a twist so this was probably never a book for me but it’s competently done, if you like this kind of thing.
Dublin: The Making of a Capital City by David Dickson
This took me months to read. I learnt a lot about Dublin but I will only forget it all again so I am slightly wondering why I put myself through it. Very worthy but more like an academic text book to dip into than a fun read.
My sister said to me over Christmas, “You’re much more Dublin than Cork now.” I am outraged so must pick up a Cork history book, I suppose.
Still Life by Sarah Winman
A lot of people I like and respect loved this book. I mean, it’s grand and readable enough. It’s kind of a fable; a love story to Florence where a lot of English people end up living for a variety of reasons over the course of the 20th century. But overall, I found it a bit twee and very unlikely.
Death Has Deep Roots by Michael Gilbert
This is quite a well-written whodunnit from the golden age of crime writing. Pretty good, I thought.
Hare House by Sally Hinchcliffe
I must confess an interest here as the author is a blogger and cycling enthusiast whom I have been following online since 2003 and even met once.
I really enjoyed the book though. It’s a gothic horror story but not too scary for the lily livered (me). The atmosphere is built up really cleverly and I found it creepy without being too scared to turn off the light which is the perfect balance for me. Recommended.
Again Rachel by Marian Keyes
A follow-up to “Rachel’s Holiday” which I re-read in preparation. Marian Keyes is always reliably entertaining. I was entertained.
This Is Going to Hurt by Adam Kay
The first book in a very long time that made me laugh aloud. That said, who would be a junior doctor, I mean really?
In Memory of Memory by Maria Stepanova
This was such a good book but really hard going. The author is interested in family history and weaves her family story around general Russian and Jewish history with a good dose of art history as well. I found it fascinating and it deals with the theme of trying to preserve memory in a really interesting way. It’s something I am interested in myself (what do you think this blog is for?) and something my mother was interested in as well. The author does an amazing job and the result is a memoir in tribute to her family but a lot more besides. I started reading it before the war in Ukraine but was half way through when it started. I started to notice how many of the family came from Ukraine although its relationship with Russia was never really considered and in a book that contained deep thoughts about many things, that absence was interesting in itself.
Definitely recommended but you would need to be in the whole of your health to read it. Herself said, “I bet you’re the only person reading this while simultaneously rereading Georgette Heyer’s ‘Pistols for Two’.” This may well be so but you would need something less demanding on the side as you work your way through it. Also, if ever a book needed a family tree on the inside front pages, this is it. My only real complaint is the absence of same.