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.
We went to dinner and the theatre on Friday night. I’d booked a Christmas show and instructed my menfolk some time ago that they were to pretend to be pleased on the night. They dutifully delivered.
The show was “All the Angels” about the first public performance of Handel’s Messiah. Coincidentally it took place around the corner from the Smock Alley theatre where we went to see the show. All the big hits from the Messiah were included in the show and it did feel reasonably Christmassy but, sadly, one of the actors was indisposed (Covid, I bet) and his part was covered by someone reading from the play. Sadly, his part was Handel. In fairness, the guy reading did a good job but it did take from it. Still, the singing was nice. Michael gave his customary standing ovation at the end despite Daniel saying that you can’t give a standing ovation when one of the actors was reading from the script. Fair.
Then last night we went to the cinema to see a live streaming of a new opera – Eurydice – from the Met. Friends invited us and, to be honest, I was absolutely dreading it. Three hours of a new opera. It actually wasn’t too bad. No one is more surprised by this than I am. The staging was amazing, the libretto was clever and the music wasn’t discordant and jangly (though as Mr. Waffle pointed out, not a single tune).
I did some preliminary Christmas decorating. I think we’ll wait for herself to come home before putting up the tree.
Then today, I had bookclub in a back garden. Our hostess provided rugs, mulled wine and hot water bottles and it worked pretty well even though it was freezing. I don’t think I will ever again take the joy of seeing people in person for granted.
How was your own weekend?
I went out to dinner with three friends this evening and then we went to a comedy gig afterwards. Great evening or super-spreader event? Perhaps a bit of both. I miss the old days when going out didn’t feel mildly criminal.