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Reading etc.

Cultural Exchange


Posted in: Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Reading etc., Twins

We had a Swedish friend of one of the children to stay for a couple of weeks. She was waiting for her accommodation to be released from the grasping hands of Airbnb (hypocrite that I am, how many times have I stayed in Airbnb accommodation? Many). She was a lovely guest and had lots of interesting stories.

Her grandparents came from the far north of Sweden and some great uncle in the family tired of the north of Sweden and went to Russia to join the Communists in the 1920s. It didn’t work out as he had hoped and he was sent to the gulag where he met a woman and had a child with her (conditions in the gulag were not quite what I imagined); she died (but then again) and he took the baby and walked out of the gulag back to Sweden. Impressive. On the other side her grandfather sailed around the world and was married five times which is a lot of times. Twice to Korean women called Kim (he went to Korea with the first Kim which is where he met the second). Honestly that alone was worth the price of admission but she gave me Moomin tea and an adorable gold plated Stinky. What a win.

Our Swedish visitor’s account made our own ancestors seem a bit dull so instead of talking about family history Mr. Waffle and I decided to giver her a quick tutorial on great Irish advertisements. Let me share with you, yes, lucky you.

How about this one for ESB (then electricity monopoly – why ads?)? As a country of emigrants where people came home for Christmas it’s really evocative.

This one for another state monopoly (Bord na Móna – the turf board) is charming .

There were a whole series of water safety ads.  Part one of this compilation seems to firmly point the finger of blame at mothers who speak on the phone. Then there is one with a farm safety focus (often a feature of Irish ads in the 70s and 80s – regular readers will recall that at a considerably earlier point my great-great grand aunt drowned in a barrel of cream aged 2, there’s an ancestral tale for you, no gulags though).  Irish people of a certain age will often say “It’s possible to drown in only a few inches of water” or “Where’s grandad?” though perhaps not with the exact same intonation as here.

There was a whole series of Kerrygold ads based on Franco-Irish sexual tension  Popular line from this one “There is something I can ‘elp?” Reply “You could put a bit of butter on the spuds André”

And its companion “Who’s taking the horse to France.

Guinness also had good ads always.

One of the most famous ads was for Harp lager.  It’s a terrible ad but inexplicably popular.  It’s about an emigrant again.  He says “You could fry an egg on the stones, if you had an egg” but the crowning line was how he missed the local barmaid “Sally O’Brien and the way she might look at you”.  The actress who played Sally O’Brien was actually English. A lot to unpack there.

Not a particularly old ad but the Irish Road Safety Association is known for its hard hitting ads and Mr. Waffle and I once saw one in the cinema when there were a bunch of Italians there and when it reached the brutal climax we heard a chorus of shocked “Mamma mias!”

I have so much more to give on this topic but I am concerned that like our Swedish visitor you may have already had enough.

Still No News


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Middle Child, Reading etc., Twins, Youngest Child

A quiet day at the ranch: tennis; driving across the city with the learner driver; art gallery and tea in Bewley’s with the middle child; and a chance to admire Dublin’s Christmas lights (it’s November, Christmas time!). For the season that appears to be in it – Santa and the Grinch driving up and down Grafton Street.

Weekend Round Up – Indoor Fun


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

Dear God, the weather has been appalling. The only comfort (she said piously) is that my siblings are on holidays (separately) in warm places and there is nothing better than being away and hearing that the weather is bad at home.

We have had biblical quantities of rain. I went to the National Gallery and contemplated this picture for a bit. I have become obsessed with rugs recently and the rug is a big feature here.

Also I enjoy that this picture which hangs nearby features on the wall in the other painting, if you see what I mean.

I drove Michael (he drove there for practice – still has to pass his test and still needs a qualified driver to accompany him anywhere, thanks for asking) to his rehearsals for a college play and called in on a friend of mine on the way home. I spent an hour or so with him drinking tea; admiring his art collection; and returning to him a piece that he and his partner had lent me for my office but which, sadly, I no longer have a home for now that I book into a different office every day I’m in (deep sigh). He has acquired a large Patrick Hennessy portrait recently and I am consumed with envy.

Mass this morning featured a sermon about Hell. Colour me surprised. This (new to me) priest, also led the congregation in singing. This led to some conflict with the (God love him) slightly odd American who spends his Sunday morning going to various churches around town and singing (solo from the pews, if there is no choir). The priest did all the hymns but when it came to Communion he was hamstrung by his other duties and our American saw his chance and gave a surprisingly uptempo Abide with Me. It was delivered at speed (possibly to frustrate the priest who might have joined in after Communion?) so it was difficult for other congregants to join in, even had they so wished. I will be watching this space for future developments.

Mr. Waffle and I went to an Argentinian brunch spot that I was keen to try out. Not bad but not everyone wants choripan and chips and 10.30 in the morning. Maybe more of a lunch spot.

I went to the Irish Museum of Modern Art (rain finally stopped but still overcast and chilly). When I arrived they asked whether I was there for the dance performance; I was not but I joined the crowd for a look. It was some kind of community outreach combined with the CoisCéim dance company (exclusive Irish lesson for you here, coiscéim is the Irish for footstep). I mean, ok, probably great if you were related to one of the non-professional dancers involved but didn’t love it. I’m probably just a philistine (as Mr. Waffle pointed out these ancient enemies of the Israelites, were unlikely to have predicted that this is how people would refer to them 3,000 years later).

I don’t absolutely love modern art but I did like this piece (those are toys) – A Portrait of Alice Liddell, after Lewis Carroll by Vik Muniz.

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And this horse was good too.

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I had a restorative cup of tea and I can tell you that the IMMA cafe (heaving) has really upped its game.

I passed the bridge near the station that used to boast a number of crowns (possibly built for a visit of George IV?). These were removed post-independence but the cushions on which they sat remain.

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The writing of this update was interrupted to go and watch the end of the soccer. The life of the Irish soccer fan (not me generally I am, at absolute best, a fair weather fan) is filled with grief and heartache and it’s full of arcane calculations like if A draw with B and we beat C by X goals then maybe we can qualify but generally we don’t. However, we had to beat Hungary to get out of our group (is this the World Cup qualifier again? so soon? who can say?) and we were 2-1 down for ages, then we equalised, then in the last minute of the game we pulled ahead to win 3-2. Our team is coached by an Icelandic dentist, apparently, and middle child said with great satisfaction, once the jumping around the room ceased, “Hungary were flossed!” Indeed.

How was your own weekend?

Cultural Update


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Reading etc.

I went to the French evening at the national gallery a couple of months ago. There was a French man who was particularly passionate about Caillebotte. I mean, I don’t mind him myself but I couldn’t muster the enthusiasm this man demonstrated particularly for the very underwhelming picture we have in the National Gallery in Dublin. But still, interesting overall.

On the same evening we went to what was billed as a duet if memory serves. The ubiquitous Olwen Fouéré (interesting back story) was onstage with a man whose name I have forgotten. She is quite a stiking presence but the material was underwhelming and when it ended with both participants walking down the aisle shouting loudly (part of the performance not a disagreement), I was delighted it was over. So was everyone else I’d say as there was only a solitary standing ovation in a city where this has become entirely standard.

I saw Dara Ó Briain’s stand up about finding his father which was one of the best things I’ve seen all year. Recommended.

Mr. Waffle and I went on a walking tour beginning at the tenement museum in Henrietta Street. We were the only people on the tour and, to be fair to the guide, he quickly realised we were the honours class and covered lots of new material of which we were not previously aware. Before retiring and beginning his new role of leading tourists around the place, the guide had, for many years, worked closely with former Irish president Paddy Hillery who told him this story. When he (Dr. Hillery) was Minister for Education (before ascending to the heights of the Presidency, obviously) he went up into a very rural part of Clare (where he was the local member of Parliament – TD). He went into the classroom of this small one teacher school and the young woman who was teaching there jumped up in alarm and then relaxed saying, “Oh, it’s yourself, Dr. Paddy, I thought it was the school inspector”.

I riposted with my own Paddy Hillery story, possibly apocryphal serving to demonstrate the expectations that the electorate have of their politicians. One Christmas day a man came round to Dr. Hillery’s house (he was a medical doctor) and banged anxiously on the door. Dr. Hillery by then the local TD rose from his Christmas dinner to see what was the matter. The man said, “You must come quickly, my wife is in labour.” “But why haven’t you gone to your own GP?” asked Dr. Hillery reaching for his coat. “Oh, I didn’t like to disturb him on Christmas day,” said the constituent.

I have a friend with whom I do cultural things. She got tickets for “An evening of Nature and Birdsong”. I went along but I did not expect to enjoy it. However, I did. Firstly, I discovered that they have quite the auditorium in the Royal Irish Academy of Music on Westland Row; and secondly I found the two young men who were speaking about nature hugely engaging. Especially the man from Cork, obviously but the young man from Northern Ireland was pretty good too. They were really interesting and I never thought I would find recorded birdsong quite so interesting.

Herself, Mr. Waffle and I visited Emo Court over the summer. It’s only just reopened and is worth a look. Amusingly, the last resident, a Major Cholmeley Harrison, acquired an extensive art collection and the attributions are…optimistic. “Is that really by [insert name of famous artist here]?” I asked in astonishment again and again and the OPW guide said each time “No, that’s just the label the Major put on it.” Dubious attributions notwithstanding it’s well worth visiting.

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We went to see The Naked Gun in the cinema with a selection of the children. Not culture, you say. Well, you might be right. A couple of years ago my new year’s resolution was to go to the cinema more often and it was great for a while but I have fallen off the wagon; this is a reminder that I need to get back in the saddle (do you like my mixed metaphor?). Oh the film? It was terrible.

Mr. Waffle and I went back to Henrietta street for a tea time talk about the local school which we really enjoyed. There were lots of older (and some younger) people there who had attended the school and they really added to the event. I also got hold of this map of Dublin which is really interesting and I share here as an act of public service. See the way the birth place of Edmund Burke is down there on Arran Quay? Well, his mother was a Nagle and she was a cousin of Nano Nagle who was the founder of the Presentation order and the school we were looking at was a Presentation school just up the road attached to which was a very early Presentation convent (I think maybe the second one after Cork where HQ was, though I’m not sure). I do wonder was Burke baptised as persistent rumour has it? I wouldn’t be at all surprised. Wikipedia tells me his sister was brought up and remained a Roman Catholic. Doubtless much ink has been spilt on this question.

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We went to see a comedian called Holly Hughes in the Dublin Fringe Festival on how she became Karen. Like the curate’s egg, good in places.

We saw David Sedaris in the cavernous Bord Gáis energy theatre. We saw him a while ago in the National Concert Hall and that was hilarious but that was a small venue which allowed banter with the audience and where he wasn’t overwhelmed by the size of the stage. The huge venue was full (normally does West End block busters on their Irish tour) so the fans are out there and he is very funny but a reading, even a very funny reading, just didn’t work in this venue. Disappointing.

We saw a new play based on Oedipus Rex “The Boy” at the Abbey theatre. I’m honestly still not the better of it. That is a very harrowing play. What the ancient Greeks thought when they were seeing it for the first time, I can only imagine (possibly that Sophocles should be locked up). I thought it was a really great production. Incidentally, featured Olwen Fouéré in a supporting role. Highly recommended.

We went to a talk on Great Irish Wives which was an interview with the author of a book of the same name. Mildly interesting.

I went to the Picasso exhibition in the National Gallery. I don’t like Picasso much but, despite myself, I was impressed by his extraordinary vigour, right into his 90s. Apparently when he died he left 45,000 different pieces of art in his various studios and, obviously, that doesn’t include the stuff he sold to fund his lavish lifestyle. His personal life left a lot to be desired in my view. He left a slew of disappointed (all younger, often much younger) women in his wake. Our guide told us that he loved animals and once won a goat which he brought home and had living in the house along with his partner and two small children. This was too much for madame who got rid of the goat and there was a huge row. Apparently, his new partner when she was moved in gave him a present of a goat.

Old goat.

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Any cultural news from your end?

Thought for the Day


Posted in: Reading etc.

At the start of October we had a reading from the book of the Prophet Habakkuk at mass. Haven’t heard of him? Me neither. I found this reading almost startlingly apposite for current times.

How long, Lord, am I to cry for help while you will not listen; to cry ‘Oppression!’ in your ear and you will not save. Why do you set injustice before me, why do you look on where there is tyranny? Outrage and violence, this is all I see, all is contention, and discord flourishes. Then the Lord answered and said, “Write the vision down, inscribe it on tablets to be easily read, since this vision is for its own time only: eager for its own fulfillment, it does not deceive; if it comes slowly, wait, for come it will, without fail. See how he flags, he whose soul is not at rights, but the upright man will live by his faithfulness.“

I suppose it shows there is nothing new under the sun. I thought it might be the source for what Charlie Brown says to Lucy but apparently that’s Isaiah.

Well, this is a bit gloomy, I fear, but this is what you get, if you post every day in November of all months. Hold tight for cheerier content next week (we all hope).

I’m Hilarious


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

The weather has been really mild this winter (oh dear). I came home slightly sweaty after a winter cycle into town which surely shouldn’t be a thing. I commented that all of the shops now have their Christmas stuff out and it feels like Christmas stuff can be flogged at any time of year. “In fact,” I said struck by a stroke of genius, “it’s always Christmas and never winter.” Literally no one in my family found this as brilliant as I did. I offer it therefore to this audience which I can only hope is more discerning.