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Siblings

Awkward


Posted in: Cork, Ireland, Siblings

My brother: There was an event in the golf club last night for members who died during the year and I went along.

Me: That was nice, was there anyone you knew there?

Him: Yes, lots of people and they said nice things about Mum. Do you remember her friend, M from up the road?

Me: Yes, she died at almost the same time as Mum.

Him: Well her son was there as well and I was talking to him.

Me: Oh I don’t know the sons at all, they were all a good bit older than us.

Him: Did you tell me one of them died?

Me: No, I never heard that.

Him: Well, somebody told me that.

Me: I’m sure I’d have heard. I don’t think any of them died.

Him: Well, yes, I know that now.

Cork


Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland, Princess, Siblings

I was in Cork at the weekend with herself. Nothing really happened but here we are in November and I have committed to posting every day. It’s only the 11th and I’m exhausted already.

I took herself to the cemetery to see my mother’s grave and almost missed it because the enormous overgrown hydrangea bush nearby, which is a handy marker, had been chopped down by somebody in an excess of enthusiasm. We went at dusk and it was quite beautiful. I couldn’t help feeling that had she known, my mother would have been delighted to be interred in such an interesting cemetery.

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My father and my aunt were pretty remarkably perky. I made herself consult with my father for his live take on the rise of fascism for her history essay but as he was only 15 in 1940, it was a bit underwhelming – he just summarised what we knew already – but he did comment that his views were formed in part by the papers his aunts and uncles took: the Daily Mail and, oh God, the Express. I can only rejoice, I suppose, that he himself is a Daily Telegraph reader.

We went out on Friday night for my sister’s birthday which was a bit disastrous as both she and my brother were quite ill and herself was exhausted. We ate our way around Cork over the weekend. After our ill-fated dinner on Friday night, herself and myself had a satisfactory breakfast in the Crawford, then picked up lunch ingredients in the Market and in the evening she had chips and Tanora from Jackie Lennox’s; the following morning we had breakfast in the Nano Nagle cafe (aside, is it too early for the return of Hanora as a girl’s name?). All in all a culinary tour de force.

How was your own weekend? Much food?

Funeral Season


Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland, Siblings

My father’s first cousin died a couple of weeks ago. She was always very beautiful and quite exotic boasting a tan when everyone else in Ireland was ghostly white. She married a rich man and they seemed to lead extraordinarily glamorous lives even though they lived in Kerry which does not lend itself to glamour. My brother and sister dutifully went to the funeral and met lots of my father’s cousins and reminisced and brought back useful quantities of family gossip. It wasn’t a shock (in fact about a year ago, I had firmly and definitively told my aunt that this woman was dead despite her distinct – and, as it turns out, correct – doubts on that point, so, you know, definitely not a shock) but I do feel that I am certainly edging closer to the front of the church.

A Litany of Disasters


Posted in: Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Siblings, Twins, Youngest Child

The weekend before last, I drove to Cork with the boys. On the motorway outside Cashel (2 hours from Dublin, an hour from Cork, not handy for either), the car died. We pulled over to the hard shoulder and contemplated our options. The AA will let you join from the side of the road (important information) and they were very helpful but the woman said I was probably better off getting a tow truck and she gave me the number of a local. I called him and he came promptly enough. The boys and I were delighted to get off the hard shoulder.

The tow truck man suggested we go to a local motorway service station but I thought we might be better off going into Cashel and getting dinner while we waited for my saintly sister to drive up from Cork to collect us. It was a bit out of the way for the tow truck man but he was very obliging and we had a grand old chat on the way. He knew the (deceased) father of a former colleague of mine and it’s always nice to have an acquaintance in common so we discussed the extended family at length.

We got to Cashel and took out our bags. I also had four litres of milk as the boys get through a lot of milk and the shopping (14 litres) had just arrived the previous day and I thought it would be as handy to take some of the milk to Cork. This was a decision I regretted as we wandered around the town with our luggage and four litres of milk. We went to a restaurant where we have often been before (home of the bacon salad) and settled down to dinner in front of the fire while my poor sister drove up from Cork to collect us.

The problem with the car was failure of the fuel injectors and, on Monday, the tow truck man took it to the Peugeot dealer in Clonmel (still very far from Dublin) who gave us new fuel injectors, probably for less than we would have paid in Dublin but, you know, €1,600 is still €1,600. It took a while. We were carless for ten days which I thought would be fine as I maintain we never use the car during the week. It turns out we do use the car during the week. One morning it was lashing rain. Could we drive the children in? We could not, they got sodden on their bikes. I was on the baptism roster on Wednesday night but I forgot as did my partner. Could I get a lift to the church? I could not. Were 10 people including a week old baby and the parish priest (who was filling in on an emergency basis) waiting anxiously for my arrival? They were, but they were very kind about having to hang around for my arrival (except for the baby who slept throughout which I suppose was her own way of being kind). I really miss the days when there were armies of knowledgeable people with no day jobs to do this kind of thing and they didn’t have to rely on the likes of me.

Mr. Waffle signed us up to the Dublin car sharing scheme (no joining fee!) and it is quite handy but it’s €11 an hour which means that it probably would have been cheaper to have got a taxi to take Daniel to training but we felt it was a bit ludicrous. We also had a family weekend away (more of which anon) and we had to hire a car for that so all in all it ended up being a pricy adventure.

Mr. Waffle being noble said he would collect the car. He had to get the bus to Clonmel (a good two hours) and then walk a mile and a half to the Peugeot dealership. But he got it and he’s still alive.

My bike meanwhile had two punctures in rapid succession. The first, I got near home and Mr. Waffle fixed (what a man, I hear you say), the second was right beside the office. It was flat as a pancake and there was no way I was going to wheel it to the distant bike shop so I left it in the office all week until the car returned to us and I could shove it in the boot and take it to the bike shop.

I think I will be less smug about my urban car free life in future.

Big in Japan


Posted in: Siblings

My brother went to Japan for the rugby world cup. He seems to be really enjoying himself notwithstanding Ireland’s less than stellar performance. He’s filling me with envy with his pictures of Mount Fuji, his tales of cycling along the world’s ninth longest suspension bridge (weirdly specific); and, most surprisingly of all his visits to Japanese gardens. Who would have thought?

Cork Geography


Posted in: Cork, Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Siblings

When I was last in Cork, I was in the car with my sister and she said that she wanted to drop in something to a friend who had just had an operation. “Oh,” I said as we drove up to the estate, “this is where my friend F from college grew up. Ask your friend if she knows F.” My sister went in to the house, I waited in the car. “Well,” I said, “does she know F?” “Yes,” said my sister, ” and not only that but F’s sister was her surgeon.”

Meanwhile, Mr. Waffle was talking about a colleague of his. “What’s his wife’s name, again?” he asked me. “You mean A who was in my class in college; whose father was a friend of my father’s; who was a neighbour of my friend F’s (yes, same F) growing up?” “Yes, I suppose, I do,” he said.