Middle Child

December Round Up – Part 2

5 January, 2025
Posted in: Family, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Twins, Youngest Child

Christmas Thrill

In mid-December, a colleague and I did a mock interview for the recently graduated son of a friend. He was a lovely guy and we both thought he stood an excellent chance of success. To my mild horror he sent me chocolates and a card in thanks which his mother assured me was off his own bat. I was then on tenterhooks until he was actually successful at the real interview. Go him. A pre-Christmas thrill.

Christmas Miracle

Herself went on holidays to Morocco with her boyfriend before she returned to me safe and well. When they were there their hotel was so scary that they moved to another. “What can we do to get our money back?” she asked me. “Nothing,” said I. Her boyfriend’s mother who is from New Jersey is made of sterner stuff and gave guidance on cutting a deal with the hotel which he duly did while herself cowered in the room (definitely her mother’s daughter). But then the boyfriend insisted that they eat the breakfast already paid for while the owner glowered at them (definitely his mother’s son). They visited the Pasha’s palace and to get their student reduction they both showed their student IDs. The attendant exclaimed in excitement over her boyfriend’s ID (Oxford) but treated hers (some would say from a well-known university also – though not the man selling tickets at the Pasha’s palace clearly) with cool indifference. They also went quad biking because she wants to send me to an early grave. But nevertheless she returned safe and well and is home until January 6. Hurrah.

Christmas Outings

Myself, herself and Mr. Waffle went to an Anu production of James Joyce’s “The Dead”. Overall very enjoyable with tons of audience participation but the venue (a big house on Merrion Square) was just a little too grand for the story. But seeing the well know actors and actresses so close up and interacting with them was good fun and would recommend. Pricey mind. Tickets were €65 a head and we are not on Broadway here. Still completely sold out early on for a longish run so I guess they know their market.

I am always booking things for our family with varying degrees of success. I booked the winter lights in Collins Barracks and myself, Mr. Waffle and Michael went along. It was cold and drizzly and an outdoor event. Enthusiasm levels were lowish but it was excellent. Only 15 minutes which may have been part of the reason for its success. It was clearly set up for much larger numbers which they didn’t get. A pity, I do hope they do it again next year all the same.

Michael went to Cork and Mr. Waffle went to a long Christmas lunch so the rest of us went to Smithfield to investigate the Christmas market. I would not totally recommend, but look we got a – not at all healthy – dinner and another trip on a big wheel. I’ve had worse.

We went out to see Love Actually on the big screen in the cinema. I didn’t think there would be any demand. More fool me; sold out. So we came home again and Mr. Waffle bought Christmas Eve at Miller’s Point from a streamer. I had been really keen to see this – it got great reviews but it hadn’t got a Dublin release. I found it…baffling. It’s a largely plot free adventure; it’s just a big Italian American family party and various personalities but nothing much happens. The reviews said it feels like being at a party. And kind of but like someone else’s family party where you don’t know anyone and just want to go home.

I got tickets for the Snowman in St Patrick’s cathedral. No one really fancied going but despite inclement weather in I went. I discovered that it’s a show for very young children – an actor reads out the story; a choir sings; an orchestra plays and loads of small children run up and down the aisle while their older siblings hiss furiously at their parents that they want to go home. I mean sweet but not for me. Good venue though.

While Michael was in Cork, the rest of us went for a walk up to the Hellfire club in the Dublin mountains and a cup of tea afterwards. In a mild way, a particularly successful outing.

Christmas Prep

I sent loads of Christmas cards. I got a reasonable haul in return but always a few from people one has missed. Sigh.

Everyone put up the outside Christmas lights on the road and we had mulled wine and mince pies with the neighbours. To think there was a time when I turned up my nose at outdoor lights. More fool me.

We laid in essential Christmas reading.

And the Christmas tree which the cat continues to regard with some suspicion.

One of the children had Christmas lunch for friends. How much did I enjoy laying the table for that? Very much indeed. How glad was I that I wasn’t the one creating a vegetarian wellington? Very glad indeed. Apparently it was excellent, thanks for asking.

Herself spent 45 minutes queuing at the cheese monger for me while I was at work. I gave her detailed instructions. She was to get Conté, Brie, Brillat Savarin, Tomme and a Camembert. She dutifully made her order gamely parrying alternative suggestions. The cheese monger asked if she’d like to try some. “No,” said she, “I don’t like cheese.” Her sacrifice is noted; I’d say he was a bit puzzled though.

I got my annual haircut. I didn’t get as much taken off as usual, I hope this isn’t a terrible mistake.

Hobbies Corner

I had my annual Christmas afternoon tea in the Westbury with my Sunday afternoon bookclub (booked in September) and our Kris Kindle gift exchange with the Monday bookclub. God I love my book clubs.

The 21st birthday of this blog passed by on December 10. It can now drink legally in America. It’s given me a lot of pleasure over the years. Here’s to the next 21, I guess.

Christmas can be a Sad Time

You may recall that my father died on Christmas Day in 2020. And I do think of him on Christmas Day but more I think of him on the winter solstice. He loved the summer and the sun and he was always delighted when the year was on the turn and the days were getting longer and warmer and celebrated it every year. And Christmas is, I suppose, a time when you do think of your dead relatives and all that has changed over your life time but I think particularly of my parents. I said to Mr. Waffle that this would be the first year in my whole life when I wouldn’t be spending part of the Christmas holidays in Cork.

Christmas Eve

My sister was coming for Christmas Eve. She came last year and it was super and low key and everyone enjoyed it. This year I went all out. I found it a bit unnecessarily stressful. As herself said (unhelpfully but I fear truthfully), “It was less work last year but everyone enjoyed it more.”

Mid afternoon we sat down and watched “A Muppet Christmas Carol”. We nearly forgot under the pressure of other work. I’m not sure Michael was delighted by my regular hopping up to check on things in the kitchen. I don’t think he felt it was in the Christmas spirit but I was basically doing a Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve. True to the informal spirit of the original idea, however, I had kind of forgotten until quite late in the day that a starter might be good, so that was challenging. Also, we had a vegetarian Finnish friend of Michael’s who was in Dublin for Christmas coming to dinner which created its own difficulties. As I was in the middle of prep, Mr. Waffle invited our neighbour in to induct her in the mysteries of the Aga which she would be using as part of her cooking for 13 the following day. We are still married.

Still notwithstanding the logistical difficulties it was lovely to see my sister and we all enjoyed chatting to the Finnish friend and dinner was broadly successful. Herself had the genius idea of lighting the fire in the dining room though (which we last did when we were getting the kitchen done and we had no back wall on the house – dark, chilly times) and it was lovely – really festive and not even too warm for the people with their backs to it which was a slight fear.

After dinner we all went to midnight mass (held at a punishingly early 8 pm) even the Finn who was an atheist but had Jewish/Lutheran grandparents so with the best will in the world was not fully up on the Catholic side of things but was willing to try anything once. The singing was beautiful and the mass was a reasonable length. I have passed another milestone remarking on the way home from the church that it was a “lovely mass”.

Christmas Day

Reasonable happiness all round with Christmas presents. I think that the stand out present was a hoodie for Mr. Waffle (who knew that that was what he wanted all along?). I got lots of nice things but was particularly impressed by the weather vane which demonstrated considerable planning work. Mr. Waffle did his now legendary Christmas treasure hunt for the children and they absolutely loved it. This time he wrote it in the form of a Sherlock Holmes short story. Genius.

Herself made Christmas breakfast with me as her dutiful assistant. It was excellent.

We then made our way to Mr. Waffle’s brother’s house where we were being hosted for Christmas dinner – I mean hurrah. It was a beautiful day and we had a short walk on the pier before lunch.

The in-laws hosted Mr. Waffle’s uncle and aunt as well as us and I have to say, Mr. Waffle’s uncle was the star of the show, he was completely hilarious. Though it was very sad that my nephew wasn’t there; however, he was off in Austria ski instructing having the time of his life and he did call right after dinner so, you know, not the worst thing either.

And then Michael drove us all home. Herself began the drive hyperventilating never having been driven by Michael before and about half way home she whispered to me, “This is incredible, he can actually drive.” Good man Michael. Has yet to sit his test though. Let us remain optimistic.

I’m not finished yet. More December to come.

Putting the Fun in Funeral: December Round Up – Part 1

4 January, 2025
Posted in: Cork, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Reading etc., Siblings, Twins, Youngest Child

Friday, November 29

Several men came and scalped the garden front and back. Overall I am delighted as it was getting out of control, although some precious plants were lost in the take no prisoners approach adopted. This before and after picture in no way conveys the extent of the haircut. I appreciate this is technically not December but look, close enough.

Friday, December 6

Faithful old Saint Nicholas delivered chocolate to Ireland and England as part of his lifelong obligation to those born in Belgium. The now adults in question are very firm on their understanding of St. Nicholas’s obligations in this regard.

That evening Mr. Waffle and I went to Cork for the funeral of my friend’s mother (our families were friends and I have known her and her parents my whole life). Her mother had died in England (where she had lived for many years) and it took – I kid you not – nearly three weeks to get the body back to Ireland for the funeral. My friend – who is an only child- said that she was inundated with texts from people saying “I totally understand if you have chosen to celebrate her life privately in your own way” basically a “you never told me about the funeral” message because no one could believe it would take so long. I myself was on constant refresh on rip.ie. It’s not all just glamour. Regular readers will be interested to hear that rip.ie has been bought by the Irish Times and from January 1, 2025 putting a death notice up on the site will cost €100 (cost to date – zero). The nation is up in arms. Honestly though it will just turn up on the undertaker’s bill, be paid for from the estate and on the scale of things, it won’t really stand out but still and all.

Anyway, Mr. Waffle and I decided to go to Cork for the weekend. He booked the Imperial on the South Mall which was once the height of glamour (it’s where Grace Kelly stayed when she came to Cork, it’s where Michael Collins stayed the night before he was shot and it’s where my great uncle Jack and great aunt Cecilia stayed – for three months (!) in the 60s while getting work done on their house – when they retired back to Cork after years in England). I was quite excited, I can tell you. We took our bikes on the train. We actually met my brother on the train who was returning from Dublin, also with his bike in the guard’s van. When we were chatting he said that he would come to the funeral also. This was great and everything but I had specifically asked my sister to put me and Mr. Waffle on her car insurance so that we could drive down in her car. She was away but had said we could borrow her car drive to Clonakilty where the funeral was. My brother is already a named driver on her policy and was planning to drive her car down so that was €80 well spent. Sigh. As I say to my children about their Uncle’s unpredictability “He’s not a tame uncle, you know.” (Small prize if you know the literary reference I am making).

The Dublin to Cork train service is fantastic but on this occasion it was not fantastic and we arrived 55 minutes late (more than an hour they refund you half your ticket value – not bitter at all). Mr. Waffle enjoyed the hilarious series of messages on the way down including the, honestly desperate sounding one, “If there’s a train engineer on board can he or she please get out on to the platform” and the not reassuring, “there’s a problem with the engine but she’s still going and we’ll do the best we can.” Percy French eat your heart out etc.

I had booked us dinner at the last sitting of Jacob’s on the Mall and when I rang to see whether they could accommodate us later than 9.30 it was with regret but no surprise that I discovered that they could not. Our train pulled into the station at 9.35.

I mean was I delighted to hop on my bike as Storm Darragh was raging? Not really, I have to concede. My smugness did not keep me dry (don’t worry, my rain gear did). When we got to the hotel, despite Mr. Waffle having checked, they were not, in fact, set up for bikes. However, after thinking it over for a bit a nice Polish man (in Cork 20 years) decided that they could be stored in the boardroom. Mr. Waffle brought his own up the carpeted stairs but the nice Polish man took my dripping bike up at speed. They looked very comfortable there leaning nonchalantly against the book shelves but I’m not sure that you could say that it was, strictly speaking, designated bike parking.

At this stage it was nearly 10 and the hotel was not serving food. Mr. Waffle who, I sometimes think does not value his life, suggested we could go to “Fast Al’s pizza”. We went across the road to a bar/tapas place that didn’t start serving food until 10.45. Just that little bit too authentic. I asked them if they could recommend anywhere and they said that there was a new taco place at the end of the street. We splashed down the road to this establishment and it’s bright fluorescent interior. This was my dinner:

Here is what I missed:

Any port in a storm, I guess. And, in fairness the staff were very nice but it wasn’t really what I was hoping for.

We rang home to make sure that someone had fed the cat and then rang back to check that the children had eaten themselves. Yes on both counts.

Our bedroom in the hotel was fine and not very expensive but it compared unfavourably with the public spaces. The hotel is undergoing a renovation and it is probably timely.

Not my best day.

Saturday, December 7

Next morning, once Mr. Waffle had picked up a new shirt (a packing malfunction), it was up on the bikes again (rescued from their boardroom haven by our Polish friend) and out to my brother’s house in the lashing rain to drive together to Clonakilty. He had offered to pick us up at our hotel but I was so concerned that he would be late that I had insisted on going to him. His attitude is that it doesn’t matter if you are late for the mass, the important thing is that you are there to sympathise afterwards and go for lunch. I do not subscribe to this view and having gone to the trouble of coming to Cork the night before I was not going to be late for the funeral. I was totally vindicated in my approach in that my brother was still in bed when we arrived at his house. He was partially vindicated in that we arrived half an hour early for the mass which even I would concede was a bit early.

I was really pleased to be at the funeral and see my friend and I think she was glad to see us including in particular my wayward brother. There were lots of people I knew at the funeral, mutual friends and relations and, indeed, the undertaker who is now pretty familiar to me. The rain held off at the cemetery and that was something. It was a particular mercy for my friend’s English cousins who were on their first visit to Ireland and had the previous evening had their flight diverted from Cork to Dublin, driven down from Dublin to Clonakilty through the storm and arrived in the early hours of the morning. God love them, they definitely needed a break from the weather.

At lunch I was seated near a very nice priest who was a friend of the deceased. He was a fellow Corkonian and I enjoyed our conversation wherein we placed each other on the social scale (he came to rest just above me). He attended the school in Cork where traditionally all the sons of the merchant princes went; my father attended the school where the boys at the next rung of the ladder went – “two households both alike in dignity” etc. While the results achieved by the boys attending the former were generally mediocre – they had family businesses to go into – the latter school was known for its excellent academic results. I commented to my new friend that the results in the former school had improved immensely (really quite extraordinary it has some of the best results in the country). My husband who had, crucially, not been following the conversation in detail said, “Isn’t that where you say that all the rich but thick boys used to go?” My new friend took it in good part but also took the opportunity to point out to me that the former president of his past pupils’ union was sitting opposite.

He (the priest) had done his PhD in Germany under none other than Cardinal Ratzinger of whom he seemed very fond. Typical of his schooling that he would get to work with the big names, of course.

Sitting opposite me was a man from Clonakilty who was a cousin of the deceased. He was so interesting. He was, I think retired but while working had been involved with a furniture factory. This had seen him working in Northern Ireland during the troubles and in China in the 80s, I think, when it was even further away than it is now. He described how once when he was staying in Carrickfergus – a very loyalist town outside Belfast – he asked to get a taxi into St Gall’s GAA club in the city. Apparently reception told him that no one from Carrickfergus would take a taxi to West Belfast. I see. His best story, however, involved a statue to Michael Collins. Although Michael Collins was from Clonakilty for a very long time there was no statue to him as it was a bit politically contentious and unclear who would unveil it. However, after the Liam Neeson film a statue went up and Liam Neeson himself, very decently, came to unveil it dealing with any political issues. Our friend was at the reception for the great and the good at which Liam Neeson was the guest of honour. Much drink was taken and a select group of half a dozen, including our friend and Mr. Neeson, went out to the town looking for further refreshment. A car drew up beside them. “Liam, get in” said a voice from within. He resisted. The voice insisted pretty firmly. Eventually he got in. We were agog, who was it? His Hollywood bodyguard? His minder? His agent? Apparently it was his mother. I love an Irish Mammy story.

We drove back up to the city and, acting on an excellent tip from my brother, went to Orso for dinner. They only take walk ins and this was a godsend when everywhere except the taco place was fully booked for a Saturday night in December. We went for a stroll around town and took a turn on the big wheel while waiting for our table to come free but it was a bit cold and damp.

We found ourselves at a bit of a loose end after our early dinner so went to see “Conclave“. I wouldn’t entirely recommend but it does look beautiful. It’s about electing a pope and Ralph Fiennes is terrific in it. I am still finding it a bit strange to be in Cork without my parents which I know is faintly ridiculous but there we are.

We got a message from the children that another spatula arrived with the shopping delivery. We lost one a couple of weeks ago and due to some errors in the purchasing department we are now the owners of three shiny new ones. Spatulas for everyone for Christmas.

Sunday, December 8

We headed back to Dublin on the train. “Wasn’t it great how easy it was to bring the bikes on the train?” I said to Mr. Waffle. He conceded that it was but then asked the killer question, “But did we need the bikes?” On reflection, I regret to inform you that, on balance, it would probably have been more convenient not to have had the bikes in Cork. Bitter.

More December thrills to come. Stay with us as Ira Glass would say.

A New Dispensation

16 November, 2024
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Twins, Youngest Child

I think I have said before that I’m finding it a bit logistically challenging to be the parent of three adults.

While I was really glad to have them all on the summer holidays with us this year; the organisation of this was complex.

For day to day matters, herself is in England so this is not really an issue. For her Dublin based sibings, however, logistics are a daily pain. When I was in college, my memory is that my mother cooked dinner every evening (always my mother, sign of the times) and if I was in, I had dinner and if not, I skipped it. But it just seems wasteful to cook for four when only two of us are going to be there. Whatsapp is full of “Who is home for dinner tonight?” messages.

Often the house is empty when I leave for work and when I come home which is not entirely unwelcome but just different. We’re a bit more atomised, I guess.

As you know, Mr. Waffle is Lord of Laundry but one morning he had to go to a meeting and asked me to put out the clothes. I went out to the back garden. Mr. Waffle was gone to his meeting, Daniel was already in a lecture and I was unsure of Michael’s whereabouts. I became surer when I tried to get back into the house after completing my labour of love and found the back door dutifully locked by Michael before he had left for college. Fortunately I had my phone and I rang him, “Where are you?”. “On the bus,” said he. He had to get off the bus, come home and let me in again. He was very apologetic but as he pointed out, he knew his father had gone out and who would have thought that I would be out putting out the washing? I can’t feel this would ever have happened back when they were all at school. Sometimes it’s more like four adults living together. Other times definitely not, I suppose.

Unrelated: I saw a giant chameleon on the street.

Baltics VI – Estonia – Tartu to Tallinn

3 November, 2024
Posted in: Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel, Twins, Youngest Child

Monday August 19

Absolutely everything of a cultural nature appeared to be closed. It is not the first time I have been caught out by this and doubtless it will not be the last.

Buoyed up by our experience the previous day we headed off on the electric bikes. The brakes were a on Dan’s on the downhill trip into town in the lashing rain and he fell over in a controlled but none the less alarming fashion. No harm done but a slightly unnerving start to the day all the same.

The Princess and I went to the shops where she looked at skincare and we acquired another very expensive but lovely Moomin mug. I think if we only buy one every 3-4 years the expense is bearable.

The weather cleared up and again, building on the success of the previous day, a select group went to inspect the ruined cathedral on the hill and the university.

After depositing Michael at home, I went back into town with Daniel to inspect the really excellent sports museum. Open on a Monday what’s not to love? It was small but interactive.

It had some nice memorabilia from previous Olympics.

This included a lot of Olympic mascots.

Surprisingly entertaining. We went for a cup of tea in the square with Mr. Waffle to recover. All museums are exhausting.

We all had a chance to look at this peculiar sculpture. It’s the artist and his son and he scaled himself down and the baby up and the result is, well, peculiar.

When we got home, we were reminded that herself is allergic to mosquitos by the arresting sight of what looked like an enormous bump on her forehead but was in fact a mosquito bite. I don’t have a photograph – I’m not a monster – but she was most displeased.

Her boyfriend is thinking of going into her father’s line of work and he asked her about what her father does. “I don’t know,” said she, “he types on his computer a lot and shouts at it a bit.” Such an accurate description of the day to day travails of many knowledge workers.

Saintly Daniel made dinner.

Tuesday August 20, 2024

This was “Re-independence day” when the Estonians got their independence back after the events of 1991. The net effect was that everything was closed again. Sigh. One of the children said to me, “What do people who don’t visit museums do when they go to visit cities?” and I honestly don’t know.

Daniel and I were up early looking for breakfast – everywhere was closed but we had a nice cycle around the city, I said to him encouragingly.

I am not really sure he was convinced. Before breakfast I find that enthusiasm levels can be low. Café Werner – famous local spot – eventually met our needs. I was extremely grateful.

It actually was a nice cycle and there were Estonia flags everywhere. Most houses seem to come equipped with a bracket from which to fly your flag. Perhaps a legacy of an earlier time.

After breakfast four of us left to drive to Tallinn and herself stayed on for the day to further sample the delights of Tartu (really probably my favourite place on the trip along with the Curonian Spit) and get the train later which was also a welcome development for her siblings who were crowded in the back of the car.

Our first port of call (har di har) in Tallinn was the ferry port. Happily we had a great deal of time on hand. It felt like we were driving around in circles but we did eventually reach our destination and send Michael off on the ferry to Helsinki to meet a Finnish friend from college. Again, I was slightly concerned about the fate of my chickadee but, spoiler alert, he was absolutely fine.

Daniel, Mr. Waffle and I repaired to a ramen place herself had recommended. Another triumph; the big revelation for me this holiday (aside from the Baltic Germans and the Teutonic knights I suppose – Mr. Waffle has just got a book about Baltic Germans out of the library so I look forward to further updates over the course of November) was my firstborn’s absolute genius for finding nice restaurants. You may recall that she had spent some time in Tallinn improving her Russian earlier in the summer so she had had ample opportunity to scout out the kind of place I like. People, she had not wasted her time.

After lunch we went to a nice park outside the city for a wander about – Mr. Waffle likes a park. I’m fond of a park myself provided it has a nice cafe. This one did. I enjoyed some miniature pancakes in the sun.

Access to our airbnb was a bit traumatic. It was in the pedestrian part of town and we had to park at the edge and lug the luggage from car to the flat and then up 5 flights of stairs. I say we but I was the one sitting in the car with the hazards on and then – traumatic enough in its own mild way – getting it to the car park. The accommodation was huge yet somehow unsatisfactory. Two of the bedrooms were divided from the living space by curtains. What is wrong with that very successful invention – the door?

The others were a bit flattened so I walked down to the station to meet herself.

When Mr. Waffle and I were young and used to go on skiing trips organised by my brother-in-law, people from the group would often ask him (b-in-l), “When’s happy hour?”. He would not know, having arrived at the same time as the rest of us. In our family locution when someone makes an unreasonable request which you cannot be expected to answer or know, the words “When’s happy hour?” are deployed to indicate that this is the case.

When the Princess and I returned to the flat, an exhausted me flopped on the sofa after a long day and some rash individual inquired, “What’s for dinner?” “When’s happy hour?” I replied grumpily. “This is unhappy hour,” said herself dolefully. Perhaps you had to be there but it effectively improved the mood.

We went to the supermarket and picked something up. I forgot my bag for life container (pictured below). Instead of writing it off, like a sensible person might, I wearily trekked back down the five flights of stairs and out to the supermarket. Great was my triumph on finding it but overall, possibly not the wisest thing I have ever done.

Nevertheless, after dinner we were all miraculously restored and went out for a drink. We returned to the restaurant in the main square where many years ago we had vareniki for the first time. Thrills.

Wednesday August 21, 2024

Mr. Waffle and I brought the car to the airport. Time was tight and I nearly had heart failure as I got us lost all over the city in an attempt to find a petrol station to fill up the car. As herself so wisely observed, we are not really car people.

When we returned the car it turned out that the boot remote control worked fine. You just needed to press it for a second longer. Can I say it again? We are not really car people.

On our return to the city, we had breakfast with herself but I was struck down by a migraine and retired to my bed until the middle of the afternoon when I gingerly emerged blinking in the sunlight.

Herself took us to a part of the city we had not been to before. The Tallinn locals seem to have made some kind of Faustian pact with tourism. The old town – which is lovely – is completely given over to tourists. It’s like Disney, no schools, few shops other than tourist ones and very few local residents as far as I can see. The part we went to that day was a shopping area outside the old town. It was nice and seemed to be almost tourist free. I found the whole thing slightly disturbing in a way I can’t entirely put my finger on.

We bought Daniel a new shirt as herself had booked us in to a fancy dinner place. We got him a grandfather shirt, something I last saw widely worn in the 1980s when I was in college. Is it back?

Our fancy restaurant had a tasting menu. Michael is not a fan of the tasting menu so it seemed a good thing to do while he was off in the flesh pots of Helsinki. I must say we had a really lovely time. And it was delicious.

Thursday August 22

Herself had identified somewhere out in the suburbs as a good spot for breakfast so with our local guide we got the tram successfully. Public transport in a foreign city; always such a challenge.

It was very Russian out there in the cafe in the suburbs. Interesting.

After breakfast we did some mild shopping. I love a high class souvenir shop and herself knew where to bring me. Satisfactory.

After lunch we went to the seaplane museum which is supposed to be excellent but I found it pretty dull. There was some interesting stuff about ice roads and how in winter in the old days there were all these roads on the sea but, I could take it or leave it (even if it does also feature a very claustrophobic submarine).

Leaving those with higher tolerances for seaplane trivia behind me I took a taxi to the port to collect Michael. The taxi driver spoke only Russian and Estonian so yet again I hauled out my limited Russian linguistic skills. You can tell how well it went because after my attempts at communication he said to me, “Are you Polish?”.

Michael made it back safely though completely exhausted. In my mind’s eye I had seen him playing very elaborate board games and not leaving the house. I think that is how he saw it in his mind’s eye also but his friend felt obliged to show him all the sights. Even though Michael reassured him that he had seen all the sights in Helsinki and really had no particular desire to see them again, his friend was not to be deterred. I think Michael was quite glad to be back in the bosom of his family.

It turns out that like his Latvian friend, his Finnish friend’s family were also Russian speakers. “This is beyond coincidence,” I announced to the family when we got home. “Twice is the definition of coincidence,” said herself. Truly I have a great deal to put up with.

Friday August 23, 2024

We went to visit the Kiek in de Kok tower which is an interesting and well laid out city museum with a restaurant with no savoury food. They are truly missing a trick there.

After lunch at home, I forced everyone out to recreate the photo we had taken when we were last in Tallinn. Very low levels of enthusiasm from the troops but I had the bit between my teeth.

We went for a wander round the old town which is nice, I mean it is, but somehow not as nice as it was when we were new to it in 2019. “Through a chink too wide there comes in no wonder” as Patrick Kavanagh would say. And I think we were all keen to get home by this stage so perhaps that accounted for it too.

Saturday August 24, 2024

We hauled the luggage downstairs and took off for the airport in two taxis. To my absolute delight – and hers – I had a Ukrainian taxi driver and we were able to have a mild conversation. I mean, she did lose me regularly but it was better than my Russian conversations. And it was Ukrainian independence day so that was nice.

And then we were at the airport, glad to be going home. It presented its own photo ops which I am a little curious about.

I wandered to the newsagents and there was the FT weekend. I forked out a fortune but it was a long enough flight, I reasoned. Yes, you have guessed it, for the second time I purchased a weekend edition I had already read (in fact, if you’re counting it was third time in all that I had purchased that edition). As Mr. Waffle said, the FT welcomes detail orientated purchasers.

Baltics V – Estonia – Pärnu to Tartu

2 November, 2024
Posted in: Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel, Twins, Youngest Child

I know, when will it end?

Thursday August 15

We went into town for lunch and, with some difficulty, downloaded the parking app and parked before going to the Edelweiss cafe for lunch. As you might imagine. Fine if you like Bratwurst and Sauerkraut.

We hired bikes and used the excellent cycling infrastructure to get ourselves to the beach. The Baltics seem to be big on cycling in beach resorts. The beach was pretty busy but nice and the water was lovely. Herself said to me “We’re fooling ourselves when we say it’s Baltic when we get into the water in Ireland – this is much warmer.” Very true.

There were some tensions in relation to directions on the bikes but eventually peace was restored and we went and looked at the Tallinn Gate and an art Nouveau house.

When we got home my brilliant husband suggested take away for dinner. What a thrill. The actual take away was only ok and subsequently herself informed me that the review did indicate some food hygiene issues involving rodents. However I was not ill and sitting in the lovely garden eating my mediocre take away all was right with the world.

Friday August 16

Herself, Daniel and I decided to go into town for breakfast. As we were driving in, I realised that the parking app was on Mr. Waffle’s phone. My digital natives downloaded it double quick including using my face to add my credit card details. I now use my face instead of passwords for many things and I have a vague fear that if I am disfigured and in the hospital in addition to all my other problems I will not be able to pay for anything as I have no idea what my passcodes are. Anyhow, we had a delightful breakfast and last wander around Pärnu. My God, herself is really a genius at finding cafes and restaurants.

We packed up and left Pärnu to get the ferry from Virtsu. In case you were wondering, it is not hard to change the time on your ferry ticket if you arrive early.

We had a lovely, lovely lunch in Muhu which is a tiny sleepy little island.

Saarema, where we are staying is attached to Muhu by a bridge.

We had plenty of time to get to our airbnb so we went to have a look at a large tree in the centre of a football field on Saaremaa. As Daniel said, “A solid presence in midfield.” A real holiday sight.

Kuressaare where we were staying was a holiday town and it is very strange to think that it was guarded by dogs and soldiers in another time. It’s pretty, it has a castle and shortly after we arrived, a car rally passed through.

Estonia is a very digital place and when we got to the supermarket to lay in supplies for the evening there were no staff that we could see and we were invited to download an app to pay for our shopping. Sadly, Apple told me that it was “not available in your region”. I had travelled all day, had a trolley full of shopping I was anxious to pay for, impatient Estonian customers behind me and no way to pay. I am not enjoying the digital revolution as much as I might be. Eventually we found a till where you could pay without the app. Possibly we would have found it earlier if we spoke better Estonian. It took a lot out of me.

I also had not one but two mosquito bites on the sole of my foot and three on my heel. Overall, I was not totally enjoying myself.

Saturday August 17

The morning was more cheerful. Those of us who were interested had breakfast and a wander around town.

After lunch Michael, Mr. Waffle and I went for a visit to the castle.

Aside from the loss of Michael’s cap (with us since an emergency purchase in Stockholm at prohibitive expense), it was an entirely successful visit. There was a really interesting exhibition about what Kuressaare was like in Soviet times. A bit grim. It seems very alien and different from how it is now.

It also boasted an excellent gift shop and cafe. What more could the discerning tourist want?

Saaremaa is famous for having a number of meteorite strikes so we went to have a look. Would I have known that it wasn’t just a pond without the helpful signage? I doubt it.

There was much trauma when we got home as we tried to book our ferry back to the mainland for the following day. Apparently everyone wants to go back to the mainland on Sunday. We had some debate about when to go (it was a long drive and Mr. Waffle wanted us to go in the morning, I felt it wasn’t that long and wanted us to go in the afternoon). As we…debated the 10.15 and 14.40 slots disappeared before our eyes and we booked the last slot on the 8.30 just in time. This meant we would have to leave at 7 in the morning which in my view was not ideal.

Given that our morning was to be so cruelly curtailed, Daniel and I went out for an evening swim behind the castle. There were other people swimming there but the water was odd, weirdly like swimming in a peat lake in the Wicklow mountains and there were ducks bobbing about so I am not entirely sure you could say that we swam in open water.

Herself, yet again, starred and found us an amazing place for dinner. It was newly opened and run by a lovely local who was full of enthusiasm. I am so impressed by my daughter’s skills; I asked her to show me how she did it and, honestly, it seemed like a lot of work so I think I will just call her, if I ever need advice. She’s delighted, obviously.

Sunday August 18

We were up at 6 and all v grumpy. We found definitive photographic confirmation of Michael’s lost hat in castle but we were not going to be able to retrieve it before departure. Alas.

Our airbnb had an electric gate and when we went to leave, a very, very drunken man was clinging to it. To be fair to him, it was actually the night before. He tried to launch himself away from the gate several times and each time, he had to come back for support. I thought we’d never get out but eventually he sailed off and we were able to get on the road.

We made the ferry no problem and our journey back to the mainland was uneventful. We began our epic drive to Tartu. It was not as epic as we expected. Somehow google maps had allowed hours and hours for the 15 minute ferry ride and it quickly became apparent that rather than driving all day, we would be there for lunch time. We were all pretty pleased, especially Mr. Waffle who regards google maps as the work of Satan and here was the proof.

On the drive we saw many storks in nests. Michael told a KGB joke which I definitely wanted to repeat here but sadly have forgotten in the two months since I first heard it. Herself told us that Byron and Moore of Moore’s melodies were best buds. Who knew? This is how we beguiled our journey. Good job it wasn’t as long as we thought it was going to be.

We had considered cutting Tartu from our itinerary because it was so far east of Saaremaa and such a long drive. For a range of reasons, I am very glad we did not. Tartu is a lovely, lovely university town. Our airbnb was absolutely fantastic and though relatively small, it was perfectly laid out ( it was down the road from a spot where Lesya Ukrainka had lived – I was charmed though I must say my attempts to learn her easy poems in Ukrainian had completely failed).

Mr Waffle, the Princess and I hired e-bikes – another app of course – and whizzed around the city centre exploring tea, supermarket and tourist sights of interest. We discovered that Tartu was the 2024 European capital of culture. Fancy that. Daniel went out for a run and Michael stayed at home glad of a short break from his family.

Can you believe that there is more to come? I know, neither can I.

Baltics IV – Riga, Latvia to Pärnu, Estonia

28 October, 2024
Posted in: Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel, Twins, Youngest Child

Saturday August 10

Michael has a Latvian friend in college in Dublin and he gave us a breakfast recommendation which we took. Pretty good.

Mr. Waffle, Daniel and I went for a wander around town. To our relief the weather was a bit cooler. Michael took himself off to the station to meet his Latvian friend who was coming into Riga for the day to hang out. I am keen for Michael to go interrailing but yet I was unsure that he would make it from the flat to the station unsupervised. A number of people pointed out the inconsistency in my behaviour.

Mr. Waffle found a truly delightful art deco cafe. I loved, loved, loved it.

Herself arrived. We could have collected her in our hire car but mentally it would have been exhausting so she came into us by taxi at about 4.30. She made her plane by inches having stopped off to pick up some foundation for me at Boots as I had forgotten my tube in some previous location. Honestly, not really necessary but she made the flight so all was well.

Michael returned safely from his day out with his friend from college. A Russian speaker it transpired. It was interesting to hear about the status of the Russian language in Latvia; they seem to be reducing pretty drastically the opportunities for students to attend Russian language schools which at one level I can understand but it’s pretty rough on the Russian speakers.

We had dinner in a lovely restaurant which was recommended by Michael’s friend. It was quite difficult to find and swathed in scaffolding – certainly, I can’t imagine that they got any passing trade – but after our longish walk to get there, I was quite pleased it was open. It was pretty swish upstairs.

But downstairs in the basement there was a ball pen. Truly a mysterious choice.

I must say I was pretty pleased to have everyone together.

Sunday August 11

Mr. Waffle, Daniel and I went to mass at 9.30. Honestly a punishingly early hour but, having learnt our lesson from Vilnius we found an English language service so there was that.

We had a cup of tea nearby after and then Daniel pushed on home while Mr. Waffle and I went to explore the market.

It’s located in a zeppelin hangar – which you don’t get much – and very authentic. There were lots of stalls run by older people who spoke no English and yet again my (I cannot emphasise enough) basic Russian was pressed into service.

After Mr. Waffle and I got home, herself and myself went into town by tram. Mr. Waffle had been pushing public transport for some time as our Airbnb was a bit of a trot from the centre but I was dubious. However, I am bound to say that it was pretty easy to use and in terms of comfort and reliability compares very favourably to Irish public transport.

I regret to say that the art gallery which we had gone into town to inspect was underwhelming. There were a lot of less good works by less famous international artists. I think we might have been better off going to the museum of Latvian art. And, my goodness, I am as fond of porcelain as the next person but you can have too much of a good thing. Herself had done some short course at the Ashmolean while she was in college and was able to tell me some things about porcelain which I had not previously known and I remember being interested at the time but I have now completely forgotten so maybe overall not a total win.

Afterwards we had a cup of tea in the lovely 30s cafe which I was keen to show herself. Reasonable levels of enthusiasm. We had the squeezed orange juice which is available in every cafe in the Baltics, why oh why can’t we have this at home? They also have brilliant cycle lanes and many cyclists, again why oh why can’t we have this at home? I digress.

I had bought salmon in the market and cooked it for dinner. Definite overestimate on my part of how much salmon is needed to feed a family of five. Salmon for every meal until we leave, I suggested, to low levels of enthusiasm from the troops.

Monday August 12

Despite the huge quantities of salmon available at home, Mr. Waffle, herself and I went out for breakfast to the “No Name” cafe, a place recommended by Michael’s ever helpful local contact. Satisfactory.

After lunch Michael, Mr. Waffle and I took the tram into town. I really regretted resisting for so long. The joy of the tram was truly wonderful. We went to the national library which is really well worth a visit.

It’s pretty cool from the outside. It’s the yoke with a crown on the top which if memory serves me is a reference to some popular Latvian children’s book.

Inside there are beautiful views out to the city.

And the inside was pretty cool too.

The architect was a Latvian whose family had left Latvia for Canada, I think, when he was a little boy and they had pictures of him in his house in Riga when he was a child and the piano from the house. I am not a huge fan of modern architecture but this was a delight. There was an exhibition on – surprise – books and it had a copy of James Joyce’s “Ulysses” in Latvian. A group of Latvian enthusiasts paid for its translation by subscription. I hope they were pleased is all I can say.

We then needed a restorative cup of tea and I was keen to go to a place I had found earlier in the week. Could I find it? I could not. Michael said dolefully after considerable tramping around, “I hear deep in my bones the honking of a wild waterfowl.” We compromised and went somewhere else where I had chips with sour cream. Honestly, the innovation I have been waiting for all my life.

Michael and Mr. Waffle went home but I went up a church tower. I love a view from above. It was a great view but it was alarmingly windy. I did not linger.

In the church itself there was a statue of a Teutonic knight. The Teutonic knights (previously unknown to me) are very big in this part of the world.

I walked across the bridge to the library which I thought would be delightful but it was actually a bit grim and windy. There are no amazing photographs, I regret to inform you. I took the tram back and met herself in town. We had a look around the shops and, then, yet again, I began to feel that I needed a sustaining cup of tea. “Let me take you to a cafe that I think you will like,” said herself. Mirabile dictu, it was the very one for which I had searched in vain earlier in the day. Herself has an amazing ability to find restaurants and cafes I will like. What a gift. Delighted.

When we got home, Daniel showed off his charity shop haul and Michael made dinner. Not me. Not salmon either.

Tuesday, 13 August 2024

I volunteered to get croissants from the bakery. They only had three and there was, I felt, a slightly Soviet style indifference to my wish to source more. There were three, that was how it was, give up now on your quixotic quest for more.

This was our last full day in Riga and although the city is full of beautiful art nouveau architecture, we had not yet been to the art nouveau quarter. I suffered real regret that we had left it so late as this is, in my view, by far the nicest part of the city (full of embassies, of course).

We had lunch in a bar which was only moderately successful. I ordered a salad and I basically got sandwich spread. I was not delighted.

After lunch we went to the art nouveau museum which I found charming.

Daniel found an unexpected symmetry between Bohemians football club in Dublin and the sofa favoured by the art nouveau architect whose home this once was.

The museum was staffed by people in period costume which is something I enjoy. The lady in the kitchen spoke German (and presumably Latvian) but no English however we were able to chat with her with our school German. An English woman who overheard asked how we all spoke such good German and I said that we learnt it in school. She seemed very impressed and my cup full of smugness ran over. Herself hissed to me, “You’re unbearable”. Honesty forces me to confess that I cannot imagine that the English woman spoke very good German herself or she would have been considerably less impressed.

I mean, did we all find the house tour fascinating and charming, perhaps not.

After we had finished our tour of the house we did a tour of the area ably assisted by our excellent guidebook – will I ever just rely on my phone, I think not.

As a reward after our touristing we went to the nice French cafe which we had spotted earlier. It had closed at 3. I mean why would they do that? Everyone was a bit tired, hot and cranky and we went to the nearest cafe which was basically like going to the Spar cafe at home. But look, it had air conditioning and everyone was considerably less grumpy afterwards.

Michael and Mr. Waffle decided to call it a day but the rest of us went to a lovely tourist shop where I bought a nice tile (currently on the table behind me under the teapot) and two little bowls (I confess, still unused). We were all cheered up by spending money and went off to another nice cafe we had seen – still chasing the cafe high we had been cheated of – but, sadly, it was out of buns. It was not our day for cafes.

After we got home and had dinner that evening, four of us went out for a last drink in Riga and, Michael, delighted with himself stayed home alone.

Wednesday 14 August, 2024

In the morning we packed up the car (a bit tight) and left Riga. On the way out we saw an enormous sports park complex. I was very impressed, Daniel said it was like Vilnius only smaller. It is amazing the communal facilities they have compared to what we have at home. Everything in Ireland seems more private – owned by a club rather than a public facility.

We stopped for lunch on the road; our last meal in Latvia. We put herself in charge of finding somewhere and, obedient to her directions pulled off the road into what honestly looked like an industrial estate.

As we wandered in, no one was more surprised than me to find a lovely pizza place, overlooking the sea with an enormous wood-fired oven. That child is a genius. There was no way on God’s earth her parents would ever have found this place.

And then it was across the border into Estonia. It was instantly clear that Estonia is much richer than Latvia. The roads were better and everything looked a lot more prosperous. We passed a replica Viking boat on the road, “Look at that,” I said to the children. “I wonder where it’s going?” “Doubtless to bore a group of children somewhere, ” said herself laconically. I have a lot to put up with.

We went on to Pärnu which is known as the summer capital of Estonia. Our airbnb was out in the suburbs. Although it said there were four bedrooms on the description, there were not and great was the disapproval of our children at the prospect of having to share. Herself very cleverly pointed out that we could move one of the beds to the study and solve the problem so all was well. When the time came to review she really wanted me to complain but I was too craven. “Then they will do it again and someone else will suffer,” she said reproachfully. I pointed out that when we inspected the previous reviews other, less craven guests, had complained of this problem and they were still doing it. She was not appeased.

Aside from the bedroom debacle, the house was truly lovely. Compared to our rather cramped living quarters in Riga, the rooms downstairs were huge. The garden, however was the star of the show. It was enormous with fruit trees and a stream running along the end. We had a lovely dinner in the garden.

Mr. Waffle and I went for a stroll around the area after dinner. I found it slightly reminiscent of Denmark. Mr. Waffle pointed out a large alarm on the roof of a school we passed. They have more challenging neighbours than the Danes.

You’ll be pleased to hear that there are only three Baltic countries and Estonia is the last one we visited but yet, there is so much more to come. I have definitely been writing this for far longer than we were on holidays. Thanks you for sticking with it.

I have not blogged much of late but this year I think I will do Nablopo, so there’s that to look forward to and perhaps I will finally finish my summer holiday descriptions?