Last night herself called about 9pm from her job in the City in London where she was waiting for some data to come in – a regular 10.30 finish genuinely seems normal, she is resigned but she is not loving it; middle child was lying on the sofa suffering from a really bad dose of food poisoning (origins a mystery); and youngest child rang from his Erasmus destination to say that he is still stuck in the middle of nowhere and the speedy bus service he was promised remains illusory as the buses are all on strike. And it’s still raining.
Youngest Child
Domestic Admin Sunday
Poor old Mr. Waffle had to work today so I decided to offer my day up to the administration gods. It’s been awful.
The joy of changing electricity and gas suppliers is again upon me. Pray for me. Notwithstanding the excellent service of bonkers.ie (come on, great name, you’ve got to concede) which aids with comparing and switching, I really just want to stay with the same supplier and not install a new app, make up a new password and then receive a baffling new bill offering me huge insights (or, worst of all, if I was with this “new” supplier before finding my old password and being locked out until I do). Relatively straightforward in fairness to bonkers.ie but I had to upload a pdf of my last bill (log in to current supplier, download same) and add my details from the network provider (create account, go outside the front door find gas meter, read gas meter, input data, await two factor authentication etc.). But the upshot is that bonkers.ie says I will save €1,700 by switching so I guess I have to. Sigh.
I tried to log into my pensions portal. I have the login, I have the password but for some reason the two factor authentication number which should have come to my email, did not in fact come to my email. I looked at my statement and decided this is a problem for when I leave the workforce. I wrote to the UK tax authorities about my UK pension arrangements- quite limited now and available from aged 68 so not, in fact, an immediate priority but nonetheless, I dutifully wrote. Related, yesterday on the tram a nice man in his 30s offered me his seat – I had make up on, I’d slept for 10 hours the night before and I had played tennis that morning, I looked at my best – but he hopped out of his “give this up if an elderly or infirm person needs it” seat like a scalded cat; I was suitably grateful but declined the seat suffering from inner horror, obviously my internalised ageism is strong.
I discovered through inspection of my spam folder (see above re non-arrival of two factor authentication number), that the degree ceremony for the course I completed last year has passed and if I reply by January 16, they will send out my parchment by registered post. Although the deadline has passed, I am cautiously optimistic that the degree will make its way to me eventually (it’s an ill-wind etc.).
I have uploaded my bills to my medical insurer (my ongoing engagement with the dentist refers).
I have, I hope, managed to register correctly for US withholding tax in relation to a share holding so tiny that it probably costs more to keep (in administrative pain) than to sell.
I have finished putting together a photo album and sent it off to be printed (enormous expense twice a year and ongoing effort to keep it up to date). I use this crowd, if you have a recommendation, let me know.
I have cast my bread upon the waters in the hope that some commercial organisation will agree to host an anniversary dinner later in the year (honestly, they can probably have any money – look at the savings on the gas and electricity bills).
I am about to help my youngest child pack for 4 months abroad (more of which anon) – I see a chance to dispose of some of my excess crockery and cutlery.
I hope your Sunday has been less painful. I’m off to start packing.
Supporting the Arts
Our beloved youngest child was in two plays back to back in college last term. With terrifying frankness he told us not to bother with the first one as it wasn’t any good. But we dutifully went along to the second; say what you like about the beloved youngest child but he loves an audience and speaks loudly and clearly which are enough to make you the star of a college production. Inspired by this, he has decided that next year he might direct and star in a production of “John Bull’s Other Island” by Shaw which is out of copyright. He has decided to adapt the great man’s work for a modern audience and has been sequestered in his room for several days on this work but I think we’re nearly there. He has time.
In other student production news we went to see my niece’s school musical where she was the star. She has actually been in real films with famous people that had a cinematic release but I think it’s fair to say she has never been more excited to be in a production than this one. She was fantastic.
Mr. Waffle and I went to see Marty Supreme. Normally we go to the cinema on Mondays and have it to ourselves but we were home alone and decided to scamper out on a Thursday. On Mondays when the cinema is largely empty I lament the decline of cinema as a medium; on Thursday it was a full house. On the one hand, do I want my local cinema to close down? I do not. Does it need punters to remain open? Yes, yes it does. However, it was all very annoying, people were talking, checking phones, in and out to purchase popcorn; I think we’ll be sticking to Mondays. “The film?” you ask. It was alright, a bit long. I only went because I heard it was funny. Not hilarious now. Raised a smile occasionally. It’s the story of a table tennis champion/hustler set in America in the early 50s. The caper like nature of the plot reminded me a bit of Anora and the aesthetic was a bit Wes Anderson.
Last but not least we went to Collins Barracks over the weekend to see an exhibition on modern Ireland. Very right on and a lot of focus on the North (there was a lot of Dublin and NI and a certain amount of we lived in a repressive theocracy- was Ireland perfect? Nope. Were we operating under the ayatollahs? You might have thought so). Nevertheless I found it enjoyable. The only actual Cork thing I found (aside from a bit about lace making in Youghal, grand, I suppose) was this poster.
I very much enjoyed the “ over 6,000 in Cork alone”; they know how to appeal to the Cork punter.
I also liked this crisp related poster. As regular readers will know the island of Ireland is divided by two unrelated crisp providers with the same name. See below Mr Tayto, North (right) and South edition.
A classic poster.
I was less familiar with this one.
This open letter below is worth a read in its entirety. But here are some standout lines:
Here in Ireland there are on sale certain magazines which advocate pre-marital intimacy and which set forth chastity as an outmoded convention. Such magazines have been brought to our notice. We have actually seen them.
It’s the “We have actually seen them” that I particularly enjoy.
Also:
Many of these publications are on PUBLIC SALE. It is not always a matter of surreptitious, under-the-counter trading.
And furthermore:
IN view of these genuinely alarming facts, one may ask: Isn’t there a literary censorship operating in this country?
An explanation follows leading to the conclusion that “In practice, therefore, a considerable volume of printed material remains completely uncensored.” So now so.
It finishes on a very stern note:
Finally, it need hardly be stressed that those who, knowingly and deliberately, expose for sale such evil printed matter are guilty of mortal sin-the sin of corrupting innocence, of pandering to passion, of directing souls to Hell.
Here are some slippers Michael Collins wore; whether just once when he stayed over in someone’s house or for a prolonged period is unclear.
Pro-Home Rule mug and anti-Home salt cellar. Eggcellent.
The Gladstone chamber pot: a tasteful addition to any anti-Home Rule household. I was sorry not to see any products marked “Home Rule is Rome Rule” but you can’t have everything, I suppose.
Elsewhere in the museum, I was taken with this cartoon.
The perennial question: How Ya Gonna Keep ’em Down on the Farm (After They’ve Seen Paree)?
I went to see the annual Turner exhibition in the National Gallery as well. A mild January treat.
How are your own cultural outings going?
Driving me Crazy
Progress towards full driving licences for all three children is slow. They’ve all passed their theory test including herself who finally did it last summer. To be honest, I was never very worried about the theory test even if there were a lot of hard questions about tractors (the licence also equips one to drive a tractor something I don’t expect to be a major feature of their lives but who can tell?) – I think they might all have got 100% – it’s the practical test I was more concerned about and I am right there. Herself is in England and so beyond help essentially – she’ll have to sort herself out, I think. I regret this but there it is.
The other two are at home and on our insurance policy at enormous expense (two twenty year olds on provisional licences, of course the expense is enormous). One of them has taken the test and failed. The other hasn’t taken the test yet. Part of the problem is that they don’t have much practice as our lifestyle does not involve much driving. Because of where we live it is almost always easier to cycle or take public transport. If we are going for longer distances we tend to take the motorway where learner drivers are not allowed. And, of course, they have to be accompanied by a qualified driver so we have to go with them when they drive which is a bit tedious and occasionally alarming. I suppose we will get there in the end.
We had a friend who lives in the Netherlands to stay recently (home for a month’s mind for a man she knew from college, very depressing, only in his mid-50s with young children). Her children are of an age with our children so we were asking about progress on driving and her eldest has passed the test. We were suitably impressed particularly when we heard about the Dutch system. Apparently the people who give you your lessons also pass you on the test. The lessons cost a fortune so the incentive to pass people is low. Her son passed on his third or fourth attempt and it is not at all unusual to have a lot of attempts. On one occasion, her son turned up to take his test but could not do so as the test centre had been burnt down by someone who had been failed 14 times. People, there’s a whole world out there.
Christmas Update
Still alive. A bit challenging this year. We had my brother and sister on Christmas Eve which was nice but I was starting, alas, to feel a little under the weather. Did 2 solid hours in Dublin’s newly minted Catholic cathedral make me feel better? It did not although the singing was beautiful and the archbishop gave a pro-migrant sermon of which I strongly approved. My brother was beside me and it is hard to believe that he had ever been to Christmas mass at all as he kept saying, “Surely, it must be about to end now.” Herself commented sagely that the flower arrangers etc. still had to be thanked. She was right although the thanks were mercifully less extensive than they tend to be in our local church.
We had exchanged presents with my sister earlier in the day as she was spending Christmas Day with her partner’s family. I always feel she does quite poorly out of this as she is very generous to the children and doesn’t get so much from us. She did not disappoint this year and I gleefully pocketed a blue book voucher and a nice candle and the children got untold largesse. She also gave me a novelty jigsaw which was a blown up picture of our cat. I think it’s going to kill me. And I’m also feeling a lot less enthusiastic about the cat.
Comparisons are odious but this jigsaw which I received from my middle child was much more satisfactory.
You’ll see there’s a piece missing. We spent days on our hands and knees on the floor looking for it but finally a couple of days ago we swept the jigsaw into its box and decided the piece was lost. This morning middle child found the missing piece. In a trouser pocket. Was I delighted? I was not.
Back to our chronology here, I felt ok when we got up on Christmas morning and v much enjoyed the present giving (good haul thanks) and receiving. Mr. Waffle does a treasure hunt for the children on Christmas morning and that was great too.
We were having the in-laws and my brother to Christmas lunch and the children were a great help in prepping and the table looked fantastic; the food wasn’t bad either. All in all pretty satisfactory though I am, if possible, even more grateful to the in-laws who host almost every year. This year they have moved out of their house to facilitate very significant renovations. If you pray to a deity, please remember them in your prayers, they’ll need it.
By the time evening rolled around, we were all a bit exhausted though we did play one game of 110 with my brother. Wouldn’t say everyone was totally into it.
I’ve no idea what happened on St. Stephen’s Day. I whined about being ill. The Princess admired the spectacular bruise which the dentist’s butchery had left her with. My brother hit the sales and we put him on the bus to Cork.
On Saturday I was still ill. So sorry for myself. Herself and myself went to look at the antiques shops on Francis Street (all still closed) and had lunch in the Argentinian place on Meath Street. I was exhausted after my mild outing.
To everyone’s horror we realised that we were booked in to see Dublin Gothic in the Abbey that evening. A three hour play about one Dublin building. And two, yes two, 15 minute intervals leading to a total run time of 3 and a half hours. While there were varying levels of enthusiasm when this Christmas treat was booked, I think that it would be fair to say that on Saturday night we all shared the exact same enthusiasm level namely zero. To be fair to the play, it wasn’t too bad but it was too long and we weren’t in the form to appreciate it as we might. It gave us something to talk about and there were some very interesting ideas and funny bits but you know, 3 and a half hours is a lot even when you want to go and you are in the whole of your health neither of which necessarily applied.
On Sunday I felt just well enough for a mild stroll around the Botanic Gardens. Very sorry for myself still.
On Monday I finally started to recover. We rejoice. Herself and myself and Mr. Waffle had a look at the antiques shops many, but by no means all, of which were open.
Then we went home and she packed and we dropped her to the airport to go back to London. Gutting. I felt very sad. But there you are, this is the lot of the Irish mother. I did it to my mother and she did it to her mother so I suppose we can only hope that some day she’ll move home again like my mother and I did. She’s starting a job and moving flat in January so exciting times ahead and I guess London isn’t so far.
Today my recovery continued apace and we climbed the Sugar Loaf. These pictures give the impression that we were there alone but in fact this was not at all the case and every family in Dublin appeared to be on the mountain having a health giving walk. It was a beautiful day and you could see snow on the higher mountains in the distance and all the way across to Snowdonia in Wales.
I am delighted to report that I have no plans for this evening. I hope that your Christmas passed off peacefully also and that you are recovering from the inevitable illness of the season. A very happy new year. More blogging in 2026; something for you to look forward to.
Saint Nicolas
He came – after all these years. As I write one of the Dublin based children is still in bed, so possibly excitement levels are not what they once were. But look, it’s the thought that counts!
I guess it’s a long time since 2006.
