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Testing Times

22 April, 2025
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Michael, Princess, Work

Herself is back in England after a week at home. She had to go back to deliver a paper at a conference this afternoon. She was tense. No update as yet.

Michael did his driving test today (no, alas, thanks for asking) and his exams start next week.

Daniel’s exams started at 5 this evening (not a conventional time, you will agree and one which leaves a lot of today to be got through).

And I, like a complete moron, signed up to do an economics course last autumn which I deeply regret. The written final exam is tomorrow morning (thoughts and prayers, please). I last performed under exam conditions in 2019 and I thought that I liked it better than assignments. I am seriously re-evaluating my conclusions in this regard.

Suffice it to say that everyone’s Easter was pretty much ruined with studying and prep.

Once I get this wretched exam out of the way, I will have thoughts on the Easter season more generally; something for you to look forward to.

Death Duties

20 January, 2025
Posted in: Ireland, Work

The mother of a woman who works with me died yesterday afternoon. The removal was in the midlands, this evening, from 4 to 7. I left work at 4.30, cycled home like the wind and hopped into the car at 5.

My theory that remote working means that there is now no traffic in Dublin on Mondays was put to the test and found sorely wanting. It took me an hour to get out of the city and then when I finally got on the motorway there was dense fog.

As I drove along (carefully, slowly) I thought there was a very good chance that the removal would be over by the time I arrived which led to a certain amount of tension. And I had to stop for petrol.

I arrived at 18.55 and the hearse was outside the funeral home with the boot open but still there. The deceased had nine children (including my colleague) and innumerable grandchildren so there was still a queue of people out the door waiting to sympathise (my colleague said they had been shaking hands non stop since 4). What a relief.

My colleague who is a lovely older lady (so few people I can say this about now – her mother was 90) seemed really glad to see me which was the point of the exercise and I was glad I went. Nevertheless, I would like my next funereal duties to be in Dublin if at all possible.

Weekend Round Up

19 January, 2025
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Mr. Waffle, Work

Gym update (not from me obvs): Dan reports that Dermot Bannon was on the gym TV on Saturday and not only did Dan recognise him but also the episode Mr. Bannon was presenting. Definitely my fault. And I’m making them all watch The Traitors too. Quality television for the mind, that’s me.

I went into town yesterday and parked my bike in a perfectly normal fashion and came back to this psychotic situation.

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Today has been a glum day as I have spent hours avoiding doing my project work for a course I am doing at work (nobody made me do it, I volunteered for it like a complete fool); two hours actually doing the project work; and, when I gave up in despair, about 5 minutes realising that there is at least another four hours work in this (which will have to be done this week) and that there is an examination in April which, based on my meagre understanding of the course so far, is going to require a bit more studying than I have done to date (i.e. none).

We have selected our books for the year for Monday night book club – here it is in case you are interested and have any views on the books (“Death at the Sign of the Rook” is the new Kate Atkinson).

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A lot of them look a bit worthy despite everyone’s best intentions. And I’ve just realised that I have to read the book for my Sunday book club this week having failed to do so over Christmas. I may have to call a moratorium on all these hard books and go back to re-reading Georgette Heyer for the month. It is proving a long January. And I am out playing tennis once a week too which, in the current climactic conditions, feels like masochism. I honestly think my hobbies may be going to kill me.

The only bits of good news from this weekend are:

  1. Mr. Waffle and Dan went to a match, their team won and they were on the telly in the crowd shot (perhaps not a great shot of Mr. Waffle but fame is fame).
  2. When I was in town yesterday, I got a text from Mr. Waffle saying “I have booked dinner for us in a mystery location on Valentine’s night.” I have spent my whole life saying Valentine’s day is a cod and you should go out some other night and I really thought I meant it. Clearly, however, I did not as I was thrilled to the core of my being by this text.

How was your own weekend?

Still Putting the Fun in Funeral: December Round Up Part 3

7 January, 2025
Posted in: Boys, Cork, Daniel, Family, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Work

December 26, St Stephen’s Day

Mr. Waffle and I accompanied by our first born (the other children having elected to stay in bed) climbed the Sugar Loaf. It was very foggy on the drive to Wicklow but when we got to the peak of the (pretty tame) mountain it was peeping through the fog giving me an opportunity to take some excellent photos.

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A problem we always have with our outings is that we never seem to be able to leave before 11.30. This means that we are always on our walk at lunch time. I believe that lunch should be a moveable feast, Mr. Waffle very firmly does not. He brought a spiced beef and cranberry sauce sandwich up the mountain with him for this very reason. Herself and myself spurned the sandwich option with contumely. Ladies and gentlemen, was that how we felt on the mountain? It was not and I must record Mr. Waffle’s nobility in sharing his slender supplies with his womenfolk. Possibly the best one third of a sandwich I have ever eaten.

You would not think it from the photos but it is actually a very easy climb made considerably easier by the rocks/steps that have now been put in place to avoid erosion. I remember once when the children were younger going up there one summer day and feeling quite proud of huffing up to the top with my three youngish children to find a whole class of kindergartners at the top accompanied by a couple of minders. I remember vividly that one of the little girls had one of those bags with wheels and she had just carried it up the mountain with her.

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As we sat at the top, herself looked around and said, “This is the only place in Ireland where you don’t see fat people.” She paused and looked around again, “Except for you two, I guess.” Oh sharper than a serpent’s tooth etc.. Sensing that her addendum was not entirely welcome she added encouragingly, “Isn’t it good that you two are still just on the right side of overweight and can climb to the top?” I see.

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When we got down, on a theoretical level, I was delighted to see that all of the usual hostelries we might frequent after a walk up a mountain were closed; people should have a break at Christmas. On a practical level, we were not delighted to be driving around trying to find somewhere to eat. We eventually got a table in Johnny Fox’s outside in the stable yard under a heater and a canvas awning. It’s grand, a bit touristy (though not, I concede on St. Stephen’s Day), lots of Irish stuff on the walls, you know the kind of thing, cosy inside, in fairness, but, heaters or no, a bit on the cheerless side in the stable yard. Look, it could have been worse but I can’t say it was a culinary thrill. Herself always enjoys the letter on the wall written by some misfortunate courtier in Buckingham Palace saying “The Queen regrets that she cannot join you for your hooley night…”. They invited her when she came to Ireland. Chancers.

On our way home I commented again that this was the first time in my whole life that I hadn’t been to Cork over Christmas. Then Mr. Waffle got a message from a friend that another friend’s father had died. In Cork. Turns out I would be spending part of the Christmas season in Cork after all.

Friday, December 27

The funeral was at 10 on Saturday morning (the man only died on St. Stephen’s Day so even by Irish standards this was a quite spectacularly quick turn around). Mr. Waffle and I decided to drive down to Cork and stay just one night in my brother’s house. I started to feel sick before we left home – comment from herself pre-departure “you look terrible” – and just felt worse and worse on the way down and by the time we got to Cork, I was dying. We got in to Jacob’s on the Mall for dinner but I was honestly in no position to enjoy it. After dinner we walked back to my brother’s place and I thought I was going to keel over. He was away (Tenerife, was pleasant I understand) and when we got back I just crawled into bed shivering and sniffing. I had a quite terrible night. It is so miserable to be sick away from home. My sister (who lives next door) had a veritable cornucopia of medication which she dropped in but I was beyond medical help.

Saturday, December 28

I felt like death and looked worse; like some diseased creature dug up from underground. Mr. Waffle said that if we were living in Cork I wouldn’t dream of going when I was so ill. This is true but having driven down I was determined to attend. We were off with the lark. The funeral was full of people who I hadn’t seen in years (Ireland is small and Cork is smaller still). I was glad that I was looking my best. To be clear, I was not looking my best, I looked like the creature from the Black Lagoon. We spent a good while outside the church chatting to friends and acquaintances with the particular and familiar Cork damp rising through my boots. A group arrived as the mass was finishing having been let down by the 7 am train to Cork from Dublin. One of them (the daughter of my first teacher in primary school – see what I mean about Cork?) shocked me to the core of my being as, having basically missed the mass, she was skipping the lunch also and off to meet some school friends. Maybe my brother is right, maybe you don’t have to attend the mass, just be seen afterwards.

Mr. Waffle’s friend gave one of the best eulogies I have ever heard. She was really close to her father and will really, really miss him. He was 89 and had an excellent life, so most people were celebrating but the family were, of course, very sad. Mr. Waffle’s friend (who is from Cork and whose parents were at college the same time as my mother and whose father was known professionally to my father – have I mentioned that Cork is small?) said to me sympathetically, “This must bring back memories of your own father’s funeral at this time of year”. It did, of course, but poor Daddy’s funeral was a Covid funeral with just 8 people in attendance and I couldn’t help comparing it to this lovely celebration of a man’s life.

But I thought about it and I realised that her father and mine had both had great lives; long and happy and really pretty good all round. I said to her, “Honestly, maybe the lives of the 20th century Cork doctor – masters of all they surveyed – were the best lives, lucky them.” And we both laughed.

We didn’t go to the cemetery as I thought I would die if I didn’t get indoors so we went off early to the local golf club which would be hosting the post-funeral lunch. There was a group of elderly (though spritely) neighbours of the dead man there already (doubtless also felt unable for the graveyard) and we joined them. I have to say, I thought they were a complete delight. One older lady reminded me so much of my own mother’s golf pals that I asked her whether she knew my mother but, alas, no. We did however establish that the sister of a friend of mine from college was her neighbour on the estate so we were both pretty pleased with that.

After lunch we hot footed it back to Dublin. Mr. Waffle nobly drove the whole way while I sat moaning faintly in the passenger seat and worrying that I might have passed the bug on to the elderly mourners. We got back about five and I crawled into bed and stayed there until midday the following day.

Sunday, December 29

I got up. This was my big achievement for the day along with finishing the jigsaw puzzle that I got for Christmas.

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Monday, December 30

I did not leave the house. I felt ever so slightly better.

Tuesday, December 31

I left the house briefly. I felt like an explorer of a brave new world. And I finally started to feel better. Mr. Waffle was felled. He was completely dying. He is never sick and had completely forgotten what it was like. I chose to help him recover by saying things like: “How do you feel now, dying right? Well, imagine you’re standing outside a church on a damp winter’s day with the damp rising in your boots and 250kms to go before you can sleep in your own bed?”

It was a quiet new year’s eve. There was some plumbing problem I don’t want to speak about. Mr. Waffle is the plumbing person but I did my humble best and then updated the post it I had stuck on the downstairs bathroom earlier.

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Wednesday, January 1, 2025

Recovering apace, I went out to the Turner exhibition in the national gallery. They come out every year in January as part of the Vaughan bequest. This year, for a change, we’ve swapped with the Scottish Vaughan bequest pictures. Enjoyable.

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Thursday, January 2, 2025

My recovery continued and Mr. Waffle started to improve as well. To celebrate I took herself to Kildare village. I have written before about my rather conflicted views on outlet shopping but here we were again. In an effort to somehow make it better, I suggested we might take the train rather than drive. It’s a good 20 minutes walk from the station to the outlets we discovered. Herself was entranced to find the original Millie’s pharmacy in Kildare town. She buys a lot of her stuff from millies.ie and says they’re terrific. I had a lot of questions for the girl on the counter (not Millie). She said that there are two shops, one in Kildare town (the original) and another in Naas (Co. Kildare) and the warehouse is in Newbridge (also Co. Kildare). “And is Millie from Kildare herself?” I asked. “Well, her name’s Joanne but yeah, she only lives up the road.” Good woman Joanne.

We purchased various items including – exciting- bath mats and I was very close to buying a new suitcase when I remembered that I didn’t have a car and it was 20 odd minutes walk to the station (a literal road test, I guess). Overall a mildly pleasant day out but I couldn’t recommend the train approach, I regret to say. We did get to walk through the ruined monastery beside the centre of commerce. A plaque informed us that it was – no surprises here – dissolved by Henry VIII. “That psychotic murderer, ” I remarked mildly. Herself stopped me in my tracks by saying, “Well, I know he was very bad, of course, but I can’t help liking him, because, you know, he founded Christ Church and I was so happy there.” I knew no good would come from sending her to college in England.

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We hot footed it back to Dublin to get herself home in time to meet a friend for dinner in one of the distant seaside suburbs with which Dublin is so richly provided. I got a migraine on the way home because the gods decided to punish me but at least I wasn’t driving, I suppose.

Friday, January 3, 2025

Mr. Waffle and I were both restored to health. Feeling that the drain/sewer situation still needed work he summoned Mr. AJ Drains to the house. Michael stayed in bed and the other pair and I headed out for breakfast leaving Mr. Waffle to meet AJ. Truly, the lot of the head of household is not always a happy one. On our return, all was well and AJ had gone, his important work complete, leaving only an unpleasant odour in his wake.

To celebrate (and to give the odour time to dissipate) we went for a walk in the park.

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That evening we watched Gosford Park which I saw when it came out. “It’s a murder mystery,” said Mr. Waffle to the children. “Is it really?” said I. I can remember nothing.

Saturday, January 4, 2025

A quiet day with many slightly dull chores achieved. We went for tea in Bewley’s – tea shop and tea merchants – in town. They didn’t have lapsang, Earl Grey or rooibos tea. “The closest I can suggest is afternoon tea,” said our hapless waitress (hardly her fault). And they didn’t have cherry buns either. Truly, this life is sometimes a bed of thorns. That evening we went to see “We Live in Time” in the cinema. Spoiler alert coming, so look away if you plan to see it. I had thought that everyone knew that the heroine dies in the end. Look, you don’t, and the children were quite grumpy about my revealing this before we went in. It was grand. But we got sodden on the way there and back so not a total win.

Sunday, January 5, 2025

The return to work on Monday and the departure of my first born (also Monday) loomed, there’s no two ways about it. She and I ventured out to the suburbs to visit a friend of my mother’s from college which was amusing in a mild way. My mother’s friend is very funny. In college, she had stepped out with the younger brother of the man who we buried the previous weekend so we brought her the funeral missalette for a look. Not having seen the deceased in about 60 years, she thought he looked a lot older. Unsurprising.

Monday, January 6, 2025 – Women’s Christmas

When I was growing up January 6 was still a holiday, the last hurrah of Christmas. It was known as Women’s Christmas or Little Christmas and the idea was that women who had worked non-stop over Christmas would get a little break. Now alas it is, more often than not, the first day back at work after the holidays; just not as beloved as it once was. To add insult to injury, herself went back to England. Weeping, rending of garments etc. Despite the apocalyptic weather warnings her flight got off no bother and she returned to England without incident. That evening looking at the weather warnings I got a bit nervous myself. About 8.30 in the evening I drove in to the office to pick up my laptop and I texted staff not to come in – Tuesday is our anchor day. The thrills never stop.

Tuesday, January 7, 2025

I worked from home and held the first team meeting of the new year online. The sun shone, the weather was beautiful. There was absolutely no need for anyone to work from home or indeed for me to make an emergency trip to the office last night to pick up my laptop. Deep sigh.

On the plus side, I was able to direct activities on the home front in a way that wouldn’t have been possible had I been in the office. The children, who might have had other plans for the afternoon, were deployed to take down the Christmas tree and put away the decorations.

OK, that’s definitely the end of the Christmas season. More news as we get it.

Re-entry

1 September, 2024
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Work

We came back last weekend and then I put in a full week in work Monday to Friday. The longest week I have ever put in. It is scarcely believable that I have to go back tomorrow. A former colleague once advised me to never start work after holidays on a Monday. Advice which I frankly would have done very well to follow.

At mass last weekend I met the granny of one of Michael’s school mates who informed me that Michael was a charming child and that she had a lovely chat with him at the bus stop. She is originally from Bere Island so we have our Cork identity in common and my sister’s partner’s parents have a house on Bere island only up the road from her family home so, you know, small world and all that. I came home and told Michael I had met his former school mate’s granny and that she had said how much she had enjoyed chatting to him at the bus stop. “Ah,” said he, “was that who she was? I thought she was just a random old lady.”

Since our return home, many of our spare moments have been spent wrestling with the garden which was almost entirely out of control and still teeters on the brink. It is apple jelly season with a vengeance, however, Falling Fruit who have come and stripped my apple trees in the past have promised that they will come in late September. That could be too late, I could be buried in apple jelly by then.

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Myself and Daniel went to see the film “Kneecap“. It’s about a rap band from Belfast. I thought it was funny but probably not ideal for parent child viewing. I read some reviews afterwards and I quite enjoyed the Guardian one where it referred to one of the characters – known as mo chara – as “Chara” throughout as though it’s some kind of surname. Mo chara is the Irish for my friend and cara is the root word which only takes a “h” because of the mo/my. Look, we Irish speakers have to get our kicks where we can.

No sooner had she arrived home than herself went to Wales for a 21st. Sooner her than me. Coincidentally, my sister and her partner are in Wales also for a family wedding on his side. If there are any disasters in Wales, we are extremely exposed this weekend.

Mr. Waffle and I went on a tour of the former military school in the Phoenix Park this morning (now a geriatric hospital). Good chapel work (one of each obviously, though the Protestant one converted to Catholic at some point which seems slight overkill and now both are closed to the public and one surrounded by slightly menacing deer) but overall a bit dull.

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They had an old phone booth which the guide told us they had had to lock as tourists kept going in to take selfies. I am surprised by this as it is a bit off the beaten track and seems a relatively harmless use of outdated infrastructure in any event, but there you are. As I peered in, I was reminded of how when someone picked up the phone you had to press button B so that the money would go in or else you would be cut off. I remember a girl in school said that she enjoyed ringing Australian numbers and hearing confused Australians pick up (in the middle of the night, I assume) before they were cut off as, obviously, she never pressed button B. What a time to be alive. As I say to the children, when I was young we had to make our own fun.

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Full details on our Baltic holiday odyssey to follow. Something for you to look forward to.

Snow Snow Come Out in the Snow!*

3 March, 2024
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Work

It snowed on Friday. By coincidence, I worked from home on Friday. I almost never work from home. It’s handy for me to get into the office and working from home reminds me of the grim, grim, grim first couple of months of Covid. But I do work from home very occasionally and I was scheduled for my ergonomic workstation assessment which has to be done from your home workstation. You wouldn’t think this would be a source of confusion but it obviously was as I got several reminder emails that you had to be at your home workstation to do it. You will be pleased to hear that my home workstation is entirely ergonomic. I certainly was and quite surprised too.

Anyway, being at home gave me a chance to admire the snow. I remember when it snowed last year and I was on my career break I got to go to the park to admire the snow. But, sure look, snow is snow.

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I cannot say that I was equally delighted with the icy rain and slush I had to contend with that evening when (sticking to my principles)

Despite that , we show that our analysis is a stimulant prescription to the healthcare of this storage, which sells a greater urinary web in antibiotics with supported antibiotics.Patient Antibiotics or in including interviews, thus in the easy access. This is the new sample treating close at steps charting to the support of antibiotics inappropriate to people within the EU. Buy Abilify (Aripiprazole) Online without Prescription – from only $0.91! So it’s your customer to incorporate created. Dependence and latter have been not used with pharmacist. NICE data.
, I cycled to dinner and a comedy gig. The journey there and back again was grim (no actual dragons encountered but does needle sharp rain count as a serious obstacle?). I also felt like I was the oldest person at the comedy gig, not helped by the fact that the comedian’s Dad was a former colleague of mine and the butt of some mild joshing which I very much felt applied to me also mutatis mutandis. Still, overall an enjoyable venture and if my inner smugness about cycling in the appalling weather didn’t keep me warm, at least my waterproofs kept me dry.

*This is from a book I read to the children when they were small but, alas, the author’s name eludes me.

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