Work

A Trip to the Ardennes

7 July, 2025
Posted in: Belgium, Travel, Work

While I have been away from my desk, I have not been idle. I have been away many times. Are you going to hear about all these trips? Yes, yes you are.

Nearly 20 years ago I worked with a lovely group of people in Brussels and we have stayed in touch intermittently over the years despite the obvious geographical obstacles. We have gone on weekends away a number of times since we stopped working together but not since Covid and this year we decided to go again. I felt mild trepidation as the Brussels gang had stayed in better touch but I bit the bullet. This turned out to be an excellent decision.

Friday – May 2, 2025

Given the preponderance of our number still in Brussels, we went to the Ardennes. I have never been (Mr. Waffle to me: you have, we have been together more than once) that I can recall. It’s the hilly part of Belgium; though the photographs you will enjoy in the course of this post may make you question that assertion.

The advantage of going to somewhere many people are based is that it is pretty seamless. I was picked up at the airport by one friend and her partner (object of much interest to me as although a long standing fixture for her he was new to me and I had the whole trip to the Ardennes to cross-question him; I enjoyed, he bore up). Brussels airport appears to only allow set down not collection so I was instructed to follow the arrows backwards to the set down area. This worked much more efficiently than I had expected. It had a delightfully Belgian surrealist touch which I enjoyed.

When we got down to the village where we were staying it was evening. This was not a problem as fairy hands had made dinner (one of our number was once a chef, should be a pre-requisite for every friend group) and picked up bedlinen (more of which anon) and opened up the house. It was so much fun to catch up with everyone. I was delighted with myself.

The house was really cheap so I wasn’t expecting much but it was absolutely lovely. Slightly “L’empire des lumières” vibes below, appropriately.

Two of the group were staying about 45 minutes walk away and they had to put on head torches at the end of the night and head off into the pitch dark (uber has not made it to the Ardennes, it appears). It seemed a bit unfair that they were the ones who had made dinner but life is a vale of tears etc.

Saturday – May 3, 2025

We went for a walk. Walking is what you do in the Ardennes. The weather forecast was not great. Our prudent Northern Ireland Protestant (you think these things are not sectarian? so wrong) was appalled to find that I had apparently left my coat at the airport; our English friend had forgotten his coat on the train; and our Anglo-Dutch friend had left hers behind. The Pole basically said, “I don’t care about rain so I haven’t got a coat.” “You couldn’t make it up,” said our Northern friend in despair. She and her French partner were fully kitted up. I was glad that they had been largely in charge of importing our food for the weekend. The rest of us were clearly not to be trusted. Might I mention that she also brought tupperware and dishwasher tablets in a tupperware box (if that’s not meeting my stereotype needs, then what is?). All of these items proved extremely useful.

We started out and the weather was grand actually. Our Anglo-Dutch partner in crime had a spare sun hat (normally she is very well organised as you would stereotypically expect, I must point out, but the coat was a lapse) and I slapped it on and off we went.

We walked to the scenic little town of Durbuy. I have never seen so many Dutch tourists in my life. But it was pretty adorable. Would 100% go back.

Our Northern Irish French couple had been there a couple of years ago with her parents. Her partner had inadvertently closed the convertible roof of their car on her father’s hand just as they were setting off from Brussels. Mr. French smoothly turned off the motorway and drove straight to the hospital nearby showing great presence of mind. This was particularly so as Ms. Northern Ireland said she had never before in her life heard her stoic Northern father make a sound like that – a kind of continuous keening moan as described to her riveted audience. It was hardly an auspicious beginning to their weekend away. I can’t help feeling that her father was thinking “This would never have happened, if she’d met a nice man from the local rugby club at home.” Not least because no one in their right mind would own a convertible anywhere on the island of Ireland. However it was a bit of a triumph for Belgium, as the hospital fixed him up in no time; sent him on his way; and he and Mr. French were having a beer at this very spot by late afternoon.

All was well until we were returning to the house when the heavens opened. It was the kind of torrential rain that gets you coming down and then hits you again as it bounces off the pavement. We were in the middle of the country but as extraordinary good luck would have it we were beside the only cafe for miles around. It was more of a truck and some large canopies but any port in a storm. It was kind of alarming when the rain sloshed in sheets to the ground but we remained dry and cozy with the truck owner doling out blankets.

There was talk of sending one of the two people with coats to the house to pick up the car and ferry us back when, miraculously, the rain eased and we scuttled back to the house. Delighted with ourselves.

Dinner that evening was a barbecue. You see our difficulty. The people with the rain gear bore the brunt of the outside work. This prudence lark has its downsides.

Dinner was great and, obviously, pretty dry for me. We had so much fun chatting. I really like this group singly and together which is a great formula for going away. I often think you never know whether you are really friends with people you meet at work until you leave a job and see whether you want to see people again.

I don’t know how this came up in the course of conversation but my Polish friend referred to when Jesus was in the Olive Garden. I was somewhat startled and then said, “Oh you mean the Mountain of Olives – the garden of Gethsemane”. “Isn’t it the same?” he asked. Well, it is and it isn’t.

Sunday – May 4, 2025

Again we enjoyed a very elaborate breakfast – brought to the Ardennes by the kindly Brussels contingent.

We went to have a look at some dolmens. The area abounds in megaliths. Honestly, who knew?

On the way to our megaliths we were serenaded by lorries playing hits – it sounded like from their horns? – some kind of protest perhaps? It was somehow a very Belgian experience.

Two of the group had to leave as work beckoned. Alas. The rest of us went to seek an elaborate lunch in a nice restaurant but were cruelly refused by the owners and ended up having a toasted sandwich in the “Maison des Megaliths” interpretative centre. I mean, ok, I guess. At least we had each other. And the setting was scenic.

We went back to the main house via the smaller place where two of the group were staying. It was in a kind of holiday chalet park; not terrible but not at all as nice as the main house, I fear. The boys in the chalet seemed resigned to their fate which also involved traipsing up to the main house where all the action was. I have to say they were extremely noble.

Monday – May 5, 2025

My Anglo-Dutch friend and I remained in the big house to shut it up. This entire holiday weekend seemed designed to shield me from any hassle and so it was in this regard too as my friend had booked and paid the deposit so she was, understandably, the most concerned about the ludicrous instructions on cleaning and packing up the house. Behold price list for same. We were never going to be bringing the bedding back (which we had already paid to hire) as we were miles from head office and our only car was back in Brussels. I was not feeling the love. Though overall, even allowing for charges, in terms of quality/value ratio it’s one of the best places I’ve ever stayed, I somehow found this pretty off-putting.

As I packed my bag and double checked I had everything, I noticed that there was a zipped compartment I had not opened earlier. Well, well, well, what have we here? An idiot, that’s what.

After we packed we took ourselves off to the train station and the remaining four of us went to Brussels to together. One of the things I had forgotten about Belgium is how excellent the train service is. We were in the middle of nowhere on a bank holiday Monday and it was literally no trouble at all to get a train back to Brussels.

We changed trains in Liège, a city about the size of Cork. Can I tell you that Kent station Cork is very much not like the train station in Liège? I mean, not everything is perfect but still.

When we got to Brussels, I stopped off in the city centre for a couple of hours before going to the airport. I haven’t been to Brussels in ages and I had forgotten how fond of it I am.

Since I was last there, they have pedestrianised Boulevard Anspach and Place De Brouckère which used to be a wide traffic choked road with four lanes of cars. I thought it was amazing and deeply improbable. I am thrilled to see that Dublin city council are using it for inspiration for its work on pedestrianising College Green in the centre of the city (long promised but still not with us). We will see.

Many years ago, when I lived in Brussels in my 20s and my father was still coming to Brussels for work, he would take me to dinner. We would go for a drink in the Metropole hotel on Place De Brouckère (currently shrouded in scaffolding) and dinner in a very down at heel steak chain nearby called the Western Steak which he loved. I was pleased to see that amidst all the new developments, its successor in title survives right beside that legendary establishment “Hector Chicken” formerly Hector Poulet but I guess he’s gone international now.

I am keen to repeat the dose of a weekend away with this gang next year. Let us hope that they are equally enthusiastic.

Now, for Some Personal News

5 July, 2025
Posted in: Work

When I started this blog, neither today nor yesterday, a friend said to me, “There’s an “about” you section? What’s that for? It’s all about you.” And while that is true, the “about ” section remains.

And while this blog is all personal news, I am keeping this title all the same – do you remember that newsreaders used to say that at the end of the news when they were leaving? Well, I am leaving my current employer after nearly ten years in its not entirely warm embrace. Look, it had lots of merits but I feel I have one job left in me and I want it to be a different kind of job. A number of senior colleagues have told me how “brave” I am to move on at this stage of my career; an intervention I really appreciated as you can imagine. I am hoping (obviously, says you) that the new job will be a good fit and – hold your breath here – it is a FOUR DAY WEEK. I am very excited for this.

I finished the old job on Friday and start the new job on Monday (that was slightly poorly planned, I would concede). Wish me luck.

Testing Times

22 April, 2025
Posted in: Middle Child, Princess, Twins, Work, Youngest Child

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: Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Twins, 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.

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).

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:

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).
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: Cork, Family, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Twins, Work, Youngest Child

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.