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Petty

9 December, 2008
Posted in: Work

I like my job and I like my colleagues but due to a series of administrative glitches, I do not yet have an office.   I try to be above caring but I do not like it oh no I do not. I am huddled in a large room with other people.  I want to be alone so that I can talk to my childminder in private or even concentrate on some work.  Nor do I particularly want to hear other people’s phone conversations.  Due to a series of canny career choices, I have not had to share office space very often in my professional life and I am not enjoying it on this occasion.

I am being driven demented by the two lovely, lovely men who work in the corner and have some rather annoying verbal tics.

Lovely man 1:  Well, they won’t be attending the meeting as such.

Lovely man 2: I can only say they ought to be there.

Lovely man 1: They would know that as such.

LM2: I can only say the chair will be disappointed.

LM1: They will be sending their apologies as such.

LM2: Will they?  I can only say that it is a mistake not to come.

I was cruelly telling a friend this and asked whether I had any verbal tics and was quite disconcerted to find that he said, with some relief, “yes, you say fabulous all the time”.

I imagine that when I am not there, scene in the corner goes something like this.

LM1: It’s not that I object to the word ‘fabulous’ as such.

LM2: I can only say that it’s a good word in its place.

LM1: It’s just that she says it all the time as such.

Status Update

15 September, 2008
Posted in: Family, Ireland, Work

Pros

We have our health.

As of last Wednesday we are no longer commuting hours to the city centre from the delightful but distant suburb where my parents-in-law kindly had us stay for 6 weeks (that would be four weeks longer than any of us thought it would be).  On the way in there is a level crossing and for many years it has featured in traffic reports as a Dublin landmark and I always thought it was a poor and unremarkable landmark.  That was before I realised that every commuter from South County Dublin spent an hour morning and evening crawling past it.  Also I spent a number of hours before a scrolling sign on a hotel telling me that bookings were now “been” taken for Christmas.  These things grate.  Especially if you have to listen to Charlie and Lola on endless repeat while chugging along.  Does anyone else thing that Lola needs something done about her adenoids?

The children all like school.  Our worries about the Princess going to school in Irish were completely unnecessary.  She is picking it up extraordinarily quickly.  It is quite amazing to watch.  Also, the structured, assigned seat, looking at the blackboard schooling we favour in Ireland seems to really suit her and she is happy. The boys have settled well into Montessori school and we love their teacher.  They also seem fond of her.

Cons

Our house is tiny.  We have far too much furniture and quite a lot of it is still in storage.  Despite 6 weeks and 20,000 euros worth of work, it looks worse than it did before we started. For this, I blame Eamon the electrician who left the place looking like Swiss cheese.
No internet (this comes from an internet cafe), no telephone.

I started work today.  I am not particularly enthusiastic about this job but it will pay some of the bills.  My reception this morning has not made me more enthusiastic.

My bicycle was stolen over the weekend.

Lasts

22 July, 2008
Posted in: Belgium, Family, Work

We took the children for a last check-up with the paediatrician (we have become reverse ex-pats – who knows whether they will have paediatricians in our home country?).  As they kissed him goodbye (Belgium is the country of the social kiss, something I find bewildering but charming), I scanned the books on his shelf: lots of books on pediatrics in English and French and the Hachette Guide des Vins, 2006.

We took the car for a last trip to the garage to get rid of all the dents (as Mr. Waffle points out, we are careless with our toys).  4,500 euros later, the man in the garage and the Princess were exchanging polite kisses and we were leading out our gleaming car which we hope somebody may now buy.

Friday was my last day at work.  During the week I had a farewell dinner with my lovely boss who flew in specially to say goodbye, had drinks with my lovely colleagues and got some lovely presents.  Emptied my inbox (really lovely) and handed over my key.  If you think there are too many lovelies in this paragraph, you have never had my job.  Sigh.

On Friday night, Mr. Waffle and I went to a farewell dinner in our favourite restaurant in Brussels.  A place we used to go to long before it got its Michelin star when it bore the considerably less user friendly name of Mieux vaut boire ice qu’en face.

On Saturday we had a farewell party.  At the start of the evening Mr. Waffle made me a stiff gin and tonic and after that it all seemed to go swimmingly.  The next day, far less so.  That was my last gin.

All week we have been getting quotes from moving companies in excess of the value of our furniture.  Highest offer so far is 10,000 euros. I feel faint. Who would have thought that my inability to throw out books would cost us quite so much?  Would anybody like to buy a double bed?

Our cleaner came for the last time today.  She brought little presents for the children who adore her and they had something for her as well.  She has been so kind to them and they are so fond of her, that I felt quite tearful as did the Princess (though this may have been because she didn’t want to go on her sports course).  She was also an excellent cleaner and I am not sure whether the reduced cost lifestyle we will be enjoying in Dublin will permit us to replace her.  Alas.  She is on our Christmas card list.

Yesterday was the last time we will attend Belgian National Day celebrations.  Of course, the same may well be true for everyone else in Belgium.  The Prime Minister tried to resign in despair last week but the King wouldn’t let him.  The pair of them sat glumly in the rain yesterday watching the parade.  We, on the other hand, had a very pleasant time eating waffles and frites (not together, you understand) and meeting the police (horses! spinning cars!), the firemen (hoses! and firemen!), the civil defence (trampolines?), the army (tanks and our optician who used to be in the navy and gave us some new glasses cleaning solution for Daniel), farm animals (pigs, cows, and best of all a horse being shod who kept nibbling the farrier’s bottom) and suppliers to the royal court (Mercedes, Jules Destrooper, Delvaux, Godiva and lots of table ware).  As is the nature of these things, there were lots of balloons for the children and little Belgian flags to wave.  These latter included one (sponsored by a radio station but never mind) which covers my feelings for Belgium at the moment:


Bad mother

7 July, 2008
Posted in: Family, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel, Twins, Work

I am on my last work trip for this job.  Frankly, this is a mercy.

This morning I left my husband to drop the car into the garage for repairs, meet movers who are coming to decide how much money they will charge us to get our belongings back to Ireland, let in more random people who may want to rent our flat and generally mind everything. I also left the country with Mr. Waffle’s mobile phone and our camera nestling in the dim recesses of my handbag. He was not pleased when I told him.

I got back to my hotel this evening to find that I had left Mr. Waffle’s mobile phone on the desk (why always keep it in a handbag, why not strive for new and different ways of making things difficult?).  This was a pity because there was a message from the Princess’s summer course saying that it was nearly 7 and was anyone coming to collect her.  I then remembered that I had told the childminder, C, that we would collect the Princess on Monday because it was too difficult for C to travel by public transport with the boys and the Princess (the course being some distance from our house).  This is information I may not have relayed to my husband.  I have just rung C who tells me that Mr. Waffle had arrived home, realised that the Princess was not there and turned around to go and get her taking the boys with him as C’s working day was over and he did not want to impose.  I would have imposed myself but I have much lower standards than he does.

Any minute now,  I am going to phone home and see how things are going and, gentle reader, I am very afraid.  I think that I will plug the line that I have specifically asked not to travel in my new job and that I do not intend to leave him alone again until the children are in their teens.

Mr. Waffle’s quotes of the week

3 July, 2008
Posted in: Mr. Waffle, Work

Scruples and the city

Explaining to his wife why he drove around the block four times rather than parking in the middle of the road and putting on his hasard warning lights and running in to the dry cleaner. To those of you who are shocked by my cavalier attitude to lawful driving, please note that we live in Belgium.

I suppose it’s reached uncritical mass

Suggesting a theory as to why Place Luxembourg has become a popular spot in Brussels for the young lobbyists, trainees and youthful Euro riff raff to hang out.

Is that the lowest standard of truth, something said to have been written on the internet?

On his wife’s reading out to him this line from the Irish Times: The … terror…was whipped into a frenzy by rumours … which [were] said to have been extensively discussed on such sites. [Emphasis added].  Might it have been worth journalist Kathy Sheridan’s time to maybe go online and have a quick look around the offending websites herself?

The fusing of two terminological traditions

On hearing that a colleague of his wife’s had said that Britain was to be “hauled before the beak for failure to transpose environmental directives”.

Long Dark Night of the Europhile Soul

13 June, 2008
Posted in: Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Reading etc., Work

Only read this, if you have the faintest idea about the Lisbon Treaty. Really, it’s better for both of us this way.

In Brussels, they think all Irish people are like de Valera who, I believe, said that he only needed to look into his heart to know what the people of Ireland were thinking. At coffee breaks at every recent event, people here would break the ice by asking me what I thought that the outcome of the Irish referendum on the Treaty would be. I would look into my heart and confidently predict a victory for the yes side by a narrow margin. It turns out that I am not de Valera.

Ireland joined the EU* in 1973 and my father started coming to Brussels for expert meetings shortly thereafter. From about 1980, every family holiday would be preceeded by a trip to Brussels. We would camp in Heverlee outside Brussels and drop him in every day for his meeting, my mother gaily navigating the Brussels ring with the three children squabbling in the back. Once his meetings were over, we would pack up the tent and head off to France which was generally sunnier and more congenial, though I still have fond memories of the lego and table tennis in Ter Munck. I suspect he was the only committee member staying in a tent. We used to go and join him for lunch in the Rotonde occasionally. This was the restaurant in the basement of the Berlaymont which is now, alas, defunct. The glamour, the excitement: self-service food, pillars, tap water.

My father became good friends with many members of his committee and they stayed in contact over the years. I even did a language exchange with a daughter of one of the committee members (unsuccessful, her English was much better than my German). My father was still coming to meetings when I started working in Brussels in 1993 and, when he came over, he would meet me for a drink in the Metropole and slip me some very welcome cash.

When I was a student, I was funded under the Erasmus programme to study for a semester in Italy. Almost all of my professional life has, in one way or another, been related to EU affairs. I suppose that I could hardly be called a neutral observer. I love the EU. I suspect that I am a bit of a minority but there it is.

When Irish women were barred from working after marriage in the civil service (and in the banks, just because they wanted to join in) who made them stop? Well, yes, it was the EU. When the Irish Government on accession sought a derogation from this draconian provision and the wretched equal pay legislation which was going to bring the country to its knees who said you must be bloody joking? Well, yes, it was the EU.

When the Irish economy was going down the toilet in 1987 and unemployment was spiralling out of control and the IMF was on the doorstep, who do you think gave us a great deal of money to spend on turning the country round? Well, yes, it was the EU.

When Northern Ireland was a basket case who pumped money into co-operation programmes through the PEACE programme? Well, yes, it was the EU.

When the divided continent of Europe was reunited, when we realised that, actually, having half of the continent behind an iron curtain was like having lost a limb, who gave assistance in money and governance to those countries so that now they are starting to do better and better? Well, yes, it was the EU.

And how come we can work anywhere in Europe and we have a single market? How come Europe can punch its weight in the WTO negotiations? Well, yes, that’s the EU too.

I believe in the EU as a potent force for good for Europeans. I believe it brings us together and helps us to learn about each other. I believe that Ireland is much closer to Berlin than to Boston.

So, the Lisbon Treaty. Well, it wasn’t a particularly clear or lovable treaty. Jon Worth has a copy of the Jason O’Mahony summary on his blog and for my money, that’s probably the best explanation of the contents. Not that anyone cares now.

The purpose of the Treaty was to finally put a close to the institutional (and very dull) angst which the EU has been going through since some time before its expansion to 27 member states. That was broadly it. It was also supposed to answer the Kissinger question, “Who do I call, if I want to speak to Europe?” Frankly, I’m not sure it provided an answer to that. Was it ideal? No, it was a compromise between 27 sovereign states. Was it the best agreement that we were ever likely to get on this subject? Oh yes, I would think so.

Why did Ireland vote no? Looking into my heart has proved ineffective in finding an answer to Irish questions, but let me share my suspicions with you.

Firstly, I suspect the press. The Irish Times which, as you know, has a place close to my heart, had an editorial on Lisbon last weekend entitled “Are we out of our collective minds?” Now, while I agreed wholeheartedly with every word written, I couldn’t help but feel that the tone was a teensy bit unhelpful. I can’t help wondering whether this was also the tone of the political parties, almost all of whom strongly advocated a yes vote. Then, the British media which is almost uniformly eurosceptic is widely available in Ireland and, in some cases, produces Irish editions (Irish Sun anyone?). I have no idea what these papers’ stance was on the referendum but you know what? I can make a good guess. I believe British coverage of EU issues is hugely biased and I don’t believe that this is a fault of the Irish press (I can tell because Irish coverage of EU matters is invariably crushingly dull). I really suspect the British media of stirring up the sovreignity issue which is not something that I have been aware of as a particular concern in the past.

Secondly, people didn’t know what the Treaty was about. I saw the text of the referendum question. Dear God in heaven, that was complex. But, you know what? There was a lot of information out there. I’m not saying it was a particularly straightforward message to understand but certainly a lot of time and effort was spent trying to explain it all. If you wanted to know, you could have found out. But people couldn’t be bothered, they didn’t care enough, they wanted to give the government a bloody nose.

Thirdly, there was the ludicrous scaremongering the European super-state, abortion, prostitution, army, locking up your three year olds bringing in the death penalty end of things. The problem for the yes campaign seems to have been that they spent so much time refuting the more outlandish claims of the no campaign that they had very little time to explain the (oh so dull) merits of voting yes.

So, I reckon, that’s it. Oh yeah, of course, fourthly the farmers were pretty annoyed about Mandelson’s position on the WTO negotiations, that probably didn’t help much either. Particularly since farmers always vote.

I’m gutted. I was really looking forward to the end of the institutional debate (yeah, yeah, I should get out more) and the EU getting to grips with the substantive issues which people actually understand. I believe that a stronger EU is vital for Ireland, vital to ensure that we maintain our position in this globalised world. And I trust the EU to deliver that, it’s not a bunch of faceless bureaucrats, well, yes it is, but they’ve done a fantastic job, the EU has achieved so much but it needs to do even more. And, wretchedly, it’s our fault that we’re going to have a weak, inward-looking, demoralised EU for the foreseeable future. More soul-searching, more “we must communicate with the citizen” (I mean nothing wrong with that per se, just that the citizen doesn’t seem to care), less actually doing things. Mr. Waffle points out that nobody has died and they will hammer out a solution based on the European model: peace through boredom. This is strangely uncomforting.

Any europhiles out there feeling sunny? Please tell me the upside.

*Yes, yes, I know the EEC as it then was.

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