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Weekend Round Up – Indoor Fun


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Reading etc., Twins, Youngest Child

Dear God, the weather has been appalling. The only comfort (she said piously) is that my siblings are on holidays (separately) in warm places and there is nothing better than being away and hearing that the weather is bad at home.

We have had biblical quantities of rain. I went to the National Gallery and contemplated this picture for a bit. I have become obsessed with rugs recently and the rug is a big feature here.

Also I enjoy that this picture which hangs nearby features on the wall in the other painting, if you see what I mean.

I drove Michael (he drove there for practice – still has to pass his test and still needs a qualified driver to accompany him anywhere, thanks for asking) to his rehearsals for a college play and called in on a friend of mine on the way home. I spent an hour or so with him drinking tea; admiring his art collection; and returning to him a piece that he and his partner had lent me for my office but which, sadly, I no longer have a home for now that I book into a different office every day I’m in (deep sigh). He has acquired a large Patrick Hennessy portrait recently and I am consumed with envy.

Mass this morning featured a sermon about Hell. Colour me surprised. This (new to me) priest, also led the congregation in singing. This led to some conflict with the (God love him) slightly odd American who spends his Sunday morning going to various churches around town and singing (solo from the pews, if there is no choir). The priest did all the hymns but when it came to Communion he was hamstrung by his other duties and our American saw his chance and gave a surprisingly uptempo Abide with Me. It was delivered at speed (possibly to frustrate the priest who might have joined in after Communion?) so it was difficult for other congregants to join in, even had they so wished. I will be watching this space for future developments.

Mr. Waffle and I went to an Argentinian brunch spot that I was keen to try out. Not bad but not everyone wants choripan and chips and 10.30 in the morning. Maybe more of a lunch spot.

I went to the Irish Museum of Modern Art (rain finally stopped but still overcast and chilly). When I arrived they asked whether I was there for the dance performance; I was not but I joined the crowd for a look. It was some kind of community outreach combined with the CoisCéim dance company (exclusive Irish lesson for you here, coiscéim is the Irish for footstep). I mean, ok, probably great if you were related to one of the non-professional dancers involved but didn’t love it. I’m probably just a philistine (as Mr. Waffle pointed out these ancient enemies of the Israelites, were unlikely to have predicted that this is how people would refer to them 3,000 years later).

I don’t absolutely love modern art but I did like this piece (those are toys) – A Portrait of Alice Liddell, after Lewis Carroll by Vik Muniz.

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And this horse was good too.

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I had a restorative cup of tea and I can tell you that the IMMA cafe (heaving) has really upped its game.

I passed the bridge near the station that used to boast a number of crowns (possibly built for a visit of George IV?). These were removed post-independence but the cushions on which they sat remain.

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The writing of this update was interrupted to go and watch the end of the soccer. The life of the Irish soccer fan (not me generally I am, at absolute best, a fair weather fan) is filled with grief and heartache and it’s full of arcane calculations like if A draw with B and we beat C by X goals then maybe we can qualify but generally we don’t. However, we had to beat Hungary to get out of our group (is this the World Cup qualifier again? so soon? who can say?) and we were 2-1 down for ages, then we equalised, then in the last minute of the game we pulled ahead to win 3-2. Our team is coached by an Icelandic dentist, apparently, and middle child said with great satisfaction, once the jumping around the room ceased, “Hungary were flossed!” Indeed.

How was your own weekend?

Parental Advisory


Posted in: Middle Child, Travel, Twins, Youngest Child

I hope that someday my three children will be great friends. At the moment each of the twins refers to the other as “the other one” which doesn’t entirely show the levels of affection I’m going for.

Over the summer, the youngest child did relatively little while the middle one got a job and went inter-railing. When challenged about his lack of activity, the youngest said “But Mum, I don’t make plans, plans happen to me”. I am not sure that this is a viable approach long term but in some ways it’s a lot less wearing on the parental nerves.

When I was 19, I went as an au pair to Naples. I set off from the south of France where we had been on a family camping trip. There were no mobile phones in 1988 and the only way my mother could find out that I had arrived was to telephone from the phone box in the camp site to the number I had given her. Unfortunately, a complete stranger who spoke no English answered the phone. This was the builder who my au pair family had doing works on the flat while they – and crucially, their au pair – were ensconced with her parents. Obviously, I couldn’t ring my parents so there we were, my mother having heart failure in the Pins Parasols campsite and me safely in a marble floored flat in the nicest part of Naples. You’ll be pleased to hear that my mother rang someone she knew in the Italian department in UCC who rang the builders who gave her the grandparents’ number who in turn gave it to my mother who finally managed to contact me. I am sure my mother had an unpleasant 24 hours (perhaps? I don’t know how long because children are heartless) but all was well. Honestly, that might as well be the motto of parenthood.

You would think that the mobile phone would make things easier but, in some ways not. Firstly, middle child missed a crucial train due to a death on the line (the first of two on the trip, grim) and had to spend an unexpected night in Paris and cancel accommodation in Barcelona. Maybe I would have been better off not knowing. Tesco mobile changed its rules on top up and the full complicated details elude me but the only way to tap up the phone was if you had an Allied Irish Bank account. My sister’s partner did and he saved our bacon by topping up for a considerable amount and refusing to be refunded which was foolish of him because I was so grateful at that moment I would have paid him anything. I spent much of my time in a state of nerves; the internet in hostels was often intermittent and I wondered why my dutiful child who is good about staying in touch hadn’t contacted me and it was never a terrible thing had happened and always that the internet didn’t work in the hostel.

The trip was lengthy including stops in Barcelona and Gothenburg which are not exactly adjacent (the itinerary was, in part, driven by where our interrailer had friends). A landslide in Italy meant that that part of the trip was curtailed, possibly not the worst outcome. The whole trip involved 11 countries and 2 days and 10 hours on trains. Glad to have done it but perhaps also glad when it was over.

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Revolutionary


Posted in: Dublin, Family, Ireland, Mr. Waffle

When Mr. Waffle’s uncle K was a little boy he was taken by his father to see Dan Breen in hospital. They had been neighbours in Tipperary. Mr. Breen turned to young K and asked him what he would do, if he found an informer among his men. Young K was baffled by this and in the pause while he was collecting his thoughts, Mr. Breen sat up in the bed and said ferociously, “You’d plug him.” It made quite the impression on K, still a very peaceful soul.

If I don’t write this down here, who will ever know?

Anniversaries – November Thoughts


Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland

My father would have been 100 last March 25. Last March felt like a bit of a milestone as well because it was 5 years post the first Covid lock down. My father died on Christmas Day 2020 and those last nine months were made even grimmer by Covid. I think the very old and young people in education got the worst of Covid but it was no picnic for those in the middle either. It was pretty dreadful and I find few things more annoying than people who say, “Actually, I had a good Covid.” If it’s you, please stop it, but as Covid memories mercifully recede, it is something I am hearing more frequently and I don’t like it. Look, maybe you did have a good Covid (unlikely in my view, but I’ll allow it) but you must know lots of people didn’t and sharing this experience of yours is unlikely to make them feel better about that time. Anyway, here’s a thing about my father, he cycled all his life until he was well into his 80s – when cycling was unpopular and no grown ups cycled, he cycled, and now, partly inspired by his singular devotion to the convenience of the bicycle, I cycle every day too and I often think of him as I freewheel along.

My sister sent me flowers on our mother’s anniversary – what a nice thing. I think of my mother most days and what I really miss is her advice. Teenage me would be surprised. Also, she thought I was brilliant and was always on my side. And she was hilarious and practical and clever and I miss her very much.

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Look, it’s almost the season (though I can 100% guarantee that picture was taken on Christmas Eve which was when our tree went up every year despite my pleas for an earlier date; as you can observe my pleas for a real tree were also in vain). And, speaking of practical, my mother made that dress I’m wearing though I am afraid I never liked it. Oh well.

Cultural Update


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Reading etc.

I went to the French evening at the national gallery a couple of months ago. There was a French man who was particularly passionate about Caillebotte. I mean, I don’t mind him myself but I couldn’t muster the enthusiasm this man demonstrated particularly for the very underwhelming picture we have in the National Gallery in Dublin. But still, interesting overall.

On the same evening we went to what was billed as a duet if memory serves. The ubiquitous Olwen Fouéré (interesting back story) was onstage with a man whose name I have forgotten. She is quite a stiking presence but the material was underwhelming and when it ended with both participants walking down the aisle shouting loudly (part of the performance not a disagreement), I was delighted it was over. So was everyone else I’d say as there was only a solitary standing ovation in a city where this has become entirely standard.

I saw Dara Ó Briain’s stand up about finding his father which was one of the best things I’ve seen all year. Recommended.

Mr. Waffle and I went on a walking tour beginning at the tenement museum in Henrietta Street. We were the only people on the tour and, to be fair to the guide, he quickly realised we were the honours class and covered lots of new material of which we were not previously aware. Before retiring and beginning his new role of leading tourists around the place, the guide had, for many years, worked closely with former Irish president Paddy Hillery who told him this story. When he (Dr. Hillery) was Minister for Education (before ascending to the heights of the Presidency, obviously) he went up into a very rural part of Clare (where he was the local member of Parliament – TD). He went into the classroom of this small one teacher school and the young woman who was teaching there jumped up in alarm and then relaxed saying, “Oh, it’s yourself, Dr. Paddy, I thought it was the school inspector”.

I riposted with my own Paddy Hillery story, possibly apocryphal serving to demonstrate the expectations that the electorate have of their politicians. One Christmas day a man came round to Dr. Hillery’s house (he was a medical doctor) and banged anxiously on the door. Dr. Hillery by then the local TD rose from his Christmas dinner to see what was the matter. The man said, “You must come quickly, my wife is in labour.” “But why haven’t you gone to your own GP?” asked Dr. Hillery reaching for his coat. “Oh, I didn’t like to disturb him on Christmas day,” said the constituent.

I have a friend with whom I do cultural things. She got tickets for “An evening of Nature and Birdsong”. I went along but I did not expect to enjoy it. However, I did. Firstly, I discovered that they have quite the auditorium in the Royal Irish Academy of Music on Westland Row; and secondly I found the two young men who were speaking about nature hugely engaging. Especially the man from Cork, obviously but the young man from Northern Ireland was pretty good too. They were really interesting and I never thought I would find recorded birdsong quite so interesting.

Herself, Mr. Waffle and I visited Emo Court over the summer. It’s only just reopened and is worth a look. Amusingly, the last resident, a Major Cholmeley Harrison, acquired an extensive art collection and the attributions are…optimistic. “Is that really by [insert name of famous artist here]?” I asked in astonishment again and again and the OPW guide said each time “No, that’s just the label the Major put on it.” Dubious attributions notwithstanding it’s well worth visiting.

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We went to see The Naked Gun in the cinema with a selection of the children. Not culture, you say. Well, you might be right. A couple of years ago my new year’s resolution was to go to the cinema more often and it was great for a while but I have fallen off the wagon; this is a reminder that I need to get back in the saddle (do you like my mixed metaphor?). Oh the film? It was terrible.

Mr. Waffle and I went back to Henrietta street for a tea time talk about the local school which we really enjoyed. There were lots of older (and some younger) people there who had attended the school and they really added to the event. I also got hold of this map of Dublin which is really interesting and I share here as an act of public service. See the way the birth place of Edmund Burke is down there on Arran Quay? Well, his mother was a Nagle and she was a cousin of Nano Nagle who was the founder of the Presentation order and the school we were looking at was a Presentation school just up the road attached to which was a very early Presentation convent (I think maybe the second one after Cork where HQ was, though I’m not sure). I do wonder was Burke baptised as persistent rumour has it? I wouldn’t be at all surprised. Wikipedia tells me his sister was brought up and remained a Roman Catholic. Doubtless much ink has been spilt on this question.

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We went to see a comedian called Holly Hughes in the Dublin Fringe Festival on how she became Karen. Like the curate’s egg, good in places.

We saw David Sedaris in the cavernous Bord Gáis energy theatre. We saw him a while ago in the National Concert Hall and that was hilarious but that was a small venue which allowed banter with the audience and where he wasn’t overwhelmed by the size of the stage. The huge venue was full (normally does West End block busters on their Irish tour) so the fans are out there and he is very funny but a reading, even a very funny reading, just didn’t work in this venue. Disappointing.

We saw a new play based on Oedipus Rex “The Boy” at the Abbey theatre. I’m honestly still not the better of it. That is a very harrowing play. What the ancient Greeks thought when they were seeing it for the first time, I can only imagine (possibly that Sophocles should be locked up). I thought it was a really great production. Incidentally, featured Olwen Fouéré in a supporting role. Highly recommended.

We went to a talk on Great Irish Wives which was an interview with the author of a book of the same name. Mildly interesting.

I went to the Picasso exhibition in the National Gallery. I don’t like Picasso much but, despite myself, I was impressed by his extraordinary vigour, right into his 90s. Apparently when he died he left 45,000 different pieces of art in his various studios and, obviously, that doesn’t include the stuff he sold to fund his lavish lifestyle. His personal life left a lot to be desired in my view. He left a slew of disappointed (all younger, often much younger) women in his wake. Our guide told us that he loved animals and once won a goat which he brought home and had living in the house along with his partner and two small children. This was too much for madame who got rid of the goat and there was a huge row. Apparently, his new partner when she was moved in gave him a present of a goat.

Old goat.

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Any cultural news from your end?

Notions


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland

Many of my friends have children finishing school and there is much talk of what they might do.

My friend overheard this conversation between two of her daughters.

Older daughter: Do you know what you want to do in college?

Younger daughter: I’m kind of interested in psychology but you know what she [my friend, her beloved mother] would say – navel gazing!

Truly being a mother is it’s own particular kind of exhausting.