belgianwaffle

Faustian Pact


Posted in: Princess

The Princess is to be in another television programme.  Her class are to be filmed a couple of times and she was very excited.  I had to sign a release form for her.  I came home shortly afterwards and she said, “I read the release form.  They can do anything they like with my image.  They own everything I have no rights.”  “That’s right,” I said, “if you don’t want to, you don’t have to do it.” “Of course, I want to do it, I’m going to be on television!”

The actual experience of television was very boring. They had to do lots of re-takes. The crew brought out some worms to show the children (the programme is about gardening, I understand). This was a highlight and they were all fascinated. But this was not the correct reaction. All the girls had to scream; the boys did not have to scream. So they redid the worm introduction until the girls screamed loudly enough. “Which was very sexist,” said she. That’s my girl.

Etiquette Question


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland

I was walking down O’Connell Street at lunchtime the other day. It was busy. A man in a tracksuit was yanking firmly on a bike which was attached to a pole by a spiral lock. The spiral lock was not yielding. Could he be stealing it in broad daylight? He didn’t match the bicycle which had a wicker basket. But who am I to judge what tracksuited possibly drugged people might cycle? Perhaps he had forgotten his key. And surely no one would steal a bike by pulling on it until the lock broke in the middle of the day on the main street of the capital? Nobody paid him and his lock pulling antics the slightest bit of notice.

I hovered anxiously looking at him. The lock held and he walked away. So did I, in some relief. What would you have done?

Greta Garbo Moment or More First World Problems


Posted in: Mr. Waffle, Work

I get my hair cut once every six months. It grows slowly. Today, I got it cut by this man. I would post a picture but you would die from the coolness of it. Also, all the pictures the Princess took before I went out are impossibly blurry and it just doesn’t look the same after playing tennis in a hat for an hour and a half (lost 6-0, 6-2, thanks for asking).

In a fit of rashness, I made the appointment for Friday at 5. This meant I had to cycle to work so that I would be able to scoot out of the office at 4.45 and be at the hairdresser’s for 5. I signalled to my loving family that I would need to cycle. Everyone wanted to know, why was I cycling to work and not going with them in the car. And then promptly forgot and wanted to know again. At work, Friday afternoon got busier and busier. I was going to be travelling for work on Sunday evening but would I be able to do then all the things that needed to be done for Monday? It was touch and go. Why, my boss wanted to know [from her car as she made good her escape to check out where the G8 will be staying – let the record show that she worked to midnight last night] was I scooting off so early? Because I want to get my hair cut. How many more people do I have to explain my movements to? All people entitled to ask and with only my best interests at heart but I wish there was a little bit of time when I wasn’t accountable to anyone and I could go and get my hair cut then.

The hairdresser put his heart and soul into it and I didn’t get out until 7 at which point poor Mr. Waffle who has a cold had already nobly fed the children and prepared dinner for the grown-ups. I ate it and then I went out to play my tennis match and left him to put them to bed. The guilt. When I got home, he was already tucked up in bed with a lemsip.

Bitter


Posted in: Reading etc.

We’ve been watching the Harry Potter films (out of order – oh the pain to my OCD soul). On foot of this excitement the children wanted a Harry Potter app for the phone. It cost €1.78. “Oh,” said Mr. Waffle, “accept Muggle money, do they?” They do. Did it work? No it did not.

Unlikely Anxiety Dream


Posted in: Family

My sister-in-law’s wedding in London is fast approaching. The Princess has a starring role as bridesmaid. The other night I dreamt that I was somehow unable to get the Princess ready and left the job to her father. To my horror, she turned up at the ceremony in jeans and with her hair unbrushed. Her aunt had, inexplicably, drafted in little English bridesmaids who looked like Kate Moss’s bridesmaids and they stood at the altar looking contemptuous.

I woke up and said to my husband in tones of deep annoyance, “How could you not have brushed her hair?” He, understandably, refused to take responsibility for the workings of my unconscious mind.

What are we to make of this?

Feeling the Strain


Posted in: Middle Child, Twins

I got a call from the school at 12.30.  I only picked it up at 1.30 when I got back from a meeting.  I called them.  What was wrong?  Daniel had a sore neck and he had spent the past hour with his head on his shoulder.  Mr. Waffle and I sped to the school.  He seems to have pulled a muscle in his neck.  He is much recovered this evening, thank you for asking.

Honestly, if it’s not one thing it’s another.