belgianwaffle

I’ve been saving this


Posted in: Belgium

My friend J who sometimes sends me things from Brussels sent me an email about an event in Anderlecht. Anderlecht is an urban cutting edge commune (some people might call it rough but, as someone who lives across the road from a boarded up house, I wouldn’t).

The event is called “Action « crottes de chiens » ce samedi à Anderlecht”. No, you have not misunderstood – it’s called “Action “dog poo” this Saturday in Anderlecht.” I suppose I should contextualise this by saying that there is more dog poo on the pavements of Belgium than there is anywhere else in the developed world but it still doesn’t stop it being odd, I think you will agree.

For any francophones among you, the full text is reproduced below. Let me translate some highlights:

This is a festival to make dog “poo-poo” owners aware of their responsibilities.

On the agenda for the day is a “Poo parade” [which will open with] a float with a giant dog poo which the students from the local school have designed…

People often ask me whether I miss Belgium – well, I think you would only get the crotte parade in Belgium; it’s the home of surrealism for a reason, you know.

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[L]es comités de quartier des Etangs et Frans Hals à Anderlecht organisent une opération festive de sensibilisation des propriétaires de chiens baptisée « Crotti-Crotta ». Le but: leur rappeler leurs responsabilités (chiens en laisse et ramassage des crottes) de manière ludique. Cette action a été initiée par la cellule de sensibilisation Propreté de l’échevine Monique Cassart en collaboration avec la Maison de la Participation dans le cadre de la campagne RéapPROPRiez vous votre commune.

Au programme de cette journée, une grande « Parade de la crotte », qui débutera à 14h rue Frans Hals. Un char avec une crotte géante, réalisée par les élèves de l’école P18, ouvrira le cortège. Des flyers et des sacs à crotte seront distribués aux propriétaires de chiens par les habitants du quartier et les élèves de l’école.

Cette parade se rendra place Bizet avant de rejoindre le terrain Marius Renard où une démonstration de la brigade canine est entre autres prévue à 16h. Cette journée, qui se veut avant tout festive, se clôturera par un barbecue au parc Marius Renard.

Par ailleurs, ces deux comités de quartier ont convaincu deux grandes enseignes commerciales des environs de vendre du matériel de ramassage. En effet, ce n’est pas tout d’obliger les propriétaires de chiens à ramasser leurs crottes, encore faut-il que ce matériel soit facilement accessible au public, et pas uniquement dans les magasins spécialisés.

Bicycle Racks are a Feminist Issue. Maybe.


Posted in: Work

I go to a number of conferences in the course of my work and there are always more men than women on the podium and, regardless of the gender make-up of the audience, there are always more men who ask questions than women. Why should that be? And why is it that that would be true pretty much in any line of work, even in professions like teaching which are female dominated? And is it only women who ever notice this? Why do I spend all my time counting? I see over on twitter that Suzy Byrne has made a campaign of counting the number of female panellists on Vincent Browne’s current affairs programme (not very many, if I might summarise).

The other night I was unlocking my bike from the rack and two (male colleagues) were there with their bikes also – I have a child seat on the back and they commented that they had been wondering who owned it. “I do,” I said, “bringing gender balance to the bike rack.” “Eh?” they asked. “Haven’t you noticed that there are never any other women’s bikes on the rack?” I said. They looked at me in surprise and amusement, no they would never in a life time have noticed. Could it be that I am overcounting?

Do you spend your time counting?

Brave New World


Posted in: Middle Child, Twins, Youngest Child

The boys’ teacher tells me they were doing animals at school. “We had F [whose father is German] tell us the names in German; then R [recently returned from Italy with parents who speak Irish to him at home – Irish and Italian good, English possibly shaky] told us the words in Italian and I said twinnies [mental note that despite her protestations she does not always recognise the boys’ individuality, also, is twinnies an Irish word?] what are these animals in French?”

Apparently Daniel was quicker off the mark than Michael which may explain why Michael, who usually is the most anti -French, reproached me for not teaching them more French.

It’s all very different from when I was in school and the most exotic girl in the class was half-Dublin.

Reinforcing Stereotypes


Posted in: Ireland, Work

I came into work this morning with a nasty head cold. I whined about my misery to my boss, a sober, pleasant woman of a certain age. “Would you like a hot whiskey?” she asked. “You have whiskey in the office?” I asked. “Of course,” she replied, “for medicinal reasons.”

Would any other office worker who has been offered whiskey by a superior at 9 in the morning please put up his or her hand? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Time is the Enemy


Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland

I am just about to leave my parents’ house to get the train back to Dublin. My poor husband and children have not seen me all weekend. My mother is sad to see me go – my father is too, in his own way, I’m sure though I suspect it is a mild relief that no one will leave the doors open once I go. I hardly saw my beloved aunt who lives next door to my parents. I did not get to tidy out my old room (task list from 1993) or sort out my poor sister’s broken car window. And I have work papers in my bag that I will have to read on the train because staying late at work is a luxury I no longer enjoy. Sometimes it feels like there just isn’t enough of me to go around.

Home Alone


Posted in: Cork, Ireland

I am not quite sure how I managed to swing this but I am in Cork with my parents and without my children. Mr. Waffle is at home minding the fort with the aid of the Dublin relatives. I found a reference to my father-in-law’s company on a techie site and sent him the link asking whether he recognised the company and he replied:

“Some fly-by-night outfit: however, one of their founding members is with a hot new start-up, providing new concepts in grand-fathering, child avoidance for stressed parents, etc.

A sure-fire winner-invest all you’ve got, even putting off the garden shed project.”

I hope that this doesn’t mean part of the crack baby sitting team is tiring.

This morning I did not get up until TEN O’CLOCK. Imagine that. I went into the Crawford Gallery and saw a very interesting, and very beautiful exhibition of 17th and early 18th century Irish portraits and had some deep thoughts about Irish identity and how it is intertwined with that of our larger neighbour but they have seeped out of my head in the course of the day. Many of the portraits had detailed descriptions, some of which assumed a knowledge of 17th century Irish affairs which, in my case, at least, was not warranted. The syntax was also occasionally mangled. The whole effect was enlightening just not, perhaps, as enlightening as the curator might have hoped. I remain confused about how Wentworth died and why his daughter’s marriage might have made matters better for him. Particularly since he was dead. Perhaps I need to go back and have another look.

On returning home, I noted that my sister’s car which was parked outside my parents’ house had had its rear window smashed in. The guards came (my, aren’t they getting younger?), sympathised, identified the problem as someone “running the car” pointing to the large footprints on the bonnet and roof. A whole new world of vandalism. I asked them whether my sister would be getting a letter from them asking whether she, as a victim of crime, needed counselling to come to terms with her experience as Mr. Waffle had when he had reported his bike as stolen. They snorted and said, “probably”. I feel they may not be completely on message about the standard letters which issue to the victims of crime.

Then, I went out in the rain and taped on a black plastic bag. I left a doleful message on my sister’s voicemail which I am sure made her morning in Chicago (where she is on holidays, try to keep up).

Then, my mother and I went out for an elaborate and expensive afternoon tea and did some mild shopping. It was all very pleasant aside from the nagging guilt about Mr. Waffle at home minding the children. Even with team in-law fully deployed – the boys are sleeping over with their cousins tonight – two days full time sole parenting while also very busy working is trying. I feel his domestic credit is in the stratosphere.