belgianwaffle

I know it’s not the flu


Posted in: Middle Child, Princess, Twins

Because the one time I had the flu, I could barely struggle out of bed.  But I have got a nasty cold.

Yesterday, I spent all day in bed, being poked in the eyeball from time to time by a very bored Princess.  Our cleaner kindly agreed to stay all day and keep an eye on herself but I think she (the Princess and probably also the cleaner) has now decided that there is such a thing as too much television.  She went off to school today with a spring in her step.

Our cleaner is a very nice woman from the Eastern part of Poland and she disapproves profoundly of my decision to work.  Yesterday, she said to the Princess – isn’t it nice to have Mama at home instead of her going off to work?  The Princess was gobsmacked; here she was having the most boring day of her life and she was supposed to like it.  I was mildly gratified.

And in other whinging about the help news (is there anything more irritating, than someone who does that?) our childminder does not, like me, believe in always telling children the truth.  I like to think that it builds up their soft skills. The other day, Daniel, expressed a desire to see the childminder’s daughter C.  It was 6 o’clock in the evening, the childminder was just leaving, she said “you want to come with me, you want to see C?”.  Daniel’s little face lit up.  Why would she torture him this way?  As I say, building up their soft skills.

Finally, the Princess has a half day at school today, I rang L’s mother who lives around the corner to ask her, if she could take the Princess this afternoon, in view of my enfeebled state.  She croaked on the other end of the phone – no, I have the flu and so has my husband and my two year old.  Given that she was just starting to feel ill when she was around here on Friday afternoon, perhaps it is the flu after all.
Back to bed, while I still can.

Sick as a dog


Posted in: Princess

I have a rotten cold: achy limbs, runny nose, hacking cough, temperature, dizziness and general misery.

I spent last night alternatively roasting and shivering.  The Princess arrived in to our bed at 1.00 in the morning with the same symptoms.  I said we would stay home together today.  Is she now sick? Nope.  She seems to be the picture of health and is sitting up watching “Mary Poppins” while I am about to haul myself back to bed.

Confusion


Posted in: Mr. Waffle, Youngest Child

Michael (combing his hair and looking at himself in the mirror): Michael est belle.

Mr. Waffle: Michael est beau.

Michael (crossly): Michael est BELLE.

Mr. Waffle: Ta soeur est belle, tu es beau.

Michael (furious): MICHAEL EST BELLE.

Mr. Waffle: Michael est belle.

Reading


Posted in: Reading etc.

Last November, during the NaBloPoMo odyssey somebody recommended Robertson Davies to me. I can’t remember who it was but I am very grateful.

I have just finished “The Deptford Trilogy” and it was excellent. Mr. Davies writes beautiful, spare, precise prose and it is a constant joy to read.

I learnt a lot about Canadians. I had always thought of them as like Americans only saner and with better healthcare and gun control. I also thought of them as French speaking Catholics; I mean, I knew there were a lot of English speakers there too but Quebec had unduly coloured my view of the country. Now I know that there are whole swathes of Canada that come from the same dour Scottish strain that is visible in Northern Ireland and it has given me a very different feel for the country and one that is much more nuanced.

The amazing thing, to me, is that I had never heard of Robertson Davies, even though one of his books was shortlisted for the Booker prize. Even though a Canadian friend said, that he was regarded as the father of Canadian literature. And I am not alone, very few of my friends had heard of him. Shame!

I have also just finished “An Accidental Diplomat” by Eamon Delaney. This is not a great work of literature though it was a bestseller. It’s possible that most of the copies were bought by officials in the Irish Department of Foreign Affairs. It gives an account of the author’s time as a junior diplomat in the Department in the late 80s to mid 90s and names many names. Apparently, there was a feeling in Foreign Affairs that the real problem with the book was that it did not contain an index. I started it years ago and gave up in annoyance. I came back to it, however, and found it gently humourous (very like a blog, not so much like a book – dreadfully poorly edited too, loads of typos and repetition) and I feel more indulgent to the author who this time round seems like a very young man from a very long time ago rather than an irritating cocky know it all only the same age as me. That’s middle age for you, I suppose.

And finally, I have also finished Seamus Deane’s “Reading in the Dark”. I thought as I started it – I am never reading a book by a poet again.  Opened at random at page 132, may I offer you the following:  “the rain dripping from us in clock-steady drops”; “small artilleries of thunder rattled in the distance”; “the Sacred Heart lamp burning in its chained vessel above the altar:crimson, scarlet, crimson, steady, flickering, steady”.   I am not saying that the language isn’t beautiful but it’s a bit rich and indigestible for an entire novel.  In the end, though, I was seduced by the book, it has a good plot and some wonderful set-pieces: ghost stories and, in particular, the maths class chapter which is masterful.

Finally, finally, I was away and I bought Mr. Waffle back a present of this book “Affluenza“; I’d seen it well reviewed and I thought that the premise was interesting, namely, that we’re all bitten by a bug which makes us spend money unnecessarily.  Mr. Waffle looked at the offering.  “But you hate Oliver James“, he said.  “It’s written by that Oliver James, the man from the Observer?” I asked in horror.  “Yup, and,” he said, flipping over the back of the book, “he’s 8.99 better off thanks to you.”  Blah.

Cinema as Art


Posted in: Reading etc.

We went to the cinema last Saturday night (No Country for Old Men – not bad, thanks) and we sat near a trendy woman with a red leather jacket. To be precise we sat one seat away from her. On the far side of Mr. Waffle another couple ensconced themselves leaving one seat empty. The woman with the red leather jacket leaned across and said to me that we should move closer to her as otherwise there would be two single seats. I knew she was right but I was annoyed. She was smug dammit.

At the start of the film, I hauled out my packet of Maltesers from my handbag. I know some people don’t like you eating in the cinema, but, you know, they sell them in the foyer, so it can’t be a huge surprise that other people buy them. It may not be right, but there you have it and at least I wasn’t eating crisps. Leather jacket sighed audibly. I had baleful thoughts. I sucked through my packet of maltesers and crunched the last one. Leather jacket sighed and her partner leaned across and asked me to stop crunching. The worst part of it was that I could kind of see their point but I still hated them for making it. Cranky, moi?

Whinging Poms or knocking the neighbours


Posted in: Reading etc., Work

Most of my friends in Brussels are English and they are, well I would say this, but really they are, lovely people.  Charming, entertaining, interested, interesting, funny.

I spend some time in England for work and, again, I really like the people I meet.  In general, I find English people are obliging and helpful and, other than the odd taxi driver, I’ve found them reasonable and sensible.  I also read a lot of blogs by English people and, again, I find them entertaining and agreeable.

Are you feeling a big but coming?  Well here it is.  The tone of public discourse in the UK as set by the press, the radio and the television is relentlessly negative and whiny.  I listen a lot to Radio 4 (the programme ‘You and Yours’ being a non-stop whine fest) and I read the British papers from time to time – perhaps not so much the television but I do watch the BBC news occasionally.   I am Irish, I may not be in the best position to criticise the British or, more particularly, the English; I have some prejudices though possibly not the ones you imagine.  Do you think that is going to stop me? Hah.  Do not tell me that I should ignore the English media; they’re whiny but they’re good.

I think that it is very laudable that the British have high standards for their politicians.  I think that they are over the top in their criticisms of financial impropriety.  My God, if they had to face what we have in Ireland, they would all keel over.   The media is in a state of permanent moan about the NHS but it really is a very good system compared to that available in Ireland at least and though I am enamoured of the Belgian system, it’s not free at the point of delivery.  Free.  Imagine, nothing to pay.  You can go into the doctor and get treated for nothing.  That is fantastic.  Are people pleased?  Does the media pat Britain on the back? Not a bit of it, the doctors are dreadful, they just confirm what you’ve discovered yourself on google, it’s all a ghastly mess.  And Britain has relatively low taxes to boot.  Amazing.  Occasionally, a columnist in the papers will say, when I was in hospital my treatment was fantastic but moan, moan, blah, blah collapse of the NHS.  It is as though, the British have decided en masse that the only way to improve anything is to moan about it constantly.  It is tedious and it appears to be ineffective as another moan is that things are getting worse all the time.  Would they stop.  Perhaps it is ineffective because the government, in thrall to public opinion and the media, keeps tinkering with major areas like health and education before having had a chance to see whether the last tinkering was at all effective.

I appreciate that good news doesn’t sell papers but, it seems to me that the difference in the Irish papers is there is more outrage than whinging.  I mean the health service actually is a national disgrace in Ireland.  In England, lots of people, apparently, can’t get free dental care; I don’t hear so much about people dying on trolleys in hallways because there are no beds for them.

And yes, I’m sure I don’t know all the ins and outs of it and I can’t really talk because I’ve never lived in England and I’ve mixed up England and Britain but there it is.  You know they say that the French think they are wonderful and have the best of everything and that they are better than anyone else and the British think that everything they have is dreadful and poorly run and hideous but they are still better than everyone else?  Well, I think that might be true.  It would explain a lot wouldn’t it?

I await your outrage and indignation with interest.