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7 January, 2005
Posted in: Princess, Reading etc.

My new year’s resolutions (with apologies to Heather):

1. I will give up swearing. After serious consideration, I have decided to eliminate darn and damn as well as other heavyweight expressions.  Mr. Waffle queries what I will use instead. I said with dignity that “how unfortunate” should meet my needs. “Oh” he said “as in, ‘move your stupid, how unfortunate car out of my way, you how unfortunate moron'”.  Ok, my technique may need some refinement.  Today is January 7 and you are correct in your assumption that my record to date has not been 100%, however, the Princess is endeavouring to keep me on the straight and narrow by repeating incessantly anything I say in a moment of crisis.

2. I will establish a book club.  No really.  Yes, of course you can join, I’ll be desperate for people.

The London Review of Books

Has gone mad.  All this week’s personals are in German.  Funny though.

Illegal Activity

I ignored the signal of a traffic policeman.  Not deliberately.  I didn’t see him.  That’s what I said in my defence before Christmas.  They didn’t buy it (but it was true, I swear – is this swearing?) and a fine for, wait for it, 310 euro was awaiting me on my return.  And my new employer still hasn’t paid me so it’s just as well I’m at home sick really and can’t get out to spend money.

Colours

The Princess is obsessed with colours.  But she has no understanding of what they might be.  She will hold up a yellow jumper and say “pink”. No, we will tell her, it’s yellow.  She will digest this and hold up a  pink jumper and say “red”.  And so on.  And she is obsessed. She keeps asking “colour?”. We are quite keen to let the matter drop because, frankly, it’s only depressing all of us, but she won’t let it go. I suppose that she will get the hang of it eventually.

The Economist

Has decided to have a seasonal joke. See below the entire text from a pre-Christmas article. Title is from Jonathan Swift who suggested in a savagely satirical article of this title that the Irish should eat their babies to keep themselves fed (am I not clever to know this?).  But the thing is, I’m not sure that what worked for Dr. Swift really works for the Economist.  I know that they are laughing at themselves and everything, but it really does sound like the kind of thing they would suggest.  Skip down to the bit under “make mine a monoglot” for details of the modest proposal.

A modest proposal

Dec 16th 2004
From The Economist print edition

How to solve the biggest issue in modern politics

FORGET Iraq and budget deficits. The most serious political problem on both sides of the Atlantic is none of these. It is a difficulty that has dogged the ruling classes for millennia. It is the servant problem.

In Britain David Blunkett, the home secretary, has resigned over an embarrassment (or one of many embarrassments, in a story involving his ex-girlfriend, her husband, two pregnancies and some DNA) concerning a visa for a Filipina nanny employed by his mistress (see article). His office speeded it through for reasons unconnected to the national shortage of unskilled labour. Mr Blunkett resigned ahead of a report by Sir Alan Budd, an economist who is investigating the matter at the government’s request.

In America Bernard Kerik, the president’s nominee for the Department of Homeland Security, withdrew last week because he had carelessly employed a Mexican nanny whose Play-Doh skills were in better order than her paperwork (see article). Mr Kerik also remembered that he hadn’t paid her taxes. The nominee has one or two other “issues” (an arrest warrant in 1998, and allegations of dodgy business dealings and extra-marital affairs). But employing an illegal nanny would probably have been enough to undo him, as it has several other cabinet and judicial appointees in recent years.

There is an easy answer to the servant problem—obvious to economists, if not to the less clear-sighted. Perhaps Sir Alan, a dismal scientist of impeccable rationality, will be thoughtful enough to point it out in his report.

Parents are not the only people who have difficulty getting visas for workers. All employers face restrictive immigration policies which raise labour costs. Some may respond by trying to fiddle the immigration system, but most deal with the matter by exporting jobs. In the age of the global economy, the solution to the servant problem is simple: rather than importing the nanny, offshore the children.

Make mine a monoglot

Many working parents would hardly notice the difference, and there would be clear advantages beyond lower child-care costs. Freeing up rich-country real estate currently clogged with cots and playpens would lower rents; liberating time currently wasted in story-telling and tummy-tickling would raise productivity. For parents who wished to be present at bed-time, video-conference facilities could be arranged.

Luddites and sentimentalists will whinge about the disadvantages of raising a brood in, say, Beijing. Language, for instance: what if one found oneself in possession of a posse of mini-Mandarin speakers? Yet in the age of global culture, few sensible modern parents are susceptible to such small-mindedness. If they were, they wouldn’t so commonly leave their offspring in the care of monoglot Mexicans or Poles.

Unthinking conservatism may spawn resistance to this eminently sensible idea. But politicians, the people most often embarrassed by the servant problem, should be keen to popularise it—not just for themselves, but also in the national interest. Offshoring could help solve several problems afflicting rich-world economies, including that of ageing populations: after all, you get more bairns for your buck in Bangalore. And why stop at toddlers? Difficult teenagers, the offspring most liable to vex political parents, could be conveniently removed: imagine how much easier George Bush’s life would have been had his twins been confined to, say, Pyongyang.�

Comments
belgianwaffle

on 08 January 2005 at 13:27

Mildly funny, FT, thanks for the welcome back, hope Christmas was sunny in the US. Will begin work on St. Anthony shortly and revert.

Present!

6 January, 2005
Posted in: Princess

the 2 best wise men poems on Romy’s site and I thought it would be nice to have a link for the day that’s in it. You will be pleased to know that my little daughter, showing consistency in all her dealings, took the wise men out of the crib and trying to wrest their tiny parcels from them said “Princess, present? OPEN”.

Comments
poggle

on 07 January 2005 at 11:43

aw bless ….

belgianwaffle

on 07 January 2005 at 12:13

Bobble, can’t help feeling that the Princess would really appreciate that. She is distinctly glum that no further presents are forthcoming. Thank you Madam Pog.

Bobble

on 07 January 2005 at 12:43

La Befana brings stones or coal if you have been bad – which I am sure the Princess hasn’t.

belgianwaffle

on 07 January 2005 at 12:53

Coal? Excellent, a win for everyone. Filth for the Princess and home heating for us.

Bobble

on 07 January 2005 at 16:06

She is an equal opportunities giver and no mistake. I much prefer the thought of a witch on a broomstick bringing gifts than Santa.However, Northern Italian mites expect presents from both of them though these days – my Mum would of hit us with the broom if we’d had told her that.

belgianwaffle

on 07 January 2005 at 21:42

Bobble, agree the broomstick is excellent. Approve also of your mother’s no nonsense action with broom.

Festivities

6 January, 2005
Posted in: Family

Well, we’re all sick now. Mr. Waffle is snuffling with the rest of us. It’s pathetic. Let us relive the Christmas idyll for a comforting warming glow.

17 December saw us heading for home. Our departure from Brussels coincided with heavy rain and the conclusion of what we locals call the “Eurotop”. This involves 25 heads of state having their own escort to the airport with outriders and a large part of town being sealed off from the common populace with portable barbed wire (a Belgian speciality).  These people are always wittering on about “bringing Europe closer to the citizen” but I have to tell you, they certainly don’t mean any citizens who might be near them.  So with the rain and the Eurotop, the traffic was murder and we only got to the airport just in time and the taxi ride cost 70 euros which is about twice the normal amount.  A certain amount of unhappiness was felt.

However, once safely back in Ireland all was very rosy. The Princess was delighted to be reunited with her royal grandparents and practised her new enlarged vocabulary on them (“Present for Princess?”). Our Christmas bash with Gaza M and Bosnia R in their house passed off splendidly. We caught up with loads of people including a couple we used to know in Brussels.  He is Irish and she is French and they have a small baby. For the first time, she is spending Christmas away from Brittany. His family have decided to make the experience unforgettable for her by, in the case of his brother, decamping to New Zealand, in the case of his sister, remaining in distant Sligo and in the case of his mother, leaving for California but not before giving them a large goose for Christmas dinner. Ms. Bretagne regarded the goose with great dubiety and pointed out that as there were only going to be four people for Christmas dinner, one of whom was not yet on solids, it was perhaps a little large. Let us hope that all passed off well, but I feel that even as I write, goose still forms a large part of the family diet.

We met a good friend of Mr. Waffle’s who is just about to start work as Professor of Very Hard Law in an English University. She announced that she had just developed a terrible addiction, she had read her first Georgette Heyer and was hooked. The fabulousness of that. She and I spent a comfortable 45 minutes talking about the queen of the regency romance (and I am NOT talking Barbara Cartland here, so stop smirking) while Mr. Waffle looked on in dazed awe.

And Mr. Waffle’s father and particularly his mother babysat like troopers despite the later’s broken wrist.  She took the Princess round to the neighbours.  Her highness treated retired judges and famous authors’ parents (such are the kind of neighbours you get in south County Dublin) with the same loving attention as she did her grandparents, rushing into their houses and saying “Present for Princess? OPEN!” So successful was the babysitting that Mr. Waffle’s father got carried away and offered to babysit overnight.  I thanked him but said no because she still wakes up during the night. He said not to worry about that because although he is a very sound sleeper himself, Mr. Waffle’s mother would certainly be able to get up.  Hmm.

Then on to Cork where the Princess was greeted by another set of devoted slaves and the Princess’s parents by a digital camera.  Yay. More babysitting.  More gallivanting.  Down to the sea to inspect the heart surgeon’s new house.   Lucky old heart surgeon.  But she is sick as a dog, poor thing. Being pregnant doesn’t entirely agree with her.  Nevertheless, lovely view below:

Delighted to see my Chicago sister for the first time in a year.  She looked very glam.  Told her so.  What, I asked, is the secret of your glamness? Wow, that girl’s routine is a killer. She asked me when I had last set my eyebrows. Eh? Apparently it only takes 5 minutes but doesn’t she realise that this time could be spent sleeping? I feel combining glamour and motherhood could be a challenge. Anyway she snuck her way into the Princess’s affections by holding her upside down whenever she saw her and the Princess is now obsessed with her Cork aunty.  When we left Cork, I explained that her aunty was going back to America on an aeroplane.  The next day when we flew back to Brussels, she paced the corridor of the plane looking for her aunty and doubtless spreading disease.

Look, I know this is dull, but having a good time makes for dull material.  Let me tell you about 3 o’clock this morning when Mr. Waffle was trying to sing the Princess back to sleep with a number called “savez-vous planter les choux?”.  The trick is that you must try to plant the cabbage with a different part of the body at every verse (that’s the French for you, don’t blame me). It took her a long time to get to sleep.  This morning I said to my loving husband “what a dreadful night”.  “Humph” he said “at least you weren’t planting cabbages with your ears at 3.30 this morning”.  I suppose we must take comfort where we can.

Comments
belgianwaffle

on 07 January 2005 at 12:11

And you Americans rule the world? My God what would you be able to do if you had portable barbed wire as well? GASP.

Bobble

on 07 January 2005 at 12:49

*mind boggles* Good stuff there W.

belgianwaffle

on 07 January 2005 at 21:43

Bobble, you are kind.

Illness again

5 January, 2005
Posted in: Princess

Sick as dogs.  Me and the Princess.  We returned from Ireland on Monday (more details to follow when I am in the whole of my health) with rotten colds – and what a fun trip that was.  Today we both got dressed which was a big improvement on yesterday.  On Monday night I said to my loving husband “isn’t it great that I’m sick too, that way I can stay home and mind her”. Please don’t point out the obvious flaw in this reasoning.  I’ve spotted it myself since.  Pending our return to good health and more entries, I attach a copy of the Christmas greeting sent by the Glam Potter which is so fab that everyone deserves to see it.

Comments
Bobble

on 05 January 2005 at 14:37

*passes large box of hankies*

princessfairytoes

on 05 January 2005 at 19:55

one sick husband is worse than 2 sick kids!

Beth

(Homepage)

on 05 January 2005 at 21:11

Well ok, sorry you are sick and all, but a teensy little bit of me feels maybe you deserve it as the price you pay for all the vacation you have. I know, I’m just jealous.
dmts
on 06 January 2005 at 09:49

lovely to see you back – guten besserung….or something like that

belgianwaffle

on 06 January 2005 at 15:21

Bobble,pog, Hjb, thanks for the sympathy. Princess FT, I will be able to investigate this theory as Mr. Waffle has now joined us in snuffling misery. Beth, you’re right, you are just jealous, though I have an inkling how you feel, I got a Christmas round robbin thingy from a Scottish friend who’s married to a Frenchman and living in Paris saying that they would never move away until the rest of the world gave ten weeks paid holidays a year. Wantonly provocative.

Part the fifteenth

22 December, 2004
Posted in: The tale of Lazy Jack Silver

Heather sat at her mahogany desk leafing through various invitations and begging
letters.  “I don’Â’t care how beautiful the view of Central Park is from their apartment, IÂ’’m not going to listen to the Pitts and their Hollywood stories for a tepid gin ” she thought.  Perhaps she could ask Bobble to pop in and deliver a Christmas card whilst she was over there. Although, she couldnÂ’’t help wondering if this New York trip of
BobbleÂ’s wasn’Â’t some sort of ploy to be working against their plan.  Lazy Jack Silver had been so quiet recently and Heather wondered if this recent Italian trip that Bobble had made may have resulted in a meeting with some of the “family” over there. Perhaps they had provided a more intense drug to keep LJS in this deep sleep.
After all, sheÂ’’d never seen anyone react to Nurofen quite like this before. If she hadnÂ’’t actually seen him slumped in the cellar then sheÂ’’d think he’Â’d just disappeared.

If only she could talk things over with Norah but the only word from her at the moment was “passport” as she moved things around in her panic. Where was Waffle when she  needed her? Just slipping off and leaving a note about needing to spend time with her family wasnÂ’’t very helpful.

The truth of the matter was that Heather couldnÂ’t cope with the thought of spending
Christmas alone in the Schloss with Friar Tuck.  There was something deeply unsettling about the way he sidled into the room and, although perfectly pleasant on the surface, Heather knew what he was capable of. Maybe she would have to return to England and then the Friar would leave the Schloss. He wouldnÂ’’t be stupid enough to follow her
to England, would he?

Oh, sod Christmas, she thought. If it weren’Â’t for the thought of a new diamond to add to the collection then sheÂ’’d just forget about it completely.  There was no way that she would fall into the sentimental claptrap of childhood memories of Christmas.

However, if she did return to England who would look after LJS?  Maureen was nowhere to be seen. Bobble would be in New York. If Norah ever found her passport, then she’Â’d be off.  This wasn’Â’t working out as she had planned.  However, after a rest over Christmas perhaps she would be able to find some new way of tackling the problem. All she needed was someone to look after LJS while she took a few days off.  Was this
too much to ask?

Comments
poggle

on 31 December 2004 at 15:53

He’s always been a lightweight with drugs, that LJS. The big wuss.

Friar Tuck

on 04 January 2005 at 18:15

Sidled?! That seems so snake-like. Oh… {unpleasant reality dawns}

poggle

on 05 January 2005 at 12:07

Now, now, Friar Tuck – that would be ‘slid’ or ‘slithered’.
Whereas ‘sidling’ is more …. well … Gollum-like, I think you’ll find.
Does that help, at all?

belgianwaffle

on 05 January 2005 at 13:57

Heather the genius. I hope that if I give you a sweetie it gets to you.

Bobble

on 10 January 2005 at 00:32

The Pitts did send their regards – from separate apartments.

belgianwaffle

on 10 January 2005 at 21:19

Topical, Bobble.
poggle
on 17 March 2005 at 10:38

What’s happened to Lazy Jack? Is he okay?

belgianwaffle

on 22 March 2005 at 08:55

He’s actually quite unwell, I’ve been worried about him….

poggle

on 22 March 2005 at 10:03

Just don’t ask Bobble to nurse him – you know what she’s like for fainting all over the blog …..
Arf.

jackdalton

on 22 March 2005 at 10:58

I heard he was unmasked for the cad he really is and fled to South America, with only a copy of In Patagonia and a few stolen snatches of love poetry to his name.

poggle

on 22 March 2005 at 11:21

You mean … you mean … he’s left us all?
Oh no.
*sniffs*

jackdalton

on 22 March 2005 at 12:13

Don’t be like that Pog… it’s better this way. After all, he’ll always have the Schloss and he has left us a legacy polished prose [that] subtly distanced him… a blend of intellectual passion and emotional coldness, the postmodern glitter of surface and patchwork, shorn of all authorial judgement.
Can’t be bad for a figment of ‘wafs deeply seated inadequacies, unresolved love interests and materialistic longings.

poggle

on 22 March 2005 at 12:19

But … but …
Oh, okay then.
*mourns*
(Oh – and don’t forget H’s contribution to his saga. I’d hide if I were you, jd.)

jackdalton

on 22 March 2005 at 12:38

It’s ok. I’m in South America.

poggle

on 22 March 2005 at 13:56

You just don’t love us any more, do you?
I’m gutted.
Gutted, I tells ya.

jackdalton

on 22 March 2005 at 14:02

Sorry, you’ll have to speak up… it’s a bad line. Did you say something about lewd?

poggle

on 22 March 2005 at 14:04

Yeah. Well. That too.

jackdalton

on 22 March 2005 at 14:04

Patagonia and lightly fictionised people. Land of the living wind. Valparaiso next. And all that…..
poggle
on 22 March 2005 at 14:09

Jealous? Me?
*green*

Bobble

on 22 March 2005 at 18:05

*Swoons*

belgianwaffle

on 23 March 2005 at 10:20

Dashes water over Bobble’s inanimate form. Will have to give some thought to what exactly LJS is doing in South America but just you wait, my chickadees…

Happy Christmas

16 December, 2004
Posted in: Princess

I bought the Princess some clothes for Christmas at lunch time today. This evening I gave her the bag and she opened it and took out the items one by one (“t-shire, nice, skir, not nice, dwess, oh wow). Then she held the dress up to herself and using her chin to hold it in place, inspected herself in the mirror. She turned to me and said “Mummy, dwess open” and once I had opened the buttons, she stuck her hands in the sleeves and went to preen in the mirror. Her father said “Qui est belle?” She turned around to him, smiled smugly and said “belle, oui”. That’s my girl.

We’re going home tomorrow (hence emergency Christmas shop at lunch). We have spent this evening packing and organising and scurrying. And now that all is nearly completed, Hop hop has lost his other ear and I have to sew it back on. I am not pleased with the royal bunny.

So, I will be signing off until 2005. We’re back on January 4 when blog life will recommence. In the interim, may I wish you all a very happy Christmas and New Year.

Comments
dmts

on 17 December 2004 at 09:23

Sch?nen Weihnachten, Waffle.

NorahSplog

on 18 December 2004 at 23:24

Krismas Njema na heri za mwaka mpya Waffle.

DruidX

on 19 December 2004 at 23:23

Err, Au Rivour! Happy christmas et vous.
[I appologise profously for the awfulness of my written french, but I wanted to jump on the bandwagon :)]
Mikeachim
on 19 December 2004 at 23:25

Καλά Χριστούγεννα και μια καλή χρονιά, από Mikeachim.
Have a good one.

poggle

on 20 December 2004 at 12:07

Frohliche Weinachten, Mrs Waffle and kin …

Locotes

on 21 December 2004 at 13:07

Nollaig shona agus athbhliain faoi mhaise duit.
😉

JoJo

on 23 December 2004 at 23:13

same to you & the princess!
see you next year, JJ xxx

belgianwaffle

on 05 January 2005 at 13:56

Ooh, linguistic genius all round eh? Thanks for all your good wishes.

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