belgianwaffle

And what can we do for you, Madam?


Posted in: Family, Mr. Waffle, Princess

As you know, this is a bank holiday weekend in Belgium and to celebrate this we are going away tomorrow night. Yes, Thursday night only. Try to keep up. Yesterday, I began to wonder what we would do in our château, so I called the châtelaine.

Me: Hello, we’ve reserved a room for Thursday night…

Ch.: Yes. You know you can only arrive after 6.30.

Me: Yes, I know this.

Ch.: And we don’t take credit cards.

Me: Yes.

Ch.: And you have to check out by 11.00.

Me: Yes. Um, I was just wondering whether we could book in for dinner on Thursday night.

Ch.: We don’t do dinner.

(Why advertise two dining rooms on your website then?)

Me: Oh, I see, well could you recommend a babysitter.

Ch.: No.  Are you bringing a baby?

Me: Yes (and we told her this when making the booking, so I don’t know why she sounded so appalled, maybe she’d repressed the memory).

Ch.: Well, you’d better have all the equipment for it, because we certainly won’t be able to accommodate it.

Me: Ok, fine.

Hmm. The Princess goes to bed at 7.30 – 8.00 and she likes it to be dark. Are we going to spend our night away sitting silently in a dimly lit room?  Apparently.  Do you think we would be able to order Chinese to the château or should I bring sandwiches?

And Mr. Waffle came home this evening with a cold.

I am feeling very positive about this.

Comments
Angela

(Homepage)

on 20 May 2004 at 00:21

Jeff and I went out of town last weekend, and when MC went to bed at 8, we were also forced into going to bed at 8.
Oh, we *tried* to watch Harry Potter on the television, but the flickering light kept stirring our wee one, so we were forced to turn it off.
And sit in dark silence.
And as we sat, I wondered if I would have any luck sticking tiny earplugs into MC’s ears. Also, one of those sleeping masks in a tiny tiny size…
Good luck to you!

stroppycow

on 20 May 2004 at 17:50

I had not seen such customer focus in a long time. Very funny.

belgianwaffle

on 20 May 2004 at 19:10

Jack, I am touched by your enthusiasm. Angela, for all the wrong reasons, tiny earplugs are unnecessary. Stroppy, we may never know what she is like in the flesh.

jackdalton

on 20 May 2004 at 19:54

Yes, but I love all that stuff about Waffle-generated chaos — half-brains and keys and change…..

belgianwaffle

on 24 May 2004 at 14:41

Jack, suddenly I am less keen on your enthusiasm and slightly reluctant to blog on my unfortunate w/end cinema experience but, deep breath, am sure that it won’t at all confirm your views as outlined above. No, really.

LRB personals


Posted in: Reading etc.

And this week’s winner from the personal ads is:

“Don’t reply to this ad. There isn’t enough of me for you all, and it can only end in heartbreak. Gorgeous, well-educated, well-hung man (35) waiting here for all the pretty ladies to 25 to tango into bed with me. All you have to do is get through this bald, gnomic, flatulent 67 year old exterior and the night will be ours. No refunds. Box no.09/07”

In fact, there are a range of excellent candidates but I can’t be bothered retyping the longer ones. You’d think that they’d restrain themselves as it’s 70p per word, but no.

I offer this short one as well:

“Please send me money. And pictures of yourself naked. And cigarettes. Lifer. Box no. 09/08.”

This edition also contains a piece on Israeli-Palestinian relations by Ilan Pappe who is the head of the Emil Touma Institute for Palestine Studies in Israel. Now, there’s a challenging position.

Noi Albinoi


Posted in: Reading etc.

This Icelandic film is described as bleakly funny.  It is not bleakly funny, it is bleakly bleak.  Most of the film is spent establishing how bored and miserable our hero is. The director masterfully conveys just how little there is to do in a small town in Iceland in Winter. The five minute shot of a fly climbing up a wall is a highlight here. The film ends with all of the characters who have speaking parts (other than our hero) being wiped out by an avalanche. Fun stuff.

Socialising


Posted in: Mr. Waffle, Princess

I was just about to finish a really excellent entry, no truly, when I lost it all by going to check on Google whether the Czech foreign minister really is Polish or whether they were just laughing at me at the party on Saturday night.  I’m not sure whether I have the heart to start again. And I still don’t know whether the Czech foreign minister is Polish.

To summarise. Went out Friday night to Glam Potter’s where she had foregathered a selection of her glam friends and me. Prize for glamness goes to the girl who’s just managed to get herself seconded to Miami for work. On full pay. To do research. Plus a per diem allowance. She wants us to know that she also applied for Pittsburgh. Second prize for glamness goes to the GP herself who launched into an anecdote as follows, “when I lived in Miami, I had this convertible…”

Saturday saw myself and the Princess loyally supporting Mr. Waffle and his team in their attempt to win a work tournament. They lost. They must continue losing for a number of weekends before they can stop. Let’s hope the weather stays fine.

Saturday night myself and Mr. Waffle went to a party upstairs. The Anglo-Czech couple on the top floor sent everyone in the building notes inviting us to come and asking us to let them know, if they made too much noise. Since they are the only people in the building who make no noise, this was particularly endearing. We got an oral invitation as well, because I feed their cats when they are away. I thought the cats were named after a flying beast and a fast train respectively but my sister-in-law the publishing exec tells me that they are in fact called after 16th century English choral composers (and a small prize is available if you can tell me their names based on these hints alone). Despite the undoubted pretension of their cat naming policy, they are very pleasant, so we were happy to trip along on Saturday night. It also gave us a chance to see what they had done with that awkard space behind the sofa (bookshelves, since you ask, but, you know, I feel, behind the sofa is a bit unsatisfactory for bookshelves).

Everyone at the party was either English or Czech. There was also a three week old baby who was both. There are a lot more Anglo-Czech couples out there than you might think. I now know a lot more about the Czech republic than I did last week. I offer you the following:

Women from Prague are very pretty;

The same cannot be said for the men;

Czech women get a year’s maternity leave on 70% pay and up to three years in total. During that time, they do not leave their children. At all. I was an object of wonder because my baby was downstairs with a babysitter – Fluid Pudding, there is a nation out there that relates to you;

Ostrova is the third city and good for mining and clubbing. People from Prague do not go to Ostrova and laugh uproariously at the suggestion that they might. I tested this theory on the sample available to me and it seems to be true. Comparisons between Cork and Ostrova are unhelpful and unworthy, now obviously, if someone were to compare Limerick to Ostrova, we might be getting somewhere;

John Kerry is Czech.

Their foreign minister may be Polish.

They’re a friendly bunch the Czechs.

On Sunday we finally tried to book something for next weekend. It’s a four day weekend (if you’re American, you should know that in May, Europeans hardly bother working at all) and the thought of spending all of it in Brussels was unappealing. Obviously, we are not the only people who think this because everywhere is fully booked. We finally got a room in a chateau near Lille for Thursday night. That’s it. I have determined that to prolong the holiday spirit through the w/end we will get a babysitter on Saturday night and go to see Troy. If you feel that this is a terribly bad idea, please tell me and make a better recommendation. Note, however, that you are speaking to a woman who intends to watch “Noi Albinoi” on DVD tonight. Yes, that’s right an Icelandic film. Hmm.

Comments
belgianwaffle

on 19 May 2004 at 09:14

Entirely correct. You are a brilliant Belgian with a bizarre knowledge of English choral composers. As prize, I will tell you that the other one is Byrd.

Thierry

on 19 May 2004 at 12:42

Thanks!
In fact, I just had to goggle a little bit ! (?_-)

Renee

(Homepage)

on 19 May 2004 at 14:43

They have a cat named Byrd? That’s funny!

belgianwaffle

on 19 May 2004 at 15:27

Renee, this aspect of matters had not occurred to me until now. As you observe, it is funny.
Thierry, am impressed by your googling though your reputation in the field of English choral composers is now in freefall.

Ethnicity


Posted in: Work

I got an application form for a job with a UK public body in Brussels. The application form came with a further form which I was asked to fill in. I was assured that the form (the latter form, do try to keep up) would be kept confidential. It was for the purpose of monitoring the recruitment process only. Question 4 was as follows

Ethnic Origin

White 1

Irish 2

Black African 3

Black Carribean 4

Black other (please specify) 5

Indian 6

Pakistani 7

Bangladeshi 8

Chinese 9

Yes, obviously, my ethnic origin is Irish, but I am Irish. I appreciate that it’s for UK domestic use, but it is a little odd. And is the order of ethnicity relevant? Why is white first? Is it because there are more white people than anyone else? Does this mean that after white people the second largest ethnic group in the UK is Irish people – possible I suppose. Very strange. I suppose that it is done with the best possible motives.

And another thing, why do people assume older people need extra special advice – there was a feature on this on the radio. Someone was in saying they should be specially warned that people giving investment advice in banks are tied to the banks. They’re old, they’re not stupid. My father, who is, of course, not old as such, but certainly older, could buy and sell me and had to eventually give up in despair after many vain attempts to explain to me what exactly p/e ratio means. I remember when e-voting was piloted in the last election, a reporter descended on an ancient nun asking gleefully whether she’d had any difficulty casting her vote. She replied scornfully “of course not, it’s simple, sure a child of six could do it.” Good woman.

And finally, do check out the link to Everquest on Jack Dalton‘s post. Outstanding.

Cough cough


Posted in: Princess

The Princess has a cough. She woke up last night at 11.00 coughing. She refused to go back to bed and stayed in my arms dozing and coughing until 1.30 when she finally agreed that it was probably time to consider going back to her own bed. She woke again at 5.00. She was convinced that it was morning.  It was bright and she was ready to party. Tried to put her back to bed but she roared. Soft hearted Mr. Waffle said “bring her into our bed”. She was delighted, she waved and clapped her hands. She practised her new found standing skills using her parents’ prone bodies as climbing frames. She stuck her fingers up her father’s nose, repeatedly. This is an exciting new game which gets an excellent reaction. Picture the scene, her Daddy is drifting off to sleep, his defences are down, a small digit is thrust up his nose accompanied by the sound of a manic chuckle.

At 7.00, I decided that there really was no chance that she would go back to sleep and she and I got up. There are few things more fun than Dr. Seuss at 7.00 in the morning. “Mr. Brown can moo, can you?” At 8.00 Mr. Waffle appeared. A very flat Waffle. At 8.15 her imperial highness said “Minion, I am tired bring me to the royal cot”. It is now 12.00 and she is sleeping still. Is there a sign of a cough out of her?  No, there is not.

After she went back to sleep, Mr. Waffle and I chatted.

“I’m very glad that I got the new soap dish in the bathroom, now that we have two…”

Mr. Waffle lifted his head from the table where he had been resting it between mouthfuls of cereal and interrupted my fascinating discourse on soap dishes “What are you wearing?”

“My dressing gown”

“It’s got porridge encrusted on it”

“Well, you know, I wear it when I give her her breakfast.”  I peered at the offending garment. I sniffed it. “I think it’s also faintly smelly, want to smell?”

“No, I do not. Oh my God, what have we become? There’s a word for it. Oh yes, parents”

I have decided that it’s time my dressing gown went in the wash.