belgianwaffle

War and Peace


Posted in: Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

The issue of bathroom towels is a vexed one in this house.

Firstly by way of background, my husband’s family are obsessed with towels. If we are staying in self-catering accommodation the very first question is always, “Do we have to bring our own towels?”

We are not a family who uses a towel once and puts in the wash. Each towel gets several uses. Here is what happens. Mr. Waffle comes to the bathroom. He deems all of the towels in use inadequate and gets a fluffy new one from the hot press. He does not put a towel in the laundry basket. I come to the bathroom last and the place is swathed in damp towels. I have no objection to people getting fresh towels (particularly, I suppose when those people do all the laundry in the house) but I do object to people not throwing the used damp towels in the laundry basket.

Over the summer I went on strike and stopped putting used towels in the laundry basket. Things began to get unbearable until herself took over. As she said, “Please stop this war, it’s always the children who suffer the most.”

But more recently, all seems to be well. A bit baffling. I said as much to Daniel in the car on the way to training. “Oh,” said he, “Michael puts the towels in the laundry basket now, but I saw him doing it and made him put out a fresh one because I know that’s what you like.” I fear I may not have been entirely clear.

And that, people, is the kind of content you are likely to get for the remainder of the month. Hold on to your hats.

I Got Nothing


Posted in: Middle Child, Twins

I asked Daniel as I drove him up to training whether he had any news that I could put on my blog. He had not. I have run out of inspiration for this evening and we’re only just over half way through November. Alas. Poor Mr Waffle is still sick but the rest of us are fully recovered. Weather is still extraordinarily mild. I can stop any time and I think I should.

A Grand Day Out


Posted in: Ireland, Siblings, Work

To be honest, I thought I would be a bit older before this happened; I mean that I would regard a funeral as a social occasion but look, there were extenuating circumstances. My sister came up from Cork late last night. Good and early this morning, we drove out of Dublin to Wicklow to attend the funeral of the wife of my father’s oldest living friend (96 and very sprightly – he and my father were friends for nearly 80 years). The funeral was, of course, very sad for the immediate family. It was a lovely service and both sons gave great speeches.

I was surprised to see a couple I knew in the congregation. It turned out that they were neighbours of one of the dead woman’s sons and, this being Ireland, the husband discovered during the course of the service, that she had actually taught him in school.

We sympathised, we chatted and then it was 11.30 on a beautiful day and my sister and I were both on a day off work and in Wicklow (the garden of Ireland, I’ll have you know). So we went to Powerscourt for a look round and a nice lunch and a long chat. God, I was delighted. You will recall that I was supposed to be in Cork at the weekend but my trip was cancelled due to a late Covid test result. I really didn’t think I would be seeing my sister so soon and for such a pleasant day out.

She dropped me home, tried (and failed) to light the Aga and headed back to Cork. I welcomed the boys home from school and sat down to read the paper. A friend from work called with news that a re-organisation is imminent. He, alas, is being moved and maybe me too for all I know, I will find out more tomorrow. Mildly unsettling.

And in Covid news, it looks like things are going backwards again and case numbers are up. And antigen tests are in. And nightclubs and bars are to close at midnight (to be honest, not a huge deal for me). Alas.

That’s My Girl


Posted in: Mr. Waffle, Princess

Mr. Waffle has put herself on his credit card for emergencies. To activate the card so that she could book her flight home for Christmas she had to use it in a shop. Mr. Waffle told her to buy herself breakfast. He fondly imagined that she would spend a fiver on a cup of tea and some toast in a greasy spoon. When he got the bill, he discovered she’d spent £28 in the Pain Quotidien. Truly, she is her mother’s daughter.

Change and Decay


Posted in: Family, Reading etc., Siblings

My Monday night book club is more than 20 years old. People have dropped in and out over the years. I was off in Brussels myself for 5 years. Shortly before I went away, we got a new member. A friend of a friend. I didn’t really get to know her as I was off in Brussels for most of her tenure and by the time I came back, she’d married an Austrian and moved to Austria.

I remember visiting her once in her family home in the midlands accompanied by my friend. I remember it because they lived in an actual castle, a mock gothic 19th century castle. Freezing, naturally. And as well as being a very nice woman she was also very beautiful and she looked slightly otherworldly standing in the door of her castle welcoming us in (though wearing a warm woolly jumper rather than a diaphanous dress which would have been more in keeping as it was, as indicated above, freezing). She died at the weekend. She had cancer. She was only in her early 50s. I have been rejoicing recently in the many successes of my book club friends. That’s middle age for you. So is this, I suppose.

When my father died, one of his friends wrote to me; a lovely letter with a long description of his friendship with my father in their early university years, nearly 80 years ago. He is almost the last of my father’s circle of friends left alive. He’s in his mid-90s and is in reasonably good nick. His wife died at the weekend. She was in her 80s and had been ill. I feel very sad for him. He has two sons whom he adores and grandchildren too but I’m not sure how long he will last without his wife of more than 50 years.

I’m going to the funeral on Wednesday with my sister. More gloomy updates to follow, doubtless.

Sunday


Posted in: Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Reading etc., Twins, Youngest Child

Today is the feast day of St. Laurence O’Toole, patron saint of Dublin. We heard a lot about him in mass this morning. This made me think that it might have been amusing to have named the boys Fionn and Barra in a Cork tribute. They were not amused by this hilarious suggestion. Sometimes I feel I am “wasting my sweetness on the desert air”.

I went off to visit the Museum of Literature in the afternoon. I’ve heard mixed reviews. I thought it was interesting enough – though a bit pricey at a tenner in. A bit too much Joyce and UCD for me notwithstanding the quote below which I enjoyed.

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And a great Brendan Behan quote too (though I was confused by the 1997 date for the quote as he died in 1964 – I mean was this live reporting from the underworld? – but on googling this quote seems to have been from a collection of his columns published in 1997).

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I’m glad that I’ve listened to the Ulysses audiobook in preparation for the hundredth anniversary of its publication next February because the city is going to go crazy.

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All the Christmas lights are up and town is full of people. Are we due another “meaningful Christmas”? I’m not sure I’m able for that.

The weather continues unseasonably mild. We tried to turn on the Aga yesterday but couldn’t get the wretched thing to light. As I fiddled with the pilot light, Mr. Waffle hovered in the background saying, “Swim, little polar bears, swim!” I sometimes feel he is not a fan. I see from the manual that it needs to be serviced regularly so perhaps a man can come and service it and get it lit as well. For the moment, it’s probably as well that we didn’t light it because we would bake.

In other news, herself continues to have the time of her life in England where all her vegan food needs are met. She is off to Paris for the weekend with a friend in a couple of weeks. And then skiing in December although she may sell her skiing tickets and go to a friend’s house instead with a group from college. “In December, what will her parents say?” I said, moved to sympathy by the thought of a bunch of college students descending upon them in the run up to Christmas. “I think if we stay in the east wing, we won’t bother them,” she said. Impossible to know whether she is joking or not. It is a far cry from my own college experience where the odd weekend in Kerry was the height of excitement available. Is she doing any work? I think so. Excitingly, the last trip she has booked is home to us on December 15. Very thrilling.