belgianwaffle

Not Waving But Drowning


Posted in: Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Twins

Mr. Waffle continues to be ill. He decided that it would not be conducive to his recovery to stand in the middle of a windy field for a couple of hours so he delegated to me the job of taking Dan to his hurling match in west Dublin. “You’ve a beautiful day for it,” Mr. Waffle thrilled as we headed off.

We arrived and schlepped for miles from the car park to the designated pitch. No sooner did we arrive than the rain started. I discovered to my horror that although we were instructed to assemble at 1.15 the match was only starting at 2. I trudged gloomily around the pitch regretting that I had neglected to bring any kind of hood and discovering that my boots were not waterproof. Truly mine eyes have seen the abomination of desolation.

Untitled

There were 6 subs and, to my relief, Dan was in the starting 15. I spent a good while watching number 24 before I realised that my son was playing up front (normally he’s a back) in the number 6 shirt. Half time arrived mercifully quickly. Sadly, it turned out only to be a water break (quarter time, if you will). I continued my trudging. The heavens absolutely opened with that kind of rain that bounces off the ground and back up your trousers.

I telephoned my sister and she asked how wet I was. This is the photo I sent her. Very wet. Apparently it was a lovely day in Cork.

Untitled

Daniel was having a great match but he got knocked down and the coach ran over, patted him on the back and came to the sideline reassuring me that it was only a hard shoulder to the head. I was not reassured. Later he got a hurl to the head (they were all wearing helmets but still) and eventually, about 5 minutes before the end, he was subbed off somewhat to my relief as he is absolutely fearless on the field and I wanted him to finish alive.

I was very proud as we went back to the car and people kept coming up to congratulate him on a great match, sadly though, not great enough as, in the end, they lost by six points but, honestly, it felt closer than that.

We were both glad to get home.

Untitled

In other news, I bought logs from a garage and on my way out, accidentally blocked a middle aged woman in high vis and lycra who was marching determinedly in the rain, clearly getting her steps in. She gave me the evil eye, as well she might, and I realised it was the leader of the opposition. This is the kind of glamour that west Dublin offers. Let’s have your own celebrity encounters.

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.