I don't know if being a good contestant at table quizzes means that you're really intelligent or that your head is full of trivia from watching too much TV. If we’re winning the quiz it's the former, if we're losing it's definitely the latter.
The School held a table quiz on Sunday afternoon. The kids were really keen to go. It was supposed to be a "family table" so there were two of us and the two kids.
We arrived a little late to the vast hall and it was full of tables of families who had added on intelligent uncles, grandmothers and friends to their teams. Some of the tables seemed to have two or three families and one was an intimidating table full of teachers.
Each table had its score written up at the end of each round. We watched our score rise steadily but we never excelled. I had an embarrassing failure of memory when I could only remember three of the four names of the "Sex and the City" characters.
There was a table full of enticing prizes at the top of the hall. It had lots of nice looking bottles and some rugby balls and pens for the kids. I was confident that we wouldn’t go away empty handed.
The winning team collected their prize and there were a good few runner up prizes. I noticed there were still lots of prizes left. My youngest son had been up to look at the prizes a few times and he wanted to buy one of them. I tried to explain that you can’t buy prizes. He quite rightly pointed out that I had told him that one of the Mothers had bought the prizes for the quiz so that we should be able to buy a prize.
The quizmaster handed out prizes for other categories of winners including prizes for the team with the best handwriting, the fastest team at handing back the answers, the best dressed team and the happiest team.
My younger son was getting quite annoyed at this stage. It was his brother’s fault we didn’t get a prize for being the happiest team and my dress sense had lost us the best dressed team prize.
We left empty handed and my younger son was furious. My elder son had got a bit bored during the prize giving and had wisely gone outside to play football (and avoid humiliation) with his mates in the yard.
I explained the categories of winners to my elder son later that night. We got a bit giddy and made up a few silly categories: The hairiest table, the table with the best belchers etc. He said that we should have won the prize for the table with no prize. We both started to giggle.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Saturday, April 26, 2008
The Wee Stores
The Wee Stores was an old-fashioned little sweet shop squeezed in between the mews houses on Pembroke Lane. As kids we used to go in there the odd time to buy sweets. My memories are hazy but the couple who worked there were old and there was very little merchandise. Whatever they did have was out of date and musty.
Practically all the old mews buildings on the lanes around Ballsbridge have been renovated and expanded. Some of them look like lovely updated versions of the original stone buildings and others are completely unsympathetic, modern and out of keeping with the character of the lanes.
Sheridans have had a lovely delicatessen in the old Wee Stores premises for the past four years and nine months. It has always been well stocked with everything you might need for a good lunch: cheeses, pates, olives, breads, crackers and lovely French lemonade.
Whenever I went in, John, a native Breton with a wonderfully strong accent always had time for a typically obsessive French conversation about food. Maggie and Rossa were equally helpful and charming and always had time to talk and great suggestions too.
On Friday evening Sheridans closed its doors. John and the other staff invited their loyal customers into the tiny shop for some prosecco, canapés, and to say goodbye.
It was a lovely evening and there were lots of friends and neighbours chatting and enjoying an impromptu street party. It made us all wish that it had been a regular event.
All the people who have worked in Sheridans now have plans to continue to work with food in one way or another. I talked to one young man who was absolutely passionate about bread. He plans to start a bakery using very special high quality wheat. He explained in great detail the differences between various types of wheat (apparently Irish wheat is of a very low quality) and his descriptions of what he had discovered inspired me to want to try the best breads made from the best wheat in the world.
Now there’s a little space in Pembroke lane and we all wonder what its next incarnation will be.
Practically all the old mews buildings on the lanes around Ballsbridge have been renovated and expanded. Some of them look like lovely updated versions of the original stone buildings and others are completely unsympathetic, modern and out of keeping with the character of the lanes.
Sheridans have had a lovely delicatessen in the old Wee Stores premises for the past four years and nine months. It has always been well stocked with everything you might need for a good lunch: cheeses, pates, olives, breads, crackers and lovely French lemonade.
Whenever I went in, John, a native Breton with a wonderfully strong accent always had time for a typically obsessive French conversation about food. Maggie and Rossa were equally helpful and charming and always had time to talk and great suggestions too.
On Friday evening Sheridans closed its doors. John and the other staff invited their loyal customers into the tiny shop for some prosecco, canapés, and to say goodbye.
It was a lovely evening and there were lots of friends and neighbours chatting and enjoying an impromptu street party. It made us all wish that it had been a regular event.
All the people who have worked in Sheridans now have plans to continue to work with food in one way or another. I talked to one young man who was absolutely passionate about bread. He plans to start a bakery using very special high quality wheat. He explained in great detail the differences between various types of wheat (apparently Irish wheat is of a very low quality) and his descriptions of what he had discovered inspired me to want to try the best breads made from the best wheat in the world.
Now there’s a little space in Pembroke lane and we all wonder what its next incarnation will be.
Monday, April 21, 2008
The Chocolate Fountain and The Paintball Gun
It's a bit of a minefield when you go to buy presents for other people's kids. It's a good idea to play it safe and buy books for children and adults alike. They are aesthetic and easy to store and dispose. Lego is also a fairly inoffensive present if you know the child likes it.
Recently one of my children got two presents. A Homer Simpson chocolate fountain and a gun that shoots paintballs.
The gun is an environmentally unfriendly piece of plastic that would bring an architect out in a rash and cause you to forfeit your membership of the Green Party.
Guns are now considered really dangerous by some parents because playing with one might turn your child into a serial killer. Then again maybe NOT allowing your boy to play with guns might turn him into a killer because he won't get a chance to express his aggression.
The gun has lots of small plastic balls with it that you're supposed to fire at a target and then they explode in a splatter of colourful paint. The little balls are hard to load and sometimes fall out the top of the gun instead of shooting out. When the kids do manage to shoot the balls out of the gun they tend to bounce off the target. They then pick up the paint balls and throw them at each other or against the wall.
According to its instructions the chocolate fountain requires 750 grams of chocolate plus 200 ml of vegetable oil to work properly. This is the equivalent of about 20 ordinary size bars of chocolate.
I managed to melt the massive amount of chocolate required in the microwave and added some cream and olive oil to make it viscous. I turned on the machine and a little Homer man started to spin around the top of the fountain. At this stage the kids had marshmallows on sticks ready and were beside themselves with excitement.
I felt under pressure so I quickly poured the chocolate onto the top of the fountain and it splattered all over me and the kitchen. Had a quick read of the instructions which were quite clear about pouring the chocolate into the base of the fountain.
I ate far too many marshmallows covered in falling gooey chocolate sauce and felt slightly sick. The kids got sick of the marshmallows and went at the fountain with spoons. I stopped them before they went into a chocolate induced frenzy.
This evening the gun lies discarded in the playroom. The garden wall is covered in multi-coloured paint splatters and there are lots of tiny, empty paint balls scattered around the garden.
All the uneaten chocolate sauce that was scraped out of the fountain is in a tempting container in the fridge. All the chocolate splattered clothes are in the laundry basket.
It might take a while to eat all the sauce but we will try to manage it.
Recently one of my children got two presents. A Homer Simpson chocolate fountain and a gun that shoots paintballs.
The gun is an environmentally unfriendly piece of plastic that would bring an architect out in a rash and cause you to forfeit your membership of the Green Party.
Guns are now considered really dangerous by some parents because playing with one might turn your child into a serial killer. Then again maybe NOT allowing your boy to play with guns might turn him into a killer because he won't get a chance to express his aggression.
The gun has lots of small plastic balls with it that you're supposed to fire at a target and then they explode in a splatter of colourful paint. The little balls are hard to load and sometimes fall out the top of the gun instead of shooting out. When the kids do manage to shoot the balls out of the gun they tend to bounce off the target. They then pick up the paint balls and throw them at each other or against the wall.
According to its instructions the chocolate fountain requires 750 grams of chocolate plus 200 ml of vegetable oil to work properly. This is the equivalent of about 20 ordinary size bars of chocolate.
I managed to melt the massive amount of chocolate required in the microwave and added some cream and olive oil to make it viscous. I turned on the machine and a little Homer man started to spin around the top of the fountain. At this stage the kids had marshmallows on sticks ready and were beside themselves with excitement.
I felt under pressure so I quickly poured the chocolate onto the top of the fountain and it splattered all over me and the kitchen. Had a quick read of the instructions which were quite clear about pouring the chocolate into the base of the fountain.
I ate far too many marshmallows covered in falling gooey chocolate sauce and felt slightly sick. The kids got sick of the marshmallows and went at the fountain with spoons. I stopped them before they went into a chocolate induced frenzy.
This evening the gun lies discarded in the playroom. The garden wall is covered in multi-coloured paint splatters and there are lots of tiny, empty paint balls scattered around the garden.
All the uneaten chocolate sauce that was scraped out of the fountain is in a tempting container in the fridge. All the chocolate splattered clothes are in the laundry basket.
It might take a while to eat all the sauce but we will try to manage it.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Top of the Pops
The best music ever was definitely on Top of the Pops in the late 70s and early 80s. We used to watch it religiously every Thursday evening. Achieving number one was a big deal. By the time the overplayed songs came off the charts we would all know every lyric by heart.
Top of the Pops ran for 42 years and at its height it commanded 15 million viewers a week.
We loved the lyrics of the songs from that era so much that we used to write them out verbatim on the front of our school folders. We would sing the whole of Grease at lunch time when we were in junior school and Pink Floyd's The Wall in senior school.
The songs told stories and reflected and enhanced our emotional experiences. Some of them were ridiculous. We sang Rene and Renata's "Save your Love" in exaggerated ecstasy and sneered for Ireland every time "Grandma We Love You" came on the radio.
"Romeo and Juliet" by Dire Straits was a meaningful slow set song and we banged our heads and lowered our inter cert results to Rush and Meatloaf in Old Wesley every Friday Night.
We modestly covered our skinny adoleascent bodies with long skirts and hippy shirts or mod parkas and loose punk t-shirts and drainpipe jeans. No one flaunted flesh or showed off cleavage.
We can only dance with fervour and meaning to those songs because they are ingrained in our psyche like old tattoos that we can't get rid of.
One of my best friends from school turned 40 recently and she had a fantastic party in a rugby club on Friday night. The setting and the music perfectly recreated Old Wesley circa 1984. The DJ understood his audience so there was plenty of Blondie, Culture Club, The Specials, The Stranglers and Talking Heads. When "Video Killed the Radio Star" was played the girls took to the floor and we rocked.
Our clothing has changed but in a strange way it echoed our adolescence. The 40 year old "girls" were looking good but no one was dressed in an overtly sexual manner. I guess that era defined us sartorially as well as musically.
Top of the Pops ran for 42 years and at its height it commanded 15 million viewers a week.
We loved the lyrics of the songs from that era so much that we used to write them out verbatim on the front of our school folders. We would sing the whole of Grease at lunch time when we were in junior school and Pink Floyd's The Wall in senior school.
The songs told stories and reflected and enhanced our emotional experiences. Some of them were ridiculous. We sang Rene and Renata's "Save your Love" in exaggerated ecstasy and sneered for Ireland every time "Grandma We Love You" came on the radio.
"Romeo and Juliet" by Dire Straits was a meaningful slow set song and we banged our heads and lowered our inter cert results to Rush and Meatloaf in Old Wesley every Friday Night.
We modestly covered our skinny adoleascent bodies with long skirts and hippy shirts or mod parkas and loose punk t-shirts and drainpipe jeans. No one flaunted flesh or showed off cleavage.
We can only dance with fervour and meaning to those songs because they are ingrained in our psyche like old tattoos that we can't get rid of.
One of my best friends from school turned 40 recently and she had a fantastic party in a rugby club on Friday night. The setting and the music perfectly recreated Old Wesley circa 1984. The DJ understood his audience so there was plenty of Blondie, Culture Club, The Specials, The Stranglers and Talking Heads. When "Video Killed the Radio Star" was played the girls took to the floor and we rocked.
Our clothing has changed but in a strange way it echoed our adolescence. The 40 year old "girls" were looking good but no one was dressed in an overtly sexual manner. I guess that era defined us sartorially as well as musically.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
The hunter became the hunted!
There is a lovely sound in my kitchen at the moment and I don't know if I should silence it.
The sound is of the chirrup of crickets who live behind the radiator and it's evocative of long outdoor dinners during Summer holidays in the South of France.
It's a bit of a talking point when people are over for dinner. Most visitors think it's a bird until we explain, and then we generally have a short discussion about how pleasant the sound is, how it reminds them of Summer holidays etc. My Father likes the sound so much that he was wondering whether he could take a few of the crickets over to his house and let them live in his radiator.
The crickets weren't put there on purpose but now that they're there I'm reluctant to get rid of them. Some evenings I come down to the kitchen and the noise is very loud and a bit scary. They love the heat and the dark and as the temperature rises they chirrup loudly in chorus. Some of them hop out and hop around the kitchen for a bit. They've got huge recently and they can hop for a few feet.
They came to be there because my son is obsessed with bugs. I bought him the best book I could find on bugs. It's called "Buzz" and has loads of gorey, graphic information on yucky, creepy bugs. On the front are buttons that make different bugs noises (including the sound of crickets chirruping) when you press them. It's such a great book that I bought a few copies as party presents for his friends.
Inside the book were suggestions for bug pets. One of the top ten pets is a praying mantis - it's a stick like carnivorous insect that holds its two spindly legs in front of it as if it is praying.
My son decided that he really, really wanted one. He talked about it for some time but obviously it was just talk. As luck would have it he went off to the pet exhibition to the RDS with his Dad and found a guy who sold bug eyed praying mantis insects in glass cases for €25. He said "it was like a dream come true."
The praying mantis isn't a bad pet. You don't have to walk it, clean out its cage or worry about going on holiday. The only problem from my point of view was that the praying mantis had to be fed live crickets.
You can buy live crickets from pet shops. They are quite small and don't make any noise. They come in a plastic takeaway carton and are really hard to get out of the carton alive and transfer into the mantis cage because they hop around a bit.
The praying mantis lived for about six months. During that time it shed its skin, ate lots of crickets, went into school for "show and tell" and eventually lost a leg.
After it's leg fell off it wasn't too good at hunting so it died a few weeks later. The crickets left in its cage started to eat the mantis after it died which was really gross. But I suppose it's a way to teach kids about nature.
Meanwhile a few of the lucky and more enterprising crickets escaped while being transferred as mantis food and have taken up residence in the kitchen.
And I'm not sure whether to leave them there.....
The sound is of the chirrup of crickets who live behind the radiator and it's evocative of long outdoor dinners during Summer holidays in the South of France.
It's a bit of a talking point when people are over for dinner. Most visitors think it's a bird until we explain, and then we generally have a short discussion about how pleasant the sound is, how it reminds them of Summer holidays etc. My Father likes the sound so much that he was wondering whether he could take a few of the crickets over to his house and let them live in his radiator.
The crickets weren't put there on purpose but now that they're there I'm reluctant to get rid of them. Some evenings I come down to the kitchen and the noise is very loud and a bit scary. They love the heat and the dark and as the temperature rises they chirrup loudly in chorus. Some of them hop out and hop around the kitchen for a bit. They've got huge recently and they can hop for a few feet.
They came to be there because my son is obsessed with bugs. I bought him the best book I could find on bugs. It's called "Buzz" and has loads of gorey, graphic information on yucky, creepy bugs. On the front are buttons that make different bugs noises (including the sound of crickets chirruping) when you press them. It's such a great book that I bought a few copies as party presents for his friends.
Inside the book were suggestions for bug pets. One of the top ten pets is a praying mantis - it's a stick like carnivorous insect that holds its two spindly legs in front of it as if it is praying.
My son decided that he really, really wanted one. He talked about it for some time but obviously it was just talk. As luck would have it he went off to the pet exhibition to the RDS with his Dad and found a guy who sold bug eyed praying mantis insects in glass cases for €25. He said "it was like a dream come true."
The praying mantis isn't a bad pet. You don't have to walk it, clean out its cage or worry about going on holiday. The only problem from my point of view was that the praying mantis had to be fed live crickets.
You can buy live crickets from pet shops. They are quite small and don't make any noise. They come in a plastic takeaway carton and are really hard to get out of the carton alive and transfer into the mantis cage because they hop around a bit.
The praying mantis lived for about six months. During that time it shed its skin, ate lots of crickets, went into school for "show and tell" and eventually lost a leg.
After it's leg fell off it wasn't too good at hunting so it died a few weeks later. The crickets left in its cage started to eat the mantis after it died which was really gross. But I suppose it's a way to teach kids about nature.
Meanwhile a few of the lucky and more enterprising crickets escaped while being transferred as mantis food and have taken up residence in the kitchen.
And I'm not sure whether to leave them there.....
Monday, April 14, 2008
Rock Star Hair
Women have a relationship with their hair that's a bit like their relationships with men.
When we're young we're not afraid to experiment and have wildly unsuitable hair. We try out bobs, perms and dyes and load up with damaging products. By the time we hit our thirties most of us have matured and have a safe if slightly boring and reliable hairstyle.
The best place to get a hair cut in Dublin is in the Natural Cut on Wicklow Street. Shane Boyd is the main stylist but everyone else who works there is really fab too. There's no fuss and generally they don't wash or blow dry your hair so it's not a two hour production. They have old style barbers chairs and uber trendy magazines to read.
I love it because the atmosphere and haircuts are great. Shane is really intelligent and very giggly so you can't go in or come out of there in a bad mood. He has a great table football so the kids (big and small) can play while they're waiting.
My hair had been driving me a bit mad recently so I called up Oliver and told him I desperately needed a cut. He tried to talk me out of it because he knew I'd been trying to grow my hair a bit.
Eventually he agreed to "thin it out a bit for me."
Oliver and Shane both have rock star hair. You know the kind of really messy hair that looks as if it hasn't been brushed or someone has spent hours getting it into a mad style.
My hair was at that in between stage where it's not long or short but when I wake up it's really horrible and too thick to do anything with it.
Oliver didn't really cut it and he refused to let me pay. He just got this razor that looked like a comb and chopped into my hair for about twenty minutes. A little wax and when I woke up the next morning there was a little rock star vibe in my bedroom mirror.
COMMENT:
Hey there D4Mum
Rock Star Hair is an illusionary style. We have been sold on the idea of the Dylan-can't-get-this motorcycle-mama-outta-my-hair look since the 60's. Think unclean and too stoned to wash. Think shaggy and dirty.
Think Bardot on the beach? Think again girl! That is not natural messy hair but coiffured and utterly fake.
Really real and authentic (if such a thing exists anymore) Rock Star Hair is for those who think a "do" is a posh party with cheese sticks. I'd much rather have Hepburn or Jackie O hair. Rock Star is easy peesey. Gilded manicured goddess, that is a lifetime acheivement award.
Your hairdresser was right not to charge you - he did little but prevent you from ever having a halo of groomed glowing locks. In short he has added to the agony of split ends with his little tool. A razor should never touch a lock of hair. It is coarse and unkind; a rough utensil.
Love yourself and change stylists Darling!
Alexandra xxx
When we're young we're not afraid to experiment and have wildly unsuitable hair. We try out bobs, perms and dyes and load up with damaging products. By the time we hit our thirties most of us have matured and have a safe if slightly boring and reliable hairstyle.
The best place to get a hair cut in Dublin is in the Natural Cut on Wicklow Street. Shane Boyd is the main stylist but everyone else who works there is really fab too. There's no fuss and generally they don't wash or blow dry your hair so it's not a two hour production. They have old style barbers chairs and uber trendy magazines to read.
I love it because the atmosphere and haircuts are great. Shane is really intelligent and very giggly so you can't go in or come out of there in a bad mood. He has a great table football so the kids (big and small) can play while they're waiting.
My hair had been driving me a bit mad recently so I called up Oliver and told him I desperately needed a cut. He tried to talk me out of it because he knew I'd been trying to grow my hair a bit.
Eventually he agreed to "thin it out a bit for me."
Oliver and Shane both have rock star hair. You know the kind of really messy hair that looks as if it hasn't been brushed or someone has spent hours getting it into a mad style.
My hair was at that in between stage where it's not long or short but when I wake up it's really horrible and too thick to do anything with it.
Oliver didn't really cut it and he refused to let me pay. He just got this razor that looked like a comb and chopped into my hair for about twenty minutes. A little wax and when I woke up the next morning there was a little rock star vibe in my bedroom mirror.
COMMENT:
Hey there D4Mum
Rock Star Hair is an illusionary style. We have been sold on the idea of the Dylan-can't-get-this motorcycle-mama-outta-my-hair look since the 60's. Think unclean and too stoned to wash. Think shaggy and dirty.
Think Bardot on the beach? Think again girl! That is not natural messy hair but coiffured and utterly fake.
Really real and authentic (if such a thing exists anymore) Rock Star Hair is for those who think a "do" is a posh party with cheese sticks. I'd much rather have Hepburn or Jackie O hair. Rock Star is easy peesey. Gilded manicured goddess, that is a lifetime acheivement award.
Your hairdresser was right not to charge you - he did little but prevent you from ever having a halo of groomed glowing locks. In short he has added to the agony of split ends with his little tool. A razor should never touch a lock of hair. It is coarse and unkind; a rough utensil.
Love yourself and change stylists Darling!
Alexandra xxx
Friday, April 11, 2008
Park Life
Big gardens attached to houses near Dublin city centre are a rarity these days. All the gardens have been cut in half sold off for development. There are lovely large houses all over Dublin 4 with tiny yards called "town gardens" in the back and a couple of ugly town houses squashed in at the end where the garden or the mews for the horses used to be.
Most of us haven't lived in a house with a proper garden since the 1970s. Gardens are great for kids to play in until they hit about 13 or 14. After that they want to be out with their friends, hanging around town, listening to music and sulking in their rooms.
There's a house for sale on Park Avenue in Sandymount at the moment that has a 400 foot long garden. There's a tennis court at the end that you can't see from the main house that could be a great place to hide out or have a bit of peace and quiet. If your husband or wife was into gardening he or she might disappear for days at a time to grow food and become organic and slightly feral.
In the absence of a garden that makes a game of football meaningful regular trips to Herbert Park are necessary for small boys.
Herbert Park is practically deserted early in the morning. It's a pleasant place to go for a walk after dropping children to school. There are ducks, squirrels and seagulls that will fly along beside you if you are brave enough to jog.
For the children there's a new astro turf pitch that's used by the local schools and football clubs and Park's tennis that costs €15 (because it's sponsored by KitKat) for eight weeks of coaching so you don't feel guilty if you miss a week.
Park life means that a visit to the playground is a social event. You are guaranteed to meet friends, acquaintances and work colleagues. Therefore you can't go to the newly revamped playground frequented by the stylish mums who live in the cachement area in a ratty track suit. There is an essential dress code.
Last Winter everyone had lovely long padded jackets with fur trims and huge sunglasses. This Spring I've noticed that Converse All Star runners have made a comeback worn with distressed denim and longish slighly tailored t-shirts.
The proper accessories are cool clothes and cute kids. Once those are in place you find that big people are on their best behaviour. Aggressive behaviour is rewarded in the workplace but frowned upon in the Park.
Playgound politics require parents to be consensual and co-operative. Therefore normally grumpy work colleagues are in smiley Mummy and Daddy mode. Everyone has to be in a good mood because you can't throw tantrums when you have toddlers with you who will do it for you.
If you don't have a child a dog will do. If you don't have a dog put on your running shoes and grab a piece of park life, it will grab you!
Most of us haven't lived in a house with a proper garden since the 1970s. Gardens are great for kids to play in until they hit about 13 or 14. After that they want to be out with their friends, hanging around town, listening to music and sulking in their rooms.
There's a house for sale on Park Avenue in Sandymount at the moment that has a 400 foot long garden. There's a tennis court at the end that you can't see from the main house that could be a great place to hide out or have a bit of peace and quiet. If your husband or wife was into gardening he or she might disappear for days at a time to grow food and become organic and slightly feral.
In the absence of a garden that makes a game of football meaningful regular trips to Herbert Park are necessary for small boys.
Herbert Park is practically deserted early in the morning. It's a pleasant place to go for a walk after dropping children to school. There are ducks, squirrels and seagulls that will fly along beside you if you are brave enough to jog.
For the children there's a new astro turf pitch that's used by the local schools and football clubs and Park's tennis that costs €15 (because it's sponsored by KitKat) for eight weeks of coaching so you don't feel guilty if you miss a week.
Park life means that a visit to the playground is a social event. You are guaranteed to meet friends, acquaintances and work colleagues. Therefore you can't go to the newly revamped playground frequented by the stylish mums who live in the cachement area in a ratty track suit. There is an essential dress code.
Last Winter everyone had lovely long padded jackets with fur trims and huge sunglasses. This Spring I've noticed that Converse All Star runners have made a comeback worn with distressed denim and longish slighly tailored t-shirts.
The proper accessories are cool clothes and cute kids. Once those are in place you find that big people are on their best behaviour. Aggressive behaviour is rewarded in the workplace but frowned upon in the Park.
Playgound politics require parents to be consensual and co-operative. Therefore normally grumpy work colleagues are in smiley Mummy and Daddy mode. Everyone has to be in a good mood because you can't throw tantrums when you have toddlers with you who will do it for you.
If you don't have a child a dog will do. If you don't have a dog put on your running shoes and grab a piece of park life, it will grab you!
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Book Clubs and The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo
It's a bit of an obligation now to belong to a book club. Books are being published with book club discussion questions at the end. It's mainly a thing that women of a certain age and status join up to.
I've never been to a book club and no one has ever asked me to join one. However, I have listened to friends and relations complain about the awful, boring, impossibly long book they have to read by next week. And how could that woman have chosen this book, it's so expensive/out of publication/only available in hard back/impenetrable etc.
I have also heard of people going to extraordinary lengths to get into certain book clubs because they want to hang out with the club, nothing to do with the love of reading.
I'm sure it's good for the brain to read critically and have lively argumentative discussions afterwards. I'm also sure that sometimes the book club is a forum for a good old gossip and a few glasses of wine.
Reading is one of life's ultimate pleasures. A good book will guard you against boredom, make you laugh, cry, marvel at the insights and skill of the writer. Ending a wonderful book may make you sad or send you on a search for more by that particular writer.
I'm not sure that enforced reading followed by discussion would add to my pleasure but for many it is a harmless addiction and a great way to keep in touch with friends.
A book I read recently that brought me a lot of pleasure on a beach was "The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo," by Steig Larson.
It's set in Sweden and translated from Swedish. Steig Larson (1954-2004)was a well known Swedish journalist who fought against racism and right wing extremism. He was Chief Editor of Expo. He completed a trilogy of extremely entertaining detective novels in his spare time and died suddenly of a heart attack shortly after he completed them.
The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo was the first in the series and I am awaiting the translation of the other two impatiently.
The two main characters in the novel are complicated and attractive. The plot is well woven with interesting subplots and lots of information on technology and private investigation techniques.
There are various unorthodox romantic and abusive relationships between the male and female characters. There are unexpected, exploitative, unrequited and very modern moments throughout the book.
It's easy to imagine the book being turned into a great movie. It has that cinematic pace and quality. The word is that the book is being turned into a movie so if you want to enjoy it as a novel buy it now before it becomes over exposed.
COMMENT:
cakegirl said...
do you feel like lending that book to a girl with a LOT of free time at work!!! happy blogging x
I've never been to a book club and no one has ever asked me to join one. However, I have listened to friends and relations complain about the awful, boring, impossibly long book they have to read by next week. And how could that woman have chosen this book, it's so expensive/out of publication/only available in hard back/impenetrable etc.
I have also heard of people going to extraordinary lengths to get into certain book clubs because they want to hang out with the club, nothing to do with the love of reading.
I'm sure it's good for the brain to read critically and have lively argumentative discussions afterwards. I'm also sure that sometimes the book club is a forum for a good old gossip and a few glasses of wine.
Reading is one of life's ultimate pleasures. A good book will guard you against boredom, make you laugh, cry, marvel at the insights and skill of the writer. Ending a wonderful book may make you sad or send you on a search for more by that particular writer.
I'm not sure that enforced reading followed by discussion would add to my pleasure but for many it is a harmless addiction and a great way to keep in touch with friends.
A book I read recently that brought me a lot of pleasure on a beach was "The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo," by Steig Larson.
It's set in Sweden and translated from Swedish. Steig Larson (1954-2004)was a well known Swedish journalist who fought against racism and right wing extremism. He was Chief Editor of Expo. He completed a trilogy of extremely entertaining detective novels in his spare time and died suddenly of a heart attack shortly after he completed them.
The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo was the first in the series and I am awaiting the translation of the other two impatiently.
The two main characters in the novel are complicated and attractive. The plot is well woven with interesting subplots and lots of information on technology and private investigation techniques.
There are various unorthodox romantic and abusive relationships between the male and female characters. There are unexpected, exploitative, unrequited and very modern moments throughout the book.
It's easy to imagine the book being turned into a great movie. It has that cinematic pace and quality. The word is that the book is being turned into a movie so if you want to enjoy it as a novel buy it now before it becomes over exposed.
COMMENT:
cakegirl said...
do you feel like lending that book to a girl with a LOT of free time at work!!! happy blogging x
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
New life and age limits on alcohol
I went to visit a new baby. He was a really cute baby. Some babies are not so cute and the odd one can be a bit scary. It's no reflection on the parents or the child because horrendous looking babies can grow up to be quite acceptable looking.
This baby was very sweet as well. He lay on my shoulder and didn't cry. He was a baby you could enjoy cuddling because he didn't wriggle or throw up, he just sort of nestled into me and made charming little noises.
I never really liked holding babies until I had my own and began to understand the fascination. It's their potential and perfection that's interesting. What will they be like when they grow up? They are totally blank so we can project all our wishes and hopes onto their canvas.
Boys are still sweet and innocent at seven, eight and nine. I don't know when they lose their innocence but I suspect exposure to alcohol doesn't help.
When we were in school we all consumed alcohol in our teens and a quite a few of us did it to excess. Alcohol was fun. It made the night exciting and wild. We giggled more and felt we could do anything.
In retrospect I'm sure we could still have had fun without it. It's just that it was there, so we drank. Every social occasion had to have alcohol included or it wasn't really fun. We had dinner parties with loads of wine and spirits, we drank in lanes, in the cinema, in the park, in graveyards and pubs.
There was a dark side to all this as well. Depression, vomiting, unplanned pregnancies, full blown alcoholism, accidents and violence.
So like every parent I am now an intolerant reactionary. I don't want my boys to drink like the boys I knew drank when they were 15 or 16. Irish society hasn't changed in its attitude to drink in the past 20 years. My au pairs have been disgusted and bored by our obsession with alcohol. Kids seem to drink as much now as we did then. Some social commentators think they drink even more.
I would like the government decided to tackle teenage alcohol abuse in a serious way.
The only way they could do this is by:
1. Banning alcohol sales in supermarkets.
2. Strictly controlling the sale of alcohol to minors.
3. Changing the age limit for alcohol consumption from 18 to 21.
4. Providing alternatives for kids that are fun.
5. Educating kids about the danger of alcohol abuse.
6. Prosecuting publicans, shopkeepers, parents and children who break the law.
Parents would have to set an example at home in order for this to have an effect. It is up to us to enforce a ban on our teenagers drinking if we want their drinking habits to be different to ours.
Do we have a true desire for this change to occur?
Let's hope so.
This baby was very sweet as well. He lay on my shoulder and didn't cry. He was a baby you could enjoy cuddling because he didn't wriggle or throw up, he just sort of nestled into me and made charming little noises.
I never really liked holding babies until I had my own and began to understand the fascination. It's their potential and perfection that's interesting. What will they be like when they grow up? They are totally blank so we can project all our wishes and hopes onto their canvas.
Boys are still sweet and innocent at seven, eight and nine. I don't know when they lose their innocence but I suspect exposure to alcohol doesn't help.
When we were in school we all consumed alcohol in our teens and a quite a few of us did it to excess. Alcohol was fun. It made the night exciting and wild. We giggled more and felt we could do anything.
In retrospect I'm sure we could still have had fun without it. It's just that it was there, so we drank. Every social occasion had to have alcohol included or it wasn't really fun. We had dinner parties with loads of wine and spirits, we drank in lanes, in the cinema, in the park, in graveyards and pubs.
There was a dark side to all this as well. Depression, vomiting, unplanned pregnancies, full blown alcoholism, accidents and violence.
So like every parent I am now an intolerant reactionary. I don't want my boys to drink like the boys I knew drank when they were 15 or 16. Irish society hasn't changed in its attitude to drink in the past 20 years. My au pairs have been disgusted and bored by our obsession with alcohol. Kids seem to drink as much now as we did then. Some social commentators think they drink even more.
I would like the government decided to tackle teenage alcohol abuse in a serious way.
The only way they could do this is by:
1. Banning alcohol sales in supermarkets.
2. Strictly controlling the sale of alcohol to minors.
3. Changing the age limit for alcohol consumption from 18 to 21.
4. Providing alternatives for kids that are fun.
5. Educating kids about the danger of alcohol abuse.
6. Prosecuting publicans, shopkeepers, parents and children who break the law.
Parents would have to set an example at home in order for this to have an effect. It is up to us to enforce a ban on our teenagers drinking if we want their drinking habits to be different to ours.
Do we have a true desire for this change to occur?
Let's hope so.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
There's a bit of a stretch in the evenings.
Bright evenings are giving everyone a bit of impetus to get out and socialise a bit more.
The waitress in Itsa in Sandymount said they'd had a few bad reviews in Menu Pages recently. God knows why. Their service is really friendly without being intrusive. All the staff are students who work there long term and the atmosphere is professional even when it's packed out.
I love the food. They have great potato skins loaded with bacon, cheese and sour cream when you're in the mood for pigging out and some really healthy gluten/diary free dishes as well. The icecream and sorbets are made on the premises and are fabulous. They do a desert plate with a few different deserts that is perfect for sharing.
Met up with a few friends in The Dylan hotel off Baggot Street on Friday evening. Smokers love the Dylan because it's got the coolest outdoor smoking area in Dublin. Everyone seems to vaguely know everyone else so there's a lot of mixing and chatting which is helped by the fact that there's no blaring music and the age profile is 30 plus.
Went to a gig with a gang of ten girls in Bewley's on Grafton St. There's a little stage on the top floor where they do plays and jazz. The singing was retro Ella Fitzgerald tributes and the singer's family were cheering her on. She sang a song for her Mum which was sweet.
Someone had the bright idea of writing a list of what everyone was drinking so we could hand it in to the Barman for every round. Made ordering way easier!
Everyone retired to Davy Byrnes we were all starving. A bright American girl in our company asked the Barman for some food, which obviously wasn't available. She persuaded him that it was completely irresponsible to serve so much alcohol without food so five minutes later everyone was milling into bags of burgers and chips she brought in from Burger King. Seemed like a good idea at the time.
The waitress in Itsa in Sandymount said they'd had a few bad reviews in Menu Pages recently. God knows why. Their service is really friendly without being intrusive. All the staff are students who work there long term and the atmosphere is professional even when it's packed out.
I love the food. They have great potato skins loaded with bacon, cheese and sour cream when you're in the mood for pigging out and some really healthy gluten/diary free dishes as well. The icecream and sorbets are made on the premises and are fabulous. They do a desert plate with a few different deserts that is perfect for sharing.
Met up with a few friends in The Dylan hotel off Baggot Street on Friday evening. Smokers love the Dylan because it's got the coolest outdoor smoking area in Dublin. Everyone seems to vaguely know everyone else so there's a lot of mixing and chatting which is helped by the fact that there's no blaring music and the age profile is 30 plus.
Went to a gig with a gang of ten girls in Bewley's on Grafton St. There's a little stage on the top floor where they do plays and jazz. The singing was retro Ella Fitzgerald tributes and the singer's family were cheering her on. She sang a song for her Mum which was sweet.
Someone had the bright idea of writing a list of what everyone was drinking so we could hand it in to the Barman for every round. Made ordering way easier!
Everyone retired to Davy Byrnes we were all starving. A bright American girl in our company asked the Barman for some food, which obviously wasn't available. She persuaded him that it was completely irresponsible to serve so much alcohol without food so five minutes later everyone was milling into bags of burgers and chips she brought in from Burger King. Seemed like a good idea at the time.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Bye bye Bertie
There was a buzz around work just before Bertie resigned. A bit of slagging over the fact that people who should have known didn't seem to have a clue and a lot of comment about timing.
I think his timing was absolutely perfect. There was a little frisson of guilt and regret in the air. Did the media and lawyers at the Mahon Tribunal hound out our best leader ever? Was Bertie a "flawed good guy?" Are all politicians flawed good guys? Would a Perfect Peter be able to bring peace to the North?
My nine year old wanted to know what BIFFO stood for. Thank God he thought it was rude and mean. He now wants to know does anyone call Brian Cowen BIFFO to his face. I hope not. If it becomes Brian's nickname how are we going to explain the term to our international friends???
I think his timing was absolutely perfect. There was a little frisson of guilt and regret in the air. Did the media and lawyers at the Mahon Tribunal hound out our best leader ever? Was Bertie a "flawed good guy?" Are all politicians flawed good guys? Would a Perfect Peter be able to bring peace to the North?
My nine year old wanted to know what BIFFO stood for. Thank God he thought it was rude and mean. He now wants to know does anyone call Brian Cowen BIFFO to his face. I hope not. If it becomes Brian's nickname how are we going to explain the term to our international friends???
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
School Hols in Sharm
Trying to get away from Dublin during the school holidays is now officially impossible unless you book about six months in advance. It's really annoying because there's no spontaneity. You might not feel like skiing at half term in February 2009 when it actually comes round. The other annoying thing is that all the prices for flights go up the day the kids get off school and only go back to normal prices when the holidays are over. I suppose it's great if you're totally organised or retired but otherwise it's a bit of a bore.
For various reasons we couldn't and didn't book anything for Easter holidays and even my pathetic efforts to find something in Ireland at the last minute came to nothing. The hotels that have kids activities had huge waiting lists for cancellations so we didn't have a hope.
There were loads of offers flying from England so we booked to go to Sharm El Sheikh in Egypt from Manchester literally two days before we went. Sharm is on the Sinai peninsula on the shores of the Red Sea. It's about a five/five and a half hour plane journey there and there's a two hour time difference.
Getting to Manchester was no problem at all. The boat from Dun Laoghaire to Holyhead is completely painless and if you go first class you get loads of free snacks and drinks and plenty of room to lounge.
The drive from Holyhead to Manchester was fine. We used a TOM TOM satnav system for the first time and it was fantastic. No more rows over directions, no more impossible maps and no stopping to ask for directions. A very useful invention, I'd put it up there with the dishwasher as a major contributor to domestic harmony. A little voice told us exactly where to go and gave us plenty of warning when we needed to turn left or right.
Manchester Airport was fine. Didn't have the same queues and stress levels as Dublin and the staff were charming and helpful.
Sharm El Sheikh was nearly perfect.
1. Weather - perfect - really, really hot with a nice breeze and no humidity. 30 to 40 degrees at all times. It didn't get cool in the evening.
2. No mosquitos - We did spray and I heard one buzz but there were no bites and they normally feast on me.
3. Beach - Fabulous - Really spacious compared to the South of Spain. Loads of comfy loungers, warm water, and a magnificent coral reef that you could walk out a pier to get to. Snorkeling really nice as there were hundreds of colourful fish to look at.
4. People - Utterly charming and friendly all the time. The Egyptian people genuinely seemed to like children, have a sense of humour and are very obliging and helpful. A lovely guy called Mohammed put our towels out for us in our "spot" every morning so we didn't have to get up early to put them out and the waiter at the Restaurant brought us our food to eat by the pool every lunchtime.
5. Standard of Hotel - Okay - Not really a five star and the food was average, (It was a bit like eating at school dinners or canteen food - Some nice sea food, ubiquitous chips.) but 1 to 4 made up for that. On the plus side we had an enormous room with a great balcony facing the sea.
I think Sharm is an excellent alternative to the South of Spain or the Canaries. The weather is way better and the people are much more friendly. We're definitely going back next year and will visit Cairo (a five hour drive through the desert) to see the Sphinx and pyramids.
For various reasons we couldn't and didn't book anything for Easter holidays and even my pathetic efforts to find something in Ireland at the last minute came to nothing. The hotels that have kids activities had huge waiting lists for cancellations so we didn't have a hope.
There were loads of offers flying from England so we booked to go to Sharm El Sheikh in Egypt from Manchester literally two days before we went. Sharm is on the Sinai peninsula on the shores of the Red Sea. It's about a five/five and a half hour plane journey there and there's a two hour time difference.
Getting to Manchester was no problem at all. The boat from Dun Laoghaire to Holyhead is completely painless and if you go first class you get loads of free snacks and drinks and plenty of room to lounge.
The drive from Holyhead to Manchester was fine. We used a TOM TOM satnav system for the first time and it was fantastic. No more rows over directions, no more impossible maps and no stopping to ask for directions. A very useful invention, I'd put it up there with the dishwasher as a major contributor to domestic harmony. A little voice told us exactly where to go and gave us plenty of warning when we needed to turn left or right.
Manchester Airport was fine. Didn't have the same queues and stress levels as Dublin and the staff were charming and helpful.
Sharm El Sheikh was nearly perfect.
1. Weather - perfect - really, really hot with a nice breeze and no humidity. 30 to 40 degrees at all times. It didn't get cool in the evening.
2. No mosquitos - We did spray and I heard one buzz but there were no bites and they normally feast on me.
3. Beach - Fabulous - Really spacious compared to the South of Spain. Loads of comfy loungers, warm water, and a magnificent coral reef that you could walk out a pier to get to. Snorkeling really nice as there were hundreds of colourful fish to look at.
4. People - Utterly charming and friendly all the time. The Egyptian people genuinely seemed to like children, have a sense of humour and are very obliging and helpful. A lovely guy called Mohammed put our towels out for us in our "spot" every morning so we didn't have to get up early to put them out and the waiter at the Restaurant brought us our food to eat by the pool every lunchtime.
5. Standard of Hotel - Okay - Not really a five star and the food was average, (It was a bit like eating at school dinners or canteen food - Some nice sea food, ubiquitous chips.) but 1 to 4 made up for that. On the plus side we had an enormous room with a great balcony facing the sea.
I think Sharm is an excellent alternative to the South of Spain or the Canaries. The weather is way better and the people are much more friendly. We're definitely going back next year and will visit Cairo (a five hour drive through the desert) to see the Sphinx and pyramids.
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