Crossing the Lagan

I crossed the River Lagan six times today, four times on the train, twice on foot.

The book I brought—because I never travel without one—was Transit by Rachel Cusk. Chosen as much for its weight as its content. I was further along than I had realised and finished it long before the journey’s end. That left me with nothing to do but look at the scenery.

I alighted at Botanic Station as I wanted to peruse the local charity shops. I was looking for an ecru sweater, something loose, to wear over the two forgotten Boden dresses I found in the attic. They had been there long enough to be practically vintage. I did not find a sweater. I bought books instead.

From there, the Asia Supermarket. A wok, some spices. Kimchi for Bert. It was a 35-minute walk via the Ormeau Bridge, or meant to be. Closer to 45 minutes in my case. So many woks, so many spices. I have a wok already, a large one, bought here years ago. It has served me well and will continue to do so. The new one is smaller, and useful when cooking for two.

It was disappointing that the cafe at Asia Supermarket was closed. I had been looking forward to a sit-down and something interesting to eat and drink.

My next destination was Lanyon Place Station, via the Ravenhill Road and Albert Bridge. Roughly 25 minutes. I was tired, thirsty and looking forward to some rest and refreshments at the station. And there it was. And all it had was Starbucks. I got an indifferent cappuccino and a truly bad cheese and ham ciabatta thing. Plastic ham and cheese and bread like sawdust. Never again.

Though I will return to Belfast. I will walk across bridges, along the Ravenhill Road. But I will never eat in Starbucks again. The coffee perhaps, in an emergency.

Having finished Transit (so good) I began another book, one I had bought on Botanic Avenue - I Am, I Am, I Am by Maggie O'Farrell. I have read it before, but a long time ago. It's worth another read. 

Valentine's Day

Nellybert doesn’t do Valentine’s Day, Halloween, Easter, or Anniversaries. Sure we barely do Christmas. But that didn’t stop me from teasing Bert about my absent flowers and chocolates when I returned from the town. I even claimed that the pineapple I’d bought was his Valentine's gift. It’s a good choice for it’s sweet and lasts longer than flowers.

If it hadn’t been for Bert’s recent diabetes diagnosis I would have used the occasion to buy wine and chocolates (for us both) but he’s cutting down hard on confectionery and alcohol and so am I. The shop was packed, with lots of solitary males buying flowers, chocolate and even one with an air fryer in his arms. My kind of fellow.

Then they all decided to leave at once. The queues for getting out of the car park were horrendous. If it hadn’t been for three separate drivers, two male, and one female, waving me through at bottlenecks I’d be sitting there still. Today, I observed that the drivers least likely to give way to another motorist were young women. Still, lucky there was an interesting programme on Radio 4 on Snowdrops which helped pass the time for me.

So folks, another time to avoid Tesco – the afternoon of St Valentine’s Day. Trust me on this.

Bog standard snowdrops, of no interest to a galanthophile.

One From 20 Years Ago: Clint Has Left The Room

 

The first person I knew with Internet access at home was Bert’s oldest friend Clint. All we knew of the Internet in those days was that there was a vast amount of information and access to free porn. Oh yes … and chat rooms. So for a while, Clint was the Internet expert. When he first used a search engine he typed the word ‘potato’ and was so excited by the results that he surfed the web for four hours steady. By the end of the week, there wasn’t anyone else in Kells who knew more about spuds than Clint. So this night Bert went over to visit him and to view this new-fangled surfing the web. Clint showed him how to log on to the Internet and look at the huge amount of information on potatoes that was there for the asking. Bert marvelled at all this. Then he asked –

“D’jever luck at the porn Clint?”

“I wudnae waste ma time." 

“What about the chat rooms?”

“D’ye wantae see the chat rooms?”

“Aye. I wudn’t mine seein’ them.”

So with that Clint started tapping away at the keyboard. He found a chat room and logged on. Within a moment Debby was requesting Clint join her in a private room. He, shocked, hit the back button, logged off, switched off the computer and pulled out the plugs at the socket. “That’s enough o’ that nonsense. D’ja want tay?”

A Letter From Nelly

Springhill,

Cullybackey

31^st January, 2025

My Dearest Cousin,

Hoping this letter finds you and yours in good spirits. I am sorry to have left this letter so long, but life got in the way as they say. A great deal has happened since I last dropped you a line, and not all of it was good.

Were I to dwell on global occurrences I might depress us both so much that we should have to take to our beds for the remainder of the winter. Instead, I will concentrate on domestic matters.

We had quite the storm last week, quite unsafe to go out of doors with all the bits of hedges and trees blowing about. Sadly the middle bay of our polytunnel lost its covering and of course, the children’s trampoline rolled away taking the washing line and part of a small tree with it. The trampoline is wrecked but it could have been much worse. Our friend Howie lost his polytunnel, glasshouse, hen house and hens. His hens were not blown away, Foxy took them. Such opportunists, foxes.

Still, we were lucky to keep the electricity. It didn’t even flicker. Others were not so fortunate with thousands of people without power for days.

The next thing was I got another stomach bug. Remember I had one just after Christmas. Throwing up for 12 hours and off my food and feet for another 12. No fun. Folk keep telling me it’s a virus, something going around but funny it always seems to happen when I have been ‘over-indulging’ which is something I tend to do when my friend Cinta is having a sleepover. I’ve decided to eat more sensibly for a while and not to take alcohol at all. So far so good.

Speaking of eating sensibly, Bert has been told he has Type2 diabetes! Swisser could hardly believe it as he has always been slim. On Tuesday had a long day at the hospital having various tests as his blood sugar was extremely high. They were even considering starting him on insulin! Querying he might have Type1! Which would be highly unusual for a man of his years. Instead, he is on another drug and has to do a prick test before and after meals so we are both going to be eating sensibly from now on. The good news is that his blood sugar score has more than halved and the lovely nurses are pleased with him. Bert has been fortunate not to have had much to do with hospitals etc. and cannot get over how lovely everyone is. I told him it’s because he is a lovely patient.

Of course, he is a little bit sad that he can’t have cream and lashings of golden syrup on his porridge anymore. I have told him he can have it as a treat on his birthday.

But poor Cinta! When she was with us at the weekend she said she had five days off work to look forward to and was so happy about it. But that evening her dog Dora (sister to our Jess) collapsed while out on a nighttime walk and had to be carried home. They managed to get a vet’s appointment the next day but the news was very bad. The whole family are heartbroken. They brought her out to bury her here yesterday. She got a lovely spot between the hamamelis and the hebe. It’s strange to think that next January (If we are spared!) and the hamamelis is in full bloom again she will be gone 12 months. The life of a dog is not long.

Which brings Judy to mind. I cannot see her being with us a year hence. Oh! I will be glad to see this month over and done with. Too much anger and sadness and not nearly enough hope.

I shall finish now before I drive you under the bed covers. Perhaps the next time I write there will be some more cheerful news to report

Your loving, hopeful cousin,

Nelly

Dora and Jess in their younger days. Dora at the front

Hamamelis Pallida 

One From Ten Years Ago

 

Burning Books

One of my delights is reading to Martha and Evie; that pleasure is greatly increased when I enjoy the story myself. We are all loving the Winnie the Pooh stories by A.A. Milne. A few weeks ago I was given a pile of books by a friend. Most of them were Charlie and Lola books which were new to me but I knew Martha would be pleased with them. There was also a Winnie the Pooh book which was unfamiliar. Martha picked Charlie and Lola for this afternoon's reading session. It was OK. It might grow on me as I become familiar with the characters. Evie chose the new Winnie the Pooh book. As I opened it I saw that it was  a Disney book written by someone called Tammi J. Santa Croce. The children appeared to enjoy it but not me. It jarred. The prose was inelegant, the tone simplistic, the story trite. Croce had endowed Piglet with a stammer which was entirely ignored by me in the reading. The worst of it was the author's treatment of Tigger. She had him saying things like 'li'l buddy', 'where are ya?' and 'tigger-ific'. The most awful part was when he said, 'Hey, buddy boy! Whatcha doin'?' I was appalled and resolved to get rid of the dreadful book at my first opportunity. It's actually burning on the fire right now.

I don’t care what nonsense you think.

The title is from something I came across on social media. The person who wrote it was tired of listening to misinformed baloney that some folks picked up watching YouTube videos.

For me YouTube is for revisiting musicians I've not listened to in an age or to hear new to me music. It's an amazing resource. But to inform myself on history or current affairs? I don't think so. Because...

'Yeah, well, you know, that's just like, uh, your opinion, man.'

January Blues

 

First of all - a Victoria Sponge update. A recent reader will remember that Bert was making one for the visit of Martha, Evie, their folks and the Antipodean branch of the Haribo family. I illustrated that post with a picture of a Mary Berry Vic Sponge and some of the FB folk thought that was the one that Bert created. Afraid not. We did not take a picture of Bert's VS nor did we tell our guests (except Paul) that Woody had munched a chunk out of the lower layer. It must have been all the eggs and butter that attracted him. Cats do love a bit of dairy. 

As far as I know, none of our guests got cat flu. I was careful only to serve them the parts of the cake that remained uncattered.  The cake was actually delicious, much nicer than the carrot cake I made. Onwards and upwards with the Victoria Sponge, Bertram.

It was after that enjoyable evening that my mood declined. Nothing to look forward to except snow and icy weather and taking down the Christmas Tree that I had grown to love. That tree cheered me every day it was up. When I took it down on Sunday I had another mood slip.

I let the news get to me. Certain names were triggering. I won't mention them. President Carter's funeral was the only news event I tuned into and then only slightly. One glimpse of an over-made-up face and I recoiled from it.

But, enough of that. I am going to look for joy even it only lasts a second. I usually don't like snow but this time it was beautiful. Not too much of it, not that deep but certainly crisp and even. I'll draw a veil over the slippy, slidy, very scary journey I made on Tuesday when I foolishly took the back road from Galgorm to home. At one point I thought I would have to phone Bert to bring the tractor to pull me out of a hedge.

Since then I've been confined to barracks. Hannah doesn't even like me leaving the house in case I fall and break something. I might go out tomorrow.

I had a lovely chat with London Sister earlier. That's why I'm going to search out my joy. She told me so. That picture of the frosted witch hazel is joyful even if, thanks to my dodgy sinuses, I can never smell it.  I'm told it's divine.

Also, the cats good Pippin and bad Woody curled up together. It's a rare event these days. Pippin doesn't like Woody that much.

I wish Rusty had someone to cosy up to this cold night. This might be when he really feels the loss of Lily. He has lots of fresh straw, a sleeping bag tied around him and an old duvet. I hope it's enough.