An Apology

 Springhill, March 2026

Dear Reader,

I am very sorry - very, very sorry that I have been neglecting you. The truth is Nelly's Garden is very, very old (for a blog) and is getting tired. It's not that she wants to actually kick the bucket - just that she wonders if there is any point in rambling on and on about dogs and crocuses (croci?) and other stuff even though the internet is full to the brim of people rambling on about their opinions, dogs, obsessions and that is even before AI gets properly started.

I will try to do better. That is if you can bear to listen to my nonsense.

By the way, I despise Drump, Fartage, Netanyahoo and if that bothers you, you can do one.

Anyway, in the meantime, here are some photos of the croci (crocuses?) in my garden.

Kind regards, 

Nelly.

 

Conversations

 

Enter Bert who comes out with this statement,

I have to say, you shock me.

Me, sewing my knitted blanket,

What point are you making?

It’s a lovely day, and here's you sitting knitting and a ball of stuff to be doing outside.

Well! It’s alright for him. He’s got a new toy to play with – a battery operated lawnmower. He got me a leaf blower at the same time but that’s two seasons too late, or early depending on how you look at it.

When I told Swisser about the leaf blower, I told her I felt a bit guilty about getting it, and she had a lot to say on that subject.

A leaf blower! What’s wrong with a rake and a brush?

I admitted that she had a point. But said,

Have you seen the amount of trees we have? The size of this place? I need a leaf blower as well as a rake. I’d be weeks, months gathering up all the leaves that fall here. And anyway, they all go to the compost heap in the end.

She argued on,

They’re so loud. so antisocial, so unnecessary. I hate them. Bloody men with all their noisy machinery.

I say,

We have no neighbours so won’t be bothering anyone. And it’s the beech leaves* that are preventing wild flowers coming through at my would-be meadow. Maybe if I could get the leaves gathered up in the autumn the orchids and cuckoo flowers would spread and there’d be more orange-tip butterflies.

But I couldn’t convince her. So changed the conversation to another of her annoyances, the volume of tourists that clog up her personal beach at PBT. It’s my opinion that she would be far happier if she lived up a long lane with no-one near her.

To return to Bert and his remarks about me doing needlework on a rare sunny day. I was raging at him but knew he was right. I put down my needles and went outside where I took pictures of the crocus then watered and tidied up my potted herbs.

*Beech leaves can form a tight seal on lawns or low-growing meadow areas which prevent low-growing or delicate wild flowers from growing.

Ash Wednesday

 I couldn’t remember whether Ash Wednesday is a Holy Day of Obligation or not. That’s how lapsed a Catholic I’ve become. I only realised it was today because when Bert came back from an appointment he mentioned that one of the women at the surgery had the greasy, ashy smear on her forehead and started quizzing me about it.

I was surprised for I’d always thought she was a Protestant. Ash Wednesday is certainly the sort of day when a devout Catholic stands up to be counted.

Of course, I’d also completely forgotten that yesterday was Shrove Tuesday. Not a single pancake did I make.

I’ve spent today getting ready for a short trip to Norfolk to see Katy and her family, and I’m really looking forward to it. I’ll be back late Monday with new photographs and stories to share. I’m going to miss my knitting terribly. If the pangs become too much, I may have to buy needles and yarn in Fakenham.

To get myself all excited about seeing my Norfolk family, I've been looking at lots of old photos of them and set the file up as a screensaver. It has really brought back some lovely memories. But the nicest family picture I've come across is not my memory.That memory belongs to Katy's aunts, my sisters Ganching and London Sister. I'm going to use it as it deserves another outing. I think it might have been taken by Ganching.

Katy and family on a day trip to London.

I wonder this - are knitting needles allowed on planes?

A Year On The Dry

 I don’t recall the day I took my last alcoholic drink but I do know it was towards the end of January last year and that drink would have been a very nice glass of red wine or two. Or three? Maybe four? It did not make me sad that these would have been my last drinks because I fully intended that I would resume taking alcohol after a month. That was the idea.

For quite some time I’d been thinking about cutting down on the number of days during the week that I’d drink wine. Maybe I’d just have a drink on the weekend, or on some special occasions. I knew that I was drinking more that the recommended amounts and definitely far too much for a person my age.

So when Bert was diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes and decided to quit his nightly glass or two of cider, I joined him in going alcohol-free, partly in support and partly out of curiosity about what a break might do for me.

Well! It was all a bit dull at first. I missed my nightly glass or two of wine. The evenings seemed too long. Two weeks passed. I thought I might carry on until the end of February. But by then I’d got used to an alcohol-free life and I’d started to lose weight. That took my mind off wanting to drink. So I kept going. I was still not going to stop drinking forever.

By the summertime I’d lost 20lbs and was well-used to the dry. Christmas was going to be the decider. By October I knew I was going to have an alcohol-free Christmas and after that I only had to get to the end of January to have completed a year without wine. And you know, I still miss it. If I thought I could just have the occasional glass, just now and again I’d still be drinking.

I heard this recently. No one really wants the second glass of wine. They just want the first one over again. For me that rings true. The first one is wonderful. But then I want it again. And again.

Even though I don’t remember the exact date I had that last drink, I do remember when I stopped smoking. That was on the 15^th March 2004. Almost twenty-two years ago. I wonder what I’ll be giving up twenty-two years from now? Maybe chocolate? Blogging? Living?

By the way, the weight loss eased off but since last January I have lost a total of 25 lbs. I’m still old though.

Days of yore. I'm sure Katy is giving me a disapproving look.

One From 21 Years Ago

Twenty-one years ago, I was working in Mill House, Harryville, which at that time was a hostel for women temporarily without homes. We were in the process of selling number 61 and renovating the house we're living in now.. I still have those shabby paperbacks from 35 years ago, although they have now been cluttering up my bookshelves for 56 years. That is far too long, especially as they would probably fall to pieces in my hands if I were to attempt a re-read.

Those Happy, Happy Days

I’m doing an extra shift this weekend, which I didn’t even have to be persuaded to take on. First I thought – well what else would I be doing? Then I thought – I could catch up on blogging. Finally I thought – extra money! Good oh!

I spend a huge amount of time on my computer. Since it’s been sick I have spent that time house cleaning, packing away, reading and watching Celebrity Big Brother. As this house must be valued, I thought it might be nice for the estate agent to be able to see past all the stuff. So I have been sorting, packing and throwing out. What a ball of crap I’ve gathered up over the years. I still own ancient paperbacks that I bought in Smithfield Market 35 years ago. Looking at those ancient Orwells, Steinbecks, Drabbles and Murdochs reminded me of some of the happiest days of my life, my school days – the days that I was not in attendance.

When school* was dreary I used to play truant, or mitch. One of the dreariest of the dreary classes was Anatomy and Physiology. This class was taken by a local GP called Dr R. It always took place last two periods. Dr R. never bothered to call a roll so our class got into the habit of deciding among ourselves who’d be cutting it that afternoon. There had to be at least half a dozen of us stay for the class or Dr R. would report us to the head.

In good weather we’d head for the Castle grounds, which were much wilder and much more fun than they are today. In damper weather it would be O’Neill’s café if we could scrape up the price of a coffee to be lingered over for hours. How my heart did race when we were joined by some handsome Stanley or Eugene.**

Mitching on my own I started off by going to Belfast Airport and watching the planes take off and land. Then when I got braver I’d hitch to Belfast town. I’d often get a lift with Dan the Coalman and he’d take me round the docks. I think he bought his coal straight off the boats. Another guy who used to give me lifts was Johnny the Gallaher Man. Imagine getting a lift on a wagon carrying (at today’s prices) millions of pounds worth of cigarettes. Nowadays Gallaher's sends Dublin’s cigarettes via Liverpool rather than run the risk of hijacking at the border.

My favourite places in Belfast then were Fresh Garbage (still going) and Smithfield Market (not what it was.) That is where I bought all those second hand books.

And what of Anatomy and Physiology at ‘O’ level? A big fat fail was my deserved reward. But I still know the names of nearly all the bones in the human body and I can tell you the places where you’ll find squamous epithelium. Some of them are a bit rude.

*Antrim Technical College – Pre-Nursing Class 1968-1970
** Any reader familiar with this era or place please note that I do not refer to the publican Mr M. who would have been a child and unknown to me at that time. 

The Robin

It snowed heavily over the weekend, and outdoors became a veritable winter wonderland. For the cats, it was a great hunting opportunity, as the garden birds were both easily visible and stupefied by the cold.

It probably wasn’t a good idea for Bert to scatter breadcrumbs right outside the glass double doors. It’s charming to see the robin come so close to the door for its feast, but it was also close enough to make the cats acutely aware of the birds’ presence, or availability.

So, when I spotted Woody carrying a limp body in his mouth, my first fear was for the robin. But there appeared to be a long, dark dangler hanging from his jaw. A young rat. That would be all right, better than killing one of Bert’s robins.

Then Hannah’s wee dog Chico spotted it. Chico likes to bullyWoody and steal his kills. He got outside and took the little dead thing. I pulled wellies on and went out into the snowy garden to take the creature off him. It wasn’t easy persuading him to give it up. And when I did, I saw that the dangly thing wasn’t a rat’s tail. It was a long, limp bird’s leg. A robin. All bedraggled, yet unbloodied. Did Woody kill it? Or did he find it after it had perished? It might have died from the cold. I decided not to mention it to Bert and put it in the bin.

Bert was away when all this occurred, driving Hannah to work. When he got home, he went straight to the cats, both standing to attention and looking for their breakfast. He petted and stroked them both. It is funny to think how he used to dislike cats. Harry de Cat changed his mind, then Holly. He adored Holly. Big Fat Fred was another favourite. All those cats are gone now, but Bert still has a lot of time for Pippin and Woody, especially Pippin.

I was wondering why I feel less uneasy when cats kill rats rather than robins. Surely rats have as much right to existence as robins. But rats have such a bad reputation, disease, dirt and all that. That’s not entirely fair, for the wee birdies are pretty disease-ridden too, and when our cats eat them, they can pick up parasitic pests. Despite their worms and mites, I still prefer robins, wrens and goldfinches to rodents. Apart from shrew mice*. It’s so sad when the cats get them, for they are so sweet and cute, with those little pointed snouts. Adorable. Yet it feels wrong to make the distinction. Who knows where that might lead one?

Woody and Chico

Happy to report that the robin Bert was feeding by the door has survived another day. The feeding station has been moved further away.

*Not rodents, although cats don't make a distinction. They are one of the most common mammals in the British Isles.

Last Post Of The Year

Bert has been reminiscing today about parties long past and about what we might have been doing on New Year’s Eve twenty or more years ago. But time moves on far too quickly. We all, those of us who once partied together, have moved on and grown old. Some of us have even died.

He asked me,

Do you miss those days?

I had to think a bit about that, then I told him,

Not really. But I'm glad we had them.

Our plans for tonight don’t involve drink, drugs or rock’n’roll. Well, maybe a little of that last one for me - I might watch Jools, and Bert might even have a Guinness. We’ll see.

Wishing all who read this a good New Year. May you live long and prosper.