Digger Dogger

We lost a good pack leader when Danny died last year. Rosie, the fat bitcher, has become the dominant dog, and in my opinion is making a poor fist of it. She and Paddy sneak away at every opportunity and by the cut of them when they return I reckon they go to the digging grounds after rats, rabbits and maybe foxes or badgers. When they are in that digging zone they hear no human call and all a human hears is an excited 'yip, yip' in the far distance.

So what are we to do? We're used to dogs trotting around the yard after us. This is a recent phenomenon - maybe two months or so - and they are so sleekit. One moment they're here the next they're gone and often don't return for 6-8 hours.

We are really worried about them as they could get shot. It's lambing season now and Johnny Farmer doesn't like dogs on his land. The truth is that unless sheep take to living in burrows they'll hold no interest for the digger dogs. Any person steeped in country ways or even with a bit of common sense got any suggestions?

When Dogs Were Good

There's No Fool...

…. like an Old Fool. The less said about Saturday night the better. All I will say is that I thought I was old enough to know better. That and the title explains all. Now I’m saying no more on the matter.

Yesterday I took Matty and the First Sister to the Gourmet Farmer’s Market in Templepatrick. It was a first-time visit for all of us and we liked it, so thanks Z, for telling us about it. Matty bought a very pretty Sylvac vase for a tenner, which pleased her greatly. I bought squashes and fruit and very yummy savoury breads. The First Sister bought a lime- green pressed apple juice which looked like it could lead her to a severe dose of the skitter. (You can take potty-mouth to the gourmet market but you can’t make her talk nice.)

Today I am cleaning the house in preparation for the valuer’s visit this afternoon. I haven’t much time so have resorted to lots of sluttish shortcuts. For instance all the toilet lids down saves cleaning them and I’m only washing the bits of the floor that show. I do feel guilty about it and can feel the spectral presence of Aggie and Kim breathing down my neck.

Taken To Drink

...which is what Nelly is up to this afternoon. Clean living gets to you after a while. The green butter dumplings are stewing away and we're off to the Wee Manny's tonight to discuss real estate deals. No better time to get totally stoned. At least we'll all be on the same wavelength.

Yer Ma's Yer Da!

Last weekend wasn’t just about teasing Nelly for her pathetic mothering skills. We also had a good laugh and one of the things that amused us was talking about this post from Ed, which I had of course committed to memory. With every new point that was made the cry went up ‘Yer ma!” KaBo said she'd heard this at school “Yer ma’s yer da!” A while back Zoë linked to this Spide Generator on her blog. If you want a cheap laugh why don’t you give it a go?

When Bad Hair Happens To Good People

There was a bit of reminiscing at the Bo reunion last weekend. As is traditional this mostly took the form of stories about my careless style of parenting. I actually asked ZoBo if she remembered any nice stories about me but she said she didn’t – they were all awful. The picture I’ve posted of the littlest Bo was taken about 17 years ago and this is how it happened.

We were at the Wee Manny’s house and some alcoholic drink had been taken. The Wee and Mrs Wee both wore their hair short and cut each other’s. A discussion arose as to which of them was the better stylist. Both agreed that the Wee was the better of the two. At that point I mentioned that little HanBo needed her hair trimmed. Would you let a half-cut man trim/hack your precious child’s hair? I think not.

Small Banana

Clint Has Left The Room

The first person that 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. Sure I’ve plenty o’ vidyos.”

“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?”

Favourite Place To Be In Norn Iron

This comes from Stephen who says “In the spirit of Fridays everywhere I would like to start a meme, a Northern Ireland meme. The deal is this, post a photo of a place your favourite place to be in this part of the Emerald Isle, it can be anywhere.”

As I hardly ever get out I have posted the view from my front door. If you squint carefully you will see Slemish mountain.

Front Door Early Morning

For Men Only

I’m seeing, hearing and reading everywhere that men also have a hormonal cycle and suffer a male menopause. It appears that transformation from Lover Boy to Grumpy Old Git could be caused by a fall in testosterone levels. I got wondering why it is that you don’t hear a word about the male menopause for ages then suddenly it’s everywhere! Are the drug companies at their work again?

With increasing years the level of testosterone in the body gradually declines. In the middle years many men experience tiredness, loss of libido, poor erections, loss of muscle mass, mood swings and irritability. Some believe that these symptoms are a result of lower testosterone hormone levels and that giving men replacement testosterone therapy helps to overcome these symptoms. Link

I’m not saying there’s no such thing as the male menopause because I know a lot of Grumpy Old Gits and I’ve started to notice that some of our younger male friends are partying less and moaning more. I thought I’d devise this simple little questionnaire to help you measure your hormonal age*

Choose one statement from each part that most closely resembles your current situation.

Strength & Vitality

You push furniture around a room with your head. (2)

You can push furniture around a room with your head but only when you’re drunk and if you haven’t anything better to do. (18)

The only time you push furniture around a room with your head is when you’re receiving a jolly good seeing to. (25)

Sexual Orientation

You only love your Mammy (3)

You don’t like girls. (7)

Girls don’t like you (11)

Girls like you (16)

You like boys (21)

Sleep Patterns

You like a nap in the afternoon. You’re cranky at bedtime and up with the lark. (3)

You are a creature of the night. (17)

You’re up all night (21)

You like the odd early night and late morning (25)

You’re up at the toilet all night and you nap all day. (79)

Would Be Rude Not To

You could entertain yourself for hours. (14)

You entertain each other all the time (23)

You entertain each other fairly often (34)

You entertain each other once in a while (45)

Mood

You are a proper Sunny Jim (1)

You gripe a bit at bedtime (6)

Schooldays were the happiest… (14)

First love is the sweetest…(16)

…After the hurly burly (30)

Someone’s parked outside our house! (35)

My name is Victor Meldrew (65)

Total your scores and divide by five. The resulting number corresponds to your hormonal age**. For further information consult your GP who will likely tell you to go and boil your head. Not that I’d agree with that point of view as I really like the idea of a male menopause. It’s companionable.

*The questionnaire is only valid for male use. If females do it they may get skewed results. For example my own hormonal age was 49!

**The questionnaire is bogus.

Three Youngbos

Three Bos

Five Bos

Five Go Wild In Norfolk

Zoë and I returned from Norfolk this afternoon. It was a wonderful few days, which I totally enjoyed. When kids grow up and leave home reunions can be rare and that makes them even more precious. And to top the lot with dream topping my ex Mick, their dad, was there too. The last time I saw Mick was in Amsterdam nearly two years go on the occasion of Hannah’s 21^st birthday. But that was all quite frantic. This was much more relaxing.

When Katkin moved from Manchester she got Bert to help her with the move so he’s been to Norfolk before but it was my first visit. I liked it very much. It’s obviously a lot flatter than Norn Iron but is unspoilt. There are miles and miles without houses then when they come they are sympathetically built either of flint or red brick and fit in with the landscape. For anyone who’s not familiar with Norn Iron it looks like a giant got a great big bag of assorted houses (heavy on the tasteless ones) and scattered them over the landscape. Bert said it’s because we had no natural building materials apart from fieldstones so we built houses from ‘any ould shite we could get’.

So to get back to Norfolk it’s got pleasant countryside, sweet villages and friendly people. And it’s freezing. Next time I come during the summer.

The best bit was being with my girls and meeting Katy’s lovely other family and seeing Mick and Linda. The second best bit was finding a copy of Tristram Shandy* in Burnham Market and thrashing everyone at Millionaire.

*I’ve been looking for this for ages now. Since it was serialised on Radio 4 recently it’s been selling out of second hand bookshops everywhere.

Shopping for Handbags

...which proves I've got a girly side. Today I bought a rubber handbag (kinky, I shall keep rude things in it) and a purple suede one. Boys-a-dear that TK Maxx is a powerful tempting place. I only went in to look at the handbags for the rubber one was not enough for a greedy bag addict. You should have seen what I came out with. Actually if you are related to me and plan to be in Norfolk this weekend, you will.

Lemon Jelly

I was listening to this yesterday and it's given me an idea for a post that might persuade some of my more reticent readers to comment.

How many of these places you been then? How many have you got a connection with? Such as knew somebody from there, parents came from etc. etc. Don't tell porkies. You know it's not big and it's not clever. (I do love a cliche)

You've been on the go ever since you were born and I imagine few people in the world today have travelled as much as you have. Now why?

Well I dunno.
I suppose some of us are cave dwellers, some of us live in houses, some of us like to be loose footed.
I'm a ramblin' man.

I'm a ramblin' man.

Paris, Tibet, Sydney, Naxos
Rangoon, Rotterdam, Runcton, The Cayman Islands
Malawi, Mauritius, Haight-Ashbury, Patagonia
Kingston, Kentish Town, Codrington, Koh Samui
Felixstowe, Fingrinhoe, Valmorel, The North Pole
Brixton, Antwerp, Gujarat, Prawle
Uganda, Shennington, Sudbury, Sri Lanka
Ecuador, Edinburgh, Stockholm, Abu Dhabi
Lexington, Lindos, Tokyo, Harlem
Ipanema, Nicosia, Granada, San Jose
Damascus, Mandalay, San Francisco, Atlanta
Adelaide, Angmering, Arumpo, Amsterdam
New York, Kabul, Rwanda, Kyoto
Manchester, Prague, Mendhurst, Toronto
Madrid, Melbourne, Dublin, Dakar
Boston, Oslo, Tooting, Belfast
Botswana, Tonga, Rayburn

I'm a ramblin' man

And you're going to keep on rambling?

Oh yes, hehe, I have to.

And It Scared Me

That picture Fang was so scarey it scared me too. Which is the reason why I am posting this cute photograph of Paddy and Rosie interviewing a new friend. It was taken yesterday morning.

The fellows meet a new chum

Fang

An Embarrassing Event

Today I took Matty to visit Dad but first we went to the Mid-Antrim Animal Sanctuary charity shop where I bought a denim skirt, a sexy fall off the shoulders angora sweater and a Nicole Fahri top all for the sum of £8. All poor Matty got was a Ruth Rendell and she was a bit sad about that. So as we were planning to have coffee at Ditty’s in Castledawson it was just so near to Magherafelt we thought we might as well hit its one and only charity shop – which was having a 20 pence an item clear out. I won’t go into the details of the furry hats, linen shirts and intellectual reading matter that I acquired but I only spent £2.

By this time we were pretty peckish so headed fast to Dawson City. At first things went well. We had baked potatoes and coffee to accompany. There wasn’t much conversation as we fell to the spuds but I was enjoying listening to the business meeting going on at the next table between the head honcho (Mr Ditty) and a bunch of suits.

Then drama erupts. Matty spills her coffee. None of it went on the suits or myself but the table and floor were swimming in it. My poor old Mum was mortified. Mr Ditty raises an imperious arm and hails moppers and wipers. Swarms of them arrived. Mr Ditty continues talking buns to the suits. Matty is nearly in tears, poor thing. While the mess was being cleaned up I spent my time soothing her, telling her “never mind, an accident, nobody died.” She was all calmed down and at her replacement cup of coffee when it dawned on me. I was going to tell her but I’d have had to shout (she’s deaf) and I didn’t want everyone to know. So I sloped off to the counter

“Excuse me. I need to speak to someone about the spill we had.”
“Yes. How can I help you?”
“Um. It’s a bit embarrassing. Can I tell you in private?”

With that I was led away by a nice, motherly woman.

“You know that spill we had?”
“Yes?”
“Well, I’d taken my tooth out. It was wrapped in a napkin.”
“Oh.”

It was at this point she started cackling. She headed over to the counter and informed all the staff (four of them) that my false tooth had been gathered up and thrown in the bin. There were roars of laughter all round. A customer sitting at the counter nearly choked on her coffee. The only person who didn’t get it was a Slovakian waitress but she’d only been here a few weeks.

So that was how I found myself behind the scenes at Ditty’s hoking through the bin bags. Two of them helped me and it was one of them found it.

It’s good to bring a smile to people’s faces even if Nelly’s own smile left something to be desired. A tooth.

So what with all that carry-on and the size of the tip I left I expect to be well remembered the next time I’m in Ditty’s of Dawson City.

My Funny Valentine

I Fall For Bert All Over Again

Have I ever told the world that I love Bert very much? Is it terribly corny that I’m telling you all on St Valentine’s Day? Bear with me while I explain.

I told Bert yesterday that I would not be getting him a card because it was all far too silly. Then I went to work saying “See you tomorrow then”

Work was OK. It wasn't exactly Chillage Village because the clientele were being their usual annoying, prat-like selves so I was perversely pleased when postie did not bring any of them cards this morning.

So perhaps it served me right later that morning when I slipped on a wet floor in the kitchen area and went on my beam end with a resounding crash. My backside, being very well padded, came to no harm but I really hurt my left wrist, which I’d thrown out to save myself. I also banged my right elbow and hurt my right wrist.

Hmmm. I wept a little and felt very sorry for myself then being an optimist started to look on the bright side. This was the perfect excuse not to have to clean the flat that had been vacated the previous day by a complete minger.

Then I started to feel sorry for myself again. I’m just about to have two weeks holiday and I am injured. Optimism surges again. Oh wise up – you’re not that injured, ignore it, it will go away. So I bravely continued with my work – administrative and support work only and I worked like a Trojan. Filed an accident report and a risk assessment, made sure I completed all the paperwork for the booking out and put the day in rightly. The wrist was pretty sore but not so bad that I felt the need to spend half the day in Antrim Area waiting for an x-ray. Driving home was a bit rough. It would have been OK if I could have done without reverse and fifth gear and I really wished I’d an automatic.

When I got home Bert was out. I noticed a large bag sitting on the kitchen table but I was too busy reheating pizza, saying hello to the dogs and feeding Harry de Cat to pay attention to it. It was from the chemist and I knew Bert had been to the dentist that morning and he always buys a shopful of dental hygiene products when he’s been to the dentist.

But at last I had a look. It was one of my favourite perfumes. And it was being hugged by a little teddy bear. Bert has often bought me perfume but in nearly 19 years this is the first time he’s ever bought me a soft toy because we reckon we’re far too sensible for that sort of sentimental nonsense. But … I’m melting inside. I haven’t even taken it out of its wrapper and I know I’ll treasure it forever. I’ll even knit it a jumper.

I still haven’t seen or spoken to Bert this St Valentine’s Day and I’m just about to tell the world – I love him so much. I love him despite the tin-whistling. It’s not because of the teddy bear. That just reminded me.

Site Meter

I put Site Meter on this blog last night. It was really easy to do even for a technophobe like me. Now I can keep a check on the embarrassingly few visitors that I have. Seems to me that people would far rather schlep over to Cully to see me in person than come visit my blog. And it's Bert who is the one they're really coming to see. I'm just the grumpy, glaring person in the corner who keeps sloping off to hit on her own blog.

Plain Stove

Flooded Pathway

Blackthorn

A Wet Walk

I've shaken off my winter languor at last and today was my fourth day in a row out walking. It rained heavily yesterday so the Maine was high and parts of the path were flooded. But this was no problem to a woman in wellies. The dogs get to have legitimate scunging and we all three get a break from the noise of Bert's infernal peeping on the tin whistle.

I need a new oven. I'm bound to be the only woman in Cully who cooks on a South African six-ring gas oven. They are not designed for fairy cakes and pizza - they're for simmering a nice stewed goat or haunch of buck. I suppose I'll have to wait until we move.

Bert and I are having a big dispute about fireplaces. Because the house originally had four fireplaces he wants a fireplace in the kitchen. And the sitting room. And in a conservatory. I don't really want a fireplace in the kitchen but have said yes on condition it is one of those stand-alone closed in stoves. Now we are arguing about the size of the hole that is to be built to accommodate this. We decided on 4 x 4 foot now we're arguing about the depth. I say 22 inches, he says less than this so that we can build a fireplace surrounding it. Oh get me a puke bucket quick. The reason I want one of those stoves is that the whole thing can be as unobtrusive as possible. I just know it will be rarely lit. The last thing I need is an empty grate full of orange peel and cigarette butts.

Now I'm nearly as old as Queen Camilla and I have some very old-fashioned ideas. I don't think men should be allowed in my kitchen at all unless they are eating, cooking the dinner or doing some other useful thing. They shouldn't be let to hang around kitchens when they are doing nothing or playing tin whistles. And providing sources of radiant heat is only encouraging them.

I'm for posting a few pictures now. Two are from my walk and one is of the type of fireplace I want. Isn't it lovely?

Long Fingers

Did you ever see such long fingers as the ones on yer woman. ET wouldn't have a look in.

Hello Poser

Jeremiah

Jerry and Nelly's Evening Oot

Returning from work on Tuesday last I spotted Jeremiah heading homewards with three heavy bags of rations. I turned the car and offered him a lift up home. Jerry is a long-time buddy of my Dad’s who used to help him on his farm a long time ago. Naturally Jerry was asking after Dad and said he’d love to go to see him so I offered to take him down. Hence our date.

I was a bit worried that Jerry would find it hard seeing Dad in a nursing home and unable to talk properly but I needn’t have. The two of them were so pleased to see each other. The lovely thing was the way Jerry was with Daddy. He did not talk down to him but gave him his complete attention. It was total man-to-man respect. Afterwards Jerry said he thought Dad looked great, much better than he’d expected. He also praised the nursing home saying that it seemed like a lovely, homely place. That’s always good for a daughter to hear.

We called at Aunt Bella’s pub where Jeremiah had a Cream of the Barley (Bella remembered his tipple) and a Guinness. I had a cup of tea with Aunt Em in the kitchen. It was a good outing. Jerry is great crack and told me some stories from the old days that I’d never heard.

This is one about my Granny. Jerry said Granny used to have great bantering sessions with a Protestant man who lived near the Creamery. As Jerry put it this boy was a great one for the Orange. Every Twelfth of July he’d put a Union Jack up at the Creamery but this particular year some skitters pulled it down on him. The next time he was in Granny’s pub he asked her if she knew anything about it and of course she said she didn’t know a thing. So he told her he was going to sicken them and get the flag painted on to the road. Granny said, “That’s great. We’ll be able to trample over it when we’re going to the chapel.”

Here’s another story from the old days. My father’s Uncle James was a medical student in Dublin when the great flu epidemic broke out. He was working in a hospital, caught the flu and died from it. All his effects were sent home to his parents and they included a genuine skeleton, which was part of a medical student’s kit at the time. For years this skeleton was stored in a box in the attic of the pub. Later it was moved out to one of the sheds. As children I remember us having great searches for it but all we ever found was the skull. It was pierced by a big hook and hinged at the jaw with wire. Now this is the bit that is hearsay but it’s a good story anyway. The ‘bare bones’ of it are true anyway.

Aunt B didn’t like this skeleton being around so she asked her son to bury it in the garden. But he only put it in a shallow grave. Later it was dug up by a neighbour’s dog who proudly took a human femur back to its owner. She, naturally, phoned the police – cue murder investigation. As I say it is hearsay. All I know is that as a family we prefer to keep our skeletons in the cupboard – except for me, of course.

Brown Eyed Girl

She's Got Squinty Een...

..so I have to post a picture that shows her beautiful brown eye I mean eyes.

Katy the Wag

Katkin's Comment

K sent this comment by email. It refers to the recent runaway scunging devil dogs. I liked it.

Mum, you should have better control or tell bert to entertain them.

They probably go because of the noise of his whistling. Love Katkins

I've Got A Date!

I have mentioned before that Thursday night is Music Night here at Nelly's house. Bert gathers up his crew of musicians and they go deedly-deeing and bluegrassing for hours on end. Then they play darts. Meanwhile I get total control of the TV remote and maybe while away a few minutes on the computer.

But this Thursday is different as I'm going out. I've got a date. I literally picked him up in the village on my way home from work this evening and we've planned a drive (to Randalstown), then we're calling in at Aunt Bella's for a drink. My date will be on the beer and I'll have tea as I'll be driving.

Now those of you who know me as a happily partnered woman might be surprised that I'm going out with another man, an older man, but it should reassure you all to know that Matty approves and Bert has no problem with it.

I'll let you know how it went after the event. After all I might get stood up. But if he doesn't, and if he lets me, I'll post a picture too.

Scunging Again

Those scunging devil dogs fecked off again. They only seem to do it when I'm at work so I suppose they must find Bert a bit dull to hang out with. Rosie has just returned and she is bogging. All her white bits are black. Paddy is still missing. Bert had been out looking for them for hours but had to give up when it got dark. It is very worrying because one of these days Johnny Farmer will shoot them.

Somebody Smart

Can somebody smart tell me what that computer language stuff is doing on my blog.

Bert's Malaise

Bert has been sad all week. He had horrible dental treatment on Tuesday, which left him feeling pretty rotten. He is still not smoking but is at the stage where he believes his life holds less meaning because he is not sucking in nicotine. I tell him that this will pass and he will rejoice in his tobacco free existence. But when Bert is down he thinks he will never know happiness, joy or contentment again. Even now when birds are singing, early flowers are blooming, the days are lengthening and global warming is underway, he believes he will never feel the heat of the sun again.

Meanwhile I have had a good week. Kerry Sis has been staying with Matty this week and I have seen a good bit of her. We met for lunch on Monday, went to Belfast on Tuesday. On Thursday we went for a walk and yesterday we met up for pizza. Z&D and Bert were also there. This morning Z, Kerry Sis and I went to the Saturday market. I only bought fish and oranges. This afternoon I return to work which will be nice for Bert as it is a strain for a pessimist to have to hang out with an optimist. He will be able to play his whistle to his heart’s content and hang around the house in dirty boots. Later he will kick of his boots and cook fish. Perhaps Ian and Swisser will visit and they can sit around talking keek until way past their bedtimes.

If anyone has any practical suggestions on how to cheer Bert up feel free to advise. His likes include parties, days and nights out and general buldoys involving drink and silly talk.

Happy Birthday DD

Another Quiz

Another quiz I found the other day was copied from Acid Man via chez

This one tests your personality type and these are my results.

Wackiness: 58/100
Rationality: 50/100

Constructiveness: 72/100
Leadership: 60/100

You are a WECL--Wacky Emotional Constructive Leader. This makes you a People’s Advocate.

You are passionate about your causes, with a good heart and good endeavours. Your personal fire is contagious, and others wish they could be as dedicated to their beliefs as you are.

Your dedication may cause you to miss the boat on life's more slight and trivial activities. You will feel no loss when skipping some inane mixer, but it can be frustrating to others to whom such things are important. While you find it difficult to see other points of view, it may be useful to act as if you do, and play along once in a while.

In any event, you have buckets of charisma and a natural skill for making people open up. Your greatest asset is an ability to make progress while keeping the peace.

Of the 87955 people who have taken this quiz since tracking began (8/17/2004), 6.1 % are this type.

If that’s all true then I’m obviously in the right line of work but it sounds like I should also be putting myself up for Union Rep. Actually I think the results are a bit skewed as they don’t appear to have factored in lethargy. This is the person I would be if I wasn’t so damned lazy.

And You Are...?

On Growing Older

That photo of dear old Danny and myself must be well over a decade old from when I was in my mid-thirties or thereabouts. Now I’m in my (very) early fifties and often find myself pondering my impending old age. So how happy I was to discover this quiz, which I copied from Lawyer Guy. Apparently I act 27, so perhaps I'm not so middle-aged after all. I think it was the White Stripes that cut it for me.

But I still have to decide what kind of ould doll that I want to be. These are some of the possibilities that occur to me.

Momma Bear – eternal mother figure. Provider of hot meals, clean laundry, baby sitting services, soothing cups of tea, ample bosom and a comfy lap. Momma loves her family, her grandchildren, cooking, cleaning, chatting and baby-sitting. Her heroes are her children and Princess Diana.

Old Biddy – umbrella waving, shopping trolley pulling, queue jumping, moaning Minnie who smells of damp tweed and pee. Old Biddy loves going to the doctor, shopping, complaining, ancient tweed coats, woolly hats and mangy cats. Her heroine is Margaret Thatcher.

Old Hippy – flowing skirts, beaded and scarfed, home grown herbs, dope smoking, sandal wearing, earth mother and anti blood sports green. Old Hippy loves gardening, candle making, arts and crafts, world music, joss sticks, tarot cards, eclectic furnishings, patchwork, mongrel dogs and Glastonbury. Her hero is The Goddess. And she grieved for weeks over John Peel.

Glamorous Granny – designer clothes, stilettos, botoxed, face lifted, wig wearing, Rigby & Pellered, perfumed. GG loves lying about her age, jewellery, expensive presents, other women’s envy and younger men. She admires Catherine Deneuve and Liz Hurley.

Good Old Girl – short skirts, leather trousers, too much make up, lots of cleavage, frightens young men. Good Old Girl loves dirty talk, cigarettes, alcohol, parties, Bingo and sex. She looks up to Barbara Windsor and fancies George Clooney.

I definitely don’t want to be an Old Biddy and I’m far too lazy and poor to be a Glamorous Granny so it will have to be elements of the other three. It’ll be a toucher deciding, that’s for sure.

Danny and friend