Happy New Year

The Last Of Christmas

Christmas Meme

El Capitan tagged me with this. It’s still Christmas so...

1. Wrapping paper or gift bags?
Wrapping paper. This year I didn’t have to buy any as I’d loads left over from last year and I remembered where I’d left it. And I bought hardly any presents.

2. Real tree or artificial?
Real. We have thousands of the buggers growing in the fields. They are starting to get rather big.

3. When do you put up the tree?
Awfully close to Christmas unless some darling person, like Hannah, does it for me.

4. When do you take the tree down?
Holly de Cat is already working on the dismantling. I’ll finish the job next weekend. This weekend I’ve got the young Banjos coming to stay.

5. Do you like eggnog?
It’s vile beyond belief.

6. Favourite gift you received as a child?
My first tricycle.

7. Do you have a nativity scene?
No. I’m going to ask Zoë to knit me one for next year.

8. Hardest person to buy for?
Katy. Amazon won’t let me send her present.

9. Easiest person to buy for?
Bert. He’s happy with anything.

10. Mail or email Christmas cards?
I haven’t sent Christmas cards for more than ten years.

11. Worst Christmas gift you ever received?
This is a public blog. I loved all my gifts.

12. Favourite Christmas movie?
Don’t have one.


13. When do you start shopping?
In a bad year the week before Christmas

14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present?
Yes.

15. Favourite thing to eat at Christmas?
Turkey, stuffing, Brussels sprouts, pudding, trifle, chocolate, mince pies, cake….

16. Clear lights or coloured on the tree?
Coloured

17. Favourite Christmas song?
Santa Baby – Eartha Kitt

18. Travel at Christmas or stay home?
Home.

19. Can you name all of Santa’s Reindeers?
Not without googling.

20. Angel on the tree top or a star?
The kitten chewed the angel so it was a star.

21. Open the presents on Christmas Eve or morning?
Christmas morning.

22. Most annoying thing about this time of year?
The commercial aspect of Christmas. People buying cruddy crap that nobody sane should want. Shopping frenzies.

23. Do you have Jesus in your heart this Christmas?
No. Too many people have preached at me this year and I’m feeling peeved with God-botherers.

24. What would you like for Christmas?
Exactly the same as El Capitan. A ball of money to pay off debts. Then I’d live within my means for ever. Swear I would.

I shan’t tag anyone. Only if you feel like it.

Every Picture Tells A Story

Well I think our Christmas blogmeet went well. Zoe's got some pictures for anyone interested in that sort of thing. Although the Beach Octopus*, a lovely girl, seems to have cleverly avoided appearing in any of them.

We fought our way through thick fog and high mountains to get there, some of us travelled from the far Northern regions (of America, London and Manchesterland), some of us got up at 4am that morning and worked the Nixt! Sale and still managed to attend. Some of us even had to bate our way past worried priests and anxious Mammys to make it to Johnny Joe's on time.

To those of you who couldn't make it - of course we talked about you. But it was all good.

*You really had to be there. Unless Katkins is reading?

St Stephen's Day

We're having Boxing Day dinner at 4pm. And I'm back to work tomorrow so there will be no blogging until Thursday - after the Blogmeet.

So that's McCollam's (Johnny Joe's), Cushion Doll (Cushendall) tomorrow at around 8pm.

So Here It Is...

Merry Christmas....EVERYONE!

Oh! Christmas Tree

Christmas preparations are under way.

Bert was dispatched to the Christmas Tree Fields this morning and returned with a passable specimen. Apparently he was nearly crying when he cut it down. He'd have been crying even harder if he'd had to fork out 20 quid for a shop bought one.

I've just finished decorating it with some hindrance from Holly de Cat. I'm not one of those sophisticates who themes and colour coordinates the tree. Instead I hoke out the thirty years accumulation of decos and smother it so that the finished effect looks like I stood on a tall stepladder and poured tinsel and shiny things out of a bucket.

Meanwhile out at the old homestead Vancouver Brother is busy looking after Ganching and Matty who are both a bit poorly. Ganching has pleurisy and Matty has inflammation of the eye. Get well soon people.

Ganching should be recovered enough to make the Cushion Doll blogmeet but I doubt she'll be dancing on the tables.

Too Good For Cats

This basket looks awesome. It's far too good to waste on that stinking kitten.

If I can just get myself positioned right it will fit me to a tee!

What do you mean it's too small?

See! Told you!

Peformance Art

How did the teaching practice go?

Teaching practice?

You know - that thing you were doing tonight. Teaching that lot about word processing – that thing you’ve been working at for the last week. Did you make a good job of it? Did it go smoothly? Did you get yourself in a big tizzy?

In a big tizzy? I don’t know where you get the idea that any of that stuff matters one tiny little bit. I wasn’t doing Teaching Practice. I was doing Performance Art if you must know. It’s not about things going smoothly and getting it right or anything like that. It’s Art! And as Art it went very well thanks very much for asking!

Nelly's Recipes: No. 1

CHEESE SCONE RECIPE

You will need

• Neill’s Soda Bread Flour (200g)
• Butter (50g)
• Strong cheddar cheese
• 1 egg
• Buttermilk
• Salt & Black Pepper
• Dried mustard or paprika

Rub the butter into the flour until it resembles very fine breadcrumbs. (Tip: cut butter into small pieces for ease of breadcrumbing)

Add salt (go easy), black pepper (good sprinkle and one teaspoon dried mustard or half teaspoon of paprika.

Add at least 50g of grated cheese. You can add up to 100g but bear in mind that extra cheese will give the scones a heavier texture. They’ll still be yummy.

Mix in the beaten egg and enough buttermilk to make firm dough. Shape the dough on a floured surface into a piece about a finger thick (if, like mine, your fingers are fat). You can cut these into eight squarish scones. Place on a greased baking tray. (Tip: If you add too much liquid and your dough turns out a bit soggy just lash it on to a tray without shaping or cutting and call it bread.)

Cook in a fairly hot oven for 10-12 minutes. Longer if baking bread.

Actually I just fling all the ingredients, except the buttermilk, into a Magimix and let it rip. Then I add the buttermilk in dribs and drabs until I get the consistency I want.

(Tip: Scones or bread are ready to come out of the oven if they make a hollow sound when you tap them.)

Worried

Bert has taken Holly de Cat to the vet after I secured an emergency appointment. We think one of the dogs has hurt her. There is nothing obvious on the outside but she vomited blood.

Update: The vet's opinion is that Holly has not been hurt. She thinks she has a stomach infection. She has received an injection, has been given medication and is to be kept hydrated. If she does not improve in the next 24 hours we are to bring her back.

I Am A Domestic Goddess And I Am Drunk

Swisser called in last night, on her way back from the airport, after collecting her son Conor who was back from his first term at Glasgow University.

She said on the phone,

He's malnourished you know. Living on rice and pasta. I was eating a pear while I was talking to him on the phone and he said, 'What are you eating?' and I said 'A pear,' and he said, 'I haven't had a pear for months!'.

So I decided to give myself a wee break from the studying and lesson preparation and do a bit of baking. There's nothing an ould doll like myself enjoys better than cooking for an appreciative (and hungry) young fellow. I baked an apple tart, a pineapple and coconut sponge, cheese scones and apple and cinnamon scones. I knew that Conor would go mad when his mother suggested calling in with us.

Mother! Nellybert is so boring! I want to get home!

There will be cake. Nelly is baking us cake.

Alright then.

When Swisser saw the spread I'd made she said,

Don't leave it all out at once. He won't be able to control himself.

I said,

Let him eat away. Didn't you say he was starving?

He spilled through the door. He is six foot four. He is a man now although a man newly hatched. He ate and he ate and he ate. I packed more into a box and sent them home with him. For his brother. His brother will be lucky to be left a morsel. When he was leaving he said,

Thanks for the cake.

The cheese scone was awesome so I made it again tonight. And I made curried parsnip soup. Apart from doing that I worked all day long at my studies. Then I decided to fall to the drink. Why not?

Christmas Blogmeet

The Guardian just gave away a big Posy Simmonds illustrated poster of an endangered species, i.e. Guardian Readers. This picture represents that famous Guardian Reader, our own dear Ganching. 'Course it looks nothing like her as she'd not be seen dead in leggings. For they don't make leggings in tweed, do they?

Ganching and Sandra and myself and, possibly, the girleens Zoe and Hannah are planning to get together somewhere on the North Antrim Coast on the 27th December. And you can come too - if you think you're hard enough. Get in touch.

And Mr Bolan - you'll be with us in spirit.

Staying Focused

It is said that men and women have very different approaches to work. Women are adept at multitasking while men focus on the task in hand to the exclusion of all others. Far be it from me to suggest that this rule applies to all women and men but it certainly applies to Nellybert.

I’ve been really busy this week as I have the first of three teaching practice sessions this coming Tuesday. I’ve been working on it for over a week now and even took two days off my paid work to get stuck into it. Of course I ended up spending one of those days sailing Matty round the country visiting poorly sisters and so on. When the pressure is on my patience with Matty wears thin. Everything takes forever when she’s involved. If she sees a queue she gets in it – the longer the better. It must be a consequence of having lived through The War. And she keeps wandering off and when I do find her she’s usually squandering our inheritance doing a scratch card. By the time I got her home it was far too dark for a nice brisk sanity-restoring walk and I was just about ready to kill somebody. Bert?

Meanwhile Bert is totally focused on a manly task. Time hangs heavy on his hands during winter and this month he’d already restored his childhood rocking horse and learnt three new things on the clarinet when Bap called round. And Bap saw the staircase. And Bap was very cross indeed.

Bap is in his mid-fifties and I’ve known him forever. Like many of us he was one cool dude in his younger days but now he’s turned into ‘Yer Da’. It must be a consequence of having two 20 something sons who, despite being real cool dudes themselves, need a lot of fatherly advice about keeping their motors in order and so on. Anyway Bap starts on Bert.

Have you never sorted out those banister rails yet? I don’t know how you can live with yourself! I’d not rest until I’d three coats of varnish on those!

Bert laughed it off to Bap’s face. But it was only a day or two later he got stuck in. And he’s been doing it for ever now. And he’s so smug about it. Thinks he’s a helluva fella. But it is all he does. Cares he not a bit for filthy floors, empty grates, starving kittens, menopausal women or Christmas. He just leaps joyously out of bed every morning at around 10 and sands and varnishes and sands and varnishes. Then he plays the clarinet all evening.

And there’s me trying to learn the lesson content, prepare a lesson plan, do laundry, shop, clean, cook, blog, walk the dogs, go to work, mind my Mammy and all the rest of it. Sometimes I really do wish I was a man. Life would be so much simpler.

Goldminers

During the time I worked in Spide City I got to know a few predatory men who’d hang about the place. They weren’t particularly nice characters although you couldn’t have told the hostel residents that – they thought these kind and generous fellows were just great.

The one I knew best was Jim. He had just one special friend in the hostel. She was eighteen, looked and acted younger, and he was at least thirty years older. He’d first met her when she was in the Children’s Home. He’d run a sweet shop quite close to the Home and he befriended the kids. He’d gone up in the world since then and now he made his living at the milder edge of the skin trade – lap dancers, strippers and so on. Since then I heard he’s making sex videos. He was a smart operator and his special friend was very pretty and mildly learning disabled. She was also severely mentally troubled. He’d take her away for the weekend and keep her drugged up. Who knows what happened? She was an adult. She didn’t complain.

Then there was Neville. He dressed like a tramp but he was a successful businessman with a bookie’s shop and a pub. He drove a Mercedes and kept the glove compartment well stocked with cigarettes, cannabis and sweets. His modus operandi was to make friends with the older women first, win their confidence, and then access their younger friends or their daughters. He was known to the police but nobody had ever complained.

I heard the stories about the parties and the young girls he shared with his sleazy friends but there was nothing I could do.

Those guys were pimps – they kept the really young ones for themselves and sent older girls out on the streets. They told them how much they’d earn out there and sure they were only getting money for what they’d give away for free.

You’re sitting on a goldmine girl!

The saddest thing was that the likes of Neville would often get an older girl to chat the newbies into it. He'd provide the lift. But if there was any trouble he'd just drive off and leave the girl or girls stranded. And if those young women were lucky the police found them and brought them back and when that happened it was me or my colleagues who listened to them as they told us the stories of what had happened, how scared they were and how little, if anything, they got for what they did.

Of course it's the current news from Ipswich that has got me thinking about this. Joan Smith of the Guardian has a good perspective on the way the media is dealing with the story.

Stranger Than Fiction

The world's tallest man put his abnormally long arms to use in order to help a pair of dolphins that had swallowed plastic shards. Read the story here.














Bao Xishun, the world's tallest man, pictured above

Holly

Bert says that if Bonnie doesn't kill Holly they'll end up the bestest of chums. She is every bit as feisty as I'd hoped. It's fun to watch a tiny little kitten take on a German Shepherd. They still need supervision though, at least until Holly is a bit bigger and stronger. That's all for now folks. I have so much work to do right now.

Rooney's Luck

Young Loveheart is always saying that Young Rooney should get out more. The fellow hadn’t been out the door since the night he was mysteriously transported from the Countryman’s Inn, Grove Road, Ballymena to Logan’s Fashion’s near Cloughmills. We thought at the time it might have been an alien abduction. Who knows? What we do know is that Young Rooney lost a couple of hours that night.

And so it came about that Young Loveheart and the rest of the fellows talked Young Rooney into another night out in the Countryman’s. For a while all went well. Then it was time to move on to the next venue. The taxi was but half a mile down the road when Young Loveheart exclaimed, “Where’s Rooney?” Disaster! Rooney had been mislaid. “We can’t leave Rooney in the Countryman’s on his own,” Loveheart protested, “He’ll be killed! Let me out!”

Young Loveheart ran back to the pub and found Young Rooney pleasantly preoccupied in chatting up ‘a bird’ at the bar. In no time at all Young Loveheart was himself chatting up no less than six ‘birds’ and for a while all was well.

But Rooney’s luck did not hold. While Loveheart was otherwise engaged the brother of Rooney’s ‘bird’ took exception to a remark allegedly made by Rooney and commenced to ‘beat him up.’ It’s said (by Young Loveheart) that Rooney then took to his baters and outran his assailant. By the time Loveheart realised what had occurred Rooney was two miles down the road but not quite the length of Logan’s Fashions. Young Loveheart, naturally, had no difficulty in catching up with Rooney him being the tight lad he is.

The rest of the story is shrouded in mystery as the person to whom it was told (Bert) has but a short attention span and does not recall being told how the evening ended. But wouldn’t we all be fortunate to have a friend as mindful (and as fit) as Young Loveheart?

Introducing...

holly 2, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

...Holly de Cat.

Dutch Talk Show Interview (with English Subtitles)

Happy Birthday To My Faraway Girl

Katy & Mary, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Katy's birthday today.

Hope you're having a good one darling.

Watch Out! There's A Cat-Shaped Space In My Heart That's About To Be Filled

That's it then. Two more of my teeth have been consigned to the rubbish heap. After the extraction (dentist had to kneel on my chest and brace himself to get the blighters out) I went for a brisk walk by the river. And in the dark too - I'm a real hardy hoor. Now I'm suited, booted and teethed to the max for a night out with the Tinkerton crew. If I get round to posting again tonight it will be seriously gin-affected. So I probably won't. Oh yes - tomorrow we're getting a kitten.

In Hiding

Do I have all my own teeth? Unfortunately, tragically not. Tonight some of my teeth are still in my mouth but the remainder of them are with the dental technician. Tomorrow I am to lose my rickety bridge and gain four extra teeth on my plate.

I have to keep telling myself that it’s only teeth. Only teeth. And that I still have all my limbs and digits. My facial features are in place and all my other bits and boobs are where they should be. And when the technician (false teeth maker) has done his bit my smile will be intact again.

But I’m really very, very sad about it. Then of course there is having to hide in the house all day. After he nabbed my removable teeth that crazy dentist actually asked me if I’d be going Christmas shopping later.

Crithmath thopping! Are you inthane? With thith witch-hag maw?

I took Paddy for a walk and while I was out I worried about what I’d do if anyone spoke to me. I decided that I’d feign deaf-muteness. Maybe they’d think I was learning disabled? There are plenty of learning disabled people with that are perfectly capable of walking dogs.

I’m using my time hiding away from the world to start preparing my teaching practice lesson for the week before Christmas. Who knew there were so many things you can do with tables? Earlier this evening Bert was out collecting Jamie from the airport and to be on the safe side I’d locked all the doors and turned out most of the lights. Usually I hear cars coming up the lane but being so engrossed in the Tables and Borders toolbar I must have missed this one. First thing I knew was the back door being banged off its hinges. I leapt out of my chair and raced into the darkened kitchen where I crouched beside the fridge. It was ages before that brute Paddy stopped barking and I felt I could return to my studies.

This hellish toothlessness continues until 3.30 tomorrow. Then I’ll be able to say,

All my own teeth? But of course. All bought and paid for.

Dirrrty!

Oh I've been so busy the last few days wrestling and struggling with Mail Merge. For after all, how can I teach it if I don't understand it myself? But I got there in the end - at least I think I did.

Night class tonight and the discussion turned to methods of teaching and the long term effects a harsh teacher can have on a pupil's self-esteem. For that reason I'll never forget Miss Dwyer. Old school she was, taught mathematics, wore a dusty old gown, green with age and, as far as I can remember, appeared to hate humanity and girls in particular.

Nor will I ever forget that dreadful cold afternoon in first year grammar as I sat shivering in the Assembly Hall while Miss Dwyer droned on about some mathematical concept. My nose itched. There was a ripe old booger up there. I did what I had to do. Suddenly her voice rang out!

Nelly Moser! You dirrrty, dirrty girl. Get your finger out of your nose! Now go and wash your hands you dirrrty, dirrrty girl!

I think it took me the best part of twenty years to get over the humiliation. And the mortal blow to my self-esteem all but eroded my interest in maths. Funnily enough though the shame didn't stop me picking my nose. It just taught me to be more discreet.

Wot?

A prize of a 20 foot Christmas tree (winner must collect) to the first person who identifies this picture.

Talking to the Cops

While Bert was wending his way back from his night's camping out in Murlough Bay I was out taking Bonnie and Paddy for a walk. Coincidentally we both got stopped by the traffic police. Mine was off-duty and taking his German Shepherd for a walk and we had a bit of a chat about Bonnie and how she's getting on.

Bert's encounter was with the on-duty variety and just outside Armoy. Firstly he accused Bert of driving through the village faster than the required 30mph. Knowing Bert, this was unlikely. He was more likely to have been driving under the speed limit as over it. However it was no matter as the officer had no means of judging his speed and Bert was, as is advisable, most affable and polite to the officer.

And where are you coming from sir?

Murlough Bay.

Murlough Bay?

Yes. I was camping there last night.

Camping? Do you expect me to believe that?

Yes. I was camping with a couple of friends.

And who are these friends? And where are they now?

It's Marty M..... and Brian I don't know his second name. They're sitting in Ballycastle now at a big fry and if you wait there they'll be along eventually.

Please step outside the van sir....

Stormy Weather

I took Matty to Ballymena this afternoon as she wanted to buy some reading glasses. She got her second cataract operation earlier in the week and found that her old reading glasses didn't do the job any more. Of course the first thing she wants to do in Sainsburys is buy a scratch card (she's addicted)but, ever the caring daughter, I pulled her out of the queue on the grounds that it was too long and she would tire herself out. I told her I'd stop at another scratch card vending emporioum on the way home.

So we got our bits and pieces and split up at the checkouts. I'd more stuff than Matty so took a bit longer. When I was through I looked about but couldn't see her anywhere. Then I bumped into George, my old colleague from Tinkerton. We chatted for a few moments and I mentioned I was looking for my mother. He said, "Oh mine follows me around," and I looked behind him to see an elderly gentleman smiling benignly whilst leaning on a trolley. "You're lucky," I said, "Mine wanders off."

I found her eventually. She was furtively scraping at a scratch card. The minute my back was turned...

<><><><><><>

I'm home alone tonight as Bert has gone camping with his West Belfast friends.

Camping? In this weather? They were planning to go to Murlough Bay but they must have forgotten to listen to the weather forecast. It's very wet and VERY windy.

Methinks they'll be camping in the Marine Hotel, Ballycastle.

Bliffo the Bare

On the left: Ms Britney Spears with clothes on which, given her recent form, makes a pleasant change.

I showed Bert some of the ruder pictures of Ms Spears that had emerged on the internet and he was utterly appalled.

"What is the world coming to," he fumed, "When women belittle themselves so by displaying their all and what they had for breakfast to any passing paparazzi? Where will it end? Truly these are the Last Days."

He was equally outraged when I showed him similarly immodest pictures of Ms Lindsay Lohan, Ms Paris Hilton and Mrs Katie Andre.

This Job I'm Doing

After seven years of working in homeless services I'm working in a day centre with learning disabled adults. That's the field where I began working, many years ago in Ballymoney, in my first job after leaving university. So I've completed the circle and am very happy to be back.

But... I need to brush up on the lingo. What is the correct term these days? Learning disabled? Mentally challenged? Not the full shilling? Ooops! Forget I said that last one.

Butter Wouldn't Melt In Her Mouth

Bonnie likes butter and she likes butter substitutes. I'm learning not to leave any on the kitchen surfaces. Learning the hard way that is. I forgot to put it all away this morning before I went to work and Bert was wakened once again by the sound of breaking glass and delpht. She ate half a pound of unsalted butter, a quarter tub of Golden Cow spread and half a cottage pie. She smashed a Pyrex dish, my cereal bowl (a particularly nice one) and a lovely old Devonware butter dish. All in all about 16 quids worth of crockery and foodstuffs.

Did I mention that we've decided to keep her? But you knew that was going to happen, didn't you?

The Perils Of Drink: Swisser Gets Dropped On Her Head

We went to visit the Wee Mannies last night. It’s been ages since I’d been there. Not since the Night of the Green Butter.

Jamie drove and played The Carpenters to us on the journey. This was to get us into the mood for the Wee Mannies are famed for their dubious taste in music. No Green Butter last night – just lots of lovely food and wine.

The Wee Mannies treated us to their holiday video. This was something of a cut above the usual holiday video. I begged for a copy so that I could put edited excerpts on youtube but permission was denied me. I could make the Wee Manny an internet cult figure in a matter of weeks if given the chance. But Mrs The Wee Manny is canny enough to know this and won’t allow it. So I’ll just have to invest in my own camera when I get some money. Then we’ll see.

The best bit of the video was when it was the Wee’s go. They were having an outing to a butterfly park. For the first five minutes he left the camera cap on. Then he was totally out of focus for the next five. Then he found the zoom and we were dizzy watching it rush in and out. Jamie asked, “Is this how you see the world, Wee?” There was no reply from the Wee’s corner where he was, as is traditional, verbally torturing Swisser. Back on the screen he finally managed to focus on the arses of two young Dutch girls up ahead of him and he follows them doggedly, all the while complaining that he wants to go to the pub.

Back to the present and he’s winding Swisser, trying to get her to come and sit on the sofa, accusing her of being an anti-social lesbian. She’s laughing it off and resisting. He tries moderate force. She resists harder. Suddenly he picks her up. Scary! Because he ain’t sober. But he’s doing fine. Then disaster! He’s on the home straight and down they go. Luckily Swisser lands (head first) on the sofa. Bert says Ploppy Pants tripped the Wee and Ploppy Pants says it was Jenny Wren tripped him. Mrs The Wee Manny says the Wee stumbled because that’s what he does when he’s full. Swisser is shaken and slightly hurt. She has a grazed ear.

I always thought that I’d be mixing with sensible people by the time I was 50.

The Wee Manny is an independently wealthy man of 55 who likes a drink. He buys his clothes in charity shops and works as a skilled labourer. He takes at least three holidays a year.

Swisser is a respected academic and an authority on the relationship between diet and health. She is published in reputable journals and attends up to six international conferences a year. She is 50. She is not a lesbian although she has been known to say that if she was it would make her life a lot easier.

Ploppy Pants is in his mid-fifties. He is a food-faddist and is currently on a special diet. He denies this. He is learning to play the banjo. He hates his job which often involves fixing my car. Bert swears he tripped the Wee Manny.

I wonder if I’d actually like sensible people? To tell you the truth I’m beginning to doubt their existence.

I'm Feeling Cooler

Thank goodness for Wikipedia.

Sam Duckworth – important facts. He is 20. He favours Jack rather than Vera.

Richard Hawley – important facts. He comes from Sheffield. He knows Jarvis. Obviously.

Gerard Way – important facts. His first stage role was Peter in Peter Pan. He has mean looking eyes.

Eugene Hutz – Important facts – He fronts Gogol Bordello (of which I’ve heard, if not actually heard) and, according to TSL, is a crazy man. She claims that any child or children fathered by Mr Hutz would be mental. BTW SL, up here in the North we prefer not to use derogatory terms like ‘mental’ – instead we’d say, ‘has psychiatric issues’. SL I’m sure your heart is set on Eugene but if anyone else wants a mental baby I recommend the sperm of Mr Michael Stone (as featured in today’s news.)

I will now take a short break to view John’s youtube recommendations.

*******************

After my short break.

Wowzie zowzie! I’m feeling at least 10% cooler than I did yesterday. Now that I’ve heard both Richard Hawley and Gogol Bordello.

Icons of Cool

Recently the Swearing Lady said she was experiencing a crisis of cool. So when I accidentally stumbled upon the NME Cool List 2006 I couldn’t resist giving myself a little test. Out of 50 icons of cool, as decided by NME readers, I found that I only recognised 14 names. And one of those was Keith Richard. Even then there was a few of those whose faces I couldn’t bring to mind. For instance if I were to come home some day and there was Bobby Gillespie sitting on the sofa I wouldn’t know him from Adam. But if we were introduced I’d be able to say, “Oh yes. I know you. You shifted Kate Moss and you’re in some band aren’t you? Name escapes me right now.”

And if I were to come home and there was Liam Gallagher sitting there chatting away to Bert I’d know who he was alright. Only thing is I’d probably get mixed up and call him Noel and then he’d throw a strop and break something.

Then if I were to return home and found Devendra Banhart was sitting cross legged on the coffee table, reeking of patchouli, I’d have to call Bert out into the kitchen and ask, “What’s with Mr Hairy Hippie then?” and he’d go, “That’s Devendra Banhart,” and I’d go “Oh yeah! We saw him on Jools didn’t we?”

Another New Job

I started my most recent post this morning. Despite giving myself 30 minutes to drive from Cullybackey to Ballymena I still managed to be five minutes late. Perhaps not the best of starts?

But...it feels right. The work is rewarding and the colleagues seem to be a friendly bunch. I met several old friends within minutes of being there. Maybe this is the one I've been waiting for...?

I got a call from the agency while I was there. Would I like to work the weekend in the local psychiatric hospital? Mmmm..let me think about that. Naw.

Pearlie Explains "I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here"

D'ye watch that oul thing?

I don't make a point of it. If it's on I'll look at it.

It's no good. But I like to see them doing the trials. D'ye know if they don't pass the trials they get no meat?

Is that right?

Aye. D'ye see that oul fellow there? He's starvin' for the want o' meat. If he doesn't ate something soon I think he'll die. I don't know what took him on it anyway - at his age! The money I suppose.

Wish Me Luck

Agency work can be very varied. Last week I worked in a nursing home, yesterday I worked in a solicitor's office and this week I'm doing two sleepovers in an independent living unit.

Today I'm going for an interview in a quarry! Let's hope I'm rugged enough.

Natural Graft

Natural Graft, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

When Katy met Bonnie

When Katy met Bonnie, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

It has been ages since I posted a picture here. I like this one of Katy and Bonnie.


And I love this one that was taken by Zoe.


And here's one I took earlier.

My Christmas List

It’s that time of the year again – the mad, fun-packed few weeks when everyone gets in the party spirit. Are you ready?

Not really. I suppose I may make a list.

1. The party. I am invited to Tinkerton’s office do which is nice as I don’t think agency workers have a do. Thankfully I will be getting my new teeth just in time for the festivities. Obviously this means I will not be able to afford a new frock.
2. The outfit. See above. I shall be sporting some fash gnashers instead.
3. The food. Clint has free range turkeys and as he is still squatting in our old house it will be the least he can do. I try not to visit too often in case I find myself making friends with Christmas lunch. And we’ve our own home grown Brussels sprouts and carrots. As for the rest of the food – I don’t get this supermarket shopping frenzy the world goes on. After all, how much food can a person eat in the one day that the shops are closed?
4. Alcohol. Again, how much gin can a person drink in the one day that the offies are closed?
5. The presents. I’m really starting to like Zoë’s idea of goats and plastic buckets etc. No wrapping, no clutter, one-stop shopping. Ideal.
6. Decorations. Some of these days I’ll stroll out to the plantation and tie a yellow ribbon round an old fir tree. Then I’ll send Bert and his trusty axe out to drag it home for me. Out come the shoeboxes from the attic and on go the ancient decorations from way back when. What could be simpler?
7. Christmas cards. I’ll be sending one virtual Chrissie card via the blog. I have to make up for sacrificing that fir tree after all.
   

Only A Step To Jesus, Why Don't You Take It Now?

Throughout my working career I have often found myself in situations and places where I would never, of my own free will, have chosen to be.

There was the time myself and two other people took a group of eight special needs people to a dinner dance in Larne. All was going well until Jeannie, an epileptic, took a turn that caused her to fall face-first into her turkey dinner. While our attention was diverted Lucy, who needed to be closely supervised whilst eating, stuffed so much food into her mouth that she started choking and needed the Heimlich manoeuvre employed. Meanwhile, Jeannie recovered, got the gravy and mash washed off her face, and daintily continued to eat her meal. Yet another successful outing where we brought eight out alive and returned them in the same condition.

There have been Christmas parties held by well-meaning church groups where the guest of honour was the minister. With her remarkable talent for identifying VIPs Lisa (Down Syndrome) pulled up her sweatshirt to reveal her Do You Think I’m Sexy? Tee shirt and then treated the reverend to an impromptu lap dance.

What about a two-hour concert given by the African Children’s Choir? Those kids could certainly sing but it was still hymns. Ten minutes of that would have satisfied me.

Oh, I could go on. But I have always consoled myself that I was getting paid, and well-paid, for my attendance at these outings and dos.

But I’d have needed a lot more than the minimum wage to feel better about the service I attended last night. Up rolled the righteous in their Mercedes and Jags and suddenly the place was filled with good-livin’ folk who previously had only been names to me, names usually seen on the frontage of a number of Big Shops in the local area. So it was that I stood on my aching back legs for an hour of hymns and preaching directed at the captive audience contained within the Near At Hand Home for People Filled with Brotherly Love.

There could be no cheerier way to spend an evening than reminding the elderly that their time is rapidly running out.

And all for the minimum wage too.

Some Thoughts on Old Age

After two weeks of no work, I kept turning down clerical jobs in far-flung places like Larne and Newtownabbey; I started back at the Twilight Homes this week. And what a shame that it is this very week that my darling Katy is home for a few days.

Yesterday I was working in the Near At Hand Home for People Filled with Brotherly Love. It is a lovely looking place although rather regimented. I’m there today and tomorrow as well. Is this why I woke up this morning feeling horribly depressed?

The care is good enough, the surroundings are beautiful but I get a sense that the people who work there are just ‘doing a job’. As is normal in these places there is a lot of bitching and cliquery. The usual form of bitching is that other workers don’t pull their weight. One thing about this particular home is that it is certainly rambly enough for people to hide in. And from what I’ve seen so far I think some of them do.

Urrgh! I hate the thought of going in there this evening.

Then there is the clientele. The people that still have their wits about them are mostly lovely and really interesting to talk to, that is, if you get the chance. But the others, the ones in bed who barely know who or where they are, they depress me so. What is the point of that? The hardest thing is to look at the photographs on display taken maybe just a few years before when they were alert, up and about, and alive. Now they’re lying rigid, skeletal, paper-thin, hovering between half-life and the end. These are people who had lives, loves, jobs, hobbies and families they knew.

So – no matter the fineness of the furnishings or the splendour of the surroundings these are such sad places. The up-and-about ones, if they still have their minds, must know that it is only a matter of time before they too are lingering under full-time nursing care. Unless they are lucky enough to, one day, just drop suddenly dead. The ironic thing is that the quality of care and attention to nutrition etc. keeps most living long beyond their natural span.

There is much to be said to be said for the experience of benign neglect in a home of one’s own.

Basic Concepts of Information Technology

So how was your class?

Not bad. Tonight was the first night of our peer to peer teaching practice.

What was the class?

Basic Concepts of Information Technology.

Dear God! Sounds damnable. Who took it?

This guy. Know what he did? Only built a computer right in front of us. And made it look easy and fun. How am I going to compete with that when I take my class in word processing?

Getting Some Work Done

Bert asked me today if Swisser had been impressed by his shelf-building skills.

“She certainly was but it’s not just Swisser,” I said, “Sandra from the blogosphere was dead impressed too. In fact I’ve offered your carpentry services to her when she comes back to live here.”

“Which one is Sandra?”, he enquired. “Is she the dissident republican?”

“Not as far as I know,” I answered. “Sandra lives in Canada. She’s a doctor and she’s going to be a plastic surgeon.”

"A plastic surgeon? Really? Is she a nice looking girl herself?”.

“Indeed she is. But you needn’t be worrying yourself about that for she only has eyes for Ed.”

“Ed? Is he the one knows Young Rooney?”

“Not really. They come from the same town, that’s all.”

“So Sandra wants shelves built.”

“Indeed she does.”

“And she’s going to be a plastic surgeon?”

“She is.”

“That’s handy. A boy couldn’t know too many plastic surgeons and him not a beagle’s gowl off fifty. D’ye think she’ll fix these bags under my eyes for me? ”

"Well, if you make a good job of the shelves - she might."

Thanks Be To God

Manuel walks among us again.

While Nelly Was Away

I wouldn’t say that life with Bonnie is perfect. Take this morning, for instance – I left the house at 9am. I’d let Bonnie out to pee and made sure she had water. Meanwhile the other two dogs were still lazing in bed with Bertie boy.

Bert told me later that he thought the banging and crashing noises was just me doing the housework. For some reason Bert thinks I’m very loud as I go about my housewifely duties. Maybe I am. It’s bad enough having to do 85% of the cleaning, (Bert thinks it’s 50% but he’s wrong, wrong, wrong) without having to tippytoe around like a little creepy mouse.

But when the noise got really extreme he thought he really must look into it immediately. So half an hour later he dragged himself from his hairy bed and went downstairs. What a sight! All over the floor were smashed plates, shattered glasses, Oatabix (yuk!), full tins of dog food with teeth marks in them and pretty much everything else that Slutty Moser hadn’t cleared up from the previous night. That’ll learn me.

We don’t know whether Bonnie actually jumped on top of the worktop and pranced around or if she just stood on her hind legs and swept it all, Skippy-style, on to the floor with her paws. But it seems she’s not one for bland flavours as she never lipped the Oatabix (yuk!) but had a good chew at the cayenne pepper.

What?

If you want to know why Hannah is going to call her first born Bait you must read this.

Bonnie's Progress

Bonnie has been with us for 21 days now. It looks like Toast might have been right after all.

I did contact the Council dog warden but she had not been reported missing. I put up posters in the village; it was over a week before there was any calls. The response did not come from her previous owners but from concerned neighbours. Names were neither requested or given.

This is what I learned. Bonnie had spent her whole life chained in a shed. When her owner went into hospital his wife let Bonnie loose and whether this was by accident or deliberately I don’t know. The neighbours took her in and bathed and fed her for she was filthy and starving. She stayed with them for about a week getting on well with everyone including heir own dog. But then the two dogs got away and ended up scunging on our road.

Which is when we came in. The neighbour told us that his dog made it home safely. He was happy to let us take responsibility for Bonnie. He said he’d prefer if she didn’t return to her original owners and that he was too close.

Bonnie was understandably unsettled for the first few days that she was here. She’s more at ease now. She had a bit of an upset stomach for about a week. Maybe she wasn’t used to regular feeding. I took her to my vet for a check up and had her checked for chipping. She’s unregistered. I’ve bought a licence and wormed her. The vet has pronounced her underweight but otherwise healthy.

We’re still looking for a permanent home for Bonnie. Maybe this is it.

Meanwhile Bonnie’s training regime has begun.

1. Shower Training 2. Bed Training 3. Comfy Chair Training

Breaking News

Man charged with Shirley's murder

28. Bet on a winning horse

Or

My Short-lived Career in Gambling

We’re back in 1976, back in the Globe Bar, where Nelly is an innocent young barmaid.

Bryan Street was different in those days. Most of one side of the street was taken up with McAllister’s bottling depot. The bookmaker’s on the other side of the street is the only business still there from that time. There was another pub beside the bookie’s and many of the punters would flit between the two bars. It wasn’t long before a few of the bookie’s regulars were persuading me to have a flutter. At first I was very reluctant for I thought gambling was a fool’s game. But Jim and Billy persisted and eventually I allowed myself to be persuaded. Don’t ask me to recall the racecourse for I haven’t a notion. But well I remember the name of the horse. It was called Love Story. That pair blinded me with science as to the odds and all the rest of it but it was the name that pulled me in for I was an eedjit for the romance in those days. I placed a fifty pence bet on the horse. Fifty pence! Let me tell you that fifty pence was the equivalent of a fiver then and was a modest, yet respectable wager. And the damn horse romped home and I won a couple of quid. Easy money – I thought.

Next day Billy and Jim were on at me again. Picked me another sure winner. I placed fifty pence and – lost it! I was raging. Swore I was finished with horse racing. Then the following Monday they tell me that Love Story is running again and I should place a bet. He’s the favourite. I refused. He coudn’t win twice in a matter of days. They cajoled. I dug my heels in. The horse was probably pounded with exhaustion. They gave up on trying to get me to relent. And of course Love Story won the bloody race. When they told me I vowed to myself that I’d never bet on a horse again. And I never have. Not even on the Grand National.

01. Bought everyone in the pub a drink

Date: 27th December 1976
Venue: The Slemish Bar, William Street, Ballymena

In 1976 I was a single mother to Zoe and I was working as a barmaid in the Globe Bar in Bryan Street, Ballymena. The Globe Bar is no more but I still have a connection to the place. It’s my bank now. I liked the Globe. It was a very popular pub at the time and all my friends (and some of my enemies) drank there. I was working there when I met Pete.

Pete was ever such a pretty boy. He had longish, dark curly hair, a neat little beard, lovely teeth, sweet smile; forget the colour of his eyes – brown? He was a little on the small side but no matter for I was smaller still. He’d have made the cutest little hobbit if they’d been casting Lord of the Rings in 1976. And the best thing, or so I thought, was that he was Welsh. That was so exotic in those far off days.

Well we’ll skim over the next three months. Suffice to say I fell in love and truly believed I had met ‘the one’. He professed to feel the same and I believed him. It felt right. Then Christmas came. I’d never had a boyfriend at Christmas before and I was pretty excited about it. On Christmas Eve our crowd went to the Slemish Bar in William Street. We had a great night up until about ten o’clock. I had arranged a taxi home for 11 and Pete did not want me to go. He put a lot of pressure on me to stay but, remember, I had a little daughter of two and I had to go home. My family were always great about babysitting but my mother would not have been impressed if I’d stayed out. I had to go home. I wanted to go home. I needed to be there on Christmas morning. Pete didn’t understand this. My taxi came and I left. We kissed goodbye and confirmed that we would see each other the next evening.

I had a lovely Christmas with my family and on Christmas night I went out again. Pete did not turn up. There were no mobiles in those days so I did not have any way of contacting him. I was thoroughly and roundly stood up.

The next day was Sunday and there was no word from him. On the Monday I went into town and to the Slemish Bar. There was no sign of Pete. All our mutual friends were there but no one seemed to know where Pete was. Some did, but weren’t telling. A few days before Christmas I’d received a tax rebate and was loaded with money. I remember buying everyone in the bar a drink – even the bastards who were laughing at me because they knew I’d been stood up.

Eventually someone told me where Pete was. After I’d left the pub on Christmas Eve he’d got off with the sister of one of our best friends. Like me she was a single mum but unlike me she had her own cosy flat. He’d spent Christmas holed up with her and that was the end of Pete and me.

He married that blade but it wasn’t a happy pairing. Then he went on to become a social worker and married again. He still lives in Ballymena but I haven’t set eyes on him for nearly 20 years.

And that is the true story of the time I bought everyone in the bar a drink.

Is Pete Doherty.....?

Is Pete Doherty the bastard son of Eamonn Holmes?

This Could Be The Last Time*

When Bert was painting the new bookshelves he upended a sofa to give himself more room to work. Harry de Cat, with his liking for lofty positions, perched himself on top of it. He cast a sharp shadow on the wall behind and I thought it would make a good picture. I didn’t know that I was taking the last picture of Harry that I’d ever take. And, last night, when Bert fed Harry he didn’t know that would be the last meal he’d ever give him.

We hardly ever know that, do we? Yes, Harry was just a cat. It’s no big deal really. Bert and I are sad but we’ll be less sad tomorrow and even less sad the day after that. By next week we’ll be well over it. For he was just a cat. It’s sharp and sore to lose your pets but you get over it quite quickly.

But...I took the last photograph of my cat and I didn’t know it. And Bert gave him his last meal and didn’t know it. Just think – you could be giving a person, someone you love, your beloved, your child , your parent, or your friend the last phone call, the last kiss, the last hug or the last kind word. I’ve been thinking about that all day.

*Or the 102nd use of a dead cat

The Last Picture

harry, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Harry de Cat was hit by a car on the Dreen Road sometime last night.

Under the butterfly bush.

Have You Ever?

Have you ever? My yessirs are in red. This meme found at anyresemblance.

01. Bought everyone in the pub a drink

02. Swam with wild dolphins

03. Climbed a mountain

04. Taken a Ferrari for a test drive

05. Been inside the Great Pyramid

06. Held a tarantula

07. Taken a candlelit bath with someone

08. Said “I love you’ and meant it

09. Hugged a tree

10. Bungee jumped

11. Visited Paris

12. Watched a lightning storm at sea

13. Stayed up all night long and saw the sun rise

14. Seen the Northern/Southern Lights (Northern)

15. Gone to a huge sports game

16. Walked the stairs to the top of the leaning Tower of Pisa

17. Grown and eaten your own vegetables

18. Touched an iceberg

19. Slept under the stars

20. Changed a baby’s nappy

21. Taken a trip in a hot air balloon

22. Watched a meteor shower

23. Got drunk on champagne

24. Given more than you can afford to charity

25. Looked up at the night sky through a telescope

26. Had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment

27. Had a food fight

28. Bet on a winning horse

29. Asked out a stranger

30. Had a snowball fight

31. Screamed as loudly as you possibly can

32. Held a lamb

33. Seen a total eclipse

34. Ridden a roller coaster

35. Hit a home run

36. Danced like a fool and not cared who was looking

37. Adopted an accent for an entire day

38. Actually felt happy about your life, even for just a moment

39. Visited all 7 states and territories in Australia

40. Taken care of someone who was drunk

41. Danced with a stranger in a foreign country

42. Watched wild whales

43. Stolen a sign

44. Backpacked in Europe

45. Taken a road-trip

46. Gone rock climbing

48. Midnight walk on the beach

49. Gone sky diving

50. Taken a train through Europe

51. Been heartbroken longer than you were actually in love

52. In a restaurant, sat at a stranger’s table, and had a meal with them

53. Milked a cow

54. Alphabetized your CDs – did it with books

55. Sung karaoke

56. Lounged around in bed all day

57. Gone scuba diving

58. Kissed in the rain

59. Gone to a drive-in theatre

60. Started a business

61. Taken a martial arts class

62. Been in a movie

63. Crashed a party

64. Gone without food for 5 days

65. Gotten a tattoo

66. Got flowers for no reason

67. Performed on stage

68. Been to Las Vegas

69. Recorded music

70. Eaten shark

71. Buried one or/both of your parents

72. Been on a cruise ship

73. Spoken more than one language fluently

74. Picked up and moved to another city to just start over

75. Walked the Sydney Harbour Bridge

76. Had plastic surgery

77. Survived an accident that you shouldn’t have survived

78. Wrote articles for a large publication

77. Lost over 50 kilos

79. Piloted an airplane

80. Petted a stingray

81. Broken someone’s heart

82. Broken a bone

83. Eaten sushi

84. Had your picture in the newspaper

85. Parasailed

86. Skipped all your school reunions

87. Shaved your head

88. Caused a car accident

89. Pretended to be "sick"

90. Surfed in the ocean

91. Saved someone's life

92. Fainted

93. Been in the room while someone is giving birth

94. Hitchhiked

95. Adopted a child

96. Been caught daydreaming

97. Been to Ayers Rock

98. Called off a wedding engagement

99. Donated your blood

100. Become a follower of Jesus Christ

Nick Cave

A Scary Looking Man

I had business at Tinkerton today and while I was there I bumped into the Scary Looking Man. The SLM is about my own age and has spent the last three decades in some institution or another, from prison to psychiatric units to hostels. He still suffers from psychiatric problems but mainly he would have what is described as 'behavioural issues' which, roughly translated, means he is very hard to work with. He's his own worst enemy etc. etc.

He is the kindest person and lives to help people out. It is a form of attention seeking and can be quite exhausting for the person or persons he wants to help. He's repetitive and obsessive and his language is appalling - and he gives it all out in a thick Glasgow accent.

So I took him for a walk to the Ecos park. For his pleasure, my own and to give the staff on duty some respite. He had his task which was to manage Bonnie on her lead. We all had a lovely time, took plenty of bread to feed the swans and ducks and of course the SLM had to engage everyone we met in conversation. This chat mostly went the way of him reassuring them that Bonnie 'wouldn't touch them' but if anything I'd say his appearance unnerved our fellow walkers more than the big shaggy dog.

I wish I'd had my camera with me when he was feeding the swans for his grizzled old face was a picture of pleasure and concentration. The swans were hissing and beating their wings warning Bonnie and me not to get too near but they were tolerant enough with the SLM who was dishing out the bread and stale cake.

On our way back to the car he said,

"I enjoyed that - giving bread to the ducks. But they fucking swans are fucking, scary cunts."

A Drive To The Coast

Last night the brother, the sister, the sister’s husband, myself, the oldest and the youngest daughters and their fellows had a bit of a night out in Cushendall.

We went to a pub I heard referred to as Johnny Joe’s although I myself met no person there who answered to that name.

It was a great wee place. I think I was in it before many years ago but that was during the day and you cannot really judge a pub by its daytime trade.

There was a bit of a traditional session going on and the main players were what Bert described as, ‘good ol’ boys’. They weren’t that sort of up-their-own-arses crowd that wouldn’t welcome a strange face joining in. The brother done a bit of singing and so did the sister. The brother-in-law did a wee number in his native Irish which seemed to please. Bert said later that he might bring his whistle another time. He was particularly pleased that the banjo player had referred to him as ‘a young fellow from Cullybackey.” Those Cushendall folk don’t be long about finding out where you’re from and the rest of your business.

All in all a very good night - even for the designated driver.

How Many?

HowManyOfMe.com

There are: 65 people with my name in the U.S.A. How many have your name?

However there is just one person called Nelly Moser - one person and several million clematis.

I was surprised to find that there were only 396 people with my maiden name in the whole of the USA for there must be 1000s of us in Ireland. When I was a young girl that would read anything I was always coming across my namesakes in old & crumbly novels set in Ireland.

We were never the heroine though. We were usually the drunken old cook or some poor old shawlie who lived in a one-room hovel with ten half-naked children and a pig. We were always saying alack & begorrah and throwing our aprons over our heads and wailing. Or we might be found sleeping (it off) in a ditch*.

HowManyOfMe copied shamelessly from Awesome Ed the Unique

* 'The Tinker's Wedding' by J. M. Synge

Four Things

I’m really gutted that no-one has tagged me to do this.

Four things which may or may not be true about me.

a) Four jobs I have had in my life.

· Barmaid

· Nurse

· Market Trader

· Clerical Officer

b) Four movies I would watch over and over again

· Midnight Cowboy

· Shrek

· Flash Dance

· Trainspotting

c) Four places I have lived.

· Antrim

· Belfast

· Holland Park

· Stoke-on-Trent

d) Four TV shows I love to watch

· The Simpsons

· The X-Factor

· Big Brother

· Lost

e) Four places I have visited

· Lisbon

· Hogsback

· New Orleans

· Malaga

f) Four websites I visit daily

· Zoe

· Hannah

· Walrilla

· Ganching

g) Four places I would like to be right now

· Tinkertown

· Botswana

· Darwin

· Texas

h) Four of my favourite foods

· Chocolate

· Pilchards

· Spinach

· Avocado

I) Four bloggers I would like to respond

^Anyone

There is one untruth per section