Tuesday, May 30, 2006

McIlhatton and other Famous Irishmen

Still on the poteen/poitin theme I got to thinking about how very few famous people I’ve actually encountered. But here are some of the famous Irish people that I have come across in my time.

Liam Neeson – I pulled Liam a pint of Guinness in the Globe Bar* in Bryan Street Ballymena. The year was 1974. Liam was a handsome, quiet aspiring actor at the time. He was also incredibly tall. I spotted him again a few years ago walking outside Cushendun. *The Globe Bar is now the Halifax Building Society.

Seamus Heaney – There was me standing in Antrim at a bus stop in my school uniform and there was a very dishevelled Seamus wandering up the street looking like he’d just spent the night on somebody’s sofa. It wasn’t long after Death of A Naturalist came out. Seamus was famous then in a poety kind of way, which is to say not very famous at all.

Luke Kelly – I was about 14 and it was backstage with Sheena in Ballymena Town Hall (she knew Ronnie) when Luke Kelly trod on my foot. Can you believe the Dubliners played in Ballymena Town Hall? This was before the DUP were invented.

Mickey McIlhatton – as made famous by Christy Moore and Bobby Sands. Mickey was friendly with the people next door. I only met him the once when I was a child. He was quite a character and always wore plus fours, long stockings and boots. He was a fiddler as well as a poitin-maker. Soon afterwards he was sent to prison for poitin-making and I remember Sheena went to the Crumlin Road to visit him. It felt very worldly to have a connection with a jailbird.  


In Glenravels Glen there lives a man who some would call a GodFor he could cure the dead or take your life and his price was thirty bob.Come winter, summer, frost all over, a jig in spring and the breeze,In the dead of night a man steps by- McIlhatton, if you please.There's a wisp of smoke to the south of the glen and the poitin is on the air,The birds in the burrows and the rabbits in the sky and there's drunkards everywhereAt Skerries rock the fox is out and by God he's chasing the houndsAnd the only thing in dacent shape is buried beneath the ground.In McIlhatton's house the fairies are out and dancing on the hobs,The goat's collapsed, the dog's run away and there's salmon down the bogs.He has a million gallons of wash and the peelers are on the GlenBut they'll never catch McIlhatton cause he'll never come back again.

‘McIlhatton’ sung by Christy Moore, written by Bobby Sands


Matty told me she was chatting the other night to this old guy Charlie about wee still. Charlie was telling her that when he was a young he was visiting friends in the Glens of Antrim and the young fellows of the family took him to meet the local poteen maker. When they called at his house they found the poteen maker taking the first run of the still. He drew off a glass to taste it but before he drank he threw poteen on the ground to the left and the right of him. Charlie couldn’t understand why he’d done this and asked his friends the reason. Everybody laughed at him for his ignorance. The still-maker told him that the first glass drew off the spirit must be given to the fairies. Failing to do this would bring the worst of luck.

Then Matty told me this story from her childhood. A neighbour of hers from Creggan, a very superstitious woman, was going on a journey to Belfast. Before setting out she sprinkled oatmeal on her head. This was supposed to protect her from the fairies. Matty said that this was the stupidest thing she had ever heard in her life. “What did she think was going to happen? Did she think the fairies were going to come down from the Cave Hill and carry her off?

She asked me if I believed in fairies and I told her that I wouldn’t rule them out. The fairies I’d believe in would not be the Victorian, gossamer-winged sort though. They would be much more likely to be malicious little creatures with a look of Gollum about them.

Saturday, May 27, 2006

Bert Loves Kittens

Bert Loves Kittens
Originally uploaded by hootchinhannah.
Happy Birthday Bert! Do you realise you've been wearing that shirt for nearly 20 years now?

Bert's birthday is actually tomorrow but I'll be at work tomorrow and might not have internet access.

He's spending his birthday on Rathlin Island but he'll be home tomorrow night, as I will, and we'll toast his anniversary with Laphroaig. Thanks to Dee Mac.

Anyway here's hoping he'll have a better time on Rathlin than Dee Mac had the one and only time she went there. She was jeered, soaked, starved and sea-rescued. Bert says those islanders better wind their wrinkly, Rathlinny necks in!

Hot? Not!

You Are More Mild Than Wild

You're confident, and you really aren't concerned with how "hot" you are.
Other people's ideas of what's sexy don't concern you. And this is exactly what makes you attractive.

Thursday, May 25, 2006

Bluebell Madonna

Isn't it sweet that Geri Haliwell has chosen to name her baby daughter after a rare woodland flower and a mono-named female celebrity. I think this is a lovely idea and really hope that it sets a trend.

Here are some other endangered British wildflowers coupled with mono-named female celebs. So there you go expectant lassies - get choosing!

  • Stinky Goosefoot Cher

  • Welsh Mudwort Twiggy

  • Sticky Catchfly Jordan

  • Jersey Cudweed Pink

  • Bedstraw Broomrape Bjork

  • Field Wormwood Lulu

The Lady of Shallot

There are only two things you need to know to appreciate this tale.

1. Bert is very careless and forgetful

2. I am an expert plantswoman

A few months ago Bert was in a tizzy because he had lost his shallot bulbs. He searched the house high and low. He asked me if I had seen them. "Me?", I answered him. "Of course I haven't seen them. That is just typical you leaving things at your arse then not being able to find them when you want them."

Today he said to me,
"I have solved the mystery of the shallots."

"Oh. What happened to them?"

"They're coming up nicely among the tulips you planted."
Sure all's well that ends well. Isn't it?

Tuesday, May 23, 2006


You know how there are certain kinds of televisual stuff that you watch from behind your hands. You might occasionally peek between your fingers to see if it is really so awful before going ‘Errrgh!’ and then back to covering the eyes. For me this would include the carrying out of cosmetic surgery, people doing disgusting things like eating worms (or worse) or sticking skewers through their body parts, the sight of David Blaine’s saturated and bloated hands, scenes of torture whether fake or not, Noel Edmonds, Boyzone - all the usual stuff. Last night I added a new one to the list and it was a mixture of visual and aural. I can just about cope with the sight of a morbidly obese person, too fat for any form of clothing apart from a tarpaulin. I can look at an unfortunate being so huge that they need a separate bed for their stomach. I can look on that with a mixture of fear, horror and pity. But what I cannot do is look at a 56 stone woman whose belly is about the same size and weight as my entire body while listening to her explain in graphic detail how she manages to have sex. This is a woman with so much flesh on her that any attempt to have sex with her would be more of an expedition than an enterprise.

I just sat there with my eyes covered singing, “La di da, la di da. Turn it off. Turn it off!”

Monday, May 22, 2006

Shaggy Dog Story

On Saturday we found a poor abandoned collie tied with baler twine to a five-barred gate across from the bottom of our lane. We’re famous for taking in stray dogs so we thought we’d live up to our reputation and brought it up to the house. The poor thing didn’t seem to be used to houses and wouldn’t even take a drink of water from us. We decided to keep it until Monday morning and then phone the council dog warden. But what if nobody wanted it? We didn’t want or need another dog especially one that was so very plain looking.

I said,

Do we know anyone needs a dog?

Don’t think so.
Then he said,

Clint. Maybe Clint would take it. He has no dog at the minute. He said to me only the other day that he went for a walk through his fields and then got bored of it because he had no dog with him.
I went off to do something gardenish leaving Bert with the dog. When I came back in Bert and the dog were bonding and it was fawning around him and gazing at him lovingly.

He said,
I’m softening it up for Clint. I have him asked up for his tea to meet his new dog.

That’s a good idea. But we’ll make no mention of him taking it. Let him think it’s his own idea. Now if he’s coming for his tea I’ll need to make a dessert. That’ll certainly put him in a good mood.
So then I got busy with cauliflower cheese and apple sponge.

Clint turned up and ate a hearty meal. He was in great spirits and took a liking to the dog. I left the two men and the dogs to it and headed back out to Tannaghmore to visit with Matty and the London Sister. When I returned three hours later the first thing Bert said was,

Well the dog got a home.

So did Clint take her?

No. Clint was getting on great with her. Thinking up names and all. But her real owner turned up.

No! Who was it?

It was Farmer Willy Nameless. He landed on to the yard in a top range SUV, him and the wife both dressed to the nines. They were coming back from some band parade. Apparently the dog had followed them out of their yard and down the road and rather than going back with her they tied her to the gate.

What did he say?

Och nothing much. Just “Did you see our oul dog?” then he looked into the house and says “I see you have her in there.”

I’ll bet Paddy and Rosie weren’t sorry to see her go.

Paddy certainly wasn’t sorry. She took a flying lep at him and caught him by the ear and gave it a quare gurrying.

Poor Pads. Do you think Willy Nameless minded us having her?

No I don’t think so but I couldn’t help but say to Clint as he drove out of the yard, “The way he struts about there you wouldn't think he owes the both of us money. D’ye think it bothers him atall?” and Clint said, “Y’know I’m sure it doesn’t cost him a thought.”

Best Portglenone Bluebell Pictures...

Bluebells and wild garlic
Originally uploaded by crazypenguin.
Best Portglenone bluebell pictures and some other things - Crazy Penguin

The rest of Adam’s bluebell pictures here

He's definitely got an eye for a good picture.

Sunday, May 21, 2006

White Hill Memories

Boysadear but this internet is a wonderful thing altogether. I've been hoking through it just now and have come up with something I believe the likes of Vancouver Brother, Joe Bro and the Kerry and Leitrim Sisters might find interesting.

Knowing that Sammy had a great passion for the GAA and traditional music I thought I'd see what I could find and in a matter of moments I'd found this.

And then this

That's Sammy on the left. I see his two youngest sons there too. By the look of them I'd say that photograph was taken around 79/80. Anybody know who the other two lads are?

And The Whiners Are

This week’s Blog Awards from Cully are as follows  -

Best Fashion Writing  - Ed

Best Serial  - Magda by Ganching

Best Television Criticism – The Swearing Lady

Most True and Inspirational – Manuel Estimulo

Sadly Missed – Mr Bolan

All the winers (sic) have won beautiful clematis in a 3-litre deep pot supported on three canes, which may be collected in person from Dreen Nursery any time between 6pm-6.15pm on Monday 22nd May 2006.

Vancouver Brother In Sammy's Yard

Originally uploaded by NellyMoser.
This is my brother Eamon when he was about five or six. In those days he spent a lot of his time with the family next door who loved him to bits.

Sammy, who we buried yesterday, honed his parenting skills on Eamon, which meant that when he had his own children he was already skilled in the fine art of rearing (and spoiling) weans.

I was a cruel big sister and I remember that during the Big Freeze of 1963, when we were snowed in, that I teased poor Eamon into hysterics about never getting down to Haveron's again. Daddy made it his priority to dig a path to Sammy's house to let Eamon visit. I think he spent the rest of the Freeze with his surrogate family.

Lost For Words

I was ‘lost for words’ for a while there. On Wednesday morning I went to visit Matty and heard that Sammy, her friend and neighbour, was very ill. On Thursday evening he died. Bert and I went to his funeral yesterday. The chapel was packed and for the first time ever I stood outside for a funeral mass. It was freezing cold.

Bert said it was the biggest funeral he had ever attended. Hundreds of people came. London Sister came over and Leitrim Sister came up from Dublin where she’s working right now. Vancouver Brother would have loved to come because he has always had a very special relationship with our neighbours. He was a toddler when we first came to live on the Murphystown and one day he toddled down the road to visit the people next door. He did not return until he was twelve.

Sammy and his entire family were always close to our family. Closer even than some of our kin. He didn’t start his own family until he was well into his thirties so they are all relatively young. He adored being a father and was adored by his children. They will miss him so much. And so will everyone else who knew him.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Poor Poorly Rosie...

She's too zonked to blog this herself. Bert collected her from the vet after 6pm and she was like a zombie. She was able to eat her dinner but instead of wolfing it down as usual she broke off in the middle and spent some time staring vacantly at the wall. She is just so druggged...

And Nellybert is £80 poorer. You'd think the vet could afford some nicer jeans.

Other better news -

One of Daddy's favourite godsons has been appointed headmaster of St Olcan's in Randalstown. Thankfully not St Olcan's in Randalstown (!)

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Nellybert Does Feng Shui

So! What d'ye think of this summer skirt I bought in TK Maxx?

Bert stares at the skirt that Nelly holds up against herself with a look of incomprehension on his face. Finally he says,

That's a nice wee skirt.
Nelly glares. Then Bert says,

What d'ye expect me to say? Sure what do I know about skirts?

Well you could have said it's a nice colour for summer or that you like the embroidery detail.

Aye! And I could say that it's beautifully cut.

Aye! Ye could!

Oh well. I suppose I should be grateful he doesn't say,

So how much did that cost?


Later on

Bert! Would you try and keep the legs of that coffee table in line with the tiles. I hate it sitting all coggly like that.

Why? Is it bad Feng Shui?

Aye it is!

Do you ever think you might be going mad?

Monday, May 15, 2006

Poor Poorly Me

pointless, incessant barking
Originally uploaded by NellyMoser.
Hi guys, Rosie here. I don't have my own blog at the mo so Nelly's given me a lend of hers. God I love Nelly. She let me lick the rice pudding bowl tonight. I need all the comfort food I can get as I've got a big fat abscess. Bert took me to the (whisper it) Clough vitinary today and she give me a big jag of antibiotics the cruel bitch. Anyways I've a course of smelly tablets to take then I'm going under the knife on Wednesday.

Wish me luck people! I'll need it.

Saturday, May 13, 2006

Would Like To Meet

Last night we decided to compile some contact details for the Ireland’s Own. Because we’re all looking for pen pals and fresh platonic friends. Right!

Petite brunette wltm Father Christmas look-alike. Must have own beard and come more than once a year. (Jenny)

Tall, slim, fair, debonair, dashing, thoughtful and forgetful male wltm male or female for social outings, possibly more. Sd/ds. Ala. (Bert)

Slim and vivacious blonde, shy and outgoing wltm dog loving, warm-hearted trumpet player for more, much more. Ds. (Hannah)

Banjo player seeks banjo teacher with luther experience for long sessions. Must be Dolly Parton look-alike. (Ploppy Pants)

Bubbly, verging on cuddly* female wltm hen expert 35-55. Must have own tractor. Please enclose photo of tractor. Sd/ns. Ala. (Nelly)

Tall, dark and handsome Anglo-Indian vgsoh, wltm slim blonde saxophonist or similar.

Slim, dark, eccentric, academic and artistic woman seeks mature balding Handy Andy alpha male for walks on the beach and frolics in the sand dunes. Gsoh essential. Ns. SD. (Swisser)

Bubbly = fat
Cuddly = very fat

Thursday, May 11, 2006

Not So Shabby Shit

You know by the time I’ve driven Matty on this errand and that errand I could have taken her to Dublin and back. Today I would have liked to take her for a trip to the coast but, as always, she had different ideas.

First trip was to her new GP in Kells & Connor. I chatted her into changing because of the interminable long waits at her previous surgery. An hour and a half’s wait to see the doc was not uncommon at her old place, the car park was tiny and the wait for an appointment far too long.

Before we left for Kells Matty said,

Are you planning on going into Antrim?

No. Are you planning on going into Antrim?

Well it’s just that I’ve got these bags of coins….

Oh bloody hell! Not more bags of coins. Why don’t you just spend the money instead of bagging it up and trailing it into the bank? Sure the bank people hate seeing wee grannies coming with their bloody bags of coins.

Well if you don’t want to go to Antrim I could always get a taxi* and…

Oh I’ll take you to Antrim if you must but I’d far rather take you to Carnlough

So after the docs we went to Antrim. I dropped her off and went to visit Daddy’s grave where I deadheaded Ganching’s pansies and got all emotional.

Then I gathered up Matty again and suggested a coffee. But where? She says brightly,


OK. Randalstown it is.

On the way to Randalstown we had this conversation,

It’s our Claire’s birthday today. It’s her 70th.

Is it? It’s a wonder you didn’t want to go down and see her.

Well I had a card and present for her on the kitchen table but you were that crabbit I was scared to ask you.
I cringe at this. I’m a Bad Daughter. We get to Randalstown and I swing straight back to the home parish to collect Claire’s card and present. Then back to Randalstown, then up to Claire’s house. She’s out. Probably being treated to a birthday lunch so I leave card and present on her windowsill and we go to The Forge for coffee.

After coffee we go to a little knick-knack cum antique shop that is only recently opened. Matty buys some pretty padded dress hangers. Back in the car I say to Matty,

Nice place that. You know you’d call that sort of style shabby chic.

Shabby shit? D’ye think so?

Hanging out with the hard of hearing does have its amusing moments.

Then we went to visit Matty’s neighbour who is really ill. They are a lovely family and we’ve always been close to them. Now they are going through a similar experience to what we were going through 12 months ago.

Afterwards the oldest daughter asked us up to her house to peer into the nest of Wagtails on her front doorstep. Last year during Daddy’s wake I remember watching a group of young Wagtails cavorting in the stream at the bottom of this house’s garden. There are so many memories coming back to me and I could cry for any reason. Even this lovely warm weather is making me feel sad.

Grey Wagtail

I could always get a taxi* The taxi company that Matty frequently threatens to use is called Guilt Trip Cabs. This taxi is always mentioned when anyone (it’s usually me) shows any reluctance to drive her wherever she wants to go.

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Bluebell Time

Originally uploaded by NellyMoser.
Today Paddy and I went for a walk in Portglenone forest.

..there is more to the forest than just trees - over 150 different species of shrub, flower, fern, moss as well as tree thrive in Portglenone Forest. One of our best known flowers is the bluebell – and we have around 12 hectares of bluebells at Portglenone: at 30 bluebells per metre², that comes to over 31/2 million bluebells, probably the greatest spread in N Ireland!

Read more about Portglenone Forest here

Monday, May 08, 2006

Sunday Evening

I was working yesterday evening and drove into the town centre on my break. There were lots of police around, some on guard at the two entrances into a car park where a fifteen year old boy was viciously beaten in the early hours of Sunday morning. On Wellington Street churchgoers gathered for evening services. I got to thinking about what that congregation thinks of Ballymena in the noughties. Me? I think it is a horrible town riven by sectarianism, rife with hard drugs and a frightening place in which to bring up a family.

A social worker friend tells me my view of life has become skewed because of the work I do.

Saturday, May 06, 2006

He's That Rough

Nelly: How’s our Joe getting on with decorating your bedroom?

Matty: Och all right I suppose. But he’s that rough.

Nelly: Rough at the painting?

Matty: No. He’s good at that. He’s rough with my things.

Nelly: What do you mean?

Matty: Well when he took the old lampshade off he kicked it up the corridor and said, “You’ll not be putting that oul thing up again I hope.” And then when he took the bed head off it broke and he said, “What hell odds? Sure it’s damnable looking.”

Nelly: Oh.

Matty: Then he says he’s coming with me to pick the new carpet for God knows what I’ll come home with.

Nelly: You know what it is? He thinks that much of you he believes that only the best is good enough for you.


Serendipity noun The lucky tendency to find interesting or valuable things by chance

I’ve been fretting recently about the paucity (paucity! Get me!) of hard words on this blog. I’ve been worrying that you lot might think I don’t know any big words. For instance I’ve never used the word serendipity and I’m always out hoking about charity shops.

And I used to be five foot two and a half inches. I strongly suspect that I’ve lost that very important half-inch.

For in this aging process malarkey it’s not just the spine that shrinks for the brain does too. And they do say if you don’t use it you’ll lose it. So I’m planning to crank up the hard and long words quota from now on. That should help the brain. Then I’ll get Bert to build me a rack to see if that solves the spine/height problem.

Is it really serendipity when a body is always finding interesting and valuable pruck when a body is forever on the lookout for it? There’s no element of chance there. The most serendipitous find I’ve ever made was Bert. There was me on the way back from a cycle ride to the coast and I thought to myself I’ll just call in to the Smithfield Arms to see who’s about. And who was there but the Wee Manny just back from South Africa with his new African bride. And with them was this damned odd looking fellow just back from Israel. Was that why he was wearing his Granda’s tweed greatcoat on a warm June evening? We clicked. He went to Australia. A year later he came back. The rest is history. Serendipity indeed.

Bristol Fashion

I wonder if the Bristolian surfer who hit on Nelly's Garden using the search words granny gangbanger was disappointed when he/she found that my post was about the mating habits of ducks and drakes?

Actually it's not the first time that a pornhunter has landed here using the granny word.

Friday, May 05, 2006

Chicken Rescue Update

I'm sure there must be many of you fretting about how our rescue chickens are getting along so I thought I'd provide a bit of an update for you.

Attracta: The one with no neck feathers. Attracta continues to do well. She lays an egg every other day and enjoys scraping and foraging for insects. She is the first one out of the hen house every morning. The piss-awful weather we've had this week has not deterred her from her adventures.

Dympna: The one with the sore arse. Dympna was bottom of the pecking order when she lived with Clint. Hence the sore arse. She chums with Attracta but has yet to lay an egg. Understandably.

Patsy: The one with the sore fut. Patsy is making slow but steady progress. In the past week she has ventured out a few times but continues to hover around the hen house door. She's a bit of a loner.

And what of Bernie the bantam? Pearlie the Pessimist thought that Bernie, because of her tiny size, would take a battering from the uncouth battery hens. How wrong she was! Bernie has proved to be a total targe and the boss of the hen house. And she has started laying eggs. Only about two a week but that's much better than none a year. She produced a double-yolker today. Go Bernie!

Meanwhile, down at Clint's place, Norris the Rooster is 'comfortable'. His appetite has improved a little but he still has a way to go.

Thursday, May 04, 2006

Animal Loving

No! Not that kind of animal loving.

Today Dee Mac and I walked our dogs on the Galgorm Woods path. It was wet and we didn’t see many other people around. But there was this one old chap feeding the donkey that keeps the stable ponies company. Dee told me this man comes down most days visiting the donkey. We stopped for a chat with him and he told us he thought the donkey hadn’t enough to eat and that he’d love to take it home with him. He said he’d lots of grazing out his back. He’d just finished feeding it three carrots and an apple and for dessert the donkey was having extra-strong mints, which it appeared to relish. I don’t think the gentleman needs to worry about the donkey hungering as he’s not the only person who visits it regularly with pockets full of fruit and sweeties.

A bit farther along the path I spotted a fat grey squirrel shimmying up a tree. I pointed it out to Dee. “Oh that squirrel’s always there,” she said. “There’s a woman comes down regularly to feed it. She leaves food in the fork of that tree for it.” We walked on. Of course I had to call Paddy on as he was gazing yearningly up the squirrel tree wishing he could climb it and have that well-fed rodent.

We got to talking about the rooster Clint rescued from the battery cages. Poor Norris, as Dee has named him, is not doing too well. All those months squashed in the cages has weakened his muscle tone and he’s not eating much nor drinking. Dee got antibiotics for him and she is nursing him. She gives him a sort of chicken mash gruel and water from a syringe. He’s not that keen on taking it. Clint is threatening to leave him out for Foxy, which is a wind-up for sure.  Bert doesn’t think Norris will make it. Thinks he’s lost the will to live. Dee will persevere for a while. I’m thinking why do it? Why fight it? Those battery hens are bred to be short-term egg-laying machines. Roosters like Norris are not meant to be. If he lives to get some enjoyment out of his life it will be great but maybe better for us than for him.

Mrs Moser's A-Z

When class bloggers like Any Resemblance, Acid Man and Ed all do a meme the plebs just have to join in.
Accent: Think Ian Paisley vowels with a nice light Bernadette McAliskey lilt. Tell truth I’m a bit of a squeaker.
Booze: Nice glass of Merlot please. But according to Bert my friend Jazzer and myself are two women who shouldn’t be allowed to drink. I wonder why he said that?
Chore I hate: I had to rack my brains on this one. Then I realised I don’t do many chores I hate. I’m not too crazy about grocery shopping.
Dog or cat: Prefer dogs.
Essential electronics: Computer, fridge, washing machine, kettle.
Favourite Cologne: No
Gold or Silver: The only jewellery I wear is a white gold eternity ring.
Hometown: Tannaghmore. It’s a parish not a town.
Insomnia: Occasionally when I’m at work.
Job Title: Housing Support Worker.
Kids: Three daughters.
Living Arrangements: Bert and I, two dogs and a cat in a four bed roomed house in the country.
Most admirable traits: I asked Bert about this and he says I’m funny and kind to animals. I think I’m also kind to most human beings and Bert.
Not going to cop to: My deepest, darkest secret.
Overnight hospital stays: Kids all born in hospital. A few minor things but nothing for nearly 20 years.
Phobias: Slimy things especially slugs.
Quote: N-O spells I definitely don’t think so.
Religion: Catholic.
Siblings: Four sisters and two brothers. All younger than me.
Time I wake up: I used to get up earlier. If I’m not working first thing I usually get up around 8am.
Unusual talent or skill: Reading minds and foreseeing the future.
Vegetable I love: Spinach is a favourite but I love all vegetables.
Worst habit: Farting.
X-rays: My dentist has taken so many that I reckon he could identify my mouldering skeleton without even having to look up my records.
Yummy foods I make: I make good pastry.
Zodiac sign: Virgo.

Mr Bolan




Tuesday, May 02, 2006


SFW - Open a discussion on how the 'random' word is used in the Martinstown, Glenravel and Cushendall areas.

Conclusion reached - 'Random' is used to mean unusual, note-worthy or out of the ordinary events or persons.

NSFW - Open a discussion on the relative wrongnesses of engaging in a bestial act with a large animal i.e. cow or horse as compared with a smaller one i.e. cat, chicken.

Conclusion reached - Unnerving silence. Then shocked laughter. Then Nelly saying, "I'll just get my coat."