My Bonnie Lies Under The Table

She said her name wasn't Sheba and it's not: her name is Bonnie. The story so far is that someone has been in touch. Her actual owner is seriously ill in hospital and probably won't be able to have her back. Meanwhile his neighbour (my contact) was looking after her informally and she was getting on famously with his eight cats, his wife & two sprogs and his labrador. In fact she was getting on too well with the lab, which his owner described as a runagate and who was encouraging Bonnie to become a scunging devil dog. Which was where we came in. Bonnie's previous minder is only too happy to let us look after her in the meantime. The Scruff dude is staying with us until the weekend so we have four dogs in residence. Bonnie, despite her size, is the pack junior; Scruff, despite his, is pack senior. Paddy and Rosie are a bit, a tiny bit, peeved and managed to give Bert the slip this morning.

Paddy: It wasn't hard. Rosie: Too true Pads. Piece of piss. Paddy: Yeah! Pops is a bit slack in the mornings. Rosie: Morning! Your hole! It was the middle of the day. Paddy: Least we got our heads showered Rose. Got away from them pair of feckin', hairy, ball-lickin' hoors for an hour or two. Rosie: Aye Pads. We'll mebbe get another wee run out tomorrow. Paddy: Aye we will Rosie. Unless Nelly's about. She'd keep a tighter eye on us. Rosie: Unless she's paveesing around that oul Sheba or Bonnie or whatever they're calling her this week....

Nervous Nelly

I signed on with another agency because the nursing one has been remiss in organising some training I need. It's been cancelled twice already and I've been told that they cannot send me anywhere until I complete it.

So - with this other agency I'm signed up for admin work and today, for one day only, I'm going to work as a solicitor's receptionist. And I'm nervous, nay, I'm scared.

• What if I can't work the internal phone network?
• What if he has an ancient computer running something I'm not familiar with?
• What if he's a git?

God being an agency worker sucks sometimes. Always the newbie!

Grab A Granny Night

This evening Bert and I went out for supper at local restaurant Athena’s (attached to the Village Inn) in the company of our old friends Professor and Mrs Ron. After we’d eaten we moved into the bar. The pubs in Cullybackey are not places I’d often be in as they’re a bit clannish but of the two of them the Village Inn would be better. There’s less chance of a row breaking out and I don’t think the regulars would be as interested in your political inclinations/ religious beliefs as the clientele of The Other Bar.

But anyway a pub’s a pub isn’t it? Tends to be full of people with drink taken – drink in, wit’s out, that sort of thing.

Mrs Ron and I were the first to make it into the bar. The Prof was settling the bill and Bert was at the toilet. We entered and sat ourselves down, full of the natural confidence that comes from a good meal, several gins and poised maturity.

Then imagine our feelings when a goofy looking fellow, remarked rudely to the entire bar, “Look lads, it’s Grab A Granny Night!” Well imagine my feelings as Mrs Ron was spared the indignity of hearing the jibe as she is partially deaf. But when I told her she guffawed and so too did the Prof when he heard what Goofy had said. To tell the truth I thought it was mildly amusing too. The only one of us who was really perturbed by the Grab A Granny taunt was Bert. I think it made him feel horribly old being in the company of ladies that were viewed by the rest of the world as grandmotherly.

Crime Scene

I've just taken my usual Sunday morning trip to the village to pick up the papers and it seems that the Central Bar is a crime scene. There are men in white jumpsuits everywhere. Looks ominous. Nothing on the news so far...

All Change

The clocks go back at midnight tonight. I hate this. It will take weeks before I acclimatise and it means longer, darker nights and the onset of winter.

I wish they'd leave the clocks alone. Give me BST all the year round and I'll be happy. Who cares if it is dark in the morning. Is it not preferable to have a bit of extra light in the evening?

Dry

The Scene: A local garage

The Characters: Big Hans, the proprieter; Nelly, a customer

Nelly: I see yer man on the council is proposing to bring in Prohibition and turn Ballymena into a dry borough.

Hans: Aye. I seen that. There was a boy in here this morning told me that, yer man, before he got saved, followed Linfield all round the country and would have tuk drink out of a dirty bucket.

Nelly: Is that right? It just proves again that there's no keener body than a convert.

Pssst! Wanna Dog?

This dog has been living with us since Saturday. There has been no response to my posters and she has not been reported as missing to the Dog Warden. I take her out for a walk every day and I'm always hoping that someone will stop and say, "Hey! What are you doing with my dog?" So far it hasn't happened.

She is big and she is strong and she eats loads. She appears to be good-tempered and I think she is fairly young. I don't know what we're going to do because every day that passes finds me liking her even more. Anyways over to Sheba...


Please, please, please someone come and take me away from all this. Saying that the humans here aren't too bad. Nelly is a keen & dedicated jailer but she's got a good heart. I've a better chance of escaping when Bert's in charge for he's a bit slack about security. The cat's not bad, tends to keep out of my way, but the dogs are complete arses. That Rosie one is always baring her big yellow teeth at me and Paddy is a total ball-licking slabber. Obvious that Rosie is the pack leader so I have tried to get in with her but she's having none of it. She's a rotten cheat at football too and ates the face of me when I tackle her. I hate it here and I want my old home back. Failing that I want a new home with no evil, jealous, hairy ould bitcher anywhere near it.

By the way Nelly - my name's not Sheba and it's not Baby either.

They Do Things Differently In Wetherfield

Once upon a time Nellybert loved Coronation Street nearly as much as Hannah loves Neighbours. But no more. Now we think it is a very silly programme. For instance take the other week when Fred died. He died on the occasion of his wedding day which is exactly the sort of thing that happens in places like Coronation Street and hardly ever happens in real life.

In Coronation Street Fred dies after he slipped out of his own wedding for a clandestine meeting with Another – like that would really happen. Unless it was me marrying Bert, for I could just see Swisser putting her oar in and trying to get him to marry her instead. I actually accused her of that on Saturday night but she slippy-titted her way out of it.

They do funerals differently in England but if someone as well established as Fred had lived in Tannaghmore there would have been a bit more talk about his demise. In Coronation Street he was hardly mentioned until the actual day of the funeral except, of course, everybody had turned against Audrey and I warned Swisser that’s what would happen to her too if she tried to get off with Bert on his wedding day and killed him with the annoyance of it all.

Then comes the day of the funeral and there’s Bev making a complete show of herself by heading out in the wedding dress. That outfit was a holy show enough for a wedding never mind the funeral. Then Audrey turns up and they all start hissing at her like they’re at a pantomime. That would never happen in Tannaghmore. There’d be chat about it, maybe a bit of whispering, but no hissing. We’re better bred than that.

Then there was that tart Frankie done up to the nines with her tits out and her lecherous step-son at her oxter. You wouldn’t get cleavage or randy step-sons at a Tannaghmore funeral. Now that would lead to hissing. Nor would there be passionate ‘facing’ in the churchyard. That would lead to stoning.

Happy Birthday London Sister

Many happy returns LS.

Have You Lost This Dog?

FOUND



ON THE DREEN ROAD ON SATURDAY


Contact: 02825881xxx

First thing today I contacted the council Dog Warden. Told him what I was planning to do, then Rosie and I walked down to the village to put up these FOUND posters. My first call was the Mace, then on to the Spar and it was as I was walking, lost in thought, towards my next call, the garage, that I realised I'd forgotten something. What could it be? Oh God! I'd left Rosie tied up outside the Mace.

Nice one that - making every effort to return one lost dog to it's rightful home whilst gaily abandoning another!

A New Hairdo

The before picture taken by me in summer 2005.

N. Ireland New Thatch Roof, originally uploaded by mom4985.

The after shot taken by an American (?) visitor sometime this summer. You live in a picturesque cottage people will take photos.

There are some other local buildings featured here.

Let Them Eat Cake

READ THE PRODUCT INFORMATION, WHY DON'T YOU?

You’d wonder sometimes at the amount of things that can go wrong in one day. Saturday started off well enough but little did I know what was in store for me. It was a pleasant enough morning, pissing with rain, but with the promise of a better afternoon to come. I had asked Hannah, Jamie and their friend Tom to join us for supper and I had all day to prepare for it. I settled myself down with coffee, toast and marmalade and a novel. As I bit into my toast I heard the familiar snap of two teeth breaking off my denture. Bloody hell! That’s the fifth time that has happened. I’d been to the dentist on Wednesday and had an appointment to get the thing properly sorted out....in December. And please to set aside £250 for the privilege. So it was out with the Loctite and another amateur repair, except I couldn’t get it to bond and while I was worrying at it a lens from my glasses fell at my feet. I tried to laugh it all off and ended up sobbing with despair and rage at my ill-fortune and decrepitude. I said to Bert, “All my prosthetics are falling apart. If I had implants they’d be exploding and if I had a wooden leg it would be dosed with woodworm.”

It got sort-of fixed. The front fang was sitting well below the rest and any food chewier than penada was to be avoided.

I decided to go shopping for chillies and things. But first fill the car with diesel. You know what’s going to happen next, don’t you? I parked, handed my keys to the attendant and went inside to buy a paper. That completed I return to the car and drive into the village. I get as far as the greengrocers. You don’t drive a diesel car too far when it’s just been filled with petrol. Of course I had no phone with me and of course Bert was out for an afternoon ramble with his chum and had no phone with him so all I could do was get out and walk. I was rescued by Rod, then Ploppy Pants was phoned re damage limitation then there was nothing else to be done until Bert returned to tow the car to Ploppy's place.

Well eventually that all came to pass and I got a ride back to Cully to complete my shopping. By now it was 6.30pm.

After shopping I decided to walk back home to clear my head. Just as I was setting off I saw a commotion ahead. Two large and very dirty dogs, a German shepherd and a labrador, were ambling up the middle of the road causing traffic chaos. As the sole pedestrian at the scene I think some of those drivers were under the impression that I was with the dogs. One driver even yelled at me, “Get your dogs off the road!”

The dog story ended with me being joined by Hannah, Bert et al and between us we managed to capture the German Shepherd but, unfortunately, not the lab as it took to the fields. So now we’ve got a very sad and lonely dog in the back shed and if we don’t find out today where it’s from we’ll be handing it over to the Council Dog Warden tomorrow.

By now supper is running late and I’ve a vegetable curry to put together. The onions are sauted and the cauliflower, peppers, carrots etc. are chopped and ready. The chillies and garlic and spices need to go in and the spuds peeled. Let me stop here and tell you that I’m only a beginner at this curry lark and I don’t really know my chillies. It was a mixed pack and I chose the pale one (Habanero) on the assumption that it would be fairly mild. I chopped it up, kept the seeds in, crushed garlic and shredded fresh ginger and into some hot oil it all went. Within seconds the kitchen filled with hot, acrid, lung-braising fumes. That fume could have been (and probably has been) used as a chemical weapon. Hopeful and undeterred I threw everything else in as well in the (futile) expectation that the rest of the ingredients would tone it down.

Swisser arrived with an organic apple pie. I had already made an unorganic chocolate cake. I told her about the Nuclear Stew we were having for dinner and my fears that it would be inedible. You’ll know what she said.

Despite this advice I threw together a quick cheese, onion and spinach tart, and Bert dashed to the shops with 15 minutes to spare and returned with 6 pots of natural yogurt and a cucumber. He made a raita and the whole thing turned out OK. Only Hannah couldn’t cope with the Nuclear Stew but the rest of us had a good go at it. Swisser even had seconds but I think she was showing off.

Then we ate cake.

The Chronicles of Bert: Part 2 - What Happens When You Stay In Bed Too Long

Bert, Polly & Danny, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Then there was the time Bert slept for so long that he woke up with a beard.

The Chronicles of Bert: Part 1- Bert Van Winkle

Those who know Bert well also know that he is very fond of sleeping.


This is Bert enjoying 40 winks in County Sligo. We were on holiday with the Banjos and Bert took full advantage of all the extra sleeping opportunities that vacationing affords.


Bert often enjoys a power nap during the working day. He has no difficulty sleeping under a dog. In fact the dog serves a very useful purpose in that it will alert Bert to the arrival of a vehicle in the yard. This saves Bert from the embarrassment of being caught napping.

It is a pity there was no Scruff around that time the two elderly ladies discovered him curled up asleep in his polytunnel cosily wrapped in a length of horticultural fleece. He says he never heard them come in and the first he knew of their presence was a gentle poke with a sensible shoe and hearing one matron say to the other,

D'ye think he's dead, Aggie?

Bert's notorious love of shut-eye has been celebrated in this painting by Zoe. Most people who see this picture marvel at the likeness. Except Pearlie who thinks it's 'damnable', looks nothing like her darling boy and says Zoe can 'paint noan'. But what does Pearlie know of art? Naethin'

No Heavy Jewellery

Today whilst walking past ‘The Spinning Mill’ (formerly known as ‘McSwiggan’s’ and originally McKendry’s Bar) I saw, and stopped to read, a handwritten notice that had been placed in the window. This notice stated that a dress code was to be imposed. From now on there would be -

• No tracksuits after 6pm
• No football shirts
• No political insignia or tattoos on display
• No heavy jewellery
• No drunks

Proper order! But there was no mention of baseball caps. Nor weaselly faces.

Young Loveheart's Obsession With Knives

Young Rooney says that young Loveheart cannot go into a shop without buying something. It doesn’t matter what kind of a shop it is, young Loveheart will not come out of it empty-handed.

“What? Not even a cheese shop?” I enquired. “No,” young Rooney claimed, “If Loveheart found himself in a cheese shop he’d buy his mother some cheese for sure.”

He told us this story.

Me and Loveheart were buying a wedding present for Dunwoody and while I was at the till paying for it Loveheart wandered off. Next thing I know he comes back with a set of kitchen knives.

“What did you buy those for?” I asked him. “These are great knives,” says he. “There’s a boy over there demonstrating them. They’ll cut anything, they’re carbon tungsten edged, they’ll never go blunt and they were only £25. These knives will last me for years.”

“But you don’t even cook,” I said to him, “What will you use them for?” He says to me, “They’ll be great for cutting gange.” I says to him, “Sure there is no gange and, anyway, haven’t you a drawer full of penknives you have no need of and another drawer full of hunting knives you that never went hunting in your life?”

So now he has these amazing knives in his room and he sits there cutting up tin cans and other stupid stuff and then throwing it in the bin. Sitting there with a bin full of cut up tins and bars of soap and other stuff.

Is Cosmic Ordering Evil?

So far I have fallen in a puddle and (on another occasion) broken my tooth.

Worse still, Mikey's friend lost her job as a consequence of his ordering up more time in her company.

And Hannah has this to say,

Has no one cottened on yet that cosmic ordering is EVIL. Noel Edmonds is EVIL. I have yet to cosmically order anything and now I'm too scared to.

I Meet A Namesake & Ponder The Hidden Hazards Inherent In The Cosmic Ordering Service

It can be a bit nerve-wracking constantly going into new places of work. This is why I was a bit worried about going to the Over The Hill Home today. Anyway I gave myself a good hour to get there and as I was driving up and over the hill I thought to myself, I know! I'll do some cosmic ordering. So I ordered up that my colleagues would be pleasant and friendly, that I would be able to make myself useful and that I would not personally have to deal with shit. Because I just didn't feel like dealing with any shit today. And it all happened just as I'd requested! The colleagues were lovely and friendly, I felt like I was of some use to them and there was no number two action on my watch. Yet once again the Cosmos played me for a fool and had a damned good laugh at my expense. Because I had quite forgotten to order that my denture would stay intact and would not snap in half as I munched on an apple during the staff teabreak.

My namesake? The nicest, friendliest woman from Botswana.

Leitrim Sister! We Need You!

Ronni and Bert voted for the alcoves. I think Dave liked the alcoves too but he wouldn't commit himself.Hannah and cousin Margaret voted for the back wall. They nearly had me convinced, Bert said he would build shelves here with a happy heart.

But....not only was this Zoe's choice, it got Ganching and Sandra's vote too. But Bert says he's not picking up as much as a nail until he hears what Leitrim Sister has to say.

Bookcases

I want lots of bookshelving in my den. That is the room where Bert is currently installing the fireplace. Obviously Bert will be the man to build them as he's really awfully good with his hands. After all he built this superb turkey hoose for Clint. Now my guru in most matters of taste & design is Zoe. Bert jealously accuses me of 'hanging on to her every word'. So when I told him that Zoe advised I cover an entire wall with book shelving he pooh-poohed it. He said it would make the room look like a library. I said if I wanted my room to look like a library that was up to me. And he said that was fine and dandy but I could get somebody else to build the bookshelves. Nast-ee! And there's you lot think he's so damn nice. Sometimes he's not one bit nice. But it's usually when he's hungry.

So for a while we asked everyone who came into the house where they thought the bookshelves should go. A lot of people (including Bert) thought the two alcoves on either side of the fireplace would be the spot. I thought that was a bit too conventional. Then someone suggested the wall facing the fireplace. Eventually Bert said he'd go with what Leitrim Sister said. I suppose he respects her opinion because she's always hanging ceilings and repairing roofs and knocking up luxury rabbit hutches when she's not coppicing hazel or studying for her degree. So Leitrim Sister (or anyone for that matter) - what are your thoughts?

No Work Today

Bert spent today putting in a fireplace. He's really awfully good with his hands. I spent the day sussing out (with Matty) the exact location of next week's batch of nursing homes in a town the other side of the hill. It is no joke going into new places all the time let me tell you young fellow-me-lad. People who work in nursing homes aren't as much fun as people who work in hostels. They are too damn busy for a start. And generally they seem to hate agency workers.

Regarding the farawayness of these places, see, I made the mistake at the start saying I'd travel up to 20 miles for work. Now I think they keep all the faraway assignments for me and send all the sad sacks that don't drive to the local jobs.

Cannot say how disappointed I am that the job of my dreams did not materialise. But I have to ask myself - do I really want to work for an organisation that hasn't the manners to inform me that I didn't get the post? Well yes. At that money I did.

To get back to my day - I came home fully expecting the fireplace job to be completed but it was not. He was demented because, as usual, he'd forgotten to eat and was too dangerous to go near. So I went for a walk. Then I bought him a fish supper and everything was OK.

Stray Toaster does not allow blind links so I'll call it this - Nepotism.

Forgiveness

Nelly: So what is it I have to forgive you for today?

Bert: Oh loads of things.

Nelly: True. Let me see now. I have to forgive you for dirtying the kitchen surfaces, for spilling crumbs on the floor and for losing the dogs. That’s it isn’t it?

Bert: That’s about it.

Nelly: And all you have to forgive me for is being a c*nt?

Bert: Sure I have to forgive you for that every day.

Pram & Pramface

Bert's Pram, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Bliss is worried that he is the only person left in the world who still says 'pram'. Don't fret Bliss lad - the concept of pram still survives here at Nellybert's.

And this is a 'pramface'.

Disgruntled & Dull

I just wrote a post about having no curtains* and wakes** and the Moderater of the Presbyterian Church in Ireland*** but it was a bit doomy so I'll pass on it.

Nothing interesting to report. Even the dogs are going through a dull patch. Which is something I should probably be grateful for.

I've had no word about the interview I attended last week and I really miss my foul-mouthed and witty colleagues from Tinkerton. Tis dullards work in those other places. Only the inmates are interesting and they can be a touch repetitive.

I cannot even be arsed to ask Cosmos for stuff. Truth is I'm a bit apprehensive after that time Cosmos cowped me into a puddle.

*There are no curtains in Springhill
**It is customary in the country to close curtains/draw down blinds in the event of wakes etc.
***Wee Harry is Pearlie's minister

The Role of Strong Drink in Alien Abductions

Young Loveheart called round tonight. He told us a very strange tale about a recent lad’s night out when his good friend, Young Rooney, was abducted and taken to Logan’s Fashions near Cloughmills. Young Rooney believes that at least one of the 20 plus measures of Smirnoff & Red Bull that he had consumed was spiked. I asked Young Loveheart why he hadn’t looked after his mate a little better and he explained that he was drunk himself and too busy ‘getting off’ with women. The fact remains that Young Rooney went missing for several hours and was eventually found wandering aimlessly along the Woodtown Road.

Young Rooney has no idea how he got from the Countryman’s Inn to Logan’s and back again to the Woodtown Road. I think he must have been abducted by aliens and that the aliens must have administered a hangover cure because he had no suffering the following day. Despite this stroke of fortune he is badly rattled by his experience and says he will never drink or go out ever again.

I had a similar experience myself many decades ago. Vodka was not involved. In my case it was gin. I have only the haziest recollection but I do remember I was rescued by a lovely couple in a Volkswagen Beetle.

My Girl

Time to knit a couple of rows, originally uploaded by ZMB.

What Is It For?

Bert found this little object in one of the sheds. It's like a miniature anvil. Anyone know what it might have been used for? We thought it might have been used in making jewellery. It is around 4 inches high.

Our Fathers

Matty told me the other day that my father was not too happy when I first started living with Bert but that she “talked him round.”

Parents have dreams and in those days their dreams didn’t include their children getting divorced. Imagine what it must have been like for them. My marriage had ended and I was living alone with three young children. Then I meet this young fellow six years younger than me (Bert was 27 when we started going out) and the next thing he’s living with me. I was actually with Bert for over a year before Daddy cottoned on that he was there.

He wasn’t the only one who was slow on the uptake. In the early days of our relationship Bert just spent the weekends with me. Then the weekends became longer. Over a period of a few months they’d stretched to five days starting on Thursdays and ending on Mondays. By the time we were together six months he was only going home on Wednesdays. I have to say I was really cross with him when I realised that he had moved in without ever having discussed it with me.

So Daddy says to Matty,

“Who is this Bert fellow anyway? Has he no place of his own to go to? Every time I go over to Mary’s he’s there.”

“Well they’re living together I suppose.”

“Oh no!. That’s terrible! What’s going to become of Mary? That fellow’ll likely make a terrible eejit of her for she has no sense at all!”

“Och now don’t be worrying. He seems a right enough sort of fellow. Anyway have you ever thought what it must be like for his parents, what they must think of it all? There he is - he’s their only child and they’re good, respectable people and what must they think that he’s took up with a separated woman, years older than him, with three weans already and of a different religion too?”

Say this for Matty she was always good at looking at things from the other person’s point of view. This is a trait that I hope I share with her. So, in time, Seamus came round to the idea and ended up thinking the world of Bert. When it came down to it a shared country background in farming meant more than any divisions between Catholic and Protestant.

There were rocky moments too with Bert’s parents. Apparently his father was not a bit happy with the situation either. Me being Catholic was bad enough, three weans was worse and he wasn’t a bit impressed with my then address which, at that time, was one of Ballymena’s rougher areas. Harsh words were said,

“There’ll be no other man’s weans on this yard!”

How did it come about he met my girls? I can hardly remember. Perhaps something to do with Bert never telling me what his father had said and then landing the children on to his yard anyway. I know I’d have been terribly offended and hurt had I known about his feelings then. But within short months Bert’s dad had met my girls and over the years to come he grew to love and care for them. Sure how could he not?

Our two fathers were the same age. They were both small farmers and they did meet eventually. They liked each other very much. Given a different time and a different place they might well have been the closest of friends.

A Walk In The Rain

Despite this afternoon’s driving rain I gathered myself up, put on a waterproof jacket and announced to Bert and Clint that I was going for a walk.

“It’s lashing!” cried Bert, “Ye’ll get drooked,” warned Clint. I said I didn’t care, that I wasn’t made of salt and wouldn’t melt in the rain. I was having trouble convincing the dogs but you need a dog with you in wet weather otherwise you’d look like a madwoman. Eventually Paddy took pity on me and removed himself, very reluctantly, from the front of the fire.

I drove down to Cully and took the river path. Right down beside the river I veered off the path to walk under the trees. It was slippery and I took the precaution of cosmically ordering a fall-proof walk. After a bit I went back onto the path, promptly lost my footing and went flat on the broad of my back. As I reclined in a puddle, looking up at the grey clouds hiding the Cosmos above me, I thought to myself, “What went wrong?” Then I realised that my request was applicable only while I was off the beaten track and that my protection was lifted as soon as I took my very first step back on to the path . It was then I knew that the Cosmos was having a bloody good laugh at my expense. What else could I do but laugh along with it?

Be Very Careful What You Wish For

Last night I cosmically ordered the motivation to change my bed. I specified that this motivation was to be delivered within 24 hours. This morning, at approximately 7.20am, Harry de Cat (aka Pisher McGhee) pissed on my bed.

On the bright side I'd wanted to be up and about early so I could make leisurely preparations for this morning's interview...for the Job Of My Dreams. Remember I cosmically ordered steady employment by the 2nd November 2006? That very afternoon I got word of an interview.

Noel and me. Up a tree. Kay-I-ess-ess-I-en-gee

Bert Drives

Your Driving Is is: 45% Male, 55% Female

According to studies, you drive both like a guy and a girl. This means you're a pretty average driver, with typical quirks. Occasionally you're frustrated and or a little reckless, but that's the exception - not the norm.

Do You Drive Like a Guy or a Girl?

Nelly Drives

Your Driving Is is: 46% Male, 54% Female

According to studies, you drive both like a guy and a girl. This means you're a pretty average driver, with typical quirks. Occasionally you're frustrated and or a little reckless, but that's the exception - not the norm.

Do You Drive Like a Guy or a Girl?

Be Careful What You Wish For

Of course I'd heard of Cosmic Ordering. Noel Edmonds dunnit and he got an awesome new show - Deal Or No Deal. Of course I've never watched it (as if) but Pearlie is a great fan. Matty? Not so much.

Incidentally in searching for that post I discovered that I have referred to Noel Edmonds on this blog on three separate occasions. Three! That is very bad. I must be a secret fan. Which is worrying.

Before I knew I was a secret admirer of His Beardiness, I would have pooh-poohed this Cosmic Ordering idea on account of me thinking he was an arsehole, but then I found the Barbel Mohr book among a box of paperbacks donated to me for recycling purposes. I had a little look at it and was gratified to discover that Mohr says you don't even have to read the book! Just get on with the ordering. That's my kind of self-help book. So far I've ordered up regular and enjoyable employment by the second of November 2006 so we'll see how that goes and I've ordered up a 25 pound reduction in personal tonnage for April 2007. I had to go back on that one as I was not specific enough. It would be a shame if I got that weight loss as a result of some terminal wasting disease. But if I do - you read it here first.

Mad Dog Drops By

Mad Dog came by to look at the new laptop. He says he is thinking of getting himself a new computer. His last one one was a Spectrum 7x so I reckon it's time he had an update.

The photograph was taken with the camera that is embedded in the laptop. I told him he looks like "the Divil".

Links

Since changing to beta blogger I found that my old ways of inserting links have ceased to work. I promised myself this morning that I'd figure it out before this day was done.

And so I did. And to prove it I'm going to link to something I learned about at my course this evening. I learned about this.

And I also found out a little about this.

Ain't learning a wonderful thing?

Gissa Job

I have completed three days at the Faraway Home for the Disorientated which means I am now an expert on the care of the elderly and infirm. Ahem! Say this about it, though it is hard work and you’re always on the go, it’s not as stressful as working in Spide city or Tinkerton. I come home, I’m tired yet I don’t want to yell at or kick anyone. No work on for this week so I’m hoping that will change.

I’ve been invited for an interview for a temporary post that would be ideal for me. It’s close to home, fairly well paid and, best of all, it’s experience in just the sort of field that I’m hoping to work in - training. The hours will fit in with my course too and speaking of which I’ve got homework - still undone!

The homework is a five minute presentation on a topic of our own choosing. I keep thinking how easy this would be for Stray Toaster who can give several five or ten minute presentations over a few drinks in the pub. To give him credit he does draw the line at power point. Now my question is - what shall I do this presentation on? I’m tempted to do it on the work of the organisation whose ranks I hope to join. Then I’d get the homework and the interview preparation done in one fell swoop.

Overheard

A conversation overheard at The Faraway Home For The Disorientated

Cookie: (shouting) Would you like a nice wee cup of tea?

Elderly Lady: What?

Cookie: (still shouting) A nice wee cup of tea? And a wee buttered scone?

Elderly Lady: D’ye know, you remind me of that girl used to work for the railways?

Cookie: Do I?

Elderly Lady: Aye. Worked for the railways. Big stout girl like you.

Cookie: Thanks very much!

Elderly Lady: Aye. Big and stout. Used to collect the tickets on Platform 1. She’d come in here by times too. Used to pass round cups of tea and maybe a wee scone.