Long Tom Hat

This is Curtis, into off-the-wall headgear and one of an exclusive list of children who have been awarded the Nellybert Seal of Approval.

The Greatest Story Ever Told

Hey Bert! Guess what movie we're getting from Lovefilm?

What?

Guess! It rhymes with guess.

Kes?

No! Tess!

Tess! Again? We've seen it twice already.

Yes but that was Gemma Arterton and Justine Waddell. This is the Polanski one. Natassja Kinski.

But sure we know what happens.

Who cares. It's the greatest story ever told.

Huh!

In Which Bert Goes All Unity Mitford

Bert asked this question,

If you could spend a day with anyone living or dead, who would you choose?

I thought for a moment, then answered,

Proust.

Would you?

What about you? who would you choose?

I knew what he'd say.

Hitler.

Why so?

I'm not saying I like him. It's just that he wasn't in it for the power. The rest of them were in it for the power but Hitler - he really believed in it. I'd just like to get an idea of what he was about.

So there would be Bert hanging out in a brown sitting room with Hitler, trying to pretend he wasn't giving Eva the eye and listening to Wagner and there would be me sitting in Paris in a cork lined and gloomy bedroom talking to the wee man in the bed about life, the universe and everything. Sheesh. We need to get a life!

Friday Again

Since I went on this three day week I have discovered that Monday still feels like Monday - a bit urrrgh. You'll know what I mean.

But Tuesday now feels like Wednesday with less of a long haul feel about it.

Wednesday is my new Friday but with one disadvantage. Previously on Fridays, if some task did not get completed I did not worry overmuch as I knew no one would mind until Monday came around. But now I feel that I have to complete as much as I can on Wednesdays because people will expect things to move on even if I am away from the office playing with Miss Martha and Rolling With The Pigs. So Wednesday afternoons are slightly more stressful than Friday afternoons. Still - it's a small price to pay.

Cheers!

Rolling With The Pigs

Swear to God! That Miss Silly! All I said was - come on out with me, let's say goodnight to the pigs. You can take a picture of me, if it's good I might use it as my new profile pic. So we did and she did.

Then in the office this morning I hear this report.

That Nelly. You should have seen her. Rolling about the floor with those pigs in their shit and everything.

Now Miss Silly let me tell you this. Pigs are clean. We were in their sleeping area. No shit. Lily and Rusty are probably cleaner than we are.

Don't know about the profile pic though. They say people get to look like their pets and it seems I'm definitely developing a bit of a kune kune double chin. At least I don't have piri piri. Not yet anyway.

I Feel Alright

This morning, while waiting for Matty's discharge from Antrim Area Hospital, I 'fell till' the floors. Every single room in the house tidied, hoovered and mopped for the first time since the pup came. You'd want to be chasing that wee brute around with a mop and a bucket of Jeyes Fluid and up until today it has been maintenance only. Today all floors pristine and gleaming at the same time for at least half an hour.

Nellybert sits down to a lunch of Polish Shop Packet Soup and some rather elderly bagels (waste not, want not) and we're listening to music. My choice.

Bert: Who is that oul' cunt anyway?

Nelly: Junior Kimbrough.

Bert: D'ye see if he was in that room in there, playing that, I would go in there and catch him by the scruff of the neck and hoil him out into the yard. And I'd say to him, 'See here Mr Kimball, take yourself and your instruments and the rest of it and clear out!'

Nelly: Kimbrough. And if he was in that room in there playing that you'd be standing in the doorway with your mouth hanging open in amazement at how brilliant he is.

Bert: Dam sure I wouldn't. I actually find that hard to listen to. It hurts my ears.

Nelly: Maybe if you got the wax* cleared out of your ears it would help. The bass notes are probably making it reverberate and that's what is hurting them.

*The wax in Bert's ears is feeling happier as Mozart is playing now.

There Are Many Ways To Put In An Evening

Bert: You've been out lying with those pigs again, haven't you?

Nelly: So what if I was? How d'ye know anyway?

Bert: You're all covered with straw up your back.

Nelly: So! What if I am?

Bert: Did they like it?

Nelly: No! They were raging at me disturbing their sleep. The tomatoes I brought them hardly made up for it.

The Dole

Whenever I hear stories of benefit scroungers I am reminded of Nessie's story.

Nessie had a wee hill farm in the arse-end of nowhere. For years she and her long-term companion made a small, self-sufficient living from it. It was fairly hand-to-mouth but they didn't complain for they thought that was just how things were.

As the years passed Nessie. like all of us do, slowed down a bit. The house was basic, far too cold and damp if truth be known and it didn't help her that she had serious health problems caused by two accidents she'd had when she was younger. She was once gored by a cow and on another occasion run over by a trailer. It left her with kidney problems. Life became very hard. A kind neighbour seeing the pair of them struggling to make ends meet told her about income support, got the forms, filled them in for her and lo and behold! - Nessie got the dole.

She was delighted. They both were. And the pair of them lived happily on basic income support for one for many years.

Then her long-term companion hit the age of 65 and found himself entitled to the pension. Money of his own at last! He was delighted. After all these years, he too had a regular income. All was well until some sharp-eyed civil servant noticed that these two were receiving benefits at the same address.

To cut a long story short they prosecuted Nessie. She hadn't the sense to go to court and in her absence her benefits were slashed. Her partner wouldn't help. This was his money and he didn't intend to share it.

Months passed and Nessie became ill. She wasn't eating properly for she didn't have the money. It was at this stage that we found out what was going on. We brought her over here, sorted her out, warmed her, fed her and took her to the doctor. We got her a social worker. The social worker was wonderful. Found all sorts of new benefits for Nessie. She still had to pay back the huge over-payment but the new benefits brought her back to a basic level of income support and she'd proved she could live on that. Nessie never did return all the money she owed the government. She died long before it was paid.

I often think of her when I hear stories of benefit scroungers. I think of two elderly people managing on one benefit for years but because the 'i's weren't dotted and the 't's weren't crossed they were done for it.

How To Tie A Weaver's Knot

Since Matty has been ill I have taken up knitting again. It helps that I have a small person to knit for even if she did have to wait a whole year before receiving a sweater.

Everyone thinks that I still knit like a child and indeed I find myself chanting,

In through the bunny hole
Round the big tree
Under the bridge
And off goes she!

Years and years ago I used to knit stripey sweaters on circular needles. They ranged from husband-sized ones (shades of green, white and blue) to premature baby ones (yellow & turquoise, red & white) for little Laura, now Mrs L with her own baby on the way. I've cast one of those on for Miss Martha even though I've totally forgotten what to do when I reach the raglan stage. I'm sure it will come back to me. If not I can google it, or turn it into a hat.

That is, if the pup doesn't eat it first. Honestly there is no depth to which that dog will not lower itself. She can open the fridge and help herself to dog food. She has set up a shoe chewing factory at the top of the stairs and she is chomping on Hannah's jigsaw pieces. We came in from Miss Martha's birthday tea yesterday to find fourteen foot of purple wool festooned around the place. It all led to my knitting, only lightly chewed, though heavily slabbered upon.

Matty takes a great interest in our knitting projects and said to me on Saturday,

I've just realised you will all need to know about weaver's knots. I have to pass it on.

And she showed me this deft little knot that she used when she worked a loom in the Old Bleach. And she made it look so easy.

I couldn't wait to get back home and show Bert.

Matty showed me how to make a weaver's knot. She says she has to pass it on to all of us before she dies.

She did not! You're making that up.

I am not. She said we all needed to know how to make a weaver's knot and that she had to pass it on. You're jealous, aren't you, that your Ma has nothing good to pass on to you?

Below the belt I know, but true, for Pearlie has no good skill and, if she had, she could not be arsed to pass it on.

So I tried to show Bert but couldn't remember the exact way of it. On to the internet we went and printed out a diagram. We tried and tried but couldn't get it right. On to YouTube we went and watched demos with our pieces of yarn in front of us. Still no good.

Later that evening I lamented to Leitrim Sister that I couldn't get the hang of it. She said,

You'll just have to get Matty to show you again.

So I did. And she did. And, by jove, I got it. I've made several since then. By the way the diagram and the YouTube demo worked for Bert. He got it before me.

Happy Birthday Martha Amy

a serious business, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Of course she wasn't even one when this picture was taken. She is now!

Happy birthday angel.

Feck Off GG

Why do people gush over Proust? I'd rather visit a demented relative

So sayeth Germaine Greer.

Well! Personally my opinion is - demented relatives are Bloody Hard Work. I'd much rather read Proust.

A Disappointing Tale

I am tired of Wayne Rooney's dalliances with saloon girls and bored to tears with the jailed stoner George Michael's antics. Except George, really! Smashing up Snappy Snaps - that could have been my youngest daughter in there.

But all these celebrities clamouring for our attention - who cares?

Then imagine my delight when I saw this headline. CANNIBAL STAR EATS NEIGHBOUR. Who could it be? John Travolta? I wouldn't put anything past him. He's well weird. It certainly wouldn't be Angelina or any of the skinny ones for they wouldn't risk the calories. Maybe Tom Cruise? He's another strange one. Vanessa Feltz? I could see her eating a neighbour. She's full of hunger and anger. Or maybe it was that wicked Jeremy Clarkson of Top Gear. He would take up cannibalism just to be provocative.

Then I clicked on the story. Oh well.

Early Ambitions

  

The first job I ever thought of taking up wasn’t a job at all for it was more of a vocation. I was going to be a nun. Of course, I hadn’t a clue what it would entail, I just had an idea that Mammy and Daddy would be very, very pleased with me. Now, where did I get that from? It must have been from snatches of overheard conversation. I was such an eavesdropper in those days. My method was to play quietly, seemingly deeply involved in some childish occupation, my tiny ears on stalks and if adults nudged each other or pointed to the little ones, that was my cue to be rapt, engaged with dolls, puzzles, books, anything that would make them believe that I could not hear, understand or care what they were saying.

You’d hear,

Young Thomas Maguire is going to Maynooth. The family are delighted. He has the two aunts on his mother’s side in the Poor Clares and his Uncle Emmanuel Maguire a curate in Hannahstown.

Father Emmanuel never got his own parish?

No word of it. His mother can’t understand it at all. I think myself he is too soft to make a good PP.

There was talk…..

Shush! There’s nothing in that. His mother’s a saint.

So it was that I learned to have a vocation, to become a priest, a nun or a brother was a wonderful thing. A thing that brought pride and delight to your whole connection. Little wonder it seemed like such a good idea even for a bad rip like myself. Today I could be merry and bad and then far, far in the future I would be old and good. First I would be a nun then eventually I’d be a saint. I would have brown wooden beads; carry a cross and a wreath of pink roses. My mother would be delighted with me.

It was later on that I learned about vocations. You didn’t choose to be a nun or a priest. God chose you by calling you to it. But by this time it was starting to seem an unappealing idea. I was less enamoured with pleasing Mammy and Daddy and more interested in pleasing myself. Being a nun sounded dreary. The clothes were bulky and cumbersome, you had to be bald and obedient, you’d never be out of the chapel and the food wasn’t great and you would never have any money nor get a lie-in. But what if God called you? You’d have to go in for it if God called you. I dreaded getting a vocation. Having to be good would be dull, dull, dull and being a saint meant being tortured or murdered for your virtue whatever that was. It just didn’t seem worth it to me.

And so it was that I would forgo the Convent’s call and became a nurse instead. But, as they say, that’s another tale.

Yeah Right!!!!! Utter Rubbish

Sophie from Belfast had this to say about Victoria Beckham on the Mail Online site.

Victoria is obviously a UK size 4 or if she is a little bit heavier a size 6. She is therefore the equivalent of a US size zero. As for 'claims she does eat properly and puts her thin frame down to being a busy mother-of-three and hectic business woman.' Yeah right!!!!! That will really help with womens' self exteem. Utter rubbish.

I confess I enjoy reading the dick comments on this site. So many people getting their knickers in a twist over stuff that dinna matter. Cunning old Daily Mail reeling us in. Not all of us obviously as I'm sure the cerebrals don't look near it.

So. Anyways. It seems, according to Sophie, that women's "self exteem" hangs on the skinniness of Mrs Beckham who is only waif-like because she keeps busy-busy-busy. And doesn't eat huge quantities of chocolate and cake either I'll be bound. Ooh my "self exteem" does ache as does my tum full of birthday chocolate.

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-1311086/Skinny-Victoria-Beckham-bans-size-zero-models-New-York-Fashion-Week-show.html#ixzz0zEgn5mx9

In Search Of Lost Sleep

I went to bed at 11pm which is early for me. Looking after little Martha has worn me out and so have the Wee Mannys - all four of them and each of them with an accompanying dog. So the pregnant half of the Wees went home early (by the way, congratulations Laura and Declan) and the older half stayed. So after eating too much and likewise the drinking, I toddled off at 11 and fell fast asleep. For three hours.

I was awakened by Miss Holly Dog wandering forlornly around looking for her human. And now I can't get back to sleep and the pup is chewing my heels and my stomach has got so much food lying in it that a good boke would do me no harm.

And mostly what I'm thinking about is - what did I like so much about Remembrance Of Things Past because I've got to tell Mr Bolan - he asked me two days ago. I'm thinking around the old people Mr Bolan, the old people.

So while I'm up I thought I'd also take the opportunity to thank everyone, and there a lot of you, who wished this old person many happy returns. I do hope so. Thanks internet chums. I am now going to lie on the sofa and cuddle the pup and try to get back to sleep.

Happy Birthday To Me

FAMOUS BIRTHDAYS ON 9TH SEPTEMBER

There were 240 of them on here but I'm only going to include the ones I've heard of.

1754 - William Bligh, nasty ship's captain (HMS Bounty)

1822 - Napoleon J K P Bonaparte, French prince/member National Convention

1828 - Leo Tolstoy, Russia, novelist (War & Peace, Anna Karenina)

1925 - Cliff Robertson, La Jolla Calif, actor (Charly)/spokesman for AT&T

1932 - Sylvia Miles, NYC, actress (Midnight Cowboy, Farewell My Lovely)

1935 - [Chaim] Topol, Tel Aviv Israel, actor (Fiddler on the Roof)

1941 - Otis Redding, Dawson Ga, rock bassist (Sitting on the Dock of the Bay)

1942 - Inez Foxx, Greensboro NC, rocker (Mockingbird, Hi Diddle Diddle)

1943 - George Roger Waters, keyboardist (Pink Floyd-Brick in the Wall)

1947 - Lol Creme, [Lawrence Creme], England, rock vocalist/guitarist (10cc)

1949 - John Curry, England, figure skater (Olympic-gold-1976)

1951 - Michael Keaton, Pitts Pa, actor (Gung Ho, Batman, Beetlejuice)

1952 - David Stewart, rock guitarist (Eurtyhmics-Here Comes the Rain Again)

1953 - Nelly Moser, world-famous blogger and all-round good egg

1958 - Lita Ford, London England, vocalist (Kiss Me Deadly, Runaways)

1960 - Hugh Grant, London England (4 Weddings & a Funeral, 9 Months)

1966 - Adam Sandler, actor/comedian (Billy Madison, Happy Gilmore, SNL)

1968 - Julia Sawalha, actress (Saffron-Abfab, Chrissy-Buddy's Song)

1972 - Natasha Kaplinsky, British newsreader

1975 - Michael Bublé, Canadian singer and actor

1980 - Michelle Williams, American actress

Otis Redding, Boney, Tolstoy and Captain Bligh are the only ones I'm chuffed to share a birthday with. That Michael Buble character I only heard of a few months ago when this guy who fronts a Buble tribute band came to work in our office.

STUFF THAT HAPPENED ON 9TH SEPTEMBER

Once again only took from the list what I remember or know a little bit about...


1492 - Columbus' fleet sets sail west

1513 - Battle of Flodden Fields; English defeat James IV of Scotland

1543 - Mary Stuart, at nine months old, is crowned "Queen of Scots" in the central Scottish town of Stirling.

1863 - Battle of Cumberland Gap, TN

1899 - French Capt Alfred Dreyfus sentenced on unjust grounds

1908 - Orville Wright makes 1st 1-hr airplane flight, Fort Myer, Va

1939 - Nazi army reaches Warsaw

1955/6? - Elvis Presley's 1st appearance on Ed Sullivan's Show

1958 - Race riots in Notting Hill Gate, London

1965 - Tibet is made an autonomous region of China

1966 - John Lennon meets Yoko Ono at an avante-garde art exposition

1967 - Uganda declares independence from Great Britain

1971 - John Lennon releases "Imagine" album

1991 - Mike Tyson indicted for rape of Desiree Washington

1997 - Sinn Fein accepts Mitchell Principles on para-military disarmament

2004 - 2004 Australian embassy bombing: A bomb explodes outside the Australian embassy in Jakarta, killing 10 people.

AND WITHOUT LOOKING ANYTHING UP

In the year I was born -

The Princess Victoria sank with great loss of life.

Queen Elizabeth II was crowned .

Edmund Hillary ascended Everest.

Ahem!

I have an announcement to make. I am no longer a full-time office worker. This Monday I started on a job share. I now work Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays. On Thursdays I will be looking after Miss Martha as Zoe is returning to work. On Fridays I may be doing 'other things'. This Friday other things will be more Miss Martha.

Joy is me. Change is good. Wish me luck.

Buzz Killington

Clint is Buzz Killington.

There was Bert, enjoying a rare solitary evening, no me (for I was on Matty duties), only three good dogs and two good pigs to share his barbecued sea bream, baked potatoes and cider as he sat by the brai on one of the balmiest evenings of 2010.

But hark! Here is the sound of a Massey Ferguson coming up the lane. Sadly not Hector's, for Hector would not disturb Bert's reverie. No. It is Buzz Killington, otherwise known as Clint, on his new tractor. Clint - a man with no concept of relaxation or enjoyment, Clint who'd work a two-minute silence, Clint and his bloody dog - both of them go-go-go, for Clint has tractors to drive and Lucy her tail to catch.

What are ye sitting idling there for? There's barley straw to be got from up the road. C'mon now for it'll not get itself home!

I'm only getting a bite of supper.

Humph! I've mine in me long ago. I see you're at the drink again. I hope you're fit to drive!

I've only had half a glassful... the pigs...

You're giving those pigs drink! That'll do them a lot of good!

Sure if you seen the way they shape their wee mouths for me to pour it in. And the way they gaze up at me. It's so cute.

Not near wise. Your head's cut. C'mon! Let's get going!

Sadly Bert had only a few more mouthfuls of fish and a drop of cider to wash it down, then abandoned his lovely evening, looked sadly at the pigs and they at him. He trudged off in Clint's wake. That straw won't bring itself home y'know!

Cheesed Off

Long time I was happy woman because Nelly's Garden only had competition from Elizabeth Slote's dragon story, very sweet tale about dragon Nelly who had nice garden. Then there was some fancy pants restaurant called Nelly's Garden crept up on me but still I was out front. These days, not so much. Now, sadly, there is another Nelly's Garden (of boys) which features photographs of naked guys, barely legal with that crazy wrapped around your head hairstyle that godson Ben says is 'gay'.

Hmmph! I am not pleased. I prefer my gay guys to be far more mature than that!