Every Picture: Jess

Yippee! Last day and last post of the month and tonight's main topic will be Jess the Sprollie who everyone (except for Rod) thinks weird. I expect it is because she was the one that no one wanted. There were six pups in that litter, one male and five bitches and they were all going to be drowned. Until our friend heard of it. He said he'd take two and when he told us we said we'd take the remaining four and find homes for them. Swisser said she'd take the boy.

Handsome Rex, who lives between Bradford and Portballintrae

Howard chose Tegan and Pip who had to share their living quarters in rural Magherafelt with a couple of cats.

Of the four that came to us the Banjos chose Dora. She lives in Antrim and only rarely sleeps in Marty's banjo case.

Some people we didn't know came to look at the remaining two and they didn't choose Jess. They chose Darcy.

Darcy is the one at the front. Dora is in the middle and Jess is at the back. She was very lonely when Darcy and Dora left.

But she still had Judy. 

And Bonnie for a little while.

Now Hannah has informed me that I must pay more attention to Jess before she becomes irredeemably weird as there is no one special in her life. Well, she has Rod, who loves her dearly. He loves all the dogs but Jess is his favourite and she knows it. She used to see him very often but these days, not so much. For Rod is a musician and spends a lot of time on the road.

Rod and Tracey on stage. When Rod has to sing sad songs he thinks of Jess and how much he misses her. 

Jess and Tracey

When Tracey has to sing 'Jolene' she thinks of Jess.

Every Picture: Chocolate Face

The Heavenly Chocolate Pudding went down well even though it stuck ever so slightly when I was sliding it out of the pudding basin. I use, on Nigella's recommendation, a plastic bowl with a lid and I expect I didn't butter it enough. This would be Ben's fault as he stayed here on Saturday night and ate, in addition to his evening meal, his mother's entire chocolate stash, a loaf of bread, three-quarters of a pound of butter and nearly all the cheese. That's teenage boys for you. So, the pudding was not quite as photogenic as the one in my previous post and there was me with yet another pretty narcissus plate to pose it on. That will be one for another time.

Nevermind food photos. What could be more photogenic that Miss Tis cand her chocolate face? Much nicer that any daffodilly pudding plate.

It's Martha's turn to pick the menu next week. She just wants beans then a sponge pudding covered in whipped cream and sprinkles. We will add sausage and mash to the beans for a more balanced meal.

When it is my turn to choose (I'm last because I'm the oldest) there will be plum torte for dessert.

Every Picture: Heavenly Chocolate Pudding

On most Mondays, I make dinner for Zoe and family and last year I came up with the idea of letting people choose, in turn, what I should prepare. It saves me having to rack my brain wondering what to cook. Monday Dinners are seasonal and tie in with the gardening year. They usually finish in November and begin again in February. Tomorrow, the first dinner of the year will be Evie's choice and we have already discussed the menu. We're having pepperoni pizza and Heavenly Chocolate Pudding. Evie always chooses chocolate pudding and there must be lots of chocolate sauce as that is her favourite part.

Other accompaniments have been added as time went on. She asked for ice cream and that was very good. Of course, I chose vanilla but Evie found this rather dull so now we have steamed chocolate pudding, lashings of chocolate sauce and popping candy ice cream. It's very easy to prepare too. Can't wait for tomorrow although I'm not convinced about the popping candy but, it is Evie's choice.

Here's one I prepared earlier. If I remember I'll see if I can get a picture of Evie's chocolate face for tomorrow's post. Cannot wait for February to be gone so I can have a day or two off blogging.

In other news, would you ever let Quinn babysit your kid? Homeland this evening was nail-bitingly good.

Every Picture: Altered Realities

Tonight I am mostly drinking red wine and hanging out with some old and dear friends. Our conversation has been about altered reality and, this being a public platform read on occasion by people who may well approach me at a funeral and say, "Hi Nelly, been reading your blog, the one about mushrooms" I feel that I cannot elaborate too greatly. To make up for this I'm showing some photographs 'altered' and 'enhanced' by the photo app Dreamscope.

 Nelly at 20, original photo a 'selfie'.

Exuberant, original picture by ZMB

Hannah by me. I think she looks like Carrie from Homeland, only happier

Every Picture: Then and Now, Curfew Tower

Curfew Tower in the olden days.

The Curfew Tower, in the centre of Cushendall village, was built around 200 years ago by the local landowner, Francis Turnly. Its purpose then was to confine riotous prisoners. The tower, also known as Turnly’s Folly is four storeys and 40 feet high. It is built from red sandstone rubble and has a medieval appearance with turrets and a narrow ironclad door.

It is currently owned by artist Bill Drummond, formerly of The KLF and the K Foundation. Famous for burning a million pounds in 1994. Since 1999 the Tower has been run as an artist residency. 

Cushendall and Curfew Tower now. As usual, the village is choked with traffic.

Every Picture: Cats and Dogs

Muff and Danny

If cats are introduced to dogs as kittens the cat will adapt well to their canine companion. As kittens, they will treat the dog as a surrogate mother (no matter the dog's gender) and as adult cats,  they consider the dog a contemptible creature only fit for using and teasing. Remember the adage, dogs have owners, cats have staff.

Judy and Fred

Fred is an Alpha Cat, Judy an Alpha Bitch. Fred always wins as Judy cannot climb trees.

Fred and Bonnie

When Fred was a kitten he was happy to permit Bonnie to share his food. No matter that the food was actually Bonnie's to start with. Fred was generous.

Bonnie and Holly

Bonnie's first kitten was Holly. She was very tolerant and put up with the little cat's relentless bullying.

Paddy, Rosie and Harry

Cats love to lie on people's beds. So do dogs. Paddy is resigned to Harry's presence. Rosie is thoughtful. Perhaps she should bite Harry? Harry is resolute. He's not going anywhere.

Holly and Jess

There are very few photographs of Jess in a cat's company. She's never known a kitten and the adult cats she shares her home with are not to her liking. Holly is hard to see in this picture as she has been treed. Jess needs to get herself a kitten.

Remembering Muff, Danny, Bonnie, Paddy, Rosie and Harry.

Every Picture: Buzzard's Eye View

Even though I've been living on this road for more than twenty years I don't really know the neighbours that well. Obviously, we know Clint but then we did sell him the property, the first one we had on the road. And then there is the guy that laid the lino. He was actually mid-job when he told us he lived down the road. His daughter turned up at a barbecue once and she was here for a couple of hours before I even realised she was a neighbour. And there's Mr Twinkle, the one with the boating lake but I'm not sure he even lives there anymore. There's Jimmy but sure, everyone knows him. Our nearest neighbours on the road I don't know at all, wouldn't recognise them if I met them in the Spar yet, as of yesterday, there has been social media conversation. That's modern day communication for you, it's like texting someone in the next room or Facebook messaging your daughter from the kitchen to her bedroom.

It happened like this - I was on Twitter looking for information on something that had occurred locally and I came across a snippet of film taken in the Cullybackey area. The camera man (our neighbour) had filmed it using a drone. The special thing about the film was that it was taken on a very foggy morning so was tremendously atmospheric.

I retweeted it and sent this message,

I hope Steven won't mind if I share this screen grab from his film. The foreground shows our own wee hame and the woods behind. I think the mistiness is rather beautiful.

Click to make big

I called this post A Buzzard's Eye View even though I reckon no sensible buzzard would ever venture out on a morning like that.

Every Picture: All Them Weans

This is going to be an easy post. All I had to do was go through my Friends and Family/General Family file to seek out these great pictures of me being a Granny.

Granny and Martha, 2011

This one was taken at the Ulster Museum by Hannah. Martha was aged around 18 months.

Granny and Evie, 2012

Photo credit belongs to Zoe. Miss Evie aged about 6 months. We were visiting Deirdre in Leitrim.

I was in Norfolk visiting my new grandson. James was only a few weeks old. Katy was the photographer.

Grandchildren are wonderful, especially when they are wee for they hide a multitude of sins. Held in front of a chubby middle they produce an immediate slimming effect and nuzzling their downy little heads is a super way to hide a double chin. I wouldn't be without them.

But sometimes things do not go according to plan. This photograph did not turn out as well as I might have hoped.

Martha and James were supposed to hide Granny's fat tum and they succeeded in doing so. James had the added task of helping to camouflage the grandmotherly double chin. But, as you see, he was at that wriggly stage and did not do his duty. Rascal!

P.S. I actually love the picture and James will be back in April so we'll give it another go. Strive for perfection. For me anyway. All them weans are perfect already.

Every Picture: Wish Lists

I would really like to make this sweet rustic flower bed with the logs. I'm thinking trailing fuchsia and lobelia at the front and the Emily McKenzie Crocosmia as the main feature. And how about one with spring bulbs? Miniature narcissi and primroses. Would be divine. That would be on my wish list for sure.

And what about some guinea fowl when this damned avian flu restriction is over? Every time I see this photograph I'm reminded that guineas have been on my wish list for a very long time. They were Johnny's birds and lived here a long time ago. He let them run around and eventually Foxy took them all but I'd take far better care of them. Probably.

Both of these pictures would feature on Bert's wish list too for he yearns for great lumps of wood and logs. He'd have my rustic bed dismantled and on the fire, before you could say 'primula auricula' and as for the guinea fowl, they'd have nowhere to clamber and perch once Bert got the chainsaw out.

I keep reminding him he has a wood but he says it's too far away. It would take him ten minutes to get out there and he'd need a donkey to haul the wood back. I keep reminding him he has a quad bike and a tractor but, come to think of it, I've actually always wanted a donkey.

Every Picture: Camino By Sea

We watched this really interesting programme on TV tonight about these four guys from Kerry who rowed a traditional Irish rowing boat, a naomhóg, from Dublin to Santiago de Compostela in Spain. They were following the ancient route taken by Irish pilgrims on the way of St James, also known as the Camino. I've been following this tale myself for several years as one of the pilgrims is my brother-in-law, Brendan. He's the smiley one with hair. 

All these fellows live by the sea and are keen boatmen. 

I've heard a lot about the trip but it was sobering to see them in their tiny craft in those big waters. Thankfully, they were accompanied on the first leg of the journey by a support craft, a yacht, and it was just as well as the sea became very rough on the crossing to Brittany and they needed its help.

All the men said that they learned a lot about themselves on the journey. I may have learned something myself. When life doesn't go to plan just keep moving forward and things will probably work out just fine.

Second part tomorrow.

From the Irish Times

And a snippet from the film

Every Picture: Hideaway

It was around half-three this afternoon that I pulled into a little supermarket on the Cushendall Road that I realised I had been up for over ten hours. I'd just got back from Cushendall where I'd dropped Hannah, Ziggy, guitar, walking shoes and assorted reading material to the house pictured above where they planned to spend two days reading, making music, walking and general chilling. I, on the other hand, was having to do stinking grocery shopping as Bert had requested 'nice soda bread' to eat with his haggis.  Ah well, when I'd got that done I could go home, spend a while setting the house to rights after the five girls dressing up and messing about session the previous evening. Then I would chill, enjoy some peace and quiet, just the two extra dogs to look after. Sure, five dogs aren't that many.

So I went into the shop and was immediately angered by its air of crappy hopelessness. And the only soda bread on offer was Ormo which does not meet Nellybert's standards and the milk was over-priced. I was so annoyed that I refused to do any shopping there and walked out past the surly check out lad in glowering, stompy silence. At least I would soon be home. A quick stop at the garage for the necessities of life and where I got teased for my R.J. Kerr soda farl addiction then home where I was enraged to find that the gates were shut. Had to stomp out to open them, drove into the yard, saw two cars where no cars should be and saw and heard at least two small boys roaring through the garden. There were even smaller children in the sun room so I went in the back door, sneaked up the stairs and began gently banging my head on my bedroom window. I stood like that for about five minutes, decided I wasn't going back downstairs to fail miserably at pretending to be pleased to see people. So I got into bed with the Guardian and waited for them all to fuck off. There were door slammings and the sound of small children being toileted and all sorts of disturbing noises which stressed me out but still I stayed in bed. And eventually, maybe an hour later, the house cleared.

I got up and enquired of Bert who the second car had belonged to and it turned out that it was another young couple with two children (there had been six children down there!) and this young couple I'd asked around (anytime) the last time I'd seen the Daddy in his shop. Oh well.

It's been a stressful few days. So, if you're reading this, and you know me and you were thinking of dropping over tomorrow. Don't!

Every Picture: Not On Call

I had this little lot for a play date this afternoon and the two to the left of the picture (darling and well-beloved grandchildren) I had for a sleepover. Did I say sleep? There was precious little of that to be had. Thanks to some bad management by the older folks in the house on the previous night, the wee folk went to bed in a state of over-excitement.  Consequently, the one with all the hair crept into my bed 'for a cuddle', waking me up at around one a.m. while the one in the braids wanted to go downstairs to watch television at two a.m. Both girls thought they'd been in bed for hours and it was morning already. I've been tired ALL DAY.

It's an all too common mistake that grandparents make for we should aim to be as boring as wise parents are after the hour of six o'clock.

I often think as I go to my own warm and peaceful bed of the many nights I used to spend doing sleepovers in the hostel in Spide City. Back then I'd long for the evening to end, so I could climb the stairs to the staff sleepover room and wind down from a very long day. Each night on going to that little single bed I'd hope (even pray) that the night would be uneventful but there was that phone next to the bed that the police could ring, that social services could ring, that another damn hostel could ring and I'd pray every night that no-one would ring. And then there was that intercom outside the bedroom that residents could call if any concerning issue should arise. Oh Lord! I prayed too that it would not buzz. And since then, almost every night that I go to my own dear bed in my own wee house I feel a deep delight that I an not on call. I'll appreciate it tonight that I can sleep all night, not on call until 5:20a.m. when Youngest Daughter wakens me to drive her to work. Bliss.

Every Picture: Hair Cut

This picture shall serve as an aide memoire for I really must get my hair cut. It is becoming so unruly. I don't have a fringe (which Americans call bangs) but when the front bit of my hair grows long it falls over my brow in two corkscrew ringlets which would be cute on a two-year-old but less so on the holder of an over-sixties travel pass.

We have the young ladies here tonight and they were very hard to settle. I blame Bert for indulging them with far too much horseplay, swinging them by the ankles, which they love, but which causes the blood to rush to their heads and the over-stimulation of their young brains.

One reading of Charlie and Lola was not enough. I also had to tell them the story of Aunt Jean's three imaginary friends Dogie, Simplit and Doodle, then the one when I went to Portrush on the Parish Excursion, felt it was far beneath my dignity to go on the helter-skelter and ended up wetting myself laughing at Jean when she did.

It still wasn't enough. Martha needed to hear the one where Tricia spent so long in hospital after her appendix burst that her hair started to grow and afterwards she was allowed to have it long. That led to a discussion about great-aunts' current hair colours and do they dye their hair? I said I never really noticed these things and she could ask them herself. Evie was dozing off but Martha still wasn't satisfied. I finished off with a long story about my great-grandmother, their great-great-great grandmother.

Granny: More than a hundred years ago!

Martha: A hundred years...

She could barely fathom it. The story was about widowhood, clever sons, Spanish Flu and the perils of amateur tree surgery. Moral of the tale - never stand below a tree when it is being pruned.

Every Picture: Pig Walks

Holly is in this picture too

Ah... the memories. When Rusty and Lily were little pigs they would go for walks with me up the back lane. They associated Nellybert with food and would follow us anywhere. Obviously, we wouldn't take them off the property as pigs cannot be moved without forms being filled out and permission granted etc. etc. Imagine having to apply to the government every time you wanted to take a dog for a walk.  They still hang out that back lane and the fields and woods that the lane leads to but no further than that as they are good and law abiding pigs.

I took a walk there yesterday with Ziggy, Roy and Holly de Cat. We tramped around a field, explored the wood for a bit and I took a few photographs. We spotted the pigs in the distance but they were their usual boring, grass munching selves so we paid them no mind.

Roy had important things to do and kept his distance. I don't think he actually approves of cats coming on walks.

Ziggy did not mind Holly being there

Every Picture: Valentine's Day, No Picture

When I left my bed this morning there was a tiny red, glittery heart lying on the floor. Where did it come from? No idea, but an ideal token to press into My Love's palm.

We were asked for dinner to Les and Dawns. Sublime first and second courses then four, FOUR desserts involving intense chocolate and champagne.

Needless to say. this has been a very enjoyable St Valentine's Day. Thank you, Les and  Dawn.

Every Picture: Dressing Up At The Ulster Museum

Looking at these photographs reminded me that it has been far too long since I took the girls to the Ulster Museum. Maybe, when their cousin James is over in April can have a big family day out. I'd love to see what James makes of our museum. I'm sure he'll enjoy the interactive children's room but am not so sure he'll enjoy dressing up as much as Martha and Evie do. We'll see.

This is Martha's favourite outfit, the one that delights her every time she gets to wear it. The skirt has a big hooped petticoat under and she loves to swirl around in it.

Evie tries a hooped petticoat for size. She also loved the painted wooden clogs which were a perfect match for her woolly cardigan.

On this occasion, one of the museum staff (we asked) had taken the blue gingham home for laundering and Miss Martha was a little disappointed. Then she found this pinafore and all her Kate Greenaway fantasies were realised. Sitting on the bench beside the mirror is a wonderful vantage point for a granny to capture great shots of the darling grandchildren posing in those old time costumes and, there is the added advantage of getting a wee rest. Now I've made myself really excited for our next trip to the Museum.

Every Picture: Pre-Schoolers

This picture is from four years ago before the girls started primary school. Those were excellent days when there was no collecting from the school bus and no homework. Now Nellybert only has a few hours on a Thursday afternoon to put them to work enjoy their company. Thankfully it's mid-term break next week. Those drains could do with another good clean.

Every Picture: The Band and the Critics

Band practice night in Springhill. Well it was. It's over now and they are listening to YouTube. We had Odetta and now Barrington Levy (who he?).

Earlier there were critics in, four year-old twins. The band played The Ziggy Song and Jeanie pronounced it "Awesome... and odd."

Flushed with success the band played the twins The Potato Song. Jeanie said it was "Awful... and stupid." William agreed.

Band

Seems like I'm getting a reggae education. We are now listening to a song called zungg uzungguguzungguzeng.

Critics

Every Picture: Box Barrows and A Windmill

I have sat up in the other sitting room with Bert and Brendan and Howard and the craic, as they say, was mighty. It always is when Brendan's in the room for he could talk for Ireland, and often does.

Conversations ranged from politics to box barrows with the windmill at Knockloughrim somewhere in the middle.

I asked everyone who was the first politician you became aware of as a child. Howard said Shirley Williams, Bert admitted to Georges Pompidou (because he had a funny name), my picks were Nixon and Kennedy and Brendan claimed that his first memory of a politician was Bernadette Devlin. That struck me as odd as Brendan is around the same age as she was when she was elected to Westminster. I recalled that the day after the election the Daily Mirror had a front page picture of her sitting on a swing and I thought it was extremely patronising of the paper.

Anyway, Brendan admitted that he remembered the news coming through about the Kennedy assassination. He was at a dance listening to the Grafton Showband when the band was asked to stop playing and the announcement was made from the stage. The show was pronounced over and everyone went home.

Other politicians and advisors discussed and dissected were Obama, Clinton, Reagan, Ahern, Adams, O'Neill, Poots, Trump, Foster, McGuinness, McCausland, Bannon, Campbell, Givan, Nesbitt, May, Brokenshire, McGuinness and Kenny. Few were spoken of admiringly, perhaps three or four.

We moved on to dead comedians. Brendan confessed a liking for Tommy Cooper, Howard said he always enjoyed Dave Allen, I spoke up for Groucho Marx and Bert said he still liked Benny Hill. I lit on him for this and said he needn't think he was going to trick me into divorcing him as I intended to stay married to him until the day he died.

One thing led to another and someone mentioned Knockloughrim. Howard said the windmill there was falling to pieces. The structure has experienced a fair bit of wear and tear since it was first built in the latter part of the 19th century. It lost its sails and roof in a storm. The current roof is a replacement and although some say that the original was also onion shaped, there is no proof. The windmill has had many uses one of which was a meeting place for the local Orange Order.

When Brendan got on to the box barrows that his granda used to make in his blacksmith's shop I made my excuses and left. I had heard the tale before but I left happy in the knowledge that Howard hadn't. And I had a blog to write. And stewed fruit and plain yoghurt to eat.

If anyone knows what a box barrow actually is I'd be pleased to know. I really should have listened to Brendan. Maybe Bert will know.

Every Picture: Off to Casualty

I am still finding it hard to dash off these daily posts despite my so-called bright idea of basing the post on a picture. Sure, I do that most times anyway except in reverse, write a post and choose an image or images to accompany it.

In the meantime I am considering bigger and better posts such as the one on old Ballymena and the one about dogs based on Brian Sewell's book, Sleeping With Dogs. The thing is, these are pieces that cannot be dashed off because they need a little bit of thinking about and also some research. I'd like the history piece to be as true as it can be and I'd like the dog piece to be as honest as can be. Meanwhile, I'm addicted to online jigsaws though hopefully have now scundered myself.

But old pictures spark memories (which was my original intention) and this one is no exception.

It is a scan from a polaroid taken by Mick, my first husband and the children's father. It was taken before we got married. Mick was living in England as Englishmen often do and I was back home in Ireland, living at home with Zoe, our daughter. He came over as often as he could and when he did, Daddy handed over the keys to the car and we went on lots of jaunts. Every time, it seemed that one of those trips would be to A&E or Casualty as it was then known.

The picture was cropped and the person cropped from it was Kerry sister, then aged about fifteen because she was 'ligging about', pulling faces and ruining the good photo. Polaroid film was pretty expensive back then. But, oh! what a novelty to have instant photographic gratification. We take so much for granted these modern days with our digital cameras.

Anyway, a short time after this picture was taken Kerry Sister must have 'ligged about' just once too often for she sustained a bad cut and, of course, it was off to Casualty, Mick driving. You know I cannot remember where or how she lacerated or punctured herself but I do remember seeing from underneath the curtained cubicle her trousers drop as the nurse administered the dreaded tetanus injection in the bottom.  Another thing I recall is that we were in and out of that hospital department in far less than an hour. Maybe we didn't have all the exciting technological gadgetry back in the 1970s but there was no hanging about in Casualty.

Every Picture: There was a wee doggy called Ziggy

Yikes! Less than ten minutes to write my daily blog post. Last night while Hannah was shopping online and I was doing a jigsaw (also online) Bert comes barging into our private. secret sitting room to read aloud from Yeats, and then wanted to discuss poetry. Honestly! You never get a minute's peace in this house.

Still, if I've only got eight minutes it will have to be poetry. It's the only thing I can dash off.

Here goes,

There was a wee doggy called Ziggy
Who grew most tremendously Biggy
No more does he Fly
You might well ask Why?
It's because he did scoff like a Piggy.

Every Picture: Mossy Tales

God! This daily blogging is tough. So hard to think of a fresh idea. I have been working on a post about living beside the moss but it needs a bit of research, especially as I cannot even find what the bloody place is even called. I have a faint idea I might have researched it before and that it might even be on this very blog! Time to research Nelly's Very Own Garden.

Just took a break to drink tea, eat a pear and watch Archer. But before that I researched my own blog to see if I could find out the actual name of our very own homeplace bog. Didn't find it. But I did find these pictures....

It was 2006 and I was taking a walk in the moss when I discovered a miniature rhubarb plant. I was astonished as I'd never before seen rhubarb growing there. Surely the growing medium would be far too acidic. Bert didn't believe me so next time we were in Drumkeeran we went searching for it.

Bert has a little nibble. Definitely rhubarb. I never saw it again and it remained a puzzle until, six years later, I met Bobby.

Bobby is Lord O'Neill's man on the ground, the mossy ground, to be precise. The day I met him he was admiring a patch of narcissi that he'd planted the previous autumn. He told me that his wife was throwing the bulbs out so he thought he'd plant them in the moss to see how they'd do. Now, as far as I know, he just got the one year out of them as I never saw them again. I did ask him If he'd ever tried rhubarb and he said he had but it hadn't made much of a plant. The mystery solved!

The next picture has absolutely nothing to do with horticultural experiments in peat bogs but it was taken in the moss, not Lord O'Neill's side but Paddy Heffron's.

Kerry, a sweet little dog that belonged to our friend John F. She's long gone now for this photo was taken in 2004. It was one of a number of pictures taken around that time that disappeared in a computer crash. I'd forgotten it was stored on my blog.

Here's another that I saved taken that same day.

Kerry and Paddy, Heffron's Moss, 2004. Kerry was such a lively little thing.