Saturday Routines

 I don't buy newspapers except on Saturday when I treat myself to the Guardian. Bert and I have our routines, we compete on the Quizword. I make a spare photocopy and do it separately. This morning I informed him,

I'm going to thrash you today. It's a Steinbeck theme.

When it comes to literature I have the advantage. He is much better at geographical and geo-political clues.

But - when I started the crossword I realised that quite a few of the clues were favouring Bert's expertise and as I admitted to him the ones I'd hoped would give me the advantage were actually Steinbeck-lite, meaning that most Boomers would have come across them in English class. He beat me by four answers. Admission - neither of us has ever completed a Quizword. 

To make things worse he finished his Wordle in three while I went to the wire with six.

A little later he came to me saying,

I suppose you know who Theon Greyjoy's sister is?

I said,

Depends on which one you mean. His sister in Game of Thrones or the actor's actual sister?

The actual actor's sister.

Lily Allen. Everybody knows that. Everybody knew who Lily Allen was before anybody heard of Alfie Allen. In fact, she had to write a song about him before anybody even knew about him.

We take our victories where we can. I also had to talk him through the Martin Rowson.

 

In Which Bert Despairs Of His Hair

Just a quick update Chez Nellybert. 

Pippin had a check-up on Tuesday and Bogdan (the veterinary surgeon) is delighted with her. She is a week in the crate now and gets fed up with it sometimes although she is mostly accepting of it. She has been introduced to Cat YouTube channels and every day she spends ten minutes or so watching the birdies. We'll probably regret this when she recovers and starts killing our goldfinches.

She goes to see Bogdan on Tuesday and will hopefully be getting her stitches removed.

There was something about another Prime Minister.  During the deliberations, Bert became aware of the phenomenon that is Michael Fabricant. He could not believe such a creature existed, and one that expected to be taken seriously. Later in the week, as Bert was despairing of his hair he was heard saying that he hated his locks. I consoled him with the thought that he too could invest in a Dougal wig.

Yesterday I took the latest Covid 19 booster and the flu shot. Later that day I became very fatigued and foggy-brained. I still feel like that. Early night tonight and hopefully will be feeling more myself tomorrow. It's lucky that I have four more episodes of Bad Sisters to keep me occupied.

Pippin Does Facebook

Hannah's Facebook Tuesday:  for I was so stressed my fingers wouldn't work.

Pippin is missing since this morning. She could be about the Dreen Road, Killyless Road, Granagh Road area. Please let us know if you have seen her as we are worried sick.

The same day, from me.

Pippin (5 months old) has not been seen since early morning. We live on Dreen Road, not far from Killyless Road near Cullybackey. We have been searching all day and are worried that something has happened to her.

That day was one of the most stressful days of our lives. We searched everywhere except where she most likely was - the big hedge on the left side of our lane. The one closest to the road. The one that we allowed a hedge-cutting contractor to cut whilst she was probably lying injured inside it. The one that she sheltered in while stove fitters worked yards from it using grinders and other loud machinery and beside the lane that Clint trundled up for hours bringing cattle for over-wintering in the big shed. It must have been Pippin's most stressful day too and all that with added shock and pain.

Facebook, Wednesday morning.

Pippin turned up 30 minutes ago. She is hurt and is on her way to the vet. Bert and I want to thank everyone for the messages and good wishes. I will update later.

We had convinced ourselves she was gone forever. The previous night I'd gone out with a torch and called her name, hoping I'd hear that faint mew. Early morning rising, checking the doors to see if she'd returned. By nine I was sitting, exactly where I'm sitting now, at this PC and I heard Bert shout, Am I seeing things? Is this her? And I turned (I'd been crying) and he is standing there and Pippin is in his arms. We embraced, and I cried more.

But something was wrong. It was clear she was glad to be in the house, she refused food and collapsed exhausted in her favourite bed. Her legs weren't right. I called the Portglenone vet.

According to the vet everything indicated that Pippin had been hit by a vehicle. The X-rays showed that her pelvis was fractured in two places and the top of her femur was irreparably smashed. Pippin was to be transferred from Portglenone to Cookstown for orthopaedic surgery. We delivered her. It was such a relief to see her again and to see that, despite everything, she was still herself, even if it was her sedated self. Hannah had reminded us to bring her favourite toy and the moment she felt and smelt it she began to purr.

Facebook Wednesday - Pippin is on her way from the Portglenone vet to Cookstown for tomorrow's surgery. She has just been happily reunited with her special grey monkey a gift, (as was Pippin) from Sara and Ben.

Facebook Thursday - Pippin has come through her surgery and we expect to have her home either tomorrow or Saturday. There will be rules. For a start, no picking fights with Fred, and no letting Judy use her as a pillow.

Facebook today - Pippin got home today. Needs to live in a cage for four weeks. She's not too happy about it. Had her first Dreemies today and we've found she is also partial to chopped liver. Helps the medicine go down.

Silly of me but I wasn't expecting the cage. But it makes sense. She needs to heal and she thinks she should still be able to rampage about as before. It is great to have her back home. Every day and in every way she will get better and better. Hannah says she has to live until she is 20 to make up for all this but I'd be happy to take fifteen.

To all our Facebook friends reading this - your support and kind messages meant such a lot.

To all at Parklands, Portglenone, Cookstown and Dungannon. Thank you.

Day Out in Belfast

There had been an arrangement to have a new stove fitted today in my private, secret sitting room and I didn't want to be there when it happened. So I thought I'd have a wee excursion to Belfast. Swisser was to come too. The stove-fitting appointment was cancelled until Tuesday, but we decided to go anyway.

It was a fine day, with blue skies and fluffy clouds. Belfast is beautiful when the weather allows. Our first call was to St George's Market then on to the Mac to see the Ron Mueck exhibition. There was no light-heartedness or joy in these works. The sculptures were contemplative, serious and concerned.  That's life, that's humanity. Which is why it worked for me. Being alive is a serious business and ends in being dead. 

But one must eat. We had lunch at Dumpling Library which was very good. We had seaweed dumplings, salmon fishcakes and deep-fried spinach wontons. I shall take Bert there someday soon.. 

And one must clothe oneself - to shopping. Urban Outfitters, Seasalt and Jigsaw. Swisser tried on about a million things in Seasalt while I sat outside watching the world go by. I was expecting her to emerge laden with bags but she had only one solitary jumper. I bought a hot pink shirt from Urban Outfitters which will brighten up my life and, hopefully, that of those around me.

A dem good day. Culture, food, fashion and friendship. The only thing missing was books. And I have enough books for now.

Night Plane

Bert calls from another room,

What was that just flew overhead?

American Airforce, just flew out of  Aldergrove, heading who knows where. I'll keep an eye on it.

I hope it didn't disturb the hens.

UPDATE: The plane took a left between Portrush and Islay and is now heading west.

Posts About Sewing Machines

Tomorrow I intend to donate a 1920s Singer sewing machine to a local charity shop. 

Then I realised I needed a picture of it but it's already in the back of the van, along with a conglomeration of other stuff, kiddy car seats, cat baskets, and old tools and would not make a pretty picture. So I had to trawl through my House & Home folder, which took a while as there are 2,218 files and 145 folders. I cannot have cared much for the machine for there was just one photograph.  And that was mainly of a hen.

I cannot remember when I got the machine but it is the last in a long line. I'd never gotten around to using it and would have felt guilty about selling as it was gifted to me. 

I've been searching through the blog archive to see how long it's been here. No record. The photo is from six years ago so much longer than that. While delving into the past I found a few more sewing machine references.

This one from nine years ago is a true story about how I acquired my first Singer treadle.

The other day I was listening to a discussion on the radio about how the recession has affected ordinary families. One woman had this to say,

I'm cutting back as much as I can. I go to Aldi and Lidl, I'm on online auctions, I use Freecycle, I cut coupons. I don't know what else I can do!

And I couldn't help thinking.

Well, you could always consider not wanting so much stuff!

Then I remembered that, as a young woman with a very small budget, I too used to enjoy acquiring stuff.

I loved auctions, jumble sales and charity shops. I was good at jumble sales (sharp elbows) and diligent in charity shops but for auctions, it was a cunning strategy that was needed.

And it was just such a cunning strategy that was lacking when I spotted the notice in the paper, advertising a house clearance near Glarryford. I was looking for a sewing machine and there were two listed. Surely I'd get one Singer at least? No strategy needed!

In that part of the country, house clearances were very popular with second-hand dealers and farmers' wives. I reasoned that the farmers' wives at least, if they were keen on sewing, would already possess a sewing machine and that at least one of the Singers would surely be mine. I also decided that dealers would not be interested in sewing machines so they would be no competition.

The auction started in the yard at the back of the house. I was surrounded by grim-faced men in tweed caps and their equally grim-faced womenfolk. The Singers were lots number ninety-something so I had a bit to go. I passed the time watching how other people bid. Seven cushions came up. They were a mixed lot, tatty and well-worn, just the sort of cushions you could sweep off the seats in any farm kitchen. The bidding started at fifty pence. Then it went to a pound. Two women were bidding against each other and the price kept rising. The cushions were eventually sold for £12 and if I'd been the woman who lost (wised up) I think I'd have been mighty relieved. But this bidding frenzy for a handful of scruffy cushions rattled me. What if one or more of the farmers' wives couldn't bear to see me get a perfectly good Singer for a bargain price? What should I do? At last, my treadle machine was called. 

Who'll give me £5 for this Singer sewing machine in good working order?

Oh no! These Glarryford women won't be able to bear seeing me get this machine for a knockdown price. 

I rang out, 

Ten pounds!

Silence. Then...

Sold to the woman with no nerve!

So that was my bidding strategy. And it worked. 

A Trip To Kerry

Zoe and I have just spent three nights in County Kerry. It was a family occasion, the naming ceremony of my great-nephew.  We travelled by train, which was pleasant enough, although rather a long journey - forty minutes from Cullybackey to Belfast, two hours on the Enterprise to Dublin and four hours from Dublin to Tralee. Bhí sé goirt ar mo thóin.*

Not drowning but waving

When we arrived it seemed that the fam was swimming mad as there was a great rush to Ballydavid before it got too dark or cold - not that those hardy hoors would have cared. As I cannot swim a stroke it was left to me to take the pictures and mind their stuff. Being me, I took the opportunity to have a little fall. Nothing much, a fast approach of kneecaps to asphalt and a bit of abrasion to the hands. The important thing was, no one witnessed it.

That evening we had our supper at Kerry Sister's and made arrangements to have everyone over to our spacious holiday rental the following night. Which would be fifteen people. No bother. 

The spacious holiday rental

The spacious holiday rental consisted of four big rooms, two of which were en suite. I had previously volunteered Zoe and me for the twin bed share. Of which, more later. Enough to say neither of us slept well and that night I had a dream so foul that I will never be able to speak of it.

Although I say it myself the supper for fifteen was a big success. This was almost entirely down to our multi-talented Dr Leitrim Sister who has previous experience catering for stars of stage and screen. Zoe acted as her capable assistant. My own contribution was chopping veggies for a green salad and being encouraging.  

 That was my one and only drinking night. I had at least four (large) glasses of Lidls finest and I like to think I made some new friends. 

Yet sleep eluded me (and Zoe) for a second night. Damn those pathetic, useless beds with their comfortless coverings and cheap single pillows.

The next day was to be the darling nephew's big day. The intrepid swimmers headed back to Ballydavid and I stayed behind to finish Brendan Behan's After The Wake which I'd promised to Leitrim Sister. Then it was off to the Naming Ceremony which turned out to be one of the best days of my entire life. 

The actual ceremony was beautiful, and led by a Humanist celebrant. There was music, sublime and sincere performed by humans who were close to the child. It was meaningful in a way that made me realise that our gods intrude. And the little child knew. He knew that he was loved. Little children don't care about gods. They are the original humanists.

It was a long day with delicious food, great company and craic. I even managed to have an IRL encounter with someone I only knew online and that was good too. 

After all the excitement I thought I might have rested easier in my bed. No luck. I tossed and turned and ached all night. A short fitful sleep was marred by horrible anxiety dreams and I even considered moving to the sofa in the sitting room for relief. Zoe beat me to it and I was left plotting revenge on the haunted beds. I fantasised about breaking my bed with a hammer and then burning it to ashes on the front lawn.

Last day. I'd finished After the Wake and swapped it for Leitrim Sister's copy of The End of the World is a Cul de Sac which was shaping up to be excellent. There was a last goodbye to everyone and special hugs for the baby. We will meet again soon.

Leitrim Sister gave Zoe and me a lift to  Dublin where we completed the journey by train. And on the way, we stopped at  Barack Obama Plaza on the Tipperary/Offaly border. We hit it at a busy time - there were 5 coaches in the car park, two belonging to a hundred or more under-12 GAA lads and three packed with students heading to Dublin. On the way back to the car, Leitrim Sister and Zoe were expressing some disappointment about the services offered. But not me. I felt enlivened by the squawking baby footballers and delighted with the weary students. It could have been worse, I ventured. Could have been 5 coach loads of wee grannies like me.

Zoe said, 

Can you imagine it? All those wee grannies standing around the coffee machine saying,  "How does it work? Can you show me?"

Cheeky skitter.

* I am using an online translation service and would welcome corrections.