Red Campion and Two Wrens

 

 

You know how people sometimes say that they are 'going through some stuff'? Well - that's me right now, going through some stuff, mostly being bored stiff. 

It's a weird one for being bored is not really me. Sometimes I wonder if I'm just on a practice run for my extreme old age. This upcoming birthday isn't something I'm looking forward to. Seventy? I'd rather be eighty but suppose I should be grateful/hopeful for the ten years I'll spend getting to my eighties.

I'm practising 'living in the moment' which means I try to appreciate what is going on right now. Tonight that means admiring the moon, checking out the owls and worrying about the neighbour's noisy cows.

I also put the moth trap out as there is no rain expected tonight. There was a bit of an oops moment a couple of days ago. I put the trap in the shepherd's hut (rain expected) and inspected the catch inside. One poplar hawk-moth, rather faded, a buff-tip on the floor of the hut, a lot of brown ones, no ermines. Because it was indoors I left most of them on the table and let all those that settled on the walls alone. 

A couple of hours later I brought Bert to the hut to see the hawk moth. 

Be careful, there are a few on the floor, don't tread on them.

We went in and there were two wrens flying about. No moths on the floor except the buff-tip which looks like a twig. The poplar hawk moth was safe enough, I'd tucked it away. We left. A little later I spotted the wrens again. They were treating the shepherd's hut as an all-day breakfast cafe. The only survivors were the hawk moth and a couple of yellow underwings. I won't be doing that again. 

The Siege of Drumrankin

 

On Saturday Ben and Sara came around and we made a start on the overgrown flower bed next to the lawn. Ben was the spade man and I just pointed at things and wheeled barrows to the compost heap. A mass of blue iris was removed, a huge cephalaria gigantea disposed of and yellow crocosmia, irises and Sidalcea lifted and shared with Sara. Bert absented himself from these endeavours as he was helping Clint with his beasts.

Cleo likes a bit of digging too.

We had a leak in the upstairs bathroom which I discovered at 6am on Sunday morning. I’m usually up at that time as Cleo needs to be toileted as early as possible. Bert was informed of the leak and got up to look at it. Then returned to bed saying he would sort it later. I placed a basin under the drip and returned to bed for a few hours. Finished my Jane Gardam – the third part of the Filth trilogy already ordered from World Books.

Four hours later Bert got up and I fed him porridge and peaches and he got to work. I’m not sure what he did but the leak was fixed – temporarily.

Clint was on the yard first thing this morning. There was a bit of a siege on. Apparently, some boy’s cattle along with some other boy’s Simmental bull had broken out of another boy’s field and some decent sort of a boy had come along and got them all off the Dreen Road and into Clint’s silage field. So a posse of boys were gathered up and the cattle were to be moved into our big shed for collection.

I went up to tell Bert.

You know the other day, when you were telling me a tale about J’s sister-in-law, who was letting Clint cut silage in her fields for free and this boy came up and said he’d no business as the grass belonged to him and it was very confusing and it was either ‘this boy’ or ‘that boy’ and I couldn’t make head or tail of it – well do I have a tale for you, boys, cows and bulls galore and the good news is that there are that many boys coming to round them up that you can stay in bed.

It must have taken the boys a good half hour to get the beasts out of Clint’s silage but eventually, all landed in the yard and the cattle were safely deposited in the shed. The boys were a mixed bunch. One of them was a grizzled old fellow who looked like he belonged in a Western movie. One had a shifty look about him. One wore his trousers belted close to his armpits and one young one’s jeans were hanging halfway down his arse with a good expanse of his hairy crack on view. One was a girl and one was Clint.

It goes without saying that Clint wasn’t that impressed with twenty cows and calves and a bull trampling through his silage but the boy who owned the bull said he could have the loan of it for a month and Clint reported tonight that it has its courting ears on and he’s hoping to have an excellent wee crop of calves in 2024.

Yellow crocosmia, sidalcea, iris, cephalaria. Don't worry, I've still go lots of them left. These had just gotten out of hand in a small flowerbed

And Bert was up reasonably early this morning, off to the plumbing supplies store and has fixed the leak.

And I have bought yet another dress for Naoise's wedding. 

Too Late For India

I have been reading Jane Gardam, halfway through the Old Filth trilogy and dipping into The Sidmouth Letters. I actually thought I'd already read The Sidmouth Letters but it turned out I’d only got as far as the first story, The Tribute. And what a delight it was to return to it, for it is a most excellent piece of story-telling and I plan to reread it before this week is out.

The most recent Gardam story I read was about youngsters from privileged backgrounds living the hippy lifestyle in Crete, in a place called Matala.

I asked Bert if he’d heard of it. He said,

Matala? Yea, I was there in 1978.

Did you live in the caves?

No. By the time I got there, there was a fellow that used to chase the people out of the caves. I had my own cave a bit in from the beach.

Was this before or after Marseille?

Before.

Yea. I thought you’d have been put off caves by Marseille.

I had to leave that one. Rats drove me out.

Rats?

Yea. I kept bringing buns back to the cave. It brought rats.

See you can take the boy out of Cullybackey but you can’t keep him away from the traybakes.

Was the beach at Matala as gorgeous as they say?

Aye. T’was. There was a morning I was there and this Swedish girl came up to me. Asked me for a light. Naked as a jaybird.

Did you give her one? A light I mean…

Aye. She sat down beside me. I had everything on. And a duffel coat. I could hardly look at her,

Was she gorgeous?

She was. Sand sticking to her shoulders and all.

I thought you said you never looked at her?

Was only a glimpse.

Later on that day Swisser called and while Bert and she looked on I threw together a Singaporean pork thingy I’d been thinking about which involved pork, soy sauce, vinegar, massaman curry paste, peppers, ginger, garlic, tomato paste and shredded cabbage. Swisser said she’d have some despite being inclined to vegetarianism and only allowing herself meat once every two years. Believe that? Not I.

I was telling her about what I’d been hearing about Matala and it turns out she’d been there a few years before Bert, actually lived in the caves for six months but had to leave because she got cholera, dysentery, typhoid or some such and was advised by a fellow traveller to make haste for Tel Aviv before she died,

Swisser's stories always involve serious illness and near-death experiences. either her own or someone else's. I didn't mention that I'd fried the pork in clarified butter and left all the fat on. God knows what that will have done to her gall bladder and I expect she's having a near-death experience this very minute. 

'Hippies' at Matala. The young woman in the shades is the absolute spitting image of Swisser. After Matala, she checked herself into a kibbutz where she was tenderly nursed back to health.

Postscript. Do I envy Swisser and Bert for their youthful travelling adventures? Short answer. YES! 

After The Rain

I said to Bert today that I might ask one of our metal worker friends to beat me out some sort of protective breastplate, maybe re-purposing an old tin tray or two of the sort that used to be in every public house.

You might ask why I'd want such a thing and I am more than happy to tell you.

Yesterday was not a good day. My knee and hip were troubling me, one of those mornings when getting a sock on to my right food was a painful challenge. There was something going on in my mouth, I had to leave my partial denture out for most of the day for there was no Bonjela in the house. But worst of all, I was tired and worn out, had no energy for anything, everything was an effort.  I felt decrepit. I used to think that the worst thing about getting older was becoming less lovely to behold. Wrinkles, droopiness, stoopiness, greyness - that sort of thing. How foolish I was for now I couldn't care less about that. I just wish I had some of the liveliness and energy I had in my earlier decades. 

Back to my desire for a breastplate. I did my very best to shift my flat mood, took my favourite book to the polytunnel and lay down on one of the many sofas that go there to die. It was bliss. Crows cawed, songbirds sang, it was so deliciously warm. I may have dozed a little. The pup was running around, ripping one of the sofas apart, I paid her no mind, so relaxed... then rudely awakened as she sprang on top of me, right on top of my right breast. It was agony.  Like being poked hard in the bosom by a wooden staff. 

So there I was, sore mouth, sore hip, sore knee, sore boob, no wine. I  managed to stay up until after ten, watched a very silly programme with Nicola Walker then went to bed with a cup of tea and two paracetamol.  

And delighted to wake up this morning with hip, knee, mouth and boob much improved. I still think the breastplate is a good idea as I'm going to take even more naps in the polytunnel and I am sure the pup plans to take more running leaps on to anyone foolish enough to lie prone in her vicinity.

I Wish It Would Rain

 

Bert heading out to a funeral in a heatwave.

It won't be too formal, I said, fine for a funeral on a day like this, in fact, you might even wear something like that to Naoise's wedding.

Afterwards, I asked the usual questions.

Good turn-out? 

Yes.

See anyone you know? 

A few. It was an eclectic gathering, and his wee sisters carried the coffin.

Then there was Martha's show. She is part of her school's drama club, an enthusiastic member. and she really wanted me to come. It was an interactive performance of George's Marvellous Medicine and it was great.There was a 75% turnout of grandparents on Martha's team and we had to watch a lot of actors* playing George's dreadful grandma. I don't know about the other two grandparents but Im sure I am nothing like that. I did see a hint of Pearlie though although she was nowhere near as horrible. it was a hoot from beginning to end and in my opinion, we need to pay teachers more.

Afterwards, I popped over to Tescos to pick up a few items. It seems like late summer evenings are the best time to go supermarket shopping apart from some of the shelves looking a bit bare. Thankfully there were no gaps in the Italian wine department. I met an old acquaintance there, the guy who used to fix my washing machines. It wasn't his only talent as he's also a fine fiddle player and played in bands back in the day. Sadly he'd given it up, and said he lost interest when the girls stopped throwing their underwear on stage.

That made me think, for though it often seems these days that the world has gone completely mad, it always was a crazy place.

Tony

* George's Marvellous Medicine features four main characters. The actors changed with each scene and no, it wasn't confusing, and it gave everyone a chance to shine.

It's All About Cleo

 

Cleo has been enjoying the summery weather as much as anyone - riding the quad with Bert...

Meeting Arlo for the first time. They had a lot of fun. He's just a few weeks older than her and they are going to be great friends.

She went to Bracknamuckley Wood for the second time. Although it might be the last time for a while as the Bann is moving slowly these hot, dry days and something floating at the edge looks like the blue-green algae (not really an algae) that can be lethal for dogs.

In other news, we had a hectic weekend. I cooked my first vegan meal (a curry) for Hannah's friends on Friday. And on Saturday we had Marty and Jazzer, Arlo and Dora for a sleepover. Other visiting dogs included Phoenix, Pippin, Tegan and Rex. The yard was a total health hazard.

Plans for this week are looser. Tomorrow is family dinner which will need to be yummy to console Zoe for the damage Rusty did to her potato rigs. Wednesday is a funeral and Thursday Evie, maybe Martha. We will need to make plans for Portrush. The girls have told me they are still not too old for the annual trip to Curry's Fun Park* 

*Formerly Barry's.

Fifteen Years Ago In Kerry

Tomorrow came and I started looking for pictures to illustrate a post on my recent visit to Kerry. I even went on Flickr! Then fell down a Dingle Peninsula rabbit hole of memories.

Remembered that fifteen years ago I fled to Kerry only days after Pearlie came to live with us. I brought Paddy Dog with me and he was tremendously well-behaved apart from stealing Scruff's bed.

Scruff, always the gentleman, was the perfect host. Fifteen years ago, so of course they're all gone now. 

Three of the best dogs that ever barked.

We climbed Mount Brandon then, even me! It was no bother to the dogs. 

Sadly, the mist was on the mountain that day and I wasn't able to get the view. No matter, I'd seen it before and I hope, I really hope to see it again. Older than me have climbed that hill.

Another picture from that trip. Bert's clematis to the fore, The mountain behind. 

There is something about the place. On the last day I was there we watched a short film about Mount Brandon. About the hill and some people who live beneath it. The brother-in-law features in it. When I climb the hill again I will bring a stick and when I reach the peak I will roar like a lioness.

The Link  to An Cnoc

https://www.tg4.ie/en/player/play/?pid=6323948255112&title=An%20Cnoc&series=C%C3%A9ad%20Seans&pcode=665662&genre=Faisneis

Journey

 I got back last night from a three-night trip to West Kerry. Short skip down to Cullybackey train station, then Belfast, Enterprise to Dublin Connolly, Luas to Heuston for the Cork train, change at Mallow and detrain at Farranfore. Then the drive to Dingle and beyond. I started my journey just before six am and was sitting in Kerry Sister's kitchen at half-four. 

The return journey wasn't as straightforward. Started at eleven in the morning, and had an hour's gap in Dublin. Then the Enterprise was running late and I missed the train I'd hoped to get in Belfast. Then when I got off the train at Cullybackey Bert wasn't waiting for me! Bad husband. He turned up ten minutes later and poo-poohed my annoyance because it wasn't even cold. 

And between those two journeys, I had the loveliest time with my Kerry family which I'll share tomorrow and maybe a picture or two as well.