A Pair Of Brown Eyes

Very many years ago I went to see the Pogues some place in Belfast. Whitla Hall? Hard to remember. What I do remember is that I found my 30-something self in the midst of a frenzied crowd of much younger people (mostly male) jumping up and down in such a way that I was in danger of losing my footing and being pogoed to death. My ex-husband pulled me out of the melee and (I suppose) saved my life. Thanks Mick. He and his beloved were supposed to be staying with us for a few days but were forced to cancel due to health concerns. We will see them at Easter.

So we spent an hour or so this evening watching Crock of Gold: A Few Rounds with Shane MacGowan. I liked it. Seemed fitting. I was neither shocked nor sad to hear that Shane had died. Surprised, considering his health issues, that he'd lasted this long.

Way back, probably during some summer in the 80s, living in Ballykeel 2, I'd listen to the first two Pogues albums, windows open, daring my Loyalist neighbours to be offended by the trad Irish-ish. If they'd come to my door, I imagined myself saying, for fucks sake, they've been on The Old Grey Whistle Test. That is part of MacGowan's legacy for, to some extent, he gave us back our music.

Portballintrae and Bushmills

 

Today was a lovely day. I had a trip out with my first-born daughter. She drove, such a treat! First we went for a walk on the beach at Portballintrae which was a delight but weird because we had no dogs. The first time ever I've been to that beach without at least two dogs. Incidentally, my records inform me that the last time I walked that beach was February 2021. Far too long ago.

After the walk we went to Mike's Coffee Shop in Bushmills for Thai food and it was delicious. Had I been at home I would have licked my plate. The food was great, the service was great and I will definitely return. I have been inspired and must go soon to Asia Supermarket to source the necessary ingredients for a Thai Panang Curry.

I left my phone behind so Zoe took the photographs which is why there are none of her. A pity as she was looking really fine.

The First Judy

This picture of Jess was taken the first day she went to live with my parents. She looks a bit unsure of herself.

I were looking through a box of old photographs, mostly of dogs. I turned up a snap of Mum’s dog Jess from when she was a puppy and asked Bert,

Do you remember Jess?

Jess? The Pup that came from Sammy Grey’s. How long was she around?

At least ten years. Mum got up one morning and found her dead. She was their last dog. They never had another.

Your dad wasn’t that keen on dogs, was he?

I don’t know about that.

So I told him about the second Danny and the first Judy.

Both dogs came from the same mother, a wee spaniel that belonged to a friend of a friend. Danny was the first of them. At that time I had little need of a dog but allowed myself to be persuaded. He was such a gorgeous pup and I named him Danny after a dog we’d had at home. He was probably only about six weeks old when I got him, far too young to be separated from his mother but that was common then to take a pup away at that age. I’d been advised by a neighbour to get him his inoculation soon as distemper was rife in our area. But I’d little spare money then and didn’t get round to it.

It’s a horrible thing to watch a tiny puppy die of distemper. Thanks be it is almost a thing of the past now. He became ill and declined fast. After one horrible night of fitting I took him to the vet but it was too late. Allowing little Danny to die is a huge regret.

About a year later Beryl’s friend’s bitch had a second litter. At first I was reluctant to have another pup but went to see them. Always a mistake. I chose a sweet little bitch and named her Judy. This time I made sure she got her inoculations. That done I could pat myself on the back and consider myself a good dog mum. But I wasn’t.

Judy spent a lot of time in the street outside our house. Drumtara was a newly built estate and there were a lot of children and dogs around. When Zoe was outdoors playing with her group of friends Judy was always with them. There was one young boy who tormented the girls and he had been kicking Judy. Understandably, Judy snapped at him and this caused a big problem. His mother came to my door and threatened to call the police. I asked my parents if they would take her off my hands and, slightly reluctantly, they agreed.

Judy adapted well to country life. She decided that my father was her hero and followed him everywhere. If he was at the farmyard she would be with him. If he went to the moss (which he often did) she’d go too, trotting beside his tractor until they arrived at the turf banks.

She was always well-behaved when she was with Daddy until the day when one of the fellow turf cutters brought his dog along and which excited Judy so much that she did not mind herself around Daddy’s tractor and was killed under its wheels. He buried her there and then in the bog that she and my father loved so much then returned home alone. Mammy knew the moment he came in that something was wrong. He went to his customary place at the kitchen table, sat down, folded his arms in front of him, laid down his head and wept.

Not long after these photographs were taken Judy and Katy set off on an adventure. Whether it was Judy's idea or Katy's we'll never know but they both left my mother's house and turned up at the next door neighbour's house which was a good fifteen minute walk for a toddler and a terrier. Both were returned safely and we were advised that one of them might need a nappy change.

A Post From Fifteen Years Ago

 

Oh How I Wish That Skippy Was Here

The hole what I fell in

I’ve never got into the habit of carrying a phone with me. After yesterday I think perhaps I should. After leaving Hannah in to work I took Paddy and Bonnie for walks in Currell’s Avenue. I was wearing my Hunters so decided to go off piste. We were in this boggy field between the river and the Ballygarvey Road and I went to cross an old wooden bridge over a sheugh. Next thing I’m sitting on my ass on a whole heap of mud and my left leg is stuck in a hole in the bridge, damn and blast it to hell. Of course my first thought was,

Am I going to lose my welly here?

No thought a-tall for my leg, just my welly for a damned expensive welly it was too. Then I thought,

Am I going to get my leg out or am I going to be stuck here for hours?

Then I thought,

Will I have to chew my leg off?

Then I thought,

If I had a big rock I could smash the wood around my leg and get it out.

Then I thought,

If these dogs were any good a-tall like Lassie or Black Bob, or if they were even as smart as Skippy the Bush Kangaroo, then they could go and fetch help but they’re not, they’re crap dogs and they’re not even looking at me, they’re running ahead regardless as if Nelly with her leg stuck in a bridge is a really normal thing to be happening.

Then I thought,

If I imagine my leg is really skinny like Kate Moss’s leg then I could wiggle it out or die trying.

So I did. I imagined my leg was totally skinny and wiggled it out and it hurt like hell and it came out with Hunter still attached.

And I jumped up and walked about and everything still worked so I thought I’d better take myself and my two useless dogs homewards but before I went I took a photo of the hole in the bridge and I wished that I could have had a picture of me with my leg stuck in the bridge and if Skippy the Bush Kangaroo had been there (s)he would definitely have gotten that picture.

What's that Skip? An old lady's got her leg trapped in the old wooden bridge?

Places in Books: 19 Eldon Road, Kensington

 

Number 19, Eldon Road, where the art critic Brian Sewell and his dog Susie lived in 1972. Susie was the first to sense that they were not alone, trembling and howling on many occasions. Sewell himself became aware of a presence.

"...something disagreeable - a chill and a stench through which I could pass in a single stride, of much the same height and volume as a human being" (Sleeping With Dogs, Brian Sewell, p30)

It is to be hoped that the current residents are untroubled by hauntings and, if this is so, they can thank Sewell for it, because it was he on meeting the ghost on the stairs, sat down, talked to it and somehow persuaded it to leave, much to Susie's relief.

I am reading this book for the second time. Zoe loaned it to Hannah after Ziggy died and when she had finished I decided to read it again. By all accounts the author was a complicated man who held controversial views but I read him as a fellow lover of dogs and that will do.  

 

Diana and Dodi Are Dead

I don't exactly remember what I was doing the night Diana died but I think there might have been some sort of a party for the next day had a bit of a hangover vibe. And it had been  a Saturday night. What I do remember was Katy coming in after an all-nighter. She'd been clubbing in Belfast. And she said,

Hey Ma, did ya hear? Diana and Dodi are dead!

I thought it was crazy talk. Some kind of post-party-drug fantasy. She said, turn on the TV. It's all over the news.

So I did, and it was. Was the newscaster wearing a black tie? I don't remember. But he had that black tie kind of voice going on and it was true. Diana and Dodi were dead and nobody hardly mentioned the driver who was also dead.

Yep! I've just watched the first episode of The Crown on Netflix and it is all coming back to me. 

Union Street

 

This morning I finished reading Union Street by Pat Barker. It doesn't happen often but as I read the last paragraph I immediately wanted to re-read the entire book.

The book is unflinching in describing the reality of working-class women's lives. And no bodily excretion or fluid goes unmentioned. At first, I found that off-putting but not as much as the long-ago Guardian reviewer who wrote that it was all "far too gynaecological".

It was Bert who was the first to read Pat Barker. He began with the Regeneration Trilogy then moved to the Women of Troy novels and finally Union Street. I always gave him first dibs at the Barkers. Not any longer for I ordered three more today and I'll be reading them first. Bert will just have to wait.

*The last book I re-read straight away was Claire Keegan's Small Things Like These. 

Camera Shy

Our recently-wed niece Naoise sent us all a link to the official photographs taken at the wedding and I immediately spent 40 minutes or so perusing them. The happy couple were beautiful and handsome. (Apply adjectives in the usual way.) Their parents were joyful and proud and the child attendants looked cute as buttons. And all the guests looked jolly happy to be there. (As they should.)

I'll admit to some slight trepidation as I scrolled through the later pictures. I have form in wedding photographs and never seem to look my best. That's probably why I was careful to avoid cameras. But not careful enough. She got me at the dinner table.

Wreck The House

 

Having young animals in the house is wonderful fun but it also makes for a lot of work and expense as their idea of having a good time is wrecking the place.

This is Cleo's work. And that is the spare room. The GOOD spare room. A new duvet is needed. She chewed through my Ikea cotton duvet cover to get at the foamy stuff but I think I can mend it as it is only a small hole. I will be able to use another Ikea cover to patch it. The hole she made in that one was big enough to fit the round head of a bull elephant so I'll use it for another sewing project. Though it's a pity about my fabric scissors. Someone (Bert?) got hold of those while I was away and used them for some plant-related purpose. It seems that Cleo and Woody aren't the only ones wrecking the place.

What I Did On My Holidays, Day 7

 My last full day in London and it’s another rainy one. Nevertheless, London Sister and I head out for a trip to Green Lanes. Our primary destination was the Dusty Knuckle bakery and coffee shop and it did not disappoint.

Of course, we didn’t traverse the entire length of Green Lanes. For a start the weather was inclement and secondly, it is one of the longest roads in London at slightly over 6 miles. The road’s origins are uncertain. What is known is that it originated as one of the old drover’s roads used to walk cattle and other livestock from the country to London’s markets.

No cattle or geese today. The part we went to was full of Turkish and Greek Cypriot shops and restaurants, bakeries shops displaying colourful cakes and pastries, lashings of honey and pistachios, windows full of bridal dresses and everything that could possibly be needed for the biggest, fattest wedding ever.

Then, it's time to return to Muswell Hill. We were damp but happy, looking forward to an evening of movies, quiz shows and yet another delicious dinner.

London Sister helped me make a meticulous travel plan for the next day then I packed my case for the morning and went off to bed with a Hilary Mantel.

The next day, I said a fond farewell to Mr S and LS and went for breakfast in Muswell Hill. Always going the extra mile and then some, my lovely sister accompanied me to Tottenham Hale for the Stansted Express. And that was London redd up for another while.

Of course, me being me, I spent most of that journey fretting that I might need to be farther up in the train because we airport passengers were supposed to be in the first 5 carriages. How glad I was when we arrived at the airport to find that the train door opened onto the platform and not some weedy waste ground, necessitating a big jump and a long, dangerous trudge to the airport. Yes - I know. Ridiculous.

What I Did On My Holidays, Day 6

 

 

London Sister kindly met me at King's Cross which was a good thing as it is a big and busy station. On the way to our prearranged meeting place, I passed a very long queue which I hoped was not for the toilet. It was, in fact, the queue to Platform 9¾ and consisted of excited Harry Potter fans, most of whom were accompanied by parents or other grown-ups. An expensive day out for the adults I guess.

From King's Cross to Muswell Hill where we passed a pleasant evening then an early night for me. Saturday was going to be a busy day.

We were going from Muswell Hill to have lunch with Ganching. Having set out in good time we found we were a tad early for our train connection so went for a wander in the direction of the Roupell Street Conservation Area consisting of several streets of housing dating from the early 19th century, built by a wealthy gold refiner, John Palmer Roupell. If the streets should look familiar that's because the area is often used on location shoots for films and television.

Ganching gave us a delicious lunch and after coffee, we set off for Greenwich. I think I was there about 50 years ago but I don't remember much about it. This time we visited The Queen's House which was lovely and despite giving myself a crick in my neck I did not manage a decent photograph of the famous Tulip Stairs. Never mind. I can always look at Ganching's.

Back to Muswell Hill to catch the end of my brother-in-law's Americana GMT show on Mad Wasp Radio. Then we were off and out again to a lovely Italian restaurant near Finsbury Park. All of us, Ganching too. I don't know how Londoners keep up the pace.

What I Did On My Holidays, Days 4 and 5

The fourth day brought mixed feelings for it was on that day that my beloved middle daughter had decreed would be for her and me alone. I had been looking forward to it for I rarely have Katy to myself. Yet there was a tiny guilt to be leaving grandchildren behind.

Reader, it was bliss. 

We went to Houghton Hall. Katy volunteered in the gardens for a time so she had a complimentary pass and we felt pretty special. It was a damp and drizzly day but we cared not a jot. 

I never thought I'd be so enthralled to scrutinise the 6th Marquess of Cholmondeley's model soldiers apparently the world's largest private collection. Small quibble, The British Grenadiers played on a loop was wearisome. Katy could not help noticing that the models of 'the enemy' such as the kilted Scots at the Battle of Culloden were far more likely to be corpsed than those plucky Brits. 

Next the house. The Sean Scully exhibition was only slightly jarring. For me, Scully's art was far more elevating than Walpole's ostentatious trappings. Miss Emily's previous take on the house was 'so many beds'.

It was far too rainy to take in Scully's outdoor installations so we headed for the gardens instead. Despite it being the tail-end of October there was still a lot to see. 

Where have dahlias been in my life? I want them - all of them.

Lunch was leisurely and enjoyable. The last time I ate at the Houghton Hall cafe we did it in shifts. One adult lunched while the other tried to prevent James from climbing into the courtyard water feature. Apparently, lunch is always onion tart but I enjoyed it immensely. 

Then home and a run out with the children to Sue Ryder and my co-grandmother, home again and my last evening in Norfolk where I am already looking forward to my next visit.

Day 5 dawns and I am leaving my Norfolk family and going to the London sisters. I leave them all at Kings Lynn station, always a sad feeling knowing I'll not see them again until next year. 

I've finished my Beryl Bainbridge and have a book I bought at Sue Ryder but I don't open it. Instead, I look out the window of the train at the dull English countryside. It does not inspire me. I look anyway. At pheasants, horses, and just once some deer. I look forward to London.

What I Did On My Holidays, Days 2 and 3

 

Norfolk was wetter than I've ever seen it but we didn't let that deter us. On Tuesday we went bowling. It's been decades since I last entered a bowling alley. In fact, I believe the last time I was in one all the folk I was with have since died. Except one.

Bowling started well. James was first on and immediately got a strike. After that things deteriorated somewhat and at the last Katy was playing on her own. She managed three strikes but no one was there to cheer her on. I'd have been delighted for her but was on Granny duty. The next stop was Pensthorpe. It was much too wet to appreciate the garden although the wildfowl were enjoying the weather. We went straight to Hootz House, the indoor play area. We didn't stay long as James wasn't feeling it - mid-term break, far too crowded and noisy.

Wednesday's weather was slightly better but still rather damp. We went to Holkham Beach. There were lots of people there but because it's so big it didn't feel crowded. Perfect for James.

 

He loves the water. Despite his wet weather clothing and Wellington boots, he managed to get completely saturated. Which he barely noticed until he returned to the car where, sensibly, Katy had dry clothes waiting for him.

Emily is more of a sand and beach girl and would have stayed dry if it hadn't been for the fast tide. A channel we were able to wade through ankle-deep was, around an hour later, thigh-high. I got soaked on the return as did Katy who needed to carry Emily over.  James just splashed through it all completely unconcerned.

I read that Holkham Beach was a favoured spot for Queen Elizabeth to walk her corgis. She could do so relatively unnoticed as she had the use of a private entrance to the beach thanks to the local landowner, Lord Leicester. 

So, next time I'm in Norfolk I will return to Holkham Beach and hopefully, in finer weather. I'll go to Pensthorpe too but not Hootz House.

What I Did On My Holidays, Day 1

Miss Emily (as Wednesday Adams) and Katkin

Monday, 23^rd October - It was London Sister’s birthday. I sent her a message on the family WhatsApp and would be seeing her on Friday. Left the house early to catch my Stansted flight. Bert drove me to the airport and foolishly did not bring the necessary coins to get out of it afterwards. There was a big hold and he was helped by a kind woman who gave him the money he needed. She refused his five-pound note and told him he could pay it forward. I will need to remind him about that.

Katy and Emily met me at the airport. It’s a long enough journey from Stansted to Fakenham so we stopped off for lunch which Emily was very pleased about. Unfortunately, James was less pleased about the time we spent getting there. I met the most recent members of my Norfolk family, Otie the spaniel and Houdini the big tabby cat.

My son-in-law made us a delicious chicken and roast veggie dinner and after telly, family time and retiring I finished my Eva Ibbotson and began my Beryl Bainbridge. Somehow I managed to lock myself (and Otie) into the bedroom and had to bang the door to be let out. Most embarrassing.