One From Thirteen Years Ago

 

Home Alone (November 2011)

I'm home alone. Pearlie has gone to one of her regular respite placements so that means two whole weeks without a battalion of carers tramping in and out. And it is also two weeks without her constant griping and complaining. It is a chance for Bert and I to have a taste of what it must be like to live as a couple in privacy and peace. We get this for eight whole weeks a year, and I know that makes us very fortunate people.

As I said I'm home alone. Bert has gone off to Malin Head with a couple of friends. I hope they get reasonable weather and aren't blown off the Head. I've been left with the chickens, the dogs, the pigs and the cats - not too burdensome. Clint has been left with the cattle. I'm supposed to be watching and listening for one of the heifers 'looking away' but we're not holding out much hope. The beast has had numerous goes with A.I. and a good run with the bull and she just can't catch. Clint came in to talk about it. He knows Pearlie isn't here so I've got nobody to moan at me.

Huh! The only place that one will be looking away at is the abattoir. She's far too big a baste to be keeping as a pet.

I interpret this as a dig at the kune kunes but I do not react. He goes on.

Aye! It's the freezer for her, no question about it.

I'm sure he'd like me to get sentimental about her so he can come over all manly and practical and farmerish but I do not give him a chance. He goes on,

Did Bert ever get the bags sorted out for the butcher?

I concur that if he did, I have not been informed of it.

Huh! He's an easy-going boy waltzing off to Donegal in this weather and no worries about the butcher! And in November! Sure it's wild up there! He has little or no sense. I don't know what would take him up to Malin Head at this time of the year!

I remark that I thought the break would do him good and mention that we've got a piano.

Aye! I saw that. I don't know what you thought you needed that for. Huh! What with that oul squeaky clarinet and dinnilin' away on an oul out of tune piano that'll hardly do him much good. It would answer him a lot better to finish that ranch fencing he started.

I have to agree that Bert has a rather dilatory attitude to general chores.

Well! I'm away down to get my own livestock foddered and in before it's too dark to see.

I bid him goodnight.

When he is gone I say to the dogs for there is no one else to say it to,

Y'know – there are a lot of things that Bert is good at, that Clint is not.

And I smile a little smile to myself.

Focus on the Positive

 Well! That was very disappointing. 

My first instinct was to become despondent, but I didn't want to feel disheartened, so instead I deactivated Twitter/X (about time) and decided to take a day off from The News. I have made plans and a list.

Today I will read.

I will light a fire.

I will throw out clutter as I come across it. So far I've binned a worn-out tea towel, an oven glove and another pudding bowl.

I will shower, put on a nice outfit and take Vee shopping.

And I will upload my holiday photographs and recall the lovely time I spent with family in Norfolk and London.

Then I will watch a light-hearted show about a group of people with some strong opinions and no politics. Hello, Sheldon Cooper.

Two photographs taken at Pensthorpe.

Katy and I spent some time at the inspiring West Acre Garden Centre and walled garden. 

James was keen to show me around one of his favourite places - Wroxham Miniature World where I discovered that my grandson is an expert on British railway engines.

Halloween is a really big deal where Katy lives. Emily and I were on the door for Trick & Treating. 

It seems I didn't take that many photographs in London. Too busy walking, eating delicious food and catching up with my sisters. The bench is a memorial to the comedian Sean Hughes and is situated in beautiful Highgate Wood. The second photograph was taken at the celebration for The Day of the Dead in Columbia Road. The reason I didn't get many pictures was because I was too busy  having my own photograph taken. It was a novel experience to have at least twenty photographers taking pictures of London Sister and myself outside We Are Arrow. We weren't even dressed up! 

October Reading

 After the shameful amount of books read in September I am pleased to disclose that October was a big improvement. I started slim, as in volume size.

The Sign Of The Sugared Plum by Mary Hooper.

I picked this one up at the Tesco charity bookshelf. At first I thought it might be a children’s book but apparently not. An account of life in London during the Great Plague. Moderately engaging and not recommended but at least it got me reading again. Otherwise avoid.

More Tesco finds – The Finding by Nina Bawden. Underwhelming.

Yet another Tesco find – My Folks Don’t Want Me to Talk About Slavery edited by Belinda Hurmence. A previous owner must have picked this one up at an estate in the Southern States of the USA. It was a quick read, interesting, part of an academic research project. My inbuilt cynicism led to some distrust of the editing process but I still found it interesting.

Ganching led me to Three Hours by Rosamund Lupton. She mentioned it in a blog and described it as something she read in a 24-hour period. I had a copy (Tesco again) and being in the mood for a binge read I found it to be just the job. 24 hours later – enjoyable read to be returned to Tesco charity bookshelves at my earliest convenience.

So that’s me back on track at the reading again. I was longing to read the new Elizabeth Strout, Tell Me Everything. According to the reviews it brings together many beloved Strout personalities including Olive Kitteridge, Lucy Barton and Bob Burgess. My only difficulty was – I hadn’t read The Burgess Boys. Well, I have now and I like it very much. Still haven’t begun Tell Me Everything but it is sitting there, waiting for me – a brand new copy. Long time before it ends up on Tesco’s charity bookshelf.

The last book I finished was Dirty Linen by Martin Doyle. I bought my copy in St George’s Market from yer man who runs Belfast Books. His is not a store I’d normally be in but the book was half-price and I’d wanted to read it. Yer man said it was a ‘tough read’ and I’m not sure what he meant by that. But there is this – I’ve often thought that the accounts of the people who died during the period of our Irish history that is called ‘The Troubles’ has been fairly well documented. What is less well documented are the stories of the injured and the bereaved. Martin Doyle’s book went some way to bring some of those stories to the fore.

I went to an event at Seamus Heaney HomePlace in Bellaghy on Friday evening. The writer Colum McCann in Conversation. It wasn’t quite a full house but it was nearly. Novel readers must be mostly ladies of a certain age. I’d guess the youngest person there was around forty-five. I did not tell the author that I’ve only read one of his books so far and that I picked it up from the Tesco charity bookshelf. Let The Great World Spin. Since then I acquired two more novels and bought another two at HomePlace. It was a good evening.

I’ll be taking Colum McCann on my holiday to Norfolk and London. This Side of Brightness. Already packed.  

Family Time

 

These past few days, I have had the pleasure of Ganching and Kerry Sister's company. They took a house close to where we are, and we were together for part of every day.

So I thought I'd illustrate this blog with a picture of the two of them but when I went to my vast store of digital photographs and looked at the file labelled Friends and Family/General Family/Ganching Kerry Sister the picture above was the only one I could find. I'm not sure what they were at.  Definitely not a prayer meeting. They are both divils for the culture so I suppose it was something of that nature. 

Which reminds me. Ganching, knowing that I'm always collecting random stuff from the internet, asked me to look out an article written by a priest about another priest. I'm off to do that now.

One From Sixteen Years Ago

Pearlie's Favourite Niece visited us today and I found myself remembering how  it was when Nellybert and Pearlie shared a roof.

What a difference sixteen years make. Back then I referred to myself as 'middle-aged'. Now I too am old. And dare to hope that in 10 years time - when I'll be as old as Pearlie was that my middle-aged people will have a lot more patience than I did.

But then - I don't intend to be a curmudgeon. Promise!

Choices

The following is based on a true event. One of the most difficult things about having Pearlie living with us is the struggle to hold on to a sense of myself as a fairly decent human being. There is no feelgood factor.

A few weeks ago I went on a shopping expedition to get Pearlie some decent clothes. Pearlie has never had the remotest interest in clothes and, as long as I’ve known her, has garbed herself in layers of hideous greying underwear, jumpers, cardigans, vile skirts, men’s socks, battered footwear and the lot topped of with a horror movie of a headscarf and a home-made and much patched apron. She had the look of a poverty-stricken Eastern European peasant from the nineteen-forties only with added nylon and polyester.

But now it’s up to me launder this gruesome stuff so I’ve been sneakily throwing out the worst of it and replacing it with decent clothes from Marks & Spencers and the Edinburgh Woollen Mill. There will be no more baggy, outsized interlock cotton vests with fraying hems in this house.

Sure ye could put a stitch in them.

Excuse me Pearlie. A stitch? I do have a life. (Or at least I used to)

Her hideous long-legged cotton knickers bought from the packman are slowly being replaced by similarly granny ones from M&S only the Marksy ones are light and thermal and almost pleasing to the eye.

Where’s all my other knickers? Did Margaret take them home to patch?

In the bin long, long ago.

I spent over three hours picking out a skirt, a cardigan and underwear for Pearlie. Had I been shopping for myself I’d have completed in half the time. But I know how hard she is to please. Skirts must be lined, they must not be too long or too tight. Knitwear must not be bulky but it must not be too light. The sleeves must be roomy, likewise the neck. Colours must not be too bright. I played safe and got dark green. I’ve seen her wear dark green a lot. The underwear was thermal, soft and it fitted her. Exhausted I made my way home.

I didn’t show her the new duds at first. I knew she’d be bound to hate something and I even had a notion of packing them in her case so that the first time she saw them would be when the care assistants at the respite home hung them up in her wardrobe. But next day she was in a good mood and I felt I could handle the criticism so I showed her what I’d got. And amazing joy – she liked everything! I was delighted.

But that was Sunday. On Thursday Favourite Niece came out to pack her suitcase. That evening I didn’t get home until nearly eight and I was feeling pretty tired. I was surprised to see that Favourite Niece’s car was still in the yard. Moments later FN bounced out of Pearlie’s room went straight up to me and said, “That skirt’s no good. It’s falling off her. Can you get it changed? And she doesn’t like those knickers. Says she’ll be far too cold in them.”

Did I stay cool? Not exactly. I swore a bit ( a lot) then I did get cool. Well maybe more cold than cool. You know that cold anger thing where you might like to kill somebody? That was me.

Since then I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I’ve been thinking about choices and how it is supposed to be important to give old people as much autonomy as possible. And I was also thinking about how great it would be if middle-aged people got to exercise some choices too like whether we wanted to launder patched rags or not. Or maybe we could choose whether or not we welcomed an aged dictator and a haphazard team of carers into our lovely home.

So anyway after thinking long and hard I have decided that these are the really important choices to offer my aged dictator.

• Milk or Tea.
• Pink hot water bottle or blue hot water bottle.
• Shape up or Ship Out.
• My Way or the Highway.

A Sad Day

This has been a very sad day for all of us at Springhill. One of our Kune Kune pigs, Lily, had to be euthanised tonight. These past few months we have seen her becoming weaker in her hindquarters. This morning she had her breakfast as normal and went to the fields to graze. She didn't return in the evening. Bert found her collapsed five minutes from home. She was halfway through her fifteenth year on earth. I don't know how Rusty will get on without her, tonight will be the first time in his life that he will sleep alone.

An Update

 Daoine a chanann in éineacht le hamhráin, scriosann siad iad do na cinn atá ag iarraidh éisteacht leo*

I started October determined to update this blog more frequently but, as always, life got in the way and 'aussi' a little bit of Duolingo. I did not progress to the Diamond League last week and am trying to be more relaxed about it.

And! I finished two books. Short ones.

I still need to discover if marking the shells of garden snails with Tippex is a bad thing. My friend the naturalist says it is not and my missing snails have likely been eaten by thrushes. Maybe the markings make it easier for thrushes to see them? I should probably stop it. 

**created with the assistance of Google Translate

Just One Book

Unthinkable! In September I finished reading just one book. The Secret Scripture by Sebastian Barry. I quite liked it even though the ending wasn't quite the surprise it might have been. I only research books once I've read them so it came as news to me that the novel was made a film. Researching the movie made me realise that I never wanted to see it even though it featured Vanessa Redgrave. Also, it was only loosely based on the book as the unsympathetic Father Gaunt became Hot Priest Theo James. I passed the book on to a friend and told her I didn't want it back.

What kept me from reading? Three things,

Gardening, Duolingo and Snails.

Bert and I have been working in our garden a lot and have made some progress. We make a good team. My back and shoulders aren't amazing so he does all the spadework. His knees are dodgy so I do all the wheel barrowing. Between us, we make one great gardener. For the first time in years, I am looking forward to spring.

Duolingo. Ganching warned me not to get obsessed. At first, I didn't know what she meant. Then, about two weeks in, I realised I was in leagues. I got obsessed. Sundays were fraught as I struggled to get into the top three or, at the very least, the promotion zone. A few days ago I realised I'd spent 24 hours in the previous week on Duolingo. That's like A JOB! I have wised up. 'll still do it a bit but I am going to have to stop caring about leagues and just try and do a bit of French grammar. For fun.

Snails. The Garden variety. I have spent almost my entire life loathing slugs and snails but have, in the past couple of years, become fascinated by them. Most nights I'm out with my torch to see what they are up to. It's the snails I like best but now I'm also getting to like the slugs too. And fellow gardeners, here is something I have discovered. Don't be too tidy in your herbaceous borders for the snails and slugs seem to prefer decaying plant matter. And if you don't leave anything like that for them they will eat the good stuff. It doesn't apply to hostas though - they just cannot resist them.

So - here's to October, more reading, gardening and snail-watching and a lot less Duolingo. 

Making Slow Progress

I will soon be giving an account of my September reading and it will not take long. There will also be a format change. As I have written before I generally keep many books in my reading pile, usually around twelve as this number seems manageable. In September that number hovered around 14-15. 

I won't be photographing the 12 this month or ever again. That is because I feel a little bit disappointed that some books seem never to make their way out of the pile. There is one in there that I bought with last year's birthday book tokens and another that I found in a Sue Ryder in Fakenham when I was on my last visit to the Norfolk branch of the family. Those two are still on the go.

You see where I'm going with this?  The books that languish in my reading pile say far more about me than I want known.

Anyway, here are some of the books that I've been reading this past while. 

Eleven of them are yet to be finished and there is one other that I got fed up with and decided not to finish. Clue: It's on the top row.

One From Ten Years Ago

 

Fun With Cardboard

I have had the pleasure this weekend of the company of all my children and grandchildren. Yes folks - my darling Katkin and her husband are visiting from Norfolk. It's a whole year since I've seen her. Tomorrow we are going to Derry. There will be photographs. Until then here are some photographs.

What ever can Aunt Katy be pushing in the NinkyNonk? Dave knows but Jess doesn't.

My word! Small children. Someone needs to inform the Health and Safety Executive without delay.

Martha might be deciding that all she wants for Christmas this year is a selection of large cardboard boxes. Who needs toys?

Birthday

 

When a young woman hits her mid-teens (getting so old) she may not be just as excited about birthday cake as she once was. But that's OK. When you've experienced many birthdays, you can be excused for feeling a certain ennui.

Anyway - Happy Birthday, Martha!

PS - those photos were taken two days before her birthday. Today's the day.

An Update

Well, I was wrong. According to those Amazon people in the USA I did accidentally set up a Prime account in America. Set it up, never used it even once and then got billed for almost four years.

I spent more than three hours on Friday with Amazon.com and had interactions with four different reps.

The first seemed very pleasant (I wondered if she was AI) and after I explained myself she offered to cancel my sum and give me one month's refund which I declined.

The second advisor was also pleasant and again I wondered if he was AI. He did ask why it had taken me so long to complain. I continued to make my case and was offered two month's refund which I declined.

The third advisor spent around 10 minutes perusing the previous exchanges and passed me on to number four. 

There was quite a bit of waiting time for me during these exchanges which I spent cleaning my bookshelves.

Number 4 advisor, Priya (I visualised Leonard's girlfriend in The Big Bang Theory seemed like a human being. Priya was able to tell me when the American Prime had been applied for. I wish now I'd asked what was streamed because that would have given me some clue as to whether I had ordered it or someone else. Eventually, she offered me a year's refund. I was tempted. I answered as follows,

I got the two years which would have covered the period that Amazon sneakily got my new card details without my knowledge. I did wonder if I should have held out for the full amount but was exhausted with all the bargaining and bookcase cleaning and it was getting late. I also worried that I might have ended up with nothing. As the saying goes, half a loaf is better than no bread.

The next day 24 separate payment of $14.99 went pinging into my bank account. Music to my ears.

And as promised, Amazon business practices suck but the customer service part is pretty good.

Prime Idiocy

A confession. It took three attempts and many years for me to get to grips with online banking. During that time I was without paper statements so was never completely sure how my balance stood. I’d check it a few times a month at the ATM and sometimes I’d print out a mini statement.

So, when I finally got online with the bank I was jolly pleased and the first thing I did was check on my regular outgoings, you know, phone bill, charity subs, streaming services – that kind of thing. And the first thing I noticed was that I appeared to be paying for Amazon Prime twice!

A regular payment of £8.99 was going out on the 25^th of the month and a few days ahead of that another sum was also coming out of my account. It was never the exact amount, varied from month to month – always around £12. I couldn’t figure it out so contacted Amazon.

And it turned out they had no record of it. I was advised to contact my bank. The next day was Tuesday and I was too busy doing cakes and family meals. The day after that I was in to the bank to find out what’s what. And what it was – was that the bank closed on Wednesdays.

First thing today I was in there and met a very helpful young woman who looked into the situation. I was paying for two subscriptions but the extra one, the one I couldn’t understand was in the USA! Apparently Amazon Prime costs $14.99 in the States which is why my sterling withdrawals fluctuated from month to month.

I was relieved that whatever had happened wasn’t my fault, that I hadn’t accidentally set up an extra account in America. But still,  a shame not to have noticed it before now as it turns out I’ve been paying for another person’s Prime Video subscription for nearly four years.

As I said to the woman in the bank, God I hope it wasn’t a Trump supporter!

She agreed that it would be sickening if it was.

Now I’ve got to see if Amazon in the UK can sort this out for me. I am not sure if I’ll ever recover the money but I suppose I’ll have to try and claim something from somebody. Apparently, according to an article I read today, I should also contact the FBI although that seems pretty intense. Also overkill. And probably pointless.

Birthday Cake

It's sad if the birthday girl has to make her own cake, so I asked Bert to do it. All I had to do was choose the recipe, buy the ingredients, set everything out for him and go take a Duolingo lesson or three. 

I forgot to photograph the cake but the Hummingbird Bakery Cake Days book has a very nice picture which is almost exactly how Bert's cake turned out. 

It was yummy although the baker himself said,

Too much frosting and far too sweet.

Cleo had no complaints. Again no photograph, but if I had grabbed my camera when I caught her on the table snarfing my cake I could have captioned it, 

Le chien est sur la table et elle mange mon gateau !

Thats about my level in French. It might be a while before I can tackle that French translation of Apeirogon.

Birthday Present

As a birthday present to myself I finally got around to sorting out online banking - hopefully third time lucky. I was ever so thrilled about it, especially as the lovely person in Halifax wished me a Happy Birthday when she was checking my details. 

I was somewhat less thrilled when I got home, logged on and found that I am paying a monthly sub to Amazon Prime and another one! I cannot get to the bottom of it despite contacting Amazon Customer Service which is probably a bot.

After getting online banking I thought  I'd never have to go into the actual bank ever again but now it looks like I'll be back on Wednesday to see if they can enlighten me about the double Prime payment. 

Another thing about online banking is that there seem to be mysterious outlets where I spend shed loads of money. One was THEFIRTRE where, in recent weeks,  I appear to have splashed out £106 and some pence. I'm pretty certain I wasn't out the door on that particular day so it was concerning. My banking app can tell me what kind of outlet THEFIRTRE was and, according to it, this is misc food store, conv store, market, speciality store and vending machines and as Google Maps would have it, situated under the railway bridge on the Galgorm Road in Ballymena. I imagined some vast emporium selling everything from speciality cheeses to vintage delpht and I definitely couldn't remember being anywhere like that, never mind spending over a hundred quid in it.

Eventually, it dawned upon me. Google Maps had it wrong. It wasn't Ballymena - it was a tiny petrol station on the road to Kilrea and I'd given Bert my card to fill the Jeep. Of course, he'd bought sweets and biscuits as well, so little wonder he'd spent so much.

This is why, from now on, I must start using this blog as an aide memoire/diary even if that means it becomes a little tedious for you, Dear Reader. I may even have to give it a new title. Nelly's Garden may become Nelly's Decline. 

Anyway, here's a photograph to cheer us all up.

Did I mention it's my birthday?

The Twelve, September 2024

 

While my actual reading slowed down in August, my book purchasing surged. I may have bought three times more books than those I finished reading.

The three books read were, in order of the pleasure given,

Let The Great World Spin by Colum McCann. I found my copy in the charity bookshelves in Tesco. I enjoyed it immensely, so much so that on the morning I read the last page I went straight online and ordered Apeirogon from World of Books. It arrived on Saturday. Sadly it was a French translation and despite me spending far too many hours on Duolingo* my French isn't up to it. World of Books is sorting it out for me. I will get another copy and get to keep the French one. 

My second favourite was As You Were by Elaine Feeney. While I was reading it I felt less than impressed, yet I've been thinking about it ever since. One to read again.

The third book which I read quickly was Gordon by Edith Templeton. The novel was referred to in a recent Guardian article and I had an unread copy on my shelves. Shall we say it was interesting?  I shall be recommending the Colum McCann to all my family and friends who enjoy reading but not the Templeton. 

Here's hoping for more reading this month. The Percival Everett is yet to be started and I'm really looking forward to it. 

 *I joined just over a month ago. It keeps me off the wine.

The Oldest Blogger

This blog, Nelly’s Garden is twenty years old today. Back when I started I believed I was the Oldest Blogger in the village and maybe I was. Two decades later I’m certain sure I’m the oldest blogger in Cully and maybe even the only one – for blogging is not what it used to be.

So, how did I spend my blog's big day? Quietly. My only outing was to the pharmacy to collect my meds. The rest of the day I spent tootling around the house and garden. There was one big excitement – a blue butterfly on the borage.

This year has been terrible for butterflies and moths. Usually, in August, we see lots of Red Admirals, Small Tortoiseshells and Peacocks. The month is nearly gone and I haven’t spotted one of those. A few whites and browns but that was that. So the blue one caused quite a stir. I’ve never seen one in our garden before. It was difficult to get a good photo ID as it flew quickly and kept its wings folded when it fed. But it was lovely in flight, almost as if some of the borage petals had taken wing.

I'm not sure which of the blues this is. I think maybe Holly Blue?

Other pictures taken after I got tired of chasing my solitary butterfly visitor.

New Zealand flax grown by me from seed collected in Fanad, Donegal. It might be a pest in the Antipodes but to me it is exotic. Sadly no starlings but they will come.

My new wine-coloured hydrangea. I bought it from Ben Vista and it cost me the price of a couple of decent bottles of wine (or three from Tescos). I treated myself to it as I'm currently taking a break from alcohol. 

And that concludes Nelly's twentieth birthday post.

Thanks for reading!

One From Eighteen Years Ago

 

Hunting The Rhubarb

Yesterday was Kerry Sister's mumbly-mumbleth birthday. As her birthday was almost totally forgotten last year we decided to mark the occasion with a Rhubarb Hunt. I told them I'd found rhubarb growing in the moss but no one believed me. So I led an expedition to prove that I was right.

The Kerry Sister and the Leitrim Sister on the hunt for The Rhubarb. The Kerry Sister is kicking spoor for clues. The Leitrim Sister prefers to sniff the air for that elusive Rhubarb scent.

The Rhubarb has been spotted! Leitrim Sister says it is a lot of bollocks and that it is False Rhubarb.

The Rhubarb

Bert is horticulturally highly qualified and he thinks it is Rhubarb. It looks like, smells like, tastes like, and smokes like Rhubarb.

Macy prefers to wallow in a moss hole.

The Mystery Solved

Rhubarb growing in Drumkeeran Moss remained a puzzle until, six years later, I met Bobby.

Bobby was 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!

Teach Your Grandma

 How do I know that my two oldest grandchildren are growing up fast?

1. They have to bend down to give me a goodbye hug.

2. The younger one showed me a far better way to put a fresh duvet cover on.

3. They are house-sitting for Nellybert on Saturday night while we are visiting Doctor Dede and Dmitri in Leitrim.

Re number 3. I might have slight reservations about this, as I had dreamed this morning that an acquaintance of ours had brought Gary Glitter to visit us. In this dream, I was very pleasant to the predator until it dawned on me who he was. Then I was horrified for two reasons. The first was that my siblings (especially Gan) would be disgusted with me; the second was that my older granddaughter was upstairs. I ran to warn her then I came to my senses and ordered the fiend and my now ex-acquaintance out of the house never to darken my door again.

I learned something from this dream  This acquaintance cannot be trusted. I may ban him anyway. It's what my subconscious wants me to do.

One more thing -  no need to worry about the young ones house-sitting on Saturday night as there will be a fierce Aunt and an even fiercer dog on-site at all times.

Fierce dog. Remember, appearances can be deceptive.

Upcoming Anniversaries

On the 16th August, Bert and I will have been legally married for 16 years. 

I wrote this post the week before our big day.

The fellows on the site are threatening to give me a 'doing' tomorrow. For those who might not know a 'doing' is a form of ritual humiliation visited upon a person who is about to embrace the matrimonial state. It can involve flour, water, balloons, bondage and a host of other embarrassments.

Obviously, I've informed them that under no circumstances need they dare come near me. After all, I am old enough to be their mother and it would be most undignified. I have cited Health & Safety regulations, the wrongness of wasting their employer's time and the promise that if one of them lays as much as a finger on me I'll be bringing charges of sexual harassment and assault.

I think they've got the message.

On the 27th of August this blog, Nelly's Garden will be twenty years old.

This was my first post.

I've been threatening to do this for some time now so while speaking to daughter one on the phone tonight I said "Tell me daughter, what shall I do?" She said "Go to Blogger." So I did and several moments later here I am writing my first post.

So shall I introduce myself? I am old enough to have three daughters all left home. I live in the country. I like flowers & dogs (among other things) I work in the 'caring professions' and I spend far too much time on computers.

Blogs are a recent thing with me. Daughter one has been doing it for a year and I've been pondering it for 6 months. Where it will take me I know not.

Then, on an unspecified date near the end of this month, the First Daughter celebrate her half-century. And it only seems like a week or two since she was 40. Where does time go??

There were no blogs back in 1974. No mobile phones, no laptops or internet. I may have written something in a diary. I don't believe she even had her photograph taken until quite a few days later. 

As you can see, I was very pleased with her.

And I still am.

Belfast

I have been getting out and about recently and have used my rail card three times in nine days. 

My first outing was to Portrush with Bert, Hannah and the girls. That would be the annual trip to Barry's Amusements, which is now known as Curry's Amusements. As Martha and Evie are now taller than everyone except Bert they no longer go on the tamer rides. Instead, it is all the scary ones like The Beast and The Waltzer. They may have gone on The Beast five times. 

Of course, Bert and I refused to go on anything as we don't like having our bones shaken about. Instead, we strolled around Portrush like the oldsters we are and looked after the incredibly well-behaved Chico for Hannah. It was, while doing this, that we decided that it was time to lead-train Cleo so that she too could enjoy excursions to the Port. She is, after all, more than 15 months old.

The girls and Chico

My second train journey was a jaunt to Belfast with Vee. We went to the Botanic Gardens to visit the Palm House, the Tropical Ravine, the Medicine Garden and the Museum. It was an enjoyable outing, especially as Vee had never been there before. My favourite parts were the Medicinal Garden (which is new) and the Carravaggios, which are currently on display at the Museum.

Then today, Bert and I took the train to Belfast to visit Smithfield and St George's Market. I knew there was to be an anti-immigration (racist and anti-Islam) protest but did not really expect it to amount to much. But on our way back from Smithfield we found ourselves amid the protest. There were protestors flying  British, Irish and Israeli flags at the top of Royal Avenue. There didn't seem like that many people and most of them seemed to be onlookers. There was a long line of PSNI land-rovers parked bumper to bumper across the road, each with at least one officer in riot gear standing beside them. On the far side of the police vehicles were the counter-protestors. We went to that side.  Both sides were chanting at the other with the counter-protestors making the most noise. There were more of them. Yet, they seemed less threatening. Maybe that was because I agreed with their stance.  

After all that we headed in the direction of St George's Market. I re-upped my Cordyceps Tincture at Spore Shore and we had a coffee and a delicious (shared) brownie. We were joined at our table by a lovely woman who asked us what was happening in town. She was waiting for her daughter to collect her and was concerned that there would be disruptions. We chatted. Our companion was an artist, of Armenian descent and had been born in Haifa. Her family had suffered turmoil both in Israel and Cyprus. I wish we could have spoken to her longer but there was a train to catch. I could not help but think that if the Irish people who are so nationalistic and anti-immigration had any idea how lucky they are to live here at this time of relative stability we might have more compassion for those who have had to uproot their lives and go elsewhere.

Back home I heard that things had turned ugly in Belfast when the anti-immigration crowd headed to South Belfast to protest outside the Belfast Islamic Centre. On the way a Turkish Cafe was attacked, windows broken, outdoor furniture smashed to pieces. Vee and I had walked past both places on Wednesday. I was telling her how much I loved the diversity of the area never dreaming that a couple of days later both places would be attacked. At the time of writing I don't know what will have happened other than that the mosque is under police protection.

Anyone who visits this house in the coming weeks had better not utter one word of support for the racists or they might find the welcome mat pulled from right under their expensive trainers.