Leftovers

Today was interesting, at least what passes for interesting in the Nellybert household, for I had Things To Do. The first thing was the purchase of two Mass Cards from Portglenone Abbey for Jazzer and I were going to a wake. The man whose wake it was, God rest his soul, had no need of Masses but it is a nice thing to do for the family and the gratuity given to the monks helps them in their work. Whilst at Portglenone I also bought a rather woody bacopa for £1.99 which I straightaway took cuttings from and, if all goes well, the grace of God and all that, I should finish up with about twenty quids worth of bacopa.

I then received a call from Jazzer who informed me that she had a fourth grandchild safely delivered, a boy, who might be called George, or Luke, or Jude. I hope it is Jude as I am feeling very Catholic today and there are always desperate cases and lost causes to worry about, Brexit never being far from my mind.

This newly arrived boy, George, Luke or Jude might look something like this.

This is a photograph of his mum when she was a baby and the very first picture I ever took of her. She was and still is a character.

Such a busy day yet I had dinner plans. We'd have the leftover and very excellent Fish Pie with extra vegetables. I forgot to inform Bert of this plan as I was busy. Busy as a bee.

Time to go to the wake. I picked Jazzer up and off we set. Wakes in the afternoon can be rather laid back for that is when all the old people go, all doddering around on sticks and so. Not that Jazzer and I are doddery, the timing just so happened to fit with our busy, busy day. Jazzer busy welcoming a new grandchild, me busy taking bacopa cuttings.

There is a notion that strong drink is taken at Irish wakes but that is not usual in the community I come from. Our wakes are famous for tea, sandwiches and traybakes. I was rather looking forward to that as I hadn't had much lunch. But when the nieces came round with the teapots, the good china and the edibles I was chatting to one of the brothers and before I could respond Madam Jazzer had indicated that we would not be taking refreshments as she (and I may have referred to this before) has a horror of eating anything that she has not prepared herself. I could have choked her. I did manage to get a cup of tea, and very delicious it was too, but hadn't the face to tramp into the kitchen demanding egg and onion sandwiches. Still, as I said to Jazzer on the way out,

Sure it will give me a better appetite for the Fish Pie.

She said,

How much do I owe you for the Mass Card?

I said,

A bottle of wine should cover it.

Mrs Banjo Woman delivered home and then the long drive home for me. (I went by Kells.) All the while pondering on which vegetables we should have with the Fish Pie. I was almost decided on frozen petit pois.

Home. At last. And there is Bert setting off for his evening walk up the back lane, four dogs at his heel.

I called,

Shall I heat up the Fish Pie?

Bert isn't that keen on leftovers but I was determined to sell it to him, knowing he'd enjoy it. I had already decided to tempt him with Maris Piper chips if he demurred. I'd not have chips, just the petit pois and the leftover carrots and broccoli slices.

He answered,

I ate it.

Me.

All of it?

Bert.

Aye.

I could have choked him.

But I consoled myself with the thought that I can make another Fish Pie. And after I supped on bread and cheese I ate both of the tiramisus that I'd bought in Lidls on the way home. They were very nice but not as good as the Fish Pie would have been.

Shed Building

Bert and Ben spent most of the weekend building a garden shed for Jazzer. They make a good team. Meanwhile, Marty finished painting the kitchen while Jazzer and I went to the garden centre. I was too weary to do anything else. I look at other people and wonder where they get the energy from, for mine is seriously depleted.

They just fitted it together to see if the roof and it will be dismantled and transported to its new home by lorry. Jazzer is very excited and is already choosing curtain material. Curtains? I don't even have curtains in my new kitchen.

New kitchen photographs? When I can get it shipshape. Then there will be photographs.

December Daily Post, Nos. 27 & 28

I'm afraid that Christmas has caught up with me at last. It crept up behind me and gave me such a wallop. The Banjos were here last night. Bert and Banjo Man went to a party and Jazzer, Ben and I ate and drank too much. And that is all I will say about that.

Tomorrow I am going to Belfast for an eye check up.

Wine & Cemeteries

The Banjos came over on Saturday night. Mrs Banjo brought her first ever wine for racking. It was a raspberry made from Asda's finest frozen fruit. To be honest I wasn't expecting much from it but it is coming along very nicely. A good ruby red colour, clear, tasty and alcoholic. Of course we judged this on the merest sip during the racking process but I will be looking for the recipe. I might need to use frozen fruit as we replaced our raspberry canes this year, and thanks to the very wet Spring they were late in getting into the ground.

Tonight I racked one of my elderflowers and a rhubarb. The elderflower was made from fresh flowers. I'd previously used dried flowers. The flavour is good but it is rather too sweet for my liking. I'll try it again this year but will go easy on the sugar.

Rhubarb. What can I say? It never disappoints me but looking back at my notes I see I was very adventurous with this one. I started it in February 2013 and used a pint of pineapple wine as a starter. Then, racking it in October I seem to have lashed a bit of birch sap and rhubarb into it. It didn't clear that well but is strong. Not one for entering in the County Show.

And now, back to Paris. This is an illustration from Ludwig Bemelmans' Madeline's Rescue. It features the Père Lachaise Cemetery which we visited on our last day in Paris. As Bemelmans did not see fit to include the last resting place of Marcel Proust here is my photograph.

I quite liked Bemelmans' depiction of Oscar Wilde's grave. There was no point trying to take a picture of the tomb as it was mobbed by school parties and middle-aged women in lipstick kissing the plastic barrier.

Interestingly, as London Sister and I were wandering around a handsome Frenchman approached us and enquired, “Proust?” We were so pleased that we had not been taken for Jim Morrison acolytes.

Arse!

I had half the Banjo family staying here last weekend and Jazzer was entranced to discover that I had lots of mini videos of her darlings on my hard drive. We spent a happy hour going through them. This one is of Jazzer and her two darling daughters taken six years ago. She just couldn't get over how sweet and demure her little girls were in those far off days.

So Many Good Things

Today started well.

I woke up at quarter past seven and immediately thought, bloody hell - got to get up in twenty minutes for work. My delight when I remembered it was Saturday was huge. Funnily enough I still got up in twenty minutes. But I didn't have to and that was wonderful.

Milk was scarce but cream was plentiful so the morning porridge was not too disastrous. It cooked just right and the saucepan washed like a dream.

It was teeming with rain but not too cold so we decided to go to the multicultural festival of music, story-telling, scoffing and Willie Drennan anyway. Skies looked brighter in the Antrim direction so we felt it was worth taking a chance.

Probably unfortunate that I lunched too well before I went, even though it was only a few oatcakes, cheese and an avocado, for the food at Clotworthy House was very tempting. But what is temptation if not to be surrendered to and very yummy the Indian and Caribbean food was too.

We were maybe a tiny bit unimpressed with the Scottish pipe band as this is one strand of multiculturalism that we're not terribly deprived of in County Antrim. However most of everything else was very enjoyable. Specially nice too was linking up with Jazzer, her sister and the two younger Banjos.

No multicultural event, or any event really, is complete without Willie Drennan and it was with great joy that we saw him reconciled with Gracie after their years long feud. Imbued with the spirit of peace and reconciliation Willie stooped to pat her silky head and she, bless her, didn't bite the hand of him. We still think that if he'd been on his bicycle she would not have been so affable. Time will tell.

Zoe and I enjoyed a lovely hike while Hannah explored the delights of Antrim town. While Zoe and myself, not to mention Gracie, were pleased with our walk, I'm sad to say that Hannah was unimpressed with Antrim's shopping experience.

Bonne Marche and Dunnes! Antrim's only for scabs that don't want to spend money on clothes!

Which is a strange comment to come out with as she herself shops mainly in Primark.

Bert's Aunt Lizzie is down for the weekend, and as she'd taken no time in reminding me that I'd promised to make her a bread and butter pudding the next time she was here, a visit to Sainsburys was called for -for cream and bread and cut-price Easter Eggs. The bargains! For a start a huge pot of cream was ten pence. And the eggs! The Easter Egg aisle was CHOC-a-bloc with ladies with glazed eyes filling their baskets and trollies with chocolate goodies that ten days ago would have cost them seven million pounds and today was knocked down to around 70-80 pence for a good-sized Lindt rabbit or Fair Trade egg. Yum! Hannah and I went suitably mad and suffice to say tonight I am not on a diet. Unless chocolate and gin is a diet. I also took the precaution of buying a luxury bread and butter pudding in case a chocolate and gin hangover prevents me from making one from scratch.

All in all a damn good day. I'm sitting here eating chocolate and drinking gin and I've walked for one hour and 42 minutes. I'm also basking in the non-electric glow of having taken part in earth hour and I have to say that sitting in front of the wood burning stove with every light in the house off, no music and no telly, just chatting with Bert and Hannah was very pleasant indeed.

I've had a good day.

Men Annoy Me...

...but they do have their uses.

They take control of barbecues. Of course this will often involve wearing sausages on their heads and waving dangerous knives about in the presence of impressionable children.

They build fences to keep the chickens in. They boast about how wonderful these fences are but don't have very much to say when the chickens fly over, wriggle under and step through their wonderful fence.

They make that garden seat I've wanted for three years now. It only takes three of them all day. Of course, after such a harrowing and exhausting day's effort, helping a woman to feed the dog pack and catch the chickens would be out of the question.

They amuse the youngest child. However when the women return from hunting and gathering to find the small child brandishing a real and very sharp spear and informing his mother that Bert says he can keep it 'forever' it falls to me to disappoint a small child by saying, 'Yes. When you're 18 you can keep it forever.' Then I get called a 'spoilsport'. By Bert.

The Head Chef

Nellybert always insists that only the sanest, most sober person be in charge of the barbecue.

Trendsetters

Those of you who keep an eye on current fashion trends will be aware that panama hats are very 'now'. Took youse a while to catch on didn't it? Here at the Dreen we think panama hats are so 'last year' and here's the proof.

Rathenraw's own Banjo Man photographed at the Dreen in June 2006. As you see he is wearing last year's Chav-in-the-Country look by Man At Primark. But it's the finishing touches that complete the outfit - in this case a bottle of Stella and a Panama Hat.

And here is Bert rocking his signature pared-down summer look. Jeans are by Pack Man, Panama Hat model's own. Photo taken in July 2006.


So what is the Dreen Look for this summer? Grab yours while stocks last. It's the next big thing!

And Still She Wished For Solitude

Earlier this evening in Gillie's Bar

The Attraction of Opposites I am the eldest of seven children. I love peace and solitude. I dislike prolonged periods of having too many people around. Bert is an only child. He's a sociable being. He loves company and a bit of a stir. I like company too but I like it to be mixed in with plenty of quiet time. Too much company sets my teeth on edge. The Perfect Guest We have just left Mikey to the airport for his Edinburgh flight. He has been a lovely houseguest. He is amenable, easy-going, interesting, undemanding and he has the sweetest manners. So this might seem a funny time to be writing about my love of solitude. Rest assured Mikey that this outpouring has nothing at all to do with you. It has been a good weekend. We were quiet on Thursday, we had the buffet supper on Friday and last night we had the Banjo Master class. Which I did not enjoy. I'll return to my feelings about that. Today my sister and I went for a walk while Mikey and Bert went to Gillie's Bar to see Banjo Man and the fellows. Then Bert and I left Mikey to the airport. The Last Straw Now to provide a bit of a back-story. Next weekend is the annual Omagh Bluegrass Festival (stifles yawn) and practically everyone we know goes to it. But this year I'll be working five days from Friday and will not be going. Bert is planning to drive Mrs Banjo and the kids to Omagh. Banjo Man and the fellows, including Ian, are playing in the park and will be travelling separately. The plan was that after driving Mrs Banjo and the young Banjos back they'd stay at our house. It'd be a squeeze because we're a bed down since the last bonfire but it's just for one night so hey ho.... Then on the way back from the airport Bert told me that Mandolin Man is staying too and I have become enraged. Now I do like Mandolin Man a lot. He is a sweet guy. But where's he going to sleep and do I really want three adults and three children staying when all I've got is one spare single bed and two sofas ? Do I want to get up on a work day to a madhouse with people sleeping everywhere and nowhere to chill until it's time to go to work? I don't. I was in a rip last night about this sort of stuff. Because Banjo Man was painting at our new house Ploppy Pants arranged that BM would give a Banjo Master class in our house. Nobody asked me if this was OK. I tried to be fine about it but as the evening progressed I started to feel more and more annoyed about it. I stomped off to bed at 11pm giving out ominous warnings about keeping the noise down. Questions Bert is cross with me because he thinks I am very unsociable. I think he might be scared that I'll drive everyone away and then we'll have no friends. I'm pondering burning the spare bed. Is there a happy medium? Is sobriety affecting me adversely or do I drink to cope with the hordes of people that hang out in Nelly's Garden?