A Bit Of A Catch-Up

First of all, Woody has responded well to the magic juice provided by the vet. No more coughing and he's eating tremendous amounts of food and... he loves everybody. Especially Hannah, Evie and Martha, and even Nellybert.

Then there was the matter of Bert's book choices. Strumpet City was turned down because it was too big and he fell in love with David Sedaris. Bert never ceases to surprise me.

On the subject of books, First Daughter was laid low with COVID-19 for a week and has since made a full recovery. I asked her if she'd filled her downtime with books or streaming. She told me she'd just sourced a book, a dystopian novel set in Ireland that she'd hoped would fill the hours. But, because of current real-life events, the novel proved to be a tough read. If only I'd known I could have loaned her my small collection of Eva Ibbotson romances.

Speaking of which, it was Ganching who alerted me to Eva Ibbotson's adult fiction which, as Ganching informed us, Ibbotson wrote for 'very intelligent women with the flu'. It just so happened I'd already found three of those novels in a charity shop and hadn't got round to opening them as I thought they'd be a bit saccharine. I'm on the third one now and finding it and the previous two quite delightful. 

Zoe getting the Covid spurred me to book my free jabs, flu and the coronavirus. That happened this morning and straight after I was off to Antrim to breakfast with Jazzer. We had a quick look around the charity shops to see if we could find a particular kind of knee-length boot that Martha needed to complete the Buffy the Vampire Slayer costume she wanted to wear at Halloween. Unfortunately, we did not find them except we did but three sizes too small.

Then we went to Dobbies. I was quite excited about this as the last time I was in a Dobbies (somewhere near Lisburn) I got the most gorgeous crocus bulbs and some  Nasturtium 'Phoenix' seeds . Nothing appealed to me at Antrim Dobbies apart from a new pair of cuttings snips. The prices were sky-high. I discovered that the monster deliciosa I dismantled (because it got too big) and turned into six new plants would have cost me £120. We could not wait to get out of it. I won't be back. At least until the spring of 2024 if the world still exists then. 

Back at Jazzer's, I gathered nasturtium seeds from her plants. Mostly Phoenix. Funnily enough, she has a lot of them in her garden because I grew them from my collected seed and accidentally gave her all the seedlings because I'd neglected to label them. 

So that is my catch-up. I will try to get a few posts in over the weekend as I am going to Norfolk and London next week and Will Not Be Blogging.

And speaking of London, I heard the sad news this week that an old friend from Ballymena had died there at the start of the month. Kevin was one of the people that sent my life spinning in a new direction. And that's a story on its own. 

He was a good bloke. Too good for Ballymena.

More Cake

 

There was more birthday cake yesterday when the girls were here for supper. Rhubarb and Almond cake, a new one for me. I thought it was a bit stodgy but that didn't stop me from eating it. 

There are a whole series of pictures of Bert and those two with birthday cakes. This one is from ten years ago.

Today I went to lunch with Jazzer. There is no photographic record of this event. We did a little light shopping afterwards in Antrim town where she acquired some pre-loved garments and I bought a copy of The Dud Avocado which was on my reading wish list. I had a good opportunity to read the first chapter in the Asda car park while Jazzer went in for a 'couple of things'. As always she was about half an hour. Bert has remarked before that when she goes into a shop she generally picks up a shift stacking shelves. I didn't really mind as the book was good. Turned out she got into a really slow queue and then, on leaving, the alarm went off and she had to have her receipt checked. Somebody forgot to take the tag off her new summer shorts. I'd have been raging if that had happened to me.

Back home to find Bert had eaten nearly all the pizza from Bamber Pizzeria. Fair play to him as no one had taken him out for lunch. He left me just enough to know it was yummy.

Afterwards, we had the sad task of taking an expired chicken out to the woods for the foxes to feast upon. But who could be sad in the woods on such a beautiful evening? Not us, certainly not Cleo.

Eight Things That Happened Today

 It's only just gone 6pm so who knows what I might still do before this day draws to a close but anyway, it's Saturday night and I this thing needs to be put to bed.

1. Got up at sparrow's first fart, drew jeans over a voluminous Victorian-style nightdress, put a coat on, a mask, dragged a comb through my snowy mane and headed to the New Garage to buy a paper. This is not the experience it once was. No Darwin to have the craic with, just a soulless trek to the newspaper stand, then off to the self-service till, five pounds in, thirty bob out, no human contact whatsoever. It does have its charms.

2. Back to bed with coffee and the news. A ponder on my early morning dream which was all about the day before my return to university as a (very) mature student. I had two essays to write but partied instead. 

3. I'm up again and Ben emerges before I complete my 30-minute chore blitz. We chat about the previous night when we entertained ourselves YouTubing on everyone from Willie Drennan to Robert Plant and Tricia Moriarty ft. Naoise Casenove. Ben was very impressed with Tricia's music and I was unimpressed with the mullet Plant sported in his Big Log days.

4. Bert's up now and after a small breakfast, they head to the long shed to play with Bert's new air rifle. Apart from the clarinet, that's all Bert has done this week, playing with guns and bows and arrows with various of his friends aged from twenties to sixties. Adulting is over-rated.

5. Ben's girlfriend arrives then the Banjos. Jazzer is staying Marty is not. 

6. Jazzer and I inspect the meadow. It does look rather boring. Creeping buttercup making an appearance, a few docken plants coming to the fore. I scattered corn marigold seeds  around the edges. Just one patch taking hold will make me happy. I still haven't sowed the yellow rattle.

7. Jazzer has made a chilli. She has omitted beans, says she does not like them.

8. We have had the annual (?) reappraisal of our connection. There is a lot of birthday wine and chocolate. All is well.

Fear of Flying

 In years gone by, Nellybert traditionally had people round on Orangeman's Day. We weren't actually celebrating the Twelfth ourselves, just enjoying a gathering with other like-minded souls, some various musicians and Ernestino. In recent years it's all gone a bit quiet. Not that I mind for I'm not as big on parties as I used to be and, of course, Covid 19 has put paid to a lot of socialising.

This week the gathering of three bubble families was delayed until the 15th of July. And did we get the weather! I made tacos and Jazzer made a salad and we both made two kinds of ice cream, chocolate chip and coconut and pineapple. I almost wish I'd never found out about homemade ice cream as it is far too delicious and I am currently low on willpower. We spent most of the day outside watching and being watched by Dolours the immobile hen who sat in an improvised roost in the flowerbeds sipping water and nibbling on sunflower hearts.

Jazzer is mortally afraid of creatures with wings be they ladybirds, butterflies, songbirds or hens. If they sit nicely with wings folded she is merely nervous but when the wings start to flap she freaks. At the same time, she has deep compassion for wounded or poorly creatures, human or animal and she found herself drawn to Dolours. When it came time to put the wee hen to bed she said she'd like to carry it. This was a very big deal. I told her to keep the hen's wings folded in as she was being held and all would be well. 

When Dolours lost the use of her legs I brought her out of the hen run and placed her in another shed expecting her to be dead within a few days. Eighteen days later and she is still around. I'm not sure whether this is a good or bad thing.

Jazzer was delighted that she had managed to overcome her fear even if afterwards her heart was racing. 

It was a different story this morning. I'd set the moth trap the night before, not that well as it turned out for the lid wasn't properly placed, which left an escape route and there weren't many in it, maybe a dozen yellow underwings and a few others including an elephant hawkmoth and a garden tiger which I was pleased to show Ben and Sara. But not Jazzer - she hovered in the doorway praying that nothing took wing. And nothing did. Just as well too as the spotted flycatchers are partial to a big moth.

Garden Tiger

 

Elephant Hawkmoth

The heat today was heavy going for folks used to cool and rainy summers and it is to be hot all weekend. I gave myself two must-dos today, buy new scissors and update this blog. Tomorrows must-do will be to find the white hen which is quite another story.

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.

We Go To Belfast

Jazzer and I went to Belfast yesterday for a bit of a day out. First of all, we went to Matchetts to purchase a few clarinet supplies for Bert. But we went into the wrong Matchetts. We entered the shop that sold guitars, keyboards and drumkits and where the assistants had long greasy hair, jeans that were falling off their bums and an air of debauchery. I expect they all play in thrash metal bands. They sent us to the right shop. This one sold all the other instruments. Here the assistants had neat short hair, a slightly patronising air and I'd say they probably played with the Ulster Orchestra. They didn't have the actual thing that Bert wanted most - a new mouthpiece for his clarinet. Nor did they have the pads he needed. All I was able to buy from them were a few packets of reeds and a stick of grease. No wonder Amazon is taking over the world.

There were further disappointments in store. I'd never been to a Frankie and Benny's before and I intend never to darken their door again. I ordered spaghetti and meatballs and it was dire. Couldn't finish it, flavourless and could barely cut the meatballs in half they were so tough. I think the chef must have bound the meat together with a good-sized pinch of Blue Circle cement. I was even more convinced of that this morning at my ablutions. The last time I offloaded one like that I'd drank about a quarter bottle of kaolin and morphine.

We had a bit of a wander around the streets adjacent to Royal Avenue and came upon a live Nativity Scene featuring two shepherds, two donkeys, a goat called Tinsel and a pregnant Suffolk ewe called Holly. All the animals seemed very content in clean, comfortable stalls and were eating their heads off. Oh! Forgot to mention - there was a plastic Baby Jesus but no sign of Joseph and Mary. They'd probably slipped over to Kelly's Cellars for a pint. I'd say that meeting Holly the sheep was one of the highlights of my day. That and the sale at Seasalt Cornwall.

A Busy Week

It's been a busy week. Monday was a family meal day with a lot of worry leading up to it. Zoe had only heard about the Pig Invasion, she hadn't seen it and I was fretting that she'd be completely gutted about the damage done. But she took the pragmatic view and I was greatly relieved.

Tuesday was a funeral service. It was an unusual one as the person whose funeral it was had died 10 weeks previously in Australia. Her husband brought her ashes back to Ireland for funeral and burial. It was a really lovely service. Afterwards, I went on a shopping expedition and bumped into a cousin. We went for coffee (and tea) and caught up with each other. Heard a very interesting piece of gossip about our Westminster representative who is currently in the news for all the wrong reasons. I feel a bye-election coming on which he'll probably win if he has the brass neck to stand and he will.

Wednesday I was not looking forward to as we were going to do some financial planning and had someone coming round to discuss it with us. But that wasn't as awful as I'd expected. Time for a bit of gardening and then off to Portballintrae to see Swisser. We had been asked for supper but had declined and she'd made it anyway so that was two suppers. I did not take the main course (a healthy vegetable dish) but did not refuse wine.

Thursday - the girls. We had an exciting trip to Portglenone then they had an exciting jaunt on the quad with Bert then it was the exciting trampoline for the rest of the day.

Yesterday I went to Belfast with Jazzer (whose sister's funeral was Tuesday) for another jaunt. The train was packed but it was an interesting trip as I got talking with some of the musicians from The McLain Family Band, a bluegrass band from Kentucky who'd been playing two nights in Ballymena and were on their way to Dublin.

In Belfast, we shopped a lot although I just bought Birkenstocks.  Between shops, we had coffee and a snack in the Linenhall Library, a drink in Maddens, dinner in The Apartment and another drink in the Europa Hotel. The train home wasn't as busy but I ran into a Facebook friend and we chatted all the way to Antrim.

From Antrim to Ballymena I got out my book, The Way I Live Now by Meg Rosoff, and came across a passage so shockingly harsh that I gasped. Closed the book and finished it later in the privacy of my own home. that evening. Very good read though not to everyone's taste I imagine.

That evening I watched the Netflix reboot of Queer Eye For The Straight Guy and enjoyed it a great deal. Found myself grinning throughout. Hadley Freeman, my favourite columnist in the Guardian Weekend magazine, had raved about it and I get that. Not to everyone's taste, I imagine. For instance, Bert said he wouldn't like it as he doesn't like reality shows. This week he has sat through The Hateful Eight and Natural Born Killers. Not for me. I watched the tiniest bit of The Hateful Eight but the minute...

BEWARE

!!!!!SPOILER ALERT!!!!!

...Samuel L. Jackson got his bollocks shot off, I was out of there.

The pigs have been in Piggy Jail all week but we're making it up to them with extra rations. They had carrot cake today and liked it very much. It's not allowed to give them food that has been in a kitchen but we had it in the fridge in Bert's room which definitely isn't a kitchen and the only other thing that is kept in there is alcohol. Which the pigs also like.

Today it rained and it blew and I worked in the tunnel clearing weeds from where we harvested onions and garlic. Outside the bay tree blew over and the sunflowers were bent but not broken. When it all died down I put stronger stakes on all the tallest plants.

One more thing.

Today was our mother's birthday. She would have been 92 years old. I always thought she'd make it to her nineties but she didn't. And although I don't believe in an afterlife I wish I did because then I'd know she'd be looking out for a special person that she never got to meet but if she had, she'd have loved her very much.

Tomorrow is a day of rest.

New Years Day

It seems remiss not to mark the first day of the year with a blog post so here we go.

How do I feel right now?

Tired and a bit overfed. We had a huge roast dinner last night which Jazzer and I cooked. She did the soup, the beef, and the roast potatoes. I did three vegetable dishes, Yorkshire puddings and a summer fruit crumble. A joint effort. Then there was too much alcohol and some terrible TV. Jools Holland's show wasn't too bad but it feels a bit of a cheat knowing that everyone there was pretending it was the last day of the year. I mean, we weren't actually sharing the festivities with Beth Ditto, George McCrae and Adrian Dunbar. And, by the way, does anyone else think that Ed Sheeran is a bit bland?

What's been going on?

Leitrim Sister was up for a couple of days. As always, I enjoyed her company. It was horribly cold while she was here but we didn't let it keep us back.

What's happening tomorrow?

Going to Ikea with Zoe and the girls. I'll be buying James some new bits for his train set.

What am I going to do next?

Going to phone James' house to find out what he needs then I'm for having a G&T and maybe a bit of Netflix. Godless is good.

26th September

Peter landed in yesterday with a huge bucket of grapes from his granny's greenhouse. Haven't weighed them but there must be at least 8 pounds. So checking recipes for grape wine which is, actually, just wine and I've got enough and the method for mashing given in the first recipe I read is treading with the bare feet. So, if this stuff turns out to be drinkable it will be all for me for I'm sure no one is going to want to drink wine that has been trampled by my tootsies. Unless perhaps Jazzer who is game for anything and also likes wine.

A Flying Visit

Back from a flying visit to beautiful Eelburn and the people and dogs had a ball. Well - there was a ball for a while but then Dora lost it. There was this one time we'd been playing on the beach and the dogs had had their chow and the people were going out to eat when we looked back and saw this sad sight.

Left Behind. Jess and Dora

Of course we went back and took them with us.

Worst Bit. Jazzer snoring.

Best Bit. Under a quilt, lying on a sofa to escape the sound of Jazzer snoring and looking out on a skyful of stars.

Eelburn

Just a short one. I had a lovely birthday and now Bert, Jazzer and I are off to Eelburn for a day, a night and a morning. Back tomorrow.

The Weekend of Pies

These past weekends have been busy, busy and yet, I barely left the house. My first husband and his beloved were here this past weekend and stayed with Nellybert on Thursday night. The beds cooled on Friday then we had Jazzer and Ben on Saturday. Bert went to a bachelor party (Young Rainey is getting married!) and Jazzer and I drank wine. I'd been at that oul craic on Thursday too and sure it tires a body out. Tonight I drank no wine but racked a rhubarb and a blackcurrant. Had tastes (as one must) and found the rhubarb to be good and the blackcurrant a tad on the sweet side.

On the Thursday I made a cheese and onion pie as Mick doesn't eat meat and it went down well. the pastry was delicious. On Friday we had a lot of visitors and as the last one was gathering up to leave I said to Bert,

Any thoughts about supper?

And he said,

I just put a pie in the oven.

Which was all very well except it was a stinking pie for one he'd bought at the garage earlier in the day.

So what am I going to eat?
Sure you went out for breakfast this morning with Mick and Linda.
Breakfast? That was nine hours ago. And you were invited too.

I was raging. So while he helped himself to a factory made pastry and dog food pie and a slice of bread and butter I made myself a proper dinner of chili sausages, garden peas, onion gravy and mashed potato. Boy did I take trouble over that one spud, mashed it and buttered it to perfection. My plan was to eat it in front of him and take great pleasure in his dinner envy. I was going to serve him a couple of Rennies as those shop bought pies can be indigestible. In the event, I shared my lovely supper with him even though he didn't deserve it. I'm far too soft-hearted

Then next day it was Jazzer. She is always planning ahead when it comes to eating and likes to take control of the cooking as she is very particular about her food. For a start she doesn't like cooked vegetables. She fancied steak pieces and I suggested a pie. She cooked the filling. It was good enough but she has a heavy hand with the Oxo cubes. The pastry, delicious as always, lightened it. Jazzer always serves potatoes with pie. I would never do that as it is double carbs. Not that I care about the calories - it just seems a bit stodgy. I prefer vegetables or salad. And Jazzer's mash is scary. I think she puts about half a pound of butter in it and you  can feel your arteries furring up with every forkful.

So pie and mash will be off the menu for a day or two. Tonight it was home cooked soda bread and butternut squash soup, tomorrow spaghetti bolognese. No wine until the weekend. I'll let you know how I got on with that.

Jazzerbert

Some pictures from a few years ago. I think some strong drink might have been taken.

Mrs Pancake Woman

Bert asks,

Can you talk me through pancakes?

Sure. Just let me clean up the kitchen first.

A few minutes later he says,

It’s going to be a pancake competition. Jakers and Jazzer say they make the best pancakes.

Nooooo! I’ve just cleaned the kitchen. You saw how much rice she cooked for the chili. It got everywhere and the hens will be eating it for weeks. There’ll be pancakes falling off the ceiling if those two get involved. Hurry up. I’ll talk you through it, we’ll get it underway before anyone catches on. Crepes or drop scones?

So he gets out the ingredients and then has a big problem about whether he should use the mixer or just a bowl. I advise a bowl. Not worth getting the mixer out for a few pancakes. He can’t find the weighing scales, I get cross because no one ever puts things away where they belong and Jazzer hears and realizes that pancakes are in progress and comes out and Gets Involved. I am not pleased.

Immediately she decides that the mixture is far too runny and goes about thickening it up. There is a dispute about sugar. I say no, she says yes. Things are getting heated. Jakers comes in to discuss his recipe. He sees how things are going and wisely withdraws. I withdraw too. Let them get on with it.

Jazzer starts to cook the pancakes. There is a dispute between her and Bert and Ben about adding oil to the pan. Jazzer says no, Ben and Bert say yes. Jazzer wins. I have a moan because she’s using a metal spatula on my best pan. She gets tense. The first pancake is wonderful and Ben gets it. The second one burns. The third one refuses to leave the pan. They are panicking. I have to get involved.

The pancake has stuck to the pan and has to be scrubbed off. And there is batter on every surface and running down the cupboard doors. I clean up, I oil the pan and cook a pancake. It looks perfect.

Jazzer says I am a mean cow and I say when do I ever come to your house and start acting like I am Mrs Pancake Woman? Jakers bursts into hysterical laughter. Jazzer says I am a control freak. Bert wisely stays quiet. Banjo Man feigns sleep. Ben, rather charmingly, takes my side. He knows on which side his pancakes are buttered. Bert finishes cooking the pancakes because he is a first-class tosser and everybody eats pancakes with maple syrup and whipped cream. I eat some too and privately think that my pancake recipe is far better than Jazzer’s.

Jazzer gives me a hug and we decide that the whole darn thing was our husbands' fault.

A Crabbit Star

This is what actually happened. Mandolin Man arrived back at 11.30pm – Banjo Man had stopped in Portglenone, as he was aghast to hear that his wife, the blonde, was out revelling with two of the handsomest men in Portglenone. The charges, Mandolin Man and myself all retired early. At 3.30am the Portglenone Four – and Ploppy Pants returning from their night out rudely awakened us. Poor Mandolin Man was sleeping on the kitchen sofa so he bore the brunt. You know those deep voices that boom and reverberate throughout a building? Well Ploppy Pants has got one of those. I lay in bed and fantasised about shooting him out of a cannon. Over a cliff. Then there was the tippety-tap of Jazzer’s kitten heels up and down, up and down the kitchen floor. For feck’s sake woman would you ever sit on your arse? I fantasised about going downstairs and hammering out a tune on her head with those kitten heels. What did I actually do? I summoned Bert and peevishly asked him to tell that lot to keep the noise down, that I’d been up half the night in work the previous night and I wanted a decent night’s sleep tonight. Bless him for he managed to keep them quiet after that. This is one star who doesn’t like her sleep being disturbed.