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. 

An October Promise. To Myself.

It's October, autumn is well and truly here. I'm going to up the posting and try to update the blog for the entire month. Sure I might as well. What else would I be at?

The lovely lilies that grow alongside the roses in the Rose Garden at Mount Stewart. Zoe drove Hannah and me there yesterday. The girls had both been there before but it was my first ever visit. I am already planning my return.

So, as I said, a post every day. Tonight's is short for it's been a busy day and I'm still reeling from the last episode of Ozark that we just watched. The blood! The wails! The water!

More tomorrow.

Success (Of Sorts)

When all around the world goes sad, mad and bad, it is the simple pleasures that count - one's chickens, the new calf that was born today - Martha says her name is Ava and we must never sell her. I say that we must but she shall have first refusal. Our other pleasures include friends, family and music.

And, of course, there is food. This weekend was not one of my better ones when it came to home-cooked food. Supper was shop-bought sausage rolls, tinned beans and an interesting salad made from tender leaves of kale (home-grown), olives, tomatoes and little sweet peppers. The dressing came out of a jar. I made (at Evie's request) the steamed chocolate pudding, chocolate sauce and ice cream dessert.  It was the wrong ice cream. Not popping candy ice cream. I made the excuse that I'd forgotten to bring my glasses which was a lie. It didn't matter anyway as Evie had been to a birthday party and was full to the neck of sweets and cake. She didn't even have dessert, said she was 'tired of it.'

Breakfast was Kellogs Variety Pack and Peppa Pig on Netflix. I wasn't part of it as I was reading The Guardian in bed. Some lad from Buckna was supervising the young'uns, helping them eat Variety and watching Peppa Pig. Lunch was (hang my head in shame) shop-bought pizza. I attempted to jazz it up with extra toppings and Lidls mozzarella cheese. But then, my triumph, the food that made up for all other culinary shortcuts and shortcomings, my first successful sourdough loaf. For, even though the first attempt resulted in rolls that could have served as missiles, I kept the mother going and made this...

I know it is boastful but that loaf was not my only success this weekend. At Martha and Evie's storytime I selected a book of fables, beautifully illustrated by Janusz Grabianski. But one forgets how shite fables are. There is no real story, no satisfying ending, no resolution. The one I chose was about a fox who fell down a well and couldn't get out. Said fox tricks a decent old billy goat to jump into the well and help it escape. Then, the fox being wily and all, fucked right off mocking the billy goat for his gullibility. And that was the end. So I said to the girls,

I didn't think much of that story! I think I could make a better job of it!

So, putting down the book, beautiful illustrations and all, I finished the story bringing in two brave young animal rescuers called Martha and Evie, a grandfather (Bert) with a length of baler twine in his pocket, a lovely woman called Denise who was in need of a billy goat, then a billy goat in a new home in The Parks with two wives and four lovely kids (three girls and a boy) and a nasty fox who called round and ended up getting butted over a hedge never to be seen again while everyone got to live happily ever after. I believe I enjoyed telling it far more than the girls enjoyed listening to it. My reward came this morning when Evie joined me in bed and said,

That was a good story last night.

Thanks, Margaret Green (and Aesop) for the beginnings of the tale and thanks to Janusz Grabianski for the wonderful pictures.

Sourdough Day 1

A day that began full of worries and ended full of hope, that's a good day to begin a sourdough starter.

Tonight is usually Bert's music night but his clarinet is in for a service so Les came round here for a glass of wine and was very keen to hear if I'd begun my starter. I hadn't. His starter is five days old and he has baked his first batch of bread and the results pleased him. He stood over me until I began mine - so simple, one empty mustard jar, one spoonful of strong white flour, two spoonfuls of water, stir and set aside. I'm to make a note of feeding times, in the morning just before I see to the hens. Les will be checking.

Y'know, I actually love Les. If it wasn't for him I wouldn't be growing my own garlic and Bert would be nowhere near as good on the clarinet. And I wouldn't have those seven new hens. Friendship is magic. At least, that's what Martha and Evie tell me, being ardent fans of My Little Stinking Pony, which is what Bert calls their favourite Netflix show.

Strictly Restricted

It was the first day back at school for Martha and Evie and they bounced off the bus as happy as sandboys. I lost no time in telling them about my New Year's Resolution which was for them to watch less TV when they are at my house. They could watch cartoons half an hour before their Daddy collected them and that would be it. Straight away Martha started to negotiate with me but I was resolute. She accepted it.

Back home and she tried again,

Maybe just one programme?

No. We'll stick to the plan.

O.K. Then maybe we'll go on the trampoline for a while.

Evie said,

I was thinking about the trampoline today!

And off they went for around 30 minutes until they came in cold, Martha crying because Evie had knocked against her big sister's wobbly teeth with her hard head. Apparently, they thought it would be fun to trampoline with eyes tight closed.

Then we got the arts and crafts out and they spent a very happy hour making pictures along with Aunt Hannah. It was a pleasant afternoon during which Martha informed Hannah that television was 'being strictly restricted.' An hour later and after many pictures were produced Netflix was turned on and the girls watched Ben and Holly until Daddy arrived.

I have realised that too much television irritates them and they are far more fractious with each other. There are also many unnecessary cries of hunger. This evening food was not mentioned and they got on pretty well apart from the head-teeth collision on the trampoline. This is one resolution that must be kept. Television is fine as long as it is rationed and is not the only entertainment on offer.