The Thompson Twins

 Pippin and Woody

A few days ago Woody had a big adventure. He returned to Portglenone, the town where he was first rescued by Ben and Sara. Busy shopping streets are no place for lost baby kittens. He was much safer at the vets. Except the part where she removed his testicles but I don't think he noticed. We collected him just after lunchtime and although he'd lunched at the vet's surgery he straight away had another large meal. After that he went outside to explore his favourite places and then had a wrestling match with Chico. His day continued as usual with play fights with Pippin and Cleo, a big supper and the usual bedtime.

Next day I was going into town and spotted a leaflet lying in the car, so picked it up and read it. 

Woody's Aftercare. Woody has had a big operation, the removal of both testicles. He has had anaesthesia and may be lethargic and sleepy. Small meals may be offered if he seems hungry. Rest and quiet times are important for Woody's recovery. The wound... etc. etc.

Oh dear. I forgot to read the after care leaflet. Bad cat carer. Still, he's OK. The operation didn't take a fizz out of him.

We call Pippin and Woody the Thompson Twins they both came to us from Sara T whose surname is... you guessed it.

And as Nellybert often say to each other, Sara does exceedingly good kittens.

 She's good with dogs as well.

Dogs

Dogs make me happy. Mostly they do.

But maybe not when I'm wakened by imperious barking at five am by an old collie who just wants out to chase pigeons off the yard. That would be Roy.

Definitely not when I go to the bathroom at five am, before opening the double doors to let Roy out to woof at pigeons, and I step in a big flood of piss left by one of the bitches. I'm not sure if that is Judy or Jess but I intend to find out. Nature camera needed, or should that be a call of nature camera.

Certainly not when Ziggy decides to challenge a German Shepherd in Portglenone Forest and its owner gets really grumpy and says, should be on a lead and did you not see the signs in the carpark? Bert says we're not in the carpark which was true as we snuck in through the old graveyard having parked for free in the grounds of Aughnahoy Chapel.

Is it any wonder that we rarely walk the dogs in places where humans abound.

There were some doggy fans in the forest who didn't moan at us for our unrestrained hounds. There was little Willow, 17 months old who fell in love with Ziggy. He liked her too. She wasn't a German Shepherd. And there were two little pre-school boys who loved all the dogs and who told me that they didn't get a picnic. I said we didn't get one either. Their parents were lovely too. Seems like for every asshole we meet there are another ten good people, some of whom are very young indeed.

What's Going On Here Then?

I'm well on my way to making digital copies of all my photographs. Doing so brings back lots of memories but sometimes I can't remember a single thing about a picture. Where was it? Who was it? And why? I've even got three separate files labelled Who, What and Where and may even have to start a fourth file called Why.

This picture might fit into the Why category.

paganism

Why is Bert lying on the ground with moss and grass scattered on his bare chest? Why is his chest bare? Why is he smiling? What are the girls doing?

I remember where. It was Brocknamuckley Wood near Portglenone where we had gone for a walk. The youngest girl is a cousin. She must have been spending the day with us. Bert's shirt is off because it was a very hot day in 1992.

I imagine he is lying on the ground with a smile on his face as shortly before he was doing...

headstand

this, and...

horseplay

this. So he would have been enjoying the restfulness of lying prone. I believe they were playing at being pagans with Bert as their human sacrifice.

Bert and Hannah

Sunflower Field

Our environmentalist friend Rachael called round yesterday and had a look around my garden. She was absolutely delighted with the number of pollinators we had. Said it was the most she'd seen anywhere this year. I am pleased with our Don't Mow, Let It Grow trial, not to mention the Don't Weed, Let It Seed campaign. We are rather lucky though as we have enough space around here to have a little bit of flowerbed and grass and still have loads of nettle patches, self-seeding herbs and general weeds to keep the insects happy and if the insects are happy the birds are happy and so it goes on.

While she was here Rachael told me about a farmer in Portglenone who has sowed an entire field in sunflowers with a wide strip of wildflowers surrounding it. He has cut paths through it and welcomed visitors. So, of course, we had to go and see it.

A venture like this is quite a departure for a Northern Irish farmer. As I said to Bert,

It's like something you'd see in Norfolk.

Today they were accepting donations for a local community project and we were happy to hand over a few quid. Sure what else would you be spending it on?

They hope to sell some of the blooms for cut flowers later in the month but Rachael informs me that the most of the sunflowers will feed the birds.

We visited later in the day and there were still a lot of pollinators around but earlier in the day there were masses of them doing their thing.

In this part of the field, the sunflowers were still coming on. Where they were in full flower they were as tall as Bert. He's six foot.

I felt quite inspired by it and hope that maybe we can do something to encourage wildflowers. Maybe we won't plant sunflowers but I am hoping to transform our unmown front garden by cutting and lifting in September and seeing what comes from the existing seedbed. Maybe we'll even persuade the Common Blue butterfly to breed in our garden and to enchant us as they did in Paddy's Field in childhood summers long, long ago.

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.

The Wrong Jelly and Other Stories

The girls are here for a sleepover and earlier today Bert took them grocery shopping. We needed some special ingredients for a sweet making session and for pizzas. He came back in a rage,

That Fullans is the worst shop in the world! They had nothing we wanted, No pepperoni, no anchovies, no mozzarella, no dislocated (sic) coconut! I'm never going in there again and all the staff do is stand about the aisles gossiping to each other!

But he proved himself a hero. Went to another shop, the trusty old O'Neill's, and got everything on the list except he bought packet jelly instead of ready made in a plastic tub. Jelly wasn't on the list but Martha convinced him that it was an essential. That's all very well but if the grandfather then fails to make the jelly and if at bedtime all a child wants is some jelly then Houston We Have A Problem.

So Martha and I jumped in the van and drove to Cully and bought the right kind of jelly. She was wearing a striped onesie and I forgot my partial denture but, who cares, we were on a mission. On the way back we went the long way and listened to Keltic Storm's version of  Mairi's Wedding three times. I love that me and the girls are so uncool we are actually cool and I'm sad that sometime in the near future they'll be letting me know that saying cool is no longer cool or even a thing.
 

This is the recipe book we are using for the sweets. It belonged to their mother when she was only a little bit older than they are now although this wasn't the cover of Zoe's book. If it had been I believe it would have been thrown out long ago. Both Margaret Powell and her pupil look terrifying. The early seventies can still send shivers.

Sleepovers mean bedtime stories. Tonight we had Madeline, a great favourite of the girls and of mine. The books are a pleasure to read, short and bitter-sweet. Tonight's story was about the time Madeline had her appendix out and how all the other girls were so envious of  the attention she received.

After that it was stories from real life.

Who do you want the story to be about?

You!

What age do you want me to be? Forty?

No! A wee child.

OK. I'll tell you about my first day at school.

So I did. And I told them about Malachy's first day at school and how kind Mrs Magee was and how mean Miss O'Neill was and about the time George didn't do his homework and stood up and read an essay he was supposed to have written at home and stood there looking at two blank pages and told the story out of his head and how I admired his nerve and then Martin told Cassie on him and George got the ruler and how I lost respect for Martin for ever and ever. I explained how Mrs Magee was always Mrs because we respected her but how Cassie was called Cassie behind her back because we did not respect her because she was mean and cruel.

After that I tried to think up some stories about their Mum when she was a naughty little girl but I couldn't think of any because she was a rather good child. There is only one and as Martha said,

Don't tell us about the time that she cut out pictures from a book and glued them on the wall and said the dog did it. We've heard that one a million times!

They were freshly painted walls, though.

A Walk By The Bann

We'll Be Back

The girls went home this evening after spending three whole nights with Nellybert. That was Evie's longest period away from her parents ever. It was much easier than I thought it would be although having Hannah to help out Saturday evening and Sunday morning was a huge help. I actually got to stay in bed until after nine. I needed to after the tiny amount of sleep I'd enjoyed the previous night.

Their parents had prepared them for all eventualities including serious wet weather gear so on Saturday, a really pissy morning, we decided to defy the rain and go for that long bike ride. As only Martha had a bike I was going to be pushing Evie in the buggy. So there they were, trussed up in their rainwear and we get to the Ecos park and the sun is splitting the stones! Sod's Law I believe it is called. Evie slept for the entirety of the walk.

On Saturday night Hannah decided to sleep in the tree house and lit a big fire in the wood burner. Of course she had chosen the coldest August night since records began and a tree house doesn't hold the heat. She woke up frozen at around five, had to get up and put on all her clothes before settling down again. She got another two hours snoozing before Miss Martha came tippy-tapping up the spiral staircase to wake her up.

Martha at Portglenone Play Park

On Sunday we'd planned a Big Day Out so after leaving Hannah and Ziggy into Ballymena we headed for Portglenone. Our first stop was the play park. Martha conquered her fear of the big slide and was thoroughly delighted with herself. Evie perfected her moves on the climbing frame and junior slide. Our next stop was Big Gortgole Wood but Martha decided it was 'too grassy' for her bike so we decided to go into Portglenone to do some shopping. After the huge disappointment on Friday when we discovered that Cully's Eurospar had discontinued the mini-trollies we were relieved to find small trollies in Portglenone. We only needed 4 items but it took two mini-trollies to carry them.

It was ice-cream time. We relaxed on a bench on Portglenone main street and watched the world go by. Then a flash car pulled up and out got a be-suited man. Then another expensive car and out got several more. Before long a dozen well dressed men (and a token woman) had rocked up with speakers, microphones and guitars. A prayer meeting! The preaching started. Nicodemus was mentioned. Apparently he 'asked too many questions'. Then a wasp wanted to share Evie's ice cream. She started to scream and yelled even louder when I dumped the last of it into the nearest bin. She was mollified when sweet, generous Martha shared hers. Between wasps and preacher men it was time to go.

Over the weekend there were certain shortcuts taken. I had decided before they arrived that we would not fuss too much about appearance. The only essential thing would be the morning and evening teeth cleaning and general removal of stickiness. Martha arrived with a set of very tidy pigtails. She departed wearing the same ones only slightly the worse for wear.

Evie refusing to show off her moves on her scooter

It was a good weekend and I thoroughly enjoyed it. It wasn't as tiring as I'd expected and that was due, in part, to Hannah's help. I am already looking forward to the next sleepover.

Just before they left, the youngest one said,

We'll be back.

We Go To The Bann

Judy writes...

Moms said to Hans, shall we go to Portglenone Forest, check the bluebells? I'm sure the dogs would enjoy the walk. My ears pricked up. Whenever did a dog not enjoy a walk? And Portglenone is particularly good. Lots of other dogs. Lots of pungent smells. Lots of sticks. And the river.

First of, I found a ball. Hans threw it into the river, stupid Jess got it and lost it. I looked everywhere but it was gone. Gone forever. I was gutted. Meanwhile Hans starts throwing sticks. Jess was in like Flynn but I wanted my ball. No joy. Gone forever. I loved that ball. Only had it for two minutes but it mattered to me.

Winning

Ah well. Sticks it is then. I'm a far stronger swimmer than Jess. Beat her by a mile. Ziggy the wimp wouldn't go in any farther than his knees and, as we all know, that's not very far.

Then disaster struck. That rotten sneaky wee bitch mugged me. Snatched my prize right out of my jaws. I was gutted.

This was turning out to be a rotten day. That thieving, smug wee shit was grinning all over her face.

Thought she was so bloody smart. I've never been so upset in my entire life. This was worse than that time Rusty tossed me up in the air. And it got even worse. Moms made me and Smug Face sit in the back of the van on the way home while Wimp Face Ziggy got to sit in the front. She said it was because we were wet. Moral being if you are a cowardy custard like the Zigster and barely dampen your paws you'll be sitting up front in luxury while good dogs (well, one good dog and one filthy cheating rat bag dog) have to rattle about in the back.

As soon as I got home I told Dawds all about my rotten day and he was very kind to me and let me go to sleep on him. I'm sure I'll feel a lot better when I wake up.

The End.

A Nice Memory

I'm recycling old blogposts again. This one is from six years ago, when our darling Matty was still with us. Back then Ronni made this very apt comment,

Sounds like a lovely day, to be cherished later, when you need a nice memory to get you through.

Tomorrow is the third anniversary of Matty's death. 

Saturday, April 05, 2008

Our Lady of Bethlehem Abbey

Matty and Hannah and I took a trip to Our Lady of Bethlehem Abbey Our Lady of Bethleham Abbeytoday. I wanted to get a Mass Card for a friend of ours whose father died earlier this week. I don't really understand the etiquette of Mass cards so I thought it would be a good idea to take Matty who knows all the ins and outs.

Matty usually goes to Antrim with her favourite sister-in-law on Saturday mornings so I phoned first.

You not out with Maud this morning?

No. I told her I just didn't trust my legs today.

Bert and I discussed this over our porridge.

Says she just doesn't trust her legs to go out shopping with Maud.

Why not?

Maybe she's afraid they'll go shoplifting or slope off to score some weed. Or maybe they'll slip into a betting shop and blow the pension on the Grand National.

Happily she felt that her legs were trustworthy enough to go on a jaunt with Hannah and Nelly.

The Abbey is, like all repositories of rosary beads, Mass cards and religious paraphernalia, a weird and wonderful place. You go in. The first thing that you see is a miniature set of priest's Mass vestments. You wonder why? Who'd want that? There are shelves and shelves of religious pictures and statues, there are rosary beads galore, there are stands and stands of pre-signed Mass cards. There is a monk sitting in the corner to bless the holy stuff you buy for it's no use if it's not blessed. There is Status Quo playing 'Whatever You Want' on the sound system. Whether this was the monk's choice or the delightful young shop assistant's choice I do not know. Probably the monk as he was 50+.

I quickly choose my Mass card; a bargain at two quid. Meanwhile Matty gets heavily involved in a conversation with the shop assistant on the possibilities of buying a book on the life of Saint Anne but, said saint being slightly obscure, none was to be found. Matty reports that Anne is the patron saint of grandmothers. With Jesus as her grandchild, she would be, wouldn't she?


I experienced Matty's untrustworthy leg in one of Portglenone's charity shops. She does this genuflection thing with it. She says the strength just leaves her leg for a moment. I tried distraction as a cure and pointed her in the direction of a shelf of brand new shoes. No shoes were purchased - just another beige skirt.

The day ended well. After dropping Matty off in Tannaghmore and Hannah in Ballymena, Rosie and I went for a brisk walk in the Ecos Centre. It was there that I bumped into an old chum who shamelessly told me that he'd always had the hots for me. What's not to like about hearing that?

Of course I told Bert the minute I got home. He laughed.

Aren't you raging? Aren't you going to go in and start a fight with him?

No. I'll just congratulate him on his good taste next time I see him.

What's not to like about hearing that?

The Bann Woods

The Good Dog

On Sunday, after the funeral, Bonnie and I went walking through the very lovely Bann Woods. We'd have brought the Dirty Rotten Scunging Devil Dogs with us too, only they'd managed to give Bert the slip. Again. They love it when they see me going out for they know that Bert isn't as vigilant as Nelly. So as they were probably raking through the Loan Hill that left me and the Good Dog to go walking on our own.



The woods are beautiful at this time of year. And quiet too. We didn't see one other soul in an hour's walk.

At Gortgole Road Entrance

I love Nature's litter. I'm like a big kid crunching through piles of Autumn leaves. Not so fond of human litter though. I couldn't help wondering at the selfishness and arrogance of the dirty clart who thought that the entrance to the woods was the perfect place to dump these mattresses. Just let someone else take responsibility for cleaning up your mess, why don't you? Grrr!

Tractor Tales

Bert and a few of his friends went to that Gig on the Bann in Portglenone last night. They said it was good, but not as good as last year. I picked them up outside the Wild Duck sometime after midnight. We did not see any tractors in Portglenone itself, just the one young reveller in Ahoghill returning from a night out.

When Bert was sixteen he used to take this girl out for a spin on his dad's wee Fergie. It was a pity he cowped it, cutting capers to impress his lady friend. Thankfully Bert and his date were unhurt but the tractor was wrecked. It would have been worth a fortune today. But that's young boys for you. They're at everything.