Too Late For India

I have been reading Jane Gardam, halfway through the Old Filth trilogy and dipping into The Sidmouth Letters. I actually thought I'd already read The Sidmouth Letters but it turned out I’d only got as far as the first story, The Tribute. And what a delight it was to return to it, for it is a most excellent piece of story-telling and I plan to reread it before this week is out.

The most recent Gardam story I read was about youngsters from privileged backgrounds living the hippy lifestyle in Crete, in a place called Matala.

I asked Bert if he’d heard of it. He said,

Matala? Yea, I was there in 1978.

Did you live in the caves?

No. By the time I got there, there was a fellow that used to chase the people out of the caves. I had my own cave a bit in from the beach.

Was this before or after Marseille?

Before.

Yea. I thought you’d have been put off caves by Marseille.

I had to leave that one. Rats drove me out.

Rats?

Yea. I kept bringing buns back to the cave. It brought rats.

See you can take the boy out of Cullybackey but you can’t keep him away from the traybakes.

Was the beach at Matala as gorgeous as they say?

Aye. T’was. There was a morning I was there and this Swedish girl came up to me. Asked me for a light. Naked as a jaybird.

Did you give her one? A light I mean…

Aye. She sat down beside me. I had everything on. And a duffel coat. I could hardly look at her,

Was she gorgeous?

She was. Sand sticking to her shoulders and all.

I thought you said you never looked at her?

Was only a glimpse.

Later on that day Swisser called and while Bert and she looked on I threw together a Singaporean pork thingy I’d been thinking about which involved pork, soy sauce, vinegar, massaman curry paste, peppers, ginger, garlic, tomato paste and shredded cabbage. Swisser said she’d have some despite being inclined to vegetarianism and only allowing herself meat once every two years. Believe that? Not I.

I was telling her about what I’d been hearing about Matala and it turns out she’d been there a few years before Bert, actually lived in the caves for six months but had to leave because she got cholera, dysentery, typhoid or some such and was advised by a fellow traveller to make haste for Tel Aviv before she died,

Swisser's stories always involve serious illness and near-death experiences. either her own or someone else's. I didn't mention that I'd fried the pork in clarified butter and left all the fat on. God knows what that will have done to her gall bladder and I expect she's having a near-death experience this very minute. 

'Hippies' at Matala. The young woman in the shades is the absolute spitting image of Swisser. After Matala, she checked herself into a kibbutz where she was tenderly nursed back to health.

Postscript. Do I envy Swisser and Bert for their youthful travelling adventures? Short answer. YES! 

Day Out in Belfast

There had been an arrangement to have a new stove fitted today in my private, secret sitting room and I didn't want to be there when it happened. So I thought I'd have a wee excursion to Belfast. Swisser was to come too. The stove-fitting appointment was cancelled until Tuesday, but we decided to go anyway.

It was a fine day, with blue skies and fluffy clouds. Belfast is beautiful when the weather allows. Our first call was to St George's Market then on to the Mac to see the Ron Mueck exhibition. There was no light-heartedness or joy in these works. The sculptures were contemplative, serious and concerned.  That's life, that's humanity. Which is why it worked for me. Being alive is a serious business and ends in being dead. 

But one must eat. We had lunch at Dumpling Library which was very good. We had seaweed dumplings, salmon fishcakes and deep-fried spinach wontons. I shall take Bert there someday soon.. 

And one must clothe oneself - to shopping. Urban Outfitters, Seasalt and Jigsaw. Swisser tried on about a million things in Seasalt while I sat outside watching the world go by. I was expecting her to emerge laden with bags but she had only one solitary jumper. I bought a hot pink shirt from Urban Outfitters which will brighten up my life and, hopefully, that of those around me.

A dem good day. Culture, food, fashion and friendship. The only thing missing was books. And I have enough books for now.

Bonnie Takes Her Last Holiday. Again.

Bert and I have just come back from a short break in Donegal. We weren't on our own. We had four dogs, the Banjos and Swisser as well. Swisser got a new nickname – Professor Pants. She was waxing superior over dinner, told Jazzer and I that we had given over the control of our lives to our husbands because we are currently not working. I was having none of that. Just because someone is Professor Pants does not give them the right to judge how others organise their lives. Anyways Swisser was just pissed off that her youngest dog didn't get to come but we had to put a lid on it somewhere. Our caravan, we get to take all three of our dogs if we choose. We made a concession for the Banjo's youngest dog who is our youngest dog's litter mate. They are wild together. And as Swisser's youngest dog is also their litter mate the canine craziness would have been unbearable. He'll get to come the next time.

Once again it was Bonnie's last holiday. She is so old and done now that we have to lift her in and our of the van and she needs help getting up stairs and on to sofas. She was not able to get to Ballyhiernan beach because it meant climbing some pretty steep sand dunes so, just before we left, we took her to another beach that was easier for her to get to. Just seeing her there, plodding along, trying to keep up with the younger dogs was nearly tragic. Her back legs are getting weaker and it is much more noticeable when she is in unfamiliar surroundings. I wonder how much longer she can continue. But she had her little break, she was with people and dogs that she knows love her and I think she enjoyed it.

I wonder if she will be able to squeeze in just one more 'last' holiday?

By the way Swisser really is a professor now and about time too! I think adding Pants to her title will help her to keep everything in proportion.

Like A Thatcher

Swisser came round for supper last night and as soon as she arrived on the yard she went off in search of Bert who was working in the big shed. I carried on cooking. About ten minutes later I spotted her coming out of the shed carrying one of my director's chairs and placing it in the boot of her car. Almost immediately Bert came in whereupon I lit on him like a thatcher.

I lit on him/her like a thatcher. This is a phrase I heard my mother use. As I understand it, it means to challenge someone in a very forceful way. It has nothing to do with the former British Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher, although I'm sure she lit on plenty of people. I just asked Bert what he thought it meant and he said, to give someone a good eating. That would be eating as in ate the head of him. I've been trying to figure out why, in the days before the Dragon Thatcher, that thatchers, as a trade, should be seen as particularly belligerent or scolding.

But to get back to Bert. Says I to him,

What's Swisser doing with my chair?

Sure we never use them. 

We do so! You've no business to be giving away the things that I buy with my own money without asking me first.  

Sure you didn't even know where they were. 

I did so! One was is in the poly tunnel, your man was perched on it yesterday and the one she's lifted was in the shed, folded against the wall behind the seed potatoes.

Swisser comes in so even though I'm still cross I pretend not to be.

We converse generally about this and that. Then she spots the lovely enamel pie dish I bought in TK Maxx a few months ago.

Oh! That's a lovely dish.

Before I could stop myself, I say,

You should tell Bert how much you like it and then he'll probably give it to you.

Oh dear! Awkward situation. Bert tells her I'm mad she got the chair and she immediately offers it back. I demur. She insists. She returns it to the shed. When she comes back I tell her that this is not the first time Bert has done this. A few weeks ago Banjo Man was idly looking at some bits and pieces on my dresser when he noticed a little brass box decorated with shamrocks. He asks Bert about it. Bert says,

That's something belonged to Nelly's mother. Isn't it Nelly?

I say,

Actually I found it among your mother's things.

He immediately offered it to Banjo Man not taking into account that I must have liked it enough to have it on display. I protested and got to keep the little box although it made me feel a bit selfish. But I'd have felt worse if Bert had given it away without taking my feelings into consideration.

I talked to Bert about this today and he informed me that he'd told Swisser to sneak the chair into her car without me seeing and then he said, “She blew it.” So I lit on him like a thatcher.

Pictured above - Bert sitting on my lovely chair quite a few summers back. It still rankles, nay it enrages me, that some light-fingered toad stole that hat he is wearing. Maybe I do get far too attached to material things.

Fox Hunt

Bert nearly got Foxy last night.

There Bert was, crawling on his belly through nettles and ditches and there was Foxy strolling nonchalantly about, occasionally jumping in the air and pouncing on a frog. Bert had her in his sights and he took aim.

Bert nearly got Foxy last night.

But nearly isn't good enough. Sigh.

Then to make matters worse he strolled home, rifle slung over his shoulder to be met by Swisser arriving in the yard. She was overcome by lust at his gunslinger image. Said he reminded her of whatshisname out of all those spaghetti westerns - a scruffy gunman 'rotten to the core' and now she's decided that's how he should outfit himself for our wedding.

Sigh.

The Glorious Twelfth: Part 3. The Wee Manny..

..and Mrs The Wee Manny are here. Jamie & Hannah are here. The rain has stopped. The South African Chenin Blanc Reserve (Tesco special offer) has been pronounced good. Bert has completed his filial duties. He has delivered his mother to his Aunt Lizzie's house. He has delivered hen pellets to his Eccentric Aunt Who Lives Squalorously In A Condemned House In The Hills.

How was she? Filthy.

And that's not filthy in a good way either. At every turn he has been impeded by Orangemen on the march.

They got me in Cully then they got me at Broadway then I raced down to Harryville and they got me there. They got me again in Kells. Bastards!

Meanwhile I have been in telephone communication with Swisser and have persuaded her that what she needs to beat her lurgy is Meat! And lots of it! So she should be coming along later.

Swisser Creates A Stink

Bert: There’s a bit of a funny smell in here. Swisser: There is! I didn’t like to say anything but there is a bad smell in here. Bert: It smells like silage effluent. Swisser: It smells like rotting flesh. Nelly: I can’t smell anything. But then I’ve got this cold. Can you smell anything Hannah? Hannah: I can’t smell anything either. Swisser: Well I can! I noticed it as soon as I came in but I didn’t like to say until Bert mentioned it. It’s definitely something rotting. Bert: It smells more like silage effluent to me. Maybe one of the dogs was rolling in something.

Swisser starts sniffing the dogs. She then starts lifting cushions and smelling the sofas. Nelly looks on bemused.

Swisser: It’s something rotting. Flesh rotting. Nelly: Well if it is you must have brought the smell of it in with you on your feet because I thoroughly cleaned this room yesterday. I had all the sofas out and hoovered and mopped everywhere.

Nelly is starting to feel a little bit pissed off. She goes into the kitchen and starts washing up.

Nelly: Maybe what you’re smelling is cabbage. I let some cabbage get burned when I was making supper. Swisser: Yes! Maybe there’s something rotting in your fridge.

Swisser rushes into kitchen, opens the fridge door and starts sniffing the contents.

Nelly: It’s hardly going to be the fridge reeking out the room next door. Anyway don’t you think it’s a bit rude to go around sniffing people’s fridges? Swisser: Oh right. Suppose it is a bit.

Swisser returns next door and begins to tell a tale about being chased around the roads at Coleraine University by an irate car dealer from Limerick. Nelly picks up a large sharp knife and eyes it thoughtfully before replacing it in the cutlery drawer.

Too Tired To Blog...

...which is what happens if you don't leave off the hard labour on the Sabbath Day.

I laboured mightily at the coalface Monday and Tuesday. And I walked hard as well. On the second walk (Cullybackey to Gillies) I spotted what looked like a drowned sheep on the riverbank but I did not investigate further as it was nearly dark. Bert was cooking a leg of lamb last night and this sighting took the edge of my appetite. Swisser joined us for supper so there would definitely be no blogging. After we'd eaten, Bert, as usual, was fishing for compliments and only then he told us that the leg of lamb had belonged to one of those gorgeous Jacob's sheep. I don't know if I'd have eaten it if I'd known that.

Afterwards, Young Loveheart turned up. He was looking pretty skinny and was sporting a neat wee beard. I thought he looked like a male model. Sort of pale and interesting. The first thing he said was "I'm dying. I have a brain virus." It's not often I'm rendered speechless. Just what do you say to a 26-year-old who has just announced he's terminally ill? It was quite a relief when we established that 'dying' was a figure of speech and he meant that he'd been rather poorly.

Natch Young Loveheart's pale and interesting look intrigued Swisser who hadn't met him before. "So who's Young Loveheart then?" she coyly enquired. I answered, "Old Loveheart's son," and left it at that. Then the next thing she's quizzing him about his recent illness and trying to pass herself off as a real doctor. But I soon put the young fellow right by telling him that she's only a PhD with a midwifery qualification and not to be paying any heed to her.