My Lord Bertram

Bert and I watched a silly and enjoyable show on Amazon Prime, My Lady Jane. It's set in Tudor England and is an alternative historical drama featuring the Nine Days Queen, Lady Jane Grey. It also features shapeshifters. In My Lady Jane, almost every other person can become an animal at will. Always the same animal which is unfortunate if one is only a tiny mouse or an insect but rather useful if one is a large brown bear.

One important character becomes a horse. For some unexplained reason, he cannot change at will but transforms into equine form at dawn, becoming human again as night falls. 

When we'd finished watching the show I said to Bert,

I'd love you to be like him - the horse guy.

He said,

Because he's so good-looking and fit?

No, not that. It would be great if you could turn into a horse every morning and gallop around the fields all day, just stopping to eat grass. Then when it got dark you'd be you again and we could eat dinner and settle down to watch something silly together. I'd love that. You'd be out from underneath my feet all day and we'd save a fortune on groceries. 

A Man Who Loves Kittens

I have been watching a thriller about FLDS folk in Utah. In this show  there are people portrayed who believe than the Heavenly Father speaks to them directly. Apparently one just opens one's heart and listens.

I tried this and received the following message which I intend to put into practice.

Be Nicer To Bert

How could anyone not be nice to a man who loves kittens?

And cats.

And dogs.

The Joy of Tidying

 

Obviously the first thing to do when embarking on a tidying spree is to sort one's books in alphabetical order. That sparks joy.

Everything else is pure drear.

It has been a busy week with little time for tidying. There was a friend's party on Saturday evening at which I did not drink alcohol and had a great time. A practice run for Neesh's wedding. On Monday Bert and I borrowed Clint's trailer and went to the Council Recycling Centre where we dumped the clothes dryer and some other items. I suppose that could be considered tidying.  Tuesday, I took the girls for breakfast and took some stuff to a charity shop (more tidying). We went to Tim Hortons - my first (and last) visit. 

On Wednesday we bought a gigantic television set and then visited some old friends we hadn't seen for ages.

Thursday was a tough day. Ziggy hadn't been well the previous night and Han asked us to take him to the vet. She couldn't do it herself as she had work commitments. The vet spent some time listening to his chest and when she had finished she told us that his heart was failing. Blood tests were taken and he received two intravenous injections. He was booked in for further tests. We were told to bring him back the next day if he wasn't any better which worried me. It was hard having to tell Han when she phoned to ask how he'd got on.

We had the girls on Thursday but didn't see that much of them apart from at feeding time. They amuse themselves these days, playing with Cleo, drawing, loading apps on Bert's phone and watching Netflix on my laptop. Bert set the new TV up which kept him occupied. I worried about Ziggy, who, as the afternoon wore on seemed to improve a little, chest not thumping as much, coughing less. He fell asleep on my sofa but the minute Hannah's car came up the lane he sat bolt upright. 

Today we had a friend come around to help us clear an overgrown part of the yard. He is a big mate of Ziggy who was pleased to see him. There was lots of tail wagging and after they'd said hello to each other we left Ziggy to rest. But no, Ziggy wanted to hang out and that's what he did. The injections and the meds he has started seemed to have alleviated the worst of his symptoms. 

And the wild place got cleared (more tidying) with the promise of further clearing to come and Les and Mrs Les called round to collect a forgotten saxophone. How does anyone forget a saxophone? And Teeny Bird and her two lovely children and Uncle Ben and two welders and Howard (bearing home-grown strawberries, cucumbers and tomatoes) all called to visit and then Locky phoned to ask how Ziggy was, so a very full day indeed. 

And after everyone had gone and we had dinner we watched the Chris Packham programme on our giant TV then Naked Attraction. I'm not sure which was more harrowing.  

TW3

Only oldsters and media studies grads will 'get' the title of this post. Checking out the link on Wikipedia myself, I'm surprised I even remember it seeing as I was barely a teenager when it aired.

My own TW3 has been rather uneventful. We started watching that David Tennant thing Around The World in 80 Days. Enjoyable enough, and very much Sunday night TV.

Obviously, Bert has been glued to all televisual things historical and WW2 related. It has been Holocaust Remembrance Week. I lit a candle last night knowing that no one would see it. 

Enjoyed very much seeing on our family WhatsApp the first pictures of my extremely new great-nephew Seánaí. Kerry Sister and I are the only ones in the family who have just one great-nephew. All the other sibs have two. We are a family that is light on boys so are excited when we get one. Our parents Seamus and Martha have (so far) 25 descendants of which eighteen have been girls. 

Other news. Three positive Covid cases in our inner circle. One family, two friends. All mild cases so far. Bert and I are still testing negative.

By far the most exciting event of the past seven days was the Scruffy Hen capturing and eating a young rat. All the other hens were extremely envious and tried to steal it but Scruffy won the day. 

 Much excitement again tonight as I took myself off on a solitary date for one to see Belfast at the local cinema - the first time I've been to the 'pictures' in ages. I'd forgotten how annoying one's fellow cinema-goers can be. Crunching crisps, slurping drinks, kicking seats and then the one reprobate whose phone started ringing during a particularly poignant scene. Despite these annoyances, I enjoyed the film. Maybe a wee bit heavy on the Van Morrison tunes (there are other Irish musicians y'know) and Judi Dench was wonderful. She reminded me of several McAnespie matriarchs, especially Clare and Josephine. And now I'm home, sipping a glass of wine and catching up on my neglected blog.

Oh! One other thing - I was eleven years retired this past week and still love waking up in the morning not having to go to work.

The Queen

Bert and I have been watching (and enjoying) The Crown on Netflix. Olivia Colman is terrific in the role of the middle-aged monarch. It’s a fiction loosely based on fact yet it does have its surreal moments, the Duke of Edinburgh attempting to fly a plane to the moon, the Duke of Edinburgh baring his soul to a group of C of E priests, one of whom a dead ringer for Freddie Garrity of Dreamers fame. But one thing has struck me, inspired me – the Queen’s wardrobe. Not her evening gowns or her colour co-ordinated out in public costumes – what I want is her day clothes, the outfits she wears whilst hanging around the palaces, the plain dresses, the well-cut wool skirts, the silky high-necked blouses, the cardigans, the pearls, the court shoes, and the always present handbag. If I had those clothes I’d feel so smart, so ever-ready, and so royal.

Still thinking about it this morning when I realised it wasn’t the Queen’s style I wanted to channel – it was my Aunt Sadie. Sadie, unlike those other scruffbags I mentioned in the Old Shoes post, was always smart and tidy and her hair always 'done'. The addition of an apron or nylon overall helped to keep her clothes clean as she cooked, cleaned and looked after her family for, unlike the Royals, she managed her own house.

Today I am wearing some really scruffy jeans, a Fatface stripey top, a burnt orange M&S jumper worn back to front and an old pair of Superdry boots. I have not combed my hair. 

The Superdry boots, despite their name, do not cut it in the soggy wood and are quite unsuitable for splashing in muddy puddles, something I still enjoy despite having graduated from primary school many decades ago. I used to wear dark purple Hunters but have now settled on sensible Dunlops from the local farm supplies shop. The Hunters are still around, purloined by Hannah, whose slim pins are more suited to them than my sturdy calves.

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.

Grubbing and Planting

We spent some time yesterday digging out astilbe and Johnson's Blue geraniums because they had got far too big for their space. The astilbe will be going to Richard of the enormous garden and the geranium to anyone who wants it. We left a bit of that because it's a big favourite with pollinators.

And speaking of pollination, our friend Rachael was on the TV again. Not rare orchids this time but because her organisation Polli:Nation (part of Learning Through Landscapes) scooped a National Lottery Award for Environmental projects. Well done to everyone. I've learned a lot from Rachael, especially about encouraging pollinators by letting parts of (actually a lot of) our outdoor space run wild.

After the grubbing out, I planted oriental poppies. I know, I know! Not a huge draw for pollinators but I love them so. I'm not even sure they'll do, as the part of the garden they went into is rather heavy going.

Bert went to the doctor this morning for a discussion about how to manage his bone condition. He has been diagnosed with osteoporosis which is unusual for a male not yet sixty. He's a bit blue about it all. I felt a tad guilty about wanting him to rotovate especially as his rib is still bothering him so we decided to leave that until he's feeling better and planted the Stag's Horn Sumach anyway. He said we can work around it.

That little tree will branch out and become much fuller next year. And the year after that it will be even better. I'm looking forward to watching it grow.

Every Picture: Camino By Sea

We watched this really interesting programme on TV tonight about these four guys from Kerry who rowed a traditional Irish rowing boat, a naomhóg, from Dublin to Santiago de Compostela in Spain. They were following the ancient route taken by Irish pilgrims on the way of St James, also known as the Camino. I've been following this tale myself for several years as one of the pilgrims is my brother-in-law, Brendan. He's the smiley one with hair. 

All these fellows live by the sea and are keen boatmen. 

I've heard a lot about the trip but it was sobering to see them in their tiny craft in those big waters. Thankfully, they were accompanied on the first leg of the journey by a support craft, a yacht, and it was just as well as the sea became very rough on the crossing to Brittany and they needed its help.

All the men said that they learned a lot about themselves on the journey. I may have learned something myself. When life doesn't go to plan just keep moving forward and things will probably work out just fine.

Second part tomorrow.

From the Irish Times

And a snippet from the film

Insider Knowledge

I have just finished watching the first two series of House of Cards. Essentially, as far as politics go, it was complete toodle but, as a drama, it was  tremendously enjoyable. The acting, particularly the two leads Spacey and Wright, was tremendously good. Kevin Spacey has created a marvellous, Machiavellian villain.

So that's me a-waitin' on my next fix of House of Cards and Game of Thrones. And speaking of Game of Thrones, Season 5 has been shooting recently here in Northern Ireland. I'm not enough of a geek to know if location shooting is still going on but I am enough of a geek to have enjoyed a recent conversation with one of the extras. He wasn't able to tell me about what was going to happen, said that if he did he'd be contractually obliged to kill me but he did tell me about some of the previous season's shoots. For instance, y'know that highly erotic scene back in Season 1 where Daenerys Targaryen first got it properly together with Khal Drogo? They were actually supposed to be glamping in a luxury yurt befitting a warlord. Where the romantic pair actually were was in a cowshed somewhere in Buckna.

I was unable to pick my informant out in his scenes in the actual show. He said he was the one with the big black bushy beard. Not helpful. Not helpful at all.

Once upon a time in Buckna

Watching The Detectives

I've been enjoying Hinterland recently but then I do generally like a crime drama. But there is one thing I have noticed that happens in all crime drama series and it is this. The detective/detectives come round to a person's house or place of work to interview them. That person will almost always carry on with whatever it is they are doing. So they are skinning a rabbit. Even when the detective is asking them all sorts of questions they continue skinning that rabbit, or baking that cake, or fixing that engine, or chopping those onions, or sorting that photo album. And the detective has to follow the person around while they are doing the stuff. If it was me getting questioned by a police officer I'd be pinned to the spot answering all their questions and trying very hard not to appear guilty.

I've been interviewed by detectives a couple of times in my life and I always gave them my full attention. I did not knit, or work on patchwork, or do Suduku or prepare a meal. I put my life on hold for a little while as I helped the police with their enquiries. Am I typical?

Catch Yourself On

I was happy there for a long time, the longest time ever since those long ago summer holidays of my primary school days. I put it down to the contentment that comes with increasing maturity and some needful adjustments to my thinking.

Then my mood started to flag. I was tired all the time. My legs hurt a lot. Reckon I've got a lurgy. I googled all my symptoms and it turns out I've got Blogger's Block. I blame American TV.

Because when one has Breaking Bad, Boardwalk Empire and Homeland to watch it does rather eat into one's leisure time.

Then there is micro-managing the household chores and caring too much about how the towels are folded. That is a very foolish way to spend those precious moments.

What I need to do is micro-manage my daily schedule. Any advice would be greatly appreciated and I may need to make a spreadsheet. Now I must go because there is another episode of Homeland to watch where Carrie must deal with the aftermath of having being shafted by Saul once more. She had already been shafted on her stairs but at least he ( a Brodie lookalike lite) had the common decency not to stay the night.

A Night In Front Of The Telly

Tonight I sat myself down in front of the television and prepared myself to be entertained and, to a certain extent, shocked. And I was. First I watched the 'Big Fat Gypsy Wedding' thing and I was horrified at that poor child galumphing to her First Communion in a pink meringue of a dress that, we were told, weighed twice as much as she did. I'd like to have seen Father Davey or Cassie O'Neill's faces if any child had appeared at the altar rails wearing that contraption. I actually don't mind the dresses that these girls favour - it is, after all, their style, their thing but the huge gowns do not enhance the wearer's grace or elegance. That 16 year old girl who got married looked like she was tramping through a muddy ploughed field instead of gliding up the aisle. Oh well. I should talk. I do a fair bit of galumphing myself and that without being hampered by a dress that weighs more than I do.

Then I watched 'Shameless' but not for long. Far, far, too rude and gory. Hard to take when you're sober. Early night for me I think.

And four more days of work to go. And an orange to eat.

That Was The Wettest August In Over Fifty Years

What are Weather Men and Women for? I realised this evening that I despise them all. Obviously it all started with the loathsome Michael Fish. That hairstyle, the vile moustache, those horrible ties - what wasn't to dislike? I hate their uncalled for bounciness and I resent them having opinions about weather. It is just weather for fuck's sake! It happens. We would like to have some idea what to expect but - Weather Person - your opinions and your sympathy are entirely unwelcome. Fuck off!

I'm Worried About Bert

He's changing. He's not as ruggedly masculine as he used to be. I hope it's not an ageing thing for he's not even 50 yet!

First there was the slug in his cabbage. I remember a time when that wouldn't have fazed him one bit. Slug on your greens! He'd have laughed at me or the girls for making a fuss about a little thing like that.

Then today he was giving off about me running the hot water away. Isn't it a woman's thing to be moaning at men for wasting the good hot water?

But worst of all - I came into the den last night and Friends was on. 'You're not watching that are you?' I remarked as I grabbed the remote control and switched to Top Gear. He was a bit miffed. 'Well it's better than that oul crap,' says he indicating Clarkson and Denise van Outen. We had to go back to Friends. Turns out it's his current favourite programme and Joey and Phoebe are his favourite characters. Dear God! It's only a matter of time before he's out at Daniel O'Donnell concerts.

But one thing gives me hope. He's still pissing on the toilet seat.

Twinset Twins

So the twins didn't win Big Brother. Bert was rooting for them. Ever since he saw them in the twinsets and pearls he has been in love with both of them. Not in a lustful way, you understand, just heartfelt admiration.

Those wee lassies look far better in those cardigans and skirts than they do in their normal clothes. They look that womanly.

Should I start dressing in twinset and pearls?

Aye.

So it was a bit of a gunk when Swisser landed up just as Nellybert was settling down to watch the Big Brother final.

Oh do you watch this? I haven't seen one second of it.

Bert says,

I don't watch it. Nelly does.

Look at those pair! Two wee slappers. I couldn't bear to watch them for two minutes. They'd give me a headache!

Bert (defensively)

Those are two of the nicest wee lassies that have ever been on Big Brother. There's not a bad bone in their bodies.

Really?

Well. I don't actually watch it but I know everybody that's in it and what's going on.

Who's that sleaze with his arms round those two slags?

Nelly says,

That's Brian. He's a favourite to win it.

Ugh! He's so sleazy pawing round those two.

He's only nineteen!

Nineteen! Who told you that? He's 40 if he's a day!

He's only nineteen! Actually he's 20. He had his birthday while he was in the house.

Good God! Look at them all getting off with each other! This is so contrived. They can't possibly be in genuine relationships. They're just doing it for the extra publicity.

Well maybe so but they're young, cooped up together, they're bound to fancy each other.

Huh! I cannot imagine fancying anyone at work!

Speak for yourself.

What do you mean?

Well you work along with a lot of dried up old academics. I work at a building site.