Ten Things I Did Today

 

1. Got up ridiculously early thanks to Big Fat Fred who has worked out that if he races up and down the attic stairs, scratches all the bedroom doors and mee-yows piteously, that I will then rise raging and shouty from my bed to feed him/let him out and that he, caring not a damn about my noise and fury, gets everything he wants.

2. Returned to bed with coffee and finished  Muriel Spark: The Complete Short Stories which was mostly wonderful. I'd read lots of them before but it was a long time ago and I'd forgotten. Also, some things read in one's teens and twenties aren't properly appreciated. This is great because then they can be re-read and relished in one's later years. If this offends younger readers, too bad, you'll realise I'm right some time in the future. 

3. Checked the moth trap. Realised that I love beetles as much as moths and butterflies.

I believe this one is Nicrophorus Investigator. It eats dead things which makes it very useful.

4. Went to town with the aim of perusing the charity shops for something new to wear. The only pretty things I found would have pleased Miss Emily more than her Granny. Returned with four plates and two books.

5. Sorted seeds and sowed wallflowers and Sweet William - far too late but why not? They are seeding themselves at this time of the year anyway.

6. Received the illegal garlic cloves I ordered from eBay. They look alright. 

7. Ripped asunder my horribly rootbound monstera deliciosa, took cuttings and may well end up with eight new monsters. At least I can now sit on the upstairs bog without being smothered in big holey leaves.

8. Helped Bert make a pizza. All he did was top it and put it in the oven. OK, he picked and cooked beans and served too.

9. Watched the first episode of Vigil and liked it. Suranne Jones is incredibly real and beautiful. No wonder all the girls think she's so fine.

10. Remembered I hadn't closed in the hens. Did that thing, gazed at the stars and peed outside. Goodnight.

A Fallen Sunflower and an Owl Dress

 You would think that this Thursday (with just the two girls) would be less hectic than last Thursday (with seven girls) but not so. Where two girls demand rather a lot of a Granny's attention, not to mention her spare cash, seven girls make their own fun and cost hardly anything.

It all began with a double booking. I arranged that the three daughters of a good friend should come over last week to hang out with Martha and Evie. What I didn't know was that there was an arrangement already in planning for the granddaughters to have two school friends over for a Wednesday night camp out.

Dave's Camp

They all got together around lunchtime and from then on we barely saw them as they raced around fields, fashioned rope swings, rode bikes, played with dogs, bounced on trampolines and built another camp under the beech trees from old furniture destined for the council yard. Okay, there were a couple of dramas. One went off to have sad times in the shepherd's hut because - y'know - stuff. And another one ripped her leg on some barbed wire and never flinched when it was cleaned with TCP. That one won an award at Irish dancing the following day despite her wound. All-in-all a good day and the adults were barely bothered at all.

Today was different but still enjoyable. They paid me more attention which was nice as I was almost completely ignored when their five friends were around. Evie was back at school for a half-day today so Martha and I went trawling the town for pre-loved vintage. In Martha's book two seasons ago New Look passes for vintage. She got some clumpy lace-up boots and a cream dress with a print of long-eared owls and a peter pan collar. Sounds weird but it is adorable. Ten pounds for both items. 

In other news, Martha begins at Ballymena Academy tomorrow. That came around quicker than I expected. 

Martha was always keen on mixing up her look. Emily has that dress now. Another fashionista in the making.

Evie's sunflower must have been 3.5 metres tall. It fell over yesterday, through the tomatoes and into the sweetcorn. The tomatoes were OK but we lost three sweetcorn plants. We're not too sad.

The Disappearance of Helen

 Bert and I were at loggerheads yesterday because I suggested it would be a good day to spray some of the nettles in the orchard. I hadn't mentioned this to him for ages yet he went off on one. Apparently, I should open my eyes for he’d already done it. I was raging at him. The usual passive-aggressive non-communication. He is pass-agg, I’m just agg. Called him a dick and gave off an unfriendly air.

After a few hours in gardening mode, I dressed properly and went to town where I bought cleaning stuff, including an ostrich feather duster. There was still time left before collecting the schoolies which I spent in charity shops. In Habitat for Humanity, I found two small Goebel vases, featuring Rosina Wachtmeister cats. They had a wintry theme but who cares, cat ornaments are for life, not just for Christmas. One of them had a note stuck to the bottom which read,

Bought on holiday Austria Zell am See, 17-24/6/06.

See! June! That person knew that Goebel cats by Rosina Wachtmeister aren’t just for Christmas.

At the Harryville shop, I bought two gardening books, 50 pence each and a box of magnetic scrabble tiles for sticking on the fridge. I thought that Martha and Evie might have fun with them. One pound.

I was still too early for the pickup so read my Hilary Mantel but it was so deliciously warm in the van I almost slept. Pretty much the first thing the girls said to me on arrival was, Can we get ice cream? I was happy to agree, I wanted some too, so off to Costcutters.

The girls did enjoy playing with the magnetic scrabble tiles and decided to put their names on the fridge door. Evie suggested that Martha put ‘Arthur’ as this is what her cousin James calls her. Martha protested and I don’t know for sure what she said to Evie but she received a kick for it and was most upset. Somehow it all blew over and they thought it would be funny to put different names so rather than Martha and Evie we had ‘Arthur’ and ‘Steve’ and Bert got ‘Fart’.

Meanwhile Ziggy had decided that the feather duster was his mortal enemy. I waggled it at him and he lunged and plucked one of its feathers and took his prize upstairs to worry. It was found under my bed in a very sorry state.

I told Evie that buying cleaning equipment makes me feel virtuous as if I’ve already cleaned the house. Then it occurred to me that because most of the stuff I bought comes with a recommendation from Mrs Hinch, the cashier must have thought I was a dick. Even though, for all she knew, I might have been buying it for someone else who actually was a dick.

Later on, we had a call from Clint. Apparently, there were a lot of hens wandering the road in front of the primary school. Anything to do with us? I checked and all my hens were home. Except for Helen. I spent an hour looking for her but no joy. And to think that only a few hours earlier Evie and I had been in the run hand-feeding her RJ Kerr soda bread.

Perhaps she'd turn up in the morning. Perhaps she choked on the soda and died. Perhaps Foxy…?

But she did not turn up in the morning.

Jamie Ya Bollix

Started clearing out my scullery cupboards yesterday using the recommended decluttering method, which is 5 boxes designated as follows,

1. Bin
2. Recycle
3. Donate
4. Mend
5. Restore to Proper Place

By far the fullest box was Restore to Proper Place and the emptiest, containing one piece of cardboard, was Recycle. This tells me that I am very good at recycling and very bad at restoring items to the proper place.

I'd hoped to have a really full donation box as the cupboards I was decluttering are the ones where I keep my fancy vintage china. It wasn't easy to part with it. I managed to donate a couple of vases, two bowls and an outsized mug belonging to Hannah. The rest I kept, including three butter dishes with lids in various styles from hand-painted to Pyrex. I toyed with donating the Old Foley but after checking eBay prices realised that it could fetch a sum between £2.50 to £33 so thought better of it.

Today is the day I pick up the girls from school so I packed my box of bits and pieces for delivery to the nearest charity shop. Whilst there I bought four cookery books (50p each) and Evie chose a mug for herself (20p). The cookery books were in very good condition, three Jamies and a Nigella. Evie and I browsed them in the schoolyard whilst we awaited Martha's release. I was especially taken by Jamie's 15 Minute Meals. What a challenge! I can make poached egg and toast in 15 minutes but Jamie can do marvels. Apparently, the secret is having the right equipment and a very well-stocked pantry. He's a helpful soul is Jamie and he provided a list of all the essential store cupboard ingredients a person should have to hand. Just one hundred and twenty-six items. This included 13 types of dried pasta, 11 kinds of nuts and 13 ready-made sauces. Nine kinds of tinned food must be available and as no one is going to have just one tin of anything I'd say that would bring the necessary items to over 150. Either I get rid of all that crockery or a new pantry is needed.

But - Jamie says that there is no point in serving up all this delicious, nutritious food if it's dished up on random, everyday plates and bowls. He advises using painted boards or vintage crockery from flea markets. Doesn't have to be expensive y'see. Now the painted board thing. Not happening in this house. I'd serve the chow on them just the one time and later on that evening Bert would have them in the wood-burning stove. Looks like the vintage crockery is staying and, as I've probably already got around half of Jamie's recommended pantry list, all I need is to shop for the 75 items I haven't got and a two-tier bamboo steamer for all the dim sum I'll be making. 

Just A Quick One

Today Martha and I went to Ballymoney on the train. Not a lot of people know this but Ballymoney has the best sweet shop and the best thrift store in County Antrim. Martha spent a great deal of time in both establishments.

While we were thrifting and candy shopping Evie and Aunt Hannah were communing with nature at Waterfoot and Bert was watching Painted Lady butterflies in Springhill. I had already spotted a Small Copper this morning.

The butterfly population is really increasing around here. A few years back all we seemed to see were the Cabbage White types and the Speckled Woods and now we have great numbers of Peacocks and plenty of Red Admirals and Small Tortoiseshells, I'm already thinking of starting a managed weed garden. More ragwort is needed for a start. The next door farmer's crop is too many field lengths away. I wonder what the Common Blue needs? Where can I get bird's foot trefoil seeds. How do I make a heath?

Martha's Duck Pond

Martha, Evie and I went to the charity shop in Wakehurst Road to see if we could find anything to beautify their garden. I explained that whatever we bought if we bought anything, it would have to be lovely and it would have to be tasteful and that was why I refused to buy the purple unicorn with the tatty acrylic mane.

It's not tasteful Martha.

But Granny! I'm not going to taste it!

We ended up buying some polished stones for twenty pence and when we got home we made a pond. Bert dug a hole and I found a clear plastic box and Martha edged it with old Bann bricks. She insisted we put stones in the pond so that whatever chose to live in it could easily find its way out. When we'd filled it with water she ran upstairs to the bathroom and collected all the rubber ducks because,

Evie and I are big girls now. We don't need rubber ducks in the bath anymore.

I'm not so sure about that.

But I think the rubber ducks are very tasteful indeed.

Dead Woman's Shoes

So this has happened to me twice now.

A couple of weeks ago whilst perusing Portglenone's charity shops I found a pair of unworn Hotter lace-up leather shoes costing a mere £3. And have been wearing them ever since. According to the lady in the shop, they were part of a house clearance which usually means belonging to a dead person. I'm not superstitious about such things - I was delighted with my bargain. Last night I gave them a jolly good polishing so as to be smart for today's trip to Belfast. All went well - the shoes were very comfortable and lasted the entire day during which I walked at least 13000 steps. But when I got home I noticed that the soles on both shoes had partially crumbled away.


The first time I experienced the crumbling sole phenomenon was a few years ago. Once again it was Hotter, a walking boot that Hannah used to wear and that had been lying in the wardrobe unworn for several years. I was planning a day out to Belfast and, the night before gave them a jolly good polishing etc. etc. On that occasion, I didn't even make it off the train before the soles began to disintegrate. I actually had to buy another pair of shoes that day.


So I hit the research button on the internet. Apparently, crumbling soles are actually a thing.

Molded polyurethane foam soles can be amazingly comfortable but, unlike leather soles, they have a limited shelf life. According to footwear industry consultant Phillip Nutt, the shelf life of a direct-injected polyurethane sole should be in the range of four to five years. He says the material tends to "crumble into a sticky mess" when stored for "periods longer than four years or so."

Disuse apparently increases the risk that polyurethane soles will degrade--and that probably increases the indignation of consumers whose barely worn shoes disintegrate. If you wear your shoes every day and walk miles in them, you expect the soles to show wear. You don't expect shoes to be destroyed by months or years of sitting unworn in their box in your closet. (Patricia McLaughlin)

So, I've learned something today and am only mildly disappointed in my three quid shoes. After all, the number of times I've worn them since purchase they've only worked out at a cost per wear of less than 50 pence and this time I even managed to get home from Belfast before they fell to pieces.

Buying Stuff

On Thursday the girls and I went to our favourite charity shop, the one near the playing fields where the business plan is to pile it high and sell it cheap. Before we got there I had a talk with Martha about 'being discerning' and about not wanting the first thing she lies eyes on as she comes through the door. My talk fell on deaf ears as the first thing she laid eyes on was a box of china dolls all for a quid each.

We tried to be discerning. I spent 60 pence on a Kate Grenville book and a polka dot Cath Kidston mug, Martha bought a china doll, some plastic shoes and a tiara. Evie also chose plastic shoes and a parrot toy that she had no need of. Together we spent less than £3. Later that evening at Swisser's I told her about my mug (they're about £6 to buy new) and she shrieks,

I hate Cath Kidston! It's so twee.

I said rather glumly,

I suppose you hated Laura Ashley too when you were young.

I did!

There was a time when I yearned for Laura Ashley. I could just see myself in a lavender sprigged dress, a straw boater and a sweet little cardigan. Of course I would be in a field of buttercups and daisies but sadly Laura Ashley just wasn't for me. It was for willowy girls with moderate bosoms, girls like Diana Spencer, not sturdy country girls like Nelly Moser.

Willowy Laura Ashley type

Me. What was I thinking of, heading into a brambly wood in a voile skirt?

Home Alone: Days 5 and 6

I swapped child minding days with the co-grandparents so I could attend my post cataract procedure check up today. So yesterday Hannah and I took Evie to lunch in Cafe Couture then off for a browse at a Harryville charity shop. I gave Evie a two pound coin to spend and she slotted it into a toy drum machine and that was the end of that. Despite our turning the machine upside down many times and Hannah inserting her weird long fingers into the machine's inner working the coin stayed put. I advised the shop manager that the £3 price sticker on the gadget should now be upped to £5.

Off to the hospital today for a 4pm appointment. I was there for three hours and found myself sitting next to the same man that I sat next to on the day of the procedure. We swapped notes. Seems we are both doing great. Thankfully the surgeon agreed. I discovered the reason why things were taking so long for he was teaching a student and was taking enough time to ensure that she was benefiting from the experience. A lovely man. So I was there for a long time and so what? Once again I got to see what is wonderful about the National Health Service. And I've been flagged as 'urgent' for the left eye cataract.


Not a word from the holiday maker but thanks to Jazzer and the immediacy of Facebook I've seen three photographs. Her camera isn't very good but it seems that he is covered in mosquito bites and looks really sad as if he is totally missing Jess and Judy. The poor man.

Martha and Nelly's Day Out

Miss Martha and Granny are going today

To Belfast on the train

Miss Martha is fervently hoping

That Granny won't be a pain

Martha and I had our eagerly anticipated day out in Belfast on Saturday. That was three days ago and I'm only just beginning to recover. You see, I thought because Martha was a big sensible four-year-old that we could make a longer day of it. What I didn't take into consideration was how exhausted I would get. People of Martha's age have an inexhaustible supply of energy. People my age - not as much.

The Charity Shops

Martha's main aim was to replenish the dressing up box. She wanted a cocktail dress or a wedding dress and insisted that I measure these articles against her. It was difficult to persuade her that a dress meant for a tall and buxom bride was not going to do for her. And even size 6 party dresses were going to swamp a little girl. If the sparkly, sequinned dresses had only been a few pounds I might have let her have one but they were in the £6-10 range and far too expensive for dressing up. I explained that it would not be fair for Martha to take these for dressing up when there were big girls who needed them for parties. She understood.

The Ulster Museum

We went to see the Curious Beasts exhibition which is on loan from the British Museum. Martha found it a little disconcerting. Or was that me? I'm not sure.

Notions of Forever

This suited us better. Notions of Forever is a special exhibition, part of the Belfast Children's Festival. Its theme was how people's imaginations change as they move from childhood to old age. Martha and I didn't really understand it fully at the time but I think we both found it intriguing and I definitely found it moving and heartfelt.

Martha with the artist, Liz Cullinane

Botanic Gardens

A run round the big flower bed outside the Palm House.
A sniff at the beautiful flowers inside the Palm House.
A discussion about dead fish in the Tropical Ravine.
A terrifying incident when young adults dressed up as Foxes and Other Curious Beasts had a mock sword fight at the bandstand.

The Play Park

Lots of racing around and swinging and climbing and round-abouting whilst Granny had a wee rest on a bench.

The Train Home

Because we were both very good we rewarded ourselves with magazines for the train journey home. I had the Guardian and Martha had a My Little Pony magazine chosen for the quality of the gift sellotaped to its front. It was a plastic toy pink and purple mobile phone with a carrying case and a sheet of stickers. I got to read a bit of the paper while Martha chatted on her new phone. She was talking to 'a man'. The gist of the conversation was that the man's wife was in hospital having a baby and that he wanted to take photographs as it was 'coming out' and then he wanted to make a calendar featuring the photographs. He was negotiating with Martha about stickers to decorate the calendar and wanted 'baby' stickers but she told him she only had 'unicorn' stickers and he apparently agreed to this. Or so she told me. Needless to say I found all this much more entertaining than the Guardian.

On the train home wearing new tiara found in a charity shop

In Which I Am Rather Peeved

Above - an item from the country's most expensive lending library courtesy of the British Heart Foundation. Charge £2.50 for a crappy book then ask you to bring it back! This irritates me. But then I am rather easily irritated.

Rare Books, Even Rarer Prices

Matty and I went to Randalstown's very fine charity shop today. I have to say it is one of my 'finest kind' charity shops, it being independent and unthemed. You just wouldn't know what you might find there. The last time we went I bought Matty a piece of SylVac pottery. It was far from being a bargain but Matty liked it, so what the hell. It's all for a good cause, the education of under privileged children somewhere in Africa, I'm told.

Since my last visit they have expanded the book section and I made straight for the shelves containing old hardback books. You never know what gems you'll turn up among old or out of print books. But did I get a shock. Someone seems to think that just because a book is over thirty years old it must be very valuable. The first book I opened was by Philippa Carr, who was a popular historical novelist from way back when. I have read her for I once had a great liking for historical romance. I was very young at the time so you will have to forgive me. The price that they were asking for that book was an unbelievable seventeen quid! For a Philippa Carr, published 1n 1980, a BCA edition, no dust jacket - an author who sold in her many incarnations (Jean Plaidy, Victoria Holt et al) 100 million books during her lifetime. I picked up another - Arthur Grimble's A Pattern of Islands. It was another book club edition although rather nice, you'll know the one I mean, published in the fifties. Twenty-four pounds! That book is very far from being rare. There was a book on Winston Churchill, published maybe 20 years ago, rather scruffy dust jacket, ex-library edition for which they were asking twelve pounds. You know I could nearly see them getting that if some mad Churchill fan came in and didn't have any access to eBay.

I can't wait to go back to see how the books are selling.

So what did I buy? The Big Book of Animal Fables, Margaret Green, illustrated by Janusz Grabianski for one fine pound. Bargain. I intend to read it to my grandchild in a couple of years or so.

State Of Play

We went to a sixtieth birthday party on Friday evening. It was a fundraiser held at the local Rugby club. As we parked up I said to Bert, "Y'know this is the first time I've ever been here sober?" I have to add that it was the first time I'd been there in teens of years and that I remained sober for the entire night. Designated driver y'see.

The same could not be said for the Wee Manny who was a very naughty boy indeed. I said to him, "I hope you're not going to behave as badly as this at my wedding?" Although I have no doubt that he will be just as full of rascality as he was on Friday. The thing was it was way past his bedtime so no wonder he was fractious. He likes to be tucked up by 7:30 usually.

I woke up at 7 the next morning feeling bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. But it was raining. Three hours later it was still raining. Twelve hours later it was still raining. Our spring, normally a little trickle, had formed a lake, there were two new rivers running through a field down our road, some of the neighbours were standing ankle deep in water, the water had brought down a tree on the Granagh Road, there were horses standing at the edge of lakes that used to be meadows. In Ballymena the Wakehurst playing fields were under water and the folk at the bottom of the Toome Road were flooded again. I heard that Ahoghill and Portglenone were closed off due to flooding.

Despite the rain I had to go into Ballymena yesterday. There are certain last minute things a bride-to-be must buy. I was in the Hospice shop buying second hand champagne flutes (£3.95 for 11) and the volunteer ladies were bemoaning the poor takings. "Sure," said one to the other, "Only a mad person would come out on a day like that," then they went sort of quiet. No doubt they were looking at the mad person who was browsing the book shelves while she was waiting for her glassware to be wrapped up.

Vintage Chic

My Facebook so-called friends might have decided that I haven't a stylish bone in my body but I know they're wrong, wrong, wrong. Youse ones just don't get it for I have a style all of my own. Only today I picked up two gorgeous dresses in the Cancer Research Shop. They're both navy so I'll have to head out to Junction One and score me some navy shoes. Both dresses are smart enough for any formal occasion. One was a plain vintage dress from M&S and that cost me three quid. The other was a never worn Rodier dress that was marked at £179 and I got for a fiver. I tried the Rodier dress on for Pearlie and she liked it although I'm not sure that is a good thing. Bert's reaction was even better. His eyes had that sparky look he gets when he likes me in something and he said,

You've got a waist! Either that or you've got a hell of a big arse!

I think I might get married in the Rodier dress.

Muswell Hill

My sister the bride observed the tradition of not meeting with her husband on union day until the very moment they met before the registrar. So the groom stayed at a hotel in Muswell Hill the night before the wedding. He wasn’t too lonely as there were ten of the wedding party staying there too. I can report that the condemned man ate a hearty breakfast.

Where We Stayed

Muswell Hill is a good place to stay. It’s very good for cab-riding pensioners who have no intention of getting on a tube. Which was just as well as the nearest tube station is a smart ten minutes walk away from where we stayed. On the other hand the hotel was a five-minute stroll from a fine shopping area full of excellent shops and restaurants. To Matty’s delight there were even three charity shops. To Aunt’s delight there were lots of much more expensive shops. Uncle was stoic about it all as he can’t be bothered with any kind of shops at all.

As you’d expect it’s rather steep up around Muswell Hill and Highgate. It means that you can look down on the Thames valley and the City. I got my first glimpse of the Gherkin from Muswell Hill Broadway.

City View

The hotel wasn’t far from Highgate Wood. On the hottest June day in about a hundred years I took a relatively cool walk through the woods. But even the squirrels in there were lolling around fanning themselves.

Highgate Wood

Of course the area is steeped in history. Muswell Hill was once part of the Forest of Middlesex and the present day wood is a remnant of that ancient forest. Its views over the Thames and Lee valleys have made it a very pleasant place to live over the centuries, providing a rural, wooded retreat for those who could afford it. It escaped urbanisation until the very end of the nineteenth century.

But the Muswell Hill area has had some recent unpleasant history too. Just around the corner from the hotel is Cranley Gardens, where Dennis Nilsen’s career as a serial killer came to an end.

The hotel is circled red. The wood begins on in the SW corner of the map. Cranley Gardens is just across the road. I didn't go there.

Clint Cracks The Whip

We must have been the only people in Norn Iron who were unaware of today's strike. Consequently Hannah trotted off for her bus as usual. It wasn’t long before she was phoning me,

“I don’t know what’s going on. The bus hasn’t come and there are no kids waiting at the bus-stop.”

I gathered her up and drove her to Nixt! I’d been up early anyway putting the final touches to the den before Matthew arrived at nine. I reckoned I could get back home to finish it off but ‘twas not to be. Just as I headed out of Ballymena I found myself right behind Matthew who was driving really slowly. Apparently his old van is decrepit and cannot go any faster than 40mph. There were so many cars heading into town that I couldn't get past him so had to follow him all the way to our yard. As we got nearer the house he started to think he was being followed by one of the many ladies who, he claims, stalk him.

By now it was half eight and Bert still wasn’t up. I ate the head of him and as usual he ignored me. I demanded,

“Have you no shame?”

He opened one bleary eye and snuggled further under the duvet.

Meanwhile Matthew and I got on with the floor preparations and eventually Bert got up at around quarter past nine. Then Clint arrived with a power washer and in yard-cleaning mode. He instructed Bert to don waterproof clothing, wellies and to get his arse into gear. Bert did. How does Clint do it? I wish I knew.

With all the men working away it was time for me to collect Matty and go pruck-hunting.

We went to Marie Curie, Help The Aged and Mid-Ulster Animal Shelter Shop in Antrim. We picked up her meds in Boots.

We left documents with her accountant in Ballymena and visited the Salvation Army shop. She was tired then so I took her home.

I returned to Ballymena to bank and visited the Red Cross, Barnardo’s, Oxfam, The Dog’s Trust shop and The Heart Foundation.

I bought in various shops and for approximately 20 quid

• A skirt
• A patchwork quilt
• A duvet cover
• A needlepoint bag
• 6 books
• 4 old framed prints
• 1 watercolour
• A china cat (blue & white)

Then it was back home to find Matthew putting the completing touches to the floor and Clint and Bert finishing off the yard with the power washer. I had a bit of a chat with Matthew about his troubled love life. He’s just a guy who can’t say no except when it comes to commitment. He generally has more than one lady on the go and things can get very complicated. I gave him some sound advice and then moved the conversation on to shelving.

At quarter to six I phoned Hannah to find out if she wanted picked up. She declined saying she was getting the train. Five minutes later the phone goes and Hannah’s in frustrated tears of rage,

“Mum! You’re never going to believe this! The trains are on strike!”

The Tables Turned

I spend a fair bit of my time sailing Matty around the country and recently I've been coming to the conclusion that hanging out with the very old is a lot like hanging out with the very young.

Here's some of the stuff I used to have to do for Zoe, Katy and Hannah when they were little ones.

• Hold on to them in town for fear they might run into the traffic.
• Monitor their unsuitable conversations with complete strangers.
• Encourage them to eat nourishing food.
• Leave them at home if I was going to do some serious shopping.

Now take that last point. Last Wednesday I visited a plumbing supplies shop in Kilrea and Matty came too. Now when the shopowner realised that I needed a lot of stuff for the new house he went into selling overdrive. After about two minutes I got awfully bored as he was speaking Plumberese and I don't understand Plumberese except for the odd word like pipe or tap. Now normally I'm awfully good at cutting these conversations short, usually by being very blunt. On this occasion I put it to him that I didn't understand a word he was talking about and that I was just here to look at the pretty baths and basins and that Bert would be along shortly to talk technical talk with him. But because I was also keeping an eye out for Matty I couldn't concentrate properly on getting away. Meanwhile Matty was becoming very restless indeed. Just like a toddler who hates this boring shop and wants to go somewhere more interesting instead. She was at her usual tricks. Wandering around aimlessly whilst sighing heavily, looking as if she might collapse if somebody didn't come and take her to a charity shop this minute and I swear I think I saw her, out of the corner of my eye, kicking one of the baths.