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.

Every Picture: Pre-Schoolers

This picture is from four years ago before the girls started primary school. Those were excellent days when there was no collecting from the school bus and no homework. Now Nellybert only has a few hours on a Thursday afternoon to put them to work enjoy their company. Thankfully it's mid-term break next week. Those drains could do with another good clean.

Managing His Man Cave

One of my daily chores was tidying and wiping the coffee table in Bert's man cave. And every day, as I carried out this one-minute job, I'd find myself feeling a bit resentful. Thinking...

Bert never lifts as much as a spoon!

I'm always lifting and laying after  him!

I bet if I stopped cleaning up after him he'd soon notice!

Then I thought,

I will just stop cleaning this table for a week and I'll document it every day and we'll just see how bad it gets.

So I did stop cleaning it and, much to my surprise, Bert did bring dishes to the kitchen and he even emptied ashtrays. The table stayed much the same throughout the week. Apart from Wednesday morning, the day after he had his mates around for a music session. That was the fourth picture along. He never even noticed that I wasn't clearing and wiping his table every day. I wiped it this morning and it was a little grubbier than usual but that meant it was more satisfying to wipe down.

So, there you go. A daily chore has become a weekly one and I don't have to be resentful any more. It's only a table in a man cave.

Crazy Jack and the Chickpeas

So, after I cleaned my grubby spice rack the next spot to tackle was the store cupboard. While there were no unpleasant surprises in the larder there were some elderly dried goods such as an unopened 2kg bag of chickpeas older than Martha. The cupboard was crammed with chickpeas both dried and tinned and obviously we never eat them except for that time Bert took a great notion of making hummus. The 2kg bag will be used as animal feed and I'll have to hoke out that hummus recipe for Bert.

The oldest item in the cupboard was the organic brown rice. If that packet of unopened brown rice were a child it would be at secondary school by now. What kind of idiot lets packets of food sit on her shelves for endless years? What type of deluded fool keeps buying chickpeas and then has them languish in her cupboard for over a decade? If it were another person with a store of ancient food in their pantries I'd call that person a food hoarder.

If anyone has any delicious recipes where chickpeas are one of the main ingredient please let me know.

Protests and Birthdays

Yesterday I went out protesting with Hails from Coffee Helps. It's been a while since I attended such an event. The last time we were all chanting Maggie, Maggie, Maggie, Out, Out, Out!  On that occasion I got my picture on the front page of the Irish News so, needless to say, on Saturday, I dressed with care and made sure I combed my hair. It was a good day. I caught up with Hayley, met some new people and ate Korean food at Cafe Arirang. The protest went well too. About a thousand people turned up which isn't bad for Belfast on a freezing cold January day.

When I got home I found that Bert hadn't as much as lifted a spoon but he had made some great progress playing Stardust on his clarinet. I was too tired to bother with anything so watched a Meryl Streep film and went to bed reasonably early with the Guardian. But before I retired I researched 30 minute clean up on Google. For Kerry Sister is up in the North and she'd be visiting the next day and was keen to see my new private sitting room. And due to the massive clearing out I've been doing there were boxes and boxes of hoardy stuff sitting there and it was all a bit of a mess.

Happy Birthday Brendan. Photograph by Patricia Uí Mhuircheartaigh

This morning I bounced out of bed at a quarter to eight, let all the domestic animals out for a pee in the snow, made coffee, buttered malt loaf and went back to bed for another read of the Guardian. Forty minutes later I bounced back out of bed and started on my 30 minute clean up. I thought it might take a wee bit longer than thirty minutes. First off was put on the laundry, then I had to take a laundry basket and gather up all the clutter. I filled three laundry baskets and this did not include the boxes of Pearlie's old aprons, Bert's old toys and all the birthday cards he received since he was one year old and The Sash His Father Wore. And Johnny's white gloves and all the ribbons that were tied to the ceremonial sword. Bert says I can give the ribbons to Martha and Evie to tie up their bonny brown hair. So darling grandchilder you may look forward to receiving a bunch of ribbons colours red, white, blue, purple and orange.

I did manage to do everything on the 30 minute clean up list and was just wiping the last drip off the floor with my Whizz mop when the Kerry car pulled into the yard and it had only taken me 94 minutes.

All to the good though for the Kerry Sister and myself were able to relax in my clutter free and private sitting room while Bert and the Kerry Man tramped up Slemish in the snow. It was the Kerry Man's birthday and tramping up icy mountains is just the sort of birthday outing he enjoys. Before they left I gave him a lovely present - two bags of County Antrim's finest turf. He was delighted. Who wouldn't be?