The Day After St Stephen's Day

Apart from posting a few pictures on Flickr, I did not spend much time on social media sites over the holiday period. Reason being, I went to Instagram on Christmas morning to see if there were pictures of my grandchildren opening their presents. There were not but what was there in abundance were pictures of other peoples cosy, firelit, candle-glowing evergreen and berried interiors which threw me into a mild depression as I didn't even try the fairy lights until Christmas Eve and they didn't work so no tree! I missed it very much. So instead I continued with the uploading of archived photographs to Flickr. it was Cullybackey's turn and this was the picture I chose to show the world on Christmas morning.

An interior of a disused factory just outside the village. It could hardly be less hygge although Hannah did point out that the patch of mould in the far corner could definitely pass for a Christmas tree. Next year I'm buying new fairy lights and there will definitely be a tree!

So Christmas Day passed in a blur of cooking, eating and drinking. We watched one thing on television and it was a parcel of shite despite having Christmas trees galore, right way up, suspended from the ceiling, sideways etc. It's perfectly OK going mad on the festive greenery when there is an army of liveried servants to do one's bidding. That's right - I'm ashamed to admit we watched Victoria where Royal children went out in the snow with no hats when everyone knows that one wet flake would kill a child stone dead from consumption or a chill in Victorian times. In my defence, I will say that I kept dropping off to sleep during the turgid dreariness.

St Stephen's Day was much more relaxing but that's for another time. Except that my daughter very wisely pointed out that I might have started Christmas Day a little better if  I'd actually got in my vehicle and drove to town to see my actual flesh and blood grandchildren enjoying their presents instead of faffing around on Instagram and Facebook. Good point Zoe.

Nelly Christmas

About five weeks ago I decided to cut down on the eating and drinking as I was getting way too fat. And, it was all going so very well. I'd have a few glasses of red wine on a Saturday night and avoided alcohol on the other six days of the week. I watched what I ate, reduced my portions, got back to a daily walk. I was feeling lots better and had reduced my tonnage by 9 lbs. Some of my trousers were actually getting a bit fally-off.

Then Christmas. I had good intentions about the scoffing but the drinking got in the way of that. Stepped on the scales this morning to find that I have gained 6 lbs. Ah well. I will just have to start all over again.

Here is a picture of chubby ol' Nelly hiding behind a dog. Photo courtesy of Miss Martha.

Cheers!

Back on the drink again!

28 days off the sauce except for last Thursday which was exceptional circumstances. I still don't know for sure if I'm an alcoholic but rest assured the situation is being closely monitored. At the first suggestion that I am edging towards having 'Bert' and an outlined denim pocket tattooed above my left breast I'm checking straight into rehab.

Ooops!

This evening, in a frenzy of dish cleaning, I picked up my mobile phone and immersed it in a sinkful of sudsy water. It was strange to see its bright little face blinking out at me through the Fairy Liquid soup - gave me such a start. So I did what any sensible person would do. Abandoned dish washing for I was obviously overdoing it. A child took my phone apart and set its component parts in a warm dry place (thanks Ben) while I cracked open a bottle of Italian red.

The phone may or may not survive. Who cares? Not me.

The Good Life

Out two days running! I can hardly believe it! I am exhausted. The party on Saturday night was good. I met some new people. I behaved myself.

Then we had lunch with two old friends yesterday. The craic was, as they say, mighty. We hatched up some wonderful plans, ate some great food and drank some delicious rhubarb wine. And drank some delicious rhubarb wine. And, yet again, had more delicious rhubarb wine. I did not behave myself.

I have to confess that I spilled a lot of it in my lap as the evening wore down and that later on I admired the stars from a vantage point. That place being the broad of my back in our yard.

Oh we did hatch plans over the wine. If only a quarter of them should come to fruition there will be some changes around here. And more rhubarb. Lots more rhubarb.

Take Me Drunk, I'm Home

About this time 23 hours ago I awakened from a brief nap on the sofa saying to Bert,

Is it not time we were away home? Who's driving, you or me? How did I get here and where am I anyway?

It was a great relief to me when I realised that my bed was only one short stairway away.

Wassup?

The self-hypnosis thing is going terribly well. I don't eat biscuits, I physically cannot overeat, Bert's clarinet playing does not faze me in the least and I can fearlessly call people and talk about their overdue accounts.

On the downside maybe it's not such a good thing that I have recently drenched a keyboard and a printer in Pinot Grigio. Didn't do them a lot of good I have to say. Shall I give up drinking? Not yet. I shall stop drinking out of champagne flutes. They are so unsteady.

The grandmotherly thing is good and getting better. I had a promising first experience of baby-sitting. Martha slept and I watched trash TV. All good. I hardly ever watch TV so it mesmerises me when I do.

I do watch stuff from Lovefilm. Bert and I finished watching Tess of the D'Urbervilles last night. It was the BBC version with Gemma Arterton and we enjoyed it immensely. Bert hadn't read Tess (nor any Hardy) and he reckoned it was going to have a happy ending. I didn't disabuse him of the notion. I think I spotted a sad little tear in his eye at the end. I asked him if he thought he could watch the Polanski version and he said he thought he could. I love listening to my books then getting the film or TV series. Listening to Oliver Twist at the moment but I'm not for watching that damn musical. Recently listened to Andrew Marr's History of Modern Britain. It was OK. How could anyone actually read it though? There were so many opposition party leaders that I'd completely forgotten about. I'm stuffed if the Geriatrician ever asks me who led the Labour party before Tony Blair. And for some crazy reason I cannot remember what Jim Callaghan looks like - I just cannot bring a mental picture of him to mind. Must remedy that.

Callaghan Schmallaghan

A Toast to Sobriety

Well. Seeing as it's the 20th of December and Christmas and all and I've been wrapping presents all evening and got the tree decorated....

So because of all that I have toasted sobriety a whole five days earlier than I intended. Two glasses of cabernet sauvignon and I'm totally toodled. Cheers.

The Effect of Office Mint Yoyos on the Older Shoulder

I'm confused. Some research, recently in the news, suggested that alcohol can actually be beneficial to one's health. It shows that men benefit more from alcohol than women, which is bloody unfair but does help to explain the continued survival of the Wee Manny and others like him.

Now in the three weeks since I've foresworn alcohol I've been feeling decidedly under the weather. At first I thought I was getting the flu but that turned out to be a cold (the first since I gave up smoking several years ago) and then I got the runs, which lasted the best part of a week and now I've got The Shoulder and a vague, fluey, tired thing going on. And I'm wondering to myself if it wasn't the gin that was keeping these plagues at bay.

I mentioned it to the postman this morning,

Y'know something Sven? Since I quit drinking I haven't had a well day.

Says he,

That'll be the toxins leaving your body.

This is what I'm wondering. Is my current poorly form the result of toxins leaving my body or, did the gin actually provide a health benefit? There is only one way to find out. I shall have to continue with this experiment in abstemiousness for a longer time.

One good thing is that I've lost three pounds since taking the pledge. But then, a couple of days ago, I fell, like a savage, to the office mint Yoyos. I thought they might ease The Shoulder. They did not.

Cheers!

Matty: You know, you left your Tescos receipt here the other week...

Me: Did I?

Matty: I had a wee look at it.

Me: Did you?

Matty: That gin's wild dear.

Me: D'ye think?

Matty: I nearly fainted when I saw the price of it!

Me: It was probably a litre bottle.

Matty: A whole litre!

Me: Aye. Mind you that would probably do me about ten days. (thinks - more like seven)

Matty: Just you yourself drinking it?

Me: Oh no! Me and Bert both. (thinks - he might be so lucky)

Matty: Oh well. That's not just as bad then.

Me: it's better than wine. Don't drink as much of it and it's not as fattening. (thinks - I need a drink)

Matty: That's not so bad then.

Me: (thinks she's thinking - Nelly's an alcoholic)

So on the way home I stopped at Tescos and bought some buttermilk and mozzarella and... cheers!

Lent Schment...

...or Wagon off the wagon.

I know. I know. I'm a heathen now. And a lush to boot.

My Lenten fast has come to an end. I'm halfway down my second glass of Cabernet Sauvignon and I feel rather odd. Sort of woozy and sleepy...

At Last! March Arrives.

Every now and then it behooves a lady to ask herself these questions,

• Am I drinking too much?
• Would I like to feel a bit sharper at the weekend?
• Is wine terribly fattening?

If the answers to these questions are, as follows - possibly, definitely and hell, yes! then it is time for the lady in question to jump on the wagon for a few weeks. And then if she goes to visit her old mother on a particular Wednesday and notices a great, greasy smudge on her old mum's forehead, then is the perfect time to announce, "Guess what Mums? I'm off drink for Lent."

And all was going well until Friday when my thoughts turned to chilled white wine. It was so hard driving past that off-licence for I had such a 'nyang' for a delicious chardonnay or pinot grigio. But drive past it I did and now it's official - I'm off drink for Lent. Sure it'll do me no harm.

Quiet

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It won’t be long now until the greeting ‘Happy New Year’ can be put away for another twelve months. Surely it will only be a matter of days before people stop asking, “How did you get Christmas over you?” The usual reply to this question is, “Oh quiet. It was very quiet.” I was asked this myself today, “So how was your Christmas? I suppose it was quiet?” “Not a-tall,” says I. “It wasn’t a bit quiet.” “What!” says he, “You’re the first person I’ve heard of that didn’t have a quiet Christmas.” “Well,” says I, “It would be hard to be quiet with two mad parties, countless visitors, relations, animals, Bert’s carpentry project, six carers in and out every day, an’ oul targe ensconced in the good room and me on the gin for a fortnight.”

There were times during Christmas when I dreamed of a long weekend in the Mournes. That would be just me, one dog, a stout pair of walking boots, a pile of books and four bottles of wine.

In Which I Did Not Go To The Old Lammas Fair In Ballycastle-O

The last time I went to the Lammas Fair I brought a pint of fiery poteen with me. It was more than twenty years ago and I was doing a stall with a sprig of the Northern Irish gentry called Jenny. If I remember correctly Jenny had got a job lot of bomb-damaged baby clothes and she was hoping to do well. But we were newbies and got put up an entry that was well off the main drag. The stallholder next to us, an awfully nice young woman, was selling raffia wall ornaments and neither of us were doing much business. I started to get bored and fell to the poteen. The awfully nice raffia lady cared to join me. Jenny made a stony-faced refusal as, not only was she a bit of a prig, she was driving.

The day passed and me and the Raffia Lady got drunker and drunker and poor Jenny had to run both stalls. Eventually it was time to go home and when the Raffia Lady's husband called to pick her up, saw the state of her and the amount of wall ornaments she hadn't sold he was pretty ripping. I wasn't so stocious that I couldn't see the filthy looks he was shooting in my direction. Mind you Jenny was making sure that I was aware that he found me pretty despicable for getting his nice wee wife in such an awful state.

Well - we were supposed to be staying in Jenny's caravan but she pissed off back to Ballymena taking the keys with her. It wasn't that she didn't want to take me home - it was just that I was hanging over a five-bar gate incapable of movement. As everyone knows bad poteen can blind you but it's less well-known that good poteen can paralyse you. Thankfully it's usually temporary.

I woke up several hours later just in time to enjoy a beautiful sunset and under the foolish impression that I needed more alcohol. I spent the remainder of the evening in the company of a fellow stallholder. He was a charming chap - Billy I think his name was. I knew him from Nutt's Corner market. He hadn't been on the markets long having been in the Crum for seven years. I can't remember whether it was for manslaughter or murder. He told me I had Perfect Skin. I think he was envious for his wasn't.

The next day I had a very sore head. The Raffia Lady wasn't speaking to eitherJenny or me and it took Jenny until lunchtime before she thawed out. I've never been back to the Lammas Fair since. I don't think I ever will.

So Many Good Things

Today started well.

I woke up at quarter past seven and immediately thought, bloody hell - got to get up in twenty minutes for work. My delight when I remembered it was Saturday was huge. Funnily enough I still got up in twenty minutes. But I didn't have to and that was wonderful.

Milk was scarce but cream was plentiful so the morning porridge was not too disastrous. It cooked just right and the saucepan washed like a dream.

It was teeming with rain but not too cold so we decided to go to the multicultural festival of music, story-telling, scoffing and Willie Drennan anyway. Skies looked brighter in the Antrim direction so we felt it was worth taking a chance.

Probably unfortunate that I lunched too well before I went, even though it was only a few oatcakes, cheese and an avocado, for the food at Clotworthy House was very tempting. But what is temptation if not to be surrendered to and very yummy the Indian and Caribbean food was too.

We were maybe a tiny bit unimpressed with the Scottish pipe band as this is one strand of multiculturalism that we're not terribly deprived of in County Antrim. However most of everything else was very enjoyable. Specially nice too was linking up with Jazzer, her sister and the two younger Banjos.

No multicultural event, or any event really, is complete without Willie Drennan and it was with great joy that we saw him reconciled with Gracie after their years long feud. Imbued with the spirit of peace and reconciliation Willie stooped to pat her silky head and she, bless her, didn't bite the hand of him. We still think that if he'd been on his bicycle she would not have been so affable. Time will tell.

Zoe and I enjoyed a lovely hike while Hannah explored the delights of Antrim town. While Zoe and myself, not to mention Gracie, were pleased with our walk, I'm sad to say that Hannah was unimpressed with Antrim's shopping experience.

Bonne Marche and Dunnes! Antrim's only for scabs that don't want to spend money on clothes!

Which is a strange comment to come out with as she herself shops mainly in Primark.

Bert's Aunt Lizzie is down for the weekend, and as she'd taken no time in reminding me that I'd promised to make her a bread and butter pudding the next time she was here, a visit to Sainsburys was called for -for cream and bread and cut-price Easter Eggs. The bargains! For a start a huge pot of cream was ten pence. And the eggs! The Easter Egg aisle was CHOC-a-bloc with ladies with glazed eyes filling their baskets and trollies with chocolate goodies that ten days ago would have cost them seven million pounds and today was knocked down to around 70-80 pence for a good-sized Lindt rabbit or Fair Trade egg. Yum! Hannah and I went suitably mad and suffice to say tonight I am not on a diet. Unless chocolate and gin is a diet. I also took the precaution of buying a luxury bread and butter pudding in case a chocolate and gin hangover prevents me from making one from scratch.

All in all a damn good day. I'm sitting here eating chocolate and drinking gin and I've walked for one hour and 42 minutes. I'm also basking in the non-electric glow of having taken part in earth hour and I have to say that sitting in front of the wood burning stove with every light in the house off, no music and no telly, just chatting with Bert and Hannah was very pleasant indeed.

I've had a good day.

More Diet Tips

1. Go easy on the Chardonnay


2. Fall 'til the gin

3. Drink even more gin

4. And don't forget the radishes

The Wee Goes Down

Last night's soiree was a bit hectic. Gatherings usually are when the Wee Manny is involved. He got lost at one point, just as I was thinking of heading to bed. Swisser was making a big fuss about it,

We have to find him! Something must have happened to him! He could have wandered on to the road!

No one, not even the Wee Manny's wife, paid Swisser a bit of mind. She can be a bit of a drama queen at times. But as it happens there was a drama which, fortunately, I missed having decided that bed definitely was the spot for me.

Swisser's insistance on a rescue party being sent to find the Wee eventually wore Ploppy down and he went out for a scout about. He was soon back in, saying calmly,

Might need a bit of asistance out here.

The Wee had fallen and gashed his head and was lying in the yard partially stunned. Help was needed to bring him in. I, of course, knew nothing about this. Swisser did first aid and it was decided that the injury didn't warrant an A&E visit. He wouldn't have been treated anyway - not with the drink on him.

Things could have been much worse though. If a car had driven on to the yard he'd probably have been run over and if the pigs had still been there and he'd fallen among them they'd likely have eaten him.

Drink can be a terrible curse.

Diet Tips

Today the Yahoo home page features an awesome article on how to drop 10 lbs over Christmas. I read it eagerly hoping to be inspired. But it was crap.

Article gives advice such as don't drink whole milk, cut down on bread, eat undressed salads, drink water or fruit juice instead of soda and eat more slowly.

How are you supposed to lose this awesome 10lbs if you're not taking whole milk, salad dressings, bread or sodas anyway?

Instead I'm going to follow Swisser's advice. After all she is an internationally rated food scientist (for real). Swisser says that conventional calorie reducing diets don't work. She says that you must confuse your body by occasionally having a bit of a splurge to keep the metabolism working speedily. With this excellent and truly inspiring advice in mind I have splurged tonight on a bottle of Pinot Grigio.

Yay! Defying government guide lines and conventional dietary advice in one action. The wine wasn't even red. I'm such a rebel. A drunken rebel.

A Choice of Beverage

Put the kettle on will you?

In a minute. I'll fill Pearlie's jar first then I'll make us a drink.

OK.

Ten minutes later...

So what d'ye want? Tay or coffee?

Tea.

Rooibos or Earl Grey?

Earl Grey.

Five minutes later...

Tea's brewing. D'ye want a slug of this while we're waiting?

Bert raises tonic wine to mouth and takes a hearty slug.

It's great. D'ye want some?

Honestly Bert. Buckfast! I'm a lady you know. I don't drink tonic wine from the bottle. Now where's that sherry glass?

Never Again!

Thank you for all my birthday greetings. I must draw a veil over last night's excesses - i.e. a week's recommended units of alcohol in one evening.

Had to phone in stupid this morning.

And felt under par the entire day.

CD was very understanding. When I asked for a day's annual leave and explained why I wanted it at such short notice he just laughed and said that was fine.