One From 20 Years Ago: Clint Has Left The Room

 

The first person I knew with Internet access at home was Bert’s oldest friend Clint. All we knew of the Internet in those days was that there was a vast amount of information and access to free porn. Oh yes … and chat rooms. So for a while, Clint was the Internet expert. When he first used a search engine he typed the word ‘potato’ and was so excited by the results that he surfed the web for four hours steady. By the end of the week, there wasn’t anyone else in Kells who knew more about spuds than Clint. So this night Bert went over to visit him and to view this new-fangled surfing the web. Clint showed him how to log on to the Internet and look at the huge amount of information on potatoes that was there for the asking. Bert marvelled at all this. Then he asked –

“D’jever luck at the porn Clint?”

“I wudnae waste ma time." 

“What about the chat rooms?”

“D’ye wantae see the chat rooms?”

“Aye. I wudn’t mine seein’ them.”

So with that Clint started tapping away at the keyboard. He found a chat room and logged on. Within a moment Debby was requesting Clint join her in a private room. He, shocked, hit the back button, logged off, switched off the computer and pulled out the plugs at the socket. “That’s enough o’ that nonsense. D’ja want tay?”

Good And Not Good

Garlic is all planted and chilli jam finished. That's good.

Found a delightful half china tea set in a Ballymena charity shop for £5. Good. It compliments the delightful half tea set of china I bought for £5 in an Antrim charity shop on Tuesday. Very good. When I was unpacking it I dropped a teacup which smashed to smithereens. Not so good.

Served me right for upsetting my granddaughter who threw a spanner in the works of my carefully laid plans for Saturday. Not so good. That's already getting worked out. Good. And to console herself after our spat granddaughter hi-jacked Granda (Cousin) Bert to take her to the shop and came back with sweets that she had no need of. For her, good.

I said to Bert,

You shouldn't have,

He said to me,

She made me.

Not good.

Then there is the Facebook Messaging thing I am having with my Canadian step-nephew. It's good and not so good. He thinks one thing. I think another. I suspect he likes Trump (I don't) but we have yet to discuss that and frankly, it's pointless as neither of us has American citizenship. Generally, that's not good (the spat, not American citizenship) except for maybe it's good for me to stand up for what I believe in.

A little bit of me longs to say to him. Please don't teach your grandmother to suck eggs.

I'm looking forward to discussing all this with my first husband next Thursday. Hi Mick! We're having fish for dinner. How do you like your potatoes?

(You have to ask English people that. They don't understand spuds like we Irish do.)

Two red-haired Celts explain potatoes to an Englishman.

July Bank Holidays. Looking Back

2005 Ian's Tip for Perfect Spuds

If you aren't sure your potatoes are thoroughly cooked just remove one from the pan and throw it at the window. If the window breaks return it to the pan and carry on cooking. Repeat as necessary.

2006 Chep Calling

GoodmorningthisisCHEPpalletscallingdoyouhaveanybluepalletsforcollection?

Yes. There are about six lying out at the back of the shed.

Canwegetaccesswitha40foottrailertocollectthepallets?

Aye. Probably. But yerman might have a bit of bother getting them pulled out of the nettle patch that has grown up around them in the past 18 months.

Pardon?

I mean they've been there like forever and you people phone up at least twice a week and then you never send anybody to collect them.

Pardon?

You'll have a lot less to be bothering yourselves about after the other night won't you? Did you see the size of some of those bonfires? Your blue pallets are worth about £7.65 each. Isn't that right? Dear kindling.

Click. Silence.

Bert! The bugger's hung up!

2007 The Head Chef

Nellybert always insists that only the sanest, most sober person be in charge of the barbecue.

New Year's Eve So Far

I took Matty Tesco shopping thinking it would be rather quiet. Surely there'd just be a few folks out topping up on fresh bread and milk and maybe an alcoholic or two topping up on their New Year booze. Surely no-one could possibly need more food after their Christmas binge?

But no. The aisles were crowded and the trolleys were overflowing. The press of oul weemin around the bargain shelves nearly had the wee Tesco woman, only trying to refill the shelves, suffocated. You could see that she wanted to strangle those oul dolls with their own big fluffy Christmas scarves. I made sympathetic noises as she struggled from under their grabbing zombie arms. "Honestly," says she, "People are just so greedy!"

Myself, I managed to sneak a wee organic chicken from under their noses. Well a body does have to eat and I hate telling Zoe lies when she comes to dinner.

Meanwhile Matty was stocking up on the all-important pensioner staples, the People's Friend, white bread, Marie biscuits and a scratch card. But I had to rush her home then as I had an important afternoon engagement...

...for which I needed new gloves. I bumped into Dave at the garage. He was buying chainsaw food and I enquired if he was coming from us or had yet to call on us. He was coming to us for a chainsaw seminar with Bert. Or at least that had been his original intention. He informed me that he too was invited to our afternoon soiree. "Oh goody," says I. "You'll be staying for a spot of tea? We're having Turkey & Bacon Pie and some of Bert's Turkey Broth."

My new gloves were a great success. The Hunter wellies were a good job too although thermal socks might have improved my comfort levels. Between the four of us, Bert, Clint, Dave and myself, we soon had the last of the potato harvest dug, gathered and stored.

So now I'm having a wee dram of Laphroaig. It is New Year's Eve.

A Farmer's Wife

Potato Blight

Sadly our spuds have got blight. The quickest way to save them is to remove the tops and hope for the best. These past two days have seen me spend many hours doing just that. I think Bert was a bit impressed at my keenness for the task.

There was a time I’d have hated this job. I couldn’t have borne the slimy feel of the blighted tops.

Was that when you were a wuss?

Yes. But now that I’m married I can do it.

When you’re married you have to touch slimy things.

I had a lovely surprise on Sunday. I got a message on Facebook from Mr Bolan. I’d a suspicion he was in the country when I saw a rant about spides and weather and grating accents. Thinks I to myself that snobby skitter must have pulled into town. But I know that the dear boy doesn’t really mean it when he claims he hates Norn Iron. He’s just cross with us because he thinks we don’t love him. And we do. Loads. Except for spides. They don’t love him. But that's only because they haven't the wit to appreciate him.

So we arranged to go for a walk and it was very pleasant indeed. Mr Bolan is truly blessed. He has delightful children, a handsome dog and a lovely and patient wife.

Then I’d yesterday off work and spent the early part of the day cleaning out cupboards. At around four pm I got very bored with this and headed off for a hike. I took Bonnie, Paddy, a flask of coffee and a banana and walked around the limestone quarry at Cranny Falls in Carnlough. The falls were lovely and the car graveyard was strangely moving.

Cranny Falls

Dead Car at Cranny Falls

When I got home Bert staggered in, grey in the face and clutching his back. He looked just like Albert Steptoe. Poor fellow was exhausted from pulling those slimy potato tops. That’s when I took over. Some folk might like the tall classy girls but us short common weemin - we make great farmer’s wives.

Bert exhausted from pulling tops