A Week In Pictures

 

Above, are my latest purchases from our local Oxfam shop. To be added to the To Read pile. The Richard Flanagan is for Bert. Its subject matter might be too harrowing for me.

The two youngest members of our animal family. They have a peculiar relationship. One minute it's all lovey-dovey, the next... battle royal. Earlier today Chico was trailing Woody around the kitchen floor by the throat. Woody seemed to be taking masochistic delight in it. As I said, peculiar.

Thanks to a few pleasant blue sky days, I was enjoying the garden again. 

After a couple of years in the wilderness, things were taking shape. Even Bert was showing an interest. 

But today. Horrible. Wind, blustery rain, everything being blown about. What I'd give for even three pleasant days in a row.

Which doesn't put the snails off. I've just pulled five of them away from my newly planted nasturtiums. The two pictured are engaging in snail foreplay.  

I am literally experiencing empty nest syndrome. Since my last post the spotted flycatchers have flown away. They are still around, somewhere. I saw them a couple of times but oh how I miss hearing them cheeping and watching the parents fly to and fro answering their pleas for food.

They were not the only ones crying to be fed. A couple of nights ago, after I'd gone to bed, Bert strolled towards the lane. He heard the young owls calling and because he could hear them (he's pretty deaf) knew they were close. He must have disturbed them as they left their perch and flew over his head followed by a parent. I was so jealous when he told me this.

The next night I went to the same spot. I heard the young owls squeaking and then the answering call of the adult long-eared owl. That sounded like a gruff bark. Perhaps that call was meant as a warning. I didn't get to see the owls but was pleased to hear them.

Our snails weren't the only creatures caught in the sexual act.

Lilioceris lilii (Scarlet lily beetle) found fornicating on lilies. 

I've learned a lot about these little pests this past week. They're not native to these islands and have only been around since the 1990s. They have a high sex drive, and lay hundreds of eggs, they squeak when threatened and their grubs hide in squelchy blobs of their own black excrement. They also perform back flips when disturbed, land on their backs and hope not to be spotted as they present their black undersides.

The grubs which survive me will, when fully fed, hide in the soil and emerge next spring and so it begins for another year.

Nice sharp shadows on one of the sunnier days this past week. More of that, please.

Like A Bottle

Hannah was up early this morning and warned me that I was not, under any circumstances, to set one foot outdoors as the yard was like a bottle*.

But what about my paper? And I need milk.

Don't worry. I'll get your paper and milk. Anything else?

Nothing else.

The yard stayed iced over all day and like a good obedient person I remained indoors the entire day. It wasn't that much of a hardship. I could get used to having my paper and milk delivered.

Saturday is the one day I buy a newspaper - the Guardian. It's my weekly treat. I didn't get it last week as I was in Leitrim and Yer Man has it anyway.

The last time I bought the Guardian myself was two weeks ago in the local Spar. I picked it up and went to pay. There was a very nice-looking gentleman in the queue before me. Trim, neat white beard, clever-looking. He must have spotted my Guardian and started muttering to himself, 

Oh yes. Paper, paper, paper...

And left the queue.

And came back. With the Daily Mail. I was so disappointed in him.

As I drove home I told myself this story. The Mail wasn't even for him. It was probably for his ancient, racist mother.

*Like a bottle - covered in ice

Weather Report

 

It has been unseasonably mild these past few days. A warm south-westerly has been blowing and some summer-blooming annuals and biennials are even coming back into flower. According to BBC Weather, the unusually high temperatures are due to the action of the jet stream and the wind coming from the Tropics giving Northern Ireland its warmest November night on record.

Not that I'm complaining.

We had Ben and Sara for a sleepover last night. Ben was here for most of the day helping Bert split and chop firewood. This warm weather won't be here forever y'know. Sara had family commitments in Co. Derry so she came later bearing a pastry box from The Green Cat Bakery in Eglinton. Their salted caramel squares were blissful. Then I thought we might have a few little drinks and take in some great slide guitarists on YouTube but we ended up watching funny cat videos instead.

Which was good. Pippin enjoyed the cat videos too.

Tomorrow it is to piss down rain.

In A Funk

 Maybe because it's post-Christmas and the weather isn't right but I've been in a funk this past week. It was too mild over Christmas, the bloody wallflowers are in bloom and then we had snow.

 

And then it all melted away and it was mild again.

Yesterday I felt so grotty on waking that I took a rapid Covid test (my very first). It was negative which made me feel slightly better. If it's not Covid I'm worrying about it's something else. I have this weird pain at the side of my head. Of course, I imagine it to be the worst possible thing but it is probably because I keep clenching my jaw.

Tomorrow I am going to town to spend my book token and buy Bert some special ingredients for a black-eyed bean curry that he wants to try. I hope it lifts me out of this funk.

I will not buy wine. I will not buy wine. I will not...

Friday Saturday Sunday Monday

Friday

We had Lulu from Leitrim staying with us for a couple of nights while her humans attended a wedding in Belfast. Friday was her last day so I took a few photographs to mark her visit. Her humans arrived earlier than expected (looking rather tired, if I may say so) and as is always the case with dog visitors she hopped into their car with nary a backward glance at the woman whose bed she had shared for two nights running. Never let it be said that I don't give visiting dogs a warm (1) welcome.

Saturday

Bert finally got around to putting up the nesting boxes that Dee Mac made for us. 

This one is ours. 

And this is the one that Hannah picked. It has an elemental and slightly malevolent look to it and that is probably why she chose it. I'm hopeful that the birds will find and use them in the spring. 

I hate to say it, but Judy, Jess and Ziggy were glad to see the back end of Princess Lulu. Ziggy was also sleeping over and he was not at all pleased at having to share Aunt Granny's bed with an entitled Jack Russell terrier. Still, he had me all to himself on Saturday night.

Sunday

Ziggy and I collected Hannah from the airport on Sunday morn. They were very pleased to see each other.

I spent the rest of the day doing chores and even managed to drag myself outside for an hour. I chopped down most of the tomatoes (they are still fruiting!) and pricked out snapdragons I grew from the seed Les gave me. I also checked the fruit on the chilli bush (another gift from Les) and wondered if I should make more chilli jam.

It's a Carolina Reaper, supposed to be the world's hottest chilli. 

Monday

The weather forecast for the rest of the week promises temperatures of up to  19°c in some parts of the UK. Here in Northern Ireland, we can expect rain and lots of it. The rest of the news all seems to be about climate change, no doubt because of the coming Cop26 conference in Glasgow.

Meanwhile, in my kitchen,  my main concern is for this evening's family meal. We are having Tagliatelle Bolognese and I'm trying out a new recipe for coconut cake. It's a Nigella and is supposed to have Malibu in the icing but dearie me no. Malibu on a Monday? My Presbyterian (2) great-great-grandfather would turn in his grave up there at the Sallagh Braes. 

Nigella has this great idea of soaking the desiccated coconut in boiling water and it has made for a soft and delicious cake. Someday that's not a Monday I will soak the coconut in Malibu.

(1) Lulu really appreciated my electric blanket.

(2) There is a rumour that Jacob Steen might have been Jewish. I have 6% Eastern European ancestry in my DNA so perhaps he was.

Another Rainy Day

Another bloody rainy day. I like a bit of rain now and again, as all gardeners do, but this is all a bit too much. It's windy as well. I brought some house plants to my local charity shop today as I have decided to concentrate on large plants and offload many of my smaller specimens. The plants donated were all self-propagated, an aloe vera, a tiny dracaena, a pink pelargonium and a spindly begonia. The wind blew the blossoms off the pelargonium as I was walking to the shop.

Of course, I bought stuff when I got in there. A glass citrus juicer and a James Wong gardening book.  Cost me one pound coin only. I needed the juicer as my old one was damaged and I wanted the James Wong as I enjoy his columns in the Guardian and Observer. His take on growing ones own is interesting. Why grow fruit and veg which is easily accessible and cheap at the greengrocer's? 

James Wong will be going to bed with me tonight as will Maggie O'Farrell and Tana French. Might be a bit crowded as Holly de Cat will be there too.

Fred enjoying a spot of birdwatching.

A young and rather soggy siskin.

Blossom Oh Dearie

Well, here I am exhausted again, the result of two days and nights of socialising with the Banjo clan who mostly all talk at once and then a very early start for the airport this morning to deliver Miss Hannah to Norfolk for the celebration of her birthday with the Englander side of the family.

The weather has turned very cold with a nasty wind coming from the East. So brisk is the breeze that it blows the washing off the line and my glasses off my face. It has also blown the blossom from the apple and plum trees. There is always something to blight one's hopes of a bountiful harvest.

I've had a quiet day. Just one outing to the local shop where I stocked up on chocolate and biscuits. Needless to say, this was a short-lived pleasure and I am feeling both guilty and unhealthy.

Blackthorn blossom, hardier than plums and apples.

Heatwave!

Whenever County Antrim folk (and other North Irish people) are blessed with a prolonged spell of hot weather we may well experience the following:

The Common Herd

Disbelief. This can't be happening to us! Why it's hotter than Spain.

Elation. I'll bet all those folk flying off to Spain will wish they'd stayed at home.

Pessimism. It can't last. This will probably be all the summer we'll get.

Despair. It's far too hot! It's too warm to work. I'm not worth tuppence in this heat.

Cattle Farmers

Hope. Good to see a blink of sun and the cattle are out in the fields again. Maybe we'll get a bit of grass this year.

Making Hay. Every farmer in the country. Last year was so wet that hay was worth its weight in gold.

Pessimism. This year hay will probably fetch about three quid a bale.

Despair. We need rain! The grass has stopped growing.

Nellybert

Delight. Boys-a-dear. Isn't this great? I thought we were never going to see a decent summer again. Fantastic gardening weather.

Irritation. Every other bugger in the country is lying sunning themselves in their back garden and we're watering from morning to night.

Pessimism. The state of those roses. They're wilting in this weather. And the irises hardly lasted a week in the heat. And those bloody weeds! Nothing stops them!

Looking On The Bright Side. At least the slugs and snails are giving it a rest.

Dogs

Fetch ball! Sleep! Drink water! Go to the river! Fetch stick! Swim! Eat! Sleep!

Argument

I had an argument with Clint this afternoon and I didn't even know it was an argument until he stormed off in a state of high dudgeon. My conclusion was that this meant the argument had been won by me.

The conversation started, as it so often does, on farming.

Bert drew my attention to a compliment that Clint had received from another farmer on his success with calf-rearing. I too, was complimentary.

We then went on to discuss Bert's imminent retirement from the cattle trade. Clint posited that Bert's experience in livestock was 'a disaster'. I took exception to that as he had managed to keep all cattle alive that were meant to be kept alive so it was hardly disastrous. Clint countered with Bert's failure to get cows in calf. I suggested that this was a disappointment rather than a disaster. Anyway, there was a little more in this vein and then the talk turned to the weather.

Everyone was in agreement that the weather was a real disaster. Clint said that the last good day we had was the Twelfth of July and I said that there had been the odd good day here and there but he insisted that Orangeman's Day was the last decent day we'd had. I expect he hoped that this might enrage me as I am a Shinner but I let it go. Instead I mentioned that I'd read a report in the Guardian that studies indicated that the Gulf Stream is now at its weakest since around 400AD. "And how would they know that," says Clint. I said, "Science."

Bert interjected by saying it hardly mattered what the weather was going to be like as Trump and Putin are going to blow the world apart. I think I have mentioned before that Bert leans toward a very simplistic and pessimistic world view. That led to a discussion about Trump which is a subject Clint and I usually avoid, him being an admirer as well as a card-carrying Brexiteer.  I said that if Trump's blustery tweets did turn out to be more effective than old-fashioned diplomacy then I for one would not be unhappy. Clint took this as a capitulation, that I had changed my tune on Trump. I took an opportunity never before open to me to ask him why he had supported Trump even before he'd taken office. He trotted out the usual. Breath of fresh air. Successful businessman. I took him to task on that one. He countered with one of the richest men in America, funded his own campaign... I picked him up on this,  for Trump only self-funded to a point... and the next thing Clint's storming off - which is where we came in.

And I've been feeling edgy ever since.

September 11th

Bert finally got around to reading Saturday's Guardian.

It makes a very depressing read,

says he.

D'ye think so? It's just that at the moment there is a lot of stuff going on that is affecting America, Europe, here. Nobody really thinks about the floods in India and Bangla Desh or, the horrors in Syria, Yemen and Myanmar. We only care about what happens to ourselves and those most like us. And! Talking about depressing - did you read John Crace's bit about London being a few hundred miles closer to Pyongyang than Los Angeles? Best not to think about all that stuff.

Huh! It's hard not to be depressed when you look out at that!

And he looks through the sun room doors at the rain sheeting down just as it has been for the past week or more. I refrained from pointing out that at least we don't live on the Florida Keys.

I'm sure I've mentioned before that Bert is very sensitive to unpleasant weather which is why I find it strange that he is happy to slugabed on fine, sunny mornings. You'd really think he'd want to be up and about enjoying the balmy weather.

Later I ran out of self-raising flour and had to make a quick dash to the local Spar. Whilst waiting in the queue I perused the headlines of the local papers to see if I could find something to elevate the spirits. The Irish News led with a story that loyalists had planned a bonfire on every corner in response to the suggestion of injunctions preventing them building boneys on council land. That would have been fun for everyone. But hardly earth-shattering news. The Belfast Telegraph's big story was that the farmer who was killed by her cow last week was  'ready for Eternity'. Good news indeed if you like that sort of thing.

Back at Springhill the heavy downpours continued but, despite this, Bert's mood improved for it was Monday and Evie appeared soon after 2pm. She spent an hour jamming with Hannah then Bert and her went out to play. That always cheers an old granda up.

For supper we had sausage, mash and beans then coconut cake for afters and we pretended it was still my birthday. There must be no cake until next Monday when we will pretend it's Martha's birthday. She is eight the day after and wants either Elsa or Winnie the Pooh figurines for her cake. If these decorations cost me more than three pounds they will be on all her cakes from now until she's twenty-one. That's a promise!

Best part of Saturday's Guardian.

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/ng-interactive/2017/sep/09/stephen-collins-on-autumn-cartoon

Warm For The Time of Year

The other morning I went out to feed the hens and the weather was positively balmy. There was a warm wind blowing from the south. It's not unpleasant but it does get one wondering, where will it all end?

On this day last year it was a miserable, sleety cold day. I know this because I took a picture of our wintry garden. And a few years before that a poor wee mouse drowned and froze in the greenhouse. This year no sleet, no snow, no frozen mice. I expect I should be glad but, this year, I'd love snow for Christmas.

So, there you go, twelfth post in a row and all I can manage is a bit of a chat about the weather. This is what it comes down to. Yet in Real Life I have opinions, hard opinions about Arlene Foster and Donald Trump, climate change, the alt-right and Brexit among other topics. In Real Life I swear like a sailor and have a filthy sense of humour, not like the nicey-nice me that writes Nelly's Garden. In Real Life I have daily achievements that I brag about. Why only today I made an incredible stew, edged a 1000 piece jigsaw and went for a brisk walk. I also progressed several gallons of wine. The Blackcurrant & Beetroot and the Raspberry were particularly tasty. Nelly is much more modest than I. In Real Life I am obsessed with my daily poo but we won't even go there. In Real Life I sing funny made-up songs to my grandchildren, my husband, my dogs and my chickens. And my cats. They all love them (except the cats) but I'm too shy to share and I worry that my silly songs may not be as funny as I think they are. In Real Life I am fiercely proud of my three daughters but I rarely bring that to the garden. In Real Life I am an atheist but I won't speak of it here for I know many of my on-line friends have faith. In real life I am a hard-working, naturally lazy sod who has no money, loves being retired and has never been happier in her life.

Little wonder this blog is so boring.

On The Fourteenth Day of Flicker

There was a headline in one of the rags last week declared that, this week, Britain was going to be hotter than Marrakech. Didn't happen in Ireland. What we keep forgetting, when we see stuff like that, is that when the media says Britain, what it actually means is London and the surrounding area.

So despite the cold I sowed leeks, spring onions, courgettes and climbing beans. All are being started in an indoor propagator. No work in my flower garden as I neglected to put on my thermals this morning.

Now for the 14th most interesting image on Flickr. There is no 14th most viewed picture today as it was a repeat.

Vancouver Brother at Whistler. 276 views.

Taken in British Columbia in August 2013. We took a day out to the mountains while I was visiting Eamon. That was a wonderful holiday, I long to return, although next time with Bert. Eamon looks so much like our father in that picture.

Our parents on their wedding day, Seamus was 32,  Martha 25.

Three Fine Days

Recently I have slipped back to that bad habit of getting up late. It is certainly delightful to snuggle under the duvet in the morning but getting up after 9 feels so wrong. The days are getting shorter now and it is a waste of the light. So I've given myself a jolly good talking-to and will be making every effort to climb out of bed at least an hour earlier.

Another change I have to make is to get outdoors more. I have decided that if the day is dry I will find something to do outside rather than lurk in the house. In the past two days have been working in my vegetable plot and in my flower garden. I have been foraging for blackberries. I have been watching the buzzards and I have been drinking coffee and reading the Sunday papers in the poly tunnel which is far, far, far nicer than drinking coffee and reading papers on the kitchen sofa. I have been wheeling barrows of dung , sowing and harvesting vegetables and collecting seed.

It is going to rain tomorrow. It is going to teem and lash and blow for it is Monday. Now I don't know if anyone else from Cully has noticed this but it always rains on Mondays, usually in the afternoon. I think it might have been fine for a couple of Mondays in May but not since. Even after a pleasant spell, like the past three days, I can be sure it will rain on Monday.

The reason I can be certain about this is because my oldest daughter and her family always come out here on Monday afternoons to work on their vegetable plots. And it is always raining when they are here. Luckily, for them, a good part of their plot is in the poly tunnel, so they don't get too disheartened.

I'm just sorry I cannot go blackberrying tomorrow. It is very fine and pleasant to wander up the hedgerows listening to Sebastian Faulks' 'Birdsong' with Judy at my heels and a bunch of cattle ignoring me.

Bert said,

That wee black bull. He wasn't harrassing you?

The wee black bull? Would he?

Aye. He's getting very belligerent.

I don't think I'd have been in that field with Judy had I known that the wee black bull was getting airs about himself.

So there it is. Two days out in the open air. Working! And I feel a lot happier even though I've got a sore shoulder (right side), a sore elbow (left side) and sore knees (both). At least I didn't get attacked by the wee black bull. That would have been hard to take and it only two weeks since I got tossed and trodden on by that pig.

So Much For Summer

I try not to complain about the weather but this is getting ridiculous. I'm thinking of unpacking the thermals. Although we did just have a recent heatwave - it was on Friday last and I spent it in a wheeled tin box travelling to Kerry.

My paeonies, foxgloves and aquilegia are all battered down with the rain, the bees are eating all the honey themselves and I still have to water the vegetables in the poly tunnel. I found a dead bird by the lane today. I think it must have drowned.

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!

Rainy Weather

Three rabbits unfortunately drowned in this weekend's downpour

Bert and I had planned to go for a long walk today. We’d even pre-booked the party animal (Hannah) for an early return from her weekend on the tiles, thus ensuring that Pearlie Blue would have somebody to moan at. But rain stopped play. A wee bit of a shower wouldn’t deter me but Bert, him being made of candy floss, melts in the rain.

Instead I took a solitary walk along the river path hoping to see massive flooding. I wasn’t completely on my own as I’d a couple of dogs with me. I like walking on my own as it gives me an opportunity to do a bit of serious thinking.

So what did I think about? I thought about global warming and wondered if it was really happening and, if it is, does it really matter? I thought about God and does it exist? I thought about money and what would happen if we stopped caring about it. And I thought about why it seems to be fine and dandy for horses to shit wherever they like and yet it’s a big sin for a dog to take a dump out of doors. Nobody expects horse riders to dismount and shovel those great steamy turds into plastic bags do they? I call that not fair.

Shock! Horror!

In the news. It's bloody cold. Snow is falling. Winds are blowing. In February! Who'd a thought it?

God! We're soft as shite these days. It's only weather.

Scorchio?

Nottio. I generally try not to let the weather bother me too much because the only thing I can control is my attitude towards it but this dull cloudiness is starting to piss me off. And everyone, except Bert and me, seems to be heading off on holiday. The only thing we've got planned is a quick dash over to Staffordshire to collect Hannah.

Zoe is off to Dingle, the Banjos have gone to Waterford leaving their crazy dog with us, even Matty is planning to go to Scotland with Ganching to commune with midges. I won't even mention those who are heading outside the British Isles as I might explode with jealousy.

And here I am stuck in Harryville right in the middle of the Loyalist Party Season. No escape until Thursday next. There is a part of me thinking,

"I need excitement and I need it fast"

Then there is the sensible part that thinks "No! No! No Harryville type excitement please. Please let it all be as dull as ditchwater."