Camera Shy

Our recently-wed niece Naoise sent us all a link to the official photographs taken at the wedding and I immediately spent 40 minutes or so perusing them. The happy couple were beautiful and handsome. (Apply adjectives in the usual way.) Their parents were joyful and proud and the child attendants looked cute as buttons. And all the guests looked jolly happy to be there. (As they should.)

I'll admit to some slight trepidation as I scrolled through the later pictures. I have form in wedding photographs and never seem to look my best. That's probably why I was careful to avoid cameras. But not careful enough. She got me at the dinner table.

The Night Before The Wedding

The photograph above is a definite out-take. Yet something about it kept me from disposing of it years ago. There's an air of jollity about it and Daddy looks so dignified. It must have been a special occasion, a birthday or an anniversary. Mum's in there too but a rascally child seems to have got right in front of her. I wonder who took the picture. Maybe they were laughing so much they just couldn't keep the camera steady. 

We'll be having another family get-together tomorrow as that rascally child is getting married. I hope she and her new husband get themselves a better photographer than whoever it was who took that one.

Wee Catch Up

 Where did summer go? These past few days we have been lighting fires in the evening and I'm in bed right now wearing a fleece it's that nippy. 

Since I last blogged I have -

Watched The Sixth Commandment. Which is very good indeed and Anne Reid and Timothy Spall are brilliant.

Had a day out in Portrush with Jazzer. It was Pearlie's ninth anniversary so we went to The White House which was her favourite shop. Lord it was awful. Full of over-priced tat. No wonder Pearlie liked it.

Booked my flight for Norfolk and London for the last week in October. So looking forward to seeing Katy and her family and the London siblings.

Thought very hard about my Twitter addiction.

Bought another pair of shoes for Naoise's wedding. That's two outfits I have now. Someone else might need to get married.

It's a long way from Clare to here

 

On Thursday last we drove to Doolin in County Clare to attend a wedding party. The drive down was delightful apart from Bert's worry that our vehicle wasn't up for it. The engine sounded a bit funny, the speedo wasn't working and the wipers could have used new blades. Bert fretted a lot but the old girl got us there in the end.

I had been thinking before we went that Bert and I would probably end up sitting with the old folks and I wasn't sure what I thought about that. But it turned out that the person at the do who was the best craic was ninety years old and, unlike us, she was well up for the next afternoon's session in the pub.

For unfortunately both Bert and Leitrim Sister were incapacitated the next day by a stomach bug. Which meant that we did not get an opportunity to visit the flaggy shore lauded by Seamus Heaney. So, as other guests worked on their future hangovers, Bert and I rested in our room. He slept and I finished My Name is Lucy Barton and on closing the last page, reached for my phone to order Anything Is Possible.

Poor Bert and Leitrim Sister were still too unwell to go to dinner that evening and I found myself seated with my Glaswegian brother-in-law and his dear ma, she who is ninety. We had a good old time discussing family life and politics. B-in-L opined that the best start on dealing with climate change was to round up the government, get 'em up against a wall and... well you know the next bit. 

By the next morning Bert was feeling better but still very anxious about the van. So I took the time to say the Memorare before we left. Ominously, I forgot some of the words but made it through on the second try.

My prayer must have been heard because not only did the van get us home in six hours, but the wipers worked beautifully and the speedo started working again just after Lisdoonvarna. Miraculous. We gave Mary a nod as we passed Knock.

And on passing St Mary's in Bellaghy, I made a promise to Seamus that another time, we'll drive out west again, along the Flaggy Shore.

An Anniversary

Somehow, as a much younger person, I absorbed the notion that anniversaries were very important occasions and that personal anniversaries were particularly significant for women. Indeed, it seemed that one of the most unforgivable wrongs a man could visit on his female partner was to forget her birthday or, worse still, their wedding anniversary. But not Nellybert. Nellybert really does not give a fig.

There are two ways I work out those significant dates but only to the year. How long have we been together? That's easy enough. We became an item the summer before Miss Laura was born. Miss Laura is the daughter of the Mr and Mrs Wee who actually introduced us. That's not strictly accurate as it was Mr Wee who introduced me to Bert and the new Mrs Wee on the same evening. That was a couple of years before Bert and I started seeing each other. So, if I need to remember how long Bert and I have been a couple all I have to do is think of how old Miss Laura is. Although that used to be easier when Laura was younger. I always ask her when I see her.

Laura, how long have Bert and I been together? What age are you now?

We went to her thirtieth birthday party a year or two again so it's been at least that long.

Now the wedding date is easy enough to work out. It was a leap year which was the only way I could get Bert to tie the knot. So I tend to think of the anniversary in four-year gaps. The month was August and I can never remember the actual date without looking it up.

Still, I was a bit taken aback today to realise that I'd let our tenth wedding anniversary slip past unmarked and unremarked.  And missed out on all those presents made of tin!

It was coming across this photograph that reminded me. Taken ten years and eighty days ago. And here are some more.

The Daily Photograph 12

Above - some of the firewood that Evie, Martha and I collected from under the beech trees on Thursday. I was far too tired today to even take a single photograph never mind gather wood. That is what comes from attending two social gatherings in one day coincidentally both at the same hotel. The midday funeral reception were taken at the Dunsilly Hotel outside Antrim. The evening found us back at Dunsilly for a  wedding party. First go round we went in the front door, later on through the tradesman's entrance for we'd got a lift with the band. The backs of hotels are a lot different from front entrances I can assure you.

Sheena's funeral was very traditional, and very Tannaghmore which is just how she'd have wanted it to be. The choir sang all the old hymns, even a beautiful rendition of Tantum Ergo, a hymn I have always loved and which brought back memories of all the Benediction services we attended as children.

In the graveyard the subject of this blog was raised (it often is at funerals) by one of the cousins, who made sure to tell an old school friend all about its delights. This made me feel a bit worried as I was back in a comfortable way of thinking that there are just the three readers, Ganching, Grannymar and Brighid. And this oul blog is just a bit of nonsense I keep up out of a sense of duty.

The school friend asked,

How long have you been doing it?

And I replied,

Ten years, maybe eleven. 

Then I added, rather sadly,

And I never got offered a book deal.

And I thought to myself,

Nor even got short listed for the Irish Blog Awards. Hell damn the Irish Blog Awards. But at least I got to be part of the UK Web Archive. Then I noticed that even they stopped archiving The Garden four years ago. That must have been when I got boring. Sigh.

But back to the Dunsilly. The wedding party was excellent, lots of sparkling alcohol and nibbles. There were people of all ages from three months old to older than me. The craic was mighty. There were awkward moments. One when I'd just got myself a finger of wedding cake and then struck up a conversation with a very tall young man. I did not like to stuff cake into my mouth as I gazed up at him so held it casually in my hand. Then it started to melt. What else could I do but accidentally drop it on the floor and kick it under a chair. Actually there were probably a lot more sensible things I could have done but when the sparkling alcohol is in, the wit's out.

Tornadoes

When someone you love is nearing the end of their life everything else narrows. The wider world dims and becomes unimportant.

This time last year our mother, our beloved Matty, had slipped into coma and we were, as we say in Ireland, awaiting on. What do I remember? I remember that on the roads from my house to her house the verges were smothered in dandelion blooms. I remember how good our friends, neighbours and relations were. I remember the devotion and care of her priest, her doctor, the Marie Curie nurses and her carers. I remember walks in bluebell woods with one sister or another as we sought respite from her dying.

I knew nothing of the devastating tornadoes in the United States nor of the floods in Colombia. I was barely aware of the Arab Spring. The impending wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton was an irrelevance. Some months afterwards as I leafed through a magazine featuring their wedding I found myself wondering why I hadn't seen anything of it on television. After all, it must have been saturation coverage. Then I remembered. I was at my mother's funeral on that day.

Katy & Mark

Happy to be in love, originally uploaded by KatyKatkins.

Was my Katy not beautiful on her wedding day?

His Ones

Off To A Wedding

Off to Katy's wedding tomorrow. I was speaking to her today and she tells me she is nervous. I'm pretty sure she'll go through with it though.

I'm nervous too. I'm not a frequent flyer these days and haven't been on a plane since they started this utter nonsense about toiletries and liquids in transparent bags. I'm convinced they'll not let me on the plane for some spurious reason. I wish we were driving. Boats are much more user-friendly.

Matty is in hospital and it feels really strange to be going off on a jolly at this time. But I know that as soon as I set foot on English soil that I'm going to take a deep and relieving breath and I'm going to concentrate on having a happy time.

There will be plenty of time for sadness when we get home.

Thanks to Dee Mac for looking after the dogs, Young Lovehart the cats and Clint the hens. Damn stingarees can look after themselves.

Looking Forward

Matty took some time out this morning to write Katy a letter. This letter will, God willing, be read out at Katy and Mark's wedding next Thursday. For Matty cannot come although her plane ticket has been booked for months and her accommodation long arranged and paid for. The only thing not done was her rig-out chosen. She said she had plenty of nice clothes and would wear something she'd worn before. This was not like Matty for she loves clothes and she loves to look well.

This day next week the wedding will be over. We'll all be back home again. What bright occasion, or happy distraction shall we look forward to then? I do not know. But I do know that someday we will look forward and that is what Matty will want us to do.

The Year of the Wedding

I finally booked our plane tickets for Katy and Mark's wedding in June. Now all I've got to do is find my Mother of the Bride outfit.


But not this one. It's far too shiny and rather too Grandmother of the Bride for my liking. And the hat is perfectly hideous.

And Katy says I'm not allowed to wear a hat. But how can I be mother of the bride without a hat? Maybe a fascinator would be the thing? Maybe not. I'm fascinating enough without wearing one of those silly articles on my head. Anyway I've a head like a turnip. Best not to draw attention to it.

This is far too pale and not a bit interesting. The head dress is vile beyond belief.


Now this is a hat I could live with. Totally my dream outfit. And it won't show the dirt. Wedding here I come.

I May Have Omitted To Mention

Barnaby Rudge and Grip the Raven

I finished listening to Barnaby Rudge and I have to say I enjoyed it very much. I particularly liked that illustration as it fitted very well with the image of Barnaby that I had in my mind.

I have changed my car. I now drive a Peugeot 307 estate and Matty is very pleased with it. Bonnie does not like it as much as my VW Polo as she has been confined to the boot so far. It's a very big boot but it's still a comedown for her.

My granddaughter is one calendar month today. She is even more beautiful than she was. I really do hope she doesn't peak too soon!

We are looking forward to having Katy and her fiance come to stay. We expect there shall be a great deal of talk about weddings. We shall try to bear it.

The pigs went away a week ago today. They will be coming home in the form of sausages and other yummy things in the very near future. There has been no word of the Kune Kunes but - trotters crossed!

We brought a little light into our lives with the help of Pascal the Rascal. (This is cryptic and will only be understood by a very few, mostly called Joe)

Hannah has discovered a new fascination for the natural world. She still can't tell a plant from a tree but she's very keen on parasitic wasps.

There are some other things going on which are not a matter for levity. As always, in the midst of Life....

And that is all.... for now.

For Better For Worse

Worse: Constantly waking up the night before because I’d thought of something I was terrified of forgetting.

Worse: Having a werewolf’s hairdo.

Worse: When the Banjos were late and Katy said, “I don’t want to worry you but Banjo Man only got his test last week and the roads are really wet.”

Better: When the Banjos answered the phone and it was just that Banjo Man hadn’t seen the gigantic sign warning that the Tullygarley Bridge was closed.

Better: Bert looking like Daniel Craig.

Worse: The third taxi being a tiny bit late.

Better: Teasing the driver of the third taxi by telling him that Mrs The Wee Manny and I were heading in to tie the knot in a civil partnership.

Better: My two beautiful daughters and Bert waiting at Ardeevin.

Worse: Where’s Zoe?

Better: My three beautiful daughters and Bert all together….

Worse: The look on the Registrar’s face when Jazzer and the youngest Miss Banjo got a serious fit of the giggles during the legal bit.

Better: Actually feeling all solemn and happy during the legal bit.

Better: The beautiful tea, cake and yummy buns reception that Zoe and Dave hosted.

Worse: Bert, after changing into Levi jeans, looking like Jeremy Clarkson

Worse: Swisser having problems with the plumbing at Z & D’s.

Better: Dave’s advice to Swisser. The look on her face.

Worse: Francis Joseph Banjo’s incontinence. Bonnie’s sulks.

Better: Maya and Gracie’s contribution to the ambience.

Better: Great crack in the minibus on the way to the Londonderry Arms.

Better: The beautiful meal at the Londonderry Arms.

Better: The fire, the service, the speeches, the company, everything.

Worse: Thinking of the people who weren’t there.

Better: The Wee Manny being a perfect gentleman. Clint smiling more than I’ve ever seen.

Worse: The long journey home in that dreary old minibus.

Better: The fun we had when we got home. Billy’s shredded suit (don’t ask), more champagne.

Worse: Hearing Bert say to Banjo Man, “Hey Banjo Man! We can do wife-swapping now!”

Better: Having a husband with a sense of humour. He’ll need it!

So....

...here I sit. It's only an hour or so until we tie the knot. I despair of my hair and Bert says I look like a werewolf. Despite this he seems perfectly happy to go through with it. Brave man.

Why can't marriage licences be like other legal paperwork? You send in your particulars, jump through a few boring bureaucratic hoops and hey presto! you're married. Why does there have to be so much fuss?

Maybe I'll understand it tomorrow.

BTW Hannah is for wearing a dress. That'll be the first time since she made her First Communion.

The Wedding Present

As Bert and I are having a (relatively) fuss-free marriage we have been telling friends and family that we do not want presents. After all we have been together 21 years and have all the household goods we need.

But some folk just cannot be told. Look what Clint presented us with yesterday!

The wedding present is the one to the fore of the picture

So if you bloody insist we'll accept the following:

• A breeding pair of donkeys
• A yellow Triumph Dolomite
• A flock of Jacob sheep
• A spinning wheel
• Gold
• Champagne

They Do Things Differently In Wetherfield

Once upon a time Nellybert loved Coronation Street nearly as much as Hannah loves Neighbours. But no more. Now we think it is a very silly programme. For instance take the other week when Fred died. He died on the occasion of his wedding day which is exactly the sort of thing that happens in places like Coronation Street and hardly ever happens in real life.

In Coronation Street Fred dies after he slipped out of his own wedding for a clandestine meeting with Another – like that would really happen. Unless it was me marrying Bert, for I could just see Swisser putting her oar in and trying to get him to marry her instead. I actually accused her of that on Saturday night but she slippy-titted her way out of it.

They do funerals differently in England but if someone as well established as Fred had lived in Tannaghmore there would have been a bit more talk about his demise. In Coronation Street he was hardly mentioned until the actual day of the funeral except, of course, everybody had turned against Audrey and I warned Swisser that’s what would happen to her too if she tried to get off with Bert on his wedding day and killed him with the annoyance of it all.

Then comes the day of the funeral and there’s Bev making a complete show of herself by heading out in the wedding dress. That outfit was a holy show enough for a wedding never mind the funeral. Then Audrey turns up and they all start hissing at her like they’re at a pantomime. That would never happen in Tannaghmore. There’d be chat about it, maybe a bit of whispering, but no hissing. We’re better bred than that.

Then there was that tart Frankie done up to the nines with her tits out and her lecherous step-son at her oxter. You wouldn’t get cleavage or randy step-sons at a Tannaghmore funeral. Now that would lead to hissing. Nor would there be passionate ‘facing’ in the churchyard. That would lead to stoning.