My Diary

 

The diaries of Alan Rickman featured in yesterday's Guardian and it occurred to me that one's blog is actually a diary and that I should start treating it as such. It's not the first time I've thought this.

So I must mention that I started seeing a physiotherapist a few weeks ago. I'd been urged to do this by both Ganching and Kerry Sister. It all seems to be going well and I've noticed some minor improvements. On Saturday last I needed to pick up a prescription and parked the van five minutes walk from the pharmacy. About one minute into the walk my hip started to hurt and it didn't stop. I kept going. The only other notable thing that happened was bumping into the taxi driver whose wing mirror I clipped a few months ago. When he called to see me about this we ended up visiting the polytunnels and left with his repair money and a box of free tomato plants. Apparently, they've done well.

Wednesday evening and all of Thursday were marred by stomach aches. I blamed too much rich food, especially birthday cake. Despite this, I still bought the ingredients for a Pineapple Coconut Cake. At the time of writing, I have yet to make it.

In Bert’s opinion, my guts were bad because I had not drunk wine since the previous Saturday. He backed his argument with that famous biblical quote.*

With this in mind, on Friday we shared a nice bottle of wine from Lidl.

On Saturday I went to Portglenone to have my hair trimmed and afterwards went to the charity shops. And only bought a book, Updike’s Run, Rabbit which I will hopefully get around to reading sometime in the next two years. Whilst perusing the shelves I heard a familiar voice which turned out to be a chap I’d sat next to at my Aunt Bee’s funeral meal some weeks before. He told me that it was Bee’s Months Mind which I’d not known about.

When I got home I contacted Youngest Brother and we made an arrangement to go together. It was the regular early evening mass in Antrim and the chapel was packed. The priest had just got back from Medjugorje and was tremendously enthused about it. The sermon was delivered with exuberance and featured the importance of the Rosary and the reality of the Devil. I’m sure that Aunt Bee would have approved.

Afterwards, Joe and I went to the cemetery. We visited two graves. Joe’s little granddaughter Ava, who died three years ago and Joseph, our cousin and Aunt Bee’s oldest child, who will be gone ten years tomorrow.

And after all that, I went home via Lidl where I bought another bottle of that fine wine – for my stomach’s sake.

*1 Timothy 5:23

Family  Anniversaries

Bernie 1930 - 1922

Joseph 1955 - 2012

Ava 2011 - 2019

Dandelions

At this time of the year dandelions are in their full flush of flowering. This is the time to make dandelion wine if one is so inclined. Not me, for my freezer is still full of raspberries, gooseberries and redcurrants and anyway, dandelion wine is fiddly, faffy and, in the end, overly sweet.

When we were children dandelions were ‘piss the bed’. I tried making chains from them in the school playground. Bigger kids taunted me. Touch those and you’ll wet the bed. I was embarrassed. How did they know? I wet the bed anyway, even when I didn’t touch dandelions.

There were counting games. How to tell the time using dandelion clocks. We’d blow the seeds away, one o’clock, two o’ clock and so on. It was always mid afternoon or early evening with dandelion clocks.

These days dandelions have other meanings. For those of us who consider ourselves ‘green’ they are no longer a pernicious and evil weed, but rather a valuable source of food for early pollinaters and caterpillars and no decent gardener should ever be without them.

But now, at this time of the year, this first flush of dandelions on roadside verges bring back poignant memories. In the very last days of our mother’s life, when I was making those daily journeys to her home and the weather was so fine, the dandelions carpeted the central reservation of the dual carriageway and every year since then when they bloom in profusion I am nearly undone.

Two More Sleeps

Today was supposed to be a day of preparing for the Norfolk trip but instead it turned into a day of two breakfasts, a trip to Ballymena with Leitrim Sister and Yer Man and a lot of chillaxing in front of an open fire and a glass or few of Lidls finest (and cheapest) Merlot.

All I have to do tomorrow is get up early, buy the Saturday Guardian (still can't get used to new format but at least Stephen Collins is still there), tidy and water polytunnel, fill suitcase with stuff for Emily and James and perhaps find tiny amount of room for a couple of changes of clothing for myself.

It was good to spend an hour or so with Deirdre and Nick and I'm almost certain I told Hannah that they'd be staying overnight. She did get an awful shock when she charged into the spare room at daybreak looking for clean socks. She met Bert on the stairs up for his early morning old-man pee and asked "Who are those people in the spare room?" so perhaps I only imagined I told her.

Still, as I always say on such occasions,

At least nobody died.

26th September

Peter landed in yesterday with a huge bucket of grapes from his granny's greenhouse. Haven't weighed them but there must be at least 8 pounds. So checking recipes for grape wine which is, actually, just wine and I've got enough and the method for mashing given in the first recipe I read is treading with the bare feet. So, if this stuff turns out to be drinkable it will be all for me for I'm sure no one is going to want to drink wine that has been trampled by my tootsies. Unless perhaps Jazzer who is game for anything and also likes wine.

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.

Twenty-One X Three

Sometimes, when I blog about a birthday I like to use an anagram as the title, an anagram which contains the person's age. Today is my birthday and the best anagram to be found is 'His Extremity'. I may find a different title as 'His Extremity' might give a casual reader the wrong idea.

So, on my birthday I was taken out for breakfast by two of my husbands - the current one and the one before that. It was very pleasant. We called with The Pet Shop Boy and he greeted me,

Happy Birthday Nelly! Twenty-one?

And I replied,

Twenty-one is exactly one-third of my actual age.

I've a good bit of birthday left and later I may drink wine. We had cake yesterday and there may be more today.

Shared Space

Eighteen demijohns of home made wine sitting on the kitchen island and one of hard cider which has started to ferment. Yippee! I have made an important list. Four demijohns needing racking and three needing bottled. 

I was hoping Bert would go out tonight so I could make a start on the wine and then clean the floors but he has chosen to stay at home to finish some decorating. How could I complain. This is going to be my own wee sitting room. Banjo Man is helping him. I am a very fortunate woman indeed. So far, I haven't had to lift a finger. It used to be a sitting room and we had just got it the way I wanted it when Pearlie needed to move in. This was something I wasn't expecting but I am sure it was at the back of Bert's mind all along.

I said to him the other day,

We're each going to have our own sitting room! 

Aye.

And we  already have our own bedrooms.

Aye.

We could have a bathroom each if we wanted.

Aye.

This marriage is going to last forever!

Carrot and Orange Wine

It's been ages since I've blogged about my wine making activities. The truth is I've been too busy growing fruit and vegetables to have time for making wine and, like last summer, I've rather neglected the wines already started. Five months and nothing racked, nothing progressed. I'm beginning to realise that. for me,  wine making is going to be an autumn and winter pastime.

Carrot & Orange

10/05/13

29/05/13

20/10/13

23/11/13

26/01/2014 & 7/04/2014

03/09/14

2nd R -heavy sediment/3rd R: Heavy albumin bloom decanted out topped with cider & water

Still, the freezer is full of peaches, all colours of currants, rhubarb and raspberries. The damsons look like they are going to crop well this year and the hedgerows are full of blackberries. It's been four months since I laid anything new down but, I promise, I'll make up for it.

And so it was I bottled the Carrot and Orange. Started in May 2013, racked 5 times and bottled tonight. It is drinkable already. Nellybert shared a couple of glasses tonight. Too soon but we are reckless fools.

Carrots always make good wine. My experiments with pineapples, pears, oranges and strawberries are over. From now on I shall concentrate on the fruit and vegetables that make dry and palatable wines. I know I used a dash of orange in this one but it was juice only, no rind. Wines with rind included tend to give me a headache so no more of that.

Sixteen months from start to bottle. Too long but the wine is yummy. A friend, Emma, gave me loads of sultanas today. Carrot and sultana wine coming up!

Christmas Eve 2013

The storm didn't come. According to a friend who works for NIE, and is one of those guys who repairs the lines when the power goes off, it passed above us on its way to the Western Isles. A relief for County Antrim, not so much for other places.

Before I knew this I was at the freezer taking out everything I thought we'd need for Christmas Day and Boxing Day. I also removed 4 pounds of frozen blackberries and started a gallon of wine. God spares us we'll be drinking that next Christmas Eve.

It's been another busy day. Lots of friends calling round and lots of baking and cooking. I felt a bit like Nigella except I expect her kitchen is nicer than mine and obvs she has access to better drugs. All I had was some paracetamol for my sore knee.

And regarding that sore knee - I was striding through Cully yesterday when it occurred to me that my knee hadn't troubled me for well over a week. Within moments it had started to throb. I wonder if it had been sore the whole time but I'd forgotten about it? The mind is a very curious thing.

Lovely Day and Kimchi Recipe

I have had such a lovely day today. It started early. Out to my local supermarket to make a start on the Christmas food and drink shop. Ran in to my youngest, the incredibly hard working Hannah, who had been on the shop floor since 4am. People, think of all those folk who work crazy hours to make your holidays a big success. I know I do.

Then I cleaned house and racked wine. The birch sap and one of the elderflowers have turned out well. Swisser appeared for the wine tasting session and loved Elderflower 2 so much that I have reserved her a bottle. Elderflower 1 tastes slightly of cat pee but sure, you can't win them all.

Quite a few friends round tonight. Makes me feel all Christmassy. Even the dogs have had visitors, Ziggy and Rex. The house was quite mad for a while. Ziggy is staying the night as Hannah's current hours don't suit him. She is going to bed at 7pm, waking at 3am. Dogs don't understand that shit.

Now I know this post is a little bit woozy but when you rack 6 flagons of wine and sample a little bit of each of them (which you have to) it leads to wooziness, a dirty old job but somebody has to do it.

By the way, Swisser tried the kimchi and said she loved it.

Here is the recipe,




Quick Kimchi

Makes enough to fill a 1 litre jar. Preparation time 10 minutes. Fermenting time 24 hours to two weeks.

1 Chinese cabbage washed and dried

bunch of spring onions trimmed

3 cloves garlic, grated

5cm piece of ginger, peeled and chopped finely

8 anchovies in olive oil, finely chopped

85 g chilli paste

1 tbsp soy sauce

1 tbsp fish sauce




Remove outer leaves of cabbage, slice lengthways into 4 then crossways into 5 chunks.

Slice spring onions down the middle, then into 3 or 4 pieces.

Throw the rest of the ingredients into a large mixing bowl with 1 tbsp of sugar and salt*. Ad the cabbage and spring onions and stir to coat everything. 

Place in an airtight container, such as a Kilner jar and leave in the fridge.

You can use this after 24 hours, but the flavours really start to develop after about one week.



*I used much less salt and found the kimchi still quite salty.

Wine To Five

In the past three weeks I have bottled 5 gallons of wine (30 bottles), racked 21 gallons, poured one gallon down the toilet and started one gallon. It is almost like having a job. I also drank some and gave some away to delighted and grateful  recipients.

In other news I am going to Leitrim tomorrow and will be accompanied by Miss Martha. My packing is nearly completed and hers is done. No doubt her mother will send some stuff too but I've got the important things taken care of - a choice of car seats, games, paints, books and a Snoopy dog. She spoke of her dressing up box but I don't think there will be time to dress up. I have packed The Tailor of Gloucester. I only read it for the first time yesterday and must admit that I found it very heartening. I think Martha will like it.

Blackberry-Picking 2013

Seamus Heaney's grave, Bellaghy

We were in Portglenone yesterday collecting vegetables for the kune kunes and decided to drive over to Bellaghy to visit Seamus Heaney's grave. It is just over a fortnight since he was laid to rest in that quiet cemetery and, it appears, that there is not a daylight hour passes that his grave is without visitors. It is a beautiful spot, Heaney's last resting place. Homely. I found myself thinking, as I've often thought at graves -  Taken far too soon. There was still so much to do.

And that is the way it is. We live and we die.

Last year when I picked blackberries I filled my ears with Sebastian Faulks' Birdsong and Nelson Mandela's Long Walk To Freedom. This year, no iPod so I just did thinking. Last year I thought about blackberry wine and jam and crumbles. Last year my audiobook blocked out anxious thoughts about my cousin Joe who was dying from a brain tumour. This year I thought of the very first Heaney poem I ever read. The blackberry one. I must have been in my early teens, the poet in his late twenties. It was the first piece of poetry I'd ever come across that spoke of the life I knew. I recognised that lust for picking.

So I picked blackberries and I got scratched and stung, my fingers stained purple and I thought about how fleeting and ephemeral life can be. We live, we die. We wither, we rot. No matter how much we love people, no matter how much we need them - they might leave us. Or we leave them.

Morbid? No. It is just life. Which is for living. The very best we can.

And that is why I will be making wine from my blackberries.

Looking Forward

Bert is out tonight playing the claro and the whistle with his muso mates. Pearlie and I are all on our lonesome. Pearlie is doing her puzzles and worrying that Bert isn't saved. I am making wine.

One of Bert's (muso) friends has connections with a greengrocer and he brings us quantities of fruit and vegetables for the pigs. Sometimes if the produce is only slightly sad looking I use it for other projects. Like making wine. The other day he brought us lots of carrots. And as I had already defrosted Clint's windfall peaches from the summer I had two lots of wine to make tonight.

Making wine is like planting trees in that it requires a bit of belief in the future. Trees can take a lifetime to mature, while country wines get there in a year or two. A lot can happen in a lifetime, a lot can change in a year or two.

On Saturday a family friend, a retired police officer, stood in our kitchen and explained to us why he had decided not to take up a lucrative job offer to train detectives in Afghanistan. He had grandchildren, he had sons and he had an elderly aunt who depended on him. He told us that money was all very well but how much money does a body really need? He wanted to see his grandchildren grow up, he didn't want to make his aunt fearful and unhappy. That man, who had recently passed a medical with flying colours, is this night lying in hospital after suffering a catastrophic stroke. He is very, very ill. That's the change a few days can bring, never mind a year.

Little wonder Pearlie fears for her Bertie's unsaved soul. Me? I'll carry on making wine in the hopes that we'll all be around to drink it in six months, a year or even, 2013.

Moving On

I thought I was running out of energy a while back. And I thought it was going to be forever, but I was wrong.

I have just spent time with Miss Martha for four days in a row. The night she stayed over was tiring but it did not take me long to get over it.

Since the beginning of August I have started blackcurrant, rhubarb, damson, parsnip and more rhubarb wine. All of these have been made from home-grown fruit and vegetables. It was not always me that grew them but that is no matter. I still have in my freezer enough peaches and damsons to make another four gallons of wine. Today Miss Martha and I gathered blackberries. They are not that plentiful this year but I'll get enough to make another gallon of wine. Miss Martha ate more than she picked and she asked to be carried which rather stayed my foraging frenzy. Still I carried her and it wasn't too hard – more proof that my energy is returning.

I have started to cook proper meals again.

And Bert and I have resumed watching The Sopranos. When Matty got ill we stopped watching at the end of Season 4. Said we'd start again when all was over. I only felt like again it a few weeks back and asked my darling Katy to gift Season 5 for my birthday. Just three more episodes left now. Bert is waiting impatiently for our evening's so I must go.

Not before I tell how I've resumed my audio books. Two Austens redd up and a Hardy on the go. I'm also proper reading Wuthering Heights and realise it's for the first time! I thought I'd read it but it turned out I'd just heard a song.

Still I'm overweight and haven't properly got back to walking, I have a sore shoulder and hives all over. So what! I'm on the right track.

I thought of Matty today and felt very sad that she was not here. I still miss her so much and my eyes well up as I write this. She would have loved this beautiful day, wouldn't have approved of my manic wine-making, “Why not make jam?” she'd have said. She'd have been excited about her new great grandchild Miss Ava and would have been looking forward to the new one due in a few weeks time (Miss Martha's brother or sister) Miss you very much Mammy but for now I am, and we all are, moving on. I even got my hair cut.

Undone!

That was a mixed bag of a weekend that was...

I drank red wine and I drank white wine. I drank good wine and I drank horrid wine. I mixed with the landed gentry on Friday night and the salt of the earth on Saturday night.

I successfully hypnotised Jazzer (salt category) but just like Cinderella all the good effects wore off at midnight and on Sunday my own efforts at self-hypnosis were undone by a giant tube of pink smarties.

I told myself when I bought them that I was for keeping them in my baking cupboard for decorating fairy cakes. Damn you, pink smarties!

P.S.

Do you know you're getting old when only one of your Facebook friends is called Aaron?

Still A Big Strong Healthy Girl

My Aunt Polly would never dream of calling anybody obese or fat. She'll say something like,

Not a-tall! That young girl's not fat. Sure she's just a big strong healthy girl. Fat! Not a bit of it!

Or,

What does the doctor mean that child needs to lose weight? Sure that's a big strong healthy baby! There's not one thing wrong with that child!

Meanwhile, as I mentioned previously, I'm looking for the perfect wrap dress - the ideal solution to a slowly diminishing body shape. The last one looked great in the photograph, but then what dress wouldn't look great draped round a size 10 tailor's dummy? Drape it round a big strong healthy girl like me and there's too much bosom, too much leg and not enough drape and skim over the love handles. I'll have to keep on trying. Maybe the next one will be better.

And maybe this weekend I'll keep off the wine and cake and then on Monday, maybe, I'll lose another pound or two.

The Glorious Twelfth: Part 3. The Wee Manny..

..and Mrs The Wee Manny are here. Jamie & Hannah are here. The rain has stopped. The South African Chenin Blanc Reserve (Tesco special offer) has been pronounced good. Bert has completed his filial duties. He has delivered his mother to his Aunt Lizzie's house. He has delivered hen pellets to his Eccentric Aunt Who Lives Squalorously In A Condemned House In The Hills.

How was she? Filthy.

And that's not filthy in a good way either. At every turn he has been impeded by Orangemen on the march.

They got me in Cully then they got me at Broadway then I raced down to Harryville and they got me there. They got me again in Kells. Bastards!

Meanwhile I have been in telephone communication with Swisser and have persuaded her that what she needs to beat her lurgy is Meat! And lots of it! So she should be coming along later.

Home Alone

I'm not much of a drinker but I've been known to have a go at it. Recently the wine has been flowing too frequently down my throat. So tonight I'm home alone while my dear one and his mates go visit friends in Antrim. And dear friends they are too but they do like to drink. So rather than sit like a lemon while all around me get legless I am staying at home to clean the fridge. It is now spotless so back to the blog.