Well as I expected it took me a leetle while to really appreciate it but I am now liking very much Moon Pix by Cat Power. Thank you Mikey for introducing me to an artiste about whom I knew nothing. You young'uns (and that includes you as well Marc) are my only hope of hearing about interesting stuff. There's very little of that ilk on Radio 4 and I'm far too busy doing Su Doku to read music reviews.
Meanwhile I've been waiting (rather impatiently) for my birthday gift from Katkin. Well it arrived today. R.L Burnside. What a rude, loud boy he is. Cleared the kitchen of Ploppy Pants and Clint very satisfactorily.
And speaking of clearing kitchens - I plan to keep the Ramones handy for when Pearlie's been hanging round my shanty all day long.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
The Talk of the Country
Bert is a bit affronted to hear that he is the Talk of the Country. Ploppy Pants had all the gen about the siege outside the Dromona Creamery and of course as usual he refused to say where he had heard it.
He says to me, "Did you tell Ploppy Pants about Sunday evening?"
I reply, "No, but I put it on the internet."
Clint tells it like this,
Of course that’s why I volunteered to walk home ‘for the van’. It was really because I didn’t want the whole of Dromona seeing me, standing there like a complete idiot, locked out of my own car.
He says to me, "Did you tell Ploppy Pants about Sunday evening?"
I reply, "No, but I put it on the internet."
Clint tells it like this,
“I thought nothing atall about seeing Nelly out tramping the roads. Says I to myself ‘wud ye luk at the goes o’ her,’ and then when I got to the creamery all I could see was this crowd o’ ones standing outside the gates and I thought the Dromona boys were out on strike. Then next thing I see Bert stuck in the middle of it and I wonder what the hell he’s doing there. Have they been out for a run and fell out and she’s off stomping home in a rip?”
Of course that’s why I volunteered to walk home ‘for the van’. It was really because I didn’t want the whole of Dromona seeing me, standing there like a complete idiot, locked out of my own car.
Tales from the Coalface
Wakened at 4.45am. Think (hope) I am dreaming. Door bangs, buzzer buzzes. I go down. Look out window and see police car.
I am a picture. Birds nest hair, red pyjama trousers, pulled on cardi, bare feet, bleary eyed. I open the door. Young PSNI officer stands there. About 14. A cigarette glows in the back of the police car.
The cigarette glows, speaks, "Yeah."
Policechild says, "Sorry. Really sorry."
I don't say, "That's OK. Don't worry about it."
I go back to bed. But not to sleep. Damn.
I am a picture. Birds nest hair, red pyjama trousers, pulled on cardi, bare feet, bleary eyed. I open the door. Young PSNI officer stands there. About 14. A cigarette glows in the back of the police car.
"Will you take TC?"
"TC doesn't need to come through here. She's got her
own front door. Own key""Oh sorry. She does have keys too. Sorry."
"You got your keys TC?"
Policechild says, "Sorry. Really sorry."
I don't say, "That's OK. Don't worry about it."
I go back to bed. But not to sleep. Damn.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Bert's Misery
He's going through two boiler suits a day!
When he came down for his lunch today I asked him how the sewer work was going. He said,
When he came down for his lunch today I asked him how the sewer work was going. He said,
Think of him then as you sit at your cosy desks as far from a shovel as you can get."I'm standing in a hole with the rain lashing down on me and
muck slabbered everywhere! It's pure hell upon earth."
7 Things
I was tagged to do this by Ganching
7 Things I Want To Do Before I Die
1. Celebrate my 100th birthday in excellent health
2. Visit Africa again
3. Become a grandmother
4. Get a donkey
5. Make a beautiful garden…
6. …. a comfortable home
7. Achieve modest fame & fortune
7 Things That I Cannot Do
1. Tell a lie
2. Suppress farts
3. Suffer fools
4. Shut up
5. Cartwheels
6. Stick Tony Blair
7. One thing at a time
7 Things That Attract Me To The Opposite Sex
1. Wit & intelligence
2. Kindness
3. Well shaped hands
4. Excellent driving skills, preferably with HGV licence
5. Skilled at wielding chainsaw
6. Smiles
7. See through plastic trousers (Iggy only)
7 Things That I Say Most Often
1. Thank you
2. FUUUCK!
3. I don’t agree
4. N – O spells I definitely don’t think so.
5. Are those bloody dogs off scunging again?
6. Mummy hears you
7. Who had you here last night?
7 Celebrity Crushes
1. Johnny Depp
2. Peter Kay
3. Robert Carlyle
4. Iggy Pop
5. Rufus Wainwright
6. Naveen Andrews
7. Nelly
I ain’t tagging anyone. But feel free to tag yourself if you feel like it. Ed?
7 Things I Want To Do Before I Die
1. Celebrate my 100th birthday in excellent health
2. Visit Africa again
3. Become a grandmother
4. Get a donkey
5. Make a beautiful garden…
6. …. a comfortable home
7. Achieve modest fame & fortune
7 Things That I Cannot Do
1. Tell a lie
2. Suppress farts
3. Suffer fools
4. Shut up
5. Cartwheels
6. Stick Tony Blair
7. One thing at a time
7 Things That Attract Me To The Opposite Sex
1. Wit & intelligence
2. Kindness
3. Well shaped hands
4. Excellent driving skills, preferably with HGV licence
5. Skilled at wielding chainsaw
6. Smiles
7. See through plastic trousers (Iggy only)
7 Things That I Say Most Often
1. Thank you
2. FUUUCK!
3. I don’t agree
4. N – O spells I definitely don’t think so.
5. Are those bloody dogs off scunging again?
6. Mummy hears you
7. Who had you here last night?
7 Celebrity Crushes
1. Johnny Depp
2. Peter Kay
3. Robert Carlyle
4. Iggy Pop
5. Rufus Wainwright
6. Naveen Andrews
7. Nelly
I ain’t tagging anyone. But feel free to tag yourself if you feel like it. Ed?
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Bert to the Rescue
I’m not the only one who has been working flat out recently. For Bert attending ‘Gorgeous’ Gage is a full-time job (and then some). After all a man who can get stressed out by a few clematis growing too fast or a touch of red spider mite is a man who will be stressed to the max by shovel work and the necessity of keeping Gorgeous supplied with specialised plant from the ‘Hire It’ shop. The poor soul has been coming home completely exhausted.
Last night was no exception. So it was only to be expected that he failed to do an accurate head count of the livestock at bedtime. He just assumed Paddy would be cosily curled up in my bed, as that is where Paddy usually is after 9pm.
This morning whilst at work I received this phone call.
So that’s where you’re at. Where else would I be? Do you know where Paddy is? What! How should I know where Paddy is? Isn’t he with you? What’s wrong? He’s not in the house or the yard or anywhere. I’ve looked everywhere. He’s not lying dead anywhere. What! Dead! Find him! I can’t! I’ve got the digger man here in 10 minutes. What’s more important? The dog or the digger man? Find Paddy!Distraught I slam down the phone. Fifteen minutes later Bert phoned back.
Well it’s all right. I’ve found him. Where was he? He was in the field in front of the house. He was just sitting there with his head stuck in a yellow bucket. He didn’t know where he was. I think he’d been sitting there all night. He couldn’t find his way home. Oh God! The poor thing. Is he OK? He’s a bit quiet on it. Give him a big kiss and hug from me. I can’t. He boked in the bucket. He’s stinking of vomit. Oh wash it off and kiss him anyway. Yeah. Sure.Poor Paddy. He has been very stressed all day. But he cheered up to no end when HANNAH CAME HOME!
Monday, September 26, 2005
Clint to the Rescue
Two of my esteemed colleagues are currently on sick leave and consequently I have been working full-time rather than part-time. God that is a tiring state of affairs. I don’t know how you full-time workers do it.
Of course the nature of my work does not lead to any kind of mental ease. My shifts usually consist of starting at 3pm, working until 11pm, a sleep period, and then working from 7.30am to 15.30pm. During this 24.5-hour period we don’t get a sniff of fresh air, as breaks must be taken on the premises. Added to that it is usually lone working.
Now the sleep period. Sleeping there is never as easeful as sleeping at home in my own big bed surrounded by furry four-legged creatures. For a start we’re ‘on call’. This means that the Social Services, the Police or the Customers can call on us. On Saturday night the Duty Social Worker called me at 1.30am.
“Would you take….?”
“Aye. We would….”
“Get back to you on that.”
“Right.”
One hour later.
“They’ve decided. Took some persuading. They’ll come.”
“OK. Estimated time of arrival?”
“Half three. Or thereabouts.”
“Right.”
Snap out of dozy mode and spring to full alertness. On duty from 2.30am. Lots to do.
One hour later. Nada. Yet another hour. More nada. It’s now 4.30am. At quarter to five I contact DSW. At five to five he phones back.
“Just heard this myself ten minutes ago that they've decided to go somewhere else.”
“Oh.”
Back to bed for continuation of night’s sleep. All two hours of it.
I was grand until about an hour before knocking off time when the energy drained out of me. My last words to my colleague as I departed,
“Don’t think I’ll be walking too far this evening.”
When I got home I found that Bert had filled the fridge full of pink nursery desserts. Mmmm. Sweet. Creamy. Soothing. This leads to a great improvement in my mood, which meant that when he went on to propose a walk I immediately agreed.
So we drove for a bit. But Bert couldn’t decide where we should go so I suggested I’d drive and he pulled in so we could swap. As we both got out Rosie jumped into the front seat and somehow must have activated the central locking system. So there we were outside Dromona Creamery with the dogs locked inside the car and the engine running. And where was the spare key? On my key ring beside the main key stuck in the ignition. And where was my phone? At home. And where was Bert’s Swiss Army Knife? At home. And where were we? Standing like two lemons outside a locked, dog filled, switched on car outside the Dromona Creamery. If this had happened in Harryville we would immediately have been surrounded by hordes of 14 year olds who would have got us into that car in a moment.
I decided to walk home, collect the van and some handy tools for breaking into the car. It was a pretty hazardous walk, as every minute a huge milk-tanker would come hurtling around one of those hairpin bends causing me to leap for the ditch. Then one rather well driven milk-tanker hurtled towards me. I was treated to a huge blast of the horn and a bank of lights flashed at me. Yes dear reader it was Clint. I knew then that our troubles were over. He, of course, thought I was out on one of my walks. But I knew he would happen upon Bert and sort him out. So I kept walking towards home. It’s a jolly nice walk once you get past the hairpin bends bit.
Clint got into the car with the aid of a screwdriver and a long piece of wire. And I thought that he was such a nicely brought up Academy boy.
Of course the nature of my work does not lead to any kind of mental ease. My shifts usually consist of starting at 3pm, working until 11pm, a sleep period, and then working from 7.30am to 15.30pm. During this 24.5-hour period we don’t get a sniff of fresh air, as breaks must be taken on the premises. Added to that it is usually lone working.
Now the sleep period. Sleeping there is never as easeful as sleeping at home in my own big bed surrounded by furry four-legged creatures. For a start we’re ‘on call’. This means that the Social Services, the Police or the Customers can call on us. On Saturday night the Duty Social Worker called me at 1.30am.
“Would you take….?”
“Aye. We would….”
“Get back to you on that.”
“Right.”
One hour later.
“They’ve decided. Took some persuading. They’ll come.”
“OK. Estimated time of arrival?”
“Half three. Or thereabouts.”
“Right.”
Snap out of dozy mode and spring to full alertness. On duty from 2.30am. Lots to do.
One hour later. Nada. Yet another hour. More nada. It’s now 4.30am. At quarter to five I contact DSW. At five to five he phones back.
“Just heard this myself ten minutes ago that they've decided to go somewhere else.”
“Oh.”
Back to bed for continuation of night’s sleep. All two hours of it.
I was grand until about an hour before knocking off time when the energy drained out of me. My last words to my colleague as I departed,
“Don’t think I’ll be walking too far this evening.”
When I got home I found that Bert had filled the fridge full of pink nursery desserts. Mmmm. Sweet. Creamy. Soothing. This leads to a great improvement in my mood, which meant that when he went on to propose a walk I immediately agreed.
So we drove for a bit. But Bert couldn’t decide where we should go so I suggested I’d drive and he pulled in so we could swap. As we both got out Rosie jumped into the front seat and somehow must have activated the central locking system. So there we were outside Dromona Creamery with the dogs locked inside the car and the engine running. And where was the spare key? On my key ring beside the main key stuck in the ignition. And where was my phone? At home. And where was Bert’s Swiss Army Knife? At home. And where were we? Standing like two lemons outside a locked, dog filled, switched on car outside the Dromona Creamery. If this had happened in Harryville we would immediately have been surrounded by hordes of 14 year olds who would have got us into that car in a moment.
I decided to walk home, collect the van and some handy tools for breaking into the car. It was a pretty hazardous walk, as every minute a huge milk-tanker would come hurtling around one of those hairpin bends causing me to leap for the ditch. Then one rather well driven milk-tanker hurtled towards me. I was treated to a huge blast of the horn and a bank of lights flashed at me. Yes dear reader it was Clint. I knew then that our troubles were over. He, of course, thought I was out on one of my walks. But I knew he would happen upon Bert and sort him out. So I kept walking towards home. It’s a jolly nice walk once you get past the hairpin bends bit.
Clint got into the car with the aid of a screwdriver and a long piece of wire. And I thought that he was such a nicely brought up Academy boy.
Saturday, September 24, 2005
Snot Fair
Poor Bert. He never gets a chance. While I get to choose all the good stuff like floor coverings, paint colours, kitchens and so on, he gets to choose the sewer pipes and fittings. And nobody is ever going to see them and say,
Well done Bert. You have such impeccable taste in sewage disposal fittings.Maybe Sammy 'Gorgeous' Gage will say,
Wow Bert. You picked good ones. Those sewer pipes are awesome.No. I don't think Sammy'll say anything. He'll just bury them with his big backhoe. Poor Bert. Snot fair.
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Whiskey & Coke
Today was spent cleaning the floors of the upstairs rooms to prepare them for Vinyl Man. Yes I know I said it would be Lino Man but he proved to be a very elusive fellow and I tired of searching for him. Cleaning a new house is a very dirty job. You wouldn’t get half as clarried cleaning a filthy old house. The dust doesn’t raise so much in an old house for it has all the existing dirt and grease to stick to. In new houses all the surfaces are clean and dry and this fine white powder gets everywhere.
And speaking of fine white powders it’s reported that Kate Moss has a £200 a day coke habit. Only £200? Sure that’s not so much. Especially when you’re sharing your stash with Pete and all the other guys. And I was a little disappointed to read that she was only using a fiver to snort it. A shabby old fiver? When would Kate Moss even see a fiver a woman with her sort of money? Unless it was one of those Norn Iron plastic fivers she keeps especially for the job.
My own drug and alcohol-free lifestyle is starting to feel rather drear. I’ve been off alcohol for nearly seven weeks now and in the past few days I’ve found myself yearning for a nice glass of wine, or a gin or a wee nip of Laphroaig. I’m seriously considering having a drink come the 1st of October. Eight weeks will be quite long enough.
And speaking of fine white powders it’s reported that Kate Moss has a £200 a day coke habit. Only £200? Sure that’s not so much. Especially when you’re sharing your stash with Pete and all the other guys. And I was a little disappointed to read that she was only using a fiver to snort it. A shabby old fiver? When would Kate Moss even see a fiver a woman with her sort of money? Unless it was one of those Norn Iron plastic fivers she keeps especially for the job.
My own drug and alcohol-free lifestyle is starting to feel rather drear. I’ve been off alcohol for nearly seven weeks now and in the past few days I’ve found myself yearning for a nice glass of wine, or a gin or a wee nip of Laphroaig. I’m seriously considering having a drink come the 1st of October. Eight weeks will be quite long enough.
What’s yours Nelly?
Oh I’ll just have whatever Kate Moss is having.
Farewell to Summer...
..and farewell to this garden. Next year it may be Clint's Garden and be under concrete and be a parking space for lorries, tractors and forklifts. Sigh. Bet he'll still be tortured with meconopsis cambrica though {evil laugh}
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
The Gasman Cometh
Now all we need is the diggerman Sammy 'Gorgeous' Gage to finish off the sewer and Eric the Plumber to connect us to it and our house is totally ready to live in.
Heat, light, water, working toilets and cooking facilities will all be in place.
I'm so excited!
Heat, light, water, working toilets and cooking facilities will all be in place.
I'm so excited!
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
She Bonkers, He Inconsiderate Bastard
When you've been having the same row for over 19 years perhaps it's time to ask yourself this. Why? Because it is so tedious, so dreary and so very weary-making.
During the row's most recent manifestation Bert accused,
I roared back,
The next day dawns. I feel silly. At some point we have a genuine reconciliation.
This is my aim. It's not to never ever have the She Bonkers, He Inconsiderate Bastard row ever again. It's to have longer and longer gaps in between. And if that's the standard then we are making progress.
During the row's most recent manifestation Bert accused,
"You're the one whose supposed to have all the emotional intelligence."
I roared back,
"D'ye think if I had any emotional intelligence I'd be acting like this?"Here's what happens. I go to work. I do extra hours. I get tired and I become emotionally drained. I come home. I try to be nice. But I bring an electrically charged aura of tension with me. This unsettles Bert. He becomes defensive. He knows what's coming. We both prickle. We have a row. We shout (mostly me), I cry. He retreats to the male cave place. I feel very sorry for myself. Later I attempt reconciliation. But I really want to winkle him out of the male cave place to row more. He knows this. Stays there. I feel very, very sorry for myself.
The next day dawns. I feel silly. At some point we have a genuine reconciliation.
This is my aim. It's not to never ever have the She Bonkers, He Inconsiderate Bastard row ever again. It's to have longer and longer gaps in between. And if that's the standard then we are making progress.
Monday, September 19, 2005
Buying A Goat: All You Need To Know
It’s that time of the year again. Time to be thinking about our autumn/winter wardrobes. Actually the title says it all for me. Of course it was ‘coat’ not ‘goat’ but when I thought it was ‘goat’ it was the only article that really interested me in this Sunday’s Style supplement.
Balenciaga? I can hardly afford Primark.
How to look like a lady? Advice from Tara Palmer-Tomkinson? That skinny tart! I think not.
Hot nights in heels? Hardly.
This is what I shall be wearing this autumn/winter season.
Now that’s what I call proper dressing.
Balenciaga? I can hardly afford Primark.
How to look like a lady? Advice from Tara Palmer-Tomkinson? That skinny tart! I think not.
Hot nights in heels? Hardly.
This is what I shall be wearing this autumn/winter season.
- Tee shirts
- Red pyjama trousers
- Cosy gilets
- Jumpers mostly red
- Big shirts
- Bert’s new waterproof jacket
- Black opaque tights
- Denim skirts (not short)
- A selection of black skirts
- A selection of black trousers
- Wellington boots
- Ankle boots from 2003
- Ankle boots from 2004
- A selection of comfy flat shoes in blue, red and black
- Training shoes (for walking only)
Now that’s what I call proper dressing.
Saturday, September 17, 2005
The Long Drop
A number of years ago the Wee Manny family took a scunner of living in Norn Iron and bought themselves a South African village. It was a bit run down so they got it for a good price - about the price of a three-bed roomed house in Galgorm actually. The village was in the Eastern Cape and was called Old Thomas River. It was a little township that had been built around a railway station. It comprised a hotel, a post-office, a school and a station house. The Wee family lived in the hotel and used the post office for parties and guests. Their farm worker (South Africa remember) lived in the schoolhouse. The other buildings were pretty dilapidated. Let me explain the farm worker. Kabula came with the place and would have been devastated if his employment hadn’t continued. He definitely found the Wee and Diana very benevolent employers and said he had learned more English from the Wee than from any other boss. South African employers typically speak to their black employees in Afrikaans or Xhosa.
We visited them for three weeks one January. While we were there we took several trips around the country. One of these trips took as to a tourist resort called Hogsback, which is part of the Amatola mountain range. On the way back the Wee decided we should visit an old friend of his in a town called Keiskamahoek*. Mrs The Wee Manny (Diana) is South African. She’d met the Wee in London Town and after they got married they went to live and work in Keiskamahoek where they worked in a lumber factory The Wee as a boss (remember he’s white) and Diana in the office. The Wee befriended Harry who was the factory foremen. No doubt Harry kept the young, inexperienced boss on the right track.
It was a Sunday and although Harry was not expecting us he made us very welcome. His wife was not there. He told us that she was at Church and he chuckled that she spent all Sunday in Church but that it was not for him. Rum was produced. Within an hour Harry’s porch was full. There was the five of us and as many and more again of Harry’s friends and neighbours. There were no women for they were all at Church. The men were all Xhosa except for one Zulu man. They all spoke good English. It was decided that more drink was needed so a trip to the bottle store was proposed. Everyone piled into the vehicles, our car and their pick up truck. As we drove through the town lots of women and children and a few men were coming out of various churches. Harry’s party blared horns and yelled and waved to attract attention to them and us. I remember feeling a bit affronted at the disapproving looks of the good God-fearing, Church attending people.
When we got back to Harry’s place his wife and a couple of her friends/sisters had returned from Church. Mrs Harry was part of her Church Choir and she and her friends wore an elaborate, beautifully tailored costume with matching headdresses. It was in emerald green with a dazzling white ruffled, starched collar. I’d noticed on our trip through town that different churches had different choral costumes and that they were all equally elaborate. The ladies were quite shy and not half as raucous as their men folk. But then they’d been imbibing the word of the Lord, not big feeds of rum. We were given a meal of stewed meat and vegetables with delicious flat bread. Diana, Laura and myself were served first, then the Wee and Bert, then Harry, then his older friends, then the younger men.
After a few hours and a few glasses of gin I needed to visit the toilet. I whispered to Diana, “Will there be a toilet?” She said, “Ask Harry’s wife.” so I did ask her and off she went coming back moments later with a beautiful, rose-patterned china pot with a lacy towel folded over the top. I just couldn’t! I just couldn’t do my thing in her beautiful china pot and then what? So I shook my head and thanked her and said no.
But I still needed to go. The Wee said, “Why don’t you go to the long drop?” I had it pointed out to me and set off. The long drop was a little tin construction sitting on top of a mound. I dandered over. Even at a distance the smell was very bad. I ventured in. I held my breath. I did my thing. It wasn’t the first time I’d used a dry toilet. But it was the first time in a hot climate. And at about 12 foot it was a long drop too.
The Wees sold Old Thomas River several years later and came back home. He missed the Ould Sod too much. The village is a backpacking hostel now. I wonder if Kabula still works there? And does he still speak English with a Ballymena twang?
*Keiskamahoek is situated in the poverty-stricken but beautiful Transkei region. In 1959, the National Party government introduced legislation to create eight ethnically and linguistically divided homelands for black South Africans. The Transkei was designated the homeland for Xhosa speakers. The Transkei homeland became independent state in 1976, although it was only recognised by a few countries internationally. With the victory of the ANC in the 1994 elections it was reincorporated into South Africa, despite opposition from many of its citizens. (Wikipedia)
The Polish Student
It’s not often that I’m alone in this house but tonight is one of those nights. Bert is away on one of his camping trips with a bunch of social worker types from West Belfast. They drink whiskey, smoke grass, make camp fires, howl at the moon then sleep under the stars. Social work can send a man a bit crazy.
I got home from work at four and took the dogs out for a brisk two-mile walk. The dogs always did brisk but it’s a new development for me. Then I shopped (mostly fruit and vegetables) and came back here and made myself a proper meal. Yay for me. Since then I’ve been moseying around sorting out, throwing out and packing for the big move. I like being on my own.
Then just after eight the door knocked. I was upstairs sorting stuff and stomped down feeling a bit pissed that my peace was to be interrupted. There on the doorstep stood a perfect stranger with a rucksack on his back. He appeared to be on foot as there was no vehicle in sight. He was a young man in his early to mid twenties. He greeted me in stilted English and handed me a little homemade card. The card stated that he was a Polish student; here to learn English and he needed money to help him pursue his studies. Straightaway I said sorry, I couldn’t help him and he said something polite that ended in Madam and turned and walked away. He looked very dignified.
Why didn’t I help him? Maybe give him just a few quid? I was worried that he was a con artist. I was very worried because I was on my own and there are no houses nearby and because it was dark. My only consolation was that the dogs danced around him barking their heads off. I did not discourage them from doing so though he seemed unafraid of them. Did I distrust him because he was foreign, didn’t speak English? I don’t know. I’m worried now that he was in some kind of difficulty and I didn’t help. I feel a bit sorry for him. Not that my sympathy will do him much good if he was genuine.
I still don’t think it’s my job to give him money to pursue his education. Maybe if he’d come to the door and said he was starving I would have helped. What was he doing up our lane in the middle of the country anyway? I wish Bert were here.
I got home from work at four and took the dogs out for a brisk two-mile walk. The dogs always did brisk but it’s a new development for me. Then I shopped (mostly fruit and vegetables) and came back here and made myself a proper meal. Yay for me. Since then I’ve been moseying around sorting out, throwing out and packing for the big move. I like being on my own.
Then just after eight the door knocked. I was upstairs sorting stuff and stomped down feeling a bit pissed that my peace was to be interrupted. There on the doorstep stood a perfect stranger with a rucksack on his back. He appeared to be on foot as there was no vehicle in sight. He was a young man in his early to mid twenties. He greeted me in stilted English and handed me a little homemade card. The card stated that he was a Polish student; here to learn English and he needed money to help him pursue his studies. Straightaway I said sorry, I couldn’t help him and he said something polite that ended in Madam and turned and walked away. He looked very dignified.
Why didn’t I help him? Maybe give him just a few quid? I was worried that he was a con artist. I was very worried because I was on my own and there are no houses nearby and because it was dark. My only consolation was that the dogs danced around him barking their heads off. I did not discourage them from doing so though he seemed unafraid of them. Did I distrust him because he was foreign, didn’t speak English? I don’t know. I’m worried now that he was in some kind of difficulty and I didn’t help. I feel a bit sorry for him. Not that my sympathy will do him much good if he was genuine.
I still don’t think it’s my job to give him money to pursue his education. Maybe if he’d come to the door and said he was starving I would have helped. What was he doing up our lane in the middle of the country anyway? I wish Bert were here.
Ian's Tip of the Week
If you don't want your mugshot on the internet keep your birthdate a secret from Mrs Moser.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY IAN
HAPPY BIRTHDAY IAN
Friday, September 16, 2005
A Birthday
When I was a child I thought I was special because my father's birthday and mine were so close. Mine was on the 9th September, his on the 16th. I used to think that I, the firstborn, was his early birthday present. And to continue the tradition my firstborn Zoe was born just 10 days before my birthday. She was my special 21st birthday present. Daddy was 34 years older than me and would have been 86 today.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Babies
Bert and I went shopping today for a present for Rod & T's new baby. I haven't seen said baby yet nor have I been speaking to either of the proud parents but Bert has.
So I asked him,
Still at least he knows the new baby is a girl. He's been known to tell me about someone having had a baby and when I ask what it was he'll say,
The big baby in the picture is our Hannah. Bert never knew her at that age. She was nearer four before he turned up. So he hasn't had much experience of babies. He cringes when he's asked to hold one. I think he'd rather be given a hand grenade - with the pin out.
So I asked him,
What weight was the baby?
Weight? I don't know.
Rod must have said. People always say the weight.
3 pounds?
I don't think so. That would be really small. She wouldn't even be allowed out of the hospital at that weight.
12 pounds?
I doubt it. I think Rod might have had something to say about that. T certainly would.
Still at least he knows the new baby is a girl. He's been known to tell me about someone having had a baby and when I ask what it was he'll say,
A boy. No. A girl. They never said.
They must have said. People usually do.
Och. I forget.
The big baby in the picture is our Hannah. Bert never knew her at that age. She was nearer four before he turned up. So he hasn't had much experience of babies. He cringes when he's asked to hold one. I think he'd rather be given a hand grenade - with the pin out.
Nelly the Zealophant
Bert and I went out for breakfast this morning. We went to one of those cafes that specialise in cheap Ulster fries and traybakes. It’s a popular spot that is always doing a roaring trade. As I’d already had my healthy fruit and muesli breakfast I ‘contented’ myself with a cup of coffee. He was ages in the queue so I entertained myself by people watching.
There was a 60+ couple in front of him. I noticed that the man, otherwise just stocky, had one of those enormous bulging bellies. His wife was pretty chunky too. Both of them collected huge platefuls of food. I watched the man as he sat down. He looked almost dewy-eyed as he started to tuck in. Bert came down with a small fry-up, small enough to see lots white plate through.
I’ll have to be honest here and admit that not so long ago I’d have had some food too, even though I wasn’t hungry, just because it was there and everyone else was eating. And maybe that was why I was so interested in what all the other people were eating and why I was being hypercritical about their diets and their BMIs. As Ed said of me as recently as today, ‘there's no zealot like a convert’. He was talking about my anti-smoking stance.
But anyways back to the big-bellied man. He was still chomping away after Bert had finished the mini-fry. Only by now he was looking a bit bored with it and his jaws seemed weary as he chowed down. His hunger was satisfied but he carried on eating. And that’s how you get a great big belly.
Just another observation – I reckon that the proportion of obese people inside the café was far greater that the proportion out on the street.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Rumbled
A year now I’ve been doing this blogging thing. During this twelve-month period I have endeavoured to present myself to the world as wise, wonderful and occasionally wacky. A year of carefully selecting pictures that show me and mine at our very best. Even that time I posted the picture of myself drunk I chose the one where I looked thinnest. If I posted a picture of the dogs on the sofa I cropped it so that any signs of squalor or slumminess were removed. A year of carefully building up my image has been destroyed in a week.
For along came the third daughter to blow my carefully constructed image out of the water. In a few short days of Hannah blogging and photo sharing I have been exposed as,
A cruel mother
With horrid glasses
Who dyes her hair
Keeps a throughother house
And whose paramour is a gargoyle
And she says she loves me. Just as well really. God knows what she’d post if she didn’t.
For along came the third daughter to blow my carefully constructed image out of the water. In a few short days of Hannah blogging and photo sharing I have been exposed as,
A cruel mother
With horrid glasses
Who dyes her hair
Keeps a throughother house
And whose paramour is a gargoyle
And she says she loves me. Just as well really. God knows what she’d post if she didn’t.
Nelly? A Pool Table? You Choose
Marty M, Bert and I are looking over the new house. We park ourselves in the sunroom while Marty and Bert have a smoke. The sunroom is the bit that wasn’t there before. It’s leads off the kitchen and is a big airy bright room that I’m going to fill with comfortable sofas. We plan to entertain in it, relax in it and it’s going to be the sole smoking area. But Marty M has a different notion.
Marty: Do you know what this room is crying out for?
Nelly: A bar?
Marty: A pool table. What do you think Bert? Wouldn’t a pool table be great in here?
Bert: I suppose you could fit one in no problem.
Nelly: I don’t think so. There’d be no room for my comfy sofas.
Marty: Bert. She’s got to go. Send her packing. Get a pool table.
Sometimes I think I’m far too tolerant for my own good.
Marty: Do you know what this room is crying out for?
Nelly: A bar?
Marty: A pool table. What do you think Bert? Wouldn’t a pool table be great in here?
Bert: I suppose you could fit one in no problem.
Nelly: I don’t think so. There’d be no room for my comfy sofas.
Marty: Bert. She’s got to go. Send her packing. Get a pool table.
Sometimes I think I’m far too tolerant for my own good.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
My Tuppenceworth
Clint was here yesterday and we got to talking about the recent upsurge of violence in Loyalist areas. I remarked that judging by pictures of shaven-headed Orangemen, their faces contorted in rage as they confronted the security forces that the Orange Order was a very different organisation than in decades past. Clint disagreed.
That’s Belfast for you. They’re hard men in Belfast, different than us. If you were to go to M******t Orange Lodge and see those boys you know, people like Hugh, and David and Herbie, they’re the way Orangemen always were. Countrymen. Can you imagine wee Hugh with his face contorted in rage squaring up to the police?
I talk to everybody about current events. Well maybe not everybody for there are those whose eyes narrow and faces close when certain subjects are mentioned. But I do talk to Unionists, Orangemen, Nationalists and the non-aligned about what goes on in this small place. And do you know something? I find that educated middle-class people from a Protestant background are the hardest of all on the current crop of agitators. Have a look at this. It sums up a lot of my feelings about the situation.
But I still wouldn’t want any of my daughters to marry one of the wee skitters. No edukashun.
That’s Belfast for you. They’re hard men in Belfast, different than us. If you were to go to M******t Orange Lodge and see those boys you know, people like Hugh, and David and Herbie, they’re the way Orangemen always were. Countrymen. Can you imagine wee Hugh with his face contorted in rage squaring up to the police?
I talk to everybody about current events. Well maybe not everybody for there are those whose eyes narrow and faces close when certain subjects are mentioned. But I do talk to Unionists, Orangemen, Nationalists and the non-aligned about what goes on in this small place. And do you know something? I find that educated middle-class people from a Protestant background are the hardest of all on the current crop of agitators. Have a look at this. It sums up a lot of my feelings about the situation.
But I still wouldn’t want any of my daughters to marry one of the wee skitters. No edukashun.
Monday, September 12, 2005
May Offend
So there I was innocently checking the childer’s blogs when I stumbled upon this nightmare posting. I declare to God I nearly choked on my Nescafe. If I’d spotted that one on Flickr I’d have to mark it as ‘may offend.’
A Fut In Juggins
Rosie: That’d be a great day for a spot of rabbit chasing.
Paddy: Indeed it would. I notice himself is paying no attention to us. Shall we head?
Rosie: You bet chummy. Last one out of the yard is a big jinny.
At midday a man from the Water Services called. He said, “D’ye know yer water meter is birling round like stoor?” While Bert and the Water Man went off to look at this birling meter the scunging devil dogs took the opportunity to take off. We’ve managed to keep them under control for the most of a week but they were just waiting their chance for an escape. And when their chance came they grabbed it. Both have sporting injuries incurred on previous scunging expeditions. Rosie had a swollen paw. The vet put £17 worth of medication into her for that one. Paddy has a bite (spider) on his paw and it was starting to heal up nicely but when they returned five hours later Rosie was limping and carrying her paw and, as for Paddy, as I said to Bert, “His wee sore fut’s in juggins.”
Paddy: Indeed it would. I notice himself is paying no attention to us. Shall we head?
Rosie: You bet chummy. Last one out of the yard is a big jinny.
At midday a man from the Water Services called. He said, “D’ye know yer water meter is birling round like stoor?” While Bert and the Water Man went off to look at this birling meter the scunging devil dogs took the opportunity to take off. We’ve managed to keep them under control for the most of a week but they were just waiting their chance for an escape. And when their chance came they grabbed it. Both have sporting injuries incurred on previous scunging expeditions. Rosie had a swollen paw. The vet put £17 worth of medication into her for that one. Paddy has a bite (spider) on his paw and it was starting to heal up nicely but when they returned five hours later Rosie was limping and carrying her paw and, as for Paddy, as I said to Bert, “His wee sore fut’s in juggins.”
Sunday, September 11, 2005
The Big Move
That is a picture taken in April. The scaffolding is down and the windows are in. The chimneys are dashed (scritch-scratchy Ballintoy dash) and the extension is complete. We're starting the move this week. I'm exhausted just thinking about it.
The Natives Are....
....restless and so am I. Why is it that sometimes stuff happens and you chew it up and spit it out then other times every little thing that screws up seems pretty hard to deal with? Why is it when one thing goes wrong with the PC a load more goes wrong around the same time?
Z & D came out to visit on Friday (toffy wit birthday) and while they were there D fixed the stuck drawer of my CDRW. He also showed me how to fix the problem if it happened again. I think he sorted it by giving it a very stern look because their car was actually still in sight heading off the yard when the drawer stuck again! I tried the stuff he showed me and it didn't work. Mind you I've still got the pointy bit of wire trick up my sleeve so I'll try that tomorrow. And now there's no power getting to the printer and my internet connection is buggered. It's enough to make me dash out and buy a laptop except of course I cannot afford a laptop. You got that Revenue Man?
But at least the walks are going well. Rosie and I drove to the Drumack Road for yesterday's outing. I started by standing ankle deep in a moss hole. I walked the walk anyway. Nelly laughs at soggy feet. It's not as if I'm made of sugar. Then there was the little problem of going out with one dog and returning with two. That big brown collarless dog followed us for miles. I couldn't deter it at all and I drew the line at physical violence. So as I hadn't the heart to leave it in the middle of a bog I took it home with me. This morning I drove around the area we'd been walking in and managed to reunite (Sam) with his very careless owners.
Swisser was sad about that for she had met Sam yesterday evening and took rather a fancy to him. She told Bert she had hoped for a pup out of him. Strikes me that would have been problematical as all our bitches are spayed. He did have a spectacular set of balls on him so I reckon he'd have been well able for pup-making. Paddy (the eunuch) hated him for that. So did Bert.
So here I am in a noisy place. The natives were very restless last night and I hear they are planning more mayhem tonight. But perhaps that is just wishful thinking on the part of my bored little charges.
Z & D came out to visit on Friday (toffy wit birthday) and while they were there D fixed the stuck drawer of my CDRW. He also showed me how to fix the problem if it happened again. I think he sorted it by giving it a very stern look because their car was actually still in sight heading off the yard when the drawer stuck again! I tried the stuff he showed me and it didn't work. Mind you I've still got the pointy bit of wire trick up my sleeve so I'll try that tomorrow. And now there's no power getting to the printer and my internet connection is buggered. It's enough to make me dash out and buy a laptop except of course I cannot afford a laptop. You got that Revenue Man?
But at least the walks are going well. Rosie and I drove to the Drumack Road for yesterday's outing. I started by standing ankle deep in a moss hole. I walked the walk anyway. Nelly laughs at soggy feet. It's not as if I'm made of sugar. Then there was the little problem of going out with one dog and returning with two. That big brown collarless dog followed us for miles. I couldn't deter it at all and I drew the line at physical violence. So as I hadn't the heart to leave it in the middle of a bog I took it home with me. This morning I drove around the area we'd been walking in and managed to reunite (Sam) with his very careless owners.
Swisser was sad about that for she had met Sam yesterday evening and took rather a fancy to him. She told Bert she had hoped for a pup out of him. Strikes me that would have been problematical as all our bitches are spayed. He did have a spectacular set of balls on him so I reckon he'd have been well able for pup-making. Paddy (the eunuch) hated him for that. So did Bert.
So here I am in a noisy place. The natives were very restless last night and I hear they are planning more mayhem tonight. But perhaps that is just wishful thinking on the part of my bored little charges.
Saturday, September 10, 2005
What Pearlie Likes
She likes a day out with Nelly and Matty. I've been told she thought her trip to Magherafelt and Dawson City was "a great wee outing."
She also likes Zoe's Chocolate Guinness cake. Yum!
She also likes Zoe's Chocolate Guinness cake. Yum!
Friday, September 09, 2005
More Things Pearlie Doesn't Like
The Kitchen Tiles
In the New House
Pearlie: I dinny like those tiles. I’d sooner have the red tiles.
Nelly: Do you not like them? Funny’s enough I love them. They’re my favourite tiles in the whole house. I waited weeks to get those tiles I love them so much.
Pearlie: Well I dinny like them.
Cursing
Cullybackey Road Roundabout
Nelly: Would you come on to hell out of that? Sitting there like an eedjit!
Pearlie: (slapping Nelly’s arm) Stop that oul sweering.
Nelly: Sure I only said hell.
Pearlie: Saying hell is a terrible thing.
Nelly: Well you shouldn’t have slapped me. You could have put me off the road.
Pearlie: Sure it was only a wee light tap. Like this. (Slaps Nelly again to prove point)
Nelly: You nearly had me off the road there again. See when we get out to Matty’s you’re going in the back seat. Matty never slaps me for swearing at the other drivers.
Donkeys
The road to Magherafelt
Matty: There’s an awful lot of piebald horses about the country these days.
Nelly: Aye, there is. And I’m noticing a lot of people are back to keeping donkeys too.
Pearlie: Aye, the donkeys were very scarce there a while back.
Matty: They’ve got very dear too. They say you couldn’t get a donkey now for less than £500.
Nelly: I’m going to ask Bert to buy me a donkey for Christmas.
Pearlie. A donkey! What would ye want him to get ye a donkey for?
Nelly: I think they’re lovely.
Pearlie: Ye have no need of a donkey. I think it’s terrible you expecting Bert to spend all that money on ye.
Nelly: OK. I’ll ask him to get me a laptop then.
Pearlie: A laptop! That’s terrible. Sure ye hae a computer. What do ye want another one for……..
The outside bit of a wee cheesecake bun.
In Mrs Ditty’s of Dawson City
Nelly: So that’ll be two cups of coffee and two fruit scones. What about you Pearlie?
Pearlie: I’ll have tea for I dinny like the coffee ye get when ye’re oot for it’s too strong. And I dinny like scones so I’ll have a wee plain bun.
Waitress: A wee cheesecake bun?
Pearlie: Aye that’ll do.
Moments later Pearlie dashes up to confab with waitress. Returns.
Pearlie: I’m no getting a cheesecake bun. I like the inside bit o’ them but I dinny like the outside bit.
Derry
On Toome’s new bridge
Nelly: Well that’s us back in the County Antrim now.
Pearlie: Why? Where were we?
Nelly: We were in Derry.
Pearlie: Were we in Derry? Ye mean Londonderry! Ye should call it Londonderry!
Nelly: Sure I can call it whatever I like.
Pearlie: Ye should call it Londonderry for that’s its name. Ye live in this country and that’s what it’s called in this country. Why don’t ye call it Londonderry?
Nelly: Because I’m a Fenian. Fenians don’t say Londonderry. What do you call it Matty?
Matty: I call it Derry City.
Pearlie: Well yez should call it Londonderry!
Aah. The old arguments are always the best.
Banties shiteing on her doorstep.
Back Home
Pearlie: Och. Them wee gets. Messing up my doorstep.
Nelly: You’ll not be bothered with that when I have them in a run with all the other fowl I’m getting.
Pearlie: What! They’ll be in no pen.
Nelly: They will. I’m not having them shiteing all over my house.
Pearlie: They’ll not go near your house.
Nelly: They’ll not for they’ll be in a run with all their new friends.
Pearlie: They’ll be in no pen.
Nelly. They’ll be in a run or they’ll be in a pot. For broth.
Pearlie: Humph!
In the New House
Pearlie: I dinny like those tiles. I’d sooner have the red tiles.
Nelly: Do you not like them? Funny’s enough I love them. They’re my favourite tiles in the whole house. I waited weeks to get those tiles I love them so much.
Pearlie: Well I dinny like them.
Cursing
Cullybackey Road Roundabout
Nelly: Would you come on to hell out of that? Sitting there like an eedjit!
Pearlie: (slapping Nelly’s arm) Stop that oul sweering.
Nelly: Sure I only said hell.
Pearlie: Saying hell is a terrible thing.
Nelly: Well you shouldn’t have slapped me. You could have put me off the road.
Pearlie: Sure it was only a wee light tap. Like this. (Slaps Nelly again to prove point)
Nelly: You nearly had me off the road there again. See when we get out to Matty’s you’re going in the back seat. Matty never slaps me for swearing at the other drivers.
Donkeys
The road to Magherafelt
Matty: There’s an awful lot of piebald horses about the country these days.
Nelly: Aye, there is. And I’m noticing a lot of people are back to keeping donkeys too.
Pearlie: Aye, the donkeys were very scarce there a while back.
Matty: They’ve got very dear too. They say you couldn’t get a donkey now for less than £500.
Nelly: I’m going to ask Bert to buy me a donkey for Christmas.
Pearlie. A donkey! What would ye want him to get ye a donkey for?
Nelly: I think they’re lovely.
Pearlie: Ye have no need of a donkey. I think it’s terrible you expecting Bert to spend all that money on ye.
Nelly: OK. I’ll ask him to get me a laptop then.
Pearlie: A laptop! That’s terrible. Sure ye hae a computer. What do ye want another one for……..
The outside bit of a wee cheesecake bun.
In Mrs Ditty’s of Dawson City
Nelly: So that’ll be two cups of coffee and two fruit scones. What about you Pearlie?
Pearlie: I’ll have tea for I dinny like the coffee ye get when ye’re oot for it’s too strong. And I dinny like scones so I’ll have a wee plain bun.
Waitress: A wee cheesecake bun?
Pearlie: Aye that’ll do.
Moments later Pearlie dashes up to confab with waitress. Returns.
Pearlie: I’m no getting a cheesecake bun. I like the inside bit o’ them but I dinny like the outside bit.
Derry
On Toome’s new bridge
Nelly: Well that’s us back in the County Antrim now.
Pearlie: Why? Where were we?
Nelly: We were in Derry.
Pearlie: Were we in Derry? Ye mean Londonderry! Ye should call it Londonderry!
Nelly: Sure I can call it whatever I like.
Pearlie: Ye should call it Londonderry for that’s its name. Ye live in this country and that’s what it’s called in this country. Why don’t ye call it Londonderry?
Nelly: Because I’m a Fenian. Fenians don’t say Londonderry. What do you call it Matty?
Matty: I call it Derry City.
Pearlie: Well yez should call it Londonderry!
Aah. The old arguments are always the best.
Banties shiteing on her doorstep.
Back Home
Pearlie: Och. Them wee gets. Messing up my doorstep.
Nelly: You’ll not be bothered with that when I have them in a run with all the other fowl I’m getting.
Pearlie: What! They’ll be in no pen.
Nelly: They will. I’m not having them shiteing all over my house.
Pearlie: They’ll not go near your house.
Nelly: They’ll not for they’ll be in a run with all their new friends.
Pearlie: They’ll be in no pen.
Nelly. They’ll be in a run or they’ll be in a pot. For broth.
Pearlie: Humph!
Thursday, September 08, 2005
When Bertie Met Nelly
I went out walking with sister Trish this evening and we discussed many, many things including the state of my hair which, yet again, is hanging round me in tartles. I remarked that I'd need to be getting in touch with cousin Pauline some time soon to arrange a bit of a tidy up.
"The only thing is I don't know what I should get done with it."
"I'd keep a bit of length on it."
"Aye. I might. Bert likes a bit of length to it. I think when he screws his
eyes up really tight and squints at me he can imagine that I'm still like I was when he first met me."
The picture above dates from that time.
"Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter." Mark Twain
Most of the time I don't mind. Except of course for the teeth.
More Nellypix tomorrow to mark my birthday. I'm going to be 25 but that''ll be a dyslexic 25.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Dilysexa
Aaprplenty it deos not mtetar vrey mcuh if wdros are jlumebd ervey wcihh way busaece you ibilcrendy cevelr plopee will slitl be albe to dhipeecr tiher minnaeg.
I wluod ecpxet nhiontg lses tahn one hrndued prenect udsritennadng form Sraty Tesaotr, I Dndit Qtiue Cacth Taht, Ginchang, Boaobn Pearits, The Siartt of Misesa and the Geren Lrazid Knig.
Srory if Nlely lfet you out. Teird.
Etalpanxoin in flul hree
I wluod ecpxet nhiontg lses tahn one hrndued prenect udsritennadng form Sraty Tesaotr, I Dndit Qtiue Cacth Taht, Ginchang, Boaobn Pearits, The Siartt of Misesa and the Geren Lrazid Knig.
Srory if Nlely lfet you out. Teird.
Etalpanxoin in flul hree
Out Of Sorts
It’s been a funny old day. Bert’s encounter with the IR cub has left me feeling very rattled. It has obviously sent Bert insane as right now he is watching a football match and judging by his occasional excitable yips he sounds as if he is enjoying it.
There was a major mix-up earlier with the Kerry sister & myself regarding meeting up. While I was in the Boglands (as arranged) she was in Cully. We missed each other by about two minutes. I couldn’t face driving back to the Bog, as another battle through the school traffic would have been a nightmare. So that has put me out of sorts.
Then Jim didn’t put in the kitchen as arranged but apparently it is happening tomorrow so that’s something I can look forward to.
And Hannah is coming home soon. Which is another thing to look forward to.
Then Bert, who doesn’t do birthdays, asked me what I wanted for mine. I said I wanted a new house and I think I might be getting one.
And Lost is on tonight. And I know I shouldn’t grumble because, really, my life is good.
Except I just hate people being mean to Bert. That’s my job.
There was a major mix-up earlier with the Kerry sister & myself regarding meeting up. While I was in the Boglands (as arranged) she was in Cully. We missed each other by about two minutes. I couldn’t face driving back to the Bog, as another battle through the school traffic would have been a nightmare. So that has put me out of sorts.
Then Jim didn’t put in the kitchen as arranged but apparently it is happening tomorrow so that’s something I can look forward to.
And Hannah is coming home soon. Which is another thing to look forward to.
Then Bert, who doesn’t do birthdays, asked me what I wanted for mine. I said I wanted a new house and I think I might be getting one.
And Lost is on tonight. And I know I shouldn’t grumble because, really, my life is good.
Except I just hate people being mean to Bert. That’s my job.
"I'm not calling you a liar. We're not allowed to do that anymore."
“ The number of tax inspectors has increased twice as fast as the number of new doctors and nurses.” (Lord MacGregor of Pulham Market, Hansard, Jan 2005)
To add to the stew of stress that Bert and I have been experiencing this year Bert has had an impending Inland Revenue investigation hanging over him. The reason being (we think) that the IR cannot understand why Bert bothered in 2001, as he appears to have made no profits. And as far as we can recall he didn’t.
So why did Bert become self-employed? There are two reasons. The first is that he did not want to work for anyone else and the second is that he wanted to do something. And horticulture was what he was good at. He did not become self-employed because he wanted to be rich. Most self-employed people aren’t rich anyway
I was listening to the Today programme as I returned from work this morning and I heard this argument for a flat-rate tax. I also heard the Shadow Chancellor say that the number of people working in tax collection has increased by 64000 since 1999. I thought to myself that this might well be the reason why Bert has been called to account by the Inland Revenue. Too many tax inspectors needing something to do.
The following are some of the questions fired at him by the civil servant.
What are you driving? Why no car?
Where did you get the money to concrete that lane? If you say your elderly mother gave it to you from the box of fivers she keeps under her bed we’ll do her too.
If you cannot explain where you got the money from we’ll assume you’re working in a cash economy and have been doing so all along and will bill you accordingly.
Why have you not taken a holiday for four years?
Are Zoë, Katy and Hannah still living with you? Are they working? Are they students?
Why do you keep your dealings with M******* Garden Centre in a separate book? (1)
How much does Nelly earn?
Who buys the groceries?
How often do you go out for a meal? (2)
Where do you get the cash for birthday presents? (3)
That woodland you own. Do you sell Christmas trees of it? We can come and see for ourselves you know.
I’m not calling you a liar. We’re not allowed to do that any more.
And there was much more of the same. The civil servant cub was obviously one of the 64000 cutting his teeth on a man with a shoestring business and a cheap accountant.
Bert is wondering why he bothers. Why not just wrap it all up and go unemployed. The truth is that if you don’t fit into the Norman Normal box you are a suspect. Naughty Bert. Hardly ever uses a credit card, doesn’t have debt, lives within his means, doesn’t spend, spend, spend. Not a good citizen at all. Not doing his bit to make fat cats even richer. Just quietly growing the best clematis in Norn Iron.
To add to the stew of stress that Bert and I have been experiencing this year Bert has had an impending Inland Revenue investigation hanging over him. The reason being (we think) that the IR cannot understand why Bert bothered in 2001, as he appears to have made no profits. And as far as we can recall he didn’t.
So why did Bert become self-employed? There are two reasons. The first is that he did not want to work for anyone else and the second is that he wanted to do something. And horticulture was what he was good at. He did not become self-employed because he wanted to be rich. Most self-employed people aren’t rich anyway
I was listening to the Today programme as I returned from work this morning and I heard this argument for a flat-rate tax. I also heard the Shadow Chancellor say that the number of people working in tax collection has increased by 64000 since 1999. I thought to myself that this might well be the reason why Bert has been called to account by the Inland Revenue. Too many tax inspectors needing something to do.
The following are some of the questions fired at him by the civil servant.
What are you driving? Why no car?
Where did you get the money to concrete that lane? If you say your elderly mother gave it to you from the box of fivers she keeps under her bed we’ll do her too.
If you cannot explain where you got the money from we’ll assume you’re working in a cash economy and have been doing so all along and will bill you accordingly.
Why have you not taken a holiday for four years?
Are Zoë, Katy and Hannah still living with you? Are they working? Are they students?
Why do you keep your dealings with M******* Garden Centre in a separate book? (1)
How much does Nelly earn?
Who buys the groceries?
How often do you go out for a meal? (2)
Where do you get the cash for birthday presents? (3)
That woodland you own. Do you sell Christmas trees of it? We can come and see for ourselves you know.
I’m not calling you a liar. We’re not allowed to do that any more.
And there was much more of the same. The civil servant cub was obviously one of the 64000 cutting his teeth on a man with a shoestring business and a cheap accountant.
Bert is wondering why he bothers. Why not just wrap it all up and go unemployed. The truth is that if you don’t fit into the Norman Normal box you are a suspect. Naughty Bert. Hardly ever uses a credit card, doesn’t have debt, lives within his means, doesn’t spend, spend, spend. Not a good citizen at all. Not doing his bit to make fat cats even richer. Just quietly growing the best clematis in Norn Iron.
- Because they are the only concern where he operates a sale or return policy.
- His answer was 6-8 times a year. I suggested he should have said, “Do I look like I go out for meals Fat Boy?”
- He actually did growl, “I don’t do birthdays.”
How Many Berts Does It Take To Change A Light Bulb?
This post has been inspired by Ganching’s recent ‘10 things’ series and Bert’s amazing ability to change light bulbs without standing on a chair.
10 things I love about Bert
Of course I could do another list of ’10 things I hate….’ But I won’t.
At this very moment the poor man is being interviewed by the dreaded TAX MAN and has been shitting bricks all yesterday and this morning. Fingers crossed.
And the answer to the question posed in the title? One long one.
10 things I love about Bert
- He is well loved by everyone who knows him.
- The man hasn’t an ounce of spite in him.
- He is kind, tolerant and open-minded.
- He is ‘lethal’ on the tin whistle.
- He has a great sense of humour and doesn’t take himself too seriously.
- He is an envy-free zone.
- He can cook.
- He has a sexy bum.
- He always pays the vet’s bills.
- He is tall enough to change light bulbs without standing on a chair.
Of course I could do another list of ’10 things I hate….’ But I won’t.
At this very moment the poor man is being interviewed by the dreaded TAX MAN and has been shitting bricks all yesterday and this morning. Fingers crossed.
And the answer to the question posed in the title? One long one.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Atkins My Arse
And of course that would be my diminishing arse. It is still a considerable bum of course and there is no danger of overhearing anyone saying anytime soon,
“Nelly’s trousers look as if her arse has fainted.”
Those of you skilled at reading between the lines may have noticed that I am doing the healthy eating and walking thing. And three cheers for me that I have not been using my blog as a platform from which to bore you all rigid with the day-to-day details of this.
But I do feel it is time for a bit of a progress report. You’ll be wanting to know what weight I am now. Won’t you? No? Oh go on, you do so.
TRUMPET FANFARE
I now weigh – now where did I put those scales. Oh yes. I remember now. I threw them away 6 months ago. I don’t know what I weigh. I probably weigh more than Bert, definitely less than Ploppy Pants.
BEST DIET BOOK
I Can Make You Thin by Paul McKenna.
He probably could too if he locked you in a shed and fed you bread and water for six months.
But even though he, like the rest of them, is a lying toad, his book does contain some kernels of truth.
- Eat
- Don’t overeat
- Move about a bit more
- And don’t expect instant results.
The Wild Man of the Mournes
Please treat this post as a warning and be extremely careful if you are walking/camping in the Mournes. There is a crazed, wild man stalking/prowling there. Unfortunately I do not have a recent picture but I do have a picture of his familiar. (above)
If you see this man, or his familiar, do not approach. He/it may be dangerous.
If you see this man, or his familiar, do not approach. He/it may be dangerous.
Monday, September 05, 2005
To Drink Or Not To Drink..
So remind me – how long is it now since I had an alcoholic drink? It’s my birthday in a few days time and I’m wondering if I should indulge myself. But….
But then again…
But then again, again – Oh sod it. I’ll stay sober until October. Then we’ll see.
*Unlike Markham I’m not going purist and will allow myself the occasional brandy ball or wine gum.
- I think I may get a Chocolate Guinness* Cake (please, please God) and if I do and I drink I might then go crazy and eat savage amounts of it. You think smoking dope gives you the munchies? It’s drinking white wine that gives you the appetite of a hungry bear emerging from hibernation.
- And it is only since I quit drinking that people have started to remark that my rotundity is lessening – which is encouraging.
- My sobriety is also especially nice for nephews when they surprise us by turning up unexpectedly in Belfast to have a kindly Aunt who can pick them up and carefully drive them to their granny’s house.
But then again…
But then again, again – Oh sod it. I’ll stay sober until October. Then we’ll see.
*Unlike Markham I’m not going purist and will allow myself the occasional brandy ball or wine gum.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
I'm Chuffed...
..to see that this guy has recently added me to his blogroll. I've been looking in on him for quite a while now and only put him on my own list a little time ago. I reckon everyone needs at least one gun-lovin' Texan on the roll.
Like Baboon Pirates I could do with updating the roll as I'm not featuring everyone I read.
There are also a couple on the roll that seem to have dropped out so I'm going to have to change that too. No offence but if nothing's happening you'll have to go!
Like Baboon Pirates I could do with updating the roll as I'm not featuring everyone I read.
There are also a couple on the roll that seem to have dropped out so I'm going to have to change that too. No offence but if nothing's happening you'll have to go!
A Crabbit Star
This is what actually happened.
Mandolin Man arrived back at 11.30pm – Banjo Man had stopped in Portglenone, as he was aghast to hear that his wife, the blonde, was out revelling with two of the handsomest men in Portglenone.
The charges, Mandolin Man and myself all retired early. At 3.30am the Portglenone Four – and Ploppy Pants returning from their night out rudely awakened us. Poor Mandolin Man was sleeping on the kitchen sofa so he bore the brunt. You know those deep voices that boom and reverberate throughout a building? Well Ploppy Pants has got one of those. I lay in bed and fantasised about shooting him out of a cannon. Over a cliff. Then there was the tippety-tap of Jazzer’s kitten heels up and down, up and down the kitchen floor. For feck’s sake woman would you ever sit on your arse? I fantasised about going downstairs and hammering out a tune on her head with those kitten heels.
What did I actually do? I summoned Bert and peevishly asked him to tell that lot to keep the noise down, that I’d been up half the night in work the previous night and I wanted a decent night’s sleep tonight. Bless him for he managed to keep them quiet after that.
This is one star who doesn’t like her sleep being disturbed.
Saturday, September 03, 2005
Pass Me My Trumpet
It occurs to me this evening that I'm a bit of a star. Despite my moaning earlier this week here I am in the midst of the Antrim Invasion and coping admirably.Not many friends would lend you their man while yours was busy playing the banjo at the Omagh Bluegrass Festival. And for the whole day too. And then when you, your children and your friend's man got back from the Bluegrass Festival would then permit, nay encourage, you to go to the Portglenone Fleadh as well, with a handsome Vancouver nephew thrown in for good measure. And then your friend drives you there and goes on to babysit your kids and your neighbour's kid. You're a lucky woman Gnasher, I mean Jazzer.
There cannot be very many women who would let their man spend the whole day with a bosomy blonde, then on his return with said blonde would allow, nay insist, that he squires her to the Portglenone Fleadh with only one Vancouver nephew to chaperone. You're a lucky, lucky man Bert Clematis-Grower.
And not many friends would leave their door unlocked for you when you stagger in, in the early hours, exhausted, possibly rat-arsed, from a long day's bluegrassing in the park in Omagh. Not many friends would laugh lightly as the dogs go completely mental barking fit to raise the roof and waking up the whole house. You're a pair of very fortunate musicians Banjo Man and Mandolin Man.
And me? I'm definitely a star.
Pictured above. The Charges
Friday, September 02, 2005
Another Virgo
Delighted congratulations to Terry and Rod on the birth of their little daughter born on the first of September. Yay! Another Virgo. They're great, we are.
Rod we tried to phone but we think you may be at the hospital gazing adoringly at your girls.
Rod we tried to phone but we think you may be at the hospital gazing adoringly at your girls.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
A Hen's Arse
Matty gets her hair done every Friday morning. She claims she only does this to please the hairdresser (her niece Pauline) as her hair ‘will not sit’ and on Saturday morning it is sticking out at the sides and has gone all flat at the top.
She told my sister that her hair looked like ‘a hen’s arse’. She also told my sister that if she told me that she’d said this then I would put it on my ‘block’.
And now I have.
She told my sister that her hair looked like ‘a hen’s arse’. She also told my sister that if she told me that she’d said this then I would put it on my ‘block’.
And now I have.
I Know You
I was walking through the council yard the other evening when I spotted a group of young fellows wearing baseball caps and looking a bit scary. I was carrying a bag containing a purse containing money and credit cards, a mobile phone and a digital camera, which would have been a decent haul for muggers. These lads were shouting and generally ‘getting on’ in what I thought was an intimidating manner. Paddy dog was not looking anything like as savage and dangerous as I might have wished for. As I got nearer the group they fell silent and stared at me balefully. I decided to have a damn good look at them too so that I could give a good description to the police after they’d mugged me. First impression was they were aged from 16-19 and there was a big one a medium one and two smallish ones. I checked the big one first. He had on a navy baseball cap with a red logo, navy trackie type jacket with a red and white trim, denim jeans and big caterpillar boots (all the better for giving you a good kicking) Right that’s him done. Next please. Oh I know you, you maggot. You’re Mark Glenn. I knew Mark from about 14 and now he must be nearly 18. He used to like me and chat to me quite a bit. Then he got in with a lot of hoods, their first rule being ‘We Hate Taigs’. He stopped answering if I spoke to him on the street so now we blank each other. Good-oh. No need for bothersome memorising of features or clothing. Lay one hand on me now spidey-boys and I have a name.
Mutual glaring over I continued on my way. I think I definitely prefer country walking. The country boys are far less intimidating even when they’re roaring down the back roads on giant tractors pulling slurry spreaders or silage trailers. It’s the country housewife you need to watch out for as she speeds down the farm lane at 50mph and pulls out on to the road, never thinking for one second that hidden by the hedge is a wee woman and a dog coming trotting along. It’s only a matter of time before one of them cowps me into the ditch. But at least I’ll not be robbed.
Mutual glaring over I continued on my way. I think I definitely prefer country walking. The country boys are far less intimidating even when they’re roaring down the back roads on giant tractors pulling slurry spreaders or silage trailers. It’s the country housewife you need to watch out for as she speeds down the farm lane at 50mph and pulls out on to the road, never thinking for one second that hidden by the hedge is a wee woman and a dog coming trotting along. It’s only a matter of time before one of them cowps me into the ditch. But at least I’ll not be robbed.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
I Wonder...
I wonder what kind of grandmother I’ll be? I’ll never be like her. She’s around my age and that oldest one must be at least 10. Wonder what it’s like to have a granny with a bleached crew cut and tight jeans. Imagine having a tanned, tattooed granny in a vest top. She’s got four of them with her, the youngest in a pushchair. They’re a bit of a handful. She’s growling at them, warning them they’ll get no sweets if they don’t behave. They carry on regardless, not much heeding her gruffness. It is so obvious that they adore being with her; that spending the day with granny is the best fun. I’ll never look like her but I hope any future grandchildren I have will love spending time with granny as much as hers do.
Stop Making Sense
The telephone rings. It’s the Wee Manny. He is in his cups.
Hello. How are you? Is Bertie about?
No. He’s over at Clint’s. I thought he’d be back by now. How are you doing?
I’m fine. But I’m thinking of taking a lot of time off over Christmas and going over to see this property in SA and I wondered if Bert would like to come to give me a second opinion for you know how I value his opinion.
Christmas in South Africa? I’ll have to run that past him. You know he’s thinking of going to Indonesia early next year.
Indonesia?
Yeah. To rescue orang utans.
Orang utans?
Yeah. Anyways how’s Khail doing?
That poof? He’s doing OK. He’ll be doing OK if he doesn’t roll another car.
How is his graft taking?
It’s doing good. But the area they took the graft from is a disaster. They were hours picking bits of fluff out of it with tweezers. Somebody put the wrong dressing on it. He’s taking photos of it. He’s taking photos of everything. His wounds, the wrecked car. He’s not right in the head.
Oh I don’t know. Some people just like that sort of stuff. You think it’s a bit sick?
Sixth? Aye. Michael McGlone I went to school with was a sixth son of a sixth son. He knew everything the day before it happened.
Oh. Does Khail know everything the day before it happens?
Hardly. He’s not a sixth son.
Isn’t it a seventh son?
I don’t know! Are you eating?
Yes. I’m eating a tomato.
You shouldn’t! Tomatoes are terrible things. Where did you get it?
Off a bush. I’m eating another one. Yum.
You grew it yourself. That’s OK now. But you shouldn’t eat shop bought tomatoes. I saw it on the TV. There are some great programmes on in the morning. You should watch them.
Oh I couldn’t be bothered with them. What’s wrong with shop bought tomatoes? Are they rank poison?
No they’re full of…
Pesticides?
No! Water! They’re full of water.
Look I’m going to have to go now. I’ve got things to do.
Then I’ll not tell you where you get the best tomatoes.
Oh go on then.
The Isle of Wight. They grow them hydroponically there. Now what about this trip to Africa?
I’ll run it past him. But if it’s over Christmas I shan’t allow him. After all it’s going to be our first Christmas in the new house.
Oh. [miffed]
Then there’s the orang utans…
Put down phone. Go to den where dearest is watching a film. Say to him.
You owe me. Big style.
Hello. How are you? Is Bertie about?
No. He’s over at Clint’s. I thought he’d be back by now. How are you doing?
I’m fine. But I’m thinking of taking a lot of time off over Christmas and going over to see this property in SA and I wondered if Bert would like to come to give me a second opinion for you know how I value his opinion.
Christmas in South Africa? I’ll have to run that past him. You know he’s thinking of going to Indonesia early next year.
Indonesia?
Yeah. To rescue orang utans.
Orang utans?
Yeah. Anyways how’s Khail doing?
That poof? He’s doing OK. He’ll be doing OK if he doesn’t roll another car.
How is his graft taking?
It’s doing good. But the area they took the graft from is a disaster. They were hours picking bits of fluff out of it with tweezers. Somebody put the wrong dressing on it. He’s taking photos of it. He’s taking photos of everything. His wounds, the wrecked car. He’s not right in the head.
Oh I don’t know. Some people just like that sort of stuff. You think it’s a bit sick?
Sixth? Aye. Michael McGlone I went to school with was a sixth son of a sixth son. He knew everything the day before it happened.
Oh. Does Khail know everything the day before it happens?
Hardly. He’s not a sixth son.
Isn’t it a seventh son?
I don’t know! Are you eating?
Yes. I’m eating a tomato.
You shouldn’t! Tomatoes are terrible things. Where did you get it?
Off a bush. I’m eating another one. Yum.
You grew it yourself. That’s OK now. But you shouldn’t eat shop bought tomatoes. I saw it on the TV. There are some great programmes on in the morning. You should watch them.
Oh I couldn’t be bothered with them. What’s wrong with shop bought tomatoes? Are they rank poison?
No they’re full of…
Pesticides?
No! Water! They’re full of water.
Look I’m going to have to go now. I’ve got things to do.
Then I’ll not tell you where you get the best tomatoes.
Oh go on then.
The Isle of Wight. They grow them hydroponically there. Now what about this trip to Africa?
I’ll run it past him. But if it’s over Christmas I shan’t allow him. After all it’s going to be our first Christmas in the new house.
Oh. [miffed]
Then there’s the orang utans…
Put down phone. Go to den where dearest is watching a film. Say to him.
You owe me. Big style.
Being Matty
I picked up Matty this morning and drove her to Slatt where we test drove a wheelchair. Matty was in a bit of a mood. She was being dark and venomous about a pair of her fellow ol’ girls and was imagining scenarios where same ol’ girls might have done and probably said some very nasty things about another ol’ girl because as she sniffily remarked “I know the sort of them and the way they go on,” so I thought to myself somebody has miffed her quite a bit.
She was also in one of her nervous passenger moods. This is when she is constantly anticipating disastrous collisions. I look left, she looks right, and she sees red van and gasps in horror. I look right and see red van and reassure her that I had no plans to drive out before checking right is clear. Or again we are progressing down a country road at 30mph having just pulled out of wheelchair shop. A racing cyclist wearing all appropriate gear including yellow jersey pulls out of a road to the left quite a bit in front of us. She yelps in dismay. I reassure her that cyclist knows he has lots of time to get out and that even if he does collide with us the damage done to the Fiesta would be minimal. We’d probably survive it.
Despite her moods and her ultra-nervousness we make it home intact. We survived it.
Later I drive Bert to Articlave to pick up a cast iron radiator. We play Being Matty to pass the time. Playing Being Matty involves giving exaggerated gasps of horror whenever you see another vehicle that might collide with you if the driver was struck by a meteor, suffered a heart attack, was suicidal, drunk, a chimpanzee etc. It’s a lot of fun.
Later again I delivered Zoë’s birthday presents and went for a walk. Still later again I received a phone call from my nephew Emmet who had just got off the Dublin train and was standing outside the Europa Hotel. I gathered him up and delivered him to Matty. Then I went home and wrote my blog.
She was also in one of her nervous passenger moods. This is when she is constantly anticipating disastrous collisions. I look left, she looks right, and she sees red van and gasps in horror. I look right and see red van and reassure her that I had no plans to drive out before checking right is clear. Or again we are progressing down a country road at 30mph having just pulled out of wheelchair shop. A racing cyclist wearing all appropriate gear including yellow jersey pulls out of a road to the left quite a bit in front of us. She yelps in dismay. I reassure her that cyclist knows he has lots of time to get out and that even if he does collide with us the damage done to the Fiesta would be minimal. We’d probably survive it.
Despite her moods and her ultra-nervousness we make it home intact. We survived it.
Later I drive Bert to Articlave to pick up a cast iron radiator. We play Being Matty to pass the time. Playing Being Matty involves giving exaggerated gasps of horror whenever you see another vehicle that might collide with you if the driver was struck by a meteor, suffered a heart attack, was suicidal, drunk, a chimpanzee etc. It’s a lot of fun.
Later again I delivered Zoë’s birthday presents and went for a walk. Still later again I received a phone call from my nephew Emmet who had just got off the Dublin train and was standing outside the Europa Hotel. I gathered him up and delivered him to Matty. Then I went home and wrote my blog.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Buttons
This post is a test to see how the Blogger attachment for Microsoft Word performs.
A few weeks back Matty told me that she hadn’t been one bit well the day before. I pricked up my ears at this as I knew I was going to hear some woeful tale of her doing something that she knows fine rightly she shouldn’t be doing.
Matty has angina and she hates the way it can restrict her activities. One of the things she can’t do without suffering the consequences is any task that involves prolonged bending down. An example would be picking things up at floor level.
So I asked,
What were you at?
Well I got this blouse yesterday morning in the sale at Bonne Marche. The girl told me it was well reduced because it had a button missing.
So how did this hurt your chest?
When I got home I started looking for my button jar. It’s usually in the bottom of one of the wardrobes or one of my bottom drawers but I looked and looked and I couldn’t find it anywhere.
How long did you look for it?
About two hours. To tell you the truth it left me that I wasn’t worth tuppence for the rest of the evening.
Did the button jar turn up?
No. I was that annoyed I pulled out some other old thing and cut all the buttons off it and sewed them on to this one. Then I got a quare gunk!
What happened?
I looked inside the new blouse and there was a spare button inside it the whole time!
A few weeks back Matty told me that she hadn’t been one bit well the day before. I pricked up my ears at this as I knew I was going to hear some woeful tale of her doing something that she knows fine rightly she shouldn’t be doing.
Matty has angina and she hates the way it can restrict her activities. One of the things she can’t do without suffering the consequences is any task that involves prolonged bending down. An example would be picking things up at floor level.
So I asked,
What were you at?
Well I got this blouse yesterday morning in the sale at Bonne Marche. The girl told me it was well reduced because it had a button missing.
So how did this hurt your chest?
When I got home I started looking for my button jar. It’s usually in the bottom of one of the wardrobes or one of my bottom drawers but I looked and looked and I couldn’t find it anywhere.
How long did you look for it?
About two hours. To tell you the truth it left me that I wasn’t worth tuppence for the rest of the evening.
Did the button jar turn up?
No. I was that annoyed I pulled out some other old thing and cut all the buttons off it and sewed them on to this one. Then I got a quare gunk!
What happened?
I looked inside the new blouse and there was a spare button inside it the whole time!
Birthday Girl
Zoe has always enjoyed a bit of birthday cake.
Now that she's a (little bit) older she's pretty good at baking them too.
Have yourself a wonderful birthday Zoe.
Monday, August 29, 2005
Three Days in Lafayette
I've just been watching the Hurricane Katrina news coverage from Louisiana. Scarey stuff.
Several years ago Bert, Clint and I were in Louisiana when a hurricane struck. We spent a day and a half stuck in a motel room in Lafayette. It was a mixture of exciting and boring. We watched the winds peel the roof off the Lebanese restaurant where we'd eaten the previous evening. The hurricane we experienced wasn't even close to the strength of Katrina but it caused a lot of disruption and made a big mess.
Late summer/ early autumn is not a good time to visit the Gulf of Mexico states.
Several years ago Bert, Clint and I were in Louisiana when a hurricane struck. We spent a day and a half stuck in a motel room in Lafayette. It was a mixture of exciting and boring. We watched the winds peel the roof off the Lebanese restaurant where we'd eaten the previous evening. The hurricane we experienced wasn't even close to the strength of Katrina but it caused a lot of disruption and made a big mess.
Late summer/ early autumn is not a good time to visit the Gulf of Mexico states.
Willies Everywhere!
Straightaway the title subtly clues y'all in to the fact that opening links on this post may not be worksafe. So mind how you go there.
Now I'm happy to say that I am not the sort of person who receives dubious emails so when salacious pictures are widely reported in the press I have to seek them out for myself. Thanks then to Holy Moly for giving me the opportunity to glance at the picture that everyone else has probably seen already. Jude Law. He's got it all. He possesses fame, fortune, talent and a beautiful girlfriend who'd forgive him anything. There's just one little thing troubling him. Poor Jude. You can't have it all. And soon Sienna will leave you forever and then you will go bald.
Holy Moly has offered up another little prickture. This one is my favourite.
Now I'm happy to say that I am not the sort of person who receives dubious emails so when salacious pictures are widely reported in the press I have to seek them out for myself. Thanks then to Holy Moly for giving me the opportunity to glance at the picture that everyone else has probably seen already. Jude Law. He's got it all. He possesses fame, fortune, talent and a beautiful girlfriend who'd forgive him anything. There's just one little thing troubling him. Poor Jude. You can't have it all. And soon Sienna will leave you forever and then you will go bald.
Holy Moly has offered up another little prickture. This one is my favourite.
Sunday, August 28, 2005
And Still She Wished For Solitude
Earlier this evening in Gillie's BarSaturday, August 27, 2005
Sobriety Test
These pictures were taken about 30 minutes ago. They feature our Saturday evening guests. Four have drink taken and two are stone cold sober and intend to remain so. My challenge? Who are the sober two.I invite opinions on who looks drunkest.
Nelly's Birthday
At 9.30 tonight Nelly's Garden will be one year old.
Thanks to everyone who has encouraged me by linking and commenting and generally humouring me.
Best wishes to you all from The Oldest Blogger in Cully.
Thanks to everyone who has encouraged me by linking and commenting and generally humouring me.
Best wishes to you all from The Oldest Blogger in Cully.
My Gleaming Halo
I went to bed last night feeling rather pleased with myself. The buffet supper went well. Mikey and I excelled ourselves in the kitchen and the food was pretty good. The cheese was awesome.
There was one dodgy moment while we were all tucking in. Swisser decided whis would be a good time to discuss Harry de Cat's recurring worm problem. But we all told her to SHUT UP. Especially Zoe. And eventually she did.
There were a couple of notable absenses. Ploppy Pants didn't turn up because he and Swisser have had a row about her loving Bert 'too much' and Ian wasn't there because he's rehearsing for the Omagh Bluegrass Festival next weekend. Get him.
But the best thing of all was that I entertained, I did it well and I did not drink. The only thing I yearned for was a wee drop of Laphroaig but I resisted the temptation. It's not as if it's the last bottle on earth.
Zoe and her beloved are going boating today. She says that no one is going overboard. I hope she keeps her word.
There was one dodgy moment while we were all tucking in. Swisser decided whis would be a good time to discuss Harry de Cat's recurring worm problem. But we all told her to SHUT UP. Especially Zoe. And eventually she did.
There were a couple of notable absenses. Ploppy Pants didn't turn up because he and Swisser have had a row about her loving Bert 'too much' and Ian wasn't there because he's rehearsing for the Omagh Bluegrass Festival next weekend. Get him.
But the best thing of all was that I entertained, I did it well and I did not drink. The only thing I yearned for was a wee drop of Laphroaig but I resisted the temptation. It's not as if it's the last bottle on earth.
Zoe and her beloved are going boating today. She says that no one is going overboard. I hope she keeps her word.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
An Accidental Stalker
As CyberScribe's link illustrated having a cyberstalker can be an unpleasant and sometimes a very frightening experience. Thankfully I don't have one of those. But as I recently referred to a stalker in a light way I thought I'd better explain as real stalkers are no joking matter.
It started several weeks ago whilst at work. Ever vigilant I spotted a man apparently prowling around the back of the building. He was knocking at a door wherein lived a woman who was in the habit of entertaining male visitors.at strange hours. Not liking such unpleasant goings on I nollered him. "Excuse me! Can I help you?" calls I in my strictest I'll-be-taking-no-nonsense-from-you-oul-fella-me-lad tones. I was very surprised when he turned and replied, "Declare to God, Nelly it's yourself!" Turned out to be ultra respectable Paddy Diamond from the home parish. Paddy Diamond ex-altar boy, practically a priest he's that holy and whose even holier brother helped bury me da. Not the sort of fella atall to be calling on one that's no better than she should be. Turns out he's got this post-retirement job doing surveys at random addresses in selected areas. The address he was after was for an empty flat so he had a bit of a chat with me about country matters and off he headed.
Then last night just back from work when a car pulls into the yard. Bert takes a look and says, "I don't like the look of this boy Nelly. He's got a clipboard with him." Clipboard Man appears at the door, "Hello Paddy," says I. "Declare to God Nelly it's yourself. Is this where you're at?" says he. Turns out we're his random address for the evening and he's here to ask us what we think of the crap bus service in Cully. But he can't because Respondent is known to him. So we spend 40 minutes discussing country matters then he's off home to his supper singing 'Easy Money' as he goes.
It started several weeks ago whilst at work. Ever vigilant I spotted a man apparently prowling around the back of the building. He was knocking at a door wherein lived a woman who was in the habit of entertaining male visitors.at strange hours. Not liking such unpleasant goings on I nollered him. "Excuse me! Can I help you?" calls I in my strictest I'll-be-taking-no-nonsense-from-you-oul-fella-me-lad tones. I was very surprised when he turned and replied, "Declare to God, Nelly it's yourself!" Turned out to be ultra respectable Paddy Diamond from the home parish. Paddy Diamond ex-altar boy, practically a priest he's that holy and whose even holier brother helped bury me da. Not the sort of fella atall to be calling on one that's no better than she should be. Turns out he's got this post-retirement job doing surveys at random addresses in selected areas. The address he was after was for an empty flat so he had a bit of a chat with me about country matters and off he headed.
Then last night just back from work when a car pulls into the yard. Bert takes a look and says, "I don't like the look of this boy Nelly. He's got a clipboard with him." Clipboard Man appears at the door, "Hello Paddy," says I. "Declare to God Nelly it's yourself. Is this where you're at?" says he. Turns out we're his random address for the evening and he's here to ask us what we think of the crap bus service in Cully. But he can't because Respondent is known to him. So we spend 40 minutes discussing country matters then he's off home to his supper singing 'Easy Money' as he goes.
Permission To Shake, Sir?
I just remembered this morning that Mikeyboy (coming today) is allergic to cats.
I mentioned this to Bert.
Oh don't worry. Sure Harry de Cat always lives on top of the cupboard
when someone's staying who doesn't like cats.
But Mikey's hardly going to catch Harry in his teeth and shake him like
a rat.
He can if he wants to.
Reasons For Not Posting - 1,2,3 and 4
1. I did overtime at work.
2. My stalker called and that took up 40 minutes or so.
3. Then I went for my walk.
4. Lost was on TV.
2. My stalker called and that took up 40 minutes or so.
3. Then I went for my walk.
4. Lost was on TV.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
The Accidental Joiner
I was hoping that the most eventful happening of the day would have been my boss causing me to suffer bloggus interruptus. It was during my lunch hour but there was no way he could be sure as he wasn't there when the hour started. And I was in the middle of a really good reply to CyberScribe's spooky comment about Cully pubs. How does he know? Where is Greyabbey anyway? Oh Bert's just told me it's in County Down. So the muse deserted me and that's why my eventual reply was so lame Cybe ol' boy.
So that's my quota of italicised words used up for this post and from now on I will have to manage without them.
On returning home I decided to go and inspect the work going on in the new house. I was especially interested in seeing how the kitchen tiles looked and also wanted to see the flight of stairs leading to the attic floor. Seamus the joiner started on them yesterday and they were pretty much finished. There is a little health & safety type issue at the very top which I wanted to take a look at so I asked Seamus if they were safe to step upon. He gave the go ahead and I had my foot on the bottom step when James the electrician nabbed me with a query about the lights I headed downstairs to the room where Matthew was tiling. Matthew says,
"Where's Bert?" "Down the road. What's up?" "We've a bit of a problem here." "Oh! What's wrong?" "Bert's tin whistle has fallen into this bucket of tile cement."We were just coming to terms with this disaster when the joiner's apprentice came in. He says,
"Where's Bert?" "Down the road. What's up?" "Seamus has cut himself with the electric saw."And so he had. Apparently it had stuck and he was trying to dislodge it when it had jumped back and gouged a lump out of his knee. Both Matthew and James were urging me to take him to the local GP surgery. Feck's sake! These lads must think Dr Finlay practises in Cully. I said no for the first thing the local GP would say is, "you'll need to go to casualty with that" so that's what we did. Seamus was very stoical about the whole episode and says he'll be back at work tomorrow. They breed real men in Dunloy. By the way that policeman is still reading my blog. He phoned me yesterday in his professional capacity and before he rang off he said, "Are you still off the drink?"
Monday, August 22, 2005
Let Me Entertain You
....on Friday at 7pm.
In honour of Mikey's visit Nellybert will be having a Buffet Supper. Oh get us.
So if you read this blog and are anywhere in the vicinity of Cully this coming Friday you are very welcome.
[Except]
If you are somebody I hate (and you know who you are) then don't dare darken my doorstep.
Mikey will be in charge of cheese choosing as he is an expert. Expect great things.
And Swisser - get a grip. You know I don't hate you.
Musicians are particularly welcome.
Divers, Artists, Suspended Ceiling Technicians, Diesel Mechanics, Academics, Web Designers, Cheese Vendors, Craftspersons, Egg Men, Horticulturalists, Bloggers and Turkey Rescuers are also welcome.
If you want to avail yourself of the complete range of tucker get here early.
In honour of Mikey's visit Nellybert will be having a Buffet Supper. Oh get us.
So if you read this blog and are anywhere in the vicinity of Cully this coming Friday you are very welcome.
[Except]
If you are somebody I hate (and you know who you are) then don't dare darken my doorstep.
Mikey will be in charge of cheese choosing as he is an expert. Expect great things.
And Swisser - get a grip. You know I don't hate you.
Musicians are particularly welcome.
Divers, Artists, Suspended Ceiling Technicians, Diesel Mechanics, Academics, Web Designers, Cheese Vendors, Craftspersons, Egg Men, Horticulturalists, Bloggers and Turkey Rescuers are also welcome.
If you want to avail yourself of the complete range of tucker get here early.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Everyone's A Critic
No Leitrim today. Matty was poorly this morning although she's OK now. Disappointment all round. We'll go again.
Matty's poorliness involved a visit to the doctor. He prescribed something from the chemist (Senokot) and something from the greengrocer (Cabbage).
So it's been rather a miserable day. Although Zoe was a star which cheered me a lot. She's a much better daughter to me than I am to Matty.
Bert and I have just returned from a hike around Portglenone Forest and that has cheered me up some more. I especially liked him getting tired before I did.
On the way back I played him the Pixies. This is what he said about 'Caribou'
To sum up his feelings on 'Caribou' -
Subject matter: Delightful
Delivery: Damnable
Final opinion: Diabolical
Matty's poorliness involved a visit to the doctor. He prescribed something from the chemist (Senokot) and something from the greengrocer (Cabbage).
So it's been rather a miserable day. Although Zoe was a star which cheered me a lot. She's a much better daughter to me than I am to Matty.
Bert and I have just returned from a hike around Portglenone Forest and that has cheered me up some more. I especially liked him getting tired before I did.
On the way back I played him the Pixies. This is what he said about 'Caribou'
"You'd think if he was going to write a song about reindeers he'd have wrote a nicer one. That's a shouting match."
To sum up his feelings on 'Caribou' -
Subject matter: Delightful
Delivery: Damnable
Final opinion: Diabolical
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Trevor, It's Time For Your Close-Up
This evening Bert, Clint, Rosie and I went to visit with Dee Mac and to see her new garden. A visit to Dee Mac's is always an interesting experience. It starts with a trip down the worst lane in County Antrim. There are just the two houses on the lane - Harold's and Dee's. It's a straight and manicured lane until Harold's then it turns into the scary lane from Hades. It is both overgrown and extremely narrow. There are two right angle turns which are almost impossible to negotiate in a large vehicle. Then there are the booby traps Harold sets. Like iron spikes in the hedges. Why? Dee thinks he does it for his twisted entertainment purposes. People are strange.
You know you are in the right place when you see the sign VISITORS BY APPOINTMENT ONLY. Oh I wish, I really wish Bert would let me do that. Then there is the BEWARE OF THE GOATS sign. There are no goats.
It's no surprise that Dee has a lot of climbers growing. After all she works in a climber nursery. She has all Bert's varieties of parthenocissus growing up the outside walls of her house. The Veitchii is the most attractive but also, she says, the slowest growing. She grows myriad varieties of honeysuckle, clematis and other climbers on sheds, walls, hedges and fences. If she keeps this up the whole property is going to become buried in climbing plants. I think she might like that.
Dee has treated herself to a live turkey this past couple of Christmases. Then she keeps them as pets. She recommends turkeys and says they're 'great entertainment'. She also has a few hens, some ducks and a couple of drakes. Dee advises me never to keep drakes. I see what she means for I watched them tonight and it was not pleasant. If I were a duck I'd want to live in a duck nunnery. Drakes don't take no for an answer and their seduction skills suck. Frankly they're rapists and gangbangers.
I won't be posting tomorrow as I'm driving Matty to Leitrim to see Dede and Dmitri.
You know you are in the right place when you see the sign VISITORS BY APPOINTMENT ONLY. Oh I wish, I really wish Bert would let me do that. Then there is the BEWARE OF THE GOATS sign. There are no goats.
It's no surprise that Dee has a lot of climbers growing. After all she works in a climber nursery. She has all Bert's varieties of parthenocissus growing up the outside walls of her house. The Veitchii is the most attractive but also, she says, the slowest growing. She grows myriad varieties of honeysuckle, clematis and other climbers on sheds, walls, hedges and fences. If she keeps this up the whole property is going to become buried in climbing plants. I think she might like that.
Dee has treated herself to a live turkey this past couple of Christmases. Then she keeps them as pets. She recommends turkeys and says they're 'great entertainment'. She also has a few hens, some ducks and a couple of drakes. Dee advises me never to keep drakes. I see what she means for I watched them tonight and it was not pleasant. If I were a duck I'd want to live in a duck nunnery. Drakes don't take no for an answer and their seduction skills suck. Frankly they're rapists and gangbangers.
I won't be posting tomorrow as I'm driving Matty to Leitrim to see Dede and Dmitri.
Progress Report August 2005
And what of the new house?
Well....we ought to be living there by now but you know Nellybert. We're the tomorrow people.
The electrics are close to finishing. Thanks James.
The plumbing has to be completed. My baths and toilets are all sitting there waiting to be installed. Come on Eric.
The general building work, plastering and joinery is 99% completed. Three cheers for Jackson, Seamus and the rest of the fellows.
Matthew is progressing well with the floor tiling.
Marty and Minty are doing a fabulous job of the painting.
Jimmy says the kitchen will be ready next week.
Maybe I ought to make a start on the packing.
There's just one rather big snag. The current abode is back on the market.
Well....we ought to be living there by now but you know Nellybert. We're the tomorrow people.
The electrics are close to finishing. Thanks James.
The plumbing has to be completed. My baths and toilets are all sitting there waiting to be installed. Come on Eric.
The general building work, plastering and joinery is 99% completed. Three cheers for Jackson, Seamus and the rest of the fellows.
Matthew is progressing well with the floor tiling.
Marty and Minty are doing a fabulous job of the painting.
Jimmy says the kitchen will be ready next week.
Maybe I ought to make a start on the packing.
There's just one rather big snag. The current abode is back on the market.
Friday, August 19, 2005
Ian's Challenge Update
On the 6th of August Ian challenged me to forgo alcohol for two weeks. My period of abstinence is due to end tomorrow at midnight but I intend to continue with it for a while. Whether this will be for a short or a long time I do not know but as I've noticed all my clothes are getting looser I think I'll keep to it for now.
[Pause to polish halo]
So I've given up smoking, and toking and drinking. Can anyone suggest a nice non-fattening, non health-threatening vice that I could adopt to replace these. Keep it clean. And legal.
[Pause to polish halo]
So I've given up smoking, and toking and drinking. Can anyone suggest a nice non-fattening, non health-threatening vice that I could adopt to replace these. Keep it clean. And legal.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Look Right!
To the right of your screen that is. Following sheepily behind Zoe and others (again) I've added a Flickr badge. And please to see my latest link. Dan Tobin. Who has linked me right back. Which deserves a recommendation. I like him. And he's besties with George W. Bush. Who turns out to be, surprisingly, a very funny guy.
Things Pearlie Does Not Like. Part 1
N. "Do you fancy a nice bit of liver for your supper tonight?"
P. (making screwed up scunnered looking face.) "Och no. I wouldnae like that."
N. "And I thought you'd like a nice wee bit of lamb's liver."
P. "I dinny like lamb's liver. I only like pig's liver."
N. "Did I say lamb? I meant pig's liver."
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
What In The Name Of God Is A Stray Toaster?
I was in that Mary one's car the other day and as soon as I was settled in and she turned the key this damnable noise blasted out and I declare to God I nearly took one of my bad turns.
"Sorry," she says, "I meant to have that turned to Radio 4 before you got in."
Huh! It's always happening. I get in the car, she starts it up and then this roar of noise has me jumping out of my skin. You'd think she wanted to finish me off. Where she gets her taste in music from I do not know. It's certainly not from me or her father. If she'd taken after me it'd be a bit of ceilidh, that Coulter boyo or a nice bit of Daniel O'Donnell. God knows it would be far more like the thing at her age. I'm sure I don't know any other mother who has a daughter over 50 running into HMV and coming out laden with a guilty look on her face. She tries to palm me off with the notion that she's bought just the one but I know rightly the size of them wee records you get these days and she never comes out of that shop without at least three or four of them.
Anyway I said to her, "What was that you were listening to anyway? Was it the Beatles?" So she tells me it's some Danish crowd called the Raving Nets. She says she's supposed to be reviewing them for Stray Toaster. So I asked her what in the name of God is a Stray Toaster. Is it a Danish group? And she says, "Naw Ma. Stray Toaster is a blogger." Of course I'm none the wiser. Young ones these days speak a different language to the likes of us ones. And they all mumble so you can hardly make them out anyway. So she goes on to ask me if I'd review the Raving Nets for Stray Toaster for she hasn't a spare minute and I said I would for sure it would put in an evening for me. So this is what I thought of the Raving Nets.
THE HEAVENS This started of not too bad but it was a bit whiney. Not my cup of tea atall.
SEDUCTRESS OF BUMS This one was about sex. I didn't like it. There were too many bad words.
LOVE IN A TRASHCAN That eedjit Mary is quare and fond of this one. I've had to hit her a slap a time or two for trying to turn it up while I'm in the car. As per usual it's all about sex which is all people ever think about these days. It's time that Mary one wised up a bit at her time of life.
SLEEPWALKING She likes this one too but I don't know why. The dinnle of it is giving me a sore head.
UNCERTAIN TIMES I hate that oul Eff-You-See-Kay word. There is no need atall to have it in a song. My head is getting worse. This one is going through my brain.
MY BOYFRIEND'S BACK I could nearly stick this if it wasn't for Mary singing along with it. God love her for she hasn't a note.
HERE COMES MARY Even without her name in the song this one reminds me of Mary when she was about 16 or 17 for she was dressed in black from head to toe and had an oul miserable face on her. Sometimes I think she hasn't changed much.
RED TAN I suppose it's them being Danish is why the words of the song are so stupid. They probably don't understand the half of what they're singing about. I know I don't.
TWILIGHT There used to be some TV programme started like that. I wish I could mind what it was. Dear God turn it off! My head is splitting in two.
SOMEWHERE IN TEXAS This is more like it. Oh no! I spoke too soon. They're going all whiney and girny again. Daniel O'Donnell could lift this. Though he'd have to change the words to something a bit more heartening.
YOU SAY YOU LIE Are there many more?
ODE TO L.A. This is another one that Daniel would make a far better job of.
IF I WAS YOUNG If I was young I wouldn't be listening to this nonsense. Damnable
BONUS TRACKS Right! That's enough. I want a cup of tea and two of my tablets. The strong ones. And bring me some of those Marie biscuits. That Stray Toaster eedjit can take a chance on the rest of it. I'm done.
Khail And The Fox
Last weekend Khail van Niekerk, 19, from South Africa did his very best to avoid hitting a fox whilst driving back from work. The fox survived but the car rolled. Khail did a lot of damage to his left arm and is currently up in Antrim Area Hospital awaiting a transfer to Dundonald for a skin graft.
N. So Khail you're experiencing a lot of what Norn Iron has to offer including the NHS.
K: I could have done without that experience thank you very much.
N. I suppose the food is very good.
K. It is the worst food I've ever had in my life. I couldn't eat a bite of it. I'm expecting to lose quite a bit of weight while I'm here.
N: But I'm sure you're enjoying all the pretty nurses fussing over you.
K: Pretty! You must be joking! They're all ancient old women over 30 and they all waddle about. They're not a bit like nurses are supposed to be.
N. You'll be pleased with the Yazoo chocolate milk I brought you.
K: Indeed I am not. Next time can you bring me a big J?
Down Among The Wimmin
Many, many years ago when Marc was a little lad at primary school and Ed hadn't even been invented Nellytrish started a Women's (Consciousness Raising) Group in Ballymena. This was in the heady days of the feminist era when all intelligent and far-thinking women threw away their Jackies and their Woman's Owns and put in an order at the local newsagent for Spare Rib.
Which is how Trish and I started the group. On her advice we put an ad in Spare Rib. Imagine our glee when two big radical feminists responded. Imagine our thrill when we heard they were lesbians - in a relationship.
These women were serious stuff. She was a doctor up at the local hospital and Her was a musician. She came from an eccentric, middle-class Dublin family and Her was an ex-nun from Sligo. She (despite needing it) had discarded her bra and Her wore one that flattened her breasts. She had a little moustache and Her wore men's trousers and shirts and ghastly ties like your da would wear.
Many the happy evening we spent in their company. I remember one night in particular when we ate a delicious supper of undercooked lentils and sardines accompanied by one bottle of wine (between five) and then afterwards, for our entertainment, the moustachioed one read aloud from some radical US publication a treatise on how penetrative heterosexual sex was an act of gross betrayal against the sisterhood. Whilst glaring at me.
When the doctor's time at the local hospital came to an end she moved to England. Soon afterwards she split up with the musician who, strangely enough, was not too gutted. We remained friends with the musician until she eventually went to the States to become a roof tiler. Unfortunately we're out of touch now. But it was a relief to wave bye-bye to the doctor whose entertainment value was, frankly, zilch.
Years later I looked the doctor up on the BMA website. And lo and behold - Doctor Fidelma O'Flaherty, which was (not) her name, was now Doctor Fidelma Simpson and I'll bet she doesn't have the mozzy any more and that she shops regularly at Rigby & Peller.
And the Women's Group? It continued for a few more years before eventually ending in tragedy. But that's another tale for another place.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Why Miss Nelly, You're Beautiful
Bert has got a nice line in compliments. Here are some typical examples.
One on my personal style:
On my efforts to lose weight:
This is my current favourite which was uttered earlier tonight.
One on my personal style:
Nelly: "You don't think this outfit is too boring and sensible do you?"
Bert: "Naw. You could never look boring. Not with that mad looking face."
On my efforts to lose weight:
"You know I think you are losing weight. Either your waist has got smaller or your arse and tits have got bigger."
This is my current favourite which was uttered earlier tonight.
"You are losing weight. But you're still a wee puddin'"
Monday, August 15, 2005
Springer's Mingers
I don't usually watch programmes like Jerry Springer or Trisha. I hear enough tales of woe in real life to be bothered with them and I don't really get where the entertainment is supposed to be.
But passing through the TV room at work this morning my eye was drawn to the screen. There in the studio sat two women and one man and I think both the women were his exes and they were berating the poor fellow for laziness and poor hygiene. Oh Robin! You should have seen them. The three of them hadn't enough teeth between them to make one decent mouthful. He had the sweetest smile and not one toothy peg on the top row. I don't know about the bottom. He was also missing an arm poor lad. As he was being publicly humiliated I thought that even stinking, sans teeth and sans left arm he could still do better for himself than those two.
Blade one (the fat one) had roots six inches long and a mouthful of decaying stumps and Blade two (the hag) was ditto the decaying stumps and was sporting a ring in her right nostril that looked like it was purchased at the vet's for Ferdinand. Urrgh. If I was Jerry Springer I'd be wanting a shower straight after the show.
But passing through the TV room at work this morning my eye was drawn to the screen. There in the studio sat two women and one man and I think both the women were his exes and they were berating the poor fellow for laziness and poor hygiene. Oh Robin! You should have seen them. The three of them hadn't enough teeth between them to make one decent mouthful. He had the sweetest smile and not one toothy peg on the top row. I don't know about the bottom. He was also missing an arm poor lad. As he was being publicly humiliated I thought that even stinking, sans teeth and sans left arm he could still do better for himself than those two.
Blade one (the fat one) had roots six inches long and a mouthful of decaying stumps and Blade two (the hag) was ditto the decaying stumps and was sporting a ring in her right nostril that looked like it was purchased at the vet's for Ferdinand. Urrgh. If I was Jerry Springer I'd be wanting a shower straight after the show.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Not Another Sleepless Night
I've something on my mind. I've been keeping it at bay for most of the day but my shift is over now and it's time to turn in. I hardly ever sleep well at work and have been dreading another sleepless night.
There may be one person reading this who knows what is keeping me awake and for the sake of this person I cannot share. I wish I could.
But.... and this is the good part. I've just phoned Bert and he has been so reassuring, so sensible that I think I will sleep tonight. At least I won't have to listen to Harry de Cat playing tag with the dogs up and down the stairs at 3am. So nighty-night all!
There may be one person reading this who knows what is keeping me awake and for the sake of this person I cannot share. I wish I could.
But.... and this is the good part. I've just phoned Bert and he has been so reassuring, so sensible that I think I will sleep tonight. At least I won't have to listen to Harry de Cat playing tag with the dogs up and down the stairs at 3am. So nighty-night all!
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