Saturday, September 30, 2006
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Bert's Guest Post
In his own words...
My Day
I get up at first light then dash down and check my polytunnels as usual. Do a bit of watering. I breakfast at half eight on ham and eggs over easy. Then I have a cup of coffee and a feg. After brekkie I do all my phoning. Ring up my customers, do PR and a wee bit of bookwork. After that it depends. I might go back to the tunnels, maybe make a few deliveries. Depends on what’s needed to be done that day to keep the whole thing running.
Sometimes I have a business lunch with fellow horticultural tycoons and after lunch I might take in a round or two of golf. Then I go back to work and don’t knock off until dark.
In my free time I like to visit garden centres, attend conferences and go to trade shows.
Many people have suggested, nay begged, that I start my own blog but if I were to start blogging I’d totally lose my mystique. Id no longer be an enigma. And that would be sad.
My Day
I get up at first light then dash down and check my polytunnels as usual. Do a bit of watering. I breakfast at half eight on ham and eggs over easy. Then I have a cup of coffee and a feg. After brekkie I do all my phoning. Ring up my customers, do PR and a wee bit of bookwork. After that it depends. I might go back to the tunnels, maybe make a few deliveries. Depends on what’s needed to be done that day to keep the whole thing running.
Sometimes I have a business lunch with fellow horticultural tycoons and after lunch I might take in a round or two of golf. Then I go back to work and don’t knock off until dark.
In my free time I like to visit garden centres, attend conferences and go to trade shows.
Many people have suggested, nay begged, that I start my own blog but if I were to start blogging I’d totally lose my mystique. Id no longer be an enigma. And that would be sad.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
New Laptop
I'm writing this post on my new laptop. Zoe's beloved has just spent the best part of two hours fixing it up for me. The time spent also included a bit of a tutorial.
D: And this is how you switch it on.
N: Oh yes.
D: And this is how you switch it off.
N: Riiight.
There was other really complicated stuff but I like to think I've grasped the basics.
The machine is an Acer 5102WLMi.
I'm on a steep learning curve here because I've started the course where I'm supposed to end up as an ICT tutor. Luckily I have the perfect guinea pig to practice on - Bert. He hasn't a notion about computers and I'm going to teach him. This time next year he'll have his own blog. Won't that be good?
D: And this is how you switch it on.
N: Oh yes.
D: And this is how you switch it off.
N: Riiight.
There was other really complicated stuff but I like to think I've grasped the basics.
The machine is an Acer 5102WLMi.
I'm on a steep learning curve here because I've started the course where I'm supposed to end up as an ICT tutor. Luckily I have the perfect guinea pig to practice on - Bert. He hasn't a notion about computers and I'm going to teach him. This time next year he'll have his own blog. Won't that be good?
Passing By
I read recently about the climber David Sharp who died on Mount Everest after he had attained the summit on his third attempt. Sharp was seen as a loner and he was doing it on the cheap so there was little in the way of a support team behind him.
I don’t understand what makes people put themselves through such an ordeal nor did I know that the slopes of Everest are so busy, or that so many people die in their quest to stand at the top of the highest mountain in the world. I didn’t know that for many climbers, who perish in the mountains, that where they fall becomes their final resting place.
The route that Sharp took was one that has been marked out with guide ropes placed there by the company owned by the New Zealander Russell Brice. On that route climbers must pass by a spot called Green Boots Cave. It is nicknamed for the distinctive green boots on the frozen body of an Indian climber, one of three, who perished in 1996 and who lies there still.
On his descent from the summit Sharp was overcome by exhaustion and cold and he must have crept into the shelter of the crevasse to rest beside the dead Indian climber. But his exhaustion was total. While he sat there dying from hypothermia it is believed that up to 40 climbers passed by him. It’s possible that some didn’t see him. Of those that did see him some may have believed that he was Green Boots. Others must have felt there was nothing they could do. A few stopped and tried to help but felt that it was impossible. By this stage, although he was alive, there was nothing David Sharp could do to help himself.
Last week the murdered body of Shirley Finlay was discovered in a car park in Ballymena. Like David Sharp, Shirley was seen as a bit of a loner. Certainly for the past couple of years she was a familiar figure in the town, walking briskly, always on her own, seemingly in a world of her own. And largely people let her be. One of the most reported ‘facts’ about Shirley is that she was a very solitary person. It wasn’t always so. Shirley did have friends. But towards the end of her too short life they weren’t around. Whether that was entirely Shirley’s choice is open to question. I told myself it was what she wanted. Now I’ll never know.
I don’t understand what makes people put themselves through such an ordeal nor did I know that the slopes of Everest are so busy, or that so many people die in their quest to stand at the top of the highest mountain in the world. I didn’t know that for many climbers, who perish in the mountains, that where they fall becomes their final resting place.
The route that Sharp took was one that has been marked out with guide ropes placed there by the company owned by the New Zealander Russell Brice. On that route climbers must pass by a spot called Green Boots Cave. It is nicknamed for the distinctive green boots on the frozen body of an Indian climber, one of three, who perished in 1996 and who lies there still.
On his descent from the summit Sharp was overcome by exhaustion and cold and he must have crept into the shelter of the crevasse to rest beside the dead Indian climber. But his exhaustion was total. While he sat there dying from hypothermia it is believed that up to 40 climbers passed by him. It’s possible that some didn’t see him. Of those that did see him some may have believed that he was Green Boots. Others must have felt there was nothing they could do. A few stopped and tried to help but felt that it was impossible. By this stage, although he was alive, there was nothing David Sharp could do to help himself.
Last week the murdered body of Shirley Finlay was discovered in a car park in Ballymena. Like David Sharp, Shirley was seen as a bit of a loner. Certainly for the past couple of years she was a familiar figure in the town, walking briskly, always on her own, seemingly in a world of her own. And largely people let her be. One of the most reported ‘facts’ about Shirley is that she was a very solitary person. It wasn’t always so. Shirley did have friends. But towards the end of her too short life they weren’t around. Whether that was entirely Shirley’s choice is open to question. I told myself it was what she wanted. Now I’ll never know.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Guest Blogger
I've been asked to guest blog at Baboon Pirates. How cool is that?
This cat-loving, swash-buckling piratical type came to my attention through Acidman who, despite the cat-loving, listed El Capitan on the Gut Rumbles blogroll.
Why do I like him? Because he's handsome of course! See!
So That's That Then
That's my last shift at Tinkerton over and done with.
Just the two incidents to deal with. First a reported 'hate crime' where I managed to persuade the victim that the PSNI might not be able to give him their full attention on account of it being Saturday night. I can just imagine the desk sergeant's response if I asked him to send two officers up pronto because Lily is giving Billy 'dirty looks' and calling him Rentboy. Then there was the theft of a packet of Daz from Gilly's kitchen window. Unfortunately this heinous crime was not caught on camera. The alleged culprits were seen taking the soap powder by Gilly's swain - Our Lad. Gilly suggested that Our Lad might go out and give the wee locals 'a hammering' but I advised her against it on the grounds that if he did so he'd likely be 'lifted' and then, probably, 'burnt out' on account of being 'foreign' i.e. English.
I worked my last two shifts with Ballymena's answer to Vicky Pollard. She never drew breath. Not only would she have talked the legs off a stool, she would also have removed the hind legs off a donkey. But to be fair to the girl she's a lot smarter than Ms Pollard. And she didn't seem to mind that I took notes as she spoke.
Then this morning George (colleague) came in. He had a big bunch of flowers for me. Chocs too and a card. Leaving present from the team. I was chuffed to the nth degree. There are some things I'll miss about Tinkerton after all.
Just the two incidents to deal with. First a reported 'hate crime' where I managed to persuade the victim that the PSNI might not be able to give him their full attention on account of it being Saturday night. I can just imagine the desk sergeant's response if I asked him to send two officers up pronto because Lily is giving Billy 'dirty looks' and calling him Rentboy. Then there was the theft of a packet of Daz from Gilly's kitchen window. Unfortunately this heinous crime was not caught on camera. The alleged culprits were seen taking the soap powder by Gilly's swain - Our Lad. Gilly suggested that Our Lad might go out and give the wee locals 'a hammering' but I advised her against it on the grounds that if he did so he'd likely be 'lifted' and then, probably, 'burnt out' on account of being 'foreign' i.e. English.
I worked my last two shifts with Ballymena's answer to Vicky Pollard. She never drew breath. Not only would she have talked the legs off a stool, she would also have removed the hind legs off a donkey. But to be fair to the girl she's a lot smarter than Ms Pollard. And she didn't seem to mind that I took notes as she spoke.
Then this morning George (colleague) came in. He had a big bunch of flowers for me. Chocs too and a card. Leaving present from the team. I was chuffed to the nth degree. There are some things I'll miss about Tinkerton after all.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Leaving
This afternoon I start my last shift in Tinkerton. I will have worked with homeless people for just over seven years. Too long. Too many 'incidents' and too many hard memories.
I finally decided to leave three weeks ago. In the past eight days a current resident and an ex-resident were murdered within days of each other. One, on the premises, a harmless wee man who was well-liked by everyone who knew him and the other, the ex-resident, a fragile and vulnerable young girl without a bad bone in her. We do try our best, those of us, who work in homeless services but the job is too big and the damage too severe for us to have much of an impact. We burn out and we become cynical. And there are some who abuse the services. And there are far too many for whom the services offered are not enough.
Next week (strike permitting) I hope to start my teaching course and during that week I'll be working as a care assistant in a residential home for the elderly.
I finally decided to leave three weeks ago. In the past eight days a current resident and an ex-resident were murdered within days of each other. One, on the premises, a harmless wee man who was well-liked by everyone who knew him and the other, the ex-resident, a fragile and vulnerable young girl without a bad bone in her. We do try our best, those of us, who work in homeless services but the job is too big and the damage too severe for us to have much of an impact. We burn out and we become cynical. And there are some who abuse the services. And there are far too many for whom the services offered are not enough.
Next week (strike permitting) I hope to start my teaching course and during that week I'll be working as a care assistant in a residential home for the elderly.
Friday, September 22, 2006
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Explanation
I have deleted the post I wrote last night.
It was inappropriate for me to write it and unfair to her memory.
It was inappropriate for me to write it and unfair to her memory.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Ulster Dyslexic Association
Graffiti spotted at the back of J&R Keys in Castle Street. One of their young employees gave me a right glaring out for taking the picture.Anybody know what those initials stand for? Answers on a postcard please. Asterisk use will be accepted. The first correct answer will receive a prize of an enamelled lapel pin featuring "the sore hand of Ulster" in this season's fashionable aquamarine. The second prize is a tattoo of the "sore hand" and the third two tattoos....
Monday, September 18, 2006
Applicational Trail
I think one of the reasons I stayed so long in my soon-to-be-previous job is that I hate filling in application forms.
Which is what I've been doing all morning. Yet, on paper and with absolutely no fibbing, I find I'm a helluva dude-ess. Who wouldn't want to employ me?
I go in this afternoon for the first of my three last shifts and the first since The Incident. It will be good to get it over and done with. Tomorrow morning I have an interview and tomorrow evening the course commences.
Which is what I've been doing all morning. Yet, on paper and with absolutely no fibbing, I find I'm a helluva dude-ess. Who wouldn't want to employ me?
I go in this afternoon for the first of my three last shifts and the first since The Incident. It will be good to get it over and done with. Tomorrow morning I have an interview and tomorrow evening the course commences.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Enforced Vacation
I made the change to beta and found it to be fraught with problems. Eventually found myself back here through using Internet Explorer. Firefox was having none of it.
Friday, September 15, 2006
It's True! I Grow More Conservative With Age
Which Annoying B-list Celebrity Are You?
Brought to you by Rum and Monkey.
So there you go. Cannot say I'm surprised. I've just finished reading Terry Wogan's autobiography, I gave a talk this evening on the joys of sensible pants and I'm looking forward to an early night with Bill Bryson.
Leprechaun Joke
Young Rooney and Young Loveheart are the only ones in their crowd who are still single. Consequently they find themselves spending more time together. This evening they called round to our house to pass a little time before Young Rooney went back to Young Loveheart's place to cook him his tea. For Young Loveheart 'can't cook'.
Such a sweet friendship.
By the time we'd done with the gossip and the politics and stories we moved on to jokes. We were telling leprechaun jokes. Young Rooney said, "Leprechauns. That reminds me - there was this man went into a bar with a leprechaun on his shoulder and they ordered a pint. The leprechaun stuck its face into the pint and I don't remember the rest of it. I'm hopeless at jokes."
We laughed long and hard for sure it was the best joke we'd heard all evening.
Young Loveheart: What are ye making me?
Young Rooney: Whatever's in your freezer.
Such a sweet friendship.
By the time we'd done with the gossip and the politics and stories we moved on to jokes. We were telling leprechaun jokes. Young Rooney said, "Leprechauns. That reminds me - there was this man went into a bar with a leprechaun on his shoulder and they ordered a pint. The leprechaun stuck its face into the pint and I don't remember the rest of it. I'm hopeless at jokes."
We laughed long and hard for sure it was the best joke we'd heard all evening.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Shitspiration
Muppetry rules in the village of Cullybackey.
Is it any wonder that Paddy chose this very spot to evacuate his bowels?
Shit Happens
I have a shredder which I use to shred documents and letters containing personal information. I’m well aware of the dangers of identity theft. I also have a handbag in which I carry around letters, junk and other assorted debris for weeks on end. What my handbag rarely contains is plastic bags for picking up dogshit.
I had business in the village yesterday. It was Paddy’s turn for a walk out with me so off we set, me with my handbag full of rubble and him…
…him with several pounds of doodoo up his jacksy. His first drop was outside the (now closed down) police station. I searched frantically through my bag and came out with my last wages slip from the Novas Group. I opened up this historical document and gingerly scooped up his offering. Then off to the nearest poo-receptacle hoping that my national insurance number would not be discovered by some desperate bin-hoker.
We walked on. Took a turn up towards the council estate. Which is where he made his second drop. Into the bag again and all I could find was a folded A4 sheet containing all the numbers in my mobile phone. Now even more sensitive documentation is lying in the poo-bin. I really do hope that all the identity thieves in the Cullybackey area are easy scunnered.
I had business in the village yesterday. It was Paddy’s turn for a walk out with me so off we set, me with my handbag full of rubble and him…
…him with several pounds of doodoo up his jacksy. His first drop was outside the (now closed down) police station. I searched frantically through my bag and came out with my last wages slip from the Novas Group. I opened up this historical document and gingerly scooped up his offering. Then off to the nearest poo-receptacle hoping that my national insurance number would not be discovered by some desperate bin-hoker.
We walked on. Took a turn up towards the council estate. Which is where he made his second drop. Into the bag again and all I could find was a folded A4 sheet containing all the numbers in my mobile phone. Now even more sensitive documentation is lying in the poo-bin. I really do hope that all the identity thieves in the Cullybackey area are easy scunnered.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Vote #3 For Gracie
A message from Zoe
Gracie says she would like you to vote for her (if you can) in the September Year of the Dog 2006 competition. She is very excited to have been nominated but realises that her chance of winning is very slim. Though if she did win she would use the opportunity to travel and do good deeds for charity.
A Good Read
Ages ago I bought Matty a copy of Star of the Sea by Joseph O'Connor. I thought she would like it, with it having the Irish theme and all. I'd no intention of reading it myself for Bob Geldof had said it was the best book he'd ever read in his life and I wasn't going to read anything that gype recommended.
Anyways the ma didn't like it. She read a chapter of it and pronounced it "depressing" and reached it back to me.
A while after that the Kerry Sister gave it to her and she read it and said it was "great". A lesser daughter would have been ripping but I'm used to Matty and her funny little ways. She tends not to trust any books I recommend after the unfortunate incident of Christmas 1976 when I gave her a book I'd previously read abridged in a magazine. Abridged means bits are left out. So how was I to know that the bits that were left out contained vivid descriptions of hot, steamy lesbian sex? In the version I'd read the two women were just good chums.
So, despite the Geldofian approval, I eventually got round to reading Star of the Sea. And I enjoyed it. I was talking to the Kerry Sister about the book and she told me that Joseph O'Connor is the brother of Sinead O'Connor. News to me indeed.
And when you get news you pass it on.
"Hey!" says I to Bert and Hannah, "D'ye know who your man Joseph O'Connor is the brother of?"
"No idea," says Bert. "Come on," says I, "Famous Irish person? O'Connor?"
Hannah pipes up, "Is it Des?" says she.
Anyways the ma didn't like it. She read a chapter of it and pronounced it "depressing" and reached it back to me.
A while after that the Kerry Sister gave it to her and she read it and said it was "great". A lesser daughter would have been ripping but I'm used to Matty and her funny little ways. She tends not to trust any books I recommend after the unfortunate incident of Christmas 1976 when I gave her a book I'd previously read abridged in a magazine. Abridged means bits are left out. So how was I to know that the bits that were left out contained vivid descriptions of hot, steamy lesbian sex? In the version I'd read the two women were just good chums.
So, despite the Geldofian approval, I eventually got round to reading Star of the Sea. And I enjoyed it. I was talking to the Kerry Sister about the book and she told me that Joseph O'Connor is the brother of Sinead O'Connor. News to me indeed.
And when you get news you pass it on.
"Hey!" says I to Bert and Hannah, "D'ye know who your man Joseph O'Connor is the brother of?"
"No idea," says Bert. "Come on," says I, "Famous Irish person? O'Connor?"
Hannah pipes up, "Is it Des?" says she.
My Birthday Present From Hootchinhannah
Hannah got this enlarged & framed for my birthday.
Zoe made me gourmet biscuits & cookies. Yum.
Katy sent me two Peatbog Faeries CDs.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Pizza Parlour to Murlough Bay
I had a wonderful birthday this year. On Saturday Zoe and Hannah, with Dave and Jamie, took myself and Bert to the Pizza Parlour for (what else?) pizzas. As far as I can remember the Pizza Parlour has been in three different locations. Each time it moved it kept the dark red decor and the gingham and the black & white movie star pictures and collages. The tables are still adorned with empty Mateus Rose bottles as candle holders. The menu is as it always was. How long has it been trading? It must be at least 25 years. Height of sophistication it was back then - now it's an old, trusted and faithful friend. Zoe said that if you sit in the Pizza Parlour for long enough, sooner or later, you'll see every single person you know.
On Sunday Bert and I and the dogs went camping. We went to Murlough Bay, stopping off to tramp up, according to Bert, the highest hill in County Antrim. I didn't make it. I couldn't be bothered. Walking up hills on a boring path flanked with nothing but pine trees is no fun at all. Bert said the view from the top was amazing. He could see the Corkey Wind Farm and everything! Big dealaroo. If I walk out the lane, turn right, stroll up the road for three minutes and stand at the bottom of the Killyless Road I can see the wind farms at Corkey and Elliot's Hill and the wind turbine at Antrim Area Hospital.
Then when that dreary business was over we went to Murlough Bay which was wonderful and beautiful and I walked for miles. We camped in the spot recommended by Zoe and had a great evening.
SwineBlogger won't let me post pictures tonight. I'll get back to it later.
On Sunday Bert and I and the dogs went camping. We went to Murlough Bay, stopping off to tramp up, according to Bert, the highest hill in County Antrim. I didn't make it. I couldn't be bothered. Walking up hills on a boring path flanked with nothing but pine trees is no fun at all. Bert said the view from the top was amazing. He could see the Corkey Wind Farm and everything! Big dealaroo. If I walk out the lane, turn right, stroll up the road for three minutes and stand at the bottom of the Killyless Road I can see the wind farms at Corkey and Elliot's Hill and the wind turbine at Antrim Area Hospital.
Then when that dreary business was over we went to Murlough Bay which was wonderful and beautiful and I walked for miles. We camped in the spot recommended by Zoe and had a great evening.
SwineBlogger won't let me post pictures tonight. I'll get back to it later.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Blogging Questions
blogging meme
1) Are you happy/satisfied with your blog’s content and look?Pretty much. I’ll not change the look of it as long as I stay on Blogger. Sometimes I think the content is a bit uninspired but then that reflects me – sometimes.
2) Does your family know about your blog?
Yes. And because I know many of them read it I try not to embarrass them or betray them in any way.
3) Do you feel embarrassed to let your friends know about your blog? Do you consider it a private thing?
It doesn’t bother me if friends know about it and I don’t care whether they read it or not.
4) Did blogging cause positive changes in your thoughts?
I don’t think so.
5) Do you only open the blogs of those who comment on your blog or do you love to go and discover more by yourself?
I like to look at other blogs. I’d be more likely to investigate the links of people I’m already connected to than just randomly surf.
6) What does a visitor counter mean to you? Do you like having one on your blog?
I try not to get too obsessed with it but I’d rather have one than not.
7) Did you try to imagine your fellow bloggers and give them real pictures?
I have pictures in my head of the bloggers that don’t post (real) pictures of themselves. Bliss is of medium height, dark & handsome, Twenty Major is clean-shaven, has short gingery fair hair, is about 34 and works for the government. The Swearing Lady is as beautiful as the day but she is very cross looking. El Capitan looks just like his avatar. Manuel publishes his picture but I’m sure it doesn’t do him justice.
8) Admit it. Do you think there is any real benefit in blogging?
Yes. I’ve widened my social circle; kept in touch with people I already knew and had a lot of laughs. I’ve learned things too.
9) Do you think that blogger’s society is isolated from the real world or interaction with events?
Not in the least. The bloggers I know are real people living in the real world. I even gave birth to two of them.
10) Does criticism annoy you or do you feel it’s a normal thing?
I don’t court it, I rarely receive it and it would piss me off mightily if I did.
11) Do you fear some political blogs and avoid them?No. I’d be more inclined to avoid religion-based blogs.
12) Were you shocked by the arrest of some bloggers?
Sad for them. Not shocked.
13) What do you think will happen to your blog after you die?
Zoë and Hannah will wind it up for me. Thinks. Must give them my password.
14) What song do you like to hear? What song would you like to link to on your blog?
Silence is golden. (Not the early sixties Tremeloes hit)
15) The next “victims”?As Ed and Toast said - they can pick themselves when they read this.
1) Are you happy/satisfied with your blog’s content and look?Pretty much. I’ll not change the look of it as long as I stay on Blogger. Sometimes I think the content is a bit uninspired but then that reflects me – sometimes.
2) Does your family know about your blog?
Yes. And because I know many of them read it I try not to embarrass them or betray them in any way.
3) Do you feel embarrassed to let your friends know about your blog? Do you consider it a private thing?
It doesn’t bother me if friends know about it and I don’t care whether they read it or not.
4) Did blogging cause positive changes in your thoughts?
I don’t think so.
5) Do you only open the blogs of those who comment on your blog or do you love to go and discover more by yourself?
I like to look at other blogs. I’d be more likely to investigate the links of people I’m already connected to than just randomly surf.
6) What does a visitor counter mean to you? Do you like having one on your blog?
I try not to get too obsessed with it but I’d rather have one than not.
7) Did you try to imagine your fellow bloggers and give them real pictures?
I have pictures in my head of the bloggers that don’t post (real) pictures of themselves. Bliss is of medium height, dark & handsome, Twenty Major is clean-shaven, has short gingery fair hair, is about 34 and works for the government. The Swearing Lady is as beautiful as the day but she is very cross looking. El Capitan looks just like his avatar. Manuel publishes his picture but I’m sure it doesn’t do him justice.
8) Admit it. Do you think there is any real benefit in blogging?
Yes. I’ve widened my social circle; kept in touch with people I already knew and had a lot of laughs. I’ve learned things too.
9) Do you think that blogger’s society is isolated from the real world or interaction with events?
Not in the least. The bloggers I know are real people living in the real world. I even gave birth to two of them.
10) Does criticism annoy you or do you feel it’s a normal thing?
I don’t court it, I rarely receive it and it would piss me off mightily if I did.
11) Do you fear some political blogs and avoid them?No. I’d be more inclined to avoid religion-based blogs.
12) Were you shocked by the arrest of some bloggers?
Sad for them. Not shocked.
13) What do you think will happen to your blog after you die?
Zoë and Hannah will wind it up for me. Thinks. Must give them my password.
14) What song do you like to hear? What song would you like to link to on your blog?
Silence is golden. (Not the early sixties Tremeloes hit)
15) The next “victims”?As Ed and Toast said - they can pick themselves when they read this.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Nelly Does Charity
During my month of little spending I avoided going into charity shops. It’s surprising how much money you can spend there and although there are bargains to be had it’s unlikely that you actually really need anything that you’ll buy there.
Yesterday I decided to go charity browsing. But I can't have been in a charitable frame of mind. The sour faced biddy there, glowering behind the counter, immediately irritated me. I was also very pissed off at the way the bloody garments keep slipping off their cheap useless hangers. I couldn’t be arsed picking them up like I usually do. As Matty says, “Let them gather them up. Sure it’ll pass the time for when they’ve nothing else to do.”
Seeing nothing else I turned to the the books. There were yards and yards of utter crap. The few half decent books they had I’d read already. I chose a fresher copy of Catcher In The Rye (mine is in tatters) and I saw this.
Yesterday I decided to go charity browsing. But I can't have been in a charitable frame of mind. The sour faced biddy there, glowering behind the counter, immediately irritated me. I was also very pissed off at the way the bloody garments keep slipping off their cheap useless hangers. I couldn’t be arsed picking them up like I usually do. As Matty says, “Let them gather them up. Sure it’ll pass the time for when they’ve nothing else to do.”
Seeing nothing else I turned to the the books. There were yards and yards of utter crap. The few half decent books they had I’d read already. I chose a fresher copy of Catcher In The Rye (mine is in tatters) and I saw this.
Thought it looked intriguing. Then I turned it over.
Bloody cheek! Charge me £1.50 for a tattered paperback then try to guilt trip me into bringing it back to them so they can sell it again!
If I'm going to read it then bring it back for others to enjoy I'll be going to the library.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
You Don't Have To Be Mad To Blog Here....But It Helps
So here's me working out my notice and applying for work that pays the minimum wage (if I'm lucky) and what do I do next? Why I trot into town and get all my hair cut off at Dyke-U-Like.
Photo? There are indeed photographs but I'm not ready to share my new Fat Lesbian Look just yet. Maybe later when the fresh hairdressed shininess wears off.
Pearlie loves my new haircut. Which is worrying. Do I like it? Indeed I do. It's an improvement on the previous look - The Mad Mental Patient.
Photo? There are indeed photographs but I'm not ready to share my new Fat Lesbian Look just yet. Maybe later when the fresh hairdressed shininess wears off.
Pearlie loves my new haircut. Which is worrying. Do I like it? Indeed I do. It's an improvement on the previous look - The Mad Mental Patient.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
No Need To Apologise
This good woman has got a poor cratur from Cashel* sitting in her office and he’s telling her how he’s starving, hasn’t a cent to his name, hasn’t ate a bite for four days and how there’s all these young boys outside torturing him and he doesn’t want anything to do with them, he just wants a quiet life and a new start.
So the good woman and her colleague the good girl make the poor cratur a cup of tea and a bit of toast and he seems happy enough. Then he notices a television sitting on the floor.
The poor cratur went on about this TV for longer than the good woman’s patience could stand and she tried to hurry him out. She offered to escort him to his flat as the young hoods were hovering about and had rang the doorbell several times wanting to know when that Eamonn boy was coming out. She noticed, whilst walking over, that Eamonn’s gait was awkward but put it down to hunger. But at the door of his flat there was a clatter and a great pile of CDs, DVDs and a DVD player fell at his feet. The poor cratur was very dismayed.
The good woman realised she was getting nowhere and as she had no real idea what had been in the bags in the office she knew she was on shaky ground. So she returned and consulted with her colleague the good girl. They saw that the bags of booty in the office had indeed been tampered with. They decided to return to Eamonn’s flat to give him the opportunity to redeem himself. Optimistically they took fresh black bags to receive back the purloined goods. When they came to the cratur’s flat they discovered he had company. Saoirse was with him but as they entered she disappeared into the bathroom.
She needed to go to the toilet.
His charade with the phone complete he continued to brazen it out. His accomplice remained hidden in the bathroom.
The good woman did not argue this point with him. Saoirse remained in the bathroom. It was the good woman and the good girl’s opinion that she had the good stuff in there with her. But there was nothing they could do. And the cratur knew there was nothing they could do. They decided to leave with their empty plastic sacks. The cratur said,
So Eamonn you’re starving and you haven’t eaten for four days? Where’d you get the money for the drink then?
Sure a boy I met on the train give me the drink.
Right. Would you like a cup of tea and a bit of toast?
I would surely.
So the good woman and her colleague the good girl make the poor cratur a cup of tea and a bit of toast and he seems happy enough. Then he notices a television sitting on the floor.
Could I have that TV? Sure I haven’t even a radio or anything to put the evening in.
Well I’m sorry about that Eamonn but that TV belongs to someone else who has moved on. I couldn’t loan it to you. I’m sorry.
The poor cratur went on about this TV for longer than the good woman’s patience could stand and she tried to hurry him out. She offered to escort him to his flat as the young hoods were hovering about and had rang the doorbell several times wanting to know when that Eamonn boy was coming out. She noticed, whilst walking over, that Eamonn’s gait was awkward but put it down to hunger. But at the door of his flat there was a clatter and a great pile of CDs, DVDs and a DVD player fell at his feet. The poor cratur was very dismayed.
Oh my CDs are destroyed.
What are you doing with all those? Where did you get them? And what’s that you’ve still got up your jumper?
It’s nothing. I’ve nothing up my jumper.
You have. You’ve something square up your jumper. Did you take those things from the office?
I did not. They’re my own. Are you calling me a t’ief?
I’m not calling you anything. I just want you to explain to me why you’ve got all that stuff up your jumper and what it is you’ve still got up your jumper.
I’ve nothin’ up my jumper.
You have. I can see the square edges of it just there.
Are ye callin’ me a t’ief?
The good woman realised she was getting nowhere and as she had no real idea what had been in the bags in the office she knew she was on shaky ground. So she returned and consulted with her colleague the good girl. They saw that the bags of booty in the office had indeed been tampered with. They decided to return to Eamonn’s flat to give him the opportunity to redeem himself. Optimistically they took fresh black bags to receive back the purloined goods. When they came to the cratur’s flat they discovered he had company. Saoirse was with him but as they entered she disappeared into the bathroom.
She needed to go to the toilet.
Tell you what Eamonn. Give us back the stuff you took and we won’t call the police.
I took nothin’. Call the Guards if ye like!
At this point the cratur took his phone out and after punching in a few numbers he started shouting,
Mammy! They’re sayin’ I’m a t’ief. Tell them Mammy I never stole anythin’ in my life!
His charade with the phone complete he continued to brazen it out. His accomplice remained hidden in the bathroom.
I’m not a t’ief. It’s terrible you’re saying that about me!
I’m not saying that about you. I can’t say for sure that you took those items from the office but then again you are not giving me a good reason why you had them hidden up your jumper.
It’s because I have no pockets!
The good woman did not argue this point with him. Saoirse remained in the bathroom. It was the good woman and the good girl’s opinion that she had the good stuff in there with her. But there was nothing they could do. And the cratur knew there was nothing they could do. They decided to leave with their empty plastic sacks. The cratur said,
Are you goin’ to apologise for callin’ me a t’ief?
I tell you what. If you’re still here in a month – and you haven’t stolen anything - then I promise I’ll go down on my bended knees and apologise to you.
There was never any danger that the good woman would have to keep her promise for the following day the poor cratur was taken away in handcuffs, in the back of a police Land Rover, after being arrested for thieving! Just imagine the good woman’s feelings.
But that’s another story.
*The cratur was not from Tipp. Certain names and places have been changed to protect the innocent.
Monday, September 04, 2006
Old Ballymena
Now a retail park.
Fossie1 has a nice little collection of vintage Ballymena pictures on Flickr.
Modern Ballymena
This scene is so typical of modern Ballymena.
The picture also includes (to the right) a shot of Ballymena's most photographed dog.
Randalstown
How wonderful to turn up such an atmospheric photograph. I'm glad now that I embarked on this little project.
Go look at his other pictures.
Cullybackey
Mile or two outside it to be accurate. Obviously I'm the main tagger of Cullybackey on Flickr.
Antrim
The amount of photographs of the Giant's Causeway that I had to plough through until I reached some that actually featured Antrim town.
It looks pretty doesn't it? That building to the left of the castle gates used to be part of the old Antrim police station about which I could tell a tale or two.
But in my defence I was 'very, very drunk at the time' and I promised the officers I wouldn't do it again. Which was a lie.
Portglenone
I'm going to do a little series of recent Flickr photographs of local towns. This is the first one I'm featuring. I love this particular spot and I think that ConnorMcc has taken a beautiful picture
Sunday, September 03, 2006
That's What Living In Ulster Does To You
| You're 50% Irish |
 You're probably less Irish than you think you are... But you're still more Irish than most. |
Saturday, September 02, 2006
Lenny & Jenny
Once upon a time there lived a couple called Lenny and Jenny. Lenny was twenty and Jenny was several years older. Both of them had very hard and difficult childhoods because their parents were stupid and feckless and did not care about them very much. Jenny’s hard times continued well into her twenties. She wasn’t very clever and was easily taken advantage of. Lenny had rescued her from that life and that might just have been the best thing he had ever done for anyone in the whole of his own short life.
Lenny and Jenny may not have been the brightest or shiniest buttons in the button box but they had a good working knowledge of the benefits system. Both of them were claiming all that it was possible to claim. Jenny was on income support and incapacity benefit, Lenny was on income support and disability allowance. He’d claimed DLA on the grounds that he was an alcoholic but although he liked a drink he liked drugs better. He admitted himself that he wasn’t an alcoholic. But for some reason he got his DLA for having no legs. I don’t know how this came about and to give Lenny his due he phoned the DLA and told them he was in full possession of two working legs. He still got the benefit. Maybe he put on the form that he was ‘always legless’ and they misunderstood.
Lenny and Jenny lived for paydays. When payday came they drank, smoked, drugged and were merry. When payday was over they were broke, hungry, hungover and miserable. Between paydays they schemed and plotted as to how to get more money. They never looked beyond the next payday. They never stopped to consider that a Crisis Loan was exactly that – a loan that had to be paid back.
By now Jenny was pregnant. Lenny despite his ‘disabilities’ managed to get both Jenny and another girl pregnant in the same year. The other girl moved on. Lenny had no plans to support his child and no interest in seeing it. Meanwhile, despite her pregnancy, Jenny continued to smoke, drink and take drugs.
Jenny’s belly grew and she had hardly any clothes to fit her. She applied to the Social Security for a clothing grant. She was informed that clothing grants were a thing of the past. She couldn’t get a Crisis Loan as they had too many already. She was in despair. None of her underwear fitted. Only one of her tracksuits was wearable. They had no money for drugs. They had money for fags. There is always money for fags.
She approached me for help. I let her use the phone to call the social. Within minutes she was shouting her head off at the person on the other end of the line. It was no good. She said to me,
They took my advice. Came back all happy. The people at the DSS had looked into their claim and found a way to give them money.
The next day they received the all-important GIRO. Payday! Down the town - spend, spend, spend. Back up again to party, party, party. Jenny had bought a new tracksuit but no new underwear and nothing for the baby. I'm not sure what Lenny bought but later that evening his eyes were rolling in his head.
The day after that was not so good. All they had to show for payday was two sore heads and a new tracksuit. Then the letter came explaining how the money they had received was worked out. It was then it dawned on them. Their big payday GIRO had included their next fortnight’s regular money.
Forgive me God but how I laughed. To myself of course.
Lenny and Jenny may not have been the brightest or shiniest buttons in the button box but they had a good working knowledge of the benefits system. Both of them were claiming all that it was possible to claim. Jenny was on income support and incapacity benefit, Lenny was on income support and disability allowance. He’d claimed DLA on the grounds that he was an alcoholic but although he liked a drink he liked drugs better. He admitted himself that he wasn’t an alcoholic. But for some reason he got his DLA for having no legs. I don’t know how this came about and to give Lenny his due he phoned the DLA and told them he was in full possession of two working legs. He still got the benefit. Maybe he put on the form that he was ‘always legless’ and they misunderstood.
Lenny and Jenny lived for paydays. When payday came they drank, smoked, drugged and were merry. When payday was over they were broke, hungry, hungover and miserable. Between paydays they schemed and plotted as to how to get more money. They never looked beyond the next payday. They never stopped to consider that a Crisis Loan was exactly that – a loan that had to be paid back.
By now Jenny was pregnant. Lenny despite his ‘disabilities’ managed to get both Jenny and another girl pregnant in the same year. The other girl moved on. Lenny had no plans to support his child and no interest in seeing it. Meanwhile, despite her pregnancy, Jenny continued to smoke, drink and take drugs.
Jenny’s belly grew and she had hardly any clothes to fit her. She applied to the Social Security for a clothing grant. She was informed that clothing grants were a thing of the past. She couldn’t get a Crisis Loan as they had too many already. She was in despair. None of her underwear fitted. Only one of her tracksuits was wearable. They had no money for drugs. They had money for fags. There is always money for fags.
She approached me for help. I let her use the phone to call the social. Within minutes she was shouting her head off at the person on the other end of the line. It was no good. She said to me,
What can I do? The bru won’t give us anything! St Vincent de Paul won’t help us! I need new bras and knickers. And I need stuff for the baby.
Here’s what you should do. You and Lenny should go down to the DSS. You should explain your predicament. Be nice. Don’t shout at them. They hate it when you shout. Be nice and they’ll tell you what you can claim for. There’s bound to be some way they can help you.
They took my advice. Came back all happy. The people at the DSS had looked into their claim and found a way to give them money.
The next day they received the all-important GIRO. Payday! Down the town - spend, spend, spend. Back up again to party, party, party. Jenny had bought a new tracksuit but no new underwear and nothing for the baby. I'm not sure what Lenny bought but later that evening his eyes were rolling in his head.
The day after that was not so good. All they had to show for payday was two sore heads and a new tracksuit. Then the letter came explaining how the money they had received was worked out. It was then it dawned on them. Their big payday GIRO had included their next fortnight’s regular money.
Forgive me God but how I laughed. To myself of course.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
On Retreat
Dear Ed is in Laos for the weekend. Some kind of Buddhist retreat I understand. His good friend Chez has suggested that the IDQCT Fan Club should take over his comments and 'trash' the place. I think that 'trash' in Jersey means 'enhance' or 'respect'. I'll be over there in the morning respecting and enhancing to the best of my ability. Just right now I'm too tired to do it justice.
But while we're on the subject does anyone else think that the aforementioned Chez would make a good President of the Fan Club? It's obvious from his comments on Ed's blog that they go back a long way and that he holds his Edness in the highest esteem.
I wonder where in Laos He has pitched His tent.
How It Went
I spent £512.11.
By far the largest amount was spent on running the car for I spent £176 on car tax and nearly £75 on petrol. The second largest amount was used to buy groceries. I spent just over £130 on food and detergents.
The initial fees for my course were £99.
I could have saved £30.81 on other items but that would have meant no birthday card for Zoë, no ice cream and coffee for Hannah and myself the night she was really miz and I was trying to cheer her up and no buns for the workmates and no chocolate (only 4 bars this month and I only scoffed 2 of them) and no newspapers.
But this was only what I spent. I’d like to thank Matty for buying the coffees and eats the times we went out, Bert for breakfasts in the Bluebell and the Nobel and also for the wine. Bert also made his usual contributions to the grocery shopping.
The chart does not include my standing orders and direct debits, which pay for things like my contribution to household bills, the Internet and various insurance and pension contributions. So I did spend quite a bit more than £512.
I drastically reduced my expenditure on confectionary and alcohol. I even reduced (a little) my consumption of same. I bought many fewer newspapers and no magazines. I never darkened the door of a charity shop or TK Maxx. It was a bloody bore.
But I could do it all again and now that I’ll be working for something closer to the minimum wage I may have to.
By far the largest amount was spent on running the car for I spent £176 on car tax and nearly £75 on petrol. The second largest amount was used to buy groceries. I spent just over £130 on food and detergents.
The initial fees for my course were £99.
I could have saved £30.81 on other items but that would have meant no birthday card for Zoë, no ice cream and coffee for Hannah and myself the night she was really miz and I was trying to cheer her up and no buns for the workmates and no chocolate (only 4 bars this month and I only scoffed 2 of them) and no newspapers.
But this was only what I spent. I’d like to thank Matty for buying the coffees and eats the times we went out, Bert for breakfasts in the Bluebell and the Nobel and also for the wine. Bert also made his usual contributions to the grocery shopping.
The chart does not include my standing orders and direct debits, which pay for things like my contribution to household bills, the Internet and various insurance and pension contributions. So I did spend quite a bit more than £512.
I drastically reduced my expenditure on confectionary and alcohol. I even reduced (a little) my consumption of same. I bought many fewer newspapers and no magazines. I never darkened the door of a charity shop or TK Maxx. It was a bloody bore.
But I could do it all again and now that I’ll be working for something closer to the minimum wage I may have to.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Moving On
Today I signed up for a course which will give me a teaching qualification.
I then made an application to do agency work.
And I handed in my resignation. I'm leaving Tinkerton.
I then made an application to do agency work.
And I handed in my resignation. I'm leaving Tinkerton.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Making Changes
Bert and I went to the Nobel Cafe today instead of the Bluebell. Bert thought that the prices of the five piece fry did not compare favourably with the Bluebell Cafe. I pointed out that the quality and the portion sizes were superior.
And I've been letting this lovely phrase roll off my tongue -
More to report tomorrow when contracts are signed and ink dries.
In the Bluebell your woman pokes through the fadge 'til she finds the smallest piece then puts it on my plate! That's every single time.A change of venue for brunch is not the only change in the air. Bert made steps today in the direction of changing his bank from The Bunch Of Robbing Bastards Bank to The We'll Still Rob You But Not Quite As Drastically As Them Other Boys Bank. Small steps.
Maybe she's trying to tell you something.
And I've been letting this lovely phrase roll off my tongue -
My soon to be ex-boss
More to report tomorrow when contracts are signed and ink dries.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Poets & Dreamers
What a very pleasant and civilised evening we had yesterday.
Gravy Dave read some of his poetry. And it was good - more than good. We drank wine and talked of many, many things.
We spoke of dreams. I told them this.
Gravy Dave read some of his poetry. And it was good - more than good. We drank wine and talked of many, many things.
Nelly: Why do they call you Gravy Dave?
Gravy Dave: Say again?
Nelly: Your name. Gravy Dave. Why do they call you that?
Gravy Dave: Dunno really.
Jamie: It's because there are so many Daves in Stoke. We have to tell them apart somehow. I once went to a festival with seventeen guys all called Dave!
We spoke of dreams. I told them this.
Nelly: I dreamed I walked out of work and got on a bus for Cushendall. Just as we got there I started to panic. I should be in work! I decided to tell them I'd had a nervous breakdown. What does that mean?
Them: It means you hate your job and you want to leave.
Nelly: Then I dreamed I was at work and I had to make an urgent phone call. I couldn't get the phone to work. I started to panic. What does that mean?
Them: It means you hate your job and you want to leave.
Nelly: Then I dreamed I was in work and I looked down at my leg an there was a big patch where I'd obviously missed shaving. There were long black silky ringletted hairs growing from it. They were about four inches long. I started to panic because I was wearing a skirt and I couldn't hide them. What do you think that means?
Them: It means you hate your job and you want to leave.
Looky Likey
Thanking very much CyberScribe for the link to this Face Recognition fun site.
I was straight in there wth my own picture and found out that I was a dead ringer for this one.
I was straight in there wth my own picture and found out that I was a dead ringer for this one.
Tung Chee Hwa
Cannot say I was offended for he is a bit of a looker.
Then I thought I'd try Ganching to see if any family likeness came up.
Sylevester Stallone
Can't see the family resemblance myself.
Then I adjusted the thing for gender and came up with these pair - Nelly and Ganching respectively.
Joan Cusack =Nelly looky likey [Love those mad staring eyes. So me]
Sarit Hadad = Ganching looky likey
You can definitely see the family resemblance there can't you?.
So then I moved on to the weans.
Zoe - Fred Durst
Katy - Eliza Dushku
Hannah - Billie Piper
Have to say I was appalled at Zoe's doppelganger. Fred Durst is not any mother's ideal choice 'cepting of course Fred Durst's actual mother. So I submitted another photo of Zobo sans Red Hat and came up with Eliza Dushku. Result!
Incidentally I have never hear't tell of Eliza Dushku but she is gorgeous and there are lots of photos of her on t'internet. So she must be all right.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Nelly Gets Nasty
Yesterday morning I threw a strop and it started like this.
And so it went on and on taking in, along the way, the tramping in of muck, dogs drooling on the cushions, a pan not washed since Tuesday evening and a petulant refusal to finish cooking the pancakes I’d started on.
Naturally enough Bert lost his head at it all, told me he was fed up listening to my ranting and complaining, advised me to shut the [insert moderately bad word] up and made a damn good try at storming off in his van.
But I got to him before he got off the yard. Begged him to reconsider his actions and contritely promised to finish cooking the pancakes.
And the outcome was that Bert finished the floor himself. It took him all day. All that was required of me was to help him to puzzle out which boards went back where, make lots of tea, admire his skill and intelligence, and cook him a lovely meal with dessert to follow.
Which is why I’d no time to post any blog entries yesterday.
Do you know we’ll soon be living in this house for a year?
Really?
Yes. A year. In October. And the bloody place is still not finished. Look at the state of that floor. When is that useless bastard Nameless coming back to finish it? Two months we’ve been ringing him. He’s nothing but a [insert very bad word]. If you had laid a floor and that happened would you not at least have come round to check it out?
Aye. I suppose I would.
Well typical useless get can’t even be bothered to do that. You can just knock a hundred quid, at least, off his bill for all our bother and expense.
He still hasn’t billed us for any of the work he’s done so far.
Huh. Typical lazy, useless get can’t even do that!
And so it went on and on taking in, along the way, the tramping in of muck, dogs drooling on the cushions, a pan not washed since Tuesday evening and a petulant refusal to finish cooking the pancakes I’d started on.
Naturally enough Bert lost his head at it all, told me he was fed up listening to my ranting and complaining, advised me to shut the [insert moderately bad word] up and made a damn good try at storming off in his van.
But I got to him before he got off the yard. Begged him to reconsider his actions and contritely promised to finish cooking the pancakes.
And the outcome was that Bert finished the floor himself. It took him all day. All that was required of me was to help him to puzzle out which boards went back where, make lots of tea, admire his skill and intelligence, and cook him a lovely meal with dessert to follow.
Which is why I’d no time to post any blog entries yesterday.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Fungi Has A Lot To Answer For
Sometimes I like to idle away a few hours minutes surfing and so on. Tonight I've been googling a small village on the Dingle peninsula. I first visited Ballydolphinig* in the 1980s. One of my sisters was going about with a lad from those parts. In fact she ended up marrying him and they're around there to this day. But anyway I wander off.
Ballydolphinig was a very small place then and I understand it still is. It nestled at the foot of a shale mountain and consisted of a collection of houses. They called it a village but there was no pub, no post-office and no shops. The people of the village had roots reaching back for centuries and they all spoke Irish. Except for the children who spoke and were spoken to in English.
It was a quiet place then. The main excitement for the youngsters of an evening was setting the fuchsia hedges on fire. Or hitching a lift on a donkey and cart to the next crossroads for a bit of oul craic.
Of course it's all changed now. Ballydolphinig is all modern with satellite TV and the best of cars and household goods and everything a body could ask for. They've all got computers and the internet but not, as far as I know, broadband.
Even so, can you imagine my shock on googling through parish registers, pictures of beehive cells and advertisements for holiday cottages, to find a web page called Ballydolphinig Swingers. With pictures of the lively couples too. All ages, all creeds and all colours. Thirty-nine pairs of them! And some without tan-lines.
They must be blow-ins.
*name has been changed to protect the innocent
Ballydolphinig was a very small place then and I understand it still is. It nestled at the foot of a shale mountain and consisted of a collection of houses. They called it a village but there was no pub, no post-office and no shops. The people of the village had roots reaching back for centuries and they all spoke Irish. Except for the children who spoke and were spoken to in English.
Sure they'll get enough Irish to do them.
It was a quiet place then. The main excitement for the youngsters of an evening was setting the fuchsia hedges on fire. Or hitching a lift on a donkey and cart to the next crossroads for a bit of oul craic.
Of course it's all changed now. Ballydolphinig is all modern with satellite TV and the best of cars and household goods and everything a body could ask for. They've all got computers and the internet but not, as far as I know, broadband.
Even so, can you imagine my shock on googling through parish registers, pictures of beehive cells and advertisements for holiday cottages, to find a web page called Ballydolphinig Swingers. With pictures of the lively couples too. All ages, all creeds and all colours. Thirty-nine pairs of them! And some without tan-lines.
They must be blow-ins.
*name has been changed to protect the innocent
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Changes
| You've Changed 40% in 10 Years |
 Ah, the past! You may not remember it well - because you're still living in it. While you've changed some, you may want to update your wardrobe, music collection and circle of friends. |
Found at Baboon Pirates
Huh! I think 40% a lot of changing for a woman in her middle years.
Huh! I think 40% a lot of changing for a woman in her middle years.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
My Thinspiration
Despite all the walking I've been doing I'm still all fat & jolly and to tell you the honest truth there are times I'm not a bit jolly about it at all. Of course I do eat like a savage and all this home baking I'm doing is taking a toll. Incidentally Bert remains his usual skinny self. So snot fair.
That's me up there feigning jollity and rattling the pots & pans to get another big feed of cakes and buns on the go.
I'm delighted to hear that Carisenda has been successful in reducing his BMI. I wonder if that method would work for me? Or should I get one of those scary looking snakes that Nicole Richie has? Poor girl cannot call a slice of pizza her own. No wonder she's so emaciated. I'd know when to stop though. When I got down to a svelte eleven stone I'd get Bert to chop the snake up for firewood or, better still, give it to Dave for whittling with.
Is it just me or are those sunglasses really, really stupid looking?
Monday, August 21, 2006
Helping the Police
The Scene: An Office In A Town
The Characters:
Woman, Somewhat Glum
Young Woman, Somewhat Giggly
Female Police Officer
Male Police Officer
MPO: So your man has the Advanced Driver’s Licence but he got it over 20 years ago and now he’s half blind. You’d need to be sitting beside him telling him where to drive, what to watch out for, walls and things, for he sees nothing.
WSG: Do the police not get youse ones to refresh that sort of thing after a period of time?
FPO: Huh! Hardly. Sure we’re waiting forever to get refresher courses in firearms training.
WSG: I’d like firearms training.
All parties look at Woman, Somewhat Glum askance. She continues…
WSG: For I might be the sort of person you’ll find someday at a high window picking people off…
YWSG: giggles
FPO: I could give you a list.
MPO: (points out window) Take out a few in that row there and you’ll cut the town’s crime rate in half.
The Characters:
Woman, Somewhat Glum
Young Woman, Somewhat Giggly
Female Police Officer
Male Police Officer
MPO: So your man has the Advanced Driver’s Licence but he got it over 20 years ago and now he’s half blind. You’d need to be sitting beside him telling him where to drive, what to watch out for, walls and things, for he sees nothing.
WSG: Do the police not get youse ones to refresh that sort of thing after a period of time?
FPO: Huh! Hardly. Sure we’re waiting forever to get refresher courses in firearms training.
WSG: I’d like firearms training.
All parties look at Woman, Somewhat Glum askance. She continues…
WSG: For I might be the sort of person you’ll find someday at a high window picking people off…
YWSG: giggles
FPO: I could give you a list.
MPO: (points out window) Take out a few in that row there and you’ll cut the town’s crime rate in half.
Saturday, August 19, 2006
A Song For Nelly
All together now
WoooWoooWoooo
WhowwwwWhowwwwWhowwww
Repeat
We hate Nelly, she's a hateful cow
We hate Nelly, she's a fat oul sow
We hate Nelly and her rotten blog
We hate Nelly and we're singing this in Dog
And Moving Swiftly On...
Here are some more pictures about which, I'm certain, there shall be no complaints.
Rosie Sleeping
Rosie says: Ah for pity's sake is that the best photo you could find. I look like a right scruffy oul fecker in that and my nose looks stupid and my arse looks fat and that's not my best foreleg I'm showing..
Paddy Racing on the Loan Hill
Paddy says: Aye! And I look like I'm racing to catch the Special Bus. For God's sake Nelly! Mad staring eyes, tongue lolling and my ears... the cut of my ears! Take it down Nelly. My fans will hate it.
Scruff Licking The Cream Bowl
Scruff: Damn you to hell and back Nelly. That's a cut. My hairs standing on end and my head stuck in a bowl of cream. I look so bloody old! And greedy! That's not going to help my thinspiration cred is it now? Not one bit!
Friday, August 18, 2006
Stray Toaster and Dimples
For Sandra and the rest of the girls.
Of course it doesn't do them justice. They're both even better in the flesh.
Note to self. Calm down. You know using words like 'flesh' will only bring on one of your hot flushes.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Trust
I recently spoke to An Eighty-Year-Old Woman With Whom I Am Very Well Acquainted and I asked her what her thoughts were on the recent Critical Security Alert. She answered me thus.
A lot of made up nonsense! There’s that oul get Blair away on his holidays and the next thing this carry-on starts! They had it all planned out. I was listening to that oul Reid and that other doll on the television and y’know they were that well rehearsed. They’d that all planned. Your Daddy used to say that they always started some sort of a carry-on all over the TV and the papers when they were up to something they didn’t want anybody to know about. And d’ye not think that oul Blair looks evil like the divil? Or maybe it’s some sort of an act he’s putting on?
A lot of made up nonsense! There’s that oul get Blair away on his holidays and the next thing this carry-on starts! They had it all planned out. I was listening to that oul Reid and that other doll on the television and y’know they were that well rehearsed. They’d that all planned. Your Daddy used to say that they always started some sort of a carry-on all over the TV and the papers when they were up to something they didn’t want anybody to know about. And d’ye not think that oul Blair looks evil like the divil? Or maybe it’s some sort of an act he’s putting on?
An Accidental Delinking
Somebody went missing from my links sidebar.
I only noticed this morning.
My first thought (being paranoid) was that he'd hacked into my computer and removed it himself for he's clever like that.
My second thought was that I'd probably done it myself while messing under the bonnet of this blog.
Anyway he's back now.
I only noticed this morning.
My first thought (being paranoid) was that he'd hacked into my computer and removed it himself for he's clever like that.
My second thought was that I'd probably done it myself while messing under the bonnet of this blog.
Anyway he's back now.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
A Memory
Around five or six years ago we had a car boot sale in the grounds of my workplace in Spide City. Our aim was to raise some money so that we could take the clients and their children on an outing or two. At that time our manager was Ursa Major and she put a lot of effort into fundraising. That was the kind of manager she was, hands on and a good team leader.
As always the bric-a-brac was a big draw. I’d had a good clear out myself and one of the things I’d donated to the sale was a box of Action Man dolls, outfits, accessories and vehicles. These had belonged to the son of a good friend of mine who, at 14 or 15, had long since outgrown them. They had been lying about our house for ages and I was glad to get rid of them. It turned out that Ursa Major’s son had also put his Action Man toys into the sale. He was there with his mum and I remember watching him looking through the other boy’s collection. He was a big handsome blond boy of twelve or thirteen and I thought he looked wistful as if he wished he wasn’t too old to play with Action Men.
It would be far too hard to bear if we could see into the future. My good friend’s son has since broken her heart. And Ursa Major’s son died early this morning. He was eighteen.
As always the bric-a-brac was a big draw. I’d had a good clear out myself and one of the things I’d donated to the sale was a box of Action Man dolls, outfits, accessories and vehicles. These had belonged to the son of a good friend of mine who, at 14 or 15, had long since outgrown them. They had been lying about our house for ages and I was glad to get rid of them. It turned out that Ursa Major’s son had also put his Action Man toys into the sale. He was there with his mum and I remember watching him looking through the other boy’s collection. He was a big handsome blond boy of twelve or thirteen and I thought he looked wistful as if he wished he wasn’t too old to play with Action Men.
It would be far too hard to bear if we could see into the future. My good friend’s son has since broken her heart. And Ursa Major’s son died early this morning. He was eighteen.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Harry De Prince and the Exclamation Marks
How unlike the homelife of our own dear Queen!
And would you look at the cut of that Prince William? Shit-faced is not the word! And to think I once thought he'd make a suitable squire for my lovely Hannah! His mother must be turning in her grave!
And as for that trollop with the shop-bought titties! No better than she ought to be I'm sure! Her parents must be mortified. I know I'd be!!
Monday, August 14, 2006
Knowing One's Letters
You know how there are people who just hate to write? Well obviously I’m not one of them but Bert is. He loves to read and is quite literate but, for him, the act of writing is a terrible chore. The only stuff he writes down on a regular basis are the names of plants when he’s writing invoices and making out orders. He usually tries to get me to fill in his other forms and to write his letters for him. The other day he had a reference to write and, as usual, tried to palm the task off to me. I suggested I dictate it to him and he could write it. He struggled with it for a while. Then he asked,
But at least he can spell ‘blatant’.
Another person having trouble with letters at her first aid training is Hannah.
As always there's some total eejit that says something stupid and, as always, it's me who says it. We were given several letters. G C L I P S. We were told they were the 1st letter to several words that were all different types of blood-loss wounds. He gave us the answer to G (graze) and told us to figure out the rest. We worked in groups and each group got the same answers. We all got all but one right. We all thought C was for cut but when the guy said they were all kinds of cuts and what else could it be, I yelled out,
"Castration''
"Sorry, what?" yer fella says.
"Castration", says I, "You know when your hand is cut off or something.''
"You mean amputation Hannah?" he says with a smile.
"Aye that's what I mean."
''Castration's something else Hannah but we'll chat about that later" he says, still smiling, everyone laughing.
"Aye but it's still a blood-loss wound." says I, going bright red.
“How do you make an F?”
“It’s the first letter of fremontodendron.”
“Right.”
But at least he can spell ‘blatant’.
Another person having trouble with letters at her first aid training is Hannah.
As always there's some total eejit that says something stupid and, as always, it's me who says it. We were given several letters. G C L I P S. We were told they were the 1st letter to several words that were all different types of blood-loss wounds. He gave us the answer to G (graze) and told us to figure out the rest. We worked in groups and each group got the same answers. We all got all but one right. We all thought C was for cut but when the guy said they were all kinds of cuts and what else could it be, I yelled out,
"Castration''
"Sorry, what?" yer fella says.
"Castration", says I, "You know when your hand is cut off or something.''
"You mean amputation Hannah?" he says with a smile.
"Aye that's what I mean."
''Castration's something else Hannah but we'll chat about that later" he says, still smiling, everyone laughing.
"Aye but it's still a blood-loss wound." says I, going bright red.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Full House
This weekend we had eight guests plus ourselves but as the Hotel Nellybert can comfortably accommodate eleven this wasn’t a problem.
Room 1 (Bert’s room) Nellybert
Room 2 (The room with the huge bed) Mr & Mrs Banjo
Room 3 (The haunted room) Bert’s old friend, Christophe
Room 4 (Nelly’s room) Hannah & the three young Banjos, Paddy, Rosie & Harry de Cat
Room 5 (The attic) John the Lodger
Non-resident guests included Ploppy Pants, Jenny Wren, Swisser and Pedro.
The evening function went well. Nelly the Head Chef performed admirably despite some initial worries over the apple cinnamon sponge. Her cheese & spinach pie was deemed a triumph. Commis Chef Jazzer exceeded her oven privileges and it was also noted that there was some unnecessary wastage of yellow peppers in the vegetable prep room. Trainee Commis Chef Miss Banjo introduced some innovative onion chopping techniques and was heaped with praise.
Head Housekeeper Nelly and Chambermaid Jazzer completed the preparation of bedrooms whilst Chambermaid Ben valiantly threw all the spare duvets down the attic stairs.
The house band played enthusiastically for several hours to the delight of all present, only descending into drunkenness and debauchery after the younger guests had retired for the night. I’m sad to report that Manager Bert joined the band in their antics and was not feeling his best at breakfast time.
Beauty Therapist Miss Banjo and her assistant Erin gave several of the gentlemen, including Christophe, Ploppy Pants and Ben Banjo, makeovers - these involving tinting their hair and (in Ploppy’s Case) beards chestnut brown and finishing Nelly’s last canister of extremely expensive tinted mousse. Bert would not consent to tinting but did submit to bobbles once again.
There was an unfortunate incident when young Ben Banjo got hold of a bayonet (circa 1877) and started waving it around in a foolhardy manner but Head of Security Pedro decommissioned the weapon by placing it on top of the highest kitchen cupboard. Pedro had to take action again when he confiscated a catapult from Bert after the unfortunate incident when Nelly was hit on the cheek by a missile (foam rubber yet unpleasantly stingy) and where Bert also smashed a wine glass in his careless excitement at having scored a bull’s-eye against his better half. However Pedro took no action when Ben ran around wearing his sister’s turquoise thong. This was excused on the grounds of Ben’s youthful high spirits.
Despite some initial worries that his rest would be disturbed by 'The Ghost of Uncle Andy' Chris spent a restful night. Mr and Mrs Banjo enjoyed the comfort of the Huge Bed so much that they did not leave it until well past midday. The younger guests made no complaint that two dogs and Harry de Cat invaded their room. John the Lodger also found his apartments to his liking and stayed in them until afternoon. All guests helped themselves to breakfast and spent a pleasant morning/afternoon perusing the papers and discussing politics.
Room 1 (Bert’s room) Nellybert
Room 2 (The room with the huge bed) Mr & Mrs Banjo
Room 3 (The haunted room) Bert’s old friend, Christophe
Room 4 (Nelly’s room) Hannah & the three young Banjos, Paddy, Rosie & Harry de Cat
Room 5 (The attic) John the Lodger
Non-resident guests included Ploppy Pants, Jenny Wren, Swisser and Pedro.
The evening function went well. Nelly the Head Chef performed admirably despite some initial worries over the apple cinnamon sponge. Her cheese & spinach pie was deemed a triumph. Commis Chef Jazzer exceeded her oven privileges and it was also noted that there was some unnecessary wastage of yellow peppers in the vegetable prep room. Trainee Commis Chef Miss Banjo introduced some innovative onion chopping techniques and was heaped with praise.
Head Housekeeper Nelly and Chambermaid Jazzer completed the preparation of bedrooms whilst Chambermaid Ben valiantly threw all the spare duvets down the attic stairs.
The house band played enthusiastically for several hours to the delight of all present, only descending into drunkenness and debauchery after the younger guests had retired for the night. I’m sad to report that Manager Bert joined the band in their antics and was not feeling his best at breakfast time.
Beauty Therapist Miss Banjo and her assistant Erin gave several of the gentlemen, including Christophe, Ploppy Pants and Ben Banjo, makeovers - these involving tinting their hair and (in Ploppy’s Case) beards chestnut brown and finishing Nelly’s last canister of extremely expensive tinted mousse. Bert would not consent to tinting but did submit to bobbles once again.
There was an unfortunate incident when young Ben Banjo got hold of a bayonet (circa 1877) and started waving it around in a foolhardy manner but Head of Security Pedro decommissioned the weapon by placing it on top of the highest kitchen cupboard. Pedro had to take action again when he confiscated a catapult from Bert after the unfortunate incident when Nelly was hit on the cheek by a missile (foam rubber yet unpleasantly stingy) and where Bert also smashed a wine glass in his careless excitement at having scored a bull’s-eye against his better half. However Pedro took no action when Ben ran around wearing his sister’s turquoise thong. This was excused on the grounds of Ben’s youthful high spirits.
Despite some initial worries that his rest would be disturbed by 'The Ghost of Uncle Andy' Chris spent a restful night. Mr and Mrs Banjo enjoyed the comfort of the Huge Bed so much that they did not leave it until well past midday. The younger guests made no complaint that two dogs and Harry de Cat invaded their room. John the Lodger also found his apartments to his liking and stayed in them until afternoon. All guests helped themselves to breakfast and spent a pleasant morning/afternoon perusing the papers and discussing politics.
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Overheard At Nellybert's
Ben Banjo! Please tell me that's not your sister's knickers you're wearing!
Friday, August 11, 2006
Dress Down Friday
Does your workplace have a dress code? Mine doesn’t. We have all sorts working here in Mingerton. We have rock chicks, boho babes and grungers and we have George. I’m undecided as to George’s thought processes regarding choosing his attire for the day. Does he do it to disconcert? Is he simply colour-blind? Some other reason? Today he wore jade green pants, a violet shirt, a daffodil yellow tie and a mustard jacket. And then there is me. I’m the one wearing the curtains.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Nelly Gets Nekkid
No photograph available. Do I hear an audible sigh of relief go up from my younger readers? I thought so.
This is what happened. Last night was my sleepover shift in Mingerton. All was relatively quiet. The natives were tired after their previous night’s restlessness. The current crop of paedophiles (real and imaginary) had been driven from the estate. Their houses had been satisfactorily pillaged and all their valuables and pretty things removed into the custody of their moral superiors. Anything that was flammable had been burned on an eighth night bonfire. All was quiet and I passed a peaceable enough night. The only snag was that I forgot to pack my sleeping attire and had to spend the night in my tee shirt. It was a small annoyance.
Until…. the next morning when I left my bed to attend to my toilette. Slam! That was the bedroom door closing against me. And there was I without my glasses, without my denture, without my keys, without access to a phone and, most crucially, without a knicker to my name.
So what did I do? I considered forcing the door but had a better idea. I wrapped myself in a large curtain and walked down two flights of stairs. No one saw me. I considered crossing the courtyard but then had a cleverer idea. At the front door of the block I was in I opened the door, stuck my top half round, pressed the buzzer and explained, over the intercom, my predicament to the security guard. She came over, with pass key, as quickly as she could, which wasn’t easy for her, seeing as she was wetting herself laughing at the cut of me. She said that at first she couldn’t fathom where the wee wild woman wearing curtains had come out of. But you know what they say – all’s well that ends well.
This is what happened. Last night was my sleepover shift in Mingerton. All was relatively quiet. The natives were tired after their previous night’s restlessness. The current crop of paedophiles (real and imaginary) had been driven from the estate. Their houses had been satisfactorily pillaged and all their valuables and pretty things removed into the custody of their moral superiors. Anything that was flammable had been burned on an eighth night bonfire. All was quiet and I passed a peaceable enough night. The only snag was that I forgot to pack my sleeping attire and had to spend the night in my tee shirt. It was a small annoyance.
Until…. the next morning when I left my bed to attend to my toilette. Slam! That was the bedroom door closing against me. And there was I without my glasses, without my denture, without my keys, without access to a phone and, most crucially, without a knicker to my name.
So what did I do? I considered forcing the door but had a better idea. I wrapped myself in a large curtain and walked down two flights of stairs. No one saw me. I considered crossing the courtyard but then had a cleverer idea. At the front door of the block I was in I opened the door, stuck my top half round, pressed the buzzer and explained, over the intercom, my predicament to the security guard. She came over, with pass key, as quickly as she could, which wasn’t easy for her, seeing as she was wetting herself laughing at the cut of me. She said that at first she couldn’t fathom where the wee wild woman wearing curtains had come out of. But you know what they say – all’s well that ends well.
Garden Party
When I drove past this man's house this evening there were dozens of people milling through his garden. Rod's getting a TV garden makeover today courtesy of the Greenmount Garden team. We'll be watching it on BBC1 sometime in the near future.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Ursa Major
Ursa Major is Ursa Minor's older sister. She was one of the best bosses I've ever worked for. I heard today that her youngest son is grievously ill. Please pray for her and her family.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
We Approve
We're not huge fans of Mariah Carey here at Nelly's Garden but we do applaud her sensible undergarments which are just as roomy and comfortable as the ones favoured by yours truly. Mariah wore these at a show in Miami recently. It does get very muggy in Miami but even so, I think I'd have put on a little cotton frock if I'd been Mariah. But that's those crazy show biz folk for you. Normal rules just don't apply.
I think Mariah's knickers might be Cherubs. They also come in bottle green and navy blue.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
So Far, So Tight
| DATE | AMOUNT SPENT | DETAILS |
| 01-Aug | £0.00 | |
| 02-Aug | £0.00 | |
| 03-Aug | £0.00 | |
| 04-Aug | £2.03 | (potatoes, Belfast Telegraph, milk) |
| TOTAL | £2.03 | |
The Belfast Telegraph was necessary spending as it was Friday and I am jobseeking.
I keep wanting to buy chocolate and magazines.
Work wasn't too hideous. Bert is thrilled to find his internet fame is increasing but he says he cannot possibly start his own blog just now as the bastard dogs have got away. Again!
Friday, August 04, 2006
Perfectionist
Look at the state of that door! Pencil marks everywhere! Lead pencil too! What sort of a joiner did that? Was he a joiner? People just don't care do they? I'll have to cut right into the wood to get that sanded off. Do you see that? He didn't even get those hinges right first time either. He's left it that rough. I'll bet those doors weren't cheap either. They just don't care nowadays. There's no such thing as proper tradesmen any more.
Oh leave it Olly. We don't care about a few pencil marks. Varnish over them. Gives the door character. Don't fuss yourself.
I like the job to be done right. And what if you have people in and they say, 'Who did your painting?' and you say, 'Olly', I'd hate anyone to think I'd leave something like that.
Don't worry about that Olly. Anyone asks who did the painting for us we say, Olly. What a torment he is. Girn, girn, whinge, whinge. Who did it like that? Who left it like that? That's terrible! We just say to him. Olly we don't care. Just paint it.
Oh well. That's all right then.
Oh leave it Olly. We don't care about a few pencil marks. Varnish over them. Gives the door character. Don't fuss yourself.
I like the job to be done right. And what if you have people in and they say, 'Who did your painting?' and you say, 'Olly', I'd hate anyone to think I'd leave something like that.
Don't worry about that Olly. Anyone asks who did the painting for us we say, Olly. What a torment he is. Girn, girn, whinge, whinge. Who did it like that? Who left it like that? That's terrible! We just say to him. Olly we don't care. Just paint it.
Oh well. That's all right then.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Typical
So off he goes to the shop for his ma and he says, "You need anything?"
I say, "Just washing up liquid."
He comes back and says, "I got you apples to make a pie if you feel like it."
I say, "Oh thanks. Maybe I will."
Later I decide I will make an apple cinnamon sponge. Afterwards I prepare to wash the dishes.
"Bert! Where'd you put the washing up liquid?"
"Oh shit! I forgot to get it. I knew there was something else."
Question is what did I say next? Did I say...?
A Never mind darling. I'll get some tomorrow.
or
B You complete stupid big eedjit!
I say, "Just washing up liquid."
He comes back and says, "I got you apples to make a pie if you feel like it."
I say, "Oh thanks. Maybe I will."
Later I decide I will make an apple cinnamon sponge. Afterwards I prepare to wash the dishes.
"Bert! Where'd you put the washing up liquid?"
"Oh shit! I forgot to get it. I knew there was something else."
Question is what did I say next? Did I say...?
A Never mind darling. I'll get some tomorrow.
or
B You complete stupid big eedjit!
No Spending Month...So Far
1st August - spent nil
2nd August - spent nil
I wanted chocolate, a newspaper and a printer...so far
And I must buy road tax and washing up liquid
2nd August - spent nil
I wanted chocolate, a newspaper and a printer...so far
And I must buy road tax and washing up liquid
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
What I Did On My Recent Four Days Off Work
Tuesday evening: Watched BB nominations and had a shower.
Tuesday early evening: Done up like a kipper during home visit from our financial advisor Mr GFK. Dogs return from scunging.
Tuesday midday: Zoë and I visited Matty and Leitrim Sister and saw highlights of the video from her birthday in Kerry. Best bit for me was Matty mistaking video camera for a still camera and grabbing hold of the nearest grandchild to pose rigidly for photograph.
Tuesday morning: Visitors all use Nellybert shower (not at once) after hearing that it was tourist attraction comparable to Carrick-a-rede Rope Bridge only cheaper. Dogs escape and go scunging.
Monday evening: Musical evening and supper at Nellybert’s. 9 out of 10 people agree that Tor is best guitarist ever to play Nellybert smoking room. Sorry other guitarists who may read this but he is.
Monday afternoon: Cooking marathon.
Monday midday: Shopping marathon.
Sunday evening: Delightful evening with the Stray Toasters at Galgorm Manor Hotel followed by dreadful breach of etiquette by self. (Top secret – need to know basis only)
Sunday afternoon: Hanging about reading the papers sort of thing.
Sunday morning: Bed mostly.
Saturday evening: Swisser visits, eats all the chocolate and tells tall tales as usual. Harry murders rabbit.
Saturday afternoon: Delightful afternoon spent in company of Marc, Ed, The Broom, Hannah & Jamie. Also met Jaffs for unfortunately far too brief a time. I sat beside Ed but treated him with utmost respect the whole time. Beowulf was unable to make it and was sadly missed especially by the ladies of the company. Self included. Of course.
Saturday morning: Drinking lots of tea, eating nothing, recovering from….
Very early Saturday morning: Delayed allergic reaction to Tinkerton. Very poorly indeed.
I'm Not One To Boast But...
Those who know me also know I’m not one to boast but… I do make exceedingly good pastry. The secret is Neill’s flour, butter (not marge) and a light handling. After that you cannot really fail. Yesterday I made a cheese & spinach pie for Jamie, Hannah and their friends. The spinach was home grown and there were three kinds of cheese in the pie. It was good.
I also made Rabia Chicken (p137, The Curry Book), which is chicken drumsticks cooked in a mix of fresh ginger and garlic with added dried spices. Tor, who is from Thailand, said it was the best which was praise indeed. But it still needs to pass this man’s taste test before it can be pronounced a truly great dish. We shall see.
And as if that were not enough compliments for one evening I had my head truly turned when Bert declared that my apple cinnamon sponge (with battered cream) was sublime and medicinal. He swore that it boosts the immune system and fights depression far more effectively than Seroxat or Prozac. This morning he said that it was the best aid ever for a deep and restful night's sleep.
So far the aphrodisiac powers of my apple cinnamon sponge remain untested.
I also made Rabia Chicken (p137, The Curry Book), which is chicken drumsticks cooked in a mix of fresh ginger and garlic with added dried spices. Tor, who is from Thailand, said it was the best which was praise indeed. But it still needs to pass this man’s taste test before it can be pronounced a truly great dish. We shall see.
And as if that were not enough compliments for one evening I had my head truly turned when Bert declared that my apple cinnamon sponge (with battered cream) was sublime and medicinal. He swore that it boosts the immune system and fights depression far more effectively than Seroxat or Prozac. This morning he said that it was the best aid ever for a deep and restful night's sleep.
So far the aphrodisiac powers of my apple cinnamon sponge remain untested.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Happy Birthday Vancouver Brother
I hope you had a great day. Don't be working too hard now. See you at the next wedding.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Wild At Heart
Harry de Cat has just sauntered past with a fine, fat and dead rabbit in his jaws. Swisser is appalled.
Despite my bad night I've had a very enjoyable afternoon in the company of certain bloggers. There'll be more about it later. Right now I have a poem to write.....
Bert you are going to have to let that cat go. He is totally wild. He'll be going for the hens next.
Despite my bad night I've had a very enjoyable afternoon in the company of certain bloggers. There'll be more about it later. Right now I have a poem to write.....
Pukerama
So, after a particularly hideous, stressful and tiring shift in Tinkerton, I thought I'd have an early night. Up I went at 11.30pm, only to wake again around oneish with a very sore belly. I couldn't get back to sleep and spent the hours between two and five in occasional vomiting. Very unpleasant but each bout did result in a reduction of the gripes so I suppose it was worthwhile. Bert didn't hear a thing and his sympathetic response this morning hardly registered on the symposcale.
Some points to remember for the future
Some points to remember for the future
- Don't eat curry chips from the Doury Fryer.
- Don't eat the supper Bert cooked when you're not hungry just because you want to encourage him to cook occasionally.
- If you haven't got that caring someone to hold your hair back when you are vomiting get your hair cut short.
- Wear glasses when vomiting to avoid splashback in the eye.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
My Three Girls
You shouldn’t have favourites. Everyone knows that. But I cannot help myself. I have a favourite.
My big girl – she’s a bit standoffish, a bit aloof. Some might say she’s shy. All I know is she’ll run a mile if you try to pick her up. But she’s industrious and loyal and very, very pretty.
My little girl – what a scruffy tyke she is. You never saw such a bedraggled girl. But she’s also brave, adventurous and generous and is rarely parted from my big girl.
But my middle girl – I cannot help myself. I like her the best. She walks like a duck and is the greediest girl ever. She loves to eat slugs and she lets me cuddle her whenever I want. Yes. Patsy is, without doubt, my very favourite hen.
My big girl – she’s a bit standoffish, a bit aloof. Some might say she’s shy. All I know is she’ll run a mile if you try to pick her up. But she’s industrious and loyal and very, very pretty.
My little girl – what a scruffy tyke she is. You never saw such a bedraggled girl. But she’s also brave, adventurous and generous and is rarely parted from my big girl.
But my middle girl – I cannot help myself. I like her the best. She walks like a duck and is the greediest girl ever. She loves to eat slugs and she lets me cuddle her whenever I want. Yes. Patsy is, without doubt, my very favourite hen.
In Praise Of Jeeves
I decided to check the oil and water of my motor but as usual I forgot how to open the bonnet. Yeah. Go on. Laugh. Bert is not here so I couldn’t ask him. I’ve been trying for about half an hour and I give up and started to look for the manual but I couldn’t find that either.
Then I thought – the internet! All knowledge resides there if you know how to ask. I tried Google but all I got there was manuals on Ebay. Then I remembered AskJeeves. So I AskedJeeves how do I open a Ford Fiesta bonnet and got this…
Northlondon - 18 Jul 2004 20:23 GMT
How do I open the goddammed bonnet??
pottsy - 19 Jul 2004 18:19 GMT
unmissable bright orange handle on the underneath of the steering column.
And there it was. Totally unmissable. Writing this post will ensure that I never forget again. I’ll think, now how do I open this again? Oh yes. Unmissable bright orange handle. Thanks Jeeves & thanks pottsy.
Then I thought – the internet! All knowledge resides there if you know how to ask. I tried Google but all I got there was manuals on Ebay. Then I remembered AskJeeves. So I AskedJeeves how do I open a Ford Fiesta bonnet and got this…
Northlondon - 18 Jul 2004 20:23 GMT
How do I open the goddammed bonnet??
pottsy - 19 Jul 2004 18:19 GMT
unmissable bright orange handle on the underneath of the steering column.
And there it was. Totally unmissable. Writing this post will ensure that I never forget again. I’ll think, now how do I open this again? Oh yes. Unmissable bright orange handle. Thanks Jeeves & thanks pottsy.
The Kidnapping Of Matty
It's Matty's birthday on Friday. It's a big special birthay with a nought on the end and all and for months now we've been pondering how it should be celebrated. Big party? Small party? Ceilidh? We couldn't decide. Matty put her oar in. She didn't want any fuss. Did she mean it? She did. The dilemma continued. How to mark a special birthday when the birthday girl doesn't want any fuss? And what would the neighbours say?
Dilemma solved. Matty has been kidnapped and taken to a secret location on the Dingle Peninsula. There she will be attended by a select band of Mafia-type kidnapper daughters who are obviously after her money.
Bon voyage Matty!
Dilemma solved. Matty has been kidnapped and taken to a secret location on the Dingle Peninsula. There she will be attended by a select band of Mafia-type kidnapper daughters who are obviously after her money.
Bon voyage Matty!
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
And Sleep....To Wake Up In A Cold Sweat After Yet Another Nightmare
Last night I had a vivid dream in which Bert forcibly cut my hair.
Then I dreamed that my late & lovely father-in-law was obsessively searching out and taking in wayward teenage girls in a Gladstonian frame of mind. These rescued girls then shared premises with my daughters, bullied them and stole from them.
Then I dreamed that a family member had decided (on a whim) to move to Australia leaving her immediate family in utter turmoil. This action brought lots of issues from the past to life and put me in turmoil also.
I'm waking up in the mornings more tired than when I went to bed.
Then I dreamed that my late & lovely father-in-law was obsessively searching out and taking in wayward teenage girls in a Gladstonian frame of mind. These rescued girls then shared premises with my daughters, bullied them and stole from them.
Then I dreamed that a family member had decided (on a whim) to move to Australia leaving her immediate family in utter turmoil. This action brought lots of issues from the past to life and put me in turmoil also.
I'm waking up in the mornings more tired than when I went to bed.
Monday, July 24, 2006
Not A Tattooed Granny To Be Seen
Dan Tobin has been looking at his wacky internet search terms so I thought I’d do likewise. Mine are a bit boring but then I haven’t got a site like this one.
That’s all I can manage for now because I’m feeling very stressed. I had to send my car home at the weekend, as the situation surrounding the workplace was looking dodgy. Both my shifts were with agency workers I’d not met before and I slept badly between shifts.
- photos of feral children
- magpie traps larson
- mcilhatton
- fortieth birthday greetings
- st sithney
- piebald ponies
- stags horn sumach
That’s all I can manage for now because I’m feeling very stressed. I had to send my car home at the weekend, as the situation surrounding the workplace was looking dodgy. Both my shifts were with agency workers I’d not met before and I slept badly between shifts.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Eating His Greens
Bert said to me last night,I've started to eat everything I see when I'm weeding in that garden.
What do you mean? You nibble on radishes and stuff?
No. I eat greenfly.
What do they taste like?
If they're on lettuce they taste of lettuce and if they're on beans they taste of beans. I was going to have a feed of those caterpillars we found on the cabbages but I couldn't because Raymond was standing watching me.
Sure the hens won't even eat those. They're probably bitter.
Maybe. I'd like to try them.
Would you eat slugs?
No. I draw the line at slugs. Unless they were cooked.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
I'm Your Fan
When I first started reading Ed’s blog there were very few female commenters. It was, and still is, a blokish blog but for me that was part of its charm. I also liked his impeccable grasp of grammar although I noticed his spelling occasionally let him down. No doubt those errors occurred because he was frenziedly key bashing to get his impassioned rants out there.
Now I find Ed is building up a bit of a female following.
There is Toast, there is Sandra and there is The Swearing Lady
As I’ve been here the longest and am Ed’s oldest* female fan I bags the post of CatchThat Fan Club Secretary. I might be able to arrange a supply of signed photographs of the man himself. Can’t make any promises though.
*Seven years off pension age. So yahboo to the rest of you who will probably have to work until you are eighty.
Now I find Ed is building up a bit of a female following.
There is Toast, there is Sandra and there is The Swearing Lady
As I’ve been here the longest and am Ed’s oldest* female fan I bags the post of CatchThat Fan Club Secretary. I might be able to arrange a supply of signed photographs of the man himself. Can’t make any promises though.
*Seven years off pension age. So yahboo to the rest of you who will probably have to work until you are eighty.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
This morning we attended Shirley's funeral. As you'd expect, it was heart rending but it was also very beautiful. The priests of St Gerard's had words of comfort and hope for everyone. Father Doherty described Shirley as having "a beautiful spirit" and this was so true.
It seems that Shirley had led a very lonely life these past few years. I think this was partly due to her mental and emotional problems for there were so very many people she could have turned to.
She is at peace now. We'll never forget her.