Four Things

I’m really gutted that no-one has tagged me to do this.

Four things which may or may not be true about me.

a) Four jobs I have had in my life.

· Barmaid

· Nurse

· Market Trader

· Clerical Officer

b) Four movies I would watch over and over again

· Midnight Cowboy

· Shrek

· Flash Dance

· Trainspotting

c) Four places I have lived.

· Antrim

· Belfast

· Holland Park

· Stoke-on-Trent

d) Four TV shows I love to watch

· The Simpsons

· The X-Factor

· Big Brother

· Lost

e) Four places I have visited

· Lisbon

· Hogsback

· New Orleans

· Malaga

f) Four websites I visit daily

· Zoe

· Hannah

· Walrilla

· Ganching

g) Four places I would like to be right now

· Tinkertown

· Botswana

· Darwin

· Texas

h) Four of my favourite foods

· Chocolate

· Pilchards

· Spinach

· Avocado

I) Four bloggers I would like to respond

^Anyone

There is one untruth per section

Teeth of Adversity

I wonder if blogging is bad for the teeth? I know I've lost at least three since I started writing Nelly's Garden.

Those last extractions were heartbreaking for me and it was months before I'd even let Bert see me without the dental plate. I said to my dentist that I'd be prepared to pay more for something decent but he pooh-poohed this idea and informed me that the NHS' finest would be just the ticket. All I can say to that is - his arse in parsley!

Now he's gone over into full time orthodontistry and has left my treatment in the hands of another charlatan. And since then this bloody plate has broken about six times. And I cannot get it replaced until December!

Each time I repair it (with Loctite) it gets ever more ill-fitting. Let me describe my latest torture. The part that breaks off has a little gold hook that is meant to attach to one of my real teeth and hold the contraption in place. But the frequent repairs mean that this hook is now sitting away from that tooth. It's the tiniest bit off but you know how the mouth is like the Tardis and everything in it feels fathoms deep and miles wide. Now this hook sometimes 'cleeks' on the inside of my mouth. It's not a problem if I've got my usual glum expression going but if I smile one of those social, welcoming smiles the next thing I know I've hooked the inside of my cheek. So imagine the scene. There's Mrs Moser in a work stuation say, just for example, in a solicitor's office doing reception. Ding! Ding! In walks a client and I give him a lovely welcoming smile. Next thing the hook has caught the inside of my mouth and my lovely smile has turned into a contemptuous sneer.

I haven't my sorrows to seek, have I?

My Bonnie Lies Under The Table

She said her name wasn't Sheba and it's not: her name is Bonnie. The story so far is that someone has been in touch. Her actual owner is seriously ill in hospital and probably won't be able to have her back. Meanwhile his neighbour (my contact) was looking after her informally and she was getting on famously with his eight cats, his wife & two sprogs and his labrador. In fact she was getting on too well with the lab, which his owner described as a runagate and who was encouraging Bonnie to become a scunging devil dog. Which was where we came in. Bonnie's previous minder is only too happy to let us look after her in the meantime. The Scruff dude is staying with us until the weekend so we have four dogs in residence. Bonnie, despite her size, is the pack junior; Scruff, despite his, is pack senior. Paddy and Rosie are a bit, a tiny bit, peeved and managed to give Bert the slip this morning.

Paddy: It wasn't hard. Rosie: Too true Pads. Piece of piss. Paddy: Yeah! Pops is a bit slack in the mornings. Rosie: Morning! Your hole! It was the middle of the day. Paddy: Least we got our heads showered Rose. Got away from them pair of feckin', hairy, ball-lickin' hoors for an hour or two. Rosie: Aye Pads. We'll mebbe get another wee run out tomorrow. Paddy: Aye we will Rosie. Unless Nelly's about. She'd keep a tighter eye on us. Rosie: Unless she's paveesing around that oul Sheba or Bonnie or whatever they're calling her this week....

Nervous Nelly

I signed on with another agency because the nursing one has been remiss in organising some training I need. It's been cancelled twice already and I've been told that they cannot send me anywhere until I complete it.

So - with this other agency I'm signed up for admin work and today, for one day only, I'm going to work as a solicitor's receptionist. And I'm nervous, nay, I'm scared.

• What if I can't work the internal phone network?
• What if he has an ancient computer running something I'm not familiar with?
• What if he's a git?

God being an agency worker sucks sometimes. Always the newbie!

Grab A Granny Night

This evening Bert and I went out for supper at local restaurant Athena’s (attached to the Village Inn) in the company of our old friends Professor and Mrs Ron. After we’d eaten we moved into the bar. The pubs in Cullybackey are not places I’d often be in as they’re a bit clannish but of the two of them the Village Inn would be better. There’s less chance of a row breaking out and I don’t think the regulars would be as interested in your political inclinations/ religious beliefs as the clientele of The Other Bar.

But anyway a pub’s a pub isn’t it? Tends to be full of people with drink taken – drink in, wit’s out, that sort of thing.

Mrs Ron and I were the first to make it into the bar. The Prof was settling the bill and Bert was at the toilet. We entered and sat ourselves down, full of the natural confidence that comes from a good meal, several gins and poised maturity.

Then imagine our feelings when a goofy looking fellow, remarked rudely to the entire bar, “Look lads, it’s Grab A Granny Night!” Well imagine my feelings as Mrs Ron was spared the indignity of hearing the jibe as she is partially deaf. But when I told her she guffawed and so too did the Prof when he heard what Goofy had said. To tell the truth I thought it was mildly amusing too. The only one of us who was really perturbed by the Grab A Granny taunt was Bert. I think it made him feel horribly old being in the company of ladies that were viewed by the rest of the world as grandmotherly.

Crime Scene

I've just taken my usual Sunday morning trip to the village to pick up the papers and it seems that the Central Bar is a crime scene. There are men in white jumpsuits everywhere. Looks ominous. Nothing on the news so far...

All Change

The clocks go back at midnight tonight. I hate this. It will take weeks before I acclimatise and it means longer, darker nights and the onset of winter.

I wish they'd leave the clocks alone. Give me BST all the year round and I'll be happy. Who cares if it is dark in the morning. Is it not preferable to have a bit of extra light in the evening?

Dry

The Scene: A local garage

The Characters: Big Hans, the proprieter; Nelly, a customer

Nelly: I see yer man on the council is proposing to bring in Prohibition and turn Ballymena into a dry borough.

Hans: Aye. I seen that. There was a boy in here this morning told me that, yer man, before he got saved, followed Linfield all round the country and would have tuk drink out of a dirty bucket.

Nelly: Is that right? It just proves again that there's no keener body than a convert.

Pssst! Wanna Dog?

This dog has been living with us since Saturday. There has been no response to my posters and she has not been reported as missing to the Dog Warden. I take her out for a walk every day and I'm always hoping that someone will stop and say, "Hey! What are you doing with my dog?" So far it hasn't happened.

She is big and she is strong and she eats loads. She appears to be good-tempered and I think she is fairly young. I don't know what we're going to do because every day that passes finds me liking her even more. Anyways over to Sheba...


Please, please, please someone come and take me away from all this. Saying that the humans here aren't too bad. Nelly is a keen & dedicated jailer but she's got a good heart. I've a better chance of escaping when Bert's in charge for he's a bit slack about security. The cat's not bad, tends to keep out of my way, but the dogs are complete arses. That Rosie one is always baring her big yellow teeth at me and Paddy is a total ball-licking slabber. Obvious that Rosie is the pack leader so I have tried to get in with her but she's having none of it. She's a rotten cheat at football too and ates the face of me when I tackle her. I hate it here and I want my old home back. Failing that I want a new home with no evil, jealous, hairy ould bitcher anywhere near it.

By the way Nelly - my name's not Sheba and it's not Baby either.

They Do Things Differently In Wetherfield

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Birthday London Sister

Many happy returns LS.

Have You Lost This Dog?

FOUND



ON THE DREEN ROAD ON SATURDAY


Contact: 02825881xxx

First thing today I contacted the council Dog Warden. Told him what I was planning to do, then Rosie and I walked down to the village to put up these FOUND posters. My first call was the Mace, then on to the Spar and it was as I was walking, lost in thought, towards my next call, the garage, that I realised I'd forgotten something. What could it be? Oh God! I'd left Rosie tied up outside the Mace.

Nice one that - making every effort to return one lost dog to it's rightful home whilst gaily abandoning another!

A New Hairdo

The before picture taken by me in summer 2005.

N. Ireland New Thatch Roof, originally uploaded by mom4985.

The after shot taken by an American (?) visitor sometime this summer. You live in a picturesque cottage people will take photos.

There are some other local buildings featured here.

Let Them Eat Cake

READ THE PRODUCT INFORMATION, WHY DON'T YOU?

You’d wonder sometimes at the amount of things that can go wrong in one day. Saturday started off well enough but little did I know what was in store for me. It was a pleasant enough morning, pissing with rain, but with the promise of a better afternoon to come. I had asked Hannah, Jamie and their friend Tom to join us for supper and I had all day to prepare for it. I settled myself down with coffee, toast and marmalade and a novel. As I bit into my toast I heard the familiar snap of two teeth breaking off my denture. Bloody hell! That’s the fifth time that has happened. I’d been to the dentist on Wednesday and had an appointment to get the thing properly sorted out....in December. And please to set aside £250 for the privilege. So it was out with the Loctite and another amateur repair, except I couldn’t get it to bond and while I was worrying at it a lens from my glasses fell at my feet. I tried to laugh it all off and ended up sobbing with despair and rage at my ill-fortune and decrepitude. I said to Bert, “All my prosthetics are falling apart. If I had implants they’d be exploding and if I had a wooden leg it would be dosed with woodworm.”

It got sort-of fixed. The front fang was sitting well below the rest and any food chewier than penada was to be avoided.

I decided to go shopping for chillies and things. But first fill the car with diesel. You know what’s going to happen next, don’t you? I parked, handed my keys to the attendant and went inside to buy a paper. That completed I return to the car and drive into the village. I get as far as the greengrocers. You don’t drive a diesel car too far when it’s just been filled with petrol. Of course I had no phone with me and of course Bert was out for an afternoon ramble with his chum and had no phone with him so all I could do was get out and walk. I was rescued by Rod, then Ploppy Pants was phoned re damage limitation then there was nothing else to be done until Bert returned to tow the car to Ploppy's place.

Well eventually that all came to pass and I got a ride back to Cully to complete my shopping. By now it was 6.30pm.

After shopping I decided to walk back home to clear my head. Just as I was setting off I saw a commotion ahead. Two large and very dirty dogs, a German shepherd and a labrador, were ambling up the middle of the road causing traffic chaos. As the sole pedestrian at the scene I think some of those drivers were under the impression that I was with the dogs. One driver even yelled at me, “Get your dogs off the road!”

The dog story ended with me being joined by Hannah, Bert et al and between us we managed to capture the German Shepherd but, unfortunately, not the lab as it took to the fields. So now we’ve got a very sad and lonely dog in the back shed and if we don’t find out today where it’s from we’ll be handing it over to the Council Dog Warden tomorrow.

By now supper is running late and I’ve a vegetable curry to put together. The onions are sauted and the cauliflower, peppers, carrots etc. are chopped and ready. The chillies and garlic and spices need to go in and the spuds peeled. Let me stop here and tell you that I’m only a beginner at this curry lark and I don’t really know my chillies. It was a mixed pack and I chose the pale one (Habanero) on the assumption that it would be fairly mild. I chopped it up, kept the seeds in, crushed garlic and shredded fresh ginger and into some hot oil it all went. Within seconds the kitchen filled with hot, acrid, lung-braising fumes. That fume could have been (and probably has been) used as a chemical weapon. Hopeful and undeterred I threw everything else in as well in the (futile) expectation that the rest of the ingredients would tone it down.

Swisser arrived with an organic apple pie. I had already made an unorganic chocolate cake. I told her about the Nuclear Stew we were having for dinner and my fears that it would be inedible. You’ll know what she said.

Despite this advice I threw together a quick cheese, onion and spinach tart, and Bert dashed to the shops with 15 minutes to spare and returned with 6 pots of natural yogurt and a cucumber. He made a raita and the whole thing turned out OK. Only Hannah couldn’t cope with the Nuclear Stew but the rest of us had a good go at it. Swisser even had seconds but I think she was showing off.

Then we ate cake.

The Chronicles of Bert: Part 2 - What Happens When You Stay In Bed Too Long

Bert, Polly & Danny, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Then there was the time Bert slept for so long that he woke up with a beard.

The Chronicles of Bert: Part 1- Bert Van Winkle

Those who know Bert well also know that he is very fond of sleeping.


This is Bert enjoying 40 winks in County Sligo. We were on holiday with the Banjos and Bert took full advantage of all the extra sleeping opportunities that vacationing affords.


Bert often enjoys a power nap during the working day. He has no difficulty sleeping under a dog. In fact the dog serves a very useful purpose in that it will alert Bert to the arrival of a vehicle in the yard. This saves Bert from the embarrassment of being caught napping.

It is a pity there was no Scruff around that time the two elderly ladies discovered him curled up asleep in his polytunnel cosily wrapped in a length of horticultural fleece. He says he never heard them come in and the first he knew of their presence was a gentle poke with a sensible shoe and hearing one matron say to the other,

D'ye think he's dead, Aggie?

Bert's notorious love of shut-eye has been celebrated in this painting by Zoe. Most people who see this picture marvel at the likeness. Except Pearlie who thinks it's 'damnable', looks nothing like her darling boy and says Zoe can 'paint noan'. But what does Pearlie know of art? Naethin'

No Heavy Jewellery

Today whilst walking past ‘The Spinning Mill’ (formerly known as ‘McSwiggan’s’ and originally McKendry’s Bar) I saw, and stopped to read, a handwritten notice that had been placed in the window. This notice stated that a dress code was to be imposed. From now on there would be -

• No tracksuits after 6pm
• No football shirts
• No political insignia or tattoos on display
• No heavy jewellery
• No drunks

Proper order! But there was no mention of baseball caps. Nor weaselly faces.

Young Loveheart's Obsession With Knives

Young Rooney says that young Loveheart cannot go into a shop without buying something. It doesn’t matter what kind of a shop it is, young Loveheart will not come out of it empty-handed.

“What? Not even a cheese shop?” I enquired. “No,” young Rooney claimed, “If Loveheart found himself in a cheese shop he’d buy his mother some cheese for sure.”

He told us this story.

Me and Loveheart were buying a wedding present for Dunwoody and while I was at the till paying for it Loveheart wandered off. Next thing I know he comes back with a set of kitchen knives.

“What did you buy those for?” I asked him. “These are great knives,” says he. “There’s a boy over there demonstrating them. They’ll cut anything, they’re carbon tungsten edged, they’ll never go blunt and they were only £25. These knives will last me for years.”

“But you don’t even cook,” I said to him, “What will you use them for?” He says to me, “They’ll be great for cutting gange.” I says to him, “Sure there is no gange and, anyway, haven’t you a drawer full of penknives you have no need of and another drawer full of hunting knives you that never went hunting in your life?”

So now he has these amazing knives in his room and he sits there cutting up tin cans and other stupid stuff and then throwing it in the bin. Sitting there with a bin full of cut up tins and bars of soap and other stuff.

Is Cosmic Ordering Evil?

So far I have fallen in a puddle and (on another occasion) broken my tooth.

Worse still, Mikey's friend lost her job as a consequence of his ordering up more time in her company.

And Hannah has this to say,

Has no one cottened on yet that cosmic ordering is EVIL. Noel Edmonds is EVIL. I have yet to cosmically order anything and now I'm too scared to.

I Meet A Namesake & Ponder The Hidden Hazards Inherent In The Cosmic Ordering Service

It can be a bit nerve-wracking constantly going into new places of work. This is why I was a bit worried about going to the Over The Hill Home today. Anyway I gave myself a good hour to get there and as I was driving up and over the hill I thought to myself, I know! I'll do some cosmic ordering. So I ordered up that my colleagues would be pleasant and friendly, that I would be able to make myself useful and that I would not personally have to deal with shit. Because I just didn't feel like dealing with any shit today. And it all happened just as I'd requested! The colleagues were lovely and friendly, I felt like I was of some use to them and there was no number two action on my watch. Yet once again the Cosmos played me for a fool and had a damned good laugh at my expense. Because I had quite forgotten to order that my denture would stay intact and would not snap in half as I munched on an apple during the staff teabreak.

My namesake? The nicest, friendliest woman from Botswana.

Leitrim Sister! We Need You!

Ronni and Bert voted for the alcoves. I think Dave liked the alcoves too but he wouldn't commit himself.Hannah and cousin Margaret voted for the back wall. They nearly had me convinced, Bert said he would build shelves here with a happy heart.

But....not only was this Zoe's choice, it got Ganching and Sandra's vote too. But Bert says he's not picking up as much as a nail until he hears what Leitrim Sister has to say.

Bookcases

I want lots of bookshelving in my den. That is the room where Bert is currently installing the fireplace. Obviously Bert will be the man to build them as he's really awfully good with his hands. After all he built this superb turkey hoose for Clint. Now my guru in most matters of taste & design is Zoe. Bert jealously accuses me of 'hanging on to her every word'. So when I told him that Zoe advised I cover an entire wall with book shelving he pooh-poohed it. He said it would make the room look like a library. I said if I wanted my room to look like a library that was up to me. And he said that was fine and dandy but I could get somebody else to build the bookshelves. Nast-ee! And there's you lot think he's so damn nice. Sometimes he's not one bit nice. But it's usually when he's hungry.

So for a while we asked everyone who came into the house where they thought the bookshelves should go. A lot of people (including Bert) thought the two alcoves on either side of the fireplace would be the spot. I thought that was a bit too conventional. Then someone suggested the wall facing the fireplace. Eventually Bert said he'd go with what Leitrim Sister said. I suppose he respects her opinion because she's always hanging ceilings and repairing roofs and knocking up luxury rabbit hutches when she's not coppicing hazel or studying for her degree. So Leitrim Sister (or anyone for that matter) - what are your thoughts?

No Work Today

Bert spent today putting in a fireplace. He's really awfully good with his hands. I spent the day sussing out (with Matty) the exact location of next week's batch of nursing homes in a town the other side of the hill. It is no joke going into new places all the time let me tell you young fellow-me-lad. People who work in nursing homes aren't as much fun as people who work in hostels. They are too damn busy for a start. And generally they seem to hate agency workers.

Regarding the farawayness of these places, see, I made the mistake at the start saying I'd travel up to 20 miles for work. Now I think they keep all the faraway assignments for me and send all the sad sacks that don't drive to the local jobs.

Cannot say how disappointed I am that the job of my dreams did not materialise. But I have to ask myself - do I really want to work for an organisation that hasn't the manners to inform me that I didn't get the post? Well yes. At that money I did.

To get back to my day - I came home fully expecting the fireplace job to be completed but it was not. He was demented because, as usual, he'd forgotten to eat and was too dangerous to go near. So I went for a walk. Then I bought him a fish supper and everything was OK.

Stray Toaster does not allow blind links so I'll call it this - Nepotism.

Forgiveness

Nelly: So what is it I have to forgive you for today?

Bert: Oh loads of things.

Nelly: True. Let me see now. I have to forgive you for dirtying the kitchen surfaces, for spilling crumbs on the floor and for losing the dogs. That’s it isn’t it?

Bert: That’s about it.

Nelly: And all you have to forgive me for is being a c*nt?

Bert: Sure I have to forgive you for that every day.

Pram & Pramface

Bert's Pram, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Bliss is worried that he is the only person left in the world who still says 'pram'. Don't fret Bliss lad - the concept of pram still survives here at Nellybert's.

And this is a 'pramface'.

Disgruntled & Dull

I just wrote a post about having no curtains* and wakes** and the Moderater of the Presbyterian Church in Ireland*** but it was a bit doomy so I'll pass on it.

Nothing interesting to report. Even the dogs are going through a dull patch. Which is something I should probably be grateful for.

I've had no word about the interview I attended last week and I really miss my foul-mouthed and witty colleagues from Tinkerton. Tis dullards work in those other places. Only the inmates are interesting and they can be a touch repetitive.

I cannot even be arsed to ask Cosmos for stuff. Truth is I'm a bit apprehensive after that time Cosmos cowped me into a puddle.

*There are no curtains in Springhill
**It is customary in the country to close curtains/draw down blinds in the event of wakes etc.
***Wee Harry is Pearlie's minister

The Role of Strong Drink in Alien Abductions

Young Loveheart called round tonight. He told us a very strange tale about a recent lad’s night out when his good friend, Young Rooney, was abducted and taken to Logan’s Fashions near Cloughmills. Young Rooney believes that at least one of the 20 plus measures of Smirnoff & Red Bull that he had consumed was spiked. I asked Young Loveheart why he hadn’t looked after his mate a little better and he explained that he was drunk himself and too busy ‘getting off’ with women. The fact remains that Young Rooney went missing for several hours and was eventually found wandering aimlessly along the Woodtown Road.

Young Rooney has no idea how he got from the Countryman’s Inn to Logan’s and back again to the Woodtown Road. I think he must have been abducted by aliens and that the aliens must have administered a hangover cure because he had no suffering the following day. Despite this stroke of fortune he is badly rattled by his experience and says he will never drink or go out ever again.

I had a similar experience myself many decades ago. Vodka was not involved. In my case it was gin. I have only the haziest recollection but I do remember I was rescued by a lovely couple in a Volkswagen Beetle.

My Girl

Time to knit a couple of rows, originally uploaded by ZMB.

What Is It For?

Bert found this little object in one of the sheds. It's like a miniature anvil. Anyone know what it might have been used for? We thought it might have been used in making jewellery. It is around 4 inches high.

Our Fathers

Matty told me the other day that my father was not too happy when I first started living with Bert but that she “talked him round.”

Parents have dreams and in those days their dreams didn’t include their children getting divorced. Imagine what it must have been like for them. My marriage had ended and I was living alone with three young children. Then I meet this young fellow six years younger than me (Bert was 27 when we started going out) and the next thing he’s living with me. I was actually with Bert for over a year before Daddy cottoned on that he was there.

He wasn’t the only one who was slow on the uptake. In the early days of our relationship Bert just spent the weekends with me. Then the weekends became longer. Over a period of a few months they’d stretched to five days starting on Thursdays and ending on Mondays. By the time we were together six months he was only going home on Wednesdays. I have to say I was really cross with him when I realised that he had moved in without ever having discussed it with me.

So Daddy says to Matty,

“Who is this Bert fellow anyway? Has he no place of his own to go to? Every time I go over to Mary’s he’s there.”

“Well they’re living together I suppose.”

“Oh no!. That’s terrible! What’s going to become of Mary? That fellow’ll likely make a terrible eejit of her for she has no sense at all!”

“Och now don’t be worrying. He seems a right enough sort of fellow. Anyway have you ever thought what it must be like for his parents, what they must think of it all? There he is - he’s their only child and they’re good, respectable people and what must they think that he’s took up with a separated woman, years older than him, with three weans already and of a different religion too?”

Say this for Matty she was always good at looking at things from the other person’s point of view. This is a trait that I hope I share with her. So, in time, Seamus came round to the idea and ended up thinking the world of Bert. When it came down to it a shared country background in farming meant more than any divisions between Catholic and Protestant.

There were rocky moments too with Bert’s parents. Apparently his father was not a bit happy with the situation either. Me being Catholic was bad enough, three weans was worse and he wasn’t a bit impressed with my then address which, at that time, was one of Ballymena’s rougher areas. Harsh words were said,

“There’ll be no other man’s weans on this yard!”

How did it come about he met my girls? I can hardly remember. Perhaps something to do with Bert never telling me what his father had said and then landing the children on to his yard anyway. I know I’d have been terribly offended and hurt had I known about his feelings then. But within short months Bert’s dad had met my girls and over the years to come he grew to love and care for them. Sure how could he not?

Our two fathers were the same age. They were both small farmers and they did meet eventually. They liked each other very much. Given a different time and a different place they might well have been the closest of friends.

A Walk In The Rain

Despite this afternoon’s driving rain I gathered myself up, put on a waterproof jacket and announced to Bert and Clint that I was going for a walk.

“It’s lashing!” cried Bert, “Ye’ll get drooked,” warned Clint. I said I didn’t care, that I wasn’t made of salt and wouldn’t melt in the rain. I was having trouble convincing the dogs but you need a dog with you in wet weather otherwise you’d look like a madwoman. Eventually Paddy took pity on me and removed himself, very reluctantly, from the front of the fire.

I drove down to Cully and took the river path. Right down beside the river I veered off the path to walk under the trees. It was slippery and I took the precaution of cosmically ordering a fall-proof walk. After a bit I went back onto the path, promptly lost my footing and went flat on the broad of my back. As I reclined in a puddle, looking up at the grey clouds hiding the Cosmos above me, I thought to myself, “What went wrong?” Then I realised that my request was applicable only while I was off the beaten track and that my protection was lifted as soon as I took my very first step back on to the path . It was then I knew that the Cosmos was having a bloody good laugh at my expense. What else could I do but laugh along with it?

Be Very Careful What You Wish For

Last night I cosmically ordered the motivation to change my bed. I specified that this motivation was to be delivered within 24 hours. This morning, at approximately 7.20am, Harry de Cat (aka Pisher McGhee) pissed on my bed.

On the bright side I'd wanted to be up and about early so I could make leisurely preparations for this morning's interview...for the Job Of My Dreams. Remember I cosmically ordered steady employment by the 2nd November 2006? That very afternoon I got word of an interview.

Noel and me. Up a tree. Kay-I-ess-ess-I-en-gee

Bert Drives

Your Driving Is is: 45% Male, 55% Female

According to studies, you drive both like a guy and a girl. This means you're a pretty average driver, with typical quirks. Occasionally you're frustrated and or a little reckless, but that's the exception - not the norm.

Do You Drive Like a Guy or a Girl?

Nelly Drives

Your Driving Is is: 46% Male, 54% Female

According to studies, you drive both like a guy and a girl. This means you're a pretty average driver, with typical quirks. Occasionally you're frustrated and or a little reckless, but that's the exception - not the norm.

Do You Drive Like a Guy or a Girl?

Be Careful What You Wish For

Of course I'd heard of Cosmic Ordering. Noel Edmonds dunnit and he got an awesome new show - Deal Or No Deal. Of course I've never watched it (as if) but Pearlie is a great fan. Matty? Not so much.

Incidentally in searching for that post I discovered that I have referred to Noel Edmonds on this blog on three separate occasions. Three! That is very bad. I must be a secret fan. Which is worrying.

Before I knew I was a secret admirer of His Beardiness, I would have pooh-poohed this Cosmic Ordering idea on account of me thinking he was an arsehole, but then I found the Barbel Mohr book among a box of paperbacks donated to me for recycling purposes. I had a little look at it and was gratified to discover that Mohr says you don't even have to read the book! Just get on with the ordering. That's my kind of self-help book. So far I've ordered up regular and enjoyable employment by the second of November 2006 so we'll see how that goes and I've ordered up a 25 pound reduction in personal tonnage for April 2007. I had to go back on that one as I was not specific enough. It would be a shame if I got that weight loss as a result of some terminal wasting disease. But if I do - you read it here first.

Mad Dog Drops By

Mad Dog came by to look at the new laptop. He says he is thinking of getting himself a new computer. His last one one was a Spectrum 7x so I reckon it's time he had an update.

The photograph was taken with the camera that is embedded in the laptop. I told him he looks like "the Divil".

Links

Since changing to beta blogger I found that my old ways of inserting links have ceased to work. I promised myself this morning that I'd figure it out before this day was done.

And so I did. And to prove it I'm going to link to something I learned about at my course this evening. I learned about this.

And I also found out a little about this.

Ain't learning a wonderful thing?

Gissa Job

I have completed three days at the Faraway Home for the Disorientated which means I am now an expert on the care of the elderly and infirm. Ahem! Say this about it, though it is hard work and you’re always on the go, it’s not as stressful as working in Spide city or Tinkerton. I come home, I’m tired yet I don’t want to yell at or kick anyone. No work on for this week so I’m hoping that will change.

I’ve been invited for an interview for a temporary post that would be ideal for me. It’s close to home, fairly well paid and, best of all, it’s experience in just the sort of field that I’m hoping to work in - training. The hours will fit in with my course too and speaking of which I’ve got homework - still undone!

The homework is a five minute presentation on a topic of our own choosing. I keep thinking how easy this would be for Stray Toaster who can give several five or ten minute presentations over a few drinks in the pub. To give him credit he does draw the line at power point. Now my question is - what shall I do this presentation on? I’m tempted to do it on the work of the organisation whose ranks I hope to join. Then I’d get the homework and the interview preparation done in one fell swoop.

Overheard

A conversation overheard at The Faraway Home For The Disorientated

Cookie: (shouting) Would you like a nice wee cup of tea?

Elderly Lady: What?

Cookie: (still shouting) A nice wee cup of tea? And a wee buttered scone?

Elderly Lady: D’ye know, you remind me of that girl used to work for the railways?

Cookie: Do I?

Elderly Lady: Aye. Worked for the railways. Big stout girl like you.

Cookie: Thanks very much!

Elderly Lady: Aye. Big and stout. Used to collect the tickets on Platform 1. She’d come in here by times too. Used to pass round cups of tea and maybe a wee scone.

A Beautiful Spirit

Shirley, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

This has been a hard week. Apart from the course, which I enjoyed very much, and some joyful encounters with the clients in The Faraway Home For The Confused And Disorientated it has been a week filled with anxiety, stress and sadness.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

Birthday Flowers 22/9

Birthday Flowers 22/9, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Explanation

I have deleted the post I wrote last night.

It was inappropriate for me to write it and unfair to her memory.

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....

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.

Beano Boys

Beano Boys, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Just testing the connection.

Nothing To Say Except....

this is Tinkerton

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.

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'.

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.

I Am The Nile

Which Extremity of the World Are You?
From the towering colossi at Rum and Monkey.

Shitspiration

Sign in Cullybackey, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

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.

Vote #3 For Gracie

Digging, originally uploaded by ZMB.

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.

My Birthday Present From Hootchinhannah

Racing Hounds, originally uploaded by hootchinhannah.

Hannah got this enlarged & framed for my birthday.

Zoe made me gourmet biscuits & cookies. Yum.

Katy sent me two Peatbog Faeries CDs.

Murlough Bay

Nice old postcard of Murlough Bay.

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.

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.

I'm (A) Fytt Heifer

Geddit?

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.

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.

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.

Try This. It's Amazing

Your Future Foretold

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 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.

Old Ballymena

The Mill 1, originally uploaded by Fossie1.

Now a retail park.

Fossie1 has a nice little collection of vintage Ballymena pictures on Flickr.

Modern Ballymena

Yet another hole in the road, originally uploaded by ZMB.

This scene is so typical of modern Ballymena.

The picture also includes (to the right) a shot of Ballymena's most photographed dog.

Broughshane

buttermilk bridge, broughshane, originally uploaded by tattie_chomper.

This is one local walk that I've yet to use. This dated from our Spring snows.

Randalstown

Lanterns in the early morning, originally uploaded by Tom Chambers.

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

gate near Loan Hill, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Mile or two outside it to be accurate. Obviously I'm the main tagger of Cullybackey on Flickr.

Antrim

Antrim Castle, originally uploaded by dickyhart.

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

Portglenone, originally uploaded by ConnorMcc.

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

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.

How Irish Are You?

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,

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.