Conversations With The Hearing Impaired

Conversation 1

Matty: Your Kerry Sister says that this really short-haired look for men is all to do with up here. She says nobody in Dingle has their head shaved.

Nelly: Ach sure what would Dingle know about anything! It’s all mad tourists there anyway.

Matty: She says none of the locals have their hair shaved and her Brendan is growing his long.

Nelly: Well don’t forget your darling youngest son has a number 1.

Matty: Aye but he’d need to. What would he be like him with long hair and none on the top and the bunches of ginger curls growing out the side?

(Sorry Joe. Couldn’t resist.)

Conversation 2

Nelly: There’s this great garden centre I must take you to. Bert says it’s the best one he delivers to and it’s not far from here.

Matty: Oh is it that one in the Ecos Centre that Kerry Sister took me to?

Nelly: No. But that one’s great too. The one Bert’s talking about is on the Cockhill Road.

Matty: Where? Your road?

Nelly: No. The Cockhill Road.

Matty: The Clough Road?

Nelly: No! Cockhill! Near Slaght.

Matty: Cloughmills?

Nelly: No! Cockhill. Am I going to have to write it down for you?

Suddenly Nelly has brainwave and decides to act out Cockhill. She just gets as far as the first syllable when Matty puts her out of the house.

A Lunchtime Walk

When the weather is fine, or even when it’s not, I like to go for a walk at lunchtime. But working in a village doesn’t give me much scope for walks. I’ve been everywhere now. I've done the graveyards, the riverside walks, up past the primary school, gone lurking behind the water pump station. Everywhere. And because it’s a village they all get to know you and by now they’ll be thinking,

There goes that loopy woman who’s always tramping aimlessly about the place.

At least in Ballymena a person out walking looked as if she might actually be going somewhere.

Are there not any beauty spots near your work place? - I hear you ask.

Indeed there is. There is Tardree Forest. And it’s only a couple of miles away. It’s a lovely place with excellent views of Lough Neagh and the Sperrins beyond. Some good hillside trails too. It’s just the sort of spot a PA (hah!) with a newspaper, an apple and some sandwiches could go to while away a lunch hour. And take in a nice, brisk stomp around the forest paths for her health’s sake.

Now go google ‘Tardree Forest’.

I have to say that I knew the forest’s reputation. I’d been warned. But I also believed that the part I was in was used by chaps solely interested in other chaps. I’d been informed that the hetero action took place in a car park off the Parkgate Road. So I thought I was safe enough in the gay bit and I kept my head stuck in my paper and totally blanked out the occasional vehicle that went past. I couldn’t help noticing that there was one little blue car that passed me four times. The driver just seemed to be circling around. He slowed down and stared as he passed me but I pretended not to notice.

I felt a little bit uncomfortable and not sure whether I should take a walk. But being an idiot decided to chance it. As soon as his car was out of sight I went off road and into the forest and didn’t see one other soul. Fifteen minutes later I returned to my car and, still off road, I spotted the blue car again. Because I was sheltered by the trees I took a good look. The driver was a man who, I’d guess, was well into his sixties. Oh well. It was a nice day for a drive. You’ll note I don’t mention the make of the car. You’d never know who’d be reading this.

It’s a pity – but I don’t think I’ll be back in Tardree Forest again unless it’s with Bert and the dogs.

Instead I shall go walking on the Greenfield Road where strange creatures abound. Is this some kind of bear? Or ape?

Movie Dump

That other silly blog I've got looks like it might be turning into a repository for my new camera video clips. Things never turn out the way you expect them to.

The News From China

'A SHOW crocodile in a Chinese amusement park has been shot to death after it dragged a nine-year-old schoolboy into its pond and devoured him.

Several youths had climbed over the fence at the Yintan resort in Beihai and were hitting animals with sticks and rocks when one croc took hold of the boy's clothes and pulled him into the water, the Beijing Morning Post said today.

A swarm of up to 11 crocodiles then ate the boy, the report said.'

Boy tortures crocodile. Bad
Crocodile eats boy. Good
Men shoot crocodile. Bad
Ten crocodiles get away with it. Good

The New Camera

I bought the Canon PowerShot A710 and so far I'm pleased with it. Zoe informs me that it comes highly recommended for the older user as it's design makes it easy for arthritic fingers to manage and it comes with an anti-shake function that evens out our palsy and tremors.

It's capacity to make mini-movies is far superior to my previous camera and I've already got some interesting footage of Clint and Lizzie discussing, in Ulster Scots and off-camera, the best way to rear goslings while the camera follows the fluffy goose babies.

Of course I'd like to share these. But how? They're a bit too long for YouTube. Any recommendations for editing tools?

A Tale of Patched Drawers

Do you know what I’m starting to hate? I’m starting to hate recycling. It used to be a buzz back in the day when it was just us sandal-wearing, patchwork-skirted, fuzzy-haired, hippy types did it. But now that it’s become a moral duty I despise it.

When those that lord over us were giving out the red recycling bins we didn’t get one. This miffed me and I phoned and moaned until I was given two of them. I rued it that very first day when the delivery man explained to me that the bins had tracking devices in the lids. That statement made me feel very queasy. Nevertheless I persevered and diligently filled the bins with bottles and plastic containers. There were explanatory leaflets but I ignored those. I do remember reading that they’d take tins but that they had to be washed. Yeah! I’d look well using my expensive hot water to wash out stinking tins so I continued to throw those in the bin. And you are supposed to separate everything out but I never bothered. So yesterday when I collected the bins from the bottom of the lane I found that the collectors had scrawled plastic on one and glass on the other and I was raging. Telling me what to do! I think I might take those red boxes a mile or two down the road and throw them over the hedge. I could always claim that vandals stole them from me.

Recycling is a load of shite. Recently we had a pavement built on part of our road which necessitated a lot of tree felling. Instead of one lorry hauling the trunks away in just a few loads there was a huge shredding machine hired to shred the trees. Needless to say it took days, used vast quantities of diesel to run the shredder, belched out black reek and took very many lorries very many days to carry it all away. What good did that do the environment? And of course as the whole enterprise was being funded by the council the cost of it was coming out of our pockets.

Then there’s our friend who works for one of those companies who trade in recycled clothes. I’m pretty sure that’s a total scam. They set up these big collecting bins and hint that it’s for charity and maybe charity does get just enough to keep them from paying the full whack of tax. Anyways the majority of the donated garments end up in places like Africa and Eastern Europe and obviously this is going to have a detrimental effect on local clothing and textile production and all the poor Kenyan and Romanian kids have to dress like spides.

So sod modern day recycling. It’s a con. It’s not like it was in Pearlie’s day - as I was thinking this evening when I was hanging out her patched candy stripe flannelette sheets. She used to patch and darn everything - sheets, towels, face flannels, tea towels, her aprons and even her knickers. Really old and worn out beyond redemption stuff would be kept to patch other things. Recently she was very cross with me after I threw out two pairs of her patched panties. I explained to her that I had to do it in case the carers thought we were spending all of her pension on drink and drugs and wouldn’t even buy her a pair of dacint drawers!

Just Call Me Mrs Mop

Today I am setting myself a challenge. In fact I am setting myself several challenges. I am going to wash all the office floors and I am going to write an interesting blog post. Obviously this isn’t it.

Ganching (on Flickr) is no more. Long live Ganching1

pelicans in newcastle, originally uploaded by ganching1.

Sadly that terrible eedgit Ganching deleted her Flickr account. We shouldn't mock for any of us could accidentally find ourselves deleting our bought and paid for pro account, losing all our contacts, denying our many fans our strange pictures of bits of scaffolding, delpht and coffee cake.

But she's devastated now that she has no comments or faves any more, no pictures most popular or most viewed. So to cheer her up why don't you head over to her Flickr account and say something nice about her photies.

Before & After

attracta, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

That is what Attracta and the others looked like this time last year.

And this is what she (and the others) look like today. Nellybert is so going to heaven.

Must Be Getting Old Then

The other day Hannah says to me,

Mr X has got a really chubby ass.

Has he? I never noticed.

Then I realised - I've met Mr X on many's an occasion and I've never once looked at his bum. Obviously Hannah has. This is yet another sign that I'm getting on in years. Young men's bums no longer hold any interest for me.

Happy Birthday Hannah

Aaah! Birthdays. The perfect excuse to get out those dodgy old pre-digital photographs that lie around in boxes. Here's one the hamsters didn't nibble.

It's Hannah getting intimate with the late and lamented Danny (wonderdog, best dog ever) and I do hope we reminded her to wash her hands after the picture was taken.

A Sad Homecoming

Our friends, the Wee Manny's, have just got back from a short holiday in Brazil to hear the sad news that one of their dogs, Jock, was killed on the road last night. Jock was a great wee dog. Animals can be such a heartbreak.

And Clint has just lost a clocking goose and eight eggs. Fuck you Foxy. Why could it not have been you instead of Jock?

Catinabag

Warning! Cute picture alert!



Hanging about in grocery bags has to be one of Holly de Cat's favourite hobbies.

Lemon Cheesecake

This recipe is for Mr & Mrs Jolly Joe.

INGREDIENTS

8 oz digestive biscuits

3 oz butter

2 packages Philadelphia cream cheese

1 tbsp cornflour

1 tsp vanilla essence

3 eggs

5 oz caster sugar

8 fl oz double cream or Greek yogurt

The grated zest of one lemon

METHOD

Preheat the oven to 180ºC/350ºF/Gas 4.

Oil a 9 inch spring-form cake tin and line the base with greaseproof paper.

Crush biscuits and melt butter. Mix together and press down to bottom of tin to form an even layer.

Mix the cream cheese, cornflour, vanilla essence, sugar and eggs and beat until smooth. A food processor is pretty useful here. Add the double cream or yogurt and the lemon zest. Pour the mixture into the tin and bake for 30 minutes.

When baking is complete switch off the oven and leave the cheesecake to cool very slowly. When cooling is complete chill the cheesecake until ready to serve. The spring-form tin will make it very simple to transfer the cheesecake to a serving plate.

Serve with lemon sauce.

Anyone know a good recipe for lemon sauce?

Matty's Best Dog Ever

Matty isn't big on dogs but here is the one who won her heart. This was Jess who died of old age a good few years ago.

"Randalstown is..."

The following 'facts' were gleaned from the interweb. Obviously this means that they are indisputable.I have it on the best authority that the fellow on the left is (allegedly) a fourth cousin, twice removed, of John Wayne the Hollywood film star. I think you'll have to agree that the resemblance is startling.

1. Randalstown is a small town in County Antrim, Northern Ireland

2. Randalstown is where John Wayne’s ancestors come from

3. Randalstown is a lovely wee town

4. Randalstown is approximately 6.75 kilometres long

5. Randalstown is a relatively narrow and undulating rural route

6. Randalstown is a pretty village on Lough Neagh

7. Randalstown is behind us

8. Randalstown is being used

9. Randalstown is still unsettled, and likely to be so for some time

10. Randalstown is going to wreck and cannot recover unless the mills are occupied

11. Randalstown is a City in Antrim

12. Randalstown is not the correct location

13. Randalstown is fairly evenly balanced (54% Catholic)

14. Randalstown is actively involved in the family farm

15. Randalstown is a place of thrills

16. Randalstown is offline

17. Randalstown is noted for its beautiful arched stone bridges

18. Randalstown is entirely heated by two 30kW geothermal heat pumps

19. Randalstown is the Best

20. Randalstown is a complete shithole

21. Randalstown is absolutely rubbish

22. Randalstown is only up the road frum ickle me!!!

23. Randalstown is so much more than that. We got two bridges…

24. Randalstown is a fenian hole

Easter Blogmeet Continued

I have to say that day trips to Belfast can be quite exhausting for an old countrywoman like myself. The crowds, the emo kids, the beggars, the scummers, the flat-earthers and the bloggers can be quite a heady mix.

It was Marc who said something like,

God! Belfast is simply hootching with scummers!

And there was me thinking that it was a classy sort of crowd compared to the types we see hanging around Cully's street corners.

But apparently Norn Iron is completely nasty when held up against the fair city of Cambridge. There is no punting on the Lagan, we all talk funny, there are too many spides and not enough dons and there are horrid hills everywhere. And to top the lot the ticket machines in Castle Court won't take Bank of England banknotes! Blatant racism.

But as Ed said it was a good day and even Mr Bolan was impressed with his complimentary Cadbury's Creme Egg.

Miss California attempted to humiliate Beowulf as is traditional but he bore it with dignity and patience. Not one trace of a trace of a salty tear. It was good to meet Cyberscribe at last. There were others too...good lads all. They may be turning up on the blogroll some day very soon.

Now here's a thing - Ed maintains that there has never been a famous personage, hero or celebrity come out of Randalstown! Does anyone know any different?

In Which I Attend A Meeting of the Flat Earth Society

Zoe, Hannah and myself took ourselves off for a day trip to Belfast. We got one of those new-fangled electric trains. The noise of it was horrendous. I was lamenting to Zoe about how horrid modern trains are compared to the homely chuff-chuff noise I remember from the steam trains of my youth. I don't know why she thought this was hilarious. Had I been standing then on the platform in Antrim waiting for the parish excursion train to Portrush and one of today's trains had cruised in I'd have thought we'd been invaded by aliens from another galaxy.

Our first port of call was St George's Market where we spent a pleasant hour or so looking at, eating and buying delicious food.

Then the girls...

couldn't be kept out of the shops to browse through the exciting spring fashion arrivals. Sadly I found it all too easy as the shops are full of the clothes that we wore in the seventies and they are just as vile now as they were then. So it was I was standing outside Primark when I saw two handsome and well-dressed young fellows approaching. I hailed them to a stop and it wasn't long before we were engaged in a philosophical conversation centring round the provability of the globosity of the Earth. Truly Belfast is an amazing place because this almost never happens to me whilst standing outside the Spar in Cullybackey.

So it was that Zoe found me and I have to say the expression on her face was one of total horror. She is always unhappy when she finds me in the company of the Flat Earthers.

Hannah is much more tolerant and so it was that she and I allowed ourselves to be carried off by the Flat Earthers while Zoe made good her escape to the safety and sanity of Ballymena....

I'll continue this tale tomorrow when I'm in a more sober frame of mind.

A Good Read?

This meme I've borrowed from El Capitan and Ronni. I've made my own variation in that I'm not just bold-facing the ones I've read but highlighting in red the ones I own and haven't read (yet). It's a funny old list. I don't think Mr Bolan will think much of it.


1. The Da Vinci Code (Dan Brown)
2. Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen)
3. To Kill A Mockingbird (Harper Lee)
4. Gone With The Wind (Margaret Mitchell)
5. The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (J. R. R. Tolkien)
6. The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (J. R. R. Tolkien)
7. The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (J. R. R. Tolkien)
8. Anne of Green Gables (L. M. Montgomery)
9. Outlander (Diana Gabaldon)
10. A Fine Balance (Rohinton Mistry)
11. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (J. K. Rowling)
12. Angels and Demons (Dan Brown)
13. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (J. K. Rowling)
14. A Prayer for Owen Meany (John Irving)
15. Memoirs of a Geisha (Arthur Golden)
16. Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (J. K. Rowling)
17. Fall on Your Knees (Ann-Marie MacDonald)
18. The Stand (Stephen King)
19. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (J. K. Rowling)
20. Jane Eyre (Charlotte Brontë)
21. The Hobbit (J. R. R. Tolkien)
22. The Catcher in the Rye (J. D. Salinger)
23. Little Women (Louisa May Alcott)
24. The Lovely Bones (Alice Sebold)
25. The Life of Pi (Yann Martel)
26. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (Douglas Adams)
27. Wuthering Heights (Emily Brontë)
28. The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe (C. S. Lewis)
29. East of Eden (John Steinbeck)
30. Tuesdays with Morrie (Mitch Albom)
31. Dune (Frank Herbert)
32. The Notebook (Nicholas Sparks)
33. Atlas Shrugged (Ayn Rand)
34. 1984 (George Orwell)
35. The Mists of Avalon (Marion Zimmer Bradley)
36. The Pillars of the Earth (Ken Follett)
37. The Power of One (Bryce Courtenay)
38. I Know This Much is True (Wally Lamb)
39. The Red Tent (Anita Diamant)
40. The Alchemist (Paulo Coelho)
41. The Clan of the Cave Bear (Jean M. Auel)
42. The Kite Runner (Khaled Hosseini)
43. Confessions of a Shopaholic (Sophie Kinsella)
44. The Five People You Meet In Heaven (Mitch Albom)
45. The Bible
46. Anna Karenina (Tolstoy)
47. The Count of Monte Cristo (Alexandre Dumas)
48. Angela’s Ashes (Frank McCourt)
49. The Grapes of Wrath (John Steinbeck)
50. She’s Come Undone (Wally Lamb)
51. The Poisonwood Bible (Barbara Kingsolver)
52. A Tale of Two Cities (Charles Dickens)
53. Ender’s Game (Orson Scott Card)
54. Great Expectations (Charles Dickens)
55. The Great Gatsby (F. Scott Fitzgerald)
56. The Stone Angel (Margaret Laurence)
57. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (J. K. Rowling)
58. The Thorn Birds (Colleen McCullough)
59. The Handmaid’s Tale (Margaret Atwood)
60. The Time Traveler’s Wife (Audrey Niffenegger)
61. Crime and Punishment (Fyodor Dostoyevsky)
62. The Fountainhead (Ayn Rand)
63. War and Peace (Leo Tolstoy)
64. Interview With The Vampire (Anne Rice)
65. Fifth Business (Robertson Davis)
66. One Hundred Years Of Solitude (Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
67. The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants (Ann Brashares)
68. Catch-22 (Joseph Heller)
69. Les Miserables (Victor Hugo)
70. The Little Prince (Antoine de Saint-Exupery)
71. Bridget Jones’s Diary (Helen Fielding)
72. Love in the Time of Cholera (Gabriel Garcia Márquez)
73. Shogun (James Clavell)
74. The English Patient (Michael Ondaatje)
75. The Secret Garden (Frances Hodgson Burnett)
76. The Summer Tree (Guy Gavriel Kay)
77. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (Betty Smith)
78. The World According To Garp (John Irving)
79. The Diviners (Margaret Laurence)
80. Charlotte’s Web (E. B. White)
81. Not Wanted On The Voyage (Timothy Findley)
82. Of Mice And Men (John Steinbeck)
83. Rebecca (Daphne DuMaurier)
84. Wizard’s First Rule (Terry Goodkind)
85. Emma (Jane Austen)
86. Watership Down (Richard Adams)
87. Brave New World (Aldous Huxley)
88. The Stone Diaries (Carol Shields)
89. Blindness (Jose Saramago)
90. Kane and Abel (Jeffrey Archer)
91. In The Skin Of A Lion (Michael Ondaatje)
92. Lord of the Flies (William Golding)
93. The Good Earth (Pearl S. Buck)
94. The Secret Life of Bees (Sue Monk Kidd)
95. The Bourne Identity (Robert Ludlum)
96. The Outsiders (S. E. Hinton)
97. White Oleander (Janet Fitch)
98. A Woman of Substance (Barbara Taylor Bradford)
99. The Celestine Prophecy (James Redfield)
100. Ulysses (James Joyce)

I didn't list any additional books, as my friends from Texas did, but I have read huge amounts of Stephen King, John Irving, du Maurier and all of the Narnia books plus a few other CS Lewis including his SF trilogy.

I've also read almost everything Steinbeck published (not Travels With Charley), a fair bit of Fitzgerald, loads of Dickens and all but a couple of Kingsolver.

Some I've started and not finished - the Bible, Ulysses, LOTR, War & Peace to name the most notable.

Some of the books that I have read were diabolical wastes of time. Dishonourable mentions to Rowling, Fielding, Brown and Archer.

Cruelty to Animals (And Oul Dolls)

I read today that the revised Animal Wefare Bill due out tomorrow will make it an offence for owners to allow pets to become obese. This worries me.

During Pearlie's recent month-long stay in hospital Rosie regained her lithe physique. This was double good as she was recovering from her own injury and lightening up a bit was sure to help her shoulder repair itself. Then Pearlie gets home and Rosie is starting to get a bit tubby again. The reason?

All Pearlie's meals are prepared at Nellybert's. And when these meals are being transported to Pearlie's abode Rosie always accompanies. Pearlie likes to have a bit of canine company when she eats. You should have seen the size of her last dog. The amount of buns and other unsuitable rubbish that dog used to eat - it was a miracle it lived to see 14.

And it starts again with Rosie. There is no point talking to Bert about it because he is the most distracted, careless flibbertygibbet of a man that I have ever known. He just lets those animals walk all over him. It's little wonder that 9 out of 10 times that Rosie and Paddy escape to go scunging it's Bert who was supposed to be looking after them.

So this is what I fear - Rosie turns into a great massive tub and Pearlie is admitted to hospital again only this time she's suffering from malnutrition. And it will be me who takes the rap.

Best Quiz(zes) Ever

One for the computer geeks

I got 9/10. Too easy. Mind you you'd only have to make one mistake....

Only if you've got facial hair and a penis

I didn't do this one for obvious reasons.

Art or Crap?

I only got 6/16. Perhaps you'll do better?

What kind of thinker are you?

Like Charles Darwin and Johnny Morris I am a Naturalist thinker.

Talking Turkey

Meet Big Ernie, Clint's Attack Turkey. When Big Ernie is on the loose Clint has nothing to fear from burglars, robbers or sneak thieves. But Ernie is about to meet his match.

Hello there, Big Ernie. Lovely weather we're having. I do hope it keeps up for the Easter weekend. Are you looking forward to Easter lunch? We are.
G'wan ye sarcastic fecker or I'll hae the goolies of ye!

Ye wudn't be the first and I daresay ye'll hardly be the last! C'mere ye skinny bastard 'til I get a dig at ye!

Aye! Run ye yellow fecker! I'll get ye in the long grass!

Ye bastar...! Urghhh!
I suppose ye thought that was funny! I'll mind ye, ye hoor ye!

Nellybert would like to reassure readers that no actual turkeys were harmed in the making of this blogpost. Clint would also like it to be known that Big Ernie, though temperamental and vicious, is a valued and respected free range turkey who, he hopes, will become the father of very many turkey chicks to come.

Bloggus Interruptus

I'm trying to be the first to post about having just been on the radio on William Crawley's show about blogging in Norn Iron. But Matty just interrupted me by phoning to say she missed it as she'd been listening to the wrong channel. Then she tells me that my cousin's daughter was on TV last night (TV!) so that puts me in my place.

So what did I think? Gratified that my voice ....(interrupted again! by Zoe on the phone.) Anyway very gratified that my voice did not sound as squeaky as I'd feared.

And interesting to hear the voices of other bloggers too.

Roundabout Madness

So here’s me at seven o’clock tonight heading homewards from Matty’s house. I get the length of the Toome Road mini roundabout and as I’m driving on to it there’s a car driving on to the roundabout heading out of Ballymena towards Antrim. Coming behind this car there is a Patton’s van dropping someone off and indicating to turn right. The Patton’s driver steers his van over the top of the roundabout which I’m already on and is enraged to find me impeding his path. So much so that he treats me to a blare of his horn. Convent-educated lady that I am I just mutter to myself, fuck you matey, and go on my merry way.

Then the other week Bert is on the dual carriageway driving out of the town. He’s in the left hand lane of the Ballykeel roundabout driving towards Larne when a driver in a 4x4 mounts the roundabout, drives over it knocking signage everywhere, takes to the air in front of him and crashes into a fence with bits of the motor flying everywhere. Bert just drove on. I think he was in shock.

The Wisdom of Matty

The other day Matty and I were talking about dogs and specifically about cruelty to dogs. She starts this conversation as we were in the car and on our way to Ballymena,

Did you see on the news that boy from above Antrim who was took up for cruelty to an Alsatian dog?

No I didn’t hear about that. What was the story?

Och! He had this Alsatian and he was very bad to it. By the time they caught on to him the poor dog was a rickle of bones way starvation and some oul skin disease and its hair falling out in clumps.

Oh God! Did it have to be put down?

No. The vet said with a bit of care and good treatment it’d probably be all right. It was likely your cousin Finbar was the vet seeing as where it was.

Aye. Likely. It’d be in good hands there. What happened the boy?

I’m not sure. I think maybe he got jail.

Sure it would serve him right.

Aye. He was likely some wee scur of a boy thought a big dog like that would make a man of him. Wee boys is like that you know. He probably took drink as well. The bad wee brute.

As I recounted to Bert later on there if there is anything my mother hates more than a wee man it is a wee man who takes drink. Just as well we don’t know anybody like that. Ahem!

My ma does have some funny notions. Like the one about the fields.

Being brave and stoical I never mentioned a thing to youse ones about the bloody sore leg I gave myself a just over a week ago. Agony it was. I reckon I pulled a muscle in my groin whilst out walking the Friday before last. It took most of a week for the pain to subside and I was taking painkillers every night and still waking up during the night with pains shooting through every inch of my leg. But I don’t like to moan to you people atall…

That doesn’t apply to Matty of course. I had a right whinge to her about it,

Oh! It’s pure agony Mum. Every bit of my leg hurts. When will it get better? Will it ever get better! Or will it be a leg to me my day?

Oh hush now. Of course it’ll get better. It’ll take you nine days to get over it. Mind you it will never be the same again. It will always be easy hurted now. How did you say it happened?

I was out walking in the fields and I tripped over a briar. I only stumbled but it might have been better if I’d fallen for I think I pulled something trying to save myself.

Out walking in the fields! Don’t you know that walking in the fields is a very dangerous thing? I mind one time I was out walking in the fields looking for a dead sheep with only a pair of oul waders on my feet. I walked every field about this place. Well it was that very next week I took the pains and if you mind right I was bad for three whole years after that! Keep you out of those fields!

That Was Me Told

Last weekend I emailed my tutor to tell her that I was giving up on my course.

She emailed me straight back and told me that I wasn't.

So this weekend I have been mostly revising for an exam.

Oh I Do Like To Be....

bonnie paddling, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Bonnie never dreamed that life could be this much fun when she lived with her previous owners. Those where the days when she was neglected, underfed, got no exercise and spent all her days chained in a shed. In those days she had no fur under her chin for it had all been worn away with the constant friction of the chain. She is such a lovely, gentle and affectionate dog now. And it has been such a wonderful thing to see her confidence and pleasure in life increase. I'm so glad that we kept her.

New Camera?

New job. New shoes. New haircut. New camera...

My old camera, a Canon PowerShot A40, 2.0 mega pixels, 3x zoom, weighs a bloody ton, a blow to the head with that camera could kill someone!

Anyway hast served me well but I want a new one. Any recommendations? My budget is around 150 quid. I'm a point and shoot kind of gal.

Neeson To Play Paisley?

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/northern_ireland/6472753.stm

Brilliant!

From Poznan to Rasharkin (via O'Kane's)

Bert came in last night after visiting Pearlie in hospital and said,

I feel bad.

Why?

Because I gave these two Polish guys a lift out of the town and left them off at the garage. They were walking to Rasharkin! In this weather!

Aye. Suppose you should have ran them on out to Rasharkin.

Would you have done it?

Probably.

You're far nicer than me.

To tell you the truth I wouldn't have picked them up in the first place. Two guys?

So tonight we're coming back from visiting Pearlie and we see one of the Polish guys. He's marching briskly along wearing a hi-vis vest and carrying a briefcase. Bert stops. He gets in. He's not that young - maybe fortyish.

Where's your friend tonight?

My friend he has bizzical.

Bizzical?

Yes. Bizzical. I'm sorry my English is no good.

You walk this way every night?

Yes. Is ten miles. I work O'Kin's. Twelve hour. I work Tuesday, then three days. Not Saturday.

Coming into Cully we pass his friend, also wearing a hi-vis and peddling furiously away on a bizzical. Turns out they have acquired one bicycle between them and are taking it in turns to ride it to work. I immediately feel guilty about my rarely ridden mountain bike. Of course we take our fellow all the way to Rasharkin. I never realised before how far it is. When he gets out of the car he stumbles and nearly falls. Probably because he's so bloody tired.

The Little People

Bert: Y'know the Wee Manny saw fairies once?

Jamie: Now why doesn't that surprise me?

Bert: He did indeed. Him and this other boy saw fairies down at the bottom of his mother's garden. The other boy can't verify it though for he's dead years ago.

Jamie: Were drugs involved?

Bert: No it was a car accident.

Jamie: I mean were there drugs involved the time the Wee Manny saw the fairies?

Bert: Aye. Likely. That minds me - did I ever tell ye the one about the boyo the Wee Manny knew in Amsterdam?

Jamie: No. I don't think I ever heard that one.

Bert: This boyo, oul fellow he was, lived in a houseboat in Amsterdam and he kept this German Shepherd that he'd trained to set boys if they held on to the joint too long or if they passed it the wrong way. The Wee Manny said if you took more than a couple of drags the dog was over at you looking down your throat with its teeth bared and if you took another one it started to growl.

Jamie: What happened if you passed the joint the wrong way?

Bert: It took a lump out of you.

Eamon & Emmet (scan)

Eamon & Emmet (scan), originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Just because I like it.

ID-Day

Secrets & Lies

I have been challenged by Cybez to share 5 little known facts about myself.

This will be hard as I'm an open book me and don't have many secrets but I'll give it a go.

1. I was born on 9/9/1953.
2. 9+9+1+9+5+3=36
3. 3+6=9.
4. This means (in terms of numerology that I am a 9. And a very fine 9 at that.
5. I think that numerology might be poo.

So is that 5 facts or 1 fact? I think it is 5 facts so that means I can keep my deep, dark secrets about mental hospitals, police stations and Liam Neeson all to myself.

And speaking of famous actors I heard today that Bert is a far-out relation of James Nesbitt. Apparently Bert's granda was James Nesbitt's granda's uncle or something. Maybe it was the other way round?

And me'n'Ganching? We're supposed to be third cousins, twice removed of the famous Belfast character actor J.G. Devlin. I doubt if many of you will have heard of him.

Happy St Patrick's Day

What was Mrs The Wee Manny looking at when she made this comment?

Your tits are much smaller than our tits.

Was it -

A. Nelly's chest.

or

B. The bird table.

Tonight I'm the designated driver so my only concession to St Paddy's day shall be the font colour of this post.

Good Morning Campers!

I have to admit I rather liked shift work and having some variety in my working hours. So I’m finding it strange getting into this 9-5ish routine. People who do it tell me that it’s just a matter of getting used to the new pattern of doing things but I still find it hard cramming all my other activities into the weekends and evenings. I must, I really must, make better use of my time.

Take this morning for instance. This is how it should have been.

6:30 – alarm goes off. I spring out of bed, put on trainers and take the dogs for brisk walk.
7:00 – return home, put porridge on to cook then shower and dress.
7:15 – eat healthy breakfast, porridge, fruit, eggs and freshly squeezed orange juice.
7:30 – load dishwasher, washer, quick tidy round. Feed cat and Bonnie.
7:45 – make healthy packed lunch.
8:00 – check emails. Fix hair. Last minute check of essentials.
8:10 – off to work!

This is how it really was.

7:00 – alarm goes off.
7:15 – get up.
7:20 – feed Bonnie extra rations.
7:25 – ablutions and dress.
7:30 – make coffee, drink whilst watching Shaun the Sheep.
7:40 – check emails, play Blasphemous Game on computer.
8:05 – get into mad rush, combing hair, finding keys
8:10 – nick tenner from Bert for unhealthy lunch then off to work!

Best Laid Plans

Life has a way of surprising you. Way back in October I was giving up my long-term, part-time job working with the dispossessed in order to do something more rewarding (my teaching course) instead. Now it's March and this evening I signed on the dotted line to take up full-time work with a building and property developing firm. I really didn't see that one coming.

And the teaching course? Still struggling with it - and Dear God it is a struggle now.

The new firm? Early days but it does look promising. They are a great crowd to work for. Filthy Mammon? Ye cudn't bate it with a big stick!

Catfight

Bert 1 Holly 0

Bert 1 Holly 1

Bert 1 Holly 2

Bert 1 Holly 3

Tired out

Politics Is A Dirty Word

Nelly: What’s the worstest, horriblest, nastiest word you know?

Hannah: Thatch.

Jamie: All words are great. I have no words I dislike.

Hannah: What about ‘Paki’ – you hate that word.

Swisser: What if your name is Patrick? Then you could be called Packy. That’d be OK.

Hannah: Yeah! An Irish-Pakistani born on St Patrick’s Day. Called Packy. That’d be cool.

Nelly: What words do you hate most Bert? Work? Morning?

Bert: Shite. Nag.

Hannah: I hate the word chunder. It gives me shivers; it doesn’t even suggest that you’re just throwing up – it sounds that you’re throwing up great big lumps.

Jamie: Mot. Mot’s a pretty bad word. It means a woman’s private part.

Nelly: In my case that would mean purse, which come to think…

Jamie: Felch is a pretty bad word.

Nelly: Wow! Do you read Twenty Major? I only heard of that word for the first time in my life yesterday.

Jamie: No. Who’s Twenty Major?

Swisser: Do you know you’re down to your last two teabags?

Nelly: Never worry. I’ll go to a shop tomorrow be stuffed with teabags. Bert you should be kinder to Swisser. Coming up here and having to make her own tea and then we eat all her chocolate.

Bert: Ach. She’ll be alright.

Nelly: So what about the election then? Who’d you vote for?

Swisser: I didn’t vote for anyone. Didn’t get my form in time. Anyway what’s the point of voting where I live?

Nelly: That didn’t stop us. We voted. SDLP.

Swisser: Sure what’s the point of that? That’s a wasted vote.

Nelly: No. It’s not. My father said if you don’t use your vote you might as well be an animal in a field.

Swisser: I usually vote.

Nelly: You didn’t vote that time Brian used your polling card for roaches did you?

Swisser: I did so!

Jamie: Yeah! I vote and I toke.

Nelly: Still never mind parties and policies. If you had to shag one of them it’d have to be Gerry, wouldn’t it?

Jamie: Yeah! For sure!

Swisser: No. It’d have to be Martin for me.

Hannah: Anybody but Paisley. Who’d shag him?

Farm Diversification

Young Rooney called in this afternoon and we got to bouncing a few ideas around. These mostly centred around what Nellybert's going to do to bring the dosh in for the old age. Neither of us has much in the way of pension plans. In fact I just cashed mine in and it's just about enough to pay off my credit card and buy some decent teeth. Young Rooney says,

You could rent out the ground.

Doing that. Money's crap.

You could plant trees.

Done that. Fifteen acres in trees already.

What about a garden centre? Bert could run it and you could do a tea shop. Sell your cheesecake.

We hate garden centres.

Lots of money to be made.

Huh!

Boarding kennels then?

Someone tried for boarding kennels before and the road put in against it.

Cattery?

Mmmm. Maybe.

Riding stables? Paintballing?

Nelly goes,

Paintballing? Lots of fit blokes running about? Mmm. Maybe.

Bert goes,

Riding stables? Lots of gorgeous lassies in jodphurs? Sounds OK. Far better than all those oul biddies that hang about garden centres.

Young Rooney goes,

Aye. Riding stables. Me and Loveheart'll be round here all the time. Loveheart says all those horsey girls are mad for it. He says it's all the bouncing about in saddles that gets them going.

Nelly says,

Yeah. And I can become one of those old eccentric horsey women running about in filthy jeans and bodywarmers with no time to go to the hairdresser.

Bert says,

Sure that's you now...

There Shall Be Weeping And Gnashing....

The Swearing Lady doesn't appear to have got back from the Irish Blog Awards yet. I do hope she hasn't run off with Twenty. But if she does get back to the Arse End I daresay she'll hardly be telling us what that oul goat really looks like. It's like the best kept secret ever. And all the bloggers who met him will be gloating to themselves and dropping hints and telling the rest of us 'minions' fuck all.

Aye it's the word 'minions' that has put me in a rage. Not against Madame Sweary of course but at yerman from Tinkerton Towers who used to refer to the staff 'under' him as minions, as in,

Oh I'll get one of my minions to do that.

That really used to set my teeth on edge. And don't get me started on teeth....

I've Had Some Work Done

I found this little time-wasting diversion

over at Ronni's.

The Pictures (not mine)

mosaic2618913, originally uploaded by tad2106.

Blood Moon

Nellybert’s exciting Saturday night entertainment

The News From Cully

We are harbouring a dangerous dog who ought to be included in the list of banned dogs. So far she has attacked Bonnie, Willie Drennan and Holly de Cat. Only Holly gave a good account of herself. Yes. Gracie's back in Cully as her other grandpeople have got dog-fearing visitors this weekend.

Other news. Pearlie's test results have not revealed anything too sinister so we're all feeling a lot happier about that.

Then as soon as Bert allowed himself to relax he got man-flu which necessitated cowering under a woolly blanket, emerging only occasionally to play the clarinet. That wretch young Rooney has given him another clarinet which has fired up his enthusiasm for the honking hatefulness of it.

Rosie is also on the mend and still sporting the pink bandage. She lost her bark for a week but it returned this morning when Gracie rocked up. Bert got the gate up. It is hideous looking but I suppose it will do till we get one.

And apart from that I'm up to my eyes in overdue assignments so... really must dash!

What I Heard Yesterday

No more agency pay and conditions for me! The company I'm currently working for wants to employ me properly. I'm more than a bit pleased.

A bit of stability is just what Nellybert needs right now.

Scunging? In Your State of Health?

You'd think that a bitcher that had been at death's door on a Friday night would want to be taking it easy, wouldn't you?

You'd think that a dog that sat on the vet's examination table on a Saturday morning listening to talk of, whisper it - amputation - would want to be minding herself, wouldn't you?

You'd think that a silly fool of a dog with a big pink bandage on her leg wouldn't want to be off through the fields scunging, wouldn't you?

You'd be wrong.

Luckily Bert caught her and Paddy before they'd gone too far.

And the concrete is setting on the gate posts as we speak.

Pearlie Speaks Her Mind

Despite being in hospital Pearlie has lost none of her willingness to express her displeasure.

On admission: She was not at all impressed with the 'wee cup of tea, dear?'

Coul. Do they think I'm some sort of oul woman that might burn herself on a dacent drink of warm tea? I'm not drinking that oul slap.

On her nursing care:

I pressed the buzzer and they never came. I put my thumb on it and I just kept pressing it til they had to come. Just like this..

Pearlie! You're pressing it. They'll think you're wanting them!

Huh! They'll hardly be tripping over themselves! Wait til ye see.

Sure enough about five minutes later a staff member came on to the ward and asked in a desultory fashion,

Did someone press the buzzer?

Pearlie and I sat with innocent faces and said nothing. Little did we know that there was a flashing red light on the wall behind us that indicated that we had indeed pressed the buzzer. She gave us the benefit of the doubt and sauntered off.

And on her fellow patients.

Yer boy to the right. I woke up the other night and he was rummaging through my knickers! I says to him 'What are ye doing! Those are not yours!' And thon other boy. He's doting! He was up the other night wandering about and asking, 'What time is it? What time is it?' I says to him, 'It's time ye were in your bed and letting other folk get a wink of sleep!'

Poor Wee Me

Rosie Does Herself A Mischief

It’s been a hectic week at Nellybert’s. Pearlie had to go into hospital on Tuesday. She needed a blood transfusion as she had severe anaemia. She is waiting for tests and obviously we are all very worried about her. She is in fairly good spirits as the transfusion has revived her but she’s anxious about the forthcoming tests.

Then last night Rosie got hurt. She’d been outside having a pee. We heard a knock at the door, not straightaway, as the people were knocking on the scullery door and we were at the opposite side of the house. Bert went out to see and came back in great distress saying,

Rosie’s been hit with a car.

Jamie and Bert went out to see what had happened. I was certain she was dead. They brought her back to the house and she was still with us. There was blood on her forelegs and coming from her mouth and nose. Jamie, Hannah and I took her to the vet in Clough.

Bert was too distraught to drive so Jamie took us.

Thankfully the vet pronounced her ‘very lucky’. She had no apparent internal injuries. She was treated for shock and we were advised to bring her back in the morning for x-rays.

Today we found that she had a dislocated shoulder which has now been fixed.

A big thank you to the Woodrow family, who found her lying concussed in the middle of the road, removed her to safety and then alerted us. We’ve phoned and updated them on Rosie’s condition and they are happy to hear that she has survived.

And another big thank you to Zara the vet who attended Rosie so promptly.

P.S. Message for D&Z

Because of Pearlie's hospitalisation we decided to send Gracie to her other grandfolks. It's probably just as well as we're a bit too distracted for dog-sitting at the moment - Rosie's accident proves that.

And Bert has decided to prioritise gates at the top of the lane.

Election Fever

The posters are up, the party political broadcasts have begun. Something is in the air. And with it the same old cynicism, same old story,

• Sure what's the point of voting?
• They're all the same, politicians. Only out for themselves.
• My vote's not going to make any difference.
• I can't be arsed.

Our late father Seamus taught me many things and one of the most important was,

Your vote matters. Use it!

And if you're not sure how to use that vote you could do worse than take a look at this interesting wiki.

Young Loveheart: Hardy Hoor

Young Loveheart doesn’t believe in wasting time hanging around the A&E department. If he needs a spot of minor surgery he just does it himself. There was the time he cut himself at work, and to the bone mind! And he looks at his gashed finger and he thinks -that needs a bit of medical attention that does. So he reached for the superglue, pressed the edges of the wound together, applied a dollop of glue and Bob’s your uncle.

He will take medical advice when necessary. The time he had the huge lump on his wrist Young Rooney’s da, the GP, just happened to be leaving young Rooney off at Young Loveheart’s place. Young Loveheart goes out to him and showed him the lump and Young Rooney’s da says - that’s a ganglion. It’s going to need surgery.

And surgery is just what young Loveheart performed. He applied a tourniquet and put fresh blades in his Stanley knife and began incising. Took ages, he said and he had to go real deep. But he got it out in the end and dolloped on the superglue and never looked back. Showed me the scars and they’re ever so neat.

In fact the only time he’s ever had to outreach surgical services is the time he almost severed his penis on the toilet seat. But he was only about five then.

Losing My Religion

I called in with Matty this afternoon. She was just after getting her hair done at Cousin Pauline's.

Your hair looks lovely Mum, but look there, you've got this great big dirty smudge on your brow!

Then I remembered. It's Ash Wednesday. Perhaps Matty is right and I am turning into a Protestant.

Rehab

What with Britney and Robbie and Jade and Amy Winehouse (not) 'Rehab' is getting to be quite the place.

As you'd expect, me being cutting edge and all, I too have done Rehab time. But in those days we called it 'The Mental'.

No More Than Two Consecutive Nights

No more than two consecutive nights in bed.

Those were my instructions and I was, I am, determined to stick to them.

On night one Gracie was left downstairs in a cosy room in her cosy basket with its silken cushion. And for several hours all was well. Then at around half three the plaintive wails began. The crying was soft and sad at first becoming harder and more distressed. Poor wee thing. Perhaps Foxy was glaring in the patio doors at her. Or if not Foxy, maybe it was Ratty was baring his yellow fangs through the glass, or perhaps it was Tufty who disturbed her sleep as he raided the garden of its remaining Brussels sprouts. I tried to ignore her cries but it was too hard and anyway I needed to sleep. Had to get up for work next day. So I went down, gathered her up and she and I and Bonnie and Holly de Cat slept together peacefully and companionably until morning.

Last night was better. I left her downstairs with Paddy for company and there wasn’t a whisper out of her. But when I went downstairs this morning there was no Paddy and no Gracie. I found them in bed with Bert and Rosie.

Tonight she must sleep in her doggy bed. Or perhaps I should do what Pearlie suggested,

I dinnae like that wee doag. I'd like to hit it a quare skite. Ye should keep it in a cage.

Dos And Don'ts

Nellybert has been entrusted with the task of looking after (for one week only) the most precious dog in Ballymena.

Gracie’s owners are off to Mexico for a fortnight. I picked the whole lot of them up this afternoon and took them to Belfast to catch the bus to Dublin Airport.

D says,

I expect Zoë went over the dos and don’ts for Gracie’s stay?

Not really. I know not to feed her from the table. What’s the rule on beds?

No more than two consecutive nights.

Z chips in from the back seat,

She gets fed at 7.30pm. No treats unless she does a trick. Get her to play dead or something like that. Oh and she’s been doing this choking thing recently. She usually sorts it herself but if she can’t dislodge it just put your finger down her throat. If that doesn’t work grab her by the back legs and turn her upside down whilst patting her firmly on the back.

Righty oh. Any issues with comfy chairs?

Oh no. Comfy chairs are fine.

D interjects,

Unless you’re already eating there yourself. She’s not allowed to be on the sofa if you’re eating a sandwich. She knows that.

Z says,

If she should, God forbid, make a run towards the road you mustn’t run after her. I know it would be your first instinct but she’ll think it’s a game and run harder. What you must do is run in the opposite direction and shout “Ball!” She should run after you then.

Okey dokey.

And one other thing. She hates joggers. If you’re out for a walk be careful with joggers for she’ll go after them. And watch out for Willie Drennan. She hates him.

Willie Drennan