Orphaned!

Before I had chickens I used to admire Foxy. I'd hear people like Pearlie going on about how evil he was and how he should be killed at every opportunity and I'd think,

She's mad. Imagine wanting to slaughter the beautiful, clever fox for the sake of a few manky hens.

How I've changed my tune! Foxy got Bernie today. Again! And now her little chick is an orphan.

Bring on Alber' and his lamp and his .22 for war has been declared on the vulpine horde.

Little Orphan Annie or Andy. We're not sure yet.

Billy's Rissoles

After I’d spent three miserable years at St Louis’ Convent my parents relented and allowed me to leave after the third year. It’s very likely I wouldn’t have been allowed to stay anyway as I’d made a very poor show in my Junior examinations.

So it was off to Antrim Technical College to do a pre-nursing course. It was still school but compared to the Convent it was heaven. At that time the ‘tech’ or Further Education College was more formal than it is today. Boys could go from age eleven, everyone wore uniforms and it was said that Mr Bell the headmaster even used the cane! But only on boys.

At lunchtime we could actually leave the building and go into town. And sometimes if we got chatting to boys in O’Neill’s Café we didn’t bother going back in the afternoon. Of course, being painfully shy, I didn’t chat much to boys. But I liked being around when chatting was going on.

The Tech was where I first met and got to know Protestants. If there was sectarianism and bigotry around I can’t say I ever experienced or even noticed it. This was 1968 and the Troubles were just about to begin. We had a very enlightened teacher of Current Affairs and she grounded me in the background of Northern Ireland politics pre-1968. It’s probably one of the most interesting things I’ve ever learned at school. Before I met Winifred Law I thought that Gerry Mandering was a politician who Nationalists didn’t trust an inch.

This wasn’t quite as bizarre as my previous miscomprehension of world affairs when, as a somewhat younger child, I’d thought that the Viet Cong had trained gorillas fighting for them and that the Americans, whilst very brave, hadn’t a chance of winning. I used to avidly watch the news hoping for a glimpse of these gorillas.

All this came back to me as a result of talking to my Aunt Maud yesterday. Maud’s brother Billy ran a café in Antrim that we went to occasionally. O’Neill’s Café was where the boys hung out but at Billy’s you could get rissoles. Those rissoles were so good.

I asked Aunt Maud,

Did your Billy tell anybody his rissole recipe before he died?

No. He never did.

That was a pity.

There was one thing he put into those rissoles that he never told anyone. But I think I know what it was.

What was it?

I think it was powdered onion soup.

Billy’s rissoles were made from carrots, onions, sausage meat and his secret ingredient. This mixture was shaped, dipped in flour, then beaten egg, then coated in batter and deep-fried. One rissole was enough for two people. Maud said that Billy never made much money of his most famous dish because he ‘made them too big.’ She also said he was very particular about his batter and ‘went mad’ if anyone opened the fridge door while it was chilling.

When I got home I got on the Internet and googled Antrim +Billy’s Café. I found this page and then spent hours looking at the whole site. Fascinating stuff for anyone who remembers pre-Troubles Antrim. I found myself looking at pictures of girls I remember from school, teachers from the Tech and staff from my time working in Holywell Hospital. I even saw a picture from the 40s that was taken down Matty’s road. The site is basically a digital photo album but it is also a labour of love to be greatly appreciated by old-timers like me. I can’t wait to tell Aunt Maud about it. She’ll be getting a ‘puter for sure.

Diet Blog

God! I’m so depressed. Tonight I joined WeightWatchers. I’ve been thinking about it for ages now. It was every bit as grim as I’d feared.

That was two weeks ago. Tonight I signed in to be weighed for the first time since embarking on the weight loss project. Tonight it wasn't so bad. Tonight I was told I'd lost 7.5 lbs!

I was as gleeful as a gladioli and as chuffed as a chaffinch but.... being as realistic as a reindeer I know that I won't lose at this rate every fortnight. Just as well because if I did I'd be the same weight as Victoria Beckham by New Year's Eve. It's true! I did the projection. Then I'd have to become a footballer's wife and Bert would hate that. He can't stand soccer.

Men Annoy Me...

...but they do have their uses.

They take control of barbecues. Of course this will often involve wearing sausages on their heads and waving dangerous knives about in the presence of impressionable children.

They build fences to keep the chickens in. They boast about how wonderful these fences are but don't have very much to say when the chickens fly over, wriggle under and step through their wonderful fence.

They make that garden seat I've wanted for three years now. It only takes three of them all day. Of course, after such a harrowing and exhausting day's effort, helping a woman to feed the dog pack and catch the chickens would be out of the question.

They amuse the youngest child. However when the women return from hunting and gathering to find the small child brandishing a real and very sharp spear and informing his mother that Bert says he can keep it 'forever' it falls to me to disappoint a small child by saying, 'Yes. When you're 18 you can keep it forever.' Then I get called a 'spoilsport'. By Bert.

The Head Chef

Nellybert always insists that only the sanest, most sober person be in charge of the barbecue.

Are You Worthy Of Cake?

Traditional Twelfth Day barbecue today at Nellybert's. And it's Swisser's birthday. Happy Birthday Swisser! I made a cake. Chocolate Almond Cake with a berry topping. Of course it was just one cake and no way is it going round everyone so we sneaked off to the kitchen, a bunch of us girls and drank Ethiopian coffee and ate cake. The password was 'Are you worthy of cake?'

Those worthy were Swisser, Nelly, Leitrim Sister, Erin, Bert and Ben.

Bert is always up for a bit of girly cake action and Ben helped to bake the cake.

Pickles: A Gosherd's Nightmare

We're looking after one of Leitrim Sister's dogs at the moment. Pickles is a nice wee dog - or so we thought. The first thing she done as soon as she arrived was....

a big shit on our new landing carpet. Oh well. It was a firm one and easily enough cleaned. I laughed it off. Never mind.

But today she did something much, much worse. She had a go at our poor bantam rooster and left his tail feathers looking very bedraggled. Poor rooster had to go into hiding as he was so ashamed. He's got one tail feather left.

Clint says Pickles is banned from his property,

She'd make short work among my goslings!

As Bert said, she's a gosherd's nightmare.

Clint arrived up this evening with his new chainsaw. Everything razed at his own place and still not sated!

The hedges up the side of thon lane's a disgrace and the morrow the Twelfth!

I had to be firm with him because the tropaeolum speciosum is in bloom and I didn't want him devastating it. I allowed him a wee bit of a tidy up so when the Glenhugh Accordian Band walks past tomorrow morning they'll not be thinking ill of us.

Tropaeolum speciosum

Don't You Know Who I Am?*

While channel-hopping last night we came across some sort of a mish-mash of a programme that included Michael Parkinson and Sir Elton John. According to Parky, Elton is a self-deprecating, humble sort of guy. I wonder did I pick that up right? Because he apparently had a major hissy fit at the concert for Diana the other week. Of course this was all probably mis-reporting and a complete parcel of lies. Sir Elton screaming,

"Get out of my f***ing way. Don't you know who I am? I've been working all f***ing day and I need to get to my f***ing dressing room."

I just can’t see it. Can you?

Anyway we watched a bit more of this programme that featured Elton through all stages of his career. God! - he has been around forever. Bert says to me,

You have to give him this. He has written some good songs.

And I said,

Yeah. But would you ever deliberately go out and buy his music, or download it or even bother listening to it?

And he had to agree that this was so.

I don’t expect ever to own an Elton CD. Hell! I wouldn’t even buy one for 50 pee in a charity shop. But at least when you hear him he’s not as vile as……

Coldplay!

I was out buying my papers this morning when my ears were assaulted by that woeful dirge, ‘Yellow’. I always thought that Chris Martin had a very unpleasant, whingeing tone to his voice but it was only today that I realised ‘Yellow’ is the most vile and hateful piece of so-called ‘music’ that I have ever heard in the whole of my life.

At least Sir Elton is good for a laugh.

Elton is determined to reach his recommended 10,000 steps per day.

*I was going to call this post 'Chris Martin Is A C**t' but I thought it wouldn't be very ladylike. Even with the asterisks.

Warning! It's A Bit Of A Turkey

The sexy link I promised you.

What I'd Have Given For A Magic Wand

I had a really tough day at work today.

But Bert's day was atrocious.

He took a lot of criticism from various parties recently for removing all but one of Bernie's eggs from under her and replacing them with battery hen eggs. The one bantam chick hatched two weeks ago, two of the hen eggs were duds, one died in the egg and the surviving chick hatched today. It is a grotesque. So that was the first big annoyance of his day.

Then the Man from the Ministry landed in (as arranged) to examine plant passports. Yes Ed, some plants have to have ID cards already. Bet you didn't know that. Of course Bert had forgotten he was coming, hadn't hoked the paperwork out, and got himself into a terrible flooster.

Plant passports located, Ministry Man placated and Bert thought he'd have a nice relaxing toot on his clarinet. He went to retrieve it from the turf box (because that's where you keep clarinets, Acker Bilk swore by turf boxes) and raised it to his lips. That's when he noticed that it was covered with cat shite. Holly had evacuated in the lovely turf coom and all over the bell end of the claro. As Bert says, she's a bad wee bastard.

But more about me - If I'd a magic wand today I'd have magicked me up a plumber or two. They were scarce on site and very much in demand. I've never felt as stressed at this job as I did today. Happily I did not turn to comfort eating and have kept my healthy eating on track for four whole days now.

The best part of my day was making a little sex-film down at Clint's house. I'll put the link up tomorrow as I haven't edited it yet. Slightly NSFW but sure it's the weekend!

Doncha Wish Your Boyfriend Was Not Like Bert?

Holly de Cat guards Bert's Claro With Her Life

Happy news to report. Bert's endless clarinet practice seems to be paying off. I can just about bear to listen to it now. My urge to ram the claro up his arse is easing. That's what happens when a boy buys a girl a well-chosen present.

At work the Best Site Foreman in Ireland was mightily impressed with Bert's present.

I've seen those in Montgomery & Murdock's. They look the part alright. Are they a good job?

An awesome job Best Site Foreman. Red up those floors in a quarter of the normal time.

Something tells me some other lucky lady is going to get a lovely surprise.

Making Up

Last night Bert and I had a little tiff. I only asked him why he'd taken and used the freshly laundered (office) tea towel out of my bag when there was a pile of clean ones in the scullery as always. Why would he do that? Why's he always poking about in my bag anyway? It's not right. Pearlie made a very poor job of raising that boy.

Now from Bert's point of view he'd be thinking that I should be delighted he even knows what a tea towel is for, let alone be using one. I'm supposed to be pleased he's using my clean (office) tea towel to take something out of the oven and clarry with grease.

So he has a bit of a rant in which the words 'whinge', 'girn', 'yap' and 'nag' are mentioned. And because my spoke was meant only as advice and guidance I couldn't help but get a bit upset and consequently went to bed in a big huff.

But he knew he was in the wrong and shouldn't have over-reacted so. And he must have felt a bit mean because he bought me a present to make up for it. He couldn't wait to get me home this evening to show me what he'd bought me.

My Present

The finest mop and bucket that Montgomery & Murdock had in the shop. I have to say I was touched. And the best bit was that he'd already road-tested it. See that shiny floor.

Fighting the Flab

God! I’m so depressed. Tonight I joined WeightWatchers. I’ve been thinking about it for ages now. It was every bit as grim as I’d feared. You know how you sort of hope it won’t be like FlabFighters in Little Britain? Well it was. Apart from the abuse.

The class leader was rigged out in an outfit that I’d have considered dressy for a wedding. She had more glamour in her coral tipped toes than I have in the whole of my body. She started off with a welcome then a scold. Apparently, as a class, we collectively lost a little more than a stone. Unfortunately our collective weight gain was over four stone. I’m sure that was me.

Rarely have I been so bored. I know I’m seriously overweight, I know I want to do something about it, but talking about it is just so tedious and dreary. And the thought of no drink, nor chocolate, nor home-baked goodies for even a week just makes me want to cry.

I cannot bear to admit to my weight just yet. Just this….the last time I was even close to the weight I am now I was nine months pregnant with Hannah.

Talking Trash

Sixty per cent of my American co-bloggers come from Texas. Yes Ronni, yes El Capitan, yes Walrilla - I'm talking about you'all. Then this morning I discovered that a columnist on the Houston Chronicle had linked to a post I wrote a while ago on the subject of littering. I have to say I was surprised and pleased - of all the blogs in all the towns in all the world, he had to link unto this one.

Here's a comment from Leon Hale's post that I particularly liked. Especially as that is exactly the sort of office I work in. Not that the Moonchaser boys would ever litter. The Best Site Foreman in Ireland wouldn't put up with that sort of thing!

Mr. Hale,
People being what they are, you'll never whoop this problem.
Half of the people in the world are builders, fixers, and cleaners. The other half of the "people" are destroyers. The old saying,"You can't have anything nice, somebody will come along and ruin it for you", is true. Park your brand new car in the parking lot at the store, and some brain damaged kid will come along and 'key' it for you. Build a new building, or fence, and some little darling, who's mother, and mystery father, are proud of his artistic talent, will paint it for you in the middle of the night, without being asked.
Two years ago, when they clear cut, except for a line of trees along the road, and turned the acreage across the street into a moonscape, to build a tight little bunch of McMansions, all huddled together, with yards the size of a postage stamp, we had the lunch wrapper along the fence expereance. Called the builder, like they care. Ha. No response. They're only responsable for the trash on their property. So 'Ol Miss Sandy started to collect their lunch trash in a trash bag, same as you did. Didn't take her long to fill the dang thing up. Then on a nice pretty Sunday afternoon, while the sales office was full of potential new home buyers, (who always wonder what kind of neighbors am I going to get) 'Ol Miss Sandy walked in and deposited all of that lunch trash on the salesman's desk. She took her bag back home for the next time. Now it was on their property, and they were responsible for cleaning it up.
Long story short, next day after lunch, they had one of their trained monkies cleaning up along the road. Ol' Miss Sandy is a joy to live with, just don't get crossways with her. Old folks, just have no patience. Used it up raising kids.

Posted by: Bob Windish at June 23, 2007 09:11 AM

Incidentally I have a cousin lives in Houston. (Hi Jo!) Do you think I'd like it in Texas?

Another Coffee Blog...

I received a nice comment this morning from this blogger. She kindly gave me a credit for encouraging her to Keep. On. Blogging.

Now and again I check out Technorati to find out what bloggers have been saying about the local neighbourhood. Sometimes it's just something as mundane as where the local lodge is marching this Twelfth. Then sometimes it's something interesting like people crunching their motors into gateposts. And immediately I'm in sympathy...

Apparently our new blogger is working her way through my site which is sort of exciting/scary. She's up to July 2005 and is a big Harry de Cat fan. Oh dear. Sadness lies ahead.

Anyway New Blogging Chum - welcome to Norn Iron Blogerati and Keep. On. Blogging!

Trendsetters

Those of you who keep an eye on current fashion trends will be aware that panama hats are very 'now'. Took youse a while to catch on didn't it? Here at the Dreen we think panama hats are so 'last year' and here's the proof.

Rathenraw's own Banjo Man photographed at the Dreen in June 2006. As you see he is wearing last year's Chav-in-the-Country look by Man At Primark. But it's the finishing touches that complete the outfit - in this case a bottle of Stella and a Panama Hat.

And here is Bert rocking his signature pared-down summer look. Jeans are by Pack Man, Panama Hat model's own. Photo taken in July 2006.


So what is the Dreen Look for this summer? Grab yours while stocks last. It's the next big thing!

Like Granny

Granny Byrne, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't just stop worrying about being fat, get myself a big roomy coat, a felt hat, some sensible shoes and stuff my handbag full of religious tracts and letters from missionaries. And be formidable. And scare people.

Just like Granny.

The Prime Minister(s) and I

Winston Churchill – Winston had almost completed two years of his third term in office when I made my appearance. He had suffered a stroke a few months before I was born and this was kept from the British public as was the custom in those days. While Winnie was recovering from ‘exhaustion’, and little wonder for he’d had a tough old time of it with wars, rebellions and uprisings, I was learning to walk and talk and relishing being an only child. It was not to last.

Sir Anthony Eden – While Eden was making a horlicks of the Egyptian situation and fending off amorous overtures from France I got me a little sister who, while initially unwelcome, grew on me over time. While Eden was getting wrong footed by Harold Macmillan the sister and I were being terrorised by a pet ram. Thankfully the parents had the savage beast served up with mint sauce.

Harold Macmillan – Harold oversaw my golden childhood and I remember him well. I was under the impression that he was from the County Antrim him being a Mac and all. The years from four to ten were wonderful for me. The sun shone all summer long, in winter the snow was deep and crisp and even and Christmas was magical. There was always something good on television even if it was black and white. I acquired a further three sisters and a brother but I didn’t mind. As far as I’m concerned Mac never said a truer word than, ‘You’ve never had it so good.’ The Profumo Affair went right over my head.

Sir Alec Douglas-Home – Another brother appeared and life started to get a bit grim. Not the brother’s fault of course – more the 11+ and ‘working hard at school’ and ‘getting to the convent’ and bloody puberty. Douglas-Home lasted a year. People were getting tired of the Conservatives.

Harold Wilson – While Harold was getting the permissive society underway I was watching from the sidelines. Hating school, hating growing up, and navel-gazing - it all passed me by.

Edward Heath – British prime ministers were starting to impact on us Norn Ironers more because by now the Troubles were well under way. When Heath took office I was sixteen – when he left it I was pregnant with my first child. Of course Ted, allegedly a friend of Dorothy’s, had nothing to do with the pregnancy.

Harold again - One Saturday night about twelve weeks after Harold Wilson took office for the second time he was on television talking directly to the people of Northern Ireland. This was during the UWC strike during which time Loyalists brought the province to a standstill. During his speech he called us ‘spongers’ and referred to the murder of my father’s brothers that had taken place the previous night. Three months later my first daughter was born.

James Callaghan – Callaghan oversaw the Winter of Discontent and I had my second daughter.

Margaret Thatcher – Oh dear. We didn’t like her one bit. Started of calling her Milk Snatcher then taught our children to chant ‘Maggie, Maggie, Maggie, Out, Out, Out!’ but fuck the bit of her listened to us. During the Maggie years I got married, divorced, didn’t buy my council house and was a mad feminist. Then I met Bert, got my A levels, and began studying for my degree. Hannah was born in the middle of the Falklands War.

John Major - I completed my degree, passed my driving test and got all my kids to college. Went back to work myself. Meanwhile John, who I secretly fancied and admired, did sterling work in Northern Ireland.

Tony Blair – So delighted when he got in but my happiness didn’t last. During the Tony years I lived in the country, worked with homeless people and moved to this house. Tony went to war. I started this blog. Two of my sisters married a Glaswegian. Not the same one. Daddy died.

Gordon Brown – Since Gordon’s been Prime Minister I have gone to work, shopped at Lidl’s, made a plain dinner, watched people screaming at each other on TV and sipped Laphroaig.

What about you?

A National Treasure

I didn't get a moment to blog over the weekend because I was so busy. Starting on Saturday morning we were inundated with visitors which meant that Bert was unable to clear off leaving me on my own to clean the house. Sometimes I wish Bert would fix up a shed for receiving company in. He could tell the visitors that Nelly was not 'at home'. Of course I would be 'at home' - I'd be 'at home cleaning'.

Or he could be honest.

I'm sorry but today we will have to drink our coffee and smoke our cigarettes in this comfortably appointed and 'all mod cons' shed. Today the house is out of bounds. It's Nelly's housework day and she is very dangerous to approach during housework. Think of a bull elephant in must and you will get some idea of her current mood.

Then there were people coming for dinner so including Pearlie and Lizzie that was six delicious meals to prepare. The main course, a dry chicken curry, was close to disastrous but the dessert, rhubarb and ginger crumble, was wonderful. Maybe I should just order in the savouries and concentrate on puddings. Pearlie refused crumble on the grounds that she 'wouldn't like it' even though she regularly eats those vile, doughy and shop-bought excuses for rhubarb tarts. Still her loss was Bert's gain.

Another highlight of the evening was the discovery of Bernie the Bantie's newborn chick. Years old Bernie is and this was her first baby. That rooster has certainly been earning his keep. It's amazing what a bit of the oul cock can do for a girl.

I spent most of Sunday morning crying. Why? It's my age.

To cheer me up Bert took me to World of Owls in Randalstown forest. There were no long-eared owls which was a slight disappointment but as I reasoned to Bert, why have long-eared owls when they know everyone's got their own. What? You don't? Sad for you.

We got talking to Mike who runs the project and before we knew it we were offering him ornamental trees for the sanctuary but hauling trees to a forest is a little like taking coals to Newcastle. Mike said he'd been advised to plant clematis montana around the aviaries to afford the birds a bit of shade and privacy. Did we know anywhere he could get clematis montana? Funny's enough.... So we'll be back and this time I won't have left my camera at Matty's.

Another thing that happened at the weekend was I got invited to have my blog archived by the British Library. I thought this sounded a bit odd so I checked it out. I discovered that at least two other Norn Irish blogs had been invited too. These are BreastFeedingMums and Peregrine's Bird Blog.

My own breast feeding credentials are impeccable. Katy and Zoe were both breastfed until 14 months and Hannah.... maybe a week or two longer....

And then there's my newly awakened interest in birds. Is there some kind of pattern emerging here?

Naturally I consulted Mr Bolan as to the wisdom of taking up this invitation. He informed me that it means I am a National Treasure and t'were no harm in it. So I did.

One Hardy Snipe

I've been on my own in the office this past two days as CD was off doing the 4 Peaks Challenge. I was worried about him as he'd had a bit of a chest infection earlier in the week.

I received this email yesterday,

Nelly, you won't believe it! I just won the irish mountain, first out of 250 people!

Tapped out on his Blackberry from the top of Slieve Donard.

Of course I passed the news around. The (award-winning) site foreman said,

Boys-a-dear! That's one hardy snipe!

So Generous, So Sharing

Hardly anybody ever reads my other blog and I've just got tagged on it so as I've taken a lot of trouble compiling my post I thought I'd provide a link.

Afraid I haven't tagged anyone as you lot don't let on about your other blogs.

Return of the Owls

Can you imagine how happy I was when I opened the door at around 11 last night and heard -

this


The young owls are back!

We watched them swooping and diving over the stubble of a recently cut field. Hunting for themselves now. But maybe Mom still brings them the odd carry-out?

http://www.owlpages.com/sounds/Asio-otus-6.mp3

Tie Me Kangaroo Down Sport

Your Slanguage Profile

Aussie Slang: 100% British Slang: 75% Victorian Slang: 75% Prison Slang: 50% Southern Slang: 25% Canadian Slang: 0%

What Slanguage Do You Speak?

My Leeks

"My Leeks"

What you gon' do with all that veg?
All that veg agin your hedge?
I'm a gonna, get, get, get, me soup,
Make me soup, gonna make me poop.
My leeks, my leeks, my leeks, my leeks,
My veg, my veg, my veg, my lovely little leeks (Check ‘em out)

I grow these brothers yearly,
I start ‘em good an’ early,
I treat them really nicely,
They grow all by themselfes.
Thompson & Morgan-o,
Suttons and Burpee gro’
Dobies, they all be growin'
All my money I be spendin’
And time I’m spendin hoein,
You love my long cucumber,
My lovely little peas,
Black-eyed and green and runner,
And so I keep on rakin'

And hoein’ an transplantin’

You can keep on rakin’
It gets you hot and pantin’

You know just what I'm needin'

Some help with all that weedin'

My leeks, my leeks, my leeks, my lovely little leeks
You love my little leeks (I'm plantin’),
My leeks, my leeks, my leeks (I’m rantin’)
My leeks they got you (pantin’)

Paddy's Day

Paddy likes to sleep late. He might get up around mid-morning to pop outside and attend to the needful. That finished it's time for his nap. He'll snooze off and on until sixish, only stirring to bark nastily should a vehicle enter the yard. It's only after he's had his supper that he really comes to life.

It's Not Your Wadi

Of all the vile children that are portrayed on television advertisements the Mi Wadi crew have to be the most loathsome. If those ads had been around when I was a teenager I doubt if Zoe, Katy or Hannah would ever have been born.

It's not your Wadi! It's My Wadi!

Selfish, spoiled hateful little Celtic Tiger Cubs. I fantasise about pouring their disgusting Wadi down the toilet in front of their very eyes and then making the wee bastards drink buttermilk. Or good plain water.

On the other hand I'm quite fond of those young lads in the car ad who are mature and staid beyond their years.

Think I'll have a little nap.

Might join you.

Although I can't, for the life of me, remember which car they're selling it's bound to be a family saloon.

Bert the Republican

Bert is perusing yesterday's paper.

I see oul Cherie wouldn't curtsey for the Queen.

Didn't she?

Oul Maggie curtseyed.

But Maggie's a traditional Tory. Did you see how she and the Queen were dressed almost identically?

Probably got their outfits in the same place. Top Shop likely.

Likely.

So oul Cherie won't curtsey for the Queen. I don't think I'd curtsey for her either.

Cough! Splutter!

What!? What'd I say! Do men not curtsey?

Time On My Hands

I hardly know what to do with myself these days. Hannah has gone to Thailand, the owls have flown away and my course has finished. Maybe I should start a blog?

Oh! I’ve just remembered. I’ve got one of those already.

Class of 2007...

...or those of us who didn't have to rush back to work or other commitments.

Funny things exams. Throughout the year you go to your classes, you produce good coursework, you read your expensive text books and you revise like crazy. Then you go into an examination room with nothing more than a dictionary and two new biros and put down a parcel of shite.

Displacement Activities

One of my colleagues on the course spent the weekend ironing. Twenty-six shirts to be exact! Worse still twenty of those were her husband's. Anything rather than knuckle down to the psychology of education.

I'd been doing quite well at the revision. Of course Friday was a bit of a disaster what with Hannah preparing to go to Thailand and me, as a consequence, on eggs.

Thursday was a good revision day and yesterday too. I'd even given up on Big Brother to study. Today was my last crack at it so why did I take the urge to start a crime thriller and plant a flower bed?

The situation so far - I feel I know nothing, I'm halfway through the novel, feel sure the acupuncturist dunnit and the new flower bed looks lovely.

Despite this all crossed fingers, positive thoughts and prayers for tomorrow would be appreciated.

Human Watch

IMG_0752, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

They always come out about this time of the evening.

You could set your watch by the wee fat one with the camera.

The long thin one wasn't about for a few days but I see he's back now.

It's great when you see the old ones. They don't come out much.

What do you mean? Sure the fat one is old.

No. I mean the really old ones. The ones with the sticks.

Thank feck we're good and high up. I heard about that old one and her stick!

The wee fat one must have about a million photos of us now.

Bon Voyage Hannah!

Hannah started off on her trip to Thailand this afternoon. I am going to miss her so much.

Oh well. Nothing else for it now - back to the revision.

UPDATE, Sunday 16:50 - Hannah has arrived safely in Lopburi.

Nice Evening Isn't It?

siblings, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

We must be the most peered at, gazed upon, papped owls in the county. Mum says we shouldn't encourage the humans and that long eared owls are supposed to be shy and elusive. We keep telling her that this is the 21st century and everybody wants to be famous now. Today Nelly's blog, tomorrow Bill Oddie.

We didn't like the look of that pair who were here yesterday, We hid in the trees and they barely got a glimpse of us. Horrible yappy dog they had too. The one with the beard kept throwing rocks in the undergrowth trying to flush us out but we weren't bothered. Nelly was ripping at him.

Wonder what's for supper tonight? Vole? Mouse? Or frog? We're starving!

Cheep!

Never Too Busy...

Bert's Cousin Margaret: Are you busy?
Nelly: Yeah.
Bert's Cousin Margaret: Really busy?
Nelly: Really, really busy. Revising. I've got this exam on Tuesday y'see. Why?
Bert's Cousin Margaret: Too busy to show me the owls?
Nelly: Never too busy to go see the owls...

The Bastard Got Bernie Too!

Bernie, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

That's it! Fox-hunting to be reintroduced at Nellybert's. It's not as if they're scarce.

The Damage Done

While I was in Norfolk Bert phoned me to say that there had only been 'one breakage'. Well, excuse me but, I think that a salt and a pepper cellar constitutes two breakages. When I told him what they'd cost he said, "They seen you coming," and "The cat done it."

I was really peeved about it and let him know I was and then my three children all moaned at me for moaning at Bert and that reminded me of what I'd done to his van door* the night of the party and he was really nice about it - just laughed it off, so I phoned him back and said it didn't matter about the TG Green salt & pepper set and he was pleased.

And Foxy got my darling gammy-legged Patsy Hen. The bastard!

*We don't talk about that.

Owl Watch

The little owl dudes are starting to spread their wings. Last night we saw two on the same branch and they kept flapping about from one place to another. Too dark for photography unfortunately. Bert thinks there might be three of them but we're not certain.

The Leitrim Sister was up this evening and she was very keen to go owl-spotting. We only saw one young one. Bert thought we'd spotted another peeking behind a big branch with her 'ears' on full alert. Next thing she took off. It was an adult. The little ones have a lot of wing development ahead of them. And they've still got fluffy bums.

An Accident

I’ve been a little mood-swingy recently. Feeling good because I’ve got good marks in my first exam and my coursework. And feeling bad because I’ve hardly revised. Feeling good because Hannah is going to realise her dream of travelling and low because I’m going to miss her. I already miss Jamie. I’m so tired and now I hear I have to get up at 4:30am tomorrow morning to travel to England. So I was really cranky and out of sorts last night and this morning. Hannah and I set off for work as usual (Hannah’s last day at Nixt! Hoorah!) And as always I was tootling along at my usual 40mph. It is a country road although you wouldn’t think it the way people race down it. A woman, fortyish, in a nippy little orange car overtook me pronto. I noticed a boy in a secondary school uniform sitting in the passenger seat. For some perverse reason I hate being overtaken by women so this annoyed me. Next thing she comes on another vehicle driving behind a tractor and cattle trailer. Hah! I thought. That’ll take the wind out of her sails! But no. The daft blade overtakes the heap on a blind bend! You can imagine how Hannah and I tutted to each other. We drive on. At the Carniny crossroads we come on an accident. Three vehicles, one badly smashed, ambulance pulling away, police everywhere, the road covered in debris. We thought of the orange car. She must have come upon the accident too. Hannah said,

I wonder if that made her think?

Happy Birthday Bert

Bert has decided, now he is 48, that he is going to take life a wee bit easier.

Growing Like Goslings

I can still hear those young owls going, "Cheeeeep!" but haven't actually seen them for a couple of days now. Like Clint's goslings they're growing up very fast. Why it only seems like last week they were bundles of fluff, then only a few days later they're starting to fledge. Now they're surly teenagers who spend all their time in their bedrooms - that's when they're not out lushing cider or sharing their luv on Bebo.

It's Amazing!

Spent a little while today down at Clint's (aka the nursery) taking another silly mini-vid. Bert complained that I was taking movies of him and he hadn't even combed his hair. I reassured him that I had editing software that could comb his hair for him.

And can you guess which thoughtful husband this is?

Thoughtful Hubby: I bought Delilah a rabbit for her birthday.
Bert: What colour is it?
Thoughtful Hubby: Blue with silver balls.
Bert: Really?
Thoughtful Hubby: Aye. Now may be she'll lee me alone!

And now we've just had a phone call from Rodders who got the barbecue date wrong and wants to come partying tonight with a 'crowd of musicians'. Oh dear. And me in the middle of my revision schedule. I think Bert has put him off. I do hope so. When Rodders talks about 'musicians' he could well mean Californian punks or ruffians like that Fifty Cent chappie. I certainly don't want him here tonight. We'd have to lock away all the magpie shooters. Hang on a minute, aren't we supposed to....

Cheep!

This is the noisy wee bastard who has been disturbing our sleep. I took the picture at about 8:30 tonight. It's not the best shot but I like it. Definitely a long-eared owl.

Party Time (The Wounded)

Every party has at least one defining moment. At Hannah’s party that moment came when Glen tripped over somebody’s bag, fell against the TV and sliced his cheek open. It must have been the shock (surely not the paltry few ciders he’d drunk) that turned him green and had him swooning like a girl. And so the cry went up,

He’ll need stitches in that!

Is he concussed?

Is he dead?

Who’ll drive him to the hospital?

I will!

Are you phoning an ambulance?

Pardon?

Did somebody hit him?

No!!

Och he’ll be alright. Let’s get him up!

We need bandages! Now!

What?

Where’s the first aid kit?

What?

Can you drive him to the hospital?

Get him up!

Feck! He’s down again. Catch him!

Don’t crowd him!

Sure there’s no need of the hospital. Do you fancy sitting eight hours in Casualty on a Saturday night?

No way!

We need steri-strips. You got steri-strips?

No.

What’s that Glen?

I’m going to no fucking hospital.

Fair enough.

And so we patched his wound up somehow. Jazzer played Nursie and I took photos. Glen said,

I hope you’re not for putting that on the internet.

Sure what odds? Aren’t you moving to Australia?

At the post-party discussions the first question was,

Where were you when Glen went down?

I gather the Kurt Cobain look-alike thought the Pete Doherty look-alike punched Glen to the ground.

I’m told Young Loveheart thought it was a whole lot of fuss about nothing. But then he would.

I hear that when the Pete Doherty look-alike expressed concern about Glen and asked where he was that Ploppy Pants told him we had him hanging by his heels from the banisters because that was the best way to treat a head wound. The Pete Doherty look-alike is supposed to have said, “I don’t think so mate,” and went off to check.

And what of Glen? See for yourself.

Party Time (The Doomed Rock Stars)

Party Time (The Swingers)

The oldies showed the young'uns a good example as always.

Of Sticks and Starlings

Why do old country women hate starlings so? Matty never had any time for them – said they were dirty birds and full of fleas. And Pearlie and Lizzie seem to detest them too. Pearlie hates most birds unless they’re the pretty garden variety. She loathed pigeons, used to climb ladders to kill the squabs in their nests and claims to have killed crows by swinging at them with her stick.

We’ve a starling’s nest in one of the chimneys. Matty said, when she heard of it, that they’d fill the house ‘full of fleas’ but despite her dire warnings we’ve not lit a fire for ages for fear of singeing their little birdy bottoms. Then there’s the one that cheeps all night. At first we thought it was deserted in the nest and there was one night I was heartscalded listening to it and thinking of it starving to death. But it, or something, is still cheeping well into the night so I suspect it’s just a hungry hoor.

Aunt Lizzie heard it and wasn’t pleased. “If I got it,” she said, “I’d hit it a chap with my stick. That’d put the cheeping out of it! Them starlings is nothing but rubbitch!”

In my opinion old women shouldn’t be allowed to have sticks. They’re always waving them about, trying to hit people and chapping wee innocent birds.

Then Lizzie goes and leaves her stick in the van when Bert left her home. Pearlie was vexed and made Bert bring it into her house to ‘keep it out of harm’s way’. Bert says to his ma,

Sure what harm would it come to in the van?

Ye’d only loase it!

How would I lose it?

Oh – ye’d likely be kepping bastes way it or chapping something way it.

Sure what would I be kepping? D’ye think I drive about the country looking for bastes to kep?

Well ye might be hemmering something way it and break it!

Later Bert says to me,

Can you just see it - I’m wanting to drive a nail and I say to myself, ‘Now will I use this hammer here or will I just use Aunt Lizzie’s stick?’

And it turns out that the cheeping starling is actually a short eared owl. I saw it this evening! I wonder if Lizzie will still want to chap it with her stick?

Party Time (The Bebo Crowd)

We had Hannah's leaving party on Saturday night. It was great fun. Hannah and I are too exhausted to blog about it but we will. Someone has posted photos on Bebo already. Zoe has some pictures too.

Time for a new icon

What Did She Say??, originally uploaded by ZMB.

I like this picture. Fuzzy white hair, large hand, yellow teeth and all. It's how I see myself.

Study Update

All this time away from the blog and do you know how much revision I have done?

1. Zilch
2. Nada
3. Naethin'
4. Eff All

Just so you know. I have been putting the finishing touches to my coursework. And cleaning the house. And starting this Flickr group.

Katkin's Catkin

Watch Out, originally uploaded by KatyKatkins.

Excuses, Excuses

Blogging will be lighter than usual over the next four weeks because I will be working in my garden... and studying for an exam.

There is also a party to be organised next weekend for Bert will soon be 48 and Hannah is going to Thailand... and I have an exam in June.

Then there is our visit to Norfolk. Zoe, Katy and I will be visiting the English Bowyers, Mick and Katy and their partners Linda and Mark.... it will be a welcome break from studying for my exam. Which is the second week in June.

Oh! And I mustn't forget about teaching practice. I've that to get out of the way....before my exam. In June.

Then Bert is going to Northern Spain for a week and I will have sole responsibility for dogs, cat, hens and Pearlie. That's a week before my exam.

So I'm going to be busy. Revising for an exam.

Me Too!

Which God or Goddess are you like? Your Result: The Christian God You are the Holy Lord. You are the shepherd and those that follow you are your lambs. You are kind and patient, but when need be, you are vile and creul. You are often asked for advise or wisdom, and you willingly give it. Congratulations!! You are God!!
Jesus
Budha
Goddess Bast
Goddess Sekhemet
Satan
God Zeus
You are your own God or Goddess
Which God or Goddess are you like? Make Your Own Quiz

You paid attention during 80% of high school!

68-84% Pretty good, you know that there are libraries and newspapers, and you remember what you've read. You were a child that wasn't left behind!

Do you deserve your high school diploma?
Create a Quiz

Found (where else?) at Ed's Place.

Pity Poor Paris

Celebrity heiress Paris Hilton is backing an online petition seeking a pardon of her 45-day prison sentence because she enlivens "mundane" lives.

Well I don't know about the rest of you but my mundane life will certainly be brightened as I think of her doing jail time.

Dry your eyes Paris! If you can't do the time then you shouldn't a done the crime.

I'll bet she gets off anyway.

Industrial Injury

I was rinsing out a few cups in work today when I spotted our pet spider getting drowned in the soapy water. Hurriedly I gathered him up to safety and do you know what? The bastard bit me! In panic I hurled Spidey to the floor and inspected my savaged finger. It was sort of itchy and scratchy and sore. I wondered (briefly) if it was a poisonous spider but sensibly decided that it was not. After all have you ever heard of a poisonous spider in Ireland? I kept an eye on my wound but it did not swell up or turn black which I took to be a good sign.

And what of Spiro the Spider? I scooped him up in a plastic glass and laid him on a tea towel to dry out. When I checked later he had scuttled off.

To take my mind off the arachnoid assault I watched live coverage of the events at Stormont. Tony looked smug and happy. Bertie looked sleekit and happy. Ian looked stern and happy. Martin looked grim and happy. And Gerry looked shifty. But I don't think he can help that.

And in the parlance of Ulster-Scots I noticed there was a quare ween o' they wee dafties aboot the place.

Being A Good Recycler

Other people hoard stuff. I keep things because they are important.

Bert's Aunt Nessie keeps, among other things, every loaf wrapping she's ever had - in case they should come in useful. Now if I were to list all the things that Nessie hoards I'd be here all day. Enough to say that there is just one narrow path through her house that is filled to the rafters with stuff. It is a blessing unto God that she never goes out to get more stuff and a further blessing that she only spends about three and sixpence a week so the amount of stuff trickling into her house these days is very minimal.

It must run in the family because Pearlie is also a hoarder. She still owns the box that Bert's first feeding bottle was packaged in. Actually she's got a bit of a thing about boxes. When she was on her feet a bit more she spent many a happy day sorting through her boxes. The idea was to get a box that fitted snugly inside another box. You'd get some great yoke of a box that once contained a television set and inside it would be a box that a vacuum cleaner came in. Inside that would be a microwave box and so on until you reached the little box in the middle which once held a bottle of eardrops or some other small thing.

Pearlie also hoarded scraps of fabric which she'd use to patch her aprons and knickers. She particularly liked silky labels and she'd often stitch these to her knickers so she'd know which way round to wear them.

But me? I never hoard things. I only keep stuff that is truly useful. Like all my old assignments from university. You'd never know when they might be needed.

Then I caught myself on. They're in the blue recycling bin as I speak. Obviously I removed them from their shabby presentation folders because you never know when one of those might come in handy.

Randomness

I've been tagged by Ronni to do this meme. I've maybe been here before but I disremember.

1. I know all my times-tables up to 13. This is thanks to my primary school teacher Cassie who, literally, battered them into us.

2. When I was ten I read a book about a pious child called Elsie Dinsmore. This inspired me to fantasise about scenarios in which I led Elsie into all kinds of mischief and evil. In my imaginings Elsie would cry piteously as I encouraged her to do all kinds of wicked things. I don't think this was the effect that the author had hoped for.

3. Since childhood the song I loathe more than any other song ever written is 'I Dream of Jeannie with the Light Brown Hair.' I think I may have heard it scraiked by one tuneless Aunt too many. It didn't help that I have a sister with a name not dissimilar to Jeannie and who had a head of glossy, light brown hair. I wonder if my detestation of the tune stems from my disliking her getting a bit of the attention for a change. Bert is currently learning this melody and I fantasise hourly about doing unspeakable things to his clarinet.

4. The first time I ever went to the cinema (to see Seven Brides for Seven Brothers in Randalstown!) my sophisticated, urban cousin Kathleen did not explain to me or my sister that the cinema seats pushed down and allowed us country cousins to perch most uncomfortably on the edge of the upturned seats. Fair play to her she perched there too . Despite this I still enjoyed the film although my arse didn't.

5. I'm not much travelled. I was over 40 before I got a passport. The first place I ever visited outside the British Isles was South Africa. The last place was the USA. I've never even been to France or Spain.

6. Apparently I'm barred from working for the NHS. When I was an 18-year old student nurse I walked out of Holywell hospital after a row with Matron. She spat at me as I walked out the door, "I'll see to it that you never work in a hospital again!"

7. I was a breech baby and weighed 5 and a half pounds at birth. I stayed at a low weight for quite a while. When I was about nine months old I got pneumonia and was admitted to hospital. Matty signed me out because I got serious nappy rash. When I was about a year I got hold of the dog's worm tablets and dosed myself. Matty said I never looked back after this.

No tagging as is my custom. You canna if you wanna.

Scrabble

Bert: Is ‘uj’ a word?

Nelly: No. Say Swisser what do you think about Paris Hilton going to jail?

Swisser: I think it’s just terrible that they’re sending her to jail. Now what am I going to do with these two Vs? Is Scrabble supposed to have two Vs?

Hannah: Ours does.

Nelly: Well she did keep on driving even after she was banned for being under the influence. How long are you going to be?

Hannah: Here Swisser let me see…you could get ‘motive’ in there. That would get rid of one of your Vs.

Swisser: Excellent. Thanks Hannah. So Paris Hilton thought she could do what she liked? Maybe she does deserve jail.

Bert: Huh! Hannah just wants you to open up the board so she can get at that triple letter word.

Nelly: So? She’ll hardly beat you now not with that lead. Anyway I can’t see Paris Hilton doing jail time. She’ll get off somehow. It’ll give her a scare though.

Swisser: Why are rich and powerful people so corrupt?

Nelly: They’re not all like that. We just don’t hear so much about the ones who act decently.

Swisser: Well I was reading in the Times last week, maybe you seen it, about this group of rich and powerful German businessmen who organised so-called business trips with private jets, fancy hotels, cocaine and prostitutes. Then they’d buy £5000 trinkets to keep their wives happy.

Nelly: Hear that Bert? You buy me £5000 trinkets and you get to go with prostitutes.

Bert: Huh! What would you do with a £5000 trinket?

Swisser: More to the point Bert – what would you do with a prostitute?

Bert: Very droll. Nice one Swisser.

Hannah: Or you could use that extra V and make ‘votive’.

Swisser: Votive? That’s not a word.

Nelly: It sure is. But too late now. You’re not having it.

A Self Portrait A Day

213 / 365, originally uploaded by Echo9er.

Earlier today I posted a particularly lovely picture of Bonnie to a German Shepherd group I belong to. And it was there I spotted this image. There were several things about the photograph that attracted me - namely the two dogs and the bookshelves. I liked echo9er's tartan pyjamas too and the fact that his dogs were allowed on the furniture.

But the most interesting thing on echo9er's Flickr was the series of self portraits. He is going for 365 self portraits over the course of a year. I found that idea scary and intriguing.

Is it an act of vanity to take a year's worth of self portraits? I think it is not. It might display a degree of self interest but is there anything wrong with that? And when a person is not in the first flush of youth and beauty is it not rather a brave thing to do? What do you think?

Responsibilities

Where I Work, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

I'm very busy these days.

Busy with my studies (or so I like to convince myself), busy in the greenhouse, busy playing with my new camera and busy at work.

In work I have two new responsibilities - I am in charge of Construction Schedules and I am in charge of Tubs & Hanging Baskets.

Yesterday I was only in charge of Tubs but my boss went to the garden centre today and doubled my workload in that department. I fear my thumbs are going to go untwiddled and my nails unfiled. Which is good.