A Loom Of One's Own

I'm engaged on something at the moment which I call 'The Martha Project'. Matty has been scribbling away at bits and pieces ever since she retired and I thought it would be a good idea to gather these writings together.

I've asked Matty if I can put some of her stories on the internet and she has agreed so I'm going to share a little bit of it now and again. The picture I've chosen to accompany this piece is used by kind permission of Len Kinley at Down Memory Lane. Thanks Len.

The Old Bleach Factory as it would have looked when Matty worked there.

My First Job

In the year 1941 I began work in the Old Bleach Linen Company in Randalstown. I was 14 and half years old and I had no choice as to where I would work. My older sister had put my name down for a job and when a vacancy came up I was sent for.

It was a cold winter’s morning in January when I started off to walk four miles to the factory but it was no bother to me as I had eaten a good breakfast before I left home. I met up with the other girls on the way and the road did not seem long, as the chat was good.

Most of the older girls in the factory had bicycles but the younger girls, like myself, had not been working long enough to have the money saved to buy a bicycle. Between food rationing and so much walking we had no problem keeping slim. Dieting was a word almost unknown in those years.

We arrived a few minutes before eight that morning. There were five other girls beside myself starting too. I remember their names as Gwen McComb, Netta Conway, Minnie Rowan, Agnes McDonald and there was another girl whose name was Allison and I think maybe her first name was Lily.

I was told I would be working in a loom shop and when I entered the room the terrible clattering of the looms shocked me. I looked around me at the bare walls without windows, the light of day coming through panes of glass in the roof, and I thought to myself, ‘I will never be able to stay in a place like this.’ But as time went past I grew used to it.

I started my training with a girl called Mary McLarnon. Mary was a neighbour of ours and it was nice being with someone I knew. She was very patient with me showing me all I had to do like how to thread shuttles, and how to make sure to always have one ready to put on the loom when the other ran out. She also taught me what dangers to avoid.

The only tools a weaver needed were small clippers or scissors and a heddle hook and, not forgetting, a hand brush to clean your looms at the end of every week.

Two weeks later I was operating a loom of my own and I was very pleased with myself. It was fascinating watching the shuttle flying backwards and forwards and the heddles going up and down and to think that cloth was being made perfectly and at great speed before one’s very eyes.

I soon got bored with only one loom so they gave me a second one and I was kept quite busy and it was good to be earning more money. The first pay I earned in the factory was 12 shillings and sixpence (62.5 pence). I got keeping the sixpence and Mammy got the rest.

With walking to work every day we had no travelling expenses and we would bring a lunch with us. At the back of the factory we had a canteen where all you could have would be a cup of black tea that had a very stewed taste. It was awful but we had to take it and be glad of it for it was the only break we had all day. Afterwards we would go for a walk and it was good to get out in the fresh air.

Shortly after I started working in the factory I made friends with a girl called Ria Smith. We discovered there was just two days between our ages and we remained good friends for the rest of our teenage years.

It was during the war years that I worked at the Old Bleach and the factory was getting big orders, which meant they were employing a large number of people. I was moved around a lot to other loom shops that had different types of looms for different types of cloth but it was very good experience and you met up with other workers who were very friendly and helpful.

Most of the time I was weaving very plain cloth like linen, cotton and jute but on a few occasions I got something different to do like tablecloths with coloured borders and once I wove striped linen towels with lovely pastel colours and was told they were being made for the Rainbow Hotel in New York.

Once I was taken before the Manager for a fault in the cloth I had woven. This was the first time this had happened to me and I was upset. I told him I’d get myself another job. He said there were no other jobs to be had about here. I said I could always get married and he laughed and said, “Well you can count me out because I’m already married.”

In later years I sometimes had to train young people to operate a loom. You would have them there for a couple of weeks and it held you up a bit but you got extra money for it so I didn’t mind teaching them.

Although it was a very dreary environment to work the friendship between the workers made it a happy place to be and there was a good relationship between workers and management.

By 1952, the year I was leaving to get married, things had changed a lot in the factory. It was becoming more modern. A new building had been erected for automatic looms and as one girl could now operate about 10 looms it meant big pay-offs. There were other factories producing synthetic materials that were cheaper than linen or cotton and that was the beginning of the end of the linen industry all over Northern Ireland.

October 2004

Feared

The place is a house somewhere near Cullybackey. The time is approaching 11pm.

Man: Will you come out with me to check I've closed in the hens?

Woman: Why?

Man: It's pitch dark out there.

Woman: And?

Man: I'm feared out there.

Woman: You're feared? What of? The dark?

Man: The divil. But I'm not feared if you're with me.

So now I've another string to my bow. Divil-protection.

Fifteens

Fifteens, originally uploaded by ZMB.

ZMB's recipe seems to have disappeared. Never mind - here's one Beowulf made earlier.

'Fifteens appear to be a Northern Ireland thing, the rest of the world should be educated. To wit:

15 McVities Digestive Bisuits
15 Marshmallows
15 Red Glaze Cherries
1 small tin of sweetened condensed milk
1 good handful of desiccated coconut

1. Crush the biscuits into a large bowl, add mallow and cherries, mix.
2. Now pour the condensed milk into the mix, stir it up until it gets into a sticky lump.
3. Tip it all out onto a sheet of greaseproof paper and mould it into a log shape, roll the whole log thing in the coconut.
4. Wrap the beast up and refridgerate for a day, when it’s set you slice it up as you see fit (monster slices for the men, teeny-weeny arty slices for the women).
5. Eat.'

Bert's New Toy

Projects at Nellybert’s can take some considerable time. One that seems to have been going on forever is the upstairs bathroom. It was always useable as it contained the standard bath, toilet and wash basin. However not many people, other that the utterly shameless Nellybert, did use it for there were no curtains and only one window with frosted glass. The other window looked out over the road and would have afforded passing motorists an excellent view of whoever happened to be easing their bladder or bowels at the time. Eventually I purchased some gorgeous curtains from EBay and after a couple of months Bert put up curtain track and it was only a few weeks later that I got round to hanging the curtains.

The gorgeous poppy curtains

That achievement spurred us on because it wasn’t long before Bert embarked on boxing in the bath. He used old pine tongue and groove panelling that had featured in the bathroom before we’d renovated the house. It was at this stage that we regretted using a wood effect vinyl floor covering for the two woodinesses (antique and faux) laughed at each other.

The panelled bath

But there was still the space at the end of the bath. We’d considered a piece of old furniture for this and had left the floor uncovered until we found it.

The space at the end of the bath

Eventually I decided that Bert would build me a shelving unit. Plans were discussed. Plans were even drawn. Leitrim Sister had an idea, West Belfast Social Worker had another idea, Bert had an even better idea – or so he has convinced me. The only thing was – Bert’s idea needed a Compound Mitre Saw! I’m not sure what this actually does (Bert assures me it is an essential) but this I do know – men should always be encouraged to buy expensive power tools because it gives women such leverage when it comes to getting things done around the house.

You've spent all that money and I’m still waiting for my shelves, table, bed whatever!

Bert's new toy

Work Is The Curse Of The Blogging Classes

When I worked in Spide City and Tinkerton I had a rich seam of blogging material to mine. It carried only a little risk – the people I blogged about were unlikely to read what I’d written. Had they come across the blog they might have recognised themselves but the ones that provided me with the best stories did not have access to the internet and if they had they’d have been unlikely to be reading blogs. Some of my co-workers knew about the blog – in fact I believe I offended one by referring to her as she who must be obeyed. I don’t know whether it was the phrasing or the font size that bothered her for I never asked. Had my superiors taken umbrage at my ramblings I’d have been pleased. Getting dooced would have been a good route out of a job that I’d started to hate. But they never took it under their notice.

Nowadays I work for builders and property developers and I barely mention my working life. It’s not anywhere near as mad as my previous job but it does have the odd daft moment I’d like to write about. But I won’t because all our customers have broadband and my boss has a Mac in every room of his home. And I quite like the boss, most of the customers and the job.

So when I yearn for my old job it’s only the stories I heard, the things that happened and the excitement that I miss. What’s left for me to blog about now?

Our Lady of Bethlehem Abbey

Matty and Hannah and I took a trip to Our Lady of Bethlehem Abbey today. I wanted to get a Mass Card for a friend of ours whose father died earlier this week. I don't really understand the etiquette of Mass Cards so I thought it would be a good idea to take Matty who knows all the ins and outs.

Matty usually goes to Antrim with her favourite sister-in-law on Saturday mornings so I phoned first.

You not out with Maud this morning?

No. I told her I just didn't trust my legs today.

Bert and I discussed this over our porridge.

Says she just doesn't trust her legs to go out shopping with Maud.

Why not?

Maybe she's afraid they'll go shoplifting or slope off to score some weed. Or maybe they'll slip into a betting shop and blow the pension on the Grand National.

Happily she felt that her legs were trustworthy enough to go on a jaunt with Hannah and Nelly.

The Abbey is, like all respositories of rosary beads, mass cards and religious paraphernalia, a weird and wonderful place. You go in. The first thing that you see is a miniature priest's mass clothes. You wonder why? Who'd want that? There are shelves and shelves of religious pictures and statues, there are rosary beads galore, there are stands and stands of pre-signed mass cards. There is a monk sitting in the corner to bless the holy stuff you buy for it's no use if it's not blessed. There is Status Quo playing 'Whatever You Want' on the sound system. Whether this was the monk's choice or the delightful young shop assistant's choice I do not know. Probably the monk as he was 50+.

I quickly choose my mass card; a bargain at two quid. Meanwhile Matty gets heavily involved in a conversation with the shop assistant on the possibilities of buying a book o the life of Saint Anne but, said saint being slightly obscure, none was to be found. Matty reports that Anne is the patron saint of grandmothers. With Jesus as her grandchild, she would be, wouldn't she?


Experienced Matty's untrustworthy leg in one of Portglenone's charity shops. She does this genuflection thing with it. She says the strength just leaves her leg for a moment. I tried distraction as a cure and pointed her in the direction of a shelf of brand new shoes. No shoes were purchased -just another beige skirt.

The day ended well. After dropping Matty off in Tannaghmore and Hannah in Ballymena, Rosie and I went for a brisk walk in the Ecos Centre. It was there that I bumped into an old chum who shamelessly told me that he'd always had the hots for me. What's not to like about hearing that?

Of course I told Bert the minute I got home. He laughed.

Aren't you raging? Aren't you going to go in and start a fight with him?

No. I'll just congratulate him on his good taste next time I see him.

What's not to like about hearing that?

Mervyn's Gone

We heard an unmerciful squawking just outside the window - then it was further away. We ran outside. The squawking (a rooster's) was, by now, coming from the far end of the garden.

It wasn't Plum for he was safely tucked up with the hens in their new house. It wasn't The One That Everybody Hates or The Other One for they were perched in the old hen house. It had to be Mervyn - too proud to share space with the other bachelors. It had to be Mervyn who has refused to come in these past two nights. It had to be Mervyn who got his wings clipped for flying over the eight foot wire surrounding the new hen run to run with the new hens and fight with Plum. Poor Mervyn. King of the chickens but no match for Foxy.

A Barefoot Colleen*

You Are Bare Feet

You are a true free spirit, and you can't be tied down. Even wearing shoes can be a little too constraining for you at times! You are very comfortable in your own skin. You are one of the most real people around. You don't have anything to hide. Open and accepting, you are willing to discuss or entertain almost any topic. You are a very tolerant person. You are accepting and not judgmental. You should live: Somewhere warm You should work: At your own business, where you can set the rules

What Kind of Shoe Are You?

*That's what Matty used to call me when I was a girl. It embarrassed her that I liked to run around in my bare feet. I think she was worried that people might think she couldn't afford to keep me shod. Despite this result, these days I like my shoes and boots and have plenty of them. I love shopping at TK Maxx and the outlet stores. I rarely spend more than fifty pounds on a pair of shoes. I like them to be fairly plain, reasonably stylish and, above all, comfortable.

Thanks to Grannymar for this meme.

Happy Birthday Joe

Taking pic of zoe's dog, originally uploaded by KatyKatkins.

The brother likes to think of himself as a man's man. Lot of nonsense! He's never happier than when he is surrounded by women.

Happy birthday Joe - hope it was a good one.

Up The Airy Mountain, Down The Rushy Glen

Saturday night Bert told me he’d got a great circular walk planned for the next day.

Where?

Other side of Clough.

How long?

Couple of hours.

Great. Shall we go early – say eleven?

Aye.

Sunday morning I say,

You getting up?

What time is it?

Half ten. Time to get ready for our walk.

Walk?

Yes. Remember we talked about it last night?

I don’t mind if you and Hannah want to take a walk without me. Really – you go on.

BERT!!

Thirty minutes later he’s making a big fuss about not being able to find a woolly hat. He only has about six of them.

You needn’t think I’m tramping about the top of a mountain with no pixie!

What’s wrong with the one you were wearing yesterday?

It’s too loose. My ears would be freezing. I’m not tramping about the top of a mountain with a wind gowling and my ears gowping!

Forty minutes later we’re driving on the other side of Loughguile. Bert is in possession of two good-fitting woollen hats and a bad attitude. I say,

So where’s this walk starting?

How should I know!

You’re the one had it all planned out.

You get us a walk then!

That would only confuse the issue. And stop bloody reading maps while you’re driving!

Fifteen minutes later Bert pulls up, gets out of the van and starts marching up an asphalt road. Paddy scampers happily at his heels. We’re on the side of a small mountain. Bert’s pixie is pulled firmly over his ears. The sun is splitting the stones. Bonnie and I vainly try to keep up with him. Actually Bonnie would have had no trouble keeping up but she’s loyal. Bert does not speak. His back looks very angry.

Half a mile later I say,

So when does the proper walk start?

He snarls,

How should I know?

I break,

Well fuck you anyway! I’m fed up with you! You can go on your own walk! I’m going back!

I turn on my heel and march back the way we came. Bonnie turns too. It’s my impression that Bert and Paddy march on. I do not turn to look. Bonnie and I climb up the airy mountain. Bert and Paddy stomp down the rushy glen.

I recover my temper at the top of Slieveanorra.

And by the time I meet Bert again he has recovered his.

On the way home a fellow white van man (talking on his mobile and driving one-handed on a narrow winding road) clips Bert’s wing mirror and smashes it. I am sympathetic. Privately I believe it is karma.

Later we realise that Bert had embarked on this walk without coffee or a smoke and as Hannah put it,

He wouldn’t even have been actually a human, would he?

So Many Good Things

Today started well.

I woke up at quarter past seven and immediately thought, bloody hell - got to get up in twenty minutes for work. My delight when I remembered it was Saturday was huge. Funnily enough I still got up in twenty minutes. But I didn't have to and that was wonderful.

Milk was scarce but cream was plentiful so the morning porridge was not too disastrous. It cooked just right and the saucepan washed like a dream.

It was teeming with rain but not too cold so we decided to go to the multicultural festival of music, story-telling, scoffing and Willie Drennan anyway. Skies looked brighter in the Antrim direction so we felt it was worth taking a chance.

Probably unfortunate that I lunched too well before I went, even though it was only a few oatcakes, cheese and an avocado, for the food at Clotworthy House was very tempting. But what is temptation if not to be surrendered to and very yummy the Indian and Caribbean food was too.

We were maybe a tiny bit unimpressed with the Scottish pipe band as this is one strand of multiculturalism that we're not terribly deprived of in County Antrim. However most of everything else was very enjoyable. Specially nice too was linking up with Jazzer, her sister and the two younger Banjos.

No multicultural event, or any event really, is complete without Willie Drennan and it was with great joy that we saw him reconciled with Gracie after their years long feud. Imbued with the spirit of peace and reconciliation Willie stooped to pat her silky head and she, bless her, didn't bite the hand of him. We still think that if he'd been on his bicycle she would not have been so affable. Time will tell.

Zoe and I enjoyed a lovely hike while Hannah explored the delights of Antrim town. While Zoe and myself, not to mention Gracie, were pleased with our walk, I'm sad to say that Hannah was unimpressed with Antrim's shopping experience.

Bonne Marche and Dunnes! Antrim's only for scabs that don't want to spend money on clothes!

Which is a strange comment to come out with as she herself shops mainly in Primark.

Bert's Aunt Lizzie is down for the weekend, and as she'd taken no time in reminding me that I'd promised to make her a bread and butter pudding the next time she was here, a visit to Sainsburys was called for -for cream and bread and cut-price Easter Eggs. The bargains! For a start a huge pot of cream was ten pence. And the eggs! The Easter Egg aisle was CHOC-a-bloc with ladies with glazed eyes filling their baskets and trollies with chocolate goodies that ten days ago would have cost them seven million pounds and today was knocked down to around 70-80 pence for a good-sized Lindt rabbit or Fair Trade egg. Yum! Hannah and I went suitably mad and suffice to say tonight I am not on a diet. Unless chocolate and gin is a diet. I also took the precaution of buying a luxury bread and butter pudding in case a chocolate and gin hangover prevents me from making one from scratch.

All in all a damn good day. I'm sitting here eating chocolate and drinking gin and I've walked for one hour and 42 minutes. I'm also basking in the non-electric glow of having taken part in earth hour and I have to say that sitting in front of the wood burning stove with every light in the house off, no music and no telly, just chatting with Bert and Hannah was very pleasant indeed.

I've had a good day.

An Eccentric Crone's Guide to Weekend Activities

I've just checked my most recent Google referrals to Nelly's Garden.

They are -

1. Eccentric Crones: How appropriate
2. Extrapolate: Mystery to me
3. Pissing in Garden: I'd never do that. Paddy wrote that post
4. Tattooed Granny: Innocent on both counts
5. Role Models: No better woman
6. Things To Do On The Weekend: Mainly housework followed by gin

There's Life In That Old Goat Yet

These pictures taken during the Sarkozy state visit to Britain made me smile. Old Philip, in his 87th year, is still as much of an oul rake as ever he was. And what of Sarkozy's sleekit sideways glance? He fully approves of his missus flirting with the Prince, doesn't he?

And then there's Her Maj - she just keeps on doing that stoic Queen thing. Bless her.

Not For The Chicken-Hearted

We have four roosters. Their names are Little Plum, Mervyn, The One That Everybody Hates and The Other One. For a while we could hardly tell the difference between The One That Everybody Hates and The Other One. Then when Mervyn started attacking The One That Everybody Hates he got a few injuries that made him distinguishable from The Other One. For a long time T.O.T.E.H. mooched around on his own but in the last few days he's started hanging out with the rest of the gang. Then he started fighting with T.O.O. and now they're both bloody, bruised, tattered and torn. Now Mervyn has started picking on Plum. It's time for a regime change.

Bert has taken the best part of a year to complete the chicken run and Plum and his (soon to be expanded) harem will be moving in. If the game cocks aren't (A) taken by the fox or (B) don't kill each other and (C) survive to invade Plum's run they will (D) have their necks pulled and (E) get made into broth.

Bert said those game chicks would tear each other apart when they grew. I said,

But they're so pretty!

Chicken keeping is not for the faint hearted.

You Might Have Missed...

Chickens - 6, Weight lost since 02/07/07 - 44 lbs

I'm sure that most of you read blogs via Google reader or somesuch application and, consequently, don't get to see the sidebar at Nelly's. Truth be told it's been pretty static for ages but there have been a couple of changes in recent weeks.

1. After an entire winter free from the fox the last of the wee game hens is no longer to be seen and we can only assume the worst. She is no more. She is extinct. Funny how you can get six game chicks, three of which turn out to be hens and three roosters and the fox only bloody eats the hens. Maybe they're easier to catch. Who knows. Anyway Bert has finally built an escape proof run (we'll see) and Plum has only got two hens to bring in with him -the last of the broilers and the Scots Dumpy. The three Game Roosters aren't getting in - unless they fly in - which they might.

2. After an entire two months with damn all weight loss I've managed to knock off another couple of pounds. Still not starving myself - just decided to stop 'nipping and ayting' after my dinner. I still haven't got under the eleven stone mark but I'm very close. The novelty of putting on skirts which slide off my hips has abated - now instead of delight I feel slightly annoyed and think to myself 'I liked that skirt'. Clothes sizing is so erratic - you just cannot go by the size label, you have to try it on. I was looking for a Spring jacket on Saturday and was shopping in one of my favourite stores, the Oxfam Shop, and the assistant said to me, 'What size are you?' and I replied, 'I'm a size 14 in the back and a size 16 at the front,' and it's true. I wonder if my back is getting smaller because of weight loss or is it because I'm developing a dowager hump?

Matty Reads The Irish News

But she didn't get it yesterday morning. And there were none left in Antrim Tesco when we were doing the Thursday night shop.

Was it the crossword you wanted?

Och. Not really. There was a picture of the weans from Tannaghmore in it because of the amount they gathered up for Trocaire over Lent. I'd like to have seen that. Some of that money was from me y'know!

Matty loves the Irish News crossword. She especially loves the Saturday prize crossword and sends it off every week. She's been a prize winner a few times too.

On the way home I picked her up a copy of the Irish News. At home Hannah tried to pinch it for the crossword but I fended her off.

This evening I said to Matty,

Had to beat Hannah off your crossword. I told her it was your favourite thing in the paper.

Aye. It is. That and the deaths.

Expert Photoshopper Needed

Matty aged ten, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

If only I knew one.

This is me ma aged ten or so. You wouldn't want to have been picking a fight with her. She was a southpaw and knocked at least one fellow out cold in the schoolyard. There was another incident involving a young flasher and a bunch of nettles. He soon put it back in his flannel shorts. I wonder if he learned his lesson?

After All I Am Famed For My Farting

You Are 36% Lady

And 64% Pure Savage You tend to make up your rules of etiquette, throwing all conventions aside. And while you try to be a lady (sometimes), your behavior is often quite shocking.

Are You A Lady?

Happy Birthday To Paddy

Hi fans. Paddy here. I disremember the actual day I was pupped but, like Queenie, I have an official birthday and it is this very day - St Patrick's Day. It's four years now since Nelly and DeeMac sprung me from the Crosskennan Animal Shelter - and four happy years they have been for Nellybert et al. For it's damn lucky they were to be blessed with a fine animal like myself.

You know if it hadn't been for DeeMac (so beautiful, so wise) I might not have been living with the Nellyberts at all. Family folklore has it that Nelly was reluctant to pick me on the grounds that I looked too much like Danny. Don't know why that should have been a problem but as those who know her will agree our Nelly's a bit on the mental side.


That's myself and oul Dan above. Which is which you'll be asking? Well I'm the young snake-hipped sexy looking one and Danny's the oul fat-arsed mental looking one.

Of course I wasn't here long before Bert accidentally ran Dan over with the van. Old codger was completely deaf, half-blind and crippled so was happy for him maybe. Even so we were all very sad. Them ones buried him in the garden and I often visit his grave to remember the oul fellow.

That's all for now folks. I'll look out some more of the oul photos and maybe do another post before long. Nighty night.

Me at Danny's grave

To be continued.

A Bunch of Flowers

On Friday evening I received a surprise visit (and a bunch of flowers) from a young woman I'd last seen in a courthouse nearly fifteen years ago. I'd known her since her babyhood but we'd fallen out of touch as people often do.

Her story is not mine to tell but this I'll share. She had a very difficult and troubled start in life but she also had spirit, awareness, charm and a great deal of intelligence. All that was evident even when she was a little child.

And I cannot tell you how much pleasure it gave me on Friday to see that all those qualities she had as a child are still with her - and that despite all the hardships she suffered as a little girl she has built on her gifts and grown to be a good woman and a loving mother.

Thanks for the flowers.

I'm Worried About Bert

He's changing. He's not as ruggedly masculine as he used to be. I hope it's not an ageing thing for he's not even 50 yet!

First there was the slug in his cabbage. I remember a time when that wouldn't have fazed him one bit. Slug on your greens! He'd have laughed at me or the girls for making a fuss about a little thing like that.

Then today he was giving off about me running the hot water away. Isn't it a woman's thing to be moaning at men for wasting the good hot water?

But worst of all - I came into the den last night and Friends was on. 'You're not watching that are you?' I remarked as I grabbed the remote control and switched to Top Gear. He was a bit miffed. 'Well it's better than that oul crap,' says he indicating Clarkson and Denise van Outen. We had to go back to Friends. Turns out it's his current favourite programme and Joey and Phoebe are his favourite characters. Dear God! It's only a matter of time before he's out at Daniel O'Donnell concerts.

But one thing gives me hope. He's still pissing on the toilet seat.

Lost

No. Not that TV series most of us have grown very tired of...

The lost item in question is actually my mobile phone. The mobile phone Katy bought me for Christmas. The one I last used on our weekend in Hanna's Close.

I'm not one of those people constantly hanging on a moby. I forget about it for days, even weeks on end and consequently people rarely ring me on it. F'rinstance...I've been working for CD for over a year now and he doesn't even have my number.

It's quite a few days now since I realised I hadn't had my phone since Hanna's Close. It was overdue a charging session so I hunted the house high and low with no luck. Sadly I came to the conclusion I must have left it in County Down. Then at the weekend it occurred to me that I hadn't seen my camera battery charger for ages. Looked about a bit with no success. Realised it hadn't been around since Hanna's Close either. Fired off an email to The Man at Hanna's Close asking him if he'd come across the phone. It took him a few days to get back but today he wrote to say there was no sign of a phone at the cottage. I renewed my efforts starting with my shambles of a bedroom. No phone and no charger. I looked again into all the drawers and cupboards I'd searched before with no success. I delved into every shopper and handbag, every pocket and under every seat in the car. Nothing.

Then, just ten minutes ago, I lifted one cushion on the sofa in this very room and found the charger. And just beside it the phone. One cushion. One cushion I could have lifted four days ago.

Yum Yum Pig's Bum

This morning I said to Hannah,

Let’s eat from the freezer tonight.

That means we eat something already cooked that has been put by for lazy nights. I fancied a portion of Hannah’s Thai curry and had been dreaming of it all day.

But when I got home Bert had beaten me to it and was heating up a big plateful of mince and onions, cabbage and spuds. Not really what I wanted but there was too much for one and I decided to go for it.

Note to self – freeze everything in single portions from now on for if Bert fancies something he defrosts it whether it’s enough for one or for twenty-one.

Bert had put it in the oven. He thinks microwaves are evil but it was drying up and I persuaded him to transfer it to the zapping machine.

Eventually we sit down to eat. Bert’s has no care for his arteries and thinks that all food should be liberally salted. See people who smoke? No taste buds. Sadly, in his haste to get the salt out of the cellar, he banged it far too hard and half its contents landed over his food. Naturally this was the fault of the equipment, not the handler and he swore at it horribly. I advised him to scrape it off and carry on eating which he did.

Several mouthfuls later he started cussing at his dinner again.

Damn and bloody blast! Am I not meant to eat this?

What’s wrong now?

There’s a slug in my cabbage. I’m totally scunnered. I can’t finish it after seeing that.

Sure why not? That slug has been boiled, deep-frozen, roasted, microwaved and clarried in salt. It’s as dead as Hector and clean as a whistle. It will do you not one bit of harm.

He still didn’t eat it.

My Slough of Despond

Slough of Despond - a mental state characterized by a pessimistic sense of inadequacy and a despondent lack of activity

Just right now my life seems more drab than fab. OK - so my Scrabulous game has improved a little but I still failed miserably at the Tourney.

Work holds no challenges other than to get the Dymo Printer running again. I’m bored with snagging lists and filing.

I’m spending too much time on EBay feeling regretful about all the pruck I threw out and gave away – pruck that would now be worth small fortunes of cash.

I still take my daily walk but instead of taking pleasure in hedge birds and spring flowers I angst over dog shite, litter and road kill.

I still read blogs and they still bring me pleasure but, compared to me, other bloggers have passion, opinions, are funny, get nominated for awards, go places, get book deals – while I can barely be bothered to put digit to keyboard.

But there’s one thing I know, because I have experienced it time and time again, and it is this – feelings of despondency pass and are replaced by the return of happiness, contentment and purpose. Here’s hoping.

Cassoulet & Turnip Soup

...and, as always, two kinds of cake.

The cassoulet recipe was adapted (roughly) from Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's meat book. It was OK. I thought it was a bit stodgy but it got ate anyway. Swisser had three helpings. She's such a starvo.* The turnip soup was actually quite tasty although Hannah refused to lip it. The cake was scrumptious as always. At Mikey's request I made Nigella's Cloud Cake. It was intensely chocolatey and I think cried out for vanilla ice cream. I'll know for again. Bert asked for the Sicilian Orange and Almond Cake I'd previously made at Christmas and it was delicious too.

Apart from a brief shopping trip to Portglenone and a foray around the Mission (Im)possible charity shop (I got two patchwork quilts for fifty pee each) I spent the entire day cooking and baking. Everyone else went for a walk in the woods, pushed trees over and ruined their good shoes while Bonnie and I slaved over a hot stove.

As usual I nearly cut my finger off on one of Bert's over-sharpened knives.

Bert! Why do you have to make these knives so sharp. They're only for cutting vegetables not for performing open heart surgery.

He says,

All professional chefs say that you'll never cut yourself with a sharp knife only with a blunt one.

I say,

Bollocks. That wasn't a blunt knife I cut myself with. You could shave your legs with that bloody knife.

Mikey says,

Put cayenne pepper on it. That will dry up the bleeding. I used to work in an Indian restaurant and that's what they did there.

Maybe our cayenne has lost its kick because it didn't really work.

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* I can call Swisser a starvo because she says she never reads my blog. She says they can't get it in the university.

When I told Ploppy about my earthquake experience he poo-pooed it. But he said that Swisser would have an earthquake story too. Only hers would be more dramatic. Pictures would fall off the walls and her bed would rock. Sure enough she's only in the door and she's telling me about how she never got a wink of sleep the night before.

What do you think caused that then?

The bed was rocking all over the place and the walls were shaking. It must have been the earthquake!

But the earthquake was Wednesday.

I know. It must have been aftershocks.

Hard to believe that this woman is applying for a professorship.

Last Minute Proposal

Well maybe not exactly the last minute but at around ten to midnight last night I asked Bert to marry me and he said yes. I wonder how he'll wriggle out of this one?

Creak

I got into housework last night. It all started when a bottle of washing up liquid spilled over my Lidls shopping and I had to wash my groceries. Funny how washing and drying a packet of pastrami can put you in the cleaning mood.

Also, I'm finished with the Wee Scrabulous Tourney so have more time for domestic matters. It wasn't as total a humiliation as I'd expected for I did manage to win one game - and against the formidable Lady Cassandra no less. 

So with all the washing of groceries and hoovering of floors I found myself wide awake way beyond my usual sleepy-time. I'm sitting up in bed reading the Sunday papers (and not even last Sunday's - I'm behind with everything) and I look at the clock and it's nearly one and I think, time you had the light off missus. Then there was this strange, brief, creaking, achey noise like nothing I'd ever heard before. I put it out of my mind, went to sleep and dreamed I was a serial killer.

In the dream I kept disposing of the bodies in the water beside Dinsmore's factory. I was hefting the seventh or eighth one in when I thought to myself, 

Oh God! I am a serial killer. 

The corpses were nobody I knew. Just middle-aged men. Just men who'd annoyed me in some way. Earthquakes are very unsettling.

The Queen of the Mournes

That would be Rosie. Me? I'm the Hag of the Mournes.

Bert, Rosie and I had a great time staying at Hanna's Close. We stayed in the Carthouse where, by coincidence , Zoe and Dave had stayed previously. It was Zoe recommended Hanna's Close to us. Naturally it's dog-friendly.

One of the best things about the cottage was the open fire.

It had all the traditional accoutrements for hanging cooking utensils on and I must be one of the few bloggers that remembers these being used.

When I was very little, sometime in the late 50s, my Granny did all her cooking like that. I remember the big black swinging pan where she fried chops and made the traditional Irish breakfast of home-cured bacon, freshly laid eggs and her own soda bread. Glorious. She had a big black pot for boiling spuds and a swinging griddle for soda bread. She must have found it very strange when she moved to the council house in Whelan's Brae.

Bert and I did our small bit of cooking on the electric cooker. We didn't think The Man would have been too impressed if we'd blackened all his pots and pans.

We're Off!

It's been a hectic few days what with the Scrabulous tourney, work and life in general. Tonight I'm trying to finish off a few games and getting packed for our weekend in the Mournes. Tomorrow will be a half day at work then off to Hanna's Close for six o'clock. This will be the first time Bert and I have got a bit of time away together for well over a year. That's what happens when you have a frail and dependent parent at home. And did I mention cantankerous. She's all that too.

Pearlie will be going to respite care for a fortnight so the break continues even after we get back. Although when she's in respite Bert still continues to visit with her on alternate nights. On her first spell in the care home he went in every night and I had to explain to him that the respite was for him too.

She's difficult. Nothing pleases her. And it's not just her age because she was always like that. She does not seem to have the capacity to feel happiness or joy. Bert is incredibly patient with her and he deserves some time off.

Hannah will be looking after Bonnie, Paddy and the calves. Rosie is coming with us. She's the oldest of the dogs and won't be having many more holidays.

The wee scrabulous tourney? I expect to lose all nine of my games. It will be humiliating but sure a bit of humiliation is good for the soul. Isn't it?

You Wouldn't Get A Minute...

...between having to go to work, attending 18th birthday parties, keeping Pearlie up in clean vests and playing in the Wee Scrabulous Tourney.

So you'll excuse us if blogging gets a bit thin on the ground.

Role Models

I’m very afraid that Bert is turning into an eccentric hermit. He feels panicky if he has to venture further than Clint’s place. He uses the excuse that he’s ‘not tidy’ and I think that’s a pity because if a body is going to be an eccentric hermit, surely one of the joys is dressing just as one pleases. Take, for example, Auntie Fungus’s better half – the boul’ Paddy. He never goes to the barber, never shaves. His hair grows strangely in long straggles and he takes these lengthy tufts and winds them round his head and sticks a ‘kep’ on top of it. Sure bits poke out from underneath the ‘kep’ but this only adds to his air of carefree eccentricity.

Paddy is Bert’s role model -Paddy who, with Bert’s help, has turned a pig house into a desirable residence with partitioned rooms made from salvaged wood, mainly old school desks and snooker tables. Bert said that the patchwork effect was very interesting. The green baize, the ink wells, the desk graffiti – ‘Susan ♥ Trevor’. Bert said it was almost a shame that it all had to be covered up with plasterboard and painted. Bert informed me proudly that each and every room has a door with a letterbox – except for the front door.

I said to Bert, never mind all that, you need a haircut. He says, it’s too cold yet. I said, those wispy bits of hair will never keep you warm. You need a ‘kep’. I fear he’s planning to grow long tufty locks and wrap them round his head like Paddy. My lovely Bert – who could have been a model for Kaffe Fasset knitwear. Where did it all go wrong?

Fabulous Scrabulous

There's more than me just a tad keen on Facebook's Scrabulous application. I'm not as good as it as I'd hoped to be and there are some people who are starting to cheese me off because they keep whupping my ass at it. I'm sure they must be taking performance enhancement drugs but until we bring in dope testing for Scrabulous we'll never know.

I propose a tournament and these are the players I'm proposing in no particular order other than that they spring to my gin-sodden mind.

Stray Taoist
The Lady Cassandra
Miss Eleanor
Handsome Ed
Hails
Hootchin' Hannah
Zoe
Nelly
Katkin
Ganching

I nominate Ed to seed the order of play for no reason other than he is a fair-minded chap not related to any of the other contestants.

Akshually to make a proper tournament we could do with 6 more players. Volunteers, suggestions, anyone?

Mothers and Daughters

It was Pearlie's birthday yesterday and it was more than a little bit stressful. Hannah cooked a lovely meal, presents were shopped for, gifts carefully chosen and her favourite people invited. Did Pearlie enjoy it? Not so you'd notice. She never ate one bite of her meal. Refused ice cream in a manner that suggested she suspected I'd laced it with arsenic and, while the rest of us were trying to derive some sort of enjoyment from our food, turned to her niece and said in her most pathetic, whiniest voice,

Mergeret - will ye make me a wee bowl of panada with white bread and warm milk and a wee taste of sugar?

I said,

But we don't have any white bread.

She turned to me and snarled,

I don't know what kind of a hoose it is with no white bread!

Anyways Mergeret got the bread from Pearlie's kitchen and made her the slop and she spooned sugar over it and ate it with affected relish.

Well I won't go into details but it appeared that Pearlie was in no mood for birthdays and it all ended in tears. I did my best to keep my patience but ended up falling to the gin. And worser again ate two extra dishes of ice cream. This gin'll have to stop for it's evident it leads to harder stuff.

Now last week Matty was in despair about her best friend forgetting to take her to the chapel. Never mind it was the coldest Sunday in the world and her friend probably assumed she wouldn't want to go. Matty says to me,

I'm not going to go begging round the country for a lift to the chapel!

I spent a while last week talking her round, trying to get her to see the thing from the other person's point of view. Today I'm in despair about my relationship with Pearlie and Matty does the same job for me. And it worked. I feel much better.

That's mothers and daughters for you. Now mothers and sons - that's a whole different story.

The Truth About Cats and Dogs

chumz, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

With Prejudice

I'm very often put off by careless spelling. That's not to say that I don't make the odd mistake myself but I do try to get it right.

Which is why, when I'm perusing Ebay, I would never bid on any item where the seller's description was full of spelling errors. After all, if they can't be bothered to get that right, the item they're selling is bound to be grubby, smelly, fraudulently described and poorly packed.

I'm not put off by any misspellings in greengrocers as that is a traditional practice. But you'll not sell me any 'sausidges' or 'sirlions' in the butchers because I'll know your meat is fly-blown and badly hung.

However if you're a blogger and you leave a comment on my blog that contains a wee typo you will be totally forgiven. Because everybody knows that typos happen when your fingers are racing over the keyboard to put that pithy comment down before it escapes you.

In the restaurant if there's a bit of a blooper on the board advertising Dish of the Day I'll forgive that because the chalker's English is going to be way better than my command of Polish or Lithuanian. And the service will totally make up for it. But I'll not stand for spelling mistakes in the tea shop. Appel Tart? I don't think so!  

Bonnie Speaks Out

Bonnie got tagged by Hails's super-intelligent cat Kat! And being a good, dutiful and obedient dog she has composed the following for me to copy to Nelly's Garden.

First - the rules

1. link to the person who tagged you.

2. post the rules on your blog.

3. share six non-important things/ habits/ quirks about yourself

4. tag at least 3 mammals at the end of the post and link to their blog

5. let each person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog

Bonnie's post

I don't actually have a blog which is why I'm using Nelly's. I do have a Bebo page but I hardly ever look at it as Bebo's a bit naff. Nelly uses it to hunt out recent photographs of her old boyfriends on their children's Bebo pages. But hey! that's one of Nelly's quirks, not mine. She'll bloody kill me for telling youse about that Bebo stuff.

1. They don't know what age I am. See they 'rescued' me about 15 months ago when I was on the scunge with this Labrador. Truth is they know damn all about me. They'd heard I was ill-treated and sure I wasn't in the best of shape. But then who'd be in great shape if they weren't getting enough grub? Nelly wasn't that keen on keeping me at the start but I could tell she liked me. I took a bit of a notion of her too so I did that thing us dogs do on soft people like her. I just kept looking at her with big, sad and googly eyes and had her by the third day.

2. Unlike those other two eedjit dogs I don't do the scunging thing any more. Don't get me wrong - I like a bit of a run out as much as the next dog - but knowing my luck somebody would nab me and keep me just like Nelly did and maybe next time I wouldn't like my dognapper so much. Another thing about not doing scunging is that when the other two get away Nelly says things to me like, "At least we've got one good dog," and gives me lots of extra attention. I like attention. Anyway Nelly takes me out every single time she goes for a walk. Them other two have to take turns.

3. I'm a bit of a cat fan. Their cat is a total arse but you couldn't help but love it. Even Bert likes it and he totally hates cats. He calls it His Wee Titty.

4. I'm a bit affronted to be telling you this but I'm not actually that brave. People associate us German Shepherds with aggression and security and fearlessness. But strange dogs frighten me. What I really hate are those dogs that slippytit out of gateways and start attacking me when I'm out walking with Nells. I actually get scared going past gateways and walk as far away from them as I can.

5. I like pigs. But they don't like me. I like chasing them even if they just run round in boring circles. Nelly laughs and says, "If Clint could see her running the bacon off them!"

6. Before I get into a van or car I need to run around it once or twice to make sure that there are no enemies hiding underneath it. I don't know what I'd actually do if there was an enemy lurking there. S'pose I'd just bark a lot and hope somebody'd come and poke at them with a sharp stick.

I'm tagging

Gracie

Paddy

Tycho

Although I don't think Tycho will oblige. I hear his master never lets anybody near his oul blog. Then Tycho is a pedigree and probably too snobby to mix with us hoi-polloi. And of course he's awfully young. Probably doesn't even know about blogging yet. Or Bebo.

Minger

Ever wondered why farmers are a bit bogging? Well I've been a farmer for about 20 hours now and already I've got that dirty, crusty thing going on. The sleeves of my coat are covered with milk powder and calf slobber. I'll have to decide if it is going to become my farmer coat or if it goes back to being my good second best coat.

I've decided. New spring coat needed. That oul farmer coat was getting to be too big for me anyway.

Nineteen

Courtesy of Ronni & Baboon Pirates.

I thought 7 of these were crap. Five were OK, six were pretty good and American History X was the best of the lot.

One or two of the others I've seen bits of but not watched all the way through. Forrest Gump is one of those. The most recent film I watched was the 4o year old virgin one. It was shite. Waterworld was shite too.

Rocky Horror Picture Show
Grease
Pirates of the Caribbean
Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Man's Chest
Boondock Saints
Fight Club
Starsky and Hutch
Neverending Story
Blazing Saddles
Universal Soldier
Lemony Snicket: A Series Of Unfortunate Events
Along Came Polly
Deep Impact
King Pin
Never Been Kissed
Meet The Parents
Meet the Fockers
Eight Crazy Nights
Joe Dirt
King Kong (1933)
King Kong (1976)
King Kong (2005)

Total so far: 4

A Cinderella Story
The Terminal
The Lizzie McGuire Movie
Passport to Paris
Dumb & Dumber
Dumber & Dumberer (filmed right here in May-Retta!)
Final Destination
Final Destination 2
Final Destination 3
Halloween
The Ring
The Ring 2
Surviving X-Mas
Flubber

Total so far: 5

Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle
Practical Magic
Chicago
Ghost Ship
From Hell
Hellboy
Secret Window
I Am Sam
The Whole Nine Yards
The Whole Ten Yards

Total so far: 5

The Day After Tomorrow
Child’s Play
Seed of Chucky
Bride of Chucky
Ten Things I Hate About You
Just Married
Gothika
Nightmare on Elm Street
Sixteen Candles
Remember the Titans
Coach Carter
The Grudge
The Grudge 2
The Mask
Son Of The Mask

Total so far: 5

Bad Boys
Bad Boys 2
Joy Ride
Lucky Number Slevin
Ocean’s Eleven
Ocean’s Twelve
Bourne Identity
Bourne Supremacy
Lone Star
Bedazzled--the 60s version
Predator
Predator II
The Fog
Ice Age
Ice Age 2: The Meltdown
Curious George

Total so far: 5

Independence Day
Cujo
A Bronx Tale
Darkness Falls
Christine
ET
Children of the Corn
My Boss’s Daughter
Maid in Manhattan
War of the Worlds (1953)
War of the Worlds (2005)
Rush Hour
Rush Hour 2

Total so far: 8

Best Bet
How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days
She’s All That
Calendar Girls
Sideways
Mars Attacks!
Event Horizon
Ever After
The Wizard of Oz
Forrest Gump
Big Trouble in Little China
The Terminator
The Terminator 2
The Terminator 3

Total so far: 8

X-Men
X-2
X-3
Spider-Man
Spider-Man 2
Sky High
Jeepers Creepers
Jeepers Creepers 2
Catch Me If You Can
The Little Mermaid
Freaky Friday
Reign of Fire
The Skulls
Cruel Intentions
Cruel Intentions 2
The Hot Chick
Shrek
Shrek 2
Shrek 3

Total so far: 9

Swimfan
Miracle on 34th Street
Old School
The Notebook
K-PAX
Krippendorf’s Tribe
A Walk to Remember
Ice Castles
Boogeyman
The 40-Year-Old Virgin

Total so far: 11

Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring
Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers
Lord of the Rings: Return Of the King
Raiders of the Lost Ark
Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom
Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade

Total so far: 11

Baseketball
Hostel
Waiting for Guffman
House of 1000 Corpses
Devil’s Rejects
Elf
Highlander
Mothman Prophecies
American History X
Three

Total so far: 13

The Jacket
Kung Fu Hustle
Shaolin Soccer
Night Watch
Monsters, Inc.
Titanic
Monty Python and the Holy Grail
Shaun Of the Dead
Willard

Total so far: 15

High Tension
Club Dread
Hulk
Dawn Of the Dead
Hook
Chronicles Of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe
28 days later
Orgazmo
Phantasm
Waterworld

Total so far: 17

Kill Bill, Volume 1
Kill Bill, Volume 2
Mortal Kombat
Wolf Creek
Kingdom of Heaven
The Hills Have Eyes
I Spit on Your Grave, AKA The Day of the Woman
The Last House on the Left
Re-Animator
Army of Darkness

Total so far: 17

Star Wars: Episode IV - A New Hope
Star Wars: Episode V - The Empire Strikes Back
Star Wars: Episode VI - Return of the Jedi
Star Wars: Episode I - The Phantom Menace
Star Wars: Episode II - Attack of the Clones
Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith
Ewoks: Caravan Of Courage, AKA The Ewok Adventure
Ewoks: The Battle For Endor

Total so far: 18

The Matrix
The Matrix Reloaded
The Matrix Revolutions
Animatrix
Evil Dead
Evil Dead 2
Team America: World Police
Red Dragon
Silence of the Lambs
Hannibal

TOTAL 19

D.I.Y.

Clint has man flu. He came into the kitchen this morning to get warm water for the calves and I said,

I thought you’d been up already or I would have fed them.

I wish I’d known that for it was hard rolling out of bed this morning. I’m dying!

What’s up with you?

I ache all over. I feel terrible.

Well don’t worry. I’ll do the calves at lunchtime and I’ll get them tomorrow morning as well.

Sure I’ll have to get up anyway to see to the geese.

But you won’t have to go off your own yard. I’ll do the calves tomorrow.

That would be great. I could do with a morning off.

Meanwhile Bert is lying softly snoring in his cosy warm bed.

He gets up at around eleven o’clock.

Poor Clint is sick again. He’s always poorly, isn’t he?

Huh! Little wonder for sure isn’t he always standing about in some cold hole!

What do you mean? What’s he been at?

Take yesterday – one of the coldest days in the world. He’s standing foundering in an open-sided shed painting oul hen-houses. What need did he have to be at that!

Meanwhile you’re sensibly sitting in front of a warm stove playing your clarinet and as warm and toasty as can be.

Exactly!

But Clint always has to be at something doesn’t he?

Aye. Oul eedjit. D’ye know what Peter says Clint’s version of DIY is?

No. What is it?

Clint’s idea of DIY is Done It Yesterday!

Wouldn’t you wonder what drives him on?

Shock! Horror!

In the news. It's bloody cold. Snow is falling. Winds are blowing. In February! Who'd a thought it?

God! We're soft as shite these days. It's only weather.