A Funeral

Over the years I’ve been to many funerals. Young people, old people, people my own age, murdered people and people who died from drug overdoses or the ravages of alcoholism. Once, in our local chapel, during the funeral service for an old lady, one of her relatives, a middle-aged man, collapsed and died during the proceedings. A few days later we were all at his funeral.

One of the hardest funerals I ever attended was that of my own father three years ago. That was harsh but it was very beautiful too.

Today I had the privilege of attending the funeral of one of my father’s oldest friends. He and my father had married sisters and they’d all been going about together since they were in their twenties.

It was a very sad day for my aunt and my cousins. But for the rest of the huge congregation the service was an inspiration. There is something very fine about celebrating the life of a man, or woman, who has lived well into their eighties and lived in an exemplary fashion, loved and respected by their family, their friends and all who knew them.

Have I Too Much Time On My Hands?

Perhaps I have as I find myself replying to emails that start like this -


--- On Thu, 10/7/08, ismael_hassan03 Gazeta.pl wrote:
From: ismael_hassan03 Gazeta.pl
Subject: I NEED YOUR URGENT ASSISTANCE.
To:
Date: Thursday, 10 July, 2008, 2:56 PM

Dear Friend,

I am Ismael Hassan from Burkina faso.I know that this mail will come to you as a surprise as we have never met before, but need not to worry as I am using the only secured and confidential medium available to seek for your foreign assistance in a business. I am contacting you independently of my investigation and no one is informed of this communication............

Dear Ismael

I couldn't be less surprised that you have contacted me as I receive around 10 emails per week inviting me to help with unclaimed funds lying around in Burkina Faso banks.

You say you need my urgent assistance? I suggest that what you really need is a kick up your hole.

Nelly

Long Runs The Fox

Remember how Bert went out fox-hunting on Saturday night? He stalked Foxy, got a shot at him (it was a him) and thought he'd missed. Last he saw of the Ginger Bastard was him disappearing over a hill.

Last night we both went out but we didn't see anything. We just took a look at a deserted hole where Bert had seen cubs a month or so ago and where most of the chickens from The Massacre ended up.

He went out again tonight.


Seems he got Foxy after all. After stalking him and taking a shot Foxy took to the beaters over the hill. Bert assumed he'd got away.

By the lies of him it looks like he keeled over stone dead as he ran. Took the bullet in the lung. He was a handsome beast, tho' battle ravaged with ripped ears. He was well nourished with a belly full of frogs.

A battle won for Nellybert. The war goes on.

Fox Hunt

Bert nearly got Foxy last night.

There Bert was, crawling on his belly through nettles and ditches and there was Foxy strolling nonchalantly about, occasionally jumping in the air and pouncing on a frog. Bert had her in his sights and he took aim.

Bert nearly got Foxy last night.

But nearly isn't good enough. Sigh.

Then to make matters worse he strolled home, rifle slung over his shoulder to be met by Swisser arriving in the yard. She was overcome by lust at his gunslinger image. Said he reminded her of whatshisname out of all those spaghetti westerns - a scruffy gunman 'rotten to the core' and now she's decided that's how he should outfit himself for our wedding.

Sigh.

Daily Pearlie Report: Day Whatever

6:30pm: Nelly in bad books. Refused to exercise Pearlie's leg by pumping it up and down. Said, sarcastically, "I'll have to have a word with these physiotherapists".

6:45pm: Let off leg-pumping duties as leg has 'gone cold' and will 'likely have to come off.'

6:50pm: In good books. Filled hot-water bottle and tenderly placed it under condemned and soon to be amputated freezing leg.

7:15pm: Got gold star after rushing in to room bearing small bowl of mashed potatoes and declaring, "You have me that distressed with all that talk about your leg coming off that I've gone and put too much butter in your potatoes!"

And ,after saying her plate 'too full' , (there's always something wrong) she scoffed the lot. Apparently there's no such thing as 'too much butter'.

Chicken Fat

I've made a couple of changes to my sidebar. Chickens are down to four since Foxy grabbed the last of the game roosters. It was that one called The One That Everybody Hates. Guess Foxy didn't hate him. Since then Plum and the remaining three ex-battery girls have been roaming free. It's not as easy for the Vulpine Fucker to grab them when they're running loose.

Meanwhile Bert has been getting the hen run ready for 16 Buff Sussex hens. We're going to try electric fencing to see if we can keep the Ginger Bastard out.

The other change is the removal of the Weight Report. I'm a tad over eleven stone now and I've been there for months on end. It's a year since I decided to get some tonnage off and it's boring now. I don't want to be skinny for I like my face too much. I can hop over and nip under barbed wire fences, climb five bar gates like a teenager, run up mountains and other stuff youse young ones wouldn't believe an old girlie could do. I fit in 14-16 clothes and I feel all right. This diet is officially over.

Dream Holiday

A friend of mine who is a diesel mechanic decided to have a holiday in the sun. He'd never been on a package holiday before but after a long damp winter lying under lorries in a cold shed he thought he deserved a break.

About a week before he went he had a dream.

I dreamt I was on a beautiful tropical beach. The sun was beating down and a balmy breeze was riffling the air. The sand was soft and white and the beach was fringed with coconut trees. The sea was dark turquoise. There were a few other people around but not too many. I was in my bathing trunks and the sun was warming my skin. In front of me was a trestle table and on it was a big old engine that I was stripping down. I breathed a deep sigh of contentment and thought to myself, 'Holidays are great. I should do this every year from now on.' 

Facebookin'

I owe Dan Tobin of Surgical Strikes for inspiring this post. In case you’re wondering he’s the only person I ever begged to be Facebook friends with me that actually gave in. What I like about Dan, apart from his awesome sense of humour, spot-on writing skills and innate decency, is his compassionate, kindly heart.

I have 60 Facebook friends. There are 24 among them that I’ve never met in real life. Thirteen of that 24 are blogfriends.

I suspect that at least two of the 24 I’ve never met don’t actually exist.

I’ve played Scrabulous with 16 of my Facebook friends.

Thirteen of my Facebook friends are also my Flickr contacts.

Eight of my Facebook friends are related to me by blood. Three more are in my extended family. One of the three is my ex-husband. All my children are my Facebook friends and two of my six siblings.

I’ve only worked with two of my Facebook friends although I am friends with my current boss’s wife. None of my former school or college friends are Facebook friends with me. Boo hoo! But one previous tutor is.

I’ve known 14 of my Facebook friends for over 20 years. Six of the 14 are my children, siblings and ex-hubby. Two others I found through Facebook after having been out of touch for more than 20 years.

I’ve babysat seven of my Facebook friends. This number doesn’t include my three daughters but it does include one sibling.

Nineteen of my Facebook friends have slept in my house. Of those seven have shared my bed. Six platonically as only one of those was married to me. None of my former lovers are my Facebook friends. Neither is my present beloved.

I’ve stayed with fifteen of my Facebook friends and shared a meal with 27 of them. I’ve had drinks or coffee with eight of the rest. I’ve taken drugs with 18 of my Facebook friends but it’s been a good while since that happened. I’m fairly sure some of them might still be up for it.

Butterfly Buns

Saturday Evening

NELLY: The Van and Truck Man will be here soon. D’ye want anything?

PEARLIE: Aye. Get me a wee cherry cake.

NELLY: Righty-o. A cherry cake.

PEARLIE: No. I dinnae want cherry cake. Get me a ween of thon wee butterfly buns.

NELLY: Butterfly buns. OK.

PEARLIE: D’ye know what they are?

NELLY: Aye. I do.

PEARLIE: They’re wee buns with the top cut off and cut into two and stuck into butter icing like two wee butterfly wings.

NELLY: Aye. I know the kind you mean. My mother used to make them.

Sunday Afternoon

PEARLIE: I’ll just take a cup of tay and a wee bun.

NELLY: One of your butterfly buns?

PEARLIE: Aye.

Five minutes later

PEARLIE: And can you bring me a tayspoon?

NELLY: OK. (Returns with spoon and gives to Pearlie)

PEARLIE: And a knife.

NELLY: Righty-o. (Returns with knife and reaches to Pearlie) Don’t be telling me you want a fork next!

PEARLIE: No. I want you to cut the top of that wee bun.

NELLY: (Starts to cut top of butterfly bun) I thought you especially wanted butterfly buns?

PEARLIE: I did. That’s not enough. Cut out all the butter icing. I dinnae like butter icing.

NELLY: (Doing it and giving top of butterfly bun to eagerly waiting border collie) But you specifically asked for this sort of bun.

PEARLIE: Aye. I like the plain part of the bun but I dinnae like that oul butter icing.

Nelly leaves room miming neck-wringing gestures.

A Lazy Sheep

The Scene: A kitchen in County Antrim. A clock on the wall shows the time at twenty past ten. A woman stands at the sink washing dishes. A man enters the kitchen. He is dishevelled and is scratching his head.

Bert: Boys! Is that the time. I thought it was only about nine!

Woman Who Speaks In Proverbs: He that lies long abed, his estate feels it.

Bert: You don’t say. Is there any porridge going?

Woman Who Speaks In Proverbs: He that gapes until he be fed, well may he gape until he be dead.

Bert: Wee cup of coffee then? Ah well. Sure I’ll make it myself. Thank God it’s Sunday anyways.

Woman Who Speaks In Proverbs: Every day is holiday with sluggards.

Bert: A man’s entitled to a bit of a lie-in on a Sunday, is he not?

Woman Who Speaks In Proverbs: Idle folk lack no excuses.

Bert: Sure I have plenty to do tomorrow. No harm in a wee rest today.

Woman Who Speaks In Proverbs: For the diligent the week has seven todays, for the slothful seven tomorrows.

Bert: You sure know some fancy words.

Woman Who Speaks In Proverbs: Sluggards are never great scholars.

Bert: Change the record, why don’t you? Tell me this – d’ye think I should get this hair cut soon? It’s starting to annoy me.

Woman Who Speaks In Proverbs: A lazy sheep thinks its wool heavy.

Weddywumps

Sonny Boy, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

I have the only Google entry for weddywumps!

I like it very much!

Congratulations

News Feed

Declan Liddy and Laura Kenny are engaged.

We've known Miss K since she was a teeny-tiny baby. And she was a teeny-tiny one - born just after six months gestation. I remember knitting her two teeny-tiny doll-sized jumpers which swamped her. But she grew into a fine, healthy and clever young woman who loved horses, dogs, Africa, her friends and her family. Mr L is a very lucky fellow.

The Chronicles of Bertie: Early Spring 1967

The following excerpts are taken from the exercise book entitled My News written by Bert in 1967 and lovingly preserved (thank you Pearlie) by his loving mum this past 41 years. Bert has given permission for me to reproduce his writings.

6^th February – 7^th March, 1967

Thursday 6^th February, 1967

I have a cup. It has a picture of rabbits on it. I take my tea out of it. I like it very much.

Tuesday 31^st January, 1967

My Daddy had a little calf on Thursday night. I like it. It is black and white. I like it. I stroke it and it licks me.

Tuesday 7^th February, 1967

I have a Johnny seven. I like it very much. It is five pound. It is very big. There are seven guns in one.

Thursday 8^th February, 1967

I have a toy crane. I like it very much. I lift things with it. It is made of plastic. I lift bits of paper.

Tuesday 14^th February, 1967

I have five toy aeroplanes. I like them very much. They come apart. I make them fight.

Wednesday 22^nd February, 1967

My Daddy had a cow that calved on Monday. It is in a Gallagher’s box. I like it very much. It is black and white. My Daddy gives it milk.

Tuesday 27^th February, 1967

My Mum got an electric cooker. The colour is creamy. It has an oven in it and a little place for warming plates in it. I like it very much.

Thursday 2^nd March, 1967

I have a toy tank and it fires caps and goes by battery. I like it very much. It is painted ginger and green and it is a British. It has caterpillar wheels.

Tuesday 7^th March, 1967

My Mum baked some pancakes and Dad brought some up to me and I liked them very much. I got one for my lunch and one this morning. I like them when they are warm.

9^th March – 3^rd May, 1967

9^th March – another black and white calf is born. Once again it goes into Gallagher’s box. Bertie reports that he ‘likes it very much.’

20^th March – Bertie is looking forward to his Easter holiday staying with Aunt Maggie in Whappstown. He writes that he ‘likes it very much up there’.

5^th April – Went to the town. Got another toy aeroplane (spoiled or what) He writes that he ‘likes going to the town very much.’

6^th April – A red and white cow broke loose. The vet came and gave her some ‘medson’.

7^th April – He bought three motors and three aeroplanes. His friend Tommy Taylor bought four aeroplanes but didn’t bring them to school. Bertie said, of his haul, that he ‘liked them’.

10^th April – There was yet more bother with cows. Bertie’s Dad had to sit up with one that was going to calve. Owing to the uproar Bertie did not go to bed until about 11 o’clock.

11^th April – Bertie writes that the cow produced a black and white calf and that he ‘liked it.’

12^th April – Bertie’s mum’s goose hatched an egg. Bertie knows that baby geese are called goslings but he and his mum prefer to call them ‘weddywumps’. He is looking forward to lots more weddywumps. He says they are nice fluffy wee things. We must assume that he ‘likes them very much’ for he doesn’t say.

17^th April – There is another black and white calf born and Bertie ‘likes’ it. Better still his friend Clint comes to play and they have ‘great fun.’

18^th April – Uncle Bobby brings Cousin Willie down and ‘great fun’ ensues.

25^th April – Four more weddywumps are hatched. Bertie ‘likes them’.

26^th April – A barn is dismantled as it was ‘falling to bits.’

3^rd May – Teacher won’t let Bertie say weddywumps any more so he reports four more ‘gozlings’. They are yellow and one died.

Ooops!

Oh my!

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/northern_ireland/7472490.stm

This puts my little parking skirmishes into perspective. 

Looking Good

I wouldn't let a little thing like a torrential downpour stop me from going on my daily walk. It's just a matter of dressing properly.


Bert said, "If you don't pull in that outfit I'll eat my hat!"

But it wasn't just me looking hot. I says to Bert,

"You must see this picture. You look just like Prince Charles. That's if he'd been on a bender for two days."

Bert says,

"Delete that."

Hannah says,

"No. Get it on the blog!"

Roses Round The Door

Bertie Mill's Dublin Bay, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Kells, despite only being a small village, boasts two garden centres. This is not as widely known as it ought to be for there are quite a few people who have only heard of one of these.

I patronise both and this is my opinion -

If you want a bite to eat, or a pair of secateurs, perhaps some artificial flowers or maybe a draught excluder in the form of an elongated border collie then go to the one with the big, big sign.

However if you want something to grow in your garden be it a climbing rose, summer bedding, perennials or shrubs and you want it to be of excellent quality, well grown and affordably priced then go to the Kells Garden Centre, the one on the Kilgad Road.

Yay!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Mel's got a blog!

Q&A

Meme on loan from Grannymar

Only one word can be used in your answer and it can NOT be used twice.

1. Where is your cell phone? Bedroom

2. Your significant other? Whistling

3. Your hair? White

4. Your mother? Home

5. Your father? Dead

6. Your favourite time of day? Morning

7. Your dream last night? Confused

8. Your favourite drink? Coffee

9. Your dream goal? Grandchildren

10. The room you’re in? Kitchen

11. Your ex? English

12. Your fear? Fire

13. Where do you want to be in 6 years? Garden

14. What you are not? Young

15. Your Favourite meal? Breakfast

16. One of your wish list items? Health

17. The last thing you did? Hugged

18. Where you grew up? Drumkeeran

19. What are you wearing? Sleepwear

20. Your TV is? Off

21. Your pets? Dogs

22. Your computer? Table

23. Your life? Busy

24. Your mood? Overhung

25. Missing someone? Katy

26. Your car? Battered

27. Something you’re not wearing? Shoes

28. Favourite store? Charity

29. Your summer? Light

30. Your favourite colour? Red

31. When is the last time you laughed? Ten

32. When is the last time you cried? Thursday

33. Your health? Robust

34. Your children? Three

35. Your future? Hopeful

36. Your beliefs? Many

37. Young or old? Old

38. Your image? Ordinary

39. Your appearance? Ruddy

40. Would you live your life over again knowing what you know? Yes

Feeling Fruity

Pearlie: D'ye have any fruit?

Nelly: Yeah. Sure do. I've just been to Lidl's stocking up. What do you want? Grapes?

Pearlie: No. I dinnae like grapes.

Nelly: I have pineapple but I think it needs to ripen a bit.

Pearlie: I dinnae like pineapple.

Nelly: What about apples?

Pearlie: Too hard. I cannae eat them.

Nelly: Oranges?

Pearlie: Too soor.

Nelly: Bananas?

Pearlie: Bananas constipate me.

Nelly: Pears?

Pearlie: Dinnae like them.

Nelly: I can't think...

Pearlie: D'ye have strawberries?

Nelly: No.

The Queen of the Dreen

Fave Niece: She wants a whistle.

Nelly: A whistle!

Fave Niece: Aye. A whistle. She says youse don't always hear the bell. I'm to buy her a whistle.

Nelly: You'd better not!

Fave Niece: What will I say to her?

Nelly: You get her a whistle if you want but the first time I see or hear it I'll pitch it to the back of the fire!

I need an early night.

Take That Peter, You Pumpkin-Munching Bastard

Imagine my pique when Bert told me that my pumpkin plants were being munched by a bloody rabbit. Where is Foxy when you need him?

"Do you want me to shoot him?" Bert said. "Most definitely," I replied. "Then we'll eat the little bastard."

So he did - and we did. And he was yummy.

Sunday Morning Conversation

Pearlie: Would ye luck at the amount o’ porridge in that dish! How does she expect me to eat all that oul slap!

Nelly: But that’s only a tiny wee dish…

Pearlie: It is no! And look at the size of that oul spoon. I thocht I toul you to hide all the big spoons from them carers.

Nelly: I did. And that’s only a teaspoon you have there.

Pearlie: It’s a quare big teaspoon.

Nelly: Shall I get you a set of teeny apostle spoons?

Pearlie: Mebbe. And here dear, d’ye see all the wee bit o' tea she’s left me? I toul her the cup was too full. Then she went and threw oot the half of it! That’ll niver do me!

Nelly: We’ll get you more tea. You only have to say the word.

Pearlie: I’ll tek it now. And a bit of toast along way it.

Nelly: Right o! (Leaves room)

Nelly: Your ma’s in a right pernickety mood this morning. Will you get her tea and toast? I’m to sort out her spoons. Again.

Bert: Okay.

Nelly: We’ll be needing medals for this.

Bert: Medals? We’ll be needing heroin.

Mystery Photo

Mystery Photo, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Can anyone translate the writing at the top of this picture?

It was found among Pearlie's papers and photographs. She hasn't a notion where it came from. Does anyone have an idea?

Are those European guys Catholic priests?

Who Cares?

Pearlie has been home for just over a week. I think she is starting to settle down. Really it hasn’t been as hard as I thought although it is still early days.

The toughest part and the part I dreaded most was the Invasion of the Carers. There are a lot of them. They start coming in at around 8am and are in every couple of hours until 7-8pm. They carry out her personal care and make snacks for her. At the beginning I wanted to dispense with the first one for all she does is make Pearlie a cup of tea and some instant porridge. I was advised by the social worker not to do this. She pointed out that there may be times when I’m not available to get Pearlie’s breakfast and it was better to leave the first carer in place.

We’re fortunate that this is a big house so I could corral off one side of it for Pearlie’s use. Her side comprises a big sitting room, now a bed-sitting room, a shower room and a utility room which has been converted to a mini-kitchen. The carers do not enter our kitchen or sitting area. I joke that I have our side electric fenced.

It astonished me how quickly Pearlie converted her room into a cluttery, cushiony, tacky-ornamented living space. I’d envisaged the carers being delighted with all the space in the room but Pearlie, assisted by her favourite niece, soon reduced the floor space with a collection of terribly unnecessary (in my opinion) pieces of furniture. It’s what she likes.

Toileting is a big problem. They say that Pearlie is incontinent. I don’t think she is – not by what I know anyway. To me incontinence is having no control at all. Pearlie’s misfortune is that she still has some control, has no desire to just ‘let go’ and whose problem is not having the mobility to go unassisted. This means that she is dependant on carers helping her but the gap between going at bedtime (around 8pm) and the first set of double carers coming in at around 8 or 9 in the morning is too long. Her care package is not meant to include us helping her but we’ve started to because it is just so pathetic expecting her to ‘hold on’, or not, for such a long time.

The carers are a mixed bunch. They’re mostly lovely but always in such a rush. The ones that come singly tend to be very pleasant. The ‘doubles’, probably because they have a huge work load, are in and out as quickly as they can. They quite often spend more time interacting with each other rather than their client. Of course Pearlie isn’t the easiest person herself. She’s abrasive and complaining and about as far from a sweet lil’ ol’ lady as you could get.

The other day one of the ‘doubles’ was complaining about the price of diesel. Obviously the petrol allowance has not risen while the actual costs have soared. I sympathised. Then she went on to say that she reckoned that in future they wouldn’t be able to get people to do the work and that everything would go back to the old ways. ‘What’s that?’ I enquired. ‘People will just have to go back to looking after their own.’ I was just a little stung but I didn’t pursue it other than to remark that by the time she and I required help it might not be available at all.

I’ve always felt a little bit guilty ever since the early days of the carers coming in. I’d imagine they’d be thinking, ‘Why can’t she do what we’re doing?’ But then I’d remind myself that I work and the help is there so why not avail of it?

As I said before Pearlie can be very difficult. She’s sharp and abrasive and I’m sure that some of her carers don’t care much for her at all. One described her as ‘a character’ and she’s certainly got plenty of that.

Last night after I’d helped her with her toileting stuff and got her settled down as best I could she threw her arms around my neck and said, ‘Thank you so much for everything you’re doing for me’, and I said ‘No need for thanks. It’s a pleasure to help you.’

There will be times I know that I’ll be mad at her. But I hope there will be a lot more times that I feel the way that I felt last night when she hugged my neck.

The Path To Gillies

Northern Ireland, originally uploaded by Hernan Farias.

I found this beautiful picture on Flickr while hunting for Ballymena stuff.

I recognised it immediately as one of my favourite walks. Incidentally it's part of Hannah's regular journey to and from work.

A Visit to the Dingle Peninsula

I had a smashing time in Kerry – literally! The first thing I smashed was the passenger side bumper of my car. This was the result of a little accident I had whilst pulling out from a shop in Limerick. He came from nowhere m’lud. And far too bloody fast and me in serious need of a coffee break. Which is what I’d stopped for. Being a twit I immediately admitted guilt and the wee lad was OK about it. His car was barely marked but as usual he wanted to go through the boring crap of garages and quotes. There’s my bumper hanging off and all his entire car got was a wee scuff on its paintwork. With time to think about it I realise it was as much his fault as mine.

We settled the matter with fifty euro and I hope never to hear from him again. I have reason to believe I might not. Unless he reads this blog.

Then the following day I sat on my camera whilst out on a beach walk with the Kerry Sister and Brandon. I was a wee bit gutted but decided it was a perfect opportunity to get a nicer camera.

It is thirteen years since I stayed west of Dingle and I saw a lot change in the place. The Kerry Sister’s garden was amazing. Last time I’d been there it was a wee patch of flowers, a bit of fuchsia, some crocosmia and a couple of fields of stone and rushes. She’s been busy this last decade. It must have helped that Brandon’s a digger man as well as a dry stone waller. But he’d be the first to admit that most of the work was done by the Kerry Sister herself.

Then there was the extension – which was perfectly in keeping with the charm of the old house. Once again the pair of them had carried out most of the work themselves. It's nice for Brandon to be married to a carpenter. I was very impressed.

Dingle has got very modern. And the tourists have changed. There were hardly any Americans (cannot afford Europe these days) and many fewer Germans although there were lots more Japanese.

Other things have changed too. Once it was only the tourists drove decent cars. The locals moved around in rusty cars or ancient tractors. The fields were full of donkeys. Now there’s hardly a donkey in sight. It’s all SUVs, brand new tractors and ponies. These days the only people driving crappy cars are sure to be tourists – like me.

At least I managed to get to the top of Mt Brandon without breaking anything!

Ting-A-Ling

Pearlie's home and happy with us all dancing attendance on her. She has requested a buzzer. I've suggested a bell.

Father's Day

my parents at home, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/17223773@N00/sets/72157594202041118/

Bonnie Now & Then

Bonnie, originally uploaded by ZMB.

I've just caught this picture on Zoe's Flickr photostream.

And that was Bonnie when she first came to us in October 2006. It's quite a difference isn't it?

Hee Haw!

Matty and I went to the Oldgreen Garden Centre and got ourselves some Neddy ears.

I thought they looked best on Matty. You can see by her beaming smile that she thought so too.

Photographs courtesy of Ganching.

Just Sign On The Dotted Line

Just sign that would you Bert?

(signing) Sure. What is it? Have I won a prize?

Yes. You have. A bride.

Aaaargh!

Don't worry. You don't have to turn up if you don't want to.

You'll probably drag me.

Probably.

Happy Birthday Kylie!

Baby Bert, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Kylie is 40 today! Can you believe it? She don't look a day over 30. It's amazing what a combination of good cheekbones and botox can do for a girl.

In other news, today is also Bert's birthday. He doesn't look a day over 30 either. At least, not in this photograph.

Something To Think About

I picked up an old book recently entitled Modern English Short Stories. The writing may have been modern back in the 1930s but not so much now. I found this story by Mary Webb (Gone To Earth, Precious Bane) very moving and thought-provoking. I keep coming back to it when I feel negative and scared about Pearlie coming to live with us.

Change Coming

How’s Pearlie?

She’s doing not too badly considering.

She’s been in a nursing home for just over a week now but I’m afraid she doesn’t like it. I don’t blame her because the home she’s in is one of those huge chains. Smells like pee and staff seem a bit thin on the ground. There’s damn all going on in there other than folk just sitting around waiting to die.

We decided a couple of weeks ago that Pearlie should come over into the house with us. This is scheduled to take place in 4-5 days and Pearlie says she’s ‘dreading it’.

Mmmm.

Pearlie doesn’t want to stay on her own any longer. She doesn’t want to go into a home and Bert doesn't want it for her either.

I’m not entirely sure why Pearlie is dreading the move across the yard. What she says is that she needs to go to the toilet at around five am and she doesn’t think that Bert and I can manage it. I don’t think we can either. When I suggested that she come to us I thought the only upheaval would be that of the carers in and out all day. But since she’s been in hospital and the home they’ve been getting her up to the toilet at the scrake of dawn – or so she says.

I say to Bert – she needs two people to help her. We cannot do it on our own.

He says – that’s just them and their health and safety regulations.

I say – you were on your own with her when she fell. I’m not going to take that risk.

Pearlie’s not the only one who is worried about what’s in front of her.

Choosing His Words

Where've you been?

Making a total eedjit of myself.

What do you mean?

Well I went up to Philip McCartney's to ask if it was OK to go after those foxes on his ground.

What did he say?

Very little. He wasn't there but his wife was.

Oh.

She comes to the door and she's this red-headed woman and there's all these wee red-headed weans running about the place and I opens my mouth and says to her, 'There's a wee ginger bugger has been harassing my hens', and her jaw dropped and she looks round her at all the weans and I say, 'I mean a fox! A fox has been harassing my hens and is it OK if we go on to your ground to shoot it?'

What did she say then?

She just looked relieved and said, 'Shoot away at it!'

Omelettes Are Currently Off The Menu

Not our Foxy's offspring but of a similar age

Bert found Foxy's lair last night, saw her and her two cubs, got excited, shot at her and missed.

Alber' and friend came round this evening rigged out in full camouflage, armed to the teeth and staked her out. She was probably hiding in a gorse bush laughing her head off at them.

Did I mention she nabbed another hen? Our fences don't deter her. Our traps she easily avoids. She is, at time of writing this, still out there. Alber' and his mate got fed up and took themselves off home.

Is It Wednesday Already?

Ten activities that cut into my blogging time:

1. Reading blogs.
2. Playing Scrabulous.
3. Sifting through the detritus of fifty years of hoarding.*
4. Thinking very hard about the obligations the middle-aged have towards the very old.
5. Going to work.
6. Growing vegetables.
7. Watching 'American Dad'.
8. Fox-hunting.
9. Weeshing....
10. Thinking about blogging.

Twelve 'popular' television programmes I've never watched. This list is inspired by Mr Bolan who famously avoids television.

1. Inspector Morse
2. Desperate Housewives
3. Ballykissangel
4. House
5. Supernanny
6. Buffy The Vampire Slayer
7. Grey's Anatomy
8. Prison Break
9. Scrubs
10. Heroes
11. Nip/Tuck
12. Ballykissangel

I'm not a deliberate avoider of the telly. I just can't be arsed and after a while I get bored with its offerings. I got very bored of 'Lost', bored of 'My Name Is Earl' and terribly bored of 'The Bill' (to which I used to be addicted). Currently I'll watch 'American Dad', 'Dexter', 'Peepshow' and that pillock Jonathan Ross.

*Pearlie

What Foxes Do

We had a visit from Foxy on Saturday morning. I'd let the hens out at about eight o'clock. Bert discovered the carnage at around 2pm. It had probably happened mid-morning. The hen run isn't that close to the house and we'd heard no commotion. The only unusual thing we spotted was Plum (the rooster) running around. In all the weeks that he has been confined with his harem he has never made any attempt to escape. He had all he wanted within the run. But when Foxy entered he managed to make his escape over the wire.

Nine hens were killed. The fox made off with four. She must have made several journeys. The remaining hens took refuge in the house. Five corpses were left semi-buried. Foxy intended to return.

This is where she got in. She dug a hole under the wire.


The remains of Morag, the Scots Dumpy.


This was one of Clint's special hens, reared from an egg.

One of the old battery hens we got from Bert's Aunie Fungus.

We've declared war on Foxy. I'd hoped to conclude this post with a picture of a dead fox but so far no luck. Alber' was to come yesterday and set a trap for her but he didn't make it. She came back last night and picked up four of the dead hens. Today there is one corpse left, Alber's trap is set and there is a bullet with her name on it waiting for her.

NW200

Not everyone in Northern Ireland follows the motorcycle racing but everyone is interested in the North West 200.

I've just caught my cousin Denver Robb interviewed on the local news about the serious crash involving Robert Dunlop. This doesn't look good. Matty and I were only talking about Robert's chances a few hours ago. Please God he will be OK but it doesn't look good.

Update: Robert didn't make it.

Be Nice To Nettles Week

The sooner I get music in my car for my daily trek to work the better because the radio is starting to annoy me. I must be getting really old and fogeyish when even Radio 4 gets on my nerves. It bothers and irks me every single morning.

Take today’s offerings:

The deplorable state of the housing market That's hardly a cheery start to the working day when you work in that very field yourself. But I did surprise myself when I became exasperated enraged at a 'spokesperson' using the word ‘exasperate’ when he meant ‘exacerbate’. Little wonder the industry is in turmoil when that is the best we can do.

Then there was this:

Apparently there is a new film being made of Brideshead Revisited. This was last seen on our screens as a television series in 1981. I don’t know what I was getting up to back then but it certainly wasn’t watching that. I was well aware of the fuss surrounding it, for who couldn’t be. I just read the book. It's not one of his best.

So Radio 4 takes the screenwriter Jeremy Brock to meet with Sir John Mortimer the man responsible for the original adaptation. Aaargh! It was cringey. Mortimer is obviously mightily miffed at the film being made at all and kept saying in his querulous little old man's voice,

Just read the book.

No need for a film.

There had better be homosexuality and religion.

And teddy bears.

And why don't you write something original?

Like Rumpole.

Obviously a change of tune from when he took the gig back in the late seventies. Brock talked to Mortimer in the tones of a concerned and friendly geriatrician and reassured him that the film was replete with homosexual teddy bears. But the whole thing was just awful. I didn’t know who I wanted to shake the hardest – the Radio 4 production team or Sir John.

The only thing that was worth listening to was this story on the use of nettles. Zoë and D were out here the other week gathering nettle shoots for soup that D said was very yummy indeed. Apparently they can also be used as a substitute for spinach. I love spinach so I’d better hurry up as the nettle harvesting season is nearly over.

And would you believe that nettles can also be turned into a linen like cloth? I’d like to see and wear that. It’s not very common as hardly anyone is manufacturing it.I wonder if you can make cloth out of dockens. If so then the farmer who has the ground next to us could become a very wealthy man indeed.

Here’s a recipe for Nettle Soup. I must try it myself before nettles become all tough and hairy like a le…. No! I cannot say that. Ganching would kill me.

Ingredients

½ carrier bag full of nettles, tops or young leaves
55g butter
1 large or 2 medium onions, finely sliced
1 large carrot, chopped (optional)
2 celery sticks, chopped (optional)
1 large garlic clove, crushed (optional)
1 litre good chicken, fish or vegetable stock
a pinch of freshly grated nutmeg (optional)
3 tablespoons cooked rice or 3 rice cakes
2 tablespoons thick cream or crème fraiche
salt and freshly ground black pepper


To Garnish:
A little extra cream or crème fraiche
A small bunch of chives, chopped
A few sprigs of wild chervil or parsley, chopped

Method

Pick over the nettles and wash them thoroughly. Discard only the tougher stalks, as the soup will be liquidised. Melt the butter in a large pan and sweat the onion, plus the carrot, celery and garlic if using, until soft but not brown. Add the stock and pile in the nettles. Bring to the boil and simmer for 5-10 minutes, until the nettles are tender. Season with salt and pepper, and with nutmeg if you wish. Puree the soup in a liquidiser with the cooked rice or rice cakes (you will probably have to do this in 2 batches). Return to a clean pan, stir in the cream and reheat, but do not let it boil. Check the seasoning, then serve, garnishing each bowl with a swirl of cream and a generous sprinkling of chopped herbs.

To serve cold:
An alternative is to serve this soup cold. After liquidising and adding the cream, pour the soup into a bowl and leave to cool, then transfer to the fridge for a couple of hours before serving. For accelerated cooling, fill a large basin or saucepan with ice cubes and water and place the bowl of soup in the iced water. Stir to chill, adding more ice cubes if the first batch melts. Stir well just before serving and ladle the soup out into bowls. Garnish each with a swirl of cream and a sprinkling of chopped chives and wild chervil.

Serves 6

Recipe found on this dear old Radio 4 site

Matty's Creggan Schooldays

This part of Matty's memoir covers her time spent as a pupil of Master Duffy. I grew up hearing these stories and have always thought that Master Duffy was an inspirational teacher. My mother sat and passed the scholarship exam under his tutelage. She would have had her fees paid at grammar school had she taken up her place. Unfortunately her family was not able to afford the extras that this would have entailed. There would not have been enough to spare for school uniforms, books or travel to Ballymena. The wages that she would earn as a factory girl would have been sorely missed too. So it was that she left schooldays behind at 14 and started work in the Old Bleach in Randalstown.

Matty writes:

When I was eight years old I moved into Master Duffy’s classroom. I was a bit worried for he got the name of being very cross.

On my first day I was given a pen to write with. I had never used a pen before and the first thing I did was make a big blot on the page I was using. I was sure I would get slapped but he must have been in a good mood that day for it did not happen.
I spent the rest of my schooldays with Master Duffy and I was not really unhappy. He was a very clever man but he had a strange way of teaching. We did not have a half hour for each subject but two or three hours of the same thing. It was all right if you liked the subject but if you did not it was very boring. My favourite subjects were Geography, English and Art. Talking of art I was classed as a bit of a weirdo. When we had a visitor at the school the Master would ask me to give them a demonstration of me writing with my right hand and drawing with my left. It was all very embarrassing for me. I don’t think he knew how I had been punished and forced to use my right hand when I was a young child. History was not my favourite subject. I would sit and gaze out of the window and daydream and listen to his voice droning on and then he would shout at me,


“How many wives had Henry VIII?”

I could not answer and I would get a hard slap on the hand and it would sting for an hour or more.

When I was about ten years old we moved to a house on the Mill Road. I was very happy there for two of my school friends Betty and Lizzie lived on that road and we had good fun playing together. During the school holidays Mammy would take us for walks through the fields looking for bird’s nests and gathering wild flowers and she could tell us the names of these things which was educational for us.

On Saturdays we had to help Mammy to clean windows with screwed up newspaper, dusting and brushing below beds. My friend Lizzie would help me to do my chores so we would have more time to play.

My sister Sadie and I were the tomboys in our family and our favourite things to do were climbing trees and swinging from rafters and walking across the tops of iron gates. All very dangerous things to do and Mammy would have been very cross with us if she had known what we were doing.


In the Autumn we would gather crab apples and blackberries for Mammy to make jam or jelly. It took about two days to make the jelly as the juice of the boiled fruit had to be strained through a muslin bag but when it was finished it was well worth waiting for.

I spent some very happy times with Lizzie Boyle at the Lough Shore. She was very good at swimming but I was unable to do so. I spent the time in the water paddling and having fun. Sometimes when we were playing at the shore fishermen from other places around would come by. Lizzie knew them all by name. They would call with Lizzie’s mother who made fishing nets. I liked to watch her making them, as she was very skilled at her work. The house they lived in then was very old with cobblestones on the floor. I thought they were very lucky not to need to scrub the floor, as it just needed brushing with a broom.

One day Lizzie’s sister Teresa had gathered some hazel nuts around the shore and she was going to put them in toffee she was making. While she was doing this Lizzie and I came in and she told us she was putting dried peas in the toffee. Because she was older than us we believed her and told her she could eat it herself, as we did not want any of it.

The twenty ninth of June, the feast of Saints Peter and Paul, was a special day for us children for we had a fair on the shores of Lough Neagh at Cranfield. We children looked forward to it for weeks and saved our pennies to spend at the stalls buying sweets, yellowman and ice cream. The older people would walk around the ruins of the old church and visit the Holy Well to say prayers.

Once a year we had a traveling show called ‘Sparks’ which came to Tate’s Hall at Cranfield. They put on a different show every night and adults and children all attended it. We all enjoyed it very much and were sorry to see them leave at the end of two weeks and go to another part of the country.
One winter we had very heavy frost and a lint dam in front of the school was frozen hard. A lot of us were playing on it and the ice cracked. Dan McAteer and myself both went into the water. It was lucky it was not too deep but we were wet and cold. Dan was able to go home and get changed as he lived quite near the school but I had to wait until home time. I must have been a healthy child for it did not do me the slightest bit of harm.

We had a big garden at the back of our school and when the weather was good we spent a lot of time working in it, digging and planting and then weeding. We had a lot of different vegetables growing and a few flowers. We were allowed to take vegetables home when they were ready for harvesting and they were much appreciated by Mammy even though we had a vegetable garden at home. At the beginning of the war our school garden got a write up in the Belfast Telegraph for the way in which every inch of ground had been used for growing extra vegetables. We were all very pleased at getting a picture in the paper of us working in the garden.

One day while we were working in the garden Master Duffy got a message to go home. He told us to continue working and he would be back within the hour. We worked for a little while then we started chasing each other up and down the paths and sometimes accidentally stepping on the vegetable plots. That is what we were doing when Master Duffy arrived back and he was very angry. We were all brought back into the classroom and punished and he told us we were no better than a pack of wild animals.

When war was declared in September 1939 I was thirteen years old. We had heard it on the radio that Sunday morning, as we were getting ready to go to Mass. We had three miles to walk and we were not long left home when it started to rain very heavily and in a few minutes we were drenched to the skin. It was so bad we thought it was the end of the world and we were very frightened.

At school every morning after Master Duffy had read the newspaper he would get out a large map of Europe and throw it over the blackboard. He would then explain how the war was progressing and what country Hitler was taking over. I do not know what the rest of the class thought of it but I was not very interested and could not be bothered listening. I was too young to realize the terrible tragedies that could come from countries at war.

Nineteen forty was the year our class would leave Creggan School. Seven of us, five girls and two boys, were picked to do the Leaving Certificate exam. So we had to study hard and do extra homework in the evenings. The day of the exam arrived and we had to travel by bus to Antrim town where the exam would take place. A few weeks later we got the results and five of us had passed, one of the boys and four of us girls. We were very pleased.

The following week Master Duffy invited us to his house for a celebration tea. He lived alone so we were surprised how nicely everything was set out. There were little sandwiches and cakes cut into fingers. We really enjoyed our tea and afterwards he asked us girls would we wash some dishes for him. We got a bit of a shock when we went into his kitchen and saw the table covered with dirty dishes. It took us ages getting them finished and then we thanked him for tea and went home. We were worried he might think up some more jobs for us to do.

When we went back to school after the summer holidays Master Duffy continued to keep us informed how the war was going and the news was not good.

At the end of nineteen forty I was leaving school to help Mammy look after four of our cousins who were evacuated from Belfast. Although we did not have conscription in Northern Ireland we had food rationing, we needed coupons to buy sweets, we had blackout on all windows and a scarcity of so many things.

We learned how to make do and mend – it was not unusual for girls to get coats made from army blankets – but it became just a way of life.

I was sorry to leave my schooldays behind but strange to say a ceilidh at Creggan School is where I met my husband Seamus when I was nineteen. That was fifty-five years ago and another story to be told.

Ten Things That Make Me Happy

wild cherry blossom, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

1. Hand feeding vine weevil grubs to my favourite hen.

2. Having long eared owls breeding on our farm.

3. Nurturing seedlings in my greenhouse.

4. Getting a really good move on Scrabulous.

5. Spring flowers.

6. Walking.

7. Family and friends.

8. The moment the plane leaves the runway.

9. Going to bed knowing that I don’t have to get up early the next day.

10. Making lists.

I could also add Bert, chocolate, gin, Ebay, barbecues and blogfriends.

Owl Watching

Spotted this evening at around 7pm

Near

Nearer

Nearest

I really love having these owls so close to the house. The adult birds are (wisely) elusive but their young, when you are lucky enough to spot them, just sit there staring back. As they mature, they too, become shy and elusive.

Obviously these pictures were taken using magnification.

English To Spanish To French And Back To English Again

A previous post Babel'd cos I'm exhausted from hossie visiting and Scrabulous.

Miss Hannah obtained a pedacito carried far in the interweb - thought it incorporated a competition and instead of another overdraft, manner too late, which it bought really one of the too expensive books of the atlas of the way of the summary of the indicator. During this time Mrs Moser stumbled through this part of Scrabulous where you can play with the foreigners total and signed for in top for a slowed down play with Cadre. Five movements thereafter, much of head that rasguña as for because simple words as ' mode ' were not allowed, and it discovers that it plays in Italian. I think that Cadre will gain this one.

Incidentally Marco did win our game. The final score was Marco 767, Nelly 307.

Alzheimer's or Intoxication - You Decide

Oh deary me - as if accidentally playing a Scrabulous game in Italian weren't bad enough I think I might have sent a Happy Birthday Ed message to 51 of my 52 Facebook friends. If you're the one I left out please don't be offended.

And seeing as I'm not entirely in my senses I think I'll start the (true) rumour - the one about the certain person who secretly lusts after and adores London's new mayor.

Be Careful Out There

Miss Hannah got a bit carried away on the interweb - thought she was entering a competition and instead discovered, way too late, that she was actually buying one of  Sneak's Digest overpriced Road Atlas books. 

Meanwhile Mrs Moser stumbled across that part of Scrabulous where you can play with total strangers and signed herself up for a leisurely game with Marco. Five moves later, much head scratching as to why simple words like 'diet' weren't permitted, and she discovers that she's playing in Italian. I think Marco is going to win this one.