Friday Again

Since I went on this three day week I have discovered that Monday still feels like Monday - a bit urrrgh. You'll know what I mean.

But Tuesday now feels like Wednesday with less of a long haul feel about it.

Wednesday is my new Friday but with one disadvantage. Previously on Fridays, if some task did not get completed I did not worry overmuch as I knew no one would mind until Monday came around. But now I feel that I have to complete as much as I can on Wednesdays because people will expect things to move on even if I am away from the office playing with Miss Martha and Rolling With The Pigs. So Wednesday afternoons are slightly more stressful than Friday afternoons. Still - it's a small price to pay.

Cheers!

Rolling With The Pigs

Swear to God! That Miss Silly! All I said was - come on out with me, let's say goodnight to the pigs. You can take a picture of me, if it's good I might use it as my new profile pic. So we did and she did.

Then in the office this morning I hear this report.

That Nelly. You should have seen her. Rolling about the floor with those pigs in their shit and everything.

Now Miss Silly let me tell you this. Pigs are clean. We were in their sleeping area. No shit. Lily and Rusty are probably cleaner than we are.

Don't know about the profile pic though. They say people get to look like their pets and it seems I'm definitely developing a bit of a kune kune double chin. At least I don't have piri piri. Not yet anyway.

I Feel Alright

This morning, while waiting for Matty's discharge from Antrim Area Hospital, I 'fell till' the floors. Every single room in the house tidied, hoovered and mopped for the first time since the pup came. You'd want to be chasing that wee brute around with a mop and a bucket of Jeyes Fluid and up until today it has been maintenance only. Today all floors pristine and gleaming at the same time for at least half an hour.

Nellybert sits down to a lunch of Polish Shop Packet Soup and some rather elderly bagels (waste not, want not) and we're listening to music. My choice.

Bert: Who is that oul' cunt anyway?

Nelly: Junior Kimbrough.

Bert: D'ye see if he was in that room in there, playing that, I would go in there and catch him by the scruff of the neck and hoil him out into the yard. And I'd say to him, 'See here Mr Kimball, take yourself and your instruments and the rest of it and clear out!'

Nelly: Kimbrough. And if he was in that room in there playing that you'd be standing in the doorway with your mouth hanging open in amazement at how brilliant he is.

Bert: Dam sure I wouldn't. I actually find that hard to listen to. It hurts my ears.

Nelly: Maybe if you got the wax* cleared out of your ears it would help. The bass notes are probably making it reverberate and that's what is hurting them.

*The wax in Bert's ears is feeling happier as Mozart is playing now.

There Are Many Ways To Put In An Evening

Bert: You've been out lying with those pigs again, haven't you?

Nelly: So what if I was? How d'ye know anyway?

Bert: You're all covered with straw up your back.

Nelly: So! What if I am?

Bert: Did they like it?

Nelly: No! They were raging at me disturbing their sleep. The tomatoes I brought them hardly made up for it.

The Dole

Whenever I hear stories of benefit scroungers I am reminded of Nessie's story.

Nessie had a wee hill farm in the arse-end of nowhere. For years she and her long-term companion made a small, self-sufficient living from it. It was fairly hand-to-mouth but they didn't complain for they thought that was just how things were.

As the years passed Nessie. like all of us do, slowed down a bit. The house was basic, far too cold and damp if truth be known and it didn't help her that she had serious health problems caused by two accidents she'd had when she was younger. She was once gored by a cow and on another occasion run over by a trailer. It left her with kidney problems. Life became very hard. A kind neighbour seeing the pair of them struggling to make ends meet told her about income support, got the forms, filled them in for her and lo and behold! - Nessie got the dole.

She was delighted. They both were. And the pair of them lived happily on basic income support for one for many years.

Then her long-term companion hit the age of 65 and found himself entitled to the pension. Money of his own at last! He was delighted. After all these years, he too had a regular income. All was well until some sharp-eyed civil servant noticed that these two were receiving benefits at the same address.

To cut a long story short they prosecuted Nessie. She hadn't the sense to go to court and in her absence her benefits were slashed. Her partner wouldn't help. This was his money and he didn't intend to share it.

Months passed and Nessie became ill. She wasn't eating properly for she didn't have the money. It was at this stage that we found out what was going on. We brought her over here, sorted her out, warmed her, fed her and took her to the doctor. We got her a social worker. The social worker was wonderful. Found all sorts of new benefits for Nessie. She still had to pay back the huge over-payment but the new benefits brought her back to a basic level of income support and she'd proved she could live on that. Nessie never did return all the money she owed the government. She died long before it was paid.

I often think of her when I hear stories of benefit scroungers. I think of two elderly people managing on one benefit for years but because the 'i's weren't dotted and the 't's weren't crossed they were done for it.

How To Tie A Weaver's Knot

Since Matty has been ill I have taken up knitting again. It helps that I have a small person to knit for even if she did have to wait a whole year before receiving a sweater.

Everyone thinks that I still knit like a child and indeed I find myself chanting,

In through the bunny hole
Round the big tree
Under the bridge
And off goes she!

Years and years ago I used to knit stripey sweaters on circular needles. They ranged from husband-sized ones (shades of green, white and blue) to premature baby ones (yellow & turquoise, red & white) for little Laura, now Mrs L with her own baby on the way. I've cast one of those on for Miss Martha even though I've totally forgotten what to do when I reach the raglan stage. I'm sure it will come back to me. If not I can google it, or turn it into a hat.

That is, if the pup doesn't eat it first. Honestly there is no depth to which that dog will not lower itself. She can open the fridge and help herself to dog food. She has set up a shoe chewing factory at the top of the stairs and she is chomping on Hannah's jigsaw pieces. We came in from Miss Martha's birthday tea yesterday to find fourteen foot of purple wool festooned around the place. It all led to my knitting, only lightly chewed, though heavily slabbered upon.

Matty takes a great interest in our knitting projects and said to me on Saturday,

I've just realised you will all need to know about weaver's knots. I have to pass it on.

And she showed me this deft little knot that she used when she worked a loom in the Old Bleach. And she made it look so easy.

I couldn't wait to get back home and show Bert.

Matty showed me how to make a weaver's knot. She says she has to pass it on to all of us before she dies.

She did not! You're making that up.

I am not. She said we all needed to know how to make a weaver's knot and that she had to pass it on. You're jealous, aren't you, that your Ma has nothing good to pass on to you?

Below the belt I know, but true, for Pearlie has no good skill and, if she had, she could not be arsed to pass it on.

So I tried to show Bert but couldn't remember the exact way of it. On to the internet we went and printed out a diagram. We tried and tried but couldn't get it right. On to YouTube we went and watched demos with our pieces of yarn in front of us. Still no good.

Later that evening I lamented to Leitrim Sister that I couldn't get the hang of it. She said,

You'll just have to get Matty to show you again.

So I did. And she did. And, by jove, I got it. I've made several since then. By the way the diagram and the YouTube demo worked for Bert. He got it before me.

Happy Birthday Martha Amy

a serious business, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Of course she wasn't even one when this picture was taken. She is now!

Happy birthday angel.

Feck Off GG

Why do people gush over Proust? I'd rather visit a demented relative

So sayeth Germaine Greer.

Well! Personally my opinion is - demented relatives are Bloody Hard Work. I'd much rather read Proust.

A Disappointing Tale

I am tired of Wayne Rooney's dalliances with saloon girls and bored to tears with the jailed stoner George Michael's antics. Except George, really! Smashing up Snappy Snaps - that could have been my youngest daughter in there.

But all these celebrities clamouring for our attention - who cares?

Then imagine my delight when I saw this headline. CANNIBAL STAR EATS NEIGHBOUR. Who could it be? John Travolta? I wouldn't put anything past him. He's well weird. It certainly wouldn't be Angelina or any of the skinny ones for they wouldn't risk the calories. Maybe Tom Cruise? He's another strange one. Vanessa Feltz? I could see her eating a neighbour. She's full of hunger and anger. Or maybe it was that wicked Jeremy Clarkson of Top Gear. He would take up cannibalism just to be provocative.

Then I clicked on the story. Oh well.

Early Ambitions

  

The first job I ever thought of taking up wasn’t a job at all for it was more of a vocation. I was going to be a nun. Of course, I hadn’t a clue what it would entail, I just had an idea that Mammy and Daddy would be very, very pleased with me. Now, where did I get that from? It must have been from snatches of overheard conversation. I was such an eavesdropper in those days. My method was to play quietly, seemingly deeply involved in some childish occupation, my tiny ears on stalks and if adults nudged each other or pointed to the little ones, that was my cue to be rapt, engaged with dolls, puzzles, books, anything that would make them believe that I could not hear, understand or care what they were saying.

You’d hear,

Young Thomas Maguire is going to Maynooth. The family are delighted. He has the two aunts on his mother’s side in the Poor Clares and his Uncle Emmanuel Maguire a curate in Hannahstown.

Father Emmanuel never got his own parish?

No word of it. His mother can’t understand it at all. I think myself he is too soft to make a good PP.

There was talk…..

Shush! There’s nothing in that. His mother’s a saint.

So it was that I learned to have a vocation, to become a priest, a nun or a brother was a wonderful thing. A thing that brought pride and delight to your whole connection. Little wonder it seemed like such a good idea even for a bad rip like myself. Today I could be merry and bad and then far, far in the future I would be old and good. First I would be a nun then eventually I’d be a saint. I would have brown wooden beads; carry a cross and a wreath of pink roses. My mother would be delighted with me.

It was later on that I learned about vocations. You didn’t choose to be a nun or a priest. God chose you by calling you to it. But by this time it was starting to seem an unappealing idea. I was less enamoured with pleasing Mammy and Daddy and more interested in pleasing myself. Being a nun sounded dreary. The clothes were bulky and cumbersome, you had to be bald and obedient, you’d never be out of the chapel and the food wasn’t great and you would never have any money nor get a lie-in. But what if God called you? You’d have to go in for it if God called you. I dreaded getting a vocation. Having to be good would be dull, dull, dull and being a saint meant being tortured or murdered for your virtue whatever that was. It just didn’t seem worth it to me.

And so it was that I would forgo the Convent’s call and became a nurse instead. But, as they say, that’s another tale.

Yeah Right!!!!! Utter Rubbish

Sophie from Belfast had this to say about Victoria Beckham on the Mail Online site.

Victoria is obviously a UK size 4 or if she is a little bit heavier a size 6. She is therefore the equivalent of a US size zero. As for 'claims she does eat properly and puts her thin frame down to being a busy mother-of-three and hectic business woman.' Yeah right!!!!! That will really help with womens' self exteem. Utter rubbish.

I confess I enjoy reading the dick comments on this site. So many people getting their knickers in a twist over stuff that dinna matter. Cunning old Daily Mail reeling us in. Not all of us obviously as I'm sure the cerebrals don't look near it.

So. Anyways. It seems, according to Sophie, that women's "self exteem" hangs on the skinniness of Mrs Beckham who is only waif-like because she keeps busy-busy-busy. And doesn't eat huge quantities of chocolate and cake either I'll be bound. Ooh my "self exteem" does ache as does my tum full of birthday chocolate.

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-1311086/Skinny-Victoria-Beckham-bans-size-zero-models-New-York-Fashion-Week-show.html#ixzz0zEgn5mx9

In Search Of Lost Sleep

I went to bed at 11pm which is early for me. Looking after little Martha has worn me out and so have the Wee Mannys - all four of them and each of them with an accompanying dog. So the pregnant half of the Wees went home early (by the way, congratulations Laura and Declan) and the older half stayed. So after eating too much and likewise the drinking, I toddled off at 11 and fell fast asleep. For three hours.

I was awakened by Miss Holly Dog wandering forlornly around looking for her human. And now I can't get back to sleep and the pup is chewing my heels and my stomach has got so much food lying in it that a good boke would do me no harm.

And mostly what I'm thinking about is - what did I like so much about Remembrance Of Things Past because I've got to tell Mr Bolan - he asked me two days ago. I'm thinking around the old people Mr Bolan, the old people.

So while I'm up I thought I'd also take the opportunity to thank everyone, and there a lot of you, who wished this old person many happy returns. I do hope so. Thanks internet chums. I am now going to lie on the sofa and cuddle the pup and try to get back to sleep.

Happy Birthday To Me

FAMOUS BIRTHDAYS ON 9TH SEPTEMBER

There were 240 of them on here but I'm only going to include the ones I've heard of.

1754 - William Bligh, nasty ship's captain (HMS Bounty)

1822 - Napoleon J K P Bonaparte, French prince/member National Convention

1828 - Leo Tolstoy, Russia, novelist (War & Peace, Anna Karenina)

1925 - Cliff Robertson, La Jolla Calif, actor (Charly)/spokesman for AT&T

1932 - Sylvia Miles, NYC, actress (Midnight Cowboy, Farewell My Lovely)

1935 - [Chaim] Topol, Tel Aviv Israel, actor (Fiddler on the Roof)

1941 - Otis Redding, Dawson Ga, rock bassist (Sitting on the Dock of the Bay)

1942 - Inez Foxx, Greensboro NC, rocker (Mockingbird, Hi Diddle Diddle)

1943 - George Roger Waters, keyboardist (Pink Floyd-Brick in the Wall)

1947 - Lol Creme, [Lawrence Creme], England, rock vocalist/guitarist (10cc)

1949 - John Curry, England, figure skater (Olympic-gold-1976)

1951 - Michael Keaton, Pitts Pa, actor (Gung Ho, Batman, Beetlejuice)

1952 - David Stewart, rock guitarist (Eurtyhmics-Here Comes the Rain Again)

1953 - Nelly Moser, world-famous blogger and all-round good egg

1958 - Lita Ford, London England, vocalist (Kiss Me Deadly, Runaways)

1960 - Hugh Grant, London England (4 Weddings & a Funeral, 9 Months)

1966 - Adam Sandler, actor/comedian (Billy Madison, Happy Gilmore, SNL)

1968 - Julia Sawalha, actress (Saffron-Abfab, Chrissy-Buddy's Song)

1972 - Natasha Kaplinsky, British newsreader

1975 - Michael Bublé, Canadian singer and actor

1980 - Michelle Williams, American actress

Otis Redding, Boney, Tolstoy and Captain Bligh are the only ones I'm chuffed to share a birthday with. That Michael Buble character I only heard of a few months ago when this guy who fronts a Buble tribute band came to work in our office.

STUFF THAT HAPPENED ON 9TH SEPTEMBER

Once again only took from the list what I remember or know a little bit about...


1492 - Columbus' fleet sets sail west

1513 - Battle of Flodden Fields; English defeat James IV of Scotland

1543 - Mary Stuart, at nine months old, is crowned "Queen of Scots" in the central Scottish town of Stirling.

1863 - Battle of Cumberland Gap, TN

1899 - French Capt Alfred Dreyfus sentenced on unjust grounds

1908 - Orville Wright makes 1st 1-hr airplane flight, Fort Myer, Va

1939 - Nazi army reaches Warsaw

1955/6? - Elvis Presley's 1st appearance on Ed Sullivan's Show

1958 - Race riots in Notting Hill Gate, London

1965 - Tibet is made an autonomous region of China

1966 - John Lennon meets Yoko Ono at an avante-garde art exposition

1967 - Uganda declares independence from Great Britain

1971 - John Lennon releases "Imagine" album

1991 - Mike Tyson indicted for rape of Desiree Washington

1997 - Sinn Fein accepts Mitchell Principles on para-military disarmament

2004 - 2004 Australian embassy bombing: A bomb explodes outside the Australian embassy in Jakarta, killing 10 people.

AND WITHOUT LOOKING ANYTHING UP

In the year I was born -

The Princess Victoria sank with great loss of life.

Queen Elizabeth II was crowned .

Edmund Hillary ascended Everest.

Ahem!

I have an announcement to make. I am no longer a full-time office worker. This Monday I started on a job share. I now work Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays. On Thursdays I will be looking after Miss Martha as Zoe is returning to work. On Fridays I may be doing 'other things'. This Friday other things will be more Miss Martha.

Joy is me. Change is good. Wish me luck.

Buzz Killington

Clint is Buzz Killington.

There was Bert, enjoying a rare solitary evening, no me (for I was on Matty duties), only three good dogs and two good pigs to share his barbecued sea bream, baked potatoes and cider as he sat by the brai on one of the balmiest evenings of 2010.

But hark! Here is the sound of a Massey Ferguson coming up the lane. Sadly not Hector's, for Hector would not disturb Bert's reverie. No. It is Buzz Killington, otherwise known as Clint, on his new tractor. Clint - a man with no concept of relaxation or enjoyment, Clint who'd work a two-minute silence, Clint and his bloody dog - both of them go-go-go, for Clint has tractors to drive and Lucy her tail to catch.

What are ye sitting idling there for? There's barley straw to be got from up the road. C'mon now for it'll not get itself home!

I'm only getting a bite of supper.

Humph! I've mine in me long ago. I see you're at the drink again. I hope you're fit to drive!

I've only had half a glassful... the pigs...

You're giving those pigs drink! That'll do them a lot of good!

Sure if you seen the way they shape their wee mouths for me to pour it in. And the way they gaze up at me. It's so cute.

Not near wise. Your head's cut. C'mon! Let's get going!

Sadly Bert had only a few more mouthfuls of fish and a drop of cider to wash it down, then abandoned his lovely evening, looked sadly at the pigs and they at him. He trudged off in Clint's wake. That straw won't bring itself home y'know!

Cheesed Off

Long time I was happy woman because Nelly's Garden only had competition from Elizabeth Slote's dragon story, very sweet tale about dragon Nelly who had nice garden. Then there was some fancy pants restaurant called Nelly's Garden crept up on me but still I was out front. These days, not so much. Now, sadly, there is another Nelly's Garden (of boys) which features photographs of naked guys, barely legal with that crazy wrapped around your head hairstyle that godson Ben says is 'gay'.

Hmmph! I am not pleased. I prefer my gay guys to be far more mature than that!

HBZB

This evening thirty-something years ago I was as happy as ever I'd been since I left childhood behind. The reason? A little person that I'd been waiting on for quite a while. I wasn't yet twenty-one and probably didn't have the right amount of sense to be a mum. But I did have some powerful instincts and a mum of my own to help out. Matty knew when to step forward and she knew when to step back. Someone said once that it takes a village to raise a child. Well - we weren't quite a village, but there were a lot of us and we were aged from ten (Joe) to eighty (Aunt Katy). We were all needed. Thank you to everyone who helped me raise Zoe. Mick, Matty, Seamus, Ken, Gladys, Jean, Anne, Eamon, Tricia, Deirdre, Joe, Rosemary, Claire, Mrs Magee and Philip, John and Clare, Aunt Maud, Aunt Katy, Marie and Catherine, the McAnespies, the Byrnes, the Heffrons and if there is anyone else there that I've forgotten thank you too!

For Granny

For Granny, originally uploaded by ZMB.

Darn Royal Black parade in Ballymena prevented me from hooking up with Miss Martha today. She sent me this message with some exciting news.

She can walk. Just like her Mummy did before her, she has decided to get on her hind legs just before her first birthday.

Happy Birthday Nelly's Garden!

This dem blog is six years old today.

Mother Radar

I had a rough day.

Going to Matty's this evening, picked up The Banana, and we both cried before we went in. Did my very best to seem upbeat, ate a bowl of stew and everything.

But she knew, said "What's up?", told her, felt ashamed for there's a lot more up with her than there is with me. She said, "I'll say a prayer for you." I said, "I was hoping you'd say that." She said, "I stopped praying there for a few weeks, didn't seem like it was doing much good." I said, "You were too sick. Anyway you had plenty stored up."

What am I going to do when she is not there to wish me well in her prayers and in every other way too?

We left. Went to the off-licence. We both cried before we went in.

Dead Cow In The Middle Of The Weir

'A dead cow, which has been trapped in a weir in Omagh for three days, has not been rescued yet.'

Spotted in Google Reader. How in the name of anything does one 'rescue' a dead cow?

Evil Cat Torturers Are Everywhere

Recent Silly Season items in the news.

Slightly Demented Woman Puts Kitty Cat In A Bin And The World Goes Mad

Slightly Demented Woman Pees On a War Memorial And Performs A Sex Act On A Straggly-Haired Male

Slightly Demented Woman Sings For The Pope It Was All She Ever Dreamed Of

OK - so it is really nice for Susan Boyle that she gets to sing for the Pope. Although I bet she wishes it wasn't Pope Bendydick. I bet she'd have preferred that charismatic Pope before him.

Then there was the wino that peed on the War Memorial. I agree that it wasn't very ladylike of her and it was certainly very disrespectful behaviour but - how can we expect someone who probably has zero respect for herself to respect a Memorial? A lot of fuss and nonsense about nothing in my opinion.

And although I am fond of animals I think that the furore caused by the woman who popped Tiddles in the wheelie bin to be excessive. It seemed like a nutty thing to do but she didn't tie firecrackers to its tail, she didn't put it in a microwave, she didn't hit it with a rock. A sense of perspective is needed here. There was video footage recently that showed two young men punching a grandfather in the street causing injuries that ultimately killed him and there wasn't anything like the same fuss made about it.

And we mustn't forget Lindsay Lohan, Courtney Love and your one who sang 'Mercy' on The X Factor. Roll on the month of September when hopefully we will hear less about slightly demented women.

Swingin'

Last Saturday Bert and Ben made Martha a swing.

Scrumpin'

Sadly there is no video footage, nor are there any photographs. I know the first thing I'd have done was run back to the house for a camera but Bert never thought of it. He was too concerned about his secret stash of blueberries.

It seems that someone hadn't properly fastened the gate to the pig paddock and when Bert first noticed they were gone he was terribly worried.  First he dashed to the road but there were no small hairy pigs causing traffic chaos. Then he searched the sheds. He eventually found Rusty in the polytunnel. There he was, this recovering pig, daintily picking ripe tomatoes off the vine. But still no Lily. The sound of snuffling led him to a dense stand of clematis where he had hidden his secret stash of blueberries that he'd told no-one else about, not even Miss Martha and she adores blueberries. Apparently so does Miss Lily for she left the plants stripped bare. I thought those pigs were supposed to be poorly?

Vittin'

When we decided to get kune kunes we did think about the health care responsibilities. We were aware we'd have to vaccinate, innoculate and operate parasite control. We knew we'd have to feed them properly. We knew that all this would cost money and we decided that we were happy to take this on.

But what i wasn't prepared for was, that barely a month in, both pigs would go from being boisterously healthy to displaying serious signs of illness. Rusty was at death's door last Friday morning. We got him to the vet immediately and she pronounced him seriously ill. His temperature was actually abnormally low which is far. far worse than being high. After a couple of shots he started to rally and was eating again before the day was out. Saturday was good. On Sunday I thought he looked low again and called the vet. she said he'd go up and down and to keep on administering the shots.

Oh the shots! Rusty hated these and so did we. Bert jabbed and I held. As Rusty continued to rally he got stronger and ever harder to restrain. By this morning he was so difficult to pin down that it was only a miracle that I didn't get the dose intended for him. Afterwards he was in a right old state, sides 'thumping' like billy-oh. I decided to call my cousin.

I have a cousin who is an excellent vet. His practice is a fair distance from where I live so he is not our vet. But, worried sick about Rusty, I decided to ask for a second opinion. He reassured me, told me that our vet was giving Rusty the same medication he'd have prescribed. advised me to continue the course and only then if we thought he wasn't doing well to ask for different treatment.

Then this evening, Rusty continues to rally, he has lost growth and Lily has outstripped him in size but I'm happy enough with his progress. Then at bedtime Lily, who only a few hours earlier was up on her hind legs for grapes, was listless. Not interested in melon. (I bought the melon to practice injections) She is getting sick too. She had a shot earlier in the week as a preventative but afterwards did not seem to need it. We decided to jab her and were worried about it.

Then Stephen arrived on the yard. Stephen keeps cattle on our place but he is a pig man too. His daughter and her friend were ther to see Rusty and Lily. He showed us how to give shots in such a way that the pig will be as little stressed as possible. he gave us some really good advice and reassurance. Vets are essential. sometimes they even seem like miracle workers because they know all about those magic potions but there is nothing like the man or woman on the ground who knows the animal , who cares about it, knows how to handle it and is happy to share that knowledge.

What I Bought

If it weren't for the Sunday papers I wouldn't have a notion what is going on in the world. According to the Sunday Times there is a whole class of youngsters who have a lucrative side line in telling the world what they have bought recently. Apparently this is the way forward in marketing and said young ones get free stuff thrown at them because of the following they have in their video logs. God! The world is even sadder than I thought. So - who cares what a baby boomer buys? Today Nelly bought a copy of the Sunday Times and some mini bin liners at the Nisa in Cullybackey. The girl at the till asked me if I wanted a carrier bag. I said no as I usually do. Then I remembered that's why I had to buy mini bin liners. I still said no. Pearlie has got a thing about plastic bags. When we cleared out her mobile home I threw out about ten thousand of them. She isn't happy unless she has huge amounts of them stashed. Which is why I had to buy her bin liners. The Sunday Times will come in useful. Homes, Travel. Finance and Sport are to be immediately utilised for the pup to piss on. I had a wee read at Style but got deeply depressed at the Agent Provocateur article. What meaning can this have for the likes of me? I threw it from me in disgust. Much more to my taste was the interview with Jimmy Page in the magazine. Cheeky interviewer brought up the S&M allegations. Jimmy sardonically laughed it off. As you do. Rest of the paper? Maybe later if the pup doesn't piss on it first. I've got the new Kate Atkinson so who the hell cares? <><><> Nelly bought - 1. Bin liners 1 quid 2. Sunday Times 2 quid Nelly encouraged Bert to buy - Red wine (and he did. Hic...)

A Big Worry

When I went out to feed the pigs this morning Rusty did not come for his food. He just stood there. He was obviously very, very ill. His sides were 'thumping', his skin and snout were clammy. He looked like he had pneumonia. Only the day before he had seemed well enough. I phoned the vet, got Bert up and we got him in the car and drove him to Clough. The vet did not give us much hope. She said he had a virulent strain of pneumonia and that he was unlikely to make it. Nevertheless she gave him two shots and advised us, if he survived, to give him further shots daily until he looked like he was over it. She also advised that Lily get shots for two days as she had been in close contact with him.

I was devastated. Considered not going to work then decided to go anyway. I work in the kind of office where you can go in an hour late, tear-stained and blotchy, all because of a sick pig.

The day progressed. I had regular updates from Bert and Ben.

11am - Rusty was warming up, had a hot water bottle, seemed a little better.
1pm - Rust ate an apple, well warmed and sitting up.
3pm - Ate strawberries, was playing! (according to Ben)

Meanwhile I phoned Dylan who had sold us the piglets. He was most concerned. Advised, among other things, that we feed him grapes. Kune kunes love grapes. I know! Sick people get grapes, why not sick pigs?

I got home just after 8pm. Rusty got his grapes and so did Lily. Lily got her shot. She screamed like she was being murdered. Rusty is still not out of the woods but, please God, he'll get better. I saw him settled down for the night, snuggled against Lily, and I'd love to go check on them right now but something tells me it will be better not to disturb their rest. I'll not be lying in bed too long tomorrow morning. Please get better pig.

POSTSCRIPT Rusty much, much better this morning.

Tales From the Negative Scanner

Hannah was just a little bit disappointed in her blind date. He dressed well but his looks were....unusual.

Zoe was over the moon to have won the jazziest jumper competition.


The evenings dragged in without the internet and only four channels on the telly.


We were so poor then that we dressed like hobos and the only food we had were Jokers.

Moving House

Rusty and Lily have moved to a spacious new home situated in a bucolic woodland and built from sustainable materials.

I am considering moving in with them. I wonder if I could get used to sleeping in straw?

Sunday Drivers

Seems like every Sunday that I drive out to Tannaghmore some idiot cuts me up on the Ballee roundabout. Today was no exception. Today it was a Smart Car. All I know about Smart Cars, apart from them being the wankiest car in the world, is that they were heavily mentioned in Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code, to the extent that I am certain Smart Cars bloody sponsored that dire book which, I am ashamed to admit, I have read and that the local Cartridge World has one that is always bloody cutting people up as well. And yes I know bloody local Cartridge World is somebody I know and bump into at weddings and leaving dos but Smart Cars are WANKY and that their drivers keep cutting us normal people up and, hey, learn how to drive why don't you?

Anyways today Wank Car cuts me up and I'm not in a good mood and I yell, "Don't be a cunt all your life!" and again as I overtook him, "WANKER!" through open windows although I don't think he heard me because Lohengrin was playing rather loudly but I couldn't avoid noticing that he had a sign on his back window saying JESUS something and he was smug and po-faced with glasses and I couldn't help thinking if he was such an awesome Christian that he was driving a Smart Car and advertising JESUS that a bit of road manners was in order.

But anyhow Janis Joplin came on and I thought to myself that at the present moment I do enjoy a bit of Road Rage because I was going to Tannaghmore and when I got there I had to put on my mild and gentle hat. Not that it did me much good.

Hello pig!

Hello pig!, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Kune kunes are a favourite of children everywhere. Curtis is no exception.

Lily and Rusty

Bark In The Park and Other Dogs

Ben, Bonnie and I went to the Dog's Trust Bark in the Park event this afternoon. Miss Martha and her people went too. We entered Gracie, Maya and Bonnie for the Prettiest Bitch but they were outclassed. Bonnie entered the Best Rescue Dog and came fourth! She hadn't even combed her hair! I think Ben charmed the judge into it. She was rather pretty. Just his type, which tends to be tall, slim and around thirty. The picture above shows Miss Martha and Miss Gracie discussing Bonnie's chances.

Ben takes his responsibility as dog handler very seriously, while Bonnie waits confidently for her prize. She wasn't as cocky when she visited the vet's tent for a free consultation.

Bonnie after she'd escaped from the vet.

Then what did I go and do? Only went to Dunloy to pick up Bert's new van and coincidentally take a look at the mechanic's litter of collie-labrador crosses.

And took one! Her name is Judy (Pearlie picked it) and Bonnie and Paddy hate her. But Pearlie likes her and so do we. Oh what have I done!

Little Diva Pooper Parties

A Beauty Parlour has opened in the village in which I work. There is a pink poster in its window which announces 'Little Diva Pamper Parties'. You can imagine my disgust. I daresay this village is full of little divas (in my day we called them brats) but the last thing they need is encouragement with 'pamper parties'. I have a far better idea that would encourage the 'little divas' to be useful members of society. This village is also full of people who don't clear up after their pooches. I would gather up a party  of divas, dress them in pink tutus, pink wellington boots and pink rubber gloves and provide them with pink rubbish bags and send them out lifting dogshite. I reckon the spectacle would shame those criminals who allow their dogs to cover the place in dog-doings. Afterwards we'd party like it's 1999.

Merry Sodding August

Earlier today I met up with Ganching for a coffee in the local garden centre. Ganching was tempted by the soup but I pointed out to her that charging four pounds and fifty effing pee for a bowl of stinking soup was seriously taking the piss.

As we were leaving the server was putting up a plastic Christmas tree and she'd already hung up a fine display of felt Christmas stockings. The entrance was crammed with large plastic Santas and hideous reindeers. In bloody August! In the school holidays! I'm never, ever going there again.

Big Strong Man

Bert, his godson Ben and my own self were sitting in a fish and chip café this evening. There were only two other customers, two chubby, middle-aged men tucking into big chip suppers. We were waiting to be served.

One of the servers came down clutching a jar of gherkins. She said to the chubby fellows,

Gentlemen I hope youse don’t mind me interrupting your meal but could one of you open this jar for me?

One of the men took the jar and opened it.

She gushed,

Thanks so much! I had to ask you for youse are the only men in here.

I looked at my Bert, looked upon his beardy face and admired his strong sinewy arms and large capable hands. I laughed (weakly). He laughed (in a manly kind of way). But I felt slighted at her assumption that my man was a wimp. Our meal came. It was shite. I’m never eating there again.

I Want To Be Adored

lily, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

....and I am.

A Room Of My Own

Swisser reckons I need a retreat - somewhere where me and my pigs and my dogs can go to hang out. A hut in the woods maybe, with a wood-burning stove and a lamp to read by. No lecky, far too modern. Let's not tell the pesky Land & Property Services.

And we'll pee in the trees.

Sometime in the 1930s

I love this photograph. It was loaned to me by brother Joe who got the loan of it from cousin Joe and I am going to make a few copies of it to share around the family. The little girl is my Aunt Mary, the same Mary who died recently. The boy is one of her many brothers. I'm not certain which one. Maybe Dessie or Cathal, both of whom emigrated to Australia, and are the only two of my father's ten siblings still living. The man in the background might be my grandfather but I'm not sure of that either.

I love the photograph because it is so informal, because the children are wearing their everyday clothes and because of the little calf. They were farm kids after all. I also love the fact that both children's faces are so familiar to me because they resemble so many other family members.

Happy Birthday Matty

Matty's 84th birthday today. The picture shows her standing beside her new back door. It was taken at the beginning of the month. She is thinner and weaker now but mostly in good spirits. Happy birthday mum!

Shiny Man

I was really looking forward to my wee lunchtime walk today because I've not been getting so many of them recently as I usually spend the time at Matty's. I decided to go a bit further afield from the office. There was a road I wanted to walk down as a neighbour had recently built a fine house there and I was keen on a nosey.

So I parked the car on a wide verge and headed down this road. I was stepping out smartly plugged into Proust (I'm on 'The Captive' now) when a jeep stopped beside me. I took off the headphones thinking I'd be asked for directions and hoping I'd be up to the job. The shiny man in the shiny car said,

I hope you don't mind me asking but you're parked outside my house - can I ask what you're doing?

I was puzzled. Surely it was evident.

I'm walking. I'm going for a wee walk.

There's you and another lady who make a habit of parking outside my house. I just want to know what's going on?

I don't know about anyone else but I haven't walked on this road for over a year and the last time I parked there I had a different car. As I said I'm just going for a walk.

I glared at him as I said this and he drove off, turned in the next laneway and headed home-wards.

I was miffed and resolutely ignored him so I've no idea whether he ignored me as well. And that was that. I continued with my walk as planned, 20 minutes down the road and 20 minutes back. But I was pissed off. Thought he was a wanker, so precious about his house that he couldn't bear people parking near it. I wasn't blocking his access. I wasn't making it difficult for anyone to get past me. I was parked on a bloody verge that belonged to the DOE. Not him! Maybe he was one of those prissy types who cuts the grass on the road opposite his house in case it makes his property look untidy.

I told the tale later on at Matty's and it turns out one of my cousins knew who this man was. Not his name but his profession. He's a police officer. Clink! Penny drops. Ah well Mr Shiny Man. I'll forgive your intrusion on my wee lunchtime walk - even though you're not as bright as you're shiny.

Envy

Picture it. Yours truly is standing, waiting to be served, behind a tidy wee woman in the local shop (for local people.)

This wee tidy woman, neat in pressed trousers, an ironed blouse and a cropped pewter-grey haircut receives her change. She takes it, places the notes in the appropriate note part of her wallet. She puts the coins in the appropriate coin part of her wallet. She zips her wallet, she folds it over, she snaps it shut, she puts it in the appropriate part of her handbag, she zips her handbag, she folds it over, she snaps it shut. She takes her shopping, she leaves. I look daggers at her, I mutter, I wish her and her ironed blouse and her fat, beige bum, and her pewter hairdo dead and in her neat, well-kept grave.

I stand there with my newly-washed, still wet hair and my jeans that are covered in pig slabbers and mud and I buy my Sunday paper and my toilet roll and I hand over four pounds and receive five pence change which I stuff in the pocket of my pig-smeared jeans and I leave with a heart full of hate for the neat, well-pressed woman. And then I think…. I bet that woman hasn’t lost her debit card twice in the past month.

Walking the Dog (and the Pig and the Cat)

I used to think it was cool when we took the dogs for a walk down the back lane and through the wood, that Holly de Cat would come too. Now we take the dogs and Lily and Rusty and Holly de Cat comes too. I don't think she's crazy about the pigs. But she comes too.

Katy & Mark

Happy to be in love, originally uploaded by KatyKatkins.

Was my Katy not beautiful on her wedding day?

Strawberries For All

Bert said to me about ten days ago,

Blackbirds and squirrels are getting into the strawberries.

What! Didn't I tell you to put netting over them?

Netting'll not stop the squirrels.

Wee bastards. Can you not you kill them?

Kill them? How'd I do that then?

Shoot them.

I'd look well shooting at squirrels in the strawberry patch.

Trap them then.

How?

Put sticky stuff down and their feet will stick to it.

And what do I do then?

Dash their brains out against a wall.

Humph! If you'd seen the wee young ones slippy-titting up the rows, grabbing themselves a big juicy strawb, running off, looking round to see if they're safe, then holding it between their wee front paws and getting stuck into it you'd think they were cute too.

Indeed I would not!

Many days later I emerged from the strawberry patch with another big bowl of fruit and said to Bert,

You know - there are enough strawberries for us and the pigs and the blackbirds and squirrels too.

I knew you'd come round to my way of thinking.

Litterbugs

Lidl's has the best cottage cheese in the world and I love cottage cheese. I'd run out and it was time to get some more. All I needed was the cheese and some porridge oats but I ended up spending 28 quid. As you do. Tiramisu ice cream, gherkins, sour cream, frozen pizza, chocolate, red wine, spring rolls, you know, all the basic necessities of life.

As I was hefting my huge bag of groceries into the boot, giving all due consideration to my back, this wee shiny red R-plated car squealed into the car park on two side wheels. The driver roared her into a parking space with a great flourish and his front passenger opened the door and dumped a bag of McDonalds rubbish at his feet. I looked on with bemusement at the arrogance of the wee fucker and a bin only thirty seconds from where he sat. He and two of the back seat passengers got out and swaggered into the shop. I wondered what they were for buying? Probably not gherkins.

The thing is their car was shiny and clean. The chaps were well dressed in whatever boring fashionable duds dull and unimaginative fellows wear these days. Their hair was nicely cut and they were altogether shiny and clean. But inside they were dirty, filthy blackguards and obviously their parents have done a rotten job of bringing them up and I itched to go over and give the driver a good slap.

Did I? Of course not. I just drove off, munching on chocolate, in my utterly filthy car, whilst pondering this very blog post.

Pig Wrangling

Apparently kune kune pigs are easy to train if you start them young enough. I can see that I am going to have to take a very strict line with Lily and Rusty. Dylan. the guy we bought them from, advised us to keep them well away from where the food is stored because they will not be turned from it. I should have listened to him. Today as we passed the shed Rusty found the feed bag, dunted it over and started to scoff. He was soon joined by Lily. I ended up having to shove them both out of the shed with a yard brush and it wasn't easy. They're only little now but if they were any bigger I'd not be able to push them out with a tractor. Dylan told us that Custard, his 10-month old sow, smelled out that he was keeping the food in the polytunnel and when she wasn't able to access the door she punched her way through the polythene. And as Dylan said, "Once she got in, the troops all followed."

We might have made a mistake giving our two strawberries. They go into a frenzy when they see them. It isn't that hard to have them sit before they get their juicy treat but then Rusty started to stand on his two hind legs and that looked very cute. But I shall have to put a stop to that. Imagine him doing it when he's full-grown - then losing his balance and falling on me. The wee brute has already bit my hand when the red-strawberry-mist was on him. More discipline, less strawberries from now on I think.

I Want To Be Alone

You know the sort of things you say to your significant other that are meant to be between just the two of you? Like, "Oh for fuck's sake, what's she doing here? I wish she'd come to visit Pearlie when I wasn't here." The sort of thing you'd rather she didn't hear. Well I blew that one today.

Problem is my inner sanctum, otherwise known as my bedroom, is directly above Pearlie's room which was, of course, my previous inner sanctum. When I am in my bedroom I hear everything that is going on in her room be it her whining at Bert, hearty carer conversations, Deal Or No Deal or general multi-purpose whinging. So when Favourite Niece burst in this afternoon when I was resting up a spell after a night on Matty duties I got more than a little irritated. Which meant I got up in a pet and said that thing to Bert which the Favourite Niece overheard.

Humble Pie- it is so yummy, so nourishing, truly it is soul food and fit for a wretch like me.

Did I mention that nineteen different people where at our house yesterday, or that sometimes I have a strong urge to Go Garbo? It's not that easy when you live in Paddy's Market.

Walking the Pigs

The Joys of Beekeeping

beekeeping, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Bert and I just cannot wait to get out there and do a hive inspection. It's a better way to spend the Twelfth than marching or rioting.

Brother Joe's take on the Belfast rioters?

Those boys would be more use between the shafts of a turf barrow!

But that's another post - The Joys of Turfcutting.

Talcum Storm

I really do believe that those carers are out to get me. All I asked of them was that they wouldn't leave wet pads in Pearlie's room. They seem to hate me picking them up on anything. This morning one of them spilled talcum powder all over her floor, trod in it then stamped, literally stamped her way out of the house ensuring that the talc got everywhere. Bert says I'm paranoid. Maybe I am.

When I speak of the carers and use the words 'they' or 'them' I really mean 'she' and 'her' for it's really just one of them, maybe two.

Bert says I'm paranoid. Maybe I am.

This I do know. If 'she' worked in any half-decent residential home it would not be long before 'she' was standing in the manager's office.

Fall

Matty has been getting on pretty fine recently. Going out for drives, bossing everyone around (nicely), flower arranging, supervising the housekeeping and eating like a Trojan. She has even started knitting again now that the super strong cancer medicine has taken away all her arthritis pain. Then, last night, she fell. She cut her brow and bruised her arm and hurt her leg. She spent all of last night hanging around A&E with Trish and Joe. Thankfully no permanent damage done and they let her out again mid-morning. Trish said she was a hoot at the hospital. The batteries in her hearing aid were running down so that generally means she has to shout a lot and as the cancer medicine removes her inhibitions she is not one bit scared of speaking her mind. So all the other patients had to put up with her sharing her opinions of them and their ailments. She called one doctor 'a handsome hulk' and was very pass-remarkable to all within earshot. She is not quite as mobile as she was but with luck she will regain her liveliness for a wee while at least. Matty wasn't the only one of her family in the wars yesterday. Her older sister had a fall too and she has broken her hip. We'll tell Matty tomorrow when she is better able to hear bad news. Hard times for us all.

Rage

When Pearlie returned from her last respite break in The Wee Free Orange Home for Retired Gentlefolk she found, to her horror and mine, that half her entire team of Caring Type People had been changed. It wasn't the ones that keep her clean and comfy - it was the ones that scramble her eggs, prepare her panada and carry her in cups of tea. They're the ones I hate the most because they invade my kitchen. They're not supposed to because Pearlie has her own kitchen but a lot of them prefer cooking on gas than electricity. Bert doesn't help as he has nice wee chats with them and they all think he's lovely and easy-going. I call his wee chats Fraternising With The Enemy and try to discourage it but it's not easy when I'm not there most of the time. In theory Bert could sort her out with food and drink because she's not that difficult to fodder but if she was depending on him she'd be dead of thirst and starvation many years ago. He forgets he has a mother when he is out in his polytunnel. He forgets to feed himself as well. There is nothing a hard working woman likes to hear on her return from a highly stressful day at the office than the words, "What are we eating?"

But - to get back to The Invaders - I'd got used to the last team and they got used to me. There was one I thoroughly loathed and a couple I positively liked and the rest were tolerable. But I'm not too sure about this new bunch. It hasn't helped that Bert started them all off on the wrong foot by telling them that they could use our kitchen.  Now I have to be Mrs Mean and tell them they can't. I'm sure that when I'm at work Bert has them in tee-heeing with them and laughing behind my back. But not at the weekends - no sirree!

On Sunday one of them came through the back door singing. Singing hymns! Christian hymns! I could have been a Muslim for all she knew. She spotted me washing down my worktops. She called out a gaily "Hello! Lovely day isn't it!" I glared at her and closed the door. She carried on carolling hymns. Surely I do not have my sorrows to seek when a hymn-singing harridan can enter my house at will and get paid for it!    

If I Had An Ounce Of Sense...

I'd be in bed asleep right now.

My rest was disturbed last night at around two am by Holly de Cat defending her territory from a strange intruder. For a small cat she makes a big noise. Of course I tried to help her by throwing objects at the invader cat but I throw like a girl and my feeble attempts were enough to make a cat laugh and they sure did.

After that I just could not get back to sleep for worrying. And not about cats either. I worried about work and I fretted about Matty and I tossed and turned. Heard Hannah up and about at seven am (It was actually six am) and raced up to get in the shower before her as she spends a long time in there being a great deal more high maintenance than I am. Afterwards returned to bed wrapped in two big towels and woke up from a rather disturbing dream about going Sapphic with Amy Winehouse and my hair like a brillo pad. Really must condition.

Then I went to work which is a whole other story. I might tell it someday but not now, not here. Maybe some other time and some other blog. I haven't been this stressed since I was working in Spide City, trying to manage a hostel with residents engaging in the highest of high-risk behaviours and actually bloody dying on my watch....

A Cure For Ennui,Blame and Blue Funk

Sometimes things just get on top of me. Work can be difficult sometimes, as it seems to me that my role includes soaking up all the responsibility for things that go wrong. Guys - sometimes I screw up and sometimes you do too. I don't want to be the Designated Blame Monkey any more.

Hannah threw a little farewell shindig for the lovely Mel on Friday for she is going to Australia for a year. Many moons ago this gathering was supposed to be a demure little tea party with cucumber sandwiches and iced buns. Then 'The Trouble' came along and I got distracted from Nigella recipes and entertaining. Hannah and Raymond Party Planners stepped into the breach and my cucumber sandwiches were replaced by spicy party food from Iceland and my iced buns by something far more potent and the Earl Gray and Chardonnay by Buckfast and Carlsberg.

Mind you the guests were ever so, ever so... including primary school teachers, assorted geniuses, two people with firsts and two people related to people with firsts. Educated people - so rough and ready these days. You cannot take them anywhere! I blame the universities.

Before we got thoroughly drunk I took The Genius Dougie out to see the wildlife. I showed him the Bad Bees, one of which came up and hovered nastily just six inches in front of my midriff giving off buzzy fuck off vibes. I totally respected it and fucked off and it respected me by not stinging me. I then showed Dougie the Nice Bees and we were able to get proper close up to them and view them through the glass crown board. Then we viewed Pearlie through the front windows and she glared at us but luckily no stings or stinging remarks were made when Mel and Hannah ceidhlied with her later.

Saturday - clean, clean, clean. Buckfast everywhere. These geniuses and intellectuals throw more drink around them than they actually imbibe. Perhaps it's for the best. I wouldn't lip the stuff. It's worse than Lucozade (Pearlie's current poison). I'm sure I visited Matty at some point but I disremember the details.

Sunday was Aunt Mary's month's mind and I was halfway home when I turned and went home to bed. I was feeling rather unwell, suffering from ennui, cystitis, depression, the blues, fever, tiredness, blue funk, blame, guilt and a cold in the nose. Later I also suffered from regret. I should have went to Aunt Mary's month's mind. I had an awesome outfit consisting of a Primark vest, a Monsoon jacket, a Fenn Wright Manson skirt and Diesel courts. I was mixing it up. I was so ready for Tannaghmore except for the blue funk, fever etc. Still - Ganching went, worked the room, represented the family and sure I'd only have been in her road.

Monday - Duvet day. I was far too blue to go to work and I still had enough symptoms left to justify it to myself. Then in the afternoon - along came the cure for it all!

A Cure For All A Granny's Ills

After a lovely afternoon spent in the company of Miss Martha and her people and dogs I was ready to resume all my responsibilities.

A Tale of Two Mothers

Bert was out at Matty's today fixing a leaky radiator. It's been quite a few weeks since he'd seen her so I wondered if he would have seen much of a change in her.

So you got that rad fixed?

Aye.

What did you think of my ma?

She looks well.

D'ye think?

Aye. She's a good bit thinner than she was but she was sitting there, her hair done and all dressed up like the Queen.

Aye. Not like your one - the oul scruffbag. Like mother like son!

Mine sat about all day with a pair of knickers on her head.

Whaat! What for?

Said it was to keep her curlers in place. Said them ones did it.

The carers? Dear God!

But she still kept them on her head the whole day long.

A Happy Time

When I first heard that Matty had cancer I was devastated. She was more pragmatic.

I have to die of something you know.

The first few weeks were completely unreal as we tried to absorb this dreadful news while waiting, with a mixture of awful dread and crazy hope, for the results of the tests. The first diagnosis was bowel cancer, the growth apparently in a ‘good place’, and her surgeon confident that it could be removed safely. Then came some other results which showed another separate cancer. This one was in her ovary and likely the one that had been giving her the pain and the swelling in her tummy. We were advised that treatment would do her far more harm than good.

The waiting had been tough and especially so for Dede and Trish who were with her during that time. Every day saw her get weaker and more nauseated and her belly grow bigger and the rest of her thinner. She could not eat without vomiting and the very smell or look of food made her sick.

Everyone came home. Not all at once but there was lots of comings and goings. She had to go into hospital so that the sickness could be dealt with and eventually it was.

She is at home now, able to eat again, if only little bits and pieces. She is delighted to be back in her own place and have everyone she cares about around her and helping to look after her. She said today,

This is a happy time for me.

Father's Day

Seamus, originally uploaded by triciamorimori.

It would be hard not to give a thought to this old fellow today.

Sixth Father's Day without him.

Take Me Drunk, I'm Home

About this time 23 hours ago I awakened from a brief nap on the sofa saying to Bert,

Is it not time we were away home? Who's driving, you or me? How did I get here and where am I anyway?

It was a great relief to me when I realised that my bed was only one short stairway away.

Faith

You know I have a great belief in the power of prayer.

Indeed. Prayer is a wonderful thing.

It can move mountains for sure.

You are right there.

I have great faith in the prayer to Saint Peregrine.

I must admit that Saint Peregrine is a new one on me.

Saint Peregrine is the patron saint of cancer.

Is that so?

It is. And I have prayed to Saint Peregrine for an awful lot of people.

Sure it can do no harm.

There was this young fellow I knew once whose mother was a great friend of mine. She was a cousin of John MacQ - the same John MacQ whose sister was married to Pat Joe Dobbin who you’ll mind living at the junction.

I can’t say that I know him or his people.

Anyway he had cancer and I prayed steady for him for he was only a young man in his forties.

What was the outcome?

Sure didn’t he get better. The doctors tested him thoroughly and couldn’t find one trace of cancer left in him. It was a miracle. He died three weeks later from a heart attack but clean cured of cancer!

Remembering Rosie

Rosie, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

When I look at pictures of Rosie I remember how she felt. She was a dog that loved to be cuddled, petted and handled. She was the sort of dog that crept on to your lap so that you wouldn't even notice she was there until you looked down and realised that you were rubbing her head and stroking her silky ears. She was the sort of dog that helped to calm you.

I also remember how she smelled. She smelled of good clean earth with undertones of dog. She loved to be nuzzled. I loved to nuzzle her head, that flat hard part between her ears. Behind her ears was a good part to knead and rub. We both liked that. It was also good to play with her feet. Some dogs don't like that but Rosie did. She liked to have her toes separated and gently massaged. She liked the rough pads on her paws to be scratched. She liked to be rubbed under her chin. And I liked to do it. She was the most tactile, sweet-smelling dog I've ever known. I loved to rub my face on her head and smell the sweet hayish, grassy. earthy scent of her.

Bert had another name for her. He called her The Bitcher and she knew that was her name. She knew that Dirty Rotten Scunging Devil Dog was her name. She knew she was Rosie.

Kerry sister has a new pup. It's a Kerry sheep dog. I have envy.

Our Ones

His Ones

My Incredibly Clever Sister and Other Animals

Such a lot has happened since I wrote last. Matty is still in hospital, Katy has got married to Mark and I have, in this past week, spent time with nearly every single member of my immediate family.

Here are two of them.
The incredibly clever Mrs D McC (B.A. Honours, First Class) and the incredibly clever Miss M. (arm-waving and saying 'agoo')

Off To A Wedding

Off to Katy's wedding tomorrow. I was speaking to her today and she tells me she is nervous. I'm pretty sure she'll go through with it though.

I'm nervous too. I'm not a frequent flyer these days and haven't been on a plane since they started this utter nonsense about toiletries and liquids in transparent bags. I'm convinced they'll not let me on the plane for some spurious reason. I wish we were driving. Boats are much more user-friendly.

Matty is in hospital and it feels really strange to be going off on a jolly at this time. But I know that as soon as I set foot on English soil that I'm going to take a deep and relieving breath and I'm going to concentrate on having a happy time.

There will be plenty of time for sadness when we get home.

Thanks to Dee Mac for looking after the dogs, Young Lovehart the cats and Clint the hens. Damn stingarees can look after themselves.

Looking Forward

Matty took some time out this morning to write Katy a letter. This letter will, God willing, be read out at Katy and Mark's wedding next Thursday. For Matty cannot come although her plane ticket has been booked for months and her accommodation long arranged and paid for. The only thing not done was her rig-out chosen. She said she had plenty of nice clothes and would wear something she'd worn before. This was not like Matty for she loves clothes and she loves to look well.

This day next week the wedding will be over. We'll all be back home again. What bright occasion, or happy distraction shall we look forward to then? I do not know. But I do know that someday we will look forward and that is what Matty will want us to do.