Dogs Are People Too

One of the neighbours called yesterday morning as I was getting ready to go pick up Miss Martha.

She said there was some dead animal lying at the entrance to one of our fields off the road. She said she wasn't sure what it was maybe a dog, maybe a fox but probably too big to be a cat. But I said, Fred is a pretty big cat and we hadn't seen him since the previous evening. Bert went to check it out. I was anxious, went to the bottom of the lane to wait for him. He came walking away from the slap in question. He looked distressed. I was sure it was Fred. He shook his head but still looked upset. It was a small terrier he said, terribly mangled.

I said, don't annoy yourself. There is nothing you can do for it now. He said, I can do this. I can bury it.

I went to pick up Miss Martha. Slightly late, told Miss Martha's dad about the annoyance of the dog. He said, maybe it's owners would want to see it, identify it. I said, no. They wouldn't want to see it.

Bert buried the dog just inside the entrance to the field. He was a sandy haired terrier, no collar, an intact male. Later Bert said, it makes you think - if it had been a person, so badly damaged. What would that be like? And I said, yes people get hurt to death like that and other people see them and it's horrible.

We live on a B road. Between Pearlie and ourselves we've lost one cat and three dogs on that road. People drive on the road at unsafe speeds just because they can. If it were up to us the council wouldn't mend the potholes. You speedsters, you don't need to drive down our road at 60 mph or more. Think of the animals.

Mother Courage

Matty was admitted to hospital last Thursday evening. She had a pain in her back which turned out to be a pulmonary embolism. It was Vancouver Brother who was with her when it happened and he and she spent seven hours in A&E before she found a bed. He had to catch his flight out the next morning which was hard on him. But he had a good two weeks with Mum right up until that happened.

The treatment for the pulmonary embolism is tough and Matty isn’t as strong as she was. We are hoping that she will get home soon although the big worry is that her mobility will not be as good.

Matty constantly amazes me these days. Before this double whammy of an illness she used to moan about every little thing. That’s not to say that she didn’t have her troubles but I used to think she was doing pretty well for a woman in her eighties. But since this, the Big Bad Yin, she has been full of courage and spirit. Even yesterday, after a pretty bad day, she was fit to get out of bed in the evening and have a damn good laugh with her visitors. She claimed that the Honorary Granddaughter’s Halloween cupcakes were the reason she was in hospital. Then she cackled like only Matty can.

What I've Been Missing

So I says to Bert,

Y'know how long it's been since I walked the path to Gillies?

No. How long's it been?

I've not been on that walk since the 9th January, 2010!

Why'd you leave it so long?

Last time I was on that walk some boy yapped at me for not having Bonnie on a lead.

What did you say to him?

I said nothing to him.

Coofy!

No. I never said a word. I just punched him to the ground, kicked him in the balls and rolled him into the river.

Was he an oul' fellow?

Nah. He was some young buck. But that's why I wanted to avoid that particular walk for a while.

Kelly Quagmire

Wee Kelly Osbourne has been on a diet (so she says) and has lost a lot of tonnage. This makes her happy and instead of scowling on the red carpet she now grins a lot. Only thing is, even without the face padding, her admirers have discovered that her jaw really is that broad. This is who she reminds me of now.

Long Noses Come Home

I happened to mention to the brother, the out-of-town one, the Vancouver one – that we’d got our pork coming and he said, for he’s a bit of a wind-up merchant,

I don’t know how you can do that.

Do what?

Eat pork.

What d’ye mean?

Well – eat pigs and there you are keeping pet pigs. I mean, could you imagine eating Lily and Rusty?

So I said to him,

Well. It’s like this. Imagine it. It’s like you keep chickens. You keep them for eggs and meat. Every now and again you pull a few necks, do a bit of plucking, get them in the freezer,

He says,

And your point is?

And I say,

And in the house you’ve got this awesome talking parrot…

So tonight we’re divvying out the pig. Dave and Zoe have got half of Pig No 1, shared with us. He was rather a big lad. Many the time we marvelled at the size of his balls. Marty got half of Pig No. 4, a much smaller pig, although Marty thought it was more pork than he’d seen in a while. That shelf of the freezer Mrs Marty had cleared out was not going to do the job at all.

When all the divvying was done Bert and I sat looking at the boxes that were marked Pig No 1 and Pig No 4. I said,

Can you imagine if we’d named them and those boxes had on them instead of numbers a name like Flossie or Boris or somesuch. Can you imagine how we’d feel about that?

We called those pigs the Long Noses. We were good to them but we did not get friendly with them.

Highly Recommended

I have stumbled upon this wonderful, intelligent and darkly funny blog. It is called Hyperbole and a Half.

The blog's creator Allie Brosh has an amazing artistic talent and twisted, honest way of looking at the world. This is one of my favourite posts. I LOVE those dog pictures. Hell I love that dog. Even though she is retarded.

I'd show you one of those doggy pictures but I'm too afraid. Allie keeps a Copyright Monster and it has slavering jaws and big sharp teeth.

A Possible Career Change...

...for me as a surrogate Mum for passing rock bands. No rough types need apply and they must love animals. Whether that be for eating or petting. Matching socks are optional

Then and Now

2010 - Children found working in Worcestershire field. Picking spring onions. Police called. Children taken into police protection.

1970 - Children found working in County Antrim field. Picking spuds. Nobody cares. Uncle Kevin totally gets away with it.

Happy Birthday JGB

Happy Birthday to Sister J, Cousin J and Best English Teacher Ever - BD.

More Tales From The Negative Scanner

Hannah and Katy should both sack the stylist! Mmmm. That would have been me.

Love Me, Love My Pigs

Rusty and Lily were close companions right from the start.

Matty said to me this evening,

Is it true there's a picture of you on the internet lying with those pigs in a pigsty?

Um. I wasn't actually lying, just sort of, y'know, reclining and it wasn't in a dirty part or anything....

Humph. That's a nice thing to have the world to see. Our Eamon told me.

Thanks bruv.

Honestly! Life was far simpler before they told Matty about the internet.

The Man Who Mistook His Wife For A Dog

Bert asking directions to our holiday house.

So. That was my long-awaited break, just a little old weekend in Malin Head, Donegal. It started off well. We had a nice drive down; it wasn’t that hard to find the house where we were staying, we had a meal in the village of Malin, and then a good brisk walk on Five Fingers Strand. We went back to the house which was very comfortable and enjoyed a few glasses of wine.

I wasn’t feeling that great when I laid my head down to sleep but I put that down to the salad in Malin. Given a choice of more than one place to eat Bert will always pick the one that looks a bit cheap. It’s not that he cannot afford the nicer places, just that he thinks he has to be ironed, shaved and brylcreemed to enter a better establishment. This of course is nonsense. Now that the Celtic Tiger has breathed his last and is mouldering in the grave, any dining place is pleased to welcome a man with a pocket full of Euros and no mind will be paid to his unpolished Converse or to the straw and sawdust sticking to his pixie. But I was too hungry to argue. We entered the café which was staffed with young women with red hair and I’m not talking ginger, I’m talking cerise and they had facial piercings. Sorry. Call me a square, or whatever the young and hip call squares these days, but I hate facial piercings nearly as much as I hate tattoos. We chose our main courses. I decided I didn’t want a whole portion of chips and Bert agreed we should share. I ordered a salad. When will I ever learn? For there are still huge swathes of Ireland that do not understand the concept of salad.

When I think of salad I think of green leafy vegetables, a slice or two of tomato, maybe some scallion or sliced onion. I think of a smear of dressing, vinegary and oily. When cerise-headed, facially pierced girls think of salad, as did their mothers and grandmothers before them, they think of chunks of iceberg lettuce (yuck), hags of tomatoes, lumps of scallion, great shreds of red and green peppers, boiled rice (why?) and a great big fucking boiled egg. The only thing that might come close to a dressing would be the disgusting, glutinous mess they call coleslaw. Needless to say it was stinking but because I’ve been taught that leaving one’s vegetables is a sin I ate as much as I could which amounted to about a third of it. I never lipped the rice or coleslaw and I only had half a boiled egg. I hate myself for it now. How I wished Lily and Rusty were there for they would have eaten all that vegetable rubbish and declared it awesome tucker.

The fact is you’ll never hate a foodstuff as much as when you’re reintroduced to it at a later point. I’ve said I felt queasy and sick when I was going to sleep. Ha! Sleep! Precious little of that I got. Up and down all night saying ‘Hi Ya!’ to every morsel of food I ate that day. I’m never drinking red wine again either. It’s Gordon’s Gin all the way for me now.

The next day I was still feeling crook but I trailed myself out and we went to the actual Malin Head which is supposed to be the most northerly point in Ireland. It’s also happens to be in the South of Ireland but that’s a slightly complicated tale for those who are not overly familiar with early 20^th century Irish history. On the way there Bert said,

Do you remember the last time we were here?

Were we? Can’t say I do. When was this?

Not that long ago.

Are you sure? Nothing looks familiar.

I’m sure.

I can honestly say I don’t think I’ve ever been here in my life.

You were.

Bert went for an hour’s walk when we were there. I’m afraid I just dozed in the car. And when he came back I asked to go back to the house. I was sick for the whole of the day which I spent in bed. Bert had to go to Carndonagh to get me Imodium for I was that bad. I’ve never taken that drug in my life before but I knew people are advised to pack it when going abroad. I never thought I’d need it in Donegal. But – it worked.

We discussed going home but I wasn’t fit for the journey. Instead I said to Bert to get out and about and make the most of it and he did.

I got up at around seven that evening and ate a plain yogurt. We watched some TV. We had just two channels to choose from which was strangely relaxing. We watched the GAA awards, a documentary about the Irish Republican Brotherhood and The Clancy Brothers in Concert. It was like heading back 50 years in time.

Bert went to the pub and had a brilliant night. He said lots of the good old boys in there were coming down with the vomiting and the diarrhoea but were still knocking back the porter and whiskey. He said it was the sort of place where you might buy a wee heifer of a boy before the night was out. He said he was that drunk he fell into the hedge on his way home. He said the stars were wonderful. I shuffled out to look at them and they were. I thought there wasn’t that much light pollution here but it’s nothing on Malin Head.

Do you mind earlier on when I said we’d been to Malin Head before?

Aye.

It wasn’t you. It was Paddy.

We left this morning about eleven o’clock. It was all so beautiful. I had a little cry for what I had missed. Ten miles on Bert said,

Did you clear out the fridge?

Oh no! I meant to but I forgot.

And so it was we left the house for the second time that day. This time I didn’t cry.

While Bert was out and about getting to know the locals, this fellow here was the one and only creature I passed the time of day with.

New Camera

rusty & lily, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

I had to get a new camera because my Canon PhotoSmart G90 stopped working. Seems they sometimes do that.

On Growing Old

As you'll know elders are a big feature in my life right now. Both my mother and my mother-in-law are in poor shape at this time. Both find life difficult, both get very tired of living. But somehow they fight on to see another day. Bert and I were talking about this, wondering how we'll be when we're old, infirm and ill. Bert reckoned he'd be bitter. I hoped I wouldn't. But hey! Think on this. To get to be old - is that so bad?

There is somebody young right now, somebody related to me, although I do not know her, somebody who is very seriously ill. I hope and pray she gets to be old.

Come On Nelly!

It's just like the olden days - company expected and I have spent the day cleaning the house from top to bottom. And - I'm enjoying it. And - I'm doing it without cocaine. And - I'm awesome.

So who is this company you might ask? I'll give you a clue. They're playing in Lavery's tonight and staying here afterwards. Never mind Come On Gang! for it's Come On Nelly! tonight

A Dish Cloth

I spent today with Matty. She was tired, but apart from that not in bad form. Still knitting away. She's working on a bigger project now and it's tiring her out handling it. It's quite the knitting circle going on in Tannaghmore. Kerry Sister is making something big and purple. She says it is a cushion cover. Matty is making a body warmer and I'm knitting cotton dish cloths. Yes. Cotton dish cloths. I found some dish cloth cotton when we were doing the final clear out of the moby. Cotton dish cloths used to be Pearlie's passion. She made dish cloths for everyone she knew. Except me of course. She even made Matty one, which Matty has elevated to a washcloth. It was my plan to make the most wonderful dish cloth ever and give it to Matty, who would love it far more than the one Pearlie made. And this dish cloth would be a work of art for obviously I am a far better knitter and can produce much better anything than any of Pearlie's shoddy efforts.

I knit my perfect square in bright, white cotton and I worked it in basket stitch and I cast it off and I held it up and admired it. And then I took it to Matty's bathroom and compared it to the one that Pearlie made and looked at them both very hard and then had to own that Pearlie's was just as good as mine if not better. Ah well. At least mine is bigger.

In other news, Matty who declared several months ago that her scone making days were over has, this very morning, made scones. And they were delicious even if the making of them left her very tired.

A Journey Worth Reading About

Hails on horseback in Outer Mongolia

Coffee Helps is one of the best blogs that I've ever had the pleasure of reading and it's author Hails is one of the most genuine, decent and sweetest bloggers that I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. And I've met some!

Hails is also a modest soul and I know her well enough to be certain that she'll be 'SCARLEH' reading this.

Why do I appreciate her writing so much? It's this. I first found her blog by simply googling for Cullybackey. I was struck by this young girl who made an excellent story out of scraping her car on a gatepost, as she drove out of her little rented house in Pottinger Street, while on her way to a job that was not fulfilling her in the slightest amount. I identified with Hails. I lived in Cullybackey, I scraped cars and I knew only too well the boredom of an unsatisfactory job.

Hails moved on, she went travelling, she fell in love, got her heart broke, picked herself up, went travelling again. She carved out a whole new life, learned to love pickled cabbage and found herself a brilliant career. All the while she kept on sharing, writing, inspiring and entertaining.

Imagine it. Finding a blog that starts in Pottinger Street and ends up in Outer Mongolia! And she's not done yet. Hails - you're my hero.

Bye Bye Moby

Today was a momentous day. We finally disposed of the mobile home that has been a feature of this yard for more than seven years. It was bought for Pearlie to live in while this house was being renovated. Since she moved in with us it has been completely surplus to requirements. There were a few people had a notion of moving into it but it never happened. They would have been far too close to us and it probably would have turned out unfortunate.

Then the Land & Property people laid a huge rates bill on it and it took us more than a year to convince them that no one lived there. Rules are about to change and it seems that in 2011 empty buildings will no longer be exempt from rates. I said to Bert, "Get rid of it or I'll hire a digger and bury it rather than give those bastards one brown penny." He got rid of it.

Funny thing is the moby has gone to live on the very road on which I lived as an infant. It will only be there for a while for it is to have a complete makeover and then who knows where it will end up?

The Dog Whisperer

Curtis again - telling Bonnie secrets.

Barbed Wire Throat

I was laid low these past few days with a throat that felt like it was full of broken glass or barbed wire. And all I wanted to do was eat fruit and sleep.

The throat was picked up from Miss Martha who wasn't too well on Thursday when I looked after her and all she wanted to do was watch videos of her Mummy, eat fruit and sleep. Poor little lamb. If I'd known how grotty she was feeling I'd have been even nicer to her. (If such a thing were possible.)

Long Tom Hat

This is Curtis, into off-the-wall headgear and one of an exclusive list of children who have been awarded the Nellybert Seal of Approval.

The Greatest Story Ever Told

Hey Bert! Guess what movie we're getting from Lovefilm?

What?

Guess! It rhymes with guess.

Kes?

No! Tess!

Tess! Again? We've seen it twice already.

Yes but that was Gemma Arterton and Justine Waddell. This is the Polanski one. Natassja Kinski.

But sure we know what happens.

Who cares. It's the greatest story ever told.

Huh!

In Which Bert Goes All Unity Mitford

Bert asked this question,

If you could spend a day with anyone living or dead, who would you choose?

I thought for a moment, then answered,

Proust.

Would you?

What about you? who would you choose?

I knew what he'd say.

Hitler.

Why so?

I'm not saying I like him. It's just that he wasn't in it for the power. The rest of them were in it for the power but Hitler - he really believed in it. I'd just like to get an idea of what he was about.

So there would be Bert hanging out in a brown sitting room with Hitler, trying to pretend he wasn't giving Eva the eye and listening to Wagner and there would be me sitting in Paris in a cork lined and gloomy bedroom talking to the wee man in the bed about life, the universe and everything. Sheesh. We need to get a life!

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.