Saturday, February 21, 2015

A Visit To Asia Supermarket


My young friend and fellow blogger Hails loves Korean food and the last time we were in Belfast we visited Cafe Arirang on Botanic Avenue. Hails was more than pleased with it and I was glad of her advice as to what would be good to eat as she was familiar with all the dishes on offer. As she should be having spent quite a few years living in South Korea.

I asked her if she'd ever visited the Asia Supermarket on the Ormeau Road. She hadn't so we made a plan to go as soon as we could. Today was that day and as we neared it I said,

You're going to dance with joy when you see this place.

And her feet were jigging before we even got inside. She could smell the lovely spicy aroma as we approached the door.



Of course she knew what everything was. When we left Hails was loaded with ingredients and I'd got a few bits and pieces myself. I idly enquired what her plans for the evening were and she answered,

Cooking Korean food!

Of course. Silly question.

At Cafe Arirang I had 만두 and I didn't catch what Hails had but it came with 김치 and she polished it off with much enjoyment.

만두 - mandu or steamed dumplings
김치 - kimchi or fermented cabbage

When I got home Bert raided my shopping bag as usual and fell to the dried seaweed and kimchi with gusto. We had to decant the kimchi into a Kilner jar as we feared its pungency would affect everything else in the fridge. Apparently in Korea people have dedicated kimchi fridges but that is because they make a years supply at one go.

So what did Nellybert have for supper? We had bacon, spuds and peas although Bert did have a side of kimchi with his.


Wednesday, February 18, 2015

And What Of The Pigs?

My Facebook posts concerning the little black pigs. 

7th February. I wonder if anyone knows of a lost Vietnamese Pot-Bellied pig? Very young. It is running terrified through fields near Cullybackey. We have tried to find it but have not been successful. It was found in a shed in a farm off the Kilrea line but escaped before it could be taken to a place of safety. I wonder if the poor thing has been dumped. Unwanted Christmas present perhaps? If so, the person who dumped it is a horrible, uncaring, stupid piece of shit. If that piglet doesn't get to a place of safety it will die very soon.


8th February. Bert has been searching for the abandoned pig. Sighted it today and there are two of them! This gives them a better chance of survival. We have hopes that they will be brought to safety. If they cannot be captured and they are boy and girl there may soon be herds of wild pigs roaming the hedgerows and plantations of Cullybackey.

9th February. And then there were three! All boars so it is likely that they were abandoned by the breeder.

10th February. Man arrived in yard today to ask if we had lost two black pigs. Two piglets sighted in another area. The thing is, are they two of the original trio or, are there 5 of them? Bert has gone to search the place where we first saw them.


11th February. Two callers to the yard yesterday, both hoping that the abandoned pigs were our responsibility. Two sighted on another farm frightening sheep and scaring the horses. The authorities have been contacted and vets are trying to locate them. It won't end well for the pigs and it will cost DARD money, probably quite a lot. And all because a breeder off-loaded his/her responsibilities on to other people. I hope this person is found and prosecuted.

12th February. Five pigs spotted today! At least one was a sow.




And then it all went very quiet. This is what I think happened. The pigs weren't unwanted pets. They had not been abandoned by a breeder. They most likely belonged to a near neighbour of the lady who first contacted us. It seems they had simply escaped from a poorly fenced paddock and were happily exploring the surrounding countryside. The lady, let's call her Suzie, approached the likely pig-owner and he said that they couldn't possibly be his pigs as he counted them every night and they were all present and correct. I'd guess that if he had been counting them during the day the roll-call would have shown a few absentees. Since Suzie called with him the pigs have not been seen.  So I reckon he is keeping them indoors. Poor little pigs. They must have been having the time of their lives exploring the surrounding townlands.

It brings to mind that Van Morrison song.


When it's nobody's business the way that you want to live
I just have to remember there'll be days like this 

Sunday, February 15, 2015

Crazy Jack and the Chickpeas


So, after I cleaned my grubby spice rack the next spot to tackle was the store cupboard. While there were no unpleasant surprises in the larder there were some elderly dried goods such as an unopened 2kg bag of chickpeas older than Martha. The cupboard was crammed with chickpeas both dried and tinned and obviously we never eat them except for that time Bert took a great notion of making hummus. The 2kg bag will be used as animal feed and I'll have to hoke out that hummus recipe for Bert.

The oldest item in the cupboard was the organic brown rice. If that packet of unopened brown rice were a child it would be at secondary school by now. What kind of idiot lets packets of food sit on her shelves for endless years? What type of deluded fool keeps buying chickpeas and then has them languish in her cupboard for over a decade? If it were another person with a store of ancient food in their pantries I'd call that person a food hoarder.



If anyone has any delicious recipes where chickpeas are one of the main ingredient please let me know.

Friday, February 13, 2015

Smoked Paprika Weevil


I decided to give my spice rack a long overdue cull. I remember Katy buying the smoked paprika for a chicken dish she prepared for her Northern Irish friends shortly before her wedding. It didn't seem that long ago but when I think of it, Miss Martha was actually a babe in arms and she is in her sixth year now.


That was a great evening. Delicious food, good company and the best of craic.  And nearly five years ago. That smoked paprika definitely was up for review. I opened it, sniffed it. Hardly any aroma. Much as I expected. But what was that? A grain of rice? A grain of rice that wriggled? It was a grub. I called Bert in to see. You should keep that, he said. See what it turns into.

No thanks! I don't think I want to see the kind of creature that pupates in hot pepper. Seems devilish. I sieved the paprika to see if there were any more. There wasn't. I took a photograph then flung the larva into the yard. See how it manages in a cold, wet, Irish February far away from its beloved paprika.

Naturally I Googled this and apparently it is not uncommon to find larvae in old paprika. It is actually best to keep it in the fridge. Who knew?

Thursday, February 12, 2015

What I Learned

In my first year at the University of Ulster our class had a Friday afternoon lecture with the controversial eugenicist, Professor Richard Lynn. The subject of the  lecture  was an introduction to Psychology and it was mind-numbingly tedious. There was no hint of Lynn's particular areas of interest apart from his scanning the group looking for North-East Asian faces. He once called one of our friends down after the lecture to enquire after her ethnicity. She told us afterwards that he seemed disappointed to find out that despite her being from Vietnam her family actually had a Chinese background.

As I said, the lecture was extremely dull and I found myself half asleep during it. Little wonder I only got a 2:2. However Professor Lynn did teach me something that term, something I have never forgotten.

He was lecturing us on anxiety disorders and depression. He was speaking of anxiety and how it can consume one. He said,

Each of you this afternoon has a worry. Something that is troubling you greatly. I will tell you this - when we meet in this lecture hall next Friday, you will not be thinking about your present worry, you will be worrying about something else altogether!

And I thought about my worry. Probably something about an overdue assignment. And on the following Friday I cast my mind back. The Professor was right. I wasn't the least bit concerned about last week's problem. I was worrying about something new.

That has comforted me so many times when I have had a niggling, troubling concern. I just tell myself that in seven days time it won't be concerning me at all so why worry now?


Monday, February 09, 2015

Three Little Pigs In The Big Bad World

So there were these two little abandoned pigs wandering the fields and hedgerows of deepest, darkest Cullybackey. Bert and I went out this morning to fetch them out and feed them finest kind pig food with a view to their rescue and rehabilitation. We took one dog only, our Jess for she is good at sniffing out pigs and, unlike Judy, she does not hate the porcine race.

She did her work, sniffed them out and over the crest of a hill appeared one pig and the other. Then another. Three of the beggars! Bert emptied out the pig meal and they all tucked in. The way they were scoffing it was obvious that they were no stranger to meal and that it had been more than a day or two since they'd had any. They might be three or four months, all the same age, litter mates for sure and they are all boars. They've been dumped by the person who bred them.

This is a big problem. No one wants boars. If they were to go for pets they'd need to be castrated and that should have happened already.

I'm not sure what is going to happen. But we're not giving up on them yet. Whatever the outcome is they are going to be fed.

So we'll be back tomorrow. Fingers and trotters crossed there won't be four of them standing there.


Sunday, February 08, 2015

Here Be Pigs


We were contacted yesterday by friends of a friend to find out if we were missing a pig. An exotic specimen had turned up in the yard of another of their friends. This lady kept horses and her horses were mortally afraid of pigs. This seemed odd to me but it seems that many horses are wary of pigs. Out of curiosity and some concern for the pig we agreed to go check it out.

The pig was in a huge barn and the five of us strolled in. The pig, a potbelly, was in the corner of the barn. It was only a baby, maybe a few months old. Anyway it got spooked and made for the door which was closed but it found a little breach and off it went. Pigs are great escapologists. The last we saw it was haring up the side of a hedge. Bert decided to take to the fields to see if he could find it but had no success. I met him in Clint's yard. This lady's place was a mile or two by road but only a couple of field lengths as the crow flies.

We were cross with ourselves because that time in the shed was our best chance of capturing it. I must say it preyed on both our minds that poor wee thing was out in the open without food or shelter. I was angry too with whoever had owned it because it seemed very likely that it had been abandoned. It was just about the right age to have been small and cute at Christmas time. Perhaps it was a gift that turned out unsuitable. The practice of dumping unwanted pets is common here and over the years I've come across it many times. Our big ginger cat, Fred, was actually dumped from a car in the Doagh Road as I was walking there.

What do people be thinking of when they do that? Do they think that their unwanted pet will be picked up by a kind stranger and taken in? I've been that kind stranger on a number of occasions but, believe me, there are not enough kind strangers to go round. A few years back Bert had to scrape a pulverised dog off the road and bury it. He did this on the off chance that it was someone's lost pet and that the sight of it would be too upsetting for them. But no one came looking and it is probable that the dog was dumped on our road and got hit by a car.

The little pig was on our mind and Bert went out with the dogs yesterday evening to see if he could find it. They had no joy. It wasn't a cold evening and we were hopeful that it would survive to live another day. He and his friend went out again today. Máirtín is a city boy and enjoys the things we do here. Dosing calves, potting up clematis, burning stuff , driving tractors and searching for pigs - Máirtín loves it all. Jess led them to the pig, two pigs! Two potbellies grazing at the edge of a copse, enjoying the late winter sun and not overly afraid of humans or dogs. Still too skittish to be caught. They are only a field length away from Clint's place and he says that if they turn up in his wood they can stay!

I'm glad there are two of them. It will increase their chance of survival but I cannot help wondering what is going on. Two dumped pigs or two lost pigs. Will we ever find out?

Wednesday, February 04, 2015

Happy Birthday Leitrim Sister


A photograph from a few years back featuring the sister and the daughter. Happy birthday Dede!

Sunday, February 01, 2015

Protests and Birthdays

Yesterday I went out protesting with Hails from Coffee Helps. It's been a while since I attended such an event. The last time we were all chanting Maggie, Maggie, Maggie, Out, Out, Out!  On that occasion I got my picture on the front page of the Irish News so, needless to say, on Saturday, I dressed with care and made sure I combed my hair. It was a good day. I caught up with Hayley, met some new people and ate Korean food at Cafe Arirang. The protest went well too. About a thousand people turned up which isn't bad for Belfast on a freezing cold January day.

When I got home I found that Bert hadn't as much as lifted a spoon but he had made some great progress playing Stardust on his clarinet. I was too tired to bother with anything so watched a Meryl Streep film and went to bed reasonably early with the Guardian. But before I retired I researched 30 minute clean up on Google. For Kerry Sister is up in the North and she'd be visiting the next day and was keen to see my new private sitting room. And due to the massive clearing out I've been doing there were boxes and boxes of hoardy stuff sitting there and it was all a bit of a mess.


Happy Birthday Brendan. Photograph by Patricia Mhuircheartaigh

This morning I bounced out of bed at a quarter to eight, let all the domestic animals out for a pee in the snow, made coffee, buttered malt loaf and went back to bed for another read of the Guardian. Forty minutes later I bounced back out of bed and started on my 30 minute clean up. I thought it might take a wee bit longer than thirty minutes. First off was put on the laundry, then I had to take a laundry basket and gather up all the clutter. I filled three laundry baskets and this did not include the boxes of Pearlie's old aprons, Bert's old toys and all the birthday cards he received since he was one year old and The Sash His Father Wore. And Johnny's white gloves and all the ribbons that were tied to the ceremonial sword. Bert says I can give the ribbons to Martha and Evie to tie up their bonny brown hair. So darling grandchilder you may look forward to receiving a bunch of ribbons colours red, white, blue, purple and orange.

I did manage to do everything on the 30 minute clean up list and was just wiping the last drip off the floor with my Whizz mop when the Kerry car pulled into the yard and it had only taken me 94 minutes.

All to the good though for the Kerry Sister and myself were able to relax in my clutter free and private sitting room while Bert and the Kerry Man tramped up Slemish in the snow. It was the Kerry Man's birthday and tramping up icy mountains is just the sort of birthday outing he enjoys. Before they left I gave him a lovely present - two bags of County Antrim's finest turf. He was delighted. Who wouldn't be?

Thursday, January 29, 2015

Snowfolk



Martha spends Thursdays with Hannah at present while Evie continues her task of training Bert to obey her every command. I do miss Martha and am looking forward to having her again after mid-term. Today they made snowfolk. It's been a while since I've engaged in this activity and I was a bit cheesed off to see that Hannah and Martha's snowman is rather better than Evie's and mine.

I worried about it for a while, worried that competitiveness is not a pleasant trait in a grandmother but I cannot help it. Our Springhill snowlady looks wishy-washy compared to the Ballymena snowman. Actually he looks like a snow bishop with his hat, jewel buttons and his fur collar. Yes. I am watching Wolf Hall too.



Good News! I have a date for my cataract surgery in three weeks time. I am really looking forward to getting it done.

And another thing - the snow in Ballymena must have been of better quality than ours. Yes. That's what it was. We had inferior snow.

Sunday, January 25, 2015

Burning Books

One of my delights is reading to Martha and Evie and that pleasure is greatly increased when I am enjoying the story myself. At the moment we are all loving the Winnie the Pooh stories by A.A. Milne. A few weeks ago I was given a pile of books by a friend. Most of them were Charlie and Lola books which were new to me but I knew Martha would be pleased with them. There was also a Winnie the Pooh book which was unfamiliar. Martha picked Charlie and Lola for this afternoon's reading session. It was OK. It might grow on me as I become familiar with the characters. Evie chose the new Winnie the Pooh book. As I opened it I saw that it was  a Disney book written by someone called Tammi J. Santa Croce. The children appeared to enjoy it but not me. It jarred. The prose was inelegant, the tone simplistic, the story trite. Croce had endowed Piglet with a stammer which was entirely ignored by me in the reading. The worst of it was the author's treatment of Tigger. She had him saying things like 'li'l buddy', 'where are ya?' and 'tigger-ific'. The most awful part was when he said, 'Hey, buddy boy! Whatcha doin'?' I was appalled and resolved to get rid of the dreadful book at my first opportunity. It's actually burning on the fire right now.






Thursday, January 22, 2015

Poorly Pig Tale

Rusty got sick last weekend and at first we thought it was a return of the pneumonia that he suffered from when he was a little pig. We got a shot from the vet and put him under an infra red lamp. It was a bad sign that he just stood there and took the shot. Poor thing was too weak to struggle.

Lily made all our lives difficult. It is so hard to nurse a sick pig when there is another one vying for attention, the warmest part of the enclosure and all the food so we decided to separate them.

He was completely off food and would not drink so we brought the vet out the following day. His verdict was that Rusty had 'got a foundering' and we were to give him warm liquids and tie a blanket around him. His temperature was low and he got another shot to prevent him from taking anything while his resistance was low, He needed to be warmer. So we built him a little den within a stall with rubber matting and piles of cardboard on the floor. It was lined with bales of hay and he had piles of straw bedding. This kept the heat in as did the blanket tied round his big round middle. He still wasn't eating or drinking but he was starting to feel warmer.
Rusty on the mend

The next morning I went out half expecting him to be dead but when I went into the house there were morning snuffles and grunts coming from both sides. Rusty was up and he felt considerably warmer. He took a decent amount of water and afterwards a bowl of warm mash which he wolfed down. While all this was going on Lily was squealing with rage so as soon as I'd finished with Rusty she got her breakfast too. I went indoors to tell Bert the good news.

I had the dentist that day and while I was out I stocked up on strawberries, grapes and bananas for the patient. As soon as I got back I was hand feeding strawberries to the poorly boy while his sister raged. She got some but Rusty had most of them. Lily knew she was being short changed.

Rusty continued to eat and drink so we put them together for a while. That did not work out as Lily started to bully him. He is a great lump with big scary tusks yet he is mortally afraid of his sister. He is a far nicer pig than Lily.

I had another appointment today and while I was gone Bert tried them together again leaving a door ajar so that Rusty could escape her wrath if he needed to. After a while he heard them squealing and within moments Rusty was at the back door looking in at Bert with a beseeching 'rescue me' expression. I don't know what we are going to do. If I felt he was completely well I would let them sort it out between them but that doesn't seem fair when he is recuperating.

 The day the pigs came

People – pet pigs are not for the faint-hearted. In fact they are not for anyone who has an ounce of sense.

In other news – my hospital appointment in Belfast went very well and it seems I will be getting my cataract surgery sooner rather than later.

Strawberries are their favourite food

Saturday, January 17, 2015

On This Day

On this day eight years ago Bert took Pearlie to a hospital appointment with a specialist. It was her stomach was bothering her and she was told she would be having an endoscopy. They never did find out exactly what ailed her and she died of whatever it was 7 and a half years later. Meanwhile, I went to a funeral.

Funerals seem to feature large on this blog. Probably because I come from a large family and funeral attendance is an important part of Irish culture. Country folk, particularly the older people would tend to go to every funeral about the place. It was my father's main form of socialising after he retired. And as the Wee Manny says,


Sure we have nothing better to do!



Eight years ago I wrote this about Aunt Bernadette's funeral.


The funeral service was one of the best I've ever heard. For once the priest spoke of a real person rather than a plaster saint. My Aunt was not the easiest of women yet he described her in a way that highlighted her humanity, helped me to understand her eccentricities, her outspokenness and made me wish I'd had more time for her. A lesson learned. We froze at her graveside. I'm sure it served me right.




Mum and Aunt Bernadette sometime in the 1970s

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

The Morning Matriarch


matriarch
ˈmeɪtrɪɑːk/
noun
a woman who is the head of a family or tribe.
"in some cultures the mother proceeds to the status of a matriarch"
an older woman who is powerful within a family or organization.
      "a domineering matriarch"

So how does the Matriarch of the Springhill Tribe put in her morning?

It is winter so many of her matriarchal duties take place within the home. The Matriarch will rise two minutes earlier each day. There should be no concern that she will, one day, find herself getting up before she actually retires as the process is long. It is written in her Book of Rules that she has to earn the right to rise two minutes earlier each day. If she does not she must set her alarm at the same time as on the previous night. At the time of writing she is striving to arise at 8:02am and hopes to have achieved this by the middle of January.

On rising she must first attend to her duties of animal care. Dogs go out the double doors and cats go out the back door (Fred) and front door (Holly) as each cat dislikes dogs and hate each other intensely. When this task is completed the Matriarch lets dogs back in and returns to bed with a cup of coffee and a book. In the Matriarch's Book of Rules this still counts as getting up two minutes earlier every day unless, on finishing her coffee, she snuggles down under the duvet. Snuggling down under the duvet forfeits the right to arise two minutes earlier the following day. After drinking coffee and finishing a chapter of a worthy book she arises from bed for it is time to Feed the Hens.

Feeding the Hens is an arduous, complicated task and can only be overseen by the Matriarch. Three minutes later she is back inside the house preparing her second cup of coffee. Then it is time to Check the Internet. That duty completed it is time to Update the List. The list updated the Matriarch carries out the third important task of the day which is, Feeding the Machines. When all three machines, washer, dryer and dishwasher are whirring merrily away on the greenest settings then the Matriarch can prepare her third cup of coffee. After which, Morning Ablutions.

To be continued.

Monday, January 12, 2015

In Which I Find Myself


Over the past few months I have been feeling under-employed, with too much time on my hands, that sort of thing. This feeling probably began around four months after Pearlie's passing.

I was sharing my feelings of ennui with Les,

I don't know what to do with myself. I don't know what my role is!

And Les replied,

Nelly – you are a matriarch. That is your role.

Matriarch. I rolled the concept around in my mind. Matriarch. Liked it very much. It is obvious when I think of it. The matriarch Pearlie died and I must fill her shoes. Even though she had huge feet and mine are average sized.

So what does a matriarch do?

The Oxford English Dictionary defines the role thus,

matriarch
ˈmeɪtrɪɑːk/
noun
a woman who is the head of a family or tribe.
"in some cultures the mother proceeds to the status of a matriarch"
an older woman who is powerful within a family or organization.
"a domineering matriarch"

So how does the Matriarch of the Springhill Tribe put in her day? That is a very big question and as I'm feeling rather tired I'll leave it to tomorrow. Matriarchal duties can be exhausting.

Tomorrow. More tomorrow. For it is written in the Matriarch's Book of Rules,

Always leave them wanting more.*

*This statement only applies to story-telling and not to other important things like Food and Love.

Thursday, January 08, 2015

The Joys Of Pig-Keeping

Miss Martha is otherwise engaged for ten weeks. She is doing an important after school class in the martial arts and is likely to become a child not to be trifled with. The sad part is that her class will be on a Thursday which is her day for spending the afternoon in Cully. The jolly part is that it means we have Evie all to ourselves and, as the van only has three seats, we can have days out that include Bert. He had errands in town so we decided to pick up Evie from nursery, do the important business, then go to Cafe Couture for lunch.

Evie was convinced that she would be given a complimentary lollipop after her meal so when this didn't happen she was rather sad. So we went to Lidls and bought ice cream and other essentials.

On the way home we listened to Alan Bennett read In Which Pooh And Piglet Go Hunting And Nearly Catch A Woozle. We all enjoyed it very much. Every time we hear it I have a new best bit. Today it was...

Piglet passing the time by telling Pooh what his Grandfather Trespassers W had done to Remove Stiffness after Tracking, and how his Grandfather Trespassers W had suffered in his later years from Shortness of Breath, and other matters of interest

As we approached the end of our lane I noticed the oncoming traffic slowing down and pulling out as if to avoid something. I said to Bert,

What is it?
It's a woozle!

Unfortunately it wasn't a woozle. It was Lily. The pigs had broken out of their paddock and Lily had spotted the recycling bins at the end of the lane. No doubt thinking they were full of delicious food she went down to investigate. She overturned the bins and spread the contents around and by the time I got out of the van she had crossed the road and was trying to batter her way into another field - grass being greener and all that kind of thing. The good pig Rusty contented himself eating silage in the yard. We had got home just in time. 

Yet another rethink needed on keeping the kune kunes contained. Pet pigs? Don't even consider it!


Hey Pig-Keeper! Call that a fence?

Tuesday, January 06, 2015

First Funeral Of The Year

As it turned out I went to today's funeral (the first of the year) with the Wee Manny. He arrived at our house more than an hour early all suited and booted. In our part of the world, by the time a man is in his middle age he has his funeral rig ready at all times. This outfit will consist of a dark suit, a dark tie, black if the funeral is that of a close family member and, given the Irish climate, a heavy dark overcoat.

It was a battle getting Bert to wear his suit but he allowed himself to be persuaded. The funeral suit is a much easier option than trying to find other items of dark (clean) clothing. And the dark tie is always in the inside jacket pocket.

The reason I went with The Wee was because Bert was picking Hannah up from work and the Wee and I, both being Virgos, are very particular about punctuality. We were there at least half an hour before the proceedings began. The Cuningham Memorial is very close to where I live yet this was the first time I'd ever been inside it. The interior is very traditional, with heavy roof beams and beautiful stained glass. The pews are those old fashioned ones with doors. Ours seated just three people. As always, on entering the church, I had to stop myself looking for the holy water font and in the pew I noted the absence of kneelers. Presbyterians do not kneel. At least I did not attempt to genuflect as I entered the pew. I did that once but I hope no one noticed. That was at Church of Ireland wedding so you'd almost get away with it.

As we sat in that pew I reflected that The Wee is actually my oldest friend. Not old in terms of age, but old in the length of time we've known each other. I met him nearly forty years ago and I knew of his existence a couple of years before that. The Wee was one of the cool dudes, living mostly outside Ballymena, in London, Amsterdam and other interesting places. I first met him in Dublin while I was visiting my sister who was at Trinity College. He and I had a mutual friend and the three of us went on a pub crawl. Little did I know that we'd still know each other forty years on and that we'd go to funerals together and that we'd have spent the time before discussing our favourite baking dishes and other mundane things. He introduced me to Bert nearly thirty years ago so I expect I'll have to be friends with him forever.

The man whose funeral service we were at was the father of one of my youngest friends. I've known Mel for sixteen years and although I did not know her daddy very well, I know that she loved him dearly and he loved her just as much. His passion was breeding horses which he'd been doing for about as long as I've known The Wee. For the very first time ever in our village we had a horse-drawn carriage carrying the coffin to the cemetery. It was drawn by two black horses and somehow I missed seeing it. The reason? Bert distracted my attention by pointing out a familiar face that he was certain belonged to an old enemy from Ballymoney. I was certain it was not our enemy although the lady did look familiar. It turned out to be our vet from Clough. I'd never seen her in a dress before.

God Rest You John A. You left a fine legacy behind you.


Monday, January 05, 2015

Bert and Nelly's Day Oot Revisited


One  good thing about having a blog that is ten years old is that posts can be recycled. This one is exactly ten years old. There is mention (in the comments) of a fine man who died just two days ago.


Wednesday, January 05, 2005


Bert and Nelly's Day Oot

The ither day Bert says tae me “Nelly, that’s a stinkin’ coul oul day. I dinnae think I cud face stannin’ aboot in they oul polyhooses the day lucking at them oul bushes. D’ye think we shud go intae the toon for a bit af a day oot?”

Says I tae Bert, “Ye’re richt aboot that Bert. It’s nae day tae be stannin’ aboot they ould polyhooses luckin’ at bushes, nor any ither thing for that matter. I wud like a day in the toon, but shure I cud go naewhere wae me heer hinging roon’ me in tartles.” Bert says, “Richt enough Nelly, ye’re a guy throughother lukkin’ oul clart. Mebbe ye shud go oot tae yer cousin Pauline and see if she cud dae something wae yer heer.” Says I tae Bert, “Richt enough Bert, maybe I will dae that. But first I’ll need tae slap a bit of pancake and mescara on tae take the bad luk af me” Tae finish mesel aff I sprayt a squirt of the perfume Bert got me fur me birthday. So, says I tae Bert “Am I lukkin any better now?” Says he tae me, “Ach, ye’ll do. Ye’ll be better yit when ye get yer heer tidied up. Ye smell nice anyway.” I says tae him, “It’s thon stuff ye got me fur me last birthday. Ye mind we thocht it smelt like that quare good flyspray we got last August fur the bluebottles.” Says Bert, “Och aye, but it was a quare bit dearer than thon bluebottle stuff. Thon cost me seven poon in Bairds the chemists. Mebbe I shud have got you some of thon bluebottle stuff instead.” “Naw Bert,” says I, “Thon wud likely bring ye oot in a rash. Thon bluebottle stuff, nice an’ all as it smells wud be nae use on human skin.”

I’d already gied Pauline a wee ring and she’d said “Come oan ahead Nelly an’ I’ll see whit I can dae fur ye.” So aff we set in the big dented Volkswagen van wae Paddy and Rosie. Rosie got tae sit in the front but we haud to keep Paddy ahint us in the back fur he was clarried in glaar after bein’ in a sheugh after rats. So we got the length of me ma’s and Bert went intae her hoose and goat himsel’ a feed of barley soup and small bread way a wee cup of tae in his haun. Meantime I dandered over tae Pauline’s tae see aboot getting me heer a bit of a tidy. When Pauline got a gawk at me heer she says, “Boys-a-dear, Nelly. It’s a quare wheel since ye’ve been out here.” I says to Pauline, “Indeed it is Pauline. Luk at the cut of me wae me heer hinging roon me in tartles.” Pauline says “Och shure, we’ll soon tidy thon up fur ye. Whit way wud ye like it?” I tuk a wee scally at mesel’ in the mirror an’ I says tae Pauline “Wheek a good bit aff it. Good an’ short at the tap an’ the sides. I’m lukkin’ the early 80s dyke luk” Weel it wasn’t long ‘til Pauline had me sorted oot. “Is that the usual price then?” says I. “Aye, Nelly” says she. I gie ower a five poon note. Pauline reached tae fur to gie me change but I says “Not atall, Pauline. Shure that was weel worth a fiver.” I says goodbye to her and dandered back over tae me mither’s hoose.

I wis goin’ tae ask me ma if she wanted tae come oot tae the toon wae us but she says “Yer Aunt Maud is comin’ tae take me tae the toon. We’re fur the Next sale tae get wurselves some of they cropped troosers tae tek wae us fur wur holidays in Lourdes. They cropped troosers are all the go wae the pilgrims at the minnit.” I says tae me mither “Weel then, shure that’ll be all richt. Me and Bert’ll head on then fur Bert is mad tae get tae Burton’s fur a new jumper.”
“Before you go” says she, “Will ye tek a wee cup of tay in yer haun?” I says tae me mither, “Och naw. I’ll nae bother. Shure I’ll get some in the toon wae a fish supper in Caulfield’s, I mean Casper’s.” She says, “That’ll do then. Before I forgit Pauline’s made a lovely tidy job of yer heer.” I says to her, “Aye. It needed it, but boys-a-dear, she’s brave and dear wae her three poon. Now dinnae ye be spendin’ all yer pension in the Next sale noo.” I bantered at her.
So aff we headed tae the toon. In the carpark Bert parked the ould van at an angle astride the wee white line and aff we went intae the shoppin’ centre.

I wis scallyin’ at mesel’ in the shap windows as we santered in and was weel pleased at the new heercut. “Whit are ye fur getting’ Bert?” says I. “I cud really do wae a jumper or two,” says he. “Here’s Burton’s now. Boys this is great steam. Better than stannin’ in that ould polyhoose lukkin at clematis and shite. I love shappin’”

It wisnae long afore Bert had picked himsel’ oot a couple o’ vee neck jumpers. He hoult wan, then anither up agin himsel’. “Whit dae ye think Nelly? Which wan shud I go fur?” Weel says I, “The mustard wan wud be good for iveryday weer and wudnae mark aisy but I like the lemon wan tae. Mebbe ye shud tak the baith o’ them.” Says Bert tae me, “Yer right Nelly. I’ll tek the baith o’ them. Wull we go tae TK Maxx nixt and see if I can get mesel’ some mer bargains?” Says I “We wull indeed Bert and then we’ll gae doon tae Caulfield’s, I mean Casper’s, fur a fish supper and a wee cup of tay tae revive us. “ And that is jist what we did.

Inspiration provided by Willie Drennan and ganching

10 comments:

Anonymous said...
Holy hell. I think I understood about half of that. And chance of a translation from the original ulster-scots?

ejh
Nelly said...
Certainly. I went out to get myself a short back and sides. I was wearing plenty of make up and smelt of fly spray. We parked badly and Bert bought two yellow sweaters. It didn't actually happen that way. Bert hates clothes shopping and my hair is still "Hingin' roon me in tartles."
Anonymous said...
That was hilarious Nelly! Kinda reminded of my youth, before I started sounding all english and all. I began to question the stories authenticity with bert's 'I love shappin'' line though!

Mikeyboy
Anonymous said...
I'll have to take your word for it that I partly inspired this as I don't speak Ulster-Scots so didn't understand a word of it.

ganching
Anonymous said...
i am absolutely certain most on dunnygarron road speak just like that nelly. throughother is a favourite of my dad's words - as is blert. blert is a terribly rude sounding and i'm not sure what it means but i like it (sounds like it could be a rude vagina word)
dad would also talk about sheugh's. ah to be home.
mels.
xxxxxxx
Nelly said...
Mel - Your instincts are correct about 'blert'. I think it means a cow's. 'Banjo' Reed uses it and says it is commonly, if crudely, used in Belfast. Who knows? Not Nelly.
Anonymous said...
chrisht, I did'nnodat de mammy head gonal US. Der might be an ole grant goin for dat. lasht of the breed. shore that curowd of langers below in oarip are turfing oaros at anything quare. Giter taped and on de telly shoritidbe only fanfeckintastic.

TM
Nelly said...
Yit anither road o' gettin' a poon 'r twa put by fur the oul age. D'ye think Nelly cud cod them culchur gombeens way the oul Irish-Scots malarkey?
Ronni said...
Awesome! I have a friend from Tennessee who does a really good Scots. I'll have to send him the link.
Nelly said...
If he's lowland scotch he micht unnerstan it weel enough.

Saturday, January 03, 2015

Like and Share

There was one of those happy/sad videos on Facebook this morning and I watched it, got happy/sad then shared. The video featured a young man in New York City going up to complete strangers who were scoffing pizza, explaining that he was hungry and asking for a slice. He got nothing but refusals.

Then the film showed another young man buy an older homeless man a box of pizza which the older man accepted with gratitude. The first man, the slice beggar, approached the homeless man as he was enjoying his pizza, sat down beside him, explained that he was hungry and asked for a slice. Without any hesitation the homeless man proffered a slice. The beggar sat down beside the man, thanked him and they ate together. When the beggar had finished he gave the homeless man a sum of money, thanked him and left. The homeless man put his face in his hands and wept. I almost wept myself. Then I shared. As did one and a half million other people.

Then I found myself thinking about the film, about how it was most probably heavily edited to make the point the film makers wanted to get across. And the point they were trying to get across was that helping others is a good thing for it makes everyone feel good. In the long run they just wanted the shares. The pizza beggar was wearing a shirt that advertised a film making company. It was a sweet message and a manipulative one, and one that did little actual good. It seems that nowadays sharing something on social media is even better than actually doing anything that helps. We get to feel good about ourselves without making the least bit of effort.

I wonder if the homeless man was even real.