The Daily Photograph 7

A good day should contain dogs, family and forests. 

A clean, clear river is a boon when one's paws become muddy.

 A piece of woodland sculpture enhances any portrait.

Spot the heron.

A touch of kitsch.

We were in Glenarm. We were also in Carnlough where we lunched at the Harbour Lights Cafe and had Maud's ice-cream. Both very good.

The Daily Photograph 6

Off to Antrim this morning to visit my friend in the nursing home. She is still very low. Her niece told me that the staff there said they rarely see someone receive so many visitors. Afterwards Judy and I took a walk in the Castle Grounds.

It was cold and dry today and the grounds were thick with primroses. I liked to think that Judy was enjoying their delicate scent but, being a dog, she was far more likely to be inhaling the delicious aroma of some other dog's urine.

I'm getting to know the Grounds really well, almost as well as I did forty odd years ago when I was mitching school. It will make such a difference when Garden Show Ireland is here, the third year running in Antrim.  I hope to be there with Zoe and the girls but not Judy. Too many people and dogs and I'll be needing both hands free for my camera.

Mr and Mrs Mallard, Long Pond, Castle Grounds, Antrim

The Daily Photograph 5

Quiet, quiet day in which I caught up with laundry, gardening and dishes. Leitrim Sister left mid-morning but not before we took a walk along the riverside path. LS was particularly delighted with the banks of wood anemone (Anemone nemorosa) which reminded us both of our childhood playing in Paddy's Field. The bluebells were beginning to show themselves but it will be a few weeks before the banks are truly blue. I took this picture of one of my favourite spring flowers, Caltha palustris - we called it kingcup. It still grows beside the little stream in Paddy's Field.

I didn't take many pictures on the walk as I had that villainous rascal Jess to mind. She likes walks and sticks and muddy puddles but doesn't like joggers, other dogs or cyclists. 

Portglenone wood anemones

Leitrim Sister left to visit our friend, who happens to be the daughter of Paddy, the previous owner of that well-remembered field, and she found her slightly improved from yesterday. All being well I'll get over to Antrim tomorrow. 



From a previous post

What's your fondest memory of childhood?

Playing in Paddy's Field near our house. Paddy's Field was actually four small meadows with a hazel wood and a good sized stream running through it. There was a wooden bridge, three cows and a little wooden gate just wide enough for a cow to pass through. The meadows hadn't been tilled in over a hundred years which meant it had every variety of wild flower. That sparked my interest in horticulture. The fields (and cows) were owned by Paddy, a great friend, who was happy to let us run wild in his fields.

The Daily Photograph 4

Katy and family left to return to Norfolk this morning and I would be bereft if it were not for knowing that they had a wonderful wee holiday and that I will see them all again soon. Katy called this afternoon to inform us that they had arrived home safely and that James was racing around in his baby walker with a new appreciation of the saying, East, West, Home's Best. I think so too.

Leitrim Sister and I went to Antrim to visit our friend and found her in poor spirits, laid low with another infection. Afterwards we walked in Antrim's pretty Castle Grounds where we climbed the motte.

 I took this photograph from its side. Apparently it is parts of the stonework from one of the original castles. I'm not entirely sure if it is the one built in the 17th century or not. There are bits of ruined castles dotted along the banks of Lough Neagh all over the place;  it seems that the Lords O'Neill were very unfortunate in their housing situation what with an accidental fire in the late 19th century and the IRA attack in the early 1920s.

Not much remains of the castle in Antrim but one solitary tower, but way back in the 1960s the ruins were more extensive. I saw my first flasher there. He must have heard myself and my school friend Sylvia stumbling, chattering in his general direction and as we turned a ruined wall there he was -  all phallus erectus, and an uninspiring sight if ever I saw one.

The Daily Photograph 3

It is not often that I have my entire family around me but today I did. Here they are looking through some of the family photographs.

It was special today because this is the first time we have had Baby James in the family group. These are all my descendants so far. I took lots of shots but it was difficult to find one where each family member looked their very best. I chose this one because these three dogs were looking well. Although, maybe not Jess (the black and white one) who looks her usual sleekit self.

The reason for the family gathering? My youngest daughter's birthday. Happy birthday Hannah Banana. We all love you.

The Daily Photograph 2

This one is so cheaty because it was taken with Katy's camera, which is also a Panasonic Lumix, one I gave to her quite a few years ago after she dropped her own camera into a pint of beer at a village fete. As you would.

This is the first published photograph of Nelly with all her current grandchildren and she is very excited about it.

Then there are the photographs, the pictures taken today with the new camera. I'm pleased with these two...

Close up of Judy with zoom.

Katy. 

The Daily Photograph 1

So, the camera came and because I was really busy there wasn't a chance to properly get to know it. Bert said it is hideously ugly and that is true. It is not as aesthetically pleasing as my Canon. It is a Panasonic Lumix DMC-FZ72 and there are lots of features I've yet to find out about. I intend to feature a photograph a day until the end of April.

Zoe took this one. I tarted it up a bit as we haven't found the best setting for indoor, middling light. The little man I'm holding was the main reason there wasn't time for footering with new cameras. Too much cuddling to be getting on with.

Day 2 with the new camera. I find out about the zoom. It's a bit flat. I cropped it a little as there was too much dockenish field.

Tom, Evil Edna, Patricia and The Quiet Cow

I also took this one. Low point of view. And it was hell getting up from the floor.

James and Giraffe

Tomorrow all the grandchildren will be here so that is a photo opportunity not to be missed. Please watch this space.

Waiting For Jessops

There will be more posts (I promise) when I get my new camera. That would be the one I ordered late in the evening before Easter Sunday, two weeks ago today! Jessops promised next day delivery but I didn't expect that, not on a holiday weekend. It might come on the Tuesday or Wednesday. I was very excited. Still waiting and the amount I've spent on ringing up and giving off has probably cancelled any savings I made from buying on-line.

One of the customer services people assured me that the problem was they couldn't send the camera direct from a shop because it was being 'delivered to Ireland'. This was most amusing to me. I know this is Ireland, my heart tells me so, but politically and postally we are  part of the United Kingdom and Northern Ireland. Another customer advisor assured me it would be delivered yesterday and it wasn't. Then a sweet girl said she was sorry for the mix up and promised me it was being sent from Belfast this coming Monday and I should have it by Wednesday. Belfast! I've been in Belfast twice since I ordered the damn thing. I could have been out there snapping away for over a week by now.

Still, as they say, a first world problem. I still have three cameras although two of them are shite. The one that isn't shite is an iPad and I only like to use it at home as it is unwieldy.

But it would have been nice to have had my new camera to take photographs of our solitary chick, the one that was part of a clutch that the two bantams, Honey and Flour were fighting over.

Co-Clockers, Honey and Flour

On Easter Monday morning Flour left the clutch, to eat and drink and Honey got on the eggs. I thought nothing of it and went to an eye appointment in Belfast. When Bert picked me up a few hours later he said there had been a calamity. He'd heard angry squawking coming from the inside and found Honey and Flour fighting viciously. The first egg had hatched and they appeared to be fighting over the chick. It was bloody and injured. Bert removed it and brought it into the house where it cheeped plaintively. It was marked on the back and near its eye and we thought it would probably die. Meanwhile out in the house the eggs had been abandoned. The bantams were separated. I considered hand rearing the chick but decided against it. Too much time and effort for a poor return. We offered it to the quarantined Honey who tried to peck it. Honey was put back with the flock and Flour put in the spare hen house. We tried the chick with her and she raised her wing and accepted it. And that was nearly two weeks ago.

An Only Child

A lesson has been learned. Next time they go broody we'll separate them from the flock and each other. That way there will be no adding to the clutch and no fighting. And maybe, next time, there will be more than one hatched. I still don't know if it is boy or girl. If it turns out to be a rooster Leitrim Sister might take it. After such a poor start it deserves a crack at life.

And that was another place where I could have used my new camera. Three days in Lovely Leitrim (and Sligo) at the beginning of the week and nothing but my ancient Canon for company. I did take pictures but they didn't delight me. But Leitrim, Sligo and Enniskillen did, that and the company of Leitrim Sister* and Yer Man**.

Pickles at Strandhill

*   Since February 2016 Dr Leitrim Sister.
** Evie's name for her Great-Uncle Nick.

East of Eden

I got back into walking and listening to music and audio books. Dug out the iPod, it still worked but I'd totally forgotten how to use it. Thank Google for the internet. It taught me all I needed to know. First day I had it out  I couldn't even remember how to shuffle and was condemned to listen to a lot of Massive Attack. Got bored with that and re-learned how to load music. I don't do iTunes, hate how it's always persuading me to buy stuff. Uploaded the Carolina Chocolate Drops and Odetta. Blown away by Odetta.

Audio books. Wolf Hall. I have the book in the house, Bert loved it but I just couldn't get round to it. I enjoyed listening to it. Next was On The Road by Jack Kerouac. Never read it, although it's been on my shelves for a very long time. On The Road  put me in the mood for Steinbeck. But first I listened to Jane Eyre which I'd read as a child. I started with a Librivox edition, volunteer recordings. As always with Librivox, some of the readers were dire and there were ridiculous and irritating pronunciations. Who wants to listen to an American college girl pronouncing Hebrides as Heb-Rides. Not I. I found I'd already got a better version on my hard drive and abandoned Librivox. Then Bert had been reading (for the first time) Steinbeck's  East of Eden and he loved it. I'd read it twice before. The first time I picked it up was when I was still in primary school. My Uncle Desmond had a big collection of Reader's Digest condensed novels and I used to peruse them looking for the ones with pictures of animals or children. East of Eden appealed to me. There were illustrations of Cal and Aaron Trask as babies being bathed out of doors by the Chinese servant Lee. It got even better when the girl child Abra was introduced. I read the whole thing even if most of it flew over my head. Abridged novels usually leave out the juicy parts. My lord! I had no idea what East of Eden was leaving out. I read it again (complete version) in my late teens and could hardly believe that I'd read it as a child.

I always knew I'd get back to it some day. Listening to the novel has been exhilarating. I remembered a good deal of it, especially the parts that related to children. I knew that Abra was going to throw that rabbit package away. Back in my young days I really felt for Aaron and thought Abra a brat but now I understand her better. Today as I Dutch-hoed and prepared beds for Spring planting I listened to Lee tell Adam the story of his beginnings. That was a rough, hard story. It went over my head as a teenager. I couldn't have comprehended such an atrocity at that stage of my life.

I was first attracted to the book by the illustrations and descriptions of children. Now in my mature years I am delighted by the older characters, most particularly Samuel Hamilton and Lee, I even have a soft spot for Liza Hamilton who took to drink in her later years after a life-long abhorrence of alcohol. It turned out that it is OK if it is medicinal and is taken with a tea spoon.

I've read nearly everything that Steinbeck wrote. Notable exceptions are The Pearl, The Log from the Sea of Cortez and Travels With Charley. I have them all sitting waiting for me. And there is still the last part of East of Eden which, happily, I don't recall apart from something regarding soggy lettuce. And I'm hopeful of a miserable ending for Cathy.

A Great Send-Off

Monday: There was a funeral. Bert was conducting some important business and the girls wanted him to play so, to distract them, I produced a little dead mouse (one the cat had prepared earlier) for them to bury. They fell to this project with gusto. a box was needed, their Mum dug the hole and flowers were laid on the grave. As Rod said,

They're giving that mouse a great send-off.

Tuesday: I went to visit my friend, back in the nursing home. She's not too well, getting weaker but as warm and loving as ever. It is always a pleasure to spend time with her, short though that time may be for she is not fit for long visits.

Wednesday: A much needed haircut then I expect I went for a walk and wasted much time on silly things.

Thursday: The girls were here and had a playdate with three other girls. There was a funeral. They wanted to check on the banties so press ganged Bert to check on the eggs. Bert discovered eight new eggs under the clockers, removed them, got soundly pecked for his trouble and then found that there were only six of the original seven marked eggs remaining. We checked the eggs in the house and found a marked egg, cold as sin and, no doubt, containing a wee dead chick. There was a reluctance to check but Bert took the plunge and there was a tiny embryo in there not even as big as a child's finger nail. Funeral!

It was decided that the merest scraping of the ground would suffice for the smear so Martha got the very big shovel and made a very small dent. The chick embryo was carefully placed, covered with slate to prevent dogs from licking it up and, once again, my spring garden was raided for floral tributes. Martha wrote and read an eulogy then, off the top of her head, preached a short sermon at the grave side. I had no idea she was so religious. Seems like only yesterday she informed me that the Baby Jesus was just a made up story.

The Eulogy

At The Grave Side

Thursday Night: Read to the girls two chapters of The Faraway Tree and one story from real life concerning Aunt Josephine And How Her Ankle Got Cured. This story involved pears and hospitals and is one my mother told me. As always Martha quizzed me relentlessly and gave me the opportunity to explain that True Stories From Real Life may not be entirely factual but always contain a kernel of truth. 

Friday: I had taken a daily walk for sixty days straight but yesterday that came to an end. Then I ate far too many sweet things and this morning I recorded my lowest ever weight for 2016. Strange that.  After midday Zoe, Martha, Evie and Granny went to Ikea where I spent much money on pink flannels, dish scrubbers, bedding and picture frames.

Friday Night: Back home where I drank carrot and apple wine and spent even more money on a new camera. You can expect better photographs.

Tomorrow: Going to Fanad and wish I had my new camera. But at least there will be walks.

And what of my Facebook friend with the heart attack? He looks perky and is still keeping all updated. Open heart surgery tomorrow which will set him back a day or two. Fingers crossed he makes a good recovery. Did I mention he is a magician?

Facebook Strangeness

Sometimes I am amazed at the kind of things that people post to Facebook. There was the woman who threw her husband out and then, feeling sorry for herself, had rather too many glasses of wine,  got on to Facebook and produced a misspelled and incoherent rant about how he hadn't paid her for her birthday present and he'd gone leaving her without milk in the fridge. Sad and strange. She took it down the next day but it was too late. I'd seen it. But I was ashamed to have seen it and now I don't look at her posts.

Then there are the people who conduct family feuds on the site. Not surprising that they cannot get on with their family. Disparaging an ex-partner on social media? Not cool. Especially if there are children involved.

Sharing content from other sites that spread bullshit? I've probably done that myself but I wouldn't make a habit of it. It's not difficult to do a little background research before you post and it will keep your more discerning Facebook friends (like me) from thinking you a complete eedjit. And unfriending you.

But tonight I came across a post that stunned me. It's a guy, I don't really know him, from America - friend of a friend. He's lying on his back speaking into his phone. He looks so strange, telling some people that he loves them and that he is having a heart attack! He thinks he might be dying. Facebook is a strange animal. There be me - sipping a coffee, nibbling on a biscuit and there be him, mortally unwell, an ocean away and filming himself on a hospital trolley.

I hope he recovers. I won't unfriend him. For as far as I know he's not a Trump supporter. And I certainly won't be linking this post to my Facebook account.

Oh I forgot to mention, the woman who makes vague accusations that her parents murdered her brother. I stopped looking at her posts too.

Clocking Banties

Despite having attained a great age I have to admit that I know very little about broody hens. Apparently Pearlie was a great expert and by dint of being her son, Bert considers himself an expert too.

The big hens rarely troubled themselves to sit on eggs but these bantams, Honey and Flour are at it all the time. The first few times they tried it Bert advised that they be set under a box, kept in the cold and dark until the broody notion left them. I thought this very cruel but it worked. The reason they weren't left to get on with it was because the weather was still very inclement.

But spring is on the way and when Flour made a nest and started 'borrowing' the other hens' eggs I thought I'd leave her to it. She sat nicely for about five days and I never thought to mark the eggs. Every day there would be at least one more egg added to the clutch. Then one day she raced out to get food and when she returned Honey was sitting on her eggs. There were seven by now and on Bert's advice we marked them. They are both sitting side by side and the number of eggs under them changes daily. Sometimes Flour has the most of them, usually Honey has them all. I lift the unmarked ones every day and get soundly pecked (by Honey) for my trouble.

Hopefully we'll have chicks before Easter and (fingers crossed) that they will survive.

Unlike this one. Bernie was really old for a bantam and we didn't even realise she was clocking until I heard cheeping coming from the boiler shed. The fox got Bernie and the chick didn't survive. It tootled around on its own for a day then disappeared for those were the days when the chickens ran about the yard. That was nine years ago.

These two belonged to one of our Jersey Giants. It was July 2013 and I looked after them so tenderly. Then I went to Vancouver and instructed Bert to mind them carefully. He did not. Jess killed one of them and a buzzard (probably) got the other one.

So I'm cautiously optimistic about these Easter chicks but I'll take the wise woman's advice and won't be counting them until they hatch. Maybe there will be a yellow one. I do hope so.

In Which I Am Irritated.

Off to Belfast today to visit my old friend S, still in hospital. I had a look at that Tiger shop in the city centre which had been intriguingly described as a pound shop for middle-class people. I wasn't that impressed with it. The nicest thing in there I already owned, a Christmas present from Leitrim Sister. All I bought was a picture frame (they are better in Ikea) and a pair of reading specs, four times more expensive than the scally pound shops.

The train journey was not as relaxing as it usually is. On the way to Belfast some dreary bitch was blaring into her phone to someone, probably her mother as she finished the conversation by saying 'love you' in a taking someone for granted kind of tone. What's wrong with me? I don't find eavesdropping quite as entertaining as I used to. Is it because people expect to be overheard these days?

Then on the way home there was a crashing bore telling his companion about the interior decoration, layout and drinks prices of every club he'd ever been to. Not a word about drunken adventures or wenching. Every now and again his friend got a word in edgeways and the boring one was sort of half listening and dying to be doing the talking again. They got out at Antrim and the talkative one was as plain a young man as I'd seen in a long time. I felt a flash of sympathy for him for few girls would look the road he was on. No wonder he was able to take in all the details of the decor.

Thankfully my dear old friend did not bore me. She has Alzheimer's as well as other troubles and can be repetitive but even so she is still as engaging and pleasant as  ever she was. She thought she saw Shane's Castle from the window and I reminded her that it is in ruins. And funnily enough she was able to recollect the names of some of those long dead boys allegedly responsible for burning it down. Of course this was long before her time and mine.

I ate lunch at Cafe Airang where no one annoyed me as they were all speaking Korean. Happy days.

Five Days In March

Thursday

Woke up this morning despairing that I would not have a minute to myself for three whole days. Then I gave myself a good mental shake and rethought the whole thing. Today is looking after the girls day. What could be more wonderful than that? I wished it was 11:30 already so I could pick Evie up so the fun might begin.

Then tomorrow I have to go for a mammogram. How great that I get to have this for absolutely free. Three cheers for the National Health Service. Long may it continue.

And on Saturday London Sister arrives for a super-fast visit. We are going for lunch and maybe a walk. Something to look forward to.

Friday

Went for the mammogram and parked 30 minutes from the hospital. Walked past Evie's nursery school and spotted her, through the winter-bare hedge, playing on the slide. I did not draw attention to myself as peering at children through hedges is frowned upon. The breast-screening people have a new mobile unit. It is enormous and looks like it might have cost a million pounds. They told me that all of Northern Ireland got brand new units this year. I approve of this expenditure. Worth every penny of my taxes. Then I remembered that I don't have to pay tax any more. Worth every penny of Bert's taxes then.

Saturday

London Sister! We went to Harry's Shack on Portstewart Strand and had wonderful fish and chips. We got to sit next to the wood burning stove which was very cosy and much appreciated by LS, who feels the cold. The place was teeming with happy folk scoffing away and the service was excellent. I will be back.

Sunday

Mother's Day. I forgot all about it until the girls arranged a walk and picnic in Portglenone Forest. We met at midday and were greatly entertained by the littlest ones who were playing a complicated cat game which involved fishing (pretend) and climbing trees (actual). Hannah got to be an honorary cat and their names were Ginger, Chocolate and Sweetie.

Monday

Gardening and Cooking For The Family Day. I got a Mother's Day card from Katkin which had the loveliest message in it. Martha very excited as her bantam, Honey is sitting on a clutch of eggs and we are hoping for Easter chicks. I made a sausage cassserole with mash and kale and steamed chocolate pudding for dessert. Chocolate pudding is the current favourite with grandchildren and older relatives. After they finished they asked for the pot so they could scrape the chocolate sauce out. Before I got round to clearing the table (careless me) Ziggy climbed on to it and ate all the sausage out of the remaining casserole. There goes tomorrow's lunch.



I think I may have a day to myself tomorrow, hope I don't get bored.

And As We All Know, He Didn't...

Written eight years ago today. It was posted at just after 8:00 am when Bert was languishing in bed and all unaware that he was engaged to be married and that Nelly meant business.

Eight years later we have separate sitting rooms and separate bedrooms which is probably why we're still going strong.

In Other News...

We are canvassing everyone who comes to see us on their views on the EU Referendum. I am being quite rude to some of them. If nothing else I hope it will make them think.

Bert is reading East of Eden by John Steinbeck. And I am listening to On The Road by Jack Kerouac. We are both listening to Rhiannon Giddens who we saw a few weeks back in Derry when she guested with Transatlantic Sessions. That was the best gig I've been to in a very long time.

On Friday past we went to Banjo Man's fiftieth birthday party. What is he doing being fifty? I can barely fathom it. It was a good evening. I was the designated driver (I designated myself) and sat on my high horse tutting happily at all the drunken fools. Still drank two large G&Ts when I got home but that's all right because no one knows. Except Bert. And The Reader.

Tomorrow I'm going to Belfast to visit my friend in hospital. I won't bring Jack Kerouac as I only like to listen to audio books when I'm walking. For trains I like a proper reading experience. That will be Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. I'm nearly half way through it. The war has not begun.

Leap Year Day

Women Propose to Their Men
According to an old Irish legend, or possibly history, St Brigid struck a deal with St Patrick to allow women to propose to men – and not just the other way around – every four years.
This is believed to have been introduced to balance the traditional roles of men and women in a similar way to how leap day balances the calendar.

Leap Year Day, 2008 fell on a Friday and because it was the weekend Nellybert had quaffed a bottle of wine, or maybe even two. We got ourselves to bed shortly before midnight and that is where I asked Bert to be my husband. He assented.

The next day I announced to the world that we were engaged. Bert had forgotten about my late night proposal and was surprised but not displeased. Our first Leap Year together was 1988 so it had only taken six Leap Year Days for me to get round to it. We married the following August, a very short engagement.

Regrets? A couple. I wish Bert had worn better socks. And I wish I'd asked my mum to be there.

Housewifery #1

Pearlie had this little book by L.C. Andrews titled Practical Lessons and Lectures on Cookery & Laundry Work. It was published in 1901, a quarter century before she was born so I expect it belonged to her mother or one of her aunts. It is fascinating and a reminder of how easy our lives are now compared to our great-grandmother's time.

I thought there might be some interesting recipes in there but they are mostly very plain. For example Lesson 5 has the following menu,

Sheep's Head and Broth. Brain Sauce. Fried Potatoes. Plain Currant Cake.

I could probably enjoy the Fried Potatoes and Currant Cake but there would need to be HP sauce on the potatoes and custard with the cake.

Looking on the bright side the meal only cost 8d. And the cake was the most expensive dish on the menu at 4d.

Lesson 17 gives some useful tips on what to watch out for at the butcher's shop - how not to get palmed off with elderly meats.

• The legs of old turkeys are rough and blackish.
• The bills and feet of old geese are reddish.
• Old rabbits and hares have wide and tough ears.
• If a lobster is freshly killed the tail will move when the eyes are pressed.

That must have been very useful knowledge back in the olden days.

The recipe for plum pudding isn't that different from the one my mother used. I might give that a go. And interestingly the recipe for shortcrust pastry calls for the addition of baking powder. I wonder why that should be? I'm going to try it and see. My pastry is very good. Will BP, as the book calls it, increase its fabulousness? We will see. Another thing. If there is any heavy duty cleaning to be done keep those skirts short.

Buying Stuff

On Thursday the girls and I went to our favourite charity shop, the one near the playing fields where the business plan is to pile it high and sell it cheap. Before we got there I had a talk with Martha about 'being discerning' and about not wanting the first thing she lies eyes on as she comes through the door. My talk fell on deaf ears as the first thing she laid eyes on was a box of china dolls all for a quid each.

We tried to be discerning. I spent 60 pence on a Kate Grenville book and a polka dot Cath Kidston mug, Martha bought a china doll, some plastic shoes and a tiara. Evie also chose plastic shoes and a parrot toy that she had no need of. Together we spent less than £3. Later that evening at Swisser's I told her about my mug (they're about £6 to buy new) and she shrieks,

I hate Cath Kidston! It's so twee.

I said rather glumly,

I suppose you hated Laura Ashley too when you were young.

I did!

There was a time when I yearned for Laura Ashley. I could just see myself in a lavender sprigged dress, a straw boater and a sweet little cardigan. Of course I would be in a field of buttercups and daisies but sadly Laura Ashley just wasn't for me. It was for willowy girls with moderate bosoms, girls like Diana Spencer, not sturdy country girls like Nelly Moser.

Willowy Laura Ashley type

Me. What was I thinking of, heading into a brambly wood in a voile skirt?

Minor Successes

...which don't include keeping up with my blog.

I have taken a walk for 25 continuous day and take an average of 14000 steps per day. I'm eating a healthier diet, enjoy six alcohol free days per week and have lost 12 lbs since the 11th of January.

And I feel a lot better for it.

Today I sowed lettuce and onions.

I'm sorting out my photographs but am only about 10 per cent through them.

I'm working on my tolerance. When Bert does something annoying (often) I ask myself, would you do that Nelly? Usually the answer is yes.

I'm thinking very hard about getting the new sewing machine out. My sight is better now so there's no reason not to.

Two batches of wine were begun, Strawberry & Raspberry and White Currant. In addition, ten gallons were racked and the Carrot & Raisin bottled. One bottle, Blackcurrant & Apple, was drunk (in company) and Bilrus pronounced it 'a triumph'. He's very kind. Gus tried my wine for the first time and if he didn't like it he didn't say. Bert informed him,

If you criticise her wine she never offers it again.

That's true enough.

I Learn About the Wheel

From the Granagh Road today

It has been a month now since I caught myself on. Truly tired of being a fat wee fecker I decided to eat better, drink less alcohol and walk more and I am happy to report that, so far, it's all going rather well. My daily walk has become a habit, I'm enjoying cooking and eating, I feel better and I have breathed out 11lbs of excess tonnage. And one of the things I'm enjoying most is that virtuous feeling when you don't eat all the leftovers, instead having them for lunch or dinner the next day. I love not being wasteful.

Then I found myself craving music/audio-books for the daily walk but I had nothing to play them on. Although there were two iPods that had been lying in a drawer for several years but they were probably broken. I dug them out, charged them up and tried them out. One was kaput but the classic worked! Unfortunately I'd forgotten how to use it. This is were the internet comes in handy. I found a video that some fellow had made for his elderly mother who must have been a complete eedjit but it was useful. My first walk (yesterday) was all about Massive Attack (the Tricky days) because I couldn't remember how to use shuffle. Eventually I worked it out with a little bit of assistance from that eedjit's son.

On my walk today I thought I had it on shuffle but it was alternating between Sinead O'Connor and Ry Cooder and that didn't seem very shuffly to me. Anyway I stopped for a pee up a laneway on the Granagh Road and stuffed the player in my pocket. When I resumed listening the sound had diappeared and I thought my headphones were broken. So back into the pocket it went and home I marched. Back on the internet I learned all about the wheel. I used to know this stuff. Where did my knowledge go?

Another problem. There was a lot of music on that iPod that I didn't want to listen to anymore. And of course I'd forgotten how to manage the player. I knew it had something to do with Rhythmbox. I don't do iTunes as my OS is Ubuntu. I've spent hours today figuring it out and I just got it sorted. I added John Lee Hooker, Rhiannon Giddens and the Milk Carton Kids. I'll add more tomorrow and maybe some audio books. Maybe Wolf Hall. I have the book but it's far too big and heavy. Far better to have it read to me.  

Take One Haystack

Young women nowadays probably have more photographic images of themselves than at any time before. And often these pictures are very glamorous. The hair will be just so, the make up impeccable, the duck pout and Victoria Beckham hand on hip pose perfected.

It was all so different in their grandmothers' day. Back then when the camera came out girls tidied their hair, took off their aprons, grabbed their best chum and headed for the nearest stack of hay. For everyone had one - the perfect backdrop to to a beautiful snapshot.

Pearlie with her arm round Maggie Mitchell. Photo taken in the 1940s.

Aunt Sadie and friend. Also 1940s.

Dehydrate Bad Hippy

... or in other words, Happy Birthday Dede.

What a day it is too. Your first birthday with a Ph.D. We couldn't be prouder of you.

Red Velvet Jeans

We watched a short video of Martha's third cousin Conor McCavana dancing in some seriously tappy shoes. Quite different to Martha's version of tappy shoes. Hers are little plastic dress up heels we picked up in a charity shop.

She was here yesterday and she brought her princess dress with her. As she said, “Just in case.”

Then there was a little accident and Martha had to change into her skinny jeans. She was not pleased for she hates jeans these days. Later in Lidls she moaned under her breath. “I don't like jeans.” I said to her, “Don't look at them. Put your head in the air and pretend they are red velvet trousers. I'll do it too.” So there we were, striding along, me in the cheapo supermarket jeans I've been living in for months and I don't know about Martha, but I was imagining well-fitting red velvet jeans and swear to God, I immediately felt better about myself.

Written in 2013. Martha never has accidents nowadays.

Fermenting

Strawberry and Raspberry fermenting merrily

I had two lots of yeast to choose from last night. One, from VinClasse, smelled a little sour and is three months from its sell by date. The other one (Youngs) was fresher but there wasn't much of it and I wanted it for white currant wine. It might be a while before I get to Nature's Way in Belfast. So I asked Bert to sniff the VinClasse, second opinion and all that. Of course he was wreathed in pipe smoke and could smell nothing else but his aromatic tobacco which reeks like old woollen socks sprinkled with essence of vanilla.

Nevertheless he pronounced the yeast fine and I tossed it into the bucket thinking to myself, if it hasn't started fermenting by tomorrow I'll re-yeast. No need to worry for it was off and running by bedtime. I've used yeast with added nutrient for a long time now and it is always quick to get started.

I really wish we had a decent wine supplies shop close by. There is a place near Ahoghill but it's more about beer and every time I go there there is always something needed that they haven't got. Which is annoying.

Went And Gone And Done It Again

Went and let the home made wines get out of control again. I have 23 batches on the go, 24 if I count the raspberry and strawberry one I started today. And there is still enough frozen fruit in my freezers to make at least another six batches.

Today I racked off four batches that have been sitting around since October last year. Two were blackcurrant. It has a good flavour but is a little on the sweet side which is a pity as I made it in bulk, five gallons altogether. I'm sure somebody will like it. Swisser definitely as she is fond of dessert wines and Jazzer, she will probably go for it too. I also racked two that I've never tried before. The first was gooseberry. Maybe a little sharp but not so your eyes would water. I like it. It's the first time I got to the goosegogs before the blackbird. We definitely need more gooseberry bushes. The other was beetroot and blackcurrant and it is rather good. The earthiness of the beetroot balances the acidity of the currants. Bert thought it tasted of cherries.

Strawberry and Raspberry Stage I, before yeasting

Then I started a new one, the strawberry and raspberry. Easy recipe.

Slightly over 3lbs of fruit, a gallon of boiling water (cooled) and a bag of sugar then a wee bit more. I used a yeast and nutrient mixture which was still in date, but slightly old. It might not work out so fingers crossed. Before adding sugar I squished the fruit up using my incredibly clean hands and tried not to think about how the strawberries looked and felt like slugs. And I dissolved the sugar in hot water before I added it to the fruit mixture.

And this is how I keep track of my wine making activities. The coloured entries are finished wines.

Click to embiggen. But you knew that.

Living in a Backwater

There are times when this bloody place makes me sick. Of course I'm talking about the Six Counties, Northern Ireland, the Backwater Province, the Land that Time Forgot.

In November the Northern Ireland Human Rights Commission went to court to argue that Northern Ireland's abortion legislation was in breach of human rights law.* The judge, Mr Justice Horner, ruled that there should be exemptions in the law for women who were victims of sexual crime and for cases of fatal foetal abnormality. Northern Ireland's Attorney General, John Larkin said he was 'deeply disappointed' with the decision. Today the Christian Brothers educated QC, has appealed against that decision.

For we live in a place where the Christian religion rules the roost. Some of our elected MLAs are fundamental creationists who believe the earth is a mere 4000 years old. The pro-life movement is strong here. It's about the only movement that brings Catholics and Protestants together. Although their protests can be quite amusing as the two religions sing different hymns both the same time. Those old nuns and their Dana-esque companions will be belting out Faith Of Our Fathers while the Born Agains give Nearer By God To Thee some welly. Is there even such a creature as the pro-lifer without faith? I don't suppose there is.

I've never been able to grasp why people should be so concerned about the unborn whilst doing absolutely nothing to help unfortunate children already in existence.

So we'll see how this goes. I pope that Mr Larkin gets a good slapping down but this is Northern Ireland. We're not quite ready for the twentieth century, never mind the twenty-first.

*The 1967 Abortion Act does not apply to Northern Ireland

Two More In The Box

Three more boxes of books hit the recycling bins this afternoon but not before Bert pulled one out. It was a book on submariners in the Second World War. I thought he'd read it. I finished Lucky by Alice Sebold this morning. It began with a harsh description of a brutal rape which was hard to bear but as I persevered with Alice's story I found it gripping and uplifting and a well written book that I'm glad to have read.

My second choice was a slim book called Leaving Riverton by Jodie Something. It doesn't matter that I cannot remember the author's name as her writing was stiff and dreary and I won't be wasting any time on it. Straight into the box for disposal.

In other news the Catching Myself On project is going well. I have lost 5 pounds and am feeling a whole lot better.

Too Many Books

Staying for now

Thursday There are too many books in this house and too many bookshelves as well. I have three bookshelves in the spare room, one in the bedroom, two in the hall, one in the attic and a wall of shelves in my private, secret sitting room. There is a pile of books on Bert's bedside table and another pile on mine. Far, far too many books.

So I have decided to cull them. I've been off loading as I read for about a year now but am finding it far more difficult to deal with the books that have been sitting around for decades without ever having been read.

I'll need to live until I'm at least eighty to read all these books if I go through them at the rate of one per week. It also needs to be taken into account that I'll want to read books I haven't bought yet. Heck, I'll want to read books that haven't even been written yet! This is the plan. Lift a few from the shelves, glance at them, then choose one and read twenty pages. If it turns out to be tedious get rid of it at once but if it intrigues, finish it, then get rid.

I chose Lucky by Alice Sebold and shall let you know how I get on with it.

Meanwhile here is a rough guide to what went into the recycling boxes.

There were about thirty that I'd two or more copies of. Mostly classics.
All plays except for the complete works of the Bard.
Stacks of crime fiction as they are mostly all the same.
Anything by Alexander McCall Smith.
Lots of old history books.
Everything about Dora the Explorer and Spot the Dog.
Herman Melville for if I ever feel the need I'll get it on audiobook.
Surplus books on birds and the like. How many bird books does a person need? I've still got too many.
A novel by Jill Tweedie that I've never read which for some reason depresses me every time I look at it.
Chick lit with embarrassing covers.
All books about dieting. There were only about three.
Ancient book on palmistry printed to cheap paper.
Pearlie's tattered school books.
Shabby copy of The Origin of the Species. I will never read that from cover to cover. Ditto famous tomes by J.S. Mill and Adam Smith.
All sociology classics, Captive Wife, Street Corner Society etc.
All seriously out of date ECDL and computer manuals.
Christian books except Bible and few improving Sunday School prizes that belonged to Pearlie and need further investigation. Such books fascinate me.
Nancy Drew series. If Martha and Evie ever want to read those they can get them at the library.

Friday. I have completely cleared two bookshelves and have only the ancient books, cookery books and Irish Interest books to go through. There are seven good sized boxes of surplus literature to be re-homed. Bert wouldn't let me throw out any of the D.G. Hessayan books, not even the one on lawns. He also refused to part with any books on pruning.

I'm about a quarter through Lucky and it is so harrowing that I had great difficulty getting to sleep last night.

Moving on

Catching Myself On

It is here at last. The 11^th of January, a day I have been anticipating since well before Christmas. The reason I was looking forward to today was that it was the date I had set for catching myself on. The first of January would have been far too soon. A body hasn't even finished the Christmas food, never mind the alcohol and here at Nellybert's we were also receiving unsolicited donations of other people's Christmas food and drink. Tired of eating pannatone? Take it to Cully. A surfeit of Mr Kipling's mince pies? Nelly will soon redd those up. You don't actually like Bailey's Irish Cream? Gorby-guts does. She puts it in her coffee instead of milk and reels about until bedtime.

I began by weighing myself (a rarity) then I reported the result to Bert who said,

You're not! I have a heifer calf out there doesn't even weigh that much.

I had a look at those calves this morning and thought to myself I couldn't possibly be as heavy as them. At a pinch, if he really had to, I reckon Bert could lift me bodily. There is no doubt he'd do himself a mischief if he did but there is no way on earth he could pick up any of those calves.

How did the day go? It went well. I ate moderate amounts of healthy food and felt the better for it. There was just one thing. I had the strangest feeling, a feeling I haven't experienced for a very long time, a kind of flutteriness in the belly area. I believe it might be called 'peckish'.

So I distracted myself by researching typical weights of summer born Hereford heifers. That Bert! I'm only slightly above a third of what those calves (probably) weigh.

Listen With Granny

Martha and Evie like to listen to music when they are travelling with us in the van and as the only CDs that Bert had in there were by Joe Moore, Rod McAuley and Erroll Walsh (all local musicians that we know), the music they were listening to was exclusively folk and country.  Good as these fellows are I thought it was time to broaden the children's horizons. The first new piece of music I introduced them to was the Best of The Small Faces. The first track was Lazy Sunday. Play it again, said Martha. So we played it again about five times on Thursday the 2nd of January. On the 9th of January her first words on getting into the van were, "Put on 'Lazy Sunday'" We listened to it three times. She knows almost all the words now. The first Thursday...

Who is singing?

Steve Marriott. It's from a long time ago. He's dead now. 

How did he die? 

He died in a house fire.

Then she was too busy learning the song.

The second Thursday...

He died in a fire. How did it happen? 

He did a silly thing. He had too much to drink. Some people think he might have been smoking in bed. Some people think he might have fallen asleep and a candle got knocked over. He died from the smoke of the fire. He wouldn't have known anything about it.

(I never like to miss an opportunity to point out the risks of an unattended candle.)

Where is he buried? 

I don't know. He might have been cremated.

What's cremated? 

It's when dead people are burned in a fire instead of being buried in the ground. I'll check it out for you.

I did check it out. Steve Marriott died in 1991 at the age of 44. And he was cremated. He was a talented musician and a great singer and from the tender age of fourteen/fifteen I was a fan. The Wee Manny tells me that the Small Faces played the Flamingo Ballroom in 1968. Apparently on the exact same date that Ogdens' Nut Gone Flake was released. The Wee said that one of the local hard men attacked Marriott on stage and that Marriott came off the stage and battered him.* I don't know if that is true for the Wee Manny is well-known for his far-fetched tales. I certainly won't be bringing that one up with Martha.

According to The Mojo Collection (pub. 2000) the band regretted releasing Lazy Sunday as a single as they felt it pigeon-holed them as a novelty knees-up band. Forty-eight years later I think it's still a fun track, one to share with the grandchildren. It's not my favourite Small Faces track though. That would be Tin Soldier. Released in 1967 when I was fourteen years old. I was transfixed and I have never stopped loving it. Nearly fifty years. Where does time go to?

*Back in 1978 at a Stranglers gig I did see with my own eyes Jean-Jacques Burnel come off the stage to batter someone.

A Wee Run To Omagh

Apart from a few visits to the Ulster American Folk Park I don't know Omagh all that well. It's the sort of town I usually pass by. But Bert's clarinet needed a to see the doctor and the last person he took it to charged him an awful lot of money. So he phoned around and someone recommended Reynold's Music in Omagh town. Jonathan, the owner offered to post Bert the articles he needed or, if he cared to come to the shop he'd sort it there and then. It was another rainy day in Cully so we decided to make the trip.

It was my very first visit to Omagh town centre and I found it charming - even on a damp, dank January day. Jonathan's shop was easily found and Jonathan himself was very welcoming and helpful. He recommended somewhere for us to lunch - next door! And while we relaxed in The Kitchen he got on with the repairs to the clarinet.

Looking forward to our next visit to Omagh and hopefully next time we'll leave earlier and have a look around the town. And the bill for Reynold's Music services. I wouldn't like to say exactly but it was considerably less than that other guy in Ballyrobbery.

 Turns out there's a lot more to Omagh than that annual bluegrass festival. And here's a thing - Bert maintains that the A505 between Cookstown and Omagh is, at 26 and a bit miles, the longest road between towns in the whole of Ireland. I wonder if that is true. The internet isn't telling.