In Her Own Words

My mother at around eight years old. That would have been in the early 1930s. She looks feisty.

It is her anniversary today, and she's dead nine years now. She would have despised lockdown. No callers, no runs out in the car. I'm glad she missed it.

Matty would have been pleased to know that we were all thinking of her today. And as staying at home and baking is the new going out I am happy to be able to share (courtesy of Kerry Sister) our mother's recipe for boiled cake.

And this is Mum's recipe for wheaten bread which comes (I think) via Ganching.

I haven't got a recipe but I do have this piece of writing. I am certain that if Matty had ever got to grips with social media she would have had her own blog.

OUR DOG JESS

I was born on a farm near Cullybackey and when I was seven weeks old I was taken from my mother. A girl called Mary lifted me and put me in a cardboard box. She was taking me to her Dad as a present for his birthday now that he was retired. We arrived at Drumkeeran Road and Mary took me into the house and sat me down on the floor. The first thing I did was a piddle for I was very scared.

The big man looked at me and said,

“You are not exactly the kind of a dog that I would’ve wanted but now you are here Matty and I will look after you.”

Mary went back home knowing her Dad was pleased with his birthday present.

Matty made me a good place to sleep in the wash house and that place was called “bed”. When the big man shouted “bed” I ran and jumped into it. That was the first word I learned and next was my name “Jess”. I was happy enough with that name because before I was just called “pup”.

My favourite thing was a hand brush and I gave it some abuse and before long when I had finished chewing it you would not have known what it was. I think Matty had to buy a new one and keep it hidden from me.

A lot of things were not allowed in this house like jumping up on armchairs or sofas but I got lying on a mat in front of the fire and it was very cosy.

The big man Seamus, who is Matty's husband, thinks I am a very clever dog but then collies are well known for being clever. When I was put outside to go to the toilet I would let them know I wanted to come in. I would go round to the front window and tap it very hard with my paw and they would open the door and let me in.

My first winter I saw snow for the first time and I was scared for I lost my sense of direction. I was glad to get back into the house for my paws were frozen.

One morning the big man and Matty went off shopping and left me alone. I slept for a while but when I woke I got bored and lonely. Now if I could open that back door I could go and look for them for I missed them. I jumped and banged against the door but it did not open but what I did do was push the bar across and the door was now locked from the inside. When they came back they could not get in. Matty had to come in through a window and get the door unlocked. I made them feel so welcome they forgot to be cross with me.

Sometimes Mary would bring her dog with her when she came to visit. To me that dog was an intruder and I showed it no friendship. I was also scared the big man and Matty might like it better than me.

One morning when I went outside and looked into the field beside us it was full of woolly animals that I had never seen before so I went to investigate. They started running up and down and I ran after them. I was enjoying the fun until Matty came out and shouted at me to come in. I knew she was cross. She went on and on about me chasing sheep until my head was aching. It did not happen again and for weeks after that if someone mentioned the word “sheep” I hid behind the sofa. It was a sad affair and me supposed to be a sheepdog!

Sometimes when the big man had some work to do in the fields he would take me with him and I would lie with my head between my paws watching what he was doing or sometimes I passed the time hunting for rabbits. We would both come home tired.

There is a very noisy road near us but I am not allowed to go there. One day I took off up the road and the next thing I heard Matty shouting and she brought me back. Her friend Agnes, had rung to tell her what I was doing and that put an end to my adventure. I will maybe try again sometime.

If Mattie and the big man were going away for a few days they took me to Mary and Bert’s to stay. I would follow Mary about and she was very good to me but I avoided the other dogs as much as possible. When the big man and Matty came back to collect me I got so excited I was barking and whining at the same time and I jumped up on them. They would bring me home and everything would be back to normal.

One night I was put out for my usual turn before bedtime and I thought I would go to that noisy road where I am not allowed to go and I had an accident. I was told later I was hit by a car. When I came round I was lying in the ditch with a very sore leg and feeling very frightened. I limped back down to the house, crept in the back door and got into my bed a very sorry dog. The big man and Matty took me to the dog doctor who stitched up my leg and then put some kind of plaster onto it. The people who work in that place were very good to me and told me I was lovely. I was that pleased I was all over them!

I don’t think I will ever want to go back to that noisy road again. Matty was right when she warned me against it.

Matty would take me for walks around these roads that have a lot of traffic and I would have to wear a lead. I missed the freedom of doing my own thing and running where I pleased.

I liked when some of the family came to stay and I got so excited when I saw them for I knew they belonged to the big man and Matty, even if they had not been home for some time I still knew them.

Some of the younger people who called would be a bit rough with me treating me like a toy. They maybe pulled at my tail or my ears. Many a time I was tempted to give them a sharp nip. Children should be taught by their parents to show kindness to all animals for we are not all vicious.

I have lived eleven years with the big man and Matty and I have always been loved and cared for but of late I get tired very easily.

Matty tells the rest of the story.

Early one winter evening Jess lay down at the front door and breathed her last. We were very sorry that Jess had died and we tried not to cry about her for she had gone so peacefully. She had given us so much happiness and she had lived a very happy life with us. No other dog could replace her. She was the greatest, our dog Jess.

I wrote this poem about Jess when she was here with us.

When the children had grown and flown the nest

And we thought it was time to be having a rest

But the days were long and the callers were few

So we decided that what we would do

We would get a little pup just a few weeks old

That would keep us company so we were told

Now this wee pup is fully grown

And many's the bad thing she has done

But we do not love her any the less

For she is the greatest, our dog Jess

She gives us all her love and devotion

But for good behaviour, she hasn’t a notion

The Natural World

The natural world is a great source of interest and comfort during the lockdown. Bert is growing vegetables and making compost, Hannah is studying the populations of birds and rodents that live in the wilderness outside her rooms and I am walking for at least an hour every day and taking an interest in everything around me. Like the huge plantation of hogweed growing at the top of our road.

In a matter of weeks that will be a jungle. I plan to document the progress.

Inspired by young naturalist Dara McAnulty I rose early to record the morning birdsong. Sadly, my efforts were marred by two noisy birds ruining everything, the two roosters, Fudge and The Other One. I don't mind the crowing of cockerels but it's not very musical. Next time I shall go to the woods.

I have the loan of Rachael's moth trap which is exciting. It was very cold last night so not very many, just nine moths and one very cross wasp. Most of the moths were Hebrew Character. This I know because of my photos and this excellent book.

Hebrew Character

I also collected a Common Quaker and an Early Grey and two unidentified. Hoping for more tomorrow morning.

But, by far, the most exciting encounter with the natural world was this evening. Hannah heard a thud on her window, checked it out and there was a sparrowhawk plucking and eating a wild dove. She called us over to see and it was an amazing sight, if not a little gruesome.

...nature, red in tooth and claw

I'd often seen those piles of feathers in the woods, evidence of a sparrowhawk kill, and now to see how it happens. Hannah said that after a while the sparrowhawk flew off with the remains of the dove, most likely to share with its nestlings.

When Ziggy Met Judy

First of all the title of this post and the photographs contained therein have absolutely nothing to do with its content.

I read today that the police in Northern Ireland have been instructed that they may not issue fines to people in breach of lockdown regulations without seeking the approval of a senior officer.

There has been some concern that the PSNI have been overly zealous in handing out fines and of course, the rumour mill is in full swing. I heard that a person from Ballymena was fined 60 quid for going to Asda for groceries rather than a local supermarket. I'm inclined to believe that might have been a tale. Then there was a news story (or was it Twitter?) that reported a woman and her autistic child ordered out of their front garden and into their house. Who knows - but it seems harsh.

And only this morning Swisser, who lives on the coast, said that tourists and holiday-homers were buying up all the supplies in the local shop to such an extent that the shop owner phoned the police who attended the scene of the crime and ordered all the strangers out. Nice story. No doubt the cops informed the visitors,

This is a local shop for local people 

Another tale from today. People who live in the idyllic coastal village of Helen's Bay are being inundated by visitors from the city coming to walk on the beach. Some locals have shown their disapproval by smearing dog shit on their vehicles. Or so I've been told. I was also given the impression that these disapproving Helen's Bay residents have taken to writing Go Home on the outsider cars. In canine faeces. I'm torn. I don't want to believe this. Or do I?

What have you been up to darling and what is that brown stuff on your protective vinyl glove?

Just dog shit dear. I've been using my pointer finger to write, on a stranger's car, fuck off back to Belfast.

Oh. Do make sure you give your hands a good thorough wash. Supper's nearly ready.

Rage Against The Machine

I've noticed these past few days that while traffic has decreased (a lot) on our little B road, there is an increase in what is known around these parts as 'boy racing'. It must be hard on young bucks, no excitement in their lives, not allowed to go anywhere for fear of the PSNI flagging them down to ask, Is Your Journey Really Necessary? So, out for a quick burn around the country roads for a wee spurt of adrenalin.

Why not?

Because you are all annoying wee fucks in your souped-up cars.

And.

One of you killed a wren.

Your deluded ma wouldn't agree with me but I believe that wren had more to give the world than you.

Reasonably Happy

This evening, in the polytunnel, a glass of wine to hand, three books on the go, three kinds of nasturtium to sow and two sorts of chilli seedlings to pot on and I felt happy enough.

Almost as if I wasn't living through a global pandemic.

But know what's really annoying me right now? Television advertising that is riding on the back of stayingathome and beinglockeddown. Hey, peeps! This is all a bit shite, you can't go out, God knows how long it's all going to go on and hopefully we wontdie because we'reallinthistogether and theresnoflour or tinnedtomatoes and isnttheNHSwonderful? And carerstoo, letsclap and sellthemabadge. But..... buy our frozen chips, our pasta sauce, our toiletries and all will be well. For we really do care about you.

I have made up my mind to avoid all companies and institutions that are providing soothing, family orientated advertisements. Call me cynical all you like but I don't think they really give one fuck about us.

On a lighter note, I've told Martha and Evie that when all this has passed we'll be having a two-night sleepover. Their mother?

Two nights! You can have them for a fortnight! 

Can't wait.

The Lord's Work

The worst thing I read online today was that Mr Trump has decided to suspend funding from WHO.

The attempt to shift blame for (Trump’s) disastrous failure to protect his country, despite repeated warnings from the international body and others, could not be more naked or repugnant. (Guardian Editorial)

So, if anyone reading this is displeased that I agree with the Guardian’s view, and that I see the current (and unworthy) President of the United States as repugnant then feel free to stop reading, following or friending me and I’ll be happy to reciprocate.

Then the best thing I saw on the internet today was this bit of class drumming and weather forecasting by Owain Wyn Evans. According to an evangelical friend of ours Mr Trump is doing God’s work because he disapproves of gays.

And if God exists I’ll bet she thinks that Owain Wyn Evans is doing the Lord’s work here. As does Sarah Tanat Jones.

Easter

Bert and I never go anywhere on Bank Holidays because we don't like crowded places. So this particular stay-at-home Easter is not that unusual for us. Yet I find myself yearning for outings, the beach, Belfast, Leitrim. It's all very well choosing to stay home but when one must stay home that is a very different thing.

I was supposed to bake a chocolate cake today but couldn't be bothered. We'd only have eaten it anyway. Instead, I'll hold off until Tuesday and share it with Zoe's lot. Zoe still comes once a week to work on her vegetable garden. She doesn't come into the house and we keep our distance from each other. Then I prepare something for her to take home and cook.

We had fish pie for supper, which I took a bit of trouble over and it was good. I still haven't got into this thing of taking pictures of food. Another little project that has fallen by the wayside is wearing all my clothes. These days I just put on comfortable jeans and jumpers and hiking boots or trainers. I am taking a lot of walks. A road one then a woods and fields one.

This little cottage is about 15 minutes away from where I live. It has been empty for many years and is derelict but I think it looks lovely with its lemony yellow door.

Nowadays everyone is out walking. I've spoken to more neighbours this past fortnight than the entire time I've lived on this road.

I prefer the woods for I don't have to say hello to so many people. I don't have to say hello to anyone unless it is to one of the animal skulls that we place on branches. This one is either a fox or a badger. It's been around for a year or more.

This one is new and also unidentified. Just remembered that I've got the jawbone and incisors in my pocket. I must remember to set them out to show Martha and Evie when I see them again.

Holly likes to go walking in the woods too. I say hello to her.

Little Things

The ceiling in my bedroom has cracked and is likely to fall down someday soon. I don't care. I will move into another room and the ceiling will get replastered and I will have the room repainted. I'm thinking of yellow or green. But I will have to consult with Marty for he is the boss of colour schemes at Nellybert's. He is also painter in chief. All this will have to wait until the lockdown is over.

I am not sure if the weight of ivy on this wall will pull it down, or whether it holds it up. This one sere leaf caught my eye while I was out there today.

Walking in the wood is the highlight of my day. I've still to catch sight of Foxy. Bert and Hannah see him often. I'm still waiting. I came upon his path today, well-trodden. There will be cubs somewhere in the wood.

I bought this primula on my last trip to a supermarket which seems like an age ago. Next year, when it flowers again I will remember this strange time. Today is the first day I have acknowledged feeling a wee bit scared of what is in front of us. It is at night when I sleep and dream that my fears manifest.

Loving Lockdown

It's only been a couple of weeks so maybe the joys of lockdown will wear off given time. But, be prepared, there are going to be a lot of extra bambinos come Autumn. Obviously, this does not apply to the likes of Nellybert, The Banjos or The Wees but it seems that forced togetherness is actually making some couples extra appreciative of each other's company. Take me and Bert, we're getting on famously and have resurrected little pet names we like to call each other. It's actually the same pet name. Nothing as commonplace as 'babe' or 'hun', for Nellybert like to address each other as 'dick'.

All three of us took walks in the wood today. Hannah and Ziggy went first. When Hannah goes to the wood she sees jays and foxes and woodcocks. When Bert goes he looks at the trees and plants even more trees. When I go, I look for evidence of what is being killed and devoured. I pick up bones and take photographs of fresh kills, mostly wood pigeons and magpies, the occasional pile of rabbit fur and, my favourite, owl pellets.

I'm building up quite the collection of owl pellets. When Martha and Evie can visit again they will dissect and unpack the contents. I'm looking forward to that.

Bit Fed Up

The Wood

Hannah has informed Nellybert that we no longer have to do food shopping. She will do it for us. It's a relief. We were in Lidls last week and it was an unnerving experience, too many people in the shop, and no social distancing possible. We were glad to get out of there.

London Sister phoned yesterday to talk plants among other things. She is working hard in her garden and is keen to start sowing but only has rocket and sunflower seeds and the local garden centres are all closed. I sent her some of my spare seed and stuck three first-class stamps on the envelope which is probably an overpayment but I didn't want to go to the post office. I'm not even sure she'll get them as I'm not sure about the postal service anymore. Maybe I'm just in a pessimistic mood these few days.

I really miss having a good supply of potting compost and those silly impulse plant buys I'm always making. And I miss not being able to buy bakers yeast. Who cares about toilet paper? I want yeast. I haven't been able to get any for over three weeks now.

Still. All small stuff. I could make my own potting compost if I wanted to and I've got the sourdough and soda bread options for baking.

Since this began I've been taking two walks a day. One government-sanctioned exercise period on our road where the traffic has eased quite a bit. There is a marked decrease in the number of fast-food wrappers that usually adorn our verges but around the same amount of empty energy drink cans and cigarette packets and now, far too many discarded disposable gloves. They are disgusting pigs, the people who throw their filthy crap out of car windows.

My other walk is at home so nobody's business but mine. We're lucky to have the wood and we all walk in it at some point during the day.

Bert just got me to watch a little short on iPlayer. It's called The Farm and the episode is entitled Dog. It really cheered me up, especially as we'd previously watched an episode of The Last Kingdom which was the opposite of cheerful with eye-gouging, torture and death in childbed. I might have to put Uhtred Ragnarson on hold for a while.

A Life

For two consecutive nights, my dreams have featured feral children.

Narcissus

In these dreams, I have tried and failed to contain the children. Which is a rather obvious analogy for Covid-19.

Earlier today, Bert and I were having a conversation about stupidity. We came to the (obvious) conclusion that the most dangerous people in the world are the stupid, those so stupid that they think they are clever. Can you think of anyone?

Someone called to our house this evening. He didn't get to come in and when I came to investigate I found him standing less than a metre away from Bert. I said (not joking)

You're too close.

(I know, it is so weird. We'll laugh about it afterwards.)

He said,

Ach. That's a lot of nonsense.

I said,

You might think so. But we don't. So respect our opinion.

He was stung. Not used to outspoken women. (I don't care.)

These are strange, strange days.

Wallflower

Quiet Saturday

 Crocus in the garden, with monkey puzzle in the background

I was awakened by the dogs at ten past six, then waited until seven before going to get my Saturday Guardian. I buy it once a week at my local garage, and the rest of the week I read it online. There were more people around than usual, one man doing a fairly big shop. I filled a basket too, milk, 4-pack of toilet roll, bleach, cheese, chocolate. Life's neccessities. I sidestepped the other customers as much as I could and kept a very decent distance from Hans.

The tightening of restrictions in the sensible part of Ireland was mentioned and it was said that it might be time for a proper lockdown here too. There are a lot of people who are flouting the advice/rules, whatever it is.

Bert has been ever so slightly getting on my nerves these past few days and I'm sure I've been getting on his. But I had a thought, this...

If I have to be closed up at home with one other human being, Bert is a good one. He is patient, kind, funny and so what if he doesn't put the milk back in the fridge or the lid on the tea caddy? To show my gratitude I baked him a cake and didn't use a recipe. I put apricot jam in it and plain yogurt and it was lovely.

 A patch of wood anemone in Bert's wood

The first few days of staying at home were unsettling. I spent far too much time online, scrolling through news sites, coronavirus updating and Twitter. I exhausted myself so much that I could barely read for pleasure. These past few days I've been spending less time online and more time gardening, walking and reading. And weird tasks like degunking the shower outlet.

And I've pulled a chair over to the window in my bedroom and sometimes I sit there, reading, or just watching the chickens. It's very peaceful especially as there are far fewer vehicles on our road.

Bert has just called me to watch the final episode of  This Country. Stay safe everyone.

Life Interrupted

In the polytunnel, today. 

Going through my seed boxes today and found that I had no ordinary peas or spring onions. And all the gardening outlets are closed. The Range is open but they are only permitted to sell cleaning products and hardware. Montrose Garden Supplies have shut their doors. I suppose it makes sense. You know what gardeners are like. We'd be defying government advice and queuing up to purchase pansies and compost.

But there's always online. My favourites are Real Seeds and Chiltern but both companies are experiencing unprecedented demand and neither could deal with my order. I don't trust eBay for seeds and I try to avoid using Amazon so that's out. Eventually, after some trickiness with changing passwords, I managed to place an order with Mr Fothergill. And Zoe will be glad to hear that I've reserved a bag of multipurpose compost from the local garage. Only one per customer.

But these are small difficulties compared with what some people are going through in these awful times. We're observing social distancing, as are all our friends and family and we remain tremendously grateful to everyone out there on the front line, the carers, health workers, retail staff, community workers, police. You are all heroes. If I was having to go out there every day I'd be needing a big hoard of toilet paper which I haven't got. And if I had, I'd swap it for compost and seeds.

I was cross when I heard all the hoo-ha about Prince Charles and the Duchess in social isolation. Really? There is no way he'll be on his own. There is bound to be at least six flunkies running around after the pair of them. It's got to be quite an honour to be infected with a double-strength dose of the Royal virus that has already been through Prince Albert of Monaco. This will be a whole new level of six degrees of separation.

So who'd you catch it from? 

Idris Elba. 

Wow! 

Zoom Lens

I got to see my two oldest grandchildren today. I didn't get to hug them or to come any closer than 4 metres, twice the recommended social distancing length, and they didn't come into the house. I took this film of them on their beloved trampoline.

Using the zoom on my camera. I stood well back.

It was odd.

This is our day for eating together as a family, We won't be able to do that for a while.

I made a fish pie and a steamed pudding this morning. They got their share to take home and eat in their own house. Miss Martha said, and I quote her mum, that

...everything (Granny) cooks is amazing. Even the things I don't like.

So I assume she doesn't like fish pie, except for mine* of course.



*Thanks also due to Mary Berry for the recipe.

Who Is It This Time?

Bert thought this might be a fox hole and maybe it once was. He said it's been around for years or since he was a wee lad. That's decades, half a century's worth.

Ziggy decided to investigate. That's the last picture I took as the noises that emanated from that tunnel were worrying. He was barking and something else was chittering. He emerged, arse first and the something else was right behind him making frantic chirping noises. It was a badger. Out Ziggy came and made then moves to go right back in again. We tried to discourage him and eventually had to pick him up and carry him away from the area.

Checked YouTube when I got back home to make sure that the chittering noises we heard were badger. I had no idea how many and varied are the sounds that badgers make.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b4lpFjHsGLo

And there was me always used to think that they spoke like this,

"Now, the very next time this happens," said a gruff and suspicious voice, "I shall be exceedingly angry. Who is it this time, disturbing people on such a night? Speak up!"

During these strange times, I'm feeling rather badger-like too. 

Cocooning

It occurred to me this morning that if I should slip this mortal coil long before my time, that there are still quite a few items in my wardrobe that I have yet to try out. So, why not use this time of 'cocooning' or to put it another way, 'social isolation' to experiment with 'looks'. After all, who is even going to see me?

Take this skirt, which belonged at some point to someone from Bodenland - then they flogged it on eBay and yours truly paid good pension money for it. It's never had an airing.

I teamed it with a wee linen matchy cardi from Alex &Co and a Fatface teeshirt I usually wear in bed. Then cowboy boots (what! cowboy boots?), which are years old  and a scarf I bought on Rathlin Island, back in the days when you could go places.

When he saw me, Bert said,

Are you going out?

And I said,

What! Looking like this?

And he said,

I dunno. Looks good to me. Though maybe not the teeshirt.

Postscript

To anyone who reads Nelly's Garden. Like everyone else, I'm stressed by what is going on. A bit scared too. But I'm not going to use this blog to dwell on it. Instead, it will be a bit of distraction for me and for you.

Keep yourself safe and others too.

Playing School

Holly giving her presentation

Bert wasn't at home when the girls arrived today. They were out of school early and had their homework done and despite the heavy rain there was no mention of Netflix. It was straight under the stairs to pull out the dressing up boxes. Favourite outfits are a cross between Jane Eyre and Little House on the Prairie. Today they were playing school and were all over the place looking for folders, pens and vintage books. Martha has always preferred "old books with tiny writing" and Evie's choice would be pocket-sized volumes from The Observer's range.

Then Bert came back. They were at him immediately.

Bert! Bert you're playing with us. We're playing schools. I'm Sunny and Evie is Holly. We're head girls! You're Bud, Bud Sorenson and in this game, you're not stupid, you're clever, You're head boy. We're going to do projects and then we're going to do a presentation!

He was allowed to have a coffee before the game began and from then on it was upstairs, downstairs, in my lady's chamber. While all this was going on I was making food.

Bud and Sunny await their turn

Listening to them was great entertainment. Martha, a born performer, played the kazoo and tap-danced. Bert discussed the book he had 'read', E. Nesbitt's The Wonderful Garden,

I read this book. It had nice pictures. I liked it very much.

It seemed to please them enough. Sadly, I did not hear Evie's presentation which occurred moments after I took the pictures as I'd gone outside.

Playing school might be a popular game in the coming weeks as they are likely to be off and will be missing the real thing. We're living through a rare time. It will soon be time to hunker down and isolate.

No Joke

It is no joke being a reluctant hypochondriac during a global pandemic. I never wanted to be the kind of person overly concerned about health and well-being. My mother was, lots of her sisters were. I thought it was dreary and self-defeating and swore it would never happen to me.

But it did, it crept up on me, especially in the middle of the night when sleep wouldn't come. I try hard to resist it. I fight it all the time.

That pain in my chest. I just slept awkwardly on my tit. Not the beginnings of pneumonia.

That cough. A tickle, just the common cold.

That fever. We had an oil delivery. I notched the heating up. And I'm wearing a particularly cosy cardigan.

That urge to self-isolate. I'm just fucking sick of callers. It's an excuse not to socialise.

I was OK until Wednesday. I wanted to go shopping in town, to visit TK Maxx, Camerons, all (nearly all) the charity shops in search of something new. I was discerning, only bought one coat for me (Barnardos) and one jumper for Bert (Marie Curie) and was heading back to the van. There was a group of young men walking in front of me. One lad pulled a big wad of kitchen roll from his pocket, snottered into it, threw it on the ground and spat. I froze. Slowed my step, made sure I was at least ten feet behind them. We all got to the next set of crossing lights, they stopped, I started walking backwards, the green light comes on, we all move forward, me maintaining ten-foot distance, they turn left, I turn right, big sigh of relief.

I couldn't get over it, told everyone about how spooked I was. Next morning I wake up with the cold and convinced myself I had the virus. For about twenty minutes. All that rummaging through clothes rails, God knows who else had been there before me, God knows where they'd been, what they had wrong with them. That new (to me) Zara coat will be the death of me.

I caught myself on. Went for a walk (in a graveyard, poignant) met the grandchildren, helped with homework, baked biscuits, forgot I was dying and so on...

Then, later, just after Martha and Evie had gone home, Banjo Man calls in, watery-eyed, streaming with the cold and freshly sent off a site in Dublin town for coughing too much. The site foreman had asked him to get checked out and let them know if he was OK but testing is suspended here so all he can do is self-isolate, just in case, while we all build up our herd immunity. Apparently 20 cases of Covid-19 in Northern Ireland but if testing is suspended it is bound to be many, many more.

Then this morning I woke up convinced my cold was something worse and it was more than an hour before I caught myself on.

Bert went shopping in Lidl and there was no toilet roll and no butter. Also, no maple syrup which is a great shame as I had accidentally dropped our practically full bottle on the tiled floor - huge mess to clean up. And me not well.

The Zara coat I risked my life for. I have requested if it should end badly for me, that I am to be buried in it.

The Woman In The Mirror

I have a wardrobe crammed with clothes. Some new, some very old indeed, some unworn and some worn out. And yet...when it comes to it, I sometimes feel there is nothing I want to wear.

Home clothes are easy. They are comfortable, lots of layers, suitable for working in (pottering, really) inside or out. I find it harder to decide what to put on when I'm going out and seem to go to the same few items again and again while other garments hang neglected. I decided a few weeks ago that I am going to wear everything, even if it is only for the time it takes to photograph myself in the wardrobe mirror. This is where it started.

The wardrobe in these pictures is not where I keep my clothes for it is far too small. It does have a decent mirror and the light in that room is good. The yellow jumper outfit is going out (lunch with Jazzer) the other three are home clothes. I am wearing four items from eBay, one gift scarf (thanks, Kerry Sister) and three charity shop buys.

Pictures one and two are for another lunch with Jazzer. Three is home wear and four is trying out. Bert was disparaging about four. Said something sneery about kilts. That dress was £20 in a charity shop in Stoke Newington but when new would have cost more than £100.

I've yet to wear those wide-legged trousers out. Bargain in TK Maxx. I wore outfit 2 to the shops and 3 & 4 were for hanging at home.

More stay at home outfits. Number 2 was today's clothes. I might ragbag the shirt. I caught it on a nail and don't care for it enough to mend it.

Going by that selection my wardrobe is 42% new clothes, 18% from eBay, 36% charity shop and 3% gifted. Seems about right.

Silly Spring

Merzy dotes and dozy dotes

And little cavvsy divy

A bird'll eat peanuts too,

Wouldn't you?

Dance like no one is watching

Play like no one is blogging

She said to him,

The Bann is great

It's not too late

To learn to swim

He said to her,

I would not dare

For I don't care

To wet my fur

What Chickens Think

There's a quare stretch in the evenings

It's nice to see a wee blink of sun

I wonder will the woman bring pizza again?

What Robins Think

Gardener - dig!

Any other robin comes near me I'll rip his head off!

Only 292 days to Christmas.

We Are All Old Now

I thought that when old Roy died that life with just two dogs, two cats and two pigs might be easier. I thought wrong. Roy might have been the oldest codger in town but he wasn’t the only one.

For Holly de Cat is thirteen and Big Fat Fred just a year younger. Judy will be ten in the summer and Jess eight in October. Rusty and Lily are ten this year too. They must be two of the oldest pigs in County Antrim. Bert and I both have our bus passes. Nellybert’s is no longer a Party House. We’re a Retirement Home!

Reason for this moan? I am rudely awakened every morning by the dogs needing to go pee. This morning it was six o’clock when Jess was headbutting my bedroom door. Then, when Big Fat Fred sees me he makes it clear he is ready for breakfast so I give him a little something in his bowl and return to bed for horrible anxiety dreams.* When Fred has finished eating he stands at the bottom of the stairs and gowls to be let into my private, secret sitting room. I prefer to keep that room closed as a dog (probably Judy) has a liking for peeing on my antique carpet.

Although Judy has been having fewer ‘accidents’ since the vet put her on the amazing tightening up the urethra drug. It’s also noticeable that her coat is glossier and she seems to have more energy. I’m seriously considering taking this medication myself as I too would benefit from a glossy mane, extra energy and a better functioning urethra.

The oldest pigs in the parish

*This morning's anxiety dream was all about Zoe having coronavirus and Bert and his friends using my best vintage china for ashtrays.

A Leap Year Wedding

I do not recall who might have called at Nellybert's this day twelve years ago. But, whoever they might have been, they would have been regaled with the pleasant news that we were planning a wedding.

Saturday, March 01, 2008

Last-Minute Proposal

Well, maybe not exactly the last minute but at around ten to midnight last night I asked Bert to marry me and he said yes. I wonder how he'll wriggle out of this one?

He didn't renege on his promise. We'll be married twelve years this coming August.