Ar ais go Ciarraí

 If all goes according to plan, by this time tomorrow, I'll be west of Dingle. 

I bought these postcards the first time I went to Dingle which was sometime last century.

In other news, Wordle is suspended as my PC won't fit in my suitcase. I have a winning streak of 103 and must begin afresh on my return to County Antrim.

Pig Abroad

This was my usual Monday, leisurely preparing supper for the fam. On the menu, a sort-of cassoulet - light on beans and for dessert, an apple crumble. A glut of tomatoes (thanks Clint) went into the stew and a present of Katy apples (thanks Howard) were used up in the crumble.

Then the dogs started to bark. A taxi-van pulled up to the door. The same taxi-van that I'd pranged the wing mirror. Who could it be? We weren't expecting anyone. The driver jumped out, the same pleasant bloke who'd got Zoe's surplus tomato plants. He looked slightly panicked. I went out to him.

Do you have a pig?

Indeed we do.

It's on the road!

Oh God! Bert! There's a pig on the road.

Bert set down his clarinet and I shouted to him

Bring an apple! We'll tempt it back up the lane.

What is it about apples and temptation?

The taxi driver drove off and parked his van at the mouth of the lane. And there was Rusty being 'kepped' by our neighbour Clare. There were several cars stopped in both directions but thankfully they couldn't see we feckless pig-owners because of the taxi-van. Of course, as soon as Rusty spotted the apple he was good to go and Bert placed him under shed arrest. As I expected, it was Bert to blame, He'd brought a load of timber in from the wood and forgot to close the gate. Probably going over a new clarinet tune in his head. 

We worked out that Rusty probably wanted into the hen run to guzzle up the windfall apples. When he couldn't get through the gate he must have wandered down the lane to see if he could find another opening. Pigs are like that. And apples are tempting. 

My Diary

 

The diaries of Alan Rickman featured in yesterday's Guardian and it occurred to me that one's blog is actually a diary and that I should start treating it as such. It's not the first time I've thought this.

So I must mention that I started seeing a physiotherapist a few weeks ago. I'd been urged to do this by both Ganching and Kerry Sister. It all seems to be going well and I've noticed some minor improvements. On Saturday last I needed to pick up a prescription and parked the van five minutes walk from the pharmacy. About one minute into the walk my hip started to hurt and it didn't stop. I kept going. The only other notable thing that happened was bumping into the taxi driver whose wing mirror I clipped a few months ago. When he called to see me about this we ended up visiting the polytunnels and left with his repair money and a box of free tomato plants. Apparently, they've done well.

Wednesday evening and all of Thursday were marred by stomach aches. I blamed too much rich food, especially birthday cake. Despite this, I still bought the ingredients for a Pineapple Coconut Cake. At the time of writing, I have yet to make it.

In Bert’s opinion, my guts were bad because I had not drunk wine since the previous Saturday. He backed his argument with that famous biblical quote.*

With this in mind, on Friday we shared a nice bottle of wine from Lidl.

On Saturday I went to Portglenone to have my hair trimmed and afterwards went to the charity shops. And only bought a book, Updike’s Run, Rabbit which I will hopefully get around to reading sometime in the next two years. Whilst perusing the shelves I heard a familiar voice which turned out to be a chap I’d sat next to at my Aunt Bee’s funeral meal some weeks before. He told me that it was Bee’s Months Mind which I’d not known about.

When I got home I contacted Youngest Brother and we made an arrangement to go together. It was the regular early evening mass in Antrim and the chapel was packed. The priest had just got back from Medjugorje and was tremendously enthused about it. The sermon was delivered with exuberance and featured the importance of the Rosary and the reality of the Devil. I’m sure that Aunt Bee would have approved.

Afterwards, Joe and I went to the cemetery. We visited two graves. Joe’s little granddaughter Ava, who died three years ago and Joseph, our cousin and Aunt Bee’s oldest child, who will be gone ten years tomorrow.

And after all that, I went home via Lidl where I bought another bottle of that fine wine – for my stomach’s sake.

*1 Timothy 5:23

Family  Anniversaries

Bernie 1930 - 1922

Joseph 1955 - 2012

Ava 2011 - 2019

A Momentous Day

This morning I woke up early this and finished reading my book on Princess Margaret.*  What a dragon!

There were two Chocolate Guinness cakes to make and the house was a mess because I'd had a busy couple of days. 

Me doing absolutely nothing. Except for drinking and it's not even dark outside.

I was making cake for a special day and as I started to gather the ingredients I watched the State Funeral. Watching TV whilst baking is not something I'd normally do but, y'know... history, pageantry, human interest, military bands, Princess Charlotte, the Duchess of Sussex,** and Michelle O'Neill. 

The cakes turned out fine and at last, the special guest arrived, Martha the Teenager! As well as Nigella's Chocolate Guinness Cake we had Spaghetti Bolognese made with some very ripe tomatoes that Bert poached from Clint. It was good. 

Something tells me that I will remember forever what happened on the 19th of September 2022. 

* It's been that kind of week.

** Oxford comma placed in solidarity with the NHS.

Mind You Don't Hurt Yourself

 'Mind you don't hurt yourself', were the very words I spoke to Bert when he announced that he and Les were going to fell a dying beech tree.

He had everything ready, long ladders in place, just waiting for the right fellow to assist him in this manly task. Unfortunately, on the previous evening, the ladders had to be re-deployed as Pippin the kitten had got herself into a bit of a pickle. She has a passion for climbing trees and had got herself stuck in a big hawthorn. Her ascent was easy but the way down was difficult because of the thorns. The meows were piteous. All her biggest fans (Hannah, Martha and Evie) were distraught and Bert was nowhere to be seen. Hannah had found a short step ladder and tried to persuade Pippin to come down. Instead, the silly cat went further up.

Then Bert, the hero of the hour arrived, and the big ladder was put in position which Bert ascended whilst getting a jolly good telling off from Martha for attempting the rescue in unsafe Crocs but he paid her no mind. Pippin ( who likes Bert better than anyone) was brought down but not before there was a very scary, jiggly moment with the ladder. There is really nothing much in a hawthorn tree to lay a ladder against.

Today, when Les arrived the ladders had to be brought back to the beech trees. It's really a two-person job handling a long ladder. Bert informed me what they were going to do, I asked him to be careful, and he said I could take photographs but I was to stay at a safe distance. 

The old tractor was used to keep taut a rope intended to encourage the tree to fall without damaging any of the other beech trees. I stood at a safe distance and waited. And waited. And waited.

Then came the crack. The distance I stood at was so safe that all I saw was the rope slacken and the top branches crumble to dust as they fell. 

It would have been far more dramatic if I'd been observing from here.

On the wander back to the house I picked some tomatoes.

And took a fairly decent photo of the mina lobata.

Another one of this veronica, throwing out the last blooms of the season. I've already collected seed and hope to have it again next year.

And this pretty clematis flowering along with white bindweed. One to be prized, the other despised. 

 

8th September, 2022

In my late teens, I took a job in the sewing room at the Old Bleach Factory in Randalstown. I didn't stay long as my sewing was abysmal and the wee forewoman despaired of me. All I had to do was hem linen tea towels. It wasn't that hard. Even so, my efforts all ended up in the reject bin.

The 'girls' in the sewing room were a mixed bunch. All ages, all persuasions and all female. The only 'lads' were a couple of mechanics who were supposed to keep the machines running smoothly. From what I could see, that looked like a  very cushy number. The fellows seemed to spend most of the day hanging over the big cast iron radiators eyeing up the talent.

There was a group of young women from Toome who befriended me. Their leader, Marian came in one morning telling everyone how the Brits had smashed in their door while it was still dark and lifted two of her brothers. I was amazed that she had still bothered to come to work. If that had happened in our house we'd all have been bad with our nerves for weeks. Marian must have thrived on the excitement as a year or so after I left the job I read in the paper that she was up in court for hijacking a bus.

Our forewoman, whose name I cannot remember, was a small thin woman, probably in her late fifties. Her office, a roughly partitioned-off area, was covered in Union flags and pictures of the Royal Family. And even though she seemed a mild-mannered and unthreatening person I still felt uncomfortable with this display for she was marking her territory and asserting her superiority over the RCs.

So, although I did not have any issue with the Windsors it was made very clear to Catholics that they were not for the likes of us.

Fast forward to 1977. I'm in London for the summer and it's the Silver Jubilee and the place is decked out like the Twelfth with bells on. The Queen was out and about, she's all over the place and I never saw her once. My sister claims to have spotted her on several occasions but I had to make do with Connie Booth from Fawlty Towers, spotted buying calamine lotion in a Holland Park pharmacy.

It took another 34 years before I got the point of  Elizabeth II. I was in Donegal, recovering from a bout of food poisoning and the only TV channel we could get was RTE. And all that was on was coverage of the Queen's State Visit to Ireland. There she was, speaking a bit of Irish at a state banquet, attending a ceremony at the Garden of Remembrance, where she laid a wreath in memory of those who gave their lives fighting for freedom from British rule. And then, making a visit to the National Stud in Kildare, and just standing there quietly as a massive stallion reared up only yards from her. I have to say, I was impressed.

Liz Saves The Day!

 It seems that sometime today Liz Truss will become Prime Minister of the United Kingdom and Northern Ireland and, like many others, I have been dismayed at the prospect. 

However, I have changed my mind as it seems Liz has had, all along, a cunning plan. She has been busy. This energy crisis that threatens our way of life will disappear, or at least, be alleviated. The projected fuel bills, unpayable for most, were just meant to frighten us. We will all be so grateful that we are only paying twice what we paid last year that Ms Truss will seem like our saviour. 

I have no doubt that the new PM will have found the time to have a few late-night calls with Jeffrey Donaldson. The DUP will return to Stormont. I cannot imagine what this will entail but her handlers are a clever lot. They will have thought of something. Maybe a nice backhander and/or a peerage, something like that. Possibly a climbdown on the First Minister and Deputy First Minister thing. Jeffrey's party may well have thought better of that one.

With the energy crisis and Stormont solved the new PM will ride on a wave of approval. For a while, anyway.

For myself, I'm sad I came late to the white trainer/older woman thing for Liz has put me right off them.

I may throw mine in the Lagan.

I Assumed He Knew What He Was Doing

I've just been out to close in the hens and their shed appears to be on fire! Thankfully it wasn't.

I spoke to Hannah.

Do you realise he's got a bonfire going a metre from the hen house?

Yeah. I assumed he knew what he was doing.

Bert spoke to me.

Why are you taking pictures?

So if the hen house burns down I can blog about it.

Sure, what do you know about bonfires?

Not much. I've little experience of them. It wasn't me burned down next door's garage*.  Anyway, stop adding stuff to it.

I thought you wanted this area cleared.

Me? Not really. Think of all the poor wee invertebrates dying in there. They thought they were living their best lives. 

That stung. I could see the look of regret on his face. He'd forgotten about the beetles and earthworms etc. I was nearly sorry I'd brought it up.

Anyways, I decided not to close the hens in after all, just in case.

A Postscript

* For fear of retribution Bert did not admit that sixteen years ago, on a very windy evening a stray ember from one of his bonfires might well have blown over to the derelict property beside us. It might have settled in the eaves of the garage (stacked with empty and half-empty paint tins). Maybe there was an old bird's nest in there, that caught alight,  maybe it dropped to the floor, found some dry timber, started a blaze.

Doesn't matter now, especially since that garage has since been demolished by a passing vandal with a mini-digger. We'll never know. It's a mystery.

Now there are rumours that the property has been bought by a developer in which case we might eventually have close neighbours. Ugh! Bert says,

You never know. They might be the best neighbours in the world. 

Frothy Goat Deity

 Happy Birthday, Zoë. 

Conversation with Martha at the supper table.

Granny, remember how your cakes used to be like biscuits?

I do. I remember you telling me so.

How come they're not flat any more?

Your mother told me about baking powder.

Previous birthday cakes that demonstrate varying levels of flatness.

Tired

I have just got out of bed and am still feeling tired

Such a busy, busy week but not so busy to justify having to go to bed at 5 o'clock on a Sunday evening. The weariness had come upon me an hour earlier and by five o'clock  I just couldn't take it anymore. It had been a very pleasant afternoon doing some light gardening chores, seed collection, watering tubs and cutting back perennials. Then exhaustion hits. Is this it? I'm still in my sixties and am seriously depleted of energy. 

It was a full week. I went to a wake on Monday morning. My Aunt Bernie, Uncle Shaun's wife, a strong and steadfast woman, widowed for almost 50 years.

In the afternoon  I cooked for family - then on Tuesday went to the funeral which took a full day.

On Wednesday I went to Ikea with Jazzer. we made a mistake, we should have gone straight to the marketplace. Both of us knew what we wanted - and we did not need that energy-sapping zig-zag through the showroom.

Thursday was the girls. I took them for breakfast at Middletown and spent a small fortune on things that were supposed to be breakfast food but were basically luxurious desserts. That was them. I had bacon and tomato on sourdough. Back home I had a bit of housework to do as I was expecting Leitrim Sister, her hubby and her mother-in-law (another inspirational 90-something) coming off a late flight from Corfu. I stayed up until they arrived. Odd thing for me these days as I'm usually in bed before 11pm. 

Friday morning was my Corfu visitors then some other people dropped in. I think I might have watched three episodes of the final season of Breaking Bad. That was it. I was weary.

On Saturday I took lots of butterfly pictures. Small tortoiseshell are the leading lights this season, peacocks second and red admirals are scarce. They were all feeding at a bunch of buddleias that Bert didn't sell this year. I think I'll be planting most of those in the garden, Between our profusion of nettle patches and our buddleia we are quite the butterfly haven. 

Then Bert went out for an afternoon gig in Ahoghill and I didn't. Swisser called around for a couple of hours and we thoroughly depressed ourselves talking about the state of the world and the state of Liz Truss. Did I mention that Leitrim Sister brought Gin, Tracey brought Port and Swisser Prosecco? Bert asked, 

'D'ye think people think you're a lush?'

I did not respond.

Later on, I drank some port, finished watching Breaking Bad and started watching El Camino.

I finished watching El Camino this morning. I wonder if it is Vince Gilligan that exhausts me so?

15 Years Ago - Rosie & Pearlie Got Sore Paws

Between one thing and another Bert has had a tough week. There has been a lot going on with Pearlie (she broke her wrist) and we’ve been trying to get more help from social services. On Friday, between arranging to take Pearlie to A&E and meeting with her social worker, those dirty, rotten, scunging devil-dogs gave him the slip for the first time in a fortnight. We do try to keep them from running off but they know when we’re distracted and pick their moment well.

About three hours into his hospital sit, Bert got a phone call from Alber’,

Your Paddy is running about the Lisnahuncheon Road and he’s that black with glaar you’d hardly know it was him!

There was nothing Bert could do until he got home. He went out as soon as he’d eaten and managed to gather Paddy up but Rosie was nowhere to be seen.

Paddy was in a really funny mood. He didn’t want to get into the van and when I got a hold of him he pissed himself.

We waited patiently for Rosie to return. Bert had to go out and at 8pm I set off to look for her. Up the Loan Hill, Killyless Road, Lisnahuncheon – I called for her until I was hoarse but no Rosie.

When Bert got back he went out too but wasn’t able to find her either. I was really worried thinking that she might have been hurt, or shot, maybe put her shoulder out again – something must have happened to her.

Next morning I was out again, mainly checking the roads in case she’d been hit by a car. I brought an old towel with me to wrap her in if I found her body.

At 8.30am Bert went out. Fifteen minutes later I heard him coming back. I knew he’d found her but whether dead or alive I didn’t know. But as soon as I saw him get out of the car and head for the boot I knew she was alive. His body language told me.

The poor bedraggled thing had caught her front paw in a snare and had lay in a hedge the entire night. Bert returned to the place where he’d found Paddy, walked into a field and went straight to her. He said she wagged her wet, scraggy tail when she saw him. In took a while to get the snare off but amazingly her leg wasn’t too badly hurt at all. It was swollen but started going down within an hour. She had a feed, a big drink of water and jumped on to the sofa for a serious wound-licking session. Then she slept for the rest of the day.

She’s still resting today and has only chased the cat a couple of times.

And what of Pearlie? She’s enjoying a week’s stay in residential care. She could only get a week, and so far she says it’s not too bad. She says the food is ‘alright’, the other women are ‘a bit odd’ and there’s a man she’s got her eye on. She asked Bert if he’d mind her taking up with a boy and he said he wouldn’t as long as he was a decent sort of a boy.

An Update

 Day 35 after the first fall, 15 days since the second. I've learned that this tumbling to the ground lark is not an uncommon experience for us older folk. At the moment I've two sisters recovering from falls. Kerry Sister calls it 'timbering' as when a tree falls to the ground. Both sisters have urged me to seek out physio. I think they're right. The oul' 'pig' knee got twisted in the second cowping* session and that has (I think) resulted in an arthritis flare-up. 

It doesn't bother me that much when I'm up and about but it does keep me awake at night. I haven't had a full night's sleep for over a week now and that is horrible. I shall probably speak to my GP next week to see if anything can be done.

Apart from all that I'm happy enough, enjoying the company of young folk and the antics of Pippin the kitten and Lulu from Leitrim. Then next week, all being well, I'm having a day out with Jazzer, my first day out in nearly six weeks.

*Cowp - Ulster-Scots, fall over.

Ten Years On - Making Hay

 A post from ten years ago.

Sunshiney Day, Making Hay

At last, we've had some more fine weather. And there have been lots of outdoor activities. We've weeded and picked and gathered and sowed. And we've made hay - the old-fashioned way.

Martha is not watching Bert plant a tree. She is attending the burial of the big hen that Foxy tried to take a few weeks back. That hen was not itself for many days after the attack and although I thought she had recovered her spirits she died yesterday. Maybe it would have been better if the fox had finished her off at the time.

Later on, Martha and Judy had fun playing in the hay

Today was beautiful too. Maybe a wee bit too warm but we shall not complain. Leitrim Sister came up to stay last night and today we went to St George's Market with Zoe and the girls. Dede and I went on to Ikea and Martha came too. Amazingly I only spent £12.65 in Ikea. This austerity drive is working well. When we got back Bert and Clint were baling and bringing in the hay - the old-fashioned way, the way Daddy used to do it. A good day.

5 Things I Did Last Week

1. Got rather cock-a-hoop about how well I was getting over The Fall. And they do say that pride goes before a fall. 

2. Entertained Bert's third cousins and was such a delightful host that I may never come down from the buzz. Neither will the cousins.

3. Became somewhat despondent when three days ago I Fell Again. This time I tripped over my own Merrell Mocs and fell a rattle onto my right side. Got a spectacularly bruised toe, a slightly grazed elbow and fucked up my knee. Back on the crutch for a couple of days. Silver lining - Bert was very kind to me and admitted later that it was because this time, it wasn't his fault.

4. Bought pre-loved Merrell Mocs on eBay. The old ones, the ones I tripped over, were worn to rallops.

5. Started watching (for the second time) Breaking Bad.

Hopefully, next week, I'll be able to list ten things. Life is quiet these days.

Pippin and Fred

The very popular Pippin continues to make her presence felt at Nellybert's. Everyone likes her. Martha and Evie are delighted with her and weigh her on every visit. She is putting on those grammes at an incredible rate. And no wonder as her appetite is very good.

Hannah has her for a couple of hours every evening. Pippin is her therapy kitten, helping her to relax after complicated and stressful working days. Even Fred seems to tolerate her.

I make sure to feed them together with Fred getting his bowl first. He is the senior cat. We had our doubts about the two of them getting on, as his relationship with our previous cat was never good. Holly took against him from the first moment she saw him and that animosity continued until she died. We always knew they were in each other's vicinity when we heard the growls and hisses.

I can see that things will be different with Pippin. She is fascinated with Freddie and follows him around. I think he is beginning to like her.

Sharing a bed while keeping a respectful distance.

 

Holly and Fred really did not like each other.

Apart from catty stuff life is quiet around here. I'm still feeling the effects of the fall but am much more mobile. Yet not mobile enough to have a good go at the garden or go for a day out in the city. I'm able to potter about and carry out tasks that do not involve too much walking, kneeling or climbing. I can drive but I only feel up to short journeys. Things can only get better. 

Birthday Memories

It's our mother's birthday today. Were she alive she'd be ninety-six . 

I have a folder on my hard drive named 'Martha' and I looked at it today to see if I could find anything new to put up for her birthday. And found this poem. It's not a literary gem by any means but when I re-read it I remembered how much she enjoyed writing about her childhood and how much pleasure she took in sharing her stories and poems.

She never did get round to the internet. I'm sure if she had, she'd have been a prolific blogger and much better at encouraging the comments section than this particular daughter. 

When I Was Eight Years Old

by Martha Byrne

One day when walking home from school,

A farmer came our way.

He was driving sheep with little lambs,

That was only born that day.

The little lambs were weary and walking very slow,

He asked us would we carry them as far as we would go.

How pleased we were to do it,

And when we reached our door,

We were sad to leave them down, for we’d never held a lamb before.

There’s a song that brings back memories,

Of that day along the road.

Called “On April Evening” when April airs are abroad,

When we carried the little lambs that we were so pleased to hold.

This happened many years ago,

When I was eight years old.

After The Fall

First of all - I am writing this on a laptop, new to me today. It is going to take a while for me to get used to it. 

it's day 7 after the fall I am mending slowly and steadily. Still finding it hard to get around and haven't been off the yard or been anywhere apart from once to the polytunnel (which wrecked me). Watched all of Ozark, season 4, read half of South Riding and did Wordle every day. I've even started a jigsaw.

Jazzer came on Monday and stayed until Wednesday evening and she was a great help, cheered us up, cooked suppers, got the laundry done, helped me change the beds and blitzed the kitchen. I think, if she hadn't been here, Bert would have already filed for divorce. Because I was so cross about being out of action and when I wasn't raging I was sad.

One thing that was a constant source of happiness was Pippin the kitten. 

The first task that I took on after the initial 2 days of being unable to move was giving Pippin her breakfast.

Since then I have managed to do dishes, laundry, my bed and a small bit of hoovering. I have yet to make a meal. Tomorrow I am hoping to make chilli. With Bert's help, of course. 

vitas interruptus

 I had/have so many things I wanted/want to blog about. My beloved only grandson's 7th birthday, the funeral of an old friend, the new kitten, The Bloody Tories, the weather...

Then this happened. For the second time in two days, I walked into a left-open cupboard door ( Bert's cupboard, left open by Bert), only this time I banged my head, lost my balance, and slammed into a tiled floor.  My right hip, knee and elbow took the brunt. The pain was excruciating. I may have sworn.

I got checked out, nothing broken, just heavy bruising and muscle pain. I cannot fully weight-bear, and am not too great at walking. Since today, I'm using crutches to get around.

If it wasn't for the kitten I'd be really depressed.

Sicken Chicken

I confess - I'm not that great a chicken-keeper. I do the best I can, keeping them fed, watered and clean.  They've got a big range and during the non-vegetable growing months, they get to run around the yard for half the day. The crowd I have now are pretty mature. I'd say the oldest of them are at least six years old. And they decline, especially if they are the ones bred for intensive egg production.

This past week there is one hen that has been relentlessly bullied. The last straw was a couple of days ago when I let them out in the morning and this persecuted hen was first out with the others raging out behind, pushing her up against the wire fence and pecking at her. Horrible to see. It was time to separate her from the others. But what to do? There is a small shed we use for situations like this but swallows are nesting there and the young ones are days from leaving the nest. We couldn't shut the door to keep the persecuted chicken safe. The first night she stayed in the log shed but she was lonely and miserable there. We discussed euthanasia but neither of us wanted to do that. All today she toodled about eating just enough, drinking just enough. She tried to settle for the night in Hannah's place but that wasn't a goer. The log shed wasn't an option either so she's in with the pigs. Sadly, Rusty scoffed her grub. I never knew he liked sunflower hearts, and it surprised me that he could get his big piggy snout into such a tiny bowl. 

When I last looked in she was resting beside Lily. Poor hen. Her own kind won't leave her alone and she finds solace with two pigs around fifty times her size. She might be dead in the morning, maybe naturally, maybe crushed. One thing's for sure - she's safe from Foxy.

No pictures of pigs with hen for it was too dark. So just Rusty and Lily sans chicken.

The Day We Went To Portrush

 

The (not so) little monsters are in Connemara camping and I hope they get fine weather. Just before they left, we went on the traditional trip to Barry’s (now Curry’s) in Portrush. We missed the last two years due to Covid and during that time we heard worrying news. Barry’s was to be sold! It was such a shame as Evie had gotten almost tall enough to ride the Big Dipper and now it seemed she'd never get the chance.

Barry's went on the market in 2019. The Trufelli family who'd started the business in 1928 had hoped that it would continue as an amusement park but it seemed that might not happen. There was even talk of the site being used for apartments. If life was ever going to get back to normal just where were we going to find a decent roller coaster that didn't involve a lengthy car ride?

When the girls were little they were perfectly content to go on carousels, kiddy bumper cars and giant teacups. The Big Dipper, waltzers and the Ghost Train were far too scary and they wouldn't have met the height requirement for some rides. .

On the train to Portrush

Three years ago Martha was tall enough to go on the Big Dipper. Evie was hopeful that she would have grown enough the following year but was not to be. Coronavirus shut Barry's down at the same time as Evie gained those few needful centimetres.

When we first heard the news that Barry's Amusements was to become Curry's Fun Park we were so happy. It opened at Easter and Martha might have dropped a few hints about going then but the very beginning of the summer holidays is our time. There might have been concerns that the rides wouldn't be as good, or that the Big Dipper would be dismantled, and my own private worry - that the Big Dipper would still be there but the height requirement might have increased. We needn't have worried. 

2016 was the year Ben came with us.

On the waltzer with Ben. That was one of the rides where younger children had to be accompanied by an adult. Ben was not quite 18 but he passed muster. The previous year I'd almost thrown up after going on the waltzer.

I gave it a go this year and managed not to get queasy which was pleasing. But I don't seem to be as limber as I was six years ago. The seating was awfully low and as I said to Bert afterwards,

I thought I was going to have to get one of the attendants to pull me out but I managed it on my own.

Then Martha said,

Granny! You crawled out of it on your hands and knees!

Evie did ride the Big Dipper. She was rather pale when she alighted and said just the one time would be enough.

Aboard the Big Wheel in 2019.  

Martha's very first visit to Barry's Amusements. 

Return to the carousel, 2022

The Dead Bird

I brought Peter to the front of the house to show him some dark purple opium poppies; there was a dead juvenile chaffinch on the ground. The wee thing was unmarked and still warm. It must have flown into the window. We were both sad to see it. 

These things happen. At least the cat didn't get it. That would have been a far nastier end for it. Back when Martha was small I might have kept the corpse for her to have a funeral. She used to love that. Instead, I buried it in the compost bin.

I told Bert,

I put that wee chaffinch in the compost. Might do it some good.

What! Sure it's dead.

I meant DO the compost some good.