We Visit The Meerkats

...and I'm tired. The photograph above was not taken in Belfast Zoo but we did see some very similar looking fellows.

On Wednesday I went to Newry with Vancouver brother to pick up Reuben, who had been staying over with family. VB was tired of driving after having driven to and fro Dingle last week so I got to do it. Next day I got up at 5.30am to drive VB to the City Airport. Of course VB, the big Jessie, got into a tizzy about whether he was actually there on the right day. "Shall I wait?" I asked him. "No. Definitely not," he replied. "If I've got it wrong I'm holing up in a hotel, rearranging my flights and telling nobody." Bon Voyage Eamon. I'm sure you're safely back in Vancouver by now.

His stepson Reuben is staying on for a bit and had an extra day in Norn Iron before travelling to Manchester today to see daughters two and three. To kill his last day I said I'd take him to Belfast. We had no actual plan but I said it had all the usual city attractions, shops, museums, zoo... "Stop right there," Reuben said. "Don't you know I'm a big kid? Let's go to the zoo." So we did.

They're funny places zoos - a mixture of sadness and fun. Not so bad if you're a prairie dog, better than Chipperfield's if you're an elephant and pretty grim if you're a big cat. We avoided the big cats.

I enjoyed seeing the giraffes, the meerkats and the primates. The chimpanzees were shamelessly rude. They were all inside pleasuring themselves and each other. None were outside swinging through their playground. As Reuben said, "The chimps are all in the orgy room." Definitely no place for a an innocent child.

Today is Hannah's birthday. Thinking about you all day long pet.

Hannah Hits 23

Happy Birthday Hannah Bo!

photograph courtesy of Zoe

Strange

I don't go in the garage much. There's no room for my car because it is full of PA equipment and horticultural supplies. In the far corner sits an elderly tumble dryer that is rarely used. Today I need it to dry an ultra sensible outfit to wear as I am taking Reuben out for the day. Note to other middle-aged women - when going out in public with the younger generation do not draw attention to yourself by wearing anything remarkable. Of course this does not apply to celebrities. I wish I had some really posh togs or even a Chloe bag - then people who see us out together might think he was my minder as he is so large and menacing looking. Mind you to pull that one off we'd need to be pretty far away from the dented Astra that is still clarried in dusting powder from the time Bonnie & Spide tried to nick it.

But as usual I digress. As I said I don't go in the garage much. Which is why I was rather disturbed to see, draped over a bench, thankfully empty, a nurse's uniform around size 10. Now what's that all about?

Toucan If You Want To. I'm Staying With BT

A few months ago I answered a call from a call centre somewhere in India. Because I was in a very good mood, and had recently been reading (in the Guardian, damn their eyes) that working in an Indian call centre was not much fun, I was particularly pleasant to the caller. I won't make any attempt to describe the caller's accent but it was as heavy and impenetrable as, no doubt, my own accent was to him. The call went something like this.

Good evening. Is that Mr Robert Clematis-Grower? No it is not. May I speak with Mr Clematis-Grower? No. Mr Clematis-Grower prefers me to take his calls when people ring up and try to sell him something. What are you trying to sell him? Oh no. I am not trying to sell him anything. I just want to tell him about the fantastic telephone service that will save him lots of his money. Tell me, do you rent a line from BT? Indeed we do - are you ringing from BT? Oh yes. Now if Mr Clematis-Grower warble, warble, drone, drone.... That sounds very good. Tell me again - are you ringing on behalf of BT? Oh yes warble, warble, etc. etc.

To tell you the truth I might have had a drink taken. There was some stuff about Bert's date of birth and his mother's maiden name. I came off the phone feeling a little confused but soon forgot all about it. Until the letter came in that welcomed Robert Clematis-Grower to Toucan. I phoned BT and was informed that Toucan had indeed taken over our call provision. We don't want them to. So I cancelled it and the nice lady from BT said something about it taking a few weeks to change back. Then I phoned Toucan and complained that I had been conned. They said they couldn't speak to me because I wasn't Mr Robert Clematis-Grower. I said well that's very funny as Mr Robert Clematis-Grower has never spoken to Toucan in his life and yet you changed his telephone provision on the say so of some eejit called Nelly Moser just because she knew his birthday and his mother's maiden name. And who was drunk at the time. Toucan said they would look into it. Then they sent us a bill. So I phoned Toucan and told them it wasn't going to be paid until they had investigated the circumstances surrounding our hook up with them because I believed it was illegal. They said they couldn't talk to me because I wasn't Mr Robert Clematis-Grower. Enraged I called Bert in from the clematis fields and he informed them of his birthday, his mother's maiden name and consented to their receiving verbal abuse, on his behalf, from some bint called Nelly Moser. After hearing my story Toucan promised to look into it. Then they sent us a bill with an extra £7 tagged on to it and threatened to suspend our service. Too late Toucan - we suspended it first. I got back on the phone again and got talking to a very snippy little shit called Philip who gave me the impression he'd quite like to come over and lift our goods and chattels himself. I couldn't continue the conversation with him because I could feel the steam coming from my ears so I hung up on him and went and revised my Toucan file before phoning back. This time I was speaking to an extremely polite man called Mohammed. But I was still so enraged by Philip that I lost it and started using some very unladylike language. Words I used included shower, bastards, stick, bill and hole - and this, in all likelihood, to a Muslim. Oh cringe, cringe and cringe again. Mohammed said he would note my complaint although not in the exact language I had used if that was OK? I said it was. When I had calmed myself I phoned Toucan again and spoke to a very nice person called Debbie. To Debbie I made a complaint about Philip and an apology to Mohammed. In return Debbie agreed to send a letter of investigation to the appropriate department. I took note of this. Then they sent us another bill informing us that our service had been suspended. I ignored it. The other day a Scottish-sounding woman with a bit of an attitude phoned and asked to speak to Mr Robert Clematis-Grower. I asked her what it was she wanted to sell him. She said nothing, could she speak to him please. I told her she couldn't and asked her if she was from Toucan by any chance. She said she was ringing on behalf of Toucan (inferring that it was none of my business.) I said, "So you'll be ringing about that £64.07 then?" She said, "Who are you? Are you Mrs Clematis-Grower?" "No I am not, not that it's any concern of yours." "Well, to whom am I speaking?" "You are speaking to Mrs Moser," I announced grandly, "And I am the person who got poor Robert into this mess." I proceeded to tell her the whole sorry tale from beginning to end. By the time I'd finished we were bestest chums. So from now on if anyone rings asking for Mr Robert Clematis-Grower I am going to reply in a high, girly voice, "This is he. How may I help you?" After all I know his date of birth and his mother's maiden name and a lot more besides that even he doesn't know.

Driving Me Crazy

This post is dedicated to my father Seamus, our friend Clint and to all other HGV drivers past and present. They do not have their sorrows to seek. This evening I was reminded again of just how much the drivers of large wagons have to put up with from some of the silly people* on the road. I know my limitations as a driver but one thing I usually do well is pay attention to what's happening up ahead. I believe it's called 'reading the road.'

In the distance I could see two big wagons at a standstill. This is a daily occurence in Cullybackey and it usually happens like this. Cars are often parked/abandoned outside the butcher, the baker the candlestick maker without a thought for other road users. Instead of being tucked tight to the kerb they might sit more than a foot out from it. Of course the butcher, the baker etc. are positioned right on the narrowest part of the street. On the other side there is a narrow pavement, high wall, the usual street furniture and bollards. Along comes Mrs Muggins who isn't paying any attention to the road ahead. Instead she's thinking about making the tea, buying new curtains, her aunt in hospital - anything but the road ahead. She pulls out to pass Mr Arsehole's big Peugeot which is awkwardly parked outside the shops. Tight behind her comes Millie Spide and behind Millie comes White Van Man. Meanwhile Mr Trucker with the right of way is progressing along hoping that no eejit is going to drive into his road. Too late - Mrs Muggins didn't read the road and just kept coming. Now Mr Trucker can't get past her and she can't get past him. Millie Spide is up Mrs Muggins' arse and White Van Man, who wasn't paying attention either because his mobile rang, is right behind Millie. Mr Trucker can't move because there's another wagon behind him and behind that stretches a queue of vehicles. Impasse. Eventually with much manoeuvring White Van Man manages to wiggle backwards out of the way to give Muggins and Millie room to reverse and after ten minutes the traffic is moving again. I looked at the trucker as he passed and his face was a picture of calm. I suppose he'd need to be.

And Ed - was that you I spotted driving up the side of Slemish in a 4x4. Is it not enough that Clarkson and yourself are tearing up the Scottish hillsides, crushing the harebells and several rare varieties of snail? And was that a dead whooper swan I saw caught in your bull bars?

* use your imagination

Tact

How would you like a job where you had to advise people on their personal hygiene?

Problem: The Room
Approach A: Perhaps you ought to freshen your room up, open a window, tidy up a little.
Approach B: This room is stinking! Get it cleaned! Now!

Problem: The Person
Approach A: What a pity you missed work because you were out drinking last night. You've been in bed ever such a long time. I'm sure you'd feel a lot better if you had a nice wee shower.
Approach B: Phew! When did you last have a shower? When?!!! Don't you dare storm off while I'm talking to you!

Problem: Nelly
Approach A: Give her some time off to refill her deep wells of empathy and compassion.
Approach B: Pension her off. She's burnt out.

Time On My Hands

Well, first Acidman did it, and then Kim did it and I thought to myself - they've little to do with their time. Then Ed did it so I thought even though it's a bit blokey (not to mention hokey) I'll do it too.

• What time is it? 12:15pm - and I've got a day off work.
  
• Name as it appears on birth certificate: Mary Majella Byrne
  
• Piercing: Two holes in each earlobe all practically closed over. They date from the seventies.
  
• Eye color: Hazel. Green in some lights.
  
• Place of birth: Antrim, Northern Ireland.
• Favorite food: Fruit & Nuts, Bacon & Cabbage, Potatoes
  
• Ever been to Africa? South Africa several years ago.
  
• Favorite clothing? Red pyjama bottoms, tee-shirt, brown leather sandals.
  
• Ever been toilet papering? What's that?
  
• Have you ever had a speeding ticket? No. But I deserve one.
  
• Been in a car accident? Does reversing into immovable objects count?
  
• Favorite day of the week: Sunday
• Favorite restaurant: Mrs Ditty in Dawson City
  
• Favorite flower: Aquilegia
  
• Favorite sport to watch: None
• Favorite drink: White wine
• Favorite fast food restaurant: None
• What colour is your bedroom carpet? Green
  
• How many times did you fail your driver’s test? Three times
  
• Favorite perfume: L'Air Du Temps. I'm old-fashioned
  
• What do you do most often when you are bored? I'm never bored
  
• Bedtime? Around midnight
  
• What is your favorite color? Definitely red.
  
• How many tattoos do you have? As if!
  
• Have you ever run out of petrol? Once in Bert's van and I was about 2 minutes from home
  
• What is the last book you read? Urrgh! Do I have to answer that? Oh all right then, seeing as you've twisted my arm, "I Can Make You Thin" by Paul McKenna. Blush.
  

There. Don’t you all feel better for knowing all that?

To Hell In a Handcart

To mark the start of the week I have decided to add Twenty Major to my links. I've thought long and hard about this for if me ma ever finds out about it she'll definitely think I'm for hell in a handcart. What can I say about this new link other than that he's a dirty mouthed scur of the first order. If you enjoy black humour he's your man. Thanks to Ed for pointing the way.

Sunday Morning

Sunday Morning
Originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Time: 10.55am
Venue: A bed in each of our three bedrooms
Guilty Parties: Rosie, Paddy and Harry de Cat. And off camera - Bert who is sharing a bed with Rosie.
Nelly's Opinion: A shower of lazy gets.
State of the Bedding: Hairy.

Bury Me Under The Mountain Ash

Vancouver Bro & Rube
Originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Matty has been in TV heaven this past two days. It started yesterday with the funeral of the Holy Father and then there was Ken and Deirdre's wedding in Coronation Street. Today she had the Charles and Camilla Wedding and the Grand National. I watched the Grand National with her. I was shouting for Clan Royal and Tony McCoy because Tony started his career up the road at the late Billy Rock's place. Matty, being deaf, did not realise that Tony was out of the race until it was over. That is a terrible affliction because it is so hard to keep up with what's going on. Vancouver brother told me that himself, the mother and Rube were in Ditty's of Dawson City the other day. She's well known in there ever since the day I ended up hoking through their bins for my false tooth. And of course coming in there accompanied by two handome fellows had the friendly, chatty one straight over to her. The chatty one tells me ma, "Y'know I buried my husband the other week?" Matty beams up at her and says "Och, that was nice for you."

Poor Matty has been through the mill recently. Last week she had a very horrid procedure (an angiogram) carried out to determine what was causing her frequent angina attacks. The finding was that one of her arteries was 'just fine', another 'not too bad" and a third was 90% blocked. After a hard day at the hospital, which included lots of lifestyle and dietary advice, she returned home starving and requested an Ulster Fry. Which was cooked up and served by the Vancouver brother whose skinny arse, I proposed, should be taken out to the yard and given a damn good kicking.

She was a bit wrecked for a few days afterwards although it didn't stop her going out jaunting with Vancouver brother and his stepson Rube. Matty loves Rube. They met about twenty years ago when Rube was three. She made quite a pet of him and used to carry him around distracting him from his tantrums with stories and silly talk. She'd have a job carrying him now that he's 6'4" and built like a brick shithouse. When Rube stands next to Vancouver brother he makes the bro look like a wimp even though Vancouver bro's just an inch short of six foot.

But to get back to the Papal funeral. I only saw the tiniest bit of it as I was at work. I did like the coffin because it looked so unassuming and simple. I had a yarn about it with Hans from the garage,

"Very plain."
"Aye, but it's big."
"Aye, but the papal vestments and the tall hat..,"
"Wonder what it's made of?"
"Wood from the true cross...?"
"You wooden know."
"You wooden."

Turns out it was cypress. Kerry sister (the carpenter) will have noticed the big dovetail joints. Turns out it goes inside a hermetically sealed zinc coffin which is encased in an outer cedar coffin. Not so simple after all. But still - have to beware the sale of relics ending up on Ebay.

Which brings me to this. I want a simple coffin. No walnut veneers or brass handles thank you very much. I want an ecopod and, if it can be arranged, a woodland burial. If I must end up in a municipal graveyard then so be it but I'd prefer the corner of a field. Speak to the forestry people and see if the grant Bert gets for the native tree plantation would be affected by placing Nelly, in her deadness, among them. But bear this in mind future heirs - a grave on the plot has to, by law, be brought to the attention of future buyers.

If you can plant a tree on my grave I want it to be a mountain ash. I want none of your fancy Sorbus 'Joseph Rock' or 'vilmornii'. A plain rowan dug out of Drumkeeran moss will do me fine.

Royal Wedding

There's nothing like a royal wedding to add interest to a Saturday morning's mopping and scrubbing. And it was nice to see them all looking so well. Camilla's outfit was beautiful and cunningly disguised her slight dowager hump. It was nice to see that Prince Harry got the dress code right for once but I suspect William must have wound him up about his flies being undone because when the poor lad got off that coach he appeared to be grabbing at his crotch Michael Jackson style.

Snot Fair

The Wean
Originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

...I never get a chance! This was one of Hannah's favourite moans when she was little. Now she is big it seems that she cannot find those guitar chords she wants. Over to you Hannah -

I have trawled the internet for guitar chords for loudon wainwright's father/daughter dialogue. it sounds quite easy to play but i cant figure out what chords they are cos im rubbish. does anyone know how to play it?

Talking Shit

When Bert first started thinking about fixing up the old house he contacted the Northern Ireland Housing Executive to see if a grant might be feasible. In the event he decided not to apply for it as the Executive were in favour of knocking the old place down and building some soulless little box in its place. Eventually he received a letter from them and when I enquired of its contents he said "Basically they're telling me - either shit or get off the pot. " He got off the pot.

Now we need to sell the house we're living in. We thought we had a buyer but he seems reluctant to commit . The other day Bert said to him.

"Either produce a jobbie or climb off the commode."

Agnes Jane Declines Dessert

I'm from what you'd call a 'big connection'. At the last count I had 51 first cousins. Those cousins have, at the very least, 115 offspring which means my daughters have 115 second cousins.

I heard this recently about a 'big connection' from around Portglenone.

Those McGonigalls are a big connection. Sure you could take a day's shooting at them and there'd still be plenty of them left.

Bert hasn't a big connection. There are only about a half dozen cousins on his father's side and none at all on his mother's side. As a consequence his family kept in touch with their far-out friends. Agnes Jane would have been a far-out friend which means she was probably a third cousin several times removed.

She was a woman who'd never married and had spent all her life on the family farm. To tell the truth she'd never been out much at all. A few church excursions when she was a girl would have been about the height of her jaunting.

When Agnes Jane had to go to hospital it was the first time she'd had any sort of an outing for years. She didn't really mind the hospital as it was sort of interesting and she had all the friends and neighbours coming to see her. One thing she didn't like was the food for she was getting all sorts of things in there that she wasn't used to. One evening Bert's mother and father called to visit her.

"How are ye gettin' on, Agnes Jane?"
"Och not too bad atall. I think I'll be gettin' oot soon and dae ye ken I'll be glad o' it fur ye cudn't ate what they'd gie ye in here."
"Och that's a peety."
"Aye 'tis. They came roon' tae me last nicht and asked me did I want a moose tae ate efter my salad. I says tae them I certainly did not! I says tae them we niver ate meece in Ballymarley yit and I wisnae goin' tae start noo!"

She went on to say, "I seen it too. A wee pink skinned thing on a plate."

A Poem by Walt Whitman

I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contained,
I stand and look at them long and long.
They do not sweat and whine about their condtion,
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins,
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God,
Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things,
Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago,
Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth.

'Song of Myself' (written 1855) pt. 40

Life Goes On

So far I haven't spoken of the death of Pope John Paul II and I won't because what Ed had to say could not be bettered.

But last night Bert commented "I should move a lot of those John Paul clematis this summer."

Protestants!

The aforementioned clematis should be available at the Landscape Centre in Donegore, The Mid-Ulster Garden Centre in Maghera, The Old Mill Garden Centre in Kells and other selected garden centres.

How Angry Am I?

Grrrr Nelly
Originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Apparently not very angry at all as the following result indicates.

You Scored a 60 , ranking you as a 5

These people are where most of us are at, the more balanced of us. They may be ambitious and have strong aspirations to be successful in their endeavors in order to satisfy their expectancies as well as provide better for their families, but they are not abusive in the process. They won't walk over family, friends, and co-workers to get ahead or achieve their goals. They might be disappointed in achieving less than a high leadership rank, but they accept it and get on with their lives. As supervisors they would tend to promote harmony. They are prone to normal levels of jealousy and envy when others they know gain status over them in terms of career promotions or having a better car or backyard deck. Some at this level may look down on others, measuring their status against them, but it is usually not overt. Among the fives (perhaps also the fours and even the threes) would be those humans we consider the salt of the earth. These are the Washingtons and Lincolns and the characters frequently played in the classical western motion pictures, as previously described, who take the mantle of leadership and handle it gracefully when it comes their way, but then reject enduring dominance and authority when offered to them, preferring to ride off in the sunset.

And this is the quiz.

A Pet Day

It was like a summer's day when I awoke this morning. The dogs and I went for a walk by the river and I took lots of photographs of the spring flowers. The bluebells have started to bloom which seems unusual right at the start of April. I have to take Rosie on the lead for part of the walk as she is likely to bolt off after squirrels or rabbits and not return for ages. I stopped to photograph a patch of wood anemones and when I had finished I turned around to see her collar lying on the path and herself scunged away off. She did come back fairly quickly and there were no more escapes.

Bert's got this new ruse to get them back from their hunting adventures. I don't get his logic although he claims it works. What he does is get the shotgun out and fire it. He reckons this frightens them and encourages them to return to safety. Safety? What's safe about Bert with a shotgun?

But to get back to the riverside walk. Of course there were lots of other people out too and the nice weather made them all extra friendly. Everyone was commenting on the beauty of the day and one man said -

"It won't last. I think it's one of those pet days."

A pet day is one beautiful day in a spell of nasty weather.

Beware of the Banties

Bert phoned me at work yesterday morning. He was despondent.

Nelly: "What's up Bert?"
Bert: "Jay was round last night. He says I've got to get those tracks cut before the plasterers come."
Nelly: "Poor you. It's so unfair you having to do that. I bet when Prince Charles was fixing up Clarence House he didn't have to cut tracks."

City Boy came visiting to the site and cheered Bert up a bit. City Boy had never seen Bernie and Bianca before or any bantam for that matter. When they flew up on the sill beside him his eyes popped.

City Boy: "Wow! Are those chickens?"
Bert: "Aye."
City Boy: "Wow! They're so cool. I wish I had chickens. Can I touch them?"
Bert: "God no, they'd ate the face off you."
City Boy: "They bite. That's so cool."

When Bert had finished for the day he was white with brick dust. I needed to borrow his van so grabbed the keys and jumped into it. When I sat down a cloud of dust rose round me. I was wearing a black linen skirt so I jumped back out and said to Bert,

Nelly: "What's my arse look like?"
Bert: "Big."

See! I Told You I Was Normal

You Are 40% Normal (Somewhat Normal)

While some of your behaviour is quite normal... Other things you do are downright strange You've got a little of your freak going on But you mostly keep your weirdness to yourself

Are You As Normal As Nelly? Try The Quiz