Walking on the Twelfth

Rosie and I 'walked' today. We walked down the Granagh Road past the hen factory and back up again. We did not wear sashes. She wore a red lead, I wore a matching red top and some red and orange striped pyjama bottoms.

We did not bring any music with us for we were surrounded by (a sort of) music. Just past the hen factory we could hear the Orange bands at Galgorm, Ahoghill and Cullybackey.

When I got back home Bert was playing 'Give Me Your Hand' on his whistle. It was the best tune I'd heard all morning. Frankie must have interpreted it as 'Give Me Your Paw' because he started to sing along then Rosie came in with her doggy soprano. It was still the best music I'd heard all day.

New Additions

I'm introducing a couple of new entries on the blogroll. I've been reading them both for a good long while and it's time I put them on here.

Just because a blog is mega popular doesn't make it wrong - so I've added Waiter Rant to the roll.

Then there is Ayla Peajar from the western side of Canada. She's a young 'un just starting out in life but she has a lot of heart. So far she's the only fellow blogger whose posts have occasionally moved me to tears.

Summer Madness

Rats! My camera batteries need charged and Clint is visiting. He is wearing shorts! With black socks! And his tee shirt is tucked into his waistband!

And The Good News Is

That this sweltering weather is due to break on Thursday - just as I start a run of nine days off. So it will be back to horrible grey clouds. Grrr!

I'm going to stomp off now for a long walk.

Vain? Moi? Crazy Frog? Merde!

I'm not that vain. Oh well maybe I am a bit. But I reckon that those who know me well can cope with the sight of me minus denture. That denture is formal wear y'know.

Except - the gap in my top row is in exactly the same place as that dam' Crazy Frog. And I've got a bit of that manic look going on too. A photo? Definitely not. I'm too vain.

Francis Joseph Banjo

Frank
Originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Today it is scorchio. I arrived home from work this afternoon all hot and bothered to be greeted by Bert thus,

"Bad news or good news?"

Oh give me the bad. Get it over with.

"They're off scunging again. I just couldn't keep them in. I knew they were planning it because they were whispering to each other."

Whispering?

"You know. Nudging each other. Eye contact. Nuzzling."

Oh. What's the good news then?

"Fridge is full of wine."

So first things first. Coffee. A read of the Sundays. A sit in the sun. Consoled myself with the thought that this being such a Presbyterian area the local Johnny Farmers are not going to get the shotgun out on the Sabbath. So the scunging devil dogs are likely to return safely.

So I took Frankie out for a two mile walk. He was ever so good. Afterwards I was still hot but a lot less bothered. We listened to PJ Harvey.

Seamus at his rest

Seamus at his rest
Originally uploaded by ZMB.

I found this picture over at Zoe's Flickr photos. That was Daddy's corner where he always sat. His 'office' is at his right hand.

Tricia took the photo. He wasn't one for posing for pictures and she just spent a few hours following him around until eventually he ignored the fact that he was having his picture taken.

Other pictures taken on the same day were Seamus tending sheep and 'Katy and Granda' that I posted before.

Things I like about this picture are the sharp angles and his large hand - and his farmer's flat cap.

Ardboe

Ancient Church at Ardboe
Originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Matty and I went to Ardboe last Sunday. There's only one thing to see there and that is the old graveyard. Matty spent a happy half hour searching for the grave of an old boyfriend with me following her about saying "Are you sure he's dead?" She grimly and firmly replied, "Oh yes."

Ardboe's graves are very well maintained. In fact it was like visiting a sort of cemetery showroom for we were able to examine a wide range of grave accessories. Matty favoured a sort of green plastic-grass rug that is put over the grave. It would be very easy to maintain but I thought it was horrid. I liked a sort of black shiny stone like polished coal. Maybe it was polished coal. Matty said that East Tyrone did have a coal industry in the olden days.

She told me this story from her youth about getting a boat from Cranfield to Ardboe to go to a dance. She said that all the boys were drunk except the one in charge of the boat. I was a bit surprised about that because I thought she wouldn't have mixed with the type of people who'd drink. But apparently the fellow she was looking for in the cemetery had been a drinker and she thinks he may have died of it.

Scorchio?

Nottio. I generally try not to let the weather bother me too much because the only thing I can control is my attitude towards it but this dull cloudiness is starting to piss me off. And everyone, except Bert and me, seems to be heading off on holiday. The only thing we've got planned is a quick dash over to Staffordshire to collect Hannah.

Zoe is off to Dingle, the Banjos have gone to Waterford leaving their crazy dog with us, even Matty is planning to go to Scotland with Ganching to commune with midges. I won't even mention those who are heading outside the British Isles as I might explode with jealousy.

And here I am stuck in Harryville right in the middle of the Loyalist Party Season. No escape until Thursday next. There is a part of me thinking,

"I need excitement and I need it fast"

Then there is the sensible part that thinks "No! No! No Harryville type excitement please. Please let it all be as dull as ditchwater."

Katy

I heard the news about London whilst driving to Castlerock. Dede and I had only one creditless mobile phone between us. When Dede said that Katy was in London the only way I could handle it was by refusing to believe it. No. She was in London for Live8. She's in Norfolk today. So I was just worrying about Ganching and JB and their loved ones. We stopped at a hotel and phoned home - and everyone is OK. Thank God. We're selfish really aren't we? We must be sure that our own loved ones are well before we can think of the wider implications. Poor London. It didn't get long to feel happy about the 2012 Olympics.

View from the Kirk Homeplace

View from the Kirk Homeplace
Originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

I took three walks today. First one was the Cully one with Paddy that I've mentioned already. Listened to baroque.

I took Rosie on the second one and took some photos. If you pop over to Flickr you can see where our new house is. I listened to the CD compilation
that Mikey gave Bert for his birthday.

This evening Zoe and I went to Mass in Tannaghmore as it was Daddy's Month's Mind (a special mass said about a month after someone dies) It was also Uncle Kevin's (Dad's brother) first anniversary. Afterwards we went to Matty's for supper.

When I got back I went on my third walk to look for Paddy and Rosie who had gone off scunging again. I listened to Sidney Bechet. I didn't find the feckers but they're back now anyway.

My legs are sore. But then I did take 15ooo steps and many of them over rough ground.

Cruelty to Animals

Oh I do hope that no one from the USPCA reads this blog. There have been two instances of cruelty to animals at Nelly's Garden today - three if you count what the cat did.

I decided to walk into Cully this morning to collect my Tory rag. I strapped myself into my music listening apparatus, slotted in some Classical Favourites, slipped a fiver into my sturdy bra and went in search of a dog. Paddy was my dog of choice as I'd taken Rosie the last time. But it wasn't even 9am and he was still in bed. I trailed him out of it, hooked him to a lead and then had to drag him down our scarey back lane. It's so overgrown now that the postman won't even drive up it and he doesn't give a hoot about his wee red van. So that was the first instance of cruelty to animals.

On the way back there was a torrential downpour. Ironically enough it started just as 'Air on a G String' started on my player. That made me smile. Getting soaked but I didn't care for all I needed was my music and a metaphorical Hamlet cigar. The rain made me smile but my poor abused dog hated it. I wonder if he'd known there was going to be a big plout and that's why he'd been reluctant to go in the first place?

The second instance of animal cruelty was two-fold. It was very cruel of Harry de Cat to kill all the little wren babies in the polytunnel. It was also very cruel of Bert to kick Harry's arse. But also strangely satisfying. Bert said, "After I guarded them diligently too." I don't think he was pleased when I pointed out that he wasn't very diligent last night when he fell to the Bushmills and forgot to ensure that the wren-murdering bastard was indoors.

10000 Steps

I wonder if it's better to be one of those people who, when stressed, loses the appetite and gets super skinny? Probably not. You see when I feel stressed I eat comfort food.

The only time I ever lost weight through stress was when the Pretty Welsh Boy dumped me for the Hard-Faced Ticket and that was 29 years ago. You should have seen the size of the jeans I was able to get into then. But it didn't last - I bounced back, found a Pretty French Boy and had to give those skinny jeans to a slimmer sister.

But I digress. Recently I've been eating lots of comfort food but now I'm happy to say that this is the fourteenth day that I've been eating healthy food - Gillian McKeith would be pleased with my output and I'm walking at least 10000 steps a day. I've been walking on roads just a mile or so from home that I've never walked before. I even walked to Ghillies yesterday and did the shopping on the way back. And I'm sleeping better.

All those super skinny people? Hard-faced tickets the lot of them. I'm going to go for the roundy, rosy healthy look.

Dinosaur Day Out

Ben
Originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

We were going to go for a walk but it was too wet so Jazzer, Ben and I set off for Belfast to look for a shop that supplied linoleum. But we couldn't find it so went to the Ulster Museum instead. Ben's got a bit of a thing going with dinosaurs.

We spotted lots of newly fledged and robed QUB graduates wandering around with their proud families and that was very lovely. I felt proud of them too and I didn't even know them.

When I'm out with Ben I practice my grandmothering skills. I reckon I'll be very good at it by the time I get some of my own. I'm working on a mixture of fond indulgence and old-fashioned strictness. For instance I don't let him interrupt adult conversations but I always get back to him.

He was an awful prat in the Museum shop. Couldn't make up his mind which dinosaur he wanted.

I told him that all the food in McDonald's is chewed and spat out by other people before we get to eat it. I think he might have believed me but then again he knows I'm a terible liar. But at least we got out of going there. You know that magic word that children are always forgetting? I've got an even better one. Don't say it always but often enough to keep them from being spoiled brats. It starts with N and ends with O and it spells NO!

Reclaiming the Kitchen

Flipping Heck! I've just realised that I've got a lot of stuff to do. We've been saying for ages that we'll move into the new house in August and although lots of things have been chosen, less has been ordered and none has been fitted. Bert and I went to measure floors for tiles and so on. Now that the concrete floors are down and the walls are plastered the house looks scarily big. I've decided I'm not sure about the floor tiles, which are a neutral sandy colour, as there is going to be such a big expanse of them. I'd like to put linoleum in the bedrooms. Linoleum? Well it's clean, dog hair resistant, healthy and natural. It's also bloody expensive and hard to source. I've been in a few shops in Ballymena and have been looked at askance. One wee skitter started to tell me about this modern stuff called vinyl. Pah! They'll all be wanting lino in a couple of years time. Then Bert starts messing around with decisions we made years ago. In the kitchen/dining room there is a fireplace. We decided a long time ago to put a little stove in there. I didn't want any kind of fireplace in my kitchen but Bert did. I certainly did not want an open fire, as they attract men, so we compromised on a stove. Let me explain. All the time I've lived in this house the kitchen has been a room for living in as well. It's where the phone, fax and filing cabinet are kept. So Bert uses it as an office and entertains his mates in it from morning to night. Little wonder I hardly ever get it mopped. So in the new house Bert wants a sun room so he gets a sun room. It's not one of those silly looking things with a pointy ceiling that is stuck on to the side, it looks like part of the house - and it is. And it's there that Bert is going to keep his sofas, his phone, fax and filing cabinet and his hordes of long legged friends. He will also have his own little stove to keep him from hanging around mine. See I've got it all planned out. Years of feminism are ending up with Nelly reclaiming the kitchen! So despite the decision taken a year ago he said, "What shall we do with this kitchen fireplace? Shall we have an open fire?" No Bert we shall not. Definitely not. No way. Imagine all the men standing in front of it toasting their arses. Isn't going to happen. Then as if one nutty mama wasn't enough we've got Pearlie saying "I dinny like that house, I dinny like that oul Ballintoy dash ye's have on it. It makes my skin crawl." Even better that, than Matty's refusal to cut into an orange because the thought of it being bitter sets her teeth on edge. I wonder if I'll be mad and irrational when I'm seventy something? Probably. I'm more than halfway there already.

The Tables Turned

I spend a fair bit of my time sailing Matty around the country and recently I've been coming to the conclusion that hanging out with the very old is a lot like hanging out with the very young.

Here's some of the stuff I used to have to do for Zoe, Katy and Hannah when they were little ones.

• Hold on to them in town for fear they might run into the traffic.
• Monitor their unsuitable conversations with complete strangers.
• Encourage them to eat nourishing food.
• Leave them at home if I was going to do some serious shopping.

Now take that last point. Last Wednesday I visited a plumbing supplies shop in Kilrea and Matty came too. Now when the shopowner realised that I needed a lot of stuff for the new house he went into selling overdrive. After about two minutes I got awfully bored as he was speaking Plumberese and I don't understand Plumberese except for the odd word like pipe or tap. Now normally I'm awfully good at cutting these conversations short, usually by being very blunt. On this occasion I put it to him that I didn't understand a word he was talking about and that I was just here to look at the pretty baths and basins and that Bert would be along shortly to talk technical talk with him. But because I was also keeping an eye out for Matty I couldn't concentrate properly on getting away. Meanwhile Matty was becoming very restless indeed. Just like a toddler who hates this boring shop and wants to go somewhere more interesting instead. She was at her usual tricks. Wandering around aimlessly whilst sighing heavily, looking as if she might collapse if somebody didn't come and take her to a charity shop this minute and I swear I think I saw her, out of the corner of my eye, kicking one of the baths.

Reflections on Orangeism

orange lilies
Originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

A certain someone I know does not have the best of diets. But she did think she'd like to get some juicy orangey type vitamins down her throat.

She buys oranges but she won't eat them - in case they're bitter. So she ends up throwing them away every week. So she decided she'd start taking her oranges in liquid form and to this end she purchased a litre bottle of orange Fanta. I explained to her that Fanta is nothing but carbonated water and sugar and contains no vitamins at all. She then suggested she might buy some of that orange stuff you dilute with water. I told her that this was just flavoured water and sugar - no fruity goodness. I told her about orange juice, which can be purchased anywhere and left her with this piece of Nelly sagacity - all that is orange is not necessarily packed with vitamin C.

She Got A First

melanie
Originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Mel A said that getting a First would not change her a bit. She'd still be the same silly ol' Mel that we all adore.

I think these pictures tell a different story. The one on the left shows her in the days when all she had to her name was a couple of A levels. Now look at the snoots of her.

But seriously Mel - WELL DONE - you deserved it.

Where were you when...?

I spotted this meme over at Ed’s place and started to do it but then had to stop as it was too boring. It's just that there haven't been any dramatic changes in my life in the past ten years. For that I'd have to go further back. So with Live8 on yesterday, and I did see a bit of it as I was squinting out for our Katy and Mark, I got to remembering what I was doing the day Live Aid was on.

For a start I didn't see it as the telly wasn't on. There was a crazy rumour going round in the sink estate I was living in, and later put out of for hippiness and faint traces of Catholicism, that the TV licence detection vans would be out in force and I believed this rumour.

Then I didn't care for any of the acts that were appearing. OK I might have been mildly interested in some of them but not enough to sit through the dross anxiously awaiting the knock on the door and the dreaded words, "Hello miss, do you have a television licence?"

And anyway I spent most of the day in bed with the duvet pulled over my head as I was terribly depressed. And it was a lovely day too!

My little ones? They were having a happy day at their Dad's house and, no doubt, Live Aid was on.

To follow - Princess Diana, the Moon landings, Elvis Presley, JFK, the Coronation, the Ascent of Everest, D Day etc, etc.

A Classier Bird

Sometimes I wish that I wasn't a well brought up lady for then I could share some of the shocking tales that I occasionally hear about some of Ballymena's more colourful characters.

Stories like the one I heard yesterday about Old Bill. This man has his own house but during the day he prefers life on the streets for he enjoys the company of street drinkers and other unfortunates. He claims to be 86 but I think he's probably just 68 and looking for sympathy.

He's not really a looker and at 68/86 his pulling days are pretty much over. I have it on good authority (PSNI good enough for you) that Old Bill would relieve his tension by pleasuring Tesco frozen chickens. We wondered, Ursa Minor and I, if he couldn't have got himself a classier bird - say one from Sainsburys or Marks & Spencer.

He's going about with a woman now. As I said to Ursa Minor, "There's someone for everyone," and she replied, "At least she's warm!"

If anyone thinks that the subject matter of this post is too. too dreadful I refer you to Portnoy's Complaint. If it's good enough for Philip Roth..