Those Happy Summer Days

look at my leeks, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

It's during these bleak midwinter days that I find myself remembering the balmy days and long evenings of summers past. Thinking of the days when Bert, at least, could wander around shirtless. Obviously this photograph wasn't taken last summer as I don't think he'd his simmit* off once except the odd time he was showering.

But at least the this year's crop of leeks are ready and very delicious. That's something anyway.

*simmit Noun: A large undershirt.

The Pig Wins!

Bert tries a spot of pig-wranglin'. The pig wins. They usually do.

Out Of Area

An out of area call could be from my brother in Vancouver or it could be from my sisters in Real Ireland. Or. It could be from some tosser in a Call Centre being vague about who s/he is and being more than prepared to waste a great amount of my precious time.

The one that phoned this morning wanted to know what make of television I owned. I told him I didn't have one. Then he asked me what make of washing machine I owned and I told him it was none of his business. Then I hung up. Then he phoned straight back. Of course I ignored the call. Said he was from a company called DCI. What was that all about? Next time I'm wasting his time. If I'm in the mood. I wasn't in the mood this morning.

That'll Be All White Then

Whilst in Derry t'other day with Miss Martha, her grandfather (my first husband) and his lady I got into a (sort of) conversation with some other lady. Y'know I nearly sort of hate to call her a 'lady'. I'd rather call her a 'woman' or perhaps a 'mad bint'. Anyways we got chatting as I sat outside Tescos while my first husband's beloved was in there shopping for the nappies that we left behind when we embarked on our 'day oot'. So - Mad Bint starts chatting to me. I was totally not in the mood as I had just checked my bank balance and was feeling rather worried and poverty-stricken. So we're having this banal conversation about the cost of Christmas and the crazy demands made by (her) grandchildren when Miss Marthas grandfather and his better half appeared,

Well, said the Bint. No need to ask you who this is. This is your daughter. She's your spitting image.

I smiled wanly as I wished her dead.

My first husband's partner is two years older than me. So not only does she look young enough to be my daughter, she also looks young enough to be the mother of a two-year-old child. It's my white hair. It must be! That or the Mad Bint is also half-blind and thoroughly drunk or medicated. This mistake might have made somebody's day but it certainly wasn't mine.

Happy Birthday Katy!

Not Home Alone

Then you go from all that lovely peace and quiet to having both your husbands in the house and the first one is having a wee mild domestic with his partner. Thank God I'm good at the pouring oil on troubled waters thing.

And to make matters worse the New Dog has found himself a hobby. That would be pulling the stuffing out of cushions. Oh well. Cushions are over-rated anyway.

Home Alone

I'm home alone. Pearlie has gone to one of her regular respite placements so that means two whole weeks without a batallion of carers tramping in and out. And it is also two weeks without her constant griping and complaining. It is a chance for Bert and I to have a taste of what it must be like to live as a couple in privacy and peace. Eight whole weeks a year we get of this and I know that makes us very fortunate people.

As I said I'm home alone. Bert has gone off to Malin Head with a couple of friends. I hope they get reasonable weather and aren't blown off the Head. I've been left with the chickens, the dogs, the pigs and the cats - not too burdensome. Clint has been left with the cattle. I'm supposed to be watching and listening for one of the heifers 'looking away' but we're not holding out much hope. The beast has had numerous goes with A.I. and a good run with the bull and she just can't catch. Clint came in to talk about it. He knows Pearlie isn't here so I've got nobody to moan at me.

Huh! The only place that one will be looking away at is the abattoir. She's far too big a baste to be keeping as a pet.

I interpret this as a dig at the kune kunes but I do not react. He goes on.

Aye! It's the freezer for her, no question about it.

I'm sure he'd like me to get sentimental about her so he can come over all manly and practical and farmerish but I do not give him a chance. He goes on,

Did Bert ever get the bags sorted out for the butcher?

I concur that if he did, I have not been informed of it.

Huh! He's an easy-going boy waltzing off to Donegal in this weather and no worries about the butcher! And in November! Sure it's wild up there! He has little or no sense. I don't know what would take him up to Malin Head at this time of the year!

I remark that I thought the break would do him good and mention that we've got a piano.

Aye! I saw that. I don't know what you thought you needed that for. Huh! What with that oul squeaky clarinet and dinnilin' away on an oul out of tune piano that'll hardly do him much good. It would answer him a lot better to finish that ranch fencing he started.

I have to agree that Bert has a rather dilatory attitude to general chores.

Well! I'm away down to get my own livestock foddered and in before it's too dark to see.

I bid him goodnight.

When he is gone I say to the dogs for there is no one else to say it to,

Y'know – there are a lot of things that Bert is good at, that Clint is not.

And I smile a little smile to myself.

Ho Hum

The President, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Is life less interesting than it was now that I don't work any more?

This I know - I don't seem to have the urge to blog as much as I used to.

I met two former work colleagues for lunch yesterday and a very pleasant two hours it was. It was really good to catch up with them but nothing I heard about the world of work made me regret leaving.

Afterwards I went to 'sign on'. My six months is up and I no longer get the 'dole'. I'm doing it for N.I. contributions now. Even so they put the pressure on as to why I am not in employment. I got ticked off for going to England. Apparently 'claimants' have to inform them if we go on holiday. And, I was told, if we go over the border we have to sign off and sign on when we return.

Don't believe that people on the dole are living in luxury. All I see when I go there are sad-faced and despondent people of all ages. Their clothes aren't great either.

Judy Goes To Norfolk

Judy's first proper holiday. I think she liked it. The Norfolk folk (that sounds strange) certainly liked her.

Cowboy Boots

line dancer, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

I wonder where those boots are now?

I did, eventually, throw them out and now I wish I hadn't. Don't tell Bert!

Gone Hankin'

Normal blogging will resume soon. I am currently domiciled in the fictional town of Arlen, Texas. I try to keep to a minimum of 2 hours a day otherwise Hankrot starts in.

Meanwhile I could be blogging about such interesting subjects as,

1. My grandchildren.
2. My dogs.
3. My garden.
4. The interesting party I went to on the 11/11/11.
5. Why Hank Hill is a better man than Fred Flintstone, Homer Simpson and Peter Griffin.
6. The time I got raided by the Drug Squad.

I think I'll go for #5. What do you think?

Bonnie & Fred

Bonnie & Fred, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

I wonder if it is time to get Bonnie a new kitten?

In Search of the Perfect Demi John

Today Nellybert girded their respective loins and headed for the big smoke. Our destination was Nature's Way on the Upper Newtownards Road. I told my wine making chum Bilrus that we were heading in that direction and asked him if he needed anything. He did not. Afterwards he called round and was most impressed with my tableful of gleaming brand new demi johns, bubblers, corks and sterilising powders. He said.

Great shop - but they're a bit snobby.

Snobby? You think so?

Yeah. Good looking dark bird was it?

Yes. I thought she was lovely. Not one bit snobby.

I thought she was a bit 'Bang-or.'

Not-a-tall. It was just that you are such a big gorgeous lump of a man. Reeking of pheromones. She was just trying to control herself. That's what came across as snobby. Me? I'm just a little old lady. She had no problem with me. Lovely girl. Not a snobby bone in her body. Mind you - I'm in there in a flash, spent a hundred quid, straight out again. Sure what's not to like about such a customer as myself?

Of course I had to check the Belfast prices with my favourite internet supplier. Happy to report that Belfast was far cheaper for good quality glass demi johns.

Five Dogs, One Ball

Five Dogs, One Ball, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

These pictures were taken five years ago soon after Bonnie came to live with us. It was probably the first time she ever engaged in play because, as I remember, she didn't really have a clue what was going on.

All those dogs, apart from Rosie the collie, are still alive but they are all quite elderly now.

Last week Bonnie had an operation to remove a growth from her leg. She seems to be doing well. Our biggest problem is getting her to rest. Given half a chance she's out in the yard or on the lawn playing and mucking about with the other dogs.

The dogs' playground is where our poly tunnel stands now. No boisterous ball fun allowed in there these days!

First November

At last! A proper Autumn day - dry, crisp, mellow. I picked a pound of Autumn raspberries today - straight into the freezer with them. I must learn to make Pavlova. Cousin Margaret is an expert - I shall insist she gives me a tutorial.

It's been an anxious day waiting for Zoe to have the baby. Today was her due date but, so far, no action. Also anxious because Bonnie has started limping badly. Off to the vet with her this evening where we saw the same vet we saw last time we were there which was a mere month ago. Or maybe it was her identical twin sister. Last time sore on foreleg probably cancer, here's some ointment, she's too old to operate on. This time same sore on foreleg, giving her a lot of gyp, she's a fresh looking old girl, we'll operate. Tomorrow. I wonder if I'm doing the right thing?

I considered taking her to my cousin the vet but I expect he'd operate anyway. Hope I'm doing the right thing.

My Name Is Charlie

There has been great controversy in this house about the naming of the stray collie I found last weekend. I was against naming him to start with because that was the first step to wanting to keep him but Loveheart convinced me that he needed a name because, "What if he's off the lead and you want him to come to you what are you going to call?" So we decided on Charlie. I think Hannah chose it. I know another dog called Charlie but as we don't move in the same circles these days that hardly matters.

When Pearlie heard this she was not pleased. "That's a stupid name for a dog! You should call him Prince." She had a dog called Prince at one time. Bert told her she could call him Prince Charles if she liked but we would call him Charlie.

When her sister Lizzie heard the name she wasn't impressed either. "I don't like dogs having people's names. You should call him Rex. He's the image of a dog I had called Rex. It's a terrible nice name for a dog." I pointed out that I liked people names for dogs. After all, since I've known Lizzie, we've had dogs called Danny, Polly, Rosie, Molly, Paddy, Bonnie and Judy. And Rex is a people name. She was having none of it. "He's that like my Rex, it would be a great name for him." she said. I said, "Well maybe so but Charlie he remains until such times as a new owner might rename him." She pursed her lips.

Later on we were looking at an old photo of Lizzie and Rex. "I don't think they look alike," I said. "Rex has a big broad muzzle and Charlie's is much finer." "Huh!" says she, "He's young. It'll grow."

I said to Bert later, "Charlie's nothing like Rex." Bert says, "Sure he is. Black and white, four legs, two ears."

Charlie is making slow and steady progress. As the week has progressed he has learned to trust people more and he gets on well with other dogs. He wagged his tail for the first time yesterday. This evening he has been playing with my brother's Jack Russell terrier. He is still very timid and terrified of sudden noises. I think he is going to be OK.

Lizzie and Rex sometime in the 1940s.

Oops! I Did It Again.

On first entering our house

It is five years since I found Bonnie straying on the Dreen Road and nearly three years since I found Fred abandoned outside Kells. Neither of them were as pathetic as the wee border collie Ben and I found yesterday sitting in the midst of a deluge, in a ditch near Ladyhill. He was soaked to the skin, filthy, skinny and scared. Between us we managed to get him into the car. At first I drove past him but there was a walker a few hundred yards in front and I stopped with him. He said he'd seen the dog and had enquired at a nearby house. He said the people knew that the dog was there and were 'keeping an eye on it'. He wondered if it had been clipped by a car. I decided to go back. I approached the dog and it ran off frightened. It did not look injured and did not run far. It settled itself down on the sodden ditch. Eventually between us Ben and I managed to get it into the boot of my car. I drive an estate so the wee dog was not enclosed. This meant it could benefit from the heating system and it also meant we could appreciate its stench which was very bad. I left Ben home and hurried back to Cully.

The little dog has been here over 24 hours now and has warmed up, got dry and eaten several small meals. He is traumatised but is starting to come round. He picked a little enclosed corner to lie in and I have laid blankets down for him. Last night he slept under a rug with a hot water bottle. I have been in contact with the dog warden and she told me that the place I found him is notorious for dog-dumping and that they are nearly always collies. I have offered to keep him for a while.

My daughter and family were here today and she is worried that our house is too busy for a traumatised dog and that he needs somewhere quieter. She does have a point but I think he will get used to us. In fact I think he's starting to already. He does seem to be glad that there are other dogs around. I get the feeling that, so far in his life, his significant relationships have been with his own kind and that he is suspicious of people.

My plan, if the dog warden cannot reunite him with his owner, is to settle him down, get him checked by the vet, eventually get Hannah to clean him up (she loves grooming dogs) and, ultimately, find him a loving home.

Wish us luck!

Taken this afternoon, dry, fed, watered but still unsure

These pictures were emailed to the dog warden just in case someone reports him missing.

All Fall Down

I sent Bert off to Stanley's funeral today looking very smart indeed. Actually that is a lie. I got home from my own physiotherapy appointment just as he was on the point of leaving and was able to give him a final dust down with the clothes brush and pronounce him fit to be seen.

It's been quite a week so far. Bert was in hospital on Monday having a 'day procedure'. He went there for 8am and got home around 9pm. Pearlie was her usual unsympathetic self. I told her he'd be resting (he had a general anaesthetic) and that I would be fixing her supper. She started to protest saying, "I want Bertie to make it!" I told her to wise up and she started to dry eye cry. Bert laughed and walked out of the room. Tears don't do it for him and I should know. Little wonder after half a century of witnessing his mother's crocodile tears. Pearlie got her supper, made by my own fair hands, and did not eat it. Her choice. She's an intelligent woman (if a little manipulative) and, if I say so myself, her requested supper was a delicious panada that Nigella Lawson would have been proud of.

But we were all out of sorts this week. Pearlie started her Tuesday with a big row with her carers about missing stockings and I started mine with a big row with Pearlie about the very same thing. OK - it's no huge thing that I've been doing her laundry for years now but, on the very odd occasion when something gets misplaced I do get to hear about it. You'd think I do it deliberately. The truth is she'd annoyed me the previous evening by showing Bert no compassion for his pain and discomfort and I was angry with her.

It's a rattling thing when someone you've known for years and who seems so dependable, so strong and so there, just leaves this world so suddenly. Stanley was an important part of the support system for Pearlie's sister and a good friend to very many people. He was a beloved father and grandfather. He was fit, fearless and fun-loving. He loved animals genuinely and without sentiment. His funeral was huge, even by Irish standards. We saw him every two weeks when he brought Lizzie over to visit Pearlie. He used to give us good advice about the cattle and pigs. We will miss him.

Once Again, In The Midst Of Life

How strange life is. We have just had a lovely Sunday where our house has been buzzing all day long. I have been looking after my darling Miss Martha and Raich and Sylvie came round to work on the plot. Of course Sylvie, being a little un, spent most of her time playing with Martha, leaving her mum to dig potatoes like a demon.

Building jigsaws

Meanwhile, in the background, Nellybert know that an old family friend is grievously ill and on life support.

Bert's friend comes round, He is a social worker and Raich used to be a social worker. They get talking about a scheme to introduce adolescents with serious mental health issues to the great outdoors (where Raich now works for a nationally known organisation). They swap email addresses and agree to fix up a meeting. This all takes place in my kitchen while I look on with some pleasure.

Bert receives a message to inform him that, at hospital, the life support for our friend is to be switched off.

Hannah and Jakers arrive to work on a ratty project to make the living quarters more fun-filled for their happy rodents and the social worker joins in. Hannah, Martha and I rack wine, clean up and wash dishes. Hannah and Martha see this as fun. I find that Martha thoroughly enjoys washing demi johns with bottle brushes.

The girls who never take their coats off

Then word comes through that S has died at approximately midday.

So, on this Sunday at Nellybert's, toddlers and children had fun. Social workers made plans to help the unfortunate, wine making and cooking ensued, potatoes were dug and vegetables harvested, friends conversed. People made things with wood in Bert’s workshop while Bert wandered around looking very sad, Pearlie wept, watched Noel Edmonds and did puzzles, I went to town and bought mushrooms, chocolate and wine and pondered very hard on what a complicated and poignant thing that life can be.

Just Saying

Two reasons not to call a child 'Lauren'. Just saying.