The Collapsed Sidalcea

The collapsed sidalcea this morning

Last night I set myself six tasks and today managed to tackle five of them. I sent James a birthday card. I was cutting it very fine as his birthday is in two days time so I used Moonpig. 

I didn't cut back the collapsed sidalcea. Instead, Bert and I gathered them all up and staked them. Too late, but better than never. They will probably fall again. Hey-ho... still a completed task.

I sowed rainbow beetroot. The red sort, the yellow sort and the white sort. I planted kohl rabi and cauliflower plugs and a well-grown chilli that was in a pot. Also planted a four-foot sunflower in the garden. Started digging the garlic and other tidying-up tasks in the polytunnel. There is still a lot of clearing to do there.

Here I am updating the blog so that gets a tick.

I did not wash any floors. 

However, we finally got round to contacting a monumental sculptor about adding Pearlie to the family gravestone. It is her anniversary on Friday. Four years now since she died. That one has been on the to-do list for months. 

Tomorrow I should like to

Finish harvesting the garlic

Sow more seeds

Arrange to have my hair cut

Contact the monumental sculptor again as my email keeps getting bounced back

Take a picture of the propped up sidalcea

Maybe mop some floors?

Then The Rain Came

A picture from ten weeks ago. No lawn, and flower beds almost empty. The yellow tulips in the tubs were about the only thing in bloom. Bert is wearing his crocs and looks happy. Marty has on his favourite redneck teeshirt. Jess has a ball in her mouth. This photograph was quite spontaneous.

A picture from three days ago. We have a lawn and the borders are bursting. Marty has on his favourite redneck teeshirt, Bert is wearing his crocs and Jess has a stick in her mouth. This photograph was carefully staged and is the best of a poor bunch. Bert hates being told what to do which is why he looks unhappy.

The sidalcea just behind Bert is badly placed. Two plants, too close together and far too boisterous for the front of the border. They are beautiful healthy plants though and I intend to shift them at the end of the season. I might even gift one to another gardener. Another thing I should do is stake them early on. In the heatwave, they stood tall and proud with no support necessary - until the rain came.

We had three extra dogs last night and I was awakened by barking at around four in the morning. Strange noise coming from outside which must have disturbed them. Steady, medium-heavy welcome rain, much needed. I let the dogs out. It looked strange to see the yard all glistening wet after such a long dry spell. It was still raining this morning. The garden will be enjoying this, I thought and went out to look. The sidalcea had completely collapsed.

Ah well - no mind. I shall cut it back and maybe it will flower again. The Chelsea Crop.

There is something else I'm going to try to see if it enhances my life and that is - sharing a section of my To Do list.

To Do, Monday 16th July.

Send my only grandson a birthday card. He is going to be three on Wednesday.

Cut back the sidalcea,

Sow some beetroot.

Plant vegetable plugs.

Mop the floors. Seven dogs and rainy days are hard on them.

Update my blog.

Live Fast, Die Young

We have a family of robins that live in the polytunnel that Bert feeds with mealworms. Adult robins can be quite unafraid of people but the juveniles tend to be more timorous. Bert tells me that there is a young one that is unusually forward and will come very close to him when he produces the food.

My first encounter with it was when I was weeding the runner beans. It followed my busy hands at about a distance of half a metre showing no fear at all. The first picture was taken with my phone but I had to fetch the camera to take advantage of the zoom.

Here's  Robin sitting on a peach tree. Watching me, apparently fearless. I hardly needed to use the zoom lens.

The following morning at around eight am I was sitting outside drinking coffee and eating a toasted pancake and I heard a little commotion and there he (or she?) was again. Once again the camera comes out. I've never met a bird so quiet in my life.

Robin was not offered pancake crumbs. I'm sure they'd be bad for it and I wouldn't want to encourage it to come to the house because of the cats. But it just came closer and closer.

A tiny little creature like that should not be so unafraid of humans or dogs or cats. I feared it would not live long.

So delicate and vulnerable. Those tiny little legs seemed hardly strong enough to hold it. That was the last photograph I took. Friends came round and helped us make a paved area at the side of the new lawn. The robin fluttered around most of the day watching people work and swooped down occasionally to feast on the insects that they disturbed. Evening came and we did not see it again.

This morning Robin was nowhere to be seen. The adults were in the polytunnel as usual as were the other juveniles but no sign of the fearless one. Maybe a cat, maybe a sparrowhawk or a jay. We miss him.

One Day, Two Outings

Bert and I went shopping yesterday, himself for horticultural supplies and myself for light cotton trousers and some summer shoes. But first, we went for breakfast.

Then Bert said, pulling up outside a tool shop.

I'll just go in here for a minute to see what price their drills are.

I was a bit put out as I hadn't brought a book, for like my father before me, I'm quite content to wait anywhere as long as I have something to read. And there wasn't anything in the van, not even a tool catalogue.

Don't be too long will you? It's boiling hot in here even with the windows open.

I'll only be a minute.

A quarter of an hour later he came out no wiser than when he went in.

I said nothing.

We were going to Junction One in Antrim and when we got there we split up. I went to Gap and bought a pair of cotton trousers. I spent a minute in another shop and went to the Nike store and started looking at white trainers. My phone rang. Bert.

Are you nearly finished? I'm parked outside and it's boiling hot.

I'll be ten minutes.

I'd picked a pair and was on my way to pay for them. Five minutes later I was walking towards the van. It was open and he wasn't in it! I waited five minutes and phoned him. Tinkle, tinkle, ting-a-ling - and there was his phone on the dashboard. He really should change his ringtone. It's like something a little elf would choose.

Five minutes later he turned up bearing three cans (three for a pound) of noxious fizzy drinks he'd bought in Poundland.

I said nothing. We went home and I changed into my new trousers. So cool! Temperature-wise anyway. Maybe not Kate Moss cool. Hannah and I decided to take the dogs for a walk and once again piled into the van. We chose to go to Tardree Forest. It was so hot but better under the trees.

We spent an hour walking then returned to the van. I started to drive out. I'd noticed when we arrived that there was a steep gradient on the way down to the parking area and it was very dry and gravelly. I actually had to apply very light pressure to the brakes to prevent sliding. But the only thing I was concerned about on the way out was meeting an oncoming vehicle. That didn't happen but I found it difficult getting out onto the road. I almost made it but then had to reverse as there was oncoming traffic. Then it happened. I hit a deep ridge, stalled and the van started to slide back. And got layered on a dyke. When I got out to look I saw that one of the back wheels was halfway over the dyke. Thankfully I had managed to stop for there was a three-foot drop into the meadow below.  Panic!

Hannah was great. So calm. For someone needed to be. Then all these men appeared and they were wonderful. Calmed the whole situation down, reassured me that it wasn't too bad and eventually managed to get us back on to the road. It took a while too but they were so patient and helpful. Sam and Dave and Dominic. We will never forget you.

Dave

Sam, Hannah and Dominic

And what did Bert think of it all? I phoned him to let him know what was going on. Preparing him for the worst if worse it should be. And what did he say?

Are the dogs alright?

They were. Not one bit worried about the three unfamiliar men who were working with their van. Not even the smallest growl. They knew those decent fellows were there to help.

Irresponsible Me

For the past eight months, I have been posting family group photographs on the Flickr photo-sharing website. Usually just one a day and in my own particular order. The family members are listed firstly by seniority and then alphabetically. That meant that the first postings were of an Anne and that everyone else in the picture would be younger than her. I'm nearly finished now, doing a Zoe and her juniors.

Mostly the project has been well-received by the family although I suppose they are the only ones actually interested in them. Sometimes I've failed to attribute the photographer but that's because I didn't know who it was for a good few of the pictures came from Matty's albums.

It's certainly brought back a lot of memories for me and not all of them are comfortable. Take that first picture for example. Zoe would be around four and a half years old, Katy about the same in months. They are sitting on a coal bunker and Zoe's feet are dangling more than a foot from the hard paved ground. I don't think I'd ever pose small children like that now as I'm far more risk-averse.

But back then, when I was in my mid-20s I was a very irresponsible parent.

Look at this one...

Not a helmet in sight. I'm sure that nowadays such reckless behaviour would be a matter for the police.

At first glance a happy little baby about five or six months old. But wait, is she standing up? The photographer (me) propped her up on the back of a park bench and ran round to snap the picture. Hannah did not fall over, roll off the bench, or hit her head on the hard ground. But she could have. I cringe to think of it.

It is little wonder that when Hannah reached her eighteenth birthday I breathed a sigh of relief. Made it! No danger of them being taken into care now.

Heatwave!

Whenever County Antrim folk (and other North Irish people) are blessed with a prolonged spell of hot weather we may well experience the following:

The Common Herd

Disbelief. This can't be happening to us! Why it's hotter than Spain.

Elation. I'll bet all those folk flying off to Spain will wish they'd stayed at home.

Pessimism. It can't last. This will probably be all the summer we'll get.

Despair. It's far too hot! It's too warm to work. I'm not worth tuppence in this heat.

Cattle Farmers

Hope. Good to see a blink of sun and the cattle are out in the fields again. Maybe we'll get a bit of grass this year.

Making Hay. Every farmer in the country. Last year was so wet that hay was worth its weight in gold.

Pessimism. This year hay will probably fetch about three quid a bale.

Despair. We need rain! The grass has stopped growing.

Nellybert

Delight. Boys-a-dear. Isn't this great? I thought we were never going to see a decent summer again. Fantastic gardening weather.

Irritation. Every other bugger in the country is lying sunning themselves in their back garden and we're watering from morning to night.

Pessimism. The state of those roses. They're wilting in this weather. And the irises hardly lasted a week in the heat. And those bloody weeds! Nothing stops them!

Looking On The Bright Side. At least the slugs and snails are giving it a rest.

Dogs

Fetch ball! Sleep! Drink water! Go to the river! Fetch stick! Swim! Eat! Sleep!

The New Lawn

At long last Bert has got interested in the garden and, I have to say, I am very pleased about it. There have been false starts before but this time it feels like it might be a permanent interest.

There was the time he decided to make a vegetable garden in the very same spot where our new lawn is now. Although, to tell the truth, it might be more accurately described as a patch of grass. I remember how discouraging Pearlie was about that as he dug and toiled.

He's only lossing his time at that oul carry-on.

But she was wrong.

The vegetable garden twelve years ago. These days, most of the veggie growing takes place in the polytunnel with Zoe as the keenest gardener of us all. The stone wall was very new then but it still stands. There are flower beds and the new lawn in that patch now. We're even building a patio although I promise there will be no bodies buried under it!

This used to be our vegetable garden.

And this used to be a lawn!

Vampire Teeth

This afternoon, on picking up my grandchildren from the school bus, I informed them that I had some bad news.

Martha asked,

What is it Granny?

I'm afraid we have to go to Sainsbury's.

Evie said,

That's good news for us.

Why?

We like Sainsbury's. There's something there that we want.

I'm sure!

As we drove there I said,

It's Bert. He wants me to get naan bread. Sure it would be no trouble for me. Aren't I in the town already. Not that he'd ever do food shopping if he was in town!

Martha says,

I know Granny! I've asked him to take us to Sainsbury's about five million times and he never ever does.

We arrive. I ask,

So what is it you want?

Vampire teeth. There's a machine. You put a pound coin in and there are lots of things you can choose.

I gave them a pound each and sent them off and began shopping.

I bought naan bread.
Onion bhajis.
A sports bra.
A blouse.
Buns.
Jam tarts.
Some pears.

The girls found me. They did not have vampire teeth as the machine had run out of them. Martha had bought a squishy orange thing that looked very flimsy and Evie had some metallic slime.

On the way out I realised I'd forgotten to buy wine but decided that was probably a good thing.

The journey home was very quiet as the girls played with their squishy, slimy objects. As soon as we got home they raced out to play on the trampoline and that was pretty much the last I saw of them.

I said to Bert,

Martha told me she asked you to take her to Sainsbury's five million times and you never would.

That's right, I never did take them to Sainsbury's.

Did you know that there is a vending machine there where a child can insert a pound coin and receive a piece of complete crap?

Yeah. What did they get? Vampire teeth?

Hopeless at going to Sainsbury's but makes a good climbing frame.

Father's Day

So, Father's Day again...

But they do get easier as time goes on. This is the fourteenth one since he died. The first one was very hard as he died in early June and right from the start the shops were full of Father's Day reminders. I remember feeling ridiculously annoyed and cross about it.

It passed. Father's Day is just another day now. To do with other people, not for us. I had a lot of company this weekend, the Banjos, Dr Leitrim Sister and her husband. Six people, not one of us with a living Dad. Memories were shared.

And here are some more.

A handmade card that Daddy received from his granddaughter in 1989.

One of a series of photographs that my sister Patricia Moriarty shot. They are some of the best pictures ever taken of our father.

One of my own photographs. I think he might have been calling me an eedjit as I was trying to get him to smile.

The pair of them.

Fudge And Other Lovely Things

I'm feeling anxious tonight. One of our roosters (Fudge, the best-looking one) has escaped the coop and is running loose. Ben and I have tried to catch him but in doing so we have thoroughly spooked him. It happened while we were moving his lot to another house. I had him gathered up twice but he was too strong for me and got away. I hope his might stands him in good stead if he meets Foxy tonight.

It's been a while since the blog has been updated but there has been a lot going on. On Saturday I took the girls to a sixth birthday party and it was a hot day. Baking hot.

I love that Cooper the Labrador thinks that it is his birthday. Martha and Evie are in there somewhere.

Later that evening Bert and I went to Toome to hear A Talk. The subject of The Talk was the same as the recent film Maze (currently on Netflix) which told the story of the 1983 mass prison breakout from the Maze prison. The film was rather sombre. The Talk given by three of the people involved less so. It was an interesting night.

On Sunday Zoe and I and Leitrim Sister took part in Procession2018 in Belfast which was a wonderful experience. We marched with at least a thousand other women (and a smattering of men) from the Titanic Slipway to City Hall.

We were walking with the Leitrim group that campaigned hard for the recent Irish referendum on abortion rights. There were a few frosty faces from onlookers but far more reactions that were positive, particularly from older women.

On Monday I made cheese and onion pie and a rice pudding for our family dinner and Martha asked,

Granny, why is your rice pudding so tough and ricey?

Although Bert thought it was yummy. Tough and ricey is his favourite pud.

Yesterday I went to Ikea with Zoe and bought a very pretty cushion. There were thousands of them so I expect almost everyone else in the world possesses this lovely thing.

And another lovely thing...

This claret-coloured poppy just turned up among the ordinary self-seeded papaver somniferum that grows in the polytunnel. I must mark it and save the seed.

Fudge turned up! No chicken dinner for Foxy tonight.

Fudge is the big boy in the middle of the picture. 

Selling Sweeties

So, there was Granny about to tell one of her interminable tales that begin,

When I was a young girl...

And Evie chips in,

And now you're an old woman.

I laughed and said,

It's not so bad being an old woman.

And she says,

Yeah! You don't have to go to work!

I couldn't help but think - that child isn't even in Year 3 of primary schooling yet and already she's looking forward to her retirement. She must have realised that running that sweetie shop is going to be a pretty tough ride.

Don't Mow. Let It Grow

This was, for a few years, a shorn lawn. Then the ride-on mower started playing up and we decided not to replace it as we found we actually prefer the long grass. As do the insects, the insect-eating birds, the wildflowers and the children.

In springtime we have cuckoo flowers and wild orchids growing through it. Dog violets and primroses grow profusely under the beech trees. There are not so many summer meadow flowers apart from plantains but this bugle appears to be colonising parts of the garden.

I've always liked long grass as this collection of photographs shows.

Bert has reseeded a small area at the side of the house that we will keep short as will be a lovely backdrop for my flowerbeds and hopefully it will keep the bindweed in the old hedge from encroaching any further into my flower beds.

The beginnings of the grass that will be mown. That bit at the back where Bert is digging a grave for one of my favourite hens will be kept wild. Too much effort to tame in and dead chickens need to go somewhere.

So what happened to the hen? Every day she escaped the run and wandered about wild and free pecking and scraping and living a very happy life. Only yesterday I was out and about doing stuff in the garden and I thought what a sweet picture she'd make against the emerald green of the new grass. I never did get round to fetch my camera and within an hour she was gone. Young Lockhart and His husky dog Phoenix had called to visit us and it had been a while, so long we'd all forgotten that Phoenix and hens don't get on.

Ah well. Was a quick end and she died happy.

In Which I Become My Own Cleaner

We had a young man visit us a week ago who was very enthusiastic about his new cleaner.



You should get one. It has entirely changed my life. She comes once a week, spends an hour and a half cleaning and it only costs me #18. My house is spotless and I have nothing to do other than wash dishes for the entire week.


That wouldn’t work for me. Ninety minutes wouldn’t look at this place. Not with the size of it, four dogs, a constant stream of visitors and Bert tramping dirt of the yard the entire, live-long day.


Oh, not-a-tall. You should get one. It will change your life. She is so efficient. It used to take me half the day just to clean my kitchen. I kept getting distracted.


I’d look well getting a cleaner and me retired, fit and able and anyway – it would stress me out – I’d feel I’d need to take the rough off the house before the cleaner came.


Aye, I do that too.


This boy has passions. The last time he was here he’d just bought a sports car. Best thing in the world. We’d happened to mention we were looking for a car for Hannah who’d just passed her test and nothing would do him but she should get a sports car just like his. He couldn’t be chatted out of it.


Anyway, after he’d gone I had a think about the cleaner idea. It’s not that I wanted to hire one but perhaps I could be my own cleaner? I decided to get up earlier the next day and clean for 90 minutes. Well, two sessions of 45 minutes with a refreshing cup of coffee in between.


I got up early the next morning and in ninety minutes I washed dishes, cleaned the kitchen, sun-room, hall, and downstairs bathroom. I brushed and mopped landing and stairs and put laundry on. When the timer pinged I had not managed to get round to my private, secret sitting room, the scullery, upstairs bathroom or any of the bedrooms. Nevertheless, I marched up to Bert, who was still in bed reading the last couple of chapters of Cold Comfort Farm and announced that I’d cleaned for an hour and a half and he owed me nine quid. (His share of the cleaner’s wages.)


And I’ve been my own cleaner ever since. I usually just do it for an hour but if I’m going out early I’ll be efficient for 30 minutes. It does make a difference as getting basic cleaning out of the way means I can spend the rest of my time doing what I please and what I please is mostly working in the garden. I reckon Bert owes me at least 60 quid by now although I don’t expect to receive it any time soon.

Back To School

Bert and I accepted an invitation to attend Grandparent's Day at Evie's school. Evie was slightly concerned that Bert would turn up in his 'muddy farm boots' just as he'd done the other day when he met the pair of them at the bus station.  So I chose his outfit and I have to say he looked rather nice. Slim-fitting navy trousers (he has the figure for those), a linen shirt and his best Converse sneakers. He'd even combed his hair.

It was an enjoyable morning for us all. The children whose grandparents couldn't be there weren't left out. I had two extra ones, good friends of Evie, join us for story reading (Evie chose excellent books) and again in the play park where I was expected to applaud cartwheeling, handstands and Irish dancing. After refreshments, we were invited to visit our grandchild's classroom which was really inspiring. A far cry from the drab and regimented teaching environments that was Nellybert's experience.

I left the school feeling very happy that Martha and Evie go to a really good school with impressive facilities and a dedicated staff team. They are lucky girls.

After that, it was back to the usual. Bert got changed back into his working clothes and worked hard all day, watering, weeding and putting up orders.

By ten o'clock the poor man was exhausted and tottering around like a ninety-year-old. Says I,

It's a far cry from the spritely young granda you were this morning.

He could only agree.

When The Birthday Boy Makes His Own Cake

At last! A birthday cake that turned out well. Bert baked it, Martha, Evie and Granny decorated it. Bert's cake rose nicely. The last one I made, Martha asked,

Granny, why is your cake like a biscuit?

My last pizza she said,

Why does your dough rise so much? It should be thin.

From now on I might get Bert to do the pizza bases as well.

We had great fun decorating the cake. The glace icing was better than last time when Martha's favourite dog ornament kept sliding off.

You'd never guess what age he was now? Martha really wanted those number candles.

Two would only be 1.70 Granny. And we can use the 9 again when it's my birthday. 

I allowed her to have them as a reward for being good at maths.

And Bert? He said he had a lovely birthday. When everyone had gone home we did a delivery to a garden centre in Magherafelt. It was only then that I noticed he still had glitter on his nose from the birthday cards that the girls made for him.

A Trip To Belfast

I managed a day out in Belfast today, my main objects being a visit to the newly refurbished Tropical Ravine in the Botanic Gardens, some new reading glasses from Flying Tiger and a present for Bert.

I had mixed feelings about the Tropical Ravine. There is no doubt that it needed the refurbishment, if only for the survival of some of the older plants in there but it has lost much of its former dilapidated charm. Now it seems less mossy, too modern. I much preferred it as it was.

The grounds outside the Ravine have had a makeover too, planted mainly with geraniums. I was pleased to see that I have in my own garden, all the varieties I spotted except 'Rozanne' and I want 'Rozanne'.

The Palm House was in disarray today with many plants pushed to the side for cleaning but the display of pelargoniums on the Museum side was spectacular. Lots of varieties that I don't have but would love to own.

My next stop was the vintage store on Botanic Avenue where I bought Bert two shirts. That was the present ticked off my list.

I lunched in the Linen Hall Library and it was very quiet in there. Then a bit of a wander around the city centre. I got some lace-up shoes I've been thinking about for a year or more and two pairs of readers in Flying Tiger. I was disappointed not to get the apple green ones I bought last time as I've had such a lot of compliments about them. My fashionable niece even advised that I should base my whole look around them.  I still have the apple green ones but Jess, the hallion, jumped on them as I was getting dressed for bed one evening and they don't sit right any more. Three quid glasses just cannot handle being pounced on by sprollies.

There was a bit of time to kill before getting the train so I had a drink in Robinsons. I took it outside and as I sat there I thought of how thirty years ago a person might be taking quite a risk sitting across from Europe's most bombed hotel (33 times in 25 years). Thankfully those days are over.

On the train home, I read the book I picked up in the Linen Hall Library charity shop. Letters between Nancy Mitford and Evelyn Waugh. It was rather 'laugh out loud' in parts but so prejudiced against Jewish people. That was shocking. Or maybe it was just Lucian Freud? Still appalling. It was written by a Mosley, so obviously shameless.

I got Bert to try on his shirts as soon as I got home and was pleased that he liked them. He especially liked the denim, a vintage Ben Sherman, so much that he kept it on and went out to clarinet practice still wearing it. That's never happened before and I've been buying him clothes for more than thirty years.

That Was The Week That Was

It seems that the more there is to write about the less I write because there is NO TIME and I am TOO TIRED.

On Day 1 after my last post, I went (with Bert) to visit an elderly relative and then, because we were in the general area, went to a disused diatomite quarry that has become a haven of delight for newts, butterflies, psilocybin mushrooms and other wonderful things. When we got there we found it had been devastated by earth moving machines. Bert was very sad.

On Day 2 after the last post, I cooked a delicious meal for the family and played adventures with Martha as Evie was sick.

On Day 3 I was visited by the elderly aunt and her (sort of) nephew. She filled nephew's car boot with spare shrubs and perennials from my garden. Afterwards, Bert continued work on our new lawn and I  cooked a sensible manly dinner for Bert and one of his friends. Lots of potatoes.

On Day 4 after my last post we visited Jazzer who has been dealing with some very sad events recently. To cheer her up we brought a chainsaw and cut down a tree that has been threatening the foundations of her house. Then we went out to lunch and had two large glasses of wine each. On my return from the outing I had to take a long nap.

On Day 5 I picked the girls up from school and took them shopping. I needed new shoes for a funeral and I got the children  some summer togs for their holiday. Martha opined that the tops would go very well with a pair of denim shorts. So I bought those as well. Then we went to the wake which was a first for the girls.

On Day 6 I went to the funeral. My cousin's husband, still in his fifties. They were close neighbours of my mother and had always been good friends to both my parents. At the funeral reception, I found myself looking around and wondering where he was.

Day 7 - I gardened, cleared a new bed and planted the geraniums I'd bought at Garden Show Ireland. They'd been potted on and were just beginning to flower. And of course, I glanced at the Royal Wedding for an hour or so. It was quite cheering and distracting. Later on,  we had Jazzer, Marty and Ben round for the evening.

On Day 8 after my last post, we still had Jazzer, Marty and Ben and Jazzer cooked breakfast and mopped floors. Some friends are just keepers and her Ulster Fries go a long way towards making up for her singing performances on the evenings before.

On the evening of Day 8, when everyone had gone, we watched The Handmaid's Tale, me mostly with my hands covering my eyes. Then I wrote this post.

The devastation at the old quarry

Paper Money

When I'm 64 (from March 2011)

That is the age at which I will now receive a state pension.

Oh well. I think I shall have to become a bank robber.

Don't tell anyone I said that.

Joking aside - it was terribly unjust that women were entitled to a pension five years before men. What was that all about? And it's not as if 60 is even old these days. Or so I like to kid myself.

It's the kids I feel sorry for. There they'll be trying to get a foot on the career ladder starting with something humble and character-forming like working the aisles in B&Q or Tescos and there will be all the old codgers like me taking their jobs. And I will too - if the bank robbing thing doesn't work out.

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Nelly's Garden has sure turned out to be quite the aide-memoire pour moi. For, thinks I to myself - I should write about how great it is to finally be in receipt of the long-awaited state pension and I knew I'd written about it before and, there you go, seven years ago I was positively longing to be a pensioner. It turned out I didn't do anything quite as drastic as robbing a bank or getting a job. As if! There's rarely a morning that passes that I don't wake up and thank the universe that I don't have to go to work.

So it is that even the grandchildren, at least the ones that live in Ireland and are aware of the existence of money, knew that I was looking forward to my pension. For as we headed into the local Spar yesterday afternoon and I opened my purse to check how much money I had, Evie exclaimed,

Is that paper money Granny?

And Martha asked,

Is it your pension Granny?

I think she's been looking forward to my pension as much as I have.

I knew I'd have a little spending spree when it finally came and as it came with another little windfall there was definitely going to be some addressing of pent-up need on the wardrobe front. So I went shopping yesterday just before I picked up the girls, thrifting and regular, and got a lovely rust-coloured linen cardigan (for a pittance) and some ridiculously cheap biker boots in TK Maxx plus some navy trousers. Got home and discovered I'd got the wrong size trousers and the boots still had a security tag on them. The cardi was still delicious, no issues there.

So, it was back to the shops today. As I entered TK Maxx the security alarm shrilled which really confused the guy on the floor. But no bother, he removed the tag and I swapped the trousers for a very useful structured black jackety, cardigany thing. In the thrift shops, I bought a very nice summer skirt. Fits lovely but you'd know you're wearing it. I reminded myself that Loulou de la Falaise said that when it comes to clothes she didn't like to feel too comfortable and I think I might take that to heart except when I'm gardening. 

And I hope Martha will be pleased with the three quid Mini-Boden dress I found in Ballymena's latest charity shop. It's from several seasons ago but that means vintage and Martha likes a bit of vintage.

The personal motto for the rest of my life is - just because you're fat doesn't mean that you can't have Nice Things. 

Martha's dress and my pre-loved cardigan and a Brand New Book because no shopping spree is complete without one.

Garden Show Ireland 2018

Much to my surprise and delight, we've just had several consecutive days of sunny weather. In fact, on one of those days, I actually had to remove my fleece. For me, warm dry weather means gardening, lots of gardening for I really am a fairweather horticulturist. The first of the pleasant days I spent on an outing to Garden Show Ireland at the beautiful Castle Grounds in Antrim. My pockets were stuffed with my new pension entitlement so I was able to spend freely. There is nothing I like better than access to plants with funds to spare. What I did not take into account was plants in pots are heavy and I had travelled by train. Sure the journey from show to the station was less than 15 minutes but fifteen minutes is a long time to carry two heavy bags of hard to find perennials.

That was on Friday and my arms and shoulders are still aching. Next year I'll take a wheeled trolley.

Two of the stall holders at the show. Our friends, Frank and Linda McCooke from Slemish Market Garden. They were selling vegetable transplants and herbs and were doing a roaring trade. While I was visiting their stand it was announced that they'd taken the silver medal in the Grower's section. And very well-deserved too. The McCookes must be the hardest working family in the Ballymena area. Yet they've always got time for a chat and a laugh with their customers as my photo shows.

This was my favourite part where all the exciting plants were to be found. I acquired some new geraniums for my collection, a polemonium, a creamy saxifrage, nine exotic lily bulbs and long sought after white oriental poppies.

Rainy May

So far, this Spring the weather has been disappointing. There were two beautiful days at the weekend where I got lots of outdoor gardening accomplished but there is still far too much to do. Most of my homegrown perennials are still sitting in pots beside where they are supposed to go but hey! - look on the bright side (even though there isn't one) all this rain means I don't have to water them.

Even so, I'm off to Garden Show Ireland tomorrow. Last year we went with the Banjos and it was a scorching day but this year I'm going alone and BBC weather informs me that it will be overcast but with no torrential downpours or hailstones expected. Here's hoping.

In spare moments (and there are lots of them) I'm transferring files to a bigger external hard drive. This is one from May 2012 which delighted me. Annoyingly, I cannot find the original copies. Where do digital photographs go?

Postscript: Lost digital photographs are to be found in unsorted files. Hurrah!