Some Time

I am going out to pick blackberries. I may be some time.

Three Fine Days

Recently I have slipped back to that bad habit of getting up late. It is certainly delightful to snuggle under the duvet in the morning but getting up after 9 feels so wrong. The days are getting shorter now and it is a waste of the light. So I've given myself a jolly good talking-to and will be making every effort to climb out of bed at least an hour earlier.

Another change I have to make is to get outdoors more. I have decided that if the day is dry I will find something to do outside rather than lurk in the house. In the past two days have been working in my vegetable plot and in my flower garden. I have been foraging for blackberries. I have been watching the buzzards and I have been drinking coffee and reading the Sunday papers in the poly tunnel which is far, far, far nicer than drinking coffee and reading papers on the kitchen sofa. I have been wheeling barrows of dung , sowing and harvesting vegetables and collecting seed.

It is going to rain tomorrow. It is going to teem and lash and blow for it is Monday. Now I don't know if anyone else from Cully has noticed this but it always rains on Mondays, usually in the afternoon. I think it might have been fine for a couple of Mondays in May but not since. Even after a pleasant spell, like the past three days, I can be sure it will rain on Monday.

The reason I can be certain about this is because my oldest daughter and her family always come out here on Monday afternoons to work on their vegetable plots. And it is always raining when they are here. Luckily, for them, a good part of their plot is in the poly tunnel, so they don't get too disheartened.

I'm just sorry I cannot go blackberrying tomorrow. It is very fine and pleasant to wander up the hedgerows listening to Sebastian Faulks' 'Birdsong' with Judy at my heels and a bunch of cattle ignoring me.

Bert said,

That wee black bull. He wasn't harrassing you?

The wee black bull? Would he?

Aye. He's getting very belligerent.

I don't think I'd have been in that field with Judy had I known that the wee black bull was getting airs about himself.

So there it is. Two days out in the open air. Working! And I feel a lot happier even though I've got a sore shoulder (right side), a sore elbow (left side) and sore knees (both). At least I didn't get attacked by the wee black bull. That would have been hard to take and it only two weeks since I got tossed and trodden on by that pig.

Happy Birthday Martha

Martha is three today. Happy birthday!

Remembering Shirley

Remembering Shirley Finlay whose dumped and beaten body was discovered on the 19th September, 2006. Six years now since her life was taken from her.

Pigs Are Rough

It was only the other day that I was hand-feeding that brute the choicest, sweetest dates that our local greengrocery could provide. You'd think he'd show some gratitude, wouldn't you?

This is what Rusty did on my birthday. Bert was making a cake so asked me to take care of his evening chore of feeding and housing the hogs. I agreed and went to their sleeping quarters where I prepared them a supper of pig nuts, cabbage and pineapple. I then went to fetch them. First I turned off the electric fencer. The fencing is behind a length of corrugated roofing tin which is a bit makeshift and not really necessary but Bert thought it would provide an extra deterrent to their breaking out. The tin is supported by a heavy old car wheel rim. Arrangements like that are not how Clint rolls but it is very Berty.

Anyway - I was a bit fingers and thumbs with the fencing cord and couldn't get it detached. The pigs were becoming impatient, especially Rusty. I looked into his wee piggy eyes and did not like what I saw there. He was for coming through and  nothing, not electric fence or sheet of metal was going to stop him. I quickly turned to get out of his way but he charged me. The corrugated tin went flying with me on top of it. I fell to the ground. I'd had enough time to worry about getting cut on the metal or the pig getting injured but neither happened. What did happen was I hurt my shoulder and the pig ran over my arm in his haste to get to his supper. The wheel rim rolled gently down the yard just as Bert came running out. He'd heard the clattering of flying tin, wheel rim and wife. I knew he wanted to laugh but he restrained himself.

Meanwhile Lily was screaming her head off. Unlike Rusty she is mightily afraid of the electric fence and she did not know that it had been switched off. So she must have been thinking that Rusty had beat her to the supper trough and was scoffing her share of the grub. No doubt, with her super piggy senses she could hear him gobbling and smell what little was left of the pineapple.

I have been left with cloven hoof marks on my right arm and my shoulder is a bit stiff but I'll survive. Rusty is forgiven. He was just being a pig. I'll just have to be a bit more careful in future. Pigs are rough.

Recycled Post #1

Seeing as it is my birthday I thought I might be lazy and recycle a post from September 2004. I'm sad to say that Harry de Cat is no longer with us. But his legacy remains - Bert is now an avowed cat lover.

The Proper Care and Training of Cats

When our ancient three-legged cat died I swore there would be no more cats. Then Scary Tam called around and said they'd had another litter of kittens. "What are they like?" says I. "Totally gorgeous" says he. "I might take a look at them" says I. I phoned Zoe who agreed to accompany me on the viewing expedition. "I definitely want a female" says I. "I quite agree" says she.

So we landed at Scary Tam's and the kittens were rather nice. Zoe upended the three of them and pronounced them all males. She considered a career as a vet for a time.

"I'll take one anyway" says I. And so we landed home with Harry. He was always great fun. No fear of dogs at all and he used to take great running leps at them. Nowadays we have to dose him with catnip to get his violent urges going. Needless to say we got him castrated. My friend Vinny says that the average lifespan of an unneutered tom cat is two years.

But there was one huge problem. Harry had a thing about pissing on Bert, preferably when he was asleep. The duvets I had to dump! He got a name change for a while and was known as Pisher McGee. But he was still loads of fun and got away with it. "He'll grow out of it" says I. "He'd better, or I'll shoot him" says he.

Then one day that Bert happened to be up early and he went to the front door to have a piss. As we live in the country there was no one to see him but a few thrushes in the hornbeam hedge and Pisher McGee. Bert spotted the cat, adjusted his aim and sent a good morning strone all over Harry. And as God is my judge Harry never peed on Bert or anywhere in the house after it.

Sugar High

sugar high, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

What pigs look like when they have just shared a packet of dried dates.

From The Garden Archive

I found these pictures of the beginnings of our garden at the old house, the house that we sold to Clint. I'd never had so much room for a garden before I came to this country and I hardly knew what to do with all that space. I started with a flower bed while Bert concentrated on vegetables. I was very impressed with his skills as I'd never grown vegetables myself.

I seem to have a lot of wallflower here. It is a very long time since I've grown wallflower. I mean to every year but never seem to get round to it.

I have always been very keen on foxgloves and here I had them in profusion. They are a poisonous plant but I've never seen anyone try to munch on them yet. I love the way they add height and structure to a flowerbed although I'm not always keen on where they decide to sow themselves. Bert's vegetables are coming along well.

It's high summer now and the nasturtiums are beginning and Bert's vegetables are ready to harvest. I've always had nasturtiums - they are among my favourite flowers. I took that series of photographs from an upstairs window and looking back at them I wish I'd kept it up. Yet another thing I didn't get round to.

The next year we planted potatoes where the vegetables grew and then we planted a lawn. Bert's father surrounded the garden with a beautiful stone wall which Clint pulled down. He said it would be full of rat's nests, He also knocked down the old house and built a couple of agricultural sheds. He fenced the garden area and filled it with honking, shitting geese. Ah well. Each to his own.

The Joys Of Motoring

How long ago is it, when you would be visiting friends or cousins in a residential area, that there would always be at least one car sitting outside a house with the bonnet up? And some bloke would be tinkering with it and he might even be underneath it and there would usually be at least two or three other fellows standing around discussing the problem. At some point they'd get it sorted out and off they'd go in a reek of blue exhaust smoke. You don't see that any more. Because nowadays cars are so complicated and so electrical that only skilled mechanics with diagnostic machines can fix them. And at great cost too.

Take my rotten car. I've only just spent £300 plus getting some electrical problem sorted out and  I had hoped that I might get a few months of  problem free motoring. But no. The other day the wipers came on and I couldn't get them to go off again. It was a fine dry day too. The whole wiper unit was loose and wobbly. After much trial and error I got them switched off. Told myself that Young Loveheart would sort the problem out. I mentioned it to him. He knew the problem. Could he fix it? Not easily. That's a whole new comms unit that will cost at least £300.

I have asked Bert to buy me a pony and trap.

Social Networking Gone Wrong

When the comedian Russell Brand was married to the pop singer Katy Perry, he took a morning photograph of her that showed her all bleary-eyed, tousle-haired and cosmetic free, and then he posted it on Twitter for all the world to see. It was not a flattering picture. I dare say Brand found it hilarious at that moment but he quickly thought again and took it down. But it was too late. By then the world had got hold of it and Brand had shown us all that Miss Perry looked pretty ordinary without the slap and that he was a first-class pillock. He shouldn't have done it. He betrayed his wife's trust. It's all too easy with instant networking to do the wrong thing, to make a fool of yourself, to trample over your own and other people's privacy.

Like lots of people I have friends on Facebook who aren't really friends. They are people I might have known for a long time that I don't see much of these days, people who I might stand and have a quick chat with if I meet them at the supermarket but not really people I yearn to socialise with. These are people whose numbers are not in my phone. And now I know too much about them.

Take the woman whose husband has left her - she goes on Facebook on a Saturday night, probably with a bottle of wine in her, and she has a ill-written, misspelt rant about him. She is addressing him directly and what she is saying is not for the eyes of  her Facebook friends. They might judge, they might decide that perhaps her ex was well out of it. They might cringe. And afterwards they'd feel soiled that they read this, this thing they never should have read. The next morning the rant was gone but it was too late.

Then today I saw a photograph on Facebook of a woman asleep. Her partner had published it without her knowledge. It was not a flattering picture. It was cruel of her partner to have posted it and I told him so. Soon afterwards I got a private message from him. It was rather cheeky. I used the private messaging to tell him exactly what I thought of his actions then logged out and went to call on a real friend, a friend who wouldn't have a clue what social networking is even though she's only 78 years old. I told myself if my Facebook 'friend' responded to my message in a rude or uncaring manner that I would banish him. I was looking forward to banishing him. When I got back I took a look and he appeared to be repentant. The photograph of his partner had been removed. But it was too late.

He didn't get banished today. But he will.

Yeah, Jackie

This lady will be 91 years old in November and this is a recent photograph. She's had a bit of 'work' done recently. At the very least she has had her lips plumped up.

This is what I think of Jackie Stallone.

Firstly, there is no way I'd ever dream of emulating her. That attention to image and appearance is not something that matters very much to me. But - I truly admire her. I admire her spirit, I admire her tenacity, I admire her lust for life.  Ninety years of age and she is out there, getting work done, getting her face on, living her life. Way, Jackie.

Sunshiney Day, Making Hay

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

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

Later on Martha and Judy had fun playing in the hay

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

Country Living

Old photographs can make an excellent aide-mémoire. Looking at this one from 1992 I realise that we've been living in the country for over two decades now. Miss Hannah was still at primary school (St Mary's in Ballymena, now demolished) and her headmaster, who lived in Portglenone, would pick her up at the end of our lane in a big station wagon crammed to the doors with his own children. Those where the days when child seats were not compulsory and youngsters could bounce around in cars largely unrestrained.

Without this picture I would not have remembered that the last time I made wine was 20 years ago. Unfortunately I don't remember what I made it from or if it was any good but I'm sure it was. I'm sure too that we didn't give it much of an opportunity to mature because 20 years ago I still wasn't fully mature myself. And, it seems, according to my children, I still have some way to go.

The chair Bert is sitting upon and the sofa on which Hannah perches upon a heap of hideous mismatched cushions are long gone. The table is still around. The house that Bert built, and the table I bought for it belong to Clint now and he uses it as a potting bench in one of the poly tunnels.

Guess Where Ireland

The eldest daughter has been sorting out my paper photographs for me. Honestly - I don't know when she gets the time. The other day she presented me with about eight boxes of photos carefully sorted by date. Since then I've been looking through them and I'm often puzzled to who, why or where.

Here are a couple taken when Bert, myself and Danny (the best dog ever) were touring about. Neither of us has a clue where they were taken and Danny is no longer with us, so he cannot help! Any ideas?

Redshank

redshank, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

I moved to Drumtara in 1978. The house was newly built and I was its first tenant. Reader, I had nothing!

Well - I had a child, another on the way, several hundred books, a bed, a toybox full of toys (but that wasn't mine) and a couple of chairs.

Word soon got round that I was in need of household effects and furnishings and friends rallied round to help. I soon had more furniture and bits and pieces than I needed. I never said no and that is a habit I have to this very day.

The house sorted, I began on the garden. I'd never had my own garden before and I was very excited. With help from my father I began to create a lawn for the children to play on. It was hard work breaking the soil, getting the stones and builder's rubble out and raking and finishing. At last Daddy pronounced it ready for sowing and gave me a plastic bag of grass seed. I scattered, sowed and waited with mounting anticipation.

It wasn't long before the first green shoots appeared. At first it was only a light green haze but as the days progressed it became greener and greener. My father came to look at it. There were a lot of areas where the seed hadn't taken. He said, "Don't worry. They'll fill in."

The grass continued to grow. It actually started to look quite lush. Except... except it didn't really look like grass. Daddy said, "Redshank." I was very disappointed. My first attempt at sowing a lawn and I had created a weed patch. A lush and green weed patch but a weed patch all the same. I asked my father what I should do. He said, "Just cut them back, don't let them flower, the grass will come through."

I didn't even have garden shears so I tackled my weed patch with the kitchen scissors. It took a long time and I got blisters. But the grass came through just like Daddy said. Of course the kitchen scissors proved impractical when that needed cutting and I acquired garden shears from somewhere and used them to keep the grass in check. To tell the truth it was never much of a lawn but it was good enough for my children to play on.

Nowadays I have a lawn and a ride on mower and a man to cut the grass for me. It's not the best lawn in the world but it's certainly good enough for my grandchildren to play on.

Fortify Teeth Day!

Happy Birthday Vancouver Brother. He's barely a day older looking than in the picture but, he tells me, his reading choices have moved on.

Fortify Teeth Day - anagram

Martha Martha

Today is my mother's birthday. She would have been 86 years old.

The Big Girl

The Jersey Giant hen that survived the fox attack last Sunday is, by far, the largest of all our chickens. That poor thing has had such a tough week. The attack left her sore and traumatised. It was only last night that she managed to get back on the roost. And all week she has mooched around on her own and hasn't come forward when treats such as chickweed and shot lettuces were on the go. Today has been the first day that she has taken her place with the rest of the girls and rushed to the fore when the specials were offered.  Apart from the bantam cock, Plum, none of our current chickens have names. I think the big girl deserves a name.

Any ideas?

Foxy Bites Off More Than He Can Chew

Foxy invaded the hen run this evening. Bert heard the commotion and got a glimpse of him running off. At first we thought he'd made off with one of the Jersey Giants but then I found her hiding in a hedge, She had a great bare patch at the side of her neck and she was terribly traumatised, Fox had got in under the fence in a spot that had been eroded underneath by the recent incessant rain. He pounced on the big chicken and pulled her under the fence. But because she is heavy and because Bert interrupted him he must have lost his grip and ran off without his chicken supper.

Bert headed out to the fields with the gun but had no joy. Foxy lives to hunt another day. He should have picked a smaller hen. Those Jersey Giants can catch and kill mice and frogs. They wouldn't be much of a match for a full-grown fox so I suspect our vulpine visitor must be one of this year's cubbing.

Tomorrow I must make sure that there are no vulnerable spots around the run. Foxy will be back. That is for sure.

A Night Off

Young Ben thinks Pearlie is perfectly charming and she thinks the same about him. I think my mother-in-law is a witch and not in a good way either.

One of my friends called this afternoon and she had her grandchild with her. I suggested she called in to see Pearlie not realising that Pearlie already had a caller. Hector is a local farmer (and rare visitor) who has known Bert's family for years. So first of all Pearlie pretends not to recognise my friend although she has known her for a very long time. OK – it has been over a year since she's been round but they moved house and life does get in the way. Then Pearlie announced to everyone that she was hungry and she had not been given anything to eat all day. This was not true and I told her so. I also told her that only an hour before I had risen from weeding vegetables and said to Bert I was going in to get Pearlie her afternoon meal. He told me he'd taken care of it, she'd said she wanted nothing but a cup of tea but he'd brought her a bowl of strawberries. Pearlie scoffed, “One strawberry! That's not very much!” So there were the visitors thinking that all Pearlie had been given to eat that day was one small strawberry. I checked this with Bert later. She had been offered a bowl of strawberries chopped into small pieces.

It's not the first time the mother-in-law has done this. It's a common occurrence when she has callers that she'll tell them we don't feed her. She told her social worker the other week that she'd had no breakfast and that the carer had given her stale bread for her lunch because that's probably all there was. That was the same day I informed the social worker it was time to draw a line under that part of Pearlie's care plan as that particular carer had served bread set aside for the chickens. That same blade couldn't carry a cup of tea from the scullery to Pearlie's room without spilling it everywhere. These women get paid more than waitresses and some of them cannot serve tea and bread and butter without fucking it up.

I had a word with Pearlie. Told her that I was not happy that she'd make these untrue announcements when people were in. She was unrepentant. I haven't seen her since. A night off seems like a good idea.

Bert said to her,

I hear Nelly told you she'll not be seeing you until tomorrow?

She replied,

Apparently. Reach me my cardigan.

Ben and Bert sorted out her supper after I reminded them. Ben gave her a hug and said to Bert,

Hug your Mum.

Ben told me about this. And I was really happy she'd had cuddles from the two boys. Even though she is a witch.