28th July 2015

There are only 365.25 days in a year so it's not that great a coincidence when folk share birthdays, anniversaries and so on. Even so,  at 20 years old, I was quite taken that my new boyfriend and my mother shared the same birth date.

Forty-two years later my mum has gone, the new boyfriend is an ex-husband and still a friend. We have between us, three daughters, two grand-daughters and a grandson. Today is Mick and Matty's birthday. For the first time in decades he is here in Northern Ireland and staying with us for a couple of days. He's had a lovely day and said as much on Facebook. Today he went to Belfast Zoo with his partner Linda, his two lovely daughters, his two lovely grand-daughters and Fergus. Zoe made him a cake. Tonight he and Linda are here with me and we're watching TV and generally having a nice time.

Matty would be delighted. She was very fond of Mick. Last night I was sorting out a few things and I came across her handbag, the handbag she used for the last year of her life and a gift from me. We got it in an outlet centre in Antrim. For some reason it ended up here and it was a couple of years before I could even open it. It contains a purse full of euros, all her various cards and this photograph. It was taken not long before she died. It's not even a proper photograph, just a sample from some Photobox pictures that Zoe ordered.

Martha Amy is in the foreground, the only one of her great-grandchildren she ever got to meet, and she is wearing a crazy hat that Matty knitted, And that would be one of the last things Matty ever made. I wonder where it is now? Some one of us will be treasuring it I'm sure, just as I treasure her handbag which is in the picture, sitting at her right hand.

Ah Matty. Missing you still. Happy birthday Mum.

Mick's birthday card

Saturday Night, Sunday Morning

It appears to be after midnight. I prepped white currants, raspberries and gooseberries for the freezer as I watched two episodes of The Newsroom. I could have named this post Sticky Fingers.

Things that occurred today -

1. It was Sweet Baby James' one week old anniversary. Judging by the photographs his parents send he appears to be fairly contented with his life so far. Six more sleeps 'til I set eyes on the little blighter.

2. I was rude and cutting to one caller today because he stood too close to me as I was weeding. I ordered him to back out of my personal space and he threatened to sit on my knee so obviously I told him that I'd stab him  with my secateurs if he even dared. He stepped back.  A very wise move.

3. While I was in the fruit garden I spotted a swarm in an apple tree. Bert donned protective gear and knocked it into a yellow bucket. He then decanted them into a nuc. They all marched in then, finding their new quarters not to their pleasing, marched right out again and set up home in the yellow bucket. Bert decanted them into the nuc again and, fingers crossed, there they stayed. This swarm was from afar. Last week our own bees swarmed and although Bert tried to persuade them into another box they refused to stay and bogged off.

The Cutting Kind

My youngest daughter writes a blog  entitled The Palace of Heavenly Pleasure and she has recently been writing pen portraits about the people in her life. Most recently she wrote about her mother and it was most interesting to me. This was my favourite part,

...Nelly is one of the kindest people on the planet. She is intelligent, sharp and witty but she could cut you like a knife. And she'd have no qualms about doing so. 

If I read that about someone else I'd be intrigued. Kind and cutting. I like it. I want very much to live up to that description. This blog needs lots more kindness and cutting remarks. It also needs more updating.

The week before last I could barely settle to write as we were all waiting for Katkin to give birth and then after Sweet Baby James arrived there was so much to do in the garden to get ready for my two weeks in England being Mary Poppins that by the time I finished for the night I was too tired to write anything. Only seven more sleeps now until I see him.

Until then I'll try to write more and will also endeavour to be more cutting.

So here goes,

I really love this time of year because there is so much to do in the garden. I particularly like picking fruit and preparing it for the freezer. What better way to bear the inconvenience of boring visitors than having a nice bowl of white currants or gooseberries to top and tail as they witter on.

Now these particular visitors tell me that they don't 'do social media' so I'm banking on this never being seen by them. Oh I do hope they don't stumble upon it. That's my kind side coming through.

The Good Life

Fruit picking season has begun. It's been a damp summer and there have been better strawberries but the currants and gooseberries have been great. I haven't even started on the blackcurrants yet. We moved the hens in with the fruit bushes. It's a smaller run than they had before but Foxy has two fences to get through to get at them and so far he hasn't managed it. There is a new rooster in with the chickens. He is still a baby and the girls are being very hard on him. He came from an egg farm, one of the very few males that got through the vetting process. He was used to thousand of chickens and anonymity. Now he's the centre of attention and spends most days skulking under blackcurrant bushes waiting to be attacked.

I'm spending the evenings preparing the fruit for the freezer as I watch episodes of  The Newsroom. Last week was an anxious one as we were all waiting for Katkin to give birth. She was due a week ago today and he arrived yesterday and he's a darling. That's three beautiful grandchildren we have now. Life is good.

A Week Goes By

On Mondays I usually make supper for Martha, Evie and their parents. Last Monday Hannah came too. Of course everyone brings their dogs so we had three extra hounds knocking about. So - one husband, two adult children, two grandchildren, their dad, six dogs and two cats. I made creamed sweetcorn soup, Hannah made a selection of sandwiches. There was a crumble made from our own rhubarb and raspberries.  For the topping I use Nigella's recipe for gooseberry-cream crumble but I cut down on the sugar. She's heavy handed with the sugar is Nigella. The girls don't like crumble, even though mine is delicious so they had home made ice lollies made from apples/blackcurrants and carrots/orange. Freshly squeezed juice of course. Sometimes I even impress myself.

On Tuesday I did not do very much. Bit of gardening, bit of wine making, bit of housework. I have also been catching up on Channel 4's Humans. Most enjoyable.

Wednesday was much the same as Tuesday.

On Thursday morning I received the girls for a sleepover. The family were heading off to Connemara on a 'tenting' holiday so I offered to keep the wee darlings until the Friday evening to give their parents a chance to pack and prepare in peace. I had also arranged for three other children to spend the afternoon. They call it a play-date. So – one husband, one young mum, five little girls, three dogs and two cats. It was all very pleasant if a tad exhausting. Foolishly I stayed up far too late and was wakened at a quarter past three when war broke out. Evie had kicked Martha awake and there was quite a row. It was four before I got back to sleep and at ten past seven Martha was standing beside my bed expecting her breakfast. I stayed tired all day.

Martha spent part of Friday morning devising a barrier that would prevent Evie from kicking her as they slept. She brought a guard rail from the attic and put it in the middle of the bed. They both tried it out but it was deemed impractical. She asked Bert if he could make a fence for the middle of the bed and he suggested bringing in the electric fencing unit but she didn't like that idea. My suggestion, that they sleep in separate rooms did not go down well either. Because they were going to be presented to their parents at seven that evening fed, bathed, coiffed, pyjamas on and teeth cleaned, I let them run around unwashed and unbrushed the entire day. Of course this meant that I couldn't take them anywhere but as they had found and demolished Bert's chocolate stash they were totally grounded anyway.

Before I left them into their parents Martha took one last dash into the hen run to look for eggs. I never thought to check her. So I delivered two sparkling clean and shiny children to their grateful parents and first thing Martha does is upstairs to greet her Daddy and spreads chickenshit on every step of the staircase. Oops! Failed again.

On Saturday the Banjos came. With their dogs and their banjo. Later on Hannah and Gus turned up. One husband, four adults, a teenager, six dogs and two cats. Hannah lit the pot-bellied stove in the tree house and that's where we socialised, sang, played music and drank wine. Five of the dogs joined us. Not Roy, he doesn't do stairs. There was one disaster. The hen house door blew closed and the hens all went to roost under the blackcurrant bushes. We managed to find eight of them but Madam Black II was still at large. It's not easy finding a black hen in a blackcurrant bush in the dark. We left her to take her chances.

This morning, Sunday, there she was waiting patiently outside the hen house for her chums to join her. There are usually a couple of dogs watching me from the other side of the gate as I carry out my morning chicken duties. This morning there were six of them. Watching my every move.

Rethinking Foxes

I encouraged Bert to go visit Paddy in the Old Folk's Home today as I needed to get my head showered.

Getting one's head showered features in this Van Morrison number. It's a Northern Ireland thing.

He took the dogs with him (not Roy) as he intended to take a long walk afterwards. When he got back he told me he'd walked the fields around Maxwellswalls where his mother's people had come from. He started off at his mother's home place. It's not being farmed now and has turned in to a beautiful wilderness. He spotted one lizard, ten hares (he counted them as the dogs raised them) and an old dog fox with raggedy ears.

While he was communing with nature on the land his family once owned (they don't any more and there hangs an interesting tale) I weeded, planted vegetable and annual flower plugs, home grown. An enjoyable evening indeed. When Bert returned he was excited to tell me about the critters he had seen. He also reported that the dogs had got very excited about the hares but had taken the fox in their stride.

I've been rethinking foxes. After the last raids on our chickens, six lost altogether, I was raging, got Bert to keep the gun handy in case the cheeky bastard turned up in the yard or round about. Although we both had misgivings as it was cubbing season. An adult fox killed can mean slow starvation for the young ones. Then last Monday I spotted a fox cub dead at the side of the road, close to our lane. For some crazy reason I dwelt on it all day. And then I thought about foxes for the rest of the week. This is my conclusion. Foxes are just pesky but they deserve to have their lives. If they get my chickens it is because I'm not looking after them properly. I'm going to try very hard to keep the run fox proof and if one of my feather-brained flock jumps the fence because she just hates to lay her eggs along with the other hens and Foxy finds her, well, that's just one of those things. Foxes just be foxy, chickens be stupid and humans just need to make the best fences they can. Ours don't have the huge run they did before. They have an enclosure within an enclosure but it is still a lot bigger than most chickens enjoy.

Long run the fox. And I really mean that.

Interestingly Ganching has also been blogging about foxes.

A Walk By The Bann

Umbrella

Martha has always had a keen interest in umbrellas

Apparently we are to expect a heatwave. Hopefully it will arrive by Thursday when Hannah and I are taking the Misses Martha and Evie to Portrush on the train. Martha is very excited because she knows that Barry's Amusements are in Portrush. I had to give her a little talk about this as she believes that Grannys and Aunts have unlimited pocketfuls and bagfuls and lorry loads of coins and flat money (notes) and that any unwillingness on our parts to part with this is just inexplicable perversity.

So I told her that we would be bringing a packed lunch, and that we would have just one ice cream and that all the rest of our money would be spent in Barry's going on dodgems, carousels and other exciting rides. We would definitely not be going into shops to buy pink tat.

For I made a mistake last Thursday after I met Martha from the school bus and she had no coat. This was unfortunate as I was expecting her to walk to the town centre with me so I could collect my new spectacles. She fretted about getting her pony tail wet because Mummy had plaited it so it would go all crinkly and if it got rained on the crinkles would come out. I thought the crinkles had already come out but I didn't like to say.

Never mind,

says I...

If it gets too rainy I'll buy you an umbrella.

It was just a light remark but you could almost hear her brain whirring into gear. She didn't hear idle words. She heard a solemn promise. She was fixated. I tried to fob her off with a magazine but she was having none of it. But I could buy Evie a magazine. Into a newsagents we marched and she spent long minutes deciding which magazine Evie (she) would like. Then it was off to the Tower Centre. I knew there was a bargain shop in there that might sell children's umbrellas and so there was. Pink ones. The Frozen characters, Elsa and the other one. Plastic. Tat. Five pounds. In no time at all I'd spent nearly eight pounds on nonsense. The girls didn't see it like that, Evie was as thrilled with her magazine as Martha was with her umbrella and sure, it's only money. It grows on trees.

Back to Buts

Back to buts was a frequent Mattyism. It meant a return to the usual. Bert is back from Spain and things are beginning to get back to normal. He had a lovely time and brought the girls some souvenir flamenco dresses. I think they are the dressing up equivalent of the big straw donkeys that holiday makers used to bring back from Spanish holidays. Now that baggage space on planes is so restricted there will be little demand for that sort of article.

There was great excitement at Clint's place today. He got a big swarm of bees landed on one of his bushes. Bert was called on to gather them up. This is the third swarm Clint's had in a month and he had no use for it. Swarming bees tend to be quiet so, as usual, he braved it without his beekeeping suit. And it worked out for him. No stings. When he returned he decided to check his own hive and donned the protective gear. Our hives are Irish black bees and they always seem to be very angry. The minute he went into the hive they attacked him. One stung him on the Adam's apple and he got four on his hands. I was pulling the sting out of his  neck and asked him,

What happened there?

I hadn't my gloves on.

How did they get you get stung on the neck? 

I hadn't fastened the jacket up. I thought it would be all right if I was quick about it.

It's never all right with those bees. You're an eedgit.

Ah Bert. He's great entertainment value. It's good to have him back.

Home Alone: Days 5 and 6

I swapped child minding days with the co-grandparents so I could attend my post cataract procedure check up today. So yesterday Hannah and I took Evie to lunch in Cafe Couture then off for a browse at a Harryville charity shop. I gave Evie a two pound coin to spend and she slotted it into a toy drum machine and that was the end of that. Despite our turning the machine upside down many times and Hannah inserting her weird long fingers into the machine's inner working the coin stayed put. I advised the shop manager that the £3 price sticker on the gadget should now be upped to £5.

Off to the hospital today for a 4pm appointment. I was there for three hours and found myself sitting next to the same man that I sat next to on the day of the procedure. We swapped notes. Seems we are both doing great. Thankfully the surgeon agreed. I discovered the reason why things were taking so long for he was teaching a student and was taking enough time to ensure that she was benefiting from the experience. A lovely man. So I was there for a long time and so what? Once again I got to see what is wonderful about the National Health Service. And I've been flagged as 'urgent' for the left eye cataract.


Not a word from the holiday maker but thanks to Jazzer and the immediacy of Facebook I've seen three photographs. Her camera isn't very good but it seems that he is covered in mosquito bites and looks really sad as if he is totally missing Jess and Judy. The poor man.

Home Alone: Days 3 and 4

When I woke up yesterday I felt pleased to know that Martha, Evie, their parents and their dogs were coming to spend the afternoon and have supper with me. Solitude makes a fine relish for Company. It was another warm day so all doors were open and my own three dogs and the four guest dogs were free to come and go as they pleased. Why it pleased two of them to go upstairs and piss and shit I do not know. How did I know that there were two guilty parties? Simple. The poo (Frank? Ziggy?) was very small and the pee (Jess? Judy?) was very large. Is it any wonder that my eldest grandchild, the owner of a sharp tongue, described this house as 'decorated in dirt'.

There were visitors expected in the evening, although they were probably coming to see the dogs rather than me. They cancelled so that left me another solitary evening with only the four dogs, two cats, a glass of carrot wine and the last episode of Game of Thrones for solace. The animals were mostly nuisances, barking at every shadow and, before the supper table was cleared, I found a dog and a cat standing on the kitchen table licking plates! Hang your furry heads in shame Jess and Fred.

Game of Thrones. It was action packed from the start and with a lot left hanging. I watched it 'on eggs' as I'd heard that something really big (bad) was going to happen and I feared for all my favourite characters. Yet they made it or I hope they did. The big ending did not disappoint at all for he was a pious, goody-goody, Belfast-dissing jerk. Sorry Naoise.

So here I am on Day 4. I'm having an avocado for my lunch and I might bake biscuits.

Home Alone: Day 2

I have started talking to the dogs and I only saw one person today. Well, there was actually about six more as, for some unknown reason, two car loads of people landed on the yard looking for a house that did not exist. One was a driving instructor's car the other was a civilian. I have no idea what they were up to but the pack of barking dogs certainly discouraged them from leaving their vehicles.

Apart from this one thing I had a lovely lonesome day. I bottled wine (blackcurrant and apple) and I gardened. And the gardening was where I screwed up. There was this heavy stone sink. Last year it contained some pretty yellow crocosmia, Emily McKenzie, I think. This year I thought I'd put geraniums (pelargoniums) in it. But it was in the wrong place. I needed it to be 8 foot further to the right. I lifted it and moved it and tried to take care but it was too heavy and now I have hurt my back. Stupido. Hopefully it will be better tomorrow.

Home Alone: Day 1

I woke up just after six a.m. and actually got up! There had been no word from Bert so I assume he had been allowed on the early morning plane that was taking him on a holiday to Majorca where Jazzer had rented a villa for the week.

So now I am home alone with only four dogs (Jazzer's dog is staying), two cats, two pigs, nine chickens and seven bastes. Bastes are what old-fashioned country folk call cattle. I don't have to do much with the cattle except keep an eye on Evil Edna and the bull.

Which one is Evil Edna?

The one with the long tail.

Apart from collecting the Guardian at the local garage I never left the house and it was bliss. No callers apart from Hector back and forth all day lifting hay. I gardened and made an omelette for lunch using the elephant garlic scapes that Les gave me for flavouring. It included the German salami we got from Bilrus and three kinds of tomatoes I also made a carrot and pepper soup this evening so am eating properly. So far.

 4 lbs of blackberries found in the freezer

I started a blackberry wine and bottled an elderberry wine. There was about a pint left over. When Les called round to water his garlic I shared it with him. Am now feeling very tired due to my early start and a busy day. One episode of The Newsroom a glass of wine and a bath and I shall retire.

One Week Later

Taken just after the first attack. Three more would fall victim to Bastard Fox.

Part of the reason I write this blog is to remind myself what is going on in my life. When did I have the cataract operation? Look it up on the blog. Just over four weeks ago. When was the last time the fox got into the hen run? That would be in July 2012, and in the month of May 2008 and 2009. The May attacks were bad ones and, like this year, would most likely have been carried out by an adult fox with cubs to feed. We thought that the 2012 attack was a junior for on that occasion the hen survived.

This time we lost five in three separate incidents. Reminds me of Lady Bracknell for to lose two is unfortunate, five seems careless. Here's what happened. We kept them in the day after the first two were attacked. Foxy was interrupted and only got a bite or two of the rooster. Bert sprayed the weeds and brambles around the fence to see where it needed reinforcement. That was going to take a day or two to sort out. The day after I felt so sorry for them not getting out to forage and grub that I let them out and put Rusty and Lily in with them to deter Foxy. That worked. Foxy was not going to go into an enclosure with two great pigs in it. Had he done so I am certain that the pigs would have not paid him a bit of attention. I've mentioned before that pigs are rough and they managed to dislodge part of the chicken shed. It was the part that provided an escape route under the house. Two hens disappeared. We heard or saw absolutely nothing. I assume they went into the tangled undergrowth that lies between our place and the derelict, overgrown property next door. Where a fox was waiting. We were down to ten hens.

I had a plan. We would move them back to the old run, the one that no fox had entered for three years. We would do it on the following day after I had returned from some business in Ballymena and after a thorough inspection of the perimeter. Bert was in a hurry to get it done and persuaded me to move them before I left. He said he had sorted out the perimeter himself. With the help of a friend we moved the ten hens to their new home and I headed into town. Three hours later I returned to the news that the fox had got in and killed one of my favourite chickens, a big silvery grey girl.

The remaining nine have been closed in ever since and I feel so sorry for them. Bert is going away next week and there is not enough time to strengthen security. We'll get something sorted when he comes back.

He saw the brute yesterday at the edge of the wood. It gave him a cool stare. The gun was in the house.

Ten Years Ago Today

1952

Today is the 10th anniversary of my father's death. 

Heading out to a wedding

Apart from their wedding photographs there appear to be very few pictures of my parents in their younger days. I wondered why that should be. Perhaps it was because they were in charge of the camera and any photographs taken would be of us. I'm sure I can remember Daddy not being keen on having his photograph taken and would only submit on special occasions such as weddings. There were lots of weddings. Between them our parents had more than fifty nieces and nephews.

Of course when we grew up we were always taking photographs of them. As you can see Daddy found it hard to take it seriously. He was probably saying something like, "What are you taking pictures for you fool idiot!" As time went on he learned to accept his children's desire to document his existence.

 I wanted to take this picture in the garden. By then Seamus wasn't that mobile but he was prepared to oblige. Times had changed.

This picture was taken on the day of my sister Deirdre's wedding. It was a year or so after Daddy's stroke. He wasn't able to walk my sister up the aisle so Matty did the honours. It is almost painful to look at these images, to see how failed he had become. But there is joy in it too because of the love that they still had for each other.

Eleven months later I went to visit Matty. We had planned a jaunt to Magherafelt and a visit to Daddy in his care home. She visited him five to six times a week. Every chance she got. We got in the car and I said,

Magherafelt first or Daddy first?

She said,

Magherafelt first.

We spent an hour in Magherafelt and then back to Randalstown to visit with Daddy.

I remember I used to fuss over him a lot when we visited. But on this occasion I just kissed him hello then sat back on a sofa while Mammy sat close to him. I spent some of my time in idle conversation with another resident. But mostly I just watched them. Daddy seemed more responsive than usual. She was talking quietly to him, he was listening intently. They were touching each other on the arms and hands. After about thirty minutes she said we would go. I went over, kissed him, said, "See you soon." She said her goodbyes too. In the car, on the way home I said,

That was a lovely visit.

She agreed.

I left her home and went home myself. Got changed into gardening clothes and then the phone rang. It was the care home.

I got to see Daddy sooner than I expected and for the last time.

There are a lot of people who believe in angels. I'm not one of them. Except for this day ten years ago. It must have been an angel who guided me to that sofa, six feet away from my mother and father as they spent a part of their very last day together loving each other.

Murder in the Chicken Run

When a rooster flies at you and puts his spurs into your leg, you notice it. This fellow was a big heavy lad and he ruled the roost. I'm going to miss hearing him crow tomorrow morning.

Yep! Foxy got into the hen run this evening, killed my beautiful rooster and one of the new chickens. He (or she)  dug a way under the fence from the garden of the derelict house next door. He'd already killed the big fellow and was making off with the hen. Bert gave chase and Foxy was unable to get his prize under the fence. So he didn't get his dinner. Bert had to pull the poor hen's neck as she wasn't completely dead.

I miss my lost roosters more than my hens. They may not lay eggs but they have bigger characters. I need to get another one and I need to make sure the damnable fox doesn't find it so easy to get into the run. Bert went out with the gun but saw no sign of it. I'm in two minds about killing them because I'd be thinking of hungry cubs. And Evie wouldn't be pleased. She's in the fox camp.

And from Hannah's perspective - this.

Photo by ZMB

Hunger's Mother

I was mopping the kitchen floor when Bert called from the depths of his man cave,

Is there anything instant that I could have for lunch?

And he'd only had his breakfast an hour before.

I replied,

Yeah. There's lots of things.

What like?

A wide range of ready to eat meals.

Where?

The Spar.

Once again I explained ingredients to him. Eggs, bacon, potato bread, tomatoes. A small fry. He's making it right now. It's not that he minds preparing food. He just cannot bear to think about it. He'll probably have pickles with his fry.

An Interesting Day

Today I met up  with Grannymar for a coffee and a stroll around the Castle Grounds in Antrim. It's been six years since we had a real life meeting and there's been a lot of water under the bridge since then but my fellow blogger hadn't changed a bit. One of the very many great things about blogfriends is that many years can go by but you still pick up just where you left off.

On the way home I called with two of Matty's oldest friends, sisters-in-law who live next door to each other. Both are doing great and that was good to see. I also got to meet one of the sweetest and most lovable toddlers I've come across in a long time.

I got home later than I expected to find Bert in a fainting condition, weak from hunger and wondering had I brought home anything to eat. He always asks this whenever I've been out for more than an hour. There are two things he has yet to absorb and they are firstly, when I go out to meet people socially food shopping never enters my head and secondly, there is always lots of food in the house. He never asked me a single question about my day just lamented that all he'd had to eat since breakfast was an egg and a slice of wheaten bread. There was no other food in the house.

Of course he was wrong about this. There were the usual staples, bread, beans, tinned fish, home made rhubarb tart, cauliflower cheese etc. I took him by the hand and pointed at the big door under the fridge.

See this Bert. It's not just a big box to hold the fridge up. If you open the door and pull these drawers out there are all sorts of things in there.

He said,

I would never think of looking in there.

He got quite excited about some fish fingers and a bag of frozen peas so I left him to it. Then he was off out to his music night and left me to dine on my own which was fine as I'd eaten at Anna's just before I got home. Another reason why food shopping wasn't on my mind.

But before I thought of food I started a rhubarb wine and bottled a damson and blackcurrant. It was when I was pulling frozen rhubarb out of the big chest freezer that I noticed a few boxes of dinnerish stuff and pulled one out at random with no notion of what it might be. Whatever it was I reckoned it might go well with pasta. So that was my dinner, A bit of pasta languishing in the store cupboard, lying in an almost empty packet, the dubious thing from the depths of the freezer and the dregs at the bottom of the damson and blackcurrant wine flagon. It turned out to be chicken and mushrooms in tomato sauce and it wasn't bad at all. And I got to feel virtuous by 'using things up'. Bert would rather have died of hunger than eat it. I wonder if that is why he is thin and I am not.

Managing His Man Cave

One of my daily chores was tidying and wiping the coffee table in Bert's man cave. And every day, as I carried out this one-minute job, I'd find myself feeling a bit resentful. Thinking...

Bert never lifts as much as a spoon!

I'm always lifting and laying after  him!

I bet if I stopped cleaning up after him he'd soon notice!

Then I thought,

I will just stop cleaning this table for a week and I'll document it every day and we'll just see how bad it gets.

So I did stop cleaning it and, much to my surprise, Bert did bring dishes to the kitchen and he even emptied ashtrays. The table stayed much the same throughout the week. Apart from Wednesday morning, the day after he had his mates around for a music session. That was the fourth picture along. He never even noticed that I wasn't clearing and wiping his table every day. I wiped it this morning and it was a little grubbier than usual but that meant it was more satisfying to wipe down.

So, there you go. A daily chore has become a weekly one and I don't have to be resentful any more. It's only a table in a man cave.

A Funeral for a Bullfinch

Thursday rolls around again and today we had three collections. First was Ben, just finished the very first of his GCSEs. Bert collected him, took him for a hearty breakfast, then they both picked Evie up from playgroup.

She arrived back here in very bad form. Apparently there had been some sort of difficulty with a boy named Kai. It must have been bad for she was inconsolable for at least ten minutes. He had 'noyed' her by looking at her from under the table. Doesn't sound like much but a three-year-old looks at the world differently than we do. Cuddles, a sausage roll, red sauce and a glass of milk set her on her feet again.

We sorted out the hens, collected eggs and passed the time very pleasantly until it was time to collect Martha from school. We all checked out a charity shop in Harryville where I bought a bunch of books for 60p, some bright pink Crocs for £1 (real ones and I promise I'll only wear them for gardening) and the girls added to the dressing up box.

We weren't long back when Bert discovered this poor bullfinch that had flown into one of the sun room windows. That meant there had to be - A Funeral.

Martha collects the poor wee thing in an environmentally friendly open casket - half an egg box. Sort of appropriate, eggs, birds....

 Ben was chief grave-digger. Note girls' tragic stance. Note Young Loveheart's dog Phoenix, a part of the funeral party. Our dogs did not attend.

Left alone at the grave side, Phoenix cannot help wondering why perfectly good food has been buried in the ground and a piece of concrete slab placed on it. Little does she know that the slab is there to prevent her from digging the bird up.

The girls lay flowers on the grave while Phoenix watches. I have to say that her owner was almost as bemused as she by the proceedings. I had to explain to Young Loveheart that the game of Playing Funerals is useful for helping young children to accept the cycle of life and death.

The posy that the girls gathered. I think it looks very pretty even though it too will soon wither and die.

Thursday is turning out to be Nellybert's favourite day of the week.