I Assumed He Knew What He Was Doing

I've just been out to close in the hens and their shed appears to be on fire! Thankfully it wasn't.

I spoke to Hannah.

Do you realise he's got a bonfire going a metre from the hen house?

Yeah. I assumed he knew what he was doing.

Bert spoke to me.

Why are you taking pictures?

So if the hen house burns down I can blog about it.

Sure, what do you know about bonfires?

Not much. I've little experience of them. It wasn't me burned down next door's garage*.  Anyway, stop adding stuff to it.

I thought you wanted this area cleared.

Me? Not really. Think of all the poor wee invertebrates dying in there. They thought they were living their best lives. 

That stung. I could see the look of regret on his face. He'd forgotten about the beetles and earthworms etc. I was nearly sorry I'd brought it up.

Anyways, I decided not to close the hens in after all, just in case.

A Postscript

* For fear of retribution Bert did not admit that sixteen years ago, on a very windy evening a stray ember from one of his bonfires might well have blown over to the derelict property beside us. It might have settled in the eaves of the garage (stacked with empty and half-empty paint tins). Maybe there was an old bird's nest in there, that caught alight,  maybe it dropped to the floor, found some dry timber, started a blaze.

Doesn't matter now, especially since that garage has since been demolished by a passing vandal with a mini-digger. We'll never know. It's a mystery.

Now there are rumours that the property has been bought by a developer in which case we might eventually have close neighbours. Ugh! Bert says,

You never know. They might be the best neighbours in the world. 

Frothy Goat Deity

 Happy Birthday, Zoë. 

Conversation with Martha at the supper table.

Granny, remember how your cakes used to be like biscuits?

I do. I remember you telling me so.

How come they're not flat any more?

Your mother told me about baking powder.

Previous birthday cakes that demonstrate varying levels of flatness.

Tired

I have just got out of bed and am still feeling tired

Such a busy, busy week but not so busy to justify having to go to bed at 5 o'clock on a Sunday evening. The weariness had come upon me an hour earlier and by five o'clock  I just couldn't take it anymore. It had been a very pleasant afternoon doing some light gardening chores, seed collection, watering tubs and cutting back perennials. Then exhaustion hits. Is this it? I'm still in my sixties and am seriously depleted of energy. 

It was a full week. I went to a wake on Monday morning. My Aunt Bernie, Uncle Shaun's wife, a strong and steadfast woman, widowed for almost 50 years.

In the afternoon  I cooked for family - then on Tuesday went to the funeral which took a full day.

On Wednesday I went to Ikea with Jazzer. we made a mistake, we should have gone straight to the marketplace. Both of us knew what we wanted - and we did not need that energy-sapping zig-zag through the showroom.

Thursday was the girls. I took them for breakfast at Middletown and spent a small fortune on things that were supposed to be breakfast food but were basically luxurious desserts. That was them. I had bacon and tomato on sourdough. Back home I had a bit of housework to do as I was expecting Leitrim Sister, her hubby and her mother-in-law (another inspirational 90-something) coming off a late flight from Corfu. I stayed up until they arrived. Odd thing for me these days as I'm usually in bed before 11pm. 

Friday morning was my Corfu visitors then some other people dropped in. I think I might have watched three episodes of the final season of Breaking Bad. That was it. I was weary.

On Saturday I took lots of butterfly pictures. Small tortoiseshell are the leading lights this season, peacocks second and red admirals are scarce. They were all feeding at a bunch of buddleias that Bert didn't sell this year. I think I'll be planting most of those in the garden, Between our profusion of nettle patches and our buddleia we are quite the butterfly haven. 

Then Bert went out for an afternoon gig in Ahoghill and I didn't. Swisser called around for a couple of hours and we thoroughly depressed ourselves talking about the state of the world and the state of Liz Truss. Did I mention that Leitrim Sister brought Gin, Tracey brought Port and Swisser Prosecco? Bert asked, 

'D'ye think people think you're a lush?'

I did not respond.

Later on, I drank some port, finished watching Breaking Bad and started watching El Camino.

I finished watching El Camino this morning. I wonder if it is Vince Gilligan that exhausts me so?

15 Years Ago - Rosie & Pearlie Got Sore Paws

Between one thing and another Bert has had a tough week. There has been a lot going on with Pearlie (she broke her wrist) and we’ve been trying to get more help from social services. On Friday, between arranging to take Pearlie to A&E and meeting with her social worker, those dirty, rotten, scunging devil-dogs gave him the slip for the first time in a fortnight. We do try to keep them from running off but they know when we’re distracted and pick their moment well.

About three hours into his hospital sit, Bert got a phone call from Alber’,

Your Paddy is running about the Lisnahuncheon Road and he’s that black with glaar you’d hardly know it was him!

There was nothing Bert could do until he got home. He went out as soon as he’d eaten and managed to gather Paddy up but Rosie was nowhere to be seen.

Paddy was in a really funny mood. He didn’t want to get into the van and when I got a hold of him he pissed himself.

We waited patiently for Rosie to return. Bert had to go out and at 8pm I set off to look for her. Up the Loan Hill, Killyless Road, Lisnahuncheon – I called for her until I was hoarse but no Rosie.

When Bert got back he went out too but wasn’t able to find her either. I was really worried thinking that she might have been hurt, or shot, maybe put her shoulder out again – something must have happened to her.

Next morning I was out again, mainly checking the roads in case she’d been hit by a car. I brought an old towel with me to wrap her in if I found her body.

At 8.30am Bert went out. Fifteen minutes later I heard him coming back. I knew he’d found her but whether dead or alive I didn’t know. But as soon as I saw him get out of the car and head for the boot I knew she was alive. His body language told me.

The poor bedraggled thing had caught her front paw in a snare and had lay in a hedge the entire night. Bert returned to the place where he’d found Paddy, walked into a field and went straight to her. He said she wagged her wet, scraggy tail when she saw him. In took a while to get the snare off but amazingly her leg wasn’t too badly hurt at all. It was swollen but started going down within an hour. She had a feed, a big drink of water and jumped on to the sofa for a serious wound-licking session. Then she slept for the rest of the day.

She’s still resting today and has only chased the cat a couple of times.

And what of Pearlie? She’s enjoying a week’s stay in residential care. She could only get a week, and so far she says it’s not too bad. She says the food is ‘alright’, the other women are ‘a bit odd’ and there’s a man she’s got her eye on. She asked Bert if he’d mind her taking up with a boy and he said he wouldn’t as long as he was a decent sort of a boy.

An Update

 Day 35 after the first fall, 15 days since the second. I've learned that this tumbling to the ground lark is not an uncommon experience for us older folk. At the moment I've two sisters recovering from falls. Kerry Sister calls it 'timbering' as when a tree falls to the ground. Both sisters have urged me to seek out physio. I think they're right. The oul' 'pig' knee got twisted in the second cowping* session and that has (I think) resulted in an arthritis flare-up. 

It doesn't bother me that much when I'm up and about but it does keep me awake at night. I haven't had a full night's sleep for over a week now and that is horrible. I shall probably speak to my GP next week to see if anything can be done.

Apart from all that I'm happy enough, enjoying the company of young folk and the antics of Pippin the kitten and Lulu from Leitrim. Then next week, all being well, I'm having a day out with Jazzer, my first day out in nearly six weeks.

*Cowp - Ulster-Scots, fall over.

Ten Years On - Making Hay

 A post from ten years ago.

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 the hay - the old-fashioned way, the way Daddy used to do it. A good day.

5 Things I Did Last Week

1. Got rather cock-a-hoop about how well I was getting over The Fall. And they do say that pride goes before a fall. 

2. Entertained Bert's third cousins and was such a delightful host that I may never come down from the buzz. Neither will the cousins.

3. Became somewhat despondent when three days ago I Fell Again. This time I tripped over my own Merrell Mocs and fell a rattle onto my right side. Got a spectacularly bruised toe, a slightly grazed elbow and fucked up my knee. Back on the crutch for a couple of days. Silver lining - Bert was very kind to me and admitted later that it was because this time, it wasn't his fault.

4. Bought pre-loved Merrell Mocs on eBay. The old ones, the ones I tripped over, were worn to rallops.

5. Started watching (for the second time) Breaking Bad.

Hopefully, next week, I'll be able to list ten things. Life is quiet these days.

Pippin and Fred

The very popular Pippin continues to make her presence felt at Nellybert's. Everyone likes her. Martha and Evie are delighted with her and weigh her on every visit. She is putting on those grammes at an incredible rate. And no wonder as her appetite is very good.

Hannah has her for a couple of hours every evening. Pippin is her therapy kitten, helping her to relax after complicated and stressful working days. Even Fred seems to tolerate her.

I make sure to feed them together with Fred getting his bowl first. He is the senior cat. We had our doubts about the two of them getting on, as his relationship with our previous cat was never good. Holly took against him from the first moment she saw him and that animosity continued until she died. We always knew they were in each other's vicinity when we heard the growls and hisses.

I can see that things will be different with Pippin. She is fascinated with Freddie and follows him around. I think he is beginning to like her.

Sharing a bed while keeping a respectful distance.

 

Holly and Fred really did not like each other.

Apart from catty stuff life is quiet around here. I'm still feeling the effects of the fall but am much more mobile. Yet not mobile enough to have a good go at the garden or go for a day out in the city. I'm able to potter about and carry out tasks that do not involve too much walking, kneeling or climbing. I can drive but I only feel up to short journeys. Things can only get better. 

Birthday Memories

It's our mother's birthday today. Were she alive she'd be ninety-six . 

I have a folder on my hard drive named 'Martha' and I looked at it today to see if I could find anything new to put up for her birthday. And found this poem. It's not a literary gem by any means but when I re-read it I remembered how much she enjoyed writing about her childhood and how much pleasure she took in sharing her stories and poems.

She never did get round to the internet. I'm sure if she had, she'd have been a prolific blogger and much better at encouraging the comments section than this particular daughter. 

When I Was Eight Years Old

by Martha Byrne

One day when walking home from school,

A farmer came our way.

He was driving sheep with little lambs,

That was only born that day.

The little lambs were weary and walking very slow,

He asked us would we carry them as far as we would go.

How pleased we were to do it,

And when we reached our door,

We were sad to leave them down, for we’d never held a lamb before.

There’s a song that brings back memories,

Of that day along the road.

Called “On April Evening” when April airs are abroad,

When we carried the little lambs that we were so pleased to hold.

This happened many years ago,

When I was eight years old.

After The Fall

First of all - I am writing this on a laptop, new to me today. It is going to take a while for me to get used to it. 

it's day 7 after the fall I am mending slowly and steadily. Still finding it hard to get around and haven't been off the yard or been anywhere apart from once to the polytunnel (which wrecked me). Watched all of Ozark, season 4, read half of South Riding and did Wordle every day. I've even started a jigsaw.

Jazzer came on Monday and stayed until Wednesday evening and she was a great help, cheered us up, cooked suppers, got the laundry done, helped me change the beds and blitzed the kitchen. I think, if she hadn't been here, Bert would have already filed for divorce. Because I was so cross about being out of action and when I wasn't raging I was sad.

One thing that was a constant source of happiness was Pippin the kitten. 

The first task that I took on after the initial 2 days of being unable to move was giving Pippin her breakfast.

Since then I have managed to do dishes, laundry, my bed and a small bit of hoovering. I have yet to make a meal. Tomorrow I am hoping to make chilli. With Bert's help, of course. 

vitas interruptus

 I had/have so many things I wanted/want to blog about. My beloved only grandson's 7th birthday, the funeral of an old friend, the new kitten, The Bloody Tories, the weather...

Then this happened. For the second time in two days, I walked into a left-open cupboard door ( Bert's cupboard, left open by Bert), only this time I banged my head, lost my balance, and slammed into a tiled floor.  My right hip, knee and elbow took the brunt. The pain was excruciating. I may have sworn.

I got checked out, nothing broken, just heavy bruising and muscle pain. I cannot fully weight-bear, and am not too great at walking. Since today, I'm using crutches to get around.

If it wasn't for the kitten I'd be really depressed.

Sicken Chicken

I confess - I'm not that great a chicken-keeper. I do the best I can, keeping them fed, watered and clean.  They've got a big range and during the non-vegetable growing months, they get to run around the yard for half the day. The crowd I have now are pretty mature. I'd say the oldest of them are at least six years old. And they decline, especially if they are the ones bred for intensive egg production.

This past week there is one hen that has been relentlessly bullied. The last straw was a couple of days ago when I let them out in the morning and this persecuted hen was first out with the others raging out behind, pushing her up against the wire fence and pecking at her. Horrible to see. It was time to separate her from the others. But what to do? There is a small shed we use for situations like this but swallows are nesting there and the young ones are days from leaving the nest. We couldn't shut the door to keep the persecuted chicken safe. The first night she stayed in the log shed but she was lonely and miserable there. We discussed euthanasia but neither of us wanted to do that. All today she toodled about eating just enough, drinking just enough. She tried to settle for the night in Hannah's place but that wasn't a goer. The log shed wasn't an option either so she's in with the pigs. Sadly, Rusty scoffed her grub. I never knew he liked sunflower hearts, and it surprised me that he could get his big piggy snout into such a tiny bowl. 

When I last looked in she was resting beside Lily. Poor hen. Her own kind won't leave her alone and she finds solace with two pigs around fifty times her size. She might be dead in the morning, maybe naturally, maybe crushed. One thing's for sure - she's safe from Foxy.

No pictures of pigs with hen for it was too dark. So just Rusty and Lily sans chicken.

The Day We Went To Portrush

 

The (not so) little monsters are in Connemara camping and I hope they get fine weather. Just before they left, we went on the traditional trip to Barry’s (now Curry’s) in Portrush. We missed the last two years due to Covid and during that time we heard worrying news. Barry’s was to be sold! It was such a shame as Evie had gotten almost tall enough to ride the Big Dipper and now it seemed she'd never get the chance.

Barry's went on the market in 2019. The Trufelli family who'd started the business in 1928 had hoped that it would continue as an amusement park but it seemed that might not happen. There was even talk of the site being used for apartments. If life was ever going to get back to normal just where were we going to find a decent roller coaster that didn't involve a lengthy car ride?

When the girls were little they were perfectly content to go on carousels, kiddy bumper cars and giant teacups. The Big Dipper, waltzers and the Ghost Train were far too scary and they wouldn't have met the height requirement for some rides. .

On the train to Portrush

Three years ago Martha was tall enough to go on the Big Dipper. Evie was hopeful that she would have grown enough the following year but was not to be. Coronavirus shut Barry's down at the same time as Evie gained those few needful centimetres.

When we first heard the news that Barry's Amusements was to become Curry's Fun Park we were so happy. It opened at Easter and Martha might have dropped a few hints about going then but the very beginning of the summer holidays is our time. There might have been concerns that the rides wouldn't be as good, or that the Big Dipper would be dismantled, and my own private worry - that the Big Dipper would still be there but the height requirement might have increased. We needn't have worried. 

2016 was the year Ben came with us.

On the waltzer with Ben. That was one of the rides where younger children had to be accompanied by an adult. Ben was not quite 18 but he passed muster. The previous year I'd almost thrown up after going on the waltzer.

I gave it a go this year and managed not to get queasy which was pleasing. But I don't seem to be as limber as I was six years ago. The seating was awfully low and as I said to Bert afterwards,

I thought I was going to have to get one of the attendants to pull me out but I managed it on my own.

Then Martha said,

Granny! You crawled out of it on your hands and knees!

Evie did ride the Big Dipper. She was rather pale when she alighted and said just the one time would be enough.

Aboard the Big Wheel in 2019.  

Martha's very first visit to Barry's Amusements. 

Return to the carousel, 2022

The Dead Bird

I brought Peter to the front of the house to show him some dark purple opium poppies; there was a dead juvenile chaffinch on the ground. The wee thing was unmarked and still warm. It must have flown into the window. We were both sad to see it. 

These things happen. At least the cat didn't get it. That would have been a far nastier end for it. Back when Martha was small I might have kept the corpse for her to have a funeral. She used to love that. Instead, I buried it in the compost bin.

I told Bert,

I put that wee chaffinch in the compost. Might do it some good.

What! Sure it's dead.

I meant DO the compost some good.

The Big Old Sumach and the Snail

 

The big sumach that I see from my window must be around fifteen years old now. It didn't turn out to be the sumach I wanted, the Stag's Horn sumach that has furry new growth and is gloriously coloured in autumn. I wrote a plaintive post about this some years ago and was sent a sumach from my cousin Dermot. It is doing well but planted too close to a bloody rhododendron hedge. The hedge might have to go, but the birds do love it so. Dilemma.

The old sumach, pictured above in a photograph taken last July, is also very popular with garden birds. Probably because it is usually hung with feeders. They never nest in it but they do like to congregate there. It's where I take most of my bird photographs - which reminds me - time to give the window a wash! Especially as I've just spotted a big snail slithering down it.

The Prince's Birthday

There are some dates that stick in one's mind and today is one - Prince William's 40th birthday for I was in London the day he was born. There was no internet, or instant news back in those days. Instead, walking down a North London street, my own recently born bambino in a sling, it was seeing the signs outside newsagents - IT'S A BOY! I was so silly back then, that I let the thought enter my head, that perhaps, someday, my baby would meet him and they might marry and she'd be Princess Hannah. She dodged a bullet there. I mean, I know we are a tad on the dysfunctional side - but... that crowd?

Hannah with Aunt Gan.

It was Hannah's first visit to London. I was taking her over to meet her Aunts, all of whom lived at the same address in Crouch Hill, although in two different apartments, the older ones top floor, and the young ones below. I remember being shocked that some or other of the four of them (probably Kerry Sister) would go down to the shop below in her pyjamas. Such carefree behaviour had yet to reach dour old Ballymena town.

I don't remember Vancouver Brother being around even though he was based in London at that time. Perhaps he was in the Falklands as he had two stints there after the war, re-building the airport, him and a few other Irish lads. 

I look pretty chilled in that picture. I wonder why? And me with a nine-week-old bambino. I'd not a worry in the world. The Aunts had everything taken care of.  All I had to do was feed the child. It was a lovely holiday.

It was 1982 - there was no internet, no smartphone, no digital cameras. All I had was a cheap Kodak, point and shoot. And then there was the trip to the chemist with the film, and maybe a week later, a fresh folder of photos and most of them were shite. No filters either. You got what you shot. Come 40 years later the damn things are fading, turning orange. Even so, I love this photo of London Sister. When I get Photoshop and a few lessons from Baby Hannah (all grown up now) I'll make a better job of my photographic memories.

 

Doggy Day Care

 

Lulu - 7 night stay, full board. Fee - one bottle of Dingle gin.

Nellybert has been doing Doggy Day Care for the last few days. Lulu (above) is still with us and settling into a nice routine. Up bright and early, toilette, breakfast. Back to bed with Bert for two-hour lie-in. Up again around 10, breakfast again, run around yard, follow Nelly everywhere, light lunch, run around yard, hang out with Ziggy, schmooze with every caller, run around yard, stand in front of every vehicle that enters or leaves yard, including farm vehicles, and the bigger the better. Supper, rat patrol, put hens in, bark for 30 minutes, beat Nellybert into submission, sit on laps for an hour or more, evening pee, rat patrol, treat, bed with Nelly, under quilt, of course. Nighty-night. Big sleep, wake up and repeat.

Rex - 2 night stay, full board. Fee - one very good Prosecco which I did not share with Bert.

Rex is back with Swisser. His stay was a short one. Most callers thought him the handsomest collie X in the world. He got on well with Lulu although the two nights they were both here were very hard on Jess who became bad with her nerves. Rex, her litter mate, is naturally dominant which his sister resents. Jess dislikes all her litter mates apart from Dora. Ziggy was not impressed with Rex at all but at least Zigs can escape to his own apartments. Judy? She ignores the whole lot of them.

Judy

Jess Dora

Ziggy

Ten Years Ago

 Sometimes, when I cannot think of a single thing to blog about, I go to the archives. This one is for Ben - the time he broke my greenhouse.

 

Saturday, June 02, 2012

People In Glass Houses

Bert, like myself, comes from a farming background but farming was never where his heart lay. From an early age, he was drawn to horticulture. His father Johnny would have liked Bert to follow in his footsteps and encouraged him to take an interest in livestock. He gave Bert lambs and calves to rear and when market time came Bert pocketed the profits. He did not reinvest this money in livestock. Instead, he bought a greenhouse and grew salad vegetables in the wintertime and tomatoes in the summer. In time he went to Greenmount College where he studied partying, drinking and horticulture. That greenhouse must have been a good one because it has stood in the same spot for more than 40 years. Now that Bert has 6400 square feet of polytunnel to play with, the greenhouse is all for me to potter around in. Most years I've used it to grow bedding plants but this year I'm growing tomatoes.

We have our godson staying with us this weekend and we get him involved in our projects. This evening he helped me plant leeks and he also mowed the lawn. He loves the lawnmower. I have to admit I had a few concerns about safety and discussed these with Bert who assured me he could come to no harm. I decided to let Bert have his way in this. After all Ben will be thirteen in a couple of weeks. I watched Ben on the mower and I even took a little film of him. He showed a lot of confidence. Maybe too much confidence?

Still from my mini-movie. Does Charlie look a little wary?

Perhaps half an hour passed. Ben announced that he was going out to gather up the grass and said that he just loved mowing the lawn. A little while later I heard a crashing noise but did not take it under my notice as Bert is always making crashing noises. I was just getting myself into the mood for staking my tomato plants when I realised I'd been listening to clinking noises for quite a while. It sounded like someone throwing broken glass around. I went outside. And there was Bert, stoically removing broken glass from my very bent greenhouse. And there was Ben looking white and worried as he collected the glass in the wheelbarrow. He told me straight away what had happened. He'd meant to reverse but had gone forward and the front of the greenhouse had got bashed in.

Afterwards, Bert told me that Ben was very afraid that I'd be mad. I'm glad to say that I wasn't. Instead, I told him that he'd just learned that he'd have to be more careful when using machines and then I got on with staking my tomato plants.

I did tick him off later on for drinking coke whilst on the trampoline.

"Ben," says I. "I'm prepared to forgive you for bending my greenhouse but I draw the line at you spilling disgusting, sticky coke on the trampoline." And that was that.

It's Been A Bit Of A Green Week

 A few days after the Assembly elections, Banjo Man looked out our window and remarked, 

Have you noticed how green everything is since Sinn Fein won the election?

He was right of course. The grass was lush and emerald and the beech trees were newly furled and fresh-looking. It was May after all.

Out in the polytunnels, the new irrigation system was performing well and all the seedlings and plug plants were flourishing.

I'm still feeling enthused about my compost project. Got an additional bin from Dee Mac and started another pile. I'm getting so into it that I've started to slightly resent all the vegetable peelings and such that Rusty and Lily eat. 

Fred has found the Catnip (Nepeta cataria) we planted. About two-thirds of cats respond to it and he is one of them.

Thursday was our day out in Derry, enjoyed by all despite it being a bit damp.

Our first stop was the Plantation of Ulster exhibition at the Guildhall. Martha is becoming a history buff so she found this really interesting. She was even more interested when she found there were dressing up opportunities.

Zoe decided to be a Gael, that was easy, all she need to do was wrap herself in a couple of lengths of homespun. The girls were Planters (better clothes). The first picture is planter Evie oppressing native Zoe.

Then a walk around the walls. Matha lectured us on the architecture and told us all about oubliettes and murder holes. They're doing the Normans at school. We checked the famous mural. Those green school uniforms fit my theme. I don't know what's going on with the mini-diggers and the hi-viz guys but we'll find out someday.

Bert didn't do no-mow May. He didn't have to as he already has no-spray, let-it-grow, glorious wilderness all year round and that wee patch of a lawn gives him a lot of pleasure. This is more than can be said for his two new frames of bees. They are savages. The girls do gymnastics on the grass and poor Evie was stung on Friday. She was stoic and couldn't understand why I panicked. It was Bert's turn the following day. One actually flew up his nostril and stung him. I am giving them a wide berth.

The week ended with an enjoyable lunch, more gardening and a lot of hoo-ha about the platinum jubilee. Apparently, some of it turned out to be enjoyable, especially when the Johnsons got booed. There was something twee with Paddington which I must admit I rather liked. There is a sweetness about that bear and it seemed to rub off on the (green) Queen.