What's With the Crazy?

 Oh dear, dear God! What is wrong with the world? What's with the crazy?

We had visitors yesterday evening. Not the best timing as we'd already spent the best part of the day at a funeral. Nevertheless...

Topics under discussion.

The 1969 Moon Landing. 

Hunter Biden.

Climate Change.

I introduced climate change, as a lead-on from the continuous wet weather we've been having. I said something along the lines of, that we may get used to having wet summers. Turns out, according to my visitor, that scientists have taken samples from the ice fields at the pole (I forget which one) and it seems that rather than getting warmer we are actually entering a cold phase. For some reason, this means climate change is a hoax and it's not humankind that is accelerating it. OK. Our friend, the fellow one, isn't going to stop driving classic cars or start recycling just because that wee Swedish b*****d says so. At this point, I'm sure that some members of my close family will be wondering why I didn't drive him out of my house on the end of a graip.* Instead, I told him he was extremely rude to say that about the young Swedish woman. This was me laying my cards on the table. I might have said that if he continued in that vein I would have to put him out.

He moved on to the moon landings which occurred three years before he was born. That is IF they occurred. I listened to him trot out the tired old arguments about shadows, magnetic fields, Stanley Kubrick - things I've been hearing about for decades. I could hardly be bothered arguing. All I said was that when I am on my death bed, my loved ones around me, Bert crying his eyes out, I will not be concerning myself about whether the moon landings happened or not. At the moment, I believe they did but it's not a big concern.

Then Hunter Biden. You know if that man walked into this room right now I wouldn't even know him. Apparently, the reason why THEY had us all on tenterhooks about the submersible full of millionaires that perished near the Titanic was to distract from Hunter Biden being in court that week. What had Biden done? According to our friend, he'd driven his Porsche at 175mph whilst smoking a crack pipe on his way to meet a whore. Some guy. Bert was impressed. 

There was other stuff, Roswell, aliens, Bidens getting away with everything while Trumps were persecuted. Thankfully our conspiracy theorist's wife seemed to have more sense. Which is why we'll have them over for a curry sometime in September. This time I intend to control the conversation. We will be discussing the Labour Party, the Easter Rising, the American Civil War, Mao Zedong and the PSNI. I will be researching everything.

P.S. I told you I'd blog this. If you want that curry you'll have to suck it up. 

*graip

 (ɡreɪp)

n

(Tools) dialect Scot a long-handled fork for digging dung

Banana Gas

 

I have been feeling out of sorts these past few days and couldn't think of a reason for it. Everything was annoying me, particularly the weather, Bert and the pup. Sure, some good things happened - I had a visit from my cousin and I saw my two eldest grandchildren for the first time in three weeks. And I got my tooth thing sorted out and it cost much less than I expected although Cleo still owes me £42. Although I know I'll never get it because dogs don't have any money.

So, this morning before I properly left my bed I had a talk with myself. Today would be a good day. I would be kind to Bert and the pup and I would cook a lovely meal for Hannah and friends and I would be happy. 

But days never work out as you might expect. The first call of the day was from Clint. He told us that our nearest neighbour's wife had died. Bert was supposed to be hosting a shindig tomorrow evening - a blokey thing called Bazfest that involved camping in the woods, etc. etc. The campsite is only a field length from our neighbour's yard so Bazfest was cancelled. No big deal, the fellows understood. 

Then I cooked the meal, two curries, one vegan and one lamb. All the sides were vegan and one was Mexican. Hannah's friend said this is something called 'fusion'. I'd always wondered what that meant.

At some point during the day I figured out what had made me cranky. The visit from my cousin had sparked a renewed interest in the family tree. Consequently I spent more time in my private secret room updating the files. There was a box of overripe bananas in the room emanating overripe banana fumes. I am convinced that it was the gas from the bananas that had affected my mood. There can be no other solution. The bananas will be removed to the pig house tomorrow.

So ends a day that began with an affirmation and finished with a wake. All my crankiness is gone, and I am grateful for life.

Judge Not

Was it our mother or one of her friendship group who used the phrase 'not very well-liked? I'm not sure. But I associate it with Matty.

She might have said of someone,

He's not very well-liked in these parts

And the person (who was always a man) would surely be the most evil, philandering, dishonest scoundrel that ever trod the earth.

Another variation usually applied to women,

She's not that well-thought-of around here

And this would indicate a person of low standards held in low esteem by her neighbours. Perhaps she was overly friendly with the breadman, undoubtedly her children verged on feral and it would go without saying that her house-keeping left much to be desired. 

Of course, the person imparting this information wouldn't be judging. They were only saying what other people thought.

I suppose it is human nature. Judging our neighbours keeps us from thinking about our own behaviours. People in glass houses etc. Who said that? I need to find out. Down from the shelf comes The Oxford Dictionary of Quotations - an essential volume in the pre-Google time

And...

Those who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones is a mid-seventeenth century proverb.

Much later...

I confess - I then fell down an Oxford Dictionary of Quotations rabbit hole and it was much more satisfying that the online experience.

The rabbit has a charming face:

Its private life is a disgrace.

I really dare not name to you

The awful things that rabbits do.

'The Rabbit' in The Weekend Book (1925)

Now that's judgy!

 

Wee Catch Up

 Where did summer go? These past few days we have been lighting fires in the evening and I'm in bed right now wearing a fleece it's that nippy. 

Since I last blogged I have -

Watched The Sixth Commandment. Which is very good indeed and Anne Reid and Timothy Spall are brilliant.

Had a day out in Portrush with Jazzer. It was Pearlie's ninth anniversary so we went to The White House which was her favourite shop. Lord it was awful. Full of over-priced tat. No wonder Pearlie liked it.

Booked my flight for Norfolk and London for the last week in October. So looking forward to seeing Katy and her family and the London siblings.

Thought very hard about my Twitter addiction.

Bought another pair of shoes for Naoise's wedding. That's two outfits I have now. Someone else might need to get married.

Jig Teases Him

 Our one and only grandson is eight years old today.

Happy birthday James. See you in October.

Getting On A Bit

It's not just Nellybert that are getting on a bit. Lily and Rusty are teenagers now and that's really old for pigs. They are slowing down and Lily is getting thin. Still terrible buggers for making holes in hedges, breaking out, tumbling the bins and stealing the chicken food.

That picture is from a video Dee Mac put on YouTube some thirteen years ago. Ben and Sara were visiting and I mentioned its existence. Bert says,

Lily and Rusty are never on YouTube!

They are. You know they are. You're in it too.

I never heard tell of it.

You have. You've seen it before.

Ben put it on. He can work YouTube much faster than us.

Bert said,

Well I never. Lily and Rusty on the YouTube. I never knew the like.

It must be great to be Bert, reliving all his experiences again and again. Or is it? Should I be worrying?

A Post From Fifteen Years Ago

 Y'all will have forgotten this one. Sad to say, Pearlie, Lizzie and Pepe are no longer with us. 

Funny old week I've just had. On the surface, it was the usual ho-hum stuff but it's so quiet. Too quiet. Ominously quiet. I keep wondering if I'm still going to have a job come the new year and that's strangely demotivating.

However, as always, the weekend has been busier. I made that Coconut Bread as recommended by Zoe and Bert cooked the very last leg of pork* from last year's pigs. We were having a Russian judge, a postman and Swisser to dinner. What a lovely evening we had. The judge was delightful and not at all what you'd expect. For one thing, she was an amazingly smiley person. She does have this judge's face for hearings. With just a little persuasion she showed it to us and it was very stern and solemn.

Today I returned to sorting out the stuff from Pearlie's previous abode. This is turning into one of the labours of Hercules. It is never-ending. Today it was her zip collection, her button collection, her handkerchief collection, her marbles, her flint arrowheads, her apron pocket collection, 40 years' worth of newspaper clippings, mostly weddings, obituaries and fatal accidents. Oh and anything to do with the Royal Family.

And speaking of which, we were at the table yesterday when Aunt Lizzie's papillon wandered into the kitchen and cocked his leg against the dishwasher. The postman said,

Hey! That dog just pissed up against your dishwasher!

Oh. Sure it was only a wee drop.

Aren't you going to kick it's arse?

Just think of it this way. If the Queen was visiting and she brought the corgis and one of them took a leak against the dishwasher you wouldn't mention it would you? In this house Bert's Aunt Lizzie is just like the Queen. If anybody was to kick Pepe's arse she'd never darken our door again and Pearlie would be devastated.

 Bert, Lizzie, Pepe and Pearlie

*Pigs are going tomorrow. Bert is very sad.

Respecting Culture Except Dogs

 

Today, July 12th is culturally, an important day in the North of Ireland calendar. A bank holiday, a holiday for all, yet a celebration that deliberately excludes the majority of the people living in this place. Of which I am one. I don't hate it, I recognise that it matters to a lot of people living here. I try to understand and respect another culture and hope that will be reciprocated.

Most Twelfths I don't venture from this yard. We ask friends around, have drinks, something to eat, enjoy the summer weather. Except this day I had something to do, first daughter needed a lift to boarding kennels with Posie before she left on her annual camping holiday in Galway. Posie is a lovely hound but has particular needs and kennels are the only thing that keep her safe when her people go away. 

We had to leave early as the Twelfth is a day when journeys are often complicated. All over the country, Orange Lodges have mini-marches from one place to another before gathering together in some town or city for a big march that can close main routes for hours. One a year, every year for a hundred years or more - we get used to being somewhat restricted in our movements on the 12th day of July.

I picked Zoe and Posie up at nine-thirty. Our first stop was on the Oldpark Road just outside Ballymena. i recognised one of the standard bearers, a neighbour of the Wee's,  who rented then bought the farm. I waved, and he raised his white-gloved hand, I sensed he wasn't sure of me, we'd only met at funerals but the connection was there. 

Then on to Rasharkin where the police were out in force. We passed them by but had to wait in Kilrea as the local lodge were going the same route as ourselves. We got moving on the road to Upperlands where I was mannerly enough to let an Orangeman across the road and received a friendly grin and a thumbs up from him. As I said to Zoe, See us, respecting the fuck out of other folk's culture.

Posie delivered, and her not terribly happy about being abandoned we despondently began our journey home. Only to be stopped again a mile outside Rasharkin. It looked like a slow one so we nipped right onto the Townhill Road which was great for a few miles until, near Portglenone, we came upon another lodge wending its slow way towards the town. By this time I was a bit fed up as they were taking both sides of the road. Until I realised that the stewards were observing health and safety regs and were being careful. As soon as it was safe we were waved on and friendly acknowledgements were exchanged between all parties. 

I'd be telling lies if I said I didn't enjoy the connections I made on our cross-country journey to Upperlands, experiencing another culture, respecting the fuck out of it and moving on. It's where I live, what goes on, and it's how some other folks see things. That said it's a bit different in rural areas and quite a bit better.

The rest of the day? We had people over. Some of them were English, and some of them were not. We were seven humans and we had eight dogs. The humans got on, and the dogs had difficulties which were the human's fault. 'Twas always thus.

Straidkilly Nature Reserve

 

This was a day of two halves. I completed one of the tasks I set myself on the decluttering project. As I said to Bert,

When I'm overwhelmed, I feel I've achieved something when I shelve all the books alphabetically.

And please note that I also dusted those shelves. Good job!

The second half of the day consisted of a trip to Straidkilly Nature Reserve where Bert, myself and all three dogs went for a jolly good hike. It was my first visit. Hannah had intimated that I'd find it rather tough as many of the trails are hard going. No bother to me at all! I had my Blundstones and a stout stick.

The only downsides were me getting bit by a cleg (horsefly) and the other small matter of losing a tooth, I don't even want to say how that happened as it was so stupid.

A Productive Day

 

Hannah and I went to town, recycled children's books and clothing at the council yard then went for a drive on Ballymena's newest road which is rather lovely as it goes past the Ecos centre where it is lined with trees. Then to Tescos to offload my more readable books, Ian Rankin, Sarah Waters - that kind of thing. And who should I bump into but Mrs The Wee Manny who was donating her cookery books as she only uses online recipes these days. She was feeling rather frazzled as her two pups (Cleo's litter mates) have destroyed her garden and are eating her nicest clothes. Then there is her geriatric dog who keeps collapsing on his own stool and thus needs frequent baths. Thank goodness for her lovely hubby who gives her no bother at all. We hope to see them all over the July holidays.

Then we went to the Costa on the Larne Road link. My second visit, my first was with Vinny when we shared a lemon curd tart. My mouth has often watered thinking of it. Today I ate a whole one and it was delightful. The clientele at that Costa is awfully middle-class. People-watching is far more interesting in Grafters.

When I got home I spent a rainy half-hour slashing and hacking in the garden. Filled one barrow for the compost heap. I wonder if I can blame Cleo for the disaster in the garden should my cousin call. I'm not sure she'll buy it as there are giant weeds there from before the pup was born.

How goes the decluttering? I'm still in my bedroom but it is emptying out nicely. Books were the biggest issue there. They are being gathered together and will be sorted in days to come. 

To fuck with the housework

Too Much Stuff

 

I knew my cousin was visiting Ireland from NZ sometime this summer and was hoping she might visit. Even so, I was surprised to read yesterday that she was en route to Belfast. It must be summer already. I look out the window at the wreckage of my once-lovely garden. I gaze around my house - at grubby windows, spider's webs, clutter. I need to look lively and there is only one thing to do - get on the internet and research decluttering sites.

The first one advises to approach the problem room by room. I've tried that before and it doesn't work. The stuff just get pushed around from room to room. A second site goes for a whole house approach, the first step being to remove clutter from every room starting at the top of the house. I've not tried that before so I'll give it a go. 

End of day report. I have removed clutter from two spare bedrooms and got halfway through my bedroom. There are two bin bags of clothing and two boxes of books in the boot of the car for recycling and there are seven boxes of unsorted stuff on the landing.

I spent 90 minutes (between downpours) in the garden mostly hacking and sweeping. Two full barrowloads of compost material have been removed and 12 potentilla Miss Willmott discovered and potted on. Don't know where I'm going to put them but hey-ho, problem for another day. 

I just have too much stuff and too many plants and that leads to cobwebs and weeds. See that blanket in the pictures above. I bought that in Camerons decades ago. It dates from a time when I had hardly any disposable income and I spent about £25 on it. Of course, I still have it. The young lady in the photograph is grown up now, and sweet little Polly dog is long gone. In the second photograph, there is Holly de Cat (no longer with us) and a ridiculous fabric teddy that I picked up in a charity shop. It had no eyes, I was going to give it eyes, but never did and eventually, donated it back to a charity shop. The black bear, Boris from Hamleys (no relation) I bought from a stall in the original Fair Hill half a lifetime ago. I still have him. I'm not sure why. 

Tomorrow I hope to get rid of the contents of my car boot and clear the landing and, Oh God! you should see the attic...

Anyway, here is another one of my carefully positioned photographs of a literal corner of my yard that makes it look as if this place is lovely.

Portrush Again

There was a stiff sea breeze in Portrush yesterday and it was lovely. Blew away the cobwebs, and blew away my boredom. Or it could have been Curry's (formerly Barry's) that elevated my mood. The general air of excitement in the air was catching. Personally, I had no intention of participating in any of the rides on offer - don't fancy being all shaken up at this stage of my life. Still, I did enjoy watching Martha, Evie and Hannah thrill-seeking and having fun.

Not that Bert and I spent our entire time watching other people go on rides - we had coffee, wandered around, people-watched, went to the pub for half an hour then wandered around some more. Then back to Curry's to take some pictures just to prove that we were there.

And what of our dogs? They were going to be home alone and this had been a little worrying. Bert had put out a few feelers for someone to call in on them and Locky was the one who stepped up, went beyond the call of duty, and walked the extra mile. He called out at 2pm and stayed until we got home just after five. When we got back all dogs plus Locky and Phoenix were pretty chilled. That was nice.

It was a great outing, enjoyed by us all. I wonder how many more there will be. Martha reckons we'll still be taking them for a fun day out in Curry's when she's twenty. I'm not sure about that. She might have something else she wants to be at when she's not a teenager any more. Who knows?

Martha's first visit to Barry's. Not many tokens were needed in those days.

2015 - the first big fun day out.

2016 - the year Ben came

Tamer rides back then

2018

2022 - Riding the carousel for old times sake

Red Campion and Two Wrens

 

 

You know how people sometimes say that they are 'going through some stuff'? Well - that's me right now, going through some stuff, mostly being bored stiff. 

It's a weird one for being bored is not really me. Sometimes I wonder if I'm just on a practice run for my extreme old age. This upcoming birthday isn't something I'm looking forward to. Seventy? I'd rather be eighty but suppose I should be grateful/hopeful for the ten years I'll spend getting to my eighties.

I'm practising 'living in the moment' which means I try to appreciate what is going on right now. Tonight that means admiring the moon, checking out the owls and worrying about the neighbour's noisy cows.

I also put the moth trap out as there is no rain expected tonight. There was a bit of an oops moment a couple of days ago. I put the trap in the shepherd's hut (rain expected) and inspected the catch inside. One poplar hawk-moth, rather faded, a buff-tip on the floor of the hut, a lot of brown ones, no ermines. Because it was indoors I left most of them on the table and let all those that settled on the walls alone. 

A couple of hours later I brought Bert to the hut to see the hawk moth. 

Be careful, there are a few on the floor, don't tread on them.

We went in and there were two wrens flying about. No moths on the floor except the buff-tip which looks like a twig. The poplar hawk moth was safe enough, I'd tucked it away. We left. A little later I spotted the wrens again. They were treating the shepherd's hut as an all-day breakfast cafe. The only survivors were the hawk moth and a couple of yellow underwings. I won't be doing that again. 

The Siege of Drumrankin

 

On Saturday Ben and Sara came around and we made a start on the overgrown flower bed next to the lawn. Ben was the spade man and I just pointed at things and wheeled barrows to the compost heap. A mass of blue iris was removed, a huge cephalaria gigantea disposed of and yellow crocosmia, irises and Sidalcea lifted and shared with Sara. Bert absented himself from these endeavours as he was helping Clint with his beasts.

Cleo likes a bit of digging too.

We had a leak in the upstairs bathroom which I discovered at 6am on Sunday morning. I’m usually up at that time as Cleo needs to be toileted as early as possible. Bert was informed of the leak and got up to look at it. Then returned to bed saying he would sort it later. I placed a basin under the drip and returned to bed for a few hours. Finished my Jane Gardam – the third part of the Filth trilogy already ordered from World Books.

Four hours later Bert got up and I fed him porridge and peaches and he got to work. I’m not sure what he did but the leak was fixed – temporarily.

Clint was on the yard first thing this morning. There was a bit of a siege on. Apparently, some boy’s cattle along with some other boy’s Simmental bull had broken out of another boy’s field and some decent sort of a boy had come along and got them all off the Dreen Road and into Clint’s silage field. So a posse of boys were gathered up and the cattle were to be moved into our big shed for collection.

I went up to tell Bert.

You know the other day, when you were telling me a tale about J’s sister-in-law, who was letting Clint cut silage in her fields for free and this boy came up and said he’d no business as the grass belonged to him and it was very confusing and it was either ‘this boy’ or ‘that boy’ and I couldn’t make head or tail of it – well do I have a tale for you, boys, cows and bulls galore and the good news is that there are that many boys coming to round them up that you can stay in bed.

It must have taken the boys a good half hour to get the beasts out of Clint’s silage but eventually, all landed in the yard and the cattle were safely deposited in the shed. The boys were a mixed bunch. One of them was a grizzled old fellow who looked like he belonged in a Western movie. One had a shifty look about him. One wore his trousers belted close to his armpits and one young one’s jeans were hanging halfway down his arse with a good expanse of his hairy crack on view. One was a girl and one was Clint.

It goes without saying that Clint wasn’t that impressed with twenty cows and calves and a bull trampling through his silage but the boy who owned the bull said he could have the loan of it for a month and Clint reported tonight that it has its courting ears on and he’s hoping to have an excellent wee crop of calves in 2024.

Yellow crocosmia, sidalcea, iris, cephalaria. Don't worry, I've still go lots of them left. These had just gotten out of hand in a small flowerbed

And Bert was up reasonably early this morning, off to the plumbing supplies store and has fixed the leak.

And I have bought yet another dress for Naoise's wedding. 

Too Late For India

I have been reading Jane Gardam, halfway through the Old Filth trilogy and dipping into The Sidmouth Letters. I actually thought I'd already read The Sidmouth Letters but it turned out I’d only got as far as the first story, The Tribute. And what a delight it was to return to it, for it is a most excellent piece of story-telling and I plan to reread it before this week is out.

The most recent Gardam story I read was about youngsters from privileged backgrounds living the hippy lifestyle in Crete, in a place called Matala.

I asked Bert if he’d heard of it. He said,

Matala? Yea, I was there in 1978.

Did you live in the caves?

No. By the time I got there, there was a fellow that used to chase the people out of the caves. I had my own cave a bit in from the beach.

Was this before or after Marseille?

Before.

Yea. I thought you’d have been put off caves by Marseille.

I had to leave that one. Rats drove me out.

Rats?

Yea. I kept bringing buns back to the cave. It brought rats.

See you can take the boy out of Cullybackey but you can’t keep him away from the traybakes.

Was the beach at Matala as gorgeous as they say?

Aye. T’was. There was a morning I was there and this Swedish girl came up to me. Asked me for a light. Naked as a jaybird.

Did you give her one? A light I mean…

Aye. She sat down beside me. I had everything on. And a duffel coat. I could hardly look at her,

Was she gorgeous?

She was. Sand sticking to her shoulders and all.

I thought you said you never looked at her?

Was only a glimpse.

Later on that day Swisser called and while Bert and she looked on I threw together a Singaporean pork thingy I’d been thinking about which involved pork, soy sauce, vinegar, massaman curry paste, peppers, ginger, garlic, tomato paste and shredded cabbage. Swisser said she’d have some despite being inclined to vegetarianism and only allowing herself meat once every two years. Believe that? Not I.

I was telling her about what I’d been hearing about Matala and it turns out she’d been there a few years before Bert, actually lived in the caves for six months but had to leave because she got cholera, dysentery, typhoid or some such and was advised by a fellow traveller to make haste for Tel Aviv before she died,

Swisser's stories always involve serious illness and near-death experiences. either her own or someone else's. I didn't mention that I'd fried the pork in clarified butter and left all the fat on. God knows what that will have done to her gall bladder and I expect she's having a near-death experience this very minute. 

'Hippies' at Matala. The young woman in the shades is the absolute spitting image of Swisser. After Matala, she checked herself into a kibbutz where she was tenderly nursed back to health.

Postscript. Do I envy Swisser and Bert for their youthful travelling adventures? Short answer. YES! 

After The Rain

I said to Bert today that I might ask one of our metal worker friends to beat me out some sort of protective breastplate, maybe re-purposing an old tin tray or two of the sort that used to be in every public house.

You might ask why I'd want such a thing and I am more than happy to tell you.

Yesterday was not a good day. My knee and hip were troubling me, one of those mornings when getting a sock on to my right food was a painful challenge. There was something going on in my mouth, I had to leave my partial denture out for most of the day for there was no Bonjela in the house. But worst of all, I was tired and worn out, had no energy for anything, everything was an effort.  I felt decrepit. I used to think that the worst thing about getting older was becoming less lovely to behold. Wrinkles, droopiness, stoopiness, greyness - that sort of thing. How foolish I was for now I couldn't care less about that. I just wish I had some of the liveliness and energy I had in my earlier decades. 

Back to my desire for a breastplate. I did my very best to shift my flat mood, took my favourite book to the polytunnel and lay down on one of the many sofas that go there to die. It was bliss. Crows cawed, songbirds sang, it was so deliciously warm. I may have dozed a little. The pup was running around, ripping one of the sofas apart, I paid her no mind, so relaxed... then rudely awakened as she sprang on top of me, right on top of my right breast. It was agony.  Like being poked hard in the bosom by a wooden staff. 

So there I was, sore mouth, sore hip, sore knee, sore boob, no wine. I  managed to stay up until after ten, watched a very silly programme with Nicola Walker then went to bed with a cup of tea and two paracetamol.  

And delighted to wake up this morning with hip, knee, mouth and boob much improved. I still think the breastplate is a good idea as I'm going to take even more naps in the polytunnel and I am sure the pup plans to take more running leaps on to anyone foolish enough to lie prone in her vicinity.

I Wish It Would Rain

 

Bert heading out to a funeral in a heatwave.

It won't be too formal, I said, fine for a funeral on a day like this, in fact, you might even wear something like that to Naoise's wedding.

Afterwards, I asked the usual questions.

Good turn-out? 

Yes.

See anyone you know? 

A few. It was an eclectic gathering, and his wee sisters carried the coffin.

Then there was Martha's show. She is part of her school's drama club, an enthusiastic member. and she really wanted me to come. It was an interactive performance of George's Marvellous Medicine and it was great.There was a 75% turnout of grandparents on Martha's team and we had to watch a lot of actors* playing George's dreadful grandma. I don't know about the other two grandparents but Im sure I am nothing like that. I did see a hint of Pearlie though although she was nowhere near as horrible. it was a hoot from beginning to end and in my opinion, we need to pay teachers more.

Afterwards, I popped over to Tescos to pick up a few items. It seems like late summer evenings are the best time to go supermarket shopping apart from some of the shelves looking a bit bare. Thankfully there were no gaps in the Italian wine department. I met an old acquaintance there, the guy who used to fix my washing machines. It wasn't his only talent as he's also a fine fiddle player and played in bands back in the day. Sadly he'd given it up, and said he lost interest when the girls stopped throwing their underwear on stage.

That made me think, for though it often seems these days that the world has gone completely mad, it always was a crazy place.

Tony

* George's Marvellous Medicine features four main characters. The actors changed with each scene and no, it wasn't confusing, and it gave everyone a chance to shine.

It's All About Cleo

 

Cleo has been enjoying the summery weather as much as anyone - riding the quad with Bert...

Meeting Arlo for the first time. They had a lot of fun. He's just a few weeks older than her and they are going to be great friends.

She went to Bracknamuckley Wood for the second time. Although it might be the last time for a while as the Bann is moving slowly these hot, dry days and something floating at the edge looks like the blue-green algae (not really an algae) that can be lethal for dogs.

In other news, we had a hectic weekend. I cooked my first vegan meal (a curry) for Hannah's friends on Friday. And on Saturday we had Marty and Jazzer, Arlo and Dora for a sleepover. Other visiting dogs included Phoenix, Pippin, Tegan and Rex. The yard was a total health hazard.

Plans for this week are looser. Tomorrow is family dinner which will need to be yummy to console Zoe for the damage Rusty did to her potato rigs. Wednesday is a funeral and Thursday Evie, maybe Martha. We will need to make plans for Portrush. The girls have told me they are still not too old for the annual trip to Curry's Fun Park* 

*Formerly Barry's.

Fifteen Years Ago In Kerry

Tomorrow came and I started looking for pictures to illustrate a post on my recent visit to Kerry. I even went on Flickr! Then fell down a Dingle Peninsula rabbit hole of memories.

Remembered that fifteen years ago I fled to Kerry only days after Pearlie came to live with us. I brought Paddy Dog with me and he was tremendously well-behaved apart from stealing Scruff's bed.

Scruff, always the gentleman, was the perfect host. Fifteen years ago, so of course they're all gone now. 

Three of the best dogs that ever barked.

We climbed Mount Brandon then, even me! It was no bother to the dogs. 

Sadly, the mist was on the mountain that day and I wasn't able to get the view. No matter, I'd seen it before and I hope, I really hope to see it again. Older than me have climbed that hill.

Another picture from that trip. Bert's clematis to the fore, The mountain behind. 

There is something about the place. On the last day I was there we watched a short film about Mount Brandon. About the hill and some people who live beneath it. The brother-in-law features in it. When I climb the hill again I will bring a stick and when I reach the peak I will roar like a lioness.

The Link  to An Cnoc

https://www.tg4.ie/en/player/play/?pid=6323948255112&title=An%20Cnoc&series=C%C3%A9ad%20Seans&pcode=665662&genre=Faisneis

Journey

 I got back last night from a three-night trip to West Kerry. Short skip down to Cullybackey train station, then Belfast, Enterprise to Dublin Connolly, Luas to Heuston for the Cork train, change at Mallow and detrain at Farranfore. Then the drive to Dingle and beyond. I started my journey just before six am and was sitting in Kerry Sister's kitchen at half-four. 

The return journey wasn't as straightforward. Started at eleven in the morning, and had an hour's gap in Dublin. Then the Enterprise was running late and I missed the train I'd hoped to get in Belfast. Then when I got off the train at Cullybackey Bert wasn't waiting for me! Bad husband. He turned up ten minutes later and poo-poohed my annoyance because it wasn't even cold. 

And between those two journeys, I had the loveliest time with my Kerry family which I'll share tomorrow and maybe a picture or two as well.