Nelly's Garden

Cauldrife

2009-11-25T22:38:00.006Z

cauldrife [ˈkɔːldrɪf]

adj Scot

1. susceptible to cold; chilly

2. lifeless

[from cauld + rife]

My mother-in-law has always felt the cold. She liked to keep herself ‘well happed-up’. Indeed, so susceptible to chills was she that I don’t imagine she ever suffered herself to be naked from the day of her birth until about a year ago when the carers wheeled her, roaring protest, into our wet room for a nice warm shower bath.

Mind you, this house was, before its renovation, a big cold barn of a place with just one heated room. That was where Pearlie spent most of her time, roasting her shins in front of a big turf fire.She was a great believer in layering. She always wore two vests, three sweaters, a cardigan, a petticoat, two skirts, tights, men’s socks and an apron. The apron was very important to her. When her house-working days were over I asked her why she still wore the apron. She said,

I’d be cauld without it,

I wondered how she could find warmth in a faded square of patched cotton but she maintained that it was terribly necessary to her comfort.

In bed Pearlie had an electric blanket and used two hot water bottles. At bedtime she divested herself of the skirts, the tights and one cardigan. On very cold nights she tied a headscarf Queen-style to keep off the chill. This routine continued even after this house was being renovated and she moved to a cosy and fully central heated mobile home. She missed the open fire in the moby and often had the oil heating at full blast, an electric fire and a gas heater all going together. You could see the heat haze rising from the roof on mild days. Bert eventually disconnected the electric fire as the carers and other callers were suffocating in the high temperatures. Pearlie claimed to feel no great heat. Even then she continued to wear a headscarf in bed. Occasionally, if she had misplaced her headscarf, she’d go to bed wearing a big pair of knickers on her head.

Her present room has an open fire and it is kept alight summer and winter. She gets very cross if Bert doesn’t keep it well stoked up. She doesn’t wear knickers or a headscarf any more but she asks for and gets lots of hand towels and she makes herself a little nest because her arms get cold and if she gets too warm it is easier to remove the towels than take a cardigan off. She goes to bed with a crocheted blanket round her shoulders and if the carers take it for laundering she is very indignant. Mostly they don’t but there is one…she only does it to annoy. Nowadays Pearlie wears a pair of thick brown tights tied round her neck to keep off the 'cauld' and I think it can only be a matter of time before she starts wearing her knickers as a hat for she tells us that there is a draught coming through the light fitting.

Think Bike

2009-11-24T19:49:00.003Z

Most evenings, on the way home from work, I collect Hannah in Ballymena and we continue on our way towards Cullybackey. I don't drive that fast, it's a B road, pitch black so maybe I do 45mph tops. This evening we came across a cyclist riding without lights, without reflective clothing, the only thing drawing attention to his presence the tiny little reflective strips on his pedals. These caught my eye but not until I was almost upon him. I was able avoid him by pulling out at the last minute and, thankfully, no vehicle was coming towards me at the time.

I was quite shocked. Another moment and I might have knocked him down. It's a fairly narrow road. All the way into Cullybackey I wondered, should I turn, should I tell him that he was in danger? I didn't. What stopped me? Fear of being seen as interfering, fear that he might not speak English and wouldn't understand me, fear that I'd have to go the whole hog and drive him and his bicycle to his destination.

So if a cyclist is injured or killed on the Cullybackey or Kilrea road tonight I'm afraid I will be partly to blame. What should I have done?

The Effect of Office Mint Yoyos on the Older Shoulder

2009-11-20T16:51:00.005Z

I'm confused. Some research, recently in the news, suggested that alcohol can actually be beneficial to one's health. It shows that men benefit more from alcohol than women, which is bloody unfair but does help to explain the continued survival of the Wee Manny and others like him.

Now in the three weeks since I've foresworn alcohol I've been feeling decidedly under the weather. At first I thought I was getting the flu but that turned out to be a cold (the first since I gave up smoking several years ago) and then I got the runs, which lasted the best part of a week and now I've got The Shoulder and a vague, fluey, tired thing going on. And I'm wondering to myself if it wasn't the gin that was keeping these plagues at bay.

I mentioned it to the postman this morning,

Y'know something Sven? Since I quit drinking I haven't had a well day.

Says he,

That'll be the toxins leaving your body.

This is what I'm wondering. Is my current poorly form the result of toxins leaving my body or, did the gin actually provide a health benefit? There is only one way to find out. I shall have to continue with this experiment in abstemiousness for a longer time.

One good thing is that I've lost three pounds since taking the pledge. But then, a couple of days ago, I fell, like a savage, to the office mint Yoyos. I thought they might ease The Shoulder. They did not.

My Older Shoulder

2009-11-17T14:23:00.003Z

You know you're getting older when little niggles and aches take far, far longer to go away. I have a sore shoulder. It doesn't sound like very much but I am finding it terribly bothersome. It is only with a painful shoulder that you'll realise just how bloody heavy your arm is.

It serves me right for not sympathising appropriately with Pearlie and her sore neck.

She told me she had a pain in her neck and all could I think was, well - you're a pain in mine. My just desserts are here.

Countdown to Christmas

2009-11-15T20:19:00.002Z

There's nothing wrong with having a plan, is there? So far I have....

1. Had annual conversation with Matty about how much she is not looking forward to Christmas and how much she hates the thought of it. (Told her to wise a bap, whatever that means)

2. Informed several people (again) that I do not send Christmas cards.

3. Ordered free range turkeys from Clint.

4. Informed cousin Margaret that no - indeed I will not be buying Miss Martha a Santa Claus outfit.

5. Decided to stay off alcohol, at least, until Christmas.

6. Experienced slight frisson of dread at the thought of New Year's Eve party that Hannah is planning at Nellybert's.

Suffering Grandmas!

2009-11-10T23:01:00.004Z

I am greatly maligned.

Firstly my youngest daughter informs the entire world that I might know what snot tastes like. As if!

Then the oldest daughter photoshops my thumb to make it look as big as a house. She must have done for there's no way my digit could ever look that gigantic.

Miss Martha

Where The Dead Things Are

2009-11-05T22:49:00.010Z

Some might say that I’m a morbid person because of my keen interest in road kill. It’s a fascination that stems from my childhood. Doesn’t everything?

In those days I had a favourite cousin who truly was a mine of misinformation. We were visiting her house one day and she says,

There’s a dead RAT stuck in the hedge down the lane. Do you want to see it?

Oh yes!

It’s really rotten and it’s stinking too!

Urrgh!

C’mon then…

We headed down the lane.

We’re coming near it now.

Where? Where?

It’s down there under that tree. Now hold your nose.

Why?

Because if you breathe in the smell of it you’ll DIE!

On we went, me holding tight to my nose and not daring even to open my mouth. My face was purple and my eyes were popping with the effort of holding my breath. I tried so very hard to see the dead rat but it must have been covered in long grass and I was frightened to get too close, so never got a glimpse nor a whiff of it at all.

Of course I passed this interesting information on to my other cousins and my brothers and sisters.

You must never breathe in the smell of a stinking dead animal, or you'll DIE!

They weren’t as gullible as me for we all walked to and fro school along the Lisnevenagh Road where the Burnhouse trucks with their loads of dead animal carcasses passed often enough, leaving behind a miasma of putrid reek that hung in the air long after the lorry passed and none of us ever died of the stink of dead animals, not even one of us. So far.

This photograph taken on the Pipe Road during the 2009 Spring heatwave

When I was a child I'd have walked five miles to see this dead lamb melted into the tarmac. I still would. And I'd take a photograph too.

We'll Be Old Ourselves Some Day

2009-11-04T23:32:00.004Z

Poor old Matty does not get it easy with her arthritis. It is only in her hands, mainly her thumbs, but she seems to suffer a lot from it. The only treatment her GP has ever offered her is painkilling medication but doesn’t seem to help much. She recently had an x-ray carried out and I have made her an appointment to discuss the results with her doctor and it’s not until the 16^th November. I really want to tackle this with the doctor, make sure that everything that can be done is being done. With this aim in my mind I asked her not to confuse the issue by discussing any other ailment she might have during her consultation. This was over the phone and I got the impression that she was a little deflated at the prospect.

Well. Is there anything else you’d like to see him about?

Well, you know how I’m tortured with my eyes.

Can you not leave your eyes until another time?

They’re driving me mad with the itch and the water pouring out of them and I’m always rubbing at them.

But that’s why they’re annoying you because you’re always rubbing at them. I’ll see if I can get you something at the chemist.

I got something from the chemist before and I couldn’t see for half the day.

OK. We’ll talk about it later.

I went to see her at lunchtime with the utterly useless potion I got at the chemist. I found her engaged in cleaning out drawers whilst bent over at the waist in that very position that always brings on her angina pains. I made her stop it and told her to take some of her spray before an attack came on. Thwarted out of an angina episode she made the tea while I finished tidying her cupboards. Her new cleaner was coming at two and she wanted the place spick and span before she arrived.

We sat down to a cuppa and I started talking about what I hoped to achieve with the doctor. But all she was interested in was her itchy eyes and her itchy knee and her itchy fingers.

The doctor says it’s just dry skin.

Do you not use moisturizer a-tall?

Ach sure I was never used to moisturizer or anything like that.

But you’re in your eighties now! You used to have fairly oily skin. Now it’s dry. You need moisturizer!

The doctor gave me a big jar of stuff once. I forget what you call it.

Why don’t you get some more?

Sure I still have it.

Well why don’t you use it?

I’ve had it about three years.

Jesus! Don’t use it! Throw it out.

I decided to change the subject to take her mind off her itch. Perhaps my choice of subject was not ideal.

Pearlie is complaining of a very sore neck.

Is she?

She said the other night that she wished she was dead.

I can understand that. All old people wish they were dead.

Do they? How awful. Even the jolly-natured ones?

Maybe not them so much. They just persevere and don’t let anything get them down.

So it’s just the miserable ones that wish they were dead?

I dare say.

My Obsessive Compulsive Walking Habits

2009-11-02T22:54:00.005Z

Warning! This post contains at least twenty uses of the word 'I'.

Since the first of November 2005 I have kept a walking log. Obviously this means that I have been using a pedometer for just over four years. There are 32 days unaccounted for due to broken pedometers or computer screw-ups.

I've clocked up 17690642 general steps... of which 5152690 aerobic steps.
The amount of time spent on aerobic walking was 44115 minutes. That's 735 hours, or 30 days. It doesn't sound nearly enough. I am such a slacker!

The 17690642 general steps amount to 7076 miles or thereabouts. I wonder how far I'd have got if I'd just kept going?

The most steps I've ever done in one day was 28187 in June last year. That was the day I climbed Mount Brandon in County Kerry and then took a long beach walk in the evening. That was the day I broke my last camera by sitting on the damn thing. And I was so high on walking I didn't give a damn.

I could do better than this and I'd like to. The current recommended amount of steps per day is 10000. That's not enough on its own to promote health and fitness. I believe 16000 a day would help with weight control and general fitness. For me, finding the time is the difficult part. A winter's day spent at a desk does not allow many spare hours for walking which is why I try for a constitutional every single lunchtime.

So back to the obsessive walking log - it's a bore sometimes filling it in, but between it and this blog I've got a fairly good record of what I've been up to these past four years. And if nobody else cares, I do.

In other news - I've decided to stop drinking.

Piglet Joy

2009-10-29T22:05:00.003Z

Remember this little kune kune sow? We went to visit her and her best boy Boris the Boisterous on the very same day that Martha was born. What we weren't sure about then was that she was in an interesting condition herself. All being well there will be piglets by Christmas. And this time they're for keeps!

Boris done good.

Ulster Museum Says No!

2009-10-26T17:24:00.010Z

Closed on Mondays

Young Martha had her first train journey today and her first visit to Belfast. Her entourage numbered eight and consisted of a parent, grandparents, a brace of aunts and the ultimate uncle. Her intended destination was the newly refurbished Ulster Museum.

Now if you have clicked on that link, and I hope you did, I would like to inform you that the report is misleading. Perhaps dozens did turn up, if you number dozens in double figures. During the short time that we were there I saw nearly a hundred people come to the entrance door to be disappointed. We certainly weren't the only party to have missed the memo about Monday closure. But the museum will not be closed on Bank Holiday Mondays. You'd think that they might have considered that people would be keen to visit during half-term holidays as well.

I will go again, but next time I'll be consulting the website before I buy a train ticket.

And how did Baby Martha handle her disappointment? She displayed great forbearance and stoicism.

Postscript

Since writing this, it appears that the Ulster Museum people acknowledge that today was a bit of a debacle. Among the people I chatted to outside the museum today were tourists from the United States who were tremendously disappointed to find the doors closed. We Ulster people can come again any day (other than Mondays) but it was their one chance as their itineraries are set.

Martha and Martha

2009-10-22T23:21:00.001+01:00

Martha and Martha, originally uploaded by ZMB.

I just like this picture very much.

Shirley

2009-10-21T16:26:00.005+01:00

Shirley, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

I was a little taken aback, last night, to see this photograph on the front page of the local paper. It was taken in our kitchen when Shirley was staying with us. The paper stated that it was a picture 'taken in happier times'. She was quite happy that day, getting ready to go out to meet some friends in Ballymena. There were also lots of days when she didn't appear so happy.

Ballymena was where Shirley made her home and it was where she made the few good friends who loved her, but it was also in Ballymena where she was cruelly mistreated and abused by some others who were not her friends and, finally, where she was callously murdered.

Today her murderer has been found guilty after a long trial.

Sometimes I really do hope that Hell exists. For there are others who have never been brought to justice for the crimes they committed against this vulnerable young girl. I really do hope that there will be a Hell for them and that they will roast in it for ever.

I May Have Omitted To Mention

2009-10-19T22:31:00.010+01:00

Barnaby Rudge and Grip the Raven

I finished listening to Barnaby Rudge and I have to say I enjoyed it very much. I particularly liked that illustration as it fitted very well with the image of Barnaby that I had in my mind.

I have changed my car. I now drive a Peugeot 307 estate and Matty is very pleased with it. Bonnie does not like it as much as my VW Polo as she has been confined to the boot so far. It's a very big boot but it's still a comedown for her.

My granddaughter is one calendar month today. She is even more beautiful than she was. I really do hope she doesn't peak too soon!

We are looking forward to having Katy and her fiance come to stay. We expect there shall be a great deal of talk about weddings. We shall try to bear it.

The pigs went away a week ago today. They will be coming home in the form of sausages and other yummy things in the very near future. There has been no word of the Kune Kunes but - trotters crossed!

We brought a little light into our lives with the help of Pascal the Rascal. (This is cryptic and will only be understood by a very few, mostly called Joe)

Hannah has discovered a new fascination for the natural world. She still can't tell a plant from a tree but she's very keen on parasitic wasps.

There are some other things going on which are not a matter for levity. As always, in the midst of Life....

And that is all.... for now.

A Desprit Hoor For The Culture

2009-10-15T23:40:00.006+01:00

Tonight Bert and I went to Ballymena and found ourselves in an entirely spide-free zone. And it wasn't even a church! We went to see the Lyric Players perform The Beauty Queen of Leenane in The Braid. We thoroughly approved. Sure what else would a body be doing on a Thursday night? Watching The Sopranos and drinking gin? A change is as good as a rest, as they say.

Recently we've been having a fly at Kurosawa's The Idiot. Dem heavy going we thought. We were glad to get back to The Sopranos.

Bert says,

That Tony Soprano's a whingeing bastard.

D'ye think?

Mind you I wouldn't like to tell him that to his face.

Other cultured things I've been doing include listening to Barnaby Rudge. You know, I'd never even heard of the Gordon Riots before! But does listening to audiobooks count? Although I always have the hard copy to hand to properly read parts I sort of missed out on because I saw an interesting bird or the cat did something funny or Bert tried to engage me in conversation.

I've been doing some proper reading too - Flann O'Brien, the Ikea Catalogue and the discusion boards on Lexulous and Wordscraper. Some of the discussions on those last two are a horror movie. I can hardly believe that adults say that sort of stuff to each other. Little wonder they need alter egos.

Off to bed now with a Killer Sudoku and the NME death issue. This culture stuff can be very tiring.

Cheers!

2009-10-13T22:56:00.002+01:00

Matty: You know, you left your Tescos receipt here the other week...

Me: Did I?

Matty: I had a wee look at it.

Me: Did you?

Matty: That gin's wild dear.

Me: D'ye think?

Matty: I nearly fainted when I saw the price of it!

Me: It was probably a litre bottle.

Matty: A whole litre!

Me: Aye. Mind you that would probably do me about ten days. (thinks - more like seven)

Matty: Just you yourself drinking it?

Me: Oh no! Me and Bert both. (thinks - he might be so lucky)

Matty: Oh well. That's not just as bad then.

Me: it's better than wine. Don't drink as much of it and it's not as fattening. (thinks - I need a drink)

Matty: That's not so bad then.

Me: (thinks she's thinking - Nelly's an alcoholic)

So on the way home I stopped at Tescos and bought some buttermilk and mozzarella and... cheers!

Charlie bit my finger - again !

2009-10-12T14:43:00.001+01:00

According to an article in today's Independent this is the most viewed video on YouTube with 126,143,311 views. And now that I've watched it - is now at 126,143,312 views.

Big Business

2009-10-09T08:54:00.005+01:00

I mentioned the other night that my boss would be going to a breakfast meeting on the following day.

"A breakfast meeting!" snorts Bert with that peculiar mixture of sneering contempt and personal shame that he generally displays when he thinks of the poor unfortunate creatures who have to get out of their beds of a morning. "How posey!" he added.

"Not a-tall," says I. "It's a very good time for busy people to meet. You're just jealous because you don't get to have breakfast meetings."

"Well. That's just where you're wrong," says he. "For I had a breakfast meeting with Wee Les this very day."

"Did you?" says I. "And what business deals did you cut?"

"He gave me a bag of piri-piri chillies and I gave him the last of the damsons and a bunch of scallions."

Playing the Game

2009-10-07T23:19:00.003+01:00

This internet is a rare and wonderful place. There was I, playing Lexulous and Wordscraper like a demon and I had NO IDEA, no idea at all what a vicious arena it had become. Occasionally people would get rather sniffy if I played a word that they found unfamiliar. These words would usually be botanical or horticultural. I'd generally ignore their sniffiness and carry on.

Obviously when choosing games I'd avoid (like the plague) male players looking for sexy/pervy chat. Funnily enough these sort of players tend to have low stats. I expect it must be hard to concentrate on wordplay when the blood supply has deserted the brain and headed for the groin area. Once, in a daring mood, I accepted a game from a punter who declared that he'd only play females who told him their bust measurements. I messaged 'probably bigger than your head Sunny Jim' and he deleted the game immediately. Pussy-wuss!

Recently I noticed a few players were warning others about a certain Canadian chappie. I investigated further and found that he is a hot topic in the forums. Groups have been formed to denounce him and he likes to take an active part in these very same forums. The level of abuse they measure out to one another is alarming. These people taketheir word games very seriously indeed.

Enough of word games. I'm off to bed now with Flann O'Brien. Don't tell!

lookingattheworld

2009-10-03T10:17:00.001+01:00

lookingattheworld, originally uploaded by waveneyavenue.

Martha's own Daddy's photographs are the best so far. Her Mummy is too busy doing Mummy things to take the pictures.

It's time now that I introduce her to the Garden.

Poo Poo

2009-10-01T22:38:00.002+01:00

My granddaughter Martha Amy is 12 days old today and it is nearly a week since I held her in my arms. She has two very adequate parents and a host of other admirers so I do have to take my turn with her. I called with her last Friday but her doting grandfather from England was over and he had to take precedence. I called again on Sunday bearing presents of food (any excuse) and I found Martha's father in an exhausted sleep and Martha just nodded off so I had to tiptoe and whisper a bit. Zoe said,

"You don't have to whisper. She's used to noise."

And I said,

"I know. But her father's not."

But today, when I called, I found Martha lively and full of beans and busy about a baby's business which meant I got to change her napkin. What a thrill! Zoe supervised and I have to say that her arrangements are much better organised than my own were. Martha roared like a bull stirk throughout the whole procedure but Zoe said that is what she usually does.

I changed a baby's napkin and it was, by far, the nicest thing I did all day. Even nicer than taking photographs of the Mayor of Ballymena which I also did today.

A Face Only A Nelly Could Love

2009-09-27T21:39:00.003+01:00

Old Map of Cullybackey

2009-09-27T01:07:00.013+01:00

This map was drawn by the Rev. Jonathan Townsley who was the minister for the United Free Presbyterian Church in Cullybackey. Click map to enlarge.

From 'Random Rhymes frae Cullybackey' by Adam Lynn, 1911.

Boris the Boisterous

2009-09-25T11:29:00.002+01:00

My new role - pig scratching post. Boris actually swept me off my feet.

Catching Up

2009-09-23T22:21:00.004+01:00

It was three days since I'd last set eyes on my grandchild and I just could not keep away for another moment. Hannah and I called in for ten minutes after work. It was a lengthy ten minutes. How fascinating this little human being is! And really, all she does is nurse and poo and burp and pull the most peculiar faces. I'm told she cries but, so far, never in my presence.

She is, of course, far more beautiful than the normal run of babies. She is, which goes without saying, already displaying signs of superior intelligence. And, for a creature barely a week old, she is amazingly strong and active and alert.

Am I besotted? I think I must be.