The Arm Chairs No one sits in…..

Gay men love to rearrange furniture. 

It’s in our genes. 

It underlines control and order in lives we cannot always control and order

A behaviour which helps day to day life.

Ok you get where I’m coming from. 

I was laughing with the velvet Voiced Linda today 

Sharing what we think of when times feel somewhat bleak 

5 am ish on Friday I was sitting in the lounge trying to tape my forehead gash with a succession of band aids when I looked around the neatly ordered room

Two arm chairs now face the window 

The little grey one which used to sit in the kitchen and the antique maroon Edwardian one , in which I always get my fat arse wedged in, so never use

Bespoke cushions sit on both

And through my headache , I suddenly felt very sorry for myself .

“Look at the place”I said through a bloody tea towel “Two fucking armchairs with no fucker to sit in them” 

Singletons will understand such a comment and the emotion of sitting alone with said bloody tea towel stuck on their face  

Hey ho
 

A old Harry Potter

A old video ( I’m guessing 20 years at least ) of my lisping choir 

 I slept long and heavy today. I woke around 11 am without a headache and hungry. I suspect I had a minor concussion yesterday. 

Jesus John it’s one thing after another. 

Mary was unhurt in the fall, and went back to bed after thoughtfully licking the blood stains from the Lino. 

I went on a study day in Bangor which was foolish . At least I had a day off today so after dog walks, a breakfast of scrambled eggs I watched old reruns of The Walking Dead , spoke to the German on line and slept on the blue couch with the dogs and both cats 

I’m off to bed shortly and it’s only just after 9 pm

I sent a colleague a photo of my injury 

She said I looked like Harry Potter aged 64

Bladder Problems

 5 am and you go for a pee and you don’t see a half blind Welsh terrier sitting in the bathroom doorway

( Mary’s ok )

April Dusk

 We are not going to have Mary long now. 

She sleeps most of the day, and curls up with me for most of the night .

But at dusk tonight, after a bout of cardiac coughing , she perked up like an old lady at a church jumble sale and trotted into the lane with her ears up, and her one eye bright, for her last walk of the day.

These walks with the Welsh are special times now, especially as Bun comes too, her tail erect, her mouth yowling some sort of message which means fun and solidarity. Today she comes from her den in the ponies’ field and she skips alongside us, in that playful way kittens do when they are learning to hunt and sometimes Roger will dart out towards her, in a half arsed effort to dominate. 

Tonight, was sunny but cooling, and Weaver stood on the cottage wall, quietly watching us go. She reminded me of one of the bad footballers at school, one who wanted to play for the team but the one no one chose to play. 

I called to her but she remained stoic and unmoving, only following us into the cottage after we returned, where she retraced her way  to her lonely safe place on my double bed. 

My laburnum is budding carefully in the churchyard and we walked round with some fertilizer to give her a boost. 

Mary watched the rabbits flag us with white tails as Mervin’s racing pigeons shimmer and gently roar around the bell tower on their last lap before home, and under the dying ash trees on my old corner of the graveyard , the gooseberry bushes I planted fifteen years ago look bright and green and healthy.

The dusk arrives gently 

And as we wait for Mary to jump the last shallow step into the cottage, I’m sure I heard the first breeze of a bat down the lane 

Cloud Watching

 Sometimes it’s important just to be

Several of my counselling clients want to be mindful of things other than stressors 

One cried when I asked them when did you last have any fun?

I got home this afternoon to find out my sister had tidied the garden.

It looked lovely

The mock orange I bought in memory of Finlay is flowering strongly near his grave, and I lay on the grass to cloud watch, even though there wasn’t a much  of a cloud in the sky. 

Not many people outside Cwm Road, are used to 63 year old man lying supine in this front garden and two concerned amblers stopped briefly to ask if I was alright. 

I’m enjoying the view I told them and they walked on amused at this tubby old bloke enjoying his garden 

Blue skies and telephone lines

Shaken Not Stirred

 

It’s going on ten years since I last visited New York. The last time I had a wonderfully boozy dinner at Docks on Third Avenue, which is Blog commentator Lee’s afternoon haunt for nibbles and cocktails.

I mention my garrulous friend because I received a lovely gift from her on Saturday. Three martini glasses direct from the Big Apple. 

I promise New York will be on my list to revisit  at some point. The High Line, Moma, Grand Central’s Oyster Bar, Central Park , Docks …..perhaps one day Lee and I will raise a glass together at that famous art deco bar

Views

These are some lovely photos of Trelawnyd and its environs, by villager David Hurst. My cottage is the white building in line with the Church 

 

Amélie is 25

 

I saw Amélie in the autumn of 2001 at the Showrooms in Sheffield. I still remember the afternoon , as after the film had aired I had to turn to a stranger to comment just how good it was. 

I have visited the film many times since but never on the big screen, so today a friend and I drove to Chester to see it at the Storyhouse 

It was a delight as it has always been, a magical tale of a quirky lonely waitress and her quest to do good in a whimsically unreal Montmartre where strange characters abound and where the colours of the bars and shops and streets burst out of the screen like magic. 

It made Audrey Tautou a star and is, I am sure one of the most loved of all French movies