In supervision I am always being reminded to see things from my clients frame of reference, ie from their unique perspective.
It’s a hard skill to develop and to learn as we all analyse and unpick people on the hoof so to speak. I’m trying to view Trump’s apparent victory from the American voters point of view.
Most want more money in their pay checks, cheaper prices in the shops and a life free of the anxiety of illegal migration
Not that much different to the aspirations of the voters in the UK Brexit vote of 2016 me thinks.
Every house I knew had a light on, curtains drawn . Mrs Trellis the only exception, as she was playing her piano at the window, her tongue out of the side of her mouth in concentration .
The Randa’s cottage had flowers in the windows as always and the Hoose’s, Smith’s, Richard’s, Ackroyds, ,Velvet voiced Linda’s cottages were little pools of colour and light in the dark and the cold .
I saw no living person , not one apart from Trellis
But I felt their lives behind glowing windows and solar light in the garden.
Even the pub looked quiet and closing and no one except me and Mary ( Roger typically missed it) saw a large vixen totter up High Street , her head held high
We walked home and the Turpin house and Margaret’s bungalow on London Road looked cheerful, and welcoming as did the the little semicircle of houses on Rhodfa Arthur.
Someone has hung solar fairy lights around the lytchgate of the Church
( Islwyn?)
And the walk home was gently illuminated by Christmas lights
King Filipe and Queen Letizia were pelted with mud by some of the frustrated and angry residents of Valencia today. I was saddened by the footage today, saddened for the people and saddened for the royal family, whose intentions were sincere.
As a nurse, and now a trainee therapist, I’ve always known that anger, is the easiest emotion to mobilise when things goes tits up
It’s the most irrational emotional and hardest to deal with, and from what I could tell Filipe and Letizia did their very best against incredible odds.
I remember as a staff nurse on intensive care being wing man to a consultant who was giving bad news to a family. I remember so clearly the Blind fury of the father as he raised his fist to strike the doctor as I stood between them and “ shushed” him as a mother would do to crying child.
The shushing worked, it diffused the anger, but not the pain
Thank goodness
I’m still feeling rough, and I write this in bed, with the kittens purring like aircraft
I’ve got that virus that comes back with a vengeance . Several of the older members of the hospice have it and this morning we were comparing health notes like old ladies do at a bus stop.
If you are a singleton and poorly, you only have your dogs to lick your feet better. Ok Diane the support worker I worked with last night, who has a heart the size of a fridge, gave me her curry supper to eat as well as furnishing me with copious amounts of sweet tea, but generally kid , you’re on your own.
Hence the lucozade.
Now when I was a child, Lucozade was classed as a medical drink. A gloriously golden sweet fizzy drink wrapped up in yellow selophane, that could only be bought at the chemists.
It was expensive
It was wonderful and it was a treat.
Your mother really loved you when she bought you a bottle, and you had to drink it quick sticks before anyone well got there nasty little mits on it.
It was the ambrosia of the 1970s
So I bought myself a bottle today
From Tescos
There was a whole section filled with lucozade
Lucozade light, lucozade sport, lucozade high energy
Typically lush and heavy with its colours andwith a heavy orchestral score this quiet melodrama about euthanasia on the surface is more Almodòvar than Almodòvar .
I went to Chester Picturehouse to see it. With its plush seats and warm interiors, I sat my coffee down on my little armrest, and took,in the first arty meeting between old friends Tilda Swindon and Julianne Moore before falling fast asleep with , what I was presuming to be a snore that could out do the average warthog
.
I knew nothing except Tilda was found dead in full battle makeup and Moore was being all soft spoken to the police.
The credits- the end.
I was mortified
Not for me but for the half dozen other patrons who would have had to coped with an hours plus of my night noises.
At the end of the credits. I apologised to a couple two seats behind, who gallantly waved me away with a smile
Perhaps it was the seats, perhaps I need that blood test to check just why I’m so tired, or perhaps my psychi just doesn’t want to deal with another story of preparation for death and a story of the dying
