A field of Dreams

The gravedigger has arrived to open up Auntie Glad’s family grave . It’s her funeral tomorrow. The weather is foul, but village elder Islwyn ( our unofficial gravedigger) is hopeful the sun will be shining

She deserves that much, he said simply..

And so I think it’s fitting giving this blog entry an airing again. I was remembering Gladys as she should be remembered and it’s from a post written , about an event I held in the village over fifteen years ago  now.

A " Field Of Dreams " Moment

My family often nag me to amalgamate the better parts of Going Gently into some sort of bestselling paperback. The Prof says whimsy sells, and I guess he is right given the plethora of " heartwarming" and " uplifting" tales of life changing encounters middle aged pongos like myself experience when lifestyles change and temple hair is lightening from brunette to a gentle grey.
On the way to the panto the other night, my sister remembered what I call a " Field of Dreams" moment which she said would be a " Satisfying " denouement to the chapter where two middle aged gays first moved into a tight knit Welsh village!
Nine years ago, I held my very first " allotment open evening" It was on the back of similar open evenings my sister organised at her own town allotment, where friends and family had the opportunity to survey her vegetable beds, have tea and cake and make a contribution of a charity of her choice.
My first allotment open was a small affair, but it was important to me as I left several hopeful posters around the village inviting everyone to attend. Attendance by the Trelawnyd-ites meant everything and as the 6 pm opening deadline loomed close, My sister remembered me gazing up the lane in a sudden downpour of summer rain, worried that no one would come.

I should not have worried ...for the " Field Of Dreams " moment arrived as powerfully as anything ever seen in a sentimental movie or tv series! the only thing that was bloody lacking was a sudden swelling of a musical score, for at exactly 6 pm and valiantly led by Auntie Glad hidden underneath an oversized umbrella, a long line of village characters weaved their way down the Church lane from the main road and towards the field to support the event.

It was a real Hollywood moment amid the wet grass and Slightly damp Victoria sponges.

Perhaps, my sister was right. It is these kind of moments balanced with the sadness of those normal life dramas that make a story readable and accessible to all. Light and froth peppered with emotional romps......perhaps that is the formula..

And I will always remember Auntie Glad nodding her head at me, with those sparking blue eyes, eager and interested, as she passed by that evening

“Good Evening Mr Gray!” She trilled “ I told you I would come “

I cannot think of a time she let anyone down

Sunday Night

Sometimes you are not always your own best friend 

I need an arm around me tonight 

Sometimes we all do

Love Contractually

 

If you want something frothy and forgettable , sweet and likeable go and see What’s Love Got To do With it? It won’t tax you too much, it will make you cry at least four times and it could have been a much more serious and far reaching movie, if it tried.

But it settled for ROM COM status.

Childhood friends Kazim ( Shazad Latif) and Zoe ( Lily James) have grown up next door to each other in an affluent London suburb. He is a serious Muslim doctor , whose only hidden flaws are cigarettes and occasional  alcohol. And she is a serial singleton, filmmaker who lives on a boat on the Thames ( !)

When Kazim decides to allow his parents to assist him in finding a wife , Zoe is allowed to film the who process, a film which challenges everyone of what they think is the right way to love. 

Written by Jemima Khan and directed by Shekhar Kapur, we still have to put up with the usual Asian stereotypes, but some like Asim Chaudrey great turn as Mo the Matchmaker are probably very true to life.

Froth and Rubbish

Days are like Pants 

Up one day, down the next.

I’m not down today, just a bit fazed.

There needs a lightness of touch from somewhere 

Something frothy and perky.

Unfortunately there’s not much froth and perk about today.

Apart from Roger who has just learned how to masturbate 

Anyhow I went to the TCA members meeting which reminded  me I have a lot to do 

And the day is cold and grey and unappealing as it was yesterday.

I’ve arranged to meet my sister to see the Lily Allen rom com What’s love got to do with it ? 

Which will be the frothy bit of rubbish I need today. 

Pants

 Once you are on a roll, things have a tendency of moving on at their own pace.

I’m thinking of the Queen Mary’s stopping length, here but the same can be thought of holes in underpants.

Last night I found a hole in my underpants .

I was in the bathroom and this sort of thing happens , so irritated I threw the underpants out of the window onto the patio, to be retrieved  later to put in the bin by the back door.

Now galvanised , as I warmed  to my task, I had a quick check of my undercrackers drawer and found four more gusset challenged sets all with holes in and threw them on the patio too.

This seemed sensible to me as I often throw used bleach bottles, empty shampoo bottles etc out on the patio to be retrieved later for recycling.

At 9 am there was a knock at the back door and Trevor’s gardener stood there wanting to know how he was. 

Nothing was mentioned about the five pairs of underpants lying on the patio 

Thank you

Over six years ago fellow blogger Meanqueen visited Trelawnyd  

She has just donated a considerable donation  to the new TCA committee and is one of life’s good eggs 

Thank you my old friend …
 

It’s all go …….again

 I’m making a huge chilli for the above night do. It’s our chance to publish the TCA’s work to the villagers that don’t know what’s happening.

It’s Auntie Glad’s funeral on Tuesday . I heard the male voice choir will be singing at the Church which will be an emotional moment for all , I’m sure. It’s sad that her own Church is closed but fitting the service will take place in the bigger Church of Llanasa, the village she lived in before she was married

Bucket of coffee time is curtailed today , I’m doing overtime at work later

So What Happens Now?

Last night the tutor of the level 4 Counselling course FaceTimed our group to discuss if we wanted to move forward in our training come September. 

She was pragmatic, cheerful and helpful 

And She has given me quite a lot to think about today.

A day that I’m feeling rough after my fourth covid jab.

I’m 61 this year. 

And I’m finding the rigours of nursing just a bit too much after forty years in the role.

I have a mortgage to pay for until I am 70 and bills and expenditure is on the rise.

And so I needed a plan.

And that plan, originally, was to retrain to be a qualified counsellor.

There is an outlay for this endeavour, which I may or not get help with, 

There is the academic challenge too , as well, as I know I have to work hard to get on top of all things Uni.

But then you add to this all of the doubts of self belief 

Can I cut the mustard as a counsellor? 

Can I do it?

The “ new” tutor clearly outlined the “ checks” in the course that ensure you are fit for the role.

In all of the 100 hours skills practice I have to do with real clients I have to pay for intensive clinical supervision every month. More if I require it. 

This supervision is not cheap and is an incredibly stringent safety check of my potential competence 

Added to this in year one and two I will have to pay for my own counselling experience.

A journey which is necessary if you are to practice 

But a journey which has its own worries and it’s own challenges.

There are two of us, in my present group that are older students.

Both of us on journeys we didn’t expect in our sixties.

We looked at each other at the end of last night’s tutorial and smiled gently together

“ Are you going for it ?” Donna mouthed

“I’m going to try” I mouthed back

And try I will

The Shawshank Redempion

 

Oh I did enjoy my night out with Georgous Dave  last night.

We went to see Owen O Neil and Dave John’s adaptation of the film The Shawshank Redemption at Theatre Clwyd and from the get-go it was clear we were watching a quality piece of theatre.

I think most people know the film, so I won’t worry too much about spoilers , suffice to say we follow the prison life of Andy Dufresne (Jo Absolom) who is incarcerated in the notorious Shawshank Prison during the 1940s. Bright and optimistic and shouting his innocence in the double murder of his wife and her lover , Dufresne strives to change his lot and the lot of his fellow prisoners by making their existence a little more humane even though the Governor, officers and two predatory prisoners all connive to destroy him and his innate goodness. 

Dufresne makes a lifetime friendship with Red Redding ( Ben Onwukwe) who like Morgan Freeman did in the film, narrates the piece with similar chocolate tones but with more of an impish take on the much loved character.

From the get go the play is brutal and compelling to watch. The sets full-fill the brief wonderfully as do the small but very able cast and I loved the ending where the two friends finally meet again against a stunning and unexpected tropical sky, an ending much better than the more talky film ending

Not a dry eye in the house.

So it’s Tuesday, 

College day,

Covid jab no 4

I’m cleaning Bluebell later and am making spiced sweet potato soup 

Betty

 Three blogs in one day ! 

I’ve just got home and heard the sadness of the death of Betty Boothroyd 

She was a bloody one off 

For those that don’t know she was the speaker of the House of Commons, MP , a Yorkshire woman and former tiller girl. That one sentence sums her up nicely .

A class act

Kindness

Kindness has a power all of its own when it is witnessed
In an Istanbul football match yesterday the crowds donated thousands of teddy bears to lift the spirits of the babies and young children caught up in the recent earthquake .

And the.act of giving lifts the human spirit

Badgers

 It was around four when I heard Albert “ Chatter” 

It’s a funny sound and a rare one in this house as I can only liken it to a very small person shaking a very tiny set of maracas. 

Cats usually chatter at birds that they can’t reach or ambush and Albert is no different 

But the chatter was in the middle of the night 

And the only birds around at that time are a pair of barn owls that swoop silently across the valley from Marion Mawr.

Albert was sat in the window seat looking down into the lane with wide yellow eyes.

I got up and wrapped the quilt cover around my shoulders and joined him.

He moved over without averting his gaze.

He was watching a pair of badgers in the lane who were trotting after each other somewhat playfully.

February is the mating season for badgers.

Living in the country has its upsides and downsides. But how many people can say that they have watched badgers courting outside their windows at night? 

Not very many. 

The boar wagged his fat bottom as he trotted into the garden and stopped to listen as Roger sleepily barked once  from the kitchen. 

They pottered and played for a while like hairy pigs.

Badgers are noisy animals and grunt and snort when they explore and as I grew cold I left them too it and returned to bed where Dorothy spooned me without waking up.

I heard Albert chatter some more before everything returned to a sort of silence again

I asked my google cube what time it was 

It’s now chatting as a butch man and told me in a manly way that it was 4.22 am

I asked it to play a tropical rain shower which it did and I fell asleep almost immediately with no dreams of badgers or of Pedro Pascal or of anything of note for that matter

Day off today. 

A walk, 

Some shopping,

And theatre later with Gorgeous Dave 

We are seeing the stage version of The Shawshank Redemption 

I’ve just put out the reclycling and saw a few untidy holes in the borders of the front garden 

The badgers have removed many of my spring bulbs from beside the stone wall.

And tufts of grey hair can be seen stuck in the lower branches of the hydrangea that faces the West

You can’t complain

Not when you’ve left the gate open