I’ve come to Bridgerton late and rather enjoyed the “ BOUNCY DANCE “ the other day
I’m catching up with the raunchy going on today ….
Weaver joined me but didn’t look happy
A Bulldog Remembered
With a new bulldog on the way, I think it’s time we revisited one of my most flamboyant girls, in this piece written a day after she died back in 2020
Winifred Sâlote Tupou lV was a diva of rare proportions.
She was a blog writer’s dream as her adventures over her seven years at Bwthyn Y Llan never ever needed embellishing.
She was truly larger than life
Larger than I ever expected from our first, rather lacklustre meeting.
The meeting was September 1st 2013.
I was in the middle of organising my last open Allotment Day when she arrived with her previous owner for an introduction, so our meeting was brief and , for me somewhat disappointing.
All I remember thinking was that she was overly large, had no neck to speak of and looked frightened of everything but I agreed she could come a few days later for a trial run.
And after that, stay she did.
I think Winnie was a fully cooked five year old bulldog when she arrived and it wasn’t long before I worked out that she had her own quirky set of obsessions which proved to be somewhat of a challenge when she finally got her confidence.
- She masturbated incessantly, goaded on by the Professor who thought this behaviour hilarious rather than embarrassing and the object of her desires centred upon his tastefully buffed brogues and the infamous “ Slippers of sex” which were strange hand knitted slippers designed and made by Kit, an old lady who still lives in Bron Haul......Her habit of self pollution continued until her late onset emergency hysterectomy a couple of years ago, but even then , very occasionally she would back her toilet parts seductively onto her trusty fanny flannel when having a periodic summer bath.
- She adored visiting Workmen of any description , though it was fairly obvious that a generic friendly masculine type with overalls was her man of choice, and I must say that she would sulk for hours if she was not allowed to watch what household job needed to be completed. I also remember, her going missing when the British Telicom men were here putting in the broadband extra line. .........I eventually found her sitting in the telicom van’s passenger seat sharing a packet of cheese and onion crisps....
- Winifred was also totally obsessed with food. All food. Any food.....and I once famously brought her round after a particularly robust attack of heatstroke after dipping her nipples into a cold bath and dropping a Tesco cocktail sausage on her gums.
- Her food obsession lead to a life of stealing if left unchecked and I remember the toe curling embarrassment when she raided an elderly woman’s handbag for her polo mints and the time she helped herself to a baby’s Farley’s Rusk , which she found wrapped on the lower shelf of a baby buggy parked in the Church Yard.
- She adored very small children too, and given her great size remained totally in control and gentle when around them. I remember one very emotional moment, observed a couple of times on Going Gently when she suddenly found herself surrounded by a large gaggle of pre school children out for a crocodile linked walk on the Dyserth walkway one summer. I warned the supervisor that she was indeed safe and as I walked up I saw a plethora of stubby little hands rub every inch of her in wonder.....her gentleness and obvious pure pleasure of the toddlers’ attention moved me to tears as I glimpsed just for a moment her natural ability of being a mother
Of all of her fellow animals in and out of the cottage, only one became a true friend, and that friend was Albert. I have often blogged that only she, out of all of my dogs had the capacity for thought and the understanding of simple concepts.
She understood Albert, and was never fazed by cat behaviour, (idiosyncrasies that were always lost by the other dogs
)and last night, as she lay silent and still on the kitchen floor, only Albert came to her, carefully and wide eyed, to sit between her paws , his black head rubbing hers.
Now Winnie, was also a serial sulker. I often referred to her as being a gay man in a bulldog suit as when thwarted or god forbid told off in any way she would stare carefully into the middle distance for the longest of times before flinging herself with gay abandon onto a rug or an unoccupied sofa.
The longest sulk I ever timed, lasted almost six hours....a lifetime in the dog world.
Her last half hour on earth was typically Winnie. She ate a full bowl of dog food ( garnished with several Aldi cocktail sausages) then was allowed a ten minute hysterical rubber chicken gum before settling down on the mat by the door ( instead of her usual place in the reading armchair next to the radiator )
And that was where I found her only an hour later.
Quiet and peaceful
And all on her own terms
I’m sad but not heartbroken ....it was her time to go
And like the ideal cocktail party guest
She didn’t outstay her visit
But I shall miss my old girl
Spring Funeral
Out of duty my elder sister Ann and I went to my second cousin’s funeral this afternoon. It was forty years since I had last met her, less for my sister, but the duty centred around the fact she was the last of the old Guard to pass away. The final, tangible link with my father’s generation, of my sister’s youth and for me memories of 1970s Christmas lunchtimes.
It was a sad funeral, and sad for all the wrong reasons for the celebrant had retold facts and memories adequately but without really gathering the essence of a real character with skills, triumphs, passions and humour.
My cousins were there, cousins I played with as a child, and we all looked old now, and just a little deflated by it all.
Only 15 people were sat spread out in the congregation .
On the way home my sister told me to do something nice, to blow away the funk of the afternoon. So after I dropped her off I went to Marks and bought some Mac n cheese and a bunch of cheerful miniature daffs which I arranged in the green wade vase, left to me by my grandmother before opening the cottage windows to the sun and the breeze from the south east
Order
The Welsh are chewing their lambs ear treats with gusto and the sun is out. Bun and weaver are sunbathing by the front door, but scuttle back into the living room when anyone passes .
The neighbours have caught Weaver trying to kill birds on their bird table and asked permission to use their water pistol .
It’s springlike and the village feels busy.
Last night affable despots Jason and Claire met me in the Crown, where we won the TCA quiz.
I was tired after nights so I was pleased to get home just before nine.
Nice to see the pub busy
Village Leader Ian was there with Lorraine and The Wilson’s from the TCA , he lives down the lane from me and now has a new electric car which I’ve already nicknamed Creeping Jesus ( electric cars and country lanes don’t go together as you can’t hear them coming! )
Today I’ve started to spring clean the cottage.
I haven’t done much, but it’s satisfying removing Roger’s bum itching marks from the corner, of the kitchen cabinets ( once seen never unseen) and now I have a deep drawer allocated to paperwork, filing and the like.
I’ve even taken out a policy with The cheapo cremationo Company and all that paperwork is in a file in the drawer. I spoke to the German on video, he was impressed by my organisational skills
“ Brits are usually rather slap dash are vey not ?” he observed in slightly broken English
Things in order and Everything in its place I told him
I’m sort of nesting. But I’m not ….does that make any sense ?
Olive arrives on Monday
I’ve never owned a one eyed bulldog before
The Night I Heard Caruso Sing
The visuals from the Middle East are sobering and chilling
Truly.
Strange as it would seem, I am reminded of my favourite band, and a song from their early days in the late 1980s when war was a long way away and I was surrounded by young high spirited psychiatric nurses like Tracey Birkin who looked and acted like a young Sophia Loren with open mouthed smiles and the energy of a herd of sweet ponies.
When you are young life is immortal and fear is only a thing seen in the movies.
Everything but the Girl , sang The Night I Heard Caruso Sing beautifully.
The beauty hides the message and screaming dread of war, and we find ourself hurtling towards a faceless video game of war with drones and missiles and screams in the night.
I feel so sad today, listening to that beautiful song
St David’s Day- Patron Saint Of Wales
I’ve read that corpse fire is also a mistaken view of a natural phenomenon of glowing fungus ( foxfire)suffice to say I’ve lived next to the sChurch of St Michael’s for 22 years and have seen nothing whatsoever lol
Spring?
There feels that there is a big sky over the village today.
The daffodils that Trendy Carol and I planted on the field wall opposite my cottage nearly twenty years ago now are flowering late this year and the sun was out this morning which remains a novelty for this time of year.
It’s St David’s day tomorrow, and the TCA has organised a St David’s Day tea in the Hall.
There is a bowls night and Casino nite organised too as well as chair yoga….I may go to that if my tendency for flatulence has abated enough.
I’m working tonight and tomorrow night, then have two weeks on holiday, what fun….
Nasty
Sometimes you can’t help but overhear a conversation between people in the supermarket . Two sixty something couples, one man proudly saying that they had just been to a charity fundraiser for the local lifeboat. As I passed the other woman, who was facing him said something I didn’t catch then loudly added, “well I wouldn’t support them as all they seem to do is to save illegal immigrants.”
I stopped my trolley as the original guy said something else and I caught something like “well you can’t let anyone drown” before the racist woman added “ well I would “ then conceeded with “ I would save the children though”
I saw red
It wasn’t my conversation
It wasn’t my business.
But I butted in anyway and hissed at the woman “ shame, shame on you!”
All four looked shocked but I carried on,
The floodgates opened
“ Racist Scum” I called her
I wasn’t pretty
Cheap Shoes was all too gentle an insult
I’m still shaking
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)