Police and Raptors

George, Constance,William and Meg (reinacting Ben Hur)

I was cruised by a police van in the village this morning when out with the dogs.
It stopped after I crossed the zebra crossing and an unsmiling 16 year old police support officer approached me with a kind of bored look on his face. He asked me if I carried a poop bag and I said I did ( but wasn't going to get it out of my pocket) and then proceeded to tell me about a Flintshire Council initiative where he and his colleagues were giving out a poop bag carrier ( in the shape of a bone!) to every dog owner they could find.
I curbed the impulse to point out that he would be better employed chasing ragamuffins in Rhyl (I also wanted to mention that his partner had parked illegally on the zebra crossing) but kept silent and listened politely for him to give me his spiel before I was presented with several "bones" ( which I gushed enthusiastically about).....
Plastic policemen ! what a job!

Gloria with the trusty antibacterial spray covering her wounds

Of all of my animals there are just two that possess any sort of dark side about them. The two female turkeys Lizzy and  Jane both have an aggressive streak a mile long and regularly  pick on  quieter or sickly animals and will, (unless stopped by chance or myself) endeavor to kill it.
Last summer a runner duck got herself wrapped up in some netting and within seconds they were on her and effectively scalped her before I could intervene.
Today they picked on the benign Gloria, (they had cornered her inside the turkey house) and centred their attack , as usual on the back of her neck. Luckily I heard Gloria's plaintive cries and rescued her before any major damage was done. Not before giving Jane and Lizzy a Sharpe couple of kicks up the arse

The aggressors (butter wouldn't melt)

Tudor : a final word

A quick message.to HB



I understand what you said... through my initial correspondence with Tudor, I would have certainly pulled my original post and subsequent ones if he had asked me to or if he was upset at me using his name. But on reflection I think you are right , perhaps I should have used a pseudonym especially given the power of google, which can reach even the more boring parts of rural North Wales


I do not want to cause any further upset to to family and friends so I have deleted all of my posts relating to him. All I will say is that I valued his first e mail in reply to my blog entry discussing my childhood memories of him, he was very sweet, generous and thoughtful  and that was much appreciated by me, as readers of this blog have testified to.

My thoughts are with his family at this time

Mushy Peas in the car

My brother was tired when I visited him this evening. He was also rather weary and fed up with the tracheostomy which is to be expected.
Unable to speak , interaction can be a little difficult for him and for us, and when visiting , being in the hospital. I was reminded of when I used to take my mother out from her nursing home room, and I was glad that the story I recalled got my brother, sister in law and visiting nephew Peter smiling.

My mother in the months before her death was a terribly difficult character. A chronic bronchitic and un diagnosed COPD sufferer she was confined to her room on an oxygen concentrator which she found dreadfully frustrating seeing that she was a 60 cigarette a day lady!). To take her out, she needed bottled oxygen, so on my weekly visit from Sheffield ( a 200 mile round trip) I used to "borrow" one of the huge oxygen cylinders from work! which I used to smuggle out of the spinal unit ( by using one of the patient's wheelchairs as a trolley)
When I finally reached Prestatyn, I would have to toilet my mother (not the most pleasant of jobs) , then trundle her down into Chris' nissan micra for her afternoon out!
 I had learnt early on that she would have to be sat on a selection of incontinence pads ( or if these ran short a subtly sculptured plastic carrier bag) and after getting her sitting comfortably and connected up to the massive oxygen cylinder, we set off for the outing of her choice.
Now she was a bit of a cheap date!
Her favourite trips included :
*A fish and chip supper in the car park at Prestatyn Beach ( the car would always be fully of mushy peas afterwards much to Chris' amusement)
*A drive up to Gwaenysgor Hillside
* or ( and most importantly) a trip to Sainsbury's car park! ( which is a supermarket for those that don't know)

At Sainsbury's I would set her up with a cigarette and a crossword (praying that a spark would not ignite the flammable Oxygen- now don't worry too much I WOULD always turn the O2 off when she lit up) and I would go into the store to purchase her weekly "treats" as she would sit quite happily in the passenger seat
These treats would always be the same

2 strawberry tarts ( with cream)
2-3 miniature bottles of gin
1 crossword book with pen
A selection of sweets ( to bribe the Nursing home staff so that they would take her for more fags during the day!)
A box of tissues
20 fags,

She was a crafty old cuss too, for every week after she  accepted her booty, she would suddenly "remember" some other item she had supposedly forgotten!
I went along with this ruse....and would dutifully go and get her another miniature gin " for tomorrow night" she would say.........and as I did, she would enjoy one of her sneaky 50ml bottles of Gordons, before jamming the plastic bottle in the ash tray or down the air con vent flap!

It was nice to see my brother smiling at my memory....mind you, he would have told the story better...he was always a better storyteller than I would ever be

Courtship in the dark



The strange fog decended after dark

 January is the month that foxes mate.
They are noisy about it too and the vixen will yowl , yap and scream at the dog for what seems like an eternity during their, shall we say....courtship!
Last night the guinea fowl started their high pitched screaming around nine pm, so I darted over to the field in a strange , heavy fog to check if everything was ok.
In the odd glow of the moon I could make out two foxes. The vixen was yapping away at the dog and both animals darted back and forth through the hen houses in a desperate courting race.
They obviously didn't notice  me, or indeed the little knots of birds hiding away within the hen houses, they just had eyes for each other, and I must admit that even though I hate the buggers, I thought that the ghostly spectacle of these two graceful animals galloping in the moonlight was rather moving.


At one point the vixen leaped on top of the runner duck house roof with a clatter causing a sudden burst of frightened quacking from the occupants, but the foxes weren't interested in a ducky meal and just carried on their playtime game of chase me.
Finally I had enough of their over familiarity and shouted out loudly whilst clapping my hands.
They stopped for a brief second , both turning in my direction,  then they were gone, slipping through the hedge into the dark like thieves in the night.
The field population let out a collective sigh of relief I am sure and even Albert padded over from his hiding place on top of the church wall to rub himself anxiously against my legs as I walked back to the cottage in the cold

A Furniture Whore

I feel a little like a furniture whore!
Showing my wears on the Internet
But here is a much requested photo of my Grandfather Clock, that Maura  requested in the previous post. Hope she likes it!

It is not an official family piece, but I feel in some ways that it is! The clock is early Victorian and was owned by the parents of two old friends Rol and Nia (Nia still reads this blog from her home over in Australia!) As a very young man I always remembered the clock being in their hallway and I frequently joked with Mrs Roberts that I wanted to own it.
A few years ago, Mrs Roberts sadly died and some of the family antiques were sold at auction. I attended the auction and made sure I bought the clock which used to sit in the hallway of the family farm.
You can tell that the clock used to stand on a stone floor as years of mopping of the flags have worn away the very bottom of the casing.
I love it dearly
I called in to see my brother this afternoon. He looked very tired , so I didn't stay too long!.Before I went I stopped at the hospital shop and bought him some guy mags ( no not porn......but you know the sort! Jokey "man" rubbish)
One of the girls from ITU caught me paying for them and quipped
"John...buying secret hetero magazines eh!..........wait till the staff here about this!"

Requested pics

One of my favourite art deco ceramics a Denby terrier

Maura and Iris asked me to post a few more photos of the cottage interior and our paintings. I couldn't quite manage to photo the watercolours adequately with my crappy camera so have snapped a couple of the "neater" areas!

The Old Lady Bedroom



The "Miss Marple" bookcase and chair

The Tiny arts and Crafts desk by the front door

The spare bedroom and office ( it's never this neat usually!)



I have to allow myself a short chuckle......as I have made sure you have not seen the "adventure playground" which is the kitchen complete with tons of wet washing, smelly dog blankets and muddy paw prints
Right off to walk the dogs and then off to the hospital to see my brother..thanks again for your many best wishes

Burlesque Therapy

I knew I was more upset about Andrew than I would care to admit, when I decided to take myself down to Prestatyn for a scala cinema special film club showing of the French movie On Tour.
Movies , for me have always provided a sort of security blanket , a panacea to all ills as it were, and for 40 years they have cushioned me from those real life upsets that rear their ugly heads from time to time, and as we know real life can sometimes be somewhat .....well too real, to be coped with.

So tonight I needed that fantasy two hour fix.....and I could have not chosen a better film to take me out of myself. On Tour is a kind of loose,often vibrant and rather compelling road movie, where a faded theatre producer Joachim Zand (Mathieu Amalric ) leads a rag tag group of American Burlesque artists around the more seedier theatres of the French Harbour Towns. He is a volatile divorcee that craves for former successes; they are voluptuous, resilient, full figured women who possess clear self worth and a historic pride in the artistic merit of  real American Burlesque and the film chronicles a few days in the life of their comback tour. 

The women laugh their way through hotel after hotel with valiant good humour whilst Zand has to cope with realisation of their situation, his estranged children, and a potential relationship with the blowzy lead artist Mimi Le Meaux (the statuesque  Miranda Colclasure )......Amalric, is quite hypnotic as the contradiction that is Zand. As actor and director he gives us tiny but vital scenes that underline just how charismatic Zand was in his former career ( the best example is were he flirts with a petrol station attendant and is suddenly transformed into a romantic and sexy leading man)...and the audience warms to this sometime abrasive character who wants to live his dream all over again.

The film is incredibly funny at times and always celebrates ( but never pokes fun at) the women performers who despite their cellulite, advancing years and overly rounded figures prove themselves to be rather impressive and talented artists! ( I especially loved the rotund lady who pulled several yards of American ribbon out of her bum hole!!!- which she spun around her like an Olympic gymnast!)

The therapy helped
8/10

My brother was transferred to a ward this afternoon. I will go and see him tomorrow. Thank you for your supportive comments here on the blog. Much appreciated
x

We Walk The Same Line

The needlepoint on the cottage wall

I am writing this entry at 01.40 in the morning but wont post this entry until later. I have downed too many cups of coffee over the past few hours and I am sure I won't sleep until a significant amount of caffeine has been peed out of my system!...so it is time to pass the time typing this whilst watching "Road Wars" on Sky


I have been sat in my own Intensive care unit with my sister in law for the last hour or so. My brother suffered a particularity nasty stridor attack last night and after being admitted to A&E  was taken straight to theatre to have a surgical tracheostomy. Everything went routinely and when we left him, he was stable, sedated and ventilated surrounded by a group of nurses and doctors I know, trust and respect.


I know the procedure was necessary, and I am glad it was finally carried out.....I was also glad I could be there to support my sister in law who has shown remarkable strength of character over this entire nightmare period, as my brother's Motor Neurone disease tightens some of its nastier symptoms.   


It was weird seeing him lying in a bed space that I often work in, but I thank god that I was in a position to do it. I scanned the monitors and the ventilator screen, mentally ticking off the satisfactory readings, and by doing so I felt immediately better. How awfully frightening it must be if you are the next of kin of someone in intensive care and you HAVEN'T got a clue what is actually going on.....

I am on holiday this week which is for the best and as sod's law would have it my best friend Hazel is looking after Andrew this morning which is a load off my mind...he hopefully should be transferred out of intensive care today 

Psychological Sun

After what seems like weeks of rain, we have just had the first fine day of the new Year! The village has literally come to life, with men repairing walls, painting chimneys and fixing the frost damaged gardens of winter.
Auntie Glad in her big woollen coat made the most of the sunny afternoon and went to see her sister on the periphery of the village, and dog walkers Pippa, Val and Peter passed the cottage to the bellows and woofs of  our dogs who had stationed themselves in the sunny window seat of our bedroom.
The animals love the sunshine in winter. The last two remaining ghost hens (above) dragged their heavy bodies from their usual hiding place of their coop door ( where they have spent the majority of the winter sheltering from the rain and snow) and set themselves up in a sunny spot to sun bathe. Only these two made it into their second year, but make it they have, and it was nice to see them content and warm for a change.

Making the most of the weather I opened up the cottage windows and let the countryside air in to freshen the place and then spring cleaned the living room free of dog smells and the slight coldness only stone cottages possess when it is damp outside!

Clean for a change, the living room



You can't quite feel the warmth of the sun, but it was there believe me

It's funny but give me a bright DRY day and tons of things get done...........

You can do it.....if you _ and _ it!

Buying a washing machine is usually a fairly innocuous pastime I would have thought.You go into the store....you pick your machine....you pay and you leave....simple!
Hummmm.......not quite!
Today we went to the superstore, loaded our machine on a spare flat trolley, took it through the self service tills, (past two chattering female sales girls) and then preceded to leave the store.
One of the female managers dashed forward as we slid through the automatic doors and suddenly asked to see our receipt, something that Chris took great exception to! Bless him, I think he thinks that we still live in an age when customers were wined and dined by attentive and slightly obsequious sales staff that wore carnations in their lapels and the prospect of a woman dressing all in orange basically challenging his honesty was all a bit much!
"Did you think I was stealing this washing machine?" he asked her shortly
The woman reddened and said "no!"
"Then why did you want to see my receipt?"
The woman babbled on for a second about only wanting to check on something but Chris was incensed and with great aplomb told the saleswoman that he had never been thought of as a thief in his 40  years on this planet, How upset he was at the inference that he had done so, and would not be returning to her store,! He turned on his heel, leaving her speechless and me smiling weakly at no one in particular...
This altercation was not even amusing unless you read on about what happened when we got the said washing machine home.
After a great deal of muttering and arguing we manhandled it into the kitchen where I plumbed it in and with a flourish, switched it on!
Immediately water burst out of the top of the machine, soaking the floor and a line of watching dogs, and amid a great deal of shouting and hysteria we managed to stem the flow somewhat with a half dozen pet blankets and 6 rolls of kitchen tissue.
I rang the store and told them I would bring back the faulty machine and swap it for another and after dragging it through the kitchen yet again ( this time ripping the lino) then back up the garden ( arguing as we did so) we were back to square one!
This time Chris left me to do the honours with the store staff ( he stayed in the car) and I might have known that the female manager that he had been so indignant to, met me at the door!
"I didn't expect to see you BACK so soon" she victoriously crooned with smile.......so I offered her my best Yorkshire terrier grimace again and resorted to my usual and rather ineffectual "hey ho"
In these situations it is best to plan dumb and smile a lot 

Ok nothing to do with the washing machine fiasco but it made me smile