Making My Own Fun

The Prof went for a drink after work last night so I went to the supermarket to complete the weekly shop.
Strange as it may sound, I think I got the better deal, for the afternoon visit was the ideal venue for my favourite game of,
" Supermarket Relay"
Now the rules of Supermarket Relay are as follows.

1. First take a leisurely wander up and down the aisles of your favourite supermarket scanning the shoppers as well as the produce.
2. Make a note of anyone you recognise.
3. Pick your victim .
4. Follow them at a distance then
5. Strike 

Now, to explain this game a little better, I need to give you yesterday's examples

1. I did indeed wander up and down the aisles
2. In the end I recognised five shoppers! ( a particular record!) - Three ladies from Samaritans who were shopping post lunch date. " Betty"( Wife of Gentleman Farmer Ralph; they live down our lane) and Gaynor, Trelawnyd Church's Mad organist. 
3. Only three of the five were pushing a shopping trolley. And so " Betty", a lady called Norma (who incidentally is Winnie's regular babysitter) and Gaynor were shortlisted! Now......" Betty" , being a fit farmer's wife, proved to be far too agile to follow effectively so I centred my game on Norma and Gaynor.
4. Now  the object of supermarket Relay is to sneak useless items of produce into your victims' shopping trolley without being caught by them or by any eagle eyed fellow shopper who may open their gob to warn them. In my experience,,it takes great skill to get away with anything more than two items, such is the peripheral visual skills of your average shopper, but I thought I'd give it a go. 

In two minutes I was on a roll. Deftly I dropped an economy tin of spaghetti hoops in the Mad Organist's trolley while she was busy with the baking section before swooping upon an unsuspecting Norma  who was approaching the checkout , with a triple bombing of a family sized box of paper  hankies, trifle sponge fingers and a packet of pan scrubs. 

Neither woman was aware of my presence   ! 

Great fun...you should try it!

Snapshots

Polling day and a sunny one meant that Trelawnyd was extra busy yesterday what with the elderly, and non working of the village popping up to the village hall in drips and drabs in order to vote.
Old Trevor came striding down London Road on his new knee like Fatima Whitbread ....at 94 he can now out easily outpace me in a short burst of power walking and as I stopped to say hello he pushed a ten pound note into my hand and trilled. " Buy a scotch egg with it" , he cheerfully waved away my refusal....I had dug over his flowerbeds last week!
I bumped into a widow woman, I had not seen for at least a year and she asked me about the dogs and the chickens and the geese and the sheep before she mentioned The Prof
" How's your friend?" She asked, not quite sure just how to refer to my better half and I was reminded of the Red Faced Welsh Farmer who always awkwardly referred to Chris as " my friend" much to my amusement
" He's now my husband" I told her playfully, holding up my wedding finger
" ohhhhh fancy " the woman exclaimed ever so slightly flustered
" I'm all for it" she said in way of a reply!
I enjoy throwing a little grenade into the mix occasionally and as  she walked away she told me that she had no idea who she had voted for ...." It's just important to vote" she  confided breathlessly.
The head of the conservation society was single handedly weeding the community flower beds when I passed and I was reminded that the Flower Show needed to give him a donation towards the summer planting. We will , I am sure,  have requests for support from the Village Friendship Group .( to pay for one of their coach trips) and by the Church to buy some new linens . I reminded myself to put up a notice on the village notice board asking for more nominations for financial support. The Flower Show's main remit is to support village initiatives.
I said hello to voters Stan and Kit ( Kit was the designer and maker of The Prof's famous " slippers of sex" ) and Trendy Carol floated past sporting a very flattering retro blouse with matching shoes....." I'm on my way to an outside tai chi session" she told me in way of explanation.

And all this before lunch.

" Style " Over Substance

The Memorial Hall is presently open for voters to have their say in the " Super Thursday" elections. Mary and I will pop along shortly to have." Our " say.
I think it's vital that we all put our X in the box.
With some horror and a huge amount of disbelief , I have witnessed the success of Donald Trump in the race for the White House. He is a shouting buffoon of a man, a bully, in that simple big bellied, hand on hips, small Town way and to us Brits, who only have the benefit of six minute news outlines read out by Fiona Bruce in a nice frock, he looks overblown and crass.
Of course, I am not privy to the nuances of the Presidential Race. I am not reallly arsed researching it either; but to me a statesman has to be statesmanlike. Plain and simple.
Boris Johnson take note.
Buffoons and shouters need not apply.

Where is Henry Fonda when you need him.!


Anyhow , today looks like another lovely day. Winnie is still not 100% despite her adrenaline filled walk to the kitchen last night, and is lying weakly on the couch like Blanche DuBois. The geese are all crammed into a freshly filled lurid purple paddling pool and are noisily washing each other's necks   and Mary is nowhere to be seen.
I know exactly were she is .
Every morning she can be found in the back yard, propped up against the garden shed , sunbathing.

  

Fooled

Just watching Masterchef

A certain bulldog has just walked into the kitchen when she heard Albert knocking his dinner 

onto the floor

with hardly a friggin limp

The Limping Wounded

Something happened to Winnie yesterday afternoon.
It involved the kitchen table, Mary and six goose eggs in a bowl.
Not having CCTV in the kitchen, I will never be quite sure what indeed happend but when I returned from shopping for the Prof's birthday dinner ( I prepared a nice Indian banquet btw), the kitchen chairs had been knocked over , three goose eggs had disappeared and Winnie was limping very badly indeed.
I can only surmise what happened.

There is nothing quite drama Queeny than a poorly bulldog.
They kind of decend into the depths of mental decline, when ill or in pain and need very careful handling if they are to be cajoled into some sort of normality.
As the Prof chomped his way through a Chocolate choux Bun ( a gift from the Affable despots' girls) I gave Winnie a detailed physical, concentrating on her painful leg which she kindly waved in my direction from her collapsed position by the fire.
I couldn't feel anything abnormal, but it was clear that she had banged herself badly as she wasn't weight bearing the affected leg, so I gave her hip a full massage, slipped her an energy boosting morsal of chorizo sausage ( I know, I know!) and made her comfortable for the night.

Not a happy bunny

This morning, she's stll incredibly sore and limping still, I've just taken her out for a wee in the front garden and that more or less mentally wiped her out.
And so I've had to shower her fat face with sympathetic  kisses, spoon half acup of sweet tea into her favourite bowl and have given her hip a gentle once over with warm hands

It's a good job I'm also a trained psychiatric nurse!

After I cut the lawn and weeded the borders, this photo was taken.

Still on her sickbed, Winnie was laid out in the sun to recuperate

There she was fed her dinner and given water, and she has remained

Watched over by George. 

I think she'll pull through

Birthday Boy

It's The Prof's birthday today.....he's forty- something!
Now usually he takes the day off work but today with numerous " Prof things " to do, he has whisked himself off to the University.
I shall bounce around the kitchen later like a 1950's housewife and prepare a nice birthday feast for supper. I may very well brush my hair and wash my face for the event........well it IS his birthday!

Going Gently  is not always fair to the Professor. On purpose he remains a somewhat shadowdy figure who tends to shout a lot when there is a chicken on the drainage board wrapped in one of our best tea towels ...to most he is the Roger Moore eye browed straight man to "my" buffoon fall guy, but the truth is naturally somewhat more complicated than this Welsh sit com version!
I give you a flavour of the dish rather than tablespoon's taste of it so to speak!

So I wish my husband, a very happy birthday.
I drive him to distraction most days but he wouldn't be without me.
And I wouldn't be without him.
Hey ho x

The sense I Was Born With

The Prof wants to go to town today.
So in a hurry I wanted to take Mary for her two mile trot.
Crocs,( no socks) tracksuit bottoms ( no underwear) and a thick sweatshirt was the outfit of choice
( well it was only overcast!)
The heavens opened in biblical proportions by the time I had passed Purgatory ( an apt old name for a house up towards the Gop ) and suddenly I looked lke Shelley Winters at the end of The Poseidon Adventure.
The farmer at Bryn Odyn who was passing stopped his large pick up and told me to get in, He was laughing but it was one of those chuckles that was tinged with " this guy's a lunatic" kind of tone.
An assessment probably supported by the fact that I couldn't cock my leg high enough to clamber up  into the passenger seat. ( and when I did I unfortunately showed too much sodden arse cheeks to any passing car).
Finally , Mary and I rolled into the pickup like two bears climbing into a litter bin but not before  I lost my right croc on the road .
"Hang on I!ve lost me flip flop" I chirped
The farmer started to shake his head in disbelief.
Meanwhile, Mary excited at all this attention,  stood with her paws on the dashboard.
" I'm 54 next month..I really should know better" I told the farmer as he drove me home.
He didn't argue the point.

Cloud Watching

I had a claustrophobic kind of post night shift headache this afternoon.
They always feel like a hangover without the fun evening out.
In my experience the only remedy for this is fresh air and a lie down in damp grass.
Cloud watching in a gentle rain also helps, it's better than paracetamol.
I tried a lay down in the field but the new hens, who have never seen me do this before, crowded around me like poorly controlled diabetics at the Waitrose bun counter, and so I took myself off to the  peace of the graveyard and had a crafty supine moment amongst the graves.
Try it, if you have never tried it.

Our cottage on the corner, the view from a headache busting graveyard

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