🎤🎶 ESA DIVA- Grupo Talia

The lisping choir is on good form today. ( I was in the audience for this one) 

I took the Welsh to the beach , had avocado on toast for lunch and collected logs.

Not an exciting day, but one enlivened by a very loud cashier at Marks who bellowed across the cafe that my debit card had been rejected. ( it hadn’t, it just requested the pin as an extra security measure) but  that didn’t stop the group of grey hairs ooohhhing and arrrhhhhhing  in hushed tones together as I schelpped my walk of shame back to the pay desk

I only got one blob of egg and a single streak of avocado down my jumper today 

I FaceTimed the German and he pointed the fact out all the way from Hintertupfingen 

Watchman

 

In 1989 I had never looked after an orthodox Jewish patient, let alone supervised the care of one recently deceased. My patient had a large extended family with various male spokesmen who centred their interactions with the one male doctor on duty as well as myself. 

As a gauche young man and an inexperienced nurse, I knew enough to be respectful and open to the family’s needs and was introduced to Benesh just before my patient died. 

Benesh was a Shomer . A mature Jewish man of faith and seriousness, who had been asked to attend as a watchman over my patient from death to burial. He was quiet and respectful, but was keen to explain his role to me as I provided a link with the clinical side of the ward.

He explained his job of reciting Tehillim ( psalms ) as he physically guarded the void , left by the departing soul. His patient was therefore not abandoned in anyway, and I remember feeling the power of the support quietly being emitted by these respectful young men as they went along with their work.

Is there anything else I should be doing ? 

I remember asking Benesh as I entered the single ward.

Be quiet and deliberate and respectful he said with a smile and in my 60s that respect for stillness and tradition remains with me .

It shows in a need for an unhurried  quietness which seems innate and normal to me.

I saw God on the train

I love this poem by Lucas Jones. Its pace and masculinity and power and rawness is refreshing. Last night of three this week, and I’m eating beef stew . The Welsh are at Trendy Carol’s and I’ve realised , yet again, I have nothing much to say. 

I hope this changes tomorrow 
 

Haggis

 I cooked haggis for lunch

Believe me there is nothing nicer than sliced haggis, fried alongside an egg.

Bloody lovely

I added boiled broccoli to balance out my sugars and drank a couple of jugs of ice cold water.

I also caught up with some friends on line

Bantering conversations about how crap LOTR movies are 

Silliness and stimulation , I like to call it. 

Food for the schoolboy who still lurks underneath my breastbone 

I’m working two nights 

Skunk Trail

 

My relationship with avocado is a complicated one 

It’s sloppy and covers shirt fronts with quite some ease, even when you are acting on best behaviour .

My German Friend has only shared a meal with me three times now 

Each time , I have experienced some food detritus issues.

I shared with him the moment I thought I had clicked with a professional gay guy at Chester’s Jaunty Goat a few years back. Me and him swapping smiles , when my smile centred around his trim beard ….his  smile underlining the irony of a skunk sized avocado slime trail down my front.

Why don’t you just wear a serviette ? Was the German’s simple reply 

I’m dozing in front of the fire and Roger is gently licking the front of my pullover 

Tomato sauce with chilli and garlic 

Let Go

This video is amazing

It not only underlines the importance of “debrief” after a particularly emotional piece of drama and filmmaking ( in this case the famous emotional romp ending of Hamnet)  , but it sorts of encapsulates what it’s like to be truly human. 

Years ago, I remember feeling so free……with inhibitions hidden by darkness and alcohol and youth

Dancing in the dark ontop of Weston Park Hospital roof in 1990

 

The Risk of Turning into Lugaretzia

 

As a boy I adored any writings by the naturalist Gerald Durrell. 

I recognise that we own the same observational humour as well as the ability to share a true story, with relish, and so this morning when I spied Mr Lugaretzia, gnashing his gums in the queue at the petrol station, I made a detour by the fire lighters in order to avoid him. 

Now Mr Lugaretzia is a nice man, but he is a boring one. He is fixated about his bad health, a subject one can cope with during your first half dozen or so  meetings, but after several years of bleeding gum, stories, hospital appointments and GP’s diagnosis quandaries, I have been left a shell of my former self when social niceties  are involved and spend much of my time now hiding behind bushes to avoid him.

But what has this to do with Gerald Durrell you ask? 

Well Lugaretzia was the name of his cook when he was a boy in Corfu. A woman of great suffering , a hypochondriac who would gladly slow every wound or malady to her captained audience of English School children 

Now you get it? 

We all have the ability of becoming a Lugaretzia.

I’m not far it myself . 

And this fact annoys me greatly. 

Think of someone else John 

I keep telling myself . 

No fucker wants to hear about your fucking blood sugars

I sent some flowers to Nu this morning. She’s been in hospital overnight, I’ve got gifts to send to a friend in Dublin and a letter to write to another friend in Argentina 

It’s not all about me 

Another Day Another Lunatic

 I’m longing for summer

Dust on the main road, and every widow wide open 

This is an old post from a summer a decade ago

A sunny day and the " Marian " lane seemed almost black with mayflies this morning. Everyone seems out in the sunshine. Fan of The Walking Dead pensione John escorted Auntie Glad to the town bus still holding his mug of tea and policeman Ian could be seen chatting to Basil the farmer at the top of High Street, they both waved. I thought I'd spied Trendy Carol driving by, wearing something interesting in chiffon but I couldn't be sure. The sun was too bright on the main road.

Mary and I had just reached The Crown ( for those that don't know, The Crown in the village pub) when, far in the distance we spied a strange figure emerging from the heat haze on the road.
The vision looked almost ethereal
It reminded me of Omar Sharif on that camel scene in Lawrence Of Arabia
Slowly......details started to emerge from out of the mirage,
Until finally Gay Gordon on his invalid trolley trundled magnificently into view
" Hello Flower" he bellowed " Nice day for a drive!" Obviously oblivious of the string of usually fast moving traffic wanting to pass....
" You'll kill yourself on that thing" I called out after the final lorry had rumbled by
And Gordon bellowed out a lusty laugh....." My legs needed an airing" pointing at his corned beef shins.........bugger knows just where he had been!
Mary bounced up into his lap,she as most dogs seem to like this strange loud village character and Gordon was thrilled to find out her name as his " lady friend" with whom he shares his life is also called Mary. Big Mary, as you may remember looks like a large cheerful scatter cushion with half the stuffing removed.!

A delivery van wizzed by, inches from Gordon's oversized shopping basket, but he didn't seem to notice and I said my goodbyes. " see you soon!" I called
"TALLY HO!" He sang out as the invalid trolley shot off into the village!
There is something almost valiant about Gordon I always think!

He died shortly after I posted this story