Jesus , it’s cold
Audit
Non of my clients turned up for their appointments , a galling and fairly frequent aspect of counselling I’m afraid . I left the centre early and ended up having a row with a drone flyer who was photographing a caravan park next to a garage shop. He was arguing with the park staff but like most of the sad on line auditors do, he knew the legal aspects of flying a drone., which allowed him to do so from public land, so just just enjoying bating the staff for some cheap footage.
“I have a legal right to film”he cried out like a teenager and I couldn’t resist calling “ but not a moral one!”.as he glared at me, pointing his camera at my fat arse as I walked away to Bluebell
“ I bet your mother is very proud of your achievements “ I fired back, almost as cutting as old fashioned “cheap Shoes”
You and I
I’m back working as a counsellor tomorrow, after my Christmas Break. Today I sort of prepared myself by meeting Chic Eleanor for lunch. She’s very psychologically minded, so a couple of hours with her often feels like I’ve completed a good bout of supervision . ( for those that don’t know Chic Eleanor is also a trained counsellor)
We talked about where we felt we were both going this new year and ever the optimist she rested a gentle hand on mine and said
“We are going to have such adventures, you and I !”
Waltz
Ive posted this story before, but after watching Cinderella on digi box I was reminded of this story all over again….like all good stories, I never really tire of telling it.
I was just twenty two years old when I first grew up as a nurse and as a man…….I remember the situation as if it was yesterday, and the memory seared into my psychi forty two years ago is fresh and as moving and as important as it was on that muddy weekday morning when I was slopping tea into thirty empty cups in the kitchen of an old asylum Ward .
I was tired and weary.
One of four staff, I had helped 30 men to get washed, dressed and fed on Durham ward. A ward that catered for the senile, the head injured and the institutionalised.
It was late morning and the men had been sat in a routine square around the day room as the staff puffed fags on the verandah.
I didn't smoke so it was my job to get their tea, before another rounding of toileting began
The tea was made in one large metal teapot. Tea, milk and sugar all added to the mix and it took two hands to lift the pot as I poured the brew out into saucerless cups.
As I worked I watched the female residents of Durham's sister ward Daresbury , all sat in similar poses along the square of their dayroom chairs.
In one corner sat a visitor .
I had often seen him before , and recognised his smart suit, and his polished shoes.
He always sat with a very still patient, a patient that I assumed to be his wife and they shared tea from a flask that he brought with him every morning.
I remember his wife having grey hair that was curled chignon style at the nape of her neck and that morning I watched in a half interested way, as he started to pull her out of her chair to her feet.
His wife stood shakily, like senile people often do when they don't understand what is wanted of them and after a bit of manoeuvring the man held her in a waltz hold.
They staggered back and forth for some moments, unbalanced and unpredictable and then I saw something quite magical happen as her muscle memory started to kicked in
With a turn of her head on an arched neck she grasped his hand tightly and they started to waltz .
Very slowly at first , but with a gathering momentum, they two of them danced around infront of two dozen unseeing eyes , with only me there to witness the event, and they did two circuits of the room before silently returning to their seats like a pair of ghosts.
I stood still , the teapot still in my hands , and wept.
In one tiny moment I had seen a true love expressed and recognised the importance of seeing hospital patients as real people with a past and a future
And all at the age of twenty two
I grew up
I was tired and weary.
One of four staff, I had helped 30 men to get washed, dressed and fed on Durham ward. A ward that catered for the senile, the head injured and the institutionalised.
It was late morning and the men had been sat in a routine square around the day room as the staff puffed fags on the verandah.
I didn't smoke so it was my job to get their tea, before another rounding of toileting began
The tea was made in one large metal teapot. Tea, milk and sugar all added to the mix and it took two hands to lift the pot as I poured the brew out into saucerless cups.
As I worked I watched the female residents of Durham's sister ward Daresbury , all sat in similar poses along the square of their dayroom chairs.
In one corner sat a visitor .
I had often seen him before , and recognised his smart suit, and his polished shoes.
He always sat with a very still patient, a patient that I assumed to be his wife and they shared tea from a flask that he brought with him every morning.
I remember his wife having grey hair that was curled chignon style at the nape of her neck and that morning I watched in a half interested way, as he started to pull her out of her chair to her feet.
His wife stood shakily, like senile people often do when they don't understand what is wanted of them and after a bit of manoeuvring the man held her in a waltz hold.
They staggered back and forth for some moments, unbalanced and unpredictable and then I saw something quite magical happen as her muscle memory started to kicked in
With a turn of her head on an arched neck she grasped his hand tightly and they started to waltz .
Very slowly at first , but with a gathering momentum, they two of them danced around infront of two dozen unseeing eyes , with only me there to witness the event, and they did two circuits of the room before silently returning to their seats like a pair of ghosts.
I stood still , the teapot still in my hands , and wept.
In one tiny moment I had seen a true love expressed and recognised the importance of seeing hospital patients as real people with a past and a future
And all at the age of twenty two
I grew up
Weaver Hates Snow
I’ve got my Lego out
Oh Beautiful Night, Night Of Love
Sometimes I haven’t much to say.
Somedays I haven’t got anything to contribute in conversation
Some days I just don’t speak!
I met the German for lunch and was entertained by his slender grasp on everyday English .
I’m glad he’s not working with counselling clients, for his sake rather than theirs
I had to titter after he raised both eyebrows to my common colloquial saying of disbelief
“ and my dick’s a kipper”
“You are always talking!” he observed over coffee
He wasn’t being unkind , just direct
I need to practice being quiet with him me thinks.
I’ve nothing major to share today.
When I am alone in the cottage, I’m silent
I’m not one to chatter away at the animals
I don’t usually play music either
But today was an exception.
Just before Christmas , the lisping Choir and Metropolitan Orchestra performed the famous barcarolle from The Tales of Hoffman. The original is a lilting aria between two sopranos and it mimics the lilting song of the Venetian Gondoliers and their version for their yearly Children’s concert ( complete with toy instruments ) was sublime and all rather joyous
Enjoy
Did you notice Sylvia reprimanding a chorister for not paying attention at the end
Nudging Into 2026
I’ve worked the last two nights so I’m back home properly today.
I have no news apart from the fact I’ve just booked my ticket to see the lisping choir in May
That’s the excitement of the day as The Archers has just disappointed with George Grundy’s heavy handed survival and me and the Welsh have just walked the length of the dark, almost frozen lane in the moonlight.
Mary now is wearing her multicoloured cardigan, her matching Christmas Jumper, a gift from Trendy Carol now washed and pressed alongside Roger’s.
Neither dog wanted to walking into the cold
A barn owl *, Huge and not totally silent loops over the field towards the ghost of the Church, unseen by the dogs who just want to return to the fireside. It swooped over my laburnum with the sound of silk curtains being quickly drawn and then around into the stable fields then back over us with its square head looking directly at us as we slowly headed for home.
It’s freezing
2026 John - Just Keep Swimming
My niece has just left me a message. She described 2025 as a shit year and I found myself feeling a little guilty that my negativity has leeched downwards into everyone’s psychi.
That was naughty of me, despite the important fact that when someone actually asked if I was ok this year, I managed to honestly say at times that I wasn’t .
For me this is an important breakthrough
It acknowledged the fact that I was actually vulnerable and was in need of support.
The row with a senior colleague over possible redundancies was seminal too. When she told me to be more loyal and positive I gave her short shrift . Something normally I would have never done.
Having a voice is important, especially when you feel powerless
And 2025 offered me powerlessness in bucketloads.
But what was good in 2025?
There were lots to be thankful for
- The Flower Show was the biggest and best we’ve ever had ( I can happily drop the microphone right there)
- Trelawnyd Productions got off the ground with a cracking success and an introduction to new characters from the village as well as a resurrection by old ones. The energy and good humour generated was worth all of the hard work
- Madrid proved to be more than just a city break. It was a lifesaver. It reminded me and my friend Ruth that travel feeds you. It chased away the cobwebs and those dark thoughts and it brought me “home” to my lisping Choir , who have given me light on nights where light was much needed.
- Theatre and cinema has continued to be my go tos. Every Brilliant Thing and the new soho Theatre and Giselle at the Opera House, a highlight, but praise must be given to my bolt holes of The Storyhouse and Picturehouse dark corners of warmth and solace and recuperation
- Oh and my qualification! I missed my graduation , but finally will book my gown hire tonight! Working in MIND has made me realise that I’m not an imposter when it comes to counselling. I have validation and worth as a new professional and that’s a lesson a long time coming.
- Oh and meeting that rather odd but charming German makes me realise that someone can find me attractive, even if a relationship may not be quite on the cards
And so dear readers, I wish you all well in 2026. I wish my family well, my friends well, and I wish myself well.
I’m a list maker,
So tonight, I’m booking my holidays, getting those faraway theatre ticked organised, renting my university gown and planning reunions and catch ups
As that lovely painted card on my living room wall reminds me .
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