Going Gently: The Novel

 Like most humbly paid people in the world I need more income.

I’m not good with money and did inherit a large debt after divorce but like a proverbial ostrich ,I so need to get my arse into gear, and my head out of the sand and sort it out.

One day a week from May , I have started to write the book of Going Gently. It’s an incredibly hard task, much of it is like herding cats as there is literally 20 years of blogs to sift through and highlight yes, no or maybe.

Ive also had to print these pieces out and re arrange them into some order , placing the book into chapters that make some sort of sense. 

As a money spinner it’s a work in progress! 

PS: I’m basing my style loosely on James Herriot…frothy and friendly! 

Counselling time can be increased and I’m now taking zoom clients which is helpful but I still need my two hospice night shifts a week to pay the main bills so increasing my counselling days will mean I’m working four long days a week ….not an ideal thing with a bloody catheter, ( please chip in with more ideas) 

So do I advertise for a sugar son with a cardiac condition ? 

Do I start dancing in my kitchen on TikTok!.?

My troll will soon accuse me of touting for handouts 

But I do seriously need to review my old age income 

As many need to do in their  pre pension twilight days , lol

It’s a serious blog hidden behind the humour

A Quiet Sunny Sunday

 A quiet, sunny Sunday, with cut garden roses in my favourite vase. 

I’ve talked to friends on teams, doom scrolled and drank hazelnut coffee.

I’ve shampooed Mary’s old lady accidents from the living room carpet and hand washed the cushions which dried almost immediately in this heat. 

My friend Polly gave me this beautiful Lino print she designed and made herself and I’ve moved paintings around to make room for it.

I ate cold chicken and broccoli for supper and the Welsh shared the white meat with eyes shut. 

It’s muggy and whatever black cat is at the moment living me is asleep in the spare room

Trelawnyd is sleepy in the heat 

And so am I 

Trelawnyd’s Garden Party

 

The closest Trelawnyd comes to a Lord and Lady of the Manor are Pippa & Tom who live in The Rectory , which the biggest house in the village. They are Trelawnyd Royalty. 

The Rectory is tucked away next to the Church , and is hidden away from the road by the bungalows of Rhodfa Arthur( Arthur Avenue) It used to possess a tree lined drive with fields on either side in which the Vicar Jenkins kept cows and Auntie Gladys kept sheep. 

The old photographs are courtesy of Daphne Jones, Rev Jenkins’ daughter who lived in the village for many years 

Anyhow I digress, Pippa and Tom will be hosting an afternoon Tea / Garden party in the Rectory gardens on the 18th. of July, the proceeds of which will go to the TCA and upkeep of the village hall. 

 

Ian ( Village Leader), The Velvet Voiced Linda , her hubby Nick and myself all met up today to risk assess the gardens at 1 pm. They are lovely, even though they could be a risk assessors nightmare and the event should be all rather tasteful I think given the genteel feel about the place. 

I will leave you with this delightful video to make you smile on this hot day

Me as the cottage

 

The cottage will never be pristine 

I do try, but like dogs often do with their owners, 

My cottage resembles me in a strange sort of way.

The cracks in the kitchen ceiling mark a time I left the water running in the bathroom so like me the cottage has its own plumbing scars. 

One of the kitchen windows has a spider vein hole echoing the vision in my shaky right eye

And the living room carpets are all in need of a good scrub. 

Ha! 

The Kitchen cabinets have been rubbed for years by two terrier bums as I have, and the decor and look of the place is just a little old fashioned and in places a tiny bit scruffy.

But like me it generally homely and warm and friendly, with some surprises still in store for visitors who want to explore its more mysterious corners lol 

Angels Come To Llandudno

 

I’m doing ok , not really great , but ok. The catheter thing is a bind and tiring and my energy levels have been depleted by some shocking busy and challenging shifts at the hospice.

The Bun / Weaver thing has saddened me and uncertainty related to what the urology plan has made me all rather stressed

My bestie Nu is overseas and I’m skint and this morning I’ve felt all rather fed up with it too.

That was until I got a message from old friends ally and Tracey

You may remember my reunion with them in York last year after a 38 year hiatus.

“we should be in Llandudno by 1600 on Friday 26. Staying at the Esplanade. We are paying for your room as a birthday treat. dinner at the GOAT 1930, Motown at Venue Cymru after. Good blow in the prom the next day. How’s that? All booked x” 

Angels are not strange creatures with wings and halos 

They are old friends that catch you out of the blue and who lift you when you are down and flat and running on empty 

Shakespeare Could Have Written it

 

I overdid some cleaning this afternoon and Fell asleep listening to Mandy mow her lawns next door. A small black body was curled up on the bed next to me and I without thinking I stroked her whilst listening to this music. 

Now I’ve thought it strange that Bun has changed certain habits since Weaver left. She’s slightly quieter, she no longer walks with us at night and she sleeps on the bed rather than on me every night, but she’s typically affectionate almost needy at other times. 

I thought about this when I stroked her flank 

And suddenly there it was. Faint but certainly there. A tiny bald patch and a scar from an old infected suture after a kitten hood hernia repair . 

And it all made sense of a sort . It would now seem that it’s dear Bun that has left home 

And Mistress Weaver has been left behind

Weaver

 Gone again , I’ve asked on the village website who are her new parents ?

How I Hated Josh

 

I enrolled in a day’s seminar/study on PTSD today. 

It was in Liverpool and most of the group were counsellors, and health care professionals with varying degrees of experience. 

For most of the day we were split up into working groups , each with a facilitator. 

My group’s facilitator I shall call Josh and he was exhaustingly and successfully gay. 

Not only did we find out that he was in a wonderfully supportive relationship with his long term boyfriend, Juan- Luca, Josh also managed to shoehorn personal and self validating facts about the pair of them at every given chance. 

I quickly started to hate Josh

I hated his smugness, and his neediness and his showing off about how lovely his two pugs were with their daddies.

I hated his 34 inch waist , and his neatly ironed designer shirt,

I hated just how white his teeth were and how his hair didn’t move an inch as he flounced around.

I hated that he reminded me I was single and sometimes lonely

And I hated the fact that I disagreed with one valid clinical observation he made just because he got on my nerves.

As part of a wind down debrief, we all shared what we were going to do with the rest of the day, and Josh preened that he was going to cook his hubby a delicious steak with asparagus on their new patio barbecue as said hubby opened a chilled bottle of something expensive 

When it came around to my debrief , I just about stopped with the comment “ I hope it chokes you both” and smiled a tired smile before sharing a slightly ironic “ I think I will lie down in a darkened room with a cool face flannel over my eyes” 

I’m only human, I thought darkly

Ps weaver has disappeared again 🐈‍⬛

 

Wave The Flag eh?

 I was heartened by the good residents of Brighton for running off the racist right wing demonstrators in their city recently. It was not only the right thing to do, it was a kind thing to do. It was a kindness to all the people of Britain who are not Caucasian white. 

It was a hand hold, a hug, a nod and reminder to those frightened and often disadvantaged right wing supporters that not everyone think that they are right 

During the First World War some 4,500 Belgium refugees were given sanctuary in North East Wales. And even Trelawnyd billeted families at the Village Hall. Not bad for a predominately isolated Welsh village.

I was only thinking about this yesterday when I drove up to the village, and just before entering Trelawnyd I noticed a small holding on the right which sported a flag at its gate. 

The Palestinian Flag

 The lisping choir does Aida, rather well as it happens .

I liked it.

I’ve just got home after another very busy day, and Mary thoughtfully licked my swollen feet as Bun then Weaver walked into the living room, as I was sipping my emergency gin and tonic. 

They walked in like Kevin & Perry

I’m sure Weaver stuck two claws up at me! 

She made a show of ignoring me too, 

I’d love to know where she’s been the past four days.

I once had a cat called Betty who was shy and standoffish too, who also disappeared from my home in Sheffield . 

She left for three months 

Weaver ate her tea , then jumped onto my desk and knocked an early Victorian flat back greyhound onto the floor on purpose before stalking out of the open window .

It’s like she’s doing me a favour at returning I thought

Don’t bother coming home !  I half heartedly called after her ( not really meaning it)

But she didn’t look back once at the call as she stalked out over the fields to the south of Trelawnyd 

With obviously a place to go

A winner and a loser

 

There was the first village dog show today and Roger was robbed. He was only really eligible for one class and flunked out to a blind Mongrel with an I am Blind coat on 

Sophia with Rocky her French bulldog 

Isit only a couple of years since the male voice choir sang to her

We got home mid afternoon, only to find Weaver asleep on the couch. She heard my effusive hello , of that  I was sure, as she opened one eye then closed it again with an attitude of distain bordering on contempt 

Rainbow light

 I’m so tired. Just two trained staff at the hospice today and eight complex patients. I got home late , ate a scotch egg in the car before getting out, still in my uniform and then had a mooch around the houses of Cwm Road to see if I could locate Weaver . 

A big yowl rang out ,but it was a lonely Bun welcoming me home not Weaver . She looks stressed and on edge without her sister but came into the cottage to feed. She even let Roger sniff her bottom ( a favourite pastimes of Welsh terrier dogs as I recall) so distracted she is . 

Last night she curled up on my fat left foot 

I found a rainbow light by my front door …..another late birthday gift from sister Janet . 

It looks lovely but she apologised as instead of the Gay Rainbow flag I presumed it represented she worried I’d thought she was referring to the rainbow Bridge over which all pets walkover on their last journey . 

I hope Weaver has voted with her feet, and found a loving new home who puts up with antisocial behaviours . 

But sadly I really do think she’s dead

Weaver

Weaver has gone missing

I’m not too sure , but I think she’s been gone at least two days if not three.

I’ve had a niggling doubt for 24 hours but with two cats that are identical in size, colour

and tail length, and one with a habit of hiding away in her own bedroom, it wasn’t easy to work out , 

but now I’m sure. 

I’ve searched the surrounding streets, church and lane and have put a plea on the village 

Facebook site

 

Disclosure Day

 Spoilers ! 

Steven Spielberg at 78 has returned to his Close Encounters days with this Hitchcockian conspiracy theory romp which revisits every alien abduction story since the 1947 Roswell Incident

I won’t bother you with the convoluted and silly plot, suffice to say Brits Emily Blunt ( as weather gal Margaret Fairchild ) and Josh O’Connor (as maths analyst Danial Kellner) are two strangers that come together very much like the Richard Dreyfuss and Melinda Dillon characters in Close Encounters to save the planet from its own introspection death wish. 

As it turns out all the alien visitation theories were right and after much convoluted chasing Blunt and O’Connor revisit their childhoods ( a Spielberg theme) to do the right thing in sharing the information . 

You can see quite clearly that Spielberg had fun with this movie . Echo's of North by Northwest, Close Encounters, and ET , come to mind, with signature  background music by John Williams completing the nostalgia ( I can’t believe he’s in his nineties! ) 

Blunt couldn’t be better here, she really is a versatile actress and will be a national treasure rather soon! and the set pieces ( The train sequence especially) is pure Spielberg . But as a whole movie , I was slightly disappointed . 

As Janet and I left an old man behind me summed up his feelings 

“ Independence Day was better”

Bitch Slapped

Yesterday,  Beautiful New York Lee talked about the three men and one woman she bitch slapped in a long rather exciting life. Now while we all don’t condone physical violence, sometimes I think we have all been pushed into physical confrontations sometimes in our lives. 

After all we are all bloody human . 

I have slapped one man in my life. I sucker punched another. The punch was a result of a previous partner pulling a knife at me during a drunken rage ( fuck that! I flattened the fucker ) the other was a slap I regret but I was provoked

On reflection I have only slapped one woman in anger. It was in 1987 in York and I was drunk at the bar in Roxy’s nightclub ….a rather inebriated trans drag queen poked me then slapped me to move and I looked at her and said “ sorry mum” ( she did look like my mother complete with facial hair ) 

I slapped her back , and in the afterglow got bitch slapped again for my trouble .

I woke up with a black eye and a fat lip, lol, she was a tough old bird

Papa LEON

 I’m not religious, I’m agnostic but I have an interest and a kind of envy of real faith. 

The welcome to Pope Leon by the Spanish was a joyous thing to watch and experience and I was careful to rely on my non verbal skills to get a personal flavour of the man behind the title. 

To me he is a humble man. He is awkward with standing ovations but has a natural simple warmth with people. He isn’t shy but has a cautious way about him. 

I warmed to him, despite the showbiz welcome

An Email

 Ps

On the back of yesterday’s post, I will share these paragraphs from an email from a reader which rather moved me.

“I don’t need to shop for food items, but I pretend to. A chat to the teller can be quite engaging as long as they aren’t too busy to share a conversation. I try to alternate stores too because I don’t want to be known as the sad lady who chatters far too much.

There was a talk at the bookstore last week and even though I’m not a reader of fiction , I went for something to do. The author looked shy and ill at ease, so I spent time sharing anecdotes with her and she hugged me, with one of grateful hugs which made me burst into tears right THERE AND THEN. I’m not a crier John but I cry every day John, every single day.

I cry when I read of your village, and wish I was there. I cry when I will miss Mary, a dog I have never met and I cry when you do something kind for someone because I wish you were doing it to me.

Is that sad? 

I read many blogs of worth which give me company but I don’t comment even though I was once a person of some minor note in the academic field. A wife, agood friend, a person of interest who could hold her own at a faculty cocktail party full of strangers. 

Your blog touched a nerve with me yesterday, and if I wore a bra ever again. I would hike it up, like you have often done in Going Gently and will try to solider on as you do.” 

Loneliness

 From time to time loneliness will feature in Going Gently. It invades one’s life like the process of osmosis dampens a piece of blotting paper, and brings you up short when it is least expected. 

It is insidious, and evil sometimes. Other moments it’s a minor irritation that can be shrugged off by a radio programme, a knock on the lane window or the ping of a phone message.

I hate Sunday afternoons on night duty. You wake up to a silent cottage around five. The dogs have already been collected that morning by Trendy Carol’s husband, and the cats are mute. 

Asleep on the sofa, where the dogs are not present. 

It’s that first buzzing of silence when awake, which is the worst thing

It’s louder than any noise known to man

It’s a lonely sound. 

I shower, and brush my teeth loudly. 

Today I make eggs on toast and coffee and Pick of the Week and The Archers will be on Radio 4 soon. 

I reclaim my isolation slowly. I look at the thirty birthday cards still standing on the kitchen windowsill . A message. From Chic Eleanor requesting my company at the Theatre on Thursday, is welcome. And there are more notes waiting to be read from Nu and The German and more Sheffield old friends.

I collect the dogs, it’s the village dog show on Saturday and Roger needs a haircut…. , so I’m out on Wednesday ( cinema) Theatre on Thursday and show on Saturday with long days at the hospice Friday and Sunday

The week is full and Mr Loneliness is thwarted another week

Saturday

 This is perhaps the lisping choir at its very best. Conductor Sylvia Sans Torre shines as they perform at their best with that final one note held long and with confidence.

Time To say Goodbye has never sounded better.

Kelda from the still house was on Radio 4 ‘s Today Programme just before 9 am was interviewed about loneliness . It was a brief interview but she held her end up very well I thought.

The village Go Green group summer planting has come through in the community field and the beds around the hall now look fully stocked and fabulous

I need to get back in volunteering for the village, I’ve taken a back seat for a while.

Chess

 Another fact, that you may not know about me is that I’m a passable Chess player. I haven't played for years, so I was more than happy to receive this set from my sister Janet, a late gift for my birthday.

Another new start, and this one is magnetic so here’s a 

Message to Weaver

Many moons ago, when I lived in Walkey in Sheffield, I joined the local chess club, which was based at walkley Library which I’m pleased to see is still open

I met my first proper boyfriend at this club. A floppy haired, student called Alan who always wore a green jumper with a hole in the collar . He once saw me studying at the central library and dropped his telephone number onto my desk in a fit of confidence and insight.  I was almost twenty nine he was around twenty and it took me weeks to muster up the courage to ring him back. 

Our first date was at the chess club. 

Which, in retrospect sounds rather sweet.

Alan was a sweet boyfriend too,  mentally sorted and with real Yorkshireman sensibilities. He spoke with deep flat vowels and had a steady manly manner about him, but unfortunately he left Sheffield months down the line to travel the far east and Australia on a gap year which became three.

I cried when he left and as a parting gift he gave me a small travelling chess set with a kiss and a handshake

It was something I eventually and very sadly lost when I eventually moved to Hillsborough 

And a generation plus later, another chess set returned…