Would You Believe It?

Going Gently Has been going for eleven years! ELEVEN BLOODY YEARS!
Can You bloody well believe it....?

So far, boosted no doubt by internet malfunctions It has had 6 million hits! SIX MILLION
How wonderfully nerdish is that?
Ok, it's brittle and shallow and indulgent,
And a view of a small life in an even smaller world
But it IS a generally honest view of how I see my life......it really is
And that's a fact that I am rather proud of !

I Never Knew Liquorice Was A Root Until today

I feel ready to learn something new.
A new skill, a new set of facts, a new way of doing things.......I'm not bothered what
It's just finding the right thing.
I fancy Spanish or perhaps painting.....or a degree in something stimulating.
My fingers are too chubby for me to learn the piano but if weave can learn the Ukulele perhaps I could?
Or what about a cooking course? Naming Garden flowers? Or Pilates ?
I could learn pottery, wood skills or plumbing?
( I'm colourblind so anything electrical is a no no)
Or Something in a English literature perhaps...

The world's my lobster

So Long

Today another blogger bit  the dust.
Unlike hippo- on the lawn , who just disappeared mysteriously with a festering thigh wound, debts and half the African mafia after him, Rachel popped away from blogland with a short whimper of  " I've had enough" which is a shame.
It is sad, for we will miss her idiosyncratic style, her paintings, her chatty blogs about nothing in particular and her humour.
Bloggers come and go. Some get tired . Some die, and some.......some  move on with their lives....

Choking On A Swedish Meatball et al

Winnie nearly choked to death on a Swedish meatball last night.
Such was the excitement of the moment, that she had no idea of what was happening and continued to get into position alongside the other dogs in order to receive the next morsel.
Luckily she has a mouth the size of an average gin trap , so I coolly inserted my whole hand into her mouth and plucked the meatball from her oesophagus before her lips went blue.
Not fazed she gulped it down almost immediately.
A near death experience should not prevent a girl finishing her meatball!

I tell you this, only as a bit of a comic aside
I'm in the kitchen pottering as a roast dinner cooks.
The Prof is reviewing a PhD in his office.

Some people have a lovely way of speaking don't you think?
I experienced this phenomenon this morning when I spied Mr A working away in his garden.
Mr A is a farmer and had lost his mother recently and although I had sent my condolences I had not physically seen him to talk to.
This morning we talked.
I asked him how he was feeling, and after a pause, and in that slight sing-song Welsh way of speaking only the North Walian's do, he said slowly
" The heavy veil of sadness has lifted from me  just a little" 
Richard Burton couldn't have said it any better

Darkest Hour

I expected to love Darkest Hour, I really did.
But I only liked it, which was a pity.
I thought I knew the preamble to Winston Churchill's " We'll fight them on the beaches" speech,
But as it turns out I knew nothing of the old buffer's prickly relationship with King George VI , and the manoeuvring  of his cabinet members Viscount Halifax and Neville Chamberlain as they tried to dispose him.
The play with these four key characters made for riveting viewing with the peace loving Halifax ( a wonderful  Stephen Dillane) being more than a match for the flawed but battling old minister!
Ronald Pickup also lends some depth and pathos to his all too brief role as the dying Chamberlain
However ,the introduction of Lily James as Churchill's sweet new secretary and Kristen Scott Thomas as Clemmie, the long suffering and almost impossibly loyal Wife seem surplus to requirements for me as they didn't really add anything to the drama which was a shame as I like both actresses.

I almost hated the implausible sequence where Churchill met " real Londoners" in his secret jaunt on the underground. It smacked of cheap sentiment even though Gary Oldman carried the scene with great skill and a lovely twinkle in the eye, which , for me captured the real Churchill ( I imagine) quite perfectly. His performance is outstanding throughout.
Of course , it is perfect that the movie ends on the bravura " beaches" speech and I must admit I did shed a brief tear as the old Prime Minister marches out of the House of Commons amid the roars of approval by all members of the house
7/10

Era's End

I pulled the previous post because of some particularly nasty troll work.

That's enough to be said on the subject.

This morning I stopped in high street to have a good theatrical cough. 

I already told affable Despot Jason that I had consumption ( a fact he found highly amusing) so was in the middle of a good hack when I suddenly spied a " sold" sign on Auntie Glad's old house. 

I had a good sigh.

Residential home care costs are high, so it was enevitable that Plas yn Dre eventually sold but the finality of the " sold" notification outside the former grammar school built in the 1600s made me stop for a moment.

Mrs Trellis tottered past, her bobble hat perched far too high on her head. 

" The new owners will have to fill some very big shoes" she trilled

" Indeed they will" I agreed.

Silence

Put down your iPad or close your laptop.
Close your eyes and put your hands into your lap.
And listen.
What do you hear?
Even in the cottage, where the walls are 18 inches thick there is noise...distracting noise.
Bulldog snores, the click of the kitchen clock, the rumble of the farm tractor in the lane, the crow of the bachelors, the crackle of the wood burner .

I clean the Church when it's my rota week.
I don't go to Church other than that.
I don't believe in God.

Having said this , I love the little Church of St Michaels.
It's a peaceful place on a sunny but very cold Friday afternoon.
I sat for long time before hoovering and polishing as I always do.
Thinking of nothing in the stillness

And I could hear nothing...nothing at all

Hello darkness , my old friend,

I've come to talk with you again.

Because a vision softly creeping

Left its seeds while I was sleeping

And the vision that was planted in my brain...

Still remains...

Within the sound of silence

Heaven

Mary

There is nothing more pleasurable than a very hot bath.
Welsh terriers adore a long soak and both William and Mary sat in the tub for nearly forty minutes each today with eyes half closed in pure terrier ecstasy.
I can potter around the cottage in the full knowledge that neither one will jump out until I lift them out.
I made a low macaroni cheese, a swede and carrot mash and cleaned the floor as both soaked until their paw pads went crinkly
   

Fanny Chat

I was in Boots -The Chemist on Monday and overheard a young woman say to her friend something about "..having an itchy fanny".
Usually with these sorts of strange conversations I would have lingered a little longer in order to hear more, but the vagaries of vagina chatter does leave me somewhat cold.....
it always has...

Anyway speaking of vaginas,
(as Miriam Margolyes once purred "I'm warming to my subject!")
I was once threatened with physical violence by someone for looking at a woman's vagina.
In my defence I must add that I was a student nurse working at the Jessop's Maternity department in Sheffield at the time  and the vagina in question was just about to expel a bouncing baby boy. It was the baby's father who threatened me, in a sudden and rather unexpected bout of excited paranoia.
" WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?" I remember him bellowing at me as I was trying to look all inconspicuous at the end of the bed.
Thank goodness I resisted the urge to  point at the "spot" in question and just opted to shuffle away instead.

When I was a boy, a old Welsh farmer once showed me how to "help" a  stuck lamb from it's mother's back end and her distressed bleating gave me nightmares for an age afterwards.
Child/sheep/any baby birth would be shrouded in mystery to me until this day

Years later when I was a charge nurse, an elderly lady's prolapse waved at me like a baby elephant's trunk after she sneezed violently when I helped her into a wheelchair.
I was so shocked I did let out an unprofessional shout of "fucking hell!!!" when it appeared but luckily she was unfazed with the whole thing stating pragmatically that " it did that sometimes" and could I just don a glove and "pop it back"

It wont surprise you then, that "toilet parts of the lady persuasion" are another country to me. True Winnie's enormous fanny is the only fanny I ( and the rest of population of North Wales) has seen in many a year so it is understandable to all that I am no expert even though I have been a nurse for 34 years.
and long may it remain that I am not

Sparrowhawk

Sparrowhawks are amazingly fast predators .
They skim hedgerows and zigzag through trees like silver bullets and if you blink just once, they are gone, usually in a puff of victim's feathers.
I saw that explosion of white feathers this morning, just as I looked out on the old Churchyard whilst making pea soup.
Moments before the bachelors had walked the top of the Church wall in Indian file formation so it was with a heavy heart that I hurried outside to check

The female sparrowhawk dropped with one bachelor into my field.
He was dead when I got to him

Big Mistake

I still can't quite shake this virus.
I suspect I have had the Yule plague Australian Flu.
Last night I had the great idea of having a hot steaming bath in order to clear the old sinuses
And thinking it would help I dolloped a very large glob of vics vapour rub under the running hot tap!

Big mistake
Lying in a bath containing vics
Burns your knackers! 

Hostiles - A Study Of P.T.S.D.

Christian Bale

Cinema at 10.30 on a Sunday Morning! Bliss!
The Prof is away and I indulged myself with a good movie.
I went to see Hostiles and it left me reflective and quiet....a sign of a good movie.

Hostiles is a thoughtful and well crafted Study of 19th Century post traumatic Stress disorder. Set amid the brutal end of the Indian Wars the film explores a whole set of characters ( civilian and military) who all are suffering from varying degrees of the condition. Consequently their stories are not an easy watch and after two hours of what feels like abject misery the viewer is left rather exhausted by it all, but the effort is worth it, believe me as the performance by Christian Bale as  Capt  Joseph Blocker , a serial Indian Killer who is entrusted with transporting a dying old enemy Chief Yellow Hawk ( Wes Studi) to his Indian burial ground, is worth the price of the cinema ticket
alone!
Blocker is near retirement and is reluctant to take the assignment on . He spent a career watching and participating in the horrors of the Indian wars and adheres to the maxim of the only good Indian is a dead Indian with almost religious zeal. But as the politicians in the East want to sanitize their treatment of the native Americans he is forced to face his prejudices by having to co operate with Yellow Hawk and his family on the dangerous Journey from New Mexico to Montana.

Rosamund Pike

Add to the mix a traumatised rancher ( Rosamund Pike) who has just lost her entire family by an Indian raid. A suicidal trooper ( Rory Cochran) , who is depressed by his violent military career and a court marshalled prisoner ( Ben Foster) who murdered an Indian family with an axe and you can see where the narrative was going.
Bale is wonderful as the damaged, complicated and in his own way Honourable soldier who has been brutalised by life. His character seesaws between cruelty at his Indian Charges, loyalty and genuine affection for his men and pitch perfect treatment of the traumatised Rosalie Quaid ( Pike) and his scenes with the granite faced Wes Studi are especially powerful and ultimately incredibly moving.

Wes Studi

Unfortunately the Indian characters are less successfully fleshed out with director Scott Cooper sticking to the tried and tested stereotypes of savage killer or Dancing With Wolves nobility. But Studi  's Understated performance complements Bale's nuanced performance well as a mutual respect starts to grow between the two men.

The violence in the movie is pitched just right as it erupts from nowhere in a clumsy confused and totally surprising way typical of a life is cheap time when brutality was everywhere and PTSD was the norm rather than the exception.

Not an easy film to watch but it's worth the effort.

A Post For Ellen in Ohio

Oh dear....my last post was somewhat depressing.
Necessary but depressing.
I don't feel depressed today.
It's late afternoon and I'm all clean and shiny after a long hot bath.
I have my Jim jams on too......the Prof is away working and it's freezing outside so I'm slumming it today.
Now blogger has been fickle of late and several commentators have had varying success in posting comments on Going Gently. Indeed, Gail from Oz, Joni from Canada and Ellen from Ohio all have emailed me about it and today's follow up post is a reply to Ellen's request for an update on village Folk namely Auntie Gladys and Jason the affable despot. Apparently I have been rather remiss of late and have not mentioned them
My apologies!
Now that rascal Yorkshire Pudding penned a somewhat fruity and almost libellous post about Trelawnyd recently....it made for some interesting reading ( see link)
http://beefgravy.blogspot.co.uk/2017/12/awards.html
Tonight , I shall endeavour to put the story straight.

Despot Jason

Affable Despot Jason usually hibernates for most of the winter months, so it's common not to see him until the Daffodils have flowered and the Vicar has changed into his spring time surpluses, but he has thrown caution to the wind and has been in touch suggesting we go to the theatre in a few weeks time, which will be fun.
We saw many of the Church characters at the Christmas Eve service including Mrs Trellis who, as see is now signing all correspondence  with her " adopted " pseudonym rather than her real name.
He greyhound Blue is as difficult to control as ever!

Mrs Trellis

Her Christmas Card

Village Elder Islwyn is just getting over the death of his dear mother and will hopefully be jumping into another village - benefit project which will desperately need his organisational skills. I saw him today pottering in the new graveyard.

Animal helper

Boffin

Trendy Carol 

Animal helper Pat, sailor John , Cameron the teenage boffin and Trendy Carol all remain well and as far as I know happy, indeed Trendy Carol floated gaily past the cottage today  wearing something wonderfully ethereal and rather expensive.

The members of the Flower Show Committee are all on fine form too,(you may recall that most of them helped out at the Christmas Fayre recently) and I saw Auntie Glad at her nursing home before the holidays . She looked vague and frail but held my hand for the longest of times as we sat together in the nursing home sitting room which was festooned in decorations.

Let's Talk About Death

Yesterday I was sat in the car waiting for the Prof to arrive at the station on the 17.59 from Bangor.
Eddie Mair, was, as usual, being all clever on Radio 4 and his subject du jour was this time about death.
Well it was more about how we prepare for death, especially in this tight arsed, head-in-the-sand modern day world where death is not viewed as a part of life and living but seen as a something that happens external to our battle with love, shit and the universe.
Mair's debate was an interesting one. "Experts" extolled the virtues of discussing your death with your loved ones "over a glass of wine" where the subject of living wills, power or attorney, financial considerations, burial details and legacies.
It wasn't rocket science, but it was common sense.
One commentator pitched it just right.
"Discussions like these are best done in a more detached and abstract way well before the fact and should not have to be faced in the high emotion of hospital admissions and nursing home waiting rooms."
Having autonomy at the end of your life is paramount. Instructing a legal advocate who perhaps can act in your interest rather than a medic who may act in "best interest" is becoming more popular nowadays but often that "chat over a glass of wine" may be more beneficial, especially when family is involved.
Nothing can split a family more than a death of a loved one

ManBag

Quick Post today...lots of jobs to do and not enough time.
This morning on the way to collect the car from the Station I bumped into an old friend from Intensive Care who commented on my manbag.
She actually referred to it as a handbag which is by definition an incorrect term.
Manbags, I am reliably informed by The Prof , are slung across your body and not carried over the shoulder (Dick Emery Honky Tonk style) or held in the hand (Lady Bracknell style)
a manbag, he says, is an essential accessory for every modern man!

NowI don't know about that, but ever since the Prof bought me my Manbag for Christmas I have not mislaid anything, which for me is some sort of mega achievement
The items I presently have in my manbag are as follows

one pot of vicks vapour rub.
one pen,
one pair of novelty Christmas socks,
keys,
£2.30 in change
My wallet,
Notebook
phone,
Bluetooth earphones,
facecream (body shop)!!!!! - YES I MOISTURISE!!!
Clinique Happy
Mary's ear drops,
Beanie Hat

Simple Things

I've just bought a set of dominos from eBay ...
I had to follow the bloody thing until 22.40 before I " won" it!
It cost me £ 6.99 ( including postage)
Is that surprising for a man of 55?
I've bought it because when The Prof and I were in Broadstairs I escaped to the micro pub The Thirty Nine Steps  and had a lovely hour teaching the Prof to play dominos!
I could have bought a bingo dibber as on New Year's Eve , ( and much to my horror) , The Prof's family set up a game of bingo at the dinner table ...- and that provided us all with a strangely entertaining and somewhat lively after dinner pastime!
But I didn't
My innate snobbishness precludes buying bingo accessories !

Neat And Tidy and a lesson on doing the right thing

I have a soft spot for Jenny our now retired village postmistress.
She remains as disorganised as ever, (indeed she only posting our Christmas card and those of our neighbours through our letter boxes after Christmas) and today I remembered her post office counter with some affection as it always looked in total disarray and as though she had just been burgled.

I am trying to organise myself better.
It's a product of having a new orderly kitchen for I am liking everything having a place and a purpose.
So, when I am waiting for a new arm chair to be delivered ( it's to go in the corner of the kitchen ) I'm sorting out our piles of paperwork. It is these that is reminding me of Jenny and her chaotic post office counter.

I'm not making any  I must be organised resolutions this January, indeed I'm not making any unattainable goals which could ( according to the charity MIND ) affect my mental health negatively if I don't fulfil them .
But I have decided to orchestrate more nice things for us to do.
Retirement must have its own perks.
So 2018 will be a year we travel a bit more. I have already organised a couple of London jaunts and we are having a whole week's holiday in Sitges in the summer.
We also hope to get to Canada and Sweden too......

The John Lewis arm chair arrived early so the paperwork was stuffed away to be forgotten for another year.

Have you made any resolutions? 

I'll leave you with a handmade thank you heart which arrived  by post today.
It was from someone we gave a Christmas present  to.
A gift that we easily bought and we easily gave
The recipient was strangely moved when we handed it over and only then did we find out it was only one of two gifts they received over the Christmas period (the other gift was a small parcel of sweets)
Christmas is about giving, and we often forget that fact.
It was nice that The Prof and I exchanged humbled glances when we realised we had done the right thing

Never Surprise An Old Bulldog.

Everywhere you look there seems to be a man in a white van delivering something.
This afternoon just as I was leaving a message for the Church warden to say that I will continue with the Church cleaning rota I heard a bang then a scream by the back door.
I had put Winnie outside to finish her dinner only a few minutes before so hurried through the kitchen and opened the door. There was a white van in the lane and standing on the other side of the wall was a very frightened looking delivery driver.
Standing with her paws on our side of the wall was Winnie and she was puffing like a steam train with a very angry look in her eyes
" He's ripped my pants !" The man gasped grabbing at his overalls . A broken bit of wall on the floor told me everything I needed to know of what had happened.
The delivery man obviously couldn't be arsed walking down the lane to our old wrought iron back gate which is covered in honeysuckle and clematis and had vaulted the low kitchen patio wall from the lane with a leather bag for the Prof in his hand. He landed with a clatter which surprised Winnie as she mooched around the back garden and like a bull she had launched into sudden protective mode and had attacked. The man had knocked the top of the wall off as he bounced back over the wall with the pocket pulled off the leg of his combats.
" Fucking hell" the man swore as Winnie gave him a series of short barks and as I took the package I decided to have a bit of fun with him.
" Think yourself lucky " I told him " "he put the last delivery man who surprised him in hospital " 
" Fucking Hell" the delivery man repeated with eyes as side as dinner plates.

Grey ( Gray) Journey Home

Thank goodness it's now all over.
Negotiating a rainy Euston station in the rain with a paper carrier bag stuffed with gifts whilst you are still full of cold and after no sleep ( thanks to a slightly deflated rubber mattress I may add)...is not a bag of laughs.
But it is part of the rich tapestry of family visiting just after Christmas.
I've already told the Prof not to "bang on about rubbish" as I am in no mood for it.
You may think I have been somewhat direct but at these times I have found it easier to be direct rather than subtle. A pale expression and a silent demeanour is lost on The Prof.
Mother in law Sorrel was full of the same Yule Plague as I, so I felt sorry for her having to feel that she had to look after us whilst under par.
I've tried to help out at every turn though I do feel slightly guilty that there still was a fairly untouched raspberry pavlova sat on the cool table in her conservatory when we left this morning.

I've only got the dogs to pick up, the fire to light and apologies to give when we get home. Apparently Winnie peed on her hostess' new sofa throw the first night she was away, which is unlike her. I don't think she could be arsed going outside on a wet and windy night.

Normal blogging service will be resumed tomorrow......

Mad Fuckers

What is it with Brits, public holidays and taking a dip into icy waters?
We braved the torrential rain on Broadstairs beach at midday to watch several hundred locals run screaming into the cold cold waters of the English Channel ( then run screaming out of it almost immediately!)
Most had donned various illfitting and inappropriate pieces of fancy dress....including this lunatic in a sombrero
It was all great fun.
Happy New Year