Gypsies,Tramps and Thieves?

Two " rough looking" types were sat in a open top van at the end of the lane this morning.
I noticed them when I saw to the bachelor cockerels, so put Winnie on a lead and looking like a local just out for a dog walk. I wandered over  to check them out.
As I thought the men were Irish travellers  and the van was full of scrap metal.
" can I help you? " I asked
Both men chatted in that machine gun speed brogue which is almost impossible to understand but I more or less worked out that they were asking who owned a nearby field which was dotted with old farm equipment.
I remained vague, unhelpful and mistrusting,
And so the younger man started dolling out some charm by then asking me about my "beautiful British Bulldog" 
" What's his name" the man asked, not noticing a row of saggy tits inches from the ground
Winnie raised her head and blew him a few bulldog kisses.
"Roxy" I told him, still keeping up the hard pretence
" Is he friendly?" the man asked again
" No, he can be a bit aggressive" 
The men stayed in their van
Winnie yawned and let out a mini fart.

Eventually the men drive off, and I let them see that I was watching them go. I shall let the owner of the field know that his field was being "sussed".
An old farmer, I once knew very well, told me several stories  of the damage the rougher Travellers did to his farmland when they decided to relocate to one of his best pasture fields just a few years back.
Before they were finally evicted ( by semi force and the use of local farmer friends driving mechanical diggers) water ditches were damaged and filled with waste, hedges destroyed, and animals owned by another neighbour killed and stolen.

It is these guys that give honest travellers a bad name.

Mini Drama

An Arctic blast hit us yesterday afternoon despite the sun and blue sky.
When I left fat club, the wind almost cut me into two...but to be fair I was wearing my thinnest ( and lightest)  t shirt...btw I lost 6.5 lbs last week!
I knew the change in the weather only too well for I sat out in it for nearly an hour, perched on the wire garden chair which is situated under the growing honeysuckle by our front door.
There is a blackbird nest hidden away in the ugly evergreen shrub by the stone wall and a furious blackbird father and I was standing guard as two magpies circled and watched, stalked and plotted
their way towards the eggs.
I could have been watching a Hollywood monster movie after Mary alerted me to the initial attack with a worried bark from the back of the armchair and both of us watched as the drama unfolded like some mini dinosaur encounter.
One magpie kept the male blackbird busy as the other tried to drive the sitting female away with aggressive clicks and chatter.
The blackbirds were valiant, vociferous and surprisingly effective in the defence of their nest but the magpies were cunning and more intelligent, so bided their time, that was until, I could take the tense stand off no longer and went to sit in the garden .
Fifty minutes later, the magpies eventually gave up their vigil and looped their way angrily across the churchyard and the exhausted blackbirds finally relaxed their shouts and dropped their tails.
I took myself off for a hot bath!

This morning, the blackbird nest is empty and the only birds in the garden are the sparrow gang perched spunkily on the cottage wall.
I noted a broken blackbird egg lying in the lane by the gate.

Ps in an effort to lighten the mood watch this video of an Australian magpie attack
Very, very funny.

New People

I stopped to speak to someone I shall call Miss Haversham this morning.
I nicknamed her this because she was wearing a rather unruly hairstyle with dressing gown and slippers.
It was late morning.
I haven's seen her in a while so we got to chatting about new characters that have moved into the newly bought and rented houses nearby.
I told her that I would send all newcomers a letter from the Flower Show, welcoming them to the village.
She pointed to a house across the road and asked if I was going include them in the correspondence.
" I have my own ideas about them" she said somewhat conspiratorially
" oh yes?" I said
" Yes" she whispered " They leave their washing on the line overnight!!!!!!" 
"Ohhhhhhh" I replied, totally unable to grasp the significance of the statement
And in way of explanation, Mrs Haversham said " It's a bit like people who always  leave their pegs on the line" 
I walked away non the wiser.

Unwell today

What Fresh Hell Is This?

I was on chauffeur duty tonight as the Prof and my sister went out for night at the musical theatre.
When they were enjoying some minor dancers from Strictly Come Dancing, I settled down to phoning friends from a dog covered arm chair but the conversations were not quite what I wanted them to be...the reason?.....I wasn't feeling very well.
At ten thirty when we finally got home, I knew I had a temperature, so shivering , I plucked the digital thermometer from it's resting place in a spare mug on the kitchen side and stuck it in my mouth .37.4  degrees!

Only then did I realize when I last used the thermometer......it was in a moment of panic a couple of months ago!
When Winnie was critically ill with her septic uterus!
Oh.........my.............God

Faghags and fagmates

I was going to do a post on homophobia this morning, given that the unfortunate Petra has been posting again, but there was a baby rabbit under the bookcase,so I didn't quite have time.
William being rather dim thought it was still somewhere in the kitchen and led the charge with the other terriers in a bid to kill it. Winnie however , knew better and led me right to the baby in the living room with her worried brown eyes and serious expression.
Mothering instinct , even in a dog so old, is a strong urge to quell, me thinks.
Albert just yawned, and even when the baby started to scream ( just as I wrapped a hand around it) he  ignored the subsequent canine hysteria with measured alacrity.
He's seen it all before.

I'v never quite understood homophobia. Oh I get the somewhat hackneyed religious arguments and the 1970ish "nancy boy" disappointment of parents who wanted grandchildren and family stability but given the 'fluid" nature of how things are nowadays it just seems to be rather unfashionable  to be still prejudiced about such matters.
Petra's vitriol seems to be centred about my gay friendly following. The 'Faghags' as she likes to call them. I find this interesting as, in my view, calling someone a faghag is a compliment not a curse.
Women that tend to enjoy the company of gay men, to me are enlightened. They are accepting, bright, inclusive and generally are incredibly humorous.
Who wouldn't like to be surrounded by such creatures?
( I read recently that the new " term " for faghag is Gabe" ( gay+ babe) 
Now Going Gently has a few straight guy followers toon, I wonder if Petra realises that? What do We call them? Fagmates? 
It's just a thought.
A few years ago, in Sheffield, I met a woman at a work's night out who gushed on incessantly about
just how fun us gays were! She banged on so much that she missed my smiling comment of  oh we make lovely pets!" for what it was . It's hard to walk the right line here before stereotyping gets in the way....lol just like I did with the faghag comment a little earlier.

The upshot of this navel gazing?
Who fucking knows?
We like who we like.
I like people that make me laugh,that stimulate and challenge me and who are warm and generous. If they like dogs and zombie tv shows that's a bonus in my book.

Pass The Tissues

Some commercials are little movies all of their own.

Watch this one , I'm not sure where the wheelchair comes into it

But it may make you weep just a little! 

The best photo EVER

,

Hinterland

Hostages Sharon Morgan and Brochan Evans

I often post about movies from all around the world on Going Gently, but it is rare for me to big up a Welsh film or tv series of any note as generally most Welsh offerings are pretty dire.
Hinterland is an exception.
Filmed twice ( once in English and again in Welsh ) it is a crime show set in the unlikely university town of  Aberystwyth which is headed by a flawed detective, Richard Harrington ( aint they all?) and his team of supportive cops. Moody tense and thoroughly entertaining, this drama benefits from its subtitles, detailed characterisations and mean and bleak country backdrop.
Tonight's siege storyline was a cracker!
Watch it on youtube if you get the chance

Boys

Four ten year old boys running amok in the street is a somewhat rare sight nowadays given the fact that modern parenting seems to be micromanaging childhood but there they were this morning sprinting up and down the lane, shouting about a den made over in the fields beyond Trendy Carol's house.
They didn't see me, as I was busy planting a peony in the back garden, but I heard them, and so did Albert who was sat on the cottage wall, swishing his tail in temper.
It's amazing just how much noise four small boys can make at full pelt.

For a second or two there was a worrying silence, and I was surprised to glimpse what looked like a banana skin flying past Albert's head to land with a plop on the path.
The boys galloped away before I could even stand up and Albert bolted for the safety of the kitchen.

I've been crouched behind the wall waiting for them all to return for the past half hour
I'm going to lob the banana skin right back at em !

What larks Pip! 

Ps I'm 54

I was still lurking in the garden, banana skin in hand when a rather natty woman poked her head over the wall, bearing gifts!
She brought me these Teacups, Gifts that once were sold in the village shop sometime in the 1940-50s ( Newmarket was the village's former name and it was changed to Trelawnyd in 1957)

Update

I 've just had an email from Phil ( one of the Male Voice Choir's bigwigs) to tell me that Auntie Glad is doing ok in her new home. ( He and many of the choir members have been so supportive to her over the years)
It is her birthday today....... she is 98.
I plan to visit on Thursday

Early Doors

Thats the Prof's ' happy face'

Here, in Britain, there is a pub phenomenon which is known as " Early Doors".
Early Doors refers to a time when people pop in to the pub, namely in the afternoon to very early evening to sink a pint or two and chat.
It is sometimes a favourite time for the elderly to middle aged drinkers who don't like the " crowds"  of an evening bartime, the after work brigade, the newspaper readers and of course the hopeless. alcoholic.
The Prof is still on holiday today so I took him to The Albion in Conwy for an afternoon drink. I was driving so had a few large coffees, he had a few of the guest ales and a pork pie.
Mary had a bag of crisps!
The mid afternoon clientele was a quiet bunch. Mainly old men with sticks perked up by a middle aged drunk woman who slurred her words from the get-go. I reminded the Prof not to catch her eye. There is nothing worse than a latched on drunk when you are sober.
I don't do early doors, anymore.
One of the last times, I did,  was over  a decade ago when I got so pissed in All Bar One with my fey sidekick John 'Bel-Ami', I eventually fell down two flights of basement steps into a firedoor, broke my spectacles and gave myself a black eye.....and never felt a thing!

Hey ho.

When were you most scared?

For the whole of the Easter Weekend I have been either sleeping or working, and the night shifts have been busy ones.
The Prof has been pleasantly sanguine about the ruination of his one of all-too-few holidays, a fact that I put down to chocolate and some downtime with the children.
Mrs Trellis dropped off a couple of Easter bunnies too, which was nice of her, she asked if the Flower Show had indeed been cancelled this year as per village gossip.
I assured her that it had not, and promptly conscripted her in the boiled fruit cake class.

Over the weekend one of my patients likened his admission to intensive care to one of the "most frightening experiences of his life". The " most" as it turned out, was a time when he was attacked by a lioness in Africa, a story that unfortunately we were unable to catch up with throughout the shift.

But it got me thinking.....what WAS the most frightening experience I have ever suffered? 
HUMMMMM.....

Well, my answer must, thankfully,  be very few indeed, !
Anything to do with heights really freak me out,so the time I found myself alone on the observation deck of the Seattle's Space needle in a rainstorm would figure high on this list.
The time I was attacked by a Russian terrier ( the leader and most aggressive member of a pack of nine housedogs) still brings shivers to my soul when I think about it, as does the time I was first attacked my a psychiatric patient whilst on duty.
But these are just minor scare times compared with a man facing down a lioness in the African bush!

So tell me!
What was your most frightening experience EVER.
I'd be interested to know.

sleeping in the bath

I've just fallen asleep in the bath
My fingers and toes look like miniature crinkly testicles
God knows what my actual testicles look like
Night shifts all over Easter
They are trying to killme before I retire!

Happy Easter

New York

How lucky we are, in May we are off to London again, June we go to Spain, August a seaside break in Kent and in  November we have booked our trip to New York.
It's been a few years since we went, my goodness for many years we visited the city annually, so I am so excited to be returning .
I am reminded of a quote from Woody Allen from the movie Manhattan

" He adored New York City. He idolized it all out of proportion........no make that: he romanticized it all out of proportion. Yes, to him, no matter what the season was, this is still a town that existed in black and white and pulsated to the great tunes of Gershwin" 

Another Year, Another Flower Show

With another level head on the Flower Show committee in the shape of Trelawnyd Val, we thrashed out the 2017 schedule in record time.
There was a bit of a debate over schedule layout, some lively talk about who will open the show ( we are toying with a Mary Berry lookalike named tantalisingly as Mary Cherry, but we may be in muddy legal waters here. Meirion & Daphne know someone from Coronation Street so we may have a real celebrity on the cards! If we don't I'll ask the newly elected counsellor for our area.......the local elections are just about to start!

The pub tv was playing quietly in the corner, so I was mindful that my Nemesis Terry was paying too much attention to a video of a Macarena rather than the strenuous conversation over the differences between a pie and a tart!
We all missed Auntie Glad's kitchen!
It's Gladys' 98 th birthday on Tuesday...I learned today that the village Male Voice Choir had planned to call on her to sing her happy birthday. They called in to her old care home to sing carols to her at Christmas which was a delightful tribute I thought. ( Gladys had provided refreshments to the choir for many many years)
Anyhow I am going to propose that we have a new cup " The Auntie Glad Cup" for a baking category in the show. I forgot to mention it tonight, the pub was rather busy and it slipped my mind.....
The food in the restaurant looked fab, I must admit.....
As I sipped my diet coke!
Hey ho

A Kid In A Sweet Shop

If you are ever " down in the dumps" I suggest you call around here. Pick Winnie up in the back seat of your car and drive, quicksticks, to the local pet superstore which is located just five miles away.
You know the sort of store I mean.
Spotless shelves with every feed, medication, plaything and grooming implement known to man , nose to nipple with bunnies in glass fronted enclosures, azure blue fish tanks and green smocked sales people smiling sweetly at you from behind the tills.
This is Winnie heaven.
I first found this odd fact out a year ago when she accompanied me into the store when we were picking another dog up from their in-house groomers.
Wide eyed with wonder she investigated every box, packet and snack carefully eyeing up anything that she thought different or interesting and practically wet herself when she turned a corner to see thirty feet of selected balls, squeaky toys and rubber " things" all neat and tidy in their containers.
Their selection of rubber chickens practically gave the old gal an orgasm on the spot and I had to put her on the lead again to prevent an over excited incident from occurring.
(I didn't have enough dosh on my to pay for any damages) but generally she behaved herself, sniffing the boxes, tins and packets with a smile on her big fat face.

As I recall we ambled on.
Carefully and over some time, the guinea pigs were watched and then the ratty things and gerbils in their boxes were given  the a serious once over, then the vet's receptionist had to be greeted as she yawned behind her desk.
To Winnie the store was a place of wonderment, to be savoured slowly like a good wine.
She didn't want rushing!
And so I let her march around, enjoying her enjoyment of such a simple activity.
Her happiness is incredibly infectious .
Remember that if you are ever down and you are in North Wales
Just call around and borrow a bulldog for an hour or so.

This morning in the garden with Mary

" Get away from her .....YOU BITCH!"

I'm sat in the vets.....it's going to be a long wait as there are two labs, an old spaniel with a bad heart,
and an RTA before us.
So I'm playing on the old ipad.
It stops people chatting to me, I hate small talk at the vets

A few years ago I found myself walking around the corner of Bloomingdales New York and I  bumped right into a tall, chic looking woman wearing a tartan coat.
She said " Pardon" and floated on.
I squeaked like a girl.
The woman was Sigourney Weaver! 

We are going to New York in the Autumn ( instead of Australia) 
I wonder which famous bod I shall spy there.....
We have not been for a few years and I'm already excited

Who is the most famous celebrity that you have met, albeit briefly!??
I'd be interested to know 

A Worrying Turn

Blogs talking about the oldest and one of the youngest Village characters

Go figure

It's been public knowledge for a little while now, but the care home that Auntie Gladys is in has been recently under close scrutiny by  the Welsh Care and Social services inspectorate after it breached 11 regulations in the care of its residents.
I have not blogged about all this as in many ways it was not my place to say anything, but very recently things have changed yet again.
We visitors had no idea that things were not quite they seemed as Gladys seemed very happy with her care, and although the place looked somewhat shopworn there was nothing in the home that unduly concerned me, nothing, that is, that I could see on an hours visit.
I know that Gladys' family closely monitored the situation, and have kindly kept a few of us here up to date with what was happening.
Tomorrow, it has been decided that the remaining residents will be moved by social services to another care home and Gladys will transferred to a more appropriate place on the English border some twenty miles away.

I've got the details of the new home if any villagers need it.
I'll be visiting next week and I may post the home's address here! A plethora of supportive cards may underline to te managers just how well loved Gladys is!( hint hint)

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-wales-north-east-wales-39469229