" Olla Winifred"

I thought Winnie had taken a turn for the worse yesterday afternoon.
She was refusing food ,  vomiting and was more lethargic than usual ( if that could be at all possible)
The Spanish vet seemed more interested in Winnie's knackered baby teeth than her bowels but gave her a physical examination , injected her with an antiemetic and gave me some oral ranitidine to settle her stomach.
"Tomorrow, try her with some pasta and chicken " she lisped
Winnie looked very sorry for herself as the vet bid us " adios "
Back at home ( sorry intensive care) Winnie dozed fitfully by the fire and periodically presented her sore tummy to me to be rubbed gently.
This morning things seem to be somewhat better

The hint of a grin following roast chicken breasts and spaghetti

Bird Seed

These animals will be the death of me.
I bought three kilos of mixed bird seed on Wednesday  and yesterday tipped it into a supermarket carrier bag  in readiness to take it over to the snowy field.
I'd only left the bag on the floor for a minute or so, but that was just enough time for a certain bulldog to silently push her big fat ugly head inside and eat over a kilo of it.
That was around three pm.
Nine pm the shit literally hit the fan.
Now, for those that don't know, bulldogs are drama queens.
When illness hits, they can chew the scenery better than Joan Crawford in her best shoulder pads .
Last night she obviously had severe belly discomfort .
With a face like Buster Keaton she paced the cottage constantly, stopping every few minutes for me to rub her tummy. and when she finally puked up handfuls of the birdseed  she sadly presented me with a sick stained face to wipe with a damp tea towel.
That was around nine pm like I said.
At ten pm the shits started, and within seconds I had almost finished off two kitchen rolls and a container of kitchen cleaner !
The bird seed, shall we say had not changed through her alimentary canal, and so peppered my shiny new kitchen floor like mucky hundreds and thousands .
It got everywhere! 
Thank god the Prof had gone to bed.
By eleven I had managed to get her to settle on the couch by holding her paw in a supportive way and covering her face with the tea towel.
This morning as we wandered weakly through the drifts in the lane , she suddenly let out a terrific fart
And a little cloud of bird seed puffed out onto the snow like magic

Stupid is as Stupid does....

Dumb and dumber

Many hens won't walk on snow.
I don't blame them really
But when, at the end of the day, they refuse to return to the safety and warmth of a hen house because  their feet are cold , well they can become right little pains in the arse.
Last night around ten pm and in sub zero temperatures
I tried to cajole the bachelors from the top of the hen house roof.
Using the only thing to hand ( the kitchen mop) I managed to get them off the roof only to have them crash land in the two separate neighbours' gardens.
Now I don't know about you, but galloping around someone else's garden in the dark whilst carrying a kitchen mop doesn't really cut the mustard but gallop around I did until  I had cornered one of the stupid little bastards in sailor John's compost heap and had effectively hog tied it inside my beanie hat.
The other daft sod crashed arse over tit in Trendy Carol's garden , so I had to be as quiet as I could not to disturb her dogs ( not an easy task on a gravel drive I can tell you)
Here, twice I fell over garden features disguised by the snow before nabbing the little c€*t as he pushed his head into the privet hedge .( thus thinking himself invisible)
I was cold and wet and numb by the time I got into the cottage.
And very pissed off
Here I fell asleep on the couch covered in dogs.
I didn't wake up until 6 am this morning

Gift

The Prof is away, flying down to Cardiff 

I've been to the vets on a med run, 

These flowers were on the doorstep when I returned

I've done nothing to deserve them 

The label with them had only one word written on it

" Trellis" 

Friends

I had a conversation the other day about a friendship gone sour.
It was relationship that had lasted over twenty years
The gist of the problem seemed to be a minor falling out between the sons of the friends, a spat which in turn ignited a falling out between the moms.
To an outsider it all seemed rather petty, but to the people involved I am sure, everything seemed like the end of the world.
I think this sort of thing happens predominately in womens friendships rather than in men's. Men tend to move on from friendships more easily than women. They also tend not to have as many and invest less in the importance of them.
Of course I am talking generally here. There are always men ( like myself) who enjoy friendships as much as women do.
Recently a friend I made way back in my twenties messaged me for an impromptu meet. We had grown apart over thirty years predominantly due to his inability to keep in touch , ( a male trait me thinks) and although my curiosity was tweaked by the offer, too much water had passed under the bridge, for me to make the effort to meet.
Friends move on as life changes us all.I guess.
I had a close friend in Sheffield who has subsequently found God after we moved to Wales. She has ignored any effort I have made to contact her. Born again Christians don't " do" gays I suppose even when two decade before we celebrated gay pride together.
Yes some friends move away on their own.
Two weeks ago an old blog friend reappeared after a three year silence. There was no explanation of his disappearance save for the posting of an enigmatic poem and nothing more.
Do friends act in such a way?
In my mind no....however others would probably disagree .
Horses for courses I guess.

Have you ever fallen out with a friend?
I'd be interested to know

The Beast From The East

The Beast From The East, has surprisingly made it over to the West and has quietly blanketed the village with powdery snow. Some of the neighbours had already topped up Irene with granary Crusts of bread and apples, but she is a Scottish Soay ewe, and is hard as nails.
The bachelors, typical of little men generally, have refused to leave the warmth of their hen house.

I got up at 6 am in order to take the car up to the main road so that the Prof could get to work ( he's not very good at driving the car up the lane in icy conditions) then after the briefest of dog walks ( Winnie's expression of you've got to be fucking kidding?!" When she first saw the snow was priceless) we all went back to bed.

I tell you this as part of a bit of local colour.
I'll blog properly this afternoon

The Walking Dead- Honour

Brother and sister Carl and Judith

The strength of a good drama lies in its abilities to move its audience.
Over it's past three seasons or so The Walking Dead has not failed to thrill and to provoke its sizeable fan base with  grittiness, violence and tense set pieces, but it seemed to have lost some of it's humanity, and the warmth ying that provides a necessary balance to its zombie yang.
Tonight, the balance has been restored when one of the original Atlanta four, Carl Grimes ( Chandler Riggs), finally died after being bitten by an arbitrary undead.
Now if we stuck with the series true timeline , Carl would be around thirteen at best, but only in the last year or so the actor has suddenly grown into his eighteen years and now looks his age. I suspect this is the true reason why the show has written him out which is a shame as tonight Riggs showed he could act.
Wisely Carl's demise was filmed in a gentle and almost sentimental way. Through flashbacks we see his tender goodbyes with sister Judith and as his father and a heartbroken Michonne look on, he shares his wishes for peace to prevail in this all too rather bleak world.
The episode was incredibly moving, (especially the moment when Carl told Michonne that she was his best friend) and for all of  The Walking Dead excesses, this emotional romp Was the right way to go.... It was warm and genuine and emotional and I hope this signifies a subtle change in the drama  from now on.
Excitement and terror and horror are vital for a good zombie drama but the drama is not a drama unless we care about the characters. To care for them we need to see them in a more rounded and in a  less frenetic way. Light and shade is needed, oh and a personal plea for a tiny bit more humour.
Humour would be vital in surviving the apocalypse I think.
And so as Carl bravely took his own life to spare any further psychological trauma to his already un hinged father, Daryl et al journeyed to Hilltop as Carol and the now psycho killer Morgan saved Ezekiel in a bloody kill fest to keep even the most geek of geek fans happy.
The scene is set for the final battle me thinks but now there is a hope that things will eventually get a tad more balanced.

Laters

I've written two posts and have deleted both as they were both shite.
I shall write a concrete one later after I watch the return of The Walking Dead.later.
hey ho

Shop Bought

This morning I found myself on a long bar table with eight teenage girls.
I was eating scrambled eggs and a mighty fine Cumberland sausage
They were mostly eating carbohydrates
Their track suits bore the logo " Scotland" .
I think they were part of some sports team
The girls were well spoken and mannered.
Two were discussing a latest news story highlighted on one's phone screen, while another was reading from an iPad.
The troupe had been housed in the rooms above ours and we had heard not a peep from them overnight.
Kids seem so cosmopolitan nowadays .
I thought this when another girl of eleven or so called over to the group from the buffet
to ask if a certain Jenny wanted a warmed croissant 
" its only supermarket!" She said with an apologetic shrug

Boggled

I've boggled my mind with policy and procedures all day

My hotel bed is as wide as it's long 

So how exciting to think that I can do starbursts without kicking a dog or a professor

" I Have No Personality!"

I may not blog tomorrow ( oh be still my beating heart I hear you say)
-You may remember that I am going to a study weekend away for Samaritans ....and so The Prof will have to fend for himself as I live it up in Shrewsbury ( the venue was changed - thank goodness- from the shithole which is Wrexham!)
We've just come back from Sainsbury's
Where I uncharacteristically I lost my cool at the checkout after  being kept waiting for an absolute age to be served. The cashier obviously knew the customer and the pair were having a right chin wag about a holiday destination and were not doing any checkout business until I told them that we were patiently waiting and had had enough of their holiday chatter.
The following " discussion" then got all rather ugly when the customer tried to stare me me down and kept repeating over and over again that I was nasty and had no personality !

I was thankful that the Prof hadn't pointed out that she bought a large bottle of wine and a ready meal for one!

A Crabbit Old Woman

I have a friend who is a university lecturer .
Well in actual fact I have two, but that's another story
We talked the other day and she shared with me some of the learning outcomes the student nurses were expected to achieve by the end of her sessions.
Patient dignity was one such outcome.

When I completed my nurse training our tutor covered the subject of patient dignity in one afternoon.
He read out a poem. A poem that was supposedly written by a elderly patient on a ward in Dundee and one that was found by the nursing staff only after the patient had died.
Our tutor was a theatrical type, a delightful, camp old Quaker called Leslie Brint.
He performed the poem with all of the  flair of Ian McCellen and there was not a dry eye in the house after he had finished.


"Look Closer Nurse"
What do you see nurse, what do you see
Are you thinking when you're looking at me 
A crabbbit old woman, not very wise
Uncertain of habbit, with faraway eyes 
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply
When you say in a loud voice, "I do wish you'd try" 
Who seems not to notice the things that you do
And forever is losing a stocking or shoe 
Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will 
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill
Is that what you're thinking, is that what you see
Then open your eyes nurse, for you're looking at me

I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still 
As I use at you biddings, as I eat at your will
I am a small child of ten with a father and mother
Brothers and sisters who love one another
A young girl of sixteen, with wings on her feet
Dreaming of soon her lover she'll meet
A  bride soon at twenty my heart gives a leap
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep
At twenty five now I have young of my own
A woman of thirty, my young growing fast
Bound to each other with ties that will last
At forty my young sons will now grow and be gone
Af fifty, once more babies play around my knee
Again we know children my loved one and me

Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead
I look to the future, I shudder with dread
For my young are all busy, rearing young of their own
And I think of the years, and the love I have known
I'm now an old woman and nature is cruel 
Tis her jest to make old age look like a feel
The body, it crumbles, grace and vigour depart
There isnow a stone where I once had a heart
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells
And now and again my battered heart swells
I remember the joys, I remember the pain
And I'm loving and living life all over again
I think of the years all too few - gone, so fast
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last
So, open your eyes nurse, open and see
Not a crabbit old woman, look closer, see ME

Daft Apeth

The hen houses rise in the distance

I made a fish pie before 9 am and was out clearing the Ukrainian village of last year's overgrowth soon after.
It's been back breaking but satisfying work seeing two of the old hen houses being  resurrected . the seven more dilapidated houses and the old goose house , I dragged down the field to add to a rapidly growing bonfire.
My back is aching like a good 'un
At lunchtime I indulged myself in a spot of cloud watching with the dogs around me.
The neighbours are used to seeing me supine in the grass but one did refer to me as being a "Daft apeth" A phrase I have not heard since my mother died.
Daft Apeth is an old North England colloquial saying which means "silly sod..or  a bit of a fool"
It's an affectionate term and is one that I expect will die out within the next couple of decades or so
whats your dying out phrase?

Hanging On

Trendy Carol makes a mean beef stew.
The cancelled pancake lunch took place at the Nazareth chapel yesterday and Carol was doing the cooking, so I dug out a couple of plastic food containers and went along.
I was the only person in the village that paid for a take away!
Trendy Carol ( in a fresh springtime outfit and matching shoes) ladled out her stew in the foyer of the chapel which had seen better days and behind her came the low murmur of locals and the click of cutlery on plates.
I was glad that a few people had turned up.
The two village chapels and the church are just about hanging on, but their congregations are somewhat sparse and aging now. With the village shop gone, and apart from the village hall " dos" such as the Flower Show and the pub, they remain to be the only venues where people can meet.
Anyhow, as usual, I am digressing.

This morning I received an email from a fellow blogger. They shared a painful memory sparked by a previous post of mine. The email was matter of fact, and in no way sorry for itself. To me it was what blogging is all about. It was about sharing something.
A private sharing from a public discussion .
Another blogger Rachel shares her honest and sometimes raw thoughts on line and I adore her for it. I try to be open with my thoughts but like most men, I pull my punches when it suits.
Honesty in blogging opens you up for support from the likeminded but it also opens you up to trolls and the unstable.
That's the way of the net.

Now I rambling so I am off to mark out my  'Bosoms'
The vegetable plot resurrection starts today.

Feather Theme

I didn't adore the film although it was very sweet

But I did love this opening theme

Has Anyone Been To Sweden?

Old Blue Eyes

The Prof is in Brussels
He facetimed me when I was sat at the kitchen table completing my " admin"
He always chuckles when I tell him I'm doing admin in a sort of " what the hell have you got to administrate?" Kind of way
But I was busy with my admin!
I booked a flight to Ireland in May to catch you with my best mate Nu at her country cottage realising  that I fly to Cork just a few hours after getting back from Gothenburg with the Prof. I'm carry his bags when he attends a conference in Sweden's 'second' city.
Can anyone out there suggest " day time " things I can do when the Prof is busy?
A few weeks after Sweden my family is meeting en masse in Sitges, Spain for my sister's 70th birthday which will be great fun
It suddenly feels a very small world.

I booked the dogs into their usual kennels with a click of my laptop button and messaged the boffin to see if he could cottage sit without me needing to leave the kitchen table.
Today it's so easy to organise your life in front of a ten inch plasma screen.

I propped up my iPad against my coffee cup in order to watch the Olympic curling heats and as I tapped away on my laptop, I'm finding the sport strangely hypnotic....mind you the lead Italian team curler does have the deepest blue eyes this side of Korea

Insults

I, like everyone else has been insulted many times during a lifetime that has lasted ( so far) some 55 years.
Insults at school , in childhood are often incredibly painful and barbed
They can often set you up for a lifetime of self doubt.
I've been insulted within relationships, within family, friendships and by strangers
I've been insulted in the street, in the pub and on the road!
As a nurse I have been insulted at work ....many many MANY times.

Other insults can be incredibly funny, even though you may be the brunt of them
I remembered one such one yesterday
Years ago, I was called to an incident where a manic depressive patient ( now referred to as bipolar disorder) had stripped a billiard table of snooker balls and had lobbed them through the windows of the psychiatric Ward above the one I was working.
I ran onto the ward, breathless and worried only to see the female patient ( who was incredibly manic) being " cornered" by two female members of staff as she threw a chair at them
The patient  looked at me and laughed. She was in her seventies had a cut glass accent and resembled  Helen Hayes
" The cavalry has arrived! " she bellowed "one fat ugly gay cunt in crappy trousers!......" 
I tried to diffuse the situation by feigning chagrin
" what's wrong with my trousers?" I asked the patient as the female nurses moved in
"You're wearing them lard arse " the patient yelled
And as I dived in to help the ward nurses she kneed me in the bollocks
" Go down fat boy!" Was all I heard as she was led away
I was half laughing to myself moments after my head had hit the floor
But then laughing at yourself was a defence mechanism

It it still is!

Can you remember your worst insult?

Earthquake

I almost didn't blog today.
A case of real life getting in the way of blogging
Apparently there was an 4.5 Earthquake in Wales today

A local wag reported on his Facebook page that there was over 40£ worth of damage

The animals were traumatised by the quake, they say animals pick up on the 

Vibes! 

Ps. I see that hippo-on-the- lawn is appantly back after almost a three year hiatus
It doesn't feel right to me.....
At all

George Day

The passenger Seat to himself 

" They are taciturn, aloof and not for everyone !" 
So warned our dog breeder when we went down to pick up our first Scottish terrier
I didn't know what taciturn meant so I smiled politely.
A gaggle of ten scotties bounced around our feet like fat black beetles.

I later found out that taciturn actually means reserved and reticent, which are perfect adjectives to describe a dog which has become synonymous with the Art Deco style, Highland whisky and George Bush Jr.
I must add here, that I would also describe Scotties as being fiercely loyal, quietly comic and at times dreadfully grumpy little dogs who keep themselves to themselves when all about them is swirling.

Today is George day. He has been to the groomers, got to sit in Mary's co pilot seat and has accompanied me in interviewing prospective volunteers where he sat quietly in the corner with curious black button eyes which followed everyone's conversation .
He has refused to accept pats on the head from three strangers but has wagged his tail hopefully when  someone unwrapped a fisherman's friend . He's bloody friendly when food is concerned.

He will follow me into the hairdressers when I get my hair cut this afternoon and will arrrrrooooo loudly when I tell him we are going. Scotties aren't friendly to strangers but they are vocal when approached....painfully so at times.

Anyhow, I'm typing this in Marks and Spencer's. I'm having a coffee and a mooch -George is eating a small packet of cooked ham all to himself in the car.
It's another treat just for him today.

There is white in his coat now and a slowness in his step, but he's twelve years old so he's allowed to look a bit faded around the edges.
Aren't we all

Soup That Blows Your Tits Off

I've spent much of the morning clearing the field of rubbish in the freezing cold but sunny weather we've got today. William , Winnie and George mooched around after me whilst Mary was tied up at the gate . I cannot train the hunter in her and set free she will chase Irene and the bachelors until exhausted. The older dogs behave themselves with livestock.
It's amazing what winter crap I collected. Bin bags full of plastic bags, plastic flowers ( blown over the fence from the cemetery) paper and wrappers are the most common but I did find an empty bottle of Malibu and a child's plastic hammer on my travels..
I swept the wood burner flue out when I got back in to warm my hands then I  ate homemade  red pepper and carrot soup laced with chilli for lunch ( which incidentally blew my tits off).
I was going to offer done to old Trevor who lives behind our cottage but I thought the chilli may cause a drastic problem with the digestive tract of a 94 year old.

Anyhow I digress.
Last night the affable Despot Jason and I went to see the much acclaimed play The Weir at Theatre Clwyd . The subject of the piece ( which was set in an isolated Irish pub) was one of rural Irish ghost stories ( the supernatural kind as well as the emotional baggage kind that follow us around for most of our lives) and it sort of dovetailed my recent post on ghost stories quite nicely as we highlighted In our post production discussion in the car on the way home)

The Weir has  four local men jousting at the one room rundown country pub.
Jack ( Sean Murray) and Jim ( John O'Dowd) are lonely single men who drink together for company at Brendan's ( Sam O'Mahoney) bar. They are envious of the more successful Finbar ( Louis Dempsey) who arrives with a young woman called Valerie ( Natalie Radmall- Quirke) who has just come to live in the area.

As the group drink, the men start to share ghost stories in order to impress Valerie, but as their stories become more personal and painful in nature, the cathartic nature of the conversations encourage Valerie  to share a tragic and ghostly story of her own.
The Weir is a dark and at times creepy play which starts to come alive when the ghost stories ( each one progressively more chilling than the last ) start. The supernatural nature of the subject matter highlight the personal backstories of the characters where the themes of grief, loss, loneliness and regret are just as important as the ghostly goings on .

Sean Murray is excellent as the lonely, blustery Jack but for me it was Natalie Radmall Quirke's tear stained final monologue that was a real standout .

Natalie Radmall-Quirke plays Valerie