A Bit Of Colour

Ive just re read this morning's post.

All rather glum ain't it?

So I've now given you all a choice.

Read about a violent, but stimulating movie

Or look at the white and bluebells in the grass verge of the lane

And enjoy Mary biting hell out of Winnie's porky leg

As bulldog absolutely adores a bit of rough and tumble

Life is sweet once we look at the nice things

You Were Never Really Here

The Scottish film maker Lynne Ramsey has produced a violent and nightmare world in her latest feature You Were Never Really Here. It is a world inhabited by Joe ( Joaquin Phoenix) a traumatised veteran haunted by the fleeting memories of childhood abuse and sickening battle field trauma. He is a lumpy , pain filled mess of a man who earns his daily bread by being a hired gun, a hit man, a killer, but he is a killer who comes home to an elderly frail mother ( nicely played by Judith Roberts) a relationship of his  which has retained its warmth and humanity.
Joe has a death wish. We glimpse his inner pain through little moments of despair, a look over the high rail of a railway station, a revisited childhood moment in a closet where a plastic bag over the head shuts out his father's wrath, but the bond with his mother keeps him going, until his latest " hit" drags him into the dark world of child prostitution.
He is hired by a local senator ( Alex Manette) to retrieve his fifteen year old daughter Nina( Ekaterina  Sansonov)from a high class brothel and in the bloodbath that ensues, Joe has a chance for some sort of redemption amid the chaos.
This is a very violent and disturbing film which under Ramsey's flair for storytelling is at times an overwhelming bit of cinema. The cinematography drags you into Joe's haunted world where a sudden sound drags him back into childhood violence or a stranger on the street suddenly morphs into a terrified refugee. After one particularly bloody shoot out Joe lies down next to a dying assassin and holding hands they whisper the words of the song I've never been to me which is playing on the radio.
It's a surreal but terribly poignant little scene the likes of which are peppered unexpectedly throughout the film
Phoenix is impressive as Joe. He dominates the screen time with his overwhelming sadness and when at last there is a small glimmer of hope for him, he breaks your heart with his subtle, pained performance.
This film is not for the faint hearted, but it's worth a look if you are in the mood .9/10

Like Gypsies In The Night

The Prof is away writing for 5 days and I am left to my own devices.
Fat club this morning then lunch with a friend ( home made bread and cheese) - I gave up trying to calculate the points after the first glorious bite !
I was late to lunch because I was talking to a dear friend in a layby off the A55
I say talking........I was actually just listening.
Listening to just how awful chemotherapy can be.
The nurse and friend in me just wanted to hug the pain away but that would not validate just how awful the experience was for my friend to experience.
Listening to each sad, nauseating moment was the order of the day.
The experience needed validation and the description was every bit as poisonous as the toxic chemicals pumped into his body.

No Roots came in the radio after the call had finished..the conversation and song now intertwined forever

Birthday

It's the Prof's birthday today,
and as usual he's got the 7 am train to work.
There is a small pile of cards on the bookcase in the living room awaiting his return and later we are having an Indonesian meal out to mark the day.
It's not my place to let you all know just how many he has celebrated over the years.
Suffice to say that it's the 18th of his birthdays  we have marked together
A great deal of water has flowed under a large number of bridges over that time.
I hope there are many more bridges to negiotiate before we finally reach the sea.

Georges Bizet: L'Arlésienne-Suite - Farandole

This piece of music reminds me of Trelawnyd, more than any other I can think of.
Wherever I am in the future, it always will, for in my mind it is the musical accompaniment to a "cinematic" moment ten years ago that lifted the heart more than any other.

We were fairly new to the village then, and in conjunction with an event my sister had planned, I had organised my first allotment open day for charity.
It was a small affair, and certainly wasn't as robust as my later, larger events, but my vegetable beds had been tidied up within inches of their lives, cakes and tea had been prepared and flyers had been circulated around the village with a typical anxiety that centred around the worry that no one would turn up.

I'd arranged for the open evening to start at 6pm, and minutes before time I remember standing by the field gate in a sudden downpour of summer rain.
I know I felt distraught and upset as I couldn't then imagine anyone turning up when the grass was sodden and the skies were slate grey.

When I remember this moment, the Farandole's uplifting violins suddenly enter my psychi. The music echos my feelings at the time as when I walked up the lane to look towards the Church in the hopeful expectation of seeing at least one local turning up to my event , my heart leaped as suddenly I spied a long and steady stream of villagers, led by Auntie Glad (under a massive umbrella), all marching down the lane towards me.
The music now accompanies that cinematic moment in the film clip of my memory.
And I smile gently  as I remember it.

A Thought On The Way Home

I haven't heard the word cahoots for an absolute age! 

Baking Day

I haven't got the car today, so I've decided it's going to be a baking day.
Mary and I collected eggs from Eirlys's farm from The Marian and soon I shall be making chicken and leek pie, a meat and potato pie, banana loaves and custard tarts.
Eirlys kept me talking as did the old miner in the corner house by the garage.
He always asks me the same question
"How's your friend, keeping well?" 
" My husband is fine" I always reply

In one way baking is diversionary  tactics from the sweat fest that is moving old Trevor's collection of wood onto the field bonfire ( a job I'll have to do tomorrow), but in another way its therapy.
Baking is a sweet mindful activity.
It clears the mind of bad thoughts.

Trendy Carol (in designer jeans, bright training shoes and bright hipster jacket) was out when we returned with our eggs. I see she  has a new outdoor sofa literally smothered in cushions...I forgot to tell her it's longer than the width of our cottage.

I'll post pie photos later
Hey ho

I ran out of plain flour so had to use gluten free flour for the meat and potato pie

( which looks shite) 

I've yet to make the custard as neighbour Trevor has just caught me

A Moment Of High Drama

Have you ever witnessed a moment of high drama?
Something that lingers long in your mind.
Something that touches your soul.
I was flicking through YouTube yesterday and stopped briefly at a moment on the Netflix production of The Queen. 
It was a clip where the new and grieving Queen Elizabeth (Claire Foy)meets her grandmother The Queen Mary (Eileen Atkins) for the very first time since the death of George VI
It's a wonderfully dramatic moment where the old Queen curtseys to the new.
It's a scene that gives you goose pimples.

The video reminded me of a nursing moment, years ago when I witnessed an estranged daughter entered the side room of her dying father.
The daughter had not seen her father for I think forty years and had been asked to come to her father's bedside by other family members. I knew nothing of the fall out but I remember that the air was almost electric as the daughter walked into the room and the other family members all stood as she did so.
The daughter looked at her father and knelt at the side of the bed like a child saying her prayers and as she lowered her head to cry her father rested his hand onto the top of her head in a gesture of forgiveness.
Nothing was said, but everyone seemed to be weeping
And I remember exiting the room like a ghost with my eyes to the floor

Colour and picnic

Today is overcast and cooler than yesterday. Yesterday the dogs and I spent all afternoon in the front garden in glorious sunshine.
Our front garden faces South and absorbs the warmth in seconds of the sun coming out.
Winnie, William and George slept as I weeded the beds and Mary watched an exhausted pair of blackbirds scoot back and forth from their almost completed nest in the Holly.
Slowly the colour is edging back into the garden. The mock orange is starting to blossom , the white bells, aubrietia, tulips and grape hyacinth are all flowering as is the delicate blue clematis on its frame by the wall.
The cottage in spring looks rather pretty I've always thought.

I've made a picnic lunch. Cheese and pickle sandwiches robust in silver foil, tuna mayonnaise sandwiches ( with a squirt of lemon), - slightly more refined with the crusts cut off. Asparagus cooked in butter with garlic and sea salt with tiny cherry tomatoes and fresh fruit salad.
I would have prepared coffee but the thermos is broken.

What are you doing today?

New Bestie

During all that hand holding

I got the sudden impression that both men were going to start to skip

A Little Drama

I was sat at the kitchen table hand writing letters to cancel our flower Show Judges for this year when I heard the stand off.
The stand off happens at least four or five times a day!
It's a game between  Tom cat and Welsh Terrier bitch.
They enjoy the drama of it.
Because they actually like each other.
Cat wants to go up the stairs
Welsh terrier wants him not to.
The Mexican stand off is complicated and noisy and I can't work out all of the rules
Hisses, barks , loud licks on the face, silent pads to the chops.
It's the animal equivalent of a baby drag queen spat
Suffice to say, even though a clump of jet black cat hair was left on the first step

Albert always wins.

Brian Sewell

Last night, after I had cut the lawn, I took a cup of coffee and a book over to the Churchyard and sat in the faint glow of the setting sun to read.

My book was a gift from a blogger . 

Sleeping With Dogs by Brian Sewell

I never really took to Sewell . On tv I always found him snobbish, acerbic and rather pompous. But this " peripheral" autobiography which is a lyrical chronicle of all of the dogs in his life, has rather charmed and moved me, so much so that some of his writing actually reduced me to tears.

I will share this moment from the prelude.

"......I have ever since slept with all my dogs, one, two, three, or four at a time, waking, as I always do,with the not-quite dawn, but often making no attempt to leave my bed, so luxuriously seductive in the warmth on all sides. For an hour and more I have lain in this cocoon at least ten thousand times, ignoring the insistent thoughts of coffee and the working day, mindlessly drifting in and out of sleep, as immobilised by my companions as by anaesthesia. This, when the time comes, is how I wish to die"

After I read this I put down the book for a moment and sipped my coffee to think. I later found out that Sewell died of cancer in 2015.
I wonder if that final wish was granted.

Gob Shite

I've fallen out with at least two people fairly recently over the behaviour of their dogs.
I'm not shy when coming forward when I see a dog which is out of control, non socialised or ill treated and nothing sparks friction more than a critical word or a dirty look, when dogs are sparking and anxieties are high.
I am also intolerant of a phenomenon I refer to as " dog chatter" 
Dog chatter infuriates me.
I know it shouldn't . I understand why people do it, but it drives me batty.
Dog chatter is the often inane conversations pet owners have with their dogs.
I will give you an example of what I mean.
The other morning I was at the vets. I took Mary in as a rush job, after she started to cough unexpectedly. I feared it was kennel cough, (it actually turned out to be a plastic tooth pick lodged in the side of her throat. ) and as I stood at the reception desk I overheard the " conversation" a woman had with two morose looking basset hounds .
"Now Bertie will you stop pulling, mummy's arm is very sore.......Molly will you behave , look at that sweet dog over there being all nice and friendly........now please sit down and let me get my handbag out , it shouldn't be too long now then we can go home and get some Shopping done" 
The conversation went on like this for an age and before you tell me off for my thin skin, I know, I know" it shouldn't bother me but it does.
Similar conversations parents have with very small toddlers also drive me potty.
DOGS AND VERY SMALL BABIES DONT UNDERSTAND CONCEPTS SUCH AS " BEING NICE and FRIENDLY" AND WOULDNT KNOW WHAT A HANDBAG WAS IF THEY WERE BELTED OVER THE HEAD WITH ONE
I wanted to shriek the statement at the basset hound lady.
But that would have been inappropriate and cruel and so I didn't
...but I oh so wanted to.

Eight years ago I once took a racist woman to task over a comment she let fly in a vet's waiting room.
I must have cut an odd figure as I had a bald Indian runner duck on my knee wrapped in a tea towel
I've just been reminded of it and surprisingly found an account of the incident here
https://disasterfilm.blogspot.co.uk/2008/06/nellracism-and-red-valerian.html

What thing that shouldn't irritate you DOES.?

Heels

I adore my feet being rubbed...it has been a lifelong passion. If no massage is forthcoming from the academic, I will content myself with a good licking by one of the dogs.
Dogs love cheesy feet!
Years ago now, I was a reflexology " volunteer". My good friend Joy and her classmates were studying for their massage exams and needed a regular pair of feet to practice on almost on a daily basis.
I was more than happy to be their guinea pig, having my feet rubbed then was the idea panacea to the world's stresses of running a busy spinal injury ward.

One evening, I went round to Joy's house for a " rub" and got allocated to one of her new colleagues who needed some extra practice. The trainee reflexologist turned out to be a shy British Telicom workman called Charlie who had just started his training . He looked slightly awkward as I was his first " client" and he made a point of saying that all his "practical" work had been done on his wife.

Anyhow, off he went squeezing and rubbing and being the ideal reflexology model, I gave him feedback and asked appropriate questions of his technique.
Now, I never fully understood the science behind reflexology, all I know is that it feels bloody good.....so after Charlie had given the sides of my heels a particularly thorough seeing too, I made a point of complementing him by saying
" that was bloody amazing!..you could do that to me all day"
Charlie blushed and looked particularly awkward
But I pressed on regardless
" what part of the body corresponds to the heel area" I asked...trying to sound like the ideal student
Charlie coughed and looked uncomfortable
And Joy, who was rubbing another volunteer's feet nearby, leant over and stage whispered the answer into my ear
" your Bollocks," she said with a smile!
I closed my eyes and tried to look invisible for the rest of the session

Pissed

Recently an old physiotherapist friend of mine  reminded me of a boozy night out many moons ago where I stole a rather expensive oil painting from the party host's living room.
I had all but forgotten the misdemeanour but on reflection I realised that she was indeed right, I had stolen the painting and although pissed as a fart had the presence of mind to pop it in the boot of my car before crashing out .
This dreadful " habit" wasn't a one off....in the 80s and early 1990s I appropriated a whole shopsworth of precious items- most of which I returned to the owners within a 24 hour period
A silver sugar sifter , and set of silver spoons .
A tea caddy
And a terracotta planter complete with small Bay tree , were just a few items I woke up next to, in those heady days of The Leadmill nightclub, nurse parties and lock ins at the Springfield pub.

I stopped drunk stealing in 1998. It was on a warm April Sunday Morning in Sheffield and I had decided to walk from Ecclesall Road back home to Hillsborough at 2 am in the morning.
Big mistake
For when I eventually got up late morning the following day, I was surrounded by vases, pint glasses jam jars and teapots full to the brim with hundreds, literally hundreds of stolen golden daffodils.

What's the worst thing you have done under the influence?

The face I made in the queue at the vets

Promenade

Sometimes you just need to find a place in order to watch the world walk by.
Having only myself to cater for Mary and I took ourselves off to the Promenade at lunchtime.
It was overcast and spitting with rain, but Colwyn Bay was fairly busy with visitors so I found an empty bench and set out lunch
I had an advacado and cheese bagel and a skinny coffee.
Mary had a packet of sliced ham.
And we both sat for an absolute age and watched the world promenade in front of us.

Friends.. I love 'em

Jonney H ....my Sheffield friend

Recently I asked an old friend if I looked my age,
I think I have eight close friends I can ask this kind of indulgent and honest question to
He laughed his usual camp laugh and cooed loudly
" Darling you always look mighty fine" 
I preened myself briefly until he added
" all you could do with is a lot of ......moisturiser ! " 
....................I .Love you J x

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

Spoilers
If you want to go and see a good old fashioned, romantic weepie that makes you feel all emotional warm and fuzzy go and see The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society.
It's a rather delightful piece of whimsy.

The perky Lily James

Impossibly beautiful authoress Juliet Ashton ( a perky Lily James) is at the height of her success in post war London when she receives a letter from Dawsey Adams (Michiel Huisman) an impoverished but well read pig farmer from the Island of Guernsey. Adams is part of a literary group formed on the occupied island by a group of lonely and isolated neighbours and his account of this strange band of misfits at first intrigues then enchants Juliet who subsequently visits the island to get drawn into a rather painful wartime mystery.

So you can see , the film has everything. Wartime hardships, shoulder pads, a delightfully eclectic set of characters, beautiful scenery, Nazi cruelty and Mr Huisman who makes the wearing of a dirty and hole filled fisherman's jumper an art form. He is basically the most beautiful man I have seen on screen in a long time.

The ensemble cast has been picked perfectly from Sunday night tv.
Jessica Brown Finlay is excellent as the mysterious and brave Elizabeth McKenna, Katherine Parkinson plays a ever hopeful gin making spinster rather movingly and heavyweights Tom Courtenay and Penelope Wilton provide warmth and gravitas in spades as the de facto grandparents of the group
Their society meetings have a real drama and pathos on screen.

Having said this , apart from the dreamy and soft spoken Huisman, I have to say that Lily James carries the film admirably. She possess a doe eyed sweetness which is perfect for the film's gentle innocence that finally, after a somewhat contrived will they, won't they? finale ends with a kiss that would make even the most hardened of watchers swoon.

It's a lovely film.

Sun

The weather is a glorious blue and every window except our bedroom window is wide open,
It's easy for the dogs to go a tumbling from the bedroom window, especially when Pippa goes past with her arsey bitch Meg in tow.
I saw villager W out for a walk and she told me the sad tale how her canary was killed by a sparrow hawk whilst in it's cage in the garden.
I think she told me that his name was Bud.
Bud is a fine name for a pet, I think
Everywhere you look , everyone has to deal with a drama of sorts.
Little ones and big ones .
The nice weather always helps with coping with both me thinks
Especially when there is a light breeze carrying the faint smell of mown grass, woodsmoke and hyacinth through the cottage.