Bra Straps

 It’s 6.40am and I’m writing up my patients’ notes as the wind picks up over West Shore here in Llandudno.

A sizeable group of the  Orme’s goats, presumably  sensing the approaching storm crossed our car park in the wee small hours and entered the gardens of the housing complex opposite 

I watched them on the security cameras as they tiptoed past Bluebell.

Eunice will hit Trelawnyd hard around 11 am, where wind gusts have been forecasted to be 20 mph stronger than they will be just 2 miles north on the coastal plain.

There seems a lot of worry about this storm compared to the ones we’ve had in the past

I may sleep downstairs when I get home 

I hope my Churchyard laburnum survives…and my roof 

Hold on to your bra straps it’s going to be a bumpy day

Eunice

 Eunice is approaching and a calm morning is becoming a blustery afternoon.

My laburnum sapling in the churchyard remains steadfast against the stormy weather but the dead ash trees on the field borders have taken a bashing last night.

Today another weather warning has been made.

The coast road to work will be an interesting drive later.

It’s been a nothing sort of day, I met my sister in law for  lunch and have just planted out some miniature cyclamen on the patio shelving. 

That’s all I’ve done.

I once worked with a mad cap Irish nurse called Eunice 

She once remarked to a patient who had a gunshot wound scar in his chest that she thought he had a extra nipple

Dudley

 Storm Dudley has found shore

Trendy Carol bustled up the lane earlier in a lovely brown woollen coat 

And we waved as the blustery wind shook the both of us like twigs

The dogs and Albert have squeezed onto the trendy blue sofa like sardines 

And I’ve turned off the tv and read Bob Mortimer’s autobiography as the wind screamed around the cottage walls .

I miss my fire and am happy it returns next week 

I met my old friend Cheryl today , a psychotherapist as well as a friend 

She centred me 

…..naturally ….

The roar of the wind is worrying, but it will pass 

Oh God not the Beetroot Falafel

It was well after eleven last night when I realised I had not eaten since  lunchtime , a lunch which had been a very tasty but very small beef stew, served by the very cute chef himself 

I raided the cupboards and found a packet of beetroot and chilli falafel mix which was a mistake and moments after I had mixed the bright purple chickpea glup into balls and had started to deep fry them in a Smokey kitchen.

I can’t remember the last time I threw up in the middle of the night.

It was probably years ago in Sheffield after an overly energetic night out at The Ledmill.

But at 4 am this morning , and with an audience to two dogs watching carefully from the doorway, I hurled my purple guts up while hugging the pan moaning loudly  “ Oh God Why” 

Dorothy especially was fascinated by the contents of my stomach and pushed her head next to mine in order to muse with some interest at the lumps and bumps hurling from my mouth. 

I can still taste beetroot this morning.

I’ve walked the dogs , burped my way through an  “interview” by the Daily Post regarding the Church closure and sorted out my new chimney liner ( at last) 

The work will be done next week…..yayyyy

I’m off shortly to Chester to meet an old friend for an early lunch 

I won’t be eating falafels

Tebe Poem (Dmitry Bortniansky)

We sang this Russian hymn tonight at choir 

A fitting and rather lovely piece which heralded my proper return to choir.

Masks off

A few hugs by friends not seen for ages,

Jamie ( with his 1940s RAF moustache) on great form 

And acoustics to die for

I loved it so very much 

Love With No Place To Go

I met a friend for lunch.

They are grieving and looked hollow, and lost.

I listened and gave the grief feelings validation. 

But it was hard to see the sadness 

Which was physical and present. 

And the Jamie Anderson quote came to mind

“ Grief is a love with no place to go”

Pottery

I met my sisters Ann and Janet tonight and we returned to pottery , for the first time together since lockdown . I completed my cave man spoons then made this landscape piece which will be painted like the welsh hills that surround Trelawnyd. 

It may double as a letter rack ….

I love this photo 

 

A Mouse In The Reading Chair

 It was fortunate that my friend cancelled our walk today due to the crappy weather. 

I’ve spent the day, rearranging furniture 

Gay men love rearranging furniture .

Around 3 am Mary found a mouse in the reading chair.

The resulting hysteria woke the entire household and even Albert scraped off cushions and pushed his head down crevices in order to locate the dumb fuck of a rodent .

The chair had a nest amongst the springs.

It’s now on the patio awaiting the tip.

Hence the need for the rearranging of the furniture 

And with that , a clean, a titivate and a pleasing afternoon.

If any of you love Pedro Almodòvar you will know that he incorporates into his films some lovely interior sets. The apartments and homes of his characters have vibrancy and a particular character of their own and they almost become another cast member with a personality, temperament and identify all of their own. 

I adored the apartment feel of Penelope Cruz’s character in Parallel Mothers 

But now I kind of like the eclectic nature of my cottage interior

Comedy Club

 Gorgeous Dave picked me up early evening and we went to the comedy club at Theatre Clwyd , which is an event which is growing in popularity. 

Four comedians ( two ok, one excellent one terrible) faced a rather subdued audience but it was a good evening all told as Dave and I get on, and fill the gaps with flowing and easy conversations.

Dave is half my age, but we are firm and good friends and I like the fact that our friendship isn’t got an age boundary on it.

It’s been a lovely day today. 

I’ve enjoyed it.

Tomorrow, I’m meeting my sister in law for lunch and later I’m walking with another friend down the beach …later on  my sister Janet and I are off to pottery class…..

Parallel Mothers

 A Pedro Almodòvar film is a wonderful panacea against a drab and miserable Sunday morning for it is crammed to the gunnels with the vibrancy and colour of Spain at its best and Parallel Mothers ( Madres Paralelas) is such a film, which is not only beautiful to look at , but is full of warmth and love and hope and beautiful people being very adult and grown up. 

The film centres about two single mothers who give birth on the same day. Penélope Cruz is Janis, a successful photographer who is looking forward to motherhood and Melina Smit is Ana an isolated teenager who is not. 

A friendship ensues and their lives become linked through fate, a tragedy, complicated relationships and an old war crime with both women exploring the blurring of boundaries of mothers and motherhood. 

It’s a wonderfully old fashioned pot boiler with lots of satisfying plot twists and Almodòvar has crafted a complicated but intensely warm homage to families of blood and the families we blend out of people we love. 

Cruz is luminous in the main role and is ably supported by a cast made mostly ,( with one exception) from women. Smit is impressive as the strong teenage Ana who has to grow up very quickly and Almodòvar stalwart Rossy de Palmer makes a welcome return in the small role of Janis’ best friend.

De Palmer

The denouement is incredibly moving with the female cast revisiting the site of a civil War crime , a background story which underlines the message that babies carry the genes and ghosts of the past.

He leaves the audience with a quote from journalist Eduardo Galeano

“ No matter how hard you try to silence it, human history refuses to shut up” 

I adored this film 

I had something to eat in Chester afterwards, then came home walked the dogs and pottered….a bit later  Gorgeous Dave will pick me up. We are going  to Comedy Night at Theatre Clwyd ( an odd night for a comedy show I always think) 

It’s bloody non stop lol

Coffee Vibe

 Sunday Morning 

Coffee at the Storyhouse which is packed with students writing away at their desks, caffeine in hands

I love the vibe

Just about to see Parallel Mothers , a film I will review later, 

Chatted to a lovely barista who loved the movie

He complemented my New York cap and I blushed like a schoolgirl 

A Nefarious Type

 It was dusk when there was a knock at the door.

I peered through the front window and saw a rough scruffy looking man standing by the front door, hands in pockets.

I shouted for him to walk around to the kitchen wall and waited for him to catch up, wary at the stranger.

The man had an Irish accent and was overly friendly.

He asked if I needed any roofing doing.

I said I didn’t 

He then asked me if I had any scrap metal going but was looking carefully at the new build behind the cottage as he did so.

I told him assertively that I hadn’t .

He stayed , standing at the wall for a little too long  as Dorothy bounced into the kitchen doorway with a low woof

“ Ah that’s a good looking bulldog “ the stranger said clicking his fingers at her.

Dorothy didn’t move forward and I motioned her to stay where she was 

“ What’s his name?” the man asked, suddenly interested all of a sudden.

Alarm bells started to ring 

“Troy ” I said thinking quickly and as the man clicked his fingers again I called out “Don’t call him, he bites” 

Dorothy watched all this with her most worried expression on, which thankfully, is a face that could be misconstrued as borderline annoyance if the wind was in the right direction and the man withdraw his fingers to behind the wall. 

I was going to say something else to end the conversation but the man was already moving off back up the lane.

Fast Lane

I woke at 1 pm yesterday when Albert opened the curtains in my bedroom and the sun streamed in like Luke Skywalkers lights sabre.

Once awake, I couldn’t settle so donned some very unfetching track suit bottoms and my third best walking dead T shirt and took the dogs up the Gop. 

The view down the valley was spectacular as always and the three of us sat on the top of the hill and watched the village until we grew cold, they grew bored and I grew tired again.

When we got home , I made a katsu vegetable curry which took fifteen minutes 

And we all went back to bed until it was dark.

Life in the fast Lane

Kimchi, Conversations and flatulence

 I’m sliding back into nights again and it feels that routine is returning like the ebb and flow of the sea.

At least after this run of shifts I have a longer break off than just two clear days , so the jet lag will be minimised somewhat and I can be free of groggy heads and disorientated waking.

Yesterday I cooked.

I’m still transfixed by Korean food so I cooked chicken, vegetables ( pat choi, baby sweet corn mange tout, with long slivers of carrot) with gochujang ( Korea’s ubiquitous red pepper paste) and added udon noodles with splashes of lemon and soy . I had already made shrimp, garlic and spring onion gyoza dumplings, so I gently fried them on one side then added a light chicken stock so that the other sides could steam through and boxed them with bokkeun kkae ( toasted sesame seeds) with an accompaniment box of  

Kimchi ( fermented cabbage)

As I was turning a patient in bed, I think he got a whiff of a garlic dumpling I had just eaten and told me I smelt nice. I wish I’d kept him a spare one to eat.

As I was driving into work I listened to a little gem of a comedy on Radio 4 called Conversations From A Long Marriage .It’s essentially a two handed play between two sixty somethings who have been married for forty years and is written with skill and huge amounts of affection by Jan Etherington and played with the same skill and affection by the two leads Joanna Lumley and Roger Allam

It’s a wonderfully observed piece of radio theatre. 

I love Roger Allam. I first saw him in the mid 1980s when he played Inspector Javert in the original production of Les Miserables and his deep chocolately voice boomed out the pivotal song Stars with an intensity that almost stole the show for me.

Anyhow if you get a chance to listen to Conversations From A Long Marriage please do so , you won’t be disappointed .

There is little else to report. 

After nights Affable Despot Jason and I are off to the comedy nite in Theatre Clwyd, I’ve a film to watch at the Storyhouse and there’s choir and lunch out with a couple of friends , so there’s plenty to look forward to .

It’s 3 am and the kimchi is working well…..fermented Korean cabbage may be tasty but it doesn’t half make you blow off with all of the might of the Queen Mary’s foghorn.

I’ve had to back into the doctor’s office and let rip a couple of times so far tonight….

There’s a pea souper on the starboard bow Captain

  

Same Time Next Year and Feedback

 

Some people may recall the 1970s film of the same title  with Alan Alda & Ellen Burstyn which was a gentle comedy about two married people who meet up yearly for 25 years to have a weekend of infidelity, sex and intimacy 

Last night I met up with my friend Claire to see the stage version with Kieran Buckeridge  and Sarah Kempton in the lead roles at Theatre Clwyd which is going through a massive refurb 

And we both were impressed with the quality of the production which is a bittersweet exploration of a fairly complicated 25 year relationship of a couple who are both happily married.

After I got home, I gave the actors my thanks for the good production . 

I always do this on my Twitter account which has now morphed into a feedback forum . Thespians, in my experience tend to use Twitter more than most, so the feedback thing is made much easier to implement Companies, theatrical and commercial can be given feedback immediately and complaints as well as compliments dealt with prudently.

Epitaph

On the back of my earlier blog entry I am intrigued by what everyone would have written on their epitaph or headstone 

What would you have written if allowed ?

On my headstone would be 

“ Here Slumps John Gray

             Loving friend, colleague, brother and husband 

             Back Home by 100 yards “  

 Tell me your chosen headstone epitaph ..

End Of An Era

 

My elder sister Ann has run the Prestatyn Flower Show for some 25 years, helped ably by a large and dedicated set of affable despot types.

Covid had put paid to the last two shows and without the impetus and with difficulties with an older committee demographic and other logistical problems she has decided to pull the show for good.

I understand her emotions , having gone through the same thing just three years ago, but there is something to be said for letting things go whilst on top .

I collected two of her Show’s trophies that I had donated 

The Joan Gray Cup and The Wynyard Cup came back home this morning. 

I’ve been researching if I can book a plot for myself in the village graveyard.

It’s not as easy as you may think

This afternoon, I’ve booked some on line meetings regarding my second pension and looking at how best to pay for my funeral which will be sorted out well before I kick the bucket.

Perhaps it’s because I’m six months off sixty that I’m revisiting things like my will, my funeral plot and expenses my death would create .

I don’t want anyone else to be burdened with any of this shit…..

After Life - ''There are angels''

I’ve been catching up with After Life this afternoon after much nagging and have binge watched season 1 today.

It’s a powerful, incredibly funny and at times painfully poignant exploration into grief 

And the scenes where Gervais let’s the luminous Penelope Wilton shine are incredibly beautiful to watch. 

I loved the more observational humour scenes such as this one in series 3  , just as much 

Hands On

 My circadian  rhythms are shot to hell. I’m back on nights on Wednesday and I felt jet lagged most of yesterday. This morning I’ve taken a leaf out of Rachel’s books and got a cancellation appointment with a masseuse at a local sports club. I rang at 8.30 and was being pummelled on a couch with my head in a hole by 9 am. How wonderful was that?

I feel so much more alive and emotionally stable afterward a bit of hands on therapy. The masseuse told me that flip flopping shift work at my age is dangerous , which isn’t quite the news I wanted to hear this morning, but I have booked another session next week after my next bout  of nights. 

 I’ve just walked the dogs ( above video) and I’m off to deliver a cooked dinner to a friend whose having an exceptionally hard time at the moment . 

Oh I did break wind during the massage , very loudly too, but I was too relaxed to care

Trellis

 I rang Mrs Trellis earlier and thanked her for the three quarter bottle of Chablis which was dropped off on Thursday

“ I left it with love “ she twittered kindly and without edge

She then changed the subject about Village farmer Basil 

I suddenly felt like crying