She would be one of those long suffering , loyal cinematic type of house keepers….wise cracking, opinionated and always there….with a pithy comment, a gentle smile and bowl of soup.
Think Miranda Hobbs’ Magna in Sex and The City…..Arthur Bach’s Hobson in Arthur or Karen Walker’s Rosario in Will and Grace.
Mine will be a Rosemary Harris lookalike whose always unseen husband will be keeping the garden up to standard . They live in and never had any children.
We’ve never had a serious heartfelt conversation
We’ve never had to.
Tomorrow I’ve set aside 2 strict hours
I’ve completed my college work, I’ve caught up with my finances, I’ve done my online training for work ….so this is 120 minutes to sit with a coffee and write old fashioned letters to a few old friends I’ve not previously made time for.
And so I will take the dogs for a long walk, feed them and set them up to sleep in the kitchen then I will drive to Chester to sit in the Storyhouse to do some proper, unhurried letter writing with my coffee.
It’s going on midday and the bucket of coffee is out.
I want no noise and no movement for a while and the dogs sense that,
My night shifts were challenging but kept sane by an experienced support worker called Tracy who knows her stuff. Bluebell’s gear stick broke loose again as I left the Hospice and I had to drive home in third gear and in need of stopping for dog and cat food.
Well I just about managed it, ( Looking rather like like Mr Magoo) and called the RAC out to fix the problem and the chirpy Terry turned up again with lots of stories about his family and how he worked in Japan as a young man .
He exhausted me , but I felt in good hands as he said I was one of the “ Good uns “
Apparently he could tell a Good un” from 50 feet.
I didn’t ask how
Terry indeed proved to be a good un himself, for, half an hour later when I called him back after locking myself out of Bluebell when down at the shops in Dyserth, he turned up again with is gizmo to sort it as cheerful and as happy as a chattering otter.
Subsequently I had no daytime sleep yesterday , so flagged and went to bed early. I was never going to watch the Harry interview anyway. I slept heavy and woke late with back ache, so missed Albert leaving a vomit pile on the landing which I stood in, in bare feet.
After that, everything else is a blur what with a trip to the bank( no parking) dog walk, and only an hour’s break before I promised to take a neighbour for a hospital appointment .
Hence the quiet time now with my coffee.
The cold sick is still sitting on the landing with my footprint inside it ……
I think I’ve given my sister Janet a bit of a flavour for London for her Christmas gift to me was a ticket to see the ABBA voyage concert at the old Olympic park in Stratford .
Of course she’s going with me ( that’s the beauty of such gifts ) and in a similar vein I’ve got her a ticket for Les Miserables for her Christmas gift , with the proviso that I go too…..
I’ve been sleeping in the spare room for the past week.
I don’t quite know the reason for the change from a lovely kind size bed onto the antique brass single bed in the corner of my office, but move I did and yesterday afternoon the room felt overly cozy what with me , Dorothy and Albert curled up in what was free at the time of settling .
I’m on night shift for most of the weekend.
The bed squeaks dreadfully when you turn and squeals alarmingly when you first sit down on it, but it’s comfortable and warm and reminds me of when I was a child.
Perhaps that’s why I’ve sought it out just after Christmas.
Alan Bennett always sleeps in a single bed, he wrote about it in his memoirs
It kind of suits him, I think.
Mind you he never shared his bed with a bulldog.
Yesterday I went to bed before nights at 2 pm.
I’m full of thoughts at the moment,
Things to do, things I want to do.
Things not done.
In my double bed sleep takes a while to catch me
In my single bed, I doze long before Dorothy has stopped licking any limb poking from under the duvet.
Peter Rabbit I remind myself and now at 2 am in the morning, I’ve wrapped the book up and addressed the padded envelope in readiness to post on Monday morning
I like giving books to Children and infants and you can’t go wrong with The Tales of Peter Rabbit. for a first gift. My great nephew Rew will receive it next week.
The start of his collection.
I’ve written on the cover
To my Great Nephew Rew Gray from your great Uncle John Gray
The inscription pleased me.
I’m feeling my mortality a bit this month.
Work gets you like that sometimes, and insidiously wrong foots you, so the inscription feels positive in a sort of I was ‘ere kind of way…like Kilroy used to say.
I’d lit the fire early and had hunkered down for the night
And there was a tap at the kitchen window.
The dogs were up and barking as one, and as they hurled themselves into the kitchen, I slipped through the front door and into the rain to catch one of the villagers in the lane
Only a villager would know to knock on the lane window .
It was a lady from Trelawnyd who I know well and she gave me a bunch of tulips.
“What are those for ? “ I asked but I kind of already knew the answer
They were a thank you for an interaction a day or so previous.
In my mind I hadn’t done anything as all,
I just listened
I listened to a problem that needed verbalising
I listened without trying to solve it
I just listened.
No big deal in the scheme of things
But big enough for this one person to want to thank me with some tulips on a wet, dark night
The tulips were a sign , not only of thanks ( which were gracefully received) but a sign of how much pain and upset was around at the time, pain and upset that could be salved, in part,by a little time and some empathy.
We can all listen and empathise a little more, can we not?
Even if we are hurting, or tired, or kind of sad
We Just need to remind ourselves not to run inside if it’s cold , or run away if the conversation takes a turn you didn’t expect.
Tulips won’t arrive every time.
But you will know
That you’ve done the right thing, at the right time
I took Roger for his first vet visit today with Dorothy in support.
He was a delight in the waiting room and just watched everyone silently with his tail wagging oh so slowly.
Dorothy clattered her big paws on the vinyl flooring and woofed her baby woof at a parrot in a cage on the reception desk
and everyone laughed
The vet thought Roger was one of the best Welsh terriers he had ever seen and when he brought in his boss to give him the once over I beamed like proud dad on parents day.
“ A nice dog “ the senior partner said lifting Roger’s head with a finger under his jaw and he looked at the computer screen on the treatment room table with a smirk .
“ You are Albert’s owner I see” he commented “ is he still with us ?”
I told them yes and the older vet laughed “ That cat is one of the most aggressive Toms I have ever treated in 35 years……he’s a real bruiser ! “
“ Have you a warning on his records ? “ I asked pointing at the console
“ Yes ..it’s all in bold” the vet quipped “ use protective gloves at all times” he read out and I could see the comment was followed by three exclamation marks
My course is set at the university department at a local college.
It takes 35 minutes to drive there.
The library Support is great but the coffee is lousy.
The Storyhouse library on the other hand is just 25 minutes from home.
There are no staff, save for the cafe and restaurant people, but the coffee is glorious and is brought to your table.
Guess where I am?
True I’m going to see the film Corsage later, but for the time being I’m enjoying the atmosphere and am pretending to work as I’m half listening to the conversation one of my fellow “ students” is having on the phone. It sounds as though his mother is poorly and is “ not responding “ to treatment.
He put his head in his hands for a moment and a woman opposite to me lifted her eyes and caught my gaze for a fraction of a moment.
Frank Sinatra is playing softly and a couple of old men are playing chess on a nearby table.
I read about the advantages of goal setting, but I found myself watching another couple who had just met on their table and who were chatting loudly , another girl on my table sighed loudly and muttered “ Bollocks” as she typed angrily at her laptop.
I ordered some Lebanese chicken and pitta for lunch and made notes,
The room sounded restless , like an audience does before a play and all my table mates pretended not to watch when my lunch arrived.
It tasted divine , full of spice and lemon and with salad leaves which I ate with my fingers
I checked my T shirt
My HERBIVORE one
Good no yogurt down it yet….
Yet……
I wrote around a page of notes before a gaggle of mums and babies in strollers marched through to the public space in the foyer. One of the old men playing chess shook his read at the noise.
I don’t mind their chatter as my film is almost ready
I always slightly feel that I’m on holiday in the Storyhouse
I get up and a man with a paper and a glass of red , takes my place
It hasn’t got light today, just a damp sort of dark twilight pervades everything
I took myself off to the Mostyn Gallery to see the Cerith Wyn Evans’ neon light sculptures which ironically push out more light than anything else here in Wales today.
I bought sushi cabbage from the street food deli and katsu curry as an afterthought and sat reading a few books in the cafe at Waterstones until it was time to get home.
Today’s post was a partially successful effort to lift my spirits
But when I’m like this, I know what I do need
And that’s Sheffield
So next week I’m back off ‘ome
A couple of pints with Mike, theatre ( the acclaimed and almost sold out Sheffield based musical Standing At The Sky’s Edge ) with Jane, breakfast arch, and camp with Jonney H and lunch with Kathryn and Vince
When we were out for our morning walk great, untidy Vs of Canada Geese honked their way across the skies to their morning feeding grounds. So noisy they were, even Roger stopped to watch them fly over, a puzzled look upon his face.
Canada Geese always remind me of the orphan “ duckling” I took off an academic from Bangor university for she turned out to be a magnificent , doe eyed specimen, with a haughty look and regal lines. No wonder the village child announced precociously that she should be named after the then Prince of Wales old beau when I asked her jokingly to name her.
Occasionally Camilla would take to the skies when the mood took her, but she proved to be a terrible flyer all told and the following is an excerpt from a blog from seven years ago when Camilla crash landed on the local binmen’s lorry
Enjoy
“After sorting out the valve system on the radiators I was just getting all testosterone and full of myself when the council bin men lorry pulled up outside the cottage and one of the hairy arsed bin men knocked loudly on the front door . I was half expecting them to be in a pissy mood after all I had left half a ton of plumber's packaging and bin bags out for collection but the binman wasn't bothered about the rubbish, he was more upset than anything " One of your birds has smashed into our van" he told me Apparently they had just turned the corner at the bottom of the lane when " a soddin massive black bird" had appeared from nowhere and had bounced on the roof of their refuse lorry, just above the windscreen. The bird then " shat" down the windscreen ( probably in shock) then bounced into the hedge. " It's still alive" the binman told me " it was hissing at us" " It's probably Camilla Parker Bowles "I told him " She's a crap flyer" The binman looked confused.
I could have done without another little drama. I was still getting used to the heating system more complicated than the average ITU ventilator and had already fixed a leaking radiator single handed a few minutes before, so with slightly heavy and irritated heart I followed the binman down the lane to where his three colleagues were peering into the hedge. " It's in there" one man chirped up pointing to a goose sized hole in the hedge I looked in and sure enough Camilla looked back at me with her big black solemn eyes. As I reached in and picked her up, the binman who had knocked on the door turned to his friends and said" her name is Camilla Parker Bowles !" They all nodded with interest in a chorus of " ooos and arrhhhs"
Apart from a massive crap stain on her back end , Camilla looked shocked but unhurt. So I thanked the binmen and apologied for any damage caused. " It will have to be logged " , the senior binman said " she's dented the roof" but they were soon on their way and Camilla was soon sat in a dark calm goose house under observation"
I wonder what the binmen would log in their incident file? "Camilla Parker Bowles crash landed on our bin lorry today and she shat all over the windscreen " Dirty girl.......”
No matter how old we are, we all are works in progress.
I’ve been changing the pages in my filofax and I’m very aware of how yin and yang this last year has been.
Covid restrictions being lifted should have meant everything in the garden was rosy but travel chaos, flight cancellations and rail bollocks has put paid to my trips to Rome and Barcelona and London whilst the recession, fuel crisis and financial crash has sobered us all up from our post-covid frivolities
And so, let me get 2022 into some perspective
Let’s look at the positives
I’m on the tentative journey towards a new career.
Not bad at 61 I think.
My family met up for a delightful and oh so necessary reunion in Sitges where we sat together into the small wee hours talking and talking and talking about family shit.
Sadly my nephew divorced but we bonded more over something sad in common.
My love affair with London and with theatre blossomed again, not only, with my touchstone meets with Nu continuing but with catch ups with friends Alex and Jon and Janet of course, and visits to my “ second “ home of the Z hotel, which is tucked carefully behind Covent Garden.
To Kill a Mocking Bird, Cabaret, The Corn Is Green, Six, The Royal Ballet and the dearest of them all Come From Away it’s been a fabulous year for theatre in London and at home.
London eventually meant meeting nephew Leo too whose absence has broken my heart a little more than I ever realised it would .
Zoom meets have dissolved into real meets , Jane in Manchester, Ruth in the wonderfully bizarre and welcoming Findhorn , The Northern Belle with Nu and in Sheffield with Mike and John and Katherine very soon
Dim witted but sweet Roger arrived chasing autumn leaves like a loon and with the thanks of a cheerful and tone deaf builder my new bathroom arrived with a wall mounted heated towel rail to go weak at the knees for . ( I had 232 comments on that blog when I finally unveiled the splendour)
Blogging has provided a mini life line as it has always done and in 2022 I’ve had over 2.5 million hits on Going Gently alone….go figure that one….contrary to some, I must be doing something right.
On a personal note , I will ask for an armistice on troll comments .seriously they do nothing but poison the air that we breathe and after all of the hard few years we’ve had I really don’t need the bother……
Helping with the TCA Trelawnyd Community Association has given me some more direction and purpose and sense of community again and my part time status at work has given me more space for college and home. Both have been incredibly welcome .
It’s all still a work in progress, especially with some health problems lurking in the shadows. Shadows that can’t always be shaken with positivism and humour and which are always sadly there when you live alone.
In the new fanatical crisis we have all found ourselves in, I , like everyone else need to reevaluate things but I’m lucky I have a family that loves me, friends that do the same and I live in a village that cares for me.
Thank you to them and to Trendy Carol and Ewan,…..without them I could never have kept my dogs.
Their support will never be forgotten.
The news that my ex husband is getting married again slapped me across the face much harder than I expected it too but bra straps have to be hoisted and I have to get on with things.
It was one of the last hurdles to face , come to think…
I find life lonely at times and I will not apologise for saying so.
“We feel what we feel “so says Carl Rogers
But like all of us it’s one foot in front of another and don’t beat ourselves up when we get things a little Wrong.
Thank you dear readers , readers who keep coming again for snippets of everyday life of a sentimental gay bloke living in a Welsh Village. Your kindness, occasional sycophancy , good humour , and friendship means a great deal, especially when the shadows gather in an often unkind world
I’m rushing now, I’m covering a late shift at work and it’s already 1 pm
I’m working tomorrow too but have just been invited to the luscious Velvent voiced Linda ( and Nick’s) for drinks later tonight, so that will be a first in decades
I opened it today and hung it under the honeysuckle by the front door this morning.
I feel a bit flat today and after walking the dogs at 8 am I went back to bed in the spare room with Dorothy who licked my feet more out of duty than of want.
Roger had opened his bowels during his mad half hour runaround last night on my double bed
And the duvet cover is now drying on the field gate.
It’s blustery today.
Coldish
I’ve been sat on the sofa for over an hour, trying to get myself going
I had no idea it’s Friday.
I listened to the sporadic chimes, ringing gently through the letterbox and finally collected in the Christmas cards standing on the window ledge
In my friend’s card he had written carefully “Hear the wind and think of me “
Once, many moons ago now, I embarked on a short weekend retreat course in the Lake District.
I remember little about the event save for a few vague memories of group exercises which had more significance then than they could possibly have now, but most had to do with trust issues, self awareness, sharing , personal development and motivation.
One I do remember though and that was an exercise that I think was called Walking The Hedge.
The “ hedge” as it turned out was made up of two lines of the group, an eclectic bunch of individuals made up of psychiatrists, psychotherapists, Occupational therapists, nurses and social workers.
The two lines faced each other and one by one volunteers from the group would be blindfolded and walked slowly down the line. The hedge would gently touch the volunteer ( I’m sure we were told to do so appropriately but with sensitivity) and at any one time the volunteer could be overwhelmed by hands which were described by the French leader as a “ Shower Of Cuddles” “ showerrr of cudd…elles”
I remember feeling dreadfully sceptical and somewhat threatened by the exercise but I participated reminding myself to place my had in non sexually ambiguous places.
It was a strange, incredibly powerful exercise for some
I remember one serious young medic who always seemed isolated from the group suddenly react to the touch “wave” with intense emotion and the more moved he became the more the hands of the hedge seemed to encircle and support him as the French leader slowed the pace of his walk.
It was incredibly moving to watch.
This happened several times with different group members.
And not surprisingly I was not of them, as I had opted out of the Hedge Walk.
Which perhaps says a great deal about me at the time.
On a different level, I remember getting a gift from a patient from intensive care , who I looked after the day we woke her up from an induced coma. I washed her after she was extubated and she confided in me later that it was the first time anyone had physically touched her for 17 years.
The gift, surprisingly was two baby turkeys.
I touch people everyday at work. Even with covid at its highest I would hold hands and mop brows, and put my arm around a relative whose knees had started to buckle in grief.
Now that I’m older, I’ve become a serious hugger
I hugged Gorgeous Dave only yesterday when I bid him goodbye
I think men are much better huggers than they ever used to be.
I wondered about the Hedge Walk and thought, today how wonderful it would be to walk the walk “ again”
I prepared cold Turkey slices and fried eggs for breakfast.
A treat as I listened to Kirsty Young on Desert Island Discs , which, not surprisingly proved to be another treat.
I could listen to her all day long.
I paused her interview to catch up with friends Ruth in Findhorn and Ben in Seoul on zoom and finished it after I came home later, after having a walk with Roger and Gorgeous Dave.
It’s just past 1pm , and already I feel as I’ve done a lot .
I sit at the kitchen table, my back to the window sipping coffee.
All I can hear is the wind, which has picked up from the East.
I have a post covid cough which sometimes feels worse in the middle of the night.
I couldn’t sleep, so I’ve pottered around a quiet cottage.
I showered and tidied up.
I walked sleepy Welsh terriers and drank a smooth cup of coffee at the kitchen table
I cleaned the carpet where Albert christened with pee, a foot from his litter box
And I tried to read my book club book
My cough settled down and I moved to the living room where I sat sipping the cold coffee with the lounge window open.
Listening to the rain.
Dorothy walked heavily from upstairs and stopped halfway to peep through the bannisters at me I told her I was coming back to bed soon and she returned to my bedroom with a snort.
Apart from when I’ve been working I’ve never been up at this time on Christmas Day since I was 10
