I’ve dated the same guy four times now since the beginning of February
I won’t tell you any more about him because he’s not worth the effort
Suffice to say he has just admitted he has a partner that he’s living with and not one that was estranged from him but still sharing the house.
He was good company and laughed at my jokes
Sheesh
why do gay men lie so much?
Carrie Bradshaw, answer me that one?
Mind you I’m not bereft or even upset
I feel more resigned than anything else
What a surprise ? Not!
I had planned to meet him tonight as college was off….and he still wanted to meet even though I saw them both in Sainsbury’s on Sunday afternoon, discussing the possible toppings of what looked like Sainsbury’s home made pizzas.
I’ve arranged to see the acclaimed Home I’m Darling at Theatre Clwyd with Chic Eleanor tonight and have decided to concentrate on my ability to be the best spinster in the parish.
From the get go Tár wrong foots you by having the majority of the credits in a long opening reel. The rest of film follows suit , by setting the scene by having the leading “Maestro” conductor of the Berlin Philharmonic, Lydia Tár ( Cate Blanchett) in a verbose, over long winded and verbose tvtype interview about the ins and outs of being a conductor.
Tár is passionate, obsessive, compulsive and full of her own self belief. She is an autocrat and a smiling bully who lives her life between wife and daughter in a concrete minimalist house and her old less ordered apartment where it is hinted she shares a double life.
She is also an insomniac, neurotic pill taker and potential predator lesbian , with multiple skeletons in her closet where junior conductors and orchestra members are concerned.
This is where the film becomes suddenly interesting
For as her past comes in to haunt her, she is plagued by paranoia, creepy encounters and visits to her child home.
It’s all becomes rather surreal and cleverly Blanchett keeps you watching, even though her character is intense, fascinating and totally unlikable .
An interesting, rather bleak movie
Ps I will leave you with lovely reply by Jamie Lee Curtis to a well intentioned Oscar question
Pps.
I must say a big thank you for your comments about Albert.
I’ve been incredibly moved by so many comments about a bad tempered , old Tom , who won’t even sit on my knee for a cuddle.
He has moved so many by being himself for fifteen years here on Going Gently
But let’s not be under any illusions here…he’s an old boy
I got up early to check the Oscar winners with a coffee.
My predictions were correct in all the acting categories and even though I’ve not seen Everything Everywhere all at once and The Whale , it was fitting that the actors won their plaudits .
I was shedding a tear over Jamie Lee Curtis’ speech when Albert walked through the kitchen without a hint of a limp followed by Roger who was skipping.
Albert gave me a look then popped through the cat flap into the garden for a wee and a poo. He watched as I marshalled the dogs into the car and when we returned he had returned to the back bedroom before eating the chicken I had left for him.
It’s the view of the west side of Sheffield from the multi story Royal Hallamshire Hospital and I love this photo in particular as in the recent snow storms a few schoolboys had written this greeting to all of the patients whose wards look out over the city.
How sweet is that?
Thank you for all your best wishes for Albert, who is brighter today , although certainly not out of the woods health wise .
In the middle of the night, tired of the cramped conditions , I retired to my own bed followed by Mary and Dorothy. Roger remained on guard and was fast asleep on the floor when I got up at 8 am for their walk.
Albert stirred from under the bed when I moved it aside and looked at me angrily
He hissed when I tried to examine him
He doesn’t look well and has lost weight but, still there he was, so I left him be and took the dogs out.
He was sat on my bed when I returned.
I crushed some cat food in my fingers and put it in front of him.
And he ate it.
But not all.
I’ve left him with towels on the floorboards and the fan heater on.
I have a plan.
I will take him to the vets tomorrow if he gets worse or remains off his food. But I’m not wanting heroics.
He’s a cat who hates being touched, abhors strangers and loathes vets and the thoughts of investigations and blood tests and let’s see what we can do ? is not kind for the type of cat he is.
I’m in two minds to take him up to the surgery but its 17 miles away and well out of the vets visiting district.
It was Roger who found Albert under the bed, in the a spare room as soon as I brought him and the girls back from Trendy Carol’s. Albert had curled himself up inside a firm Sainsbury’s carrier bag and looked poorly.
I can’t believe I missed him
Roger ran up and down the stairs five or six times before I realised he’d found him.
By the look of him, I think Albert has had a cerebral event , probably a stroke.
But he looks comfortable and is not distressed
I’ve given him some painkillers and water via a syringe and all of the dogs and I are lying on the bed with Albert quiet underneath us.
I’ll see what the night brings
Animals….they break your friggin heart don’t they?
He was it of sorts yesterday afternoon and took himself upstairs to lie on my bed with a swishing of his tail. He ate only one small meal first thing and his gait was hesitant when he went to sit in the window seat as I made the bed.
His head was hunched and his tail remained thrashing.
He then pawed the soft cushion underneath him like a kitten pawing for milk.
This was not like him.
When I came up to bed last night, he wasn’t there , nor was he in the spare room .
I searched the cottage and I couldn’t find him.
The churned up snow on the patio had already frozen so there were no paw prints to see and there is no sign of him this morning.
He’s not at the neighbours, the garden or the sheds and I’m somewhat worried given his hatred of the cold and snow.
He’s an old boy with only a broken leg in his long life that ever needed treatment and he hates the vets so much.
I know nothing about the Pakistani film industry, absolutely nothing at all, so I was interested to see Siam Sadiq’s gentle and dignified exploration of a family whose lives don’t quite measure up to the ones they wanted for themselves
Wheelchair patriarch Abba ( Palman Peerzada) shares his ramshackle crowded Lahore flat with his two married sons. The elder son ( Sohail Someer) has four daughters and the household is run by his wife (Salwat Gilani) and the gentle younger unemployed brother Haider ( Ali Junejo) whose wife Mumtaz ( Rasti Farooq) has a successful job as a makeup artist.
This complicated family dynamic is put under strain when Haider eventually finds an unlikely job as a backing dancer to a transgender singer Biba ( Alina Khan) and as the pair embark on an affair each member of Hadier’s family have to reevaluate their lot as life for each one changes from the path of their expectations .
This is a sad, gentle film where tradition and honour are awkward bedfellows with modernity, personal autonomy and fluid sexuality.
It’s beautiful film to look at too, with most of the filmed shot in rich , earthy colours within crowded tenements and theatres ,
But, it’s sadness makes you realise that overly rigid social constraints still feature in some societies much more than they do in our own
When you die at 103, most of your peers have already passed away
That’s the price you pay for longevity I guess.
With the choir , I counted around 100 people at Llanasa’s pretty church this afternoon.
Too many to have been accommodated at St. Michael’s
What I didn’t know was the Auntie Glad wanted her service to be in the bigger church.
As her daughter Rene shared with the congregation , it was because she didn’t want anyone to stand outside in the rain.
There was no rain today, indeed we had bright spring sunshine for the duration, and as the male voice choir softly sang Abide With Me , the sun shone brightly through the stained windows of the little Norman Church, giving the whole place a sense of if not cheerfulness, but of warmth.
The Trelawnyd-ites were there early. Rowenna, Christine the old Church warden, Jenny the old postmistress. Animal Helper Pat, Irene,Heulwen, Derek and Me from the Flower Show. Mrs Trellis and others all sat straight in our pews and let the singing wash over us like a wave.
I’ve not heard better singing at a funeral, and I doubt I will hear the such again, and as Auntie Glad’s feather light coffin left the Church, the Choir almost whispered O Iesu Mawr to accompany her home.
We all nodded at her coffin as it passed.
Rene, Glady’s daughter who lives in England seems to have inherited much of her chutzpah from her mother, and she gave a long, lovely Eulogy, even mentioning my blog as a welcomed source of village information.
The afternoon tea in the village hall afterwards was pure Gladys too.
A selection of sandwiches, scones with thick butter and lashings of strong tea.
I gave my goodbyes earlyish as I needed to write the blog before leaving for college tonight.
And before I left for my classes, I walked over to Gladys’ grave to look at her family flowers as the sun cooled towards dusk.
Islwyn had left the grave pin perfectly neat , and as I sat I listened to my Spotify account this piece of music was playing in my ears.
Nothing welsh , or traditional , or even sad, just a uplifting African based piece of choral work Waloyo Yamoni ( We Overcome The Wind) and for ten minutes or so I sat on Auntie Glad’s favourite bench and let the music wash over me as I had my second but-not-so-unhappy weep of the week.
The gravedigger has arrived to open up Auntie Glad’s family grave . It’s her funeral tomorrow. The weather is foul, but village elder Islwyn ( our unofficial gravedigger) is hopeful the sun will be shining
She deserves that much, he said simply..
And so I think it’s fitting giving this blog entry an airing again. I was remembering Gladys as she should be remembered and it’s from a post written , about an event I held in the village over fifteen years ago now.
My family often nag me to amalgamate the better parts of Going Gently into some sort of bestselling paperback. The Prof says whimsy sells, and I guess he is right given the plethora of " heartwarming" and " uplifting" tales of life changing encounters middle aged pongos like myself experience when lifestyles change and temple hair is lightening from brunette to a gentle grey. On the way to the panto the other night, my sister remembered what I call a " Field of Dreams" moment which she said would be a " Satisfying " denouement to the chapter where two middle aged gays first moved into a tight knit Welsh village! Nine years ago, I held my very first " allotment open evening" It was on the back of similar open evenings my sister organised at her own town allotment, where friends and family had the opportunity to survey her vegetable beds, have tea and cake and make a contribution of a charity of her choice. My first allotment open was a small affair, but it was important to me as I left several hopeful posters around the village inviting everyone to attend. Attendance by the Trelawnyd-ites meant everything and as the 6 pm opening deadline loomed close, My sister remembered me gazing up the lane in a sudden downpour of summer rain, worried that no one would come.
I should not have worried ...for the " Field Of Dreams " moment arrived as powerfully as anything ever seen in a sentimental movie or tv series! the only thing that was bloody lacking was a sudden swelling of a musical score, for at exactly 6 pm and valiantly led by Auntie Glad hidden underneath an oversized umbrella, a long line of village characters weaved their way down the Church lane from the main road and towards the field to support the event.
It was a real Hollywood moment amid the wet grass and Slightly damp Victoria sponges.
Perhaps, my sister was right. It is these kind of moments balanced with the sadness of those normal life dramas that make a story readable and accessible to all. Light and froth peppered with emotional romps......perhaps that is the formula..
And I will always remember Auntie Glad nodding her head at me, with those sparking blue eyes, eager and interested, as she passed by that evening
“Good Evening Mr Gray!” She trilled “ I told you I would come “
If you want something frothy and forgettable , sweet and likeable go and see What’s Love Got To do With it? It won’t tax you too much, it will make you cry at least four times and it could have been a much more serious and far reaching movie, if it tried.
But it settled for ROM COM status.
Childhood friends Kazim ( Shazad Latif) and Zoe ( Lily James) have grown up next door to each other in an affluent London suburb. He is a serious Muslim doctor , whose only hidden flaws are cigarettes and occasional alcohol. And she is a serial singleton, filmmaker who lives on a boat on the Thames ( !)
When Kazim decides to allow his parents to assist him in finding a wife , Zoe is allowed to film the who process, a film which challenges everyone of what they think is the right way to love.
Written by Jemima Khan and directed by Shekhar Kapur, we still have to put up with the usual Asian stereotypes, but some like Asim Chaudrey great turn as Mo the Matchmaker are probably very true to life.
Once you are on a roll, things have a tendency of moving on at their own pace.
I’m thinking of the Queen Mary’s stopping length, here but the same can be thought of holes in underpants.
Last night I found a hole in my underpants .
I was in the bathroom and this sort of thing happens , so irritated I threw the underpants out of the window onto the patio, to be retrieved later to put in the bin by the back door.
Now galvanised , as I warmed to my task, I had a quick check of my undercrackers drawer and found four more gusset challenged sets all with holes in and threw them on the patio too.
This seemed sensible to me as I often throw used bleach bottles, empty shampoo bottles etc out on the patio to be retrieved later for recycling.
At 9 am there was a knock at the back door and Trevor’s gardener stood there wanting to know how he was.
Nothing was mentioned about the five pairs of underpants lying on the patio
I’m making a huge chilli for the above night do. It’s our chance to publish the TCA’s work to the villagers that don’t know what’s happening.
It’s Auntie Glad’s funeral on Tuesday . I heard the male voice choir will be singing at the Church which will be an emotional moment for all , I’m sure. It’s sad that her own Church is closed but fitting the service will take place in the bigger Church of Llanasa, the village she lived in before she was married
Bucket of coffee time is curtailed today , I’m doing overtime at work later
Last night the tutor of the level 4 Counselling course FaceTimed our group to discuss if we wanted to move forward in our training come September.
She was pragmatic, cheerful and helpful
And She has given me quite a lot to think about today.
A day that I’m feeling rough after my fourth covid jab.
I’m 61 this year.
And I’m finding the rigours of nursing just a bit too much after forty years in the role.
I have a mortgage to pay for until I am 70 and bills and expenditure is on the rise.
And so I needed a plan.
And that plan, originally, was to retrain to be a qualified counsellor.
There is an outlay for this endeavour, which I may or not get help with,
There is the academic challenge too , as well, as I know I have to work hard to get on top of all things Uni.
But then you add to this all of the doubts of self belief
Can I cut the mustard as a counsellor?
Can I do it?
The “ new” tutor clearly outlined the “ checks” in the course that ensure you are fit for the role.
In all of the 100 hours skills practice I have to do with real clients I have to pay for intensive clinical supervision every month. More if I require it.
This supervision is not cheap and is an incredibly stringent safety check of my potential competence
Added to this in year one and two I will have to pay for my own counselling experience.
A journey which is necessary if you are to practice
But a journey which has its own worries and it’s own challenges.
There are two of us, in my present group that are older students.
Both of us on journeys we didn’t expect in our sixties.
We looked at each other at the end of last night’s tutorial and smiled gently together
