It’s very hot
I’m totally in love with Gaudi
And tapas
Sterner Stuff
We were delayed a few hours at the airport but were refused to be stressed by it all.
Subsequently we travelled the train and metro at rush hour and found our delightful apartment out near El Putxet at Dusk. Jane has gone out to buy provisions
I’ve opened a beer
I think there’s a pretty school outside and a relaxing dinner is on the cards
It’s been a long day
Miss Saigon
Much criticism has been launched at the new version of Miss Saigon , all rather unfairly I think. Bloody hell I remember seeing it in 1989 when North Walian Jonathan Pryce played the engineer with silty eyed prosthetics and a Kung Foo accent.
I loved the Crucible’s version. Jessica Lee ‘s vocals matched Lea Selonga’s anyday and Joanna Ampil brought a different energy to the usual male role of The Engineer. She was fabulous as was Shane O’Riordan who played John.
On the way to Manchester now and the airport.
Going Home
Sheffield will always be my second home.
It’s a flying visit this time, with only time to catch up with my friend Mike , watch Miss Saigon at the Crucible before driving back over the Pennines to Manchester airport and Barcelona
I love that Snake Pass is open and this afternoon stopped to catch up with this view which means that I’m almost home.
The Boy On The Bike
Best laid plans
This story is worth sharing.
I wasn’t expecting anything too
But It made me laugh
So hopefully it will make a few of you readers titter.
I was packing my small suitcase during a real downpour when I heard a sort of bang and some distant shouting and crying. I waited for a while but the sounds continued so I pushed through the wet honeysuckle over the front door and looked into the lane.
A sports bike was resting on its side by the field gate and a young man in Lycra and helmet stood in the street holding his side .
He looked dreadfully upset and was bleeding from his fingers. His bike had lost it’s grip on the corner
“I’ve scraped my side !” he cried and he looked around 18 going on ten with all his face screwed up
I showed him into the cottage and he limped into the bathroom to check his wounds .
I went through the first aid kit and dug out plasters for his hands
“I need a big dressing “ he wailed from the bathroom, all regressed and panicked
I went upstairs with a bottle of TCP to see a large five inch square scrape on his thigh and fashioned a square of clean cotton from an old pillowcase.
It looked like a scene from a cheap porno .
Him crying will it hurt?
Before me saying “ Im a nurse” as I cleaned the grit out of a nasty scrape with my pillowcase dipped in antiseptic.
He was a brave little soldier and we dressed his cuts with plasters before he sat down on the couch and sipped some sweet orange juice before getting back on his bike
“Me mum should be home when I get back” he said hopefully
Jacob and the Stone · Emile Mosseri
Jet lagged this morning
I only finished nights yesterday
Needed coffee and Mosseri at the kitchen table
Coffee
Last week I took part in a zoom lecture/discussion on creative writing.
I remember the breakout group was lively and animated
One chap, older than I lived up the coast and was nearer than most of the others who were dotted around the British Isles.
He turned up at the hospice today and dropped an envelope off for me.
It was an invitation for coffee and his telephone number
Ive accepted
I remembered him from class
He was quiet though asked some interesting questions ,was very smiley,
And he was wearing an old arran jumper in blue
A Flower Show Moment
My Last Official Flower Show ( as top bottle washer and dogsbody) was back in 2017.
I didnt realise then it was going to be my last show as organizer but it was the last one Auntie Gladys went to and indeed, some of you may recall that she opened the show with a speech worthy of anyone more used to public speaking.
Now if you look at the photo, you can see me hugging the winner of the cookery section.
I'm not usually that tactile with strangers but she was a special case that year.
The mum of a friend I used to work with on Intensive Care, she had suffered a devastating stroke that left her physically compromised, terribly fatigued and emotionally very low indeed and at a bit of a loss my friend had suggested she enter the show in several categories as way as some therapy.
what everyone didn't expect was that the lady in question worked so hard at her entries that she swept the board at judging time and it was amazing to see just how shocked and overjoyed she was at winning several classes outright.
There wasn't a dry eye in the house as the the word got around
and I think it was one of my favourite moments in running the show for a decade
The Ties That Bind
We all have our own trajectories in life.
Some like the ones I have with my friends of long standing are running more or less parallel
Others occasionally Veer away or in the case of one , Jane, intersect on a surreptitious level.
Many many moons ago Jane and I were an item. She is a free spirit and has an empathic and generous soul
And I came out shortly after we had split up.
I hurt her badly and I regret that hurt to this day.
But she , forgave me ( after planting a fully iced birthday cake in the centre of my new lawn) and eventually we became good friends again.
That seemed a lifetime ago.
Jane has a husband and two beautiful grown up daughters and lives in Sheffield
We speak regularly.
Last week she went on holiday to a tiny mountain house in the middle of the Andalusian mountains.
She went alone which took some balls, but she did it and FaceTimed me several times sharing the triumphs of that bucket list adventure.
We are both feeling our ages.
Next week the both of us are off to Barcelona another first since we were together a lifetime ago and I know it will be lovely.
Lockdown allowed us to share our worries and our dreams and thoughts about getting older, both have embarked on changes in work snd study late on in life.
Both feel we have lots of things undone, rather than unsaid
And now it’s the time to do them
Water Gardens
I got there early and explored a dilapidated church nearby.
Out for lunch in the country makes you feel as though you’ve been out for the full day .
When I got home I found my newest ( and poshest) Walking Dead T shirt had been delivered,a kind gift from Georgian Jackie D.
Thank you deArheart
Getting her interest in the future of the hall could prove useful
Leiter
The documentary on Saul Leiter was dreadful. Not enough of his photographs and early life too much elderly rambling Leiter for my liking.
I walked out and got tutted at by the organiser which I thought outrageous, if he had followed me I would have told him so too.
The cottage living room always looks at its best at night
Cosy and lived in when I got back
I missed Albert tonight too
Lying untidily on a chair
SRA
A simple breakfast today, panini, vine tomatoes, olive oil and a sprinkling of salt and parmesan
Next week I’m off to Sheffield to see Miss Saigon then fly to Barcelona the day after.
This week, I’m trying to save money, but it’s not always easy to stay home.
Later I will go and watch the documentary In No Great Hurry at Colwyn Bay, which explores the work of photographer Saul Leiter., thats my treat for the week,
Yesterday afternoon I took part in an on line tutorial about creative writing which I booked and paid for last year and in one group discussion I was the only person present not to have ever written a love poem or a love letter of sorts.
This kind of upset me, as all of the 18 others on zoom had obviously done so
This morning I remembered something, hidden away in a recess, something I used to say to my husband when I all loved up, or when I looked at him in a certain way when he didn’t know he was being watched.
I would say the letters SRA to him.
And he would know where I was at.
SRA always stood for the words Sudden Rush Of Affection
They still do….
…. I just haven’t remembered them in a while
Kindness
My dyspraxia was worse than normal this morning. Now there are coffee grains all over the floor. A product of too loud a radio programme, feeling overwhelmed and hurrying.
I know I’m going to drop something when those stars are in line.
Usually a millisecond before it happens.
I’m sat quietly at the table Vernon Kay’s sweet Northern Chatter turned off and some quiet orchestral music on.
It’s the Portuguese Love Theme by Craig Armstrong
The gift of oak saplings made yesterday a nice day. The older I get these kindnesses mean so much more than they did when I was younger. Sure kindnesses are always nice when you are on the receiving end of them but when you are single , somehow they mean just that little bit more important and , well…….kind.
I posted on Facebook a blog about my plans to go to London soon recently and one of the replies was from my great niece Ellie who works in the capital asking to meet for coffee.
That touched me greatly.
Another text, this time from Affable Despot Jason , inviting me to his daughter’s 18th birthday party, the words, she really wants you to come, touched me greatly too as did Village Elder Ian’s recent offer to shrink my front garden gate to it will close properly.
Little kindnesses are of such importance
And so in a similar vein, I’m asking for some kindness from my “ troll” here on Going Gently. I’m asking for them to please stop provoking an argument out of nothing.
I’m big enough and ugly enough to cope with such comments but the drip drip nature of them, usually in the most innocuous of blog entries has become somewhat wearisome to say the least.
I’m also going to ask people not to react to any when and if they continue to arrive
After this personal request, I hope that will not be necessary.
My mother, for all of her faults, was a kind woman, all told.
I remember when I was around 10, we lived in a large detached house on the corner of a busy road. On the opposite corner was a veterinary practice, built on the back of a residential house. One day she had been watching a woman sat in a car outside for a while before she asked me to do her a favour . She had collected several roses from the garden and had wrapped silver paper around the stems and asked me to take them down to the lady in the car.
Being a shy child I refused , and being a shy adult she pushed herself to offer them to the woman in the car herself. When she returned, pink cheeked and sweaty, I asked her just why she had given roses to a stranger. And my mother said that the she had seen the woman take her elderly Labrador into the vets and had seen her return just with his lead.
The woman had been sobbing in her car, presumably after having the dog euthanised and my mother felt she had to do something to offset her pain, just a little.
It’s a big lesson to learn at 10
Not only that my mother was capable of such a small glowing act of kindness when she didn’t always act in a kind way at home.
But also that she was painfully shy and probably in need of such little kindnesses herself
Ps
Strange thing serendipity
This arrived this afternoon , many thanks Elaine
 |
Tall oaks, branch-charmed by the earnest stars
I’m off to bed shortly
Lots of psychological given last night.
My head needs calm
Hopefully it will be an eristic free day
We shall see…
I got home in light rain. Sitting on the kitchen wall was a pot with three oak saplings in it
No note
No message,
Just three baby oak trees.
I love gifts like this
According to Anthea on London Road., the village has no oak trees
It has now
Pride’s Gone
It was the end of Pride March yesterday in London and again I missed it.
Next year it’s on my list ( my bucket list) even though the TCA is going to hold some Pride Friendly event in the village.
Bunty and I looked at each other and smiled at the thought of everything rainbow in Trelawnyd
“There must be more than just you two in the village” Di Smith noted and the conversation swayed around a bit as Bunty and I discussed the subject of dressing as nuns in a singalong Sound Of Music
I’m a dead ringer for Mother Superior
I will leave you with this Pride Video
Shot on the street with his neighbours in support
Enjoy
A Turd In The Vegetable Bowl
I slept in today
My bladder played up a little last night.
I walked into the kitchen blurry eyed and there it was, sitting proudly onto of a large red onion
A turd the consistency of a mr whippy
It just looked like one of Mathew Bourne’s wigs from The Nutcracker
Roger jumped on a chair I had left next to the cooker and sprang onto the kitchen tops with a grin which said proudly
“ I did that!”
I had to stand for a long while…… processing the view
I’m working nights for two.
So today is a lazy day. I’ve made illy coffee in the Mokka and had free range eggs and garlic beans for breakfast.
Bloody lovely.
Yesterday I went to see Eirlys in her lived farmhouse not far from a chic Eleanor’s.
Her husband John , died last winter, so her grief remains pained and angry.
It was good to see her.
Eirlys taught me how to care for hens properly . She had a mixed flock of up to a hundred and all free ranged over her fields and lay in plastic buckets, inside tyres and feed troughs in her huge barn . Covid and John’s ill health has whittled the flock down to just four birds and it was weird sitting there without seeing a pecking beak and a glassy eye.
We talked about loneliness
And she vented, as we all need to vent.
The words like vomit, feeling easier when out.
And I asked to help me as one of the stewards on the flower show, which she happily agreed to.
I was just getting back into Bluebell when she called me from the house and she darted inside and hurried to the gate where she pressed two free range eggs into my hand
Have them for breakfast she said
And I just have , and bloody lovely they were too.
Now, this IS funny….well it’s funny as it is embarrassing
It’s about a chance conversation with a chap called Geraldo
When Colin and I were in Venice we both occasionally had a look out for any interesting Italians on Grindr. Colin being more of a gay dish than I had plenty of dings on his app
Me? Well I had one lol.
And that was with a melancholic designer , Geraldo who looked rather like Stanley Tucci’s younger and more reflective brother.
We chatted on and off for the duration of the holiday, and he was helpful suggesting places to go and restaurants to visit.
He told me He was always busy but loved to make pottery so, all excited I showed him a photo of my stubby horse and my obese camel
He seemed impressed but wasn’t forward in showing me a photo of his work
So I chased him up yesterday and he sent me a link
Apparently he is a renown potter, has a studio and teaches interior design in Venice
I almost died
I can’t believe , like Roger and his turd that I had shown my fat pony off as a piece of art!!!
The Trelawnyd Telephone Box and other stories.
Village leader Ian and I painted the now defunct village telephone box yesterday. It’s faded charm now a vibrant Pillar Box Red. It’s door fixed, it’s insides all ready for change.
The Trelawnyd Community Association has bought the box for the village
Please welcome our Information Hub and mini library.
Sailor John has designed the shelving and notice boards , so soon it will be a hub for bits and pieces not covered by the hall.
Not only will it house a tiny library, there will be emergency items such as a first aid kit and a puncture repair kit, local maps for walkers, information on local sites of interest and history, a village history book
And even a small food bank.
We are also planning a little solar light inside
Sweet.
Yesterday was the day we three on our counselling course was to find out whether we’d all be on the same course in University in September or not.
The course was over subscribed over North Wales so if all were accepted after interview several applicants would have to be put back to the next course which doesn’t start until January and which is based at the Bangor campus a good hours drive from the village. Donna , Caroline and myself all wanted to be starting in September at our local campus so there was much frantic what’sapping going on before we all realised that we would all be starting together. I was rather moved by it all as were my fellow potential counsellors. I think the three of us, all more mature students , understand the significance of the path we are about to take.
Not an easy journey for sure, but an important one and one made better for us all being together.
I will leave you with a beautiful comment
A wish , of someone nearing death.
It caught me totally unawares when it was spoken to me and I hope I’ve remembered it correctly,if found similar sayings online but that doesn’t matter
“ I hope death is like being carried to your bedroom by your father, when you were a child,
Or the time he lay you down on the couch on the sofa in a darkened living room during a family party
And you could hear all of the laughter from the next room”
It’s rather beautiful .
Mary
This morning I sat in the kitchen reading chair to read.
After a while I felt as though I was being watched
And I lifted my head from the book
It was Mary watching me
And she was still and mindful
Her gentle brown eyes never leaving my face
She does this often
And I feel loved
There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie—
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.
When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find—it’s your own affair—
But… you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.
When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!).
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone—wherever it goes—for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear.
We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we’ve kept ’em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long—
So why in—Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?
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