Morning

 Reflective post yesterday 

Today it’s purely practical stuff at University

I’m off early to have some library time

Thank you all for your comments 

The validation was appreciated xx

The Andre Rieu of Blogging

Me and Nu in Kenmare 2018 my lowest ebb

Sometimes I wonder just what people get from Going Gently?

Some, I feel,  like it’s humour, and I get that, totally! 

For the most part, on line blogs can be generally dry and somewhat serious affairs .( with the exception of the gays and fag hag blogs who generally produce snatches of delightful bitchiness and entertaining asides) …you KNOW who you are !!!

For others, it’s the glimpse into the view, I delight to be a part of , and that is a positive, healthy, romanticised and generally honest view of a Welsh Village and it’s struggles to keep some sort of community identity in a world who seems intent of changing it into a housing estate in the country.

Of course we have the village characters ( all based on real people) and the animals which provide the anchor and the grounding of the blog.

Animals are the heart of a home

They, like children are honest and pure and real

And they alongside my village friends have seen me through some very dark days .

As you have , my readers and followers.

Going Gently has never changed in that respect for since 2006 it is my diary, my comfort and my old friend who has housed my thoughts and daily journal for seventeen years now.

Of happy days 

And sad ones

And of mundane ones too, devoid of political debate and world news and of highbrow thought and debate….I’m not an overly educated man. 

I’m a bright one, for sure, but I’m not an intellectual

I married one and even though I still love the man deeply, he wasn’t always a bag of laughs in real life. 

So Going Gently doesn’t discuss serious politics and the like

It remains touchy feely with a sense of arch.

And the trolls will always remind me of the arch.

I will never apologise for my occasional waspishness

For these are occasional and in my mind warranted and unlike some of my fellow bloggers I am not really quick to judge despite my words.

I am flawed , and emotive, and shallow at times.

But I’m emotionally intelligent too

And I know, despite my troll input , I will make a credible counsellor 

I know myself warts and all that’s how I know.

And so I will continue to blog

Sometimes about nothing….the sushi I made for tea  because it felt good

And then about the lonely day I spent not talking to anyone.

Of the bulldog Dorothy’s diva antics 

And the moment at work I felt like child in need of a hug when things went wrong 

Of the films I watched which allayed my loneliness 

And the friends I have that make life worthwhile again 

If you read Going Gently You read it for a reason 

And I’m grateful most of you seem to enjoy it

I am everyone here…..flawed and hopeful ….

Yes……and even hopeful

Roses

 Islwyn has opened the field gate for the undertaker to bring his digger around.

I suspect the funeral is tomorrow. 

I don’t know who has died.

It’s warm and slightly humid today, and a third late bloom of ice cream roses have flowered in the front garden which looks neat after my sister went to town on it yesterday 

This morning I drove to Llandrillo College to,use the library and managed to find some research papers to critique for tomorrow’s lesson. The promenade in nearby Llandudno was busy, and I sat there for a while, drinking coffee and people watching. I couldn’t stay that long as the dogs needed another walk but they were all asleep when I got home.

This afternoon I washed and ironed ( !) some clothes for London 

Passacaglia - Handel/ Halvorsen

There are some pieces of music that just capture your heart

And piano solos can do that, sometimes almost without trying

This is my all time favourite.

Halvorsens adaptation of Handel’s Passacaglia

A flowing piece of beauty.

I’d like to add this cover of Barbara Pravi’s Eurovision hit Voila which in itself couldn’t be more French if it was wrapped in a baguette, covered in Fromage and buried in a pair of Edith Piaf’s knickers

A Long Term Relationship

 You never stop learning being a nurse.

Sometimes it’s about drugs, or procedures or conditions or biochemistry 

Mostly it’s all about being human.

I had a patient who was in their 80s. 

He was single, worked hard all of his life and was very much a part of the community in which he grew up in.

He had visitors twice a day. Many the same ones 

Many different . 

Most his age and younger.

All concerned and interested and sometimes emotional.

Some stoic and grey faced 

Others hopeful with arms full of flowers 

All had respect for him, several from childhood.

“ I never married John” he shared once “ I never had a long term relationship “ 

And I nodded, accepting the regret in his voice and the sadness in his words

Then I remembered his visitors . 

The long line of friends that came every day without fail.

“I know what you mean”, I told him “ But you are kind of wrong when you say you haven’t had a long term relationship” 

He stopped short and blinked at me like a mole in a searchlight.

“ As far as I can see you’ve had scores of long term relationships” I said, “your friends from home , and work and Church and school, you have kept and nurtured them for years and years. 

You’ve had a good dozen of them” 

And I was right, and he knew it, and I was right and it was a surprise to me too until that moment.

We may say that  we’ve been unsuccessful in a continuous romantic relationship . But if we have lifelong friends, we have been successful in a whole series of long term relationships. 

Any one that features when the chips are finally down and the fat lady is singing.

Chat Bombs et al

 I got to Liverpool just around 5 pm and got the phone call that Grayson Perry had cancelled his performance due to a bad throat soon after. 

I thought fuck it ,  and met my friend Colin anyway at Mowgli for yogurt chat bombs and lamb chops. The night will be rescheduled and fingers crossed I will be off .

I’m sat at the kitchen table , setting up zoom

I have a lecture with city lit at 10.30 about Philip Marlow and Sherlock Holmes as they are portrayed in cinema. Then I can have a cheeky sleep before my fourth night ( and final one) of the week 

We have a postman who is a bit of hunk and he’s just knocked with a package ( fannar fannar) He made a banal joke about bending over to get under my honeysuckle and I laughed like a drain.

I’m very embarrassing .

Note to self, stop making a dick out of yourself when postie calls

The package was a delightfully wrapped two books from Gemma’s Person

Humours of Village Life ( Tales from Yorkshire) by J.Fairfax- Blakeborough ( 1932) 

and The Valley Of Animals by Elma M Williams ( 1963) 

I will start reading them tonight 

I am constantly reminded of how kind people are, emails, cards, gifts , books and best wishes regularly arrive from blog readers and I’m always grateful for them

I will leave you with this incredibly moving piece of physical art by Yoann Bourgeois depicting the journey of life

Have a lovely weekend

Nipples

 I think I will resurrect the International Novelty fruit& Veg Competition in next years Trelawnyd Flower Show. 

What do you think?

Speaking of nipples

Anyhow, my favourite " nipple" story hails from 1986.
I was a very new Registered Psychiatric staff nurse on a " mother and baby" unit in York and was attending one my very first staff meetings in the day room which led off the main entrance . The ward sister was a phenomenally calm and obese woman who never raised her voice even in the most fraught of situations and I remember that right in the middle of discussing a particularly knotty nursing problem , she stopped and raised her hand.

" now I don't want anyone to turn around, or to react in any way" she murmured quietly
" but some unfortunate lady is trying to push her nipples under the sash window"

Now that's professionalism !

We Can See Your Charlie

What did you do in the war father?

Everyone’s too old for that question now.

I used to ask it a lot of my mother and grandparents and always received a robust reply

Last night I was asked by a patient 

How was your lockdown ?

I think she was referring to work and PPE and end of life care.

But a whole kaleidoscope  of memories came flooding back, most funny a few poignant.  

All I could think of were zooms with friends , and 80 ribald gay men each with their own window , of Lyndi’s Charlie and miming at Choir, of kind volunteers leaving shopping on the kitchen wall and of Winifred’s bravura death with her rubber chicken. 

Lockdown was a lonely , awful black time much of it during winter where all I would experience at night working was death and those linked to it, but outside this I’m recognising the humour that lifted many of us singletons through, when we’re we’re home, alone.

Choir continued every week , which is impossible on zoom as you can’t effectively sing together properly.but sing we did, and the tradition of sitting at the laptop looking into each other’s homes grew more and more important than the singing itself. Pets started to infiltrate the cameras with tenor Lydi enjoying our pantomime calls of “ We can see your Charlie!!!!!” When her old lurcher wandered into view. 

I still tear up everytime I hear I raise You Up , the song that we adopted as our LOCKDOWN anthem 

We sang it every week at the end of choir , and waved merrily at each other afterwards in order to keep the spirits up.

The Big Gay Quiz was on zoom every Friday evening, and at its height had well over a hundred queens from all over the world logging in to groan and bicker and chatter and laugh over a pub quiz that was run on military lines by an leather queer with control issues. 

This clip was from winter 2021

“ Face washed ( tick)

Hair brushed ( tick) 

Clean shirt checked for food stains ( check) - there was only one small splash of pot noodle..no one would notice ...tee hee

Background looking interesting behind me ( double check ) 

I was ready.

I squirted myself with a blast of Clinique Happy as a gay moral booster, as if it mattered”

Lockdown meant painting and cooking alongside my old friend Nia  in Sydney and clandestine meetings with Chic Eleanor in McDonald’s car park , where we sat, each in our own cars , chatting a distance chat over coffee

This morning I drove up to McDonald’s to meet Chic Eleanor in the carpark for coffee.

The weather was atrocious but she looked fresh faced and as smiley as ever

“ Darling John..it’s almost like a tryst “ she admitted almost guiltily, pulling a green cashmere scarf tighter around her neck. “ Chin chin “ 

We raised our coffee cups from our respective driver’s seats, our breaths steaming in the cold air

She reminds me of the actress Lee Remick.“ 

Velvet Voiced Linda galvanised the village volunteer group and things never felt as bad or as lonely in the Village after that 

My family zoomed and Sheffield folk I “saw” every week but I do recall one moment that hurt more than anything else and which reminded me I was, very much alone 

When Winnie died, chomping on a rubber chicken with all of the gusto of a Viking chewing a ham, I left her valiant body with Albert and said chicken for an age. She had collapsed behind the kitchen door and I couldn’t get though so had to go around the cottage to move her. 

That is, at ten pm that night

I couldn’t move her

She was just too big, too dead a weight for me to carry

So I knocked on next door and asked Sailor John if he could help

Lockdown meant he shouldn’t come into contact with me, 

But it was something I couldn’t do alone and looking at my red blotchy face and snotty nose he smiled kindly and nodded……

that he would………

My darling Winnie , the Queen of Tonga

Mr Lu

 I’m sat I’m my underpants eating baked beans out of the tin. 

It’s just after 2 pm and I will be returning to bed shortly after the dogs have had a run and a wee.

It’s a lazy blog today,I’m sure you won’t mind, but( in my view) it’s an interesting one because it’s not all about me…lol 

Mr Lu posts regularly on tiktok. 

He’s a serious young Chinese man who lives in the sticks.

His simple videos are all about his life renovating an old Chinese farmhouse and a construction of a lagoon and traditional summerhouse in its grounds.

It’s an unhurried fascinating watch into a time sort of long gone and I’ve followed him for months now as the house has been transformed into a rustic, homemade piece of art. 

Smelling of Sriracha

 My internal clock is fucked

Slept yesterday until 3pm then got up walked dogs and made pad Thai noodles with crispy chicken and ate them with chopsticks as each of the dogs had their own plate of noodles mixed with an egg.

Mary eats hers very delicately and oh so bloody slowly and has to be given her portion in the living room. 

I met Gorgeous Dave in Prestatyn at 7pm and we went to the AI drama The Creator which is a romp of a movie ….think Apocalypse Now, Blade Runner, Aliens, District 9 ,Star Wars all mixed up with some of the most beautiful and impressive “ special effects” I’ve seen in recent years

It was interesting as it took a huge swipe at America’s Vietnam involvement even though it was set on Earth 40 years in the future .

Great to see the wonderful Alison Janney as a damaged, bitch of a GI Jane…how’s there’s a change in direction 

I need a post-mortem about the movie and didn’t have time to pin Dave down last night

Some films just need being talked about and examined .

It’s 5.30am when I’m writing this , like I said my internal clock is fucked 

I’ve made the Mexican based Huevos Rancheros for breakfast for a change 

Egg and tortilla with lime, avocado, black beans and feta

I’ve bought a slightly milder Sriracha sauce to go with it from Marks and Spencer 

Tasty but still phew!!!

I will be farting like an old lady after bran flakes during lectures

huevos Rancheros is the sort of breakfast you keep on standby if you want to impress a shag 

Perhaps not

If only 

Hey ho

Eating it in the dark didn’t make me feel remotely Mexican 

Off to University for the whole day then back to walk the dogs from Trendy Carol’s at 4 pm then off to work on night shift smelling of sriracha

Joan

 Facebook, as I’ve said before, reminds you of times, and memories long passed by.

This morning they reminded me of this photo

A sleeping ginger and white cat and a Welsh terrier reaching out his paw.

The memory was so very different.

This was Joan, my first cat.

One of two sisters ( her quieter and more reticent twin was called Betty) she ruled the roost in my homes in Sheffield after turning up as a kitten at my back door demanding to be let in during a rainstorm . 

Loud, vocal and a typical Sheffield working class matriarch in so much she stood no messing from anything and anyone, Joan provided a backdrop of my salad days as a young nurse and when we moved to the country, whereas Betty faded and died, the old Gal Joan, found a new lease of life wandering my field and raising her face to the sun .

She was nearly twenty when the above photo was taken and only a few days later, she took herself off to bed where she died peacefully on a gloomy afternoon.

The first photo shows William watching her carefully before she died. Note the position of his paw, so typical of a Welsh terrier. 

His paw lay on her for an age, just touching her tail, something she would never have allowed him do when she was well.x

Monday

Three night shifts this week ( now thankfully split thanks to a lovely colleague so I can make university tomorrow)

A night out in Liverpool, supper at Mowgli then a night with Grayson Perry at the Philharmonic

A short film studies course on Saturday lunchtime

And a trip to the cinema to see either Ken Loach’s The Old Oak or The Lesson ( depending on mood)

I feel back on course today.

The week is working for me which it wasn’t before

Which is an example of 

Sort things out yourself and not rely on anyone else

The Same Boat - A Poem by Julie Sheldon.

I’ve wasted time a little today

I often do that on night shifts 

And I’m working nights until Thursday morning this week

Serve me for having so much time off.

I’ve daydreamed the morning away. Thoughts and ideas interrupted  by the thoughts and daydreams of others all hidden away on line. Sure I’ve walked the dogs and made the breakfast which is a much loved ritual of brewing coffee as long as it takes to poach eggs and make toast. 

I have the toast dripped in tahini too.

It adds, special to a mundane meal.

Roger and his pubescent little bark, alerts me to passers by.

And I walk out “nonchalantly” , tea towel in hand prepared and quietly eager to say hello to someone I may know . 

This morning is was designer North Faced Heulwen and Derek fresh from a London trip. 

Then Eirlys with my dinner plate wrapped inside a bag. The chicken dinner was delivered on her, 50th wedding anniversary to be.

A fortuitous coincidence which was nice for both of us.

Roger showed off as we talked over the kitchen wall, and ran around the garden swinging a wet pair of underpants which had been left too hopefully on the garden chairs to dry

I stopped day dreaming and made a Thai green prawn curry with half fat coconut milk and syphoned the soup off for lunch, the curry I will eat at work 

Nu texted me with a photo

Underneath simply read “table pour uno Juan Les Pins”

It was her way of encouraging my next trip, which was as sweet as it was subtle

Boats bumping together on a calmer sea

I will book something very soon 

Head up

Chest out

Chicken Dinner

Facebook has been sending me some memory photos one taken 2 years ago one taken 5. This is how I like to see myself . It was taken when I was trying to publicise the closing of the church. A posh anorak and a cap cover a multitude of sins . 

I hate my photo being taken, but I do condone this one with my faraway look into middle distance

The next photo just makes me laugh. It was taken almost 5 years ago now  when fellow villager Ann and I were doing the zipwire .it was taken on a hairaising journey up the side of the Bethesda slate quarry in what only can be described as an army truck straight out of Tenko.

It was terrifying , and more more scary than the zip wire itself.

I’m pottering today. I’ve sorted all of my paperwork yesterday and have piles of home paperwork, university stuff, work stuff and Community Association  stuff.

I cooked a full roast chicken dinner yesterday and because I always make too much, I plated up a portion for Eirlys and took it round

She looks well but told me to slow down

I said I will and today I am

It’s Judgement at Nuremberg on dvd, a long video chat with Nigel and some homemade duck spring rolls by a lit fire as outside its gloomy and wet and a little chilly

Wands Up

 

We are not all things to all people. 

No we are snippets of things to people some of the time.

I was  Marilla Cuthbert  to Dorothy’s Anne ( with an E) overnight when she endeavoured to slip under the duvet at the coolest part of the night ( Mathew would have given in) I as Marilla did not, but I did give her a tap on the head for trying.

I love the way television and cinema allows the audience to subtlety empathise with its characters.

In the remake of Anne Of Green Gables ,crabby Spinster Marilla has to face a garrulous and hysterical Anne who has just experienced her first period. After the expected conversation the camera silently observes Marilla’s hand centremitres away from Anne’s shoulders, hesitant before alighting .

I’m not a Harry Potter fan but this audience reaction to Dumbledore’s death ( Michael Gambon only passed away yesterday) in a special anniversary showing is quite beautiful to watch.

There will be a few wands lit up at his funeral no doubt.

I’ve also been watching the mini series Five Days At Memorial an account of how the staff of an isolated inner city hospital coped after hurricane Katrina made for an emotional and thoughtful watch.

I will leave you with another minute scene which takes the audience anywhere they want to 

Film is so useful when we realise it’s power to unleash empathy 

And without, empathy, true empathy

We have nothing

The other day I was talking to a neighbour over the garden wall and a small white feather landed between us, at my feet. 

Someone is saying hello to me I said

And I so wanted that to be true

Thin lips

 The chinks in the local pharmacy service have been evident, well they have to me over the past few weeks. My broad spectrum antibiotics have been out of stock prior to “ Rome” necessitating a search for appropriate pharmacies which may have it. Subsequently ( and there’s nothing like being in sync) my bladder is playing up as it has a want to do.

So much so I went to bed this afternoon with Dorothy, who lay against my back with her head on the pillow.

I got up at 16.46 and went to the pharmacy again. My drugs still hadn’t arrived .

I didn’t get irate at all. I just went very quiet, which threw the staff even more. 

The pharmacist will deliver the drugs himself a bit later which was sweet of him and I did say it wasn’t his job to do that and that I was grateful but I was perfecting my grandmother’s thin lip approach at the time. 

Her lips, when vexed could be reduced to absolutely nothing

Not even a line in folded cardboard.

I’ll make some frozen cranberry, ginger and yogurt shake later, though I suspect the sleep did me more good.

Last night on the way too The Crown I dropped my phone. It was found by one of the village schoolboys who recognised me from my ID card I keep with it, so he and his three sisters and his mum all tracked me down to the pub and presented me with it as I stood by the bar.

The kids were excited at the bearhunt so I gave them a 20£ reward to be shared out .it tickled me that the youngest, a girl of perhaps five , piped up very quickly That’s a fiver each !!!

At least they were honest.

The dogs have been smelling doggy, so we have all been in the shower with a bottle of baby shampoo

The pharmacist knocked just as we all got out so there was a flurry of barking and wet paws against the kitchen wall and me looking soaked in a t shirt and shorts 

“Sorry we were all in the shower” I explained and he nodded slowly as if to say “ of course you have”

At least I’ve had my antibiotics eventually today

Supper Out

 I dug out my new linen trousers and green shirt bought especially for Rome ( and never bloody worn) and had a shave and a good hair brush and met the twenty five or so members of the village TCA and volunteers at  The Crown for a meal. The food was lovely and the company chatty, and as the gin and tonics were downed we thought of more outlandish ideas for the association to support in addition to the following hall based activities. 

Between now and Christmas we have organised 

A Casino night 

A concert night by the Trelawnyd Male  Voice Choir 

An Apple Festival  day 

A Christmas Fayre 

And It’s a Wonderful Life Christmas film night as well as the usual Saturday coffee mornings 

Our Chairperson Bridget making her thank you speech

My suggestion of a ancient Welsh tomato festival where we villagers throw ripe tomatoes at each other in the street after copious amounts of Cymraeg gin is drunk was met with mixed but chuckling  results 

Masks

 I always found the slightly sanitised Russell Brand vaguely amusing. His overly pompous way of challenging pomposity tickled me in its irony and could see why the BBC Thought he was a little bit of a darling and a trendy challenge to they grey suits and grey hairs that fill the organisation . 

But then we didn’t then see his stand up. A stand up that revealed his leopard spots, his crude way of viewing some women and his misogyny. 

Glinting eyes and a persona reminiscent of a cartoon wolf he underlined in the most crudest of ways what he thought of rough oral sex, and he lost me in that second, as I suspect he did of many of his audience members. 

He crossed the line and the level headed and fair BBC documentary Dispatches illustrated its point perfectly with that one vile clip that was shown. 

Masks, we all wear. 

They protect others from seeing the real us

They sanitize and provide a screen on which we project the more acceptable and socially polite self

But masks can slip 

Sometimes they do just for a second 

And when they do, I will always stick to my gut feeling , to that inner voice 

Which tells u

This person is poison 

Bake Off

 

It took me ages to sort out my Facebook avatar 

I played around it as I got used to the new Great British Bake Off Contestants 

As usual they are a lovely bunch of despots 

The Beaver Comment was worthy of Mel n Sue

Lockdown

 I was just downloading some information on ethics and counselling when the librarian hurried up behind me and hissed “ Go to your classroom now “ 

She had chivvied several students ahead of her and Donna whispered “ It’s a lockdown “ into my ear. 

We hurried into our classroom where the tutor closed the door and turned off the lights.

We were ushered into a corner of the room, away from prying eyes

Only then did we realised that it was a test. 

Sadly all colleges , schools and University campus’ now have to have this training. Not only from lone gunmen but also from knife assault 

I’ve just been looking at the stats

And they are worrying