Lie In

 My academic poster needed uploading to turnitin today , and happily  I did so around 2pm

Before that I had a proper lie in, which was lovely. 

A lie in ( after dog wees) with a cup of tea and hot buttered toast.

Of course the dogs ate the crusts with their sleepy eyes shut tight and we all slept in until 10am which I so needed.

This evening I’ve practiced my presentation ( which is tomorrow) then made noodles and chicken sprinkled with peanuts to eat on my knee in front of the fire.

Tomorrow after Uni , our group is off for an early supper

I’m still wearing my Christmas Jumper

It will need a few squirts of Fabreese tomorrow 

Nurse

 I didn’t want to be a nurse today.

I didn’t want to check scores of drug calculations, too many in most hours to cope with….

On cards and in books and at bedsides and with a tired colleague who smiled when she didn’t want to.

I didn’t want to carefully fill greedy little syringe drivers and set them up bleeping like tiny box robots under pillows and duvets as their patients relaxed and slept

I didn’t want to explain to lost families about the process of dying and I didn’t want to use a quip with a patient in order to make their tearful son laugh for the first time in weeks.

I didn’t want to teach a student nurse about complex pain in a way she understood as buzzers rang and jobs mounted up

And I didn’t want to write up notes , proving to auditors what I did that day and how I did it.

I wanted to lie on a couch in the warmth with someone rubbing my hair until I fell asleep.

And I wanted to eat a meal I hadn’t cooked myself 

But instead , I was a nurse today

….and it was ok 

 

Christina Perri - "A Thousand Years" captured in The Live Room

Coffee

6.21 

This is on the radio 

I don’t want to be a nurse today

Angel

I found this clip rather moving. 

I have no idea just why perhaps 

I’m just tired tonight, sad at the fact a colleague I value is moving to where the grass is obviously greener.

I’m sad too that some people visit here and have to leave negativity when they don’t really need to ,

I’d prefer that these people don’t visit anymore

You wouldn’t invite me into your home and have me be rude to you

Would you?

Like I said I’m tired tonight 

An Arm Through The Catflap

 Dorothy smashed the catflap during a fit of pique a month or so ago .

She’s been through three now since she arrived

She boxes the plastic door like Rocky then feigns any blame after walking back in, wide eyed and open mouthed .

She has no patience with closed doors.

And has muscles in her front legs like Popeye

I’m tell you this as a bit of colour as the new postman happily waved his arm through the flap yesterday  afternoon with the deep baritone welcome of “ Hello Dogs” 

He had no idea I was sat at the kitchen table banging away at my laptop

All he wanted was a mass of dog hellos which he received immediately from three goo goo eyed dogs who obviously have had a relationship with him for ages

He’s tall and butch and bearded

And I nearly grabbed  his outstretched hand myself 

I opened the door and dogs hugged him one by one

Even Mary was smitten 

He passed me my post as he apologised somewhat red faced

I told him to keep abusing my cat flap

He obviously adores dogs.

The above beautifully crafted glass Christmas bauble was in the post he gave me. No name , no note with it, but against the Sitges bulb , it looks iridescent   and rather beautiful 

Thank you whoever sent it.

Enjoy

 The hat on the guy in the woodwind makes me chuckle every time I watch this

Off to bed shortly, working all weekend 

I’ve only spoken to the postman today 

Suo-Gan

I found myself awake at three last night.

It was cold too, so the dogs we all called to bed to act as organic hot water bottles 

I asked Google Plus to play Suo Gan and this version  by Bryn Terfel played.

Suo Gan is a lullaby, usually sang by a woman, so this version was a surprise and a delight.

I’m finishing off my academic poster for college 

An exploration of the differences and similarities between counselling and confession, as experienced by counsellors who are, or have been , Catholic Priests

Oh er missus

Tell us the one about………

 My grandmother was a storyteller.

She filled our childhood with a dozen or so stories, all repeated at our request during bouts of ironing and cake making.

Hearing these tales repeated was just as much fun as hearing them for the very first time 

The anticipation of a punchline, or the denouement of daring wartime adventure was a delicious thing to children who grew up in a sad house. 

And we gulped up the repeats with gusto.

I’ve repeated this story 4 times now and always just before Christmas

I think it’s worth repeating every year, and I won’t apologise for its appearance here again

Christmas 1985

Christmas week 1985 I was  shadowing a community psychiatric nursing sister with her caseload in the deprived and depressing northern town of Runcorn.
Through a succession of faceless maisonettes, we sat on grubby sofas and listened to  sad stories of loneliness, mental illness and substance abuse and I watched as my mentor tried her best to keep heads above water and bums out of the local psychiatric unit.
The last visit of the day was to a woman called Jean.
Jean lived alone in the top of a ten story complex. She had suffered from severe mental health problems for forty years and had recently been placed in her home from long term psychiatric care only a few months before.
I remember her flat very well. There was no carpet in the hall and the living room but there was a tiny white tinsel Christmas tree standing on top of a large black and white tv.  A homemade fabric stocking was hung on the fire surround and just two Christmas cards  were perched on the mantle.
( one of those cards having been sent by my colleague) The flat was sparse but incredibly clean and it was evident that Jean had been waiting for our visit all day.
In mismatching cups we were offered coffee with powdered milk and a single mince pie served on a paper plate and I remember sharing a sad glance with the nurse when Jean presented us both with gifts hastily wrapped in cheap Christmas paper. My gift was two placemats with photos of cats on them. The nurse received a small yellow vase, and I remember Jean beaming with delight when we both thanked her effusively for her kindness. 
When we washed up our own cups, the nurse quietly checked the fridge, noting that several of the shelves were empty . There was a calender on the wall with the note " NURSE COMES TODAY" written on that day's date. Nothing else was written on it until the week of new year's eve, where the same sentence was written.
It was the very first time that I had experienced someone who was so totally isolated in a community setting and it shocked me to the core.

I listened as the nurse talked about medication, as  I waited patiently and when she took Jean into the bedroom to administer a regular injection I noticed a carrier bag which the nurse had tucked away by the side of the arm chair shortly after we arrived. In it was a package of cold meat, milk , bread and what looked like chocolates and a cake.
Before we left, we let Jean monopolize her only conversation of the week and as she retrieved our coats, I watched and grew a few years older as the nurse silently slipped a five pound note behind one of the cards on the mantle.

Note

I met an old friend cheryl for lunch in Chester today.

Which was lovely. 

She thought I was a little Frazzled 

I don’t think I am 

I’m still wearing my Christmas Jumper, I’ve not taken it off since Saturday, even sleeping in it last night as it was -3 outside.

The woman in the thai food stall liked it.

When I got home yesterday 

Outside the back kitchen wall was a container of soup and a lovely tiny card covered in flowers.

The card was from Brian 

And it was a gracious apology for what he said to me.

A big man 

And an apology I need to counter with another apology 

I’m sorry I posted about it 

Enjoy this video, I forgot just how good a good comic Grayson was

Andrew

Brothers and sisters

My brother died just as December showed its cold face in 2011

Twelve Years Ago

 I used to care for my brother every Thursday daytime. He was confined mostly to bed then, with a bubbling tracheostomy and the cruelty that is motor Neurone disease.
My presence was more a confidence boost for my sister in law , so she felt content to leave the house for a days' shopping and apart from the occasional meds round and tracheal suction  my day would be peaceful as the dogs would run amok in the garden as my brother slept or watched crap tv.
I remember one afternoon he had a coughing fit and needed his tracheostomy inner tube changed and his airways cleared .
To me this procedure is second nature but that day my brother had become irritated and difficult.
He was angry, and had no voice and as I fiddled with the tubes and catheters his eyes flashed red with anger
Moments later he slapped my hand hard as I reached forward with a suction catheter and shocked and suddenly upset I paused for just one second and said a slightly exasperated " I'm sorry" 
I remember my brother closing his eyes and flopping back on his pillow as I finished the procedure and without saying anything more I cleaned up the equipment  and busied myself with task orientation.
I was ten years younger than my brother and we couldn't be more different in personality if we tried.
I knew I would often irritate him but I never quite knew just why that was.
Initially the gay thing was an issue , but I knew it wasn't really that that irritated him now.
It was more me, my personality  and I get that, me coupled with hidden sibling rivalry  so often experienced between brothers.

I felt that slap long long after it had happened though

And I remembered my training too on spinal injuries as I watched bulldog Mabel bounce around the edge of the pond. The pond she would fall into a week later
Training which said Internal anger was so much harder to deal with than external anger.

This memory is over twelve years old now. I had to look it up on Going Gently finding the post where Mabel finally swan dived into the pond like Shelley Winters in The Poseidon Adventure
See
https://disasterfilm.blogspot.com/2011/11/sock-down-trouser-leg.html

But I suddenly remembered it as though it was yesterday.

I also remember how the afternoon ended as an hour or two later when I went to check on my brother he gestured to a crappy quiz programme on the tv.
It was our habit to watch it together with me inanely shouting out the answers
And he gestured for me to sit to do the same
There was no need to revisit the burst of anger

It was there and it was out,

And it was finished with.

Cheers

Reading an entertaining entry on a fellow blogger's blog reminded me of a lady I "nursed" while I was on student placement to The Merseyside alcohol dependency unit at The West Cheshire Psychiatric Hospital in the 1980s.Sylvia was one of those ex colonial types, with a cut glass accent, a weather beaten face and the kind of spirit that made Britain what it was during the 1930s and 1940s, an arrogant world power.
She was, opinionated and racist, in that old fashioned sort of way that made you smile at her rather than it provoking an angry response towards her, and she had spent her life of privilege in colonial Malaya , for 40 years pickled in pink gin.

God knows just why she had been admitted to the unit. She was far too long in the tooth at 83 to successfully give up alcohol, even I as a student realised that fact, but I suspect that she had been "encouraged " to enter rehab for a formal assessment, as it was suspected that she was suffering from the start of Korsakoff’s dementia.
People suffering from Korsakoff's dementia lack vitamin B 1 due to their alcoholism, and treatment , as I recall is a combination of vitamin supplements, good nutrition and plenty of rest in addition to the "talking therapies" which aim to explore the cause of their drinking behaviour.
"Talking Therapy" was not something that Sylvia took too seriously as I recall

People that have Korsakoff's, often have great gaps in their memory which they cover up with confabulating history accounts.
In one morning group session I remember one Liverpudlian patient asking her just how much she drank before her admission
In her best Maggie Smith delivery Sylvia announced loudly and with some conviction to the group
"If you must know ......I only ever had a few little drinkies after meals!"
The Liverpudlian, missed nothing from her vague reply
"and how many meals a day did you actually have?" he asked with a smile
"34!" Sylvia called out with a triumphant cackle

Funny Men Have Feelings

 

My sister made me a Christmas Wreath 

I haven’t seen “Brian” Since the Flower Show. He’s taken early retirement and spends a great deal of his time golfing. We banter when we meet, which is usually as one of the village events and I like him.

This time, in front of a large gathering he made graphic reference to my weight. 

It was all very jolly but at the same time incredibly rude and I suddenly felt like a picked on child at school than an affable 61 year old at a village fair.

I covered up any embarrassment with a witty retort but wanted to say 

“Why say such a thing to me when you wouldn’t dream of saying it to a woman or indeed a man of lesser good nature?.”

I have no doubt that he meant to be funny

But why say anything like he did? 

It was unkind, and it left me feeling bruised 

It’s All About The People

Kelda made us two videos to share 

 I wish I had taken more of the villagers in today’s exhausting Christmas Fair

Bunty in mufti 

Dave Smith in his usual garb

Dave and Liz 

My sister Janet and Mrs Trellis

Ian and Nick

Cameron

N

Pippa and Anne

Hattie and Adam 

Cameron’s Parents

The exotic Melinka LevVey and the very sassy Loraine

Tracy Manchester with an exhausted Bridget in the background

The Manley’s 

Gwawr and Jack

The day was hard work but fun, and the TCA should be praised for their dedication 

We had a harpist 

A community choir 

And just three members of the Rhyl brass band which, despite being left in the proverbials by their colleagues managed several sets of jolly hymns 

I went for the fat bastard Christmas jumper look seeing that my Victorian outfit didn’t fit

And enjoyed my lantern making

Outland (1981)

One of my favourite actresses died yesterday 

Frances Sternhagen a renown stage and screen actress died aged 93. For many people she was known to play tough talking mothers( and grandmothers)  in the likes of Cheers, ER and Sex and the City but for me her film roles as the tough talking and loyal doctor to Sean Connery’s hero cop  in Outland and as Irene Reppler the 80 year old feisty home made flame thrower  heroine in the monster movie horror The Mist that stand out for me 

She will be missed

In The Mood

A local business sponsored our Christmas Tree at the hospice which was kind. And they set it up tonight which was also kind. My sister has been busy making wreaths for the Trelawnyd Fair and I see
 

That the Village Christmas Tree has been erected outside the hall, 

It looks cheerful enough.

The support worker I’ve been working with tonight brought me a curried Scotch egg

Which was bloody lovely.

At home tonight, my festive penguin is the centre of my decorations . I will never have a tree at home if there’s just me to see it, 

Happy Christmas xxxx 2023

 

     

This is my Christmas Card for you

My Followers

Of Happy Times when a man could love his turkey

freely and without prejudice

Its been a funny old year this year all told...... suffice to say that despite all of the shit in this world, this little part of North Wales plods along at its own particular pace and in its own inimitable way. 

There is something constant about things here, 

Going Gently isn't a notable blog, I have no insightful news references, no waspish political satire to share. it remains what it is ...a bit of whimsey where an ageing old spinster homo can complain about "cheap Christmas cards hastily written" in a world where Christmas Cards suddenly seem a creature of the past.

Idiots

Well last night’s blog entry went well.  

Apologies for not adding spoiler alert to the title.

I’ve now lost a half dozen followers 

Hey ho

Serves me right for me trying to be current.

I’m an idiot 

I’m on nights tonight, so will just potter cheaply today. I’ve had to buy a laptop for college which was a necessary but naive expense . 

Why can’t you do everything on an iPad ? I asked 

Well you can’t 

Plain and simple is the reply.

My machine is second hand and rebooted and sorted so will fit in quite nicely when I’m feeling pretentious and want to bang away at my homework in the Storyhouse cafe. 

I thought of going this morning but that’s just an extravagance. 

It’s fickle too.

And I bloody hate fickle. 

You see fickle all of the time here on social media.

Secretive and private bloggers who regurgitate great swathes of private information moments after they demand with a thin lipped, emotional just don’t ask . 

I can’t be doing with it.

I’m annoyed this morning can’t you tell? The guy who always lets his overactive spaniel loose on the walkways did so again this morning. He’s an idiot and although he accepts that his dog bothers other dogs by running into them and sticking his nose up their arses ,all he does is shout at his dog and move on. 

Dorothy and Mary have both bitten this dog several times , a fact that upsets me more that anything else. 

The dog needs to be on a lead, for his own safety. 

“ You’re  the arsehole not YOUR dog” I told him this morning, a somewhat ruder précis of the situation that the polite ones I’ve taken beforehand.

I’ve even changed the times the dogs and I take a walk so we don’t meet him

Some people are just fucking idiots

Out with anger

In with love

Matty

 

It’s really winter as Bake Off  has just finished and although the contestants this year have been a little bland it was nice to see the gentle , cheerful,  tattooed young teacher Matty win

My vote was always for Saku who acted as though she’d just stepped from an Ealing Comedy but I hope that scores of young men and boys in the country would now see Matty as a credible role model. 

I hope so

16.18

 

It’s almost twenty minutes past four

The cottage is almost dark inside, with just the gloom of late dusk illuminating my desk and grandfather clock. My knee is paining, so I sit in the miserable light for a while and write the blog .

And I hate this moment 

Almost as much as I’ve ever hated anything….ever! 

The gloom of getting home to an empty house in winter.

No cat’s tail swishing angrily against my calves 

No sharp paws 

No excited yelps and bouncy smiles from the dogs.

Home has to be reclaimed from the cold and the night

Bit by bit

Room by room 

The dinosaur fairy lights first, then the log fire, and the lamps in the living room.

The washing machine next then the radio, 

And the big Sitges bulb with its orange glow

All returning the cottage into a living place

The dogs trot in, heads up, expecting dinner

And we are complete again

My dogs and I…

And home

 

Christmas

 I’m late blogging today 

A hard shift yesterday 

An early night and a day in the library yet again .

My essay is in though, and I’m pleased. 

This week is another mixture of work, college and village

Two nights at work, college all day tomorrow with a recorded counselling skills practice to film and send in, and on Saturday it’s one of the/last set pieces for the TCA this year and that’s the Christmas Fayre 

My Mr Bumble Victorian outfit had been ordered a while ago and should be delivered by Wednesday and Bridget hits that we have a snow machine ordered !!! Which should be fun. 

A couple of the TCA lads ( lads!!! Older than me) 

Climbed up the village green trees to hang fairly lights in preparation 

It’s suddenly feeling like Christmas