Balance

  

The cottage is cold. Night shifts mean a day in bed and lighting the fire is a luxury rather than a necessity.

It’s five pm, and the winter dark has descended 

It’s cold. 

It’s my last night tonight which I’m grateful for. 

Then a weeks holiday, which I’m also grateful for

I’ve scheduled in operation dogsnot removal and the week so far looks dry.

Using my Christmas vouchers I’ve booked tickets to see The Kite Runner and renewed my membership to the Storyhouse and in ten days I’m London bound to take Nu to see Backstairs Billy for her Christmas Pressie. I suspect the comedy will be gentle and nothing more, but I’m looking forward in seeing national treasure Penelope Wilton and Luke Evans in the flesh so to speak.

Nu’s between houses, so I’ve booked a hotel near Covent Garden for a snip, which I’m glad about.

On the home front, I’ve informed some of the TCA of my intention to resign at the next trustee meeting. It’s not a decision I’m doing lightly, but comes on the back of some complaints we’ve had about the sponsorship of the Hall windows, which state they’ve been waiting too long for results to appear. 

Bureaucracy and listed buildings is a nightmare journey to navigate, and work and college can’t get in the way of that. College come first, and work second.

So something has to give.

I will tell the committee that I will continue as a general volunteer and will continue to run the Flower Show.

I feel better that the decision has been made.

And so dear reader, I share my merge news with you over a cold kitchen table.

The room is scented with thyme as hand tied bunches, lie in small heaps with the veg

I need to have a hot shower before work and a strong coffee

Night times in hospices can be conspiratorial places

With honesties shared in the confessional dark.

Order

 

2 nights then holiday. 

I’m not doing anything on my holiday but getting things in order

All those jobs that need doing

Discipline is the word du jour in 2024

From last will and testament, college, health, the works  

Everything gets ticked off 

Sex Over Sixty

Hummm a knotty subject for sure.

Either bloggers don’t do it , or they don’t want to talk about it.

Me thinks it’s the latter

With provisions lol.

I’m not Julie Andrews.

I never said I was, so the subject of sex, remains on the table , here on Going Gently. It’s the opportunity which is somewhat lacking.

I have a friend called Dan. I met him when I sizing up aubergines in Sainsbury’s a few years ago. ( I know it’s stereotypical but aubergines do make incredibly realistic penguins for a novelty vegetable class in a flower show), well I’d met him a while before when I was a nurse on ITU and he was a student.

We’d fancied each other for years but only got together occasionally after I was single. 

A lot older now, but still a spring chicken,  he’s moved away, but when back in the area he looks me up for a “reunion” of sorts. 

I call him Helen Keller in my head, and when talking of him to friends.

For he’s not a strong conversationalist .

There is nothing more flattering than someone who finds you physically attractive who is a dish themselves .And he’s a dish …..

Hey ho

Today I’m paying the price 

Sex over sixty ! Pah! You can keep it

I have a pulled at least one muscle in my back and can’t cough without pain 

I feel as though I’ve. just been hit by a bus

Bloody hell

Rain

 Sometimes you just have to push through the miserable weather and claim the day as your own.

I’d arranged to meet a friend in Chester but I cancelled because I was skint, but found myself meeting another more local friend for a short walk and take out coffee

Soaked, but invigorated, getting wet during a winter shower has done me good

Fancy A Chat?

 Sometimes I wish we had a dishier king. 

Even when he was a young man, Kind Charles was never a looker, so to speak. 

I think even his mother would contest to that.

Now the new King Frederick in Denmark is a real corker!, beaten only to the top spot of hottest Royal totty by King Filipe of Spain, who I would drop my drawers for, before you could say Patatas bravas.

I’ve always liked Queen Margrethe Of Denmark too

She looks a feisty, pragmatic and entertaining old lady who probably doesn’t suffer fools gladly

Her abdication was, rather moving 

Anyhow , last night I had a lovely meal at my sister’s house, and was home at 11.30 before the “ bongs” 

Despite a late invite from Affable Despot Jason to the big hoolie at the Hall. I thought it best to go home and chill. Something I am doing today.

I have a friend who is a bit low at the moment 

So I have loosely invited them to dinner this afternoon 

I am making a chicken roast dinner with all of the trimmings 

The leftovers I can play around with over the next few days if needed.

I’m starting the Year as I mean to go on

Optimistically 

Underpants : a metaphor for 2023

2023 has passed rather quietly 

In the list of special or even notable years , it has pretty much limped by, largely unnoticed by most of us.

Unseen, rather like the pair of underpants that straddle one of the beams above the kitchen patio

The ones with the holes I flung out of the bathroom window in the autumn.

Damp and somewhat unnoticed

The underpants and the year.

Now don’t get me wrong , there have been the highlights

The Sagrade Familia, the only building to have ever made me cry in public.

The Grande Canal in Venice,the biggest film set in the world.

Don Quixote at the Royal Opera House 

Falling in love with Sheffield all over again with “ Standing at the Sky’s Edge” 

The joyful ABBA Voyage, Les Misterables, Miss Saigon and La Traviata 

The reopening of the National Portrait Gallery,

Pedro Peascal, The Last of Us 

The proud return of the Trelawnyd Flower Show

Perhaps there was more to 2023 that met the eye!

The Stirling work by the TCA in saving the village hall for another couple of years, 

Auntie Glad’s death

Albert’s too

And being the oldest on my University course which now dominates every Tuesday with its hard work and challenging ways.

And here is 2024, just ahead

And I won’t lie, it daunts me a little.

I will still book things ahead of time

Things to look forward to…it’s my way

Indeed in two weeks it’s Backstairs Billy at The Duke Of York’s with Nu

What fun! 

But the loneliness remains a little hard to take especially on winter days like these

Where the wind gives you a shiver only a hug can remove 

Affable Despot Jason , has just knocked on the lane window

It’s almost dark , but you can still see his wide grin in the gloom

He invited me up to the Hall Party later tonight

Happy New Year xx

 

Lyndy

I didn't know her very well.

Hardly at all in fact.

I knew her name and that she was a tenor in our choir

and I knew she laughed long and often at things I too found funny.

I didn't know anything else about her

was she married? did she have children? I wasn't sure

she had a dog called Charlie that much I did know.

a hairy long legged thing that moved slowly

and in lockdown I saw only her on camera during our zoom sings.

Her living room looked cosy

but I knew nothing of her job, her friends and her life.

Choir is like that

you turn up and generally you JUST sing.

Lyndy died a few days ago "after a short illness"

Her son posted the news on her facebook page.

and I will miss her, even though I did not know her.

During Lockdown when Charlie lugubriously appeared on screen. 

I would call out like some demonic Victoria Wood fan "I can see your Charlie "

and she would crack a crooked smile of recognition at the double entendre 

a silly joke at a very bad time

and I will always be grateful for her ability to play along with it

Shiny Things

 

I’m on night shift tonight, so on a whim, I indulged myself in one of those jobs, that’s not very important but which takes up a bit of spare time. I searched the cottage for Christmas Tree decorations.

Since my husband left, I have never bought a Christmas Tree. 

Some of me felt as though it was an indulgence, 

Most of me didn’t want to revisit a happy time

But I remember when I was packing all of his possessions, ready for collection,

I took care to place in sturdy box, his collection of tree decorations, we had bought from places such as Sydney, London and from the Queen of Christmas decoration sellers , New York City.

I never thought I’d have another collection, which have gathered a little dust over the past five years, but I have.

Gifts from bloggers, friends, but mostly from my sister, who has carefully added a bauble here and a fluffy dog there to the name tag of a parcel.

Thirty Eight all told. Some hidden inside tea caddies, put away in obscure corners of the little writing desk in the lounge and in drawers, in boxes throughout the cottage.

Forgotten about until now.

So the useless job of the day was to dust them off and place them all together, like the sweet ending of Pixar’s Toy Story where Andy’s toys are all reunited.

Next year, I have decided, I will have a tree

One Life

I went to see the story of the “ British Schindler” this morning. 

It’s a story many British people know from the 1980s That’s Life programme, where unknown to Nicolas Winton , the grown up children he helped to save from the war ravaged Czech lands during the war, surrounded him as he sat in the audience, and with quiet nobility made themselves known to him by standing quietly. 

It was a moment , in a usually tacky tv programme that lingers long in the minds by whoever saw it, for it was strong, moving and immensely  dignified .

In the end of One Life , this scene is reenacted as the story is told of Winton and his wartime efforts to secure the release of over 660 Jewish children by beavering behind the lines in London, securing visas, sorting out foster parents and raising money alongside his forthright, powerhouse mother Babette ) Helen Bonhem Carter in fine form) 

We see the idealistic and self effacing Winton ( Johnny Flynn) grappling with the numbers of children he had to leave behind and despite  the wise pragmatism shown by his mother, this anxiety and grief never left the older Winton (downplayed nicely by Anthony Hopkins) and only in his 80s , after meeting the first of “ his children” on That’s Life does the old man let his guard down and in one tear jerking scene sobs uncontrollably for the children he couldn’t save.

It’s a gentle film and highlights beautifully the work ordinary heroes did during wartime.

The real Winton on That’s Life

Following the film, I went to the new Asian supermarket in Chester Market to buy pancakes for Chrispy duck, gochujang paste and ramen noodles as well as some tikka pies from the deli next door

Hey ho

Bored

 All or nothing. 

I’m a bit bored today 

Typical. 

I took the dogs to the beach and uncharacteristically Dorothy waded up to her nipples in the surf before running for home with her eyes like saucers 

I bought halloumi fries from Aldi for tea with homemade curried soup

They always remind me of the Balcony Bar ar the Sydney Opera House

It’s wet and there’s nothing on in the cinema that I want to see

I’ve only spoken to a nice looking man on the beach who asked me how Dorothy’s puppies were getting on.

Kindness

 

It’s been a restful day

I feel whole again after hospice shifts which have proven challenging in ways you never expect .

Because of my experience and gender, I often work with the more challenging patients at work, yet I have the same mental mechanisms and reserves  as everyone else, so downtime today has been therapeutic and necessary 

My sister plated a lovely dinner for me today followed by a fuck off sherry trifle to die for. 

Kay, from work, got her chef husband to plate me up a wonderful dinner too as did a friend from the village who left me a selection of Tupperwared goodies worthy of a Queen’s Ransom, left on the ubiquitous kitchen wall. 

I’m watching the Kylie concert from The Albert Hall which is nose to nipple with gay men and I will be going to bed soon ….

The dogs are crammed in close 

But I concede that the cottage needs a cat again ….

A friend’s Queen mother has given birth late in the season and will be looking for homes in the new year

Boxing

 I was too tired to go to my sister’s house last night, and mooched on the couch.

Dorothy was indignant at Mary’s entrance and sniffed around her with the expression 

“ Where the fuck have YOU been!!!” 

We shared a bowl of pigs in blankets and watched old reruns of The Great British Bake off when Mary Berry had longer hair and Hollywood looked like a car salesman .

Today! After a glorious lie in, I drove down to my sister’s but missed my nephew and family by minutes. I bought them theatre tickets to a Liverpool theatrical comedy “all the family would enjoy” ( which means I’d hate it) 

My sisters did me proud with some lovely gifts , which I opened when I got home. ( a treat as I get bizarrely embarrassed when opening gifts in public) 

The gifts included vouchers for the Storyhouse and a dvd of Giselle which tickled me pink!!!

Lovely 

So I’m back home and it’s Boxing Day 

And I’m fine xxxx

Mary

 

16.40 Christmas Day 

Nothing sweeter than watching Mary happily tottering along the corridors of the hospice from my vantage point of the central office,

Exploring open doors, following a support worker, quietly saying hello to a patient

Running back to the office with a mini sausage roll in her mouth

She’s a sweet natured old gal who suddenly seemed to have the energy of the time she was a puppy 

Thank you for your Christmas Wishes

Christmas Day

 

It’s Christmas Day and it is as dark as night. Roger and Dorothy are with me down the lane. Mary  is sat in Bluebell, ears pricked. She is coming to work with me today .

Bitches fall out sometimes and never forget a spat, and poor Iwan ( Trendy Carol’s Husband ) found himself in the middle of a noisy bitch fight yesterday, which was unfortunate . 

To help with frayed nerves, my old girl will be coming to work with me , and will be spending time sleeping in Bluebell and being walked and loved and cooed over by a plethora of Hospice staff, patients and visitors. 

Dorothy is too excitable in the car and will bark incessantly during the 3/4 of an hour journey , not something I can cope with on Christmas Morning , so Mary it is.

But at the moment it’s just me, Roger and Dotty

And the dark lane , in uncharacteristic warm weather.

A barn owl , huge and almost silent swoops over our heads but is missed by the dogs in their sniffing, I watch it in awe….

I’m tired and have not slept well

2023 is coming towards its end and  I’m going to think about that over coffee before I leave

I want 2024 to be a happier year, but I’m dammed to know just how I make that happen 

I was four cards short in the living room Christmas card Garland  😰🎅🏼🌲🌈🎄🥃🎊🍷🍹

Hey ho 

Happy Christmas xx

80%

6 am Christmas Eve……..bucket of coffee between cold hands.

Last night I watched a schmaltzy Swedish movie, until late

The Christmas Cards reached 80 % the. Circumference of the living room

Almost there. I will wait until tomorrow to see if my old tradition finally materialises

A minor obsession admittedly, but suddenly ,and strangely an important one this morning

As I leave the cottage ,I spy a small chocolate Santa , standing on the Kitchen wall

He’s sheltering under a bit of bent cardboard

Mrs Trellis has been at work

José Feliciano - Feliz Navidad

The sound worm in my head today. One of the doctors at work has been singing it incessantly, I’m sending a bit of silliness to reader Virginia who perhaps needs the diversion today🎄

Chic Eleanor texted me yesterday afternoon and like a teenager would suggest thumbed an exciting

“Meet you in The Crown in ten minutes” text!

Luckily I was holding my phone when she messaged

We arrived together

It was lovely, 

“I do look a sight darling I’m in my scruffs” she shared breathlessly 

I thought she looked magnificent, 

Even her pashmina looked Christmassy 

We stopped at the pub for a good hour and half before leaving for home 

Hug fest in the car park before we parted.

She made my day, as she so often does.

So today….

The final village cards will be delivered . A book to Mrs Trellis, cards to the Manley’s and to others.

Jackson Nurseries which lie just outside village delivered a pot of spring bulbs to every house in the village, a tradition which is a sweet one.

Before she skipped off home, Eleanor gave me a tiny gift in the shape of a felt heart

“It’s for your first Christmas Tree next year” she cooed

“Now you have enough decorations, no there’s no excuse” 

I thought about the beautiful iridescent glass bauble, the magnificent rubber chicken and now the heart, and a score of others put away in drawers and boxes and in the tea caddy on my desk

And She was right 

Grades

 

No work today!!!!!

I want to go to the cinema but there’s nothing of note to go and see during the day.

I will mooch through NETFLIX later, me thinks

My phone was pinging busily earlier, 

My college Counselling group.

The grades are out on our first research pieces of work 

B- for my Essay and B- for my poster and presentation

Marks I’m very happy with and lots of room for improvement which I need.

Lots of deliveries today

A book from Nu, Bespoke scotch eggs from Colin, Bombay gin from Trendy Carol ( sporting something festive in red and white) 

Sing For Water

It’s been a particularly hard shift at work.

I didn’t get back home until well after nine pm.

And so, after feeding and walking the dogs, I lit the fire 

Threw off my crocs and drank a huge Bombay Sapphire and tonic ( with cucumber slice!!!!) before sitting down to a plethora of messages asking where I was!!

Tonight is the TCA matriarch Lorraine’s Christmas Party in the big house on the other side of the village

I’m too knackered to go out and now it’s far too late to do so

Buts it’s lovely to be remembered and to be worried about 

“ You give us a safe space to feel what we feel,

Allowing us to mourn, but mainly, to heal.”

 

This line from Hattie’s poem has a resonance with me as this following post from the winter 2018 outlines

It was the most lonely and saddest part of my entire life

Ise Oluwa

I often write about those beautiful little moments in life that catch you unawares.

I guess it's the drama queen in me 

My recent encounter with a kindness inside St. Asaph Cathedral was one I shall remember for quite some time but tonight's experience will rank a close second in that memory bank of moving moments.

In choir tonight we learned the Nigerian song Ise Oluwa -sing for water

And after a bit of a struggle we nailed it!!!!

Before we finished practice Jamie our eleven year old choir master asked us to sing it again, but this time very Gently and as we did he disappeared and turned off the lights of the little Welsh village hall.

In almost absolute darkness over fifty people sang without the chains of sight and competition and self consciousness and the noise we produced was simply magical.

And the silence after we had finished proved that we all had been moved in the same lovely way, almost everyone was crying

This choir has nourished me 

And has healed me 

 

Rain check

 

Chic Eleanor , stood me up yesterday 

Well technically she did send me an apology by text but as I’d left my phone in Bluebell and forgot where I’d put it, things got all a bit complicated.

Suffice to say I had a KFC supper in a car park , lol

I had wondered if she’d bail, as when I went out with my family on Tuesday night she was there with the girls, and by the look of said girls who had all flopped in front of the restaurant open fire  , lots and lots  of Christmas Prosecco had been quaffed 

“ Darling John”  Eleanor called out flapping her pashmina over her shoulder and she hurried over to give me a big beautifully coiffured hug, much to the surprise of my family who had never seen me , deep in the clutches of such a stylish matron before.

Her resulting hangover had lasted over 24 hours

So I stayed in and cried at The Repair Shop and felt sorry for myself 

Off to work today, bucket of coffee and barabrith at the kitchen table 

This poem was written by Hattie 

It is about choirmaster Jamie ( and his 1940 RAF moustache) 

It describes so well why I love choir and I’m so looking forward in returning in the new year

Jamie

Dashing moustache, a rainbow flash,

Flamingo stance - what a catch!

Spiralling here and there, flailing his arms,

Always a grin - it's part of his charms

He somehow herds us, there's never any fuss,

only grace and fun and the occasional SHUSHH!

Māori, Welsh, Ukrainian, Russian,

What's coming next? Oh yes - a concussion!

On rare occasions he grants our wish,

What a treat! we say, to sing in English

He works us so hard: Stand up! Sit down!   

It's just like a workout! (it makes the men frown)

What fun we have all because of you,

Your dance moves and songs have us boogying too.

Altos, tenors, basses and sops,

We all think you're splendid, Yep, you're the tops!

A nod to absent friends in a moment of clarity,

They will always be part of our choir family.

You give us a safe space to feel what we feel,

Allowing us to mourn, but mainly, to heal.

We take within us this place you have built,

It’s a home you've created, One that will never wilt.

So here's to you our one and only chappy,

JAMIE, simply put - You make us HAPPY!

Hattie, with love, 2023©

 

Barabrith

I love the sound of the wind in the trees and the patter of rain on the windows. Distant growling thunder is another favourite and is now the one I fall asleep to most nights thanks to Hey Google.

It’s funny what habits you get into when left to your own devices.

Animal Helper Pat, called around yesterday with her traditional gifts of bara brith wrapped in silver paper with a tiny red bow in the centre and a large sprig of holly wrapped in a matching red ribbon. 

So today I will pop my gift in and deliver a dozen or so cards to other villagers not yet handed over

It’s blustery today but mild