Booties

 

I’m officially an old twat

I bought myself “ booties” from the supermarket.

And I look like a fat Eskimo from the waist down 

At least they haven’t got an easy get on zip at the front, or God forbid, Velcro closers.

Shoot me when I’m wearing something with a zip on the front.

It’s a lazy day today. I’m off to London tomorrow taking Nu to see Backstairs Billy 

Church Cottage

 

My cottage was built in the middle of the  seventeenth Century, probably earlier, but was probably  derelict for a while as it disappeared from the local census documents for at least a decade or so.

It has weathered three hundred winters, hunkered down next to the Church Wall alongside her sister cottage , and has always made this part of Newmarket a little village all of its own. It was referred to as Llan Cottage 1 which is loosely translated as Church Cottage 

“Even now the names of many places in Wales begin with Llan. It means “Church” – or, rather, the enclosed land around the church where Christian converts had settled – and, as far as town or church names are concerned, is often combined with the name of an individual”

Newmarket ( The Old English name for the village, it was given its old name Trelawnyd back in 1957) Trelawnyd literally means The Town Of Wheat. But this corner of the Church and the cottages were referred to as Tan Y Fynwent ( a place under the Churchyard) 

The modern name Bwthyn y llan , is a mouthful and difficult to pronounce. It means Church Cottage from the full Welsh

Vit D

 I love little moments that matter. 

They make everything worthwhile.

It’s a study day at home today. Reading around Uni subjects, catching up with paperwork , rewriting notes.

Emailing and list ticking.

I shopped for dog food and picked up my antibiotic prescription which was delayed from Friday.

It’s cold but sunny, 

And I suddenly realised that I needed the Sun on my face.

For an hour, after I returned home,  I sat in front of the cottage, 

Just like Auntie Gladys used to do up High Street in the height of summer.

I sipped coffee and listened to Radio 2

And Mary joined me and immediately fell asleep, snoring gently.

As I watched the Sun shine through the metal agapanthus sculptures 

With narrow eyes, and a warm face

Isn’t he lovely

 

Human Face

 

M

Most people in the UK have known about the Post Office Scandal for several years now. However it has taken the ITV drama , Mr Bates vrs The Post Office to galvanise the government into some drastic appropriate and justified action over the past week.

Interesting yes, surprisingly no, I’m not surprised at all. Once the general public knew that the Government investigation was in progress, it was all old news. 

Vindication would come in time and Horizon IT would be defunct.

But the truth has been very different

And here enters Toby Jones one of my favourite actors .

In the horror The Mist , Toby was famous for playing Supermarket manager Ollie Weeks, a mild mannered bachelor who turned sharpe shooting hero when the chips were down and this mild mannered hero-from-nowhere character surfaced again as the Post Master Alan Bates who took on the Post office henchmen and won.

The drama showed the human face of this disaster. It lifted away from mere news and gave it a heart and that heart fired up empathy and advanced empathy in most people who watched it. 

Empathy changed things 

And obviously the publicity didn’t hurt either.

Advanced empathy often gets lost in the day to day.

We lose track of that human face, those human feelings behind being us being right, getting along, walking our own path. 

Many years ago I nursed a spinal injury patient who was a horror to everyone around him. He was truculent and angry and rude and snappy not only to nursing staff but to his family and friends and colleagues. Visiting times were often filled with him yelling at his grandchildren for being noisy, or berating his wife for bringing the wrong book or even sitting in the wrong chair.

One day, after one of my staff had left his bedside in tears, I challenged his behaviour but instead of taking the this behaviour is unacceptable route, I sat down quietly and told him I was at a loss with him. 

“ I feel helpless and upset by your constant criticism ” I said “it upsets me to hear it and I am only on duty seven hours a day, so how does your wife feel being on the firing line 24/7? “

The patient went quiet and hung his head as the tears flowed. Suddenly he looked like the person he had become, a frightened child  who was angry at the world.

He was no longer the monster patient in bed four.

Smaller examples show up here in blogland, and it’s not hard to figure out just why it happens. Like in the press, bloggers often become unreal, polarised figments of ridicule or people just to disagree with. They are not people, they are adversaries that hide behind rhetoric and opinion, shit many don’t even have a face to put a name to.

 Only yesterday a blog commentator decided to use the fact that I am on long term antibiotics to support her bandwagon of the dangers of such practice in the health system. They did this, without my permission and without any full knowledge of the hoops I’ve been through coming to this decision with my GP, especially as any realistic alternatives cannot adequately protect me from a urosepsis, a condition which has laid me physically and mentally ,very low of a couple of occasions. I fully understand and support the modern day research based medical practice NOT to over prescribe antibiotics, but that wasn’t acknowledged at all just  that I was sanctioning misuse which was reported as fact. 

The empathy was lost in both of these examples, but like the bad tempered spinal patient who had psychologically regressed into childhood, it’s not hard to see his human face once you let your guard down and empathy in.

So before you rattle your sabres on line , 

Spare a thought to the human face of the person you seem so angry at.

And take a deep breath

Do you really need to make a point so badly ? 

Is empathy such a terrible concept ?

And I point this question at myself too

Perhaps I’m guilty of not seeing certain commentators human face too

Funny Old Day

 

I had planned to meet my friend Colin for lunch in Chester today but I felt all out of sorts as soon as I got back from morning walks. 

He’s an understanding soul with as much gay drama in him as an empty theatre, so we rescheduled and after avocados on bagels and ordering Nu some flowers as she has finally moved into her new house , uncharacteristically I went back to bed.

Perhaps it was the fact that I needed that duvet cocoon 

Or simply more sleep. 

I woke at three after dreaming vivid dreams and it was raining and Misty and cold.

The dogs had been patient so I took them to the beach, where the cold rain stung our eyes and woke me up sufficiently enough for me to feel hungry

I bought a large fish pie on the way home, the sort that taste better than they look.

It’s in the oven now.

It’s been a funny old day

Village Day

 

Mrs Trellis has her overly erect bobble hat on, so you know it’s cold

She’s written a story about the Avanti West Coast Trains and wanted to know if I would blog it. 

I told her that I would 

Blue shivered in the cold despite his expensive woolly coat .

Roger went around to the Manley’s to socialise with bouncy new English Setter Skye. The meeting went well, with his placid dimness calming her innate silliness and after an hour both had found themselves calm, and warming close to the fire.

It was almost dark when I got home, and village Elder Islwyn, half joking , told me off for my untidy. Drive. It’s bin day tomorrow and so he has a habit of changing some of the contents of my refuse bins in order to “streamline”  things better. 

I’m obviously a work in progress

He picked up the litter in my drive 

I just go with the flow 

I dropped my TCA resignation letter to the velvet voiced Linda and stayed for a lovely, potent, and much welcomed gin and bitter lemon

I bought some second hand records today, a deluxe 2 LP set of Andy Williams 1968 , Sound of Music and Abba The Visitors 1981. Eve( daughter of affable despot Jason) has messaged, she has been gifted hundreds of LP S if I want to do through them xx how kind

And made Chicken and Sweetcorn soup thickened with fluffy egg

11 January 2024

I bought a cheap turntable and some vinyl records today which pleased me greatly, 

Baking Bread

I’m just about to go into an 11 am baking course 

Today it’s bread, the type of which I’m not sure of yet.

I’ve not been before so this is a new skill.

More information later! 

I made two bloomers on the course.  One sourdough which just needed stretching and folding and a classic white boomer which just needed “ knocking back” instead of intense kneading. 

The course was open to all, but clearly had been designed for people on low budgets and limited experience. 

On my table was Leanne, a mum in her twenties who wanted to boost her self esteem ( her words not mine) and Tony who was an unemployed retail worker and lived with his mum. 

We had a jolly laugh all told. 

Leanne was surprised to see me there “given the well known fact that all gays bake well”

Tony had come because he was interested after watching Bake Off in the autumn.

I gave Tony one of my loaves at the end, I couldn’t eat them both

I stopped off at Home bargains on the way home to get a dinosaur tidy away box and then valeted Bluebell at the garage before my final job of the day, sorting out the patio clearance which I will get stuck into after writing this.

Put Your Money where your mouth is !

The first fifth of my counselling course is almost completed 

The next part veers away from academia to the psychological 

As a group we embark on  “Personal Development” which is essentially weekly facilitated group therapy .

Individually we have to experience therapy as any client would do.

Paying for the service like any other member of the public.

Soon after we start our placement areas supervised by trained therapists specially trained in the support of rookie counsellors. We have to pay for that support too. 

I have already started my counselling experience and I have a male counsellor at my request. 

He’s gay, insightful and has lovely potted plants.

Today, after college I explored my dealing ( or lack of dealing) with loss and the session was filled to the brim of grief and of crying.

I have never cried for a nearly an hour , in my life before.

Even my counsellor looked a little concerned

Are you ok to drive home ?”he eventually asked

And I was, even though I looked like a melted waxwork of Christopher Biggins  

Is this normal ?” I asked before I left, knowing the answer as soon as I said it

And my counsellor , knowing his stuff , said nothing but “well done” 

I lit the fire when I got home, answered blog comments without thinking and curled up on the couch in the dark under a blanket covered in dogs, who could all sense the emotion of the day.

We shared a large packet of chicken crisps 

And my salty cheeks were licked clean of historic sadness

Discuss

 

I’m back in university today 

'This be the verse 'They fuck you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do.  They fill you with the faults they had  And add some extra, just for you.  But they were fucked up in their turn  By fools in old-style hats and coats,  Who half the time were soppy-stern  And half at one another's throats.  Man hands on misery to man.  It deepens like a coastal shelf.  Get out as early as you can,  And don't have any kids yourself.  Philip Larkin

Far From The Madding Crowd

 “ Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learned to stray”

So goes the Poem. 

I’ve spring cleaned the living room today.Scrubbing away the soot and dust and washed curtains, carpets and upholstery, stopping here and there to catch up with 1967 film Far From The Madding Crowd before sweeping away dirty cobwebs like a tubby Snow White with my feather duster.

Far From the Madding Crowd was a long movie and was filled with the beautiful people of the day. Terence Stamp was glorious as was Julie Christie but Alan Bates was a bloody lovely hunk of spunk, and made for a very believable Victorian shepherd.

The film finished just short of 5 pm and so did my cleaning 

Men Up

 The first clinical drugs trail for viagra were held, surprisingly in Wales. 

Swansea in fact back in 1994.

The Welsh produced fictionalised story of the men who joined that trail was shown on tv recently to much acclaim. The movie is called Men Up , and it starred an all Welsh cast led by Iwan Rheon and Mark Lewis Jones . 

I found the story of Eddie O’Connor ( Paul Rhys) incredibly moving and this, his speech, as he is ousted from the research trial for being a gay man, incredibly powerful

Winter Cleaning with updates

 It was minus four when we went for our morning walk. It’s minus one now and I’m just about to spring clean the bedroom. 

The activity will warm me up.

I may add to the post later

It’s nearly 1 pm and the bedroom is done .I’ve even washed the floorboards.

The plants I’ve showered in the bathroom and even though it’s just 2 degrees, I’ve opened up the cottage to the healing watery winter sun.

Now the bathroom 

The bathroom was easy and is smelling likes a nun’s hum 

An amble down Memory Lane

 I’ve ploughed through old posts from between 2008-2013

And picked four that were born on the field of animals I once looked after

I’ve enjoyed reading them once again .

I hope you do too

Ewan Saves The Day

The smaller four chicks photographed earlier in the week 

I was just tucking into my first cup of coffee this morning when I spotted neighbour Ewan running down the garden path.Breathlessly he shouted that there was an alsatian attacking the chickens, and that he had fended the dog off once but it had come back again.
I grabbed a hoe and ran out to the field where the young dog from the riding stables behind the Church was bouncing through the fencing of the smaller run.I shouted and chased it through the graveyard, then went back to survey the hens and ducks.
The big buffs where hiding in their hen house safely and the turkeys and ducks all looked ok. Stanley had moved the larger flock behind the hen houses , so with a heavy heart I realised that the dog had centred his attack on the small juvenile flock in the smallest run. Two sides of the fencing had been knocked flat and I could only see one of the smaller white chicks (top of pic) walking in circles. Big piles of light feathers lay all around (with the quills pulled out by the roots) The smallest hen house was empty so I quickly checked the A frame ark where I found a rather shocked Rogo and the amber hen,Nonnie hiding there, Linda,Bunny and Susan were missing as were the three other small chicks (above).
Thank god, Ewan had spotted the attack ,even though he is not in the best of health, his prompt actions had probably saved many more of the hens and ducks. 
I searched the field and found Bunny (a small black hooker chick) lying in a dust bath in the big enclosure. She was shocked and had been bitten but was alive, I placed her into her coop in the dark (hens can die very easily of shock and need quiet and warmth to recover) and after giving her some antibiotics and water went to search for the others.
After an age the smallest black chick (above) looking battered and worse for wear tip toed out of the long grass by the hedge and strangely allowed me to pick her up to rest in her own coop. The final "mottled" chick I found frozen and also injured up in the churchyard, but she certainly looked a little more alert than the others, and it took an age to catch her.There was something quite valiant, in the fact that all the smaller chicks somehow survived
There was no sign of Linda and Susan, and I suspect that the feathers I found was from one of them, but who knows?, I have been looking for them for most of the day.
The owner of the riding school was incredibly apologetic and agreed to pay for the damage that had been done, I just wish that she had properly invested in fixing her boundary fences, You may remember that I had already complained about the dog a couple of months ago

A Little Miracle

I was not going to blog again today. I have had to get on with harvesting beetroot and swede and the runner ducklings needed their new house to be cleaned and disinfected before they are due to be transferred outside next week, but I just had to share one of the Sweetest little victories I  have been a part of in many a month!

Last night I switched off the incubator after "bobbing" the final few quail eggs. Non were "pipping" and none bobbed when immersed in warm water, so convinced the remaining couple of eggs were duds I shut everything down.

Today at midday, I remembered that I had left the last eggs in the incubator, so I removed them,(throwing them in the rubbish bag) and disinfected the dirty incubator out. As I was drying the equipment I noticed Albert digging through the rubbish bag and  suddenly he stopped dead when the faintest of "peeps" sounded beneath a load of potato peelings and banana skins.

I dug through the crap and pulled out an egg with the smallest of cracks in it. A tiny beak was pushed through the gap and as I looked carefully at it, it gave the smallest of shudders. The egg was literally stone cold, so I cupped it in my hands and blew on it gently. The chick moved slowly and gave another weak peep, so I kept breathing on it willing the little scrap to survive.
The eggs had been cold over 16 hours, so it is unbelievable that the chick had found the reserves to hatch but hatch it did and half an hour later it kicked free of its shell, still hidden away in the palm of my hand.
I transferred the baby to the hastily re assembled incubator (you try setting one up with one hand!) and here he is 2 hours later!

What with everything going on in our lives......(Chris has a multi million pound research bid to complete! and the bloody coalition Government is still bleating on about the unemployed and benefit cutting) the saga of a tiny chick no bigger than my thumb is hardly of any importance.........but to be honest, as the tiny quail valiantly raised his head as I lifted the incubator lid, I literally could have wept.

I’ve named him Red

Grown Red

Baby Red

The Great Escape 

We have this 1930's postcard stuck on the fridge! and boy did I wish that the pig enclosure followed these four simple rules!
Last night, just before I was to drive to Llandudno to meet up with Chris, I raced around the field locking up the turkeys, ducks and chicks. Hazel had agreed to come round later to lock the hens up, so after a bit of racing around , I was good to go!
Or so I thought! 
Just as I was walking back up to gate, I heard a burst of hen clucking from behind me and Gladys and Nora pushed themselves through a hole in their fencing and shot past grunting and squealing! Nora dropped kicked the hen fencing and trotted over to the hen feeder to bolt down huge mouthfulls of layers pellets while Gladys, excited at her new found freedom, galloped back and forth in piggy hysteria.
Now, for those who don't know, pigs are notoriously difficult to round up; they need to be "guided" and coxed rather than herded and prodded back into their quarters, so after 20 sweaty minutes, I was no nearer returning them to their home. 
It was time for more drastic action when I spied two passersby walking their dog in the lane and called to them to help me. To be fair both of them (two ladies in their late sixties), gamely agreed to lend a hand, and I asked the less robust woman to guard one path next to the allotments, to prevent the pigs from running in circles.
She looked a little nervous, so I "armed" her with a lid from the compost bins.
"What do I do if the pigs come my way?" she worriedly asked
"Look fierce!" I replied!
I gave the other lady (who I found out later was called Anne) a dustbin lid and we slowly cornered both pigs in my lowest vegetable patches, where they had chomped their way through some baby sweetcorn and parsnip tops.
After a bit of hard work and a bit of shouting,and dustbin lid pushing, we managed to get Gladys back into her pen and after waving a bowl of pasta at Nora (I had cooked some for Susan who is still not too well), we managed to get her in too, but the whole exhausting, messy experience had lasted 45 minutes!. The ladies looked a little fraught but somewhat exhilarated and after thanking them and fixing the fence I managed to drive to meet up with Chris and we had a nice meal out!
Poor Hazel!,
My rudimentary repairs to the fence failed soon after I left and Hazel (who is the size of Audrey Hepburn) was left with two escapee pigs when she called in to lock the hens up an hour later!
Bless her! without help, she gamely tried to get the girls back, and an hour later she was still battling away.....
This morning, all I have been doing is patching up the fence holes!
Animals are therapeutic? pah!!!!
Hazel and I are off to the cinema later.....my treat me thinks

Pigless

Walking through the village with the dogs a few minutes ago, I spied affable despot Jason ambling down Chapel Street with his daughter on his shoulders.

"Have they gone?!" he called over and when I shouted out that they had, he added with a chuckle

"Bet you feel like that chap out of Schindler's List"

Sweet natured number 12 and the killer-on-trotters number 21 left the 8field peacefully this morning. The Red Faced Welsh Farmer and his ever cheerful son Ed turned up exactly on time as did my farmer friends Eirlys and John, who had kindly agreed to give us a hand and after a quick chin wag and "plan of attack", we set up  a whole line of hurdles leading a path up to the waiting loose box by the gate.

No 22 as a baby

I filled a bucket with corn, opened the enclosure gate and called the pigs out. Number 21 followed me immediately, with number 12 tottering up rather shyly behind, and within five minutes we had just about loaded 12 into the trailer where he peacefully scooped up big mouthfuls of corn with relish. The more sly number 21 played up just a little and tiptoed gaily around the field for a few minuteds, presumably searching for a spare hen to kill, followed by all of my helpers with their pig boards at the ready.

Neither pig was stressed, that's all I was truly bothered about, and when we eventually loaded 21, they both looked as though a trip in a trailer was the most natural thing in the world for both of them to be doing on a cold Tuesday morning.

Their calmness made me feel so much better, I just couldn't bare seeing them anxious and frightened.

It was the same story when we arrived at the butcher's abattoir, where a huge South African Butcher, gently encouraged them both into their holding pen. "He's a big friendly bastard" he commented when number 12 ambled forward to sniff at some tiny looking porkers in the next stall, and a second later I was off to complete the paperwork . It was as quick and as simple as that.. no time for "goodbyes....no time for second thoughts!

I was glad I was with the RFWF He would have stamped on any indulgent emotional romp if  I dared to perform one.Things had to be matter of fact...that is the rule with farm animals.

"You are now a real farmer!" the RFWF said  as we drove off......."welcome to the club "

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