'What Me Mam Taught Me'

Sometimes your evening doesn’t quite work out the way you expect it would . 

John Copper Clarke

I went to see the poet and raconteur John Copper Clarke last night. 

And I kind of fell in love with fellow poet Mike Garry who was supporting him. 

They sound the same.

A thick, proud Mancunian accent. 

Nasal and rhythmical, his poems of childhood and a rough working class life in a Northern City had an obvious energy and life to them, and he lived each one with the power of an evangelist preacher.

I was captivated from start to finish, so much so that I was slightly disappointed when Cooper Clarke came on stage, late and ever so slightly drunk. 

At seventy five John Cooper Clarke is still the old king of his craft, and he performed a good selection of his poems with a wry wit which is both appealing and affectionate. But he is much more an all rounder now, more a stand up comic who hurtles one liners out like machine gun bullets rather than just a performing poet. 

I felt as though Mike Garry was his younger version 

Having said that, I remember one short poem which had the audience screaming in laughter when Cooper Clarke lugubriously threw away his short poem called Necrophilia 

“ Are you fed up with foreplay and all that palaver? 

‘Ave a cadaver” 

Cooper Clarke and Mike Garry

A Little Piece Of Home

In the wee small hours this is broadcast on BBC Radio 4 fM

I tune in perhaps three or four times a year

And there it is 

Like poetry, or a prayer

More about that tomorrow….it’s been a poetry led evening and I’m feeling suddenly melancholy 

Sweet dreams ( thank you Philip xx)

Bluebell

When you’re single you have no back up! 

Bluebell was taxed last year but the MOT just passed me by and so I was lucky my nephew could fit her into his garage today at very short notice.

By the end of the day , she was serviced and MOTeed and was sitting proudly in the drive at the end of the garden , a constant friend in my 61st year. 

On reflection I have underestimated just how much she has been a good mate to me these past five years, and only very occasionally has she let me down.

This week is a case in point, not only do I have to nights to commute to, I’ve got John Cooper Clarke to go and see at venue Cymru and The Kite Runner is on stage at the Storyhouse. In Chester on Friday .

No car

No social life.

No work

No life

Anyhow it’s Interior Design Masters tonight on tv.

Which is camp as Christmas 

I’ve made macaroni cheese for tea, with onlyRoger in tow, Mary has been loaned out to Trendy Carol’s Hubby again today.

Two night Shift Stories

Nurses get paid more for night shifts. They bloody well deserve it too
It’s a completely unnatural time to be working, which encroaches not only on the day you work but the day before and the day after.
It’s like being effectively jet lagged once a week and research has proved the practice to be dangerous to physical and psychological well being .
Working nights can also be dangerous. You are on minimal staffing, have minimal resources , and in 40 years I have been involved in several violent situations , all centred on a night shift where help often didn’t come.
Night time, is also the time people are at their lowest ebb…..that’s why more people pass away in the wee small hours than anytime else. 

My worst night shift ever was back in my psychiatric days 

“ After I qualified as a staff nurse in mental health' I got a job in a prestigious psychiatric hospital in North Yorkshire. The hospital had only seven wards which were all situated within a beautiful Regency style building in it's own grounds. The wards were carpeted and sympathetically decorated in a period style and their day rooms filled with comfortable sofas and occasional furniture.It was a pleasant place in which to work.
I was placed on the mother and baby unit , where seriously ill post partum women and their offspring were admitted for treatment, but most of the other wards catered for acutely mentally ill patients, patients with cognitive impairments and people suffering severe epilepsy..
Staffing generally was very good , but when there was an emergency situation on a ward then an alarm bell would sound and each ward would send a " runner" to help with whatever problem was afoot. No wards were ever locked.
I was telling some of the junior staff this story last night whilst on a break, as a sort of lesson of how Intensive Care is one of the few places in nursing that is probably safest from assault and injury ....things in the early 1980s could be very different!
I remember one night at the hospital when at around 4am the alarm bell sounded. I was one of the five nurses who responded to the call,
The emergency was on the epilepsy assessment ward , a ward staffed by both general and mental health nurses. On duty were three nurses. A heavily pregnant girl, a young staff nurse just out of training and an experienced male staff nurse. All three had been sitting in what was essentially a glass box which overlooked the dormitory of patients on two sides.

The office was essentially an observation room.
Out of nowhere, a powerfully built male patient had suddenly become agitated and very confused and had hurled himself at the windows of the nurses station. He shattered the glass with his body, and like an animal he went for the nurses inside. The male nurse hit the emergency buzzer then bolted out of the office to get help, but as he ran, the office door bounced shut , locking the two women inside. The pregnant nurse, with great presence of mind clambered over a desk and jumped through a window into the grounds to safety but unfortunately the patient caught hold of the young female staff nurse before she could flee.
By the time we arrived on the scene a couple of minutes later, the patient had fractured her jaw and had broken her arm as well as biting her badly on the side of the face.
This was the only time , I have been truly frightened at work Over the years I have been personally abused many times by patients and relatives alike. I have been screamed at, shouted at, spat at and in one case threatened with a broken teapot! but this situation with a brain damaged patient and a young helpless staffnuse still lingers long in the mind.
A scary story to share with a group of nurses in the wee small hours of the morning eh?”

But as usual things need a balance and this short take should fit the bill

“ Christmas  Night 1986

It was very cold and snowy and I remember.

I wasn’t very happy.

I had just started work in the November.

A new staff nurse role, in a new city of York

I’d barely been there a month and still lived at the nurses’ home at Clifton Hospital a couple of miles out of the city.

I knew no one properly and I was homesick

And already I had been put onto night duty.

The ward was quiet. 

A psychiatric admission ward with twelve or so general admission patients and an attached mother and baby unit with a half complement of two mums and two newborns.

We had three staff of duty. Staff nurses clive and I covered the main ward and Sue who was a motherly enrolled nurse took charge of the nursery.

Around midnight Sue and I were in the darkened office, each of us feeding a baby.

I couldn’t see her face properly just a glint of her glasses from the lights from the snowy garden.

She was asking me about me, and I had been yacking on in the dark for an age.

I had no idea what I was doing but my baby was large and content and sleepy so from the get go..so I was lucky.

“ Are you gay John? “  she seemed to ask me out of nowhere and she nodded when I defensively replied no, just a little too quickly .

“it’s ok if you were you know? ” She said slowly in her broad flat Yorkshire accent  “I’ve always loved gay men”

And in the comfortable silence that followed, something quietly and inexplicably shifted in me 

As we fed babies in the dark on Christmas Day”

Everybody

My favourite lisping Spanish choir

And orchestra 

Can anyone spot my favourite woodwind player??

 

The Art Wall part 1

 The next couple of blogs will explain, in part, the significance of the paintings, and drawings and prints and fabrics chosen. It’s not static, it has to be fluid , but most, (but not all) have a special significance to me

First it is this little map 

This was a gift , a secret Santa gift given to me on the first Christmas I worked at the hospice. It was given to me by Sionad a woman that couldn’t be more Welsh if you had dipped her in a mixture dragon poo and Bara Brith

It signifies the purchase of my cottage. A thing that could only have happened when I managed to get a full time job and a contract saying so. Despite my age, the Halifax took me on as a customer and the cottage and the village remained mine and Sionad remembered my relief on that day and had the map made accordingly as a Christmas gift.

Note there is a heart and a Gray ( Grey) one where the cottage stands

Catherine, Princess of Wales reveals cancer diagnosis

A pitch perfect reply to Fleet Street et al

Gracious and supportive and incredibly Brave 

Brava !! 

Finished

 It’s Friday and I’ve finished the kitchen and it’s Friday and I’ve passed my filmed Counselling assessment I will have the opportunity to critically assess my own skills next week, as we have to write an essay review.

I hate seeing myself on video.

The weather is brighter today and Trendy Carol’s Hubby phoned to see if one of the dogs could go around to keep him company. I’ve sent Mary around because she loves a cuddle slightly more than Roger.

The kitchen now looks fresh and clean. 

I’ve used a Jasmine White only in order to allow the colours of the paintings to pop a little, but as you can see, nothing matches too well, which suits me just fine.

Can you see the felt scotch egg hanging from the window!!!

Morale and A Memory

Morale at work is low, it always is when a much loved workmate dies unexpectedly and staff gather together to morn, to talk, remember and gain comfort. I’ve not been back to work since Ann’s death but I’ve been in touch with others I work with and now am able to go to her funeral as others that didn’t know her well are kindly now covering my shift.. As a Manager I have dealt with similar scenarios and you just have to have broad shoulders and an open office door. 

The following blog of a decade ago, was flagged up by a follower this morning. He emailed me with a kind, thoughtful observation which I shall take on board and I will share the blog with you today.

On reflection I’m rather proud of it, and I’ve enjoyed the memory

“I have often heard that cats are attracted to people that either don't like them or are frightened of them. Such is the fickle and rather demanding nature of felines.

Dogs on the other hand seldom approach someone who does not want to be approached. They, like insecure children, need and love adulation and will often grab it whenever it is offered.
They are wrong footed when they feel rejected, like toddlers can be.

Every night The Prof is approached by Winnie after he has sat down heavily into his armchair.
She doesn't bounce like the terriers, nor does she jump up to rest huge paws on a knee, she just sits and looks, waiting for that big kiss on a face the size of a large dinner plate.
To be fair to the Prof, he never wanted or indeed even likes bulldogs. Winnie's arrival was a kind of fait accompli which drove him almost to distraction, so he kind of tolerates the big old girl, without offering the sloppy affection I give her, every single day.
But every day. Winnie wanders up to the Prof as he taps away at emails that need reading, and rather seriously she will lower herself down like a fat woman negotiating a deck chair, her eyes never leaving his face. There she will wait,sometimes for an age, for him to look over his spectacles to acknowledge her.

I watch this scenario every single night.

The acknowledgement always comes eventually.
It's never, however, a kiss on a big sloppy face. Nor is it an overwhelming coo-cooing an old lady gives to her pekingese but eventually the Prof will look slowly down from his work and without a smile he will pat the big girl firmly on the head .
Winnie will always battle for more. She will wave a fat paw at the Prof in a futile attempt for him to pat longer and hard as it may seem on the surface, I realised that all this is a kind of game the two of them play.
She is more than happy with that one pat!


It's a dance between bulldog and stoney faced academic.”

A Beer With Eleanor

 I love meeting Chic Eleanor in the pub at early doors. The place is usually filled with blue collar chaps relaxing after work, so the sight of an attractive woman calling  out “ Oh Darling lovely to see you!” Seems to turn everyone’s heads with a slight envy.

We drank Cruzcampo beer and put the world to rights and I was home in time to watch Interior Design Masters which is camp as Christmas. 

It was lovely to see her 

Today I’m painting, and I’m late starting. With no bulldog to wake me up, I sleep as long as the Welsh do and they love their lie ins . 

The place looks like the wreck of the Hesperus 

Running Dogs

 Skills assessment today.

An important day, because if we fail this we’re off the course.

Our counselling scenario is videoed and assessed by our tutor and a second marker. If we pass then I have to reassess and critique the video in its entirety. 

I think it went ok, but you can never be sure, and the criteria for passing is justifiably stringent.

I was very aware that at one point my post covid  cough got the better of me and I barked out one so forcefully that I farted in unison.

Does one acknowledge ones own farts in a counselling situation ? 

I’m my case I did not ! Hey ho

So back to painting, the kitchen . 

My latest piece of art is Eniko Eged ‘ Running Dogs which is away getting framed 

It’s lovely

Burleigh

 

Washing crockery is mindful, especially when it’s hand painted Burleigh Ware where you can see beautiful plants and flowers, designed with a stroke of a brush. My favourite pieces were gifts from my sisters and they are rare finds indeed, being potties designed to be sat on. 

The cheeseboard in the front was designed and made by my sister Janet and that is my favourite piece of pottery in the kitchen.

There is something very pleasing when these pieces sing in the sunlight.

My cottage kitchen is quirky for It has three windows. Two look back into the back garden and a small one faces the lane. Most people that walk the lane are locals so they respect  my privacy more than  intermittent walkers who I often catch peeking through the window with idle curiosity. 

Before cleaning the paintwork I opened up the widow wide, letting the noises of the Churchyard spill into the cottage. From the open window I can see the 13th Century Prayer Cross as well as my laburnum sapling which remains robust and healthy and optimistic .

Bats In A Dark Lane.

 When you are part of a group where one of the members is suddenly poorly WhatsApp can be a godsend. Like bats in a dark lane, messages flit through the night, keeping you updated and worried. And early this morning I found out that a dear colleague and friend Ann from the hospice had died after a short illness. 

We started together a few years ago under similar life challenges of a sudden marital separation and a needy to earn some money. And from day one she proved herself to be a hardworking support worker who would always go that extra mile for her patients and for you, the trained nurse she was allocated to.

I shall miss her as will so many others I know. 

It’s a sad end, to a sad week, so I’m grateful for my friend Colin who messaged me with the offer of lunch out today. We are meeting at the Glasfryn in Mold ,which is a hearty gastropub perched above my beloved Theatr Clwyd and I intend to eat something with mash and gravy .

This morning I removed nails from the art wall and filled in the holes then sanded and washed the walls in readiness for paining tomorrow.

I’ve also carefully washed by Burleigh Ware crockery which sits on the top of the kitchen cabinets and put them carefully away 

I will leave you with the talented Mr Wu, whose house and garden renovation is almost at an end 

Pick Your Battles

 “Can’t you see I’m disabled ?”

The shouted comment was like waving a red flag to a bull, 

I have spent most of my adult life working with “disabled” people

and I absolutely hate when disabled people use their disability as an answer to everything

“There’s nothing wrong with your eyes” I countered, a reply that sent the man puce

Perhaps you need some context here

The car park at Prestatyn beach. I am parked in a regular parking spot near the promenade with the doors open, waiting for a dithering Mary to jump into Bluebell 

Roger was staring out to sea looking somewhat gormless

The man in the large disabled cart was making a slow wide turn over several empty spaces in order to return to his wife, daughter and their Labrador. He had been barking brusque orders at his family for ten minutes or so, which had irritated me, as I had followed him up the Prom back to the car park. 

He came so close to Roger, that the poor sod jumped and whimpered ( he is a wuss) but my paternal juices started flowing hence the sharp( but not unfair) 

“ Watch where you’re going!” 

The rest you already know, except for the hysterical turn the man then took.

With his voice going up at least two octaves he instructed his wife to take Bluebell’s registration number

“ Get it on your phone Jean !” He yelled making another pass

I felt that I had turned over my wagon and the Indians were circling 

But by the look of things Jean  didn’t look too bothered.

He kept shouting about discrimination, 

I told him for the last time to watch where he was going, which I didn’t need to

And so it continued

Now the man had brand new trainers on so cheap Shoes would have been inappropriate comment so would have been my usual and usually effective Jog On put down , so I resorted to 

“ knock Yourself Out” before getting Roger in.

He was still swearing and circling when I drove off , so didn’t notice when the world weary Jean mouthed the word “ Sorry” as I passed her.

Ps 

The village Male voiced choir is in Swansea today , singing centre stage before the six nations Rugby match between Wales and Italy. 

A Whale In The Sink

 Today, all I’ve done is wash and clean 

Every painting and bit of artwork has been carefully cleansed of soot and detritus and stored away.

And every piece has been looked at again, as if it was new. 

I have a feeling I will pare down the wall and perhaps add open shelves to it 

I’ve not decided as yet.

I’ve only seen Mr Poznan today. He popped in a load of old Readers Digests for me, you know the little ones that are a great loo time read

“ You have a whale in the sink” he observed before leaving

All women do the same

 I love good theatre but I’m not a huge Opera Buff.

I have my favourites for sure but at 61 Mozart’s Cosi Fan Tutte ( translated as All Women Do The Same)seems to have slipped me by, so as it was my friend Ruth’s birthday, I thought , I would take her. ( she inherited a love for the medium from a mum steeped in London Culture who ended her days in Llanfairfechan.)

We saw a quality production for sure, but it’s themes of grooming, entrapment, fickle female sexual behaviour and infidelity seemed rather unhealthy which had Ruth observing if this wasn’t Mozart no one would be here!!!

The singing quality was amazing, truly sublime at times, as you would expect of The Welsh National Opera but I have to be honest I’d had enough after two hours of three of sexual subterfuge. 

Before the Opera we went for a lovely supper at Dylan’s where I had something called Mochyn Budr which means Dirty Pig in Welsh . It was fantastic 

I got home late and happy at having the first really nice time in two weeks  and the reality  hit me as sharply as slap in the face would have done. The Welsh , raised their heads sleepily from the reading chair in the kitchen and smiled a hello , but there was not the hysterical, tail wagging welcome from Dorothy as I’ve been used to for over the past five years. 

I sat at the kitchen table and for the first time since she was diagnosed by the kind Spanish vet , I had a good loud cry.

Only then did the Welsh get up and put concerned paws on my knees, their noses cold sniffing my face.

 

Hostiles

I watched the western drama Hostiles last night, which has the pitch perfect final scenes of any movie I care to mention.

It’s a brutal and hard film to watch, but it has a hopeful final theme of redemption.

Today I’ve bought paint and dust sheets to repaint the kitchen and have started to wash everything down

Nick and Velvet Voiced Linda , Lywenna and Eirlys have called around with gifts of eggs, and jam and a gin and tonic. 

Mrs Trellis dropped in a sort of essay which I have yet to read .

People are so very kind 

I am off out shortly it’s my friend Ruth’s birthday and I’m taking her to supper then the Opera

The Welsh

The Welsh terriers are quiet. 

Not that they are pining, which they are not.

It is because things are different.

Mary is now back in charge

She sat in Dorothy’s old spot all evening last night

Hogging my attention, licking my hands and feet and followed me around as Dorothy would have.

She and Roger came to bed, gleefully rubbing snouts on the duvet as they made circles to settle.

Typically Roger is going with the flow. 

He really hasn’t got a clue, his job of home protector continues with excited, woofing gallops into the garden whenever anything bigger than a blackbird can be seen. 

He employs a Zebedee type bounce when any human goes past in the vague hope he can obtain a hug and still can’t quite maintain his balance when putting paws onto Bluebells dashboard.

He is, and will always be, a tonic

Normal

 Trendy Carol ( probably sporting something springlike in green) sent some flowers around with her hubby yesterday. I told him, and I meant it that I should be the one buying flowers for if it wasn’t for them , I would not have been able to keep my dogs let alone acquire one like Dorothy .

I bought them a bunch of flowers too, and signed them with thanks , Dorothy x

I went to college today then bought some towels on the way home. I’m on annual leave this week

The cottage is quiet, I’m managed to read all your comments tonight , and am thankful I’ve only had to delete a couple , you’re a nice bunch and I feel supported 

Postscript

To add to today’s post 

Some perspective . Last night before we went to bed I put Dorothy in a pair of adult incontinence knickers.

(She took a small.)I’m sentimental, but I’m no fool even with the palliative care of my own bulldog.

She had the energy to look down slowly at the nappy , then looked me directly in the eye with a “ What the fuck have you just done to me !!!! ” look on her face.

It made me laugh out loud