For Sale

 Old Trefor’s house is on the market and already I’ve seen three 4x4 couples giving it the once over.

He was always careful with his money so the asking price would have made him wet himself.

https://www.rightmove.co.uk/properties/153666356#/?channel=RES_BUY

You can see my cottage from his back bedroom ( below) , and in his later poorly years , he would sometime signal me with a flash of the lights that all was well. 

Trefor was always kind to me and always accepting that I was gay, something that may have been a challenge to someone in a tiny village and was 80 years of age. 

I remember introducing The Prof into the conversation as my partner one afternoon as I helped him collect apples from his small orchard and for Trefor  saying rather nonchalantly that he already knew and that  Auntie Gladys had  told him in passing at Friendship Group ! 

Nana Mouskouri - Alleluia Sweet Maria and a Pure Heart.

I ended up watching a tribute to Nana Mouskouri last night on BBC4 which I surprisingly enjoyed. She had a pure voice, which I liked.

Now I have a colleague at work called Sioned . She is a sprightly, gloriously single Welshwoman who wears her nationality on her sleeve like a banner. For the five years I have now been at the hospice , she has been endeavouring in teaching me Welsh.

Suffice to say I’m better than I was at the start. 

Sioned has a pure heart , she is a good nurse, an excellent one in fact and she is retiring very soon, much to everyone’s surprise. 

I shall miss her

So I bought her this at the Apple Festival. A little Welsh woman singing the hymn Calon Lân.

There is a story about the gift.

Perhaps three years ago, near Christmas and after supper, the hospice was darkened and quiet.

From a patient’s room Came the voice of a nurse called Nia, and she was singing Calon Lân very gently. For a moment we listened then Sioned who was stood by the office door gently joined in.

And all of the nurses and support workers stopped what they were doing to listen 

It was a strange , moving, rather theatrical moment that I will never forget

Calon Lân literally means A Pure Heart in Welsh

Roger’s Day Out

 

I know I wax somewhat lyrically over Roger at times, but time and time again he had proved himself to be a delightful dog. 

Yesterday he accompanied me to the Apple Festival, and trotted in, amongst the crowed as if he has been doing it all of his life. Looking like he does, and with the demeanour of a quiet teddy bear, he is well used to what I call the coo coo attention givers. People who want to fuss over him.

And he loves this, but accepts a fuss shyly and with all of the dignity of Jessica Tandy receiving her Oscar for Driving Miss Daisy. 

I bought him a bandana from the Doggie Bandana stall ( not many of those about!) and he preened silently when the stall owner put it on for him . 

As I ate my lunch of jacket potato beans and coleslaw  ( with extra cheese added by kitchen helper, Malinka Le Vey with a lascivious wink) Roger sat quietly on the chair next to me watching everyone who passed. He posed for a photograph from a lady who I think had sampled too many of the gin stall’s free samples and let three small children fuss over him with chubby hands and chocolate stained fingers.

All of my Welsh terriers have had good natures

But Roger possesses something special. 

A sweetness people pick up on, 

Even though they are often meeting him for the very first time.

Trelawnyd. By Kelda

 Here are two videos about the Apple Festival today by Kelda whose mum and Dad are the infamous  Manleys! 

Apples

 

Saturday morning and I’m approaching the end of my second night shift.

It’s been a busy enough night for the thirty something support worker to be tired.

I look like a slapped arse

No sleep for me until late morning as I’m helping out Debbie ( my flower show judge) to mark the “apple” classes (?)

There is a cold nip in the air and the skies all week, have featured that weak watery blue of winter.

Horsewomen walking down Trelawnyd high street this week

An Apple press that could be used by visitors

My fellow apple pie judge  Debbie

Affable despot jason , Gill from choir, Animal helper Pat, velvet voiced Linda, Village leaders Ian and Helen, Boffin Cameron , Glam Malinka Levey, , everyone seemed to be there sipping gin and or cider or helping and talking. I sat with Roger at a table and ate my lunch/ breakfast, he was beautifully behaved and so I bought him and Mary a dog bandana each 

Humour

 

The postman only visits once a week now.

I think the Post Office think I don’t notice but I DO! 

For every Thursday or Friday I get a Couple of junk letters, a few flyers and perhaps two regular letters.

Bastards ! 

Yesterday there was a card, handwritten and stamped ( a rarity I thought) 

After 38 years I even recognised the writing, it was a card from Tracey my old psychiatric nurse mukker from the 80s. 

We have been corresponding on line for a little while now, and it’s been interesting to explore just why we were friends in the first place .

It was all down to humour. 

Most of my friends possess a good sense of humour.

Nu, is the most notable as she and perhaps Tracey possess the most overt and infectious types of humour. They light up a room with it upon entering 

And that is a skill I envy.

I say this, knowing full well that my humour is an asset, it is an icebreaker, defence mechanism, friend maker and friend. From an early age, I found it fended off bullies and helped me get by in school and at home, and although not honed in those salad days of psychiatry I learned quickly how to use it to my advantage.

People without any humour and warmth baffle me. 

Admittedly they are few and far between, but they do exist.

More commonly the humour is leeched out of them by sadness , circumstance or lack of use, but I like to think that grains of it remain, just waiting for someone or something to ignite it .

I remember a patient of mine , who was mute, laugh loudly and strongly when a bad boy in his hospital ward got knocked on the head by a vase, held by another mute patient. 

Just something in that odd moment hit that chuckle muscle and off he went like a bottle of champagne 

Little Korea

 

In an old post I bemoaned the much maligned phenomenon of the dinner party. 

It still exists I guess,  outside the old formalities, but now it’s called “ supper with friends” or some other dumbed down event epithet.

Yesterday my friend Ruth and I went to dinner with our friend Ben and his wife Sokyo in their charming cottage along the coast. Ben and Sokyo have just returned from a three year visit to Sokyo’s home in South Korea, and Ben is returning to his old job as nurse at my hospice.

It will lovely to have him back, for he has a warmth and a humour I adore and feed off. ( warmth and humour is something which has been sadly lacking in blogland recently I must say)

Ben also looks like an unmade bed,  a look I have made a lifetime perfecting, so I always feel at home in his company.

Ruth and I had planned to visit them in their trendy 1960’s Seoul a year or so ago but circumstances and events put paid to our plans.

Yesterday was catch up. A full Korean dinner with sizzling beef, and kimchi and pickles and miso soup, noodles and rice , all served in tiny bowls at a pretty table. 

The effort of the event was clear and much appreciated. 

This is what I miss by talking about the dinner party. 

I also miss talking and laughing in a group. 

I’m a good guest, I know that, but I’m a good guest because I enjoy not only talking but listening. 

Sokyo had a fascinating take on her own culture and how it has evolved so quickly over recent years but she is also an artist who has been trained in Japanese flower arranging ( something I would adore to do) 

It was a lovely afternoon and I could tell by osmosis that everyone thought the same.

Wonderful.

Tonight I’m working, so today is a mindful day. 

I’m mindful of my friends and readers in the southern states who are and have taken a battering in the storms 

Be safe 

Be kind

Growing Up

It’s raining and I’m taking the dogs over to Pen y Bont for lunch at my friends’ home soon.

The twins, of course have the run of the cottage, and photographing them is almost impossible as they resemble minnows in a fast stream. The best you can get is an arse here and a leg there.

The way of kittens.

I’ve had them nearly three months now and their personalities are starting to show. 

Weaver is bigger than her sister, more robust but emotionally is shy and is not a big one for physical affection. Bun is smaller, feisty, likes strokes when the lights are off and is playful with the terriers, though  the terriers have no idea what is play and what is kitten aggression . 

Both have allocated themselves to a small yellow chair in the back of the living room. It a spot they can survey their world safely.

The cottage looks permanently untidy as a thousand times a day these two little thugs, promenade around knocking over things, just like a motorcycle gang of the 1960s would do around Woolworths.

Roger is perplexed by their behaviour and will often shadow them from afar , looking back at me in a shocked way when another pot plant is moved or ornament battered. 

Pride

 I was bursting with pride for this piece. It’s as if Grupo Talia is my own choir 

Chatwins

 Im early for my own counselling today and so have popped in to Chatwins for a coffee. The staff are cheerful and serve good food. Ruthin is a pretty and busy market town.

I took my great nephew to college this morning and we had a conversation, Ive nothing much in common with 16 year olds save for The Walking Dead, but he chatted all way which was nice.

I couldnt find my specs so was wearing my mr Motto spares.

He didnt notice.

My counsellor wont notice my glasses also, not important. I cried for half an hour after the last session and slept in a layby for over half an hour afterwards. I was exhausted

I felt words were like fies,spewed out of the mouth of john Coffey in The Green Mile

Tomorrow Ruth and I are having a tradional home made Korean meal with friends Ben and Sokyo, friends roll on

I finish my coffee and outside it's started to rain.

The tudor houses nearby melt as the cafe windows get wet and a pretty schoolgirl with a welsh look came in to buy cakes.

How the road meanders  when you think of what brought you here.

.

More Plans

 I've taken my eye off the ball when it comes to planning nice things to do and experience. Everything feels as though its a tad serious and work orientated, which it is.

I work two full days a week, am counselling one full day and and in college another, so by the time the litter tray has been emptied (oh God that's an awful job) and I've watched Call My Bluff on a Monday night, the week is suddenly over.

Jesus how effin boring.

The remaining arse end of October I have booked tickets for my sister and I to see the English National Ballet's version of Giselle in Liverpool and got the very last ticket (and I'm not joking) to Holst The Planets at Liverpool's Philharmonic Hall.

November I am popping up to Sheffield for a day and a half. The Rocky Horror Picture Show with my friend Jane and a leisurely Sunday lunch with friends Mike and Bev.

I've even toyed with a post Christmas weekend to Madrid to see my ( "My" choir!!) but couldn't quite make the numbers work for me. 

so I've booked five days in Rome in March

bosh!!!

all this, is a challenge to the approaching winter.

a panacea to ward away low moods

I'm writing this on my break at work, its 5 am and light rain is falling on the Hospice. I've just listened to a podcast of Rob Delaney's Desert Island Disc choices. It is a sobering and incredibly moving piece of Radio, where Delaney talks eloquently about the death of his baby son. Like Lauren Lavern I was moved into silence by his  emotional honesty. 

My nephew is away on holiday so on the way home I have the job of taking his son, my great nephew to college. He is one for the lie in so I've texted to say that if he's not ready his gay uncle will go all camp outside his house and will embarrass him in front of the neighbours

its the village Apple festival on Saturday, I'm helping with the judging 

Pat Thistlethwaite

 

Roger’s been wearing a white feather on his head, something picked up from jamming his bonce into the hedgerows early this morning. It’s still there now after our jaunt to McDonalds for a large white coffee for me and cheesy bacon flatbread for them. I’ve just sat down with said coffee ( drumming up bravery to accost the litter tray in the back bedroom which now resembles a public toilet at Glastonbury.) when I saw that the son of Weaver Of Grass had just emailed .

His message was brief “ Just to let you know that Pat passed away on Thursday.She was getting plenty of morphine and sedation and everything went as well as these things can go. Thank you everyone for your support”

The news was very Weaver

Understated, unfussy , no drama 

The feather wouldn’t be her either, no way……but it’s nice to think it might of been 

We shall miss the old girl.

I shall miss her.

Flirt

 

Met my friend Colin for lunch and a much needed laugh. I told him how much I over reacted to our new male Iberian vet when Mary had her ears reviewed and he giggled loudly when I admitted I simpered like a schoolboy when the vet told me that Roger ( who had come along for ballast) was a fine specimen of  terrier. To be honest I would have smiled and laughed if the vet had read out the first quarter of the local telephone directory, those deep Spanish tones.

Like a moist Antonio Bandares on toast

Colin, reminded me that I wasn’t too old to flirt even though it was somewhat unsavoury to laugh at absolutely everything the object of my affection had said 

Note to self next time tone it down 

On another Spanish note, this is the final piece I enjoyed at the Madrid concert this year. The look of intensity in the eyes of the dancer could be seen and felt by me in the one of the back rows of the auditorium . 

Amazing

I suddenly want to be back in Madrid

The Woman You Are

This song is a gift from a young woman to her single mom 

It’s delightful 

Rowenna

 Old Rowenna died this morning. She was 92. islwyn’s aunt and matriarch to many still in Trelawnyd, she was a lady of purpose and opinion. When she was well Rowenna marched rather than ambled, she marched that older ladies March with the handbag tightly looped over their left arm.

Rowenna, ( far right) with some of the village People.

Arriving at my last garden open

I rang Islwyn, with my condolences, and sat with a cuppa outside until I grew chilled. 

Later I met my sister in law for lunch at the Red Lion in Dyserth, and had proper thick Welsh rabbit and tea. What a bloody treat!  

When I got home it was getting cooler ,

Tomatoes had been left in a bag upon the kitchen wall by Animal Helper Pat

No where else to go today.

No where else I’d rather be

Nap soon on the couch

Dogs fed, kittens fed, fire lit

George Grundy crying on The Archers

Friday night

No messages on my phone

A Tight Perm

 " Pay particular attention to the details of your work. 

Paying attention to detail makes for the personal touch...it is thoughtful and  it is kind"

This was a particular manra of my tutor Mr Brint , back in my psychiatric days

I remember it well as in one lession we had, the class was taught how to put ladies hair rollers in! 

The ladies were a group of "patient volunteers" from the long stay ward and Mr Brint and a tired looking Occupational therapist were showing us all how to shampoo and set!

" Hair and make up are vital for good self esteem" Mr Brint trilled " Everyone can be made to feel beautiful " 

He looked over at me as I manfully tried to roll my patient's grey locks around a roller which resembled a hairy caterpillar 

" And how is your lady looking Nurse Gray?" he purred 

I looked at my lady's head thick with haphazard looking rollers 

" She looks like a German mine!" I told him honestly 

His heart was always in the right place 

Speaking of tutors, my out standing essay was finally second marked yesterday

I’m averaging a B for last year’s academic work which is bloody good going, given that I’m a definite bit of a plodder.

Hey ho

Wednesday

 I watched the paper thin but entertaining comedy crime drama Ludvig tonight in my underwear,

My uniform lies next to the washing machine 

Only a few minutes are left in a long day.

Not enough time to read blog comments 

Mary is stalking BUN and Weaver, hoping for a Bottom lick 

They are United and a force to reckon with 

Roger is on my knee looking worried, if he was a real toddler 

He’d be sucking his thumb 

I watched two minutes of the following news and gave up

To depressing.

My counselling day tomorrow

Bed again 

Conflict

 

My thoughts are with fellow blogger Yael tonight 

As the bombs reign on Israel in this fruitless, mad stupid conflict 

I’m tired after a full day in college and I’m off to bed early before another 12 hour shift tomorrow

Bake Off then bed. 

Very rock n roll 

Bun melts

 Mary and Bun 

The affair continues, almost side by side tonight during Call My Bluff 

Weaver remains aloof but confident 

Roger is frightened of both kittens 

Tracy

Tracy circa 1987

 My time in York (1986-1989) is when I grew up. 

I was by no means wild, Gawd forbid that! 

But I chose a new and wide set of friends, I had a moderate amount of sex and I assumed some responsibility at work

Tracey B was a part of this journey. She assumed the position of the two sisters I had left at home.

She liked me, she mothered me but I also made her laugh, which was a skill, I had learned through my psychiatric training. 

You were liked if you were funny..

Over the past 48 hours Tracy and I have shared little snippet's of our lives. 

“ Oh by the way …sort of things” 

Perhaps a little fearful of over facing the other.

I have always been attracted by strong warm characters when I left York for Sheffield, Nu was waiting for me and in a swirl of a red skirt and a twirl of a Spanish like wrist , Tracy was gone. 

No mobile phones or internet then

People did disappear . 

I have the opportunity now to thank her for her warmth and friendship. 

I was gauche and very Welsh and uninformed when I went to York. 

I was just 24 and a young 24, 

She was of similar age but a life time ahead of me and I was dazzled by her Sophia Loren smile and her wild hair and the way that people reacted to her.

My York years were my own very personal salad days.

Through Ally ( an OT friend of Tracy’s) I developed my love of the stage and for Opera. Through Dave was clumsy sexual awakenings and from Cheryl my ability of becoming a good friend.

Tracy made me laugh, though. 

Laugh, long and hard without shame or worry.

Boy, and did she make me laugh