Giselle

 

My sister and I went to Liverpool last night to see a revival of Mary Skeaping’s 1971 version of Giselle 

It was magical

The willi ghosts, as usual stole the show with their ensemble centre piece of synchronised hopping but this version had the spectres acting as attacking ghouls circling the huntsmen at terrifying speed and menace 

I loved it The National Ballet is on great form 

I think as a piece of pure theatre the entrance of the willi ghosts cannot be beaten 

I cry everytime 

Home

 

To change your mortgage you have to have an interview online now. I had a lovely chap called Nick today who talked me through the whole process. Because I can only get Wify in the front room I was joined on the couch by the dogs and one cat which amused Nick “ I’m selling to the muppets” he quipped not quite understanding he was including me in that comment.

My new mortgage is set and I can soak up the monthly increase …just.

it’s another job done 

I used to take these big decisions in my stride 

Now I worry

Another symptom of getting older .

After nearly two hours on line, I sit in the living room

The cottage faces south and the front windows let the sun shine through on a sunny day  like a baby Sagrada Familia. 

I feel as though I’m transported into the 1940s

The animals start to flop into the squares of sunlight on the carpet to sleep 

The windows need washing but I’m enjoying being present in the moment 

The kitchen clock ticks

And the breeze makes the Honeysuckle tap the window as if a friend wants my attention 

The cottage and my animals remains safe in my hands at the moment 

Chicken Feet

 Yesterday was a tough day. 

I had two high maintenance  patients. One who needed to be stabilised with medication before a peaceful death and another with a complicated spinal Injury which is my bread and butter. 

I got home exhausted and spent, a few minutes before 9 pm , so I gave the dogs a snack and sat down in my coat to watch Call My Bluff.

Minutes later either Bun or Weaver galloped through the lounge with a chicken foot in her mouth.

She did a circuit of the living room before legging it up the stairs closely followed by Roger then Mary ( Roger growling like a proper dog) and finally with the second twin in close pursuit. 

It was all rather dramatic .

Like a Tom & Jerry cartoon from the 40’s.

The chase carried on, above and below my double bed for a while, with accompanying barking and spitting, but I sat in my coat letting the shit fall as it would.

A while later Roger trotted through the living room rather victoriously with said chicken foot in his mouth

And the pecking order at Bwthyn y Llan was restored.

I kept my coat on and watched the hilarious Alma’s Not Normal as Roger paraded around the cottage with his head held high, chicken leg in mouth.

This week seems full

This afternoon I have my own counselling then

Mortgage appointment, clinical supervision tomorrow with Giselle in the evening. Counselling clients on Thursday followed by a much long overdue visit to the cinema . Friday it’s Rowenna’s funeral followed with a catch up with my family at The Crown and Saturday it’s  The Planet at The Philharmonic.

My mortgage worries me , but I can’t change the world……..

Marisha Wallace - Tomorrow

The storm, knocked of the Satelite tv

Just as The Thomas Crown Affair was ending

I’m working a long day tomorrow 

And I don’t want to 

Master Of The House

I fell asleep last night and missed the Male Voice Choir Concert at the hall, which annoyed me. I left the tv off, missing this rather affecting dance from the blind comic Chris McCusland too! 

One of the highlights of the Trelawnyd concert seems to be Owain William’s comic turn from Les Miserables ( see link)  https://fb.watch/vkJmMweXRB/ ( Owain Is the youngest member of the choir)

The concert raised a cracking amount for the hall…..some1700 £) well done all. 

I was pigsick to miss it.

Storm Ashley is on its way and although we are in bright sunshine , the wind has picked up drastically. 

Bun and Weaver are sat next to the Queen’s cut out in their bedroom watching the trees whip their tops and I’m planning a quick visit to the shop to get cat litter 

Pizza and soup for supper and an early night is planned 

Twin Update

 My nights have been steady and psychologically testing and so this post will be somewhat light and frivolous in nature.

An update on the twins 

 Bun remains the more outgoing girl.

Her interactions with the Welsh are now playful but distant. They remind me of primary school girls in their short shirts and oversized wellington boots galloping through the mud holes of the playground with a silly dim boy in tow. The boy being Roger. 

Mary is almost at the touching stage, she lies pretending to rest in front of the fire knowing all too well that Bun is only a foot it so away, waiting to be approached.

That approach won’t be long now. Roger too is at touching distance but his gauche clumsiness only affords him a short hiss and a swing of the paw. 

Both twins now sleep on my bed, Weaver towards my feet and Bun often perched on my shoulder or hip. Both like petting and both have eyes for the wet and windy world beyond the front door 

Reflections

 I’ve gotten out of the habit of looking at myself in the mirror.

Has anyone else got out of this daily routine? 

Perhaps I don’t want to see my grey beard, and my shiny grey hair my dad possessed before he died . 

Perhaps I don’t want to see how tired I look after a day shift.

Perhaps I don’t like looking at myself at all.

I went to Supervision today , it’s been a miserably wet , grey day, and supervision gave me something to think of at the beach in Bluebell

So I’ve come home and had the longest of hot showers,  a kick ass shave and lots of face moisturiser , and made ramen noodles with prawns for supper which I ate in front of the fire , watched by four pairs of eyes 

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