I’ve not pushed it
I’ve let it happen organically
But Bun and Mary
Finally have broken down their natural barbers tonight
I’m off to bed and snapped this photo of a friendship which both want but which both have sabotaged
Repeatedly.
Big Breaths
A couple of my colleagues at work feel unwell today. Everyone’s coming down with colds.
I’ve lost my voice.
It not stopped us laughing
We sounded like a room full of dirty phone callers when we were checking drugs.
Another fit of coughing giggles.
When I was a Samaritan up to 40% of my calls were either abusive or sexual
I remember one guy who yelled out a quick and despirate
“ Before you disappear I’m not a pervert I have COPD “
Planets
With my bottle of water, box of strepsils, and pockets full of tissues I braved the journey to Liverpool again to see The Planet Suite.
It didn’t disappoint.
Jupiter the Bringer of Jollity, was so powerful that I noticed a couple of people dabbing their eyes.
I was a tad disappointed that great hunk of spunk Domingo Hindoyan was not conducting this time (Andrew Manze having the honour) but it was the music that counts and last night was a real treat.
I’m in bed now after walking the dogs and feeding the twins.
And feel rotten
I shall refrain from telling any jokes about my Uranus being a Magician
Lemsips and rest are the mantra for the day
Bun ( I think ) is sitting on the clothes horse watching the lane
Saturday
I’m full of cold, a product of Mersey rail on Wednesday
Last night I went to The Crown for a meal with my family which was lovely but I slept badly so after dog walks this morning we’ve all gone back to bed .
The animals are playing cowboys and Indians with the Welsh playing the settlers laying safe between my legs and the twins playing the marauding injuns.
I’m just drinking coffee from my American 1940s diner mug and will fall again to sleep soon
The Philharmonic later
Respect
It was Rowena’s funeral today
And a day of respect it was , to be sure.
Her nephew, Village Elder Islwyn and his brother had dug her grave themselves which I thought was intensely moving and another mark of respect as Rowena’s father was the village gravedigger at one time, Islwyn isn’t a young man, and I’m sure the hard work has taken its toll.
Kudos to the both of them
The service was held in Llanasa, who has a pretty Norman Church, and the church was full as Rowena’s family is large and spans every part of Trelawnyd and its environs .
Auntie Glad always warned me to be early for popular character’s funerals , so I was and still was beaten to the back pew by the ladies from the friendship group, Animal Helper Pat, Christine from Church, Pippa and Tom, the velvet voiced Linda, sailor John and Mandy and Mrs Trellis.
Trendy Vicar Gregor ( with his flowing cape and neat beard ) did his best with the Welsh parts of the service which was lovely and by the time the funeral cars returned to Trelawnyd I had collected the Welsh and was standing with Pat Mr Poznan and others a respectful distance away.
We watched as the family followed the coffin into the graveyard, and in the grey skys over Trelawnyd groups of seagulls took off in the breeze in the fields next to the riding stables , looping west towards the valley and the sea
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
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.
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
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
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
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.
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