PTSD

 I couldn’t make college today but still had to get my podcast assignment turned in to turnitin to be marked. The podcast outlining best practice of the disorder PTSD was a ten minute snap shot recording which sounds simple enough to complete unless you have a wracking cough , flu and two kittens determined to get in on the action.

My fifth attempt had me swearing for fucks’  sake!!! at the eight minute mark as the twins yowled loudly  under the kitchen door. My sixth was aborted after some Typhoid Mary coughing and several more for fucks sake ! Yells.

I swear I was in tears by attempt twelve. 

I almost got dressed and went around to sailor John next door, to see if he would present the whole thing for me , but I pushed through, had a lemsip and thought What would Angela Rippon do in this situation?

Big breaths and carry on!

I nailed it on my 17th attempt save for several muffled coughs and one contained fart .

My recent academic poster earned me an A which I was tickled pink about, let’s see how this goes

A Man Eaten By His Cats

 I’ve just got up

Just before 8pm I realised that I’ve been in bed for 24 hours.

Ewan ( Trendy Carol’s hubby) kindly collected the dogs this morning so I could fester in my own Petrie dish of a bed all day. 

I’ve not moved except to feed the twins and to urinate 

And that was a trial 

I’m shivery so downed paracemol and was grateful to have some chicken soup left by Mrs Trellis in a vintage thermos ( the one with the cork stopper) to drink. I’ve forced myself to light the fire, and am wrapped in my duvet on the couch. 

Confused by it, Roger gave it a quick wee on the corner

I haven’t bothered wiping it yet

Being single and unwell is a ball ache

When I was in my late 30s and alone in my Hillsborough house I suffered a late bout of Chicken pox which floored me. 

It was the only time I honestly thought I was dying , and I remember then thinking my cats Betty and Joan would be happy eating my corpse after my demise.

I was effectively single then, 

My partner at the time was an arse.

Today Weaver watched me carefully from her corner of the bed. 

It was afternoon

I presumed it was Weaver as she refused to approach me , and sat there stoically with narrow eyes

“ fuck off” I moaned at her “ You’re only waiting for me to die” 

I’m sure she was smiling

The fire has gone out because I’ve not tended it

We are all off to bed again

Sunday

 It’s four pm and I’m not going into work

I’ve finally succumbed to that nasty virus which is doing the rounds,and have retired to bed with four organic hot water bottles. 

Two kittens on one side, two Welsh on the other.

My body is checkpoint Charlie, with Weaver darting occasionally over the border in order to smack an odd ear or wagging tail.

Best laid plans ! 

I’ve eaten some fruit that’s all 

It’s now not long after seven and I’ve just got up to walk the dogs, albeit briefly . 

I’ve showered in a hot shower ( with Mary who needed a bath) .the Welsh adore hot showers btw

And I’ve put beans and spiced sausage in the slow cooker to make soup and I’m going back to bed dressed in long johns and several walking dead t shirts 

This flu virus is vicious

Nothing Day

 I’m going to quiet on Going Gently for a few days

I will be on night shifts some extra to cover staff absences.

The extra money will be useful . 

It’s minus 2 here today and I’m going back to bed soon as a sleep before night shifts is the only way I make it through nowadays.

The Welsh love this siesta time and climb under the duvet with enthusiasm 

It’s antisocial though and for the next five days I’m not going to see a soul save for people at work

I hate that

I had brunch at sainsburys  

And lit the fire when I got home 

Counselling

 

I’m back counselling today. 

It was icy and road conditions were difficult, but I got to MIND early, had a zoom meeting with my supervisor then saw clients until three.

My head was full, so I dropped into the one and only Starbucks ( something I never do ) for a coffee, ham something and a self debrief.

The coffee house was filled by women and girls on laptops.

I sat and made mental notes about my clients, that way you leave the emotions they share with you at the door. Having Said this there is always the moment you can pick those emotions up and that’s a real no no Human , but a no no. 

If you have a headache after facilitating therapy, you need to roll the emotions out away from yourself 

The coffee and ham sandwich helped.

So did the self debrief.

An open window left screamingly open in the icy air clears the head too.

I bought coffee logs from Lidl and cheap scented candles from the reduced price shelf beforehand but the bustle didn’t help my reboot , so Starbucks here’s to you, no blaring music, quiet corners to hide away in

Few screaming kids

I watched the Baristas and thought about the fires in California 

A sequence where some homeowners were leading their horses to safety amid a flurry of sparks only to be “interviewed” by an over zealous insensitive reporter came to mind

It’s a mad world

Having said this, this reported showed much welcomed humanity when coming across a young man fleeing his burning house with hardly anything…..

Roger Brings Them Home

 It is a terribly icy last night.

After a rather lacklustre Archers episode, I marshalled the Welsh and took them out of the living room front door for a wee walk. 

I thought I had shut the door behind us

The lane was dangerously icy, and in the dark we had to shelter in Trendy Carol’s drive to let some farm traffic to roar through. The dogs weed on patches of snow by the sheep gate on tip toe and as I waited, Roger barked at something towards the cottage, something in the dark as the lane light was still out of order. 

Tottering into view came the twins. 

Wide eyed and panicked on their first venture outside

I hurried back, fearful of more traffic, and let Roger pull forward 

He dropped his head and Bun quickly rubbed it with hers 

And both kittens followed Roger home as me and Mary brought up the rear 

- September

I can’t dance

Never have been able to.

Some of that is my dyspraxia 

Mostly I have a limited sense of rhythm 

And a huge dollop of self consciousness 

The last time I danced was with a patient at her request

She asked me about my bucket list and I mentioned dancing

She shared it was one of her wishes to dance again

As it turned out she had less than a week to live

So she asked me to dance, a funny silly little dance

Me in my navy uniform, she in pyjamas and fluffy slippers 

And we danced in her room after pushing a set of drawers against the door so no one else could see.

Fuck You

 

Weaver remains aloof with me and darn right aggressive  with the Welsh. 

If she was human, she would be termed as a damaged adolescent 

She certainly has issues.

She clearly loves her sister 

And just occasionally she will allow me an ear scratch but only when I’m supine in bed

But if the dogs are in any close proximity, she is a tiger, a Shere Khan, crossed with Vicky Pollard

If she could speak she’d be yelling FUCK YOU 

With her middle claw extended

Before punching you smartly in the face.

Oh the shame of owning a daughter with such problems 

Is she A Bad Seed? Roseanne’s Darlene? Dolores  Umbridge ? A Bette Davies Baby Jane? 

Bun remains sweet, and acts as though she should be wearing a gingham dress and pigtails 

Weaver I bet is upstairs pulling the wings off flies. 

It’s a shame

I will be letting them loose on the village soon

Gawd help us all

When I’m Calling You!!

 Blogging to me is a bit like a one sided chat

Sometimes it’s a deeper conversation

Sometimes it’s a lecture

Sometimes it’s a bit of whimsy

I can’t stand blogs that tells its audience what it thinks of them

Pompous 

The trip to work last night was dreadful but I drove 30 miles praying that Bluebell’s dodgy windscreen wiper wouldn’t come loose again

It did, of course.

These things always do.

I’m day dreaming of my bed 

I love my new duvet. 

I cleaned it and the bedding the day before Colin arrived so it’s still fragrant and devoid of kitten paws 

It’s calling to me like Rose Marie belting out the Indian Love Call to Sergeant  Bruce

I won’t be long my love

I call back

Snow

 

I’m on night shift so am just going back to bed 

Hopefully it will be clearer later

Takeaway and lunch

 My friend Colin came over from Liverpool last night and we drank wine, ate a Chinese takeaway and gossiped. He’s a true cat person so Bun and Weaver made a bee line for him.

I was jealous 

This afternoon I went to the Mostyn Gallery to see the works by Greek painter Apostolos Georgiou

After popping into Waterstones I met my friends Ben and Ruth for lunch at Providero ( soup to die for ) and left earlyish to get home before the snow warning

# nice weekend

A Little Story About Grief

 

Nearly fifteen years ago now, I had a conversation with Auntie Gladys.

I remember it as if it was yesterday .

We were sat at her kitchen table with tea and scones. The scones she had just baked on the off chance of someone calling. The tea was served in a mug. 

All men drank tea from mugs according to Auntie Glad

Only women drank tea from cups with saucers.

Her kitchen was immaculate  and testament to her cataracts , as she always over cleaned everywhere just in case, and her eyes were always a watery blue, like topaz seen through gauze,  as she regarded you carefully and always with much affection.

We talked about a mutual acquaintance from Bron Haul who had recently died and the conversation veared to the personal and the painful; memories of her daughter, Edwina who had been killed in a car accident aged 16. 

“ I went to bed” Gladys said simply “ I went to bed and didn’t care for anything or anybody’” 

She paused and put a warm, dry hand on mine

“ It was a dreadful time” she said her sing song Welsh accent hiding the emotion “I’d given up”

“ But then came the Doctor, who marched up those very stairs” she pointed to the hallway where her Regency Staircase stood, one which was once part of a private boys school.

“ He said Gladys my girl, enough is enough. You need to get out of bed !  I have got you a job cleaning in a solicitors in Holywell ! You start on Monday” 

Gladys clapped her hands and laughed at the memory

“In those days you did what the Doctor told you to do, as they had the learning and we didn’t 

I got up, washed my face and went to work, and it was the saving of me . The Lord sent me the doctor that day and do you know what John 

I’ve  always been busy since” 

We drank more tea and gossiped more about village news and I realised  that what was a charming little story, a snippet of whimsy, was in fact a story that hid a great deal of pain. 

Gladys, buttered more scones and poured more tea and wrapped the scones in brown paper for me to take home. 

I was happy, sat at that table 

I was a child again, listening to my Grandmother’s  voice. 

Safe and comfortable in a warm kitchen that smelled of baking.

Beautiful

I wasn’t going to post today 

I have nothing much to say. 

By breakfast time I’d already worked eight hours, driven home and shopped. 

By 2pm I was awoken by sunshine streaming in from the Western sky

It felt warm on my face

whereas the cottage air felt just above zero

Mary lay on the bed with me. Her head facing the sun

She was obviously enjoying the moment and looked as though she was smiling gently to herself.

I watched her for an age

My New Year’s resolution ? 

To note something of beauty every day,

No matter how small

Sat With My Tree

I couldn’t sleep after 2pm so got up, Marshalled the sleepy Welsh and braved the showers in order to get some air. 

We walked into the graveyard and sat on the bench sheltered by the vestry.

There we watched my laburnum. 

I said we, when I mean I.

The Welsh just watched the trees in general, they way they whipped in the roar of the wind.

I watched my tree.

It looked bare but robust, 

Much bigger than when I planted it with Islwyn back in 2021

This piece of music was playing on my phone a piece by James Newton Howard 

Sweet

“A society grows great when old men and women plant trees in whose shade they shall never sit.”

Happy New Year I thought hopefully

Then we returned to the cottage and to bed

2025

 I’m working tonight and that’s fine. My colleagues are a bright young staff nurse and a support worker with a big heart. 

I have no trouble working New Year’s Eve. 

At the back end of 1989 one of my best friends died, his name was Ian Parry and he was a freelance news photographer. He died returning home from Romania 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ian_Parry 

Ian was a high flyer and carried the hopes and dreams of his Welsh friends to London and beyond. At 24 he bought a flat, had a glamorous girlfriend and showed more chutzpah than Babs Streisand in Yentl, so when he died , we were left floating and lost and without a touchstone that linked us to success and positivism. New Year’s Eve lost its sparkle then, a sparkle that has never returned in thirty years or so since.

It’s stormy here today and the roar of the wind is loud through the Churchyard and around the corner of the cottage and its chimney. 

The twins seem fascinated with the wind sounds and are sat by the front door, feeling the breeze through the door vent. Mary has stopped her nesting and is asleep on the couch. Roger is watching the blue tits feeding from the back garden. The gale is causing them problems which interests him

I’m going to make avocado on sour bread with poached eggs which will be my meal of the day.

I’ve made a chicken salad for supper.

So my friends we are almost in 2025

2024 saw Dorothy, that little dynamo of a bulldog leave my side after five years of loving me with passion. Her drama and loyalty filled a chunk of my divorce grief as I kind of knew it would and her death left another bulldog sized hole in my heart. 

I still miss her dreadfully . 

But Bun & Weaver have arrived with a bang, two naughty school girls throwing an old bachelor’s home into disarray.  

I’m an old dog, having to learn new tricks.

The wind seems stronger now.

I’m listening to the second of Dr Gwen Ashead’s Reith Lectures which centres around evil. 

It’s an interesting BBC listen. 

What do I want from 2025?

To be healthy, 

To be happier, 

A Bit Of Reflection

It’s nearly the end of the year and I have much on my mind. I have blood tests booked which, I’m sure will show I have diabetes. I’ve lost some weight purposely and my diet has changed, but the lethargy which haunts me daily cannot be ignored, even though I’m quite astute in acting like the proverbial Orstrich’s head. That’s all part of not having a well-being hat on….ie the cobbler’s children had no shoes sort of thing.

If things progress I shall be a qualified counsellor in June. I know I’m more suited to transactional analysis area of counselling, which means more study and training, and with my blood sugars more stable I will have the energy to push myself further in what will be my 63 rd year.

I’m slowing down too, which means more stillness and mindfullness .  

Life isn’t better just because you employ the smokescreen of bustle 

Life also isn’t a film script. There are no saviours, save for ourselves

You’re on yer own kid 

Now who said that? 

,

 

Sometimes

Sometimes you miss things

Sometimes real life gets you tired and stressed and blind to things important

Busy day today 

Lots of nursing support given, 

Lots of nursing management stuff 

Some days go like that

Some are overwhelming 

So you get home late

When It’s dark and lonely

Kittens are fed, dogs are walked, fire is lit

Tv on, tv dinner in microwave, kittens are bullies

Nine pm 

It feels late……

Roger, sat at my feet. Quiet and pointed, brown eyes searching mine

I know he needed, and wanted a hug and I suddenly scooped him up with big arms and teary eyes

His head under my chin, his eyes closed in doggy happiness

If he was wearing a jumper , there would be holes in it

We sat together, me rocking him like a baby, for an age

His paws wrapped around my hands 

And time stopped

everything is alright

Internet

 My sister had left me a roast dinner on my door step which was kind tonight. 

Im tired after a busy shift, so ate supper on my knee in front of a hastily lit fire.

Another day at work tomorrow. 

My Hotmail email account , the one I’ve had 25 years, has been locked which has been a real bind  

Despite hours trying to reopen it I’ve had to resort to jgsheffield@icloud.com to sort out my life on line

How much re rely on the internet now

Hey ho

Wicked

 I’ve never really liked fantasy musicals 

Willie Wonka, The Wizard Of Oz, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, all leave me somewhat cold and bored, so I was surprised that Wicked held my attention for so long. 

I had seen the original musical in San Francisco , and had forgotten it shortly afterwards so the film seemed ill fated and probably ill advised, but as it was organised as a post Christmas treat with my friend Ruth, ( with a spicy burrito to follow) I thought What the fuck ? Why not? 

Elfaba ( Cynthia Erivo) was born to play the lead wicked witch as she conveys every single emotion with a close up single look. She is the film and she is amazing in it. Grande too is impressive as her foil and friend G’linda but everyone’s eyes are on Erivo’s green face which when silently weeping, clearly sets the audience off.

The film itself was so so but the scenes between the two witches are touching real and wonderfully observed.

Boxing Day

 Mary is more rested, her nesting hopefully no more than a hormone surge. I picked up a new carpet cleaner this morning ( the old one collapsed exhausted due to over use ) so my Boxing Day , I’m cleaning and nesting like Mary had done. 

It’s usually a day for walks and chat, but I’ve no one to walk and chat with which is shame but at least I can breathe new life in the living room carpet and half watch Casablanca and The Magnificent Seven which dominate BB2 this afternoon.

Had a lovely Christmas lunch yesterday with family , and there was much hilarity when my nephew gave me this very tragic vase

Luckily my sisters gave me this Barcelona print, which I’ve just hung

And this croc key ring( very me)