Flirt

 

College until mid afternoon, before I took Trendy Carol’s hubby to an appointment in Prestatyn. I went to Tesco’s as I was waiting for him and got cruised by an attractive older man with a big beard who was working on the checkout. Lots of direct stares a couple of smiles and a big hello there as I passed his till.

I was very flattered. It made my day

When was your last flirt? 

I Will Not Forget You (From "Testament of Youth")

Today I spent half an hour , sat still and silent next to a hospital bed.

The door was open so I could see people stepping quietly by

This music was playing

I think I will always remember it.

Sipping Coffee

I heard the clip clop of the ponies’ hooves when I was sipping coffee in the kitchen. Roger barked as they passed the kitchen window and I could hear the twins scampering across the bedroom floorboards to watch from the window seat. 

The ponies return is a big deal on Cwm Road

Not fully caffeinated, I marshalled the Welsh and we drove to Parisellas in Colwyn Bay for breakfast. It was cold but we sat outside  and shared a table. By force of habit Mary sat on her own seat. Roger sat on the floor making googoo eyes at any passing dog.

I ordered a flame hot americano and a sausage bap which we shared

A group of people opposite seemed amused by Mary’s politeness and asked about her. 

She’s my old girl I told them and they smiled at her obvious age, the slightly milky eyes, the patchy coat then they “ oohed and aahed” as she sat on my knee, warming herself inside my coat flaps 

She is an old gal, not that long for this world now 

And as I thought that, I enjoyed the thump, thump thump of her heart as she pushed herself against my chest, and I sipped at my coffee

 

Faghags and Staghags

 I think most mature women with any sense will have one gay man as a friend.

These women are not faghags ( the derogatory name for a woman who spends most of her time in the company of gay men) nor are they lacking female friends.

It’s just that I think that most mature women who have an emotional intelligence like the company of a gay man .

And visa versa of course.

Having a gay bestie means you are in the sex and the City Club ! 

You are either a Carrie or a Charlotte

( but most women I think identify more with Miranda as she is the most sorted of the quartet) 

I don’t quite fit into the gay best mould mainly because I’m too scruffy

A gay best friend should be immaculately dressed and ideally look like Jonathan Bailey

I gain kudos points for being more emotionally intelligent than most and having a sense of humour

I’m not a stag hag either, which helps ( stag hags are gay men who just love the company of usually older gay men ) 

I’m eclectic in my friend choices but I do like women friends, they are special 

I think, I like them because they are more tactile than most. 

I can link arms and hug and kiss with my female friends with an ease

Now I must say here that I have gay and straight makes friends which I hug and even kiss but having a female friend is different in the heteronormative world .

I guess it’s easier all round.

Hey ho

Jobs Done

It’s taken all day but I’ve finally cleaned up and dried the kitchen and shampooed the living room carpets

Free of wet paw prints and slime. 

I’m knackered. 

But the cottage now smells of lemon and disinfectant and the humidifier given to me by the velvet voiced Linda has done its job rather well so that the windows are no longer misted.

There is something rather satisfying in a tidy house

Pizza for supper ( the Welsh love the crusts)

 

 

Bollocks

 

When we got home after counselling earlier I suddenly noticed Roger standing in the kitchen doorway looking worried.

He had his usual “It’s not my fault” expression on his face and suddenly I  heard the sound of dripping water.

The bathroom sink had overflowed and the water had leaked down into the kitchen to a depth of an inch.

The twins were sat on the kitchen table, marooned 

Both yowled at me loudly

I swore like a docker. 

Life is like this is it not?

Nice positives yesterday

Fuck off disasters today 

Bollocks twat cunt !!!!

Walking Out On Callas

 I’m running late.

Last night I caught up on sleep and although I’m not quite right, I feel a little more rested.

I drank tea from my new dinosaur cup and planned the day

I have to drive over to Abergele to see my clients, not too far but. 22 mile around trip.

Last night I went to see Maria 

It was dreadful. Lazily written and a showcase for Angeline Joline rather than Maria Callas herself., the story of the last two weeks of the Diva’s life was little more than a pout on screen. 

You see a lot of Joline and very little of Callas 

And that was a shame. 

I walked out

Sue was in the field yesterday.

The ponies return very soon

What fun

Praise

First thing I drove to Holywell Hospital for a blood test with an overly brusque phlebotomist, so treated myself to Avocado and eggs on sourdough at Sainsburys. 

It was nice to get out of my pyjamas, but I was tired out by lunchtime, so I had  small nap before supervision

Every two weeks I meet with a specially trained senior supervisor to discuss my clients 

Supervision is ..

 "A specialised form of mentoring provided for practitioners responsible for undertaking challenging work with people. Supervision is provided to ensure standards, enhance quality, advance learning, stimulate creativity, and support the sustainability and resilience of the work being undertaken."

I enjoy supervision

Today my supervisor shared something with me as I was discussing a somewhat challenging client. 

“ You’ve changed “  she observed simply 

The comment took me by surprise so much that I went quiet 

“ You are becoming an effective counsellor “ she added with a gentle smile

And suddenly I was a child again, thrilled at some much craved for praise and acceptance “ 

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.