Valentine

 I’ve never bothered too much about Valentine’s Day
And today I realise that I never will.
At 63 I’ve given up on the idea of romance in its most romantic of terms now.
And that’s fine
It’s also realistic, and positive 
Concentrate on other things
On friends and family , 
Work and study, 
Pastimes and new experiences
Hey ho

There’s hope For All Of Us

 


Renée Zellweger has always made a lovable Bridget Jones. She is everyone, every woman and every man , she is flawed, sweet, well meaning and oh so lucky. Now a widow, she has two children who love her, an urban family that adore her, a beautiful quirky home in  romanticised London and a 29 year old boyfriend ….she also has a Randy wisecracking friend and baby sitter ( Hugh Grant) on wonderful form btw , a down to earth stand in GP (a scene stealing Emma Thompson) and a glam tv front woman (Josette Simon) below who brings the house down with a simple well timed  fuck off.


Emma Thompson

It’s a funny , and properly funny and strangely sad film, which has a lot to say about grief and the power of friendships as it does about romance, hope and reinvention .

She’s a hopeful hero who I cried buckets over

Bridget gives us all hope.

Hope that any of us ordinary folk can be happy at the end of the day .

Hands

 I have a new doctor.
He’s thorough, polite, unhurried and personable 
I like and respect him and healthcare is not the chore it once was. 
I watched him tap away at his computer and realised that he had tiny hands.
A surgeon’s hands I thought
My blood results are fine
Pity the doctor’s remit doesn’t cover diabetes
The nurse hasn’t impressed me as yet.



September 5

 

Magaro

 I didn’t know the story behind the live reporting of the hostage fiasco that was the 1972 Munich Olympics. Sure I knew that 11 Israeli athletes and their coaches were held at gunpoint by members of the black September terrorist group and that all of the hostages were killed mainly due to the inept response by the German police, but what I didn’t know what it was the first international terrorist attack that was filmed and reported on live television. 

September 5 is a gripping, claustrophobic and taunt retelling of the story from the perspective of the American ABC on site sports department team, who assumed responsibility ( over the US based News Team) to run and report the drama.

Although a professional tv team, the technicians and producers, were totally out of their depth , however they did rise to the occasion ( helped by a quick thinking and cool German interpreter Leonie Benench.) 

Rookie producer Geoffrey Mason ( a sexy, intense John Magaro) leads the team well through the crisis supported by the always interesting Peter Sarsgaard as his tv veteran boss, and everything is filmed by hand held cameras giving the film an authentic 1970s feel to it. 

The inexperience of the sports reporters showed in one pivotal moment when they all suddenly realised that the terrorists were actually gaining the upper hand by watching their live feed on tvs in the Olympic village

. A  Chilling and terrifying moment in an impressive historical drama

I loved it

Can I Thrust By …..I’m a Diabetic ?


 The dietitian over faced me with information today.
Teaching wasn’t her forte

My head was reeling and by the time she explained what whole foods where I could have stuck an avocado up my arse and called myself a salad. 

When I got up to leave she asked me what I’d got planned for the rest of the day 
She didn’t laugh when I told her I was off to McDonald’s 
Ps I wasn’t btw

I have my insulin and needles but no one yet to officially teach me what to do with them.
Thank goodness my blood sugars are more stable this week , at least I have enough energy to get out of bed.
I went to the surgery for a blood pressure check and the nursing assistant told me it was dangerously high
I’m not bleeding surprised I told her but had the presence of mind to give her a collection of my blood pressure readings taken from the week at home, which placated her

No one in primary care today seemed to have a sense of humour today 

Hey ho

It’s a start


 It’s chilly, 
On one of those murky, winter days when everything feels damp and cold and miserable.
Mrs Trellis was out in her winter coat and erect bobble hat. But she was the only one in the village I saw, as everyone else were hidden away behind curtains and blinds backed by the cheerful glow of lamps and fires.
It is a night for fires, and throws and for wrapping my lovely green cashmere scarf around my head like a 
Bedouin.
It’s not a good look
But it’s warm 
The twins are in front of the fire and I’m pleased that Bun walked over to sit on my knee next to Roger who was so surprised he showed Goo goo eyes whoever was watching.
They sat together for twenty minutes
It’s a start
A busy week ahead , 
Too busy

Dean Martin & Caterina Valente - One Note Samba


Enjoy

Thank You

 Cro, took the opportunity in his morning blog post to thank people in his past for kindnesses they had done for him.

It made for an interesting read, and cathartic one all told. 

Over coffee I made a mental list
It was interesting as it meandered.

I wish I told my grandparents just how important they were as they moulded me into the best version of myself I could be, whilst at the same time thanking my parents for doing the bet they could with what skills they had.
Thank you to the unknown man who saved my life in a Spanish swimming pool in 1972
Thank you to the birdlike Miss Betts and the sexy Mr Smiler who shared their love of writing stories at Prestatyn High School
And Thank You Mr Brint my tutor in psychiatry who showed me that men could be soft as putty
Thank you to Ally who took me to my first opera at the Grand in Leeds
And thank you to Robert who made my first kiss with a man as sweet as it could be.
Thank you to too many nurses who have moulded my career and my practice 
And to Ceri who helped me see that death wasn’t so frightening a prospect when you are dying
Thank you to that British Rail employee who was kind to me after I foolishly went to my father in laws funeral 
And thank you to my sisters who are constants in a life lived.

I am grateful that I could go on
And on
And on

Tarts’ knickers


This week has been somewhat strange. 
Emotionally I’ve been up and down like a tart’s knickers.
I’m not stressing over the diabetes. 
It’s just been a very long week.  
Today I’ve driven a ninety mile round trip for a study day
Tomorrow I’m on a night shift again. 
Thank goodness my blood sugars have stabilised somewhat given my diet
To feel so fatigued on top of things , I would have been a basket case

And so I’m sat on the Promenade near home
I’m being mindful, helped by Max Richter.
The Welsh are noisily sharing some Swedish meatballs on the passenger seat 
And I’ve opened the window wide to let in the icy air.




At Last…..



 Busy day.
Clients for most of the day, dreaded paperwork then a foray into the communication abyss that is a GP s surgery where un joined up writing means that a clinic appointment in another town was cancelled without me being informed and another made without thought to work and life.
I didn’t get angry, I couldn’t 
And I will tell you all for why

I had a last session with a client today.
Without me knowing they left a gift and card on Bluebell 
The gift was a homemade pottery figure which loosely resembled me. 
The card was hand painted with a selection of what looked like spring flowers
In it, written carefully were the words

“ At last I’ve been heard”

How Others See You

 I rang up about joining a local cinema discussion group the other day. 
The man organising it was enthusiastic and chatty up to me mentioning that I was of retirement age and then he went all evasive . 
You sounded younger he said backtracking on his initial excitement and there was an awkward silence before he told me that he’d be in touch, after he had received all applications.
I’m usually pretty assertive in these cases but soon after I felt deflated and judged and suddenly surplus to requirements .

How Yorkshire Pudding sees me


Money



 Am I destined to return to Italy?
I hope so . 
Ive cancelled my trip to Rome in five weeks only because I’m up in the air with my diabetes 
I’ve no problem with that, I’ve got refunds on my accommodation and have swapped flights to July when Ruth and I are going to Madrid to see my lisping choir in person ( again) 
Their summer concert is Eurovision based and will be camp fun
The four months in between will allow for my health to stabilise.
I’m skint too, that’s just an observation not a gripe. 
Every bill has increased this year, including my mortgage, so I’ve booked a few extra shifts and have tightened my belt.
I will still try to go to the theatre and cinema when able ,as these treats keep me sane and I’m happy that I saved up for my sister’s 2025 birthday and Christmas gift last year, so our trip to the Royal Opera house to see Romeo and Juliet won’t come as a real shock.
Next year my friend Nige and I have tentatively planned to visit Naples
Only 141 miles to Rome



Fantasy

 I have a whole selection of day dream fantasies, doesn’t everyone?
Places you go and visit when you’re warm in bed and your conscious minds flits like pond skaters do on the surface of the village pond.
My favourite recently is that I’m on a night train to somewhere. The sleeper is decked out ala North by Northwest or if not that American then say the train in From Russia With Love. 


Faded but smart
If you get the gist.
Of course I won’t be sharing ( that idea repulses me) but the thought of getting lulled to sleep by the noise of the train, intrigues me.
The man with a hole in his jumper doesn’t figure on any train, but the idea of meeting remains cinematic and dramatic in nature. It’s a scene from a gentle comedy film, wholly British with mr Jumper being scruffy but sweet and our meeting romantic and chaste


I have the money no object fantasy but it’s transported to a tv makeover where the cottage is a tardis with every to do task completed to the highest level of style and competence. 
The programme ends with me being presented with a baby bulldog from grateful friends in the village.
lol
Mememememe!, 

Sometimes I’m walking in New York like an aged Sarah Jessica Parker, off to meet friends for lunch at some bistro or other. And fantasies like these are fleeting and are almost like snapshots rather like little movies. 
I’m on stage singing ……singing like Ruby Rossi from Coda or Hyde from belting out This is the Moment ( you would never know I was gay would you?)

Sometimes I day dream of loved ones gone too
Bittersweet day dreams, like I said , that flit in and out of consciousness like pond skaters on the village pond



Better

 I’m feeling a bit better, even before I am to start on insulin,
I’m pleased by this.
I suspect my diabetic diet , is responsible for this as the peaks and troughs of my blood sugar have been ironed out a little.
And I have been strict .
Yesterday I spent the whole day cleaning out the kitchen cupboards without an afternoon nap .
Last night I read most of a book without falling asleep
Warmed by the fire , I was still awake at nine , as the twins swaggered down the stairs to take their place near the hearth .
Only then did I go to bed.
Today I’ve made bacon soup ( from the diabetic menu) and had a hot shower with Roger ( which he loves)
I listened to The Archers Omnibus on IPlayer, spoke to a friend and listened to music as the Welsh sat on my chest and the twins hovered nearby.
I listened with interest to the eloquent speech from Justin Trudeau waging economic war on Trump
Animal Helper Pat stopped for a chat and moments later Mrs Trellis dropped off dog treats wrapped in serviettes 
Sundays are a little long as they always say to me couple time 

Hey ho



Flight Risk

 

I know I bang on about how good art house cinema is, but I do enjoy being entertained, no matter what the subject matter is and how it is presented. 
50 years ago I fell in love with disaster movies after watching Airport 75
You may remember the cross eyed Karen Black as Nancy the hapless stewardess manfully trying to pilot the stricken 747 over the mountains whilst the passengers ( including two nuns and a girl needing a kidney) screamed their heads off. 
Half a century later Mel Gibson has US Marshall Madlyn ( Michelle Dockery, Lady Mary from Downton) caught up in the same predicament, but this time she’s responsible for the safety of her prisoner Winston ( a wisecracking nerdy Topher Grace) an informant who is turning states evidence against a money launderer. Their small plane pilot (Mark Wahlberg) who has been chartered to fly them out of the Alaskan Wilderness turns out to be a psychopath hitman ( like you do) so the stage is set for a tense, exciting, old fashioned drama with the three leads bouncing well off each other, as Wahlberg becomes more unhinged and Dockery develops into a worthy adversary.  
Flight Risk is rubbish, but remains great entertainment and is all rather fun.

Animals In Hospital

 

Mary with Hattie, she adores women and their softness 

When I was a student nurse working in the community I once sat on a patient’s chihuahua, which was asleep on her couch. Its owner put in a written complaint about my behaviour. ( or more importantly my behind) 

In another home I once spied a mummified cat , curled up near a long used coal fire and could only go go eyed my colleague as she tried to persuade that patient to enter psychiatric hospital 

At another house, in the Sheffield districts I couldn’t help verify a patient’s death as I heard a family pet  ( a nasal pug with a habit of hiding under her mistresses’ bed ) heavy breathing 🐕

I once saw a farm dog lie still and whimpering next to the paralysed body of her shephard owner and I pretended not to notice an elderly dying patient’s Yorkshire terrier as it was “ smuggled” into intensive Care by a tearful grandaughter, under her anorak.

I’ve seen my own dear Meg , a feisty and somewhat bad tempered Welsh terrier , sit still and respectful at a moribund patient’s bedside. Something Mary copied a few years later. 

And Finlay , my first Welsh terrier once gently removed a spinal injury patient tracheostomy inner tube and held it in his mouth like a Frenchman smoking a cigarette as the staff looked on open mouthed .

I was present when a florid schizophrenic patient strangled the ward budgie 

And I’ve watched tearfully as a psych patient on his deathbed called to his dead wife only to be told he was in fact asking to see his long deceased old horse. 

Animals in hospital ….and outside hospital they love who they love 

Eponine


 In the late 1980s I was lucky enough to see the original cast of Les Miserables at The Barbican Frances Ruffelle won my heart as the urchin Eponine and stole the show over Patti LuPone who played Fantine and so forty years later,I was surprised to see a “new” Eponine that blew me away.
Nathania Ong plays the role  a visceral, raw and painful way
She lives Eponine
And she breaks your heart

Porth Eirias


 I need a boost today so lunch with a friend at Bryn Williams is a tonic. I took the welsh down the Promenade first in a first responce to anti diabetic expercise, then spoke to Nu in the car before sitting down at a nicely laid table  overlooking the sea.
The food was so so but Bryn Williams has lovely views and good coffee

We went to an art instillation at Porth Eirias, portaits of local.people from Colwyn Bay. It was simple, moving and very  effective



Then it was another walk for the Welsh , followed by supervision in Prestatyn .
It was almost dark when we got home, 
Hey ho



Memory lane January 2012

An old post revisited after 14 years

 “ I had a coffee then went out to deliver some duck eggs which I had promised to drop off and I was glad that I did for as I turned into Bron Haul I caught a glimpse of Mrs Spriggs.

Now Mrs Spriggs (not her real name) is one of those very VERY old ladies that always sound as though she is crying when she talks.She has that slightly odd, wavering voice that carries literally for miles. and when I sometimes try to pass her when she is waiting for the morning bus into town, the dogs will often stop then sit and stare at her when she cries her very odd cries of welcome.
Today, Mrs Spriggs was perched on top of a brand new shiny invalid scooter, complete with impressive wicker basket on the front. She was driving it at full tilt along the centre of the road,and even at a distance of say 50 yards, I could tell that her knuckles were white as the proverbial sheet.
Islwyn Thomas, himself in his late eighties, stood nearby and he gave me a small wave and a smile...
"watch this" , he  quipped "this should be fun!"
Mrs Spriggs passed us, letting out a long moaning scream as she did so
I noticed that the scream had a definite Doppler effect to it
"I'm scccccaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrred!!!!!!!!!!!" she cried " this is all new to me!"
she turned the scooter around and in way of explanation as she made a second run she cried out again
"The scooter is on loan..I'm trying it out!!!.....but I can't get the hang of the kerbs!"
She mounted the pavement briefly near Stan and Kit's neat little bungalow and let out a long "oooooooooooohhhhhhh!" as she did so.
And as I stopped to watch... realising instantly that this was the stuff of all passable blogs!
Mrs Spriggs glided past yet again emitting another little scream like girls do on rollercoasters

As she "hand braked it by the junction of High Street, She informed Islwyn and myself rather breathlessly that the buggy needed to be returned by Friday so she had to practise when the weather was dry.
"How do I look on it?" she wailed as she made her third and final run

"precarious !" I said under my breath”