Dead Of Winter

 I was going to a leaving do this afternoon, but the trains to Llandudno had been cancelled, and I couldn’t face the replacement bus service 

So I went to Chester to see Dead Of Winter

Emma Thompson is an actress that convey pure emotion in a look of a single gesture. I am remembering her famous silent weeping scene in Love Actually or that single shriek of hope at the end of Sense and sensibility. 

In the thriller  Dead Of Winter she plays the recently widowed Barb. A gentle country woman who ran a bait and tackle business in rural Minnesota. The marriage ( which we see in brief flashbacks) is a happy one and clearly grieving, we watch with interest this sixty something heading out into a snowstorm to do some ice fishing. Here the drama takes a dark turn as Barb comes across an isolated cabin in which a teenage girl is being kept hostage, and without hesitation we see Barb morph into an unlikely hero, using her knowledge of country ways and the lake in winter in order to save the girl from a truly evil abductor couple ( Marc Menchaca and Judy Greer)

There is limited dialogue and plenty of action , as the likeable, polite and humble Barb, take on the bad guys. She’s not an infallible hero, but she is brave and resourceful and even as the action and the tension rises to a crescendo we always see the grief in Thompson’s face as she remembers happier times, and so we understand the reasons why she returned to the fishing lake at such an inhospitable time. It’s a great performance all told, with Thompson on great form, and her one and only gentle speech of hope to the teenage girl is a tour de force in the actress’ career 

Il Trovatore Coro de gitanos Verdi Grupo Talía

The lisping choir and the Metropolitan Orchestra does Verdi 

Quite beautifully

Storm Amy lashed the North Wales Coast and in the hospice today a handful of staff watched with the patients as the centre’s garden furniture took sail in wind and the wooden pergola shook dangerously close to destruction. 

I got home just before 9 pm with the Welsh snuggled up on the kitchen reading chair and Bun and Weaver sat quietly on the kitchen tops. All together safe from the storm outside 

And all welcoming me from a very long day overtime 

The Lost Bus

 

Now people that know me, will understand that I love a good disaster movie. Most of my teenage years were dominated by burning skyscrapers, earthquakes and 747’s in trouble. 

Hell, when I started my film degree, I even wrote an assignment on the role of women in 1970 disaster movies ( I got an A btw) 

So I was excited to see Paul Greengrass’ new disaster flick The Lost Bus today. 

Based on the true story of the 2018 Paradise Wild Fire, we follow an overwhelmed fire department as they battle a once in a lifetime forrest fire in rural California . Caught up in the drama is a somewhat dejected and troubled school bus driver Kevin McKay ( Michael McConaughey) and a prim teacher Mary Ludwig ( America Ferrera) who are suddenly responsible for the safety of 22 small children 

Their journey to safety is an epic and exciting ride, with all of Greengrass’ directorial flourishes on show but as small children in peril on a typically American yellow school bus, is such a stereotype in action ,movies ( Godzilla, Superman, Fabulous Four, Independence Day  etc etc etc) much of the drama is cushioned by the knowledge that all will be well 

Much more chilling, was an early scene where a small convoy of survivors supervised by a lone fireman are trapped by the fire. They only just escape , by throwing themselves into a small lake as the roaring fire flows over them, and the sequence is stunningly shot and terrifyingly acted. 

McConaughey ( not an actor I like) is very impressive here and I also liked Ashlee Atkinson’s performance as his tough talking and acting boss Ruby. 

A good watch

The Child Inside

 I’m such a child sometimes

I don’t apologise for it 

Yesterday I bought a £3.00 plastic light up ghost from Sainsbury’s 

Useless

But cute

Eyes and a beach conversation

 Bloody awful injection in my eye yesterday and repeat appointment this afternoon.

I’m eye phobic and only coping because a support worker at the eye hospital was so sweet….

Go to your happy place ( she told me )

“ I can’t “ I told her

“ well go to mine” …she said

“where’s that?” I asked clutching at straws

“Greggs * “ she said with a smile ….

I loved her

    *https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greggs

I had a text from a dear friend this morning. It was the dreaded I have Cancer message. I didn’t ring back immediately, these type on conversations need preparation and calm. So I took the Welsh to McDonalds and bought them a cheesy flatbread and myself a large coffee and a porridge. 

I walked the dogs on the beach and we returned to Bluebell where I rang my friend. 

I listened and heard and I told my friend that I loved them as the Welsh curled up into balls to sleep and the sea breeze slipped through the open windows.

Fire – Mädchenchor Hamburg

This is an extraordinary piece of singing. Not the lisping choir but a German one.

I’m in the waiting room at the eye hospital ( first visit of two)

Another day another procedure.  

( Ive had to turn the volume down for this one) 

And the vagaries of normal life ebb and flow

As they have a habit of doing

When I got home yesterday a package awaited me on the kitchen wall

A card and a gift of jam from Lywena ( Widow to Ralph the Gentleman Farmer)

Who lives down the lane and across the Felin Valley

It’s for my counselling certificate, I start seeing clients proper next week! 

Old Friends

 Thirty six years have flown by, and between us we’ve had four husbands, seven children, lots of laughs and quite a few too many tears. In our twenties, we bonded as young staff nurses ( and occupational therapist) and supported each other through the adventures of young adulthood. Tracey still looks like Sophia Loren and wears a smile that can almost make you cry with its warmth. Ally remains the quirky one, with a sharp brain and wit to match and I felt at home , as I always did, listening to them banter and laugh about the last thirty years of news. 

For once, a long time ago, I was that quiet shy man. The one who had never been to the Opera. The one that hadn’t had a relationship that was fraught and adult and interesting. I soaked up their energy like a sponge and I grew as a person and as a professional in 1980s York that was filled with music, and drink, and socialising and laughter, and of friendships that mattered.

We missed Betty’s, a suicide on the train line had made me unfortunately late, ( how apt it was a probably a mental health problem which affected our reunion) but this morning I took myself off to Betty’s alone and sat in the window with my tea and fat rascal before getting the train home

York a thought from 2009

Written winter 2009


“I qualified as a RMN (Registered Psychiatric Nurse) in 1986. None of our group of 8 students planned to staff in our training hospital in Chester, so it seemed perfectly reasonable to move to a city with similar sensibilities!.I was lucky to get a job in York, I had no idea of what to expect, or indeed what my role would be, I just went for the interview as all the others did and got the job! My placement was at the prestigious Bootham Park Hospital (below), which was the showcase for the Health authority at the time. The hospital was small, comprising of only 6 wards as I recall, and I secured a job on ward 1 which was an acute admission ward for around 18 general patients and up to 6 mother and babies.
I was given fairly basic accommodation at the nurses residence at Clifton Hospital which was the old asylum two miles away.I was 24, but a young and gauche 24, so a new job in a new city,was pretty tough for me at first....but on reflection I had a blast of a time!
My allocation to the nurses home gave me contact with a huge group of new starters! 20 or so student nurses, all nervous of the challenges ahead provided me with a ready made group of friends and that coupled with a young and bright set of work colleagues which were also "on tap", meant that the 2 years I was a staff nurse was one big social experience!.


In York I had a steady stream of girlfriends (Gay realisation was sadly yet to dawn!!!), an introduction to other cultures and races (which never happened in Wales or indeed the very conservative Chester) and intellectual stimulation by open minded bright people. It was also where I started my Love affair with Yorkshire and the straight talking Yorkshire people, with their wonderful flat, warm way of talking and deadpan sense of humour.
On reflection I loved my time there and I learnt so much. Professionally, the ward was run sympathetically and with great thought. The ward manager (an obese jolly ex community nurse--who incidentally had been run over by her own car months before I started and therefore was transferred to the inpatient facility!) had, as I recall a big heart and a knack of developing her staff with time and care,On reflection I blossomed under her guidance.
I also teamed up with another staff nurse called Tracy Birkin ( I am on a memory roll now!!! ) who provided me with big sister-ish support. Fearless and insightful, she became my professional hero, and with a personality as big as a bus, helped me develop from shy Welsh geek into a more sociable more rounded friend. (she was also famous at being able to run 1000 yards in high heels to catch any absconding patient before they reached the hospital gates!)
So this morning I have had a memory "romp" about the people I used to know in that faraway part of my life....I wonder where they are now....Tracey married and moved to Goole I think, but the others such as Linda Mapplebeck, Cathy Audin (who looked like Dennis the menace) Sue Kirton, Mandy Moore, Jim Cooper, David Griffith, Pete Curry, Barry Ford,Boy next door-Martin Kirby ( who, on reflection I secretly fancied ) have all disappeared from view when I moved to Sheffield to start life in "spinal injuries "....
Two friends I do keep in touch with, Cheryl and Gill still write occasionally in Christmas cards and in brief e mails......I am not sad......on reflection........like I said.,......York was a blast!”

Today’s thought

And it’s interesting that I am now returning to York to catch up with the aforementioned

Tracy. Indeed several of the people I’ve mentioned have returned to my world in some way or another, like so many people do when you need them .

Hey ho

Betty’s

 

I am meeting Tracy in York tomorrow afternoon. 

Like Celia Johnson and Trevor Howard we have arranged to meet outside Betty’s Tearooms at 5 pm, and I’ve arranged for us to have high tea in the Belmont Room .

Betty’s was first opened in 1937 and is a must for anyone visiting the city.

When I lived in York, Betty’s was a go to for the occasional treat away from hard psychiatric nurse shifts

Locals never braved the queues at peak times only turning up early in the day to snatch a table for one

I was 24, and even then I fell in love with its art deco lines and waitresses with frilly hats

I’m on the way to being 64 and I’m meeting Tracy after a break of thirty six years

How lovely

A Thank You

 It was a particularly gruelling night at work last night and I was somewhat jaded when I returned home.

A message from Trendy Carol’s Husband lifted my mood.

It simply said 

“ I’ll pick the dogs up at 10.30” 

And so safe in the thought they would be looked after whilst I slept, I walked and fed them, then went to bed, for a proper sleep. 

Trendy Carol’s hubby I will call Owain

Without Owain, I couldn’t have kept my dogs for as long as I have.

From the first time that I had to return to work after retiring, he jumped into the breech and took care of them when I needed him to. 

This weekend I’m popping up to York to see an old friend and Owain will be there treating the dogs as if they were his own.

And he refuses any payment, just allowing me to take him to appointments and picking up pharmacy and the like.

The world runs on kindnesses like his

And I thank him for it

Short Bursts

 

Ive been lucky enough to see Diana Damrau sing this aria at the Met in New York .To be honest the Opera is complicated and overlong , but this aria is sublime and is a lesson of sometimes the best bits are the briefest

I had brunch with my friend Polly this morning. 

Not a long date but one we both felt the benefit from it.

Heyho

An early Christmas Story

Nineteen years ago, at the beginning of December...I had only one turkey living on the field.
Boris was a mere youngster then...a rather skinny adolescent with a winning nature and an lonely disposition, he spent the short days of winter wandering his enclosure in the vain hope of finding a busty mate.
Unsure of exactly where to get a female turkey from, I put an advertisement up at the post office which read

Wanted

Female TURKEY for sex starved Stag

looks and age immaterial

No time wasters Please

On the 5th of December I received a phone call from a poultry farmer in Hollywell, informing me that he was about to cull his entire flock of English Whites, and if I was quick I could have one female!
I jumped at the chance.
And minutes after the call, I found myself standing in a huge aircraft hanger of a barn, looking at 800, fat, stupid and very loud Christmas turkeys.
"Help yourself" the farmer said and I suddenly found myself with the awesome responsibility of choosing one turkey survivor out of hundreds!
which one should I pick?
Which one looked more nervous?
Which one had the most gentle or needy expression?
I was literally spoilt for choice.....as 1,600 dark soulful eyes watched my every move......
Who would I save?
Which girl would have the opportunity to gallop gaily in a green field with the sun on her beak?

I looked pleadingly at the farmer for inspiration, and without a pause he bent down a picked up a slightly slickly looking female who just had been pecked on the back of her head.....
"Here... have this one" he said..... as he plonked her under my arm
"What should I call her?" I asked, trying to make conversation
He smiled and laughed
"I'd call her fucking lucky....that's what I would call her!"


And that's how Gloria appeared here on the field!........
I told the story to Jason today, when he stopped by when on a dog walk....
"You're a regular turkey Oskar Schindler " he said brightly, when I had finished!

Let The Drama Begin

 The hastily renamed “ drama Group” met tonight in the Crown’s back room to discuss the “ Christmas Review” and things are building nicely thank you very much.

We already have some “ turns” booked,  a young professional singer who lives in village centre, a beautiful Filipino with a self penned recitation, A child’s sweet song, a set of local workers performing a ballet dance, a local actor’s singalong, and even affable despot Jason is poised to do something interesting.

This group is mainly filled with younger village members, which is encouraging and pragmatic for we already have a young female computer boffin on board who has already designed a 🩷 Village logo and “ look” of the social media side, as well as a theatre trained Canadian village newbie who will be our artistic director. 

Me and the velvet voiced Linda were quietly pleased as the ideas kept coming in. 

She winked wryly at me before she left

The new pub owners will be providing the bar

Our next meeting is in The Crown 6 pm on the 6th of October

All welcome

Inter Alia

 

What a stimulating and enjoyable afternoon. 

I hadn’t heard of InterAlia ( The follow up legal play follow up to Prima Facie) but the production led by Rosamund Pike was every bit as amazing as the Jodie Comer play. 

The narrative is now centred on judge Jessica Parks ( Pike) and her life juggling act between the bench, sexism in the workplace, a less successful barrister husband and a teenage son who is negotiating his first experiences in an over sexualised world. 

Judge Parks is a woman in constant motion and stress, and Pike hits the stage running with an immensely physical and honest performance which perfectly captures a mother’s love and a professional’s quandary when her son is accused of rape. 

It’s a towering performance with the lead exhausting to watch as she leaps onto the kitchen table and across the stage to give conflicting views about law and sexual abuse, role modelling, influencing and relationships. 

Inter alia is a Latin phrase meaning "among other things." It is used in legal writing to indicate that the instance, point, example, item etc. being mentioned is just one of a larger group.

We had noodle soup at the Chester Market and lots of laughs and chats afterwards.

“ Darling Sunday’s can be a slow day when you are single” Eleanor observed thoughtfully as we drove home. “Today has been lovely”

And I agreed

La boda de Luis Alonso (G. Giménez)

I worked last night, and it’s raining right now which has meant that the cottage is cold and unwelcoming once I dragged myself out of bed. 

One of the twins has peed on my trendy fox cushion 

Leaving a nasty smell, so I’m off to buy food, cleaning materials and a treat

I feel a scotch egg moment coming on

I’m also going to price a few cars up as it’s almost time to replace Bluebell 

The old girl needs replacing after seven years loyal service

But I will be upset when she goes.

I really will 

To add some colour to the drab day I will leave you with the Zaruzala performance by Talia Grupo

No choir just the music and dance

Quite lovely

Tomorrow I’m meeting Chic Eleanor for drinks and theatre “ Darling Pick you up at midday! Let’s be decadent !” Was her message from this morning.

AI

 AI is a way forward 

I’m careful to say here that’s it’s a way not the way forward

This essay is a case in point .

I was discussing with a techno savvy friend the possibilities of getting an AI app to write the next village pantomime. He says that it’s perfectly possible and old doubting Thomas me asked him to give me some sort of example

This AI generated story was written in just a few minutes

Enjoy

John lived quietly in his stone cottage on the rolling hills of Wales. His days were simple—tending his garden, walking the forest paths, and watching the evening mist rise from the valleys. Yet within his heart burned a secret dream: to one day meet King Felipe of Spain, the man he admired not only for his dignity but for the kindness that seemed to shine through his every gesture. For John, the thought of even the briefest touch, a kiss upon the lips, was like imagining heaven itself.

One late afternoon, as the sky blushed with the colors of dusk, John heard a knock at his door. Surprised—since few ever came this far—he opened it to find a tall, distinguished man in a simple coat, his dark hair slightly tousled by the wind.

“I’m terribly sorry to trouble you,” the stranger said in a gentle Spanish accent. “My car has broken down on the road nearby. Might I ask for some help?”

John blinked, his breath catching in his chest. He knew that face—though here it was without crown, without ceremony. It was him. King Felipe, standing on his doorstep as though fate itself had led him there.

Trying to steady his voice, John invited him in. “Of course. Please, come inside, Your—” He stopped himself. The king smiled knowingly.

“Tonight, I am only Felipe,” he said warmly.

They sat by the fire as John made tea, the glow of the flames flickering between them. Conversation flowed easily—Felipe speaking of his travels, John of the quiet beauty of the Welsh countryside. There was laughter, gentle silences, and the unmistakable sense of two souls finding one another in the unlikeliest of places.

When the hour grew late, Felipe rose to leave, but paused by the door. He looked at John, his gaze soft, searching. “You have given me more than shelter tonight,” he said quietly. “You’ve given me peace.”

And before John could find words, Felipe leaned closer. The kiss was tender, unhurried, a promise sealed in warmth and wonder. For John, it was as though the world stopped, leaving only that perfect, impossible moment.

Weird eh

Is it me ?

 Why am I always attracted to men who have a certain sadness about them? 

Empathy? Rescuer syndrome? Carer? Saver? 

I know where I come from and I understand my motivations 

But sometimes , just sometimes , it would be nice to date a guy, or to even meet a guy who hasn’t got lots of baggage behind the kind eyes and the easy manner.

Who doesn’t spill a psychological problem out at you within hours of conversation 

Is it me? Perhaps it is

For Granted

 

This is the view from my bedroom window. 

My garden with its metal chickens then my old field where the allotments and Ukrainian Village once stood, and the livery fields beyond to the South. 

Pen y Cefn Isa , with its proud Victorian farmhouse faces the cottage and village behind me and at night I find comfort in the lights of its windows and the yard light from Glan Ffyddion where Ralph The Gentleman farmer once lived.

Cwm Road snakes South too, from by its neat hedges towards the hills beyond, and Trelawnyd feels safely encircled by low hills in front and by Gop Hill to its rear.

Today it’s Bun’s job to experience the view

It’s blustery and a tad chilly

And the crows called loudly from their trees on Well Street as Melvin’s homing pigeons flashed by like shoals of gleaming fish. 

I’ve lit the fire and the smell of woodsmoke wafts in through the open window…..

And I sat with her for a while, reminding myself not to take for granted the gentle view of the green hills of this part of North East Wales.

The Instagram age

 

Canadian villager kira has now joined our review committee of two with years of acting training, experience of Show production and an understanding of proper marketing.

She’s been sent to us from heaven 

The velvet voiced Linda and I visably relaxed over our gins and bitter lemon, when she said she’d be happy to join in, especially as she wants to rope in the younger population of the village with TikTok , and Instagram help. 

The first proper meeting of interested parties will be held next Monday at the pub.  

Hey ho

Snow Patrol - Chasing Cars (Glastonbury 2025)

One of my patients played this song today  as I was completing a nursing task at work

Like all songs that evoke memories, 

I was suddenly transported to 2007, and I was driving my very first Welsh terrier to the animal hospital near Chester

I knew Finlay was dying 

And those words 

“ If I lay here

If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?”

Finlay Christmas 2005

Have never left me. They summed up our relationship perfectly

Man and dog

And 18 years later, I still am moved to tears by the words.

What song breaks your heart? 

Answers here please xxxx