A "Jo March" kind of Christmas

This morning I realised that I have done bugger all in preparation for Christmas!!, Now this is a big thing for a middle aged, obsessional gay man to admit to, as it touches on neglectful behaviour that borders on the Joan Crawford! but at least the shame of it all has galvanised me into some prompt Yuletide action.
So after a brief trauma of escapee guinea fowl and pet cats ( more about this later) I organised the ingredients to make mince pies, stamped all of my non Welsh Christmas Cards, posted them with Jenny at the Post Office, dug out the Christmas decorations from under the bed, and then went Christmas shopping.
I am a whizz at Christmas shopping, I have a mental list of what I need to buy, and without distraction I go and buy them, it is swift, painless and as precise as an attack by an Exocet missile!

This year I am going for a Little Women type of Christmas wrapping paper.....yes all very American civil war....plain and classic.......Susan Sarandon would be proud as punch. (don't worry I know the gifts look a little austere...I will be decorating them tastefully with some pine cones!)- go on Nige....say something!

Now, back to the guinea fowl trauma. Just before I left with my gingham shopping basket there was a knock at the kitchen window. It turned out to be one of the ladies that took part on my last Chicken course, she had seen two baby guinea fowl sat on our garden wall and wondered if they were mine!

I couldn't believe it, I had left the shed door open for the chicks to get some air and two had somehow escaped their cage and had made a bid for freedom. Far too young to be left outside, as they were still poor flyers I galloped outside to find the two babies now walking nervously towards the main road.

The kind lady ( I couldn't remember her name!) got into the spirit of the chase and left her kids, sitting quietly in the back of her 4 x 4, to head the babies off at the pass, and like two demented dinosaurs we lumbered around the lane with the now completely hysterical chicks bouncing like ping pong balls off the Church wall in their effort to escape us.

It took an age to catch them, but catch them we did, and with her Laura Ashley pearls clinking merrily around her rather flushed face, the lady triumphantly brandished the final chick above her head and as she passed it over to me, we were interrupted by a very loud catty miaow and a bang! I couldn't quite believe it as Albert suddenly tumbled out of the bathroom window, and landed square in the centre of a large potted bamboo plant on the patio. The bamboo collapsed towards us and the yummy Mummy good Samaritan suddenly lost her middle class composure and shouted "What the fuck was that?" as Albert shot passed obviously uninjured....

Never a dull moment..

Where does the time go?

Gawd, it is almost 2010!
The older I get, the quicker the years seem to fly by, yet it is sobering to realise that Chris and I have been together for a decade now.
I know I don't wax too lyrically about Chris on the blog. In actual fact I am careful not to refer to him to excess as professionally he does not like to be splashed over the internet in a light which is not purely confined to Stroke research and his University life.
Yet, occasionally I think it is important to put flesh to his blog confined bones, as I am sure that an intermittent reader may be forgiven to think that he does not actually exist in my chicken filled, allotment obsessed country life.
I drive Chris potty from time to time; I am bossy, opinionated,slightly obsessional and very middle aged......he is forceful,opinionated, work obsessed and an intermittent smoker ( with the highs and oh so many lows that accompanies nicotine withdrawal). We banter constantly, fight occasionally and after a decade we both know that we are together for life.

All this self discussion was sparked off my a phone in on radio, I was listening to this morning as I was picking a stubborn tick from out of Gladys' ear. The discussion was centred around partnerships and was a humorous exploration of those "little things" that do your head in, when in relationships!

Chris cannot close a cupboard door after he has opened it, nor can he ever tidy up after himself. He is incredibly loud and "artistic" at times (think of Brian Blessed), sulks at the drop of a hat and has no idea of how to treat dogs on their own doggy levels, yet, of course, I wouldn't change him for anyone.
The glue the binds couples together is subtle and invisible for most of the time. Our own relationship ,to me it is neither a saccharine and sugar frosted partnership nor a partnership of necessity, it is, I know something deeper, more realistic, yet can be taken for granted, especially after ten years together.
My grandparents made nearly 60 years together, given our late start, my blood pressure (still down by the way), his stressful work life and our ages, it is unlikely that we will reach that milestone, but I suspect we will give it all a good go!

hey ho!

Pissed off with being pissed on! and Chicken course II is on

The new cockerel Bill (the lucky chap that I didn't cull with his excess brothers earlier this year)

We had 20 minutes of sunshine today! The warmth and sudden brightness galvanised the animals out of their usual hunched depression amid the rain, and the hens crowded around the garden furniture, sunbathing for the briefest of moments.

The rest of the day has been a bloody washout. Village elder Steve, passed by when I was dragging my sodden carcass into the marshy field and informed me cheerfully that it was the wettest November since the 1930s!

I dropped Chris off at the station this morning . He is off to London for a few days where he will be presenting some of his work to the House of Commons select committee (no less!!!), yes it's all go in his giddy world of academia.....my life of miniature small holdings...remains...well.....just very VERY....wet!

Nora and Gladys are still suffering in their mud filled enclosure, so I have spent ages raking straw over the entrance and around the perimeter of their hut, in order to give them a raised dry "island" on which they can be fed and watered. I filled their hut with warm new straw and cooked some extra pasta as a treat for them, given their sodden state, and spent a glorious few minutes hand feeding them the long ropes of spaghetti which they swallowed gleefully, with tiny piggy eyes closed in pure rapture.
Tonight I received another two "applications" for my next "chicken course", which is nice! I now have enough "students" to make the course viable, so I will book the village hall again early in the new year! Subscriptions will pay for the old Berlingo's road tax!

Tonight I have another heady whirl of excitement to look forward to! it is a night in front of the fire writing the rest of the Christmas cards.....at least with Chris away I can watch what I want on dvd...tonight it's a bit of daring do and Zulu ! (I dare anyone not to be stirred by Ivor Emmanuel as Private Owen bellowing out "Men of Harlech!"

The X Factor 2009 - Danyl Johnson: Relight My Fire -

The best guy is out of the X FACTOR....a million miles away from Alan Bennett (and sex starved ducks for that matter)....but he is still still kinda cute.

A lady Of Letters

I know this video is 10 minutes long, but it is well worth re visiting, as it is one of the best observed, uplifting and ultimately best performed of Alan Bennett's monologues.
Bennett shines when he turns his attentions inwards to the well travelled subjects of loneliness, mental illness and Northern pragmatism.
I absolutely loved this re run of Patricia Routledge's Lady of Letters

Growing older gracefully & drake sexual tension

I believe that we as a nation possess a rather patronising and nanny-ish attitude to older people. They are sometimes seen as surplus to requirements, a burden on resources, slow, cumbersome and more often than not, less than vital in deed and thought
Yesterday Chris, Nigel and I witnessed something that reminded us all that old people aren't the weak willed, physically frail characters we think they are.
We were getting ready to leave the cottage for the railway station in Prestatyn, so that Nigel could catch his train home to Manchester. Outside it was almost dark and raining (when isn't it?), and through the gloom farmer Ralph drove noisily past on his massive tractor!
As we watched all of us could make out a small figure perched precariously on the backplate of the vehicle and I burst out laughing when I realised it was Mrs Jones from Pen-y-cefn- Isa (above right) Down the lane, and without the usual health and safety worries, Ralph was giving her a quick lift up to her old farm!
I giggled at the fearless fun shown by Mrs Jones and smiled at the lack of patronising worry shown by Ralph.........and I think the three of us watching learnt a small lession in how not to pigeon hole people and their behaviour!

On the home front Halleh ( the broody Blanche's adopted duckling son) is suffering from a sudden rush of sexual tension. Still unaware that he is , in fact a drake, he has shown some half arsed amorous interest in some of the more delicate hens. Every morning, "stiffened" by his sudden urges he has pounced upon a passing hen and rather messily grabs her by a beakful of feathers. He neither tries to mount his victim or flattens them by holding down their head down in typical drake/duck style, but holds onto their feathers briefly before the hen gives him a bit of their mind and chases him away.

Mindful that things could well get out of hand in the future, I will keep an eye on him, and if he becomes too sex fuelled, then I am afraid he will be placed into a run on his own.......here's hoping he realises that the six remaining runner ducks are a better prospect for some duck on duck sex!

Nige

Nige is easily pleased.....we drove to Rhos-on-sea this afternoon and walked along the promenade, ate ice cream, talked,laughed and had a thoroughly "English" good time.
It was only a flying sort of visit as Chris and I are off to his "Christmas ", work do in Conway tonight.
The turkey poults are still doing fine by the way

Living a small life

Compared to most, I know I lead a fairly small and uneventful life. This fact doesn't bother me at all, especially when I remember the headaches and mental exhaustion I experienced ( and to be fair also enjoyed) when I was a career nurse in Sheffield.
Village life suits me, It really does but I am also very aware that it makes me look "inward" a lot of the time, and I do fear that at times I may be, (shock horror) a bit of a boring old geek!
I guess sometimes, the minutiae of what duck did to what pig isn't that important when I could be discussing the recent banking bail out or the latest debate over the Kercher murder trial, but hey, that's what I signed up for.
Perhaps an example of the small nature of my news ( and the way village communication works) was how the news about the demolishing of the bridge down our lane spread like wild fire. When I took the dogs out this morning, I was informed of the prang no less than four times in a 2000 yard amble....and I even took a skip down the lane (pretending to pick dandelion leaves for the guinea fowl chicks) so I could have a peek at the damage!!! Anyhow the rest of the day has concentrated on my friend Nigel's visit. Rooms have been prepared and supper made, but I did have a worrying few minutes fussing over the baby turkeys in their new run. I woke up several times during the night, fretful that the cold may be too much for them in the big bad field, but this morning they gave me a chorus of trilling calls when I opened up their run, before bolting down an extra feed of pasta and corn.
I have just realised that I worried about my staff in Sheffield a great deal less than I do over a quartet of skinny turkeys...what does that make me?.
anyhow....coffee break over, it is time to scrub a wayward terrier pee stain from the spare room bed cover.....
hey ho