sex...sex...SEX

The small male population of the field has embraced the coming of spring with some gusto and now their only concern during the lengthening days seems to be sex,sex and more sex.
It's like watching an outside broadcast from HBO.
Of course in every male group there is always one stud and one geeky dud
The stud, of course is a Welshman! well it is actually welsh magpie drake to be precise..and what Harry Seacombe lacks in general stature, he makes up in frantic hip action and persistence.
Every morning when he leaves the confines of the goose house, his black little beady eyes will scan the grass horizon in search of any of the female runner ducks like a  German U boat commander searching for the Queen Mary. Within seconds he had found one, cornered and grabbed her ( always on the back of the neck) and in a minute or so, shagged her senseless.
I dont know just how he does it..........
This duck "orgy" literally lasts all day, and by mid afternoon I always get the urge to offer him a cup of hot sweet tea to keep his energy levels up.
Thank goodness I only have one effective drake out of a total of 8 females.

Halleh ( the duckling) hiding in Blanche's feathers soon after hatching

Halleh , the drake that was raised by Blanche the hen (above) is a rather ineffectual lover. This stems from the confusion of his upbringing and where as he has plenty of ducks to nail....the object of his affections always seem to be slim, and sexually mature hybrid hens.

 Having said this, he seems pretty good at catching a hen, but will do so by grabbing a beakful of wing feathers and holding on until the hen simply pulls away or in the case of most of the St Trinians , turns around and gives him a real pasting.

I have yet to see his shag a duck as yet although he has come close to abusing a few of the slower and older hens on several occasions, a fact which seems rather unsavory to say the least


halleh



Regular readers may remember that Boris the turkey collapsed last year after one particularly heavy bout of lovemaking, so this year I have tried to ration his "lurve time" to the occasional and rather heavy handed "session" Each day Gloria and the slightly shop worn Theresa are put out on the field to give his old ticker ( and pecker) a rest.......a fact that they are mighty grateful for as , for those that don't know, turkey sex is somewhat clumsy and painful for the female to cope with ( I suspect that turkey sex feels as though you have been smothered by a lead filled scatter cushion with big feet).

Only the adolescent gander Russell shows any finesse when it comes to the act of lurve!
He and the grey goose Jo seem now to be a bit of an item, and just occasionally I will catch them sitting side by side winding their long necks together in a rather romantic clinch. Compared to the frantic drakes and the cack-handed  Boris, the geese and their gentle and affectionate courtship behaviour is a joy to watch.

hey ho
off for a cold shower

Get on your Bus........... Welsh's a strange language.......and thumbs up for an old queen

The weather  again is unseasonably warm..... coupled with the fact it's Easter weekend, the roads have been full of sweaty families and their sweaty 'orrible kids off on  quality afternoons out.
Sixty years ago there were few privately owned cars in the village. On sunny ,dusty afternoons like the one we are having today, the village children played by the side of the road, content in the knowledge that they were not going to be mashed into spaghetti bolognese by a speeding nissan micra.....
somedays( when I don't need the car to pop over to work  or to pick up 60 kilos of chicken food)...I have the fantasy that no one has a private car and everyone is smiling and are wearing smart hats when they get on the vintage bus for their weekly jaunt to town.

My Brother-in-law's Pièce de résistance-The Prestatyn Vintage Car Show
complete with Miss Marple Bus
See my sister's informative blog entry describing the annual Car Show

Now in bygone times the public transport system here in Wales was considerably better than it is today.

Buses looped every hour  from the country villages down to the heady metropolis of Rhyl and I loved the anecdote from Pat Bagguley who giggled when she told me that her mother would always advocate a 1.30 pm bus to Rhyl as the 2.30 bus was always filthy after it had dropped off its dirty cargo of miners from the local Point of Ayr coal mine after their morning shift.



The sign states
Nid DA but gellir GWELL



Anyhow I will leave you with a bit of a conundrum

On my quest for personal histories of the village community I was given a wartime (?) photo of some Trelawnyd lovelies posing under a sign. I have been told that the photo was taken in the memorial Hall ( can anyone confirm this?)

Anyhow I was intrigued by the sign itself and after a bit of googling I worked out that a rough translation

is as follows "NOT....GOOD...BUT EVEN BETTER"

I checked this with my "Welsh advisor" Kit Hopkins this afternoon who confirmed my thoughts.....

"It sounds odd" she explained " but that's Welsh for you......It IS odd!.......the statement actually means "always strive to do better !"

Hey ho

and finally..........it makes a real change for a self obsessed old queen not to take themselves all too seriously...
Edward Reid.......manages very well don't you think? funny and rather clever

St Michael's

We went out for lunch and had a nice walk along a near deserted beach today.Chris decided to do all of the cooking this evening so I took the welcome break from the kitchen sink and went to conscript more grey hairs for the village blog. I didn't have to look far; as when I had my head in the turkey coop affable despot Dorothy bellowed over the graveyard fence at me "When are you coming to see me?"

I dutifully booked her particular slot, then added octogenarian Hubert Evans and Daphne who lived in the village rectory in the 1940s.By next week I would have interviewed ten people.

Daphne gave me a key to the Church so that I could photograph the Easter lilies, and although I am in no way religious, I do find the silence and peace of the empty Church particularly soothing .

St Michael's has a country-like simplicity about it. It is, in essence just a plain rectangle with windows on three sides. It is dark but not gloomy. The atmosphere is still, but not musty and there is a warmth about the whole place which is strangely healing.Perhaps it will help my wheezy chest? I have been coughing like an old asthmatic for weeks now

Perhaps I have seen Black Narcissus too many times....

Bulldog kiss

Its 12.02 am and I was just about to to bed after finishing my sister blog update (Trelawnyd History-voices from the past) when  Albert opened the kitchen door and walked in to the cottage proper to go to bed.
Constance saw the open door, got up, and marched into the living room
I was watching some crap on tv...and she slowly walked up to me, then climbed up on the couch and gave me  a kiss!
She really did!
It's weird but she is the only dog we have ever had that demands a kiss...AND ON THE LIPS too!... Albert does, but then he's a cat so that does not count.... but Constance......she likes to touch base....have a kiss then back to the kitchen she went.............happy and content.......

I have made a monster! lol

hey ho

Live and Let live

 Again, it is gloriously hot and sunny.
The weather has brought out the village children who visit the field often with bags of cheap white bread clutched in their fists. They call around to the cottage to pick up tin bowls and then will eagerly scurry around the coops collecting eggs and the odd tame hen which is usually carried around like a handbag.
In this awful climate of health and safety...I always remind them loudly (in front of parents) to wash their hands when they get home!

I had forgotten it is Good Friday......so best laid plans had to be put on hold as Chris has a day off at home.
I took him to Church service in Dyserth this morning before popping down to Rhyl on a bit of a mercy dash.

Earlier I took a phone call from a nice couple who were distraught with their neighbour's threats to report them to the local council. The couple has five ornamental orpingtons which after laying the occasional egg , cluck a little too loudly for the neighbours to cope with, and so after a bit of a war of words, the couple had been presented with the fact that in the small print of their deeds there was a covenant forbidding the keeping of hens.

I called around to find the couple upset and very tearful. The hens' run was beautifully clean and well looked after and the quiet birds ( yes they were beautifully quiet) looked bright and very healthy to me, but of course the couple had to get rid of them......they had no other choice.............so of course I agreed to take them.
One by one I loaded the fat girls into the back of the berlingo as the wife sobbed into her hankie, and all I could do to help her was to promise to save their eggs for the family to use personally.
It was such a shame that two enthusiastic and caring people should be stripped of a pastime they had grown to love so much......and by a hatchet faced neighbour who couldn't quite cope with the odd cluck of a hen!

The new girls

Gran Fry

My Grandmother, mother and parrot in Gwaenysgor around 1941
Gwaenysgor is Trelawnyd's "sister" village

Thursdays I always come up to my brother's house to lend a hand when my sister-in-law goes out to complete "jobs". Motor neurone disease brings with it great lethargy, so Andrew will doze for most of the morning hours.
I spend the time being somewhat of a self righteous secretary, and will complete my blog, e mails, and most importantly today, will do Chris' work expenses and write out the latest "Voices from the past" recording from the animated and entertaining Pat Bagguley.


I think , spending so much time listening to the  older people from the village recalling past times has made me feel  rather nostalgic for my own grandmother, who died back in 1984.
" By Gum" ......She could tell a good story.....my goodness if she had lived in Trelawnyd rather than her native Liverpool, she could have taken up at least ten pages of blog with amusing tales of wartime daring do (her story of how she returned to her bomb damaged Everton house with the ARP man to retrieve her children's clothes and the cat when there was an unexploded bomb under the kitchen floor could have hushed the Albert Hall I can tell you!)


Even as a child and despite all of the humour and funny tales, I always realised just how the war traumatised my grandmother. I remember when we were children, thunderstorms would send her scurrying into the "safety" of the airing cupboard, where she would sit in the darkness until the storm had passed...and bonfire night was an evening to be endured with the curtains closed and the television volume well up!


And yet, despite all of her WW2 induced neuroses,my gran did manage to captivate her grandchildren's imagination time and time and time again with that "spirit that won us the war" and "let's get on with it" strength everyone seemed to possess at that time.


Like most women of her generation, she experienced the abject poverty of the 1920s recession without going under. She scrubbed floors to earn a living, she waited tables in Isle of Man Cafes when things were very bad ( leaving her babies in Liverpool to do so) and despite everything, she developed a warmth and generosity of spirit that was passed on without reservation to her grandchildren.


I missed her yesterday.....I was walking in the village with the dogs in the strong afternoon sunshine and as we  panted our way down High Street, I spied Auntie Gladys asleep in a deck chair by her front door.
Seeing that old lady with the same indomitable spirit made me grieve just a little for my gran from those happy 1970s days full of bright sunshine and warm conversations

Flight of the Bumblebee on 101 Bottles!

and who said University fees of 9,000£ a term is too high?

Loose Cannons (Mine Vaganti) and Miss BA Jones

The Italian comedy/drama Loose Cannons (Mine Vaganti) (at Theatre Clwyd this evening) is an amusing "coming out of the closet" film that would have probably been made by Richard Curtis in the 1980s or early 1990s if produced in the UK....and yes it does has that slightly dated feel which may or may not perfectly portray the attitudes and prejudices of conservative Southern Italian family life.
The main story is typical farce.......Thomasso,(Riccardo Scamarcio ) The youngest son of a wealthy and eccentric family arrives back home to inform his family that he is gay (so that he will be disowned and not expected to carry on with the family pasta business)..just before he has the opportunity to do so his elder brother(Alessandro Preziosi ) comes out to the family at dinner.....father has a heart attack, grandmother grieves past relationship mistakes and drunken aunt bemoans her fading youth...oh and the family pasta company director Alba (Nicole Grimaudo ) falls for Thomasso who feels unable to declare his gayness to his now shocked family!
.........yes and that's the simple synopsis!

add to the mix Thomasso's hunky boyfriend. his three camp -as-a-row-of-tents friends who have to try an butch it all up so that no one can guess the truth and a miserable ugly maid and you'll get the gist of the movie which amuses the audience in a kind of predictable and middle class kind of way.
I gave it an ok 7/10...but I do think that the totally beautiful and talented Nicole Grimaudo (left) is a real find..I will look out for her again. She is lovely


Anyhow, earlier today I "interviewed" Pat Bagguley and her  youthful daughter Joanne for Trelawnyd-Voices from the Past.
It was an entertaining and animated afternoon full of interesting anecdotes and cracking personal histories

Joanne and Pat

and I so enjoyed listening to their memories of the village from the 1950s onwards, it was an easy and fun afternoon.
In addition to their own fascinating stories, both Pat and Joanne described a local schoolteacher Miss BA Jones who literally ran the village community for over  half a century. Her story will be one I will concentrate upon in my sister blog as Miss Jones was awarded an M.B.E. in recognition of her passion and dedication to village affairs.
(which was no mean feat)
I will try and get some more of the blog written tomorrow night! its beginning to become a labour of love with me

Miss BA Jones is centre of the ladies on the from row (the one with the gloves) in this 1958 photo of the village welfare committee
Auntie Gladys, who was 92 yesterday is first on the left