Bring Back British Rail

One of the down sides in living in rural North Wales is the crappy local rail service we have along the coast.
Arriva trains always seem to have old rail stock and dirty carrages which always seem to over filled to the gunnells and I generally keep my train going experiences to the occassional virgin long haul services that provide excellent service and rather nice coffee.
A certain proportion of passengers that  frequent the arriva service are what I call ( and I won't apologise for this) the "great unwashed" They seem to be the lager swilling, track suit wearing, baseball cap wearing dispossessed that criss cross the coast between the inner city areas of the North West and the deprived ex holiday towns in Wales.
There always seems a kind of lawlessness about them, a kind of anger and lack of respect which can be rather intimidating, and I wonder why I notice their presence as much as I do, given the fact I once lived within a great Northern city that had it's own share of the "anti social" (which strangely I never really felt intimidated by)
I do not think I am wrong in my assessment...my friend Nigel who lives in Manchester and who is as objective as King Solomon always comments just how the coast trains resemble a scene out of a cheap Western.......if you don't believe me readers...just catch the 11.05 between Shotton and Rhyl.....you'll see!

Anyhow I digress....... before I pop up to my brother's for the day I will leave you with a Welsh  train story!

Yes it is a guy trying to take his pony on the coastal train!
Now I know I have been banging on about the yobbish underclass that frequent the system......many of which seem to hop on and hop off the trains without paying..... but at least this guy bought the bloody pony a ticket from the vending machine!!!

Blowing away the cobwebs

There is only so much I can write about planting broccoli and artichokes, so I just can't be arsed. Nor can I be arsed banging on about how old I feel in light of a potentially dickey ticker
so I will concentrate on what I do best.....
....abject rubbish
Its been a blustery, fairly cold day, so I have had to content myself with veg sowing and planting, clearing my pea frames and mowing the grass.
I took the dogs up the Gop to blow away the cobwebs, then its back to the mundane;
sweetcorn needs planting and there  is a big pile of sick that Constance thoughtfully managed to "throw up" under the fridge to clean up..........at least it seems that she is now out of season........her sluttish behaviour seems for the most part  to have stopped!

Constance watching the traffic from the top of the Gop



Constance and George

William smiling into the wind

Meg, as usual, looking pensive

Dorothy......You're not 28 anymore

In my mind I am 28 years old.
I think I have always been 28...even when I was around 12.
28 is a nice age ............you are generally past the silliness of youth (humm is that really true?) and you have not yet reached the potential cynicism  that early middle age possesses........it is, for the most part a happy carefree time.....
and so, in my mind, and when I am asked...I say I feel 28........

Today I feel like a man who has almost reached 50, no I am not depressed, nor am I swallow diving into a rather late mid life crisis..no......I have just been reminded that I have almost been on this planet now for five whole decades and am now experiencing the normal wear and tear of a man, "almost past his prime!" !

My doctor rang today with the results of my xray. He was thorough , professional and precise and suggested that I needed a few more tests including a referral to a cardiologist......of course it is all a "matter of routine" but as he explained his ideas, all I could really think of is the starting fact that I wasn't that invincible 28 year old anymore.

The skin on my hands now resemble what can be found on an average rhino's arse and the bald spot hidden away on my crown is just that little more noticable to those standing behind me in a queue. Reading small print involves much squinting and moaning nowadays.....and I am always in search of a bright light source in order to work out what is exactly written on the back of a cornfake packet.
Hey ho.......and I will stop right there before I start to venture down the "peeing in the middle of the night" story and/or waxing too lyrically about the start of that painful bunion on my right foot

Oh to be 28 again!

anyhow, like I said....... enough already.... will end with a couple of examples of modern day tapestry. In the Prestatyn Scala art gallery I noticed a small group of childrens' tapestries hung colourfully in the foyer.
two of them, I recognised as being interpertations of Trelawnyd landmarks

The Ebenezer Chapel

The Memorial Hall

fuck me.....I am getting old.....I am getting excited over needlework........

Kitty 5 - With Patricia Routledge

Some women ( and I will use the example of Victoria Wood's "Kitty" here)..are just naturally funny!
Of course they don't know it, they are always of a type....but funny they are....

Today I have been working day shift. I looked after a recovering 78 year old lady who instantly recognised me from when she "knew " me as a boy

Like Kitty, she was a natural Queen of the one liner when I asked her if an Orthopaedic registrar had seen the infection in a wound on her leg she said without smiling
"An somewhat untidy youth came to see me yesterday if that's what you mean;
he was wearing plimsolls and an ill fitting cardigan that gaped at the sleeves.......but I suppose all this informality is a populist University system for you!!"

Priceless

Giselle

The rather weedy looking Leonid Sarafanov as Albrecht and the stunning Natalia Osipova in the title role

Giselle is not a ballet that requires a gimmick, and certainly not if the gimmick is a filmed 3D performance of a notable Marlinksy Theatre production.
But after a shaky start  where the action seems all a little blurred (the first act is somewhat shaky anyway with it's slightly pantomime feel), the moonlit action where the Corps de ballet acting as the ghostly Wilis filter back and forth across the stage with the precision of a military exercise is quite stunning to watch under the spotlight of the extra dimension .
I wouldn't rush to do the whole glasses thing again..( at £15 a ticket, it is all a little excessive) but it was an interesting experience.

At least we got to keep the 3D glasses

I have been rostered to work tomorrow ( even though I have a work profile which states "no weekdays!")
Thank goodness for good neighbours who will be baby sitting the dogs for us.
I had a nice phone call from Thomas' owner too,who informed me that he had been returned twice before by different owners.....his athletic ability to scale great heights was obviously NOT a new skill...

hey ho

I Told You So

This morning and out of nowhere Thomas flexed his considerable thigh muscles and leapt ( without any run up) his enclosure and parimeter fence. Strangely enough it was the highest of all of the fencing that surrounds the entire field and Graveyard, and once nailed, his new facination and skill for the high jump knew no bounds and the sudden escapes continued throughout the morning.
With a heavy heart and with numerous "I told You so's" ringing in my head, I bundled him back into the berlingo and took him back to his owner ( and to her 7 foot garden fences)..I cannot take the chance that he gets out onto the road....perhaps I was naive that my heightened fencing would contain him.....

No advice please!.........and no I told you so's.........I feel bad enough already

Sense & Sensibility

Now I have not seen this since 1995 ( Nuala and I blubbed through it in a Notting Hill picture house)
But tonight I caught it on tv and loved it all over again!
It is a clever film which shows the constraints and manipulations of an affluent female Georgian population .
The film really made Kate Winslett a star, but I much prefer Emma Thompson's beautifully subtle performance of the careful Elinor Dashwood...she breaks your heart!
A lovely Movie

Blogger down! Blogger down!

We are a sad bunch of blogging fu*kers aren't we?
Our On-line diary "ship of fools" was floored  presumably by a nasty little virus and there we all were, sitting at our kitchen tables or in our favourite arm chairs, cups of coffee in hand ( or something a little stronger if you're TS)....all mourning our inability to read the exciting thoughts and daily diaries of a valiant little band of bloggers across the globe.
Of course blogging attracts the control freaks of this world.
The attraction of getting your thoughts down on paper ( like my daily and oh so necessary lists) is in fact a simple pastime to control one's environment......we all recognise the need....and we all enjoy the habit........funny we are all creatures of habit are we not?

Right , I must dash........I have to think of a wry story to write...probably about a hen falling over or the something rather unsavory about the menstral cycle of a flatulent bulldog......

got to keep my followers happy eh?

Nice to have everyone back!