Going Gently

I have just spent a fascinating hour or so reading Rictor Norton's Homosexuality in Eighteen Century England
( well specifically I have been concentrating upon The Raid on Mother Clap's Molly House in 1726 where over 40 mollies (gay men) were rounded up to be tried for, what was essentially indecent behaviours!.
Three of the men arrested were subsequently hanged , which sounds dreadfully shocking to us today, but I guess way back then, where you could be imprisoned or deported for stealing a load of bread, the punishment seemed to well fit the crime
Tom Stephenson highlighted the subject on his morning blog,and indeed it made for a great read, but it also got me thinking of how little I actually think about being gay in historical terms and surprising as it may sound, how little I think about being gay per se!
The subject just does not really blink in my radar so to speak.
Perhaps I should be more forthright and vocal in the struggle some people still have to undergo to be accepted as equals in this world, but , to me this struggle is not a purely gay issue. It is an issue for the "underdogs" of all denominations...gay,straight,black,white,disabled,.....those different to the community norm....whatever that community may be.
and we all should make the effort to be inclusive......this inclusiveness, I would like to think, is my norm.
I AM naive at times, I do realise that I am, for if someone takes a dislike to me in any way, the LAST thing I would reason to be the cause of the tension would be my sexuality!...it just would not figure in my thinking!...now if someone didn't like me because I can be an self-opinionated stroppy cow of an unfit mother...well.....now we're talking...but to dislike me for who I fancy (Russell Crowe...Matt Cardle........even.......David Miliband)....naw.......it is truly beyond me.

Another reason that I don't think much about the whole "gay thing" is that I feel comfortable and confident inside my own skin; it's a maturity thing....a middle aged thing...call it what you like...I smile when I am called John-the eggs or John-the-dogs by the village.......but would I smile if I was called "John -the poof!"?
To be honest I would be miffed... but not in that "how very dare they?" way.....stupid people will always pidgeon hole others with infantile labels...no I would be miffed, as I would prefer being called John eggs.......it's just how I see myself......mind you, if someone called me a "poof" I think I probably would titter my head off......it's such a lovely word.

This blog doesn't make a great deal of sense, (I have just re read it over a cup of coffee)
suffice to say there are more interesting facets to me (so I keep telling myself) than my sexuality....
Mind you I am reminded of the Alexander Woolcott quote here (he was reviewing Maurice Maeterlinck’s play Aglavaine and Sélysette when he stated of Maeterlinck
"There is less to him that meets the eye!"
perhaps that description is more like it
hey ho

The Trelawnyd Flower Show

Thanks to Flower Show Committee Members Anne and Terry , we now have three robust 21st Century signs to publicize the Flower Show which is only a week and a half away.
Schedules (for those that are interested) can be viewed at http://trelawnydflowershow.blogspot.com/
Here's hoping the Flower Show will be supported as much as the Open Allotment Day,.....with Auntie Glad almost back in harness and with a committee of affable despots in tow..I suspect it will be

Congratulations Eric

Sporadic blog writer Eric (http://mountainrambler.blogspot.com/) won my sister's on line MND fundraising competition of "Name The Pig" with MARGIE ( a tribute to his Grandmother!)
Now the prize for the competition is a Welsh Love Spoon AND (be still my beating heart) a CD of the Trelawnyd Male Voice Choir...so yesterday I went onto the official Choir website and ordered the cd in readiness for sending..
I ordered the cd when I was up at my brother's house , so I was fairly surprised when I returned home to find the choir's secretary outside the cottage with the cd in his hand.
Personal delivery, I thought...now THAT is good service!
We chatted about the choir and interestingly he told me that he had read by blog entries detailing my quandary about joining the choir!
"You really should come and join us" he said kindly " we have a wonderful time!"
I talked about my fears of embarrassment and his wife ( who was sat in their car chirped up that she thought I would benefit from going to sit in with the choir practice as an observer.
I agreed, and the secretary promised to contact me by email before the next rehearsal, which was very kind of him.
Anyhow a little later in the day, as I was walking the dogs down Chapel Street , I spotted a man I did not know standing near auntie Glad's house., he called out a hello and when I stopped asked me if I had enjoyed the Choir's summer concert which took place on the 16th of July.
The conversation then took a bit of a deja vu turn, when he said he had read my blog and that he knew that I was thinking of joining the choir! (bloody hell twice.... in one afternoon how odd was that?!!!!)
Like the secretary ,he waxed on lyrically about how much fun he had being a part of the choir and laughed long and loudly when I said I was worried about how well I can sing!
"90 % of the choir wouldn't sing on their own" he reassured me with a smile..... "come along to the rehearsals" he said...and I have agreed that I will....
I walked on , amused at how fate can throw you a curved ball when you are not looking and the man went off to check up of how Auntie Glad was doing.......(Gladys has been the unofficial mascot of the choir for many years now and is held in high esteem by most of the long standing members)

Despite my lack of confidence and life long fear of embarrassing myself in public...I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that my path and that of the choir will be joining at some stage

A Mixed Bag- Fickle updates/Camilla and farting pigs

The Indian Runners in defensive mode....watching a cat in the long grass

To answer Mrs Fickle's anxious email...YES the hysterical Indian Runner Ducks are still with me!

The field compliment of ducks has plateaued at 8 birds. (5 Indian Runners females, 1 Indian runner cross female, 1 magpie female and Halleh, the bog standard lone drake with sexuality problems .

I need a runner drake to bring back a better blood line within the group and Halleh, who has practically tried to rape every dark coloured hen on the field, will be removed to pastures new.

Most of the ducks are over two years old now and despite their maturity still they retain the rather irritating persona of a group of teenage girls that have been locked inside a ghost train.

Every move you make on the field, whether it be filling up the pond with a bucket or scratching your arse with the blunt end of the garden hoe, the runners will spy your actions, look at each other with slightly anxious expressions then launch themselves into what only could be described as uncontrolled hysterics

"Scream!!!!!!run!!!!!!!!!!! run like the wind"

I love them dearly.....they lay scores of beautiful blue eggs too! but I could slap each and every one of them

Yesterday I decided to rename CJ.

He/she is far too graceful and beautiful to have such a teenage name, so I thought I would ask the first person to stop by the field to suggest a more fitting title!

Around 2pm a woman and her young daughter stopped to ask if I had any chicks for sale. After a brief conversation I asked the daughter ( who looked like Ugly Betty) if she could think of a new name for CJ.

I explained that the young Canada goose needed a name in keeping with her slim, graceful and pretty new image...

The girl didn't hesitate

"Camilla Parker Bowles!" she lisped without hint of irony

And so...children let that be a lesson to you all...... Camilla it is!!!

Camilla with trusty Badger still in tow

I will leave you with a note of caution.....

I was rushing this morning as I needed to get to my brother's house for 9.15am.

As I was galloping down to water the pigs I heard someone walking their dogs just beyond the hedge. They must have heard me as I was puffing and blowing like a steam train at full pelt..... as I got to the pig pen No 12 let out the longest and loudest fart I have heard in many a month, and immediately afterwards I could hear the person that was walking the dogs tut VERY pointedly.

I was too embarrassed to explain to "disgusted of Trelawnyd" that it was not me that broke wind quite so vociferously but the pig, but that's obviously what they thought!

Another nail in my social coffin me thinks

Dealing with Depression.....and "That's Life"

I am going up to my brother' s house twice this week. Not only is he battling the physical assaults of Motor Neurone Disease, he is suffering from the debilitating effects of a reactive clinical depression.
I thought I knew depression.
As a former psychiatric nurse I have actively treated people with endogenous and reactive depression. Endogenous depression ( for those that may not know the term , it is a depression which often just springs from nowhere)
Through a series of supportive interventions which included, pharmacological treatments, talking therapies, physical exercise and good basic nursing care and support, I have seen the "black dog" of despondency lifted from the shoulders of those afflicted, but more often than not, the journey towards feeling well again was always a hard and difficult slog for their patient and their loved ones who had to watch helplessly in the wings.

My brother's depression is a particulary difficult one to treat. He can no longer verbalise his distress and physically he cannot activate those natural endorphins that may be of use to him. The symptoms of motor Neurone make him feel dreadful for most of the time, so it is the constant and unwavering support of his wife coupled with medication that are keeping him going at the moment.
I have to hope that a change in antidepressant medication will be of some help.....deep down I am sure that they will be... although.... not as quickly as we would all like.
The fires of hope, hope that things will improve need to to be stoked and tended by us all, the people standing in the wings and, even if my brother at times may fail to realise that his mood could lighten, we have to have the constant and unwavering optimism that it will.

*****************************

On a different note ( and I apologise for sounding like a presenter from That's Life)
Today I have been catching up with all those necessary but rather horrendous jobs that dog owners always put off until someone tells you that your house smells!
Yes its a day for carpet cleaning and dog bathing.
Now I absolutely HATE bathing the dogs..it's the only animal job that I actively complain about.
The bathing of four dogs, each with their own "individual needs" is a dirty, exhausting and rather WET enterprise.

George

William is the only dog that loves a bath. It has to be a hot bath though, and he has to be allowed to sit and enjoy the experience like a housewife who may be allowed to enjoy a soak after a hard day with scented candles and a glass of pinot!
George and Meg on the other hand HATE bathing and when plonked into the bath always seem to have that slightly ashamed look of a maiden aunt who has just been goosed at a family party .

Constance, who weighs in at over 25 kilos will put up with a bath but will take a totally passive role in the whole bathing process, which means that she has to be carried upstairs to the bathroom, which is no mean feat I can tell you.

This morning the neighbours must have thought something dreadful was going on as all they could hear was my colourful snippets of pure filth as .I battled to hump a dead weight bulldog up a narrow cottage staircase before slinging her into the bath with a satisfied splosh!.....
I have only just re cleaned the bathroom after all four baths......
The mess would have made a stout hearted domestic weep!

A Postman BIG up and Dylan Thomas

weaver of grass. sent me a much welcomed belated donation to our open day this week.

She addressed the envelope in a somewhat interesting way.

John Gray (Sheffield !)

"Organiser of the Allotment Day"

Trelawnyd

Flint

Wales

so fair do's to my postie.....he delivered the letter safely yesterday!!!

Thank you again Weaver

When we went to my Sister's Flower Show yesterday, I was stopped by a lady from Prestatyn, who had come up to our open day last Sunday.

She was very sweet, and waxed lyrically on about the pigs and the turkeys and before she turned to go she asked me suddenly if I liked Dylan Thomas.

I told her that apart from Under Milk Wood ( which I remember reading in school) I was afraid that I had not really studied any of his work at all.

She seemed surprised.

"I thought your blog was named after one of his poems!" she said and when I asked her which one she recited the first three verses of "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" a poem she said she remembered from her college days.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

I told her that it sounded like some sort of rally cry against giving up when death approaches, which she seemed to agree with but assured her that My "Going Gently" was purely about living, albeit living is a plodding , benign kind of way.

It seemed just a little surreal that I was listening to an stranger quoting me Welsh Poetry on a sunny afternoon under the vicarage trees....

ps. The phrase "Going Gently" actually comes from the title of a novel by David Nobbs. It is one of my favourite books , which tells the story of 99-year old Kate Copson's life, in flashback form, while she lies paralysed in a hospital bed after a stroke. From her upbringing and sexual awakening in a Swansea suburb, through the marriage of her five husbands to the murder of one of them by her son. It is a book of great charm, warmth and humour

The Prestatyn Flower Show 2011

There must be some "showman" blood in our family somewhere.
I suspect it may come from my father, who would make a speech when opening the fridge door, but certainly the skills to organise a "show" are there in our family for all to see.,
I of course help organise our Flower Show here in Trelawnyd as well as the now annual "open Allotment Day", my twin sister, Janet, has developed and organised more events that you can shake a stick at,in support of Motor Neurone Disease over the past year or so ( and raised over 11 grand in doing so) and my elder sister, Ann, has spearheaded the highly successful Prestatyn Flower Show for going on twenty years now.
The Flower Show In Prestatyn runs over two days, and I missed the opening day yesterday as Chris had the car (his motorbike still being under the forensic gaze of man mountain copper "Gareth with the tattoos")..and so taking Constance and George out for a treat, we went down to the coast to join in with her show!