Stupid Sod

I think I have broken one of my toes on my right foot.
It was all quite simple....
It was an accident that anyone could have had
I was clearing up the dog snot from the front room ( In readiness for the mother-in-law's visit on Thursday)
When I heard the unmistakable screaming of a rabbit coming from the front garden
(For those that have been lucky enough not to have heard a rabbit in distress... believe me, you ARE lucky)


Through the window I caught a glimpse of Albert throttling a young rabbit and without much thought decided to climb out to rescue it ( what's with this bloody urge to save the world?)
In my stocking feet I climbed onto the window ledge opened it and with the grace of Shelley Winters sliding down the deck of the S.S Poseidon flung myself into the  garden.


It all went wrong after that.
My trouser leg caught on the window catch.
The top half of my body crashed onto a selection of potted plants,
slowly followed ( like some sort of "fat" avalanche) by my legs and feet.


It was raining, I had no shoes on and in the ungainly scrabble that followed I broke two planters, flattened a nice display of nicotiana flowers, ripped my pants and broke my toe.


The rabbit died

Spreading Your Wings

Last night felt just a little surreal
I spent the early evening in the formal surroundings of the Community Council meeting then got picked up by one of the women from work to shoot over to a caravan park social club in St Asaph for a colleague's leaving "do".
I am not a big work's night out person now. When I was a ward manager I went to every occasion...It was expected of me to show my face...but after years "smalltalk" and of invariably getting lumbered with someone you just didn't like (but had to put up with at work), I kind of got out of the habit of socialising when I returned to a junior nurse position.
Last night I was more than happy to go. The guy leaving ITU is a talented, psychologically astute nurse who was leaving the unit after working at the hospital for two decades. He had obtained a position in a prestigious London Hospital and was effectively leaving North Wales for the first time at the age of 47..a big step for anyone to embark on
Although I love living in Wales....leaving when I was 21 was the best thing that ever happened to me. After a three year of training in Chester I moved to York and had my "wild oat" time in the pubs,social clubs and nursing accommodation of the city....then moving on to the "grittier" Sheffield where my horizons were broadened by exposure to cultures and lifestyles a million miles away from those of suburban Prestatyn.


When I returned to North Wales after nearly 20 years in Yorkshire, I was struck by the amount of subtle (and NOT so subtle) racism I observed. This surprised and shocked me as for some strange reason I did not expect small town thinking to still rife in our modern, more cosmopolitan lives...how wrong I was...
Small town thinking .....there is nothing worse.....

Rob  and his karaoke evening 

 Anyhow, despite not being a work's do guru, I kind of enjoyed the karaoke evening  (which was a first for me).
Mind you, I DID politely refuse the slightly stereotypical  group offer of performing YMCA for the waiting staff, preferring to prop the bar up  to chat and gossip.


Slightly squiffy! I got home  just after midnight., I must have looked like a right dick as I trundled out of the car with four carrier bags full of party food ( a present for the pigs!) whist singing a selection of "hits from the shows"...
Thank goodness the neighbours are away visiting family.


This morning all is back to normal.......save for for number 12, who I have just spied sucking the centre out of a mushroom  vol-au-vont!

Shame (Home and Away)

Apart from a few moments of silliness, I think I have never really done anything for which I was ever really ashamed of.
Ok , when I was eight I poured a whole bottle of peppermint essence into our garden pond and killed all of the rather expensive goldfish and when I was ten I was caught throwing mud and stone at bungalow windows, but apart from the occasional drunken escapade and these two distant childhood memories, I have never really done anything wrong enough to warrant being truly ashamed of myself .
I have thought about all this this morning, when I was feeding the pigs.....The story about the Stockport thief who was killed with his own knife whilst in the process of robbing a householder, came to mind , especially as a number of floral tributes have now been left at the burgled address by friends and family of the dead man.
It is though that the "accepted" notion of shame (of their loved on being a thief) has been effectively sidestepped and ignored by people that knew him in this modern day need to grieve in public.
Do people live in such tight little bubbles of isolation nowadays, that the public notion of shame no longer figures anymore? I am so depressed if this is really the case.


I nodded  to myself this morning in a kind of benign accepting kind of way when I remembered something I have never really properly thought about before.


I never ever officially "came out " to my mother......... and the reason for this was shame.....not my shame......no!!!... not at all, but it was in reference to her shame.
Having someone you love being ashamed of you  is something you cope with only if there is a valid reason for the emotion to be there.......it is an emotion that you both can share and get over together..... with time, effort and contrition and a certain amount of grovelling
.
I am never ashamed at being gay....... even back then when it was all new, slightly worrying and shiny...I really wasn't.  I just "could not be arsed" in trying to deal with someone else's emotion of shame, an emotion I could not validate in any shape or form.
When I came out, I absolutely refused to fight against my mother's shame, it would have hurt both of us   and would have sabotaged the family dynamics far too much.....I preferred to share the real me with people that could deal with it ...........and for me it worked like a charm.
They all were told and accepted it......she was kept in the dark...and I accepted it 


Shame is the most powerful controller......

Why We All Need Downton Abbey

Downton Abbey is back in Sunday tv's prime time spot this evening amid much flag waving from middle England and readers of the Daily Mail.
Now, I was rather harsh about the last series (I couldn't quite forgive script writer Julian Fellows stealing great chunks from my favourites films Mrs Miniver and Gosford Park) but I did concede that I enjoyed the ensemble acting abilities of the likes of Hugh Bonneville,Elizabeth McGovern,Penelope Wilton,Jim Carter and Maggie Smith , all beautifully turned out in their Edwardian Best.
Downton Abbey is tosh...... but, it is polished, impressive-to-look-at tosh, and at a time when all the news is of recession, the general public,( like they did with the Royal Wedding), have taken this Upstairs/Downstairs saga to their hearts.
It's a lazy obsession to be sure.
A few minutes of Lady Mary ( Michelle Dockery) quivering her lips, followed by the will-they-wont-they? love affair between crippled Valet (Brendan Coyle) and the spunky Maid Anna (Joanne Froggatt) and we are all ready to watch Dowager Maggie Smith sucking on a lemon in the drawing room and playing , well....., Maggie Smith sucking on a lemon.......It's escapism pure and simple.

So forget the Historical inaccuracies everyone......and forgive the flabby plot.....just sit back and let the credit crunch worries disappear for a couple of hours tonight amid "yessss mill-ady" curtsies .

We all need a little time away from normality sometimes...and Downton Abbey is as good as anywhere to go to forget your troubles...........well that's what ITV is hoping for anyhow!

"Out with Anger...In with love"

Had an averagely horrible night at work last night and I was almost half way through a blog rant about the increasing number of alcohol based admissions to intensive care ( albeit in my mind).. but then thought better of it. Sometimes you just get tired about being upset and irate about things you really cannot change in this world even if it is the increasing number of younger people presenting with mouth and throat cancers after pouring shots down their gullets all during their salad days!


And so I have decided to let the following "reasons to be angry" ebb away into nothing ( at least for today)

• kids riding sports bikes ON THE PAVEMENTS
• Parents who say that their child "is my best friend"
• People that stink ( and who don't have a mental illness)
• People who stand chatting to old friends in the centre of Sainsburys food aisle
• People that drink cheap beer on the train at 9.30 am

and I shall leave you with this rather charming video of Tom Stephenson trying to work out his new web cam! Love the part where he asks HI to drop the front of her dress

Have a nice weekend everyone

Times are a changing

Last night I went scrumping.
Pig pellets are incredibly expensive and apples, no matter where they come from, can supplement a pig's diet   rather effectively and more importantly, cheaply.
I need not have bothered really as my sister called around with a sack load from her garden, but the exercise of humping a couple of plastic buckets full of apples around the lanes probably did me some good.

I suspect kids of today will have very little idea of the original meaning of the phrase " to scrump"......it is an activity that has all but disappeared from the arsenal of mischief behaviours young  boys possess nowadays

I was slightly dismayed to learn this morning that one of the urban definitions of scrumping is in fact "to dry hump another person"

how things change

ps a quick hello to my nephew and his partner Rebecca "good luck for the big day"
x

Big Ups for Albert and Claire's Charity "Do"

Ever since I bought my first house  ( a two up/ two down in windswept Walkley, Sheffield) I have owned  a cat.
There is something rather grounding about a cat.....in my mind they make a house feel like a home.....for everywhere you go, that curled up feline shape shrieks to all......this is a warm place to live.......warm physically and warm emotionally.
Our Albert remains a constant here...always a slightly unsung hero, always in the background of the dogs who demand centre stage


Having a cat in a cottage of dogs is always interesting......
Albert is tolerated, but not embraced as one of the pack.
He is generally ignored but never looks nonplussed by the rejection he recieves... and it is ever so slightly heartbreaking to watch him welcome the dogs with a face rub when they return from a walk and see them accept the greeting without ever understanding what it means in cat speak.

Albert is always impossible to photograph and NO , I am not strangling him!!!

The Welsh terriers have more of a relationship with Albert than Scottie George has.(he has never really acknowledged that the cat actually exists)- Very occassionally Meg will playfully down herself infront of Albert daring him to play... but the siliness last only a fraction of a minute before she becomes bored with the daft little black cat with overly surprised eyes, and walks away yawning to herself.
William , however has always been intrigued with Albert.
Willliam, the pack leader will accept a face rub welcome with the alacrity of a boss who is putting up with a junior apprentice, he will enjoy the occasional bottom sniff ( if Albert is in the mood) but that is really as far as the relationship goes apart from the "stair game!"


Now the star game started a few years ago now, when Albert graduated from kitten hood to skinny adult hunter. Every day since then he had proudly dragged and carried a zoo full of dead, dying and very much alive field animals into the cottage, past the dogs ( dogs can be so stupid) and up into the bedrooms where he spends many a delightful minute ripping the unfortunate prey to little pieces.


Now William in his own, not-so-bright way, eventually worked out that something was afoot and ever since he near hysterically followed Albert upstairs carry a struggling baby rabbit, a game of chase has blossomed whether Albert now has a furry victim in his mouth or not.


Now Albert will saunter into the lounge from the kitchen many times during the day. The dogs more often than not will be lying in heaps around the room and all will generally look asleep.Albert will tip toe past them, stand carefully at the foot of the stairs and will pause for a moment, looking back into the room with a fake bored expression. The dogs will not stir except for William who will usually open one eye carefully......and as soon as that happens the game has started.
The object of the game is to see who will break for the staircase first, will it be the "laid back" William or the diminutive Albert?
A second or two passes, ....it's just like the climax of  High Noon.....and then.... as always William is the one that cannot contain himself and he  launches himself after Albert who is already streaking upstairs like the proverbial rat up a drainpipe. The Winner is the one that reaches the safety of the back bedroom first.......and of course it is invariably Albert...who always stands on the bed waiting for William to acknowledge the victory with a half friendly sniff.


This game has continued sporadically for over two years now.....
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The Cancer Unit at Glad Clwyd Hospital

Now on a different and more serious note:-
I need to BIG up a fantastic charity event that takes place in Trelawnyd on the 3rd of December.
Local baker and all round good egg Jason Randa and his wife Claire are holding a "Ladies" night at Trelawnyd's Memorial Hall in support of the Cancer Unit at Glan Clwyd Hospital, where Claire has recently had treatment.


For just 10£ a head ( 80£ per table) The "ladies" will be waited upon by men in tuxedos (a first for Trelawnyd I am sure!)..There is a  bar, (Provided by the Crown Pub)  cracking evening entertainment, an auction with some fabulous prizes, a disco and supper!!! Not bad for just a tenner!!!!


Please ring the The Randas on Trelawnyd 571954  for further details or to book...


IT'S A GREAT CAUSE.....
and as Fred Pontin always used to say "Book Early"

"I'll rattle my bag!"

A "Google" photo of Gwaenysgor Pond

Without his motorbike, Chris needs to be ferried to Prestatyn most mornings in order to catch the early "University" train. At 6.30am he is bright as the proverbial f*cking button ( a regular Doris Day in fact) where I have the look and temperament of  Atillla The Hun crossed with Lord Voldemort.

God help anyone crossing me at this, the most vulnerable part of the day....and even Chris is now well versed in the art of not trying to engage me in ANY conversation at a time when not even my cockerels are properly awake.

To get home from Prestatyn, I have to drive up a 1 in 4 hill  to a height of 600 feet, pass through the village of Gwaenysgor and then negotiate a series of tiny country roads to our village. This I do, oblivious to most things around me, however this morning as I drove down towards Gwaenysgor pond (above) I caught sight of a fox trotting with some purpose across the road and around the back of the pond itself.

I slowed the car and in a second realized where he was going, for grazing peacefully on the far side of the pond were four beautiful white farm geese.

I stopped the car (effectively blocking the single track road), got out and at the side of the pond started to shout in the direction of where I last saw the fox.

Now, what the hell DO you shout in this sort of situation "Run???" "Help?" "Get out of there?"

There is no way of knowing what warning call would be more effective....

I chose a sort of generic "HEYYYYYYYY!! HEYYYYYYYYYY! hEYYYYYYY!!" while waving my arms madly (not a pretty sight in dirty trackie bottoms and a t shirt covered in jam stains).

Two cars pulled up on either side of the Berlingo.

One woman called out "what's up?" and I pointed to the geese explaining "a fox is after them"

"I'll rattle my shopping bag" she said helpfully , getting out of her car

(I think she was thinking the action would attract the geese, who may of thought they were being fed- though i couldn't quite be sure)

A man in the other car looked rather flushed and started to wave his hands around a bit, as the woman rattled her carrier bag  at the geese who raised their heads to see what these stupid people were doing and turned slowly for the pond.

By the time a third car had stopped, I realised just how stupid we looked, and in embarrassment I started back to the car. I couldn't see the fox at all, the noise must have frightened him off, but as I pulled   hard into the side of the lane to let the irate man squeeze through, I could hear his call of "dickhead!!!!!!" as he passed.

A lovely start to the day... I need a coffee