Hummmmmm!

Is it me, or does anyone else find Jimmy Savile's organisation for his own funeral just a little bit odd? The lying in state (in a Leeds hotel), the gold coffin, the three days of "mourning" and the burial of the coffin at a 45 degree angle in Scarborough ( so that he could "see" the sea), smacks to me  less about of a sense of humour and more about a degree of pomposity.

It screams Showbiz without much of the show and now, not much of the Biz

Perhaps I am being somewhat unfair.

I actually met Mr Savile many years ago now (God I sound a little like Tom here), it was at Stoke Mandeville Hospital during one of the inter Unit Spinal Injury Games. He was larger than life, that was certainly true, but I did find him a slightly odd character who was somewhat full of himself.......perhaps it would be more charitable to say that I didn't warm to him...despite the fact he seemed such a benevolent character on screen and on the radio.

His funeral, to me, didn't feel quite right...it shrieked of "look at me, I am loved".....however, as I am writing this all I can think is "what the hell"...... if it gave the old guy pleasure , planning it all...what does it matter eh?

Perhaps it is me that is not being very charitable

The Dyserth 5

Last Night I experienced a rather amusing evening giving the infamous "Dyserth 5" a run for their money.

The Crown holds a pub quiz on a Monday and although I not really a "pub" person, I accepted an invitation from Jason ( he who bakes) to try it out for a change.

Now I got to the pub, just before nine and as I sat down with a pint of Fosters I spied a somewhat eclectic group preparing for some serious quiz questioning.

One older lady in a felt hat had varying amounts of writing equipment, a large pad and paper and one of those illuminating magnifying glasses (I was informed later that this was for" in depth" photograph assessments") another man , younger than I, looked dreadfully earnest and all looked as though they were ready to run a marathon.

These people, I was told, were the "Dyserth5"...a tough, well informed group of eggheads who had won the pub quiz every week since the beginning of time.

These were the people to beat.

Now I am no slouch when it comes to pub quiz questions, I may not be a true academic, but my memory for "shitty facts" is pretty darn good, even if I do say so myself; but even my somewhat useless knowledge base was not a patch on my fellow team member's computer like recall.
In short Jason knows a little about almost Everything!

Between us, we sailed through the first round of questions like a knife through butter, and when the landlord called out that the village "Chicken Pluckers" had taken up an early poll position, the lady with the felt hat looked visibly shaken!

We had a bit of a set back on the picture round (mistaking Pippa Middleton for Natalie Portman) but retained our small lead for the last round. (One wag from the bar whispered "they're sweating a bit now!" at me when I had a break for the loo)

By the time we finished , and the final results were in, a deathly quiet had descended over the pub....In typical Strictly Come Dancing style, there was a pause just before the results were in.....and to the horror of the Dyserth 5, we had ended their vice like hold of the quiz winners title.

It was all great fun.

A few  neighbours and members of the flower show committee, joined in our celebrations  and the Red faced welsh farmer's son over at the bar gave us the thumbs up....and I had to smile when two of the Dyserth 5 ambled over to congratulate us and asked if we were going to turn up next week...

"too right" I chirped as their smiles stiffened "wouldn't miss it for the world"

We won 11£, which we donated to Jason Wife's cancer charity night.

We had a couple of pints and chatted about the merits of Robert Shaw's somewhat alcohol fuelled performance in Jaws (I love rubbishy bloke talk that this).

But when the conversation drifted over to the rather surreal subject of Mexican Wrestling Midget funerals... I thought it was time to go 
Have a look at Jason's blog when you have a chance (link here)

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The Big Society in a little Village

Forgive the extra blog today. I have come in to get warm, 

The frost of this morning has given way to a damp muggy and cold afternoon, and my bones are feeling their age.

When I was mucking out the hens earlier, I noticed village elder Islwyn and his brother beavering away in the Churchyard, so I ambled over to take a look at what he was up to.

Without payment or instruction, he had procured some quality turf and had given the old Churchyard wall a bit of a well needed makeover and I must admit that the end result looks wonderful.

These "let's get it done" blokes are a bit of dying breed I am am afraid to say.They see a job that needs doing for the benefit of the community; they get off their arses and they jolly well sort it.....for them, there's very little use in just talking about a project. For them the proof of the pudding is simply in the eating

I just wanted to big Islwyn up just a little today.

Its a job well done

Winter Arrives

A Sharp Frost welcomed us this morning

Tom, Elizabeth and "dinner" a little upset by the cold

Some of the "CWs" face the day

No 12 and 21 searching for nuts

Summer and Autumn are over, the slog of winter has just about started

Sorry lost this blog entry twice now!

The Pink Pound

Photogenic and in lurve

Today we had an afternoon off . Chris had a break from academia......I had a break from chicken shit and bulldog toileting!
The sun was shining and it was a slightly cold but lovely day so we went to the National Trust Gardens at Bodnant Hall. As you can see we had not quite worked out just how to take a photo with Chris' latest gadget, his Iphone.
we had an amble around the gardens

The terraced Lily Pond

The Woodland Walk

The newly painted rose Terrace

One of the Statues on the Canal Terrace

It was a lovely walk. We sat in the sun for a while , like two old ladies then had a look at a few of the new shops that had sprung up in the outbuildings of the old house.
I had to smile to myself when we entered "ye olde antique Shoppe" for the woman behind the counter literally leapt to attention when we appeared!......
It has happened to us a million times before!
The sight of two middle aged homos signal just one thing to some antique dealers!
"The PINK POUND!!!"
Now , we had no intention in buying anything.....(an antique shop on National Trust Property says just one thing to us.....overly expensive stock!) but I for one quite enjoys being " schmoozed" by a lady in tweed hopeful of a big sale....It's all  hugely entertaining as suddenly you feel as though you are someone's best mate........suffice to say the friendship was well and truly over after 30 minutes of soft sell....., we ambled off with a smile!

I'll leave you with a hastily snatched photo of fellow poultry keeper Eirlys, which I took this evening, just as she was locking up her girls up for the night...
Yes that is a lunging whip in her hand......Her hens must be much harder than my lot....even the infamous Vinegar tits doesn't need a lunging whip to encourage her to bed
She is very sweet... but mad as a box of frogs!

"Talk about handicap — I'm a one-eyed Negro Jew".....

.....so said Sammy Davis Jnr.....

I have always thought that our cat , Albert is a spit for Sammy Davis Jnr.

Like the entertainer, he is a slight little chap with more chutzpah than you could shake a bagel at.

He is resolutely cheerful, has coped well with a disability ( he broke his leg badly when a kitten which has resulted in him having a faint limp which often resembles a bit of a swagger) and he is surrounded by his own canine " Rat pack" , who he clearly adores with a passion.

Can you see a resemblance?

....he also has a heart as big as a lion, for as small as he is, he will take on all comers without pause or thought. When only out of kitten hood, I remember watching him fight with a rat, which was just a little bit bigger than he was and I only let George administer the final "coup de grace" when the rat looked as though he was just about the get the upper hand.

The dogs tolerate Albert., and are careful not to act too roughly with him as he is not adverse in giving them a bit of a pasting if the need arise. He is accepted but not embraced by them, a fact that does not bother him in the least , as he delights in welcoming each dog in turn with a face rub, when he returns to bed after a night's mouse killing.

Mabel wrong footed him only slightly this week, and after a momentary pause to work out that she wasn't in fact Constance resurrected, he gamely  rubbed his chops against hers as she stood there, shaking like a bulldog shaped leaf

I don't think that she had ever "met" a cat  before.....especially one that could easily belt out "The Rhythm of life"

Dogs give a home a heart.. I always feel

A cat makes a house a home

Vinegar Tits,Blind Boris and Bulldog Nerves

Bruised and a little battered

Boris is in the wars today. Bingley during a sudden rush of testosterone broke into his enclosure and attacked him, scratching his head and neck with his claws.

Luckily Boris (who is a big soft pudding really) legged it into the goose house and safety but not before he was scratched in the eye. Initially I thought the eye looked alright, but this morning, things don't look too bright.

I have bathed and cleaned the wound this morning and will hopefully conscript my animal helper, Pat later for a repeat cleansing. I have kept him in his shed today

Nervous and eager to please

 72 hours after arriving, you will be glad to hear that Mabel is doing very well. For a five year old dog who has never been house trained, I am gobsmacked that we have not had any accidents as yet, ah the joys and strengths of two hourly toileting!

Mabel, I think, is a complex character.She is a show dog with a string of certificates to her name, and is a boisterous dog who has lived her life in a kennel rather than inside a family home.

Living inside a house with 2 new humans, a cat that has a personality similar to that of Sammy Davis Junior, and three other dogs has provided her with a whole new set of rules to deal with, and despite it all, she has coped extremely well.

Vinegar Tits

And as for the Crackhead Whores (which in future will be referred to as The CWs- to protect the sensibilities of my more delicate readers) They are all doing very well. "Vinegar tits" has led her small unkempt band to the field borders where they spend their day quietly away from the existing hens.

This distancing behaviour is normal for hen groups, I have seen it before time and time again....in a few weeks they will return and join the main flock, but will keep their own portion of the field just for themselves.

This morning I had a phone call from a guy asking me to take in 2 ducks

Believe it or not .......I have said no!

Phyllis Remembered

I am not a Churchgoer..in actual fact I have very little to do with religion in general.
Of course I know our vicar, who is a rather gentle and affable soul, but as my contact with clerics go, a few friendly words with him, is as far as I go.
As I was driving up to my brother's house today, I got to thinking about my professional relationship with hospital chaplains. (This train of thought was sparked by the sight of two elderly nuns driving what looked like an old Vauxhall Nova through Denbigh..But that's another story)
Over the years I have known several. For nurses they are somewhat shadowy figures that lurk on the periphery of nursing care. I am sorry to say that I have not particularly found their work "useful", apart from  perhaps the briefest of interventions with a dying patient and I must admit there is one Chaplain , I remember from my student nurse days in psychiatry with some irritation.


This is what I remembered today


The West Cheshire hospital . way back in the early 1980s still had a small and functioning Church. It was a rather unwelcoming, mid Victorian building of red brick, which always seemed rather more utilitarian in its design, for it had few of the period excesses and decorations one would expect from a Victorian house of worship.
Many of the long stay patients, most of which lived out their twilight years on the hospital back wards, would attend Church services on Sunday and occasionally we students would accompany them, especially if there was a "big" service on , say at Christmas or at Easter.


I remember one Christmas marshalling perhaps 15 patients from Irby Ward and with my fellow student helping out ( the trained staff would all be drinking coffee in the office) we walked down for Church service.
The chaplain was a man , I had never met, but I kind of took a dislike to him immediately for his obvious lack of warmth he showed to any of the institutionalised patients filing in to his church.


Dressed in some sort of robe ( robe in a Hospital Church?) I remember quite clearly the look of distaste on his face when one old lady chirped up loudly "Are you God?" from her place in the pews...
His reply was a short and rather sharp "No!"


Late to arrive was a patient called Pat, who was always a favourite with the students as she was "almost normal" in her behaviour and affect. Pat had been in hospital since the 1940s, and although dreadfully institutionalised , still retained a noticeable sense of humour, which was a rarity. She also took a great interest in people and would go out of her way to make a nervous young student nurse welcome on her ward, a fact that was much appreciated , especially as some of the ward staff were well known for not being THAT student friendly.
Pat always had a bad perm,an oversized overcoat with matching handbag (which was filled with fags and sweets) and too much make up on.....she also always had a strange companion in tow, by the name of Phyllis.(*)
Phyllis , too had been in hospital probably over forty years, but whereas Pat was sociable and interacted with staff, Phyllis remained in her own, isolated little world.
Today she perhaps would come under the broad definition of someone with learning difficulties.... back in the 1940s, she would have been lumped with the official title of "Moron".


Phyllis could not speak, in actual she had difficulty breathing, which she did in strange guttural gasps and she had the oddest "look" about her, as she resembled a sort of a caricature of a rhino,( this sounds dreadfully unfair and unkind but it was true!) She had great difficulty walking and would only do so by holding on to Pat's arm, and the two women were devoted to each other as they pottered around the old asylum, running errands and smoking cigarettes together.


Anyhow,like I said, Pat and Phyllis were ever so slightly late for service and as they entered the Church door, we all heard Pat cheerfully apologise to the chaplain who was just about to start his service.
The chaplain walked across to the two in silence showing Pat where to sit down with a wave of his arm, and impatient at the interruption he actually pushed Phyllis, who was somewhat slower than her companion, brusquely to her seat.


I could see a couple of female student nurses in their pink uniforms and blue capes bristle at his behaviour, and as he started his big speech about the importance of Christmas, he looked annoyed at the clip clop of Phyllis' built up shoes on the stone flags as she struggled to find her pew.


I remember thinking... well if this is Christianity in hospital well you can shove it up yer arse!


The rest of the service was nice enough.... the hymns were sweet... the lady that shouted out "are you God?"...did so only once more....and  despite it's austerity the Church felt just that tiny bit festive, no thanks to the Chaplain...
But do you know what made the whole experience a memorable one for me and all of the other students dotted around the pews? it was Phyllis!
For when she and Pat got up to leave...Phyllis  tottered to the front of the aisle, and just as the chaplain was being congratulated by the hospital bigwigs for a job well done... she growled like a lion, squatted down, and pee'd all over the floor like a horse!

The mural at the bottom of Irby Ward Steps  Now demolished

* not her real name