Tarts with Heart

Now Mary Magdalene has a great deal to answer for. Well in cinematic terms that is, as she was the archetypal "good time girl made good". 

Mary also laid  the blueprint for all of those movie fallen ladies that provided some sassy advice, acted as a heroic go between, and who provided  a well needed contrast against a probably less exciting but more "virtuous" leading lady.

Sometimes tragic (remember Violetta Valery in La Traviata?) but always kind of likable, these characters are the ones you remember long after the movie, play or musical is finally over......they don't always have to be the prostitute either but they do have to have lived on the wrong side of the tracks for a while....just enough, that is, to be tarnished by the crappier parts of life's brickbats.

Here are a few of my tarty favourites

Gaye Dawn..the boozed up "hasbeen" singer from Key Largo

Belle Watling.. in Gone With The Wind

Vivian Ward, the tart that Made Julia Roberts a star

One of my all time favs: Helen Ramirez from High Noon

Gena Rowlands as the mobster's moll who saves the kid in Gloria

The break your heart Dallas From Stagecoach

Fantine from Les Miserables

Iris Ferry from Attack On Precinct 13

 Now I only got thinking about "Tarts with heart" after rubbing moisturiser on three of the most damaged of the "Crackhead whores" (like you do).....these three have been separated from the other rescued hens because their skin damage c/o the rampant rooster was the most severe.

Terribly sore and unkempt when they arrived, I placed them into a small run of their own and have hand fed them daily as well as treating their injuries with a daily dabbing of witchhazel and nappy cream.
oK, its all very labour intensive , but the effort has been worth it.

Subsequently the three have become wonderfully tame and placid and although still looking somewhat shopworn and haggard they have become my own "tarts with heart"

Ramirez and Dallas this morning

Bulldog Snaps

 

 Like a Serengeti Lion, Mabel stalks her prey

The Indian Runners, unable to cope with the presence of a new Bulldog run for the hills

The Surprising Face of Benny Hill

I am trying to type this at the kitchen table. 

It's not easy.

As the three terriers sleep after their early morning walk,Mabel is trying to employ every trick in her large repertoire to gain my attention. She has done everything from bulldog "Jazz hands" to balancing a milk bottle on her nose (in my imagination), in an effort to court favour and I am determined not to be beaten by her multi pronged approach......its hard.....but the girl needs to be trained

Now what crap will I be writing today, over my first cup of coffee?

More daring do on the field?

another saga about Auntie Glads scones

No...today children, we are going to talk about innapropriate and sexist behavoiurs

Benny Hill,  it would seem is alive a well and living in North Wales

Dinosaurs exist

On Saturday Chris took me to dinner with several of his work colleagues. The venue was lovely, the food rather fine and the conversations, varied and interesting... it was a night for grown ups.....(not quite what I am used to)

Our table was situated next to the maitre d's station.  The maitre d  is quite a delightful woman, and is the perfect host for any successful restaurant as she is crisp, efficient, hard working and funny to boot! We have gotten to know her rather well over the years, and every time she greets us with a hearty "hello chaps" we beam at her like schoolboys......anyhow I digress...

Towards the end of the meal, as I was chatting away in what I thought was an urbane and witty manner, I suddenly noticed my fellow diners looking over my shoulder at the maitre d station with a mixture of concern, and disgust and I turned to see a male customer gazing somewhat theatrically down the cleavage of the maitre d.

Now this was no subtle and sneaky peep I am talking about here........it was a full on public Mr Magoo type leer that would have put the likes of Berlusconi to shame......and it's1970s brazenness not only shocked us but it deeply upset the Maitre d, who couldn't quite believe what she was seeing!

For one awful second, I had the impression  that the guy was going to go further, but thank goodness he didn't and the embarrassing situation soon passed....but the whole scene left a rather nasty taste in the mouth, especially as the woman involved had been unfairly "slapped" by the encounter.

I can't remember witnessing such stupidity before....am I just being naive?

Spar

OVerheard in the queue at the Spar Garage at midday First Woman: " Like I said he poked me time and time again in full view of his brother AND his sister in law" Second Woman: "oooohhh"...... "what did they say?" first woman: "not a lot....they were pissed and were scoffing pizza" Second Woman: "Birthdays eh."

Joseph Hemelryk of Trelawnyd

The small War Memorial situated in the centre of the village has only 6 names engraved on it. Five men have been dedicated from the Great War, and one man named Joseph Hemelryk, is the single Trelawnyd casualty, from World War 2.

The Incription on the Trelawnyd Memorial

Joseph, was a major in the Royal Canadian Infantry.(Although it is documented that he was actually born in Trelawnyd) His parents ,Lt.-Col. George Edward Hemelryk, O.B.E., J.P., and Elizabeth Mary Hemelryk lived in Henfyn Hall which was located just outside the village after returning to this country in 1911 . Apparantly they originally emigrated to Canada in 1905.

http://www.dyserth.com/html/henfryn_hall__mia_hall.html

Joseph died literally days before the end of the war, and is buried in the Netherlands at Holten Canadian War Cemetery

He was attached to the Glasgow Highlanders and was 33 when he died.

Jospeh's Grave in the Netherlands

The Hemelryks sold Helfyn Hall in 1945.
So with all this history going on in my head, I thought It prudent to attend the village's Remembrance day service which was planned for 4pm. The service is taken by the vicar and by the chapel minister .

The villagers at the Memorial Day service this afternoon. Auntie Glad is centre in red

 

It was a cold afternoon for some of the older members of the village to pay their respects, but thirty or so souls turned up. I stood on the perimeter with Mabel (who was impeccably behaved)

I thought the presence of a bulldog was apt

I had to leave the service early as it was going dusk......roosting turkeys wait for no man....or for any memorial service for that matter!

Charlene Soraia

Some songs catch you unawares
I was driving back from work this morning and heard this one
Perhaps, it was the words,
Perhaps it was the beauty of the voice,
Perhaps it was the fact I was over tired,
The whole thing made me tear up

The 100 Cheesiest Movie Quotes of All Time

A bit of light relief before night shift..enjoy

Responsibilities

The field..a place of a dozen care plans

  This morning I took all four dogs into the field to "potter" whilst I filled water butts and fed the pigs.The weather has closed in somewhat, and as the cold wind whipped against the little "Ukrainian Village" of animal houses with some violence , I paused for a moment watching  some of the moulting hens braving the elements as they do every day of the year.

.....and......I was suddenly overtaken with an overwhelming sense of responsibility for them all...

It was a strange feeling.

Beatrice, the hen still recovering from a stroke in her own pen, Phyllis the bullied bantam, now splendid in her new white plumage ,Boris, now blind in one eye, searching around for grain with a little difficulty and Mabel nervously watching the needy runner ducks, splashing hysterically in the pond....what would happen to them all if I was incapacitated in some way?

Who would ensure that the score of individualised care plans were carried out properly?

Who would care?

I suspect  , all I am  feeling is a part of that slightly fearful anxiety  parents have to experience when they look at their children albeit in a much diluted form.....that strange and powerful sense of responsibility for another life.....(or in my case, 80 little lives, who all look to me to be fed , watered, housed and protected)

I am not complaining, I never would, but sometimes........when you look at a gander with a sore foot and a moulting hen in need of a tonic, you realise that there are always  80 pairs of eyes watching you, and 80 little "people" just waiting for you to sort things out for them....