Going Gently

The Slow March Of Time? naw.... it's more of a bloody gallop!

Leo and Meg

Chris' nephew Leo is 9 today.

So I am sending him mucho birthday greetings from all of us in North Wales, and a big hug from all of the dogs who bonded so delightfully with him on his last couple of visits.

Surrogate children (ie dogs) never seem to age much. Ok they are puppies one minute, complete with rubber legs,prehensile tongues and weak bladders. Then the next moment you look at them they are the adults they remain for the decade or so, you are lucky enough to have them.

Children on the other hand have that amazing ability to make you feel old.....I remember Leo as a baby.....now he had nearly reached double figures! I remember my own nephew Chris as an eight year old playing with his Star Wars figures on the lounge carpet at home as if it was only yesterday .....only to realise that he now a strapping thirty something with a lovely newborn baby called Evie all of his own!

When I was a kid, my own uncles and aunts all looked "ancient",( mind you everyone in the 1970's looked old did they not?).....now despite my self deluded belief that my combat pants and trainers are actually keeping me looking "trendy" and "youthful".....I now realise that in the eyes of Leo and perhaps little Evie.......I do indeed look like an old fart Uncle.....one with a fat arse, a white goatee and bad knees

hey ho!

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

BTW

Quiz Result Disaster! Last night the Trelawnyd 2 ( Jason and I) went to The Crown in an effort to maintain our lead over the infamous Dyserth 5 at the village Pub Quiz............we managed a somewhat piss poor fourth position to their near hysterical first place position ( I was convinced an ambulance would have to be called to collect the more delicate members of their group).....the gauntlet has now well and truly been thrown down.......................

May the war begin

Smart Arse

Gloria is now over her cold

Boris, Gloria and Theresa, the old "British" Turkeys have to be carried out of their shed and outhouse in the mornings as they cannot quite negotiate the stone steps in the garden themselves.

It would be much easier for me just to tap their arses with my thumb stick and herd them all, French style, down the lane to the field every morning at dawn, but that just ain't going to happen!.......so every morning, each one gets tucked under my arm, to be carried over to their daytime pay pen, like three chirping paraplegics

This morning as I was carrying Gloria down the lane a white agricultural supply van slowed and stopped at the lane corner. There were two lads in it, one of whom lent out of the window to take a closer look at Gloria, and I stopped for a moment to show her off like the poultry geek that I am.

"He's a r e a l UGLY bugger!" the lad in the passenger seat chirped up as I lifted Gloria up to the window

"Oh I don't know!" I said defensively " I think she's quite bonny!"

The lad laughed and said rather cuttingly

"I was talking to the turkey!"
and they both broke down into guffaws

EVERYONE'S A COMIC!!!!!!!!!

Another Turkey in the shed

I have said this before, but Sundays do have a feeling and a pace all of their own.

I have been just as busy as I usually have on a weekday, but there is a a certain sense of "stillness" about today which is nice, I even noticed that the Church bell had a slower rhythm today....slightly different to its usual and slightly hysterical "The Nazis are invading!"dong.dong.dong...

Mabel who is now house trained, has been allowed the run of the cottage. It has not taken her long to make the hearth rug her own special place, and can be found at any given moment slumped in front of the fire dreaming stupid, uncomplicated bulldog dreams.

William and George however remain at the outhouse door, keenly aware that a snotty nosed female turkey is inside on sick leave ( she has a bit of a cold)

Left to their own devices they will be stationed on guard duty there for most of the day.

I have nothing else to report.....I have nothing more really to say.

Later I will make a roast chicken dinner, and will happily listen to radio 4 extra as I potter about looking busy....

Isn't that what Sundays are all about?

Talking Bollocks

Nigel on a previous Welsh visit

Now I feel I must put the record straight now, after my somewhat unfair cut and pasting of Nigel's now infamous email of yesterday.

Despite his somewhat flowery language and snotty nosed (tongue in cheek) on line demands, Nigel has been, as always, an easy, relaxed and welcomed guest to chez "Bwthyn-y-llan,

Last night , was a case in point.....after treating every dog to an individually wrapped doggy chews, he presented Chris with a bag of onion rings ( Chris would drop his draws for such a little treat) and kindly gave me a box of chocs ! (sod the diet!!!!)..we all sat down to a nice meal.....and as bottle after bottle of wine was finished off Chris left us to debate the most important subjects of the day

These included.....

* Discussing the kind of new Television programmes that Kirsty Allsop could front....

* The role of porn in mainstream cinema,

* Comparing the size and effectiveness of hand held weaponry from Star Trek and Blakes 7

* why are so many people affronted by art when they don't have to view or experience it?

* Alfred Hitchcock and French New Wave cinema

I could go on ( we did go on!) and as usual it was an evening that two middle aged men acted like schoolboys.

Thank you Nigel for coming, it was fun

Visitors

This is part of an email I received yesterday from Nige who is visiting us today

"Your house better had be fucking clean and tidy when I arrive. Make a list.
I want freshly pressed sheets, flowers (seasonal varieties) on the
kitchen table, etc.
No specially folded towels, loo role or shit like that, as that's a
little common, to be honest.
And please, no fucking rodents/birds/insects in cutlery draw etc.
Organic is so démodé.
Yes, it's all about STANDARDS darling.
 
Nx"

The "rodent" reference eludes to a time when on a previous visit, Nigel

insisted on cooking dinner ( in an attempt to make sure all work surfaces had

not been walked across by Albert's shitty paws

As he was searching for a wooden spoon in the utensil pot

he found a small mummified sparrow which had been thoughtfully dropped there!

A Sock Down The Trouser leg

It's 11.29 am and I am just sitting down to my first cup of coffee!

Hell's teeth!

I was up at 6.25 to take Chris to the station...

When we got there we had a row because he had forgotten his wallet which necessitated a trip back home to collect it.

I dropped him off at the station then went to sainsburys to get the week's shop in before Nigel visits on Friday ( Nige is the chap who always leaves "interesting" post comments)

and had then had to face the embarrassment of thanking a somewhat amused male supervisor for returning a somewhat smelly pink sock which had somehow wormed its way down my mucky track suit pant leg to be left forlornly in the aisle near the cooked meats.

"I have just got out of bed...I 'm sorry!", I said in way of an explanation and added somewhat uselessly "It's also happened to me with a pair of underpants once"

The supervisor smiled thinly looking at the grubby sock in his hand

"Thank God for small mercies" he said

Well I finished the shop, returned home, put all of it away, fed the dogs, let all the animals out and fed and watered them all before sorting out all of the recycled rubbish to be collected, washing up the dishes, making the bed and prizing a reluctant piece of dog poo from the kitchen lino.

By the time I had finished it was 9.30 and I was already late to go up to my brother's house for the day, so piling the dogs into the car, I drove up to Denbigh, and plonked the dogs into my brother's large enclosed garden so I could catch up with my sister-in-law.

I had forgotten that Mabel had not really "experienced" a large garden pond before...so I was fairly astonished that after galloping around the lawn with the other dogs, she leapt the 4 inch wall that surrounds the pond with all the grace of Nijinsky and swallow dived directly into the deepest part of it!

Now dragging over 27 kilos of hysterical bulldog from a garden pond which is surrounded by a low wall is not easy.

By the time I had caught the nape of her neck I was as fraught as she was; soaked (as she was) and had lost one of my croc shoes to boot, but after a huge struggle I managed to drag her to safety covered with slime and lily pads.

like I said it is only 11.29!

what else can happen?

Watch this space

Oh no not another bloody picture of the bulldog!
Mabel drying off in the car after her adventure

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"