If today's previous post ticked the "Boob" vote
This one will surely tick the Kleenex brigade
Listen to this after a double gin and
I dare you not to snivel
Enjoy
Haddocks
I was up thinking about the French film I have just seen at Theatre Clwyd entitled The Boy with a bike and couldn't quite agree with myself on the review, so I will share with you today's story about the naming of my allotment!
Cro over at magnonsmeanderings.blogspot.co.uk/ is a gentle and cultured old soul who lives in a picturesque part of France. He has three ugly hens, two delightful dogs and a garden folly to die for!
Cro also has an endearing habit of giving "odd" names for family members, friends and inanimate objects ....I think it's a product of good breeding
Anyhow, I have always liked the name he has given to his own allotment.....he calls it "Haddocks!"
Today I bumped into fellow villager Sid as he passed the field with his good natured dogs in tow. We chatted about this and that, and I told him about Cro's amusingly catchy name for his vegetable plot and said I would like to name mine in a similar vein
"what is the criteria for picking the new name?" Sid asked with interest
After thinking about it for a while, I suggested that the name should be slightly ironic, amusing and rather catchy!---" your favourite word!" I then added
I gave him a minute or so to mull it over, then asked him
"Well have you thought of something I could name my allotment?"
"That I have", Sid said after a moment
"Well what is it?" I asked impatiently
"BOSOMS" Sid said with a smile
and so...... BOSOMS it is!
Gawd Bless her
Going Gently needed a bit of colour today
it's been far too drab here recently
And so spurred on by local royalist and show gal Jason from Ty Wynne and his multicultural bunting and flag waving
Bwthyn-y-llan has followed suit
with our own bit of red,white and blue
oh and for balance
The Welsh flag has been erected on the side of the cottage
Computer Speak
Yesterday I received a letter from my pet insurers
It was one of those mass printed, faceless notes that was signed with an unreadable signature by someone who is simply called a "customer services director"
The content of the letter went something as follows
.............we are very sorry to learn of the distressing news that you no longer have your pet....At this very sad time we'd like to extend our heartfelt thoughts to you and can confirm that we have now cancelled this policy...............during this difficult period, you may find some comfort in calling our free bereavement counselling line. This is open 24 hours a day and manned by trained counsellors to give you the support you need throughout this time, whenever you need it................
I don't know quite how I feel about this.
A soulless letter with the content reminiscent of something The Samaritans would extol sticks in the throat just a little...and I find the thought of a "trained counsellor" sitting by the phone in the middle of the night waiting for a tearful phone call to be so sad on so many levels.
Now I am sure the "counsellors" are a selection of well meaning sweet people.
And I am sure in this age of "touchy feely" customer services, all the right words were being said.
But , to me, the most import thing that was missing from the end of the letter
was a name......a simple and personal name......... |
| George being dragged around the neighbour's garden yesterday by Sarren the welsh terrier puppy |
Torch Song
 |
| Robin Govier from nearby Flint carries the torch |
Flanked by his buff Olympic police guard, the Olympic torchbearer ambled into the nearby village of Rhuddlan under blue skies.
The place was packed with people....... thousands turned up.......the great and the good.....all waving their flags, blow up plastic torches and an occasional pint of cold lager.
It was nice to be a part of it all somehow.
It was nice to see a good humoured crowd
and it was good to experience a little bit of positivism in a time of fucking depression
.
A young woman summed the entire afternoon up for me, when I heard her friend chuckling at the fact that she was crying when she spied 23 year old torchbearer Paul Gavin from Widnes being "mobbed" by the happy crowd before he started his part of the relay.
The woman was weeping and laughing all at the same time,
"I KNOW I am crying" she called out to her friend "It's just so bloody lovely to be a part of some good news for a change"
A man nearby chirped up "here here!"
and for a moment everything was alright with the world....
 |
| The Crowd supports Paul Gavin in an inpromptu burst of photography and back slapping |
Hey Ho
There are downsides to living in the country
It has to be said from time to time.
My main bug-bares are ( and in no particular order-as they say on TV)
1. You have to drive fairly long distances to do anything
2. There is now where locally that sells good greetings cards
3. Very few places sell proper coffee
4. Casual racism
Now I throw the last one in for some dramatic effect, but unfortunately, I must say it is a true statement.
Of course, I am talking in generalities here. Racism flourishes anywhere and everywhere. But generally speaking, I have noticed more racist comments, and certainly a noticeable lack of broad-mindedness about race here in Wales than I ever experienced in South Yorkshire.
I discussed this at work the other night, for it is in work where I think I notice this the most, and the debate that followed was an interesting one given the demographic of the staff on duty and the patients being looked after was predominately white and " working class".
Of course we don't have the cultural melting pot that the great Northern Cities are famous for, indeed black faces in the coastal towns here in Wales are still a fairly rare sight even in 2012 and I am reminded here of something that happened to me several years ago, which perhaps underlines the noticeable lack of exposure, some communities still have when that much used catch phrase "multiculturalism" is used.
I was in a car on the A55 late at night.
( for those that don't know the A55 is the only duel carriageway of note here in North Wales)
As we approached the turn off for the coast, out of the pitch black, we spied a broken down car on the hard shoulder.
Perched on a grassy bank, next to their car was a group of middle aged Asian ladies, who were all decked out in a whole array of multicoloured saris, and so surprised were we to see this unexpected sight, we sailed right passed them.
I turned to the driver and suggested that we should have offered them some help
But I was immediately faced with a worried look and the comment of " I don't think so"
"we better not" my companion then added
"It might be a trap!"
*******************************************************************************
Off to watch the Olympic Torch pass by a little later.... will post a few photos later if I can
50 going on 13
I am re watching the second series of The Walking Dead on channel 5
How Geeky am I?
My mother in law is buying me the first series for my 50th
How sad is that? I think, she thinks it is a detective series
It will be one of my best pressies
I have already received some fantastic pressies even though by birthday is on Friday
SO thank you Nia for a genuine 1962 Times newspaper ( the year of my birth)
Thank you Mike and Bev for an afternoon tea in a swanky Hotel
and thank you Janet for a meal at Osborn House
it's all me me me me me !
How Geeky am I?
My mother in law is buying me the first series for my 50th
How sad is that? I think, she thinks it is a detective series
I have already received some fantastic pressies even though by birthday is on Friday
SO thank you Nia for a genuine 1962 Times newspaper ( the year of my birth)
Thank you Mike and Bev for an afternoon tea in a swanky Hotel
and thank you Janet for a meal at Osborn House
it's all me me me me me !
Moving On
Last year fifteen or so of the older members of the village community kindly contributed to Going Gently's sister blog Voices From The Past.
My objective in writing the new blog was to document some of the more interesting stories relating to village history before the significant proportion of native Trelawnyd-ites in their late 80s and 90s started to disappear,
I found the whole process of research a fascinating and at times a rather humbling one, and over last summer I made some unlikely friendships with a score of octogenarians who had some lovely stories to share.
This morning, as I was delivering some eggs out of the glare of another overly hot day, I walked past the pensioner bungalows in the centre of the village.
Outside one bungalow was piled up several sticks of furniture. A bookcase, a couple of 1940's utility chairs, a sideboard, and as I stopped to look at them, I spied a neighbour who I know well.
"she's not coming back from the care home she's not quite well enough" the neighbour called a little sadly
"It's an end of an era" she added with a wave.
And I waved back nodding.
The tenant of the bungalow was a lady who had been born in the village 87 years ago.
Her name is Olwenna
Olwenna had never left Trelawnyd until now, having lived, worked, loved and actively been a part of village life since she was born in a tiny cottage, which was one of three tiny dwellings along London Road
I remember her delight in telling me the story of how she sang songs in the front room of our own cottage when she was a child, taught by Brenda Smith the coal merchant's daughter.
With a cackle, she remembered playing in "my" field with her schoolgirl friend Megan Hughes and with pride she showed me a rare piece of arcadian china that was commissioned for sale in the village shop before 1920. The tiny vase had a transfer of the Memorial Hall on the front of it.
It was gleaming and polished on top of the fireplace
87 years in one place... it's a long time.
Here is a brief video of Olwenna ( on the left) chatting to Gwyneth Jones supposedly about the belly dancer who appeared at the village friendship group meeting.. ( in fact they were chatting about someone who had suffered a fall at home)
My objective in writing the new blog was to document some of the more interesting stories relating to village history before the significant proportion of native Trelawnyd-ites in their late 80s and 90s started to disappear,
I found the whole process of research a fascinating and at times a rather humbling one, and over last summer I made some unlikely friendships with a score of octogenarians who had some lovely stories to share.
This morning, as I was delivering some eggs out of the glare of another overly hot day, I walked past the pensioner bungalows in the centre of the village.
Outside one bungalow was piled up several sticks of furniture. A bookcase, a couple of 1940's utility chairs, a sideboard, and as I stopped to look at them, I spied a neighbour who I know well.
"she's not coming back from the care home she's not quite well enough" the neighbour called a little sadly
"It's an end of an era" she added with a wave.
And I waved back nodding.
The tenant of the bungalow was a lady who had been born in the village 87 years ago.
Her name is Olwenna
Olwenna had never left Trelawnyd until now, having lived, worked, loved and actively been a part of village life since she was born in a tiny cottage, which was one of three tiny dwellings along London Road
I remember her delight in telling me the story of how she sang songs in the front room of our own cottage when she was a child, taught by Brenda Smith the coal merchant's daughter.
With a cackle, she remembered playing in "my" field with her schoolgirl friend Megan Hughes and with pride she showed me a rare piece of arcadian china that was commissioned for sale in the village shop before 1920. The tiny vase had a transfer of the Memorial Hall on the front of it.
It was gleaming and polished on top of the fireplace
87 years in one place... it's a long time.
Here is a brief video of Olwenna ( on the left) chatting to Gwyneth Jones supposedly about the belly dancer who appeared at the village friendship group meeting.. ( in fact they were chatting about someone who had suffered a fall at home)
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