Survival

I think this is my favourite photo of the village
It is a long shot taken from the South West and shows Trelawnyd nestling safely in the shadow of Gop Hill, a hill that dominates the lower part of the valley.
Trelawnyd has evolved greatly over the years, every village does I suppose, but I think that the next decade will be pivotal in shaping the village's very survival.
when I say survival, I am talking about the survival of community here. Since we arrived here just six years ago, the village shop and post office have closed, the pub was boarded up ( and thankfully re opened) and many of the village elderly (always the backbone of any community) have died away.
The two chapels and the church congregations are hanging on by the skin of their teeth and the newer housing estates have attracted families that seem to remain insular and tight knit within their own little bubbles rather than feel they are a part of something  "slightly bigger"
One definition that could describe Trelawnyd and thousands of other villages up and down the country is that it is dying a very slow death.
Although some of me does believe this, another part of me emphatically does not.
I don't because of the work of a small group of individuals that battle tirelessly to keep "community" going.
The village Friendship group, the Memorial Hall Committee, The Church Council,The Carnival Committee and the conservation group all have their part to play as does our Flower Show and the Village Allotment open day and the one thing I have learnt about our fast modern world is the salient lesson that in general most people want ( and sometimes need) to participate in community ,they just are happy to leave the organising to someone else. Someone else that through hard work and some gentle bullying often gets things done.

Last year I didn't have the energy to organise my yearly OPEN DAY.
Emotionally I didn't have the chutzpah, after my brother's death
But I have thought about it, long and hard since a chance meeting with local farmer Basil who runs the last farm still situated within the village envelope
In his usual gentle way he passed the time of day with a few choice words when I caught him feeding his sheep
As I walked away, he called after me "are you holding your fete this year?"
" I think so" I said without thinking
"That's good" he said with a genuine smile

That's all it needed
I have five months to organise it

Avoiding disappointment

In 1985 I was lucky enough to see the original cast of Les Misérables perform in the West End. The only notable exception was Patti duPone who had just left her celebrated role as the tragic Fantine.
I was a very.young 23 year old whose experience of stage productions was somewhat limited to say the least, so it is not an exaggeration when I say that the production was somewhat pivotal in cementing my-life love of the theatre.
Of course show stoppers such as the rousing ONE DAY MORE and emotional jacuzzi manipulation of Eponine's ON MY OWN are the songs that most people remember, but for me it was the delicate and moving STARS sung by Roger Allam that had the most powerful effect on me.

For this reason I think I shall wait to see the new Les Mis movie when it is out on DVD
I worry that it will totally disappoint me
Anyone out there seen it yet?

Flipping eck (update)

I have wasted my morning waiting for the dog groomer to arrive.
She has been held up elsewhere and instead of ringing. she emailed me.
of course I have not checked my emails, and so I have spent a fruitless few hours watching the lane, sighing a great deal and winding myself up.
Such is life.
By 11am I was ready to beat a nun to death with her own ripped off arms, so in an effort to calm down, I went out to deliver some eggs in the village which for the first time in an absolute age was not rain soaked and miserable. Here are a few photos
Right.... enough of all this... I am off to clean some windows

siamber wen, one of the oldest houses in the village.It was once the old courthouse

A sombre looking Memorial Hall

The Church looking up the lane past our cottage

The view across the Valley looking south east

The Lychgate

The cottage always looks a little sad on winter days

A Very Danish Seduction

Norman Reedus in The Walking Dead

Well in the absence of redneck zombie killer Daryl Dixon and the other WALKING DEAD survivors of the undead apocalypse , I have been terribly in need for another group of interesting tv despots to hang my hat on so to speak.
Now this does not mean that I am being in anyway disloyal...no, not a bit of it.... But a girl needs to have an interest on these long, long nights of darkness and cold

BORGEN is that stopgap
for those that have not seen it. Borgen is a Danish version of The West Wing without the long corridors.
Instead of Martin Sheen and his Donny Osmond mouthed President , we have divorcing, mother of two Birgitte Christiansen as a feisty,black coated,and liberal as fuck coalition prime minister who is
not only a shit hot leader, she cleans her own house,works from home when the kids are ill! And shags her chauffeur when the need arises.
Yes , it's all very European.
Working alongside her delectable spin doctor, Kasper (Johan Philip Asbaek, below) Birgitte ducks and dives all manner of political shenanigans whilst under the watchful gaze of reporter Katrine Fansmark (Birgitte Sorensen) and the scene stealing alcoholic Hanne ( Benedikte Hansen , below) and throughout series 1 and 2 the story lines ( as they have a want to do) zig zag between political intrigue and the personal relationships of the main characters.
It's all very adult,
It's all very interesting
And it's all very entertaining
Oh, and there's not a bloody zombie in sight.

Nature's Delight

Sometimes all you can do is marvel at nature's beauty
This morning was a case in point
I stopped for a moment as I was ladling out the corn for the hens ( and the ewes of course,who muscle in on the feed), and in the cold serenity of the frosty dawn I spied a small brightly coloured wild bird darting through the legs of the hysterical runners in order to grab a small meal.
The tiny, delicate bird was beautifully lit by the morning sun,
It was gorgeous and sweet in it's desperate and cheeky effort to keep going in the winter cold
A thing to make the heart soar amid all the horrible things we hear about in this harsh life of ours

And for a second all was right with the world

Then two of the tame red warrens grabbed it and between them PULLED IT'S BLOODY HEAD OFF
Ah..the romance of it all!

Doing Things Well

Some visuals linger long in the mind and in the emotions. Uk readers might well have seen the co-op tv advert which promotes their long serving funeral business.
In it we see a widow on the way to her husband's funeral. The hearse takes a "scheduled" detour ( organised thoughtfully by the undertakers) to a favourite fishing spot of the deceased where a whole line of fishing pals stand in a dignified line in way of tribute.
It's a powerful and moving manipulation of the viewing audience, which cleverly never fails to pack the appropriate emotional punch.


As I "enjoyed" this emotional romp, I was reminded of a very real funeral which provided a similar, and if not more emotive example of respect and tribute.
In 2004, a much loved landowner Andrew Cavendish, the 11th Duke of Devonshire died. When his funeral car left the family's ancestral home of Chatsworth House in Derbyshire, the entire estate staff ( some 600,cooks,butlers,gamekeepers,farmers, secretaries and gardening staff) lined the route to Edensor Village Church.
At the time, I remember thinking just how wonderful this "staff salute" actually was.

Twilight

Sometimes In winter, daylight just can't get it's arse into gear.
The Bwthyn-y-llan cottage, with it\'s 18 inch walls and small windows doesn\'t always make the most of the weak sunshine in January, so when the weather is gloomy, and even though we are south facing, our rooms can look as though we live in a twilight world.
I sort of like this time, for after the animals on the field have been watered , the dogs walked and the tea made, there is usually an opportunity at the weekends for a multiple pile up of bodies under the duvet.
This morning, I am still a little in awe of the iPad thingamy.
BBC I player has the capacity for replaying the week's films, and so such classics as KITTY FOYLE,OF HUMAN BONDAGE,THEY FLEW ALONE,THE YELLOW CANARY are all up for a satisfying watch
The bright morning light of spring and summer mean you have to hit the day running.
Winter dullness means Bette Davis in bed

491 and Puking Dogs versus puking Children

Bloggers can be as self effacing as Mother Theresa when it comes to their readers, but generally the truth remains that we all are quite flattered when we notice our readership avatars increasing in number.

My followers now number a smidgen over 490. Of course only a fraction of these characters actually call in regularly to read the exploits of an over-the-hill poultry owner, but I am shallow enough to be giddy as a kipper when I finally reach my 500th follower?

I guess that we all need to be listened to in this strange game of life .

And bloggers being for the most part more mature than your average computer geek means that we are perhaps just that little more attentive to each other .

Generally it is a medium of good manners

(I DID say generally Thomas)

Anyhow today's post is a kind of thankful one.

Last night around 5am I was woken by some heavy breathing and the sound of retching.

It was George, who in Chris' absence had sneaked up to rest his head on the pillows.

A quick retch

A brief throw up of something unimanagable 

A smack of the lips and then back to sleep

Dogs are so much easier than children.

No wailing

No tears

No need for soothing words and a washing up bowl splashed liberally with dettol.

Just a brief pat on the head

And the disguesting job of cleaning up that corner of the duvet

When you finally wake up properly three hours later!
Oh and yes you can leave them unsupervised in a cold kitchen for a couple of hours if the need arises