O.D.R

I have become disorientated with yesterday's bank holiday and for some reason thought that today was Monday. It isn't of course, a fact that has thrown chez Trelawnyd into a bit of a disarray for today is in fact, the day that my mother-in -law arrives.
.....and as Terry Wogan always said......" there's not a child in the house washed"

Dog snot on windows........harder to remove than concrete

Regular readers of Going Gently will know that Operation Dog- Snot Removal (O.D.R) is about to begin. 

This event usually comprises of a few hours of slightly hysterical scrubbing, buffing and dusting, accompanied with moments of bad temper, yelled phrases of " DON'T WALK ON THE FU*KING....FLOOR I'VE JUST MOPPED IT!" and of course  periods of excitable weeping

It's a well walked road which most children-in-law in this world will recognise.

Being prepared and making the effort before a visit equates to being respectful.

It may be old fashioned

But it is as ingrained in me, as deeply as childhood memories.

Luckily I have already made a cake, so I only have 100 things to do..........

I must be quick though, I have got to lather Eric's arse with antibacterial spray before the kitchen gets bleached............and I have just spied a substantial mound of cat puke behind the toilet...............

Bank Holiday Blues

The other day , when we had gone out for lunch at that seaside cafe, my sister in law, quite in passing, revealed that my late brother absolutely detested Sundays.
I knew immediately just why that was, after all we grew up in the same household, albeit ten years apart.
Sundays, when we were children meant a day at home with the parents.
And they were never really happy times.

Obviously my brother carried the memories of those rather sad Sundays to his grave....I luckily have not, although after thinking about it carefully, I suspect that my historic dislike of Bank Holiday Mondays come from the same stable so to speak.

My parents never did anything on Sundays & Bank holidays. They watched TV, had a roast lunch , a cold tea and that was it. When my classmates went out of the day to Conwy Castle or for a run onto the Denbigh Moors, we children were left to our own devices around the house , the apathy of a non working day was more depressing than anything you could imagine.

I have never in my earlier working life had the childhood expectation that Sundays could be fun, after all they were often a normal working day like any other. when I was a senior nurse, I never worked weekends, and so with Chris in tow they became relaxing fun days, and so only the memories of a bank holiday Monday stick with me from my childhood.....not a bad weight around my neck given the fact there are only a few such holidays in the average year . Unfortunately for my brother, there were 52 Sundays in a year.
52 sad memory pricks

Finale

I am working a thirteen hour shift today, so today's post is a brief nod to the finale of The Walking Dead which airs in the States this evening........please can anyone that watches it please let me know who becomes zombie fodder and who survives into series four........?

If not I will have to wait until next Friday........

Happy Easter by the way!

Forte's

As a late baby boomer, I do have a sort of hankering for the food of my childhood.
1970s food ( especially party food) was all a bit technicolor, frou frou and kitch. Tomatoes had a frilly edge. Black Forest gateaux was all the rage and the height of good taste was a cheese and pineapple hedgehog surrounded by  " lurid looking dips and a mug filled with breadsticks"
Occasionally we have lunch at a horrendously revamped seaside cafe in Rhos on Sea called FORTE'S

The decor in FORTE'S may be pure 1980s soap opera, but the food is pure 1950s-1970s nostalgia.
Jacket potatoes ( with a selection of fillings including prawn cocktail!), knickerbockerglories in pressed glass boats, all washed down by fairly weak watery tea served out of tiny chrome teapots.
The waitresses are clean and tidy and wear neat motel staff uniforms and there is not a crumb to be seen on any of the kitchen worktop looking tables.
Classy it is not
Comforting it very much is.
I have a sort of false nostalgia for Forte's
There was one in Prestatyn for years with its Lloyd Loom chairs ( the furniture still remains there to this day)and  my mother actually worked there  when she was a 16 year old refugee from a bomb damaged 1941 Liverpool......it's funny how a history you didn't actually experience can infuse your own nostalgia buttons so to speak.
So today, we shall sip the weak tea out of cheap, white , clean cups and may share an exotic banana split complete with its paper flag and glacé cherry.........
And we shall celebrate the likes of Fanny Craddock and my mother's homemade " savoury dips"
Now I know, where I get my taste for scotch eggs from

A Cockerel On The Draining Board

Eric, before the examination

I had forgotten it was Good Friday and that Chris was home.

Without thinking I brought in a bloodied and rather sorry Eric, who had been cornered and beaten up by Alpha Male Bogbrush and swaddled him up before planning for a review of his wounds.

I had just dipped the bantam's arse in the washing up bowl filled with clean warm water when Chris walked in

"OH GOD ! more bleeding animals in the kitchen" he sighed loudly, eying the rooster through narrowed lids and added with a somewhat exasperated scowl

"Does he HAVE to be sorted on the kitchen tops? ...I would like to make my hot cross buns WITHOUT the chance of contracting salmonella!"

Chris disappeared for a while as I sponged Eric's bloody arse with the dishcloth but gamely returned when I was just about to apply a soothing lathering of Vaseline to all of the "red bits"

" This is all rather revolting for a Good Friday Morning" he said shaking his head.

An Old Red Landrover

A few observations of the day

Pat, animal helper was making a Simnelcake and needed a dozen more eggs,

Gentleman farmer Ralph scouted down the lane on a little quad bike looking for 2 lost sheep

Joanne walked her dog around the Marian, like me she still has a troublesome cough

And as Margaret and her sister brought fresh flowers to the new graveyard

and Auntie Gladys polished the glass bowl in her front room window

I talked to Bob on the icy pavements near High Street while a familiar battered old red landrover caught my eye as it sped towards Lloc

It was the RFWF's  landrover

I had not seen it since he died

The sight of it tugged at my heart just a little

Sexting.......and Snowy ( or is that Soay) Sheep

A year or so ago a girl I know only vaguely mentioned to me in passing that her part time boyfriend had "sext" her.
I had no idea what she was talking about and said so. So you could imagine my surprise when she showed me the said "sext" which turned out to be a most unattractive piece of his anatomy.
Yesterday, as I was baking, I listened to a sobering talk show on LBC  radio. The presenter, James O'Brien, was discussing the subject of sexting and concentrated his discussion with parents who have had first hand experience of their children's " sexting" behaviour.
I found the whole programme, riveting, shocking and terribly depressing as caller after caller shared their stories where children, some as young as eleven and twelve , had been caught sharing intimate photographs of themselves.
According to one 18 year old girl who rang the station, the practice was commonplace, with photos being bandied around the Internet when teenage love affairs broke up, as they invariably do.
Sexting, I thought, was perhaps a silly joke between adults.
I had no idea, it was a phenomen well known to school children.

The young girl who rang LBC had a good head on her shoulders for she complained that with Blackberry technology, the multitude of apps that are freely available and access to 24 hour Internet, children of all ages are bombarded constantly with sexual imagery.
Its become a norm in their fast, gadget filled young lives.

I was reminded of those child soldiers in Rwanda. Children not yet into double figures, that were " conscripted" into killing gangs as deadly and as cold blooded as any mercenary task force. These  children saw death and cruely everyday as a norm, and subsequently grew up to be twisted, cold and empty individuals.
Our children are growing up desensitised too, desensitised to porn
The imagery of sexual behaviour is everywhere.....and children now are sexualised as a result.....

Technology is a wonderful thing eh?

Anyhow I will leave you with a more positive change of subject, for Irene and Sylvia the Soay Ewes are back to their normal inquisitive and bouncy selves.

I have been worried about them when the snow really came down last Friday, for they took  themselves away to sit quietly in the shelter of the hawthorn. I took them pellets, water and hay, all of which seemed to be left untouched, as all they wanted to do was to " sit out" the snow in a rather passive and " fed up" way.

Gentleman farmer Ralph, who had been effectively snowed in up the lane for days,told me this behaviour was typical of mountain sheep......they don't like things too easy......

It's heartbreaking to hear that thousands of animals in the Welsh hills, Scottish highlands and in Ireland and the Isle of Man have been killed sheltering in a similar way from the elements.....

At least in my small corner of the world....my two girls are safe and sound

When Russians Attack...

A delightful shot of my right buttock

Yesterday, I read with some sadness , of yet another fatal dog attack here in the Uk. The dogs involved were not illegal breeds, but they were dogs that are renowned for their aggression, strength and fighting abilities.

Despite my anthropomorphic tendencies, I am a firm believer that dogs have to be under control at all times.This can be a challenge with terriers, as they are excitable and robust little characters, but I have mastered the problem by always ensuring that in public anyhow they remain firmly on their leads.

I have no time for these people that enjoy keeping big aggressive dogs that they cannot be held safely out of any doggie conflict. In their case the dog is obviously controlling the owner.

Six years ago I was challenged by a group of  house dogs. I walked into the property of our dog breeder without checking if the coast was clear, and as I started to cross a small courtyard, ten barking dogs of all denomination cornered me against a wall.

I kept calm, ( though I have never felt so frightened in my life) and stood stock still as the dogs challenged me to run. Two Jack Russell terriers led the assault and kept the whole thing " excitable" by hysterically barking up into my face while a  massive 140 lb Russian terrier leaned forward and bit me three times on the thigh and arse.

If I had panicked I would, I am sure been subjected to the wrath of the entire pack, and could of suffered the fate of many that inadvertently spark off the real "animal" in a much loved household pet, but I remained annoyingly still and outwardly calm as the dogs continued to bay at me.

It was terrifying

My salvation eventually came in the guise of an elderly airedale bitch, who walked quietly through the throng to sniff at me. I judged quite rightly that she was a benign character and so I slowly grabbed her collar and positioned her between me and the Russian terrier who was building up for another bite fest.

She saved me, of that I have no doubt, and the whole episode taught me a great deal about being "stupid" when unknown dogs were concerned....especially when there is a sign on the gate that reads "do not enter"..........

Dogs , even beautifully trained ones exist in a world that is only millimetres away from the savage......and most of us forget this........