At least it proves that I have lost a stone and half.......
Off to work today...Chris is in charge
Arse shot
At least it proves that I have lost a stone and half.......
Off to work today...Chris is in charge
A Placement in A&E
When I was a student nurse, the only placement that I did not enjoy was A&E ( ER)
My father died right at the beginning of my three month span of duty there, so in a show of support by the nursing staff, I was moved from the resus area ( where all city traumas were brought in) to work with the staff that were allocated to the " walking wounded".
It was mildly interesting and less stressful than the cut and thrust of the adrenaline filled trauma room.
Only one experience from a humdrum collection of cut fingers,boils on the bum and dislocated wrists sticks in my mind to this day, and that was the time I was conscripted by a pretty Scottish sister to help her with a patient.
This sister in question collared me as I tidied up a treatment room with a " could I ask you to help me with something important?" She looked upset, so of course I agreed and she led me to a curtained off cubicle where she told me in hushed tones that an elderly woman had been brought in and had unfortunately died just as she reached hospital. Her husband, who had accompanied his wife's ambulance in a good Samaritan's car , had turned up in the department and had just been informed of his wife's death.
" what do you need me to do?" I asked the sister
" he wants to feel her arms around him a last time" she explained with a gulp,
" and I can't do it by myself".
There was no one else around, so of course I agreed.
And so between us we gently sat the old gal up a little on a hospital trolley and ever so gently helped her husband up onto it where he lay against her with a sob.
The woman was around 80, and had a single roller in her white hair. She wore a white cardigan as I remember.
I held one of the woman's arms around his shoulders and the pretty Scottish sister did the same with the other and there we stood for what seemed like the longest of times.
The old man whispering and crying to his wife all the time as we, with our eyes brimming with tears, tried to look elsewhere.
My father died right at the beginning of my three month span of duty there, so in a show of support by the nursing staff, I was moved from the resus area ( where all city traumas were brought in) to work with the staff that were allocated to the " walking wounded".
It was mildly interesting and less stressful than the cut and thrust of the adrenaline filled trauma room.
Only one experience from a humdrum collection of cut fingers,boils on the bum and dislocated wrists sticks in my mind to this day, and that was the time I was conscripted by a pretty Scottish sister to help her with a patient.
This sister in question collared me as I tidied up a treatment room with a " could I ask you to help me with something important?" She looked upset, so of course I agreed and she led me to a curtained off cubicle where she told me in hushed tones that an elderly woman had been brought in and had unfortunately died just as she reached hospital. Her husband, who had accompanied his wife's ambulance in a good Samaritan's car , had turned up in the department and had just been informed of his wife's death.
" what do you need me to do?" I asked the sister
" he wants to feel her arms around him a last time" she explained with a gulp,
" and I can't do it by myself".
There was no one else around, so of course I agreed.
And so between us we gently sat the old gal up a little on a hospital trolley and ever so gently helped her husband up onto it where he lay against her with a sob.
The woman was around 80, and had a single roller in her white hair. She wore a white cardigan as I remember.
I held one of the woman's arms around his shoulders and the pretty Scottish sister did the same with the other and there we stood for what seemed like the longest of times.
The old man whispering and crying to his wife all the time as we, with our eyes brimming with tears, tried to look elsewhere.
Scarfs,Steiff, and bags of cabbage
I was not going to blog today
I didn't think I had anything to share except for last night's film review
But as usual
I was wrong.
I didn't sleep last night..a case of too much coffee after the cinema
I was up early this morning taking Chris to the station, so staggered off to bed on my return for a quick nap. When I eventually got up to let the animals out, my favourite scarf had been looped carefully around the back door handle. I must have dropped it into the rain soaked road when I returned .
Not a big deal.
But a thoughtful little action from a passing neighbour.
( in actual fact I found out later that I had left the scarf in the cinema and my cousin and his wife noticed it and dropped it off this morning!)
A couple of days ago
A bag of cabbage leaves had been dropped off by the gate with a note attached which simply said
" for Mary"
Sender unknown
Last Week I delivered some eggs to Rosemary & Bernard in the village and collected a gift of several jars of homemade preserves. Each one carefully prepared and labelled.....and
On my way home affable despot Jason presented me with a huge bag of much needed egg boxes
Nothing huge...but little kindnesses for sure
This little chap was given to me the other day too
It was a " I thought you may like this" kind of gift
He turned out to be a vintage 1940s Steiff Scottie Dog
How sweet is that?
Little kindnesses like these help the world go round a little more smoothly me thinks.
Ok I will rephrase that
Little kindnesses make my world run a little smoother
....................... and happier
Ps
In way of book ending this entry
Here are two separate gifts of bread left by locals for the birds
This morning!
Hey ho
Philomena
This gentle approach serves the movie well, for it is a powerful and at times affectionately amusing look at two very different individuals sharing an extraordinary experience.
Much has been made of the Steve Coogan and Judy Dench partnership in Philomena and there is no denying their talent portraying world weary hack Martin Sixsmith and unworldly Irish Grandmother Philomena Lee.
But , for me, ( and I know I am in a minority here) I thought Dench was miscast .
Despite this fact.
The movie is well worth seeing.
7/10
Jessie Come Home
Yesterday morning I took the dogs to the beach for a run
after a half an hour of silly circles galloping
they tumbled back into the berlingo
And I drove to Tescos to look at the scotch egg section
I had just entered the car park when I heard a bit of growling from the back seat
And after yelling a sharp " enough" ( my usual command to stop bickering)
I looked into the rear view mirror to see what was going on
Five dog heads popped up into view
Which was just a little disconcerting
For as you all may recall
For as you all may recall
We have only four dogs.
 |
| Jess...finding her own way home |
As it turned out dog number five was an over active patterdale terrier called Jess
Who is my sister's dog.
Apparently she had become separated from my sister somewhere in the sand dunes,
Seen a car she recognised and had jumped unseen into the berlingo before I drove off
I returned to the beach and eventually found my rather frantic sister searching a nearby golf course for her dog.
Patterdale terriers are well known for their quick witted personalities
*******
The weather is shitty today, so, I will stay in and make mince pies for Christmas
Our Christmas cards arrived this morning too
A homemade design of my old ghost hens by fellow blogger Em Parkinson
@
http://dartmoorramblings.blogspot.co.uk
Sweet
Ps
If you want to read a rather moving story
Have a look at this tale at
http://hippo-on-the-lawn.blogspot.co.uk
Cracking
" fame!" I'm going to live forever!
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Well.....I understand that it's not quite on a par with selling your millionth book on Amazon but Going Gently has received it's first six figure page view.
I am vain enough to " enjoy" the fact even though that many of my " hits" are automated and not generated by bulldog loving housewives in the American mid west or nostalgic ex teachers in scenic South yorkshire
In my mind a million hits are a million hits!
Cue ticker tape and vuvuzelas!!!!!
Going Gently is nothing more that a little look at an ordinary life in a village that has seen better days. Ok, it has the draw of a set of characters that please..( pole dancing bulldogs, handicapped rabbits and a ninety five year old, scone obsessed old lady) but essentially it remains a diary about an odd family of sorts....a diary which has now become an essential part of my daily routine to write.
Sometimes I wish I could write a blog with the precision and talent shown by a certain " ranting" old Somerset resident. Other times I wish I was as witty as a boozy ex pat hidden away in the African bush or as mad as " mad as a box of frogs" Ursula who lives God knows where......
But I'll settle for a daily and mundane chronicle of mucky wellies,bowel habits and chicken's prolapses
Thank you all for reading.
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| Winifred........Going Gently |
Burn those Lips
I heard this on the radio this morning
A real blast from 1979
Not one of their most popular hits
But as a gauche 17 year old
I loved it
Enjoy
Life As An Undercock
The animal world is no different. You just need to add to the mix a need to remove any potential genetic rival , a need which is exceptionally strong with the male members of a community.
Meet Harry.
Harry is a teenage cockerel who is not only a sad " ginger" but has proved himself to be an out and out " big girl's blouse " of a cockerel.
If he was human
He would mincing, screaming, silly young Queen.
On a regular basis , one of the ordinary hens will take a sharp beak to him, and amid a flurry of red feathers, Harry will scream hysterically like a girl and run shrieking in dramatic circles with his wings held high above his head.
Think Jack out of Will & Grace
Now a camp, cockerel is bleeding useless when the protection of a flock is concerned and
all the hens seem to sense this. They have no use for Julian Clarey in a chicken suit
All they want is beefcake
.....it's a case of choosing Russell Crowe over Russell Brand
Poor Harry.......he's neither fish nor fowl
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