Harry Windsor : a ginger cock in need of Valium

Another day, another storm from the west. The Ukrainian village has never been so  wet or as dirty, yet despite the muck and the water, the resident hens and the refugees have been laying well all winter.

The only flash of real colour amid the brown and the muddy green has been a brighter ginger streak that is Harry Windsor.

Harry Windsor, like his namesake is second in life's pecking order. He is second in command to the permanently scowling Moriarty and spends most of his adolescent days galloping away from the alpha cockerel in a state of nervous exhaustion.

Such is the way of the world in hen land

Come the spring, when Harry has put on a few more pounds

There will be a stand off between the two

And a peace will reign on the field

But for now, Harry ,

Poor Harry continues his muddy and constant jog to safety

Stitches

David's mother

I finally caught up with my friend Nige last night. We swapped belated Christmas gifts. I gave him a home knitted ( by  chris)  scarf and a Banksey calendar. He presented me with a first for me.... A graphic novel.

Now, all I do know about graphic novels, is that they are usually horror based ( like the original The Walking Dead  series) and usually enjoyed by young men who can't be arsed reading a book.

Graphic novels can be generally described as storyboards similar to the ones used to preempt filming on a movie. They capture the story cinematically, with perhaps a few " bubble" quotes or brief sentence of explanation and rely on the talent of the artist to Push the story forward.

Nigel's choice of Christmas pressie was, I admit, just a little odd, but it has proved to be an extraordinary " read"

Stitches- a memoir is the  true story of an abusive childhood in middle class 1950s Detroit .Seen through the eyes of six then eleven year old David, we are introduced to dysfunctional parents an abusive maternal grandmother and family secrets centered around illness, insanity and depression.

Atmospherically and economically sketched Stitches is a profoundly moving  and raw story seen from a child's perspective.

I really recommend it.

But do read it when you are emotionally robust

David's grandmother

Bunty Returns

I am off to see my friend Nige in Manchester this evening

So I have been a bit on catch up all day.

At lunchtime there was a lusty knock on the door

It was Bunty, the lesbian smallholder 

She had no geese with her, it was only a social call

" the Bastards" she told me had finally settled down and had been sexed by a local farmer who thought they were both

females ....subsequently she had renamed them

" Ellen and Portia"

I can't say I was surprised

Bunty was full of her geese

And she reminded me of Rosie O Donnell the way she laughed about them

Big lusty laughs!

" Did you know?" She said in her big deep voice

"When a goose gets sick' when they are migrating ,two geese drop out of formation and follow 

It down to the ground to protect it"

Well you learn something new everyday!

The nearest likeness I could find for Bunty

I hope she doesn't mind

Pies & Scones

Today's offering a meat and potato pie

I am a plain to average cook

But I can knock out a good pie when the need arises

This surprises me as I have hot little fat hands

The hands of a serial killer , I have been told.

My grandmother always told me that you needed cold hands for good pastry

Today I was going to ask auntie Glad what the real secret of " good pastry" when I dropped off

Some duck eggs on my rounds but as it turned out, I didn't.

She had received some bad news from the doctor about her eye sight

and as usual, all she was thinking about , was other people

" Tell Chris  I won't be able to make scones for him anymore" 

She said with a sad faraway look

I got you babe

Just been flicking  through the on line tabloids

And was a bit surprised with this photo

Cher looks a bit rough!

Things

In the living room we have a 1940s glass fronted bookcase. It is a depository for things collected over a period of fifty years.Things that would mean little or nothing to anyone else on earth.
There is nothing of great value here. A ginger jar with a cracked lid. A Christmas bauble bought in New York. A silver framed photo of Chris' grandmother. A Inlaid box stuffed full of family papers.
The flotsam and jetsam of two lives as well as one shared life together.
I don't look into the bookcase much, like most things at home you look at them without seeing. Today I did see them......Coal dust from the fire had seeped onto the shelves and needed dusting away, so for a few minutes I enjoyed the gentle memory trip that " things collected " can give you.

Poor Relation

" are you alright?"

This was from a woman visiting the new graveyard

I think I had given her somewhat of a turn

When she saw me lying face down in the snowdrops.

" I'm fine" I called over

" I am just taking photographs!"

She looked at me as if I was a loon.

Well I was taking photographs as it happened

See!

I have been busy today

I am responsible for sorting out the contents for the Trelawnyd side of the official community council

Website.

Now we will be sharing the site with our " sister" village of Gwaenysgor

and Gwaenysgor is the " posh relation"

Now if Both villagers were celebrities

Gwaenysgor would be Mary Berry and Trelawnyd would be more like Kathy Burke 

If both villages were James Bond

Gwaenysgor would be Pierce Brosnan to Trelawnyd's Daniel Craig

And if both villages were magazines

Gwaenysgor would be Homes & Gardens while Trelawnyd would be Take A Break

Ok...you no doubt get my gist

Apparently, there are people falling over themselves in Gwaenysgor with interesting web page 

information on the art group, local heritage, and that bloody important mention in the soddin Doomsday book

So I am determined for us not to look like the badly dressed spinster sister and have been busy collecting  the best bits of  the village in word and photo

Hey ho

Another Chapter

In 1957 Newmarket was renamed Trelawnyd

The funeral passed without incident as did the funeral tea, everyone pitched in, as is the norm The older members of Trelawnyd sat at the  back of the Church allowing Eileen Jones' extended family to fill the pews at the front. 

I sat with the olduns, and noticed that I was one of the youngest of the villagers to attend.

I found this incredibly sad. It felt that a chapter of the village history has almost passed