Now for f@€#'s sake

I am two off 700 followers
Someone join in
I want some balance
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Fatherhood

Yesterday one of the Dads on the school run stopped me when I was returning back to the cottage after egg delivering. I know him to wave to but I don't know his name. He told me that his son was unwell at home and could he bring him to the field to feed the birds for a bit of fresh air.
Of course I said that he could.
This morning I noticed the pair out on the field.They were feeding the sheep with cheap white bread and both were laughing as both ewes stamped the ground with their forefeet, impatient with the rate at which the slices were coming.

Suddenly I was transported back to a cold Sunday afternoon when I was around ten.
It was a bittersweet memory of sorts
It was the day my father, uncharacteristically asked me to go nature watching with him.
Now, my parents never ever really took us kids out at weekends, it wasn't on their radar to do such a thing, and so I was surprised, nervous and rather excited at the prospect.
Ten Year old boys adore any chance of poking around amid badger setts!

We drove out of town, to a large house set in its own land and small wood. I remember it was icy and there was a carpet of brown horse chestnut leaves on the ground.
We got out of the car and my father gestured towards the trees
" off you go.. I'll meet you later, I'm just going to see my friend"
I didn't realise that his friend owned the house.
The sadness and disappointment I felt on that Sunday afternoon remains with me to this day.
and I remembered it so well, when I watched father and son feeding the sheep
My father didn't mean to be in anyway cruel
He thought the offer of a nature walk, albeit one alone was appropriate.
He thought I would have great fun,
while he chatted to his mate over a small warming whiskey

to do..............

This morning I sat down at the kitchen table and made a list of all of those jobs I have been meaning to do but havent quite got around to sorting

Sort out broken immersion heater
Chit Potatos and sort onion sets for planting

Book afternoon tea at Bodysgallen Hall for Chris' Birthday
Book a nice restaurant  for when Sorrel visits.
Find a local to lock the birds up on Friday ( we are off to the theatre to see Priscilla!!)
Dog Insurance for Winifred,
Price up new toilet bowls ( remember Albert chipped the bog after running into the bathroom with a rat!)
AND ITS STARTED TO LEAK WHEN YOU FLUSH!
Organise a trip for us to go to sheffield for a friend's 50th
look at venues and dates for our civil partnership!

I think I have almost ticked everything off!!!!!!
tee hee

Sleep Well

Nil Of Note

In my mind there has always been too much waffle when writing official nursing records.
In my mind you write the important and leave out the dross.
One of my most favourite comments in the nursing kardex
Is " nil of note to report"
It's a phrase that covers a multitude of sins

Today, I have nil of note to report.
Ok, I have pottered about clearing bosoms for a while,
Ok, I slipped down the stairs zipping up my pants and squirted myself in the face with some lurid dettol bleach cleanser
( I was stupidly carrying the bottle in my mouth)
and I have spent a particular revolting half hour cleaning the arse of an egg bound chicken before I could pop the egg out with a bit of Vaseline .
Some days are " nothing" days aren't they?
I've made supper.
Tried to Marshal the troops for an emergency flower show meeting on Wednesday night ( we've lost our acting secretary)
and spent an entertaining few minutes hearing all about animal helper Pat's Hawaiian holiday!
It's been cold but bright today
Even the weather has been nil of note to report.

When a duck goes bad!

The surviving ducks ( from right to left)
Hersel,Carol,Polenta,Maggie,Michonne, Sophia  and Beth)

Yesterday, it was with a very heavy heart that I culled one of my original runner ducks. Dale had been with me for a few years before he was bought by a chap over on Dyserth hill as a companion for his single Muscovy. Around six months later the chap brought Dale back stating that the Muscovy had mysteriously died under " odd circumstances" and could I re home the runner.
Looking back at the facts, I suspect this was the start of Dale's murderous career, but I overlooked the odd attack on a weak hen or the over zealous " beaking" of one of the other drakes, putting it down to hormones.
The truth, however, was just a little more unsavory
Dale was a serial killer.
Like Miss Marple, in sleepy St Mary Meade, I started to put the clues together.
An old buff Orpington with her feathers pulled out.
A bloody headed female runner called Maggie hiding away by herself in the stream too frightened to join the rest of the ducks
And only yesterday the frantic calls of Jo the goose as she was cornered and attacked by something which turned out not to be any larger than an average wine bottle had me running from the cottage clutching a broom.
It was then when I caught Dale pecking at all and sundry.
A murderous look in his eyes
Bang to rights.
Guilty as charged.
And ten minutes later dead as a dodo.
The bad seed needed removing
Oh lord....perhaps I am watching a little too much Walking Dead?

Tap Factory

Went to see this French tap/ percussion group this Evening in the unlikely venue of Theatre Cymru in Llandudno. The energy of the four tap dancers, and supporting acrobats was absolutely amazing.
If you get a chance to see them...do so........

Make Mine A Large One

Chris is working away and won't be back until tomorrow night, so I was just a tad  indulgent last night and treated myself to a bottle of wine in front of Sports Relief.
I don't know why I do it.
The story of the elderly chap losing his wife, or the African girl quietly explaining her tragic life to camera and that's me blabbing for the next hour or two.
A glass of wine and a sob story
Not a good mix.
This got me to thinking just how alcohol can  punctuate our lives.
Advocaat always reminds me of my grandmother, who seldom drank anything at all. My mother would always have a small bottle of the yellow mud in at Christmas so that granny could have tipple before lunch.
I don't think I have seen the drink for years.
Whiskey reminds me of my brother and father.
Gin reminds me of my mother, though the memory is a bittersweet one.
And Pernod & lemonade reminds me of my teenage years when I thought it was sophisticated to drink it when I was out at the disco!
The very smell of Tequila makes me heave. it reminds me of a party I went to many moons ago now, where an ex spinal injury patient introduced me to tequila slammers
The next morning I thought my insides would explode!.....
Never again!........
Oh.....And a properly made vodka martini brings back memories of my first trip to New York with Chris,
When I drank two large ones in Doc's bar on second avenue when I was jet lagged, and couldn't climb down off my bar stool.
Guinness reminds me of happy days at the Dog & Partridge pub in Sheffield , where everyone would  sing The Fields Of Athenry in the back room.
Jim Beam reminds me of family parties in the 1980s
Nowadays my tipple of choice is probably a Crisp white wine.
I like a gin and tonic ( especially on holiday) but wine is generally more preferable though I don't recommend too many glasses whilst watching charity fundraisers on tele.
You cry like a baby!