PS and Thank You

It's a day for thank you's

Thank you to Chania over at Razmataz

http://razmatazblog.blogspot.co.uk

For the raffle prizes she sent over for The Trelawnyd Flower Show

It is incredibly kind of you to support us

*

Also a big thank you to Peter Ellis and " mad as a box of frogs" Eirlys Dutton

for selling extra raffle tickets for me

Thank you to the unknown villager who left us a bag of fresh garden peas

On the kitchen wall

And thank you to affable despot Jason, who walked down with a box 

of sugar puffs for the animals

The sheep have gone absolutely gaga over them

So much so...that they ate so many of them in one go

I had to get them a bucket of water to hydrate their mouths again

Cack Handed

I now have one Greta Garbo cheekbone

Out on the bike yesterday ( by myself- how's THAT for turning over a new leaf?)

I over wobbled on a slow manoeuvre and had a bit of a mishap with a bit of undergrowth

Co-ordination has never been one of my strengths

Undeterred ....I will be out and about again this afternoon

Don't forget the quiet one....

Sometimes the quiet child in a family needs some 1 to 1  time

Overshadowed by 2 needy Welsh terriers

and a somewhat excitable and hyperventilating bulldog bitch, who constantly swings her titties,

George sometimes gets his good natured nose pushed out of shape

Not that he minds much, he's used to it

as even Albert is higher in the canine pecking order, than he is...

And so

When I picked him up from the groomers' today

I bought him a packet of pork luncheon meat from Sainsbury's 

And whilst sitting on my lap in the car park

happily watching the shoppers going in and out with their trolleys

He very slowly ate the flipping lot
All .......to himself.....

8 Miles out

Ok picture the scene
Dr Chris- professional trainers, breathable lightweight trendy running jacket, designer dark shades
                Moustache immaculate....looking like the middle aged Athelete around town
Nurse John- grubby t shirt, knackered trainers, chicken shit stained combat pants ...looking like Rosie O'Donnell before she was famous

Off we went on cycle ride number two..this time an 8 mile round robin following the River Elwy down to the new harbour west of Rhyl.

I did contemplate inserting some ladies sanitary towels into my undies as further cushioning

( this had been suggested by an experienced cycle rider we know)

But in the end my arse coped quite will with the 8 mile jaunt

We stopped halfway for a coffee 

( look at Dr Chris not a bead of perspiration in sight)

And had a look at the harbour view

Then we cycled back up the riverside

And I must admit ,I rather enjoyed myself...

The only slightly embarrassing thing that happened was that I broke wind rather loudly

when trying to change the gears before negotiating a troublesome cattle grid 

My Arse

My first time on a bike for 40 years

A five mile or so jaunt along the Dyserth to Prestatyn Cycleway.

I could just about cope with the balancing bit,

But my arse now feels as though it's been beaten into shape 

by a pair of steel butterpats

Saddlebags

Part of Chris' mid life crisis is a slight obsession with exercise

 Tomorrow he is buying us matching bikes

I have not ridden a bike for over 4o years

God in Heaven Help me!

He's forgotten I'm slightly dyspraxic 

A pinch and a punch for the first of the month…a slap and a kick for being so quick!

 * the video has little to do with the text but it gives food for thought on so many levels

I wonder if the one off "slap across the chops" for lewd and "lascivious" behaviour is more a product of cinematic folklore than a real social phenomenon.
Did it ever really exist?
Last night I witnessed a young woman squaring up to a young man outside a seedy bar in Rhyl.
As I stopped at the traffic lights the girl gave the bloke a couple of theatrical slaps ( to which he didn't retaliate) then launched in with a folly of kicks and punches , to which he did.
Friends of the couple then intervened before things could escalate further.

It seems that between the sexes, The Queensbury Rules no longer apply.

A few years ago, I had to deal with a patient's elderly father who became sexually "fresh" with other female visitors. The situation was complicated by the fact that the man in question was non English speaking, An Iraqi citizen and a guest of the British Government.
He also had little respect for any female nurse he came into contact with.
The situation came to a head when the relative  tried to grope one of the  ward nurses as she was in the middle of a nursing procedure. The nurse, an assertive Yorkshire girl, turned around and instinctively punched him hard on the jaw. A punch that had his Keffiyeh flying against the wall and had him sitting dazed and confused upon the floor.
He was still crying into his beard when I came lumbering into the room

From that moment, until he was returned  to Iraq a couple of weeks later we never heard  another peep out of him.

Yesi

After the shenanigans with new hens and American amblers I was slightly late going to auntie Glad's to meet with the reporter who is doing the piece on " Gladys and The Flower Show" for the Evening Leader.
In the end, both reporter and photographer didn't turn up ( a mix up on their part which they should rectify today) but the three quarters of an hour waiting for them to turn up proved to be a surprisingly entertaining time out in my day.
Sat at her spotless table in an immaculate old fashioned kitchen, Gladys and  I were joined by Islwyn  Thomas, who at 90 is a sprightly five years Gladys' junior. He had been out and about selling tickets for the forthcoming Trelawnyd Male Voice Choir Summer concert, which takes place on the 19th.

Islwyn

Islwyn is a man who never stops chortling. Most of his sentences are punctuated with the very Welsh word " Yesi" ( pronounced as yessssss-i) which can be translated loosely as " Jesus" and this seems always to be followed with a smile and a laugh.
He is one of life's naturally happy individuals.
Islwyn and Gladys have been friends for a lifetime and it shows. In a matter of minutes the two of them cackled and laughed over memories shared and village news.
I just sat back and watched.
They recalled a mad Irishman who lived in High Street who once drunkenly threw milk bottles at the men from the choir when they took refreshments in Auntie Glad's garage.
They laughed at the way Islwyn used to deliver canisters of paraffin to the outlying village farms on the handlebars of his bike.
And they laughed like drains at the helium balloon with the phrase " congratulations you are 80" on it that Gladys found floating by her back door only that morning.
She brought the balloon in from the scullery to show us, and the pair laughed happily again.

Laughter... I suspect it's just one of the reasons both have lived so long