Cleanliness is next to Godliness

A normal morning at Bwthyn -y-llan........

I was caught washing a very sloppy and stubborn Clingon 

from Meg's arse over the garden wall using a dish cloth and the kitchen washing up bowl

Food For Thought

I went to work tonight and uncharacteristically it was quiet.

I changed my shift to cover another shortfall next month

So I am back home and wide awake

( thanks to a couple of hours sleep this afternoon)
This video is inspired ( in part) by Libby's comment on the last post
Enjoy

Erotic or Kinky?

Today I am trying to catch the young cockerel who arrived only a few weeks ago

He's got into the habit of roosting in the tree in the corner of the churchyard

( next to the light in the lane)

Subsequently He has been crowing rather too loudly from 4 am onwards

So far the neighbours have been kind....but I am sure he'll wear them down eventually

I am working this evening so I shall leave you with a stolen quote

one of my egg customers repeated to me yesterday

It amused me greatly.

As I handed over the eggs through his car window, he asked rather

dryly

" what's the difference between erotic and kinky?"

His question stumped me just a little as the chap is a grandfather of four who is not generally known for more " colourful " conversation.

" you're asking me?" I replied in my best Jewish voice, not quite knowing what to  say

He motioned me to come closer and dropped his voice

" Erotic........is when you obtain sexual satisfaction from using a feather!"

I nodded, wondering just what was coming next

" kinky.........." He looked around slowly" ......is when you use the whole chicken"

Busy, Busy , Busy

The words " prolific blogger" have been used on occasion to describe me by some. I think the term has been applied , purely by my habit of writing something here everyday.
It's an old habit now, and one that is literally part of everyday routine.
It's a case of , morning jobs, breakfast coffee and blog.
To some blogging suggests " too much time on ones hands" ( this has been said more than once I can tell you) but I would beg to differ. Writing a diary, (and blogs are essentially diaries are they not?) has become an essential part of my day. It's downtime, it's coffee time and it takes generally fifteen minutes max to complete (btw I am timing myself today and will put the time spent writing this tosh at the end)
I think I am busy for most of the day.... But last night I was reminded that others are considerably busier than I ........to them, fifteen minutes with a coffee and an empty blog screen would be a blissful adventure!)
Last night I helped Chris isolate priorities and deadlines in his workload.
He called out the jobs. I sat there like Miss Moneypenny and took the notes.
It didn't take that long.....( I was worried because The Great British Bake Off started at 8pm) but like I said it was a reminder of just how hard he works and what pressures he is under.
There was a conference to organise here, and  phD supervision so to complete there. Studies and papers needed writing and meetings needed chasing up...and I haven't even thought about how he was to fit in a foreign trip and presentation as well as work in London and Other parts of Wales and England...
No wonder Winnie's incontinence the other night  almost sent him to a rubber room!

Having said all this , I think we make a good team. He kicks ass in his academic world and I make a mean apple pie. Chalk and Cheese. Ying and Yang. Abbott and Costello......Lady Mary & Carson, Shelley Winters and Twiggy..........
Ok ok you get my drift....
So have I been busy today?
Well........y e s.....I have......I've made Jam and a crumble from bartered raspberries,done the week's shop, cut the lawn, washed windows, walked the dogs twice, cleaned coops, collected eggs, prepared supper, given a sick hen her twice daily antibiotic therapy, chipped the stray dog turd from the kitchen floor ( William's a bastard for a sneaky dump)
I have taken my bike in for a service ( Chris's will be done next Tuesday) and I am just about to prune the buddlea in the front garden before I clean out the log burner and sort out the recycling bins.
I am strong...I am invincible ....I am househusband MAN!
And I am not complaining....that's the deal... I have had time to sit in a sunny front garden to type this with another sneaky coffee.....whist looking back at a 17th Century cottage with honeysuckle and roses around the door ( and the occasional dog pee on the carpets)

It has taken me exactly 22 minutes btw ( and another 3 to fanny arse away taking the photo)

How lucky am I

Meg watching me carefully with her failing eyes

With honeysuckle over the door

Indian Summer

The village has been bathed in sunshine all day. Every time we have a warm afternoon, Auntie Glad can be found asleep on a deck chair just outside her front door.
Her presence is as reassuring as big Ben's chimes
It'll all change very soon, I am sure
The cottage looked like a Chinese laundry
What with duvets, duvet covers and sheets draped out in the garden sun
I've scrubbed the mattress too
It now smells very faintly of dettol and bulldog fanny
Hey ho

A Streetcar Named Desire

The cottage last night had a more than passing resemblance to Streetcar , what with Chris doing his best Stanley Kowalski impersonation over a piss stained duvet . 

It was hot and humid strangely enough too.....so I could be forgiven for having a late night bath after the drama was all over, in order to " sooth my nerves" 

( last night's blog will explain all)

Today's blog.....thank goodness....is a mini review!

Blanche

 To me, the real sadness of A Streetcar Named Desire stems from Blanche DuBois'  loneliness rather than from any of the domestic violence, brutality, rape and madness that spirals away after three damaged souls are cooped up in a grubby two roomed Southern state apartment. Her inability to cope as a single entity is perfectly judged by Gillian Anderson in the New Vic's latest production and her most powerful scenes are not the iconic and histrionic " lying and faded Southern Belle" monologues everyone remembers but the soft and painful sharing of loneliness between Blanche and  Mitch when both cling to each other from their own dark places of isolation

Stanley

Anderson is wonderful as Blanche and the hulking Ben Foster is equally impressive ( in more ways than one) as Stanley  but for me , it is Vanessa Kirby performance as Stella that lingers long in the mind.

Her Stella, is a sexy, bright  survivor with  more than enough love for Her husband, sister and her baby in equal measures. The play's sex scenes between her and Stanley, ground the whole narrative and explain exactly why she stays in the life she has chosen. 

Her performance captures quite beautifully the unquestioning sense of loyalty she has for her family.

Stella

There , were, however aspects of the play that didn't work as well as the performances . The modern day setting, the revolving stage ( designed to give the audience an ever changing view of the claustrophobic setting) and the incredibly loud bursts of music , I felt intruded on the play that stands alone without gimmicks 

Sigh

The play was mighty fine

But everything went tits up

The night finished on a low point after Chris found that Winnie had opened her

Considerable bladder right in the centre of our bed's duvet.

Hey ho