Going Gently

Sicario, Eirias and a Christmas Wish

I went to see SICARIO yesterday.

It's a gritty story of American underground "dealings" with the Mexican drug cartels and has Emily Blunt as the obligatory FBI idealist who directs her moral compass gaze on a violent and brutal drug war where no one seems to be the nice guy.
Blunt is very good in the lead role as is Benicio Del Toro who turns up as a shadowy South American who has his own, very personal reasons for killing the cartel leaders but after this dreadfully depressing view of cross border shenanigans I did feel a little sorry for the Mexican tourist board ....as Sicario made the whole country look like one huge deprived, drug addled nation of no hopers.
8/10

This morning over a very passable breakfast of wild mushrooms on toast at Porth Eirias, the Prof steered the conversation over to Christmas.
He's been giving the subject some thought.
" I have an idea ef what to get you for Christmas " he suggested over a sip of coffee
" But it may have to be your birthday pressie too"
Intrigued I asked him what he had in mind
" A Welsh terrier puppy" he said with a smile " a new bitch"
He let the idea sink in somewhat before asking " What will you call her?"

" Mary" I said without the slightest hesitation

Strictly

He's my new guilty Strictly Crush

V v good!

" I wish you were more like my mother"

I heard these words this morning just after breakfast.
Now, during yesterday's supermarket run, I had purchased a load of stockcubes for the store cupboard.
With his Roger Moore eyebrow at full tilt, The Prof asked in a somewhat exasperated tone if I " could keep the cubes all together in an ordered pile" .
It's been doing his head in that I tend to scatter things of similar brands throughout the house.
I became somewhat haughty and promptly told him that I have my own very individualised system when it came to cupboard filling ( ie no system at all!) and we left the conversation very much there.
Yesterday morning, in a fit of excitement and obvious giddiness, I cleaned out the cutlery drawer and obviously the Prof noticed there were no longer scummy marks all over the place.....so he let out the involuntary
" I wish you were more like my mother" when he was reminded that my neat and cleaning brainstorm hadn't found it's way to our somewhat haphazard collection of spice jars.
Sorrel has a beautifully neat kitchen. It's small, so structure has to be the order of the day.
Everything has a place and that place is clean and tidy and wonderful.

It's the first time I have been compared to my mother in law!

Now my lady readers who have a female in law, may like to chip in here....for I think I am right in saying that having your husband comparing you to his mother in a less than favourable light is definitely a marriage " No no"
Indeed , I once heard my father comment to my mother that his mother made better stew than she did and we all had to live with her thin lips for at least two full days.
Divorces have been initiated on less, but as the husband in a gay marriage it has never happened to me.
Does a gay husband get compared to the other's mother like wives do in straight marriages?
It's a knotty sociological problem.

Anyhow was I bothered ? Pah naw........The Prof is right...the cupboards are a bloody mess.....a bit of order amid the chaos of empty paprika jars and out of day mixed herbs would be a blessing.
So as he has gone off to Manchester for shopping with a friend and a curry with his PhD students, I thought about organising the cupboards......and have them all neat and clean and sweetly regimented

Then I thought .........fuck it.....I'm off to the cinema
Hey ho

Tomato Football

Well apologies for the depressive nature of the last post

I shall leave you on a brighter note.

I was just watching tv ( The Kenneth Williams' Interviews)

when a commotion in the kitchen got my attention

Albert, Winnie and George were running around playing with

a dropped cherry tomato donated by Pat the animal helper.

against all odds after 20 minutes George won

He brought it back to me and dropped it on the rug with an exhausted smile

The Note

In the right top corner of the little arts and crafts writing bureau in the living room, is a folded up envelope.
In the envelope is a hand written note and a house key.
The note is set of instructions with the title
" what to do in the event of my death"
It's not an exhaustive list.
There's contact numbers for a solicitor and a far flung, seldom seen relative.
There are some house keeping instructions, requests for " last time" jobs to completed and some final wishes of things that need to be set into order.
We have been asked to complete the job of a " next of kin" for someone who lives nearby and who lives alone.
It's not a big ask....but it is a vital one

The Prof and I have talked about who we would rely on when things slow down for us in future years. We have organised our wills, that bit is easy, but who will we rely on , when things go tits up?
Who will know the location of the family papers? And more importantly who will care about them?
My grandmother's wedding ring is hidden within our marriage certificate? Contacts for much loved peers lie hidden within locked up emails and phones and hopefully there will still be a pile of dogs on the hearth rug that will need a friend to care for them.

One day one or both of us will need to complete our own hand written note.
I just hope to God that we will find some serious minded old soul that will keep it safe and sound for us
Hey ho