The Lady In The Van ( Spoilers)

I'm still not firing on all cylinders yet ( no jokes) but I was glad that we went to the cinema this afternoon.
We went to see Nicolas Hytner's screen adaptation of Alan Bennett's " The Lady In The Van"

The film , somewhat tentatively , explores Bennett's odd relationship with the eccentric Miss Shepherd who lived a somewhat disorganised and slovenly life in an old van outside his London house for over fifteen years.
Bennett is portrayed as the character that we all think that we know and love. He is a Witty , self depreciating, lonely old northern poof with mother issues and Miss Shepherd is his shit flinging mother figure, cow muse , a woman with a hidden past, mental health issues and the ideal character to base a book, play and now a film on.
I could go on about the the film's efforts to keep Miss Shepherd's secrets until the film reel, but I won't, as these swerve balls are not really important to the experience per se.
The film's strength lies in Maggie Smith .
Now we all know the Smith " shriek" which has been put to such good effect in productions ranging from Gosforth Park and Downton Abbey to  The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie and A Private Function and so fans will be happy to hear that she brandishes it , with magnificent effect in this movie as she berates Bennett ( Alex Jennings) and the other well meaning residents of leafy Camden .However it is in several key almost silent scenes that the old girl, with her lined face and sad eyes, shines so beautifully.
The first is when Miss Shepherd listens to a beautiful piece of music for the first time in many years and the second is when she is placed on an ambulance tail lift, an experience which she finds strangely exciting. Like a silent film star , the emotions she shares with the audience , are extraordinary powerful and moving.
The script isn't as biting and funny as Bennett's A Private Function, which is a little disappointing and the " clever" touches such as the cameos from all of the history boys as well as the underused roles of all of the Camden residents ( Francis de la Tour, Roger Allam, Deborah Findley) let the side down a little.
But having said that, it is Smith that makes the whole amusing story, worthwhile
8/10

Out

Years ago, I briefly moved into a boyfrriend's apartment when I was "in  between"  houses. It was only for two weeks and it was a surprise favour.

The whole situation proved to be the beginning of the end for that relationship for the day I moved in, I was told that his phone number had been changed. 

My boyfriend was deeply in the closet and the number change was a practical step to keep one life from dovetailing into the other.

At the time ,,I accepted such behaviour, though instinctively I knew it to be wrong. To be made to feel like,a second class citizen by the person who you think you have a wonderful relationship with is a no no....for you AND for them. 

I can understand it ( well I could,then) but it kind of set the relationship's  bar, incredibly low , if you see what I mean.

I finally finished that relationship after being denied publicly by the same boyfriend a year or so later and I Walked away, upset, but with my head held high. 

It sounds melodramatic now, but I remember thinking then that no other person or situation would ever make me feel ashamed of what I was again ( yes a true Scarlett O'Hara moment)....

And they never did .

Of course, I have had to face the odd homophobic situation, one from someone quite close to me, but with a bit of patience and fairly good humour , that resolved itself with time. 

People DO change with the times

and the times are a changing.....as the song goes.

The Prof and I were lucky....we came out just as it was more  socially acceptable  to do so, but  has to be said that our path to acceptance has not always been a smooth one..

Oh for the day that comes when no eyebrows are raised when a partner is brought home

I'm an optimist

It's not far away

Hey ho x

.......and finally a little levity

With personal illness and international world news...Saturday has been all a bit glum has it not?
So I shall leave you with this
A short video
Mary versus Winnie
" The fight over the grey elephant continues"

Vive La France

Fraternite

The Sick Bed

This is the scene this morning.
My sick bed. Complete with William, George , Albert and Winnie.
I feel weak as an old lady's fart but certainly am better than I was as my temperature is down and my insides are now remaining inside me rather than escaping into the toilet bowl like water down a drain pipe.
The Prof has coped remarkably well given the circumstances.
He has sorted out the field animals, toileted Mary with exasperated patience and has washed my unpleasant underwear without complaint.
I do have the feeling, though, that he has had enough of the old nursing thing as the last time he 'popped" in the old thermometer, he did so with rather too much force.( and before Tom says anything it was an oral thermometer!)

Seriously though, I have been thinking that we take our health too much for granted. The knock on effect when sudden or even chronic illness takes hold can be vast and devastating especially when responsibilities have to be met and work completed.
Luckily I have had the opportunity to stay in bed  ( a short gallop away from the loo) but without The Prof that couldn't have been possible.
It worries me that both of us are getting older...
..and health generally favours the young.......

The Elephant's Lost Squeak

This is how I feel today.
After Mrs Trellis so thoughtfully give this small creature to Mary , Winnie  had made it her mission to kidnap and destroy the little squeaking elephant .  So much so is that yesterday she rocked the fridge freezer upon which it had been safely placed that a large tin of flour, a mixing bowl and a bottle of beer came smashing to the ground along side the bloody elephant.
It was de squeaked in seconds.
Now i look like it. For around 3 am I came down with a horrendous bout of D&V.
Since then I have worked my way through 2 pairs of pyjama bottoms and four pair of underpants.
I have a temperature and cant eat.
I feel like shit...as I was booked for overtime tonight
And I look and feel like this fucked up elephant
Hey ho....back to sleep

Poo on a finger

Children notice everything.
We had just bathed and towel dried Mary and placed her back into her crate when Eve noticed a big blob of curry sauce on the oven glove which was looped over the oven door handle .
" Errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhh! " she called out rather theatrically " Wot's that?"
I made a show of sniffing the brown lump and told both girls that I thought it " smelt of poo"
Suddenly I had both girl's rapt attention
I poked the lump with my finger and lifted it to my nose
" yes it's poo!" I announced and as  the girls looked on with surprised frowns
I popped my finger into my mouth
Screaming filled the kitchen.

Late in life , I have learnt the lesson that children love and need silliness.
And the " smuttier" and " dirtier" the silly activity...the happier they become.
Unfortunately I don' t recall my parents ever being silly.
When I picked the girls up from school yesterday afternoon, Eve asked if we could " smash the apples again" ....as " it was fun" We had picked apples from the orchard and had jumped on the soft apples with our shoes so that the geese could feed on the bits the last time they came around after school.

Last night , when affable despot Jason arrived to pick his girls up , he was faced with suddenly dipped curried digits  and shouts of "Dad!  I have poo on my finger" , and like all experienced parents he smiled a patient smile .
I covered the fingerholes before I replaced the curry in the oven.

The Prof never noticed a thing.


Wha's your " silly with kids" story?

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Postscript

on my way though the village , I noticed the membersof the village frindship group getting on the bus  
For a day trip out. Further up high street I bumped into Gwyneth in her electric wheelchair. She had a small Welsh terrier in tow. We gossiped that the house with the bin bagged windows now has roller blinds!
Standards appear to be rising I thought.

Armistice Day

O