" Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells"

Oh My God!
That's it! I've gone and done it!
I've finally turned into one of those opinionated old farts that are hated by middle England and everyone else for that matter. You know the sort.
The scruffy old sod who won't ever shut his mouth.

It all started outside the house with the two staffies. I was talking to the good natured owner of Podrick as William and Mary greeted him playfully when the two staffies charged the fence barking loudly, with their owner in tow. Although both terriers were wagging their tails, loose staffies can be unpredictable, especially if they escape their garden and as Podrick, and the Welsh terriers watched their owner started to swat ineffectively at them shouting for them to be quiet.
" The little one is always escaping" the man said and as Podrick's owner politely chatted , I plowed in with a pointed " You need to control these dogs better"
The man looked at me in surprise and said " Mate,  they are friendly dogs"
 " don't MATE me"  I thought but said " You're dogs should be secure, I have a bulldog and if they get out and go for her she would flatten them" ( I didn't bother to add that Winnie has no teeth to speak of  and has a gentle nature akin to Julie Andrews )

I'll get my head kicked in soon no doubt.

Minutes later I was knocking on another door with ANOTHER complaint.
This time, I was more measured and diplomatic ...basically because the home owners where not in and I had to leave a calmly written note. I stopped at a rented out bungalow which has a small chicken coop placed on a concrete path in the front garden. The coop is tiny, with a tiny run and is just big enough to cater for perhaps two small hens. I could see at least five or six birds standing sadly shoulder to shoulder in it, so I left a note "suggesting" that their coop was not fit for purpose and  offered  the hen owner a six foot covered run which they could keep.
I signed the note and left our telephone number.
I wonder if the owner takes me up on my offer or comes around to stuff my note up my arse.

Oh why can't I just shut the fuck up?

Oh there I go again.....I'm swearing again. It was only this morning that neighbour Mandy told me that I swear too much on GOING GENTLY !!!

Reading

I have started to read Sue Perkins' autobiography.

It's an unexpected joy. 

I have always liked the presenter and comedian, even though she can be incredibly verbose at times, yet she writes with incredible warmth and affection for people and situations that I couldn't help smiling as I turned the pages.

She also is incredibly perceptive when talking about how she reviewed old childhood memorabilia prior to writing the book....this extract kind of resonated with me

" Sometimes when searching, I have come across things which cut deep. An innocuous cardboard box with " I love you" scribbled on it in the carefree scrawl of an old boyfriend. A sorry note from a little girl to her parents, a little girl who hadn't yet done anything to be sorry for. There were so many sorry notes in fact that nowadays, in arguements, when I'm being intractable and defensive, I wonder if I didn't use up all my apologies as a kid, leaving me nothing left to use in adulthood." 

Hey ho 

Grandma

With The Prof away, and with an early evening to fill, I took myself off to the cinema.
There were only two other customers in the theatre ( just the way I like it) so I could settle down to watch the fairly unlikely but passable comedy/drama " Grandma"
In Grandma, old Trouper Lily Tomlin gives the title role some welly. She plays Elle Reid, an acerbic, feminist, lesbian writer who has seen better days. She is estranged from her daughter ( Marcia Gay Harden) , has just finished with her latest girlfriend ( Judy Greer) and has not gotten over the death of her long term partner Violet but steps up to the plate when her teenage grandaughter (Julia Gardner) turns up needing money for an abortion.
The gist of the story is somewhat tenuous as it involves Tomlin and Gardner traipsing around Los Angeles bumming money from a selection of Elle's old friends. Of course being a foul mouthed old terrier, she causes more problems than she can solve but eventually a kind of peace is forged between grandmother, daughter and grandaughter
It's an interesting film, for given it's brief running time ( under 100 minutes) it is able to cram in a whole lot of backstory between the characters, which includes a rather surprising turn by old cowboy Sam Elliot, who gives a rather moving performance as Elle's first husband, a man who never got over the break up with a lesbian he was clearly very much in lovewith
The film has plenty to say about love, death and relationships but it is the study of Elle, a woman who has battled with everything and with everyone during a militant, cause driven life which makes for an interesting twist. Tomlin's Elle is a difficult and at times unlikable woman. She pours coffee on the floor of a coffee shop for no good reason except she didn't like being told off for her explicit mouth then can turn on a kind of vulnerable charm when faced with the parents of her ex girlfriend it would be interesting to know just how much of the actress is in the character.
Though not a belly laugh movie, Grandma is amusing and worth seeing for Tomlin's sock-it-to-ya performance alone.
It always has surprised me just how few movies Tomlin has actually made.....I guess Hollywood just didn't know what to do with her.

Au Font Du Temple Saint

Today's blog was triggered by listening to a re run of radio 4's "Desert Island Discs" where old Kirsty was chatting to he bloke who wrote the novel " Brooklyn"

In 1987 I was living in the city of York, and while working as a psychiatric nurse, I was adopted as a fledgling gay best friend to an older and much more cultured occupational therapist called Ally. 

One of the first things she " introduced" me to was live theatre and early on during our social relationship she took me over to the Theatre Grand in Leeds to experience my very first opera.

The production was Opera North's version of The Pearl Fishers

I remember to this day the experience of my very own " Pretty Woman" moment  when " Au Font du temple saint" , the famous " friendship" duet between fishermen Nadir and Zurga , belted out around the auditorium. 

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up in a moment of pure pleasure

It wasn't a mere " I love Opera" moment 

But it WAS a red letter " growing up....there is so much more to life " moment. 

What was yours?" 

Secret Feeder

My old muckers Stephenson & Rachel are down in the dumps because of the weather....having said that Rachel got two dozen comments after a one line comment about rain......go figure.....
So in an effort to brighten the mood, I posted the previous energetically rude video ( which I found a delight) and now I shall talk about obesity in cats.
The other day The Prof lifted Albert onto the kitchen window ledge where he always eats his kitty nibbles and remarked pointedly that the long suffering Tom was " piling on the pounds"
I hadn't really noticed before, but on closer inspection there was no denying that Albert had indeed " filled out" from his normal " Sammy Davis Junior" look.
Now, he's not been eating more than usual at home, nor has he been killing rabbits to scoff ( he usually enjoys an extra  meal of adolescent bunny every spring time) so after a few moments contemplation, I came to the only logical conclusion that Albert was being fed by one of the neighbours.
This morning I decided to find out who is was.
I fed the dogs as usual ( which is a remarkable bunfight in itself)  and pointedly ignored Albert as he
stood impatiently waiting for his breakfast on the kitchen table. (My idea was to leave him hungry to see if he would bugger off to whoever was supplementing his diet.)
I fed Winnie, Mary and George then spooned William's expensive wheat free food into a bowl with Albert giving me the evil eye from the table top, and as I pretended to do the washing up ( ignoring Albert's paw tapping at my t shirt) he let out a snort of disgust and stalked off out of the cat flap.
I followed at a safe distance.
Albert walked down the path, through the gate and across the lane and I watched as he scooted up the six foot wall into the Churchyard.
Crouching, I pegged it up the lane and up to the Lychgate, just in time to see him slipping under the Rectory gate. I thought, then that I had got him, for he was either heading for Mrs H 's Bungalow, Wendy's Bungalow next door or to the Rectory itself.
I followed as it started to rain.
I crept down the path with my hoodie up and caught myself peeping over a succession of garden fences before realizing that I must have looked like an overweight burglar, but I thought that I would persevere even though I was soaked through.
I lost sight of Albert at the same time as Pippa's dogs started to bark at me from the Rectory dining room window, so I jogged back down the path to the Church where I promptly slipped on a wet Gravestone which had been placed flat on the ground, and rolled into the grass like a fat pudding.
Thank god no one saw me . I shot to my feet and feeling somewhat defeated and very wet and muddy, I returned to the cottage, non the wiser.
When I opened the back door, I was surprised to see Albert already standing on the kitchen worktop.
He was enjoying the last bit of William's expensive hypoallergenic food I had left out.

I wish I was Her

I know she's paid to be rude,

But I oh I sooooo love her

Undercarriage Stress

The Prof is away for three days, so I decided to go to the cinema this afternoon

Just as I left, I remembered I needed corn for the geese, so forsaking 

my trip to see " Joy " 

I went to the feed wholesalers instead.

There's a big cheerful lump of a guy who works in the warehouse and

showing off a little I reached the 25 kilo bag of corn just before he did and "expertly"

threw it rather heavily over my shoulder. 

As I did so, I let out the loudest of explosive farts.

You know the type.....one that couldn't of been restrained with a just a clench 

The workman laughed once and called out a hearty

" THAT'S EMBARRASSING " and I tottered away masking my shame with a brusque 

call of " It's my age" 

( it's actually my 38 inch waist)

Sun

We had a few moments of blue sky and sunshine today and the mood of the villagers responded accordingly as the numbers of dog walkers doubled and people chatted on open doorsteps and on the green outside the pensioners' bungalows.
Trellis' new Rayburn is smoking a little too much, Pippa is a grandmother again and Podrick the black Labrador puppy battered Mary with his big fat paws on High Street.
Bethan shouted " Happy New Year " at me through the window as we passed Byron Street and the man who lives on well street who looks like the theatre producer Bill Kenwright, came out of his cottage to greet Winnie . ( he has a thing for her according to his wife)
I bumped into Jackie from Maes Offa , who told me that the Memorial Hall post office was re opening albeit for a couple of hours next week which is good news and I promised Mrs Jones that I would sit in with her hubby while she goes shopping next week. He's now attending the memory clinic.
Auntie Gladys was out so I couldn't book the first Flower Show Committee meeting of the year, I'll do that tomorrow.
The dogs have been bathed and all the Christmas decs taken down.
I'm out tonight so the Prof has to make his own tea.
I did however make him a custard tart with an excessive pastry rim.
It's all go