The Revenant ( spoilers!)

Ouch!

 With all of the internet ballyhoo about DiCaprio latest survivalist movie The Revenant, I thought I would brace myself and go and see the three hour revenge fest.
Armed with a coffee and a smuggled in M&S scotch egg, I thought I was prepared for this epic set in the bleak mid western wilderness of 1823.
I wasn't.
From the stunning and totally visceral Indian attack of the opening few minutes, it was very clear that The Revenant is a very raw and demanding movie. It grabs you with some of the most stunning visuals I have ever seen captured on film, then throttles you with relentless drama, and nailbiting tension . There is no let up for three whole hours
The story is a simple one of revenge.
A large group of fur trappers are massacred by indians searching for a chief's lost daughter. The survivors are led by scout Hugh Glass ( DiCaprio) and his indian son Hawk ( Forrest Goodyear) but
an attack by a bear leaves Glass critically injured and causes upset  in the trappers' ranks as the
men argue whether or not to leave Glass in the wilderness.
One of the most belligerent trappers John Fitzgerald ( Tom Hardy) kills Hawk and abandons Glass and the film chronicles Glass' near impossible struggle against the elements, marauding indians,  stomach churning physical injuries , starvation and grief.
Fucking hell, it was all bloody too much.
The bear attack, alone made me drop my second scotch egg in surprise for it is the most intensely shocking and horrific sequence I have ever seen in my 45 years of regular cinema going.
I could hardly watch the screen it was that " bad"

DiCaprio is impressive as the driven and perpetually suffering Glass, it's a remarkable and physically demanding performance for sure , but , for me , it's Tom Hardy's brutal Fitzgerald that grabbed my attention more. It's a performance of some charm, depth and understandable harshness.

The director, Alejandro Inarritu, has produced an undeniably beautiful movie, as every scene of The Revenant is crafted and framed like a painting but this tale of revenge and survival is, in my opinion, a good hour too long.
It's a case of too much misery for one Welshman to adequately cope with on a rainy Thursday afternoon.
8/10

William loves the girls

It was almost dusk when the girls finished making the bread and butter pudding

Then, when I was washing up , there was silence in the living room

William had struck , and had taken charge 

"Back off from the loaf bitch! "

I've just had a row-ette with an old lady in sainsbury's.
There was only one white" half loaf" left on the shelf and I picked it up before she did.
The old bag tried that " I'm an old lady and don't want to spend an extra 60p on a full loaf" victim thing but I was having non of it.....
Having said that, I did finally give her the loaf, but Only after I told her not to pull the guilt trip on me
In retrospect the guilt thing worked.....
My mother did it, to me all of the time.

Anyhow I wanted half a white loaf because I have the Randa girls this afternoon and The activity of the day will be constructing a bread a butter pudding from scratch. It was either that or wash the car and less damage can be done to school uniforms with a bread and butter pud.

The Prof is away in London working this week, and has just popped into the National Portrait gallery inbetween meetings. He fell in love with this painting and linked me into it as he was looking at it.
How wonderful is modern technology.!
He was gazing at National treasures......and exactly at the same time ...I was fighting an old lady over half a loaf of sliced white.
Go figure

I may go to the cinema later 

Review later

Hippo On The Lawn

Mary ripped the "Underpants of shame" from Winnie mid afternoon
The Prof found them in a heap by the back door when he arrived home, and was not best pleased as they were his second best designer briefs.
( I had picked the wrong pair out of our undie drawer in the morning)
I have had to walk carefully ever since.

Anyhow, I've been thinking of a couple of fellow bloggers today.
Gary, the cheerful gardener from " A Day In The Life" who has been suffering from a bad chest for a little while now, sort of took a blog discussed turn for the worse yesterday . Alarm bells started to ring in my nurse brain last night , and I suggested that he got checked out by a chest physician .
Luckily his pretty wife also sussed that something more serious was afoot and a hospital admission ensued ,
I wish him well.

This kind of brought home the fact that we the blogging community generally lie in that fiifty year old plus category of people whose body systems all start to get a little cranky and " delicate" from time to  time.
In a similar vein, I am also rather worried about our old ex mercenary mate Tom Gowans over at " A Hippo On The Lawn" who has not blogged for almost a year. I last head from him by email, a good few months ago, and although his correspondence was filled with typical good natured British " spirit that won the war",  his chronic health issues ( namely a septic leg)  was still a huge cause for concern.
His recent silence is worrying to say the least  and it perhaps illustrates the way that fellow bloggers have become friends over the years of pithy two line comments and the odd email.
Tom, If you are still alive and kicking ( albeit with your good leg) let us all know.....

When a blog , just stops, out of nowhere everyone is left hanging.

The "Underpants of Shame"

This morning we had iced buns for the sheep

This afternoon it's the " Underpants of Shame"

Winnie has entered her short " season"

So will be " blobbing" red marks all over the cottage soft furnishings 

unless " cushioned" by a pair of my underpants

Hey ho

Iced Fancies

I got home after work around 8.20 am

I am off for a sleep but thought I'd share my first surreal 

village moment of the day.

Thanks to the person who treated the sheep to an early morning treat before 

I returned to Trelawnyd.

As I pulled up I saw Irene and Sylvia happily munching their way through 

two iced fingers.

Shotguns

Walking up the lane above the village on a Sunday morning in winter always feels a tad apocalyptic.
It's the distant " putt putt" sound of shotguns being fired off with gay abandon beyond the next village of Trelogan . The sounds echo around the small basin of hills which lay around Trelawnyd and provide an uneasy backdrop for a peaceful walk.
I'm not sure it is a wild bird shoot or a shooting range which is at the centre of it all, but it always reminds me of those BBC reports from the Bosnia Conflict of 1992.....the reports always reminded me of rural wales in winter.
Beyond the village there is a small 18th century house. I often see the homeowner sitting quietly at the front window. Often in the darkness of this winter's daytime, she will sit in gloom without any light to lift the muggy weather , but she will wave back when I initiate a greeting of a nod or wave.
Trellis ( the artist known formally as Mrs Trellis)  told me she is suffering from early dementia, yet still lives alone despite a few episodes " upset" where neighbours had been involved to reassure her that intruders had not entered her home and were hiding.
I saw the lady today, standing at her garage door. She was holding the collar of her dog, an old collie who had been bitten by Maddie our ageing Scottish terrier a few years back ( I tell you this only as a bit of background colour)
I waved and she waved back just as flurry of shotgun " putts" bounced around the hillside and I called out a slightly mock exasperated " there's no peace is there! " almost in what I hoped was a reassuring way.
The woman raised a finger to her lips to shush me  and said nothing before closing the garage door slowly.
The whole thing slightly unnerved me

It's Grim Up North

It's cold and wet
The rain hasn't stoppd for what seems like an absolute age.
Apparantly one small Welsh village in Pembrokeshire called Eglwyswrw, has had rain
everyday ,for the past 81 days!
It was so miserable this afternoon that even the geese were sitting inside their house when
I went to lock them up.
The log burner is lit, and we are having Indian for supper.
The Prof is in his arm chair covered by a warm throw
"Aye...it's grim up north"