Smell Power

Radio 4 aired a programme on the role of smell in memory this week.
I was reminded of it last night.
Apparently a smell from your past ( that's an odd phrase) can trigger an intense burst of memory from a specific and generally unused part of the brain. The longer the period since you have " smelled the smell" the more intense the memory flash will be.
It's an interesting concept.
A mixture of cold cream and old fashioned face powder ( from one of those compacts) will always hurtle my brain back to my1970s Grandmother.
The smell of butterscotch angel delight to my primary school days
And a wiff of tequila.....well the very wiff of the bloody stuff takes me back to a 1990 house party in Bottesford Leicestershire where I experienced the very worst hangover in my entire life.

A Pang

Tonight The Prof went off to a church council meeting.
I spent the evening on the phone to friends.
Winnie joined me on the couch.
I was just jousting with friend Nige over something when absent mindedly I rearranged the throw on which I was sitting and edged my hand down between the couch cushions.
I felt something unfamiliar
I pulled out a small, worn, black harness.
It was Meg's, and I wondered where it had gotten to
Without thinking I lifted the harness to my face and breathed in the vague smell of a much loved dog.......... at the same time as having a silly conversation about a patronising work colleague and I felt the very physical pang , a stabbing pain of a friend lost.
My friend on the other end of the phone knew nothing of what went on.
But after the call was over, I opened the log burner door and put the harness quickly into the flames.
Just for that second it was Still all too painful .....

Meg

Flying Poofs

What do you fear?
Spiders?......( well I don't like em)
Water? ........( not happy about anything deeper than waist height
Heights? .....( absolutely terrified)

So what are  the Prof and I doing a week on Saturday?
We are doing
This ( the big one)

I shall be wearing  a nappy 

The American Dream

In response to the last post all I have to say is

...........

Finally Some sense?

Trump? What are you Americans thinking?

Gubbings

Anyhow am off to watch a re run of The Walking Dead now ......so I shall leave you with a pic of the lovely Mr Dixon 

Mourned

It seems that everyone in the Uk and Ireland are mourning the broadcaster Terry Wogan today.
His breakfast shows of the 1970s always brought a smile to my face when I was getting ready for school and I was reminded just how funny he was , when on radio 2 today, Ken Bruce was reminded  of Terry's witty banter by a memeber of the general public.
One morning Terry told his audience that Jimmy Young ( who was an aging broadcaster in the following show) had streaked his way through a local village flower show.
" Apparantly" Terry quipped " Jimmy had won the prize for best dried arrangement"
People of all ages loved Terry Wogan and today's outpouring of grief must be a great comfort to his family and friends, who have perhaps recieved the wonderful affamation that he was thought of so fondly by so many.

This reminded me of an incident years ago when, as a junior nurse, I helped lay out a patient who had suddenly died on his admission to hospital. The elderly man had one son down as next of kin, and the son and his sister , (  both well spoken, well dressed middle aged professional types) attended the department to see their father after being contacted by phone.
There was no tears and no upset from the couple when they arrived and it was my job to take them into see their father who had been placed neatly under clean sheets and blankets on a hospital bed. They followed my lead, hand in hand , and stood there quietly when I showed them into the cubical .

" Do you want to sit with him for a while?" I asked in my kindest voice and both shook their heads
" We just needed to come in" the man explained " we have not spoken to him for 20 years"
I nodded and said something along the lines that  " It must be difficult for you both"
When anger flashed in the sister's eyes.
" He was a monster" she whispered " a real monster" and she retreated into the protection of her brother's arm . I noticed a look of contempt on his face as he gazed at the body of his dead father

Moments later they left with no other explaination.

There must be nothing worse than not to be mourned by Anyone or anything when you finally shuffle off this mortal coil

Right in the mush

I heard the field gate late screech around 9.30 am
I was too tired to get up.
I was working last night, and the night was filled with the dramatic and violent .
Some intensive care patients can be terribly confused.

So I went back to sleep and missed Margaret and her daughter in law delivering her hens to one of the spare houses of Anatevka.

Around 1pm,  I pulled on wooley hat and wellies and went over to see how the newbees were doing. (New hens must be locked into their new hen house for  at least 24 hours. After a full day and night, their peanut brains attach themselves to their new home and they don' t wander.)

I placed food and water through the poop hole of the house then opened the small back door to check on the girls. It was dark, but as I knelt on the floor I could just make out nervous bodies moving in the far side of the house then I looked upwards into the coop itself to see a very serious looking rooster looking calmly down on me.

" hello!  " I said
( hello? What the hell am I saying hello to a robust looking cockerel for?)

And without further ado he kicked me very hard right in the mush!