Going Gently

The Queen's Speech

Going Gently has been somewhat downbeat recently.
and again the news today has been somewhat distressing.
It feels as though damaged, mentally fragile people around the world have been pushed into acts of violence by the atmosphere of fear and publicity of hate.
We all need some good news.
A bit of lightness.

Now, I feel it's time for another novelty vegetable photograph but I think I have received most of the entries I am ever going to. We have almost fifty of them so far which is a wonderful achievement! So if there is any outstanding can you send them in asap! Closing date for entries is Monday 1st August.
Here is one I have been sent but cannot enter because it was not the work of the person involved.....sweet eh?

Anyhow, like I said it's time for good news.
I hope this will set a few smiles back on a few faces.

As the secretary ( and the Chairman) of the Flower Show it is my responsibility to find an opener for the day. The job of the opener is pretty easy. You come to the show, sit on your own dainty table with tea and cakes and give a speech extolling the virtues of showing your best knitted cardi or prize winning marrow.
The Prof gave a stirring address last year and before that the vicar did his bit, and over the years we have had the Chair of the community council, leader of the conservation group and local double barrelled county council representative to do the honours, but the one person who really deserved to open the show has always eluded us.

Auntie Glad, the committee member who has been with the show 44 years, would never want to make a speech in front of the village she has spent her whole life serving. She is , quite simply , not the sort, but over the past few months, as Gladys has faded and become more frail, I have spent a little time talking to her around her kitchen table, making notes about what she would say if it ever was to happen .

Of course Gladys would never make that speech herself. Her natural modesty, her deafness and now her blindness would never allow her to take such a role on.
" The job should go to someone important in the village" she said at last year's committee meeting
The irony of such a remark lost on her

A few days ago, I spoke to Gladys' daughter, who has the incredibly hard job of trying to support a frail old lady who possesses the fiercest streak of independence since Boadicea rode her chariot. I accepted that we understood that Gladys may not be well enough to attend the Show but I wanted her daughter to know that Gladys ( or more specifically her words) will indeed open the show she has helped run for going on half a century.

I will read out Gladys' opening speech this year., and I shall be incredibly proud to be doing so

It will be her memories that will will be shared.
It will be her thanks that will be given
And for once, in public, it will her that will be given the limelight, in what we perhaps expect will be her last show.

Open Range

Last night I watched the superior western Open Range ...it featured my favourite actress Annette Benning ....
If I was straight .....she would be the type I'd go for!
Natural, spunky and rather windswept

Who would you go for if you were on the opposite bus?
Do tell.....

A Friendship Ended

As usual, it is the comments on Going Gently that have proved to be much more interesting and poingnt than the post itself. Such is the power of blogging and bloggers.
There is always someone out there with a more interesting story than yours.
If you get a chance read my previous blog's comments.
The story " Doc" left was, I thought a terribly sad one.
Two sets of best friends sit down at a boardgame evening. Over a minor disagreement over the rules one guy blows up, says some unforgivable things and storms out with his wife.
A long term relationship broken over sudden and unaccountable anger.
Now I understand why family members sometimes fall out, (The ties between relatives are not chosen links as they are between friends) but the break down of a friendship seems somehow much more sad to me .
Years ago, when I lived in York. I had a close friend I was very fond of. We played badminton together, sank pints in our local The Hole In The Wall together and shared a love of cinema like geeky men do in their twenties .
He was a friend I felt I knew very well , so much so , that I was often welcomed into his parents home for meals and family parties.
Now, I know York looks rather scenic and quaint but like any city, it had it's darker side and I remember one night leaving the psychiatric hospital I worked at at the same time the nearby football team kicked out at Bootham Terrace.
I cannot remember what team was playing York, but I do remember the electric energy in the air as running skirmishes erupted between rival supporters in the terraced streets.
On the corner of one road, I could see three men scuffling with two others who were in the doorway of a shop and I was flabbergasted to see my friend as one of the protagonists .
Our friendship ended there and then.
It was ended by my shock of the excitement and obvious enjoyment my friend showed in the violence he was involved for it was like watching the face of a fox hound homing in on a running fox.
I was looking at someone I didn't know and didn't like .

He never saw me that evening, and I never explained why I dropped him as a friend soon after, which is something I still regret.
I just disappeared from his radar .
A friendship destroyed by a moment of madness.

Saying The Wrong Thing

YI'm tired.........and was not going to blog tonight........

I had an intriguing conversation with a colleague at work today.
She was talking about an arguement with a family member
And said that in a row, " there can be certain things that are said that never can be unsaid"
It's never happened to me
But it's an interesting premise
Has it ever happened to you?
What has been said that never can be unheard?

Weekend in work

Working all day today and tomorrow x

The Power Of The Dog

I took William to the vets today for his boosters and as we sat waiting we watched a man bringing in his dog to be euthanized.

It was a dreadful scene to witness, and was as upsetting as anything I have witnessed on intensive care.

The owner, who was presumably with his grown up son, refused to accompany the dog ( an elderly Labrador ) into the examination room and said his goodbyes in front of the half filled waiting room , with all of us sitting there with our pets trying not to notice.

" my girl......my poor poor girl" the man sobbed over and over again ,

His face pressed tightly into his dog's neck

The younger man was equally upset and looked incredibly at a loss at what to do until the receptionist

thankfully ushered owners and dog into what looked like an office, to continue their goodbyes in private.

We could still hear the man's sobs, with the door shut and one woman customer , almost in tears herself , quickly got up and walked outside.

I almost followed her.

William sat quietly on my knee watching the situation like All Welsh terriers do

And as I kissed the top of his head, grateful for his continued good health

This Kipling poem going around in my head as the waiting room customers and our animals sat in an icy silence

THERE is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.
When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet's unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find - it's your own affair, -
But ... you've given your heart to a dog to tear.
When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!),
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone - wherever it goes - for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear!

We've sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent,
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we've kept 'em, the more do we grieve;
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long -
So why in - Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?

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A Quick note of thanks to end with

I must thank three friends who have sent a load of home made crafts, knitting and sewing to sell at the flower Show. Anne Marie, Kathryn Mc Glynn and June Taylor, all wonderful stuff...thank you all!