Even Lighter

A couple of miles East of Trelawnyd is Gyrn Castle

Pat the Animal helper and I went to visit Auntie Glad this afternoon.
It was ( and is) a sunny afternoon and the nursing home's chickens were out in force pecking around the grounds.
As usual Gladys was dressed neatly in a simple striped dress and matching earrings and as usual she was bright, active and chatty.
She took us to her room, which had a small photograph of herself on the door
" This is my home now" she said without the slightest hint of self pity " You just have to get on and enjoy things don't you?"
She was  vague and forgetful for sure , but her innate good humour shone through any possible sadness Pat and I were feeling.
This was how things were to be...plain and simple.In Gladys' book, you were grateful for everything

She remembered some who had visited her from the village and laughed when I asked if any of her congregation had seen her
" The vicar doesn't visit his flock" she said wryly " He doesn't do house calls"
We let her wander with her memories in between telling her of village news, and she enjoyed telling us of how she was a maid in the local big house of Gyrn Castle when she was a young woman.
" we had to be in for 10pm if we ever went out at night" Gladys recalled her eyes shining
And " Lady Bates would be waiting for us " Under the bacon " to check we got back on time"
" Under the bacon?" I asked " what does that mean?"
and Gladys explained that the joints of bacon were always hung in the hallway above the door. Hence Lady Bates was " under the bacon"
We stayed an hour of so, chatting and laughing and before we left Pat asked her if there was anything she wanted. In typical Gladys style she said " I just need a few jobs to do, I cannot be sitting down all day"
We promised to bring her some polish and dusters next time we came .
There wasn't a hint of sadness about this visit.
Both Pat and I remarked about it on the way home.

Gladys just isn't the sort

Lighten

And to lighten the mood

Julieta

I went to see the Almodovar film Julieta this evening and on the drive home, tied myself up in knots trying to précis it in my head.
I sort of gave up but suffice to say it's a wonderfully moving and melodramatic romp around the themes of guilt, fractured memory, repressed feelings and mother love.
The story of a 30 year guilt trip of Madrid academic Julieta ( Adirana Ugarte & Emma Surez as young and old Julieta respectively)  is peppered with typical Almodovar touches. A towering Hitchcockian musical score, technicolour and predominantly scarlet visuals and a multi layered something-to-say about the difficulties and joys of mothers and motherhood.
All set with big hair, 1980 flashbacks and a housekeeper worthy of Mrs Danvers out of Rebecca
It's a cracking romp.
Look out for Almodovar's signature scene where a  grief stricken young Julieta is  being lifted out of the bath by her teenage daughter. The daughter covers her mother's head in a towel and in a sweep removes it revealing the older and more shopworn  Julieta. The younger actresses handing the baton of the narrative to the older seamlessly .
I loved it
9/10

Every melodrama needs a mad housekeeper Rossy de Palma

A Picture Paints ........................

With the Prof away, I tend to fill my time with the great and the good.
The " Good" was an extra Samaritan shift last night, a lunch out with a stressed friend tomorrow and a planned trip to see Auntie Glad with Pat, the animal helper in tow......the great will be cinema treat visits to see Pedro Admolevar' s latest Julieta and Emily Blunt's The Girl On The Train. 
Oh , and I forgot the mundane too!
Grids need clearing out, the rest of the back garden shrubbery needs removing, William needs his steroids reviewing and the new outhouse door needs painting.

If I find a spare minute, I shall endeavour to reply to every blog message...if I don't Tom Stephenson may have a stroke ....he's right , of course, it's very rude of me not to reply!
Anyhow

I was sent an email yesterday . It had no text or typed message  with it.
It was just a photograph of the inside of a bog standard Southampton hotel room
But it moved me
It was sent by the Prof.
On the impersonal bedside table was his travelling photo frame

In it, a photograph from our wedding day. 

A Robin In the Cake Tin

Mrs Lewis caught me sitting on the back kitchen wall this morning.
She was dressed in stout sensible shoes and was going to pick blackberries

I was expecting our new log burner stove to be delivered and I thought the van with it on, had passed the cottage twice without stopping. 

Our postcode covers several miles of lane.

Mrs Lewis talks without stopping. There is no point in trying to interject, she just doesn't listen . I think she doesn't get to talk at home much, so everything in public rushes out in a torrent.

Today she was on good form, for it was several minutes before she allowed me to join into the conversation .

I didn't mind, I had nothing better to do.

She mentioned that she never really sees the Professor and I told her that he often works away. This week, for example he will be away from home until Friday night. 

" Things are a big quiet for you then!" She said 

Just then all hell let loose from inside the cottage, and I left Mrs Lewis open mouthed as I slithered over the wall like a fat slug and ran inside

Minutes later , after I had dragged four hysterical dogs from under the bed, I found the reason for the upset. 

Albert had smuggled an injured robin through the cat flap.

I know just what to do with injured birds. You keep them warm , you keep them quiet and you keep them in the dark. So immediately I popped the robin into the 1930s cake tin by the cooker and gently replaced the lid. 

An hour should be enough to see if it survived or not, I thought.

Mrs Lewis was still outside when I had finished.

She was talking to the delivery men who had stopped their van in the lane and had unloaded the stove.

Neither man had managed to get a word in edge ways 

It was almost two hours later , as I was planting bulbs in the front garden when Mrs Lewis walked back up the lane, seeing her reminded me of the robin and I told her to wait as I retrieved the cake tin from the kitchen.

Together we opened it up.

Out jumped the robin. 

For a moment he stood on the rim of the cake tin blinking his button black eyes in the sunshine, before flying off towards the churchyard in short half loops.

Mrs Lewis said nothing for a change.

She just smiled.

Apologies

Blogger has been playing up.
It's deleted my blog list, messed  up my favourites compilation
And has upset my settings worst than the Prof in a bad mood.
So please comment on my next blog, even if it's just one word
Then. I can save your comment and add it to my favs
Hey ho
X

Blast From The Past

I was born in North Wales, and lived in the resort town of Prestatyn until I was twenty.
Only then did I move to Chester, then York then Sheffield, a city I lived for going on two decades.
Today I came face to face to someone from my late teenage years.
And all in an impulse visit to a bespoke butchers shop in St Asaph.

I had just dropped The Prof's car in for it's MOT and knowing we were out of eggs , I stopped in the shop to buy a half dozen .
I was just gazing at a large tray of homemade scotch eggs with desperate longing  when a middle aged woman with big breasts and very grey hair leaned her face very close to mine.
" Hello John Gray" the woman said , smiling broadly.
I stood up and looked at her. She looked vaguely familiar but I was totally at a loss of who it was.
Was she a patient I had nursed or a relative of one who had died? Lots of things flashed through my mind, and I stalled for time for a moment by smiling back and saying a  " Hello"  reply.
The butcher who was serving the woman looked patient but  impatiently just stretched a little
" It's Eirian ! " the woman said, and thirty seven years suddenly dropped away as did my need for a scotch egg
I had dated Eirian when I was sixteen .
She had big breasts covered by very baggy jumpers even then, I  remembered.
" Oh My there's a blast from the past!" I said not quite knowing what to say and jumped just a little when she took my hand and squeezed it
" I heard a while ago that you had moved back to Wales" she trilled,
" With my now husband " I replied!
The butcher now looked a little more interested in the conversation as I laughed and Eirian looked theatrically surprised.
" My mother always thought you were gay" She cackled in good humour " I thought you were just shy"

Old Dog, Old Tricks!

Yesterday Rachel's " dirty bum" comment on Going Gently totally left me speechless.

It was a bit like having Freddie Mercury singing happy birthday at a ten year old's birthday bash.

ie. No one can possibly follow it with any degree of success! 

She not only sneaked in the bum comment but added the somewhat upsetting visual of swinging breasts and even  the possibility of a skid mark on the duvet. 

Only today can I bring myself to talk about it ! 

And so I am not going to compete.

I shall, however, share a photo of George who, quietly and with some planning managed to eat, not only his dinner but all of William's, this afternoon. 

With help he heaved himself up in the armchair as the sun streamed through the cottage window

And slept a sleep of a contented and over stuffed Scottie.