The Walking Dead Episode 4

This is a slow burn of an episode.
With Negan ( Jeffrey Dean Morgan) wisecracking his way into Alexandria ( his jokes and easy manner already getting on everyone's tits including the audience's) we see "team Rick"reacting to the threat in a somewhat interesting and varied way.
As Carl, Michonne and Rosita bubble away with quiet fury. Father Gabriel cleverly covers Maggie's tracks by showing  Negan a fake grave  ( Negan has already proved himself a talented psychoanalyst by understanding the danger of women scorned)
Rick ( threatened by Daryl and Oliva's deaths) gives away all of Alexandria's weapons and faces the backlash for it even though it is obvious it will buy him and the others some time ....time for perhaps Kingdom and Hilltop to join forces.
I could do without Judith's step dad Andrew Lincoln's goggle eyed overacting but as a stand alone episode this one was an interesting study in psychological warfare, especially as it's the Walking Dead's women who are now stepping up to the plate.

When The Chips Are Down

Over the weekend I watched a normal family unit cope with a devastating series of events. Whilst some members "crumbled" under the weight of the situation, others remained stoic, each person dealing with the news in their own way.
You see this a lot on ICU

I have learnt that you can never ever second guess just how people will react in these situations, because often enough, non have ever been through something similar before.

The other morning I received an email from the wife of an old patient of mine.
I had been instrumental in helping the woman becoming  pregnant, ( something I am sure that you would never have believed ) but you have to remember that the patient involved had a severe traumatic paralysis and that I was the nurse working with the couple  in the fertility clinic at that time.
The patient, who I will call James, was only in his twenties at the time. He had dived into the sea on his first holiday in Spain and had struck his head on the sand at a shallow spot.
This had resulted in a fracture of his fifth vertebrae,and an immediate and devastating paralysis  from his chest down.
He never recovered.
I remembered James well. I remember him being nursed flat for twelve weeks with his neck in traction. I remembered his wife, a pragmatic Nolfolk countrywoman who could only visit on weekends and I remember him never complaining about his lot, even when faced with the overwhelming sadness of loosing every physical thing you ever held dear.
James just dealt with the brickbats.
His mantra was "let's get on with it!" 

The generic email from James' wife remained typically simple.

It said " we are sorry to report that following a short illness James died peacefully at home surrounded by his friends and family and  with his loyal dog Judy at his side.
He was a much loved son, brother, cousin, uncle, husband and father and was an inspiration to everyone who met him" 

I last saw James at that fertility clinic appointment twenty years ago. He remained resolutely upbeat about his life with disability, that is  until I was involved with the intimate and very private moment that fertility patients have to endure, only then did he break down and cried silent tears in the worried hope that all would be well.
I remember wiping away those tears for him, for he was not even able to do that for himself, and he cried long and hard for much of the consultation as the fooodgates opened after years and years of coping without complaint.

James' son was born healthy and happy the following spring. I believe he is now a student at The  University of Suffolk.

Good Fortune

I got home this morning exhausted and rather run down after a busy night at work only to be faced with a somewhat fraught Prof and a pile washing.
Some animal, yet unnamed had run amok on our new bed spread so I was banished to the spare bed room in order to catch with some sleep, which proved to a rather futile job as the washing machine lies directly beneath the bedroom in the west wing!
I got up, stupidly insulted the Prof's rather tasteless parsnip soup, then, while he was sulking, took the dogs out for a walk, dragging my feet as I did so.
On a more positive note, as we crossed a deserted village green,
Winnie stopped to sniff at something lying in the grass!

A lone 20£ !
The Prof told me I should donate the money to a charity of his choice
" fuck off ," I told him
" I'm spending it on beer and Crisps!" 

Robert Vaughn

Vaughn 2nd from left in 12 Angry Men

I'm in the bath.
I've left The Prof in bed, he's muttering about the new Vice President elect, who is a known homophobe..I've had enough of bad feeling and elections and feel a tiny bit more optamistic after watching a dignified and entertaining Henry Kissinger being interviewed last night about the Trump debacle
His " this too will pass" view poured some oil on some waters for me.

Two years ago I took my best friend Nu to see Twelve Angry Men . It had a short but successful stink in the West End, and featured that old suave sixties star Robert Vaughn in the fairly small role of Juror 9 ( The old man ) Vaughan was obviously enjoying himself and ar the curtain call, I noticed with some amusement just how he larked around with the younger and more serious actors. He was 81 then,
Hollywood didn't really know what to do with Vaughn which was a shame, but he was a successful actor for over 50 years appearing in The Magnificent Seven , The Towering Inferno, Bullet and of course The Man From Uncle as well as literally hundreds of tv shows.

He had a twinkle in his eye, which was very evident to me in Angry Men .
It's sad that he has gone.

A Blogging Phenomenon

Much has been written about how  anonymity breeds trolling behaviour on the Internet. Like road rage which flourishes inside the confines of certain people's personal car spaces, bloggers who take shelter behind pseudonyms and fictional characters may often challenge, and bitch and argue and debate with their fellows where, if they met them socially, they would keep their mouths politely and very firmly shut.
It's an interesting phenomenon to be sure.
I've noticed certain bloggers seem to delight in sucking the life blood from any blog entry by consistently arguing the opposite point of view. You can almost set your watch by them .
Is it a case of familiarity breeding contempt ? Genuine irritation? or a sense of entitlement
I am not quite sure
Perhaps someone out there can enlighten me.
Part of the problem , I think, comes from the written word itself.  Like texts and particularly emails , it is easy to misconstrue the meanings and emotions behind a comment, especially one tapped out quickly three thousand miles away.
The answer, like most answers lie within a mash up of all of the points above.

I'll leave you with a morning photo of me and Mary..........

Auntie Glad Catch Up

Another miserable and depressing day of rain started with a mega downpour at 7 am. I was already soaked after walking the dogs, so I guess it didn't really matter me getting drenched again when some frantic honking from the geese got me racing over to the field with a torch.
It wasn't a fox that was bothering them but a collie dog, which I caught peeping through the goose house window. He ran off towards the livery stables after I yelled a sharp "getaway ! " 
The rest of the morning was filled with shopping, buying some adhesive to stick down the loose bath surround, meeting a sad work colleague for coffee and calling in to the feed wholesalers to buy layers pellets.
On the way home I called into see Auntie Glad.
One of the care home staff told me that she was " quite confused today " but I found her as sprightly and bright as ever even though she later insisted that her husband Bob Railway was still alive and in the next room .
Gladys told me that she had been booked to make her famous scones that afternoon, then waved her arms angrily at some of the other resident ladies who were sat, sleeping off their lunches in the day room. " They are a miserable lot, always complaining about the food!" She snapped " They make my blood boil "
The one thing Gladys hates above anything is ingratitude .

She took me to her neat little room, where I read out the Parish Magazine to her and she recounted recent visits from Christine (Chapel House), the vicar and from various members of the male voice choir before letting the conversation fade to old times and vague but happy days from years ago.

As she walked me back to the day room a cheerful young woman in an apron called her over to a table on which was sat a massive mixing bowl full of flour and sultanas " I told you I'm making scones this afternoon " Gladys chirped brightly " we shall be having them for tea!"

Take Me Home

It's Just before bedtime and as I've been listening to YouTube videos 

George tottered over and climbed into my lap, 

And rested his old face next to mine, 

His behaviour kind of went with this song 

A panacea to all the hate and disappointment of the day

Iago was right

It's a miserable morning on either side of the Atlantic today.
I won't bother discussing the new leader of the free world
The whole thing beggars belief.
But , hey...I don't live in America....

Today's Going Gently is about jealousy.
Jealousy in a relationship.

Occasionally I meet a friend in the village for lunch.
She makes homemade bread, or soup, or cake and I bring an hour of silliness  .
It's a good deal all round.
I have noticed, however, that every time we are sat at the kitchen table, the phone will go and her husband will there catching up with a snippet of news or a job that needs sorting.
Recently I casually asked if he was bothered that I occasionally popped in for a chat and my friend replied " oh no, he always rings me during the day"
Something in what she said and how she said it triggered a tiny alarm bell in my mind.
" Is he jealous? " I asked her
The grenade had its effect and the words tumbled out
Apparently her husband had always been jealous. He often sulked for days if my friend went out on an evening with friends, so much so that she no longer leaves the home without her husband on her arm. Male colleagues were often viewed with suspicion and bad mouthed constantly and often when my friend  was out working she felt obliged to call her husband to " check in" so to speak.
This all had been going on for many years.

I leaned my elbows on the kitchen table and uncharacteristically for me , I said very little  as my friend's conversation ran down like a clock. I think this was the first time she had shared this information .

" I know....you make the life you live " she said finally
And I nodded taking a final sip of my coffee