The Face At The Window

I don't generally scare easily.
I'm happy to walk through the graveyard at night and I never batter so much as an eye, but I suppose
having four dogs and an accompanying cat with me always means that I am never truly alone.
But I do walk alone around the Marian at night with only the stars for company, and my imagination fails to wander to thoughts of monsters and psychopaths.
The one thing that does scare me however is a face at a window!
This stems from a night working on a psychiatric ward in an old asylum way back in 1984 when a stranger to the hospital attacked staff with bottles thrown from the roof forcing the whole hospital into lockdown. My mentor and I locked ourselves and our 24 elderly patients into our ward and when I checked if the office windows where bolted shut, I suddenly glimpsed the intruder standing outside , his impassive face up close and personal against the window panes.
Yes it was the stuff of nightmares.
Last night, with the Prof away, I walked the dogs slightly earlier than usual. There was method to the madness as I wanted to slip into my jim jams in order to watch The Walking Dead reruns before next weeks' restart. We had not long returned, all wet and cold from the rain and as the dogs shook themselves dry, I turned to put their leads onto the table.
Now we have three windows in our kitchen. Two facing the back garden and the path to the gate and one inset window facing directly onto the lane. This lane window is screened at head height with an antique French lace curtain .
As I turned around I suddenly saw a face above the curtain. It was blurred by condensation  but it was there right up against the glass...pale white and wearing a hood of sorts against the rain
A millisecond later it moved off as I yelled out " SHIT A BRICK!" at the top of my voice
I cannot think of a time recently that I have been so frightened

By the time I had scrabbled around for the back door key, unlocked the kitchen door, and had leaned over the back wall to check the dark lane whoever had peeped through the window had gone.

All of the dogs slept on the bed with me last night!

What's frightened you recently?

Britain's Best

Kirsty Young is my first girl crush in an age! 

No one does radio like BBC Radio 4
Yesterday I listened to the latest Desert Island Disc programme, which is now in it's 75 th year!
The velvet voiced Kirsty Young was interviewing the International Welsh rugby referee Nigel Owens.
It was a rollercoaster ride of an interview.
With quiet diligence Young gave Owens space to talk, and boy did he talk!

With incredible candour and emotion, he described the difficulties of accepting his alternative sexuality within a tight knit rural Welsh community and without pulling a punch, shared a somewhat harrowing suicide attempt with a shotgun and a packet of pills on the mountain over looking the family farm.

Owens came out gay to his family and the rugby world soon after and it is a testament to both that he was embraced and supported in his new life.
Rugby men and their supporters seem more accepting than most sports people I think!

It was an inspirational and at times tearful interview.
I wept, standing at the kitchen sink listening to it all.

This track was one of Owen's chosen discs, it's a version of The Sound Of Silence which I have never heard before .
It's wonderfully dramatic even though the lead singer scares the begeebers out of me!
Enjoy!

I Have Never

I 've never cried at a funeral! 

This revelation came to me this morning after I recalled reading that Hitler loved watching Snow White and the seven Dwarfs
Both facts to me are mildly surprising, especially as I always thought that Hitler was more of a Gone With The Wind kind of guy!
Anyhow, as usual I digress

Yes, I have never cried at a funeral.
I have never found myself naked in pubic either, which, when you think of it , is more or less the same thing!
I also have have been called to Jury service, which is a real pisser! I have always thought I would rather suit than linen jacket Henry Fonda kept taking on and off in Twelve Angry Men.

I have never eaten Haggis or oysters !
Or ever had  fight in the street.
and I have never once been on a protest march and waved a suitably ribald placard at the authorities!

I have never slept in a tent or had a shit in the woods
And I have not seen a hedgehog close up since I was 13!

I have never read Dickens, Proust or Chekhov

I have never been to Madame Tussauds, The Tower Of London or The Royal Albert Hall.
And  have never waltzed with gay abandon on the sprung floor of the Blackpool dance ballroom!

I never said " I love you" to my parents. And I never heard them utter the phrase back  to me

And I have never cried at a funeral!

Paysanne

The Prof and I found a rather delightful restaurant this evening.
The food was unfussy and very tasty and the front-of-house host interestingly quirky with his somewhat unusual tableside delivery. He reminded me of a cross between a posh Russell Brand, John Cleese and Terry Thomas 
When asked why the restaurant had an obituary of the hell-raiser Oliver Reed on the toilet wall, he replied with a wave of his hand and a breezy " It makes for an interesting read!" and when The Prof asked if he could add the tip on the card machine our host apologised describing the rules for not doing so as " positively Orwellian!" 
What fun!

I've nothing much to say today! 

The Ghosts Of Boyfriends Past!

The room felt oppressive .
The walls were painted badly in the primary colours of the Brazil flag. Garish Yellow, Green and  Navy blue. With strange " tropical " symbols clumsily hand painted over the yellow borders around the tall old fashioned victorian windows.
Curtains with cheap gold tassles were hung around those windows and an immersion tank hidden next to the fireplace and in each dark corner, at ceiling height, a fat gold painted cherub looked down on the flimsy ikea bed set against one wall.

I hated that room.

I hated it with a vengeance .
I hated it as it was the Prof's bedroom when I met him.
I hated it as it was decorated by his previous, much younger partner.
A partner who obviously had no taste whatsoever, but whose ghost lived on in every badly painted piece of woodwork and smudged gold effect stencil!
My first morning there, after we woke up, I started as I meant to go on!
As the Prof prepared coffee and french pastries in the kitchen
I found one of my shoes under a pile of clothes on the floor,
And knocked every soddin cherub off the wall before he came back to bed with a tray!

Watching

I think blogland is suffering from a Febuary bout of writer's Block. 
I blame the short dark days of winter coupled with small doses of apathy and a post adrenalin drop following surges experienced with the crowning of Trump!
Perhaps we are all feeling rather jaded with all of this demonstrating
Or is it more likely that fuck all is happening in our lives ?

On this morning's power walk Mary and I sat on the broken stone wall overlooking  Basil's sheep fields and the valley East of the village and looked out at the view. Welsh terriers love to sit and watch, so we sat and watched for an absolute age.
I day dreamed about having a new kitchen. Mary sat with her own deep doggy thoughts.
She was so preoccupied thay she didn't notice Mrs Trellis and Blue walking up the hill behind us. Mrs Trellis' bobble hat was sticking straight up as usual! She looks like Noddy!