"Goodbye Flower"

Mrs James rang me this morning with the sad news that Gay Gordon had passed away.
" He died quietly in his sleep" she said , the irony plain in her voice.
Gay Gordon, as we all know, never did anything quietly.
The village will miss the old motor mouth, famous for booming " HELLO FLOWER" at every turn and for pouring a whole bottle of brandy into a gigantic fruit cake, so big that it had to be transferred to the Flower Show tea tables via invalid trolley.
Gay Gordon was  not gay, but he was as camp as a row of tents and by all accounts he was a bit of a lady's man before ill health and good living took its toll but despite everything he remained resolutely cheerful albeit in a fey Brian Blessed kind of way in his final years with Big Mary over in the pensioner bungalows in Trelawnyd.

I called in with a card for Big Mary, though she can clearly no longer be called " big Mary" anymore given the amount of weight she has lost over the past year. She was understandably tearful and upset but managed a laugh at the card inscription.
Trelawnyd will be a dull place without him 

Riding into his final sunset

Gay Gordon and his invalid trolley

RIP

Gogglebox

My husband is a busy man.
London Monday-Tuesday home last night for a few hours then Norway today.
I shall drive to the airport on Friday night to pick him up.
It's very cold in Norway today.....thank goodness he has bought a new bobble hat!

As all was rushed and frenetic on his brief return last night
One constant never changed a bit, she didn't even move her fat arse.
As The Secret Life Of Dogs played on our small tv, which is perched on the window sill
Winnie sat transfixed and never moved for nearly an hour.

Best Comment Of The Day!

I was standing on the village green in front of the Memorial Hall

when a car pulled up to the give way lines on Chapel Street.

The window opened and someone I shall refer to as Ms X waved in a friendly manner

a cheerful voice rang out, 

With the words

" My Anal abscess is back!"

You couldn't make it up!

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!