What Fresh Hell Is This?

I was on chauffeur duty tonight as the Prof and my sister went out for night at the musical theatre.
When they were enjoying some minor dancers from Strictly Come Dancing, I settled down to phoning friends from a dog covered arm chair but the conversations were not quite what I wanted them to be...the reason?.....I wasn't feeling very well.
At ten thirty when we finally got home, I knew I had a temperature, so shivering , I plucked the digital thermometer from it's resting place in a spare mug on the kitchen side and stuck it in my mouth .37.4  degrees!

Only then did I realize when I last used the thermometer......it was in a moment of panic a couple of months ago!
When Winnie was critically ill with her septic uterus!
Oh.........my.............God

Faghags and fagmates

I was going to do a post on homophobia this morning, given that the unfortunate Petra has been posting again, but there was a baby rabbit under the bookcase,so I didn't quite have time.
William being rather dim thought it was still somewhere in the kitchen and led the charge with the other terriers in a bid to kill it. Winnie however , knew better and led me right to the baby in the living room with her worried brown eyes and serious expression.
Mothering instinct , even in a dog so old, is a strong urge to quell, me thinks.
Albert just yawned, and even when the baby started to scream ( just as I wrapped a hand around it) he  ignored the subsequent canine hysteria with measured alacrity.
He's seen it all before.

I'v never quite understood homophobia. Oh I get the somewhat hackneyed religious arguments and the 1970ish "nancy boy" disappointment of parents who wanted grandchildren and family stability but given the 'fluid" nature of how things are nowadays it just seems to be rather unfashionable  to be still prejudiced about such matters.
Petra's vitriol seems to be centred about my gay friendly following. The 'Faghags' as she likes to call them. I find this interesting as, in my view, calling someone a faghag is a compliment not a curse.
Women that tend to enjoy the company of gay men, to me are enlightened. They are accepting, bright, inclusive and generally are incredibly humorous.
Who wouldn't like to be surrounded by such creatures?
( I read recently that the new " term " for faghag is Gabe" ( gay+ babe) 
Now Going Gently has a few straight guy followers toon, I wonder if Petra realises that? What do We call them? Fagmates? 
It's just a thought.
A few years ago, in Sheffield, I met a woman at a work's night out who gushed on incessantly about
just how fun us gays were! She banged on so much that she missed my smiling comment of  oh we make lovely pets!" for what it was . It's hard to walk the right line here before stereotyping gets in the way....lol just like I did with the faghag comment a little earlier.

The upshot of this navel gazing?
Who fucking knows?
We like who we like.
I like people that make me laugh,that stimulate and challenge me and who are warm and generous. If they like dogs and zombie tv shows that's a bonus in my book.

Pass The Tissues

Some commercials are little movies all of their own.

Watch this one , I'm not sure where the wheelchair comes into it

But it may make you weep just a little! 

The best photo EVER

,

Hinterland

Hostages Sharon Morgan and Brochan Evans

I often post about movies from all around the world on Going Gently, but it is rare for me to big up a Welsh film or tv series of any note as generally most Welsh offerings are pretty dire.
Hinterland is an exception.
Filmed twice ( once in English and again in Welsh ) it is a crime show set in the unlikely university town of  Aberystwyth which is headed by a flawed detective, Richard Harrington ( aint they all?) and his team of supportive cops. Moody tense and thoroughly entertaining, this drama benefits from its subtitles, detailed characterisations and mean and bleak country backdrop.
Tonight's siege storyline was a cracker!
Watch it on youtube if you get the chance

Boys

Four ten year old boys running amok in the street is a somewhat rare sight nowadays given the fact that modern parenting seems to be micromanaging childhood but there they were this morning sprinting up and down the lane, shouting about a den made over in the fields beyond Trendy Carol's house.
They didn't see me, as I was busy planting a peony in the back garden, but I heard them, and so did Albert who was sat on the cottage wall, swishing his tail in temper.
It's amazing just how much noise four small boys can make at full pelt.

For a second or two there was a worrying silence, and I was surprised to glimpse what looked like a banana skin flying past Albert's head to land with a plop on the path.
The boys galloped away before I could even stand up and Albert bolted for the safety of the kitchen.

I've been crouched behind the wall waiting for them all to return for the past half hour
I'm going to lob the banana skin right back at em !

What larks Pip! 

Ps I'm 54

I was still lurking in the garden, banana skin in hand when a rather natty woman poked her head over the wall, bearing gifts!
She brought me these Teacups, Gifts that once were sold in the village shop sometime in the 1940-50s ( Newmarket was the village's former name and it was changed to Trelawnyd in 1957)

Update

I 've just had an email from Phil ( one of the Male Voice Choir's bigwigs) to tell me that Auntie Glad is doing ok in her new home. ( He and many of the choir members have been so supportive to her over the years)
It is her birthday today....... she is 98.
I plan to visit on Thursday

Early Doors

Thats the Prof's ' happy face'

Here, in Britain, there is a pub phenomenon which is known as " Early Doors".
Early Doors refers to a time when people pop in to the pub, namely in the afternoon to very early evening to sink a pint or two and chat.
It is sometimes a favourite time for the elderly to middle aged drinkers who don't like the " crowds"  of an evening bartime, the after work brigade, the newspaper readers and of course the hopeless. alcoholic.
The Prof is still on holiday today so I took him to The Albion in Conwy for an afternoon drink. I was driving so had a few large coffees, he had a few of the guest ales and a pork pie.
Mary had a bag of crisps!
The mid afternoon clientele was a quiet bunch. Mainly old men with sticks perked up by a middle aged drunk woman who slurred her words from the get-go. I reminded the Prof not to catch her eye. There is nothing worse than a latched on drunk when you are sober.
I don't do early doors, anymore.
One of the last times, I did,  was over  a decade ago when I got so pissed in All Bar One with my fey sidekick John 'Bel-Ami', I eventually fell down two flights of basement steps into a firedoor, broke my spectacles and gave myself a black eye.....and never felt a thing!

Hey ho.