snatched Post

I have three minutes to blog today.
The Prof and I are taking his nephew to London today.
My contribution is the Star Wars exhibition at the O2 The Prof has organised a virtual reality experience at the Science Museum.
It's the first time we have been given responsibility of a small person
(but I have to say here that I am an expert in child care given the training I have received from the Randa Girls)
wish us luck!
gulp!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Where are we?

A Moment

In a spot in the back garden by the coal bunker close to the back door I once planted a buddleia bush.
This year it has been rather magnificently covered in deep purple colour blooms and the warm wet summer has brought out the butterflies which drink it's nectar in droves.
The sun warmed the bush yesterday morning as I stood in front of it with coffee in hand and as Albert   stalked through it's branches then slipped heavily, a great whoosh of red admirals, peacocks, cabbage whites and others fluttered up into the air around me, perhaps a dozen and a half all told.
It was a tiny, wonderful little moment
And it was lovely

Bath time

It's hard to make yourself invisible when you weigh 26 kilos!
I'd run the bath, spread towels all over the floor and readied the fanny flannel ,
And  the bulldog was no where to be seen!
Winnie despises bathtime.
I took the path of least resistance.
First George, then Mary and finally William, the terriers were hoisted into the bath for a scrub.
George hates a bath, but puts up with it with an expression of disgust mixed with shame.
The Welsh terriers adore a hot bath and strange as it may seem both will stand stock still in the soapy water for an absolute age until they are removed
Only Winnie tries to leave home before the fanny flannel is dunked.

Mary

Eventually I found her hiding under the bed in The Prof's office.
Her bottom was poking out, and after several minutes of wrestling I managed to manhandle her into the bathroom where she jammed her head behind the toilet.
I wafted my secret weapon of a handful of  cocktail sausages at her and in the ensuing melee of scoffing I hoisted her smartly into the bath.
Now bulldogs, even old bulldogs are surprisingly agile so keeping one in a bath can be an absolute nightmare, after a minute or so there was more water around the bathroom than  there was in the bath itself and after a few more minutes of wrestling, a quick flit round with the flannel and a snapped
photo I allowed her to burst out of the bathroom with a face like thunder.

She sulked for the rest of the day. Although she did accept a few left over cocktail sausages without opening her eyes.

It took me nearly an hour to clean the bathroom afterwards.

Animal Helper Pat - A Favour

We are off to see family in Kent soon and Animal Helper Pat is babysitting Albert which is lovely of her.
In way of a return favour, I promised to big up her open garden afternoon which she and fellow villager Anthea are holding to raise money for their Church.
Here are the details! Lots to see ( both ladies have fabulous gardens) and plenty of cake to eat

Tomorrow I shall tell you the story of the bathing of three well behaved dogs!
......and Winnie........
It's an epic nightmare 

Treats

Onwards and upwards

Part of the strength of fatclub is the fact that I stick to the same breakfast every morning
Two slices of dry toast and two eggs fried in low fat spray!
As I prepare this feast ( and it is a feast) George totters into the kitchen and waits patiently.
He knows he is the chosen one at this time, for he, and he alone, is allowed to lick my plate clean.
It's his treat for the day.

The shop assistants at the Garage Shop always smile knowingly when I stop by, for Invariably I will add a packet of cheap Spar Spicy meatballs to my basket.
" For the dogs?" They will say conspiratorially, enjoying the " secret" that the dogs are being spoilt
The meatballs are adored by the pack and in Winnie's case are swallowed whole.

The Prof's weakness is a small packet bacon flavoured crisps!
Albert goes wild over slivers of strong Cheddar cheese
And Sylvia's eyes roll back into her head when she is presented with a slice of processed white bread.

We all need a treat from time to time.
And we all need to give a treat from time to time

Before she died my mother went suddenly partial to strawberry tarts and would happily sit in Sainsbury's car park on her piped oxygen munching away on one after another.
Weeks later I would still be finding bits of pastry and strawberry jelly in the footwells and glove
compartment.
Fifteen years after her death, the mere sight of one, sat proudly on a cake stands in the confectionery counter takes me back to those bittersweet days.

Foodtreats are synonymous with love in my book.
I understand the problems based with this but it is ingrained in me from my childhood days when my grandmother sat us children down with a slice of homemade Victoria sponge, a cup of sweet tea and a kiss that smelled of cold cream and baking.
To feed a treat to someone you love, meant you loved them.
This came from a woman who knew austerity and hardship.
Subsequently the treat had even more resonance with her.

Of course treat giving says more about me than it does about any of the recipients.
And it doesn't take a talented psychotherapist to work that one out!

The Village Telegraph

Even though there is a significant " stranger" population in the village now, what with the noticeable increase of rental properties, the news of the popular Mr Lewis' death still raced through the village telegraph yesterday morning.
I was stopped three times when out with the old dogs, with old Stan finally summing up what most people were thinking, with his comment of " He suffered his long illness with bravery" 
Mr Lewis had been unwell for many years.

I nursed Mr Lewis fairly recently.
We thought he was dying then, but he rallied round when a weaker man would have succumbed to a tired and brittle body and I remember talking to him about the forthcoming Flower Show and joking with him about a " difficult" village character we both knew.
It was a gentle conversation which ended with me asking if he was frightened and I remember that he smiled and said " Not really............I have my family" 
It was a reference to a loving family that was always there for him.
They cushioned his fear.

I've just realised that apart from the deaths of my own loved ones, those days of nursing someone who is passing away, are now over.
I must have done it a hundred times in my nursing career, and the whole process, from start to finish, has been a privilege to be a part of.

But I am now happy it is now something I used to do. 

My Dander Is Up!

Safe in the garden? 

My father never backed down from a confrontation.
Once a visitor to his shop called him a twat for taking his time over serving an elderly customer, to which my father promptly punched the guy on the nose!
You could do that in the seventies, twat was a very rude word back then.
My elder sister and I have inherited his dander, so to speak. Neither of us like confrontation but when pushed we can rally forth like Joan Crawford brandishing a wire coat hanger.
We are not shrinking violets when it comes to right and wrong.
Yesterday one of the haylage lorries knocked the top corner from our garden wall as it was negotiating the sharp bend by the Church . I found masonry in the lane, which was lucky as the bachelors had been asleep all afternoon under the hydrangea on the other side of the wall. If the stones had been knocked in the other direction, carnage would have ensued!
I flagged down he lorries as they passed a little later and but my " pissed off and serious look on" 
The secret of sorting something like this out, is surprise. Catch the culprit. Don't let them get a word in, and give them a solution.
Within a few seconds the driver had agreed to return to fix the damage.
Worked like a charm
We shall see if he turns up!

A few weeks ago I was just about to collect a trolley at Tesco when two boys of around 7  climbed on top of them in front of me. I turned to a group of fat armed women who were gossipping nearby and asked if the boys were theirs but only received a passive aggressive " look" ,a shrug of the shoulders and one half arsed comment of " Robert Get down from there" 
Robert, as it turned out, wasn't going anywhere fast, that is until I caught his bum cheeks in the wire mesh of the trolleys as I smartly pulled two apart, he soon shifted then! But it was the attitude of the fat armed women that really got my dander up
I turned on them
" is this trolley park an adventure playground?" I asked them
They just looked at me as though I was speaking Spanish, so I repeated myself but this time in my best Brian Blessed type voice
" Is THIS TROLLEY PARK AN ADVENTURE PLAYGROUND?"
Other shoppers by this time had stopped to watch my heroic stance against the great unwashed so I added with a flourish" GET CONTROL OF YOUR CHILDREN!" 
The fat armed women frowned under their chav facelifts *
" fuck off" the nearest one spat out
Like I said
Confrontation...works like a charm.


* https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Croydon_facelift