Going Gently

George Day

The passenger Seat to himself

" They are taciturn, aloof and not for everyone !"
So warned our dog breeder when we went down to pick up our first Scottish terrier
I didn't know what taciturn meant so I smiled politely.
A gaggle of ten scotties bounced around our feet like fat black beetles.

I later found out that taciturn actually means reserved and reticent, which are perfect adjectives to describe a dog which has become synonymous with the Art Deco style, Highland whisky and George Bush Jr.
I must add here, that I would also describe Scotties as being fiercely loyal, quietly comic and at times dreadfully grumpy little dogs who keep themselves to themselves when all about them is swirling.

Today is George day. He has been to the groomers, got to sit in Mary's co pilot seat and has accompanied me in interviewing prospective volunteers where he sat quietly in the corner with curious black button eyes which followed everyone's conversation .
He has refused to accept pats on the head from three strangers but has wagged his tail hopefully when someone unwrapped a fisherman's friend . He's bloody friendly when food is concerned.

He will follow me into the hairdressers when I get my hair cut this afternoon and will arrrrrooooo loudly when I tell him we are going. Scotties aren't friendly to strangers but they are vocal when approached....painfully so at times.

Anyhow, I'm typing this in Marks and Spencer's. I'm having a coffee and a mooch -George is eating a small packet of cooked ham all to himself in the car.
It's another treat just for him today.

There is white in his coat now and a slowness in his step, but he's twelve years old so he's allowed to look a bit faded around the edges.
Aren't we all

Soup That Blows Your Tits Off

I've spent much of the morning clearing the field of rubbish in the freezing cold but sunny weather we've got today. William , Winnie and George mooched around after me whilst Mary was tied up at the gate . I cannot train the hunter in her and set free she will chase Irene and the bachelors until exhausted. The older dogs behave themselves with livestock.
It's amazing what winter crap I collected. Bin bags full of plastic bags, plastic flowers ( blown over the fence from the cemetery) paper and wrappers are the most common but I did find an empty bottle of Malibu and a child's plastic hammer on my travels..
I swept the wood burner flue out when I got back in to warm my hands then I ate homemade red pepper and carrot soup laced with chilli for lunch ( which incidentally blew my tits off).
I was going to offer done to old Trevor who lives behind our cottage but I thought the chilli may cause a drastic problem with the digestive tract of a 94 year old.

Anyhow I digress.
Last night the affable Despot Jason and I went to see the much acclaimed play The Weir at Theatre Clwyd . The subject of the piece ( which was set in an isolated Irish pub) was one of rural Irish ghost stories ( the supernatural kind as well as the emotional baggage kind that follow us around for most of our lives) and it sort of dovetailed my recent post on ghost stories quite nicely as we highlighted In our post production discussion in the car on the way home)

The Weir has four local men jousting at the one room rundown country pub.
Jack ( Sean Murray) and Jim ( John O'Dowd) are lonely single men who drink together for company at Brendan's ( Sam O'Mahoney) bar. They are envious of the more successful Finbar ( Louis Dempsey) who arrives with a young woman called Valerie ( Natalie Radmall- Quirke) who has just come to live in the area.

As the group drink, the men start to share ghost stories in order to impress Valerie, but as their stories become more personal and painful in nature, the cathartic nature of the conversations encourage Valerie to share a tragic and ghostly story of her own.
The Weir is a dark and at times creepy play which starts to come alive when the ghost stories ( each one progressively more chilling than the last ) start. The supernatural nature of the subject matter highlight the personal backstories of the characters where the themes of grief, loss, loneliness and regret are just as important as the ghostly goings on .

Sean Murray is excellent as the lonely, blustery Jack but for me it was Natalie Radmall Quirke's tear stained final monologue that was a real standout .

Natalie Radmall-Quirke plays Valerie

Valentine

Going Gently provides The Prof with a somewhat shadowy home.
Here he is often depicted as the bellowing straight guy to my bumbling, shabby, slightly comic fool.
He huffs and puffs like a Victorian patriarch when I fall over, dress inappropriately and wax lyrical over a zombie tv programme and seems to be constantly disappointed by my slap dash country ways.
Some of this is true, some is exploited for comic effect...that is the truth of blogs

He is my husband and I love him dearly.
But I am no Doris Day.
I'm not an easy spouse despite my depiction of self as a Mother Theresa/ James Herriot sort crossed with Alan Bennet.
The truth is that I am an opinionated, stubborn and at times incredibly difficult character to live with and The Prof has lived with me for two decades.
I was thinking only yesterday of when we actually started to live together and do you know that I cannot remember the date clearly.
One day I was living in a large Victorian terraced house in Hillsborough all alone with my cats then the next the Prof had filled the left hand side of my empty wardrobe with natty clothes and had his own office in the back bedroom!
It all felt very fluid and right.

Our wedding day was the happiest of my life
It felt very right too.

He is my valentine

Snow Go

By eleven am the village school closed and parents and grandparents turned up looking harassed in order to collect the pupils.
It only had been snowing for a few hours but effectively ( and in the U.K. So Commonly ) the whole village almost came to a standstill.
Trendy Carol ( in a nice cream coat, natty pullover and woolly tights) knocked on the lane window to let me know know that the Shrove Tuesday's pancake lunch at the London Road Chapel had been cancelled.
It was up to her to do the cooking, now she's nose to nipple with eggs, milk and lemons.

I've spent my " trapped" tine making curry, pancake batter and butternut squash ( with chili) soup whilst listening to a BBC radio production rerun of The Maltese Falcon

Ordinary People

I think I was around sixteen when I read Judith Guest's Ordinary People. The book resonated with me more than any other at that time.
What book resonated the most with you? And why?
I'd be interested to know

Little dramas, little victories

Little dramas
Little victories
Life is made up of both
Every day.

William picked up something as we walked along London Road this morning.
I only noticed when Winnie crowded in to see what it was and he deftly turned his head away so she couldn't get near.
I stopped quicksticks thinking he had picked up a disguarded chocolate bar or something similar ( our previous Welsh terrier had almost been killed by scoffing a mars bar he found in Hillsborough park) and so I stopped him and ordered he drop what he had picked up.
Out plopped a male sparrow.
I think it must have been struck by a car, as it seemed lifeless and had a bloodied eye, but it raised its head feebly so I picked it up and tucked it into my pocket.
It was still hanging on when I got home and so I tucked it into and old French biscuit tin and placed the tin into the airing cupboard

An hour later, I opened the tin and looking up at me was the sparrow with one bright button black eye.
It flew away over the Churchyard moments later in bouncy and powerful half loops.

Game of Thrones

I've burnt my arse on an over bleached toilet again !
This is at least the fourth time I have done it.
Even Pavlov's dogs eventually learnt from their mistakes.
I always sit on the bowl rather than the seat....
The seat pinches me