Heels

I adore my feet being rubbed...it has been a lifelong passion. If no massage is forthcoming from the academic, I will content myself with a good licking by one of the dogs.
Dogs love cheesy feet!
Years ago now, I was a reflexology " volunteer". My good friend Joy and her classmates were studying for their massage exams and needed a regular pair of feet to practice on almost on a daily basis.
I was more than happy to be their guinea pig, having my feet rubbed then was the idea panacea to the world's stresses of running a busy spinal injury ward.

One evening, I went round to Joy's house for a " rub" and got allocated to one of her new colleagues who needed some extra practice. The trainee reflexologist turned out to be a shy British Telicom workman called Charlie who had just started his training . He looked slightly awkward as I was his first " client" and he made a point of saying that all his "practical" work had been done on his wife.

Anyhow, off he went squeezing and rubbing and being the ideal reflexology model, I gave him feedback and asked appropriate questions of his technique.
Now, I never fully understood the science behind reflexology, all I know is that it feels bloody good.....so after Charlie had given the sides of my heels a particularly thorough seeing too, I made a point of complementing him by saying
" that was bloody amazing!..you could do that to me all day"
Charlie blushed and looked particularly awkward
But I pressed on regardless
" what part of the body corresponds to the heel area" I asked...trying to sound like the ideal student
Charlie coughed and looked uncomfortable
And Joy, who was rubbing another volunteer's feet nearby, leant over and stage whispered the answer into my ear
" your Bollocks," she said with a smile!
I closed my eyes and tried to look invisible for the rest of the session

Pissed

Recently an old physiotherapist friend of mine  reminded me of a boozy night out many moons ago where I stole a rather expensive oil painting from the party host's living room.
I had all but forgotten the misdemeanour but on reflection I realised that she was indeed right, I had stolen the painting and although pissed as a fart had the presence of mind to pop it in the boot of my car before crashing out .
This dreadful " habit" wasn't a one off....in the 80s and early 1990s I appropriated a whole shopsworth of precious items- most of which I returned to the owners within a 24 hour period
A silver sugar sifter , and set of silver spoons .
A tea caddy
And a terracotta planter complete with small Bay tree , were just a few items I woke up next to, in those heady days of The Leadmill nightclub, nurse parties and lock ins at the Springfield pub.

I stopped drunk stealing in 1998. It was on a warm April Sunday Morning in Sheffield and I had decided to walk from Ecclesall Road back home to Hillsborough at 2 am in the morning.
Big mistake
For when I eventually got up late morning the following day, I was surrounded by vases, pint glasses jam jars and teapots full to the brim with hundreds, literally hundreds of stolen golden daffodils.

What's the worst thing you have done under the influence?

The face I made in the queue at the vets

Promenade

Sometimes you just need to find a place in order to watch the world walk by.
Having only myself to cater for Mary and I took ourselves off to the Promenade at lunchtime.
It was overcast and spitting with rain, but Colwyn Bay was fairly busy with visitors so I found an empty bench and set out lunch
I had an advacado and cheese bagel and a skinny coffee.
Mary had a packet of sliced ham.
And we both sat for an absolute age and watched the world promenade in front of us.

Friends.. I love 'em

Jonney H ....my Sheffield friend

Recently I asked an old friend if I looked my age,
I think I have eight close friends I can ask this kind of indulgent and honest question to
He laughed his usual camp laugh and cooed loudly
" Darling you always look mighty fine" 
I preened myself briefly until he added
" all you could do with is a lot of ......moisturiser ! " 
....................I .Love you J x

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

Spoilers
If you want to go and see a good old fashioned, romantic weepie that makes you feel all emotional warm and fuzzy go and see The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society.
It's a rather delightful piece of whimsy.

The perky Lily James

Impossibly beautiful authoress Juliet Ashton ( a perky Lily James) is at the height of her success in post war London when she receives a letter from Dawsey Adams (Michiel Huisman) an impoverished but well read pig farmer from the Island of Guernsey. Adams is part of a literary group formed on the occupied island by a group of lonely and isolated neighbours and his account of this strange band of misfits at first intrigues then enchants Juliet who subsequently visits the island to get drawn into a rather painful wartime mystery.

So you can see , the film has everything. Wartime hardships, shoulder pads, a delightfully eclectic set of characters, beautiful scenery, Nazi cruelty and Mr Huisman who makes the wearing of a dirty and hole filled fisherman's jumper an art form. He is basically the most beautiful man I have seen on screen in a long time.

The ensemble cast has been picked perfectly from Sunday night tv.
Jessica Brown Finlay is excellent as the mysterious and brave Elizabeth McKenna, Katherine Parkinson plays a ever hopeful gin making spinster rather movingly and heavyweights Tom Courtenay and Penelope Wilton provide warmth and gravitas in spades as the de facto grandparents of the group
Their society meetings have a real drama and pathos on screen.

Having said this , apart from the dreamy and soft spoken Huisman, I have to say that Lily James carries the film admirably. She possess a doe eyed sweetness which is perfect for the film's gentle innocence that finally, after a somewhat contrived will they, won't they? finale ends with a kiss that would make even the most hardened of watchers swoon.

It's a lovely film.

Sun

The weather is a glorious blue and every window except our bedroom window is wide open,
It's easy for the dogs to go a tumbling from the bedroom window, especially when Pippa goes past with her arsey bitch Meg in tow.
I saw villager W out for a walk and she told me the sad tale how her canary was killed by a sparrow hawk whilst in it's cage in the garden.
I think she told me that his name was Bud.
Bud is a fine name for a pet, I think
Everywhere you look , everyone has to deal with a drama of sorts.
Little ones and big ones .
The nice weather always helps with coping with both me thinks
Especially when there is a light breeze carrying the faint smell of mown grass, woodsmoke and hyacinth through the cottage.

A Musical Break

What does it make you think of?