Books

‘THE PAST IS A FOREIGN COUNTRY: THEY DO THINGS DIFFERENTLY there.’ 

I've never read L P Hartley's novel The Go Between but I am aware of the first line.

The line came into my head this morning over coffee

I've just started The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. £3.99 from Tesco

How cheap are books?

The skies are blue today, 

A walk is the order of the day
Eurovision later, I've suggested beer and voting

What are you reading this Saturday btw ?

Lunch

My friend Greta took me to lunch yesterday .
My mother was her grandmother's best friend.....
We worked together on intensive care
She is Winnie's foster mum
We went to one of the best little cafes in the area the wonderful old crown at the castle

It does not look much the food is divine
This is what the cafe looks out on

Rooster Cogburn

Yesterday's post has reminded me to post an old post of one of my favourite old field friends, a magnificent blind rooster called Cogburn.
He came to me through a friend who learned that another friend had found a mistreated Rooster who had been blinded by a group of nasty kids who were caught stone throwing at a riding stables
The Rooster came to me thin and depressed and for two years I helped him to blossom in his own run with a couple of silly toy hens for company
This is an six year old post that illustrates his simple life

" Sometimes it's important to take time over something. Some tasks need care and patience. Some things should not be rushed. 

Every morning, I let the blind cockerel, Cogburn out of the controlled environment of his run, for some exercise. I can only do this when the other cockerels and the geese are safely out of the way, for as big as he is, he remains the most vulnerable animal on the field.

I have a 101 things to do most mornings. Today was no different. I needed to fill the water butts on the field border, the eggs in the incubator in the kitchen needed candling, potatoes needed to be planted in bosoms, which is now full of weeds after the overnight rain and I needed to start the strimming of the mountains of nettles which are now screening the pig pen, but something in Cogburn's behaviour made me pause for a moment in order to watch him.
In the breeze and the early morning sunshine, Cogburn seemed to blossom. He moved his big feet on the grass, like a city dweller does when on the beach for the first time , and he turned his head to face the warmth of the sun, blinking his unseeing eyes slowly and carefully in obvious enjoyment.

It may sound odd to say it, but it was incredibly moving to see the big fella so alive and so vital.
Despite the list of jobs, irritatingly fixed inside my head.
I sat down beside the blind old cockerel to let him enjoy the morning sun without being rushed....it lightened my heart "

Ps Rooster Cogburn stayed 2 years on the field. He was labour intensive , but was a delightful character and he died in his sleep whilst resting in his saferun ... with his face in the sun 

World Premier

Tonight affable despot Jason and I went to see the world premier of ( see above) at Theatr Clwyd
It was a thoughtful and rather impressive essay on outrage within social media...and was as good as anything I've seen on the London Stage.
Well done Theatre Clwyd...a cracking night out

I'll post about blind Rooster Cogburn later x

St Trinians

One of my ' new' followers has asked me about my header photo and the story behind it.

The photo was taken during a circuit of the field, eight years ago now when ten warren hens would follow me around like puppies. 

They were mistreated birds that turned out to be a delightfully tame set of girls, and the best layers I ever had.

This is an excerpt from Going Gently from eight years ago 

"This afternoon I recieved a phone call from a guy who said he had 10 hens he wanted to rehome. He made some generalised excuses about his dog being a threat to his birds and sounded so in need of "getting rid" that I agreed to drive over to his village immediately to see what I could do.

As it turned out, the young bog standard hybrids were a gift to a child, who had all but lost interest in them, and I very nearly lost my temper when I crept into a "converted "wendy house" that had doubled as a make shift hen house. Inside  ten skinny birds crowded around me like tame puppies. They were tame because they were starving and wanted food, and not because they had been hand reared..and I was quick to note that the house had no water or food laid out for them. There were no perches, straw filled nest boxes or even any sawdust in the shed...and the floor was three inches deep in wet , shit impregnated shavings which looked remarkably like porridge.   The whole place was disgusting.
The  man noticed my face and thinking that I was not impressed with the birds rather than their surroundings he asked if I would take the hens off his hands.........looking at the scruffy bunch, I decided to not to get angry and simply said " yes, I will take the lot!" It took 30 seconds to catch the hens and put them into Constance's cage in the back of the car. Within half an hour I had fed them properly ( 4 bowls of corn and pellets!!!! I couldn't literally pour the feed quick enough) then bedded them down snugly- 6 in the runner duck house ( the three remaining ducks will be housed with the older ducks) and the remaining 4 in the large hen house with the gentle young purebreeds ..........

I have nicknamed the new girls The Belles of St. Trinian's as their scruffy appearance reminds me of the the 1954 unkempt schoolgirls (above) I think they will do fine...........
I am now up to 100 animals!!!"

Contact

This morning I realised that since Saturday night ( when I went for a family meal ) I have not really mixed with anyreal people. Now I use the word ' real' carefully here-- of course I have talked to people on the phone, interacted with friends on messenger, replied to emails and posted blog comments, but sometimes we all need to feel that we physically part of the human race.
Oh, I forgot that yesterday a Welsh Government researcher called in to conduct an hour's interview. He wanted to know all about my lifestyle and tried really hard after getting off on the wrong foot after asking me what my wife's name was.
I found some of his questions interesting
Winnie found his cowboy boots very interesting
And the interview had to be stopped twice when Winnie lowered her toilet parts on the boots tips with a satisfying plop/ grunt.

Not Once

When I was young and single I never really did the gay scene.
At that time Sheffield's scene was confined to a few pubs and clubs most  of which were located in the industrial badlands of the old steel city.
They were glittery, camp and very rough around the edges.
Former steel working pubs that had died when the factories and works died in the Lower Don Valley.

I went out occasionally with a group of men who were
 the friends of Nige who was one of my best friends. As I recall they all dressed up to the nines like the gals in Sex and the city . 
My friend I were more conservative in our looks.
Nigel is neater and tidier than I.
I disliked those pubs especially the one called Demseys which wasn't particularly rough as it was common.
Demseys catered for a gay clientele many of whom went out after supermarket shopping in the cuty centre so it was common to have to negotiate bags of peas and tins of this and that scattered on the laminate floor when you fought to get yourself to the bar.
They also gave out occasional freebees of anaemic looking sausages on paper plates before last orders
Lovely!
I much preferred the once a month gay night which was based at the city Hall's ballroom. The Art Deco ballroom resembled the main dining saloon in a The Poseidon Adventure and so suited my camp love of 1970 disaster movies.
It was also quite dark so I could hide my bad dancing ability behind the ballroom pillars.

It was at a time before "swipe the app left or right on your phone" and the dating technology them was a sticker with a number on it. The sticker was  slapped unceremoniously onto your left shoulder as you entered.
In the corner of the ballroom was situated an overhead projector! And if someone fancied you, they would write your number with a felt pen on the acetate ! When you read your number you would have to walk the walk to see who had " picked you" 
Perhaps it was my dress sense
Perhaps it was my lack of dancing ability
Perhaps it was my clumsy walk or the odd bleach stain on my t shirt

But I never got picked! 
Not once!


Ps we may make 500 comments! If you read Sunday's blog entry and didn't comment ..please do so ( ON SUNDAY's blog please ) leaving your name and location ......it was a great experiment 

400

It's bugging me that we couldn't reach 400 comments on yesterday's blog

So if you didn't give your name and location 

Please do so right now! 

I loved the connection