Ghost Village

I couldn't settle last night.
I don't watch football and I already spent much of the day baking in readiness for my sister Ann's open garden day on Sunday, so It was time to get out of the cottage to do something else constructive and useful.
Trelawnyd was a ghost town after 7pm -The Croatia game was on so everyone but me was glued to their TV sets like limpets- so unseen I ambled my way up to the village green with a broom and hoe to remove a ton of weeds from the lavender paths.
It was gentle and untaxing work. ( I listened to The Archers and podcasts of I'm sorry I haven't a clue as I cleared and tidied) and to be honest I enjoyed the time out in the cool evening air.
I think I'll organise another village 1 hour tidy up enterprise for next month.
I'll provide the cream cakes and tea again

In a decade I've supported and eventually ran the village flower show, held four Open allotment/ village fete days, cleaned the Church more times that I care to remember,  was an active member of the community council ( and brief member of the new Community Association) supported the conservation group , lectured at the friendship group, held two six week a how to look after chicken courses at the village hall. Sang carols at the village carol service every Christmas, attended 13 funerals ( and catered for two funeral teas) and picked up the affable despot's girls from school whenever needed. I've sent flowers to unhappy villagers and have received gifts of flowers and cakes and scones in return. I have let my more practical farmer type friends to supervise pig culling and fence erecting and I have eaten some dreadful meals at Mrs Trellis' dinner table and have been helped out of several scrapes by a village elder called Islwyn.
I have attended and enjoyed  10 male voice choir summer concerts,delivered a thousand eggs to forty houses,  gave a lesson on blogging etiquette to the village school children and have developed a village history blog that has been archived by the National Library of Wales.
I've done my bit

But I shall also miss paying things back to a village I have called home for the past twelve years.

.

Stalkers baring Scotch Eggs

Friendly Mr and Mrs C

There has been much debate here on the ethics of the occasional blog stalker.
Looney tunes? Possible obsessive behaviour? Bunny boilers? Potential friends?
You can look at it from both sides of the spectrum , but it must be odd to regularly read about the generally banal and occasionally amusing life of a scruffy Welsh homosexual without feeling that you perhaps know him in one small way.
A one way friendship so to speak.

This morning one such stalker appeared baring gifts
One glimpse of a Waitrose scotch egg, settled any worries about a potential bunny boiler.
People that are mad as badgers don't shop at Waitrose!

As it turned out my main stalker was Mrs C. Mr C was friendly and affable as could be, but he didn't really know me from Adam, yet over a cup of tea and Mary continually throwing herself into his arms, he good naturedly joined in with his wife's friend. A friend she had never met before.
I was glad to hear that I don't bore Mrs C. And it was nice for her to see that the village I talk about with do much colour actually exists.
They seemed tickled that Trendy Carol floated past the lane window as we sat there.
She was wearing something delicious and sported a straw sun hat.
I wondered if it was possibly like someone going to Disneyland for the first time and bumping into a plastic looking Micky Mouse and being disappointed ?

For me , I enjoyed their visit...
I was flattered

Lunch

Note the Basil and tomatos, my nod to healthy eating! 

The Haunting Of The Internet

Maddie, William, George and Meg

Evan Williams from Shropshire sent me the above photo last week. He found it on the internet when he was researching something to do with dog behaviour. It was the banner photo of a webpage I had no knowledge of.
Evan Emailed me the link thinking that I would enjoy the frolicking Terrier shot. He had no idea that the dogs in the photo were indeed mine and that the photo was taken by me too.....albeit one from ten years ago now.
How strange.
How strange that our work, our photographs and our ideas can be all be " out there"  forever and a day almost without us knowing or remembering .

Heather

The back entrance to Action Ward was through the old front door entrance then turn sharp left 

Into the male dorm 

Today I've been clearing out old cupboards in the living room  and I found an old photo of me and several staff and patients from Acton Ward at the West Cheshire Hospital from my student nurse days. We were all  posing uncomfortably at a table in a cafe near the Delamere Forest . Four of us were raising tea cups , as if they were cocktail glasses.
I had thick brown hair and looked gauche
Even now, 34 years later I can't show the photo here....which is a shame

She'd been in hospital 16 years,
Ever since she was just 17
And she was still unfit to be discharged home
She had been living on action ward for a decade

Her name  was Heather and she wore a purple home knitted cardigan and too much plastic jewellery , the kind little girls wear when they are 5
Her hair was short brown and she had bald spots from rubbing her head on the ward walls.
I was told she was schizo- affective whatever that meant
All I knew was that she a "nasty piece of work"

She was unpredictable, emotionally labile and at times very unsettling  to talk to
I was 21 years old and she had slapped me twice already during the first week of my 12 week placement .
She had slapped me very hard too.
It felt a baptism of fire and I was frightened

One morning she cornered me in the vast  ward kitchen when I was stirring a large metal container full of porridge .
There were no alarm bells back in 1984' you just yelled if you needed help
Heather lent back against the door and purred like a cat
"What would you do if I slapped you again ? "She taunted, confident in her position of power

It was now or never I thought grimly
And I lifted the porridge  covered ladle slowly out of its tin and wagged it until the slops fell on the floor
" Come near me again......... and I'll whack you very hard with this" I told her seriously
And we looked at each other for an absolute age

Finally, Heather smiled and waved a hand encrusted with plastic rings like Henry the VIII at the Royal Court
"you'll do " she sang out with a smile

And she never EVER slapped me again

Bra Straps and a PS

The lowest point of this week was the finding out that I had left several kitchen paper towels in the washing machine.
I know it's not the greatest trauma of the century
Baby faced schoolboys are trapped in a flooded Thai cave for gawd's sake and the economy is just about to take a brexit nosedive and I have knelt on the kitchen floor weeping at a pile of paper mache that has infiltrated my smalls.
It's funny what gets on your tits when you least expect it.

I turned a corner after that.
I turned a corner after reading a testament to the NHS turning 70 soon after.
On Facebook and in the press there were accolades galore but one comment from an old patient of mine ( who later became a friend) brought me up by my bra straps
" the NHS is 70" he wrote " and you have been a nurse for exactly half that time how fucking fantastic is that?......thank you" 

Little things can bring you down
A little kindness can bring you back up again 

Ps.
Just got back from colwyn bay beach where Mary and I shared a Mr Whippy
Very funny situation as I was collecting the dogs for a wee when home when  a large RV crept past the cottage very slowly...
I waved thinking they had gone the wrong way and pointed to Trevor's drive suggesting they could turn around but the lady passenger popped out of her seat and walked over
" I read your blog and just wanted to see where you lived" she said somewhat breathlessly
" We're not stalkers!" her attractive husband sang out helpfully from the drivers seat
And moments later they were gone, leaving me smiling broadly
I hope they didn't notice that I had spilled coffee all down my forth best walking dead t shirt
Hey ho
Apologies but I never even asked your name so surprising was the visit
Please comment below if you read this, make yourself known ! 

The Happy Prince , Theatr Clwyd and Other Stories

" It's All Go" as my mother would say.
Yesterday I met a friend for lunch. She is a new academic and was in need of a fresh pair of eyes to review some of her lecture plans.
We perused her notes in the pretty background of a country pub's beer garden , and I was treated to a fish finger sandwich as a reward.

Last night another friend and I went to see The Happy Prince at Theatr Clwyd.
It is a worthy somber film which explores the latter few months in the life of Oscar Wilde and it is a triumph for Rupert Everett who wrote, directed and starred in it.
Everett is not shy in giving his audience a warts n' all view of Wilde. From the get go we see Wilde as a bloated, alcoholic, shabby, predatory old queen who performs in the less salubrious bars of his exiled Paris for drinks.
In flashback we follow his fall, from his discharge from Prison where his loyal friends Robbie  ( Edwin Thomas) and Reggie ( Colin Firth) spirit him away to France to start a new life. But this initial freedom and happiness is short lived, for Wilde is seen to be a selfish and fickle character who bites at his friends in order to reunite with the duplicitous Boisie ( Colin Morgan).
Everything , is downhill from then on. Wilde's wife Constance ( a nice but brief turn by Emily Watson) is humiliated by the reunion,  and then cuts off her husband's allowance thus pushing him and Boisie into debt which subsequently sends the younger man running for home.

Everett plays Wilde as a tragic figure who doesn't quite accept that he is tragic.
And by doing so you do indeed get the flavour of the man behind the story.
Shambling along a Paris street he is recognised by a former friend Mrs Arbuthnot ( Anna Chancellor) who is distraught at his situation ( indeed it is her reaction that is far far more moving than his when he askes for five pound as "things are a bit tight" ) 
Its a tiny but pivotal part of the story... a story most of us didn't realise was so sad

8/10

I thought I'd show you a bit of Theatr Clwyd while I am here. It's only 20 minutes from home but it has provided me with a lifeline of culture since our move to Wales .
Located by the market town of Mold, the theatre comprises of 5 auditoria, which includes the  570 seat Anthony Hopkins Theatr and  the 250 seat Emlyn Williams Theatr. 
There is also a 100 seat art house cinema and an art gallery space, both of which I especially enjoy.
The theatre has taken on a new vibrancy since the new artistic director Tamara Harvey took over in 2015

The gallery space

I rather liked this one

So what is the order of today?
There is a folk concert on in the village today which I want to go to later, ( this is a national event) see http://www.therecordjournal.co.uk/
But I also have a family meal to go to in Prestatyn later....I wonder if the restaurant does tapas ?
Hey ho 

What Made You Laugh This Week?

The Donald Trump inflatable baby which has had the green light to be flown over a London when the President arrives 

This made me chuckle

This blog is over to you again my pretties !
What made you laugh this week? 
I want details here as we all are in need of a good chuckle
Mine? Well mine was watching the final of the Dave Tv comedy quiz show Taskmaster 
Now for those that don't know Taskmaster is a silly competition where 5 comedians have to perform batty  challenges for chairman Greg Davies and his sidekick the delightful little Alex Horne
It's an incredibly funny programme made better by my favourite performer Lisa Tarbuck winning the final.

So what made you laugh until you were knicker moist?

Basil and Trevor

The sun has now bleached the deep green of some of the pasture land around Trelawnyd. South facing lawns , the Churchyard and village green all now resemble amber weetabix and apart from the cottage roses many of the summer flowers have burnt away to nothing.
Cheerful Ann from the old Flower Show committee has been organising a last meal celebration for us all at The Crown for a week on Saturday.
There are twelve of us going with only Trendy Carol unable to attend, which is unfortunate.
Incidentally the fine weather has brought out a whole new wardrobe in Trendy Carol's vast collection.
Yesterday she floated past in something very loose fitting and ethereal .
She looked rather cool in this hot spell.
Anyhow , as usual , I am digressing.
The story today is a typically meandering and gentle one.
Last night Mary and I had walked to the outskirts of the village in order to drop of a menu to matriarch Irene for the aforementioned bunfight.
Her cottage is one of the oldest in the village and is called chwarel a Welsh word which means "quarry"
As I sweated and Mary panted, a familiar figure came into view . It was old Trevor out on his evening constitutional.
Trevor marches on at least two power walks daily. He was born in Trelawnyd in the 1920s and never left, and since he received a new knee he has been powerhousing around like a lobsided puppy.

Trevor, miles from home

We chatted for a while before he marched away down the lane and as he did so Basil , a local farmer drove up behind and stopped to chat too.
This stop / start thing is common in the country.
A half hour walk can often last well over an hour.
Basil marvelled at Trevor's jaunty gait and we joked that he walks faster and longer than I do, a man 35 years his junior .
Basil picked up a 25 kilo bag of sheep feed like he would have done a small handbag and slung it in the back of his truck, it was 8 pm and he was still working hard on farm matters...he remarked on the heat saying the his wheat was ready to cut, weeks before it should be.
We watched as Trevor marched off in the distance  and Basil asked " How old is Trevor now?" as he prepared for another job to do.
" I think he's 94!" I told him
"Yessssi !" Basil exclaimed " He's bloody grand for 94!" 
And Basil flipped up the heavy tailgate of his truck and jumped into the cab with a skip

I picked up Mary so Basil could pass by in the overgrown lane and I smiled to myself as the farm van roared off.
It was evening and Basil was still plugging away
He is in his mid eighties.