I've never really subscribed to the notion of being surrounded by expensive things.
Nice, personal and quirky things …..yes
expensive designer "Keep up with the Jones'" stuff.....never
Bluebell is a low emission economy Vauxhall
My tv is just over a foot in width
and my latest pair of shoes I bought from Marks and Spencers
oh and my most recent underwear purchase ( which should always be designer in nature according to my how to be properly gay manual) was from Aldi
I do like nice things though
Like my latest piece of art!
This colourful study in acrylic and sand cost me £3.50 and that was for the frame which I got from Tesco
The art ...as you may remember....is all of my own!
Over the last year I have scanned the clearance shelves of TK MAXX. where I have bought bits of this colourful collection of wooden resin kitchen ware
not one piece cost more that a pound or two
cheap and pleasing
This German technofix 1950s tin toy is another recent purchase.
Useless, cheap but with a shape that is pleasing to the eye
Very much like my latest couch cushion, bought minutes after George and I went to the vets on Monday from a vintage shop in Denbigh. it cost me £6
Nice things have a power to brighten up the sadder moments
a quick fix certainly
but so much more therapeutic than cheque book busting shopping sprees for designer clothing jewellery, and cars or betting shop or bingo site visits.
Today I thought I'd share you my experiences at Choir in a bit more detail
More flesh on the bones, so to speak.
I'll try and paint a picture.
Last night, choir started in its usual slightly haphazard way.
Some people drinking tea in the corner of Gwaenysgor's small village Hall ( a building which used to be a one room village school) offset the twenty five or so other choir members who started to find their places in a large circle of padded chairs. The sopranos ( the most confident and most senior members of the Choir) sit in their seats of power at twelve o'clock. The altos ( the largest number ) sit at 3 o'clock and the tenors ( all ladies) sit at 6 o'clock .
Me and the 7 other basses sit at 9 o'clock.
The warm up is always a bit of a bunfight as the choir numbers range on good days to 40 or so
Jamie, our choirmaster , with his RAF 1940s moustache and 28 inch waist is a powerhouse from the get go, so after a few stretches, Hollywood-esque acting squeeze your nose and sing MEEEEEEE at the top of your voice and a bend over to touch your toes ( I don't do that one in case I fart) he throws himself around the centre of the circle whipping us all up into a bit of a middle aged frenzy before the first number.
Last night we sang a four piece African song.
Now, Jamie sings the verse he wants to each of the groups in turn and we all copy him like puppies.
As he sings he indicates the note he wants with a flattened hand, a movement complicated by his legs and bottom which dance around and kick and jump in time to the music.
it's the oddest thing to witness if you are not used to it for he looks like a moustached Woody from Toy Story (albeit a Woody with a nice designer cardigan and trendy brogues)
Within 10 minutes were were singing something new, catchy and rather good.
No one noticed that one of the sopranos was standing in the corner by herself dancing wildly to the African beat. Or if they did, they never said anything.
I always sit next to Peter who is a retired gentleman farmer. Peter is my new best friend because I bought him a trendy water bottle at Christmas as he kept knocking his water glass over during the more energetic numbers.
Peter has thick white hair, has a voice like John Gielgud and looks like he wears tweed 24/7.
Like I said its all rather relaxed with Jamie only shushhhing up the chattering Sopranos occasionally as he patiently tried to get us basses to hit the right note during a particularly hard version of Blur's Tender
We couldn't quite nail Blur last night which was a shame but just before we finished for the night we sang Tsmindao Ghmerto and for a minute into the Georgian hymn that certain magic happened ( as it so often does) and our voices started to blend quite wonderfully helped of course by the acoustics of the village hall roof, a talented yet frenetic conductor and a wish to get it right
tsmindo ghmerto
we hope to join this gathering of community choirs in the Autumn
The feral bantam cockerels have survived the winter.
Every night they sleep in a yew tree in the Churchyard
and every daytime they beg and mooch around three gardens, tapping on windows for a handout or a treat and only giving a view of their handsomeness in return.
Its quite easy to tame an animal
You need to be calm, consistent, keep your eye gaze to yourself and always offer food when the animals are hungry
Follow those rules and the cock is in your hand so to speak
Three days after I left out the remnants of Albert's dinner, the boys were tap-tap-tapping on the kitchen window reminding me they were waiting for breakfast and only this morning they sat patiently on the kitchen wall seconds before a regular dog walker ambling by reached into his pocket to leave a small pile of breadcrumbs almost at their feet.
In a strangely moving finale a mixed bag of characters from Kingdom, Alexandria and Hilltop met with a grisly end at the hands of Alpha and the Whisperers thus setting the scene for a zombie apocalypse war and season 10 of course.
I was sorry to see Tara ( Alana Masterson ) go as she has given the franchise a certain humour but a culling allows space for the newer characters to shine and for the drama move forward and the message of All for one and one for all ( as the characters fought bravely for each other until the end)has been given a certain resonance given the terrorist threats we have all witnessed in recent times.
Please no comments telling me I'm a lovely man This is an observation not a request for praise
The buzzer went off around 4 am
It was room 12
I suspect the lady who slept in room 12 wanted to get up as she thought it was morning
I was wrong.
The lady wanted to go home and was incredibly fuddled
I sat on the side of her bed and fielded questions the best I could No it was only 4 am in the morning No she couldn't go home to her daughter right then She had poor poorly at home for a while so needed to be here yes her daughter visited very regularly My name was John and I was one of the nurses Yes I knew that her daughter lived in the same village No it was 4 am and it was not possible that she could go home
In nursing , reality orientation is centred around the reinforcement of time, place and person
but like any concept it only works well in the classroom and not in a side room of a nursing home where the ceiling light casts hash shadows on the wood chip.
The patient was becoming more and more distressed, not with the reality of her situation but with her own inability to understand what was going on.
She screwed up her fists like a child.
I thought of what next to do divert, divert, divert
I gave her a drink. I straightened her duvet and I told her a story.
I told her about how I needed to take George to the vets later that morning and how he shakes so as he is sat in the waiting room.
I told her about how he came to the cottage in the back of the old white polo
Covered in vomit after his first long car ride.
I told her how he used to wait all day for the moment just he and he alone would be allowed to bed upstairs on his own
and I told her about how for nearly thirteen years he had never caused one minute of fuss or demanded one minute of attention
At first, during the monologue, when I left a gap or a space in the narrative she butted in with an I want to go home
but as I droned on, she quietened down somewhat
I told her about how George totters along the railway walkway at such a pedestrian pace its maddening and I told her the story how he and William fought for the first and very last time as teenage dogs and how I had to separate them by hitting them with the contents of the washing up bowl and a bin bag full of sooty scrapings from the hearth and by the time I had finished she was quiet but still awake.
I tucked in her duvet and told her it was time to rest
diversion or boredom?
She closed her eyes
You use any tool that comes to hand
Recently I am sure I had the opportunity to have some "fun" with a guy I know vaguely
I didn't
But I am sure I could have in buckets.
The guy was in a long term but what he also described as an open relationship
Open relationships to me smack of an indulgent "having your cake and eating it mentality"
Children playing at being adults.
but I was temped.....after all he was cute and I am a sucker for a twinkle in the eye
Its a value judgement I know, at a time that we are all supposed to be non judgemental and objective
Pah!
Recently I had cause to be engaged in a conversation with someone who potentially could have sexually abused children.
I was measured and professional and the interaction remained measured and professional throughout
but the experience left me feeling slightly uneasy and conflicted.
Cognitive dissonance happens to us all.
I knew a decent and Christian acting woman who had a long term relationship with a married man for years. A man who never left his wife and marital home.
It was a fact that Just Was- it neither defined her but also like in many cases like the twinkling eyed gay guy in that fantasy open relationship, it was never really challenged or explored properly.
Cognitive dissonance grumbles away at people like a mild toothache which waxes and wanes
You live with it and the dentist isn't contacted.
Its all about self awareness in the end. Self awareness and priority of need.
I can be conflicted with an interaction with a potential paedophile but I can see that with its "professional" boundaries in place.
I can walk away from a roll in the hay with a guy who has a loving husband because the need for the roll is less than the need to respect the institution of marriage.
when both the roll and the respect have similar weight in my hierarchy of needs ….that's when the toothache begins.
There are so many people out there...….that have never grown up
I don't apologise for the title
It made me laugh
Schoolboy humour is king sometimes
I returned the plastic vagina to its rightful owner the other day. The vagina's owner and I met in a car park of a local McDonalds just off the A55 and the whole process was all very "drug bust" and clandestine in nature.
I had to give the whole thing a quick rub down with an upholstery wipe before it was handed over as Winnie had a bit of a munch on it as she relaxed on Bluebell's back seat.
