“COCK OFF!”, Troll, and other irritations ......

The new cockerel on the block

Old cock 

Yesterday a new cockerel has suddenly appeared in this part of the village and the resulting “ Cock off!” between him and the single and rather lonely bantam cockerel who has lived between Church and gardens for over two years now was loud and never ending since around 4am.
Like my fellow blurry eyed neighbours , I am very much in need of my bucket of coffee this morning.

The new cockerel with his distinctive crow has proven to be a minor irritation today
Yesterday I was irritated by a troll, which is the way of the world , if you have, like me,  blogged for any length of time.
Trolls surface like pond scum
Or as Julia Robert’s Julianne said in My Best Friend’s Wedding 
“ pond scum. Well, lower actually. like the fungus that feeds on pond scum.“
Anyway the analogy is true Trolls surface, like pond scum, from time to time.

For those that didn’t pick up on it, my troll appeared in Sunday’s blog. She ( and the language and way of writing proves the gender of the troll to me) disguised herself as a somewhat angry and traumatised elderly man called Bill, who had been separated from his Alzheimer suffering , nursing home resident wife because of Covid . “ He” took me to task about us not social distancing or wearing masks on the beach, not adhering to Government rules ( which we were) and eventually  became more angered with a  more pointed rant “ People like you ..selfish....hugs and kisses with a friend .....etc etc “ All personal attacks centred around me ,emotion and not in any fact relating to personal “ bubbles “ and rules of the time.

Bill’s logging on to blogger was only on that day. The threats and arguments had been clearly been collated from months ago and the troll didn’t factor that her use of language and argument  had been clearly used before under other pseudonyms and guises.
It is easy to compare the wording and grammar
Exactly......A no shit Sherlock moment ..

How dare that troll.
How dare you, pretend to be and hide behind such a vulnerable character, in order to make a point and to obviously win an argument.
And how sad that you have spent the time processing this infantile disguise in order to garden support and sympathy .

This is not the way adults should behave
You should be ashamed of yourself.

There, out with anger , in with love!

My bucket of coffee is almost empty and I’m more awake and I feel more human
and finally the Cock Off has quietened down somewhat, so much so that  I can hear the hedge sparrows arguing again in the honeysuckle over the front door.
Big breaths
Out With Anger , In with Love

Today is a mooch day .
I considered cinema but the weather is good and Mary has been booked in to the vets at 4 pm for a check up on her recurrent ear problem .
So I will be making low fat meals for my Next long days at work.
I’ve arranged to meet some old friends on Friday who are staying at Matriarch Irene’s Caravan park
and Sunday it’s lunch out with Chic Eleanor and friends 
All lovely social things to look forward to
Social distancing and government guidelines permitting
.........of course!

I will leave you with this video

It reminds me of my singleton days before Husband and after my first boyfriend

A Quiet Corner

A quiet corner by the front door.

The last of the garden roses fill the space with scent of old summers.

Thumb sticks made by a village friend stand guard 

Over etchings and needlepoint 

And a grumpy old Welsh lady.

And the yellow walls suck in the sun over the wooden heart of

the little desk fresh from being fed beeswax and oil

Picnic

The weather couldnt have been any better for a picnic , and around 30 of the hospice staff turned up on the lovely West Shore of Llandudno to eat, drink and chat in the sun .

It was one of those easy going afternoons where everything fell into place nicely 

Ruth one of the hospice Nurses and a good friend

Dorothy joined us

Arty photo

Look at that view 

Gwyn the medical director with hospice at home support worker Jackie

Lazy days

Sunset 

Last Night Of The Proms

Lovely music, I was listening to it  as I was flouring by bread

 but the atmosphere feels rather sad

Especially as a The Royal Albert Hall has had no Government help to survive 

I don’t want to be brought down this weekend 

I’ve had to turn over

Saturday

I met my friend Nigel in Chester today
We walked and talked and walked and ate Mr Whippy ice cream and drank coffee by the river.
On the way home I bought a large selection of picnic food and some beers in readiness for a beach picnic I have organised for the hospice staff tomorrow, luckily the Welsh government, unlike the English has not changed their guidelines that 30 people can meet outdoors 
So tomorrow we hope to have games of rounders, beers and sandy sandwiches and there is an unwritten rule there will be no talk of the dying, of Covid of PPE and the like
There was a bag of tomatoes left on the garden wall from someone unknown when I got home and a round robin letter stuck in the letterbox  from the Vicar warning that the church may well be closed soon due to lack of funds.
Chic Eleanor left a message about meeting up with friends for dinner next weekend
I am making sour dough bread tonight

A Class Act

Diana Rigg was a class act
You can tell this from the above scene from Game Of  Thrones where she underplays her role magnificently but still spits out the insults with such quiet venom
I saw her just once on stage , and that was in Sheffield in 2004 in a production of a Suddenly Last Summer 
“Each day we would carve each day like a piece of sculpture “

She was wonderful 

Indumathi...” Indu The Hindu“

I was chatting to a friend today about serendipity
We shared serendipitous tales and the conversation became quite serious as we both agreed that we thought some forces were responsible but how and to what extent we both were at a loss with to explain
I told him the tale about Indumathi 
It seemed fitting

Now many many years ago Indumathi was a patient of mine.
She was a big boned, loud voiced, Asian woman in her sixties who ran her large family from her side room on my ward with all of the energy of a small nuclear power plant.
She had a specially designed extra large wheelchair which she hated, a massive selection of beautiful loose fitting pantaloon trousers and tops and could throw a cup or plate with deadly accuracy when she was in a foul mood , a fact that may be surprising as Indumathi  was totally blind.

Now Indumathi was what we in the nursing trade would now refer to as a challenging patient .  She was opinionated, perceived as rude and was non compliant with any of her care.
She was also a big complainer and was “buzzer happy”, -traits that are irritating to Nurses, but she was brash and humorous and always laughed loudly at her own bad jokes.
And I always had a begrudging soft spot for the old girl.
One such joke surfaced when she reminded me One morning that she was a Hindu as I helped hoist her into her wheelchair
“ Indu the Hindu “ I said merrily and half under my breath and she heard me
“Indu the Hindu! “ she repeated laughing loudly and clapping her big hands together “ Indeed I am Indu the Hindu !” And it became a sort of catch phrase for her when she was in one of her better moods on the ward.

Moving Indumathi became a bit of a health and safety nightmare at times as when she was rolling in bed she would grab the nearest nurse with often surprising strength and tenacity and at one of those times and with a loud shriek she grabbed my uniform with one ham hand and placed the other around my face

“ Boy” she said in that almost gentle moment where her hand rested on my cheek
“ You are your grandmother’s son” 
It was a strange phrase to utter, especially given the circumstances we were in
But I was suddenly silenced and incredibly moved by her words

It was as if she had looked right inside of me and had seen that secret fact that  I had loved my grandmother so much more than I had my own mother when I was but a child.

“ What?” Was the only thing I could say rather helplessly
and Indumathi slapped my bottom playfully as she laughed her loud laugh and the moment was gone....
But in that instant, I felt  she had seen something of my psychi, my soul,my past when she touched me
And had shared that with me

Who Is Harry?

 Wrapped in bubble wrap and posted from the UK, a small package was left by the postman in Mary’s anti bite box by the front door.

The package was addressed to John Gray,  the cottage by the church ...Trelawnyd Wales. The small note inside, carefully written in ink pen said it was from Harry aged 52 1/2 which was Sweetly funny

“ For Your Art Wall”

Inside was a small porcelain hanging with a wonderfully embossed hare design on the front

Quite beautiful 

I’ve just hung it on the art wall

Thank you Harry

Thank you so much