Alive Again

 

I work in a former Victorian Holiday seaside town, which hosts a sweeping bay lined promenade housed with scores of brightly coloured hotels and bed and breakfasts .

Last night, for the first time, and glowing in the evening sun, the hotels were suddenly alive again.

From their bay windows and ornate dining rooms elderly patrons looked out again onto the sea and on the Promenade walkers passed each other in obvious good humour. 

Everywhere seemed open, front doors wide, public rooms in use.

I was so moved that I almost stopped Bluebell in order to soak up the atmosphere.

I didn’t 

It had been a long day 

The Montana

 

The Montana clematis is in bloom yet again. It visits yearly like an old friend and is always perky, and beautiful and welcoming before my birthday which is on the first of June. 

The arch it has been asked to make of itself is low, as I had always planned , so to enter my garden from the back gate , one has to stoop very low in order to follow the winding path up to the back door..

The garden and therefore the cottage is afforded privacy, and the back garden, now professionally sculptured by my sister, has the feel of a walled garden despite being located next to the lane.

I photographed the clematis this morning, just before I went to work. 

The small tree next to it is a laburnum, albeit a slow growing one, perhaps in another decade I shall start to see its golden handing flowers clear of the ground.

I’ve no real news today. 

Fat Balls

 

I’ve only just realised that I’ve grown a full beard .

I’ve had it tucked away beneath my mask for so long, I’ve got out of the habit of looking at my face.

I FaceTimed a Sheffield friend last night and noticed it...

I look like a pirate

Dorothy ate several bird fat balls at Trendy Carol’s the day before yesterday so has been suffering from explosive shits for the last day or so which has been lovely.

In between bouts of mopping I’ve been reading The Fine Art of Invisible Detection by Robert Goddard in the bedroom window seat

The ash trees in the corner of the Church Yard are not doing well, I’ve noticed 

Minari

 

I went to Chester today to see Minari at the Storyhouse

A quiet study of second generation Korean family in American was a lovely choice of my first cinema trip

A man sat alone in the row in front  of me waved at the audience behind him as he got comfortable and cheerfully shouted out “ Hello all.......isn’t this BLOODY  fabulous ? “ 

We all murmured our agreement from behind our masks

And then there was a small smattering of applause..........

An Old Greek Quote

Mrs Trellis repeated this apparent old Greek Quote only yesterday, 

She was less serious than when we met last

“ Happiness is when old men plant trees the Shade of which they know they will never sit in “ 

 I think the second lockdown has made me a little low.

Would I called it a bit depressed? I’m not sure . I always hate, with a vengeance when people bandy around self diagnosing here and using the very serious descriptions of depression where something like despondency would be more appropriate. 

But I concede, I’ve felt low enough to be tearful almost daily and flat enough to react in an exaggerated manner when the church laburnum was felled.

I also found myself mulling over a recent contact by my ex husband who messaged me wanting a more friendly communication .Alas it’s very easy to be magnanimous when you have moved on and you are happy and perhaps all you want are things  to be neat and tidy and filed neatly and away, guilt free. 

I found myself wanting more communication from him, not the best thing when you are not happy, lonely and you’ve not moved on as far as you would like.

I’ve asked him not to contact me again.

Back to Mrs Trellis’ adapted quote

I bought a replacement laburnum tree to replace the felled beauty in the graveyard and village elder, Islwyn helped me plant it

I found the whole thing rather moving

Happiness is indeed when old men  plant a tree , the shade of which we will never sit in

Anyway

Dorothy passed a small plastic fish in her poo on Friday 

It was popped on top of her turd like a cherry on a tart

The fish was one you find in sushi boxes filled with soy

I haven’t eaten sushi for months 

Time to smile again

6.03 am

 

It’s dawn over Trelawnyd.

The sky looks like one Turner would have painted with big clouds tinged with pink and blue.

I’ve just taken Dorothy outside for a walk.

Mary is like a teenager. She won’t wake for hours so refused to join in.

I’m having a break from blogging for a while 

I will be back in a bit, no doubt, 

There’s no show without punch, as they say.

But, just for now, it isn’t doing me any favours 

Lockdown has chipped away at my reserve , towards this final push before normality,leaving me feel like a wall flower at a party

I have little to say but plenty to moan about.

Hey ho

Write soon xx

The Finger

 Everyone in blogland seems to have gone seriously political or at least serious anyway.

I just can’t get going at all in any shape and form.

Yesterday I watched old dvds as it rained and rained 

And only felt human after buying myself some Arctic Roll which I ate with cold custard from a massive serving spoon.

Today the girls and I went for breakfast at the Horizon cafe on Colwyn Bay Prom where I cut my finger rather badly after the barista dropped a milk jug onto the counter .

I hate fuss, but after I left a trail of blood worse than Tippi Hedren down that attic door so had to accept a botch first aid job from the proprietor with a roll of masking tape.

That’s all that’s happened today