Crackerjack

 It’s Wednesday already…..bloody hell.

It’s dawn and the seagulls are already screaming over west shore,

We’ve seen a couple of foxes playing in the car park on CCTV.

It started off busy but now remains peaceful.

I’ve read and made notes from my counselling reading list since 4 am

I am wearing a extra small pair of reading glasses which were bought by mistake.

According to my colleague I look like Peter Glaze  from the 1960s children’s programme Crackerjack

Him or a school yard pervert she noted wryly .

I’ve joined a gay reading group based in Chester and have just heard details of my first group meeting.

Apparently a selection biscuits will be provided.

No book title as yet

Simplicity

 

Professionally I seem to be liaising more and more with companies that provide cheap, simple cremations. 

Slick, and for the most part professional, they certainly seem to have taken advantage of a gap in the market where minor celebrities like Debbie McGee reinforce that you can have a funeral for the cost e of a cup of coffee a week whilst earning a voucher for Marks and Spencer’s all at the same time.

In this time of austerity, spending thousands on a funeral is no longer a luxury many can now afford but I have concerns that these “ faceless” companies could be having a detrimental effect of how we grieve rather who we grieve for.

Getting a funeral right, is a difficult objective for any family as grief can often be fickle, laced with anger and intensely personal in nature. 

The more modern trend for a well chosen eulogies, music , green burials, are complications from the formal “norms ” but at least personal touches often give loved ones the time and space to grieve. 

Funerals are only really important to the living.

Cheap cremations will work for some and not others.

I’m just concerned that financial prudence is taking over from the healthy need to be able to say a proper goodbye to a loved one 

Mother’s Bladder

 There is nothing more entertaining than a public row between partners

I’ve just been following a middle aged couple around Sainsbury’s and was privy to the best line of the morning when she turned to him and hissed loudly

“ Graham If you mention your mother’s cancerous bladder one more time I swear I will bloody swing for you” 

That one sentence paints a myriad of storylines just there.

I feel a bit more energised today, still snotty and coughing but I’m covid negative for a second day and have already taken a neighbour for a blood test, walked the dogs and done the shopping. 

I’m back working tonight but will make sure I have a good sleep this afternoon.

My tickets to the folk festival starting on Friday in the village came today. Chic Eleanor is accompanying me

Mini film

I caught this video earlier

And I thought it was an unexpectedly powerful piece of film making

Albeit in tictok form

 

Sunday 5 am

 I know it’s very early. 

Somewhere just past 5 am

I’m way past sleep and am breathless 

Since covid I’ve not been able to breathe through my nose much.

I get up and make coffee

The pleasure of the smell of percolating coffee still gone. 

And I sit in the living room in silence with only the sound of the wind for company. 

And look around at things 

The knot of houseplants in the window. 

A sketch of an Italian Villa on the wall. 

Coats hanging by the stairs.

Thumb sticks in the umbrella stand.

Stuff.

Barefoot I walk out into the garden, my head bowing under the fragrant free honeysuckle

The wind is loud but I can still hear the bickering crows around the pond to the East

The Wisteria around the gate arch is doing well but won’t bloom for a couple more years yet.

I wonder what those few years will bring

It’s been a long lonely week 

Albert appears 

Looking surprised as always. 

He’s annoyed by something and swishes his tale

I drink my tasteless coffee

And shiver.

Sunday morning.

And no plan for the day.

As yet

Kitchen table, stronger coffee.

The covid swab today is negative

Fucking finally…….

Spend spend spend

 

It’s all too easy to spend money when isolating 

Amazon has delivered several packages today as have Argos and John Lewis 

Did I need everything on the list, 

Of course not, but it passes the time 

1 air fryer

2 novels, 

A beard trimmer,

A dog lead,

A soup bowl/ cup 

A floor mop,

A duvet cover

Sushi ingredients and chop sticks,

A Chinese zombie rat dvd Rat Train,

A fountain pen and ink

Still isolating , covid test remains positive

Blue Frog

 Mrs Trellis has just left me the best of gifts on the kitchen wall .

It’s a plastic blue frog with his mouth open , wrapped in one of her ubiquitous red napkins.

The message, on yellow writing paper with it read simply “ Get Well Soon” and just in case I missed it , she has just left me a message on my answerphone saying that she had visited 

Well she left two actually ..

The message ended with “ He reminded me of you !” 

He’s a cheerful soul….

And I’ve placed him in my planter housing yellow daisies

He’s a water feeder ! 

 I’m just going to bed ( it’s 9.30pm) and Albert is licking the contents out of Dorothy’s Ears

It’s all go 

Haunted

My routine is piss boring . 

In bed by eleven. Walking dogs around 7 am and sleep in until well after 11 am

Half the day gone in sleep.

My covid swab remains positive.

Let’s change the subject.

There is an image that seems to be living rent free in my head today. 

It is the haunted and frightened face of Kelly Holmes as she discussed coming out as gay woman on the tv programme This Morning. 

I didn’t watch the interview , nor did I need to Holmes’ motivation in choosing the medium she did, but I was struck by the fear in her face. 

Pure, unadulterated fear.

No one should experience such terrible emotion 

No one. 

And to sit alone on that studio couch seemed so wrong to me.

There’s nothing more flitting around in my head today. I haven’t the concentration for a book.

I’ve cleaned out the kitchen flotsam drawer and watered the planters 

The colours in the garden borders look cheerful