Yorkshire Puds

 Sometimes I think I shouldn’t write in Going Gently every day.
Like for most us, ordinary days can be somewhat mundane here in Wales.
But write I do 
A habit such as a journal can’t be broken just because fuck all happens.

I’ve spent most of the day at home, what with Bluebell in the garage.
But I’ve been busy enough what with phone calls to three friends , two hours of study and college homework and baking Yorkshire Puddings for tomorrow’s supper.
Now I made a batch of Yorkshire’s rather than the customary big square one which was traditionally eaten as a starter or as a meal on its own filled with gravy and veg.


Bluebell passed her MOT and received her service as I fixed the washing machine, sprayed Roger’s ear cooked and felt smug with myself
The Repair Shop is on tonight. 
Apart from that and The Walking Dead , it’s the only thing I really watch on tv 
Ps I’m now watching Handmade, Britain’s best woodworker which is Bake off from a decade ago with Mel Giedroyc and the very sexy Tom Dyckhoff 


Pity the present day bake off has gone rather bland

Beauty and the Beast | Angela Lansbury Live Performance


I know my friend john Highfield will be heartbroken as I am 
Gawd bless you Mrs Potts 

Life


 Roger has a sore ear which he’s been scratching too much, (he’s presently asleep sat up on my lap)
I’m worried about money as a mortgage rise is on the cards 
I’ve put myself down for some extra shifts .
The new washing machine is playing up too and I fucking forgot to activate the warranty 
Bluebell has her MOT and service tomorrow 
On a positive note
I’ve cracked Google classroom.
I’ve got in two hours of study today and yesterday 
I’ve lost 5 lbs this week 
And the noise from effin Charley, the loud mouthed Yorkshire terrier from next door has suddenly been at a minimum recently.
I wonder if he’s passed away
Is it bad of me to say that I hope he has? 

A little bad
A little good 

Normal, boring life I guess 

Roger , collapsed as I watched a recorded bake off


The Little Pink Spot

 

I’m deciding who will get what” 
My patient was a single woman in her early fifties, and she was making copious notes on a Basildon Bond writing pad.
Her answer was a reply to my finger pointing 
I sat down and waited for the rest of the story.

My patient was due to be discharged from hospital later that week. 
She had been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer for a while now and this was to be her last admission for any medical treatment  . 
When she deteriorated further she had asked to be sent to St Lukes, which was Sheffield’s hospice at the time. 
I knew she lived in a large family house in Broomhill, which was the trendy and expensive suburb of the city, 
Her house, she told me , was filled with trendy objet d’art .
She was a popular woman too…who went to the Crucible more than I did 

It was her collections and belongings she was worried about .
She wanted the right thing to be given to the right person and was worried that her will , although completed was woefully inadequate for the job 
So she was making a list. 

I had an idea.
I rooted through the ward clerk’s cupboard and found several sheets of multicoloured coloured stickers 
“ Put a sticker under something you want to leave someone and leave your executor the key “;
She thought it was a fabulous idea so much so that she promised to leave me “ an item” for having the idea when she got home. 
By the end of my shift she had such a long list of bequeathed gifts , she had to enter various symbols and letters inside the sticker so that things could be allocated .
I never saw the patient again . I never heard from her executor either 
The pink sticker must have fallen off ……….

Post script 
In the top right hand drawer of my lovely new office desk, in the west wing of Bwthyn y Llan is a sheaf of multicoloured stickers . I bought them in 2009 from Woolworth’s in Prestatyn before they closed and
Someday in the future , I will take the day off ordinary chores and activities and I will amble around my cottage putting stickers on every last bloody thing 

There is some strange satisfaction at this simple thought

Time

 I’m sat in X-ray waiting for my appointment . 
I’m fifteen minutes early.
I’m early for everything I do.
I’m very seldom late.

I was musing about this fact only the other day. 
And now being early is a long term friendship joke.
When I’m off to the train out of London at say 7 am, Nu will often say that I’m catching the afternoon train home.
She knows me well.

I know myself very well too.
For this abhorrence for lateness comes from the constant and low level anxieties a child has when going to school.
As young twins, my sister and I were taken to school by my father, who was notoriously bad tempered in a morning. He was also slightly lazy and would not be hurried by school rules so every morning we suffered from anxieties bordering on abusive levels when trying not to chivvy him into snapping but balancing prudent silence against encouragement to get through the school gates on time. 
That constant, low level anxiety shaped a need to be always on time if not early.

It’s not rocket science 

I took the dogs down to the beach after the hospital visit, came home and prepared a Korean fish curried soup which is simmering on the stove . 
I’ve done laundry , moved half a hundred weight of kiln dried logs from the driveway into their store by the kitchen door and have had to sit down as my back is aching like a nun’s knee
Time to watch the latest Walking Dead on Disney….
What strange bedfellows

I Love BBC Radio 4


 If you can,  listen to this, either live  or on podcast.
It’s an often hilarious conversation between two bright Irish women. The author Marian Keyes and actress/ writer Tara Flynn
Simple, engaging, and warm 
Real autumn fodder Radio four does so well.

Catch Up


 Not the best photo , but you get the gist .
Everyone seemed to enjoy the food, which was tasty and filling and the whisky cake was a bit of a winner especially as I cheated with squirty cream. 
We hadn’t got together since well before the Queen’s demise, so there were lots of opinions flying about
A Nice, relaxed evening



Charity Begins At Home

 I’ve been pottering around in the kitchen all day.
Nothing stressful , just all rather mindful 
Dinner is more or less ready. Just candles to put on the cake.
It was my sister in law’s birthday yesterday.

From the kitchen window, I could see Islwyn beavering away by the Church , so I took the dogs up the lane for a walk to see what he was up to. 
He had cleared the Church path of weeds and moss and had uncovered many of the old gravestones that had been lain flat in the 1980s. 
The covid snake stones, he had collected up neatly to be rearranged again, whilst another villager Mr Morgan finished varnishing the lytchgate. Mr Morgan Islwyn told me had financed the work himself.
I asked Islwyn why he working on the graveyard after the Church had been closed but I already sort of knew what his answer would be. 
“ I was a bad man my youth” Islwyn chucked “Now I’m earning myself some brownie points” 




Bunches of cyclamen planted by the Church gate by one of the members of the community association .

I haven’t got much else to do ( hence the blog entry) just wine glasses to polish, pudding to make.
Shit I’ve missed out an ingredient for the main course…time to sort it out