Where Is Fanny Stain When You Need Her !

 I always spell my surname out when I encounter any officialdom.

It’s a habit, I’ve got into as many people spell my surname as in the colour and not the Scottish/Irish monika.

The receptionist was polite enough, though I did have to wait a little as Karen still hadn’t come back from her break yet , cue much eye rolling.

The ultrasound department is like any other small hospital outpatients. 

Faceless and sanitized.

Another two men, patients too were sat in a gown to my right. 

One looked nervous .

Another receptionist called out “ Thomas Jefferson “ but no one reacted.

She snorted and picked up the phone

The three of us sat in silence for a while longer.

I got out my phone and started to write this blog after Karen or was it Annette could be heard muttering 

“ I don’t know where Mr Jefferson has got to…what does he look like?”

We are all invisible, I thought to myself , invisible  men in our sixties

I galloped backwards in my mind to the minors unit at Sheffield’s Royal Hallamshire Hospital.

Circa 1989

A student nurse with a set of false notes was calling a patient into minors for a procedure, she was blushing with the importance of calling the next patient in whilst surrounded by the poorly general public 

“ Fanny Stain? Is there a Fanny Stain here?” She called out hopefully

And from behind the nurses station came the muffled hysteria only hospital staff can be responsible for .

No More Walking Dead

 

For nearly 12 years I’ve stuck with The Walking Dead and it’s been a variable ride all told.

I’ve always thought of it as a 1970s disaster movie with zombies and that is how it has felt for most of its history.

It’s a shame that the tv series followed the comic novels, most of which feel cold and rather absurd.

Most of the action scenes in the finale were rushed in order for everything to be wrapped up so neatly we are left with only a few threads to be answered.

The Walking Dead, has always been shite at crowd scenes anyway but it crammed in it’s Easter Egg moments….Daryl mimicking Shane’s hospital moments in season 1.The dinner party scene in Alexandria.

Amy’s death scene in season 1….which was fun

I didn’t mind that as much, because the characters were left to shine and in probably the first time in the Walking Dead history, the remaining characters stopped and told each other I love you.

Diane, who hasn’t spoken for three seasons survived too!

Rosita ( Christian Serratos) had the biggest role in the finale and her death scene with best friend Eugene (josh mcDermitt) was incredibly moving to watch as it was left centre stage and wasn’t hurried at all.

  Daryl and Carol voiced their love for each other when they came to say goodbye and with the exception of Luke all of the  other characters all settled down to a normal life in Alexandria or the Commonwealth with hugs all round.

Will I watch the spin offs? 

I’m not sure…..I doubt it. 

I wonder how long my Walking Dead T shirt collection will last? 

Who knows..

David Harewood

 

This afternoon Gorgeous Dave and I went over to the Storyhouse to see “an audience with…” 

The 1:1 talk between David Harewood and the new director of the theatre proved to be an interesting listen. With much candour the actor, director and writer explored some rather painful memories of childhood racism in Birmingham in the 1970s before linking that ingrained trauma to a psychiatric breakdown when in his 20s.

The subsequent racism he experienced as a patient ( mostly concerning being over sedated by a fearful mainly white nursing team) resonated with me, and I recalled one snowy night in York where I faced my own inherited racism during one pragmatic shift

It was 1987 and it was winter night filled with snow in York.

I was transferred to take charge of an elderly ward as staffing was dire.

I was a very junior staff nurse supported by two support workers.

The support workers were two Jamaican ladies of mature years.

I was told to refer to them with a respectful " Mrs Lewis and Mrs Williams by the handover nurse

" They will show you the ropes" I was told carefully.

I had never really spoke to a person of colour before. You never saw many non whites back then in North Wales and Chester, where I grew up and trained as a psychiatric nurse, but I was bright enough even then not to pull rank on two experienced nurse aides, and so I stepped back and allowed myself to be told what to do.

Mrs Lewis and Mrs Williams worked at their own pace. They were unhurried and respectful, as they washed dirty bottoms and undressed the confused and the mute and I watched with some awe as together they bedded down 25 confused elderly ladies with the tired and practiced ease of two broad hipped grandmothers that had seen some hardship over a 40 year career.

They sang together as they worked and they laughed and hugged their patients with some warmth when hugs were needed and by midnight the ward was quiet as they dished out their own suppers of rice and peas and jerk chicken at the nurses station.

I was given a plate too, with a napkin and a glass of homemade ginger cordial and as I listened to them chat and laugh and I answered their questions about my home and family I realised just how sheltered I had been for the first 20 years of my life

At 6 am I asked their Christian names.....Matilda and Angel, I was told and we all laughed....

It was a cold and snowy night in York and I took charge of an elderly ward of 25 senile patients

And I learnt more about good nursing care and life from two big hearted support workers in 10 hours than I ever did from six months of my psychiatric nurse training.

Blazin Fiddles

Lovely night at the hall…great to see The Manleys, Boffin Cameron’s parents, Pippa , village leaders Ian and Helen, Velvet Voiced Linda , Nick, Claire and Other choir members all enjoying the music

The Wallet

I drove back to Trelawnyd and had to meet other trustees of the Community Association for a meeting.

I was late getting home.

Tonight I was due to drive back over to the hospice for a curry night out with staff but the prospect of the hour and a half round trip was something I didn't quite need.

I need to stay in the village today

So I’m going to see Blazin’ Fiddles at the Hall 

Ian from down the lane said he’d Knock  on the window for me if I managed to get a ticket, and I did, so he will. Several other people I know will be there from the village and from choir.

It’s what I need today.

A few beers and some good music 

I had a lie in this morning, ( another thing I needed) and came down stairs to find that Roger had managed to remove my leather wallet from the kitchen table and had done a good job on it

It had been a birthday gift from The Prof from years ago. 

And I was surprised just how upset I was when I found it in tatters

Another reason for a pint with good friends tonight

Campaign Against Living Miserably

 

This Christmas will be the first one ever I will not be sending any Christmas Cards.

The posting cost is far too prohibitive.

After much thought I will make a donation to CALM which is a charity against living miserably 

And this remembered old blog is the reason why( it is often posted this time of year)

Christmas 1985

Christmas week 1985 I was  shadowing a community psychiatric nursing sister with her caseload in a deprived and depressing northern town

Through a succession of faceless maisonettes, we sat on grubby sofas and listened to  sad stories of loneliness, mental illness and substance abuse and I watched as my mentor tried her best to keep heads above water and bums out of the local psychiatric unit.

The last visit of the day was to a woman I shall call Jean.

Jean lived alone in the top flat of a ten story complex. She had suffered from severe mental health problems for forty years and had recently been placed in her flat from long term psychiatric care only a few months before.

I remember her flat very well. There was no carpet in the hall and the living room but there was a tiny tinsel Christmas tree standing on top of a large black and white tv.  A homemade fabric stocking was hung on the fire surround and just two Christmas cards  were perched on the mantle.

( one of those cards having been sent by my colleague) The flat was sparse but incredibly clean and it was evident that Jean had been waiting for our visit all day.

In mismatching cups we were offered coffee with powdered milk and a single mince pie served on a paper plate and I remember sharing a sad glance with the nurse when Jean presented us both with gifts hastily wrapped in cheap Christmas paper. My gift was two placemats with photos of cats on them. The nurse received a small yellow vase, and I remember Jean beaming with delight when we both thanked her effusively for her kindness. 

When we washed up our own cups, the nurse quietly checked the fridge, noting that most of the shelves were empty . There was a calender on the wall with the note " NURSE COMES TODAY" written on that day's date. Nothing else was written on it until the week of new year's eve, where the same sentence was written.

It was the very first time that I had experienced someone who was so totally isolated in a community setting and it shocked and saddened me.

I listened as the nurse talked about medication, and as  I waited patiently when she took Jean into the bedroom to administer a regular injection I noticed a carrier bag which the nurse had tucked away by the side of the arm chair shortly after we arrived. In it was a package of cold meat, and what looked like chocolates and a cake.

Before we left, we let Jean monopolize her only conversation of the week and as she retrieved our coats, I watched and grew a few years older as the nurse silently slipped a five pound note behind one of the cards on the mantle.

To Live ( Spoilers)

 I studied Akira Kurosawa’s film Ikiru at University so I was intrigued to see how the melancholic Katuzo Ishiguro would recreate it in this much lauded remake. Interestingly the film is set in the 1950s as Ikiru was, so from the get go, it had turned the tables on the original which had a great deal to say about the modern Japan.

I had been making notes in my head when I was sat with my laptop in the Storyhouse Cafe, sipping a pretentious orange hot chocolate 

There are perhaps eighty people in the public space here. 

A baby and toddler group has just finished a fairly low key and sweet clap a long to You are my sunshine my only Sunshine as the waitresses weave in and out of the tables mostly filled with people studying or working on line. 

Tom Burke 

Living as it turned out, is a beautifully crafted and elegant piece of filmmaking which perfectly captures the stuffiness of post war Britain. It centres upon Mr Williams, a tight, self contained widower who rules his civil servant office with a quiet , almost silent whisper. Nicknamed Mr Zombie by junior clerk Miss Harris ( the doe eyed Aimee Lou Wood) he has no friends of note and returns home each night to a an ungrateful son and his ambitious and money needy wife.

It is an existence, nothing really more, and when Mr Williams finds out he has months to live, he suddenly embarks on a journey towards acceptance by learning to live again.

Aimee Lou Wood

Bill Nighy, breaks your heart in a simple look . 

His lugubrious face perfectly captures the look of a man who hasn’t lived the life he expected and he’s at his most moving when he’s saying very little at all.

You just feel , his pain, 

Plain and simple.

And it is that which is the power of this film as writer Ishiguro and director Oliver Hermanus lead Mr Williams into connections with a whole group of characters who immediately empathise with him and his situation and whose reactions break your heart all over again .

Tom Burke a drunk writer  ,who takes Mr Williams on an impromptu pub crawl is moved to tears when he witnesses the older man singer a Scottish lullaby from his youth and a beat  policeman ( Thomas Coombes) is affected almost in a spiritual way when he finally witnesses Mr Williams enjoying the fruits of his work labours in the construction of a child’s playground in the slum area of London.

It’s a sad, but gently optimistic film which has a great deal to say , not only about living….but about empathy

I drove  home with radio turned off

And thought about what I’ve just witnessed 

It’s winter tonight and my joints are aching 

I made beef stew and dumplings for supper 

 

I’ve read for most of today 

I’m reading Bethan Robert’s novel MyPoliceman which is a study of an on going triangular relationship between grammar school girl Marion, her policeman husband Tom and gay museum curator Patrick.

It’s a cracking read. 

Do you have whole days, just enjoying the company of a book and its characters ? 

Following a hot shower, I found my grey tracksuit bottoms from the wardrobe and after putting them  on with my second best walking dead T shirts, I curled up on the trendy blue couch wrapped in a throw, and read in the warmth of the winter sun which cut through the rain around midday.

Every hour or so, I’d refresh my tea mug with tea sweetened slightly with algarve nectar and at two I shared my lunch of faggots and mushy peas, bought cheaply from Marks and Spencer early this morning,

with Mary who curled up with me for the duration.

I’m thinking of starting a village book club 

Old Trefor’s niece called around to tell me he’s having some tests in hospital and will be there a few days. I promised to help her clean his house tomorrow. 

I’ve texted a few friends, agreed to buy some tickets for the TCA village casino night next Friday and made a lasagne which is now bubbling gently in the oven. 

But for the most part I’ve read 

And as the fire has been lit early, the cottage is toasty warm, and smelling of garlic and it’s all oh so cozy .