I’m not Sticking My Arse In That!

 Roger has never seen snow before but his sweet dim nature precludes any negativity he may have for the cold stuff. 

Mary just gets on with it.

Dorothy finds it’s a total bore and is constipated. 

One look at a cold snowy path and she’s throwing back one of her “ You've got to be fucking kidding me“ looks.

She hasn’t opened her bowels since Friday.

Neighbours Mandy and Sailor John phoned last night to see if I was ok. I had seen them in Tesco last Wednesday where I indulged in a quick and much missed game of supermarket Sweep ( you know the one where I secretly fill their trolleys with useless items  without their knowledge) 

I had forgotten just how good at the game I was , when I walked towards them , ( unnoticed) and plonked a huge tim of pineapple rings on the top of their pile without even a eliciting a glance. 

Now that’s skill.

I’ve turned off The Archers omnibus this morning as David’s distress at Ben’s mental breakdown is a little too much to bear on a Sunday morning and the kitchen is quiet same for dog snores.

I’ve banked up the fire again, had a hot shower and changed my clothes

Bucket of coffee then essay writing.

Liver and onions for lunch with mash and gravy.

Snowed In

 

It has snowed more heavily overnight and my tiny part of the village has been effectively cut off from the main road, as even small amounts of snow on the incline up to the village proper renders the lane useless until it is gritted.

The cottage is warm though, not toasty but warm ,I stoked up the burner late last night and the silence caused by the muffling of snow is pronounced. 

I’m going to make coffee and then plan my essay.

Yesterday I subscribed to Netflix

I have no interest in watching Harry & Meghan spilling their guts out, but I spent a Merry four hours or so watching the delightful Norwegian monster movie Troll and the Spanish zombie movie Malnazidos set during the Spanish civil war.

Both mindless old fashioned fun, in their own rights.

I’m a bit low of food but can get by with raiding the freezer. I have enough dog and cat food already.

Chorizo chipolata sausages with egg and muffin for breakfast.

Hey ho

Winnie Remembered

 

Two years ago today my Winnie died

This was her obituary which, in retrospect is something I’m really proud of writing

I’m not sad, just reflective…the old girl is worth remembering 

Winifred Sâlote Tupou lV was a diva of rare proportions.

She was a blog writer’s dream as her adventures over her seven years at Bwthyn Y Llan never ever needed embellishing.

She was truly larger than life

Larger than I ever expected from our first, rather lacklustre meeting.

The meeting was September 1st 2013

I was in the middle of organising my last open Allotment Day when she arrived with her previous owner for an introduction, so our meeting was brief and , for me somewhat disappointing.

All I remember thinking was that she was overly large, had no neck to speak of and looked frightened of everything but I agreed she could come a few days later for a trial run.

And after that, stay she did.

I think Winnie was a fully cooked five year old bulldog when she arrived and it wasn’t long before I worked out the she had her own quirky set of obsessions which proved to be somewhat of a challenge when she finally got her confidence.

She masturbated incessantly, goaded on by the Professor who thought this behaviour hilarious rather than embarrassing and the object of her desires centred upon his tastefully buffed brogues and the infamous “ Slippers of sex” which were strange hand knitted slippers designed and made by Kit, an old lady who still lives in Bron Haul......Her habit of self pollution continued until her late onset emergency hysterectomy a couple of years ago, but even then , very occasionally she would back her toilet parts seductively onto her trusty fanny flannel when having a periodic summer bath

She adored visiting Workmen of any description , though it was fairly obvious that a generic friendly masculine type with overalls was her man of choice, and I must say that she would sulk for hours if she was not allowed to watch what household job needed to be completed. I also remember, her going missing when the British Telicom men were here putting in the broadband extra line. .........I eventually found her sitting in the telicom van’s passenger seat sharing a packet of cheese and onion crisps....

Winifred was also totally obsessed with food. All food. Any food.....and I once famously brought her around after a particularly robust attack of heatstroke after dipping her nipples into a cold bath and dropping a Tesco cocktail sausage on her gums.

Her food obsession lead to a life of stealing if left unchecked and I remember the toe curling embarrassment when she raided an elderly woman’s handbag for her polo mints and the time she helped herself to a baby’s Farley’s Rusk , which she found wrapped on the lower shelf of a baby buggy parked in the Church Yard.

She adored very small children too, and given her great size remained totally in control and gentle when around them. I remember one very emotional moment, observed a couple of times on Going Gently when she suddenly found herself surrounded by a large gaggle of pre school children out for a crocodile linked walk on the Dyserth walkway one summer. I warned the supervisor that she was indeed safe and as I walked up I saw a plethora of stubby little hands rub every inch of her in wonder.....her gentleness and obvious pure pleasure of the toddlers’ attention moved me to tears as I glimpsed just for a moment her natural ability of being a mother

Of all of her fellow animals in and out of the cottage, only one became a true friend, and that friend was Albert. I have often blogged that only she, out of all of my dogs had the capacity for thought and the understanding of simple concepts.

She understood Albert, and was never fazed by cat behaviour, idiosyncrasies that were always lost by the other dogs and last night , as she lay silent and still on the kitchen floor, only Albert came to her, carefully and wide eyed, to sit between her paws , his black head rubbing hers.

Now Winnie, was also a serial sulker. I often referred to her as being a gay man in a bulldog suit as when thwarted or god forbid told off in any way she would stare carefully into the middle distance for the longest of times before flinging herself with gay abandon onto a rug or an unoccupied sofa.

The longest sulk I ever timed, lasted almost six hours....a lifetime in the dog world.

Her last half hour on earth was typically Winnie. She ate a full bowl of dog food ( garnished with several Aldi cocktail sausages) then was allowed a ten minute hysterical rubber chicken gum before settling down on the mat by the door ( instead of her usual place in the reading armchair next to the radiator )

And that was where I found her only an hour later.

Quiet and peaceful

And all on her own terms

I’m sad but not heartbroken ....it was her time to go

And like the ideal cocktail party guest

She didn’t outstay her welcome

But I shall miss my old girl

Sods Law

Big breaths……

I woke up to snow this morning.

Got the dogs into the car, took them for a walk at Dyserth

Bluebell’s gear stick came undone as we tried to get home.

A garage job. 

I forgot my phone.

Big breaths……

Got dogs out of car, walked towards Prestatyn three miles away, towards my sister’s house 

Dorothy was giving up the ghost by the time we made town.

My sister gave us a lift home thank goodness.

Now I’m grabbing a quick coffee before my brother in law comes to give me a tow to the garage

Thank goodness for him.

No essay writing , 

No car to get to work tomorrow night 

Big breaths …..

What a fucking week 

What Would Thora Hird Do?

 This week has been a bit of bust if I was honest.

Yesterday I’d planned to meet with Nu in London.

We were looking forward to a chat and something nice to eat and the spectacle of English National Opera’s Its a wonderful life.

But then British Railways had a meltdown day with excuses galore why no trains were leaving Crewe for London yesterday morning.

Our somewhat cynical guard told us three reasons for the hold up. Overhead cable problems, people on the line , and congestion of traffic but he knew those didn’t bode well as three services to London had already been cancelled due to lack of staff.

I had planned to be in London before 2 pm. 

I was still stat on a train in Crewe station at 2pm so with a heavy heart, like many other passengers  I turned and got the Chester train home.

Seeing Nu was just what I needed.

I have a 2500 word essay to complete for collage on a Monday, and the rest of the week hasn’t been the kindest so Remembering Peter Kay in Phoenix Nights and “ What would Thora Hird do?”

I’ve downloaded some “ nice” movies , ( including The Holiday with Kate Winslett) , bought a large lasagne and intend to spend the day mooching on the sofa

Martin

In the middle 1990s I had a sort of a thing with a guy, I will call Martin.

My relationship with P was on the rocks and was a real disaster and I found solace and excitement  over some months with Martin when he had a spare evening free from his busy lifestyle. 

I liked Martin.

He was witty and intelligent and loved art house movies and theatre and good food.

He took nothing too seriously but was always clear that he had a long term partner at home who he adored. 

Playing away was always acceptable but only with a chosen one ( or two) 

And Strangely I felt flattered. 

Martin gave away big bear hugs as though it was your birthday everyday, 

He played Chess exceptionally well and liked to read novels aloud.

He laughed a lot. 

Our haphazard relationship ended when I met my husband to be, but at the end of the first lockdown we met each other again in London and in Chester and in Sheffield and it was lovely to feel the same about him albeit with sore knees, bad backs and jovial visits to the loo in the middle of the night.

Last week I found out that he had died.

And only a few days ago, through a mutual friend, I found out that Martin had taken his own life.

It’s his funeral today.

Self Help

 The Trelawnyd Community Association ( TCA) held its first heating hub afternoon in the village yesterday. 

Designed to be a comfortable place to keep warm , the afternoon proved to be more a social activity than a panacea against fuel bills but everyone that turned up had a free soup, bread roll, hot drink and cake .

Over a dozen people turned up which was an encouraging number for a first go.

I was happy at ladle duty

The TCA is run well. It’s full of good nature which promotes lateral thinking and inclusivity and activities taken on always seem to take place with humour and warmth. 

The youth club is going from strength to strength, as is the toddler group. The casino night was a success as is the pond renovation , coffee mornings and now the warm hub afternoons. 

The community orchard, trees are growing well just outside the village and will be sharing their fruit with anyone who needs it next year.

The TCA is an example of self help and when Old Trevor had another fall in the middle of the night and had effectively locked himself into his bungalow, it would seem that his family were on their own when he eventually managed to use his mobile phone and call for help at 8 am

The police promised to break in and informed the ambulance service but a local locksmith sorted the door out before they could arrive. 

I managed to assess Trev’s condition with a call handler on the other end of the phone who was obviously reading from an algorithm he wasn’t that familiar with 

Ambulance waiting time over 6 hours.

The system is almost broken.

Coffee at the kitchen table now, feeling thoughtful 

Off to college shortly 

Vigil

 I wrote this post, yesterday.

I’m sat in an empty waiting room. 

There is a tv but it’s switched off and thanks to covid there’s no magazines to read.

There is a small selection of wooden toys in a box in the corner, the sort no children ever want to play with.

I’ve been here for two hours, so far.

The vet and his colleague have been treating Roger for the duration. The surgery is seventeen miles from Trelawnyd and so I’ve resisted the vet’s suggestion of going home .

I think they’ve forgotten about me.

I feel scruffy.

I’m wearing my big blue winter jumper, the one with the hole in the sleeve. 

I’ve poked my thumb through it now which makes a sort of glove and it feels good as the waiting room heating isn’t on. 

The other dogs are curled up in the car. They are asleep.

The vet appears, a fresh faced boy of a professional . 

He’s articulate and doesn’t treat me as though I’m dense, which I like. 

Roger is still somewhat “ jittery’ and needs to be observed a while longer

Did I want to go home and come back later? 

When I shook my head he asked 

“Is there someone that you want to take over here then ?”

“There’s only me” I told him 

Suddenly feeling very alone in a somewhat upsetting day.

I was brought a cup of tea and half a Kit Kat which was kind.

I hate the feeling, today has given me

I suspect many Singletons do when the chips are down a little and you only have yourself to deal with things.

I know Roger will be fine, I know I can afford the callout charges

But it’s all a bit harder dealing with things alone.

No one to moan to,

No one to bounce off…..

Anyhow, sitting here, I found this older blog entry from a decade ago .

It amused me 

I was standing over by the counter , which is in front of me now, in times when the previous junior vet looked like George Clooney.

It’s worth another look

One of the refugees has a chesty cough

I had run out of antibiotics

So I rang the vets

Booked with the receptionist to collect some

And drove up to the surgery late this morning.

The receptionist must have been on her break for only George Clooney

( the GOB smackingly good looking vet) was sat behind the desk eating a sandwich

I straightened my hair and gave him one of my best smiles

And before I could say anything, he stood up and sang out a lusty

" Mr Gray!" 

And suddenly  I went all silly realising that he had actually remembered my name

" you have a good memory for faces, I haven't been in for ages"

I wittered.

George shook his handsome head

" Not really" he answered in his deep chocolate voice

and  picking  up the bottle of antibiotic from the counter,

he added simply and somewhat wryly

" Your name is on the bottle"