Sunday Morning

 Storm Kathleen continues to whistle it’s way across North Wales tonight. It was peaceful at dusk when I drove to work, so much so, that I stopped at Colwyn Bay Beach to photograph the metal silhouettes of the holiday makers there. 

It’s overcast again, and like many bloggers have shared recently, I too long for for the sun to return, strong enough to dry out the patio of green algae or the mud from the farm tractor wheels to be set into a proper dust, which billows upwards after they pass the cottage in great clouds.

In Sunday tomorrow and apart from sleeping in for a few hours , I have nothing planned. 

Lunch out would be nice but everyone’s busy with, what my depressed friend always describes as “ family time” and I get that. I’ve told them to call me when they feel like that. 

I can always do lunch out! 

So I think I will buy a chicken and do a full roast

With mash and roast potatoes and dripping Yorkshires’

With golden gravy and sweet piles of carrots.

God’s own country.

The Welsh can have boneless leftovers and I can light the fire and watch some Netflix.

Next week, I’ve got two funerals to go to. So my big woolcoat will take some bashing.

I will leave you with a few favourite video clips

The delightfully actorish Catherine Russell  for starters , who reminds me very much of Chic Eleanor 

This is kelda, she’s looking for more followers , I’m loving her gentle humour too and hope to recruit her to the Flower Show Committee soon..please follow her videos link below

https://www.tiktok.com/@nrom11?_t=8lJWpawYInh&_r=1

The Lisping Choir

 My favourite Spanish  lisping choir is now smoking ! How very non PC 

I love this to death.

It brightened up a long night

Looking forward to get to bed today

Hey ho

Perfect Days

I’ve reflected on yesterday’s blog, the subject of which , seemed to have gotten lost in the telling.

My choice of wording to describe , what I see is the second nastiest condition after MND , stands.

To me, the word cunt is synonymous with the biggest exclamation of hate. It’s “ gender” is immaterial , to me it’s not misogynistic at all, but more guttural .

Anyhow the word stands and if you as readers decide to go because of it , I wish you well 

Today’s blog is lighter though Perfect Days is a film that could be seen as subdued by some. Well worth seeing, it’s a gentle tale of days-in-the-life of Hirayama (Kōji Yakusho) a middle aged toilet cleaner in Tokyo. Hirayama lives a life full of ritual and routine, he reads and listens to Nina Simone, and photographs trees around his never changing work routine.

Very slowly we learn snippets about him but over all, we experience his capacity to see the wonderful in the ordinary.

A shaved down simple world. 

I have no spare money at the moment, it’s a product of shortening my hours at work

It’s not a complaint , just an observation.

Vinegar Tit commentators will no doubt remind me that I do go to the theatre more than the average aging homosexual , but I counter that with the fact that I don’t really live an extravagant lifestyle. I drive an old second hand car, I watch a tv no bigger than large book on its side and I’ve one classy item of clothing and that’s a funeral woollen coat from Marks and Sparks

So, if I was honest I HAVE been worried about paying the second year of my counselling course fees , due in September 

But serendipity has smiled at me once again

And I smile and raise a glass to whoever is watching over me in this , the autumn of my life.

On spec I explored my electricity bill yesterday and realised the bill was estimated rather than based on readings that I was sure I had sent in. 

I rang in

Two hours later I was still “ discussing “ my payments in rather a robust manner until, in a fit of genius ,the call taker suddenly asked me to photograph my meter which lies over the front door.

Moments later, she laughed and told me I was suddenly over 600£ in credit and I told her I could have kissed her. 

600£ into the kitty

Buoyed  up I checked my Welsh Water account and realised I was overly in credit in that account too ! Another 200£ into my fee account!

Then I checked the yellow biscuit jar now pride of place underneath the art wall……this has been my Piggy Bank  since a bought it three years ago,  where cheques and birthday money , and money from eBay sales and the odd tenner found in Jean pants have been pushed, alongside pound coins from underneath the sofa, under the rubber seal in the washing machine and inside Bluebell 

The total amount £196.02

So I’m just shy of a grand 

How great is that!!!!!

Five hundred pounds to find until September 

That’s doable, and I’m hoping for a tax rebate this year too….we shall see

Perfect.

I’ve just taken the Welsh for a walk and we picked up a McDonald’s large white coffee as a treat on the way home. It’s important to treat yourself to one small thing everyday, even if it’s a coffee, or a walk, or joining the Storyhouse film society , which I also did this morning. 

Hey ho

Working later, so made Thai Curry soup and picked the first of the spring blooms in the garden, Jews Mallow, camellia, rebus, bluebell and forget me not 

Depression is a cunt

 

I met a friend for breakfast today.

They have been low for a long time and are probably very depressed.

We meet monthly for coffee, more if they are up to it.

Depression is a cunt.

I listened and made them laugh just the once 

But when we said our goodbyes 

I felt as helpless as ever

But , I hugged my friend close and for the longest of times

And kissed them squarely on the forehead 

Which I hoped meant something.

The Book of Love - The Dutch Tenors

The day hasn’t turned out as it had planned to be. 

I took myself off to the University library in Rhos to work for the day.

It was uncharacteristically shut, so I bought a coffee and parked on the Promenade to listen to the rain and the waves.

There I promptly fell asleep long enough for a concerned passerby to knock on the window to see if I was alright.

I dropped into the supermarket, the pet store and then Jackson’s Nurseries in Trelawnyd where I bought a coffee plant and some candlesticks 

Tonight I’ve  got a friend coming to supper

Homemade lasagne, mango salad and strawberries and ice cream ( with chocolate sauce) 

New Routine

 My five year Dorothy routine is in disarray.

The Welsh like a lie in, and walks are not greeted with an hysteria bordering on a1960s Beatles concert.

So I’m starting the day later in general , in a quieter, less fraught environment.

My blood pressure will benefit, I’m sure.

I have a journal to complete for college.

This time centring upon a childhood memory, resurrected during personal development group. I have a few in mind and discussed possibilities with myself during dog walks this morning. 

I am a big self chatterer. 

I have picked a rather painful memory when I challenged my mother about the level of her drinking.

Instead of exploring the subject, brought up by a gauche and very young 17 year old, she did what she often did and retreat to bed blaming her unhappiness on me or us ( her children) 

Incredibly passive aggressive and exceptionally dysfunctional, her behaviour found its mark  and , I found  myself ultimately apologising for upsetting her, which in retrospect was a terribly skewed expectation of an adolescent to behave .

And so I’ve tossed the memory around this morning. That’s half the battle all told. Memories can warp themselves into passable chunks. I just need to map out the essay,

In half an hour I need to take Trendy Carol’s Hubby for a hospital appointment, he is a regular attender and I’m happy to take him. I will refer to him in the future as Ieuan which the Welsh version of John.

Today I found the ceramic heart on the kitchen wall, a gift from the velvet voiced Linda and a few days before the pencil drawing of Dorothy was left on Bluebell’s passenger seat by Margaret from Choir,

Kindnesses go far….

I’ve made a lasagne today as I’ve a friend coming over for supper tomorrow.

Silvia Sanz Torre

If Silvia Sanz Torre was conducting my choir, I’d do out if my way to please her. That’s the sign of a charismatic choir master.

In my mind charisma and passion go side by side, you see it in the great divas such as Diana Damrau, who Command  the stage with a certain something, that if you could bottle it, it would send a rocket far into space. I saw her once in New York at The Met singing The Queen of the night aria and you could literally feel the audience stiffen in glee as she started her chorus.

Peter Ustinov had oodles of charisma in spades too but his passion used to lie with words and with stories as many actors do

Audrey Hepburn had a still charisma. The late Queen a strength behind the eyes. 

And I’m remembering The Red Faced Welsh Farmer here, who looked and sounded like an old pirate 

And whose charisma was funnelled under a beanie had and a battered red landrover.

Without a bulldog to wake me up, I slept in after night shift. The Welsh patiently wait their turn to go out and we’ve just returned from an afternoon walk and venture to the supermarket for treats.

It’s wet and cold and I’ve heated up chowder and garlic bread which I’m going to eat with a serving spoon. 

I’ve made garlic bread for me and a small mozzarella bun for the Welsh,  when cool they  will take their buns away to enjoy in a dark corner. 

Dogs adore cheese.

 

Feels Like Home

The little bow of acknowledgment lifted this humorous encounter into something so much more ……special I always think.

This moments are rare 

I was moaning about something only yesterday. 

Something about a friend letting me down.

I what’s chunnering away to myself, whipping things up when there was no need to.

I don’t deal with rejection well, I never have.

Friends don’t let me down, they just say no occasionally 

And Dorothy listened to that, 

She always did. 

Yesterday I went banging along and the Welsh remained firmly dozing.

Sure an ear would twitch 

And a half eye would open, 

But content they were not the centre of my moan, 

They rested the rest of the just, 

And slept.

Dorothy however would take everything on board.

I miss those big eyes, unblinking and watching carefully as I moaned and kvetched and shared that life isn’t always a bed of roses.

Like Mr Kim’s nod, she had the ability to acknowledge things with a long serious look

Even though she had no idea of what was being said.

She was my confidante, my conscience….my priest 

And she would never look away……….