You ve Got A Look Of Eva Braun

My laburnum has flowered.

In fact it’s bloomed. 

I went to visit it this morning 

It’s sturdy and straight and looks very well and healthy 

I’m pleased 

I’ve tried to change my GP practice today too.

I make no beans that I have a poor relationship with my doctor, but I didn’t want that fact broadcasted around a doctor’s waiting room.so in hushed tones I tried to discuss this with the surgery reception I want to join. 

It was like pulling teeth with two of the staff acting as the stereotypes so much discussed on longline mumsnet and the like.

I was reminded of one of the last put downs on Victoria wood’s Canteen Sketch and could quite easily have countered the unhelpful passive aggressive apathy I received with a pithy “ Youve got a look of Eva Braun?”

 It’s Nu’s birthday today.

I usually send her flowers from Bloom & Wild but she’s away.

I’m in the middle of plan B, which getting her a theatre ticket, like me she loves most mainstream stuff  but unlike me loathes musicals

It’s left me with a few choices.

I called in to The Velvet Voiced Linda and her hubby Nick for coffee too. They laugh long and hard 

And I like that .

I haven’t done a lot today, but it feels as though I have

Monday Jobs

Janet has come to do the garden so I did shopping and had a shower. Janet tried to teach Roger how to jump into her arms but he couldn’t quite grasp the concept.

No more work for over 8 days.

It’s our birthday on the 1st and the family, eight of us, are going out for a meal to La Richetta  Usually I play the martyr and work, but not this year, it serves no one to do so, and so I’ve booked the weekend off, planning a jaunt to Liverpool with friends on the Friday and movie and a Japanese lunch on the Sunday. 

All about My Mother is the film, it’s considered an old classic now 

It’s a cracker

Mrs Trellis and Blue stopped to say hello. 

She’s planning to enter veg in the show 

Olla

 There is a memorial for old Trevor this afternoon in the memorial Hall. It would have been his 100th birthday. His family has organised the event 

I will go if I manage to sleep for a few hours this morning . Night shifts don’t half cut into what you can and cannot do, and the older I get the less my reserves cope.

All the judges have confirmed that they will be attending the Flower Show  this year. We have some lovely  judges all told. Debbie was a stalwart of the Prestatyn Flower Show and knows her onions. She is diligent and helpful and joins in with the fun. She also looks the part, often wearing summer frocks and a cheerful straw hat for the judging day. 

Mrs Cooke is another good egg. She marks the cookery ( what else) and if she can’t make it her daughter ( another mini me  qualified judge) jumps into the breech. 

Meirion Jones from the village has accepted the tough remit of Flower Judge for the second year. His garden is the unarguable beauty in Trelawnyd and has to be seen to be believed, but he hides his talents under a Bushel and I had to do some crawling to get him to agree to come.

I’ve recruited Eirlys from the Marion and jo ( she of the three legged whippet fame) to act as judges chaperones. Village Leader Ian usually goes around with the cookery judge so he can lick her spoons.

And so dear reader before I can sneak off to bed , you can see that I’ve won an award from the lisping Spanish Choir and has been recognised as one of their top fans

Canta con todo tu cortazon

Authenticity

 For me, the overall positive experience of developing my awareness of self , it to feel authentic. Nearly 62 years on this planet has allowed a myriad of bad habits, and unproductive , useless behaviours to cloud what I am and how I see myself, and others. 

Things are complicated, they are bound to be.

And being authentic is hard

I’m better at saying no without trying to justify and people please

I’m better at being kind, where kindness is what I want from others

And I’m better in allowing  myself to revisit a hurt but not to pick that feeling up raw with both hands as I once would have done.

Yesterday was a case in point . An email from my ex husband , some background information I needed to know on my nephew’s upcoming visit. Usually something like this would elicit a whole set of feelings and behaviours and would have me spiralling away down rabbit holes of being grateful for contact, that needy victim, so to speak . 

The email , was just an email, and I could smile at that fact and be kind to myself that seeing his words in print could still remind me that I love him.

Another person, elsewhere,  was rude to me and I called that out, politely and, in my mind appropriately and when the reply wasn’t exactly what I wanted, I walked away without feeling bad or angry in any way.

It’s all a work in progress.

We all are

Am I authentic? ….Blah! 

Well if I sit here and allow myself to gallop over old turf I’m not

I’m on nights tonight and I’m going to open the cottage windows wide to the sun and give the place a bloody good clean.

Friday night

 The lisping choir does it again. Love the look on Silvia’s face

Long day at work today 

The blackbird mother has left her nest by the front door

Which is sad

A Gift From Mrs Smith From Herefordshire

It’s a small world 

Mrs Smith from rural Herefordshire was in London last week. 

In between French Fancies at Fortnum’s and a quick look at the tweeds at Burlington Arcade she ventured down the South Bank to peruse the books and fell in love with this ladybird book on the Honey bee

Inside carefully written in pencil was my name , written as a child would write it 

Strange as it may seem….

I did write it

I was around seven years old 

 

Starting

 The Welsh poppies are in full bloom beside the Church gates.

I noticed them as I drove to my counselling placement centre which is located in Abergele? 

I had my first client which was lovely, a bit stressful due to an anxiety dream last night which surprised me. This had my client drunk and irrational.

Thank goodness it was only a dream..

My first meeting went ok.

This afternoon I’m going for  supper with Alistair a friend from Chester, I met him on those lonely Fridays of the Big Gay Quiz in covid lockdown

Those days seem a long way away now.

Llanasa

 A couple of miles northeast of Trelawnyd is located the pretty village of Llanasa. Smaller and quieter than our village, it has grown from a rural settlement dominated by two large farms and a large private house ( Gyrn Castle) into a collection of designer houses owned by people with money. Some aspects of the old community does survive however as the village still has its church and congregation and a robust WI based in the old schoolhouse.

Last night’s talk took place in the village, and I knew several of the ladies there, including animal helper Pat and Cameron’s mum.The talk by Helen Papworth was about her book The Butterfly and the Bee, which discusses the relationship between HM Stanley and his wife Dorothy. 

It was a good listen.

Afterwards.I drove around the village and noted how much had changed since I was a boy. 

http://www.llanasa.wales/

Llanasa circa 1971 “my”farm right foreground

                  Rona 

In the early 1970s Llanasa was my Girls Own adventure go to. In tow with my sister Janet I would don wellies and a thick school coat and we would brave the Welsh winters to groom and ride and care for my sister’s benign old mare Rona. 

I loved those times, not only for the companionship in a somewhat lonely childhood but for those little farming adventures that could be had. Of climbing the hay bales in search of was was probably rotten hens eggs, exploring the old sheds and barns or playing with the Labrador puppy, tied up next to the back door. 

If the snow was too harsh the old lady of the farm used to beckon us in, so we could drink a cup of sweet camp coffee with evaporated milk in order to get warm, after which we would take Rona into her green little stable ( now a house) where I could smell the mix of snow and straw and manure and pony breath and  where my own breath couldn’t quite prevent the chillblains on my hands sodden by iced woollen gloves.