Going Gently

 I didn’t follow Michael Mosley at all, but like thousands of people was saddened by his death. He seems to have been an all round good guy and his death by natural causes has shocked and surprised many. 

In my experience , people, often behave like animals do at the point of death. They can become agitated and disorientated and often have the urge to hide away on their own . Blood chemicals disarray  , hypoxia and delirium all play their own part in this, but in my view there seems to be something more primeval in play. 

There is often a need for people to be on their own. 

To be away from the sickbed, 

To be alone from the clan .

This phenomenon is well know amongst hospice nurses, who invariably warn relatives of what could happen if vigils are broken, even for the most shortened of times. 

Often families wrap this age old behaviour into some sort of altruistic sparing of their loved ones feelings and I get that totally , but at the end of the day , I sort of understand more the urge to hide away somewhere cool and dark and comforting as the body systems slowly shut down one by one.

Necessary Shopping

A cat flap kit ( Dorothy smashed the last, one in a fit of pique) 

4 litres of white masonry paint ( to paint the back of the cottage which is looking decidedly grubby,

A large bottle of white vinegar ( to clean out the washing machine)

An insulated lunch box carrier for work and counselling days ( in rainbow colours) 

8 pigs ears ( assorted ears , assorted pigs)

1 city break scented candle “ experience the vibrant energy of a rooftop bar overlooking the iconic Manhattan skyline”  ( smells like peony)

Various tinned goods ( to fill gaps in cupboards)

2 pairs of boxer shorts with a sports gusset 

Small tine of condensed milk ( bugger alone knows why)

I potted blue salvia 

I box Mango slices

Batteries ( various sizes) 

24 cans of discounted just to be out of date Diet Coke

Ibuprofen tablets 

Plastic containers ( 24!)

Dog shampoo and food and a measuring glass for cooking

Stamps

I know not an interesting post 

Life is mundane 

You'll Never Walk Alone (Carousel) - Stephanie Blythe

Indila – « Dernière danse »

The weather has turned twice this morning.

I was up early ( for me) and took the Welsh to the beach for a long walk along the Prom.

We shared a cheese Flatbread on the way home and I treated myself to a large white coffee, which I’m still sipping , even if it is cold .

It was windy but not cold on the beach but now it’s started to rain and I’ve been in the garden cutting roses and am chilled and damp.

I’ve filled in the gaps with honeysuckle 

By 1pm I was hungry, after all the Welsh Had eaten most of my breakfast. 

The treat today was fish and chips, and when cooked by an experienced chippie , is a meal worthy of any Michelin star chef.

Bloody lovely

Pitstop

I never share full films here. The opportunity seldom arises, but this little gem of a gay film , was something I saw in Theatre Clwyd perhaps ten years ago now, and it’s messages of hope still stays with me to this day. 

It’s called Pitstop by Yen Tan

It’s PRIDE month this month and Bwthyn Y Llan still waves it’s rainbow heart from the window and the Queen’s Head from my spare bedroom. 

I’m very proud to be one of the few gays here in the village 

Friday

 It’s Friday already. 

And what fun, I’m not working the weekend because I’ve taken annual leave this week and last. 

This means instead of four full days taken with college, counselling, and work, I’ve only had to deal with my counselling day which is going ok at the moment. 

I enter the day leisurely and think of what I’m going to do only after preparing breakfast which gives the day its pace. Luckily the Welsh are even more laid back and refuse to even get up for a wee early.

It’s like living with teenagers.

I’ve made avocado toast and strong coffee and read the blogs and the tiktoks. I’m down to a dozen all told, and prefer the newsy chatty  over the ones who badmouth others whilst showing off their mental dexterity.

The internet is a sad Aladdin’s cave for the angry and the mentally ill I’m afraid.

I’m off to the cinema to see a western but I forgot it’s the Duke Of Westminster’s wedding today and Chester will be gridlocked

Anyhow I cancelled my ticket and went to the cineworld in Broughton to see The Dead Don’t Hurt.

A glum western with a French/Canadian heroine in the shape of the talented Vicky Krieps 

I loved the way as a dirt poor she always looked dressed by a Paris fashion house

Pondwork

 

The village pond is looking lush and very clean, but weeds needed clearing and marshalled by village leader Helen some dozen or so volunteers lent a hand at six pm to do the work

Great to catch up with everyone 

Home

 I took the Welsh out for a walk around 9 pm 

It was dusk and the bats started to race their way in zigzags down the lane 

I was reminded of nights past when I had lots of animals to care for 

And I mourned those days just a little tonight 

This blog entry was written 14 years ago

“

........It is 8.30 and the evening remains warm, dry and quiet. I am sat under the elm which borders the Churchyard and from this advantage point I can see every corner of the field. No sightings of Mr Fox as yet!

George is sat quietly in Maddie's old spot at my feet and the Welsh terriers are tied up next to the water butts and look asleep in the evening sun. Everything seems calm and serene.

The pace of the animals is slowing down in preparation for the night. The four female turkeys have separated from their daytime meet up and in two groups of two are ambling slowly towards their respective stags. Jane and Lizzy (the slate and Bourbon girls) make their way down towards Bingley in the far pig house and Gloria and an almost bald Theresa wait patiently just a few feet away. They know I will be shortly moving them into their shelter with Boris, who is still huffing and puffing away in the back ground.

The indian runners stand uncertainly just beyond the turkeys. They are eyeing me nervously and are also waiting for me to direct them into their duckhouse. I am late tonight and they know it............. and I am just that little bit amused that it seems to bother them.

The hens are all gliding their way to their own hen houses in groups of two and three. The buffs swinging their fat bottoms as they walk heavily home. The only birds that don't move home wards are the six ghost hens in the furthest coop. They remain still and silent in a sad looking flat group in the warmth of the sun, yet the very fact they have all taken the chance to leave the safety of the hen house proves to me that at least the natural light and heat they now feel is in fact healing.

The two new foals in the field beyond the stream are galloping around is silly circles together and I can see Albert sitting on top of the Church wall watching them with some interest before he jumps down into the grass and rubs his head against those of William and Meg waking both dogs up.

The guinea fowl totter past and leap the 6 feet to enter the old Graveyard. They chatter noisily when they spy Albert, then move on to sit under their roosting tree, muttering to themselves like grumpy old people 

I take a long measured breath in, as one of the roosters crow

And think to myself 

I am home