Môme Piaf

I’m sure the neighbours are thinking that I’m have a moment 

After a long study day me and Welsh are relaxing to Madam Piaf 

An LP treat to myself this week.

Tragic French songs fill Cwm Road and beyond 

une autre absinthe mon bon serveur

 

Buxton

 I’m off to Buxton today, 

The Derbyshire Spa town, is very roughly half way between Wales and Sheffield.

I’m meeting my “spinal” injury mates

Sarah and Nigel, two people who have part of my life for 34 years.

These two have followed me, supported me, liked and loved me for a generation and it was time we met up again to touch base, revisit each other and share ourselves as we used to when Sarah was a matron and Nigel and I were Charge Nurse managers.

I love these guys, I love them so much 

They walked beside me for years in Sheffield 

Walked beside me, tutored me and guided me 

That’s so important  

So we are catching up over coffee and lunch and chatter .

In Buxton

Where was the Bloody flip flop?

Apart from the overlong Golden Voyager bit which should in essence be performed in the opening ceremony, the closing of the Paris Olympics was dreadful. A couple of lacklustre bands, an orchestra who played down La Marseillaise and some suitably pouting French teen failing to lip synch in a posh Parisian garden.

Tom Cruise picked up the flag for Los Angeles and the dye was set for a repeat of the terrible 1984 games where money was no object and whole thing was overblown and souless. 

Paris did something different which almost worked . Greece and the UK captured their own countries perfectly and the Sydney games underlined fun ( how could it not with Kylie on a twenty foot flip flop) 

 6/10 and no cigar for Paris

The Twins

 Weaver is more robust and confident , Beans is diffident and smaller 

The spare bedroom looks like a lunatic has been let lose in it.

Both understand that I am food giver and head scratcher

But both have that Albert “ look” about them

They are going to stand no messing

Weather’s lovely , just right for a family barbecue 

Sushi Teaching

 I’d booked for a four hour,”Cooking experience” this morning which turned out to be somewhat of a disaster. It was advertised in Llandudno at what I thought was a hotel but turned out to be a small private house in Craig Y Don, and the hostess seemed surprised I had turned up even though I had talked to her partner at length via email and messenger, 

I walked into the dining room to see four unsmiling faces already preparing vegetables to centre sushi or pancakes, and the head of the group, a woman in her twenties reminded the host that she had booked a private session for just her and her friends and non said hello in response to my wave and smile.

The host apologised, when I showed her my booking acceptance on line, but shrugged her shoulders and said she wasn’t expecting me. 

The client talked as though I was invisible and told the host that she “ felt very uncomfortable that a MAN was potentially, going to join her group .

“I am standing in front of you” I reminded her, but the atmosphere was too toxic for me to feel that the teaching could have been in any way acceptable , especially as the four women whispered away amongst themselves.

I walked out, 

Suddenly aware of my sex, just a tad angry and a tiny bit tearful 

Update

 

I’m sending Weaver the very last note of this one of my favourite pieces by the lisping choir

It’s a cracker

She emailed me an update and she’s weak and rather unwell

She sends her love

If I can catch the bugger , I will send a photo of her namesake later

And here she is 

Beans is under the spare bed

Both kittens have been conspicuous by their ability and need to hide

I’ve given them some space until today then I’ve sought them both out and groomed them with my fingers 

Until they both purred.

I then fed them 

I’ve done that three times today 

And for the first time I’ve heard them perform the zoomies from downstairs 

As Good As It Gets

Kindness abounds
“ Does the fact you have cats now fill the lonely void in your life?”

It was a question in the comments of yesterday’s post.

The slightly wry one ( or as I thought) about Roger’s dimness.

The comment as the one before it was meant to upset.

Loneliness, I can tell you is like grief and in the same way  it kind of hits you in waves when you least expect it. 

It’s only surfaces sporadically, and not always when you are alone and the nearest I can explain it is how Helen Hunt’s waitress Carol explains it in James L Brooks’ As Good As It Gets.

Her performance is sublime, the writing spot on.

Something is up!

 Roger knows something is afoot.

I caught him looking up the stairs yesterday with a quizzical look upon his face. 

I heard a bump, but it was faint and he did too, trying to locate the noise with a tilt of his head.

Undaunted he ran into the garden and woofed, unsure of exactly what he was wooing at 

The kittens have been vocally quiet so far. 

It feels like there is a game of hide and seek going on. 

Earlier, when I was sat on the loo, Roger followed me into the bathroom, searched it ( including my underpants) then put his nose under the spare bedroom door, where he inhaled loudly 

I think the kittens must have held their breath for satisfied he threw himself down the stairs again in a knot of tan uncordinated legs in order to search some more.

Mary is too middle aged to bother with such hysteria.

I never had all this when Albert arrived 

Or did I ?