Going Gently

Little Korea

In an old post I bemoaned the much maligned phenomenon of the dinner party.

It still exists I guess, outside the old formalities, but now it’s called “ supper with friends” or some other dumbed down event epithet.

Yesterday my friend Ruth and I went to dinner with our friend Ben and his wife Sokyo in their charming cottage along the coast. Ben and Sokyo have just returned from a three year visit to Sokyo’s home in South Korea, and Ben is returning to his old job as nurse at my hospice.

It will lovely to have him back, for he has a warmth and a humour I adore and feed off. ( warmth and humour is something which has been sadly lacking in blogland recently I must say)

Ben also looks like an unmade bed, a look I have made a lifetime perfecting, so I always feel at home in his company.

Ruth and I had planned to visit them in their trendy 1960’s Seoul a year or so ago but circumstances and events put paid to our plans.

Yesterday was catch up. A full Korean dinner with sizzling beef, and kimchi and pickles and miso soup, noodles and rice , all served in tiny bowls at a pretty table.

The effort of the event was clear and much appreciated.

This is what I miss by talking about the dinner party.

I also miss talking and laughing in a group.

I’m a good guest, I know that, but I’m a good guest because I enjoy not only talking but listening.

Sokyo had a fascinating take on her own culture and how it has evolved so quickly over recent years but she is also an artist who has been trained in Japanese flower arranging ( something I would adore to do)

It was a lovely afternoon and I could tell by osmosis that everyone thought the same.

Wonderful.

Tonight I’m working, so today is a mindful day.

I’m mindful of my friends and readers in the southern states who are and have taken a battering in the storms

Be safe

Be kind

Growing Up

It’s raining and I’m taking the dogs over to Pen y Bont for lunch at my friends’ home soon.

The twins, of course have the run of the cottage, and photographing them is almost impossible as they resemble minnows in a fast stream. The best you can get is an arse here and a leg there.

The way of kittens.

I’ve had them nearly three months now and their personalities are starting to show.

Weaver is bigger than her sister, more robust but emotionally is shy and is not a big one for physical affection. Bun is smaller, feisty, likes strokes when the lights are off and is playful with the terriers, though the terriers have no idea what is play and what is kitten aggression .

Both have allocated themselves to a small yellow chair in the back of the living room. It a spot they can survey their world safely.

The cottage looks permanently untidy as a thousand times a day these two little thugs, promenade around knocking over things, just like a motorcycle gang of the 1960s would do around Woolworths.

Roger is perplexed by their behaviour and will often shadow them from afar , looking back at me in a shocked way when another pot plant is moved or ornament battered.

Pride

I was bursting with pride for this piece. It’s as if Grupo Talia is my own choir

Chatwins

Im early for my own counselling today and so have popped in to Chatwins for a coffee. The staff are cheerful and serve good food. Ruthin is a pretty and busy market town.

I took my great nephew to college this morning and we had a conversation, Ive nothing much in common with 16 year olds save for The Walking Dead, but he chatted all way which was nice.

I couldnt find my specs so was wearing my mr Motto spares.

He didnt notice.

My counsellor wont notice my glasses also, not important. I cried for half an hour after the last session and slept in a layby for over half an hour afterwards. I was exhausted

I felt words were like fies,spewed out of the mouth of john Coffey in The Green Mile

Tomorrow Ruth and I are having a tradional home made Korean meal with friends Ben and Sokyo, friends roll on

I finish my coffee and outside it's started to rain.

The tudor houses nearby melt as the cafe windows get wet and a pretty schoolgirl with a welsh look came in to buy cakes.

How the road meanders when you think of what brought you here.

More Plans

I've taken my eye off the ball when it comes to planning nice things to do and experience. Everything feels as though its a tad serious and work orientated, which it is.

I work two full days a week, am counselling one full day and and in college another, so by the time the litter tray has been emptied (oh God that's an awful job) and I've watched Call My Bluff on a Monday night, the week is suddenly over.

Jesus how effin boring.

The remaining arse end of October I have booked tickets for my sister and I to see the English National Ballet's version of Giselle in Liverpool and got the very last ticket (and I'm not joking) to Holst The Planets at Liverpool's Philharmonic Hall.

November I am popping up to Sheffield for a day and a half. The Rocky Horror Picture Show with my friend Jane and a leisurely Sunday lunch with friends Mike and Bev.

I've even toyed with a post Christmas weekend to Madrid to see my ( "My" choir!!) but couldn't quite make the numbers work for me.

so I've booked five days in Rome in March

bosh!!!

all this, is a challenge to the approaching winter.

a panacea to ward away low moods

I'm writing this on my break at work, its 5 am and light rain is falling on the Hospice. I've just listened to a podcast of Rob Delaney's Desert Island Disc choices. It is a sobering and incredibly moving piece of Radio, where Delaney talks eloquently about the death of his baby son. Like Lauren Lavern I was moved into silence by his emotional honesty.

My nephew is away on holiday so on the way home I have the job of taking his son, my great nephew to college. He is one for the lie in so I've texted to say that if he's not ready his gay uncle will go all camp outside his house and will embarrass him in front of the neighbours

its the village Apple festival on Saturday, I'm helping with the judging

Pat Thistlethwaite

Roger’s been wearing a white feather on his head, something picked up from jamming his bonce into the hedgerows early this morning. It’s still there now after our jaunt to McDonalds for a large white coffee for me and cheesy bacon flatbread for them. I’ve just sat down with said coffee ( drumming up bravery to accost the litter tray in the back bedroom which now resembles a public toilet at Glastonbury.) when I saw that the son of Weaver Of Grass had just emailed .

His message was brief “ Just to let you know that Pat passed away on Thursday.She was getting plenty of morphine and sedation and everything went as well as these things can go. Thank you everyone for your support”

The news was very Weaver

Understated, unfussy , no drama

The feather wouldn’t be her either, no way……but it’s nice to think it might of been

We shall miss the old girl.

I shall miss her.

Flirt

Met my friend Colin for lunch and a much needed laugh. I told him how much I over reacted to our new male Iberian vet when Mary had her ears reviewed and he giggled loudly when I admitted I simpered like a schoolboy when the vet told me that Roger ( who had come along for ballast) was a fine specimen of terrier. To be honest I would have smiled and laughed if the vet had read out the first quarter of the local telephone directory, those deep Spanish tones.

Like a moist Antonio Bandares on toast

Colin, reminded me that I wasn’t too old to flirt even though it was somewhat unsavoury to laugh at absolutely everything the object of my affection had said

Note to self next time tone it down

On another Spanish note, this is the final piece I enjoyed at the Madrid concert this year. The look of intensity in the eyes of the dancer could be seen and felt by me in the one of the back rows of the auditorium .

Amazing