Faghags and Staghags

 I think most mature women with any sense will have one gay man as a friend.

These women are not faghags ( the derogatory name for a woman who spends most of her time in the company of gay men) nor are they lacking female friends.

It’s just that I think that most mature women who have an emotional intelligence like the company of a gay man .

And visa versa of course.

Having a gay bestie means you are in the sex and the City Club ! 

You are either a Carrie or a Charlotte

( but most women I think identify more with Miranda as she is the most sorted of the quartet) 

I don’t quite fit into the gay best mould mainly because I’m too scruffy

A gay best friend should be immaculately dressed and ideally look like Jonathan Bailey

I gain kudos points for being more emotionally intelligent than most and having a sense of humour

I’m not a stag hag either, which helps ( stag hags are gay men who just love the company of usually older gay men ) 

I’m eclectic in my friend choices but I do like women friends, they are special 

I think, I like them because they are more tactile than most. 

I can link arms and hug and kiss with my female friends with an ease

Now I must say here that I have gay and straight makes friends which I hug and even kiss but having a female friend is different in the heteronormative world .

I guess it’s easier all round.

Hey ho

Jobs Done

It’s taken all day but I’ve finally cleaned up and dried the kitchen and shampooed the living room carpets

Free of wet paw prints and slime. 

I’m knackered. 

But the cottage now smells of lemon and disinfectant and the humidifier given to me by the velvet voiced Linda has done its job rather well so that the windows are no longer misted.

There is something rather satisfying in a tidy house

Pizza for supper ( the Welsh love the crusts)

 

 

Bollocks

 

When we got home after counselling earlier I suddenly noticed Roger standing in the kitchen doorway looking worried.

He had his usual “It’s not my fault” expression on his face and suddenly I  heard the sound of dripping water.

The bathroom sink had overflowed and the water had leaked down into the kitchen to a depth of an inch.

The twins were sat on the kitchen table, marooned 

Both yowled at me loudly

I swore like a docker. 

Life is like this is it not?

Nice positives yesterday

Fuck off disasters today 

Bollocks twat cunt !!!!

Walking Out On Callas

 I’m running late.

Last night I caught up on sleep and although I’m not quite right, I feel a little more rested.

I drank tea from my new dinosaur cup and planned the day

I have to drive over to Abergele to see my clients, not too far but. 22 mile around trip.

Last night I went to see Maria 

It was dreadful. Lazily written and a showcase for Angeline Joline rather than Maria Callas herself., the story of the last two weeks of the Diva’s life was little more than a pout on screen. 

You see a lot of Joline and very little of Callas 

And that was a shame. 

I walked out

Sue was in the field yesterday.

The ponies return very soon

What fun

Praise

First thing I drove to Holywell Hospital for a blood test with an overly brusque phlebotomist, so treated myself to Avocado and eggs on sourdough at Sainsburys. 

It was nice to get out of my pyjamas, but I was tired out by lunchtime, so I had  small nap before supervision

Every two weeks I meet with a specially trained senior supervisor to discuss my clients 

Supervision is ..

 "A specialised form of mentoring provided for practitioners responsible for undertaking challenging work with people. Supervision is provided to ensure standards, enhance quality, advance learning, stimulate creativity, and support the sustainability and resilience of the work being undertaken."

I enjoy supervision

Today my supervisor shared something with me as I was discussing a somewhat challenging client. 

“ You’ve changed “  she observed simply 

The comment took me by surprise so much that I went quiet 

“ You are becoming an effective counsellor “ she added with a gentle smile

And suddenly I was a child again, thrilled at some much craved for praise and acceptance “ 

PTSD

 I couldn’t make college today but still had to get my podcast assignment turned in to turnitin to be marked. The podcast outlining best practice of the disorder PTSD was a ten minute snap shot recording which sounds simple enough to complete unless you have a wracking cough , flu and two kittens determined to get in on the action.

My fifth attempt had me swearing for fucks’  sake!!! at the eight minute mark as the twins yowled loudly  under the kitchen door. My sixth was aborted after some Typhoid Mary coughing and several more for fucks sake ! Yells.

I swear I was in tears by attempt twelve. 

I almost got dressed and went around to sailor John next door, to see if he would present the whole thing for me , but I pushed through, had a lemsip and thought What would Angela Rippon do in this situation?

Big breaths and carry on!

I nailed it on my 17th attempt save for several muffled coughs and one contained fart .

My recent academic poster earned me an A which I was tickled pink about, let’s see how this goes

A Man Eaten By His Cats

 I’ve just got up

Just before 8pm I realised that I’ve been in bed for 24 hours.

Ewan ( Trendy Carol’s hubby) kindly collected the dogs this morning so I could fester in my own Petrie dish of a bed all day. 

I’ve not moved except to feed the twins and to urinate 

And that was a trial 

I’m shivery so downed paracemol and was grateful to have some chicken soup left by Mrs Trellis in a vintage thermos ( the one with the cork stopper) to drink. I’ve forced myself to light the fire, and am wrapped in my duvet on the couch. 

Confused by it, Roger gave it a quick wee on the corner

I haven’t bothered wiping it yet

Being single and unwell is a ball ache

When I was in my late 30s and alone in my Hillsborough house I suffered a late bout of Chicken pox which floored me. 

It was the only time I honestly thought I was dying , and I remember then thinking my cats Betty and Joan would be happy eating my corpse after my demise.

I was effectively single then, 

My partner at the time was an arse.

Today Weaver watched me carefully from her corner of the bed. 

It was afternoon

I presumed it was Weaver as she refused to approach me , and sat there stoically with narrow eyes

“ fuck off” I moaned at her “ You’re only waiting for me to die” 

I’m sure she was smiling

The fire has gone out because I’ve not tended it

We are all off to bed again

Sunday

 It’s four pm and I’m not going into work

I’ve finally succumbed to that nasty virus which is doing the rounds,and have retired to bed with four organic hot water bottles. 

Two kittens on one side, two Welsh on the other.

My body is checkpoint Charlie, with Weaver darting occasionally over the border in order to smack an odd ear or wagging tail.

Best laid plans ! 

I’ve eaten some fruit that’s all 

It’s now not long after seven and I’ve just got up to walk the dogs, albeit briefly . 

I’ve showered in a hot shower ( with Mary who needed a bath) .the Welsh adore hot showers btw

And I’ve put beans and spiced sausage in the slow cooker to make soup and I’m going back to bed dressed in long johns and several walking dead t shirts 

This flu virus is vicious