It’s a start

 It’s chilly, 

On one of those murky, winter days when everything feels damp and cold and miserable.

Mrs Trellis was out in her winter coat and erect bobble hat. But she was the only one in the village I saw, as everyone else were hidden away behind curtains and blinds backed by the cheerful glow of lamps and fires.

It is a night for fires, and throws and for wrapping my lovely green cashmere scarf around my head like a 

Bedouin.

It’s not a good look

But it’s warm 

The twins are in front of the fire and I’m pleased that Bun walked over to sit on my knee next to Roger who was so surprised he showed Goo goo eyes whoever was watching.

They sat together for twenty minutes

It’s a start

A busy week ahead , 

Too busy

Dean Martin & Caterina Valente - One Note Samba

Enjoy

Thank You

 Cro, took the opportunity in his morning blog post to thank people in his past for kindnesses they had done for him.

It made for an interesting read, and cathartic one all told. 

Over coffee I made a mental list

It was interesting as it meandered.

I wish I told my grandparents just how important they were as they moulded me into the best version of myself I could be, whilst at the same time thanking my parents for doing the bet they could with what skills they had.

Thank you to the unknown man who saved my life in a Spanish swimming pool in 1972

Thank you to the birdlike Miss Betts and the sexy Mr Smiler who shared their love of writing stories at Prestatyn High School

And Thank You Mr Brint my tutor in psychiatry who showed me that men could be soft as putty

Thank you to Ally who took me to my first opera at the Grand in Leeds

And thank you to Robert who made my first kiss with a man as sweet as it could be.

Thank you to too many nurses who have moulded my career and my practice 

And to Ceri who helped me see that death wasn’t so frightening a prospect when you are dying

Thank you to that British Rail employee who was kind to me after I foolishly went to my father in laws funeral 

And thank you to my sisters who are constants in a life lived.

I am grateful that I could go on

And on

And on

Tarts’ knickers

This week has been somewhat strange. 

Emotionally I’ve been up and down like a tart’s knickers.

I’m not stressing over the diabetes. 

It’s just been a very long week.  

Today I’ve driven a ninety mile round trip for a study day

Tomorrow I’m on a night shift again. 

Thank goodness my blood sugars have stabilised somewhat given my diet

To feel so fatigued on top of things , I would have been a basket case

And so I’m sat on the Promenade near home

I’m being mindful, helped by Max Richter.

The Welsh are noisily sharing some Swedish meatballs on the passenger seat 

And I’ve opened the window wide to let in the icy air.

At Last…..

 Busy day.

Clients for most of the day, dreaded paperwork then a foray into the communication abyss that is a GP s surgery where un joined up writing means that a clinic appointment in another town was cancelled without me being informed and another made without thought to work and life.

I didn’t get angry, I couldn’t 

And I will tell you all for why

I had a last session with a client today.

Without me knowing they left a gift and card on Bluebell 

The gift was a homemade pottery figure which loosely resembled me. 

The card was hand painted with a selection of what looked like spring flowers

In it, written carefully were the words

“ At last I’ve been heard”

How Others See You

 I rang up about joining a local cinema discussion group the other day. 

The man organising it was enthusiastic and chatty up to me mentioning that I was of retirement age and then he went all evasive . 

You sounded younger he said backtracking on his initial excitement and there was an awkward silence before he told me that he’d be in touch, after he had received all applications.

I’m usually pretty assertive in these cases but soon after I felt deflated and judged and suddenly surplus to requirements .

How Yorkshire Pudding sees me

Money

 Am I destined to return to Italy?

I hope so . 

Ive cancelled my trip to Rome in five weeks only because I’m up in the air with my diabetes 

I’ve no problem with that, I’ve got refunds on my accommodation and have swapped flights to July when Ruth and I are going to Madrid to see my lisping choir in person ( again) 

Their summer concert is Eurovision based and will be camp fun

The four months in between will allow for my health to stabilise.

I’m skint too, that’s just an observation not a gripe. 

Every bill has increased this year, including my mortgage, so I’ve booked a few extra shifts and have tightened my belt.

I will still try to go to the theatre and cinema when able ,as these treats keep me sane and I’m happy that I saved up for my sister’s 2025 birthday and Christmas gift last year, so our trip to the Royal Opera house to see Romeo and Juliet won’t come as a real shock.

Next year my friend Nige and I have tentatively planned to visit Naples

Only 141 miles to Rome

Fantasy

 I have a whole selection of day dream fantasies, doesn’t everyone?

Places you go and visit when you’re warm in bed and your conscious minds flits like pond skaters do on the surface of the village pond.

My favourite recently is that I’m on a night train to somewhere. The sleeper is decked out ala North by Northwest or if not that American then say the train in From Russia With Love. 

Faded but smart

If you get the gist.

Of course I won’t be sharing ( that idea repulses me) but the thought of getting lulled to sleep by the noise of the train, intrigues me.

The man with a hole in his jumper doesn’t figure on any train, but the idea of meeting remains cinematic and dramatic in nature. It’s a scene from a gentle comedy film, wholly British with mr Jumper being scruffy but sweet and our meeting romantic and chaste

I have the money no object fantasy but it’s transported to a tv makeover where the cottage is a tardis with every to do task completed to the highest level of style and competence. 

The programme ends with me being presented with a baby bulldog from grateful friends in the village.

lol

Mememememe!, 

Sometimes I’m walking in New York like an aged Sarah Jessica Parker, off to meet friends for lunch at some bistro or other. And fantasies like these are fleeting and are almost like snapshots rather like little movies. 

I’m on stage singing ……singing like Ruby Rossi from Coda or Hyde from belting out This is the Moment ( you would never know I was gay would you?)

Sometimes I day dream of loved ones gone too

Bittersweet day dreams, like I said , that flit in and out of consciousness like pond skaters on the village pond