A Siamese Cat in a Wind Tunnel

 Me and my sister Janet went to the cinema last night. The film The Accountant 2 was shite but we both said it was nice to get out of the house even though the best we could say about the film was that it was short . Ben Afflick’s Botox stole the acting honours.

My first boyfriend overused Botox in later yearsand the last photograph I saw of him ( on a gay dating site) he looked like a Siamese cat caught in a wind tunnel .

Thank fuck I’m not that vain.

Mind you there are no wrinkles on a balloon as they say in Sheffield 

 

Today I’m writing an essay, my last one for university 

I’ve put chilli broth in the slow cooker for supper and breakfast is

Avocado on whole meal toast with poached eggs with The Archers Omnibus of course

Bliss

I’ve given the Welsh an extra large eggs each to play with and eat

Eggs make their coats shine

Solala from Sweden

Ps

The scene of Pope Francis’ lifelong friend the nun, Sister Genevieve breaking protocol unchecked to say goodbye to her friend left me in tears….I loved that the Vatican staff respected her and left her alone 

20 Years

 Arfon stopped his van to chat. 

He’s done it now for twenty years

Always cheerful, in his sing song Welsh way.

His mother Gwyneth lived in the family farm across the shallow valley and was a firm favourite of mine

She too had a sing song voice, which she never raised beyond a whisper.

She and Olwenna Hughes were the First Ladies I met when I came to Trelawnyd

They were peeping in the lounge window, pretty sure that the cottage was empty. 

I caught them in the lane and introduced myself, Olwenna had fat ankles and couldn’t be hurried.

Arfon asked me how long I had lived in the village before we had discussed heat pumps and how he had used the wrong grout to point his farmhouse 

“ Twenty Years” I told him

It is twenty years this summer.

I’ve never lived in one place for twenty years

Sheffield, my spiritual home took 16 of my salad years, York before that only four or so

Arfon was surprised it was two decades at Bwthyn y Llan

I’m still collating my counselling portfolio today and will do so until 7 pm when I’m off to the cinema with my sister, some trashy thriller but it gets me out of the house

I will leave you with the latest offering from my lisping choir

Enjoy

Coffee

 I'm early 

I'm always early.

I hate being late for anything.

Its a trait thats endearing to some( Nu finds it amusing) but irritating to othets ( my sisters are fashionably late for EVERYTHING.)

Im meeting a friend for breakfast and Im 30 minutes early.

Who cares.

I have a counselling mentor at the mental health centre I've been working at, who is no nonsense and Yorkshire in her ways.

She calls a spade a spade which I like and after a long wait, she's given me my portfolio feedback which included a comment about punctuality. 

"John is always well prepared for client appointments with his usual smile and cup of coffee in hand.

He is consistant and has a natural unforced warmth which he uses well to welcome clients and collegues alike"

I liked this informal burst of feedback and thanked her for it, making her blush a little

" dont get too big headed" she added " I could have mentioned the usual coffee drip stains on your T shirts but I didnt"

Im sat here and looked down at my trendy brown hoodie front

Yeap, there they were!

Vinegar Tits and The Crackhead Whores

Vinegar Tits on patrol

 A Memory,

Yesterday I  rested at home. 

The power was off in my cottage and Mandy and John's next door from 6 am ( how odd given yesterday's drama) so we had to wait for the linesmen to put up another line to replace the faulty one which took most of the day.

I wrote notes and made tea from boiling water donated by neighbours

Mr Posnân stopped to chat ( after he spied the flashing lights of the linesman truck)

He chatted about the Ukrainian village like old men do about the past

 He reminded me that over Fourteen years ago, I took in a group of a dozen hens that had been badly mistreated. (He watched me offload them from the belingo)

They had been housed in dreadful conditions , were underfed, bald and dreadfully bullied. 

But I hoped they had potential so I took them in and housed them in their own warm , clean hen house with plenty of food.

They had no cockerel but were watched over by a black eyed grey alpha female who had attitude and like all hens in a large group, they had the potential for trouble, as they outnumbered most of the smaller hen groups in the Ukrainian village

Rather uncharitably I nicknamed them The Crackhead Whores with the alpha singled out as Vinegar Tits ( the hero of the Australian Prison Soap Prisoner Cell Block H

The surviving group, well fed and happy

I learned a great deal from The Crackheads. I learned that With patience, space, time and good conditions the group that survived their first winter would become beautiful hens and great layers And Vinegar Tits became more of a cockerel than any of the resident males, even to the extent of running towards an attacking fox when the less dominant hens and ducks and turkeys galloped for the cover and the safety of the village buildings and the Guinea fowl flew up into the Churchyard Ash trees, screaming their warnings to the field.

I miss those days sometimes but couldn’t return to the hard physical slog it was to keep the field population healthy and happy

Mr Posnän agreed thoughhe still missed the duck eggs

It was lovely to see the photos again yesterday 

Sinners

 Bank holiday Monday I went to the cinema 

I went to see the oddity Sinners by Ryan Coogler. A film which , I understand resonates with black audiences in America, in a similar way Black Panther did. 

I liked it even though it was two distinct films

One, an historical look at the roots of 1920s Black music and culture in rural Mississippi 

And one bonkers vampire movie.

Obviously based on Quentin Tarintino’s From Dusk From Dawn , we follow the tale of twins Smoke and Stack ( Both played with gusto by Michael B Jordan) and their wish to build a nightclub in the middle of the cotton fields. They recruit a motley group to help them  and the opening night arrives with so much attention to detail that the audience is caught up with the sheer power of the mise en sence of the time and place.

As the singers and dancers strum and sing and tap dance, one pivotal scene changes this historical study into a nightmarish horror second half and that is a magical appearance of modern day rappers, street dancers and ancient African and even Irish folk dancers who appear on the dance floor . 

The vampires have arrived and they are not only killers but musical loving ones who use music to charm and feed.

It’s bonkers

Bit it works 

The final half hour is pure 30 Days Of Night with our heroes battling the vampires with stakes and garlic water and fire. 

I loved one buxom , sexy resourceful black character called Annie ( Wunmi Mosaku below)great to see a hero with curves and brains for a change 

I’ve get down to my paperwork today( I’m in the middle of it ) 

This evening I’m going to my sister’s home for supper

It’s nice to be pampered

My arm isn’t any better

Dinosaurs

 The cheerful engineer turned up at 9 am ( I thought today was Monday so forgot he was coming)

I was still in my dinosaur nightware. He was here for three hours photographing and drilling , followed by the Welsh, he said his 6 year old son liked dinosaurs but mentioned it without irony, which I was grateful for. 

I hope the solar panels will be worth it. As he was leaving we heard a crackling in the electrical circuit and he chirped up better get that sorted quicksticks!

I turned off the power

And so the emergency team is on its way! 

Don’t they know I m supposed to be resting? 

Trendy Carol collected the dogs and Mandy and John from next door made tea and provided psychological support

I’ve forgotton to change my T shirt in the hurry to clean the cat litter, which as fate would expect, was suddenly overflowing with excrement 

The cottage smells like a dung heap.

The electricity board had texted to say they will be 20 minutes away 

Shit they’re here

Swedish Death Cleaning and using words

 I have tons of clerical work to do for college

And so yesterday I cleaned the kitchen proper.

The pockets of clutter remain, as you can see

The little jug with the yellow tulips underline “my look” 

I like the little detail.

Today I listened to Women’s Hour. The subject was decluttering and I found the discussion by the guest psychologist fascinating. He talked about the importance of differentiating between sentimental attachment and nostalgic attachment with items we own. It’s an important distinction to make , especially for hoarders . 

The discussion about Swedish Death Cleaning was equally interesting. It’s a well known phenomenon in Scandinavia , where older people get rid of clutter and collections before they die, thus freeing up their chore for the ones they leave behind. 

I like this

I have an urge to put stickers behind paintings and under jugs with loved one’s names on them.

Gifts I want certain people to have after I’ve gone.

It’s a variant on the Death Cleaning thing.

My ex husband emailed me last week . I found the message yesterday but couldn’t open it in my junk folder, but the first line was readable as no title had been added. It simply said Hello John, I’ve heard you’ve not been well, just wishing….. 

A kind thing for sure but I found his careful wording interesting. By saying heard rather than read, he was underlining a more passive role in the receiving of the news .

Perhaps that in itself is another kindness

I wasn’t upset by the message, it was workmanlike and polite  

It was what it was

I think I will go to the cinema today, there is not much on in the art house cinemas in Chester so I may go multiplex instead

lol, anything but get down with the clerical work ……..

Helen Sjöholm

 

I sit at the kitchen table a lot. 

Here I read, write, explore the internet and think.

If the weather is fine and the yappy dogs silent in their nasty new build house beyond the garden wall, the back door is open to the sound of birdsong, the arguing of the sparrows and the caws from the rooks over the glebe to the East.

I’ve suffered the barking earlier, but it’s 11am now, and it’s peaceful 

I won’t talk to anyone today. 

Why would I ? It’s Easter Sunday, but I found this wonderful musical interlude, by the Swedish singer Helen Sjöholm and her support singers

I turned it up full blast and let their voices fill the cottage and Churchyard beyond my garden