Pride

 A gay dad explains Pride to his son

Nothing else needs saying

There’s nothing sadder than a damp Drag Queen

 

I went to Prestatyn Pride to support.

Sometimes you forget how parochial the coastal towns are in their thinking, but several comments on the event’s Facebook page reinforced to me, attitudes I thought went out in the 1990 s.

Last night I found myself answering questions like

Why can’t there be straight Pride?

What’s it teaching our kids ?

And finally

Why do you gays need to celebrate having sex?

( chance would be a fine thing)

The parade was led by a very uncomfortable looking mayor and his droopy flag, and comprised of around sixty people, which is a start I suppose. A local pub had organised the days’ entertainment , and the place looked crowded enough.

Sadly it pissed down

Janet met me and Roger to watch. And I’m  now sat in the storyhouse in Chester on a sort of date

Unexpected and welcomed

Hey ho

Moon River

 The West Cheshire Hospital in Chester was the old asylum. Before that it was called Diva, the Roman word for the city. Essentially it comprised of the main 1829 Georgian building with scores of satellite two story wards connected by brick built corridors which gave visitors the sense  that you were in fact underground.Those corridors were long and dark a creepy and as a student nurse, I negotiated them always in a hurry.

One night, after 8 pm, in winter, I was walking up that corridor from Whitby ward, when I heard singing. A woman was singing Moon River gently to herself somewhere ahead of me. The voice was elderly and faltering, but because of the acoustics had a certain emotional power to it and every time I turned a corner I expected to see a patient , who was probably late for curfew, walking back to her ward.

But I saw no one

I just heard the voice always a little way ahead 

Two drifters off to see the world,

There’s such a lot of world to see

We’re after the same rainbows end 

Waiting round the bend 

My Huckleberry friend

Moon River

And me”

And it stopped when I reached the main corridor and the sliding green door which lead to the nurses home, beyond the Church.

Doggy hugs and The FLOWER SHOW ( not forgetting the novelty vegetable photograph)

 

It’s that time again readers The Flower And Produce Show is only 8 weeks away., please join us in entering any class you want , but especially join in with the international novelty vegetable photo section 

Your photos can be sent to me Via email to jgsheffield@icloud.com

Click on each photograph to see font clearly 

Ive seen two of my counselling clients for the last time this morning 

My final clients before I hopefully qualify

It’s been a month of endings 

Sorry to bang on about it but

Tomorrow I will find out if I qualify in July..three years….

I was tired and spent when I got home

Overwhelmed and a bit emotional

I went to trendy Carol’s to pick up the Welsh and

As I walked through the gate they saw me from their place on their own sofa in the conservatory and immediately jumped up

Roger galloped over excitedly , his ears flapping his face smiling

With Mary tottering behind him as quickly as she could 

Her feet as delicate as a ballerina’s, her eyes serious     

And the Welsh hug I received from both of them was the very best thing 

Ever………..

Marks’

 I’m in Mark’s & Spencer’s cafe. 

Grabbing breakfast with the other grey hairs before I go to my last supervision of my student hood . 

I will miss my supervisor, who is insightful, calm, focused and unflowery. 

I can’t bullshit her, or myself when I’m with her.

I feel, when she looks at me, she sees the real me

That was disconcerting to start with

Her professionalism has made me more professional.

After supervision I’m going to finish off my counselling paperwork,( which is considerable) 

Tomorrow I have my final three clients which will put my counselling hours to 103

Friday my portfolio will be submitted

They have no avocado on toast in the cafe

I sigh theatrically

They never do

The cashier looks at me the way that Weaver does,

Through narrow eyes

When I pause , trying to work the carbs out in the other breakfast on offer

I’m not having the attitude this morning

“ I’m a new diabetic , I have to be careful” I told her

She smiled weakly

Which said, I just can’t be arsed

Planting

 

I took a villager for his hospital appointment today, which usually prompts a panic attack. Roger was in the back and clumsily struggled into the front to sit on my passengers knee and not a hit of panic was to be seen all the way there and back. 

“You’re my therapy dog” the villager murmured as he kissed Roger on the head when we returned home.

And Roger smiled his usual smile.

This afternoon, I’ve potted up the plants Janet gave me for my birthday, and even had the energy to clear away a ton of ivy from the French table and chairs. 

The Welsh watched me lazily, and even Bun came out briefly to see the fun. 

As usual Weaver remained aloof , but I saw her once in my office window , sat next to the Queen, watching carefully with narrow eyes.

I like gently sunny teatimes that build gently towards The Archers. 

I played Vide Cor Meum, loud

Lovely

Lovely Theatre Shame About The Musical

 I went to the soft opening of the semi finished Theatre Clwyd tonight and what a beautiful renovation it is and will be. Gone has the glum 1976 claustrophobic feel where white concrete, red bricks, gold and glass has made way to a lofty airy modern space filled with wood, natural colours and soaring windows overlooking Mold town and the surrounding green hills. 

The arthouse cinema will make a return too……..how wonderful 

The musical Tick Tick Boom was a little dated and shouty for me. But it was professionally done acted and sung , and beautifully staged. But I’m a sucker for a good song, and Jonathan Larson’s musical didn’t have many.

Which was unfortunate 

Birthday

 

Lots of lovely birthday messages today, and I’m seeing family tonight which is lovely too,  but I needed to get out of the cottage today to do something. 

Pottering around at home on your birthday is a recipe for self pity no matter the number of texts and messages and lovely gifts that have been sent.

I went to Chester to see the 11.30 showing of The Salt Path

It’s a gentle, emotional film of a much loved real life story and novel 

Ray and Moth Winn ( Gillian Anderson and Jason Issacs) are farmers who have fallen on hard times. Their home is repossessed after a financial deal went wrong leaving the pair effectively homeless, and with only a few pounds to their name , the couple embark on an epic walking Journey from Somerset to Dorset in a bid to distance themselves from the reality of their situation. 

It’s a journey of redemption for the couple, and is a desperate way of coping with homelessness, poverty and the fact that Moth is effectively disabled by the fatal neurological condition of corticobasal degeneration. 

The leads are wonderful and have that economic telepathy only long term couples who still love and respect each other have. Issac is especially good, underplaying Moth’s character with dignity, strength and finally proud emotion. 

It’s an intelligent film which will have you unexpectedly weeping at the most tiny and well observed nuances of acting, and I can tell you that Issacs is a sexy as hell 62 year old.

I went to my old standby Storyhouse for a low carb bacon and egg and sausage harissa brunch with strong coffee and no pudding and I’ve written this review alongside the other students writing their essays and assignments in the library come cafe

Off home to walk the Welsh, then will see the family later tonight.

63,and not out as yet.