Summerland

Arterton and Gugu Mbatha Raw

The Brits are brilliant at making wartime whimsy movies
The Guernsey Literary and Potato Pie Society was a real winner recently and following close on its heels and with a similar heroine and cast in tow is the gentle Summerland 

Shrieking wartime shabby chic Gemma Arterton plays Alice, a bad tempered single writer of books who explore and discounts folklore and myths. Alice lives in the most beautiful cottage overlooking the Kent white cliffs, is mean to children who refer to her as a witch and lives to write. Unfortunately a young boy Frank, (Lucas Bond) is billeted with her from his London home and their initially prickly relationship rekindles past memories of a failed lesbian affair Alice had in the 1920s.

Crusty writer, lonely boy, angry villagers.....the whole movie isn't original by any means, and in actual fact the movie looks as though it is shot from one field over looking the most impressive of the Dover Cliffs but in Arterton's sensitive hands this is a charming tale of lost love and longing

I loved the powerful little scene when over dinner one night Frank innocently guesses that Alice's past love was a woman.
"Would it bother you if I say you were right?"  Alice asks tentatively 
And when the little boy replies honesty No
Her pure emotional release literally breaks your heart in its intensity.

Unlike The Guernsey Potato Pie etc Summerland has a small supporting cast which do very little
Tom Courtney turns up as the blustering local schoolmaster and Sian Philips ( I thought she had died) plays a local grandmother who played the moral high ground card.

If  you want a bit of light whimsy which will make you cry , go and see Summerland 
Arterton and Kent , has never looked better 

Suck my feet

Every Sunday or at least once a week Velvet Voiced Linda sends out a generic text to all of the village street wardens via our Warden App.
In drips and drabs come the 👍🏼😘 , and "all well down Cwm Road" messages until all chicks have chirped a reply to mother hen over in Well Street.
The safety net seems to be working well and there is much talk about a party in the memorial hall once things are over.
But it's not over
And our lives have shrunk so much that tiny snippets of contact or news has become significant and interesting.
Village Elder Islwyn is mowing the new graveyard and it looks as neat as a pin. Sue has removed one of my field  ponies leaving the remaining youngsters whinning into the wind and I moved back into the kitchen when Polish Monika's post toddler daughter dangled herself over the garden wall to try to kiss the bulldogs' heads
What day is it?
I have had to think
I ran out of milk yesterday but watched my films instead of going out.

Wonder

Ship of fools

I watched the Julia Roberts weep fest that was Wonder - the story of a disfigured boy's acceptance into a main stream school after The Guerney Literary and potatoe Peel  pie Society and dove tailed that by the late night classic Ship Of Fools 
A silly late night given my overwhelming tiredness yesterday.

This afternoon, I have fallen asleep on the couch listening to Islwyn's lawn mower
Dorothy has licked my feet spotless and has also gently nibbled my red bunion until I couldn't take it anymore .
Having your bunion nibbled by a bulldog with a tongue the size of a giraffe's is a rare treat!

I talked to my friend Nu yesterday , who reported life on one of London's busiest ITU's has quietened somewhat
And I have read more and slept more than I ever thought possible.
Is it really Monday today?

Dead Air

Italians are not the only people who like to sing
Yesterday afternoon, as we updated our care plans and filled out the necessary intentional rounding sheets, a couple of nurses I work with started to sing in Welsh.
I didn't know the words to some of their songs but managed to gently join in with the Welsh hymn Calon Lân as a patient and her visitors came to the hospice corridor in order to listen.
A small human  moment but a tiny powerful one in this mad big world.

This morning I have given my spare bedroom a spring clean.
It now no longer smells of academia and lofty thinking
Of musty papers, dust and dead air.
The windows were opened wide to the cold spring air fresh from Gop Hill and although I aim to repaint and recarpet  the room soon, I washed the paintwork down and shampooed the rub into sweet freshness.
A cheerful new duvet and bedding on special offer at Sainsbury's rebooted the old Victorian bed and I could tell that the ever present Winnie was joyfully thinking " oh goody we are having visitors!" after she watched me plump up the pillows with hopeful brown eyes.
She's ever the optimist

I've made a shepherd's pie and lit the fire
Destry Rides Again is on TCM this afternoon
Sunday chillin

Lights

Lord
I went to bed before 6pm last night and woke up at 6.30 am this morning
I was tired and unwell
Dorothy was performing a rather frantic cross legged CPR before dawn in order to wake me
But I needed to sleep
Long and hard.

I am aware I've not seen much of the village, or indeed anyone but work people for days and days now, and so during a blustery and cold teatime Mary, Albert and I ventured out to blow away the cobwebs and to see the Christmas lights. Albert didn't last long, he returned home after the gales whistled hard through the Churchyard Yews , but Mary dug in and lowered her head against the wind, and like the terrier she is, she pushed on bravely with me as I pulled my scarf around my face.

We stopped first at the old police house who always put on a good show of lights and winter animals, they didn't disappoint but you have to venture up their drive in order to see everything!
The village Hall's impressive Christmas tree swayed madly and looked sweet  but the award for the best show must be awarded to Wendy and Mervin's covered Cherry tree
Simple but effective

I passed the Randa's bright little house in the centre of the village and it's cheerfulness reminded me that I need to buy the Randa girls some Christmas decorations .
It's a silly tradition that I've done for a few years now.
I would have led Mary all the way up high Street to look down on the village from above but the wind was gusting like mad and a Shepherd's pie in the oven was calling me gently.

As we turned down Bron Haul and headed back towards the Church
Mary quickened her pace towards home

Shepherd's Pie

There is a race night at the village Hall and a rememberence service in the village tomorrow
I have and will miss both as I'm working all weekend.
Apparantly the race night was a sell out!
It's 9.15 pm and I've just found a carrier bag tied to the front door knob when I brought the dogs back from Trendy Carol's
It's pissed down all day
In the bag was a small casserole  dish covered with foil and in that is a watery half waterlogged portion of shepherds pie
I'm eating it cold next to a hastily lit log burner as the dogs watch grumpily
On a postit note selotaped to the top of the pie was written just two words and a scribbled kiss
Mrs Trellis 
It said
X

Thursday

I've worked 5 twelve and a half hour day shifts in the last 7 days
And I'm tired tonight.

I've had to sweep the flue of the wood burner as it was smoking when I lit the fire
The cottage is still full of smoke and I'm cold

I only had a four day old homemade shepherd's pie left in the fridge that and a murky pork chop
I ate the pie cold with tomato sauce still in my uniform
Winnie ate the chop
( whole)

Dotty is now licking my bare feet with a fat tongue
It's Bliss....

The cottage looks like the wreck of the Hesperus

I can't think of a blog to write today
Bed soon me thinks

I'm tired and rather angry

The Austin Of England

My sister's Flower Show takes place in Prestatyn on the 26th and 27th of July
Hers is more of a fete than merely a show and this year in the craft section there is a new class 87 which is simply titled " 500 Words"
The class asks for an amusing story about My First Car using 500 words
Here is my entry ( if any reader wants to enter please email their 500 words to jgsheffield@hotmail.com and I will forward them on ( entries asap)

" The Colour of French mustard and built like a Small German tank my 'Austin of England ' was an acquired taste from the get-go. Ok it was 1980 and the 6 foot CB Radio aerial and furry poo coloured seat covers tried without much success to lend the Austin 1300 a sense of modern style but nothing really could change the fact that it was an old man' s car. one that you would drive only on a Sunday and with your Pork pie trilby hat on .

I was just 18.
And I worked in faraway Rhyl at the prestigious National Westminster Bank...so
I needed to pass my driving test quick sticks....after all I was in competition with the car's other owner, my twin sister and I was desperate to eyeball all of those tropical and oh so flamboyant sounding CB radio enthusiasts who lurked along the North Wales coast

My brother in law would cheerfully take me driving around the tree lined roads of Tudor Avenue in upper Prestatyn.
I was sat on a cushion, nicked from my parents second best sofa.
With no seat belts and hardly an L plate in place  we " roared" up and down the roads of our Welsh hometown desperate to reach third gear but never quite making it

I was a difficult and cautious learner driver.

One Sunday my brother in law suggested that we try and master the art of stopping at a T junction.
It was never one of my strong points as 'going down in the gears' was a complicated procedure in a throaty 1300 with a high clutch, but I was game.

Health and safety was out of the window back in 1980 and my two small nephews, with a collection of their mates ( one strange as it may sound a neighbouring toddler just out of nappies). All piled into the back seat in a mass of grubby knees and mild hysteria.

After negiotiating six or seven " busy". Junctions up Aberconway Road, Norman Drive and
unbelievably Gronant Road , we all headed for home.

" Take her into the Drive !"my brother-in-law  instructed , buoyed up by my performance under fire
And forcing the Austin into first I hit the accelerator and roared towards the gateway like a pro.

We clipped the stone gate post with a bang louder than anything I have ever heard before , then as I hit the accelerator again instead of the brake, the Austin of England bounced heavily into a fir tree that lined the drive.
The collection of small children were sent screaming into the soft furnishings and dash board.
Strangely my brother-in-law was not fazed by any of this . he just sat laughing in the passenger seat
I sat in my furry sweat stained driving seat in shock as my diva nephew clutching his mouth kept shouting " My teeth, I've lost my teeth!!" 

Of course he hadn't lost any of his teeth,
Not even the neighbourhood toddler was injured

And strange as It would seem I passed my driving test a week later.
Happy Days!"

The Seagull

I bought a cheap ticket for the theatre tonight but I feel too jaded after nights to go.
I'm not feeling well today.

A few years ago, I fell for a simple glass study of a seagull which I noticed in a small gallery in Broadstairs.
My husband bought it and for months it sat in the window of the kitchen gathering dust and in risk of being smashed by Albert's gammy leg.
When we split I asked to keep it and today I had an idea to keep it safe.
I framed it.
And it looks mighty fine
It now is a constant reminder of the British seaside tradition
Of beach huts and sun loungers.
Steep cobbled streets and Morelli's ice cream
Of fish pie, micro pubs, people watching and of hot sand......overly hot sand beneath my feet.

Keeping my End Up

I didn't doze for long.

I had forgotten that Gorgeous Dave had rescheduled our badminton match for 7 pm last night, so with some trepidation, a new pair of tracksuit bottoms and my newly made but  forgotten strawberry smoothie sat in the fridge I met him at a local school gymnasium .

It was a gym that held some bittersweet memories for me as it was a place of much ritualistic humiliation in my 1970s secondary school PE days.

GD was suitably attired in his immaculate yet relaxed sports wear accompanied by a set of winnie sized muscular thighs to die for.

I waddled out with holes in my trainers and noted that there was a dribble of cottage pie down my T shirt.
Not a great sporting look

But the challenge was on! 

Thank goodness for muscle memory, for even though I am just under twenty years older than GD and literally twice as heavy I kept my end up fairly well!
And I enjoyed it.
And at least GD had the good grace to sweat just a little 

Having said this ........

I had to rock back and forth several times in bed this morning in order to get my aching old arse off the mattress.........

Just off to a morning Sams shift. Tonight I'm off to see a gay themed boxing play with a friend

An Invite

The day couldn't get any worse
But it did.......as shit days often do when you don't want them to.
I eventually had a very hot bath and breathed Vicks steam through a flannel over my face, which was nice.
I drank another lemsip with real lemon.
The phone went late afternoon, just after I had lit the Christmas Tree
It was Mrs Trellis, in her usual precise sing song voice
" I just wanted to invite you to share a mince pie and a glass of something one afternoon next week" she said carefully, enunciating every word with care
" I have a rather good sherry and the new range in the kitchen is ever so cosy" 
I started to think of some excuse or other when she added
"It would be lovely for me if you could come " and suddenly all of the day's shite was lifted away by the simple and sincere invitation  of a mince pie and a schooner of sherry.

Trick Or Treat

If I wasn't so tired I'd laugh
Yesterday's post sort of proved a point
I just haven't got the energy to answer each comment on Going Gently..
If there is a question or a comment that needs or deserves an answer, I will endeavour to answer it.
If I banter with friends so be it
All I can really promise is that each comment will be read and thought about
If that upsets anyone so be it too.....
You can't keep everyone happy.
Everyone's a critic 

I worked last night and will be working Friday and Saturday nights too. So after a few hours in bed, and a dog walk it's almost dark again and the day seems lost.
I've made  Shepherds' pie, stocked up on sweets just in case the Randa girls call around and will settle down with a catch up edition of Bake Off.
I know who won because one of my patient's referred to that "irritating, funny little man winning the baking" before she went to bed.

Hattie

I felt I was in one of those nice , middle class wartime films this morning. I was sat at a table of the Trelawnyd Community Assiciation's Book swap Coffee morning with Heulwen and Hattie..
Now Hattie is the new girl in the village.
She's in her twenties, is painfully pretty and has a bubbly charm of Lily James' Character in The Guernsey Literary and potato pie Society .
She also wants to meet her fellow villagers, with a eagerness which is as sweet as it is genuine .
After a slow start the Saturday coffee mornings seem to have taken off well.
There is no pressure on people to attend at a fixed time , so people pop in when they want have a mooch through the large array of books, grab a coffee and a cake, read the paper or chat to their neighbours .
All the tables were in use when William and I went in.
I pointed out the characters to Hattie as they came in .Hubert the old village baker, Boffin Cameron's mum and dad, velvet voiced Linda, sailor John, Daphne and Meirion from the flower Show committee ..Mrs Trellis
Hattie darted off to introduce herself to Margaret Walker and Heulwen and I smiled at each other like extras from that wartime film
" she's a nice girl" we said together

Co-op Hillsborough

I once saw a woman in the co op in Hillsborough pay for a stranger's shopping.
I was at the back of the queue at the checkout and a rather shabby middle aged guy in front was searching and re searching  his pockets to pay for such basic tidbits as milk and bread and a tinned meat pie.
He looked pained and embarrassed
Quietly a youngish mother in front of me leaned forward and without fuss told the checkout girl to put the items on her bill.
I heard her say " it's ok .its ok"  to the shabby man, who looked as though he was about to cry
It was all over a minute later.
As she was packing her own shopping I caught her eye briefly  and smiled " That was very kind " 
I told her
" we all need a little kindness "  the woman answered before she and her children walked off...
I remember thinking just what a lovely lesion in life that woman had shared with her children that day at the checkout in Hillsborough's tired old co op

A Blog Conversation

I was going to do a film review tonight but after washing my face, donning one of my neat birthday shirts and driving to Theatre Clwyd 
I found out that I'd got the date wrong and the place was silent except for a noisy kids production set up in a big inflatable globe!
I came home again and put on my pyjama bottoms
Hey ho

This is a subsequent blog conversation between three friends

John Gray5 June 2018 at 21:57

I once fell asleep on a bus with a mini pork pie in my mouth 

ReplyDelete

Replies

1. 
   Rachel Phillips5 June 2018 at 22:05

   If I'd been there I might have drawn a sketch of you. I have a sketch of a man asleep with his mouth open and a woman stuffing her face on a train. 
2. 
   Tom Stephenson5 June 2018 at 22:08

   I fell asleep whilst shagging once. The relationship didn't last very long.
3. 
   Rachel Phillips5 June 2018 at 22:10

   I read a book at the same time once. That one didn't last long either.

Books

‘THE PAST IS A FOREIGN COUNTRY: THEY DO THINGS DIFFERENTLY there.’ 

I've never read L P Hartley's novel The Go Between but I am aware of the first line.

The line came into my head this morning over coffee

I've just started The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. £3.99 from Tesco

How cheap are books?

The skies are blue today, 

A walk is the order of the day
Eurovision later, I've suggested beer and voting

What are you reading this Saturday btw ?

Baking Day

I haven't got the car today, so I've decided it's going to be a baking day.
Mary and I collected eggs from Eirlys's farm from The Marian and soon I shall be making chicken and leek pie, a meat and potato pie, banana loaves and custard tarts.
Eirlys kept me talking as did the old miner in the corner house by the garage.
He always asks me the same question
"How's your friend, keeping well?" 
" My husband is fine" I always reply

In one way baking is diversionary  tactics from the sweat fest that is moving old Trevor's collection of wood onto the field bonfire ( a job I'll have to do tomorrow), but in another way its therapy.
Baking is a sweet mindful activity.
It clears the mind of bad thoughts.

Trendy Carol (in designer jeans, bright training shoes and bright hipster jacket) was out when we returned with our eggs. I see she  has a new outdoor sofa literally smothered in cushions...I forgot to tell her it's longer than the width of our cottage.

I'll post pie photos later
Hey ho

I ran out of plain flour so had to use gluten free flour for the meat and potato pie

( which looks shite) 

I've yet to make the custard as neighbour Trevor has just caught me

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

Spoilers
If you want to go and see a good old fashioned, romantic weepie that makes you feel all emotional warm and fuzzy go and see The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society.
It's a rather delightful piece of whimsy.

The perky Lily James

Impossibly beautiful authoress Juliet Ashton ( a perky Lily James) is at the height of her success in post war London when she receives a letter from Dawsey Adams (Michiel Huisman) an impoverished but well read pig farmer from the Island of Guernsey. Adams is part of a literary group formed on the occupied island by a group of lonely and isolated neighbours and his account of this strange band of misfits at first intrigues then enchants Juliet who subsequently visits the island to get drawn into a rather painful wartime mystery.

So you can see , the film has everything. Wartime hardships, shoulder pads, a delightfully eclectic set of characters, beautiful scenery, Nazi cruelty and Mr Huisman who makes the wearing of a dirty and hole filled fisherman's jumper an art form. He is basically the most beautiful man I have seen on screen in a long time.

The ensemble cast has been picked perfectly from Sunday night tv.
Jessica Brown Finlay is excellent as the mysterious and brave Elizabeth McKenna, Katherine Parkinson plays a ever hopeful gin making spinster rather movingly and heavyweights Tom Courtenay and Penelope Wilton provide warmth and gravitas in spades as the de facto grandparents of the group
Their society meetings have a real drama and pathos on screen.

Having said this , apart from the dreamy and soft spoken Huisman, I have to say that Lily James carries the film admirably. She possess a doe eyed sweetness which is perfect for the film's gentle innocence that finally, after a somewhat contrived will they, won't they? finale ends with a kiss that would make even the most hardened of watchers swoon.

It's a lovely film.

Daft Apeth

The hen houses rise in the distance

I made a fish pie before 9 am and was out clearing the Ukrainian village of last year's overgrowth soon after.
It's been back breaking but satisfying work seeing two of the old hen houses being  resurrected . the seven more dilapidated houses and the old goose house , I dragged down the field to add to a rapidly growing bonfire.
My back is aching like a good 'un
At lunchtime I indulged myself in a spot of cloud watching with the dogs around me.
The neighbours are used to seeing me supine in the grass but one did refer to me as being a "Daft apeth" A phrase I have not heard since my mother died.
Daft Apeth is an old North England colloquial saying which means "silly sod..or  a bit of a fool"
It's an affectionate term and is one that I expect will die out within the next couple of decades or so
whats your dying out phrase?

Diary Of A 1950s Welsh Housewife

I get up before the Prof and make sure I am neat and tidy for the day ahead.
I check my reflection in the bathroom mirror before anything else
Hair perfect....make up discreet .....apron straight!
Now to prepare breakfast.
The Prof has his boiled egg and soldiers in bed with a strong cup of sweet tea, he is reading Boffin's Weekly.
I wake the children. They are such naughty children too as none of them want to get out of bed in the mornings! No pancakes for Winifred this morning as I notice she has put on too much weight recently. An extra few laps around the hockey pitch is the order of the day me thinks.
Men don't want to see extra large knickerbockers airing on the clotheshorse do they?
That sort of thing gets their roving eyes started .
After checking that William, Mary and baby George have washed behind their ears, it's a brisk walk around the village before breakfast and out they go to play.

I need to get cracking with my chores.
After quick race around with the old ewbank and some elbow grease with a duster and the house is looking all spick and span. I change into a clean apron and bang out a dozen jam tarts and meat pie before running hubby a nice hot bath.
I've already laid out a fresh cardigan for him to wear.
While he soaks I pop on my coat and hat and picking up my wicker basket I trot to the village shop.
Mrs Trellis is buying her usual quarter of tea and a French fancy as I wait in line.
Tut tut tut I think , " a moment on the lips a lifetime on the hips !" But I say nothing...I'm far too nice.
Mr Jason the shopkeeper gives me a wink and says he's got a Cumberland sausage just in with my name on it, we laugh gayly.
I politely refuse Mr Jason's sausage and purchase instead three slices of ham and a tomato for the Prof's tea. Keeping your man fed and watered is the sure way to maintain a happy marriage my
mother always told me....oh and acting like a right whore in the bedroom helps a bit too!

To be continued......

Pie Making and Paul Temple

What it should look like

It's the little things that perk you up me thinks.
Today was a case in point.
I've not felt like blogging for a few days ( hence the lazy posts) there has been nothing major to report, just little to write about.
Life gets like that sometimes.
This morning I am just about to make an Italian potato crust pie for lunch whilst listening to reruns of Paul Temple and the Gregory Affair on iplayer.  The Prof has been writing in his study since before dawn.
I have learnt an age ago that Academics often work better creatively in the early mornings.
I cannot speak before 6 am.
At 11 am as I was walking the dogs I spied a young boy of about ten on the village green. He was collecting dead wood from the shrubbery and was placing it into a waste bin. I realised that he thought that the volunteers that I had called for weeding duties was this week instead of next which was a shame
I had not seen him before but I thanked him for coming and promised him extra cake if he turned up next Sunday.
In this busy world , where no one has the time for volunteering , it was nice to see one little boy making an effort.

My " more rustic" pie