Friends

Me, Sara, Eleanor and Pask

Chic Eleanor picked me up around noon

No pashmina but she was sporting a very expensive Italian scarf which was looped informally around her neck

“ Darling John “ she purred behind her face mask as she stopped “ it’s been too long!”

We didn’t kiss as we usually do

We met friends Sara and Pask up the Conwy valley and was treated to a real Italian meal with four courses, antipasti ( and a special  scotch egg just for me), orecchiette pasta, locally caught muscles in garlic and white wine and meringue with raspberries 

It was lovely 

Quite lovely 

My scotch egg antipasti

 

One Thing Better

I ate my last Fortum & Mason's scotch egg this evening when I got home from work
I ate it very slowly as I read the news on the loo
There is only one thing better than a posh scotch egg

And that is

Chris Pratt's Sideburns 

Emergency Scotch Egg

Three hours proper sleep in 48 hours

And listening to this on the radio this afternoon

And I hurled into the post night shift/ jet lag blues

There was only one thing for it

Get in the Berlingo

And drive quick sticks  towards town

,

Park up at Marks and Spencer's food hall

Buy an emergency scotch egg

( pack f two £ 1.15)

Drive to beach and stop for a moment to enjoy the view

I didn't forget the dogs 

( I bought them a pack of  50 cocktail  sausages)

12 sausages each dog

Bliss

The Revenant ( spoilers!)

Ouch!

 With all of the internet ballyhoo about DiCaprio latest survivalist movie The Revenant, I thought I would brace myself and go and see the three hour revenge fest.
Armed with a coffee and a smuggled in M&S scotch egg, I thought I was prepared for this epic set in the bleak mid western wilderness of 1823.
I wasn't.
From the stunning and totally visceral Indian attack of the opening few minutes, it was very clear that The Revenant is a very raw and demanding movie. It grabs you with some of the most stunning visuals I have ever seen captured on film, then throttles you with relentless drama, and nailbiting tension . There is no let up for three whole hours
The story is a simple one of revenge.
A large group of fur trappers are massacred by indians searching for a chief's lost daughter. The survivors are led by scout Hugh Glass ( DiCaprio) and his indian son Hawk ( Forrest Goodyear) but
an attack by a bear leaves Glass critically injured and causes upset  in the trappers' ranks as the
men argue whether or not to leave Glass in the wilderness.
One of the most belligerent trappers John Fitzgerald ( Tom Hardy) kills Hawk and abandons Glass and the film chronicles Glass' near impossible struggle against the elements, marauding indians,  stomach churning physical injuries , starvation and grief.
Fucking hell, it was all bloody too much.
The bear attack, alone made me drop my second scotch egg in surprise for it is the most intensely shocking and horrific sequence I have ever seen in my 45 years of regular cinema going.
I could hardly watch the screen it was that " bad"

DiCaprio is impressive as the driven and perpetually suffering Glass, it's a remarkable and physically demanding performance for sure , but , for me , it's Tom Hardy's brutal Fitzgerald that grabbed my attention more. It's a performance of some charm, depth and understandable harshness.

The director, Alejandro Inarritu, has produced an undeniably beautiful movie, as every scene of The Revenant is crafted and framed like a painting but this tale of revenge and survival is, in my opinion, a good hour too long.
It's a case of too much misery for one Welshman to adequately cope with on a rainy Thursday afternoon.
8/10

A Scotch Egg on the wall

Well, I am glad to say , I survived the night
sometimes it's not good working on intensive care.
For nearly every critically ill patient who is sedated and ventilated starts their illness journey with a temperature and flu like symptoms
So be aware dear readers.
Flu isn't alway just....well.......flu.
Before I started to court Chris , I lived on my own in a nice large Victorian terraced house in Hillsborogh. At the start of a weeks holiday , I started to become unwell with the aforementioned " flu like" symptoms. In a few hours I found myself weak as a kitten and pretty much helpless in bed.
I had rigors, didn't eat and spent two days lying in bed which I can honestly say was an incredibly frightening experience, for I was unable to even make a cup of tea for myself.
I thought I was dying but
then all I was suffering from was a late and severe bout of chicken pox.

The cottage lane this morning

I still have a low grade temperature this morning, but I do feel a whole lot better than I did last night even though it's snowing and very cold at the moment ...thank you all for asking!
I had to smile after I took the dogs out for their walk, for left on the back wall was a plastic carrier bag
In it was the following
A scotch egg wrapped in silver foil, a tin of tomato soup and a newspaper
I have no idea which kind soul left it.

A Sad Sort Of Story & A Quality Scotch Egg

As it turned out, the chap with the ducks who I thought was a farmer, wasn't a farmer.
He works as a part time taxi driver.He was not the owner of the ducks either, they were owned by his son..funny how the true story is more complicated than it had to be.
The son rang me last night about the ducks, the conversation was a difficult one as he sounded somewhat drunk,but eventually I arranged to call in to assess the birds in situ so to speak. It was no trouble, because I was almost passing his house today anyway, I had planned to go up to the vets to collect flea treatment for the animals.
The duck owner, as it turned out, was still in his teens. He looked as though he had just got out of bed when I arrived at two and had great difficulty walking to the front door.His speech was still slurred and slightly laboured so It was not hard to figure out that he was recovering from some sort of head injury.
He led me to a small enclosure in the back garden which housed two sad looking drakes sitting on a hard concrete floor.The run was sparse but clean enough and there was pellets in a bowl and clean water set up in the corner.They needed to be housed on some grass with room to run around.
" why are you getting rid of them" I asked and the boy looked incredibly sad and somewhat sheepish
"I can't look after them anymore" he slurred .... "I've had a bad car accident"
The garden was filled with runs and little enclosures, all of them quiet and empty and the boy explained rather morosely that all of his hens,budgies,quail, pigeons and ferrets had been given away to good homes.Only the two drakes were left and true to form, no one would take a couple of mucky looking drakes off his hands.
Drakes, with all of their bullying sexual ways, are something I could do without, but there was something so sad about the fact that this lad had to lose his menagerie of pets because of an arbitrary accident, I said I would take them. In the great scheme of things, it was no skin off my nose
"You wont cull them to eat will you" he asked when I eventually caught both birds and I assured him that they had found a good home.
"That's good" he slurred "I raised these two from duckings..."
"Have they got names?" I asked
"Bert and Ernie" he replied " from Sesame Street!"
"I remember them" I said
He tried to smile, but it just didnt work out.

Duck no 1 Bert

Duck no 2 Ernie

I felt somewhat melancholy when I got the ducks home, and after setting them up in the duck house with food and water , I took the dogs out for a walk.Of course all I could think of was the sad long term rehab ramifications for the lad with the head injury, His journey to some sort of normality would be a long and difficult one.
As I wandered through the centre of the village, Trelawnyd Val called out to me to come over
She had a pressie for me!
It was a QUALITY SCOTCH EGG from the posh Hawarden Estates Farm Shop.......
Another delightfully well timed and thoughtful gift.........
I managed to keep it intact, until I got home

" The Crab Stick Incident"

I had a bump in the Berlingo this morning.
Nothing major! there was no damage to either vehicle, but the whole accident did cost me my lunch.
I'd just had an exciting half hour in Tescos buying a new mop , followed by a twenty minute battle with the great unwashed in Poundland ( they do cheap bleach!) when I realised it was lunchtime.
Now last night , I had broken into my emergency scotch egg supply to cure a sudden rush of depression, so knowing that I had already gone over my scotch egg quota for the week, I decided to get myself something low fat from Marks & Spencer.
As usual I was spoilt for choice, but after a good ten minutes drooling, I chose a packet of cocktail sausages ( for the dogs) and a packet of crab sticks for me......
Okok I KNOW that any self respecting crab has never been near a crab stick in it's life, let alone make up a packet , but I DO like them in a low fat, synthetic kinda way even though they have been recently given the generic new title of " seafood sticks"
When I got back to the car, I fed the dogs their treats ( Winnie can get 8 cocktail sausages in her mouth at once ) then drove out of town with my crabsticks all lined up on the dashboard ready for me to dip into as we went!
Big mistake.
I had just stopped in the line of traffic at the top of Prestatyn High Street ( right outside the undertakers) when, reaching for my first crabstick, I misjudged the distance and knocked four of the little suckers onto the floor.
George, ever the opportunist , leapt onto the front seat and in the unsavoury scuffle that ensued, I let the berlingo creep forward and I nudged the car in front of me.
As it turned out it was another berlingo!
And the elderly driver was up and out of the driver's seat like a rat up a drainpipe
I got out to apologise, but he was already examining his bumper with forensic care
" Didn't you see me?" He snapped
I smiled and mouthed " SORRY" I couldn't tell him that I was trying to save a crabstick from the clutches of an elderly Scottish terrier with halitosis
The cars behind us were beeping, but the old fart couldn't be rushed . So it was a minute or so until he was satisfied that no damage had been done. A long..... long minute during which I could see Winnie hysterically bouncing around the back seat in an effort to squeeze herself into the front.
When I eventually got back into the car William had already joined George in the front seats,
And there wasn't a soddin' crab stick to be seen
Not fucking One!
Hey ho

Soup & Scotch Egg Self Help

10th October Saturday 20.00pm

I’m having a break from blogging for a bit but not from writing everyday.

That I would find an impossibility. I’m on my last night this week ( 48 hours total) after the same amount Of hours last week. Next week it’s the same

I’ve felt somewhat overwhelmed and not in the right frame of mind to publish

Yet I write?

Go figure.

I bought sweets for the day staff and an orchid for my trained colleague before I came to work as she has had a shit time recently.

Much shittier than mine .......

Lisa Tarbuck was laughing on the radio as I drove to work and this piece of nostalgia pleased me when she played it

I’m not sure, if I will post these mini snippets of daily life

But I will continue to write them until I feel ok to blog again.

I feel I have nothing worth reading or to share at the moment

11th October Sunday..2.20 am

He was waiting for his wife to pass away and she was comfortable under sedation. We talked about many things in the side room that night. But I particularly remember talking about Andrew Wyeth my favourite painter in those wee small hours before dawn. 

We shared anacdotes, they were less painful than reality.

He appreciated my love for Christina’s world but didn’t share my affection for it 

But, as it turned out we both loved Wyeth’s portrait of his wife Betsy in his piece Maga’s Daughter

Which remains in a museum in Seattle .

That was many weeks ago now and I’ve just been passed a note from the visitor, who was now a widower

He had found me a print of “Maga’s Daughter” in the US and was sending it me

I forgot my great niece’s birthday which is not like me

I’m not cooking on gas

Maga’s Daughter

Me looking at my much loved Christina’s World in MOMA New York 2014

12th October Monday10.35 am

I slept heavy. I always do after nights. 

Yesterday my family met for soup and Cornish pasties in the garden

It was lovely but I felt lacklustre and boring

We are talking about Christmas ....turkey sandwiches and soup outside

It’s a new Way of looking at things

12th October Monday 6pm

I actually didn’t get up until 1pm.

It’s pouring down and miserable 

I made cannon ball sized low calorie scotch eggs and spicy butternut squash soup

And I watched Sorry Wrong Number on the iPad as I did so

I feel brighter today

Bloody lovely

I feel better today

Rested and more in balance

The scotch eggs did it

Not the eating of said eggs ( I managed one at a push as it needed two hands to lift it) 

But the planning and making of them and some spicy soup.

Me time...gentle space time 

If I feel like this again (and more long stretches of nights amid lockdown are on the horizon)

I won’t feel ‘ obliged’ to blog 

To chatter away in that empty room

,

Calamity

The casualties, when I got them home

I dropped Chris off to catch the London train before 8am. He is working there most of the week and won't be back until Sunday. This gives me four days to totally spring clean the cottage. Winter use of a wood burning stove means that surfaces everywhere are in desperate need of a damp cloth and a bit of elbow grease.

Such is the "downside" of a real fire.

Now people that actually have to carry out the mundane and satisfying job of "clearing the decks" will tell you that you have to reward yourself with a little treat as you buff and scrub. for many the treat  is chocolate.....for me.....it is a crisp and well constructed scotch egg....and so after I had dropped the Boffin off..I drove around to Prestatyn's new Tesco and bought myself two.

I also bought an armful of cat food ( Albert will only eat gravy covered chunks) bread, milk, dog food , fruit, bleach and yogurt and not wanting to pay the extra 5 p for a carrier bag I juggled my purchases in my arms until I got to the car.

I won't explain all this wonderfully interesting routine any more, suffice to say, that , as I drove around the mini roundabout outside the supermarket, the scotch eggs and four weightwatchers citrus yogurts shot off the roof of the Berlingo and bounced across the road.

I couldn't give a stuff about the yogurts but the sight of scotch eggs careering out of sight chilled my very soul and blocking the traffic , I jumped out to retrieve what was left of them.

A casual observer could have been forgiven for thinking I had run over a cat or something, such was my horrified reaction to " the accident" but I was lucky

The plastic packaging that covers every bloody thing we buy nowadays had protected the eggs adequately enough

This obsession is getting out of hand

Scotch Eggs, gifts and a fat Cheerful Virgin Mary

I did indeed sleep most of Christmas Eve.

Dorothy attached herself to me like a limpet and watched me snore for the longest of times with wide worried eyes. 

Since Winifred died, she has never left my side and her increased neediness has proven difficult as her relations with Mary are now more strained and increasingly volatile. 

Of course this will eventually settle down

But her increased sadness is worrying.

Like I said we slept most of Christmas Eve.

It was odd not to be organising food, wrapping gifts, listening to the ever depressing Carol’s from Kings or delivering last minute gifts.

And by the time afternoon came there was a little shrine of gifts dotted around the kitchen wall, back door and front door knob.

A cheerful bag with goodies in the the affable despot family. Mince Pies from Hattie, two bespoke scotch eggs wrapped beautifully by the Camerons, books from Wendy & Alun and an unsigned rubber chicken from Aldi with a label which said “ I saw this and thought of You !” on it.

I ate one Scotch egg whilst watching  Disney’s Moana, took a lovely phone call from Anne Marie in Philly then dozed a bit more before walking the dogs again and leaving for work.

I caught Tesco’s in Llandudno Junction just before they closed with alongside panicked husbands looking for non utilitarian gifts for their wives , I ran around and bought four bags of  party food. 

The ward manager hadn’t organised food for the nursing staff over Christmas so I took it on myself to get some..... (a product of years of doing it myself in Sheffield ) and so with a willing support worker in tow, I assembled the tables with covid appropriate foods ( small individual packets and bottles and tubs) all ready for the day staff to enjoy.

Christmas isn’t Christmas on a ward unless you have a food laden table draped with sheets secreted away in a side room for the nurses to nibble on between tasks.

My straight colleague zoned into his inner gay side by arranging swathes of holly into vases for decoration

I was rather impressed

 

We booked another take away for supper ( this time an Indian) and shared it again with the patient who enjoyed yesterday’s Chinese. Then we FaceTimed an ex colleague who was working in the next hospice along the coast and laughed a little 

It was Christmas Day before we knew it.

In between nursing jobs, I labelled some tins of gin and tonic for the day staff and wrapped a few gifts of my own.it was then I remembered Mrs Trellis.

On the way to work I spied her on London road her head down against the cold dark wind. Her bobble hat sticking out defiantly ahead of her

She was heading for the cottage

I stopped the car and she dropped a gift, through the window and onto the passenger seat with all of the aseptic technique remembered by the retired midwife .

The gift was wrapped a green felt and was tied with garden twine fashioned  into a bow 

“ You always giggled at Christine Davis bringing in the baby Jesus” she said in way of explanation

And as I drove away I remembered  all too clearly being in fits of giggles when Rector Robert commanded rather  theatrically for Christine the Church Warden to “ Bring In The Baby Jesus !”

The small figure , being transported in an upturned palm towards the nativity scene laid out before the pulpit.

The Christmas Eve carol service with nativity was an old tradition I always went to in Trelawnyd.

Last night the Church looked old  and cold and lonely.

As did Mrs Trellis 

and I wished I would have thanked her more when I finally got around to opening her gift from my place behind the nurses station .

For wrapped in tissue paper inside the green felt was a rather naivé but charming Baby Jesus alongside a plump and cheerful Virgin Mary, splendid in blue.

 

A First!

Yesterday was a bit of a red letter day

for the Berlingo got a spring clean

An archeologist would have a field day piecing together

a sociological profile of the car's owners once they sifted through 

the detritus of its contents

Here is the list

Five neurological testing pen torches

Fifteen ballpoint pens

6 assorted scotch egg wrappers

7 cans of diet coke ( empty)

I desiccated canine stool

I pair of white ( sorry grey) underpants

2 scarves

2 woolly hats

I blue vase of unknown origin

£ 4.26 in assorted coins

a half opened bag of cat litter

The remains of a Marks & Spencer individual pork pie

22 egg boxes

4 books,

I china cup ( no saucer )

1 black sock

an unopened tin of evaporated milk

I jar of swarfega

2 screwdrivers

I dog lead

A photograph of a duck

A toothbrush

A Cadbury creme egg

Assorted food wrappers

A book of stamps

And old box of KFC chicken bones

Camilla Or Could It Be Charles?

Camilla ( or Charles) leaving her/his bachelor pad this morning

Things return to normal today. Chris has already left for the University early this morning and Sorrel leaves on the 10 am train. Trelawnyd, for me will change from a full,constantly " moving" cottage interior , returning to the steady routine of vegetable bed preparation and rooster arse Vaseline dabbing.

April heralds the start of goose eggs season.

Winnie and Jo always choose to drop their large oval eggs inside the goose house and as soon as they arrive, Camilla, the Canada Goose gets ousted from the flock.

It happened last year and no doubt it will happen next year, as suddenly the three domestic geese decide that Camilla cannot be tolerated for the duration of the short egg laying season.

I suspect Camilla is in fact a gander.

Perhaps any professional  " goose person" out there could confirm my  suspicions.I would be grateful

In the meantime, Camilla is shacked up with Bogbrush and his cohorts, and will spend a lonely and slightly sad existence on the periphery of the goose flock until hormones return to normality in a couple of months.

Right, I can hear my MIL stirring so I am off to cook her breakfast.....

I may treat myself to a scotch egg after I drop her off at the station......Marks And Spencer do a cracking quality two pack!

...get me........Marks & Spencer Scotch eggs on a Monday!

How decadent 

Hey ho

Scotch Eggs (at last)

And they keep on coming. 281 so far!

How fantastic is that?

the first Scotch Egg postcard!

I wish I was That thin

Clydene & Tom I did go to Fallingwater when I was in Pittsburgh but didn't meet Charles Frederick Brown