Dinner On The Field

 It's been a busy day on intensive care. I got home after 8pm to find my sisters and their husbands ( and my sis in law )on the field grilling sausages on a charcoal fire. We sat eating until dark fell, and blankets and rugs were dished out as the chickens wandered slowly to their beds and the owls started to hoot in the Churchyard Elms

Off to bed.....another full day at the hospital tomorrow

Tomorrow's Blog Today

I am working tomorrow all day

And again all day Sunday

So this is tomorrow's post so to speak

Slingbacks, Camp Queens & Flower Show Cups

The Royal Mail service , we are told is being privatised. courier services, we are also told are flourishing in competition. Such is the way of the postal world.
I have been waiting for a delivery of fertile guinea fowl eggs all week. The lady I bought them from has been chasing up the delivery company she uses, and I was promised that the eggs ( eggs that needed to placed under the warm arse of a broody buff Orpington ASAP ) would be finally delivered yesterday.
I left non cryptic notes all over the cottage informing any driver that I would be shovelling chicken shit on the field and finally at 4pm I noticed a rather fearful teenage delivery man , quickly tiptoeing past Bingley onto the field.
I signed for the package, made sure that the broody hen was still on her nest, and ripped open the box to check on the guinea eggs.
This is what I found

" Bleeding Great!!"

Another minor disappointment was a trip to the cinema last night. Chris and I went to see the Beneath The Candelabra , the much acclaimed story of Liberace's relationship with his  chauffeur Scott Thorson. 

Once you get past Michael Douglas' flabby arsed,campy old queen performance ( a role which he gives his all by the way) the whole film shares very little about the real people within the story, relying much more on costume and make up to give a flavour of those danger, hidden gay days of  the early 1980s. It is a shame that  Beneath The Candelabra, has no real heart . It is a cold study of damaged people that does not quite explain the attraction that buff chicken Thorson ( a rather bland Matt Damon)  has for the old showman...and that's a shame.

I give the whole thing a boring 5/10

Mind you I did find the Rob Lowe's cameo performance as an over botoxed, drunk Hollywood plastic surgeon hysterically amusing.

An Almost unrecognisable Mr Lowe

The good news of the day, is that the " Finlay Memorial Cup" has been anonymously returned to the flower Show Committee after an absence of several years. Chris and I donated the 1930s solid silver trophy and we were really upset when it went " missing"

Now it's back. A bit battered and dinged , but back.

Hey ho

Wings

On the back of the previous post, I was sorting through some old " stuff " this afternoon and came across an old assignment I wrote when I was in my first semester of film studies at Sheffield Hallam University . The assignment rather pretentiously discussed the " mise en scene" from clips from ancient silent movie WINGS .....which was a cracking love triangle melodrama of its day
Have a look at this clip, which holds up rather well, even by today's sophisticated standards.....
But beware.....get your hankies ready

Stuff

We have a great deal of stuff.
Too much for one small cottage to cope with.
Every corner seems to have a much loved nick- nack shoved into it.
Something to cherish
Something to dust.

If there was a fire....what would I save?
The burleigh potty? Mrs Roberts' grandfather clock? One of our watercolours?

A Carltonware lobster fruit bowl? Family photos?

Who knows?

Stuff is just stuff

When we are dead and gone..

The flotsam and jetsam of our life together

will be shelf clutter in a charity shop or antique centre

You never " own" stuff

You only look after it for a while..........................

Amusing Self

I wrote this blog almost a year ago
http://disasterfilm.blogspot.co.uk/2012/07/mrs-spriggs-and-buggy.html

and I re read it by chance last night. 

I seldom go in for self praise but I must say, it amused me greatly

Mrs Spriggs, I was told recently, passed away a few months ago

Hazy Day

In bad weather Trelawnyd has a tendency to look deserted and dismal 

In good weather, it just looks sleepy

Today it looks comatose

 Valerian is a weed but at this time of year it borders our lane quite wonderfully

As does the honeysuckle over our front door

Ablutions

Our hot water is heated by our log burner fire. After a full day cutting grass and making informal piles of hay ...I just couldn't be arsed lighting it last night.......Big mistake.
I was in desperate need of a bath.
People today forget that daily baths and showers are a luxury.
When I was a kid I only ever had a bath:-
1. Once a week on a Sunday Night..the night before school
2. After I had a fever
Adults, I suspect only had a bath:-
1. On a Friday or Saturday night before " going out"
2. Before visiting the doctors
3. Before sex
At all other times, you had to make do with a comprehensive " strip wash" at the sink.
Soap, hot water,a bar of imperial leather and a great deal of " brusque" rubbing with a flannel was the order of the day.
I am however, of a generation that enjoyed the transition between " the immersion heater" bath ( and my father bellowing " TURN THE BLOODY THING OFF! I AM NOT MADE OF MONEY," ) and the installation of the avocado shower cubicle...........suddenly bathing became a joyful daily  habit, rather than an expensive weekly event.
Having that strip wash at the sink last night, reminded me of all of those memories and just for a moment, i found myself being exceedingly grateful for being alive in an era where hot water is take very much for granted............mind you...... I never mentioned to Chris when I eventually came to bed  that I left my grotty, potato dirty feet out of my ablutions
I didn't quite have the dexterity to cock my feet up into the sink!