Sunday

Sometimes Sundays just feel like this

Old Bloggers.....

...don't die
They just fade away..........
With Chris on the way to Cowboy Canada...I have spent a night with catching up on old bloggers I have not caught up with for years....
Most have  continued regardless of any pithy comments from me, a dozen have given up the ghost, one has married an unsuitable partner ,one has sadly died, a few have carried on albeit half heartedly,  one has become seriously mentally ill ...........,it's been an interesting catch up

Get a life ( I say to myself)

Mrs Trellis in Your Garden

Yesterday I spied Mrs Trellis being dragged up High Street by her incredibly badly behaved border collie. Diminutive and nervy, Mrs Trellis  cannot quite cope with the inevitable face off her dog Trixie  has with any other canine, so she has the odd little habit of running into the nearest garden to hide so that confrontations on the main road can be kept to a minimum.
I think most people in Trelawnyd are now used to seeing the elderly lady peeping from inside their privet hedges as they watch television. It's a case of " mrs Trellis is out for a walk again" type comment when she is spied crouching behind the herbaceous border.
As I passed the garden hedge behind which Mrs Trellis had taken refuge, I heard a disembodied voice call out " hello John, are you well?"
" very well  Mrs Trellis! " I called back vaguely.
I could hear her struggling with Trixie
" how's Chris?" She trilled trying to sound in control
" he's working away this weekend until Thursday "I told her
" anywhere nice ?" She asked politely.
" Calvary" I told her
There was a slightly confused silence from behind the bush
" oh!" She said
It was only when I was walking home past the church , I realized I should have said Calgary

The one and only Mrs Trellis of Trelawnyd

Sans Trixie

Daryl in 6 weeks

Just about a month and it's back!

Darby And Joan

There is one complication of being a nurse in a DGH  ( district general hospital)  and that is you always risk looking after someone that you know.
Over my few years in ITU I am unhappy to say that a few familiar faces have been admitted, and every time it happens I generally make sure that I look after someone else.
It's easier all round if I can be supportive without doing hands on care.

Anyhow ,On my last shift, the lady two beds away from my patient turned out to be someone I have known for many years. Usually robust and  jovial , she looked grey and frail in bed, but I noticed  that she was holding the hand of her husband who looked every inch of his 80 years., in a very firm grip

I was suddenly  reminded of a verse in the 18th century poem " Darby & Joan"  by St John Honeywood( a poem that my old tutor in psychiatric often referred to

"Old Darby, with Joan by his side

You've often regarded with wonder.

He's dropsical, she is sore-eyed

Yet they're ever uneasy asunder."

It's a privilege to be able to witness these sweet little relationship moments, but they are often quite difficult to watch. Such devotion in those twilight years by nature of the beast always leads to one partner being left alone at some final stage.

ITU, Darby & Joan, ...all this came to mind last night when I was locking up he hens for the night.
For just by accident, I happened to look up into the branches of the beech tree that over hangs the field from the old Church yard and there cuddled up side by side on a high branch was the legbar cockerel and hen who were dropped off a week of so ago.
The hen had been bedded down with the rest of the hens but had decided to join her cockerel for the night  up in the tree.
Cockerel and hen
Darby and Joan

It's what we all want for ourselves, but one that probably terrifies the bejesus out of us all

The Kitchen Window

One of our kitchen windows used to be cottage back door. You still get the sense of this when you look at it, for the " level" of the top of the window doesn't feel quite right.
It is a window in which I cook and bake. I am baking apple pies today.
I went scrumping this morning and took a bucket load of apples from the last couple of orchard trees in the small field behind the cottage.
The little field used to belong to our cottage but was kept by the owners years back in order to be sold off for building. Decades later, the land remains empty and has been left to overgrow.......which is a shame....we always wanted to buy it in order to replace the old cottage garden and vegetable beds.
Hey ho!
The kitchen window looks out on the lane and the churchyard . In the spring, when the trees are lighter in leaf, you can watch people visiting for Sunday service  and most days there is always figures to be seen clutching bunches of flowers on their their way to the graveyard beyond.
In the afternoons  a white fantail hen often stands on top of the wall in between the gravestones waiting for tidbits to be thrown from the back door across the gap .
Today I'll put some pastry aside for her.
Hens go gaga over raw pastry.
Daily egg customers will get my attention by knocking lightly on the kitchen window and on a couple of occasions children have excited themselves silly by playing " knock and run"  on an evening.
A chorus of barks usually see any half hearted visitors off.
Scotty dog barks can be incredibly ferocious
Without an aga, the window has assumed the role of centre of the kitchen.


When we eventually get he kitchen upgraded , I want my Belfast sink under this window.
Washing up the dishes during The Archers  needs a nice view.... Even though the backdrop is of huge slate tombstones.

Apart from apple pies......there is little else to report.
I am putting off searching for the dead mouse which I am sure is under our bed. I heard Albert and
William throttling it last night after chris retired
Luckily he was fast asleep...dreaming his 2mg of diazepam sleep

Arsehole

 Wednesday night is Bake off night.
It's when I spend a happy hour, tut tutting at the state of a sponge Finger and texting back and forth with best friend Nuala about the state of someone's baked Alaska.
Tonight was just a little different

For every time the slightly big headed know all Luis came on the screen, showing off his magnificent sauce sponge puddings, Chris would pipe up from his comfortable position on the couch with a rather surprising and uncharacteristic shout of

" ARSEHOLE!"

It was only then I realized he had taken one diazepam ( he's flying to canada this weekend and wanted to see if the prescribed medication he may use on the flight would affect him in any way)

Thank goodness " The Great British Bake Off" isn't shown on British Airways' in flight entertainment !

Mostyn Hall

Just three miles north East of Trelawnyd lies the historic country house Mostyn hall. The 15th Century house is a private seat of the latest Lord Mostyn who is 29 years old and the 13th richest man in a Britain under the age of 30.

The house has been opened to the public for a few weeks this year for the very first time, so, after a glowing report from my sister who had a guided tour of the Hall last week.I drove up to have a look for myself.

It was a fascinating hour out of my day. With only 8 of us on the tour, we had time to look at Charles The first's death warrant signed by Oliver Cromwell ( Oliver P)', learn all about the flamboyant Savage Mostyn who was responsible for the design of the modern sailor uniform!

and notice the cans of coke almost hidden away on the drinks trolley in the library.

As usual with these ancient family homes of Britain, the interest was not only in the grand public rooms which were a real delight, it was the quick glimpses of the 1970 avocado bathrooms which gave the whole visit a grounding in the normal

A painting of Mostyn hall's delightful library