Going Gently

How Others See You

There is often a chasm between self perception and how others " see " you.

That is a fact of life.

Once I was " recovering" a patient who had been through an incredibly long and difficult liver transplant. He opened his eyes briefly then again and groaned " Fuck me it's Jeremy Speight" he croaked

At the time Jeremy Speight was a camp, fat Half Russian minor celebrity flight supervisor on the tv documentary Airport .

I wasn't best pleased

Yesterday, I got a facebook message from a colleague, she had been watching The Great British Bake Off

This was the message

Today

17:08

Sandra G

Whilst watching bake off it occurred to me Rav could be your love child. He looks like you only a Sikh

Who do you look like in reality?

Who would you like to look like

Dragon

Compare this pixar dragon with the previous photo!

Yesterday was incredibly humid. It was also rather sunny , not good for black furred animals like George and Albert.
Fuses are cut rather short when it's sticky and oppressive
For months now, Mary has taken every opportunity to goad Albert.
A cold nose up the arsehole at every opportunity
A sharp bark when the boy is sitting peacefully on the bedroom window ledge
It is the challenge adolescent dogs delight in when the victim is smaller and different.

Yesterday, as Albert sauntered into the cottage in order to find a cool corner he stopped briefly to rub heads with his best mate Winnie. (Head rubbing, for those that don't know, is a feline gesture of welcome.)
The ever alert Mary, grabbed her chance.
She shot out of her hiding place from under the kitchen table and in one long " sweep" gave Albert's bumhole a massive and rather over saturated lick.
It was the lick that broke the camel's back.
Albert lost it.
He growled like a tiger and lifted himself onto his tiptoes with his back arched like a bow and when finally Mary bolted for the safety of the staircase he shot after her like Bagheera from The Jungle Book.
Albert caught Mary in our bedroom and by the sound of the howls he must have given her a sound and long overdue thrashing.
I left him to it.

The tail swishing and dark mood lasted all day , I am afraid, and even this morning ( nearly 24 hours since the final bumhole lick was administered) Albert is still looked rather wide eyed and bad tempered when Mary is in his vicinity.
I snapped the above photo just a few minutes ago as Mary prudently sat under my armpit, on the arm of the chair.
Albert in full growl!
Hell hath no fury like a goggle-eyed black cat scorned

The Worst Emotion And Trendy Carol's fashion faux Pas

I got home around 2 am this morning only to find my reading glasses destroyed on the living room floor.
Mary had struck again .
I was irritated and somewhat annoyed but an eager face and a cold nose warmed me up enough to allow a cuddle up after I had done the creeping " limbo" like dance , in order to sneak into bed without waking a slumbering Professor who was sleeping a happy Professor sleep.
Animals, even when they are naughty, can irritate you terribly..but they never disappoint you like people can .

Disappointment, I thought minutes after moving William's slightly shitty smelling bum from my pillow, is definitely and exclusively a human based emotion.
Disappointing someone is the pits.
Being disappointed by someone is somehow worse.
There are elements of hurt and shame wrapped up in disappointment .
It's such a sad emotion.

I've only been thinking of this after reading the twitter furore post The Great British Bake Off Sell off. Twitterers seem to be overwhelmingly disappointed in the show and it's fall from grace, it's almost as if they had caught their best friend stealing from them, so strong is the feeling.

How many times have we heard the phrases " You fucking well piss me off" " stop it, you've really upset me!" Or my very favourite " you are getting on my tits!"

But I think we all would detest a loved one 's comment of " You've really disappointed me" so much more.
Disappointment is all wrapped up with shame and true hurt
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Oh and talking of tits, just spied Trendy carol thundering through the village with her two terriers.
She was wearing grey trousers, up to date laceless sneakers and a very floaty grey blouse, cut low and very loose fitting..
Her dogs were bouncing her around somewhat
So much so, that I had to shout over a small call of advice
" Carol! Your babs are hanging out!"
She disappeared quicky to get changed!
Hey ho

Today's Moral Maze

Today's nugget of wisdom is, I think, something of a discussion .
Feel free to comment......
Yesterday Cameron , the teenage boffin, called around with some homemade Jam for The Prof and I. He's a nice lad, and a bright one too and it was great to find out his news, his university plans and to be able to look at many of his new photographs taken in and around the village.
He was also nice enough to give Winnie a kiss on the lips when she became " all unnecessary "

Now, I hope that Cameron doesn't think I am rude in any way but on the odd occasion he has called around to the cottage , whether it be on flower show or bird locking up duty business, I am always careful to chat outside the cottage, which is almost a " public" area so to speak.
This is a habit I have gotten into and is one that I understand is right but one I feel slightly uncomfortable with.

Now this is not a gay thing......it's more an " appropriate" behaviour kind of thing. If I was a straight man of 54 and a sixteen year old girl, I knew , knocked on the door with a jar of jam then would I still feel it right not to invite her in without a chaperone. Too bloody right I would.

But it still feels as though I'm being a bit rude!
Would you feel the same?
Answers on a postcard please!

We Walk The Same Line

The Prof bounces out of bed in the morning like Julie Andrews.
At 5.30 am I look like Walter Matthau from The Odd Couple .
I have to get up at this ungodly time as it is my job to walk the dogs. So I drag my sorry carcass up, dress in anything I can grab and amble sleepily around the village until bladders are emptied.
Only then can we all return home en masse where we all silently stagger past a chatty and dapper Prof and return to a very warm duvet like baby rabbits in a pile of straw.

It's dark at 5.30am and for most part the village is asleep. We walk up past the church and along London Road and turn into Well Street where collective bottoms are lowered into the dewy grass of the village green. The cottages that flank the green are dark and lifeless and with only Mary left to " do jobs" we move on up High Street.

There were lights on in one of the neat bungalows , and I could see movement behind clean net curtains.
As The dogs sniffed at the grass with interest, I stopped to watch.
An elderly woman was sat at a table with her head in her hands.
In front of her was a large mug, presumably filled with tea.
Another woman in some sort of uniform was standing by a bed set up against the wall. She was drying her ham arms with a towel.
There was another figure in the bed who I couldn't see clearly. But the small table next to the bed was filled to bursting with bottles and medicines.
I could even make out a discarded nebulizer hung over the headboard.

It was " an end of life" tableau, one that we have all have been familiar with at one time or another

The exhaustion of the old woman was palpable and a song came into my head as I stood there, a gentle melancholic song by Everything But The Girl
The lyrics fitted the tableau perfectly

If you lose your faith, babe
You can have mine
And if you're lost I'm right behind
'Cause we walk the same line

Now I don't have to tell you
How slow the night can go
I know you've watched for the light

And I bet you could tell me
How slowly four follows three
And you're most forlorn
Just before dawn

And so, if you loose your faith, babe
You can have mine
And if you're lost I'm right behind
'Cause we walk the same line

When it's dark, baby
There's a light out shinin'
And if you're lost I'm right behind
Cause we walk the same line

And I don't need remindin'
How loud the phone can ring
When you're waiting for news

And that big old moon
Lights every corner of the room
Your back aches from lying
And your head aches from crying

And so, if you loose your faith, babe
You can have mine
And if you're lost I'm right behind
'Cause we walk the same line

When it's dark, baby
There's a light out shinin'
And if you're lost I'm right behind
'Cause we walk the same line

And if these troubles should vanish
Like rain at midday
Well I've no doubt there'll be more

And we can't run and we can't cheat
'Cause baby when we meet
What we're afraid of
We find out what we're made of

And so, if you loose your faith, babe
You can have mine
And if you're lost I'm right behind
'Cause we walk the same line

When it's dark, baby
There's a light out shinin'
And if you're lost I'm right behind
'Cause we walk the same line

And if you're lost I'm right behind
Cause we walk the same line

Walk the same line

And if you're lost I'm right behind
'Cause we walk the same line

Ground Zero Remembered

I meant to post this yesterday.
A few months after 9/11 the Prof and I went to New York
We remember this church so, so well......every railing covered in homemade posters calling for the return of loved ones home.
So, so....so sad

Rule Britannia

What is it with ladies of a certain age and national flags?

For several years now, the BBC have organised three Proms in the Park classical concerts that run simultaneously to their daddy at the Albert Hall in London.
This year Colwyn Bay ( which is just down the road) was the Welsh venue, alongside Belfast and Glasgow, so we took our flags , picnic hampers, champagne and blankets to watch the fun.

Now for those that don't know The Last Night Of The Proms is a slightly tongue-in-cheek , undeniably patriotic gallop of a concert, where the audience ( high on good nature and/or wine) participate in rousing renditions of British sea shanties, a flag busting Rule Britannia and a tearful There's no place like home.

The principality concerts tend to be " more inclusive" in nature, what with " pop" singers doing their own hits - backed by a BBC Symphony orchestra but there was plenty of classical turns to watch and enjoy even if the Prof was nearly apoplectic with rage as the Welsh Concert didn't feature Land of Hope And Glory.

Everyone likes a big finish!

My sisters ( one in her fifties and the other in her sixties) did what any self possessed British matron would do at the Proms after a couple of glasses of champagne, they spent most of tne second half of tne concert running amok with two oversized flags trailing behind them.
Their interperation ( through the medium of dance and semaphore) was particulary evident during a classical version of Pharrell Williams' Happy and Quincy Jones' soul Bossa-Nova from Austin Powers! where they cantered up and down like two over excited shetland ponies trailing their harnesses behind them