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Written last night 20.30 pmI am writing this at Manchester airport.....Terminal 1 ......the arrival hall.
The Prof's plane is late
I've just been told off by the woman in charge of WH SMITH for pulling all of the zombie magazines  onto the floor when reaching for an old Walking Dead magazine.
It could have been worse.....it could have been the porn shelf!
I got all in a fluster and broke wind rather loudly during the scrabble to pick everything up
Apart from this......,
I've had a lovely day.
A Non stop catch up with old friend Cheryl over three hours of lunch in a nice restaurant in Chester was so therapeutic, literally as my old mate is now a much talented psychotherapist!
We've both done a great deal in two decades!
It was lovely to touch base again
Hey ho 

28 Years Later

I am having lunch with an old friend this afternoon.
We have not seen each other for twenty eight years.
I had just started my first staff nurse posting at the Mother and Baby unit at Bootham Park Psychiatric Hospital in York and Cheryl was a student nurse.
She lived down the corridor at the nurses home.
I'm a little nervous in one way about meeting up.
I am not that svelte gauche unopinionated  character that I used to be
Hey ho

Sending a dear friend and fellow blogger -Weaver

A group hug tonight 

Don't Like It?...don't read it.

Over the past couple of years, blogland has experienced it's own number of trolls.
Now thankfully the true anonymous nasty buggers that cause real mischief are thankfully rather thin on the ground, but there are certain characters who seem to delight in  popping into a thread in order to hurt, ridicule or impart anger and bad feeling.
I've seen this recently on a popular blog that I follow
Now don't get me wrong, being devil's advocate about a subject, or having an alternative view is vital for bloglands cogs to be well and truly oiled, for there is nothing worse than a blind acquiescence to a much sweated over blog entry.
It has all of the real validation of a husband's tired remark of " No you look lovely" when confronted by his wife's constant moan of " Does my bum look big in this? " 
Balanced arguement and debate is king and gentle Micky taking and joshing is entertaining to read and participate in but when things become personal and destructive...it's time to grow up.
I've always say the same thing when I have a follower who becomes destructive.
" If you don't enjoy reading this shit ( regardless of whether you agree or not with the content) then DON'T READ IT" 
Plain and simple

"Goodbye Flower"

Mrs James rang me this morning with the sad news that Gay Gordon had passed away.
" He died quietly in his sleep" she said , the irony plain in her voice.
Gay Gordon, as we all know, never did anything quietly.
The village will miss the old motor mouth, famous for booming " HELLO FLOWER" at every turn and for pouring a whole bottle of brandy into a gigantic fruit cake, so big that it had to be transferred to the Flower Show tea tables via invalid trolley.
Gay Gordon was  not gay, but he was as camp as a row of tents and by all accounts he was a bit of a lady's man before ill health and good living took its toll but despite everything he remained resolutely cheerful albeit in a fey Brian Blessed kind of way in his final years with Big Mary over in the pensioner bungalows in Trelawnyd.

I called in with a card for Big Mary, though she can clearly no longer be called " big Mary" anymore given the amount of weight she has lost over the past year. She was understandably tearful and upset but managed a laugh at the card inscription.
Trelawnyd will be a dull place without him 

Riding into his final sunset

Gay Gordon and his invalid trolley

RIP

Gogglebox

My husband is a busy man.
London Monday-Tuesday home last night for a few hours then Norway today.
I shall drive to the airport on Friday night to pick him up.
It's very cold in Norway today.....thank goodness he has bought a new bobble hat!

As all was rushed and frenetic on his brief return last night
One constant never changed a bit, she didn't even move her fat arse.
As The Secret Life Of Dogs played on our small tv, which is perched on the window sill
Winnie sat transfixed and never moved for nearly an hour.

Best Comment Of The Day!

I was standing on the village green in front of the Memorial Hall

when a car pulled up to the give way lines on Chapel Street.

The window opened and someone I shall refer to as Ms X waved in a friendly manner

a cheerful voice rang out, 

With the words

" My Anal abscess is back!"

You couldn't make it up!

The Face At The Window

I don't generally scare easily.
I'm happy to walk through the graveyard at night and I never batter so much as an eye, but I suppose
having four dogs and an accompanying cat with me always means that I am never truly alone.
But I do walk alone around the Marian at night with only the stars for company, and my imagination fails to wander to thoughts of monsters and psychopaths.
The one thing that does scare me however is a face at a window!
This stems from a night working on a psychiatric ward in an old asylum way back in 1984 when a stranger to the hospital attacked staff with bottles thrown from the roof forcing the whole hospital into lockdown. My mentor and I locked ourselves and our 24 elderly patients into our ward and when I checked if the office windows where bolted shut, I suddenly glimpsed the intruder standing outside , his impassive face up close and personal against the window panes.
Yes it was the stuff of nightmares.
Last night, with the Prof away, I walked the dogs slightly earlier than usual. There was method to the madness as I wanted to slip into my jim jams in order to watch The Walking Dead reruns before next weeks' restart. We had not long returned, all wet and cold from the rain and as the dogs shook themselves dry, I turned to put their leads onto the table.
Now we have three windows in our kitchen. Two facing the back garden and the path to the gate and one inset window facing directly onto the lane. This lane window is screened at head height with an antique French lace curtain .
As I turned around I suddenly saw a face above the curtain. It was blurred by condensation  but it was there right up against the glass...pale white and wearing a hood of sorts against the rain
A millisecond later it moved off as I yelled out " SHIT A BRICK!" at the top of my voice
I cannot think of a time recently that I have been so frightened

By the time I had scrabbled around for the back door key, unlocked the kitchen door, and had leaned over the back wall to check the dark lane whoever had peeped through the window had gone.

All of the dogs slept on the bed with me last night!

What's frightened you recently?

Britain's Best

Kirsty Young is my first girl crush in an age! 

No one does radio like BBC Radio 4
Yesterday I listened to the latest Desert Island Disc programme, which is now in it's 75 th year!
The velvet voiced Kirsty Young was interviewing the International Welsh rugby referee Nigel Owens.
It was a rollercoaster ride of an interview.
With quiet diligence Young gave Owens space to talk, and boy did he talk!

With incredible candour and emotion, he described the difficulties of accepting his alternative sexuality within a tight knit rural Welsh community and without pulling a punch, shared a somewhat harrowing suicide attempt with a shotgun and a packet of pills on the mountain over looking the family farm.

Owens came out gay to his family and the rugby world soon after and it is a testament to both that he was embraced and supported in his new life.
Rugby men and their supporters seem more accepting than most sports people I think!

It was an inspirational and at times tearful interview.
I wept, standing at the kitchen sink listening to it all.

This track was one of Owen's chosen discs, it's a version of The Sound Of Silence which I have never heard before .
It's wonderfully dramatic even though the lead singer scares the begeebers out of me!
Enjoy!

I Have Never

I 've never cried at a funeral! 

This revelation came to me this morning after I recalled reading that Hitler loved watching Snow White and the seven Dwarfs
Both facts to me are mildly surprising, especially as I always thought that Hitler was more of a Gone With The Wind kind of guy!
Anyhow, as usual I digress

Yes, I have never cried at a funeral.
I have never found myself naked in pubic either, which, when you think of it , is more or less the same thing!
I also have have been called to Jury service, which is a real pisser! I have always thought I would rather suit than linen jacket Henry Fonda kept taking on and off in Twelve Angry Men.

I have never eaten Haggis or oysters !
Or ever had  fight in the street.
and I have never once been on a protest march and waved a suitably ribald placard at the authorities!

I have never slept in a tent or had a shit in the woods
And I have not seen a hedgehog close up since I was 13!

I have never read Dickens, Proust or Chekhov

I have never been to Madame Tussauds, The Tower Of London or The Royal Albert Hall.
And  have never waltzed with gay abandon on the sprung floor of the Blackpool dance ballroom!

I never said " I love you" to my parents. And I never heard them utter the phrase back  to me

And I have never cried at a funeral!

Paysanne

The Prof and I found a rather delightful restaurant this evening.
The food was unfussy and very tasty and the front-of-house host interestingly quirky with his somewhat unusual tableside delivery. He reminded me of a cross between a posh Russell Brand, John Cleese and Terry Thomas 
When asked why the restaurant had an obituary of the hell-raiser Oliver Reed on the toilet wall, he replied with a wave of his hand and a breezy " It makes for an interesting read!" and when The Prof asked if he could add the tip on the card machine our host apologised describing the rules for not doing so as " positively Orwellian!" 
What fun!

I've nothing much to say today! 

The Ghosts Of Boyfriends Past!

The room felt oppressive .
The walls were painted badly in the primary colours of the Brazil flag. Garish Yellow, Green and  Navy blue. With strange " tropical " symbols clumsily hand painted over the yellow borders around the tall old fashioned victorian windows.
Curtains with cheap gold tassles were hung around those windows and an immersion tank hidden next to the fireplace and in each dark corner, at ceiling height, a fat gold painted cherub looked down on the flimsy ikea bed set against one wall.

I hated that room.

I hated it with a vengeance .
I hated it as it was the Prof's bedroom when I met him.
I hated it as it was decorated by his previous, much younger partner.
A partner who obviously had no taste whatsoever, but whose ghost lived on in every badly painted piece of woodwork and smudged gold effect stencil!
My first morning there, after we woke up, I started as I meant to go on!
As the Prof prepared coffee and french pastries in the kitchen
I found one of my shoes under a pile of clothes on the floor,
And knocked every soddin cherub off the wall before he came back to bed with a tray!

Watching

I think blogland is suffering from a Febuary bout of writer's Block. 
I blame the short dark days of winter coupled with small doses of apathy and a post adrenalin drop following surges experienced with the crowning of Trump!
Perhaps we are all feeling rather jaded with all of this demonstrating
Or is it more likely that fuck all is happening in our lives ?

On this morning's power walk Mary and I sat on the broken stone wall overlooking  Basil's sheep fields and the valley East of the village and looked out at the view. Welsh terriers love to sit and watch, so we sat and watched for an absolute age.
I day dreamed about having a new kitchen. Mary sat with her own deep doggy thoughts.
She was so preoccupied thay she didn't notice Mrs Trellis and Blue walking up the hill behind us. Mrs Trellis' bobble hat was sticking straight up as usual! She looks like Noddy!

Thank You

......thank you Eirlys
The gift of a dozen of your free range eggs ( all be them from a huge barn) was a lovely gesture today.
I gave you a hug which threw you slightly!
But it made my day
I miss my hens

All That We Share

I was surfing youtube as I was soaking George's klingons off under the kitchen sink's mixer tap this morning. 

I can't remember if I used the sponge pan scourer or not! 

But I digress! 

This video from Denmark Tv came up on my you may like this  section . I stopped short with the nail sissors to watch it.

It's rather beautiful

I sent it to Donald Trump 

I do hope he watched it

Guilt

We have had emotions today....have we not?
Grief ( post 1)
Horror ( post 2)
And now post 3 = guilt

The Prof is at some posh meal in London
And on the way home after Sams this evening
I bought and devoured a scotch egg almost without chewing!

Be still my fucking beating heart!!!!!!

Butter

My first post of the day has depressed me

So I will leave you with this surprised shot of

just why does our butter have a strange mottled effect on its surface

Hey ho

Grief Has A Face

I bumped into a colleague yesterday. I saw her while she was out shopping.
She looked as she felt.
Grief stricken.
The word sadness cannot suitably explain someone experiencing grief. I think there is a hollowness about the emotion that shows on the face, an empty faraway look who some can describe  as being haunted or empty. Whatever it is, I saw it on my friend's face yesterday and was moved terribly by it.
She cried as soon as I looked at her .
A sympathetic look is sometimes the worst thing you can offer up when someone is hanging on to their emotions with their fingernails but you have to offer it, ignoring  the " elephant in the room" is worse.