A Moment

In a spot in the back garden by the coal bunker close to the back door I once planted a buddleia bush.
This year it has been rather magnificently covered in deep purple colour blooms and the warm wet summer has brought out the butterflies which drink it's nectar in droves.
The sun warmed the bush yesterday morning as I stood in front of it with coffee in hand and as Albert   stalked through it's branches then slipped heavily, a great whoosh of red admirals, peacocks, cabbage whites and others fluttered up into the air around me, perhaps a dozen and a half all told.
It was a tiny, wonderful little moment
And it was lovely

Bath time

It's hard to make yourself invisible when you weigh 26 kilos!
I'd run the bath, spread towels all over the floor and readied the fanny flannel ,
And  the bulldog was no where to be seen!
Winnie despises bathtime.
I took the path of least resistance.
First George, then Mary and finally William, the terriers were hoisted into the bath for a scrub.
George hates a bath, but puts up with it with an expression of disgust mixed with shame.
The Welsh terriers adore a hot bath and strange as it may seem both will stand stock still in the soapy water for an absolute age until they are removed
Only Winnie tries to leave home before the fanny flannel is dunked.

Mary

Eventually I found her hiding under the bed in The Prof's office.
Her bottom was poking out, and after several minutes of wrestling I managed to manhandle her into the bathroom where she jammed her head behind the toilet.
I wafted my secret weapon of a handful of  cocktail sausages at her and in the ensuing melee of scoffing I hoisted her smartly into the bath.
Now bulldogs, even old bulldogs are surprisingly agile so keeping one in a bath can be an absolute nightmare, after a minute or so there was more water around the bathroom than  there was in the bath itself and after a few more minutes of wrestling, a quick flit round with the flannel and a snapped
photo I allowed her to burst out of the bathroom with a face like thunder.

She sulked for the rest of the day. Although she did accept a few left over cocktail sausages without opening her eyes.

It took me nearly an hour to clean the bathroom afterwards.

Animal Helper Pat - A Favour

We are off to see family in Kent soon and Animal Helper Pat is babysitting Albert which is lovely of her.
In way of a return favour, I promised to big up her open garden afternoon which she and fellow villager Anthea are holding to raise money for their Church.
Here are the details! Lots to see ( both ladies have fabulous gardens) and plenty of cake to eat

Tomorrow I shall tell you the story of the bathing of three well behaved dogs!
......and Winnie........
It's an epic nightmare 

Treats

Onwards and upwards

Part of the strength of fatclub is the fact that I stick to the same breakfast every morning
Two slices of dry toast and two eggs fried in low fat spray!
As I prepare this feast ( and it is a feast) George totters into the kitchen and waits patiently.
He knows he is the chosen one at this time, for he, and he alone, is allowed to lick my plate clean.
It's his treat for the day.

The shop assistants at the Garage Shop always smile knowingly when I stop by, for Invariably I will add a packet of cheap Spar Spicy meatballs to my basket.
" For the dogs?" They will say conspiratorially, enjoying the " secret" that the dogs are being spoilt
The meatballs are adored by the pack and in Winnie's case are swallowed whole.

The Prof's weakness is a small packet bacon flavoured crisps!
Albert goes wild over slivers of strong Cheddar cheese
And Sylvia's eyes roll back into her head when she is presented with a slice of processed white bread.

We all need a treat from time to time.
And we all need to give a treat from time to time

Before she died my mother went suddenly partial to strawberry tarts and would happily sit in Sainsbury's car park on her piped oxygen munching away on one after another.
Weeks later I would still be finding bits of pastry and strawberry jelly in the footwells and glove
compartment.
Fifteen years after her death, the mere sight of one, sat proudly on a cake stands in the confectionery counter takes me back to those bittersweet days.

Foodtreats are synonymous with love in my book.
I understand the problems based with this but it is ingrained in me from my childhood days when my grandmother sat us children down with a slice of homemade Victoria sponge, a cup of sweet tea and a kiss that smelled of cold cream and baking.
To feed a treat to someone you love, meant you loved them.
This came from a woman who knew austerity and hardship.
Subsequently the treat had even more resonance with her.

Of course treat giving says more about me than it does about any of the recipients.
And it doesn't take a talented psychotherapist to work that one out!

The Village Telegraph

Even though there is a significant " stranger" population in the village now, what with the noticeable increase of rental properties, the news of the popular Mr Lewis' death still raced through the village telegraph yesterday morning.
I was stopped three times when out with the old dogs, with old Stan finally summing up what most people were thinking, with his comment of " He suffered his long illness with bravery" 
Mr Lewis had been unwell for many years.

I nursed Mr Lewis fairly recently.
We thought he was dying then, but he rallied round when a weaker man would have succumbed to a tired and brittle body and I remember talking to him about the forthcoming Flower Show and joking with him about a " difficult" village character we both knew.
It was a gentle conversation which ended with me asking if he was frightened and I remember that he smiled and said " Not really............I have my family" 
It was a reference to a loving family that was always there for him.
They cushioned his fear.

I've just realised that apart from the deaths of my own loved ones, those days of nursing someone who is passing away, are now over.
I must have done it a hundred times in my nursing career, and the whole process, from start to finish, has been a privilege to be a part of.

But I am now happy it is now something I used to do. 

My Dander Is Up!

Safe in the garden? 

My father never backed down from a confrontation.
Once a visitor to his shop called him a twat for taking his time over serving an elderly customer, to which my father promptly punched the guy on the nose!
You could do that in the seventies, twat was a very rude word back then.
My elder sister and I have inherited his dander, so to speak. Neither of us like confrontation but when pushed we can rally forth like Joan Crawford brandishing a wire coat hanger.
We are not shrinking violets when it comes to right and wrong.
Yesterday one of the haylage lorries knocked the top corner from our garden wall as it was negotiating the sharp bend by the Church . I found masonry in the lane, which was lucky as the bachelors had been asleep all afternoon under the hydrangea on the other side of the wall. If the stones had been knocked in the other direction, carnage would have ensued!
I flagged down he lorries as they passed a little later and but my " pissed off and serious look on" 
The secret of sorting something like this out, is surprise. Catch the culprit. Don't let them get a word in, and give them a solution.
Within a few seconds the driver had agreed to return to fix the damage.
Worked like a charm
We shall see if he turns up!

A few weeks ago I was just about to collect a trolley at Tesco when two boys of around 7  climbed on top of them in front of me. I turned to a group of fat armed women who were gossipping nearby and asked if the boys were theirs but only received a passive aggressive " look" ,a shrug of the shoulders and one half arsed comment of " Robert Get down from there" 
Robert, as it turned out, wasn't going anywhere fast, that is until I caught his bum cheeks in the wire mesh of the trolleys as I smartly pulled two apart, he soon shifted then! But it was the attitude of the fat armed women that really got my dander up
I turned on them
" is this trolley park an adventure playground?" I asked them
They just looked at me as though I was speaking Spanish, so I repeated myself but this time in my best Brian Blessed type voice
" Is THIS TROLLEY PARK AN ADVENTURE PLAYGROUND?"
Other shoppers by this time had stopped to watch my heroic stance against the great unwashed so I added with a flourish" GET CONTROL OF YOUR CHILDREN!" 
The fat armed women frowned under their chav facelifts *
" fuck off" the nearest one spat out
Like I said
Confrontation...works like a charm.


* https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Croydon_facelift

Sheffield

We all first met in 1989.
Mostly nurses ( but not all) we trained lived and socialised with each other as the city of Sheffield went through a renaissance of sorts and cleaned up its act
It was ( and is) a lovely city.
Yesterday we all met up again.
A couple of us with greying hair and a few more wrinkles.
A couple of us now retired!
One of us with a daughter heading for secondary school!
Four of us married, two single
All pretty normal from all accounts.
This morning I am off home.
And I wave goodbye to old friends and the super tram thundering over the bridge near Hyde Park Flats
Good times

Super tram from my hotel window

The Water Wall Midland Station

Old Friends

Sheffield

In my home town of Sheffield today! Yayyyyyyy

Still Life II

I have bowed to flattery and as the dogs slept in the garden and a ham joint cooked in the oven, as requested I have snapped some more photos of the cottage in " still life" . There are not many as the cottage is small but you get the gist!
Note...not an aubergine to be seen!

 

Hello, Hello Hello

I was stopped by the police last night.
It was just after 1am and I was driving home after a 6 hour stint at Samaritans
Over the years, I must have been stopped half a dozen times.

I have never been questioned by a discourteous police officer. I've been breathalysed ,car checked warned that I took a roundabout a little too fast and given a close once over but everytime  the officer involved has remained rather chipper and professional.

Historically, nurses and police officers have always had an affinity.
I think it's the fact they have to deal with the public under somewhat difficult circumstances that links them . Unfortunately, over the years I have had to engage the services of the police many times
One time it was a violent drug dealer who woke up fighting after being treated for an overdose that had to be restrained on intensive care! Another time a visitor who had offered to knock my teeth down my fat throat !in my own ward office was frog marched to the cells by a mountain of a Yorkshire cop who had been called out to the hospital three times on the same day!

When I was a psychiatric nurse and only a shy 24 year old staff nurse, I once had to help bring in a sectioned patient from the community. The patient had no insight into his condition and was violent and delusional, so it was the policement and women who had to go in first to secure the chap before I could get in to administer medication if required.
Before the operation began the copper in charge was discussing  dos and don't in the back of the ambulance. He gave out jobs in his broad Yorkshire accent, after which I somewhat nervously asked him what he wanted me to do.
" sit in the ambulance and look pretty" he said 

Grief?

Sylvia, the older Soay Ewe died suddenly last week.
I found her laid out by the access gate to the new graveyard. She still had grass in her mouth.
Her end was peaceful.
Since then Irene has seemed lost and vocal. The neighbours, I have noted have rallied around to give her tidbits which she takes pragmatically, but to me she looks more nervous and is calling out for her mother who has been her world since she arrive here in 2011.
I have debated whether to rehome her in a larger flock but after discussion with the Prof now have advertised for a field mate for her...another tame  ewe or castrated ram to keep her company.
In the mean time, I took half an hour out of my morning to sit with her in the field.
She also seems more clingy than normal.
I fed her some oats and carrots and she came up to me for a while and ate before trotting up to the cemetery fencing where she again raised her head over the railings and called into the wind for her mother.

You Couldn't Make It Up

Is it an aubergine?

Is it a teapot?

No its Ursula giving us all an unintentional laugh

Silent Cottage

Bend The Knee

Game of Thrones started as The Walking Dead did, so I didn't bother with this medieval, ever changing feudal epic. However , late in the game as season 7 got underway, I have started to watch this strange story of nine communities who are essentially fighting for power on a big island.   

I have no real idea of who is what and what is going on, but I have worked out that nice guy with a Sheffield accent is fighting a short haired bimbo Queen as  a  Hitchcock blonde lip quivering , dragon loving Queen puts in her twopenneth worth as a French midget, and a cast of forty well know British thesps flounce around in dark colours.

Everyone is playing power games, there are tits aplenty and the production values are pretty good.

It will do until the superior Walking Dead returns

Liam Cunningham , a guilty crush

Dragon and Sheffieldier Jon Snow

Flies On My Teeth

I didn't get to bed until 2am this morning and so didn't manage to take the Prof down to the station for 7 am.
" I 'll bike down to collect the car later" I told the Prof sleepily " It's all down hill" 
Mid morning I set off on the 600 foot drop to the coast.
Pippa, the doctor's wife was somewhat open mouthed when she spied me cycling up the lane,
" You! On a bike?  ! " was all that she managed to say as I wobbled past
"There is no end to my talents!" I called out, unable to take one hand off my handlebar.
Jason the affable despot , makes all this cycling lark very easy, I thought, but he has the physique that actually suits Lycra

A few minutes later I realised just how difficult cycling on a busy A road is! - especially when you are hurling downhill with a fixed smile on your face ,  the wind whistling up your shorts leg.and farm lorries roaring up behind you.
Mrs Trellis with Blue, her greyhound by her side passed me in their little red car halfway down Dyserth Hill and she beebed her horn merrily as she shot past me.
I'm sure she was laughing at the way I was weaving too and fro around the drains and KFC wrappers.

My nerves were in shreds by the time I reached sealevel

Rats In The Garden

The Prof has an optic migraine today and is doing his Blanche Du Bois impersonation by lying weakly   in quiet parts of the cottage.
Mary is spending most of her time gazing longingly out of the living room window in the desperate hope of seeing some baby rats. A family of eight have been living in the field wall and the day before yesterday they entered the garden en masse to steal the bachelors' grain supper.
Unfortunately I had to deal with them, as they are too close to the little knot of cottages this side of the church, but Mary never forgets and is seeing baby rats where baby rats are not to be found so the vigil continues!

With the Prof out of action, I have given the living room a spring clean and made him a cheese omelette for lunch which he just managed to polish off.
Lying under a heavy wool throw, he whispered a weak " I think I could manage a little homemade cake!"  before he fell asleep. So I knocked up a batch of mini coffee cakes as Mary kept a look out for baby rats in the garden

I spoil that man

Blog Loyalty

For a while tonight I have been scouring Going Gently's archives to find out just how old The sheep are. It took a while but I found the information I was looking for , but not before I caught up on some blog comments from years ago!

We have been together for a long time, I think, my blog commentators and me!
Months have flowed into years and years into a decade and from  all corners of this very small world have come pearls of wisdom, pithy asides , and the odd lunatic remark from a whole series of bloggers, fans, mildly interested friends and some downright loons .

Many characters, such as the the delightfully anarchic Hippo Tom,   I noted, have faded gently away but many of you have stayed for the duration........at my funeral I hope there will be a bloggers' set of pews......crammed to the gunnels of middle aged ladies that lunch,  small holders, retired teachers , zombie fanatics, dog and chicken lovers, an oddly magnificent artist or two , a few belligerent drunks, a gaggle of bright homosexuals and the odd lesbian and at least one transAtlantic knitter.......

Thank you all x

Knicker Grabbers

The Prof and I went out to a dinner party last night.
This seldom happens nowadays and it proved to be a real treat.
One of the guests was a fabulously dressed elderly lady from Henley-on-Thames.
Many years ago she  had been " high up in ladies underwear", and still sports her trademark theatrically swept up hair which made her resemble Patsy in Absolutely Fabulous. She also had a very, very bad hip which she was waiting to have fixed.
The pain from her disability was profound and upsetting to watch.
After dinner our hosts presented the lady with some gifts for her birthday and one gift ,a pair of plastic grabbers, was received with much hilarity.
The lady marvelled at this simple little invention .
Rubbing her bad hip she cackled with laughter
" I can now, after so long a time,finally  get my knickers on"  she announced
And the table gave her a round of applause

A Game When Out For A Walk

Easter cards
Milkmen
Library books in big print
Wrestling on television
Garfield
Pekinese dogs
Cream horns
Brawn
Sweet shops
Antimacassars!!!!!!!!!!
Moria anderson
Camp Coffee
Bibles in hotel rooms
Boys playing in the street
Habitat
Newscasters behind a desk
Hairnets
Proper telephone boxes
1930 metal window frames
Gypsy tops
Furry dice hung from a car mirror
Cheese and pineapple chunks together on a cocktail stick
Small boxes of jelly babies
Puppies in a pet shop window
Hand written letters
Espadrilles
Doillies

Things you don't see a lot of nowadays