It's all go this retirement thing

Well, 24 hours after our Kentish jaunt, My Welsh family, The Prof and I got locked into a strange Mad Scientist's Room and had to solve a myriad of clues in order to set ourselves free.
Typical Wednesday evening fun I hear you say!
And much more fun than watching the recorded Great British Bake off and Game Of Thrones
We had five bright minds in our room and we still bloody well got locked in!
I think The Prof and I slowed things up after we embarked on a fairly lively debate on the positioning of a right lung in a corpse!
( you have to be there) see http://www.lockedin-northwales.com
All great fun!

Our group looked like the strangest version of the usual suspects

Just William

After two messages from the kennel owner stating William was " very low indeed"
I had a heavy heart standing at the kennel gate at 4 pm today.
Mary galloped out like a loon before him and jumped into my arms like a baby, but I only had real eyes for William who followed at a sedate trot with his tail waving slowly from side to side.
He stopped short of me, adjusting his position with his good eye then gently rested his head into my hands in way of a hello.
I could have cried.
I scooped him up And hugged him close and he sat in the car on the way home happily munching on cheap Swedish meatballs bought from the Spar .
When home he slept the contented and safe sleep of an old boy happy to where he was loved.
They break your heart

John Gray's Schooldays

We are almost back to normal.
The Prof is asleep on the couch. William( after a big fuss and multiple swedish Meatballs) is also happily snoozing by the fire. The other dogs are in a heap in the kitchen.
I am waiting for the new Bake Off to start

My cousin Karen sent me this snip when we were away.
I cannot remember the photo being taken at all but it certainly looks like me, in my old brown jumper with the holes at the elbows.

I hated school. I hated everything about it.
I hated that I was shy.
I hated that I was bad at sports.
I hated that I had no goal to go to University
And I hated the miserable 70s styles.

I am the higher one  ( circled)

The Journey Home

We leave Broadstairs very soon. There is a " fast train" from the coast to London then a short walk from the gothic splendour of St Pancras to the dumpy boredom of Euston.
We shall be home by early afternoon.
Yesterday I received a message from the kennels telling me that William was " non too happy" His skin itch seems worse and apparently he looks listless and tired. The kennel owner is more than trust worthy and will discuss him with the her vet ( which incidentally is our vet) and then act accordingly.
Old dogs,! They break your heart. .

postcard From Broadstairs

Blue skies and family catch ups
That seems to be the order of most days at the moment.
The family beach hut is located right by the walkway from the boardwalk in the centre of the photograph, and after we stake out an area of beach in front of it (to keep away the riff raff) we own our own small area of sand free of day trippers from London and the South.
The London trip worked well as Leo enjoyed all of the geekiness of the star wars exhibition at the O2 even though the hordes of middle aged nerds fighting for the best views above the small fourteen year old was  thankfully somewhat lost on him. We caught the clipper back down the Thames, cooled hot feet in the fountains at Trafalgar Square and managed not to lose him in the crowds of a very warm London.
Uncles Christopher and John Brownie points saved!

The highlight of the trip so far was the seagull attack on a large group of buxom South London black women on Broadstairs beach. They had been eating fish and chips with their children and had no prior experience of hungry seaside herring gulls.. One shrieking woman brought the flocks in after one lead gull had snatched a saveloy from her hand and within seconds there were screaming matrons leaping around scattering children and chips with hysterical abandon in what can only be called as an alternative scene of Hitchcock"s The Birds. 
I laughed till I cried.
Today we have been treated to lunch in a swanky eatery in Margate by The Prof's Brother and sister-in-law, then it's a visit to The Turner Centre and then a catch up with Father-in-law before home tomorrow
ps Rachel...I am thinking about you

snatched Post

I have three minutes to blog today.
The Prof and I are taking his nephew to London today.
My contribution is the Star Wars exhibition at the O2 The Prof has organised a virtual reality experience at the Science Museum.
It's the first time we have been given responsibility of a small person
(but I have to say here that I am an expert in child care given the training I have received from the Randa Girls)
wish us luck!
gulp!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Where are we?

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