For Joe And Kerry

who lost a dear friend on Tuesday

The Power of the Dog by Kipling

There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and sisters, I bid you beware 
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.

When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find – it’s your own affair, –
But … you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.

When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!),
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone – wherever it goes – for good,
You will discover how much you care, 
And will give your heart to a dog to tear!

We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent,
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we’ve kept ’em, the more do we grieve;
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long –
So why in – Heaven (before we are there) 
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?

Repeat Performance

For Ellen

Ocean's Eight

The film begins with a white faced Sandra Bullock in prison fatigues talking to camera.
She has lank dark long hair and is botoxed to buggery
My sister turned to me and whispered " Bloody hell It's Michael Jackson!"
Unfortunately Bullock does indeed resemble the plastic pop star and her expressionless face takes something vital away from this the latest of the " Ocean" comedy heist franchise.
It's hard to make a good comedy when the leading lady looks somewhat vacant .
Which is a shame.
Having said that Ocean's Eight is what it is.......it's an entertaining heist romp with a star cast of female crooks stealing the diamonds from a greedy old fashion house that can take the loss. The " ladies" are therefore all sympathetic Robin Hood types and although Bullock is no charm filled George Clooney you do end up rooting that the gems are indeed swiped from the bad guys.
As the complicated and totally unbelievable heist plan is uncovered we meet the mixed bag of lady criminals recruits.   Helena Bonham Carter ( looking like the wreck of the Hesperus) , an underused Cate Blanchett, Rihanna in dreadlocks et al all have their brief parts to play in the comedy romp but surprisingly it is Ann Hathaway as a not-so-dumb superstar actress who showcases the robbery diamonds and James Corden as an insurance investigator who turns up at the end of the movie who shine above the ensemble performances. Their turns are naturally funny and satisfying.

Ocean's Eight is a light , frothy romp. And at that level, it entertains.
7/10

Sulky Bitch

I was completing some paperwork and videoed her as I was doing so.

She wasn't happy at being ignored

Bulldogs cannot stand being ignored

Constants

My Sister Ann Williams BEM ( British Empire Medal)

I have known my sisters for 56 years.
56!
It's the longest relationships I've ( or they've ) ever had.
I'm sure that Ann won't mind me stating that she is 70 this year, actually her birthday is next week and she has arranged an open house celebration at a shabby chic hotel in Sitges to mark the event.
Circumstances meant that we were unable to go, but finally after a bit of wrangling and some   Herculean easyJet Internet work I've managed to sort a flight and have organised a whistlestop jaunt to Spain .
My entire family will be there the day I go and it is right I am there to raise a glass to a family matriarch who has stood in my corner for over half a century. 

Never Enough

EveryONE has a story

The other week I saw teenage boffin out walking with a young lady, they were ambling down the lane chugging beers as they did so.
I waved from the car!
Last night when messaging the boffin about prospective dog sitting I asked him about her
"I KNEW you'd be itching to ask me 😂😂😂."
Came the reply!
I'm such a transparent nosey old git!

Everyone has a story to tell.
Everyone.
And we often forget that, so obsessed we are with our own lives, and the lives of celebrities and the famous.
Mrs A stopped by the kitchen wall yesterday. She marvelled at a deep purple clematis flower that was growing over our back shed.
" Many years ago I once went to a dance in Mayfair with an officer of the Coldstream guards and wore a flower like that in my hair" she remarked rather wistfully
" The Guards'  motto rather suited him" she added with a sly smile " it translates from the Latin as second to none "

Like I said....everyone has a story to tell
You only have to ask.....
I cut her a flower and presented it to her over the wall.....

Everything Has A Story

I started full time paid employment in the September of 1980 when I was just 18
I was a junior bank clerk at the National Westminster Bank in Rhyl.
I was a terrible employee, but I was popular enough with the junior staff, a big bunch of youngsters who worked behind the scenes in the machine room.
In October 1980 I received my first pay cheque
And what did I buy?
A CB radio? A new grandad shirt?. Brand new furry seat covers for my Austin 1300? The latest Yazoo LP?
Naw
I bought a Carlton ware 1930s lobster fruit bowl

And I was pleased as punch with it

Postscript 
On Friday I received a fuel delivery from our local coal merchants. As the delivery guy stopped to present me with the invoice he noticed the bowl on the kitchen counter top and said pointed to it saying " I like that!" It was only then I realised I had owned it for 38 years

Fathers

My father in 1945

It's Father's Day here in the U.K.
So I thought I would let the readers do the leg work, seeing that if is often the case that they have the more interesting stories than I do.
My father died back in 1989, so time has kind of dulled my memory of him now. But he was a strong character within the family even though he wasn't a hands on dad like the sensitive  and 'present' ones we see today.
I have always had an aversion to men wearing jewellery. This slightly irrational dislike stems from childhood bathroom moments when my father would occasional encourage  me to wash my hands and face. His supervision would always take on a slightly exasperated air and when my fat little hands didn't move as quickly as he would like he would rub the soap over them brusquely, often catching his wedding and signet rings on my skin as he did so.
A small memory perhaps but one, on reflection , that left its mark.

So what are your small, or significant , painful or joyous memory of your father on this Father's Day?

Thank You

Several hours of good food,conversation,  wine, and two chatty girls competing with each other to tell the best ghost story. Thank you to the affable despot family for an evening of sweetness.

Film Fest

The tv is broken , which can only be a good thing.
So last night was a bit of a marathon of film waiting via laptop.
I sobbed at Fernanda Montenegro's performance in Central Station...thought that My Best Friend's Wedding looked ever so slightly dated and lost myself in How to train a dragon 

Today I am off to Chester with my sister in law then it's a barbecue with the affable despots .
No film watching today

Fernanda

Julia 

Watching

Winnie has been watching me from her corner of the couch.
Her piggy eyes look curious and a tad concerned....I've been watching the sob fest My Best Friend's Wedding
After an age she dragged herself up with a sigh and after hitting the floor heavily she ambled over to my arm chair and lifted her giant fat paws on my footstool in order to present her face to mine.
You can kiss me she indicated
And I hugged and kissed her giant gintrap mouth like a sad child would kiss his grandmother

Co-op Hillsborough

I once saw a woman in the co op in Hillsborough pay for a stranger's shopping.
I was at the back of the queue at the checkout and a rather shabby middle aged guy in front was searching and re searching  his pockets to pay for such basic tidbits as milk and bread and a tinned meat pie.
He looked pained and embarrassed
Quietly a youngish mother in front of me leaned forward and without fuss told the checkout girl to put the items on her bill.
I heard her say " it's ok .its ok"  to the shabby man, who looked as though he was about to cry
It was all over a minute later.
As she was packing her own shopping I caught her eye briefly  and smiled " That was very kind " 
I told her
" we all need a little kindness "  the woman answered before she and her children walked off...
I remember thinking just what a lovely lesion in life that woman had shared with her children that day at the checkout in Hillsborough's tired old co op

Paperwork and why falling in love is like owning a dog!

Nose to nipple
The kitchen table is a mess of paper and folders.
I'm getting to grips with jobs long overdue.
Winnie's pet insurance changed......tick!
The warranty on the wood burner and thermal store found.........tick!
William's inoculation record.........tick!
Sheep registration.....tick!
Guarantee on double glazing .....tick!

Of course the work gets sidelined for an odd hour.
You always find more interesting reading than an old electricity bill.
I found a box of papers this afternoon.
More shite to wade through.
Nursing assessments of my student days, my mother's obituary, a photograph of a consultant I used to work with wearing a sombrero! A one dollar bill! Various newspaper cuttings...
My first assignment for my film studies degree exploring the narrative structure of The Poseidon Adventure, postcards and lists of things to do.
The box was a snapshot of some thirty years
Tucked away in a moleskin notebook that was filled with lists and receipts was a hand written poem.
It wasn't my own work....god no......I'm not quite that fey
But it was a poem I liked
It was written by Taylor Mali

Despot Win

The youngest daughter of affable despots Jason and Claire swept the board at the Trelawnyd Primary School sports day today.
I loved the sound
A score of several dozen children screaming their heads off.
She's a delightful child btw

Useful

Have you ever bought yourself something useless?
Something sweet, something likeable something non utilitarian?
I think all of us very occasionally like to scratch that frivolous itch occasionally and although you may need some new underpants, need to pay your William's skin allergy medication bill and need to put money towards your nursing reregistration payment, the pleasure of buying an oversized garden outdoor chess set seemed the best course of action for the day

What " useless " thing have you treated yourself to recently?

A Rat In The Woodpile

Albert brought home a youngish rat this morning.
It managed to escape, into the woodpile, squeaking very very loudly as it did so.
Squeaking rodents are like illegal drugs to canines
That was well over two hours ago

Subsequently I've not needed to walk the dogs today.
The hot spell continues, so I've washed windows, cut the lawn, cooked a ham, made ice cream, dug out the valerian from the wall and cut back the honeysuckle.  I've weeded the front garden and cut roses, changed and washed bedding to dry in the afternoon warmth and oh and bleached the bog

And all four dogs were still at the woodpile digging for the rat when I had finished

Birth

No Comment Required

Several of you out there have picked up on a certain melancholy creeping into Going Gently recently. Perhaps it's been around for a few months now, as my husband and I have found ourselves at a crisis point which is in need of a resolution.
I'm not saying any more. It's a private matter and just for today I don't want any comments on this blog entry about it.
Perhaps I just wanted you to know it's a bit tough at the moment
Hey ho.

Cat Fud

I've just flung Albert licked cat food at a Lycra covered biker.
It's been the most exciting thing that's happened all day.
I'd made a chicken risotto and and was cleaning up when Albert walked up to me and swiped my legs wanting food.
Albert is always fed from a small enamel tin bowl on the kitchen window still ( the only place dog free) and when baby rabbits are growing up, he will demand his meat dinner several times a day.
He's a fussy cat and loves to lick every bit of gravy off his dinner leaving dry chucks of meat in the bowl. In hot weather the bowl can get quite high and so I've got into the habit of throwing the licked contents over the kitchen wall , and the lane beyond into the raised lawn of the old churchyard where two crows have got in the habit of waiting for their dinner.
Today I flung the cat food out over the flight path of a silent biker coming up the lane.
I apologised profusely without explaining exactly what I was doing ..