Last night Albert didn't come home
He was missing this morning, and his food bowl was full at teatime when I called the dogs for supper.
The last and only time this happened was when he broke his leg in the lane and was collapsed in the garden.
Mary and I went to search for him before The Archers , with no result and so on the way back we popped into neighbour Trevor's house so I could give him his daily anticoagulant Injection.
I tied Mary to the stair banister and was just about to go into the living room to administer the meds when Albert shot out of Trevor's kitchen with a wide eyed look of " where the fuck have you been?"
He must of followed me into the house during yesterday's injection visit.
Trevor hadn't a flying clue he's just had a lodger
And Albert head butted each of the dogs in turn before he said hello to me
There was a new girl working in the barbers today.
She chewed gum and looked bored
As usual I asked about her and her life
I find that's the best approach with bored hairdressers.
"I don't talk about politics " the girl explained when I asked her about what customers chat to her about. " My father always told me not to open my mouth about things I don't understand...if you do, " he said,"you look like a tit!"
"Good advice!" I agreed
What is the best bit of advice your father ever gave you?
I spent nearly two and a half hours in my favourite cafe today.
I read 2 newspapers and people watched.
I shared my table with a chatty new age father with his baby and then an old couple from Frodsham
Later I overheard a slightly abusive conversation between a lesbian couple where one was berating the other's dress sense stating that she hadn't made an effort for her When they left I mouthed at the woman on the receiving end of the insult that she looked " mighty fine ".
She didn't see
Yesterday after my review of The Aftermath, Sue In Suffolk (https://attheendofasuffolklane.blogspot.com/) talked about her reticence of going to the cinema on her own .
I wanted to share a few thoughts to singletons...add to the list please
This past year I have so many things alone. Things I used to do as a part of a couple and sometimes it's hard.
And sometimes it's not.
Now I've always enjoyed going to the cinema on my own, I'm lucky in that respect but everything else can be a trial especially as you can be judged somewhat as being a singleton
Only last night I witnessed such prejudice
I had gone to see the stage production of Rain Man which was ok, not sparking but ok , and directly in front of me was another singleton like me, a man in his sixties . Now as he waited for the production to start he occupied his time reading a book and the woman next to me noticed this and nudged her husband as if it was the oddest thing she ever saw.
I glared at her and she noticed my disapproval...
Ignorant fucking bitch
And so ....just get out there and do it.....and cinema is a great start as many singletons go to the cinema as it's a safe start?..and cinema will lead to other activities believe me....
Here are a few helpful rules
If you go to a cafe or restaurant always take a book, an iPad, laptop or your phone with you. You can look busy and industrious and generally it stops pitying glances
Don't go to the places you used to frequent with your hubby unless you are ready to do so. I still can't go to our fav Thai restaurant as it would be just too painful a journey even though I've been invited by friends. New places will provide you with a new strength.
Have a leap of faith! ....my first night at choir started off as an incredibly stressful moment but after one of my fellow basses, a friendly Tenor and the 1940s moustached choir master broke the ice , I felt a whole lot better
Do the single thing in bursts only. Buffer your 'alone' night outs with friends and family. Things won't feel so hard to complete
Pick talks and lectures and art activities as one offs....if they don't suit , you can walk away easily, but if you enjoy them , you can always go back for more.
Plan things every week. Don't stay home alone too much.
Do something worthy.....volunteer your time to something
If someone asks you to do something do it if you are up to it! Gorgeous Dave asked me to play badminton with him and initially I said no as I just thought he was being kind ....he wasn't ...and after I said yes...it was fun!
Don't underestimate the company of an old dog in public
Cry when you're upset and you need to but try not to indulge .....
Things go tits up all the time and so many ' married' people just don't understand ....so try not to get pissed off by them ( it's hard)
Find a favourite place .....mine is Sheffield, Chester's Storyhouse and Colwyn Bay Beach ....go there often
See your friends....even if it cost too much to do so ......I am seeing Nu next Weekend....my touchstone, my rock ......
Even if you are like me, a slob.......wash your face, wear your best Walking Dead T shirt and go out with your teeth brushed and hair combed
Heavy on visual metaphor, The Aftermath is a beautiful looking film which is all about grief.
Set in a winters 1945 Hamburg, a matter of months after the end of the war, we see a city in ruins.
The allied fire bombing destroyed thousands and the survivors and their English victors now reside in an uneasy peace with the senior Army staff occupying the best German houses.
One such house is shared between former architect Stefan Lubert (Alexander Skarsgård) his daughter and the Morgans- British Army Colonel and his wife Keira Knightly and Jason Clarke)and as the British try to maintain order amongst the starving and destitute population the situation allows for an affair to begin between Lubert and Mrs Morgan.
Of course the affair is nothing to do with lust ( Skarsgard does however look mighty fine in his period knitwear!!!) no the four people sharing the house are just a reflection of the city they inhabit for they have all been damaged and scarred by loss and grief.
The Morgan's lost a son in the blitz. The Lubert's a wife and mother during the operation Gomorrah fire bombing) and set against the claustrophobic backdrop of a grand German house in the snow, each of the protagonists deal with their own grief in their own way.
Nicely acted and beautifully shot by Franz Lustig, The Aftermath isn't a profound film, but it's a very watchable a worthy attempt to show the more hidden aspects of wartime grief.
Cinema this afternoon and Theatre this evening. Hey ho
I got my arse into gear this evening and went to play badminton with Georgous Dave.
They say physical exercise is good for your mental health
So I scrubbed my face, donned my new trackie bottoms ( the ones with no holes in the crutch) and dug out my second best walking dead T shirt! GD reminded me that there were several other players in the sports hall this evening " You can't swear as much as you normally do !" he prompted looking nervously at the other players
Having said this I did manage a few" C#€TS ,several " OH BOLLOCKS !!" and a good half dozen "TWAT, SHIT ARSEHOLES"
Before he beat me 2-1 " You played well" GD told me as we walked off the court, with hardly a sweat on
I tried to look suitably sporty
But this is how I looked when I got home
Winnie has accepted today's lethargy until a 3pm breaking point and in a fit of exasperated irritation and boredom has just decided that enough is fucking well enough, and has forced me with very fat bear paws and some marked halitosis to face the world, albeit through gritted teeth and some very bad hair.
On Monday I had a meeting with a couple of members of the dynamic Trelawnyd Community Association.
On the back of huge successes with inititives such as the village youth club, coffee mornings, fund raising and the like, the association has turned it's attention into resurrecting the flower show and so have come to me as a sort of technical advisor.
Last year I resigned from the Flower Show Committee on the back of putting the cottage up for sale and moving away . As everyone knows best laid plans never quite work out they way you think they would and now a year later and for the time being I'm still here, but my resignation prompted the old committee to leave the Show too, and leave it on a high.
Now a new committee want to resurrect the Show albeit in a new form and I'm glad.
I'm glad that the baton is being passed on
Recently I have felt let down by one friend
I understand they have their own shit to deal with
But They really did let me down
And uncharacteristically I told them so
As soon as I said my piece , I knew I had done the right thing
Carrying around the bad feeling does us both a disservice
I told them I was unhappy
And they accepted the fact
We sang another African song tonight. It was an old one most of the Choir knew well.
I just La la-Ed my way through it.
I knocked my fellow veteran bass Peter's water bottle over during the wonderfully moving "Flame" by Susie Prater and I caught one one the tenor ladies ( Tena ladies!) looking at the ever widening puddle at his feet with very big eyes.
Reunions can be weird occasions
Apart from the usual, wonderfully uplifting moments when you catch up with someone you have liked, respected and in-my-case been silly with over two decades ago , you have to deal with catching up with people that you perhaps just tolerated professionally and not really clicked with.
On Saturday I had to deal with several insensitive encounters with people who asked about The Prof. I thought I parried them rather well I thought until one now retired nurse went on and on and on about how she couldn't believe we were no longer together
I countered with the rather unforgiving I thought YOU were dead! Comment
It made me laugh anyway.
During another uncomfortable meeting another friend seeing me buttonholed by a bore slid his hand in mine and gave it a squeeze of support.
For the most part the whole evening was an evening of those sort of hand squeezes.
Hand squeezes, bear hugs and kindness.
I even had the offer of a home if I ever wanted to move back to Yorkshire,
A verbal hand hold
Indeed....when my old friend Kim , the unit's former psychologist, left the reunion with me after a fifteen year gap, we walked all the way down from Weston Park to the city centre hand in hand, like teenagers after a school dance.
I'll post photos of last night's bunfight when i'm sent them, suffice to say that last night was odd, nostalgic,surprising,exhausing,fun and overwhelmingly thoughtful.
Ive had to forgo a planned booked breakfast with another friend this morning as I forgot to leave Cameron the cottage key. The dogs have water and were fed well before i left yesterday. But the carpets will be a fright!
So im on the dawn train home, full of feedback from old
Old sister Eaton's epitaph seemed to be " a professional" matron sarah is regerred to as" fair and respected."
I'll settle for the general consensus of my time at spines
" You were bloody fun" seemed to be the words most used
Not the best photo but you get the gist
Ps. Got home 11.30 am....dogs asleep....few wee stains on kitchen mat...no poos!
All fine
I adore this photo.
It sums up everything that reminds me just why I love the old steel city of Sheffield so much.
It's big heart.
For those that don't know the old man in the photo is ordinary Sheffielder Tony Foulds.
In 1944 he was playing in Encliffe Park , Sheffield when an American bomber crashed nearby killing 9 crew and he was so affected by the disaster he single handedly tended a memorial for the lost airmen for a lifetime.
Yesterday Sheffielders remembered the lost men by gathering in their thousands to watch a commemorative fly past of the crash site and I found it incredibly moving that Tony Foulds was there leading the tributes with an open arm wave, a few tears and perhaps some final closure on a childhood trauma.
,
I haven't been to Sheffield for over a year and I've sorely missed my urban family. Today's visit ( and I'm typing this on the train ) is slightly different as I am attending an official reunion of staff from The Princess Royal Spinal Injury Unit, so I'm catching up with many people I have not seen since 2005 as well as catching up with my friends of old.
I think the day will be emotional and healing
And the sight of that uneven, slightly grubby, inner city skyline with the Town Hall tower competing with the square hunk that is The Royal Hallamshire hospital and the city in between encompassed by seven low hills, will bring a tear to my eye.
A bag of out of date pasta lies on the kitchen garden wall.
The post it states it for my hens.
I haven't had hens since last Easter, so someone in the village is behind the times.
I had a meeting up with the head honcho of the village Womens' Institute the other day about planning something about celebrating the history of the village. Inititives such as the making of community tapestry depicting village life past and present were discussed - all ideas which sounds exciting and innovative
Monday I have another meeting with a members of the new community association in order to pass on my expertise in running the flower show. The association hope to resurrect the Show albeit in a different form, so I am happy to share my knowledge, but I won't be running things again....I feel in limbo, the divorce is slow and my future here is uncertain
Limbo is a horrible state to be in
You are Neither fish or fowl
Once deep, grounded roots seem uncertain and fragile and the responsibility for little lives, albeit ones with paws and not feet, at times seems overwhelming.
I'm still waiting to hear about the lease on the field too.....and I want to move forward with the new allotments idea..
....divorce limbo
But I am smiling and gliding
I've just walked the dogs in the village sunshine and everything looks mighty fine. Mrs Trellis was practicing piano in her living room window. And Stan was pottering around his neat little garden.
It's almost lambing time, and the honeysuckle over the front door is suddenly budding green for the new year. Mr H stopped to tell me his new Welsh Terrier puppy is doing well, he bought him after seeing Mary's bouncy trot , we hope to introduce them soon.
Mandy was chipper on her way back from the shop with some milk, her mum is much better than she was and trendy Carol has just driven by, sporting one of her new spring creations...
In a few minutes I'm off to meet an old friend in Chester.
An old friend from my York nursing days.
The pasta is still on the kitchen wall......
Gay theatre is a bit of a rarity in North Wales so I jumped at the chance to see Rob Ward's acclaimed two hander play Gypsy Queen.
Set in the fiercely hetero and predominantly catholic boxing clubs of Liverpool, the play tells of the love story between two young boxers who play in rival clubs.
It's funny, sharply observed and at times rather moving, which is a feat in itself as the two actors Rob Ward and Ryan Clayton play all eight characters in the play.
And of course the script is peppered with so much scouse wit, which provides much warmth and pathos in the piece.
I loved it and had a small tear in my eye at the hopeful and rather loving ending
I had forgotten that Gorgeous Dave had rescheduled our badminton match for 7 pm last night, so with some trepidation, a new pair of tracksuit bottoms and my newly made but forgotten strawberry smoothie sat in the fridge I met him at a local school gymnasium .
It was a gym that held some bittersweet memories for me as it was a place of much ritualistic humiliation in my 1970s secondary school PE days.
GD was suitably attired in his immaculate yet relaxed sports wear accompanied by a set of winnie sized muscular thighs to die for.
I waddled out with holes in my trainers and noted that there was a dribble of cottage pie down my T shirt.
Not a great sporting look
But the challenge was on!
Thank goodness for muscle memory, for even though I am just under twenty years older than GD and literally twice as heavy I kept my end up fairly well!
And I enjoyed it.
And at least GD had the good grace to sweat just a little
Having said this ........
I had to rock back and forth several times in bed this morning in order to get my aching old arse off the mattress.........
Just off to a morning Sams shift. Tonight I'm off to see a gay themed boxing play with a friend
Sometimes I think I need to do something different.
Nursing is a hard game when you do night shifts.
They scupper your reserves and body clock to buggery.
But it's all I know.
I've been a nurse since I was twenty years old.
Now I'm getting divorced , I now need to work well into my sixties and so I need to see if there is anything I can do that's a little easier on the old carcass
A couple of mornings a week I drive 16 miles to a stretch of Promenade that borders a man made beach. It's become my go-to place .
A place to go to - in order to feel better
This morning we sat in a line on the low wall.
Coffee in hand
Me, Winnie and George.
Mary is on my knee.
All looking out at the sea
