I'm Playing Nice

I've taken a great deal of pleasure in this piece of art
It's cleverness pleases me.

I pulled the previous post as several of the comments started to become accusatory and blaming in tone,
I'm in no mood for that.
All I will say is that Mary is fine and will be fine. She has been earmarked for spaying since last year, but this invasive operation has been postponed until her recurrent ear infection problem is fully resolved .
She is insured , so the cost of surgery is not a factor in my hesitation.
Her escape from the cottage was a fluke and no ones' fault

I discussed this with Trendy Carol over the garden gate this afternoon. Carol ( in a willowy purple vest and crisp white shorts) laughed as we gossiped good naturedly  about the newbee neighbours
They've had some nice bedroom furniture delivered!

It's hot again and Winnie has had one emergency cool down with a bag Of frozen peas which I have pushed gently against her sagging bosoms on the couch
I'm thinking of using a small bag of frozen tuna stakes as a head compress..or failing this a knicker cooler

Limp lettuce

I feel like Blanche duBois.
It's 2am and the temperature remains 23 degrees with a humidity of 80%.
My uniform is ringing wet, so i have just opened the large fridge in the kitchen and have stood infeont of it with my uniform pulled right up
We Brits don't do weather like this...

Almost Here

The Walking Dead returns very soon! The new comic con trailer is out and you still can't download it on blogger , such is the secrecy
Autumn is in sight.
I've slept four hours this afternoon before night shift. It's humid and close and I am full of cold ( I've decided it's my last cold of this year!)

I need a new T shirt me thinks 

Appropriate Roles

I've been thinking about " role appropriate " things today.
One is a pretty straightforward situation.
The other , perhaps , is not.
Modern day quandaries I guess.

The new Trelawnyd Flower Show Committee has asked me to MC the event on the 17th of August.
Now I understand their position and the fact that getting someone who is comfortable at speaking to a crowd is sometimes as difficult as counting hens' teeth but to most in the village My rotund  figure is synonymous with the show itself, so to me I just seems right not to be seen to take a management role in the proceedings.
This seems like a no brainier.

My other recent quandary has been much more of a knotty issue.
Should I attend my former father-in-laws funeral down in Margate ?
From the get go, I have been bombarded with conflicting advice about this one.
And I understand clearly just why different people stand in their own camps.
But Richard was a man I had become  close to over two decades, so why wouldn't I consider paying my respects.?
The day is about him....it's not about anyone else!

The knotty issue, for many, would the fact that I have no status in the proceedings.
I am not now " family" , I am now an ex whose presence could be a locus of some uncomfortable feelings for some. ( or so some people think)
Now,......al this is the stuff of tv dramas where the now marginalised character can be seen
mysteriously at the back of the chapel  with a hat and veil on.
It's all very silly as all there ensure that my potential presence  will not be a source of discomfort for anyone and Chris is happy at my request to attend

When I think of my father in law, I remember a night  in midsummer when he and I sat on the back patio with the dogs and several bottles of vino.
My husband had retired to bed , and it was a humid, relaxed evening when tongues were loosened and old, much buried thoughts and worries were shared with a friend.
I got to know the man who played my father in law , that night , and the conversations bonded us together so much more than the perfunctory roles had done before hand.
It was this memory that reminded me just how important it would be for me to attend his last goodbye.

Having said this, I am now working the night before the funeral and am having a few issues with sorting changing my duties out..... I have no kudos now, now my notice has been handed in ....
And so logistics may conspire against me in my wish to attend.....
Having said this, if I go, I will be sat quietly to one side ( without the veil) in the chapel and will disappear quietly into the congregation after the deed is done.

Almost

I bought a box of chocolate eclairs for the support workers at the Care home this morning
And promptly sat on them when I got back in the car.

It's been that sort of day.

I've said this before but I do feel that I am existing in limbo land at the moment.
I have just six shifts to complete at the home and I'm still waiting for a start date at the hospice.
That start date is subject to health checks and one outstanding reference.
Once I start at the hospice I can then officially apply to take over the cottage mortgage.
Only then, will I know I can stay in Trelawnyd

Like I said ---- limbo land

I sat in Bluebell , sucking cream and chocolate from my fingers.
And thought
I'm almost there.

Family

It's been a busy week all told.
I've hardly been home given work, Sheffield and travelling.
Earlier tonight I completed a Samaritan shift with a new mentee.
He joked about my weight , which was inappropriate given our "new" relationship
I was tired so I didn't challenge it!
But , rest assured I will.
I got back to the cottage just before 10 pm and it was far too humid and close to remain inside
So I took Winnie and Mary for a walk around the Churchyard as night fell and dusk disappeared properly
We sat together on the raised bank on top of  Islwyn' s wall to watch the inky sky.  Winnie with her strong back against mine. Mary, on point on my knee, the contact between us all bringing a certain stillness to the group.
Albert ambled over, as I knew he would and he bumped heads with Winnie who bumped him back with a rancid burb and the two old friends leaned on each other as Albert's tail thrashed too and fro as he watched a fat rabbit dart from the hooded tomb on the side of the church towards the rectory gateway.
He didn't stalk it.
He just couldn't be arsed
We sat together for a while as the night cooled us all
With only me missing George's taciturn bad breath and grumpy aroos

And after half an hour or so the four of us got up out of the damp grass and slowly headed for home

Thank You

Once, we were obliged to send a thank you card when we received gifts or kindnesses or both.
I always think it's a sign of good parenting when such a note arrives, but alas, in today's busy world where writing takes an age and stamps can usually only be bought in soddin packs of twelve, little sweetnesses such as the thank you note  are as rare as hens' teeth.
However!
We do now have Twitter!
I have gotten into the habit of using my fairly barren twitter account as a thank you launch pad, especially when it comes down to visiting the theatre.
Actors are fickle characters and most will have a professional Twitter account where the handle of performer or actor  makes it into the pithy self description bar underneath their name.
So, when I have particularly loved a production and/or a performance , I can immediately stroke someone's ego with a supportive one liner and a cheerful emoji!
I love this ability to give positive feedback.
Having said this, twitter can be used as a force of evil too, as complaints can be tweeted just as quickly as pat on the back.
I was stood in the queue in Sainsbury's cafe  the other day ( they do a nice low calorie Thai curry) when I realised that the lady cashier had not got a scooby do! Twenty five minutes later I was still there waiting for her to master the till buttons when I got a tweet reply from central office apologising for the service!
" If You Can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all" so said my mother , a woman who could bad mouth even mother Theresa in private !

And so I'm sat here in the kitchen with my bucket of coffee, looking at a pile of paperwork that needs sorting. ( above)
Have I done anything?
Have I bollocks!
I've just noticed that one of the puppeteer actors from Life Of PI has liked one of my praise tweets for one of his fellow actors. Now I feel obliged to send him one in return.
Thus is the etiquette of Twitter-dom
I've sat here for 35 minutes looking at tweets
And not a child in the house is washed! 

Grumpy Postie

There was a knock on the living room window around 11am this morning
I had been asleep just 50 minutes.
There was the grumpy postman, he wanted a word.
" Your dog is too vicious when I am posting your letters !" he said
Mary gave him a big, fat, fuck off, smile from her position on the back of the sofa
" You need to do something about it!" 
Mary couldn't have looked any more proud
I apologised for her behaviour , and limply assured him that I would do something about it
She learned the letterbox thing from William.
He delighted in baiting the postie.

The fun of Sheffield feels a long way away after the reality of night shifts.
It only seemed like yesterday that I was sat with friends on the roof terrace of the tiny Curzon cinema in George Street, sipping gin and tonics and talking intelligent talk!

Life Of Pi

I've had to think about this " review" for a while as real life, friends, too much coffee and night shifts have got into the way, but the overwhelming message I need to share about Lolita Chakrabarti's production of LIFE OF PI at the Crucible Theatre is that it is a stunning piece of theatre.

Everyone remembers the film with it's vast Pacific sky set pieces and CGI animals and so it was refreshing to start the play in a bustling, vibrant and colourful Indian zoo and city where a benign giraffe holds centre stage amid the chattering sweet relationships of the Hindi family owners. Through puppetry first seen via the productions like Warhorse and The Lion King, we are introduced to the main animal characters that would play so big a role in the story once the ship transporting the zoo to a new life in Canada sinks and PI (Hiram Abeysekera) is left adrift with an injured zebra, an Orangutan, hyena, and of course a Bengal Tiger.

The staging literally takes your breath away, with PI's hospital bed magically transforming into his lifeboat through an undulating ocean as translucent shimmering flying fish leap out of the water above his head and as boy and Tiger battle for supremacy the audience literally forgets that three men are operating the tiger puppet and the giant cat turns and spins in the confines of the lifeboat. 

There is an energy about Life Of PI , on and off the stage. Through word of mouth , The Sheffield audience had heard just how good it is, and by the end of the first half, they were cheering as the Tiger leapt gracefully over PI's head in order to kill the hyena.

It a wonderfully visual piece of theatre and surprisingly for someone who actually hated Warhorse , despite its wonderfully cleaver horse animations, I adored it's Indian themes and energy

Having said this, the small cast of mainly Indian and Asian actors more than balanced the special effects with some lovely performances and Abersekera absolutely stole the show as PI ...bringing a warmth, charm and playfulness his role as a boy intrigued by religion and battered by grief.

At the curtain call the audience stood cheering as one as they apparently have done every night since the production started a couple of weeks ago, and I left smiling at strangers , hoping that the production finds itself to a London audience where it can be appreciated outside South Yorkshire.

Pride

After the catch up excesses of last night, I'm sat near the famous Peace Gardens waiting to meet another friend for breakfast.
I have a lunchtime date too to fit in and I've decieded it's going to be a lovely day.

The rainbow flag is flying over this old steel city,
My home town

Nice Night

I think this photo summed up my trip to Sheffield

I ❤️ Sheffield

Never underestimate friendship
During rough times friends are the lifebelts of your world,
They keep your head above water

Today I'm in my hometown
and seeing eight dear friends in a well choreographed set of meet ups.
Vince, Bev and Maisie, Mick , Mike, Jane, Kathryn and hopefully a very arch Jonney H
Human lifebelts

47 Years

The last time my twin sister and I went on a bike ride together was 47 years ago!
 47!
So today, looking every inch like a couple of Enid Blyton characters we took to the promenade for a sunny bit of cycling
What fun!

Sky Watching

Monday nights can be nothing nights
I'm relaxing on the couch reading blogs, watching  long lost family,  and am having a good cry, it's designed to make you cry
I've been messaging  Rachel earlier too  ...she makes me laugh.
Mary has been sat on my knee for an hour and for most of that time  she has been watching the sky through the tiny living room window change from a sweet natured pink to an inky grey
Welsh terriers sit and watch and think
It's the way they are

The Austin Of England

My sister's Flower Show takes place in Prestatyn on the 26th and 27th of July
Hers is more of a fete than merely a show and this year in the craft section there is a new class 87 which is simply titled " 500 Words"
The class asks for an amusing story about My First Car using 500 words
Here is my entry ( if any reader wants to enter please email their 500 words to jgsheffield@hotmail.com and I will forward them on ( entries asap)

" The Colour of French mustard and built like a Small German tank my 'Austin of England ' was an acquired taste from the get-go. Ok it was 1980 and the 6 foot CB Radio aerial and furry poo coloured seat covers tried without much success to lend the Austin 1300 a sense of modern style but nothing really could change the fact that it was an old man' s car. one that you would drive only on a Sunday and with your Pork pie trilby hat on .

I was just 18.
And I worked in faraway Rhyl at the prestigious National Westminster Bank...so
I needed to pass my driving test quick sticks....after all I was in competition with the car's other owner, my twin sister and I was desperate to eyeball all of those tropical and oh so flamboyant sounding CB radio enthusiasts who lurked along the North Wales coast

My brother in law would cheerfully take me driving around the tree lined roads of Tudor Avenue in upper Prestatyn.
I was sat on a cushion, nicked from my parents second best sofa.
With no seat belts and hardly an L plate in place  we " roared" up and down the roads of our Welsh hometown desperate to reach third gear but never quite making it

I was a difficult and cautious learner driver.

One Sunday my brother in law suggested that we try and master the art of stopping at a T junction.
It was never one of my strong points as 'going down in the gears' was a complicated procedure in a throaty 1300 with a high clutch, but I was game.

Health and safety was out of the window back in 1980 and my two small nephews, with a collection of their mates ( one strange as it may sound a neighbouring toddler just out of nappies). All piled into the back seat in a mass of grubby knees and mild hysteria.

After negiotiating six or seven " busy". Junctions up Aberconway Road, Norman Drive and
unbelievably Gronant Road , we all headed for home.

" Take her into the Drive !"my brother-in-law  instructed , buoyed up by my performance under fire
And forcing the Austin into first I hit the accelerator and roared towards the gateway like a pro.

We clipped the stone gate post with a bang louder than anything I have ever heard before , then as I hit the accelerator again instead of the brake, the Austin of England bounced heavily into a fir tree that lined the drive.
The collection of small children were sent screaming into the soft furnishings and dash board.
Strangely my brother-in-law was not fazed by any of this . he just sat laughing in the passenger seat
I sat in my furry sweat stained driving seat in shock as my diva nephew clutching his mouth kept shouting " My teeth, I've lost my teeth!!" 

Of course he hadn't lost any of his teeth,
Not even the neighbourhood toddler was injured

And strange as It would seem I passed my driving test a week later.
Happy Days!"

Hey ho- fists of fury

I never saw the boney little fist coming
It landed directly in my left eyeball.
With a squidgy pop
My eyeball  is starting to fill with blood.
Hazards of the job, we nurses say
All too common hazards.

In 36 years nursing I have been threatened with violence hundreds of times.
I have been thumped, kicked, and slapped
I have had my hair pulled out by a patient who also managed to rip my epaulets off and I have been throttled by a drunk in A&E .
I have been hit by a vase, a full bag of urine and once had a turd lobbed at the back of my head so hard it splattered over a a group of nurses I was sharing a tea break with
( the rest of it slid down the back collar of my uniform)
I have been spat upon by an angry hepatitis patient, knocked down a fire escape and had my glasses smashed by a crazy relative of one of my staff as I sat on a date in Sheffields All Bar One

Never a dull moment


  

Caption Please

Post the best caption

Daughterhood

My Sister and I went to the theatre tonight to see a fringe production called Daughterhood 
It captured perfectly the push/pull relationship often seen between sisters who have lived very different lives due to circumstance, age and fate and we both enjoyed the interplay between actors charlotte O'Leary and Charlotte Bate who provided some powerful performances!
It tickled me that Janet and I actually counted the audience number
66

Songs Of Praise

The Songs Of Praise evening was a rather sweet and emotive affair.

Stand in vicar Dot, ( she of the jeans and purple hair ) was relaxed yet rather passionate about the church and village she was babysitting and started ( and ended) the evening by blessing the village and it's inhabitants. 

The simplicity and sincerity of her blessings almost moved me to tears.

The tiny  stone Church was three quarters full.
Flower Show Ann, Radio 4 Tim, The affable despot family, Mrs Trellis, Pippa from the rectory, Trendy Carol ( yellow top, snakeskin pants!!) and Gaynor the mad organist were all there and we sang a dozen or so hymns all dovetailed by asides from the vicar, who at one moment read from a piece of prose downloaded on her mobile.

Liv Randa and some of the other village Children gave readings and prayers and the vicar ended the service by explaining just how hard it was for the tiny existing congregation to keep the place going. Her acknowledgement of their struggle and for their obvious love for the institution , I think was gratefully received and again very emotional to listen to

It is rare to have a champion for middle class church Going types 

Respect 

A shakey selfie of Trendy Carol and I 

Your Julia Roberts Moment

I was asked recently where I get my love of theatre from.
As I recall I don't come from a family that ever went to the pantomime let alone go and see a ballet or an opera or a west end play.
My love of theatre comes from a chance visit to the Leeds Grand back in 1986
I had just started work in a mother and baby unit in York and had been asked out on a ward night out by a tall willowy occupational therapist called Ali, who felt that a cultural night was more in order than the usual bun fight down at the Hole In The Wall Pub
She arranged for us to see Bizet's The Pearl Fishes 
and I remember sitting in the vastness of that great Northern auditorium thinking " I have no idea what is about to happen" 
I was blown away
It was a beautiful production with a full orchestra and more colour than a LGBTQ flag.
And when the two friends Nadir and Zurga finally sang their duet of friendship Au Font Du Temple Saint 
I was totally Overwhelmed .....by the homoerotic subtex ( only in my mind), the power of the voices, the beauty of the music and I promptly burst into tears with the magic of it all

From that moment I went to everything that was going. Opera, the world famous Northern Ballet, touring farces at York's Theatre Royal, even the Mystery Plays in the Roman Gardens, I lapped everything up and when I moved to Sheffield with The Crucible and Lyceum Theatres standing tall in the city centre I was in seventh heaven..

So my question today is what is your Julia Robert's Moment?
Her first trip to the Opera in Pretty Woman  really mirrored my own Pearl Fishes moment ( though she looked just a tad more beautiful)

What production moved you, in only that way live Theatre can do