It was blustery throughout Gwyneth's funeral.
So much so that at one point in the service, several of the congregation lifted their heads to listen to the wind as it whistled menacingly around the Church roof.
There is something more emotional about a funeral in winter I always think.
Every colour is muted like the dull green/browns of the graveyard foliage .
The grey of the skies echoing the mood of the moment.
Village Elder Islwyn and Trendy Carol ( lovely handbag btw) were stoic and movingly brave and it was good to hear that their work and friendships were celebrated so publicly by the vicar before the burial in the Churchard where the valiant semicircle of family and villagers braved the icy wind as it raced like a train over the valley floor from the West
A patient asked me to tell her a story today.
She needed diverting and I had just a few minutes to spare
I didn't quite know just what to talk about until I spied an nylon exfoliating face scrub sticking out of her bathroom bag sitting on her locker.
When I saw the white Pom Pom I remembered Bog Brush Now Bog Brush was a nasty little cunt
A silkie cockerel no more than nine inches high, he was the epitome of little man syndrome Full of bluster, anger and sexual tension bordering on the psychotic , Bog Brush spent his days either pecking at any passing female hen within range or shagging any passing female hen within range.
When he had a spare moment , free of the motivation of depositing sperm , he would spend it attacking anything that he saw as a threat.
The dogs, the pigs, even the hysterical Indian runner ducks would be targeted by the little white crested cockerel, who without fear and with much howling would hurl himself claws first at any poor unfortunate within reach.
Visiting humans would also be subject to sneak attacks and could be often seen limping away from the field with bloody calves and ripped tights.
The population of the field was effectively under seige until the day that Bog Brush picked on a baby bantam cockerel called Gayboy Gayboy, was a sweetie. He was tiny runt of a bantam who had a bad leg after it was trampled by his socially inept mother. The injury left him slow and when he walked he flounced somewhat like a more camp version of john Inman's Mr Humphreys Gayboy was bully fodder for the likes of BogBrush and that day it was fortunate that I was passing with a tin feeding bowl in my hand for Bogbrush had almost killed the little guy ( as he skipped by presumably whistling show tunes to himself ). I yelled " You little cunt" at the top of my voice and swung my bowl like a good un
The tin bowl had clacked Bogbrush , just a glancing blow
I only intended to scare the bastard
But the cockerel stopped short, gave me a brief but vicious look , then dropped stone dead to the floor.
" You killed Bogbrush" my patient stated " I did " I told her "I am ashamed to admit it!"
" but Gayboy survived!???!!!" " he did indeed !!" I told her......
Thus Ending the story
In Tate Britain I shared with Sitges John my most profound experience with modern art. The moment came quite by accident as in the 1990s I took myself off to an Antony Gormely exhibition in Sheffield's Weston Park
The exhibition was his award winning terracotta figures 40 thousand Faces looking forward at you.
The piece had a strength and an emotion which has never been beaten and I remember standing for hour and hour just feeling the power of those tiny faces
With global warming, the fires in Australia, the uncertain nature of our so very fragile modern world , Gormley's piece has taken on a new significance with me
The figures do plead " what are we doing?" " what shall we do?"
There is a simple honesty in those blank little faces .
Power that, I remember kept me standing and watching for a couple of hours on a blustery Yorkshire afternoon
Facebook thoughtfully sent me this final photo this morning. It was taken years ago when I was cloudwatching on the top of Gop Hill. The Scottish terrier isn't George , it was Maddie .
Maddie was a delightfully opinionated lady who mistrusted and disliked most of the living world around her. She was grumpy and stoic and in her own way quite magnificent and this selfi showed a rare burst of affection from a lady who preferred her own company.
Like the Gormley figures, Maddie was nothing but honest
My sister Janet, Judy and Trendy Carol manning my tea tent on one of my open days
My last surviving Aunt on my father's side of the family is poorly.
Her name is Judy
She suffered a severe stroke just before Christmas and is slowly recovering.
We, the extended family have just had the ok to visit her.
And today amid the overwhelming cacophony of a general ward, I did just that.
I arrived just as my cousin and his wife did.
We've known each other since we were children and we've never seen our aunt so quiet, so still and so far away vulnerable.
We looked at each other carefully as she only half acknowledged us
My aunt was sleepy. A side effect of stroke
The physiotherapist helpers were waiting to wake her enough to transfer her into a chair.
The noise of the ward was deafening and a knew any meaningful dialogue was impossible.
I told her I would return tomorrow and I will do just that
And I then did , what I've never done to her ever before.
As she closed her eyes to sleep
I leant down and kissed her very tenderly on the forehead
When they want body contact, no matter what reason they have for seeking it , they simply find it. Unlike food and water, contact is shared and is often a mutual thing.
Humans mix touch with all too many social taboos. I thought this the other day when a man I know from the village congratulated me on finally getting the cottage changed into my name.
As he wished me well, I sensed that he suddenly didn't quite know what to do with his hands and so I reached out and half held half shook his right hand as we laughed.
His mind wanted that contact but his head couldn't allow the physicality of the gesture to happen and as that physical warmth occurred something needy and kind and human flowed between us
Like I said, animals can teach us many simple things
Yesterday
Lunch in trendy Shorditch, drinks in Lewisham, Tate Britain by the Thames and homemade soup and Bread in Catford! The William Blake exhibition reinforced to me that he was a troubled man and I was thrilled to find my favourite painting of his , the tiny ( literally) paint on copper...The Horse.
I had a lovely time.
I know someone who is the spit of Jane McDonald
( for those that don't know Jane McDonald is a friendly Yorkshire type who made it famous as a cruise liner singer in a reality tv show)
The person I know is also a broad, Yorkshire woman who ooozes Bonne viveur like sweat and everytime I see her she tries to set me up with a date with her local practice nurse " He's had his heart broken so is just ripe for you!" She gushed breathlessly the other day " He has a beard AND EVERYTHING!!!"
( I wondered briefly what EVERYTHING could mean?) "Jane" had previously found out I was single after picking up on the indentation left by my wedding ring on my left hand.
It was a true Miss Marple moment, and because she liked me, she's made it her mission to get me back into the dating game
"Shall I give him your number ?" Jane asked only a couple of days ago " He's ever so sweet.....teeth like Donny Osmond?"
I felt I had been transported into the medical Fiddler On The Roof I'd make a grand Tevye!!!
When I'm working I'm up before 5.30 am
Automatic pilot
Without remembering I make my bucket of coffee and eggs, avocado on sourdough
I Bake my own sourdough.
I can't blog properly in the early mornings.
I drive with the windows open until I reach the A55
By the time I get to work at 7.25 I can almost smile
My only New Year's resolution is money related.
Extra unsociable hour shifts have helped paid off my solicitor invoices and tax bills and in perhaps six months I shall be clear of major debt except, of course my mortgage .
I've worked almost every weekend in several months!
This weekend I'm off!
In a wooden caddy, somewhere safe, any spare cash gets hidden away.
I know that Dotty needs spaying
I know my car insurance has gone up.
I know know that at some stage some social disaster will occur
But I'm saving up for a break away.........
Gwyneth selling ice cream at one of my village allotment open days
After work I called up to my sister-in-law's home for a family meal
I've only just got home.
It was too late to call down to see Trendy Carol or to knock on Village Elder Islwyn's door.
I wanted to give them both my best, as after an age of both caring for village character Gwyneth E They both found themselves grieving , not only for someone they looked after in her own home for many years.
But saying goodbye to a dear friend.
Over eighty years ago Gwyneth was born in Trelawnyd..
I think she lived here for most of her life, and years into living a normal life she started showing the symptoms of the disease MS . Islwyn and Trendy Carol amongst others cared for Gwyneth in her own home.
They cared for her better than any trained nurse would ever have done, and they kept her free of the lottery of district general hospital care by pragmatic and informed skill and affection and so when I arrived in the village it was common to see Gwyneth in her electric wheelchair going to church or the village Hall or to one of my open days with one of Trendy Carol 's dogs on her knee.
I never knew her complain or moan once about her lot
She was an old trouper.
And so I am sending my best wishes to Carol and Islwyn today. Unsung heros of the carer world.
Two carers who will miss their charge so acutely as if she was their own mother
You both did Gwyneth proud .
Gwyneth ( left) as a girl in the village by Wynstays ( near affable Despot Jason!s home)
I was expecting something different from today.
The cottage is now mine. The solicitors have sent my soon to be ex husband his requested monies and so there was just the simple job of sorting a few minor joint bills out and that, more or less, would be that!!!!
All neatly in time for New Years !!!
Yeah right
Things never quite go as planned..do they?
It's like being on an unknown rollercoaster
That's a theme from 2019
Rollercoasters and serendipity.
More about serendipity later.
I started 2019 at my very lowest ebb
I've never been so unhappy and out of control in my life
I had just returned to work in a miserable nursing home ( such a comedown for my self image) I had to borrow Jason's car to get by and I lost William, my old dog with the very gentlest of souls.
My life was uncertain with the cottage eventually having being put up for sale
Single in my late fifties.
And Jointly responsible, I guess, for a failed marriage which had come out of the blue.
I was in a sorry state to be sure
Then serendipity started to place her fickle hand on things
Over weeks and months and purely by chance I started to sing in a choir that fed my soul with light, I bought my own car with the help of a gay friendly bank clerk divorcee and I grew restless with the mundane work of a badly run nursing home and found a job advert for a nursing position at the hospice unexpectedly one night.
I got that job in the most fiercely fought and needed job interview of my career.
And by getting that job, I was steered onto a course of obtaining my own mortgage. A course which has never run smoothly or easily, but one which finally ended just a few days ago when £300 took my husband's name from off of the land registry records.
I lost my dear old George in the summer and made new friends here and abroad and felt supported by old ones as my family watched quietly in the sidelines as they have always done ...And eventually I lived more interesting days that were not always filled with tearful self reflection and overwhelming grief .
I made mistakes ( oh why did I put myself through going to my father in law's funeral?) but I also
learned from a friend's experience of divorce that you just need to accept when someone has fallen
out of love with you.
It just happens...
And I get that fact..I really do
But I also get that the most important thing about divorce is not that you want one
It's about how you go around getting one.
It's all in the doing.
No lies, no half truths no unkindnesses I've seen a quite a few
and Hopefully no in laws that drop you like a cheap whore once sides have been taken
I will never forgive those callous moments of pain.
And I should know what was done and when for in the words of Jim Steinman at the beginning of his Classic Love and Death and the American Guitar was belted out...
" I remember Everything, I remember Everything it only happened yesterday"
Divorce and a good memory
Are very bad bedfellows.
Believe me, indeed they are....I know
And so on this New Years Eve the whole sorry mess of my divorce is almost over.
Not quite, but almost over and
I've finally realised that I have survived it.
I have my family, my new friends and my old ones
I have my blog readers and my new wonderful colleagues
I have my dogs and a golden eyed cat called Albert
And I have my cottage
In that tiny corner of a village I call home.
And, like a feather in a cap, I can honestly now say that I have my sense of humour which has slowly returned to me , like lazy swallows do in early summer long after you think that you will never see them again
" Why are you texting me from the cinema?"
That was the message I received from my nephew Leo during my time watching The Rise Of Skywalker
I was a bit bored
The Jedi twins fight, fall on the floor, fight a bit more, fall on the floor a bit more and feel at one with the force
The rebel alliance gets attacked, look worried, get attacked again, have lots of group hugs, look even more worried after most get killed then hug again when reinforcements turn up
We have seen it all before, and it's all polished and good fun
But hardly original at all.
I missed Rose (Kelly Marie Tran) who starred in the previous movie The Last Jedi but who had a tiny role in this the sequel.
She gave the franchise some warmth and heart
I ate my last Fortum & Mason's scotch egg this evening when I got home from work
I ate it very slowly as I read the news on the loo
There is only one thing better than a posh scotch egg
Today I'm sorting lists, paying bills and making plans at the kitchen table.
I like to do this in silence.
Well silence , save for the loud ticking of the kitchen wall clock and the snoring of the bulldogs.
I always face my art wall when I work like this
I don't like looking at the lane window, especially at night.
The lane window, used to be the kitchen door which opened up straight on the lane.
I don't like the thought that people can look in directly from the road.
Last night I was arranging paperwork on the table and had just started a satisfying " to do " list on my right. (I was using my Christmas pens too which pleased me ) when I saw Dorothy raise her head from the reading chair to look at something just beyond my shoulder.
She was silent but her hackles were raised.
A gentle tap-tap at the window made her sit up sharply and brought Mary yapping loudly in from the living room.
A man's face white was pressed up at the window as I turned around, he was mouthing words I couldn't understand
"Shit a brick!" Was all I could say
One of my pet fears is faces at windows at night.
I composed myself and pointed up the lane and went out to the kitchen wall, flanked by all three dogs in their stiff legged defence pose " I think your cat is in my car" the man said with a worried face " he has quite a temper on him"
It turned out that the man had stopped outside the church to drop off a Christmas wreath and had left his car door open in order to empty the car's rubbish into the Church's bins which are tucked away behind the lytch gate.
Ever nosey, Albert had appeared from nowhere and had jumped into the driver's seat then hopped into the back seat for a good sniff around . He was sitting rather angrily on the back window ledge when the man caught sight of him in his rear mirror as he returned.
Albert has a permanent look of surprise which is often mistaken for temper and wouldn't be moved even when the man had prodded him carefully with a plastic snow scraper
" He scared the shit out of me, sitting there like a black panther " the man admitted and when we got to the car, Albert was indeed sat in the back of the car, whipping his tail back and forth in anger.
" I asked in those houses who he belonged to and was told it was you" the man said
The car was only a two door sporty number and that's why Albert had not moved to escape and so it took a bit of arse squeezing on my part to get beyond the front seats in order to get a firm scruff hold.
The old boy eventually came quietly with his legs dangling
The man stepped back as I brought Albert into the open air " Im glad I saw him when I did." He said " I live in Blacon "[outside Chester ( some thirty miles away)]
I'm simmering Chinese chicken dumplings for lunch
It's wet and wintery today and dumplings seem like a good idea
As I tidy away the flotsam of the last few days I've half watched classics like Oklahoma ( wasn't the auction scene tense?) and Guys and Dolls...later it's the remake of The Jungle Book
First thing, in my PJs I watched and thoroughly enjoyed Moana ( who knew The Rock could sing?)
And later I'm box binging Fear The walking Dead with my last two remaining Fortum & Mason's scotch eggs ( and a jar of piccalilli)
( what a wonderful date!)
