Another Daydream



I treated myself to a Moka Pot 
They sell them in Sainsbury’s 
Slightly pretentious I am sure ,
But I have enjoyed the ritual of the coffee making.
And to be fair it doesn’t take long to use.

I’m at the kitchen table at a loss to what to do today.
I’ve swapped my work shifts to the weekend to cover staff shortages and to allow me to participate in Gentleman Farmer Ralph’s funeral. 
I will stand in the lane  at noon , with the dogs by my side,

So what to do today? 
The patio needs scrubbing of its winter grime,
And the loose downspout on the corner of the cottage needs fixing.
The planters needs emptying of dead wood and the wood store that used to be an old rabbit hutch needs dismantling 
All dirty met work .....

I’m day dreaming too, thinking and day dreaming with my fat hands warmed by my coffee mug. The nice blue french mug without a handle...another thing that pleases me.

I’ll start work in a moment....
Just time for another coffee and another day dream


  

Guardian

 


One of the hospice staff snapped this photo today 
I feel we have our own set of guardian angels 

A Thought

 

Ever since I can remember when I have been out walking alone, I take into account the presence of single women around me.
I have never “followed” one, consciously I would always cross over a road to pass a lone woman, and I will often lower my eyes, respectfully as I say hello to a stranger when dog walking.
Am I a rarity ? 
No I don’t think that I am, 
I honestly think that 98% of men are mindful and respectful to women in public but our [ men’s] awareness of women’s discomfort does little to nothing to change the predatory, sexually inappropriate and bullying behaviour some damaged and evil men think is fun or deserving.
All the Vigils and conversations about this subject will not stop these men but efforts to change the justice system relating to the reporting of their behaviours will make a difference in how they are dealt with.
Having said this I found the following observation interesting.
Novelist Margaret Atwood writes that when she asked a male friend why men feel threatened by women, he answered, "They are afraid women will laugh at them." When she asked a group of women why they feel threatened by men, they said, "We're afraid of being killed."

The Incident Of The Lavender Bath Bomb

 

Blog reader Donell very kindly sent me a packet of lavender Bath Bombs. 
Lavender is calming and soothing and relaxing.
I kept them for tonight’s long, wonderful soak in the bath.
It’s been a nice day all told. 
This evening I had a phone call from one of my Friday quiz team members who strange-as-it-would-seem kinda found me attractive. 
It was nice to have a flirt.
Anyhow back to the bath bombs
I ran my bath
Threw in two hard as rock bath bombs and prepared myself for a lavender overload.
I must admit as I was pottering around the bathroom , I did say to myself that the odour of lavender wasn’t as strong as I had expected but as the water was steaming hot and inviting , I disrobed and plopped bum first into the bath
RIGHT ON TOP OF TWO MARBLE HARD BATH BOMBS
( no one told me they were wrapped in invisible plastic!)
The other side of the village must of heard the screams, and I clambered out of the tub convinced I was mortally wounded. 
With tears in my eyes I could see the packet of lavender bombs on the window ledge 
They were described as being “ calming” 

Hey ho
Calming ....my arse !

Mozzarella Dippers

 

This morning nine of my fellow students that had enrolled in “ A brief exploration of Wind in Cinema” met up on zoom for coffee. Several live in London, two are from the states and one lives in Malta. 
I am the only Northerner .
By the feel of the conversation most of us live alone ( although rather theatrically one elderly and rather grumpy spouse of a professor type kept shuffling around in the background of his study carrying piles of washing in her arms) and so over the space of nearly two hours we chatted about our favourite films, the recent BAFTA nominations, what film changed your life and the knotty question of Was Hitchcock a real pervert?
All great fun.

The weather deteriorated this afternoon so, after a walk, the dogs and I went up to McDonalds and shared a whole box of mozzarella cheese dippers in complete, joyous silence .

Late Home



The weather was atrocious when I got home 
It was 8.30 pm and Albert, who instantly recognises Bluebell’s engine noise was already in the lane yowling his welcome. 
He stands on the garden wall and we rub heads.
The rain never seems to bother him.
It’s lovely to have a proper welcome even though the cottage is quiet and cold and dark.
I feed Albert first and in the gloom of the lane street light I light the fire, and  minutes later 
When I turn my head in the wintery lane the wood smoke  flew horizontally towards the church .
Fifty steps later ,when  I collected the dogs from Trendy Carol’s  Trendy conservatory , I was treated to a socially distanced preview of her newest VERY trendy sofa.
Loved it too.......expensive leather! 
I fed the girls and checked my mail ......a council tax bill, a vet bill and a lovely lavender gift from Donell 
a kind email from Gentleman Farmer Ralph’s son was waiting to be read too ....Ralph will be leaving his farm for the village graveyard on Friday at noon . In this covid driven world this couldn’t be officially broadcasted but the blog isn’t “official”  in the truest sense of the word and I hope the lane may be filled in a socially distant way with villagers wanting to pay their respects .

It’s half nine now. 
The cottage is warm and Almost cosy
The slow cooker is bubbling away with another fantastic soup and Dorothy is already asleep on my own trendy sofa 
Mary is asleep with me
I’m knackered. 


As Damp As An Old Lady’s Gusset

I was asked recently how I felt in myself.
I answered with an honest and somewhat tired  “ I feel old” an answer which was countered with a rather judgmental and dismissive “ Thats sad, I know a lot of people your age that feel much more positive”

I said nothing but wanted to yell I bet they weren’t wearing full PPE in a south facing airless ward without air con all morning ! I fucking felt every minute of my 58 years that day, a day when my underpants were as damp and inviting as an old lady’s gusset.

Everyone knows me better than I know myself.

My recent not-so-joyful sojourn into potential ill health hasn’t helped matters, a situation gratefully acknowledged by my colleague a medic.....he said men, don’t cope well with fainting do’s. 
I didn’t .........I don’t ....
Well, you would be glad to hear that a plethora of tests are in hand. 

A particularly nasty troll turned up anonymously on Going Gently last Sunday to bang on just how much my ex husband wanted rid of me in lieu of a younger and probably healthier replacement and perhaps you can see it’s not been the most positive of weeks when I always supposed to have a spring in my step and a song in my heart, 

Again you try acting like Donny Osmond when the trolls whine on, PPE soaks your underpants with no pay rise, even a 1% one is in sight and you think you have a brain tumour! 
Ok I was exaggerating about the brain tumour ...but you get the gist.

Today I have been hiding away in my office. It’s very warm and ordered in there and the dogs and Albert love curling up on the  little Victorian brass bed  behind me.
For an hour I attended a ward meeting on teams and was made to remove Dorothy because of her snoring. ( the shame). My sister called up and weeded and tidied the front garden which was a nice surprise and I made a tasty low calorie bean &  barley soup which was thick as wallpaper paste. 
I will be eating it until Sunday.
A tidy garden and thick soup pleased me today.
So did my new office chair with is John Lewis comfortable with its castors and adjustable posture hugging  upholstered seat in a gentle grey.
It arrived yesterday and I successfully put it together today.

I need a hug today....a long doze inducing hug

I think we all do.......







A Galleon In Full Sail.

 

Film studies tonight

Yesterday Llandudno was struck by sixty mile an hour gales. The force of the wind on the Great Orme 
(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Orme) was so strong that many more of the Kashmiri Goats plodded down from it’s heights to see shelter in the gardens and the bus stops of West Shore.
It was my first proper day community nursing on my own. 
My sat nav failed, I got lost twice and the spectacle of me changing into PPE behind the hospice car must of made for hilarious viewing in near storm force winds as I tried to control yards of plastic apron which suddenly decided to take flight.
I did indeed look like the proverbial galleon in full sail.
Sheltering from the storm 


Today remains stormy but more manageable .
Animal Helper Pat, village Leader Ian and Mrs Trellis  stopped by at different times as I was spring cleaning Bluebell. The conversation is still all about Gentleman Farmer Ralph and his funeral. 
We all hoped that he will be brought home before the funeral so that we all can line the lane in respect.
All of us promised that we would tell the other if we heard anything more.
Pat asked me about my “ do” on Sunday and I managed to side step the conversation. 
I told her that the medical tests are in hand, which they are.
The whole subject, however has upset me, I have to be honest 



Anyhow today is Hitchcock studies day and I’ve been cooking a massive concoction of garlic spiced turkey mince with sprouts and potato which is a wonderfully tasty low fat version of corned beef hash, a dinner that will keep me going for days.

I also framed a sweet embroidered blackbird, a work of art bought from a fellow blogger which arrived today and hung it on the art wall. It has a charm all of its own . 


I will leave you with this I sing The Body Electric 



Wanting Memories


Our on line choir listened to this together tonight 
we were all moved by it and will sing it when we are eventually together
It’s been a year since we all met last
Tonight was
Twenty or so souls singing together in our living rooms, and offices and spare rooms.

It’s been a strange few days

Gravy Hands

Mortified. 
I fainted as I was eating my lunch at work today.
I’ve never fainted in my life.
Woke up with strong arms around me and faces next to mine with no idea of what happened.
My hands were covered in gravy.
I’ve come home for a sleep
Mortified.

My friend Ben described the experience thus on social media
“  John told us that vimto was an acronym of vomit then he fainted, then he put his hands in his dinner. I gave him a cuddle and he came around.” 

Lasagne Therapy

 


I’ve been a bit “ out of sorts “ this past week. I know I have and I’m sick of being up and down like the proverbial whores’ knickers ......
I fell asleep in my office covered in dogs and cat yesterday afternoon only to wake in the dark of the evening, disorientated and heady...
I even missed the Big Gay Quiz which usually bucks me up with an overdose of camp one liners.
Subsequently I didn’t sleep and spent too long and too much energy on a french zombie movie called 
The Night Eats The World.



The film had its “ hero” locked inside his Parisian apartment for much of the plot where he slowly went a bit unhinged as the zombie hoards surrounded him.....a untimely metaphor for lockdown I guess.

The constant bickering in the household has had its effect too as had my subsequent move to a new role in the community at work. A move which will mean less unsocial hour pay.......pay that I need but the new role ( overseeing hospice care given at home ) is a challenge that will be good for me .

So bra straps hiked to their shortest twang, it’s onwards and upwards today.
The cottage window ps are wide open even though it’s only 6 degrees outside and I am cooking like a demon.
I made cauliflower soup this morning and will pop it to Ralph’s wife when it has cooled, and am in the middle of constructing a massive lasagne  from scratch which my bubble friend Ruth and I will demolish a bit later.
It’s as low fat as you can make a giant lasagne and I am serving it with a Spanish salad and a crisp white Campo Viejo the wine the Santa Maria always served in Sitges.
We will watch that drag queen film later which is the best recipe for a light mood since I last dreamt than Russell Crowe was my boyfriend at my sisters wedding! ...now that WAS A CRACKING DREAM!!



The giant final lasagne




Eva Cassidy - Over The Rainbow


The best ......
We all need to subscribe ....that one day skies are and will be ............blue .....
Almost there....

The Boys Are Back In Town

 The Llandudno goats have come back into town......
It’s the bachelor groups that have left the Orme






The females with their kids are safely hidden away on the peninsular 
The hospice is taking advantage of their births


Fields Of Gold


This morning I took Mary and Trendy Carol’s dog, Bengi to the groomers. Both are well trained in car travel and sit  on the back seat like statues. 
It was a pleasure to be out without the usual bouncing hysterics from Dorothy 

I wouldn’t be without her, but looking after a dog with their own unique issues can be a challenge at times.
The above video is an example of Dorothy’s odd, and needy behaviour when out walking in a group. She is totally ignoring the other dog that was playfully sitting on the sidelines as well as Chic Eleanor who was watching with some interest nearby.
Her focus lies totally with me and totally me, which can be exhausting at times, for both of us, but I can see areas where her confidence is improving which is encouraging.

I dropped a neat bunch of smart tulips off at Gentleman Ralph’s farm with a card. 
There is a strange paralysis people experience when visiting the very newly bereaved and even with my experiences within the hospice , I am not immune to the do I knock? Do I just leave the flowers on the doorstep dilemma? 
I left them on the doorstep   
The farmhouse was quiet.

I dropped Benji off, picked up a doe-eyed Dorothy and came home and prepared lentil and Chorizo soup in the slow cooker. Then the dogs, Albert and I made ourselves comfortable in my office in the East wing which I already made comfortable and warm.
I have some writing and some film scene watching to do for my film studies course 
But all I have completed so far it this blog, listened to Eva Cassidy , drank coffee from my striped bucket cup and watched the world go by , in the lane , a lane that snakes up to the church in a lazy s




Ralph, The Gentleman Farmer

This evening the Trelawnyd warden’s group let the village know that Gentleman Farmer Ralph had died tragically this morning. 
I had only seen him a day or so ago.
I had been walking the dogs around 6am before work. 
He was driving to the garage to collect his paper.
He stopped briefly to ask how I was and we laughed that despite wearing figure hugging PPE at work I was still the size of a house. 
He told me to start keeping animals on the field again in way of extra exercise.

The quietly spoken Ralph and his wife Lywenna are much loved and respected in Trelawnyd...this blog entry from 2019 perhaps underlines his kindness 

Gentleman farmer Ralph

Most of my regular readers will know that I live on a small lane.
The lane snakes out of the village to the south West and turns at a house and then two farms before moving away across the Valley floor.
In the second farm lives Gentleman Farmer Ralph and his gracefully polite wife Mrs L, and this morning they both stopped to pass over a Christmas Card and a couple of gifts.
I love the pragmatism of the farmer's gifts
Handed over the kitchen wall as so many gifts have been  over the years,
Was a very large lamb chop
A Christmas Card
And a high viz jacket !

Since I started work at the hospice I take Mary for a walk around 6 am in the morning and at that time Ralph drives to the village shop for his paper!
" You never wear something light in the lane" he quipped " I am worried that one day I'm going to run over you!" 


I will pop some flowers up to Lywenna tomorrow  and some homemade soup on Saturday. 

Twist In My Sobriety


Last night I watched Kramer vs Kramer after realising that I’ve never seen it.
It was one of those films you think you have seen then ten minutes into it, you realise that it was just a thought.
I enjoyed it so much.
Streep was amazing.
This morning I’ve been walking with Chic Eleanor and now I’m cooking Spiced Turkey and Bean Soup for supper. 
I’ve no news except that another Art Deco inspired print arrived today. I will hang it in my study a bit later. It arrived alongside Michelle Obama’s Becoming and a dvd of To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything Julie Newmar which my bubble friend Ruth and I will watch on Saturday.
Tonight it is My Hitchcock lecture

I’ve lit the fire
And the cottage is filled with the vague scent of woodsmoke and soup
And the music from the album Ancient Heart by Tinika Tikaram 





The Baking Cupboard



 On Saturday it will be the six year anniversary of the day I got married 
Of all the dates I need to forget , this one is the one I always seem to remember.
The morning of March 6th 2015 was very much like the one we experienced today. It was springlike and warm and sunny. 
Like this morning I was alone in the cottage, drinking coffee at the kitchen table.
Unlike this morning, I had been up and down like a fiddler’s elbow receiving cards and gifts from villagers and friends.
I remember the table being filled with bottles of champagne and boxes with bows and flowers in vases.
Around 11am I spied Auntie Gladys walking carefully down the lane. 
She wore a red woollen coat and looked frail at 95
I met her at the garden wall and she held my hand in greeting
I have a wedding gift for you both” she said handing me a hand written card 
I started my usual  you shouldn’t have  type reply which she waved away with a hand
“ Buy yourself something you need but would never usually buy yourself “ she said her watery blue eyes twinkling and I was suddenly moved that this old stalwart of the Church and of traditional values had just embraced her first gay marriage 
“ Thank you for being so kind , Your support means a great deal” I told her and she laughed her usual laugh and pushed her hands into her coat pockets to find a hankie 
“ It’s the law ! “ she said simply and I watched her walk back up the lane, her head to one side as though she was thinking hard.
I felt moved and humbled , as though my grandmother had just visited.

Auntie Glad’s card was traditional  and addressed to us both. Inside was several crisp ten pound notes which I rolled up and placed in the tea caddy on the mantle. 
I forgot the money until weeks later, when it was almost summer.

Back then I was planning for my beloved new kitchen and so fantasised about things I wanted to make it the best of all I had owned. Having my own baking cupboard was on my to do list.
And so, with the help of Auntie Glad’s money, I prepared for one.
I bought loaf tins and flan dishes and an old fashioned black bird with its mouth open to sit inside a steaming pie so that the pastry would not get soggy. 
I bought cake tins and a flour shaker and storage tins full of grease roof paper, food colouring and vintage Christmas cake decorations alongside vintage wooden spoons and a mixing bowl with blue embossed sides like the one my mother used to have.
Any I hid all of the bits and bobs away until the IKEA workmen had put in the kitchen, only bringing them out from their hiding place to fill my baking cupboard . The one nearest to the lane window , where the light is best to roll pastry and to kneed dough.
Today after night shift I was in my baking cupboard yet again, retrieving the ingredients to make sourdough bread  and as I kneeded the dough I remembered the day Auntie Gladys brought me a wedding present .......and continued to be a bit of a hero .


The baking Cupboard Today



Back Up



In 1991 I supported a Spinal Cord Injury charity called Back Up
I didn’t raise money, or indeed collected any but I gave my time to an organisation who stretched newly spinally injured men and women to experience sports outside their comfort zones.
That year I was one of the  nurse team who helped take paraplegic and quadraplegic patients skiing in Switzerland. Our job was to help the most paralysed patients in activities of daily living and help get them ready for the slopes, which usually meant a hard mornings’ work until 10.30 or so. 
The patients were then handed over to the ski instructors with their adapted ski, poles and seats and buggies until teatime when help was needed again to sort out bladders and bowels and to check skin  etc before dinner and the usual evening  where a great deal of serious drinking apres ski style, was achieved before bed.
Most of our charges were under the age of thirty.
And all had something to prove to themselves after months and months of inpatient care.

The ski resort, as most ski resorts are, was a rather posh place and our hotel was rather plush as I recall with a large open plan bar and restaurant decorated tastefully in 1960s style furniture and one evening after a particularly heavy bout of drinking by our back up team, I was approached by a rather well to do German lady who spoke impeccable English.
She was not happy at all
“ Please,” she asked “ Are You in Charge of zee English men in their wheelchairs? “
I told her I was not, that I was a nurse helper and could I be of any help
“ Zay are singing songs ya?” She complained earnestly “ Which are not in very gud taste”
I apologised thinking the German observers were getting a selection of British Rugby songs forced down their throats and went to investigate.
I found a dozen men and women in their wheelchairs all linking arms together, with a selection of able bodied drunk friends joining in with lusty voices and blurred expressions.
They were singing the football anthem “ You’ll never walk alone” with great emotion but had substituted their own words for the final bravura ending of the song
“ walk on, walk on with hope in your heart but we’ll never nev-er walk again!!!
WE’LL NEV-ER .....WALK AGAIN! “

As I passed the German lady on my return I merely shrugged 
“They sing very well ! “ I called out to her with a smile

“Gwnewch y pethau bychain”

 

 

The one thing I’ve always liked about the Patron Saint Of Wales is that he instructed his followers to “ do the little things” ( Gwnewch Y Pethau Bychain” that you have seen me do! 
To him it was the small kindnesses that we show each other that were important 
Please remember that when you are wearing your daffodil to work..

Yesterday ....not only did I partake in a three hour zoom lecture, I also made my own pasta from scratch. 
Inspired by the recent Celebrity Masterchef I drummed up a small plate of Spinach & Ricotta Ravioli with a herb butter and Parmesan in only 2 hours!!
Two hours!
The kitchen looked like an explosion in Sophia Loren’s villa by the time I had finished
And this was what I had to show for the entire fucking afternoon 





Back To University

 

My film studies lecture starts in a few minutes
Three hours of “ The Wind in film” 
I’ve impressed myself by setting up my wireless keyboard and with the obligatory bucket of coffee I am about to christen my first very home office all of my own.
I did have a lovely Victorian desk but that went with the ex husband in order for me to keep the grandfather clock. 
They cost similar amounts but I loved the clock more.
I like to be surrounded by things that please me and the desk does this. 
A delicate vase with miniature yellow fish on it is filled with pencils and pens, an old framed photo of Finlay, my Filofax bible covered in birds, an indoor primula and a pot of tiny yellow narcissi, a trendy toast rack doubling as a letter holder. A puffin....a gift from an unknown blog reader....
I am all set! 

Let’s hope I don’t cough and fart at the same time this morning like I did last week.
The green light went on around my box , indicating to all who was responsible. 
Thank goodness the tutor merely whispered an ironic  “ How apt” given the title of the lecture