The Queen’s Message


If Winnie was still here, this is how she would look this morning
I hope everyone reading this will have at least a peaceful day.
It’s been a funny old two years, has it not? 
Slightly easier of late, but still a time 
of challenges and some sadness.
But like the shopworn Carlotta out of Follies we can say
I’m still here

Happy Christmas 

 

Xmas Eve

 


Xmas Eve has been lovely for a fucking change …..
Lovely chatty walk with Gorgeous Dave on the promenade , a film text marathon with nephew Leo  then extra strong gins with villagers Nick and the velvet voice linda on Well Street  followed by a zoom meet with my touchstones Mike and Jane  from Sheffield 
I feel loved and cherished , something I’ve not felt for a long time 
How good is that ?
Lovely people 

Happy Christmas 

Hey ho


Occupational Therapy

 

There is nothing more soulless at Christmas than radio music  
If I hear Slade again, I shall scream 
I’m wrapping gifts and painting awful decorations on my “paper” gifts and have done for most of the morning
Occupational therapy for the mentally bewildered as I prefer to describe it
I’m listen to classic FM which is doable 
Merry Christmas Eve
Enjoy Tom Chaplain …all of us will understand the lyrics …” all running on empty” 






SATC episode 4 ( spoilers)


 Two and a bit hours at The Crown was lovely 
Chic Eleanor was on fine form and wore a scarlet pashmina because it was Christmas 
I have perspective after seeing her

The rest of the night has been Sex and The City- Just like That episode 4
The series is getting better and better for me
Tonight the ‘girls’ new friends come into play …Black Charlotte ( a fantastically wisecracking Nicole Ari Parker ) is a breath of fresh air, Miranda has a sexuality and drink issue, and Carrie moves back into her apartment …this all happens when white Charlotte cancels Harry’s colonoscopy in a coffee shop, 
Stanford wants a divorce ( that killed me), and Asian Seema ( Samantha stand in)  is selling Carrie and Big’s apartment 
So much going on….too much politically correct to be sure , but really I loved it
The episode had a great deal to say about real friendship 

But I WAS slightly drunk lol
Hey ho

Trelawnyd Pre Christmas

 
Mrs Trellis marshalling one of my field open days a few years ago
The Hat!!

It was dark yesterday afternoon, when there was a tiny tap tap tap at the Lane window.
It was so quiet even Mary missed it.
It was Mrs Trellis with a gift,a card and some bad news.
Farmer Basil’s sister Mona had passed away last Monday 
She was in her nineties and he is in his eighties, and they both had shared the glorious old  Georgian farmhouse overlooking the village  since they were children.
The farmhouse is called ochr y Gop ( side of the Gop Hill)
I invited Mrs Trellis in but she refused due to covid, so we talked in the dark wet cold until my teeth chattered 
Mrs Trellis is cooking a partridge for Christmas dinner……a pheasant, she informed me, if Basil accepts a plate.
This morning I popped up to Ochr Y Gop with cake and a sympathy card , Basil is a darling man and one who has always been kind to me. His sister, Mona was the school mistress at Gwaenysgor School ( our neighbour village) in the 1940s, and also often cooked a mean ( and bloody massive) scotch egg for my flowers show’s cooking section….I remember that they looked like robust hand grenades 
The chimney still has not been fixed as yet so I’m relying on oil heaters to take the chill off the cottage
Without the fire , the living room lacks cheer so last night I lit the candles on the mantle to warm the living room 


Chic Eleanor has  just messaged……she’s had a hard week all told 
” Darling John “ she trilled breathlessly  “ Meet me for a G&T at 5 pm,……I insist ! “
I was touched as I always seem to be by her

The last bit of morning, I’ve been pottering around the village. I dropped off matching Christmas decorations to affable Despot Jason’s girls , both still in their pyjamas I must say. 
Liv, who is twelve tomorrow, lay on the couch covered in a blanket with her computer games. She saluted me cheerfully, eyes not leaving the screen.
I think I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be a pre teen off school.

I dropped off final cards and got home after midday to a sweet bowl of hyacinths and card left by Bridget & Family who live on Well Street. She had pushed chocolates into the card envelope.
Colin the postie dropped me a personal card on his rounds, I left him a small bottle of port.
I’ve just opened the last of the posted Christmas cards
And sat quietly with the dogs at the melancholy some of them caused
Hey ho
The bulbs were infact a gift from the village nursery 

Anyhow !
Tomorrow I’m meeting up with Gorgeous Dave in the afternoon for a brusque ( brisk? )  walk, Villagers velvet Voiced Linda and hubby , for an hour, early evening with a bottle of nice Sherry  and my Sheffield friends Jane and Mike on zoom at 10 pm so socially Christmas Eve has seemed to have worked itself out alright.

I’m cleaning Bluebell in the morning at the jet wash.
A real treat in itself .

Thank you to everyone who has sent me a card or gift. I’ve been very touched by everything received
I will leave you with Madge & Bisket 






More Christmas Stories

* see below

The West Cheshire hospital . way back in the early 1980s still had a small and functioning Church. It was a rather unwelcoming, mid Victorian building of red brick, which always seemed rather more utilitarian in its design, for it had few of the period excesses and decorations one would expect from a Victorian house of worship.
Many of the long stay patients, most of which lived out their twilight years on the hospital back wards, would attend Church services on Sunday and occasionally we students would accompany them, especially if there was a "big" service on , say at Christmas or at Easter.

I remember one Christmas marshalling perhaps 15 patients from Irby Ward and with my fellow student helping out ( the trained staff would all be drinking coffee in the office) we walked down for Church service.
The chaplain was a man , I had never met, but I kind of took a dislike to him immediately for his obvious lack of warmth he showed to any of the institutionalised patients filing in to his church.

Dressed in some sort of robe ( robe in a Hospital Church?) I remember quite clearly the look of distaste on his face when one old lady chirped up loudly "Are you God?" from her place in the pews...
His reply was a short and rather sharp "No!"

Late to arrive was a patient called Pat, who was always a favourite with the students as she was "almost normal" in her behaviour and affect. Pat had been in hospital since the 1940s, and although dreadfully institutionalised , still retained a noticeable sense of humour, which was a rarity. She also took a great interest in people and would go out of her way to make a nervous young student nurse welcome on her ward, a fact that was much appreciated , especially as some of the ward staff were well known for not being THAT student friendly.
Pat always had a bad perm,an oversized overcoat with matching handbag (which was filled with fags and sweets) and too much make up on.....she also always had a strange companion in tow, by the name of Phyllis 
Phyllis , too had been in hospital probably over forty years, but whereas Pat was sociable and interacted with staff, Phyllis remained in her own, isolated little world.
Today she perhaps would come under the broad definition of someone with learning difficulties.... back in the 1940s, she would have been lumped with the official title of "Moron".

Phyllis could not speak, in actual she had difficulty breathing, which she did in strange guttural gasps and she had  odd "look" to her as she looked permanently surprised with her pencilled in inverted eyebrows. She had great difficulty walking and would only do so by holding on to Pat's arm, and the two women were devoted to each other as they pottered around the old asylum, running errands and smoking cigarettes together.

Anyhow,like I said, Pat and Phyllis were ever so slightly late for service and as they entered the Church door, we all heard Pat cheerfully apologise to the chaplain who was just about to start his service.
The chaplain walked across to the two in silence showing Pat where to sit down with a wave of his arm, and impatient at the interruption he actually pushed Phyllis, who was somewhat slower than her companion, brusquely to her seat.

I could see a couple of female student nurses in their pink uniforms and blue capes bristle at his behaviour, and as he started his big speech about the importance of Christmas, he looked annoyed at the clip clop of Phyllis' built up shoes on the stone flags as she struggled to find her pew.

I remember thinking... well if this is Christianity in hospital well you can shove it up yer arse!

The rest of the service was nice enough.... the hymns were sweet... the lady that shouted out "are you God?"...did so only once more....and  despite it's austerity the Church felt just that tiny bit festive, no thanks to the Chaplain...
But do you know what made the whole experience a memorable one for me and all of the other students dotted around the pews? it was Phyllis!
For when she and Pat got up to leave...Phyllis  tottered to the front of the aisle, and just as the chaplain was being congratulated by the hospital bigwigs for a job well done... she growled like a lion, squatted down, and pissed all over the floor like a horse!





* my secret Santa gift from work 
 

Alliums

 Two pre Christmas gifts today
Dylan Thomas ‘ A Child’s Christmas in Wales 
From The Velvet voiced Linda and hubby Nick


And metal allium sculptures for the garden from my friend Ruth
Ones that will patina into a glorious orange sunbursts




The Rose


Omicron is scaring people.
I understand the phenomenon  only too well
But  I’m being visited again by that vague uneasy feeling in my gut 
The one that waved that flag about lockdown 
And the horrible, horrible isolation, lockdown brought with it.

My family was due to get together on Christmas Day. 
Despite lateral flow tests and pragmatic plans one sister will not be there.which is a shame even though it’s understandable.
Luckily she lives in the same town as my elder sister so visiting both will be possible on the day
But omicron has left a nasty taste in the mouth 
Similar to that low level anxiety turbulence gives you on a transatlantic flight
Or that snow storm when you a driving home on a Sunday night in the dark.

Choir is meeting back on zoom tomorrow night and I will be there before I go to work. 
And I’m still wanting to go to the Liverpool Philharmonic on Thursday night although am awaiting discussion with a friend to confirm.

Other planned meets with other friends have been poisoned and cancelled 
and I’m facing four days off work after my nights potentially with nothing to do.
A lovely colleague from work has just messaged with an invitation to a get together and prioritising my family meet means that I have had to decline the offer 
I just hate feeling that we are all walking backwards again.
I hate it .

But we have to be pragmatic and flexible don’t we? 
No need for tantrums ….that’s not going to make the hospital scan be organised any quicker even though it may be cathartic in the short term to yell at the woman in the Santa hat sitting on reception.

Yet again we all have to hike up our bra straps and pulls those tits up to attention
And get on with things.
I’ve just texted Gorgeous Dave  with the suggestion of a walk instead of a pub visit on Christmas Eve
Pottery may be quiet on Wednesday and I may be able to finish my spoons off in a deserted corner by the kiln 

It’s past  2 am .and so far we are having a peaceful night all told
So different to the one we slogged through last night for sure.
God were we all knackered this morning.


In the office , our nurses’ Christmas tree is surrounded by secret Santa gifts and it feels hopeful and positive and above Ive posted the village Male Voice Choir singing Bette Midler’s The Rose 
I remember seeing her live the song in a performance at Radio City New York around a decade ago.
She was quite the old trouper even back then.

I feel like that old trouper somewhat tonight. 
I bit jaded with omicron, 
A bit disappointed with more cancellations and plans changed
But buoyed up by Middler’s last verse chutzpah 

When the night has been too lonely
And the road has been too long
And you think that love is only
For the lucky and the strong
Just remember in the winter
Far beneath the bitter snows
Lies the seed that with the sun's love
In the spring becomes the rose.




 

Secret Santa


 The arm chair in the living room has caught the afternoon sun and the dogs are quiet for the first time today in their effort to make the most of the warmth.

I’ve been shopping for my work’s secret Santa gift which seems such a simple affair but is, in fact always one that is fraught with difficulties if the recipient works out who has sent what.

The general rule of secret Santa is to pick someone you like and always spend more than the allotted amount. 

I’m still scarred by the plastic antler incident when a sister on intensive care bought me a well intentioned but very nasty looking set of plastic antlers which she thought would enhance a classic gay decor .
Even my patient ( who was seriously ill at the time) felt he could mention that the antlers were a bad choice and my subsequent ratter negative discussion of said present on Going Gently. caused much hurt and a six month period of not speaking 
The sister, eventually forgave my indiscretion but I never forgot the upset and so I have made up for my lack of good grace by always buying my colleagues something nice and never complaining if I received something shitty

Today I bought my Santa gift, two very nice mugs, a collection of measuring dishes for baking, a mosquito repelling kit ( she likes hiking) a bottle of very Welsh ale ( she’s very Welsh) several rather classy Christmas Decorations and trendy shopping bag from Habitat 

I’ve completed my family and friend gifts and will wrap them next week after my night shifts which start tonight. 
This afternoon I’ve cooked gyoza dumplings and udon noodles with broccoli for supper and wrapped some coffee bags and Christmas decorations for the support worker I’m working with later. ( she loves the coffee bags I take to work to keep me awake on night shifts) 

I’m watching the delightfully sweet movie The Holiday and the scenes between Eli Wallach and Kate Winslett are quite lovely.

Family

 My nephew phoned me this afternoon 
To see if I was ok. 
His mum , my sister had told him I had been unwell
And he was concerned.
It was a nice conversation 
He’s going through a divorce and so I understand his emotions,
So we talked about them…..
…after a long time as we parted he laughed 
This was a conversation about you and all we’ve talked about me 
He said
My other nephew messaged me minutes later with an in depth review of the new Spider-Man film
He wrote a good review and I told him so 
He sent me 😁
Hey ho 

Strange Light


The light is strange this afternoon.
It’s not cold, but it is slightly misty with the promise of cold and the view from the cottage feels almost ethereal .
The village is almost circled by a curve of low hills, with the open valley end dropping away down towards the sea miles to the North West.
The hills are now topped with a mist through which the low sun is shining and the sky is glowing with a strange warmth.


Bwthyn y Llan’s limestone walls drink up the sun too and the cottage glows with a life of its own.
It faces south, so is used to the sun.
The cottage is best viewed in warm sunshine.
As I stood up in the churchyard looking west, Irene bleated a short hello from the livery stable fields beyond the green brown hawthorn hedges.
I am home


 

Nite In



Too much red wine and Gin
Irish stew and dumplings
1940s film Portrait of Jennie
Lots of serious and not so serious conversations 
Squeaky toys and welsh terriers in the garden

Happy Day


 

Rabbits in a bag


 I'm sat in a nice restaurant waiting for my breakfast guest to arrive

I've bought two rabbit Christmas Decorations for their Children and the buggers are watching me carefully

Later I'm making supper for another friend. Irish stew with dumplings...no Christmas food to be seen


And Just Like That

 

Episode three of the Sex and The City reboot…. and the whole thing has got back in its stride
I loved it 
Big has left money to his ex Natasha, Charlotte’s daughter doesn’t identify with being a girl, Miranda is drinking and maybe going bi  and Anthony had all the best lines and wants Charlotte’s daughter to use more deodorant  
Carrie is back acting like a neurotic best friend who we all identify with 

I wish I had watched the episode with a gay bestie or gay friendly significant  other x
It was an episode you needed to share and talk about and ….
I loved the Central Park Angel fountain reference
My favourite place in New York 


And just like that….I walked Myself home 


Worth Repeating

 


Christmas stories are always worth repeating its one of the traditions of the season

Enjoy this one 

Christmas 1985

Christmas week 1985 I was  shadowing a community psychiatric nursing sister with her caseload in the deprived and depressing northern town of Runcorn.
Through a succession of faceless maisonettes, we sat on grubby sofas and listened to  sad stories of loneliness, mental illness and substance abuse and I watched as my mentor tried her best to keep heads above water and bums out of the local psychiatric unit.
The last visit of the day was to a woman called Jean.
Jean lived alone in the top flat of a ten story complex. She had suffered from severe mental health problems for forty years and had recently been placed in her flat from long term psychiatric care only a few months before.
I remember her flat very well. There was no carpet in the hall and the living room but there was a tiny tinsel Christmas tree standing on top of a large black and white tv.  A homemade fabric stocking was hung on the fire surround and just two Christmas cards  were perched on the mantle.
( one of those cards having been sent by my colleague) The flat was sparse but incredibly clean and it was evident that Jean had been waiting for our visit all day.
In mismatching cups we were offered coffee with powdered milk and a single mince pie served on a paper plate and I remember sharing a sad glance with the nurse when Jean presented us both with gifts hastily wrapped in cheap Christmas paper. My gift was two placemats with photos of cats on them. The nurse received a small yellow vase, and I remember Jean beaming with delight when we both thanked her effusively for her kindness. 
When we washed up our own cups, the nurse quietly checked the fridge, noting that most of the shelves were empty . There was a calender on the wall with the note " NURSE COMES TODAY" written on that day's date. Nothing else was written on it until the week of new year's eve, where the same sentence was written.
It was the very first time that I had experienced someone who was so totally isolated in a community setting and it shocked and saddened me.
I listened as the nurse talked about medication, and as  I waited patiently when she took Jean into the bedroom to administer a regular injection I noticed a carrier bag which the nurse had tucked away by the side of the arm chair shortly after we arrived. In it was a package of cold meat, and what looked like chocolates and a cake.
Before we left, we let Jean monopolize her only conversation of the week and as she retrieved our coats, I watched and grew a few years older as the nurse silently slipped a ten pound note behind one of the cards on the mantle.

On Guard

 

For such a gentle dog Mary has inherited a complete and utter hatred for everyone delivering post and parcels to Bwthyn Y Llan. This is a legacy handed down over generations of Welsh Terriers. 
From Finlay to Meg, from Meg to William and from William to Mary, they all delighted in racing down the stairs barking loudly as soon as there was a click of the letter box.
It’s bright and sunny today, so I knew there would be a few hand deliveries of Christmas cards coming.
Subsequently, Mary has been up and down the stairs like a fiddler’s elbow.
Eventually I gave sleep up as a bad job which was fortunate as I found a Christmas Bara Brith on the garden wall which was wrapped carefully by Animal Helper Pat.
I sliced the bara brith thinly as it should be , and spread the slices liberally with salted butter.
There is nothing better with a strong cup of tea.


I watched tv until the postman arrived to suitably robust Welsh Terrier hysteria. 
I am the second to last in the village to receive post, and at Christmas that’s not until three pm.
Christmas gift today too ( thank you Goldensunflower)

Once the postie left, the cottage reverted to its more peaceful state, but not before I opened an unexpected parcel . 
Now anon is going to have apoplexy here, but the parcel turned out to be a food hamper.
An unexpected but wonderful Christmas food hamper. 
I was overwhelmed and incredibly touched by the thoughtfulness of the gift 
Thank you Kim…thank you


And I’m now back off to bed.
Smiling

Tuesday

 


In a week when covid life seems to be threatening to curtail life again and where night shifts do exactly the same thing, I was grateful for the lunacy that is BBC Radio4 ‘s podcast of I’m sorry I haven’t a Clue
This week one of the games for the contestants was to share alternative television programmes titles that would be interesting to watch
Marcus Brigstocke, won hands down with his
“ On BBC’s Area programme sculptor Antony Gormley unveils his statue of the Russian leader made entirely from caramel in Antony Gormley’s Sticky Toffee Putin on BBC 2 “
I love the clever madness of this joke.

I have no other news from yesterday .I got up briefly at three pm to collect the post from its plastic box outside the front door and to walk the dogs. 
I had ten Christmas cards which I read then hung up on a string which “ circles” the living room beams.
I like the tradition of hanging the cards even if clambering on the backs of the sofa and chairs is somewhat precarious 
I then ate soup and watched episode 9 of Season 1 of Game Of Thrones covered in dogs
It’s all boobs.

Sleep

It’s 12.27 am.
I’m sat in a chair next to a patient 
I’m waiting for them to fall asleep.
They asked if I could sit there in the dark until they did so
No conversations, no lights save for the muted glow of my iPad. 
Just silence apart for the gentle whoosh of the radiators and the faraway rumble of a late night car.
My fingers are moving silently on the screen.

I’m waiting until their breathing changes.
The relaxed breath of sleep.
Then I will creep out of the room, like a maid in a hotel.

I miss listening to someone sleeping next to me.
The dogs with their farts and snores and brief galloping dreams keep you company for sure
But there is nothing like the deep rhythmical breath followed by a long sigh that says 
I’m ok…..
I’m relaxed…..
I’m slumbering….

It’s like listening to an old clock without a chime.

I look at the digital clock across the room 
It’s almost 1 am
and I’m the only one awake now.

I will wait another five minutes to be sure 
And then I’ll get up and go.





But is it art?



 Before the cinema, I met a friend for lunch. 
On the Promenade, I photographed some of the public art work that is dotted around and mused just how much these little pieces enhance the spaces we inhabit.
We often take them for granted which is sad

The relaxing bowmen in Rhuddlan

The giant otter, in the flooded River Elwy in St Asaph

The metal holiday makers Colwyn Bay