Thank you to my followers who supported Leo on his fundraising
He’s done incredibly well and thanks everyone for their kindnesses
Fairy lights
I don’t want to go to back to work today
I want to sleep in under the duvet as the dark ice hardens Bluebell’s windscreen wipers.
In winter I hate coming home to a silent dark house.
The dogs will be at Trendy Carol’s and Albert is usually asleep in the West wing’s Office
and so the cottage is quiet and still and empty which I drive down the lane.
I often leave a light on in the living room to make the cottage more welcoming but tonight I will be faced with a row of fairy lights, left by my sister in the patio revamp of yesterday.
I will post photos of her work once the gravel is laid but yesterday she’s planted out camellia, and ferns and evergreen broad leaves as will as hellebores, heucheras, and tiny almost delicate herbs in miniature terracotta pots .
Delicate bulbs and flowers have filled a hanging basket and spring primulas fill the gaps within the bowls and buckets and planters with cheerful greenery.
It looks lovely
The solar powered fairly lights have been wrapped very carefully around the beams above, giving the cottage a rather cheerful aspect in the dark.
Mr Poznań had walked by very carefully, like an ageing king penguin, when I took the dogs out before choir zoom meeting at 6.30
I asked him if he’d liked the new light display
“ Very Pretty …..very gay “ was his simple reply
Choir
I needed choir tonight.
Perhaps it’s the wolf moon, but I sensed that all the choir did .
We met on zoom…the singing unimportant
Hattie’s baby Freya was there, Mary too on my knee like the baby she is, and lovely Heulwen, Jamie, Margaret and John, Gill, Hillary, Claire and Sarah and the others including the ever cheerful Lyndi without her Charlie
It was nice to see them all
But What?
I’m feeling somewhat unsettled today and I don’t know quite why.
I had an unsettled night.
So much so that Dorothy woke up from her sleep apnoea slumber to lick the back of my neck until I fell asleep again.
I have a sense of waiting for something important is about to happen.
But I have no idea of just what that something is.
It’s wrong footing me, somewhat.
I woke at dawn, with the bedroom full of a strange red glow and went outside to look and photograph the frozen but fiery sky to the east.
Further down the lane Trendy Carol had been photographing the skyline too. She was dressed in a fashionable long green coat and hat.
“ We are taking the girls tomorrow arnt we ?” She called , bringing a type of normality to the unreal morning.
I’m back at work on days after today.
I feel I’m waiting for someone to knock on the door .
Or for the phone to ring.
Or a message to ping.
It’s a strange feeling.
My sister is coming to organise my “patio” with its half arsed planters this afternoon and I’m meeting some friends shortly for lunch shortly.
Choir on zoom later, and I’ve collected all of the ingredients to make gyoza dumplings for my healthy lunch tomorrow.
The dogs have been walked and fed
And Dorothy is watching me carefully under a heavy brow from her usual spot on the kitchen reading chair
Something is going to happen…I’m sure of it
But what ?
Sponsorship
Bit of a cheeky post today
My nephew, Leo is taking part in a sponsored walk for autism in March and is looking for sponsors
If you are interested in sponsoring him you can pledge any amount you like in the lower donate box on the right of the web page
He and I would be incredibly grateful for any donations received.
Monies will go to the autism Initiatives Group which is a charity that provides assessment , care education , employment and meaningful activity to individuals with autism spectrum condition and provides information and support to individuals with ASC, their families and carers
Link
Thank You
Please Sir More Patatas Bravas !
Eleanor and I outside the Storyhouse
“ Darling John I’ve missed you so!”
Chic Eleanor was on lovely form when I saw her this afternoon
We met for a lovely late lunch in a rather swank tapas bar in Chester.
And she shirked her a Christmas pashmina with suitable joie de vivre before we clinked Sherry glasses. and ordered.
It’s ages since I’ve sampled traditional tapas,
It was lovely.
We ate delicate croquets filled with black pudding, delightful patatas bravas, sweet zamburiñas scallops in their shells and tiny bowls of chorizo infused lentils with garlic and we both agreed it was fantastic to feel cosmopolitan again.
“ Darling John” Eleanor crooned , holding my arm “ I’m so happy “
And so was I.
Eleanor exudes happiness
We went to see the so so, abridged and sanitised version of Oliver Twist at the Storyhouse which was almost fun.
Eleanor , as usual got into the spirit of the adaptation but without Bill Sykes’ death and Nancy’s abuse it wasn’t the same for me, though I did like the black African version of Fagan played with some talent by Cynthia Emeagi
We talked and talked and talked the afternoon away into evening and I left her by the Church , back at home thankful That I had ever met her.
Colour
Red, the flame of passion
Yellow, the light of warmth
Green, vibrant stem of life
Pink, a whisper of beauty
Orange beckons, take a chance
Blue is the sea tide in us all
~Terri Guillemets
What’s your colour?
Mine ?
I Give Up
After my disastrous date last year ( the one who never shut up about himself ) I was resigned never to meet up with someone from a faceless forum again.
Last week I received the offer of a “date” from a man I shall call Dan
We are both on the same LGBTQ+ Facebook group which is based in the next county but because of covid most of the social meeting activities planned have been postponed or cancelled over the last two years.
I did go on one of the walking excursions last summer, which was nice if not somewhat lesbian “ heavy” , but missed the PRIDE social which looked a little too young for me.
Dan messaged me from a comment I made suggesting running a gay themed cinema night. He sounded intelligent and film savvy and eventually after a few relaxed cinema based messages he asked if we could meet for a coffee.
He told me he was a riding instructor and that he was single
His Facebook profile looked pretty ordinary and sorted
This afternoon I drove to a cafe twenty miles away to meet him
The conversation flowed I thought and three coffees later we agreed to meet up on Tuesday for a dog walk. He seemed a little shy but interested.
When I got home I messaged him that I had enjoyed our chat
Only to find that he had left the social group and had just blocked me on Facebook, messenger and mobile phone…
Lol …….WTF ?
I think I’ve been ghosted
His last words to me in the car park were
“Don’t forget your poo bags”
The Field
Yesterday, I sort of threw away a comment that I had decided not to carry on with leasing the field.
I didn’t mean for it to sound dismissive.
It was just time for it to go.
Once, a few years ago now the field was filled with the chatter and movement of animals, activity surrounding four large allotment beds crammed with neat rows of vegetables, fruit bushes and the like.
The Ukrainian Village housed nearly 100 hens in one summer, with satellite houses providing a home for the dim hysterical Runner ducks, a gaggle of geese and the slow moving, delightfully morose turkeys who glided around the paddock like galleons in full sail.
Four pigs lived in the sty in the corner triangle right at the bottom of the field and up in the Ash trees on the Church borders came the noisy chatter of the guinea fowl who serenaded the entire village every morning and every dusk for years and years and years.
The Open Allotment days eventually turned into a successful village fete with a giant marquee housing, Sylvia and Irene’s famous table busting cake sale ( over 100 homemade cakes donated from the village ladies) and the Name the pig, save the pig Competition raised hundreds of pounds towards the Church Fund and The Motor Neurone Association
I’ve had a wander down memory Lane this morning and have picked out a few photographic memories to share with you all today.
Enjoy…..
The Ukrainian Village
The allotment beginnings
The hysterical runners and young cockerel facing off a strange cat in the field
The villagers at the open day
My brother doing the raffle whilst he was ill
The villagers at my very first open allotment day
The biggest fete open day
The indomitable Sylvia with her record busting cake tent
Halleh the duck who thought he was a hen
The nasty guinea fowl Angostura, pecking at the gentle Boris
( she was named because I always thought she was bitter)
Hughie, Ivy and Alf who lived for years in the Church trees
camilla Parker Bowles as a gosling
Bingley and gentle old William
The famous Ghost hens, the battery broilers who taught me a great lesson about animal cruelty
The allotment was not only filled with vegetables and animals , great swathes of it was planted out to wild flowers
Jesus, the cockerel that just turned up on Boxing Day
The hysterical runners being hysterical
No 21 the nasty old spot sow and the gentle no 12 the saddleback boar as piglets
Camilla after she had crash landed on the binman’s lorry
 |
| The sausages made from the pigs |
The field has been a good friend to me
And has been one to the village too
I’m not sad to be letting it go
It’s time
And I have new things to do
Hey ho
The huge blind rooster Cogburn
The original Mary ( the injured wild rabbit in her own hutch)
And Just Like That ep 7
Carrie is dating again
Just like in the old days
She looked lovely
Even when she puked
But I was a bit shocked at the Miranda’s “ finger me “ moment
The series is back on form
Crockery
I spent the morning measuring the living room, stairs, landing and bedrooms.
I’ve picked the carpet which will replace the existing one and the ancient bare floorboards in my bedroom will, at last be covered too , silencing the occasional middle-of-night tap dancing by the dogs.
I know I will get a few lectures about how carpets are not very practical with dogs and a cat in the house, but I don’t really care.
I like carpets.
I ordered a new washing machine on line then I’ve photographed the field as only today, I’ve finally decided not to renew the yearly lease and I want to prove to the land agents that it’s been left in good order.
End of an era I guess.
This afternoon, I finally tackled the living room cupboards and removed an old mismatched dinner service bought as a job lot at an auction many years ago.
I’ve never really liked it and only kept it out of apathy
It’s of no quality and is well out of style so in a fit of devilment I spent a therapeutic twenty minutes smashing it to bits in the bin.
Mrs Trellis stopped just as I smashed an old tureen without it’s handle and Blue stood on his hind legs to look inside the wheelie bin at the bits.
“ Looks like fun” she commented, her eyes twinkling
I offered her a soup bowl to throw but she declined it.
She was wearing her overly erect bobble hat
This afternoon , I cleaned the soot out of the cupboards and refilled them with books and jugs, cups and glasses.
Very satisfying
Big Thinks, Welsh Subtitles
I have nothing at all planned for today.
This is a big change for me, as you all know, because I do like a plan and I do enjoy a list.
Today I earmarked as a thinking day.
Now I do think a great deal, like most of us I do…but I have a bad habit of thinking about the wrong things.
I procrastinate
I day dream
I worry about the wrong things,
I waste time.
I watch tictok in bed
Watched lovingly
And so, today I’m having a “ think and do” day
I’m sorting out paperwork, through ideas and am information gathering.
Decisions left about things will be made.
Loose ends tied up
Plans formulated
And lists will be ticked off…
The chimney engineer has just been and his quote is 700 £ cheaper than my first estimate
I could have kissed him
I’m adding his quote to my list of to do things on my desk
Oh by the way my Welsh is getting better.
I make it a point of watching the clunky but long lasting welsh soap opera Poble y Cwm ( People of The Valley) and even though the Welsh is a type more spoken in South Wales , I can almost get by without subtitles
Boiling Point
Another food orientated day.
I took leftover dumplings and stew to a friend of mine before I went to Chester.
My friend has a son and ex partner on intensive care, both very poorly with covid.
It’s sobering to realise that things are not over for many where the pandemic is concerned .
I then took myself to the Storyhouse for an afternoon at the cinema.
Long takes in film are not a new phenomenon. Film fans will easily remember those famous tracking shots in Goodfellas and the seminal Touch of Evil as well as those lengthy but somewhat theatrical takes in Hitchcock’s Rope but I can’t think of a film that has been totally shot and choreographed in one single take.
Boiling Point is such a film.
Set inside a city restaurant we follow the fortunes ( and several misfortunes ) of the eclectic group of staff members led by a harassed and brittle senior Liverpudlian Chef ( Stephen Graham) who is trying to juggle, bad hygiene reviews, staff problems including a hysterical pot washer, disillusioned sous chef , and a french salad station worker who can’t understand scouse. . Add to the mix the sudden arrival of a much hated food reviewer, a racist customer flexing his muscles against a black waitress, drug taking and incompetent staff and a front of house manager more interested in Instagram reviews than staff support and you have all the ingredients for a dizzying drama.
Director Philip Barantini has produced a relentless film, with the camera swooping in and around the restaurant in question like an owl who misses nothing.
It is exhausting to watch and the constant motion continues for nearly 90 minutes, a remarkable feat in itself given the number of actors and the amount of dialogue and action which has been choreographed within an inch of its life.
Having said this, despite the expected chef rants and conflict moments there remains tiny gems of real pathos in this movie. The sadness of the black waitress ( Lauryn Ajufo)who has to deal with a racist customer , isolated and alone amid the chaos is poignantly palpable and the moment where the warm hearted pastry chef ( Hannah Walters) hurriedly discovers her teenage helper has self abused is incredibly moving even though the scene lasts mere seconds.
Graham and Vinette Robinson (as Carley the sous chef) , lead the ensemble with great energy and chutzpah.
It’s an exhausting watch to be sure but one that makes you think twice about the times you have enjoyed a meal out in a trendy eatery.
Lamb Casserole
A friend’s mother died last night.
I asked what, if anything, I could do to make things even remotely better
She told me a lamb casserole with dumplings and a bed for the night
And so that’s what I’m preparing
The power of simple food can’t be overestimated
It says, without really saying that someone cares.
It brings back the comforts of Childhood
It doesn’t demand anything but the use of a spoon
I’m just been peeling veg.
The casserole pan is warming
The fire engineer comes soon to look at the chimney and I’ve just received the new lease for my field which village leader Ian is about to check with interest
It’s dull and overcast but the cottage is warmed by the oil heaters and feels cosy.
As promised I’d leave you with a photo of one of my new cushions from John Lewis
I will spare you a photo of the washing up bowl lol
Fat Bastard
More food this pm !
An early dinner after shopping for yellow cushions in John Lewis
Too much food in fact
Mowgli in Bold Street, Liverpool…street food
Bloody lovely
Healthy eating tomorrow
And Just Like That…..
Brunch has always been my favourite meal of the day.
I always think that you are always almost too ready for it too which makes it even more delicious
I made eggs Benedict this morning in a half arsed and slightly pretentious homage to Sex and The City, the city I last visited just over three years ago.
I’m overdue for a re match, me thinks.
Anyhow this morning, I ate my eggs and drank my cwarfee to episode 6 of And Just Like That
And it was nice.
Serendipity, Holiday Plans and Dear Mr Poitier
I’ve mentioned serendipity before on Going Gently and over the last three years have cited at least two serendipitous events that have brought much needed windfalls of money unexpectedly into my lap, each one at a time that it was most needed.
Today, I listened to the news of a proposed interest rate rise, acknowledged fluctuations in tax, energy bill hikes and a proposed increase in national insurance with a prickle of worry.
I’ve saved up the money to repair the chimney throughout the year but still have outstanding jobs that need addressing, with an old cottage, or a period house of any age, many things are works in progress
The bathroom needs a drastic upgrade from its 1980s utilitarian facelift, dear old Bluebell won’t go on forever, and the living room is in dire need of new flooring.
Those are my must haves on my 2022 list as well as my counselling course fees which seem to me looming just out of reach like the mountains of Mordor
Nice things like holiday travel costs, and other less necessary incidentals have been cast aside in my head until now, the year I will be reaching sixty.
Until recently I had more or less forgotten that I have a small private pension,
I took it out when I was a student nurse and have dribbled very small and regular amounts into it well before I had ever thought of kissing my first man on the lips.
That was an age ago now, and a bright shiny pamphlet and official letter, opened up only yesterday told me of my options .
One of which will pay for most of my needs for the year and then some.
My relief is palpable and couldn’t have come at a better time for after 8 am this morning , I’m on holiday.
I have eleven days off and am starting to book things to do ( though mindful it’s also nice to do nothing at all)
Theatre with Chic Eleanor, a reflexology massage, a pop over to Liverpool for a meal at Mowgli with a friend, cinema at the storyhouse, a walk with another friend, an overnight jaunt to Sheffield. Pottery and choir.
Oh and plenty of time to potter and to read and to paint the upstairs hall to the west wing and to plan my new bathroom with a power shower to die for……..one that will force blissfully hot soapy water into my aging nether regions .
I’m very much looking forward to it all.
I will leave this positive post on a bittersweet note as I must lament the passing of Sidney Poitier.
I think I first became aware of him in the 1970s when I saw him in the television showing of the film To Sir With Love
I had never seen such a beautiful black actor before, and certainly had not “ experienced” seeing one who commanded such respect, gravitas and power on screen.
The film was hodgepotch of dated cliches, even back then, but to me as a pre teen I think I instantly recognised his dignity and power against racism. Racism that was ingrained into the very fabric of the middle class ,Conservative urban Wales way back then.
The famous slapping scene in In The Heat Of The Night wasn’t lost of me either, although that was a film I visited a few years later. The Look on Poitier’s face as he returns the slap from the southern Plantation owner Endicott is stunning and no wonder it was referred to at the time as the slap that was heard around the world
Remembering
* nothing to do with the post, the visuals just amused me
I think I can be forgiven repeating a good story from the Ukrainian Village days yesterday.
I had little to say and no news to speak of.
Repeating a good story reminds me of being a child, when, my sister Janet and I would push for my grandmother to recount stories of daring do from her wartime years.
Of course we had heard them all before.
Many many times before…….
The embellished stories of getting trapped in a blackout on the sixth story of a warehouse only inches from an open pulley door and with rats running over her feel….of running for the shelter as the bombers were over and for dressing my uncle Jim in a chenille curtain and high heels as they were being evacuated from their bombed house on Louisa Street, Liverpool
We knew them all and delighted in how they were delivered, with a wry smile over the ironing board or sat behind the colander being filled with shelled peas
I was only thinking of my grandmother’s storytelling yesterday when taking the dogs out for a walk
We were passed by a skinny man in Lycra out jogging and a phrase my grandmother other used suddenly popped into my head like an exploding firework ,
….fifty years after I first heard it
“ The muscles on his scrawny arms stuck out like sparrows’ Knees!”
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