Albert is back to normal
He’s joined us all on the couch with a headbutt as I’m watching the dated but highly emotional New Challenge Anneka
Which is based on the revamp of an animal rescue centre in Kent
Emotional , cheap tv
Sobfest
Memorial Windows
Saturday is always a slow blog day.
It when I have my lowest readership and seems to coincide with when I’m working .
I’ve finished night shift this morning.
It’s dull today with a fine grey Misty rain that soaks you to the skin.
I slept in and subsequently missed the TCA coffee morning.
Bridget texted me with two more orders for the Sponsored Window appeal
We now have just shy of 1000£ of orders!
Boffin Cameron has designed a lovely certificate of “sponsorship “ detailing which window has been chosen and in whose name.
I have already printed out the bumf for next Saturday ‘s open day .
My goal is to get firm orders for 50 windows in total next week thats £1500 on the launch .
Apart from that, it will be a slow day
I have copies of The Banshees of Inidherin and Wakanda Forever to watch later and tomorrow when I’ve got a clear hear I’m writing my assignment .
So I’ve found a clean Walking Dead t shirt , have washed my face and will go out to buy some sushi .
It’s funny that when I was just brushing my teeth I remembered the mirror that I was looking into.
It was my grandmother’s , an Art Deco heavy set mirror that always hung next to the bathroom door.
It’s the only item I have that used to belong to her
And it’s sacred to me.
My own memorial Window of sorts
Mary Helena Fry
1900- 1983
The Animal and The Snake
Winter 1983
It was cold in February.
I was allocated to a long stay psychiatric ward called Irby,
Irby was and is a fairly nondescript village on the Wirral.
The ward was a bland place too
The male patients had been in hospital most of their lives and most were institutionalised as well as mentally scarred and ill.
At dinner times they were segregated in order of table manners.
“The Animal”shared his table with no one for his table manners had to be seen to be believed.
His food would fly in all directions in a frenzy of eating no basic behavioural programmes could control, so he was left to his own devices without cutlery or crockery.
He was given his own plastic plate and a large red plastic mug.
Now, even as a man just out of his teens , I knew nicknames such as The Animal were unacceptable and I always referred to his as George and at first by Mr Urmston* , running the risk of alienating some of the more institutionalised staff.
But I played dumb and sweet and young and got away with it.
You can get away with a lot if you smile and look very young.
Now George wasn’t a hard patient to look after. He followed requests and slept for much of the day , so the dinner time eating frenzy and his penchant for eating flowers out of vases was his only vice as I remember.
The only patient I didn’t like was younger man called Henry. He retained a mean streak in his personality and liked to oil his hair like a spiv. He was a bully and loved frightening student nurses like myself by stalking us around the dayroom furniture. He only did this when the trained staff were busy.
But they knew what went on as his nickname they gave him was The Snake.
The Snake cornered me several times and slapped the back of my head just once before I stepped up to him, but one day he made the mistake of goosing a domestic member of staff as she brought in the dinner trolley.
Lunchtime was halted
Before anyone could react George had stood up inserted his hand into his red plastic mug and made a fist .
With his arm raised above his head he ran over to the snake and whipped his hand down, knocking the Snake hard on the head with a loud pop.
The snake collapsed onto the floor and George sat down at his table as though nothing had happened .
I don’t remember what happened to the snake. I think he just lay down in one of the two locked dormitories that were full of beds, neatly made up for the night, to recover.
But I do remember what happened to George as the charge nurse maintained order and
Pointing to George , he said to me
“ Give him Extra potatoes and gravy “
And with a tiny smile, I did just that.
* a pseudonym
Self Care
My sister and I at Bryn Williams for lunch last week
“Darling , you are very good at self care” so mused Chic Eleanor during the interval of Home I’m Darling. The invitation to the theatre had come out of the blue for her and I sensed had brightened her day considerably.
“ I’m getting better at it” I replied and I meant it.
I am better at being kind to myself .
It’s something my counselling course has helped me with I guess.
I’m a character who often wants to be saved.
I don’t want to use the word victim here, but playing the victim is a legitimate if generally unsuccessful mechanism in coping and learning to be kind and positive with yourself is another.
One works occasionally the other most of the time if you remain resolute.
It’s not rocket science I guess.
I put myself down for an extra shift at the weekend .
Another night to cover sickness.
Then I reviewed how I felt.
How I really felt….and realised that I could do without the extra stress of it all.
I have a large counselling essay of 2500 words to get in for the 29th, the launch of the TCA information night is next week and I have to cook a chilli for bugger knows how many on the day.
So I’m not doing the extra shift and I will get my essay plan in order and in between the works stuff I’m
Going to so see a couple of movies I have earmarked.
Is that’s self care? Or selfishness?
Answers on a postcard please.
Home I’m Darling
Jonny ( Neil McDermott) and Judy (Jessica Ransom) are 1950s enthusiasts. They love the style and the decor and thought of Judy being a 24/7 housewife and so when the chance arises , Judy gives up her job to look after the home full time in a sort of freewheeling social experiment.
When money becomes tight , and when questioned by Judy’s somewhat bemused commune living mother ( Diane Keen) cracks in this idealised lifestyle begin to show.
Home I’m Darling is an interesting , crackingly paced play which has a great deal to say about almost everything. Unfortunately , despite a great and rather moving performance by Ransom , we don’t quite understand Judy’s desperate need to live a life her mother finally describes as being “ A Cartoon!” as from the get go, once the housework is done , she sits down at the kitchen table in her Princess Grace pleated skirt and gets out her laptop.
Of course Home I’m Darling’s humour comes modern day gender politics. It looks at the fantasy lives my parents could of and turns that on it’s head when Judy’s mother finally looses her temper with her daughter and lists all that was wrong with the 1950s.
This is a clever, witty and at times rather sad play. Fantastically staged and boldly acted.
An enjoyable night out.
Ps
Photos taken 2 minutes ago (11am)
Albert scoffing his dinner
Dating @ 60
I’ve dated the same guy four times now since the beginning of February
I won’t tell you any more about him because he’s not worth the effort
Suffice to say he has just admitted he has a partner that he’s living with and not one that was estranged from him but still sharing the house.
He was good company and laughed at my jokes
Sheesh
why do gay men lie so much?
Carrie Bradshaw, answer me that one?
Mind you I’m not bereft or even upset
I feel more resigned than anything else
What a surprise ? Not!
I had planned to meet him tonight as college was off….and he still wanted to meet even though I saw them both in Sainsbury’s on Sunday afternoon, discussing the possible toppings of what looked like Sainsbury’s home made pizzas.
I’ve arranged to see the acclaimed Home I’m Darling at Theatre Clwyd with Chic Eleanor tonight and have decided to concentrate on my ability to be the best spinster in the parish.
If I had a pashmina I would fling it.
Tár
From the get go Tár wrong foots you by having the majority of the credits in a long opening reel. The rest of film follows suit , by setting the scene by having the leading “Maestro” conductor of the Berlin Philharmonic, Lydia Tár ( Cate Blanchett) in a verbose, over long winded and verbose tvtype interview about the ins and outs of being a conductor.
Tár is passionate, obsessive, compulsive and full of her own self belief. She is an autocrat and a smiling bully who lives her life between wife and daughter in a concrete minimalist house and her old less ordered apartment where it is hinted she shares a double life.
She is also an insomniac, neurotic pill taker and potential predator lesbian , with multiple skeletons in her closet where junior conductors and orchestra members are concerned.
This is where the film becomes suddenly interesting
For as her past comes in to haunt her, she is plagued by paranoia, creepy encounters and visits to her child home.
It’s all becomes rather surreal and cleverly Blanchett keeps you watching, even though her character is intense, fascinating and totally unlikable .
An interesting, rather bleak movie
Ps I will leave you with lovely reply by Jamie Lee Curtis to a well intentioned Oscar question
Pps.
I must say a big thank you for your comments about Albert.
I’ve been incredibly moved by so many comments about a bad tempered , old Tom , who won’t even sit on my knee for a cuddle.
He has moved so many by being himself for fifteen years here on Going Gently
But let’s not be under any illusions here…he’s an old boy
So Glad They Won
I got up early to check the Oscar winners with a coffee.
My predictions were correct in all the acting categories and even though I’ve not seen Everything Everywhere all at once and The Whale , it was fitting that the actors won their plaudits .
I was shedding a tear over Jamie Lee Curtis’ speech when Albert walked through the kitchen without a hint of a limp followed by Roger who was skipping.
Albert gave me a look then popped through the cat flap into the garden for a wee and a poo. He watched as I marshalled the dogs into the car and when we returned he had returned to the back bedroom before eating the chicken I had left for him.
Animals , they always prove you out to be liars.
Cinema afternoon
22.07 Bedtime
I’ve just checked on Albert and he’s hidden himself away under the spare bed again.
Roger crawled underneath the flotsam when I climbed the stairs and has decided to stay with him which is odd
Or perhaps it’s not .
I’ve left them both there lying close to each other.
Funny animal humanity on show
Mary and Dorothy just can’t be arsed .
Hey ho
Catch Up
It’s the view of the west side of Sheffield from the multi story Royal Hallamshire Hospital and I love this photo in particular as in the recent snow storms a few schoolboys had written this greeting to all of the patients whose wards look out over the city.
How sweet is that?
Thank you for all your best wishes for Albert, who is brighter today , although certainly not out of the woods health wise .
In the middle of the night, tired of the cramped conditions , I retired to my own bed followed by Mary and Dorothy. Roger remained on guard and was fast asleep on the floor when I got up at 8 am for their walk.
Albert stirred from under the bed when I moved it aside and looked at me angrily
He hissed when I tried to examine him
He doesn’t look well and has lost weight but, still there he was, so I left him be and took the dogs out.
He was sat on my bed when I returned.
I crushed some cat food in my fingers and put it in front of him.
And he ate it.
But not all.
I’ve left him with towels on the floorboards and the fan heater on.
I have a plan.
I will take him to the vets tomorrow if he gets worse or remains off his food. But I’m not wanting heroics.
He’s a cat who hates being touched, abhors strangers and loathes vets and the thoughts of investigations and blood tests and let’s see what we can do ? is not kind for the type of cat he is.
I’m in two minds to take him up to the surgery but its 17 miles away and well out of the vets visiting district.
But we wait and see.
Albert
Thank you all for your comments and concern
It was Roger who found Albert under the bed, in the a spare room as soon as I brought him and the girls back from Trendy Carol’s. Albert had curled himself up inside a firm Sainsbury’s carrier bag and looked poorly.
I can’t believe I missed him
Roger ran up and down the stairs five or six times before I realised he’d found him.
By the look of him, I think Albert has had a cerebral event , probably a stroke.
But he looks comfortable and is not distressed
I’ve given him some painkillers and water via a syringe and all of the dogs and I are lying on the bed with Albert quiet underneath us.
I’ll see what the night brings
Animals….they break your friggin heart don’t they?
Albert’s Gone
He was it of sorts yesterday afternoon and took himself upstairs to lie on my bed with a swishing of his tail. He ate only one small meal first thing and his gait was hesitant when he went to sit in the window seat as I made the bed.
His head was hunched and his tail remained thrashing.
He then pawed the soft cushion underneath him like a kitten pawing for milk.
This was not like him.
When I came up to bed last night, he wasn’t there , nor was he in the spare room .
I searched the cottage and I couldn’t find him.
The churned up snow on the patio had already frozen so there were no paw prints to see and there is no sign of him this morning.
He’s not at the neighbours, the garden or the sheds and I’m somewhat worried given his hatred of the cold and snow.
He’s an old boy with only a broken leg in his long life that ever needed treatment and he hates the vets so much.
I’m working the late shift today
Snowed In
Snow bored already
It was supposed to have cleared overnight but this morning it was over a foot deep in places.
Roger and Dorothy played in the snow until Dorothy’s nipples went blue
Mary like the sensible matriarch she has retired to bed for the duration .
Albert just pissed on the bathroom floor.
Just checked on provisions …fully stocked with dog and cat food, half a loaf of bread, three eggs, one haggis and two cans of gin
I’m fine
Bloody Hell
The snow is heavy and unexpected
Joyland
I know nothing about the Pakistani film industry, absolutely nothing at all, so I was interested to see Siam Sadiq’s gentle and dignified exploration of a family whose lives don’t quite measure up to the ones they wanted for themselves
Wheelchair patriarch Abba ( Palman Peerzada) shares his ramshackle crowded Lahore flat with his two married sons. The elder son ( Sohail Someer) has four daughters and the household is run by his wife (Salwat Gilani) and the gentle younger unemployed brother Haider ( Ali Junejo) whose wife Mumtaz ( Rasti Farooq) has a successful job as a makeup artist.
This complicated family dynamic is put under strain when Haider eventually finds an unlikely job as a backing dancer to a transgender singer Biba ( Alina Khan) and as the pair embark on an affair each member of Hadier’s family have to reevaluate their lot as life for each one changes from the path of their expectations .
This is a sad, gentle film where tradition and honour are awkward bedfellows with modernity, personal autonomy and fluid sexuality.
It’s beautiful film to look at too, with most of the filmed shot in rich , earthy colours within crowded tenements and theatres ,
But, it’s sadness makes you realise that overly rigid social constraints still feature in some societies much more than they do in our own
International Women’s Day
Even if it is , I’m being kind to myself day today.
A movie, Joyland at the Storyhouse this afternoon , then a take out pad Thai with chicken from my favourite stall in Chester Market.
The temperature has dropped considerably today and it’s trying to snow
The dogs are all curled up tightly in the reading chair in the kitchen
Auntie Gladys ….we overcome the wind
When you die at 103, most of your peers have already passed away
That’s the price you pay for longevity I guess.
With the choir , I counted around 100 people at Llanasa’s pretty church this afternoon.
Too many to have been accommodated at St. Michael’s
What I didn’t know was the Auntie Glad wanted her service to be in the bigger church.
As her daughter Rene shared with the congregation , it was because she didn’t want anyone to stand outside in the rain.
There was no rain today, indeed we had bright spring sunshine for the duration, and as the male voice choir softly sang Abide With Me , the sun shone brightly through the stained windows of the little Norman Church, giving the whole place a sense of if not cheerfulness, but of warmth.
The Trelawnyd-ites were there early. Rowenna, Christine the old Church warden, Jenny the old postmistress. Animal Helper Pat, Irene,Heulwen, Derek and Me from the Flower Show. Mrs Trellis and others all sat straight in our pews and let the singing wash over us like a wave.
I’ve not heard better singing at a funeral, and I doubt I will hear the such again, and as Auntie Glad’s feather light coffin left the Church, the Choir almost whispered O Iesu Mawr to accompany her home.
We all nodded at her coffin as it passed.
Rene, Glady’s daughter who lives in England seems to have inherited much of her chutzpah from her mother, and she gave a long, lovely Eulogy, even mentioning my blog as a welcomed source of village information.
The afternoon tea in the village hall afterwards was pure Gladys too.
A selection of sandwiches, scones with thick butter and lashings of strong tea.
I gave my goodbyes earlyish as I needed to write the blog before leaving for college tonight.
And before I left for my classes, I walked over to Gladys’ grave to look at her family flowers as the sun cooled towards dusk.
Islwyn had left the grave pin perfectly neat , and as I sat I listened to my Spotify account this piece of music was playing in my ears.
Nothing welsh , or traditional , or even sad, just a uplifting African based piece of choral work Waloyo Yamoni ( We Overcome The Wind) and for ten minutes or so I sat on Auntie Glad’s favourite bench and let the music wash over me as I had my second but-not-so-unhappy weep of the week.
A field of Dreams
The gravedigger has arrived to open up Auntie Glad’s family grave . It’s her funeral tomorrow. The weather is foul, but village elder Islwyn ( our unofficial gravedigger) is hopeful the sun will be shining
She deserves that much, he said simply..
And so I think it’s fitting giving this blog entry an airing again. I was remembering Gladys as she should be remembered and it’s from a post written , about an event I held in the village over fifteen years ago now.
A " Field Of Dreams " Moment
My family often nag me to amalgamate the better parts of Going Gently into some sort of bestselling paperback. The Prof says whimsy sells, and I guess he is right given the plethora of " heartwarming" and " uplifting" tales of life changing encounters middle aged pongos like myself experience when lifestyles change and temple hair is lightening from brunette to a gentle grey.
On the way to the panto the other night, my sister remembered what I call a " Field of Dreams" moment which she said would be a " Satisfying " denouement to the chapter where two middle aged gays first moved into a tight knit Welsh village!
Nine years ago, I held my very first " allotment open evening" It was on the back of similar open evenings my sister organised at her own town allotment, where friends and family had the opportunity to survey her vegetable beds, have tea and cake and make a contribution of a charity of her choice.
My first allotment open was a small affair, but it was important to me as I left several hopeful posters around the village inviting everyone to attend. Attendance by the Trelawnyd-ites meant everything and as the 6 pm opening deadline loomed close, My sister remembered me gazing up the lane in a sudden downpour of summer rain, worried that no one would come.
I should not have worried ...for the " Field Of Dreams " moment arrived as powerfully as anything ever seen in a sentimental movie or tv series! the only thing that was bloody lacking was a sudden swelling of a musical score, for at exactly 6 pm and valiantly led by Auntie Glad hidden underneath an oversized umbrella, a long line of village characters weaved their way down the Church lane from the main road and towards the field to support the event.
It was a real Hollywood moment amid the wet grass and Slightly damp Victoria sponges.
Perhaps, my sister was right. It is these kind of moments balanced with the sadness of those normal life dramas that make a story readable and accessible to all. Light and froth peppered with emotional romps......perhaps that is the formula..
And I will always remember Auntie Glad nodding her head at me, with those sparking blue eyes, eager and interested, as she passed by that evening
“Good Evening Mr Gray!” She trilled “ I told you I would come “
I cannot think of a time she let anyone down
Sunday Night
Sometimes you are not always your own best friend
I need an arm around me tonight
Sometimes we all do
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