Going Gently

Yma o hyd -

Written in 1983, Yma O Hyd is a song of defiance against loss of Welsh Culture and language.

Written and sung by Daffydd Iwan, it has become a popular song at football and rugby matches but today I heard it for the first time at Ann’s funeral and was greatly moved by it.

Twenty five nursing staff turned up from the hospice, a phenomenal number given our small ward numbers and I wish that we could’ve gone in uniform as we used to do in the 1980s before infection management, audit and risk assessment were the words du jour.

Turning up in uniform with the female nurses stiff in their black capes, was always seen as a sign of deep respect.

Ann’s service spoke of love and affection for a woman who was so very loved and respected and those are the hardest of services to deal with because emotions are so very high.

The crematorium was packed to overflowing which spoke volumes with mourners standing several deep in the vestibule in front of the chapel .

As the words Ry’n ni yma o hyd “ We’re still here” rang out

The congregation were given rose petals to place gently on Ann’s coffin

Sweet

TVs 911 had a chasted gay moment on screen which was sweet and unexpected last night . Chasted is good

A few years ago I remember nursing an Indian lady who had been admitted . She was in her late 60s and although she had a large number of visitors from her extended family, she had never married or had children of her own.

All of this lady's personal care was carried out by female staff but I do remember one occasion when she required a turn in bed and only one female support worker and I were available to do the deed.

I explained the situation to the patient and assured her that by folding the sheets in a certain way, I would not compromise her modesty, and she agreed I could help with a quiet passivity.

Just before I started to pull back the covers, I remember the lady reached over to her locker to pull out a face flannel which she placed over her own face before the turn, and I remember the support worker ( a delightful Welsh lass called Ann ) putting her hand over her own mouth in a gesture of sympathy.and concern

Even though the lady agreed to me to help, she just could not face to watch

me complete this everyday and usually unthinking procedure.She was just too ashamed

With great presence of mind, the support worker took the flannel away and gestured to the patient that I would close my eyes during the whole turn, and I would do as I was told , which the patient agreed to with a huge sigh. She took charge of the procedure and treated me with an appropriate “ bless him” attitude which suited the moment . I bowed to her gentleness and instinct.

I shut my eyes and the turn was done, without me seeing an inch of uncovered flesh.

I loved Ann for this moment

Eddie’s chaste snog with Tommy may be just the briefest glimpse of Californian innocence.. but it did remind me of one of those red letter moments only good nursing can give someone
.....a bit of sweet humanity.

It is Ann’s funeral tomorrow, an unexpected funeral for sure,

I, like everyone at St Davids Hospice shall miss her greatly

Memory Lanes

In the early 1980s my friendship group dispersed to Universities and hospitals around the country.

We’ve all done ok for ourselves, with the sad exception of Ian Parry who became a renown freelance photographer based in Tooting, but who sadly died in a Russian Cargo plane leaving Bucharest in December 1989 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ian_Parry

Before our natural parting of the ways, and as avid CB enthusiasts, we spent much time at the more liberal houses of the group’s parents, drinking tea by the gallon, and hanging out in untidy lumps as adolescents do. It was the funeral, of one of those parents today. May ( Mother of Janet ( whose CB handle I have forgotten ) and Diane, who was known as Cherry Blossom.

May’s door was always open to teenagers and I was nice to be there today, to acknowledge the fact and to support old friends both of whom , I haven’t seen for 35 years.

I had forgotten that years ago I had given May a small figurine of Lorne Green as she was obsessed with the man after seeing him in Bonanza as a girl. It was with her in the coffin,I was told in a whisper, when I joined the meet and greet line.

I liked the fact that the Bonanza theme tune was played as everyone got up to leave the service hall, even though I had the urge to gallop to the music like Miranda Hart did on her tv programme .

I walked out with Helen a charming, horsey public school girl of my former group who had blossomed into a gentle fifty something Priest who has recently returned to wales.

We smiled together as The Bonanza music filled the hall and the curtains closed silently.

Sunday Morning

Storm Kathleen continues to whistle it’s way across North Wales tonight. It was peaceful at dusk when I drove to work, so much so, that I stopped at Colwyn Bay Beach to photograph the metal silhouettes of the holiday makers there.

It’s overcast again, and like many bloggers have shared recently, I too long for for the sun to return, strong enough to dry out the patio of green algae or the mud from the farm tractor wheels to be set into a proper dust, which billows upwards after they pass the cottage in great clouds.

In Sunday tomorrow and apart from sleeping in for a few hours , I have nothing planned.

Lunch out would be nice but everyone’s busy with, what my depressed friend always describes as “ family time” and I get that. I’ve told them to call me when they feel like that.

I can always do lunch out!

So I think I will buy a chicken and do a full roast

With mash and roast potatoes and dripping Yorkshires’

With golden gravy and sweet piles of carrots.

God’s own country.

The Welsh can have boneless leftovers and I can light the fire and watch some Netflix.

Next week, I’ve got two funerals to go to. So my big woolcoat will take some bashing.

I will leave you with a few favourite video clips

The delightfully actorish Catherine Russell for starters , who reminds me very much of Chic Eleanor

This is kelda, she’s looking for more followers , I’m loving her gentle humour too and hope to recruit her to the Flower Show Committee soon..please follow her videos link below

https://www.tiktok.com/@nrom11?_t=8lJWpawYInh&_r=1

The Lisping Choir

My favourite Spanish lisping choir is now smoking ! How very non PC

I love this to death.

It brightened up a long night

Looking forward to get to bed today

Hey ho

Perfect Days

I’ve reflected on yesterday’s blog, the subject of which , seemed to have gotten lost in the telling.

My choice of wording to describe , what I see is the second nastiest condition after MND , stands.

To me, the word cunt is synonymous with the biggest exclamation of hate. It’s “ gender” is immaterial , to me it’s not misogynistic at all, but more guttural .

Anyhow the word stands and if you as readers decide to go because of it , I wish you well

Today’s blog is lighter though Perfect Days is a film that could be seen as subdued by some. Well worth seeing, it’s a gentle tale of days-in-the-life of Hirayama (Kōji Yakusho) a middle aged toilet cleaner in Tokyo. Hirayama lives a life full of ritual and routine, he reads and listens to Nina Simone, and photographs trees around his never changing work routine.

Very slowly we learn snippets about him but over all, we experience his capacity to see the wonderful in the ordinary.

A shaved down simple world.

I have no spare money at the moment, it’s a product of shortening my hours at work

It’s not a complaint , just an observation.

Vinegar Tit commentators will no doubt remind me that I do go to the theatre more than the average aging homosexual , but I counter that with the fact that I don’t really live an extravagant lifestyle. I drive an old second hand car, I watch a tv no bigger than large book on its side and I’ve one classy item of clothing and that’s a funeral woollen coat from Marks and Sparks

So, if I was honest I HAVE been worried about paying the second year of my counselling course fees , due in September

But serendipity has smiled at me once again

And I smile and raise a glass to whoever is watching over me in this , the autumn of my life.

On spec I explored my electricity bill yesterday and realised the bill was estimated rather than based on readings that I was sure I had sent in.

I rang in

Two hours later I was still “ discussing “ my payments in rather a robust manner until, in a fit of genius ,the call taker suddenly asked me to photograph my meter which lies over the front door.

Moments later, she laughed and told me I was suddenly over 600£ in credit and I told her I could have kissed her.

600£ into the kitty

Buoyed up I checked my Welsh Water account and realised I was overly in credit in that account too ! Another 200£ into my fee account!

Then I checked the yellow biscuit jar now pride of place underneath the art wall……this has been my Piggy Bank since a bought it three years ago, where cheques and birthday money , and money from eBay sales and the odd tenner found in Jean pants have been pushed, alongside pound coins from underneath the sofa, under the rubber seal in the washing machine and inside Bluebell

The total amount £196.02

So I’m just shy of a grand

How great is that!!!!!

Five hundred pounds to find until September

That’s doable, and I’m hoping for a tax rebate this year too….we shall see

Perfect.

I’ve just taken the Welsh for a walk and we picked up a McDonald’s large white coffee as a treat on the way home. It’s important to treat yourself to one small thing everyday, even if it’s a coffee, or a walk, or joining the Storyhouse film society , which I also did this morning.

Hey ho

Working later, so made Thai Curry soup and picked the first of the spring blooms in the garden, Jews Mallow, camellia, rebus, bluebell and forget me not