Smoke And Mirrors

Nursing helped me to read people.
Especially those in stress, illness and crisis.
My speciality has always been rehabilitation, where encouragement, occasional bullying and humour was the order of the day.
Yesterday a friend from the village asked my advice.
Her elderly mother had been poorly and after treatment had retired to her bed.
As we all know Bedrest in the elderly can be a one way ticket and so I offered to give her a pep talk.

I used the old  " smoke and mirror" approach
I took along my old sphygmomanometer and after a bit of banter I checked her pulse and blood pressure and asked questions about tablets and pain. I was courteous but relaxed and we laughed with my face level  with hers before I finally suggested that she needed to sit out of bed at least every morning and every afternoon .

She agreed without hesitation .
It must have been just a tad galling for the patient's daughter who had spent hours cajoling her mother into activity to finally see her move her arse off the bed but the outcome was worth it, with everyone happy.

I was reminded of a teenage paraplegic patient from long ago who refused to get into his wheelchair for the very first time. His named nurse, who was a blowsy, big busted and big hearted girl called Ruth had  approached the situation appropriately for a while. She had sat the patient up in bed over a few days, explained the procedure of getting up, listened to the patient's fears and supported his anxiety and had used a former patient who was already up his his wheelchair as a peer support but the boy was steadfast in his refusal to get up.
Ruth decided to use a more unorthodox method of rehab.
She pushed her cleavage to its max and vamped things up with wry smile.
A bit of harmless flirting, did the trick as the proximity of a straining bust, the threat of a less than motherly hug had the boy calling out to me  with a resigned and playful "okok get me up get me up...get me out of here"! 

Like I said. Smoke and mirrors....smoke and mirrors.....
And a small bunch of flowers from the daughter , delivered last night, proved that smoke and mirrors do work when things need to get done.

Don't You Love Banksy?

The Secret Garden

I thought I had killed it.
The Montana clematis that I planted eleven years ago was pruned hard in the autumn, and up to only a week or so ago, I was convinced that this year it would not have crowned the homemade iron gate my brother in law forged for us when the garden was made.
I need not have worried for in a space of what seems like days, it has burst into life on the gate arch and has transformed the garden back into the secret bolt hole I always wanted it to be.
True, visitors now have to bend double to get through the gate, but I've always kind of liked that.
It makes the garden feel, well......cosy.
I'm writing this in the garden with George.
The other dogs and Albert are all in bed as it is still early.
George is waiting for the crusts and eggy bits left over from breakfast and he has just started to drool
This is his very individual daily treat .
I'm rather introspective today.
But That's not for here.

Cloud Watching

I  burnt my face yesterday.
Cloud watching in buttercup filled field overlooking the sea at Beaumaris .
I haven't cloud watched for an absolute  age.

Books

‘THE PAST IS A FOREIGN COUNTRY: THEY DO THINGS DIFFERENTLY there.’ 

I've never read L P Hartley's novel The Go Between but I am aware of the first line.

The line came into my head this morning over coffee

I've just started The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. £3.99 from Tesco

How cheap are books?

The skies are blue today, 

A walk is the order of the day
Eurovision later, I've suggested beer and voting

What are you reading this Saturday btw ?

Lunch

My friend Greta took me to lunch yesterday .
My mother was her grandmother's best friend.....
We worked together on intensive care
She is Winnie's foster mum
We went to one of the best little cafes in the area the wonderful old crown at the castle

It does not look much the food is divine
This is what the cafe looks out on

Rooster Cogburn

Yesterday's post has reminded me to post an old post of one of my favourite old field friends, a magnificent blind rooster called Cogburn.
He came to me through a friend who learned that another friend had found a mistreated Rooster who had been blinded by a group of nasty kids who were caught stone throwing at a riding stables
The Rooster came to me thin and depressed and for two years I helped him to blossom in his own run with a couple of silly toy hens for company
This is an six year old post that illustrates his simple life

" Sometimes it's important to take time over something. Some tasks need care and patience. Some things should not be rushed. 

Every morning, I let the blind cockerel, Cogburn out of the controlled environment of his run, for some exercise. I can only do this when the other cockerels and the geese are safely out of the way, for as big as he is, he remains the most vulnerable animal on the field.

I have a 101 things to do most mornings. Today was no different. I needed to fill the water butts on the field border, the eggs in the incubator in the kitchen needed candling, potatoes needed to be planted in bosoms, which is now full of weeds after the overnight rain and I needed to start the strimming of the mountains of nettles which are now screening the pig pen, but something in Cogburn's behaviour made me pause for a moment in order to watch him.
In the breeze and the early morning sunshine, Cogburn seemed to blossom. He moved his big feet on the grass, like a city dweller does when on the beach for the first time , and he turned his head to face the warmth of the sun, blinking his unseeing eyes slowly and carefully in obvious enjoyment.

It may sound odd to say it, but it was incredibly moving to see the big fella so alive and so vital.
Despite the list of jobs, irritatingly fixed inside my head.
I sat down beside the blind old cockerel to let him enjoy the morning sun without being rushed....it lightened my heart "

Ps Rooster Cogburn stayed 2 years on the field. He was labour intensive , but was a delightful character and he died in his sleep whilst resting in his saferun ... with his face in the sun 

World Premier

Tonight affable despot Jason and I went to see the world premier of ( see above) at Theatr Clwyd
It was a thoughtful and rather impressive essay on outrage within social media...and was as good as anything I've seen on the London Stage.
Well done Theatre Clwyd...a cracking night out

I'll post about blind Rooster Cogburn later x

St Trinians

One of my ' new' followers has asked me about my header photo and the story behind it.

The photo was taken during a circuit of the field, eight years ago now when ten warren hens would follow me around like puppies. 

They were mistreated birds that turned out to be a delightfully tame set of girls, and the best layers I ever had.

This is an excerpt from Going Gently from eight years ago 

"This afternoon I recieved a phone call from a guy who said he had 10 hens he wanted to rehome. He made some generalised excuses about his dog being a threat to his birds and sounded so in need of "getting rid" that I agreed to drive over to his village immediately to see what I could do.

As it turned out, the young bog standard hybrids were a gift to a child, who had all but lost interest in them, and I very nearly lost my temper when I crept into a "converted "wendy house" that had doubled as a make shift hen house. Inside  ten skinny birds crowded around me like tame puppies. They were tame because they were starving and wanted food, and not because they had been hand reared..and I was quick to note that the house had no water or food laid out for them. There were no perches, straw filled nest boxes or even any sawdust in the shed...and the floor was three inches deep in wet , shit impregnated shavings which looked remarkably like porridge.   The whole place was disgusting.
The  man noticed my face and thinking that I was not impressed with the birds rather than their surroundings he asked if I would take the hens off his hands.........looking at the scruffy bunch, I decided to not to get angry and simply said " yes, I will take the lot!" It took 30 seconds to catch the hens and put them into Constance's cage in the back of the car. Within half an hour I had fed them properly ( 4 bowls of corn and pellets!!!! I couldn't literally pour the feed quick enough) then bedded them down snugly- 6 in the runner duck house ( the three remaining ducks will be housed with the older ducks) and the remaining 4 in the large hen house with the gentle young purebreeds ..........

I have nicknamed the new girls The Belles of St. Trinian's as their scruffy appearance reminds me of the the 1954 unkempt schoolgirls (above) I think they will do fine...........
I am now up to 100 animals!!!"

Contact

This morning I realised that since Saturday night ( when I went for a family meal ) I have not really mixed with anyreal people. Now I use the word ' real' carefully here-- of course I have talked to people on the phone, interacted with friends on messenger, replied to emails and posted blog comments, but sometimes we all need to feel that we physically part of the human race.
Oh, I forgot that yesterday a Welsh Government researcher called in to conduct an hour's interview. He wanted to know all about my lifestyle and tried really hard after getting off on the wrong foot after asking me what my wife's name was.
I found some of his questions interesting
Winnie found his cowboy boots very interesting
And the interview had to be stopped twice when Winnie lowered her toilet parts on the boots tips with a satisfying plop/ grunt.

Not Once

When I was young and single I never really did the gay scene.
At that time Sheffield's scene was confined to a few pubs and clubs most  of which were located in the industrial badlands of the old steel city.
They were glittery, camp and very rough around the edges.
Former steel working pubs that had died when the factories and works died in the Lower Don Valley.

I went out occasionally with a group of men who were
 the friends of Nige who was one of my best friends. As I recall they all dressed up to the nines like the gals in Sex and the city . 
My friend I were more conservative in our looks.
Nigel is neater and tidier than I.
I disliked those pubs especially the one called Demseys which wasn't particularly rough as it was common.
Demseys catered for a gay clientele many of whom went out after supermarket shopping in the cuty centre so it was common to have to negotiate bags of peas and tins of this and that scattered on the laminate floor when you fought to get yourself to the bar.
They also gave out occasional freebees of anaemic looking sausages on paper plates before last orders
Lovely!
I much preferred the once a month gay night which was based at the city Hall's ballroom. The Art Deco ballroom resembled the main dining saloon in a The Poseidon Adventure and so suited my camp love of 1970 disaster movies.
It was also quite dark so I could hide my bad dancing ability behind the ballroom pillars.

It was at a time before "swipe the app left or right on your phone" and the dating technology them was a sticker with a number on it. The sticker was  slapped unceremoniously onto your left shoulder as you entered.
In the corner of the ballroom was situated an overhead projector! And if someone fancied you, they would write your number with a felt pen on the acetate ! When you read your number you would have to walk the walk to see who had " picked you" 
Perhaps it was my dress sense
Perhaps it was my lack of dancing ability
Perhaps it was my clumsy walk or the odd bleach stain on my t shirt

But I never got picked! 
Not once!


Ps we may make 500 comments! If you read Sunday's blog entry and didn't comment ..please do so ( ON SUNDAY's blog please ) leaving your name and location ......it was a great experiment 

400

It's bugging me that we couldn't reach 400 comments on yesterday's blog

So if you didn't give your name and location 

Please do so right now! 

I loved the connection 

Single Walking

I was tempted to leave yesterday's post as it is, uncluttered by the thoughts from today.
I can't tell you how moved I was, surrounded by the snippets of the personal- names and locations of the great and the good and it's wonderful to think that several hundred of us pop back and forth in order to share the thoughts of someone we are never destined to meet.

Mary and I had our lunch on Colwyn Bay beach again this afternoon. We shared a ham baguette from Bryn Williams 'and she shared a water bowl of a large hot black Labrador who we passed lying under the shade of his owner's 4x4.
We walked the length of the promenade and back.
I always think that I look safer walking a dog. I have the rather odd impression that people think a single middle aged man walking alone is someone to be suspicious of in some way which I know is a discourtesy to single middle aged men everywhere.
I think a jaunty Mary offset my jaunty second best Walking Dead T shirt today and
It amused me that when we stopped for coffee at one of the promenade cafes a large biker type called out a lusty " Daryl Dixon is the best" as a passed by him and gave me a high five.
Mary woofed at him as he did so.

where are you?

Hot at 7 am...Mary and Albert watching rabbits

I couldn't sleep and was up by quarter to seven. It was almost too hot for the older dogs to have a walk even then, so I left them to potter in the garden whilst Mary and I did our power walk circuit .
I've made a pack lunch of fruit salad and ham  and Mary and I will go for a picnic on Colwyn Bay beach later to watch the world go by.
I caught up with Mr A on the way for eggs. ( I will have to call him Mr A as although we have chatted for a few years now, I still dont know his name)  he complemented me on posting the Keala Settle  video yesterday and asked just how he could comment on a post thinking only ' invited' people could say anything.
" you have commentators from all over" he observed " I like the thought of that!" 

So for Mr A, who is not au fait with bloggers and blogging, please tell him where you are in the world!
Ps there is another link below the comments to see the latter comments x

Building

Building on a sense of positivism , I found this video on YouTube.
Not seeing the movie The Greatest Showman yet, I was still aware of this song which has become the film's anthem.
This video is a presentation of the song for the first time with the film's singing cast, and it's a revelation to watch.
The energy, the emotion and the fact Hugh Jackman cries make it a special moment all caught unexpectedly on camera
Enjoy

A Bit Of Colour

Ive just re read this morning's post.

All rather glum ain't it?

So I've now given you all a choice.

Read about a violent, but stimulating movie

Or look at the white and bluebells in the grass verge of the lane

And enjoy Mary biting hell out of Winnie's porky leg

As bulldog absolutely adores a bit of rough and tumble

Life is sweet once we look at the nice things

You Were Never Really Here

The Scottish film maker Lynne Ramsey has produced a violent and nightmare world in her latest feature You Were Never Really Here. It is a world inhabited by Joe ( Joaquin Phoenix) a traumatised veteran haunted by the fleeting memories of childhood abuse and sickening battle field trauma. He is a lumpy , pain filled mess of a man who earns his daily bread by being a hired gun, a hit man, a killer, but he is a killer who comes home to an elderly frail mother ( nicely played by Judith Roberts) a relationship of his  which has retained its warmth and humanity.
Joe has a death wish. We glimpse his inner pain through little moments of despair, a look over the high rail of a railway station, a revisited childhood moment in a closet where a plastic bag over the head shuts out his father's wrath, but the bond with his mother keeps him going, until his latest " hit" drags him into the dark world of child prostitution.
He is hired by a local senator ( Alex Manette) to retrieve his fifteen year old daughter Nina( Ekaterina  Sansonov)from a high class brothel and in the bloodbath that ensues, Joe has a chance for some sort of redemption amid the chaos.
This is a very violent and disturbing film which under Ramsey's flair for storytelling is at times an overwhelming bit of cinema. The cinematography drags you into Joe's haunted world where a sudden sound drags him back into childhood violence or a stranger on the street suddenly morphs into a terrified refugee. After one particularly bloody shoot out Joe lies down next to a dying assassin and holding hands they whisper the words of the song I've never been to me which is playing on the radio.
It's a surreal but terribly poignant little scene the likes of which are peppered unexpectedly throughout the film
Phoenix is impressive as Joe. He dominates the screen time with his overwhelming sadness and when at last there is a small glimmer of hope for him, he breaks your heart with his subtle, pained performance.
This film is not for the faint hearted, but it's worth a look if you are in the mood .9/10

Like Gypsies In The Night

The Prof is away writing for 5 days and I am left to my own devices.
Fat club this morning then lunch with a friend ( home made bread and cheese) - I gave up trying to calculate the points after the first glorious bite !
I was late to lunch because I was talking to a dear friend in a layby off the A55
I say talking........I was actually just listening.
Listening to just how awful chemotherapy can be.
The nurse and friend in me just wanted to hug the pain away but that would not validate just how awful the experience was for my friend to experience.
Listening to each sad, nauseating moment was the order of the day.
The experience needed validation and the description was every bit as poisonous as the toxic chemicals pumped into his body.

No Roots came in the radio after the call had finished..the conversation and song now intertwined forever

Birthday

It's the Prof's birthday today,
and as usual he's got the 7 am train to work.
There is a small pile of cards on the bookcase in the living room awaiting his return and later we are having an Indonesian meal out to mark the day.
It's not my place to let you all know just how many he has celebrated over the years.
Suffice to say that it's the 18th of his birthdays  we have marked together
A great deal of water has flowed under a large number of bridges over that time.
I hope there are many more bridges to negiotiate before we finally reach the sea.

Georges Bizet: L'Arlésienne-Suite - Farandole

This piece of music reminds me of Trelawnyd, more than any other I can think of.
Wherever I am in the future, it always will, for in my mind it is the musical accompaniment to a "cinematic" moment ten years ago that lifted the heart more than any other.

We were fairly new to the village then, and in conjunction with an event my sister had planned, I had organised my first allotment open day for charity.
It was a small affair, and certainly wasn't as robust as my later, larger events, but my vegetable beds had been tidied up within inches of their lives, cakes and tea had been prepared and flyers had been circulated around the village with a typical anxiety that centred around the worry that no one would turn up.

I'd arranged for the open evening to start at 6pm, and minutes before time I remember standing by the field gate in a sudden downpour of summer rain.
I know I felt distraught and upset as I couldn't then imagine anyone turning up when the grass was sodden and the skies were slate grey.

When I remember this moment, the Farandole's uplifting violins suddenly enter my psychi. The music echos my feelings at the time as when I walked up the lane to look towards the Church in the hopeful expectation of seeing at least one local turning up to my event , my heart leaped as suddenly I spied a long and steady stream of villagers, led by Auntie Glad (under a massive umbrella), all marching down the lane towards me.
The music now accompanies that cinematic moment in the film clip of my memory.
And I smile gently  as I remember it.