Ghost Stories

It's the wee small hours of the morning and I am on my break at work.
Wards, even the noisey ITU can be creepy places in the dark!
I am reminded of a story I was told on night shift back in the asylum days
I was working graveyard shift with a EN ( enrolled nurse) who enjoyed telling ghost stories to frighten the student nurses.
The ward was a 30 bedded mixed ward for mainly severely affected dementia patients and at that enlightened time in the 1980s the clientele were termed officially as psycho- geriatrics
After a lull in the conversation my supervisor asked me if I had heard the story of one of the staff nurses who had  suffered a severe heart attack on duty only weeks before
I told her I had not, so smiling she sat me down and shared the tale.
The nurse in question was working with a student nurse like myself, only the student was a shy girl of perhaps nineteen and the workload was as busy as it was for us, as every patient was totally confused and disorientated of time , place and person.
As the patients slept both nurses made a round around the dormitory and as suddenly as heart attacks strike, the staff nurse collapsed to the floor without warning.
The student nurse panicked, and not knowing that she needed to call for help by telephone she crouched by her colleague tried to rouse her then started to cry.
Suddenly one of the patients, an elderly man in his seventies clambered out of bed.
The patient, who was mute, incontinent of urine and faeces and considered a " husk " of his former self hurried over and said in a clear voice " we had better get her on the bed"
The two of them, then lifted the collapsed nurse onto the spare bed after which the patient told the student nurse to call for help.
The student grateful for clear instructions did just that and help arrived within minutes as the nursing officer on duty rallied the troops, and surprisingly the collapsed nurse survived her heart attack though never again returned to work.
The patient involved never spoke again. His cognitive abilities were assessed and remained unchanged from those performed before this incident, and it was never explained just how he behaved the way he did when the student cried out for help.

Bridget Jones

The luminous and talented Zellweger

Much has been made of Renee Zellweger's " new look" over the past year or so.
I couldn't care less about it all, I really couldn't as in Bridget Jones' Baby with her rosy faced scrubbed clear of make up she looks fabulous, mature and sweet as a nut.
Shame the same cannot be said for the film.

It's a right old dog's dinner.
Now in her mid forties, Bridget remains a London singleton. She has split up,from long term partner Darcy ( Colin Firth- who now looks incredibly old and rather odd after a whole new set of teeth), Is slightly isolated from her three ""best mates" who now all have partners and children and finds herself battling hipster new blood at work, all things that the average middle aged Bridget Jones fan could identify with and would enjoy on film. But the writers have thrown into the mix a who-is-the -daddy mystery farce between Bridget, Darcy and an " attractive" American ( Patrick Dempsey) as well as shoe-horning in minor subplots featuring Bridget's harridan of a mother, exasperated father and an ill advised and un funny cameo from Emma Thompson playing a bad tempered  obstetrician

Apart from two slightly amusing set pieces there is only one laugh out loud moment when the three leads get stuck in a revolving door of a hospital accident and emergency department ( a wonderfully funny bit of slapstick)  But the rest of the film is a let down which is a shame as Zellweger is an actress of some charm and talent.
6/10

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I've got a run of night shifts now, so shall be a bit thin on the ground. We've got a workman coming round too, to re roof our outside toilet! Happy days for Winnie.......difficult sleep days for me no doubt.....hey ho especially as the new mattress is somwhat " springy" the Prof and I seem to rolling about on top of it like two fat toddlers in a ball pool! 

Mike

The Hall this morning

The centre of Trelawnyd is dominated by the Memorial Hall, which is a community centre rather than a church or indeed large chapel which it is often mistaken for.
It was built around 110 years ago and was the brain child of one of the most unlikely patrons a Welsh village could ever ask for.
Michael Antonio Ralli ( or Mike as he was referred to) was a Greek living in Odessa in the 1800s . He made a fortune importing cotton from Russia when the USA could not during their Civil war and after a spell working as the Greek consul to Liverpool, he and his wife Polymnia came to live in was to become Mia Hall, a grand red brick house situated west of the village.

Ralli was a bit of a dish

Ralli built the Memorial hall not only as a gift for the village, but as a way of giving the local unemployed a job. It's referred to as the Memorial Hall as it was build in memory of his wife who died in 1896
He, like a former founder of Trelawnyd , John Wynne in the 1600s , wanted to see the village flourish as a market town.

The Hall around 1910 with it's cupola 

The Walking Dead Season 7

Not long now! 

The Challenge

Even though she can't now comment, I am sure this blog entry will get Petra's " untouched-by-a-man's-hand" knickers in a twist as I am going all saccharine about something.
Go stew Petra! For what you are about to read is all true!
Hey ho.

Anyhow whilst the Prof is marking a PhD thesis up in his study, I am presently on mattress watch. For the first time in 16 years we havebought a new mattress and it's being delivered today. For a small fee, the company will collect the old one but only if it is " sealed" in a plastic bag which they thoughtfully have provided.
What are we a bio hazard? Answers on a post card.

Grid watch

Mary is on " heightened alert" at the moment and is not sleeping. She cornered a mouse down the patio grid yesterday and spend the entire day watching it. After many hours she eventually caught and partially ate it causing the Prof to swoon somewhat theatrically in disgust when he side stepped the corpse when he got home.
She has been hyperactive ever since.
The Prof on the other hand keeps repeating the shrill phrase of " don't let her lick your face" when she comes near.
He worries so.

Ann & Terry

Anyhow , as usual I am digressing.
Because of PhD marking, mattress delivery and a row about cleaning the fluff from under the old bed, I took Mary on her powerwalk early .
And we bumped into Ann and Terry.
Now Ann and Terry are the most sweet natured of couples for they spend most of their waking day laughing at and seeing the good in most things. They are a blessed asset to the flower show committee as they seldom complain, they work hard and are able to turn most negatives into a positive.
For years now I have gone head-to-head with Terry in tbe baking classes and have soundly thrashed him for several years in our own " bake off" but next year, as Terry explained after we met this morning, would be a very different event.

" Next year we are both entering the art section !" He challenged cheerfully
"A  Hand made item out of wood! , a cross stitch or embroidery and a painting ! That's the contest"

Bloody hell embroidery? Woodwork? PAINTING,! I'm fucking crap at anything like that!

I'm scuppered!

Ps
Ifyou want a laugh read this
https://roadtokazakhstan.blogspot.co.uk/2016/09/for-one-day-only.html

How Others See You

There is often a chasm between self perception and how others " see " you. 

That is a fact of life. 

Once I was " recovering" a patient who had been through an incredibly long and difficult liver transplant. He opened his eyes briefly then again and groaned " Fuck me it's Jeremy Speight" he croaked

At the time Jeremy Speight was a camp, fat Half Russian minor celebrity flight supervisor on the tv documentary Airport .

I wasn't best pleased

Yesterday, I got a facebook message from a colleague, she had been watching The Great British Bake Off 

This was the message

 Today

• • 

    17:08

    Sandra G

    Whilst watching bake off it occurred to me Rav could be your love child. He looks like you only a Sikh

    
    

    

    
    

    Who do you look like in reality?

    Who would you like to look like

Dragon

Compare this pixar dragon with the previous photo! 

A Long Time Coming!

Yesterday was incredibly humid. It was  also rather sunny , not good for black furred animals like George and Albert.
Fuses are cut rather short when it's sticky and oppressive
For months now, Mary has taken every opportunity to goad Albert.
A cold nose up the arsehole at every opportunity
A sharp bark when  the boy is sitting peacefully on the bedroom window ledge
It is the challenge adolescent dogs delight in when the victim is smaller and different.

Yesterday, as Albert sauntered into the cottage in order to find a cool corner he stopped briefly to rub heads with his best mate Winnie. (Head rubbing, for those that don't know, is a feline gesture of welcome.)
The ever alert Mary, grabbed her chance.
She shot out of her hiding place from under the kitchen table and in one long " sweep" gave Albert's bumhole a massive and rather over saturated lick.
It was the lick that broke the camel's back.
Albert lost it.
He growled like a tiger and lifted himself onto his tiptoes with his back arched like a bow and when finally Mary bolted for the safety of the staircase he shot after her like Bagheera from The Jungle Book. 
Albert caught Mary in our bedroom and by the sound of the howls he must have given her a sound and long overdue thrashing.
I left him to it.

The tail swishing and dark mood lasted all day , I am afraid, and even this morning ( nearly 24 hours since the final bumhole lick was administered)  Albert is still looked rather wide eyed and bad tempered when Mary is in his vicinity.
I snapped the above photo just  a few minutes ago as Mary prudently sat under my armpit, on the arm of the chair.
Albert in full growl!
Hell hath no fury like a goggle-eyed black cat scorned

The Worst Emotion And Trendy Carol's fashion faux Pas

I got home around 2 am this morning only to find my reading glasses destroyed on the living room floor.
Mary had struck again .
I was irritated and somewhat annoyed but an eager face and a cold nose warmed me up enough to allow a cuddle up after I had done the creeping " limbo" like dance , in order to sneak into bed without waking a slumbering Professor who was sleeping a happy Professor sleep.
Animals, even when they are naughty, can irritate you terribly..but they never disappoint you like people can .

Disappointment, I thought minutes after moving William's slightly shitty smelling bum from my pillow, is definitely and exclusively a human based emotion.
Disappointing someone is the pits.
Being disappointed by someone is somehow worse.
There are elements of hurt and shame wrapped up in disappointment .
It's such a sad emotion.

I've only been thinking of this after reading the twitter furore post The Great British Bake Off   Sell off. Twitterers seem to be overwhelmingly disappointed in the show and it's fall from grace, it's almost as if they had  caught their best friend stealing from them, so strong is the feeling.

How many times have we heard the phrases " You fucking well piss me off" " stop it, you've really upset me!" Or my very favourite " you are getting on my tits!" 

But I think we all would detest a loved one 's comment of " You've really disappointed me" so much more.
Disappointment is all wrapped up with shame and true hurt
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oh and talking of tits, just spied Trendy carol thundering through the village with her two terriers.
She was wearing grey trousers, up to date laceless sneakers and a very floaty grey blouse, cut low and very loose fitting..
Her dogs were bouncing her around somewhat
So much so, that I had to shout over a small call of advice
" Carol! Your babs are hanging out!"
She disappeared quicky to get changed!
Hey ho

Today's Moral Maze

Today's nugget of wisdom is, I think, something of a discussion .
Feel free to comment......
Yesterday Cameron , the teenage boffin, called around with some homemade Jam for The Prof and I. He's a nice lad, and a bright one too and it was great to find out his news, his university plans and to be able to look at many of his new photographs taken in and around the village.
He was also nice enough to give Winnie a kiss on the lips when she became " all unnecessary "

Now, I hope that Cameron doesn't think I am rude in any way but on the odd occasion he has called around to the cottage , whether it be on flower show or bird locking up duty business, I am always careful to chat outside the cottage, which is almost a " public" area so to speak.
This is a habit I have gotten into and is one that I understand is right but one I feel slightly uncomfortable with.

Now this is not a gay thing......it's more an " appropriate" behaviour kind of thing. If I was a straight man of 54 and a sixteen year old girl, I knew , knocked on the door with a jar of jam then would I still feel it right not to invite her in without a chaperone. Too bloody right I would.

But it still feels as though I'm being a bit rude!
Would you feel the same?
Answers on a postcard please!

We Walk The Same Line

The Prof bounces out of bed in the morning like Julie Andrews.
At 5.30 am I look like Walter Matthau from The Odd Couple .
I have to get up at this ungodly time as it is my job to walk the dogs. So I drag my sorry carcass up, dress in anything I can grab and amble sleepily around the village until bladders are emptied.
Only then can we all return home en masse where we all silently stagger past a chatty and dapper Prof and return to a very warm duvet like baby rabbits in a pile of straw.

It's dark at 5.30am and for most part the village is asleep. We walk up past the church and along London Road and turn into Well Street where collective bottoms are lowered into the dewy grass of the village green. The cottages that flank the green are dark and lifeless and with only Mary left to " do jobs" we move on up High Street.

There were lights on in one of the neat bungalows , and I could see movement behind clean net curtains.
As The dogs sniffed at the grass with interest, I stopped to watch.
An  elderly woman was sat at a table with her head in her hands.
In front of her was a large mug, presumably filled with tea.
Another woman in some sort of uniform was standing by a bed set up against the wall. She was drying her ham arms with a towel.
There was another figure in the bed who I couldn't see clearly. But the small table next to the bed was filled to bursting with bottles and medicines.
I could even make out a discarded nebulizer hung over the headboard.

It was " an end of life" tableau,  one that we have all have been familiar with at one time or another

The exhaustion of the old woman was palpable and a song came into my head as I stood there, a gentle melancholic song by Everything But The Girl
The lyrics fitted the tableau perfectly

If you lose your faith, babe
You can have mine
And if you're lost I'm right behind
'Cause we walk the same line

Now I don't have to tell you
How slow the night can go
I know you've watched for the light

And I bet you could tell me
How slowly four follows three
And you're most forlorn
Just before dawn

And so, if you loose your faith, babe
You can have mine
And if you're lost I'm right behind
'Cause we walk the same line

When it's dark, baby
There's a light out shinin'
And if you're lost I'm right behind
Cause we walk the same line

And I don't need remindin'
How loud the phone can ring
When you're waiting for news

And that big old moon
Lights every corner of the room
Your back aches from lying
And your head aches from crying

And so, if you loose your faith, babe
You can have mine
And if you're lost I'm right behind
'Cause we walk the same line

When it's dark, baby
There's a light out shinin'
And if you're lost I'm right behind
'Cause we walk the same line

And if these troubles should vanish
Like rain at midday
Well I've no doubt there'll be more

And we can't run and we can't cheat
'Cause baby when we meet
What we're afraid of
We find out what we're made of

And so, if you loose your faith, babe
You can have mine
And if you're lost I'm right behind
'Cause we walk the same line

When it's dark, baby
There's a light out shinin'
And if you're lost I'm right behind
'Cause we walk the same line

And if you're lost I'm right behind
Cause we walk the same line

Walk the same line

And if you're lost I'm right behind
'Cause we walk the same line

Ground Zero Remembered

I meant to post this yesterday.
A few months after 9/11 the Prof and I went to New York
We remember this church so, so well......every railing covered in homemade posters calling for the return of loved ones home.
So, so....so sad 

Rule Britannia

What is it with ladies of a certain age and national flags?

For several years now, the BBC have organised  three Proms in the Park classical concerts that run simultaneously to their daddy at the Albert Hall in London.
This year Colwyn Bay ( which is just down the road) was the Welsh venue, alongside Belfast and Glasgow, so we took our flags , picnic hampers, champagne and blankets to watch the fun.

Now for those that don't know The Last Night Of The Proms is a slightly tongue-in-cheek , undeniably patriotic gallop of a concert, where the audience ( high on good nature and/or  wine)  participate in rousing renditions of British sea shanties, a flag busting Rule Britannia and a tearful There's no place like home. 

The principality concerts tend to be " more inclusive" in nature, what with " pop" singers doing their own hits - backed by a BBC Symphony orchestra but there was plenty of classical turns to watch and enjoy even if the Prof was nearly apoplectic with rage as the Welsh Concert didn't feature Land of Hope And Glory. 

Everyone likes a big finish! 

My sisters ( one in her fifties and the other in her sixties) did what any self possessed British matron would do at the Proms after a couple of glasses of champagne, they spent most of tne second half of tne concert running amok with two oversized flags trailing behind them.
Their interperation ( through the medium of dance and semaphore) was particulary evident during a classical version of Pharrell Williams' Happy and Quincy Jones'  soul Bossa-Nova from Austin Powers! where they cantered up and down like two over excited shetland ponies trailing their harnesses behind them

More Flag Waving

The Prof and sister Janet

Husband & Husband

Budgies

The post decorating cupboard sort out can be incredibly therapeutic.
I finished replacing the front room furniture around 10 pm last night, and enjoyed titivating as The Prof hid upstairs out of the way.
I found these two alabaster budgerigar bookends  hidden away at the back of a bookcase and brought them out so their faces could see the sun.
I am reminded of something my sister says about antiques
" You never really own an antique" she said "you just look after it for a while"

The Subject Is Sex

I was brought up in a household that never mentioned sex ever ! 
It was a secretive unmentionable
Sex education , for what it was worth, was left to a banal 1970s school curiculum, discarding porn magazines found on the Prestatyn sandhills and playtime gossip.
But like most late baby boomers we got by somehow...despite everything.

I worked a shift at Samaritans last night until the small wee hours, and as uaual my collegue and I were on the recieving end of a score of sex calls . It's a shocking statistic , but it is common for the highly trained dedicated  SAM volunteers to be subjected to masturbating callers, sexual fantastists and others who feel they have no other outlet than calling a stranger, and blocking a helpline designed to help the psychologically distressed.
My colleague and I wondered just how many of our callers had upbringings where sex was secretative and dirty or who lived lives of sexual isolation and longing.

Now in my fifties, I think I have a healthy view of sex.
I do feel it is a private subject, but I am  no prude when it comes down to a bit of rumpy pumpy
I have worked as an advocate for sexual health with spinal cord injured men.
I have " counselled" and supported men with sexual dysfunction
And I have lived with a sexually lacivious bulldog for several years without too much blushing.

But I must admit, that at midnight after a long and busy day painting walls a rather sweet shade of apple green.
The breathless voice of a middleaged man  whispering the words " I'm touching myself through lace fronted panties"  left me all a bit cold!

 

No Painting, Mrs Simmons and Police Porn

It's lunchtime and still I have not got around to painting the remainder of the front room!
I was up at 5.30 taking the Prof to work in order to be around for 7 am ( the earliest time when the new fridge was being delivered)
It duly arrived around 10.30 and we had the usual performance from Winnie as the two delivery men were " encouraged" to make a fuss. One gave her a big kiss on the chops which sent her into paroxysms of delight........she's sulking now because no one else has knocked on the door!

So we have a fridge now......the Prof's life is no longer shite!
I've done some shopping and filled the fridge , then dropped Mary down the lane to Trendy Carol's house to play with her Welsh Terrier Bitch Seren ( see video)

I thought with Mary occupied I could then get on with painting unhindered.
Wrong! 
I had just reached the gate when I spied Mrs Simmons walking down the lane.
She waved for me to stop.
" Bob's gravestone has been put in the churchyard" she said " I wondered if you would come with me to see it?"
It had been a year since I read the eulogy at her husband's funeral service.
The stone and inscription on the gravestone was simple and fitting and I told Mrs Simmons that as we
Stood amid the graves looking at it.
She can talk the hind leg off a donkey can Mrs Simmons , so as nice as she is, I was glad to see police  personnel Ian and Jo walk up with their greyhound in tow for they took over the conversation nicely.

Anyhow speaking of the police, I was spoilt last night with a difficult choice of tv viewing/ radio listening. We had got back after a rather good Thai meal out when I realised that I had not see Bake off or listened to day three of Helen's trial in The Archers.
There was also a new reality cop show on sky ( The Force -Essex) to give the once over to
(The Prof always raises a Roger Moore eyebrow when reality cop shows come on the tv....he refers to my drooling addiction to men in uniform as Police Porn! ) ...oh.....and it was the Opening Ceremony of the Paralympics to watch.......so I was spoilt by choice.....
In the end I watched and listened to all four, so I didn't get to bed until the small hours.

And you wonder why I haven't lifted a paint brush up yet!?
I'm bloody knackered
Hey ho!

Student Mike leaves the bake off tent!  

But it was Tom who made a loaf in the shape of a penis!

Big bearded cops in Essex..what's pornagraphic about that? 

Yuk yuk

I recognised two of the  team GB wheelchair competitors 

From my spinal injury days

Order And Chaos

For the first time in an absolute age I looked after a sedated and ventilated poorly patient last night.
It was a huge change from the rough and  tumble of caring for a personality disordered, confused and violent post op patient or an over stimulated  autistic boy with a new tracheostomy.
Ventilated patients with all of the pumps and gizmo's that go with the seriously ill have to be nursed with strict orderliness and discipline.
It was nice to be so disciplined ..it was all very Zen.

It's not like that at home at the moment.
I'm in the middle of decorating , and the front room looks likes a bombs hit it, what with furniture piled high in the centre of the room.

The Prof had left the dogs have the run of the house when he left for work earlier and Mary had emptied the airing cupboard of its contents, scattering linens across the landing
Oh and I noticed that old William had backing into my one freshly painted wall by the stairs and had left a sloppy turd out in full view after being home but a couple of minutes
I left everything where it lay, filled my American coffee cup with blissfully hot strong coffee and took myself off to the field which was bathed in warm, early morning sunshine.
There , in full view of the road, I lay down amid the sheep, hens and geese and just gazed up at the clouds in the soft blue sky.
There is No mess and disorder in skywatching.

Trial

This week, it's the trial !
The Middle England  collective are all putting down their supper dishes and are pouring glasses of a nice red in readiness  for the vapid Helen Titchner to give her evidence in her trial for stabbing the moustache twirling Rob .
The Rob/ Helen storyline of the radio 4 show The Archers is now drawing to a close......I've just listened to the " rape revelation" while waiting to do an extra shift at work!
The coffee room was silent listening to the drama of it all!

What The Hell?

 I just grabbed a clean T shift from the knicker drawer last night

I didn't notice which one, I was tired , I'd been decorating all day.

This morning I had a rather odd conversation with Basil the farmer

who was too poite to ask about it,

But his eyes kept dropping down to my front! 

In a " what the hell?" Kind of way

Traffic Lights and A Fat Vagina

For years the village school children have run the risk of being splattered by speeding drivers on the village's one and only zebra crossing.
Readers of Going Gently may also remember that I have had several " near miss events" crossing the road with the dogs, one which necessitated  flinging a bag of dog shit into the back of a careless van driver .
Such is life.
Now, for weeks in Trelawnyd, we have suffered a gaggle of over weight workmen who have seemed to be up to very little on the main road, outside the school.
Traffic has been disrupted by a temporary three way traffic light system, and Winnie has been transported into a state of permanent " moistness" by the fact that at least four blue collar workmen have been wolfwhistling her on a daily basis!
They just thought that  the old gal was being friendly , but only I knew just how much of a let down she was, as she merrily waved her fat vagina at them from the pavement.
Anyhow, the upshot of all this activity, is that now Trelawnyd has it's very own Pelican crossing! 
We now have a pedestrian controlled push button traffic light system complete with sound alarm ( for the visually impaired! ) and my claim to fame was that the dogs and I were the very first residents of Trelawnyd to have the privilege to use it!
How exciting!
Affable despot Jason was second in line for a button press and I am sure I spied Mrs Trellis giving the control box the once over before we left for home, but the real fun testing time for the bastard speeders  will be this morning when the school children return for the Autumn term and scores of fat little fingers will reclaim the road once again!