A Chameleon On The Fridge

 It’s 5 pm and the ice cream van has arrived in the village. I’ve not noticed it in years gone by but this one plays the zimmer theme from The Third Man which feels strange, especially as there is still a distinct chill in the air. 

I’ve just finished two night shifts, and didn’t sleep much today, so it’s pottering time , with a slow pace , soup cooking, clothes washing, fire lighting and radio 4. 

I’m mildly annoyed because my second best counselling jumper now has tomato stains down the front.

The man that delivered the fridge never bothered about such things

Oh I’ve bought a new fridge . My Ikea fridge freezer has died and isn’t repairable and shocked at the cost of a replacement, complete with fitting has meant I have bought a small table top fridge to more suit my needs.

My handsome chameleon is sat on it . The old fridge is now an ideal storage cupboard

Touch

When I am at work, I touch people constantly. 

I wash and I turn people in bed hourly and will sometimes take my latex glove off to comfort someone, certainly to stroke a brow or tidy a hair which is out of place .

I hear my old tutor from my psychiatric nursing days at these times….

“Being stroked by a gloved hand can be painful and unnatural “ Leslie Brint would say

There are social rules when it comes to touch too,

Some people abhor it. 

Others crave it

You have to read people effectively and quickly

Safe “ zones” for touch are innately understood by most

But not always.

Watch out for cues

Huggers often give them 

People in grief often regress to childhood states

When touch can heal most things

I don’t hug when I’m counselling. 

It’s my strict rule. 

But I do always shake hands with my clients.

It’s formal but warm

I like handshakes.

I’m off to work, shortly

With Roger on my knee as we sit at the kitchen table

He’s like me, when it comes to hugs

But he can ask for them where I seldom do

I’m glad he can

Eyebrows

I’m 64 in June

And I’ve just realised that I have eyebrows like 

Virgil Tracy

And could not have fitted through 

Thunderbird 2’s 

Ceiling slide

 

A Cry On The Way To Counselling

 I start with the Madrid Metropolitan Orchestra with some of my lisping choir  doing an amazing version of Gloria Gloria  ……followed by this amazing nurse’s poem from the Vietnam war

But today’s highlight was a radio four production Life Changing where psychiatrist Sian Williams interviewed teenager Rozhan , an illegal immigrant from Iran who with her mother and younger sister braved death many times to flee persecution in the Middle East where her Muslim mother changed religion to Christianity . 

The account of how she took charge of a sick baby at fourteen in a sinking dinghy off Dover , and how the 26 people on board all held hands as they thought death was approaching made me stop Bluebell in order to shed a tear before my counselling day .

I defy anyone, including the most rabid of racists not to be moved by this tale of heroism 

https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/m002tprr

Gritted Teeth

 Weaver is trying her best to integrate

But like Mary Bennett in social situations, 

She just can’t get it! 

Rigid with awkwardness she pushed herself to her obvious limit last night and over perhaps 40 minutes crept her way to the centre of the living room from her usual ninth step on the staircase. 

It was a painful watch, and I held my breath for much of the ordeal, but she finally did it ! 

Speaking of painful watches, I sat through The Downfall of Huw Edwards last night

Awful 

John Wynne and Graham The Sheep

Chapel house or ty wynne ( Wynne House) where the remains of John Wynne are buried

According to Bangor Professor Robert Jenkins the industrial pioneer John Wynne (1650-1714) was instrumental in the development of Trelawnyd , formally known as Newmarket. He had a vision of developing the hamlet into a market town proper. He built houses, established a weekly market and established the Nonconformist chapel in 1701 as well as building a grammar school at "plas yn dre".
His wish to develop Newmarket into a large market town ultimately came to nothing, but Wynne was responsible for the village's growth and its population did top over 600 residents.
John Wynne died n 1714 and his remains was buried against the wall of the Chapel which still exists in Chapel street.
Now all this gives a little background to the "ghostly" goings on at Ty Wynne, which is the house situated right next door to the chapel and John Wynne's burial place. The present owner always thought that their house was haunted by a strong male character. Indeed the lady of the house always made a point of saying "goodnight" to the ghost before she went to bed. They always presumed that the "ghost" was that of John Wynne
In the early 1970s Ty Wynne featured in a somewhat creepy tale. Local small holder Graham “ the sheep”Jones was just leaving the memorial hall one wintry and rainy night.. He had been playing snooker and as he got on his bicycle he saw a figure of a man standing in the gateway of Ty Wynne.
The man was wearing an old fashioned long coat and hat, and seemed to acknowledge Graham before he cycled for home.
Literally a minute later Graham approached his home along London road and was astonished and frightened to see the same man standing alone outside his own home!
Graham wisely stopped and returned for the morale support from his friends back in the hall and by the time he returned mob handed the "man" had vanished
Could the figure be that of Trelawnyd's founder John Wynne?
Who knows?

This tale of Trelawnyd has a bittersweet taste as Graham died over the weekend

Easter Sunday

 The village has been battered by storm Dave. 

Dramatically so. 

The journey to Llandudno along the A55 to night shift felt somewhat fraught.

And the wind roared over west shore, like a freight train.

It’s still roaring now and it’s just past midnight.

When I left for work I found a bag tied to the front door knob.

The bag was decorated with Easter chicks and eggs and in it was a small Easter egg and these

A Cd and book of Under Milk Wood. 

Another day, another kindness.

Its now Easter Sunday, traditionally an awfully dire memory of childhood , which centred upon chocolate ( I’m not a fan) Overlong Biblical films starting Jeffrey Hunter and bored parents.

And a light note to end with

Sometimes I stream on a site for mature gay men. It’s fun because I can hold court and discuss things such as film, the walking dead, life and the universe. The site is moderated and policed by friends who stop the riff raff and the occasional rude or suggestive comment and it’s often interesting to have a couple of hundred people from all over the world sharing their thoughts. 

This weekend I was discussing scary experiences, when a bloke from Portugal shared with a photograph that was somewhat bizarre. 

I won’t go into details but it caught me so unaware that I burst into uncontrollable hysterical laughter. A real belly laugh that stopped most people short and which created a wave of laughing amid the group. 

Matt a good friend from Denmark took a screen shot of me with the caption you are killing me today John

I laughed till I cried…..brilliant therapy for a boring Easter weekend

Felt Sorry For

 

When you are single and sixty something it seems inevitable  that some people will feel sorry for you. 

I think it more often than not happens to women on their own in hotel restaurants but I’ve had my fair share of “ Are you alright? Are you looking after yourself properly?” Moments over the years!

My elder sister Ann has me over for supper once a week now, and I’m grateful for this gesture of good food and company. 

Having a meal made for you, when you are used to cook your own meals is a treat, I can tell you. Why do you think I love going out for brunch and lunch with friends, the treat is palpable ! 

I work with a lovely support worker called Diane, she is single and my age, and every time we work together she will surprise me with “spare chicken salad” in the staff fridge or a comment “ I’ve brought some good coffee in” 

She spoils me and I’m grateful for it.

She doesn’t feel sorry for me….well perhaps she does just a little, but I don’t want to think about that

A villager texted me yesterday saying that they were looking out for me at the funeral. 

Another kindness certainly .

When I’m out alone, I still take with me my armour

My phone, an iPad, a book or all three,

They protect me from being felt sorry for 

I hate the thought of it