From Facebook archives
30 September 2011 at 10:28 ·
Fester gets up
Who’s got a new cooker to play with then?
(I blame Bodrhanman*).
And guess who has had to dig out the dried yeast and strong white flour?
Not Mr Bun the Baker ....
*he’s a baker/caterer
29th September is one of those rare days where there are no recorded Facebook posts!
So here’s a link to what I wrote this time last year.
At least things have progressed somewhat.
We are all double vaccinated, and the boys have had flu jabs too
We have had a Coven, and will have another this weekend (so expect a break in transmissions).
We have had a week in Wales and a weekend in Cumbria.
Ferretfingers’ activities are back: Monday Gary Mather day centre; Tuesday afternoon ‘maintenance’ at Ouseburn Farm, enabled by me; Wednesday The Rising Sun Farm, transported to and fro by me; Thursday morning ‘horticulture’ at Ouseburn Farm enabled by Emile; Friday morning swimming with Emile. We saved a shedload of money last year not having to pay for activities and support. That’s going to be eaten into as his local authority budget only covers Monday and Wednesday’s day centres; and that he has to contribute to because of his 'income' i.e. PIP and ESA . The rest is down to PIP and ESA and our own funds.
Thunderthighs is back doing work experience twice and gym once a week, but no college course or job as yet.
I’m back, but visored, at LDNE Knit’n’natter on Friday mornings.
And, the Lord be thanked, Fester is going back down to the Mining Institute a couple of times a week doing his endless research on the pits of the North East.
Have just made 4lb of plum and rhubarb jam
Naturally enough, what with being widowed and everything, at this time of year I tend to feel ‘intimations of mortality’, as Phil said when his mam died.
And with 2012 being Fester and my Annus Horribilis, amongst other things his brother’s sudden death, Phil’s dad Tom and my last remaining Uncle also passed away, it’s little wonder I decided to let Facebook friends know what I wanted in the event of my own demise.
Since then I’ve also decided on a few other things.
Whatever I’m dressed in I want some nice warm bedsocks on, shoes are uncomfortable and I’ve no intention of going through eternity with cold feet.
I’ve change my mind about the crem: Tynemouth was good enough for Phil, his dad and Auntie Edna; the parking is easier; and it’s more sheltered from cold North Sea winds.
While people are coming in and settling down Sailing By
(the Shipping Forecast music) should be played.
I want my coffin carried in to Park Avenue Beat (the Perry Mason theme tune) preferably by six male rapper dancers. If my generation are too decrepit, and I hope the ones left are so old when the time comes that they are, then the next generation of Kingsmen might volunteer.
As the curtains go around and the people go out Santana’s
Samba Pe Ti; as the music gets faster they can imagine me sashaying up through the clouds.
And of course this photo on the order of service.
Yesterday Mrs Poet posted on Facebook about a documentary being prepared about the late Alan Hull of Lindisfarne.
Here it is, a bit of a long and winding yarn though so settle down at the back …
Back in the 80s Phil took me to the Linden Hall Hotel folk club and I won the raffle;
free entry to the next month’s folk club. A nice man came and signed a voucher ticket for me.
Looking at it I said “Ray Laidlaw. That’s a coincidence, same name as the bloke in Lindisfarne. Looks like him too.”
Phil sighed heavily and replied “That's because he is the bloke in Lindisfarne. Ray was in the same class as me at St Cuthbert’s.”
Having grown up in the same part of Tyneside our friend Pearl was, and is, a friend of Ray and other members of Lindisfarne.
About this time keyboards with built in synthesizers became available at a reasonable price and Phil acquired one (probably second hand).
Pearl was then living in the countryside with a neighbour that had free range hens.
Pearl used to help her sell the eggs.
Whenever we saw her almost the first thing she’d say was “Do you want any eggs?”
Phil was asked to provide the entertainment at Pearl’s 40th birthday party.
He recorded “Do you want any eggs?” into the synth and performed a rap with the chorus using it at various speeds and pitches.
 | ||
| "Brenda at home July 1992" the last photo Phil took of me |
A couple of weeks later Pearl phoned me.
Alan Hull was there and, when he saw Pearl, he came over.
“Ee Pearl! Have you heard? That lad who did the ‘D’ye want any eggs’ rap at your birthday do has died?”
“Yes” replied Pearl a little awkwardly “this is his widow, Brenda.”
“Eee no! Ee Aah’m sorry pet” and he slung his arms around my shoulders in a consoling hug.
A
moment later an acrid smell hit us as the cigarette in his hand set my hair
alight.
This first is from a blog I wrote elsewhere on this day in 2007, the second and third from Facebook Archives (see also AFace in a Photograph 7 May 21)
It was the day after my 36th birthday, and he had given me the best present he could that year, simply by staying alive. Although, being a musician, he always did have good timing.
Even though 36 is very young to be widowed I seriously believed I was going to turn into
Well the spirit was willing but the flesh is very strong. In July 1993 a friend of longstanding became a partner. In July 1994 Number One son was born and given the middle name Philip. Followed in 1996 by Number Two son.
That being said, and fifteen years being a long time, there are times when I still long to speak with Phil, see him or hold him. Certain songs reduce me to tears almost every time I hear them.
I think he would be a little cross with me for not letting go entirely of the grief and happy for me having a new man and family.
The internet was only just getting into its stride when Phil died. He was Wallsend’s librarian and a little dubious about how people would (mis)use computers in libraries. But he would be delighted at the idea of me blogging.
Nineteen years and never forgotten
24 September at 2017 18:24·
