9.15 a.m. Yes I am late today folks. This morning I went walking on Castletown beach in the rain. It is still raining as I write and according to the men at Ronaldsway, that is the way it will remain until late this afternoon. By this evening it will be fine. The weather seems to reflect life in general. How often did you get up and get off to a bad start! How often do you hear someone say, “Take no notice, I’m having a really bad day” It doesn’t have to stay that way though and often doesn’t. Just like the weather, good fortune, luck, or your own mind state can change a bad day into a good one.

Yesterday, I was telling you about my stay in Abergele in North Wales back in the early 80’s. Having arrived at what turned out to be an old folks home with a bit of a craft room in which I was suppose to learn my trade, my plight did seem pretty desperate. My Pal Geordie had now returned home to Port St. Mary and I settled down in my flat at the top of the building. For a few days I came down to the craft room and joined in with the rug and stool making. There was another chap about my age who was a resident there. His name was Glynn and he had not long lost his sight and had been sent to this home to be rehabilitated. Until he had lost his sight, he had spent his time on a farm in mid Wales. He had been at the home for about 6 months before my arrival. I spent my first week sorting out the local pubs and chippies. Once this was done I dragged Glynn along with me. In his entire six months he had not been outside the home, now what kind of rehabilitation was that? Glynn was soon not only going out to the pubs at night, but singing and entertaining in some of them at weekends.

We seldom went out during the week, however, on Friday and Saturdays we would make the best of it and let our hair down. I had been walking on something of a tight rope, arriving back at the home at around 11 p.m. after visiting friends in the village, but we really pushed the residents to the limit when both myself and Glyn arrived home at midnight or 1am with guide dog York sliding all over the slippery stairs, me tramping up them and Glyn still singing his bloody head off. I know we were in Wales and the home was full of elderly Welsh residents, but you would be amazed at just how unpatriotic the senior citizens of North Wales became when they heard, ‘Land of my fathers’, or ‘There’ll be a welcome in the hillside’. Complaints were made to the matron, and my exact reasons for becoming a resident of the home questioned. None-the-less, I was now actually enjoying myself here. I was having a wonderful time in the village. The locals were brilliant, I was having dinner at someone’s house in the village most Sundays, and now that I had settled in, I was really starting to enjoy myself there. A plan therefore had to be hatched to keep the residents happy. I had to get on their good side. Trouble was, how and what could I do for them or bring to them, what they didn’t have before I arrived.

Inspiration turned up one day as I was having a smoke in the garden. One of the residents asked me if he could have a cigarette. Of course you can I replied. He told me they were not allowed to smoke in the home and because they did not get out themselves they could not buy them. A member of staff used to do their shopping for them each day. However, cigarettes were banned from the shopping list. I must admit, I did feel a bit like Father Christmas as I walked round the home on the first day of the revolution asking them all, what kind of fags they wanted and how many. If I felt like Father Christmas on that first morning, I felt more like the scolded cat that evening once matron had finished with me. Thereafter, I had to be more discreet, this meant going round the home at night time and knocking on the doors, taking orders and delivering the goods by the same method. The plan was a brilliant success though. Now, I could do know wrong as far as the residents were concerned. Myself, York and Glynn were free to party all night long if we choose. The trouble now was, a state of war now existed between the residents and the matron, and the committee who ran the home. The guy who actually owned the home, had an office in Bangor, several miles from Abergele. Once he heard of my antics, I was duly sent for. I was more than happy to go and argue the case for my new found elderly friends. He did not come over to me as a particularly pleasant chap and basically made it clear to me that my little shopping trips for the residents had to stop. I explained that they were in an old folk’s home and not a bloody prison but this cut no ice. I pleaded for a cigarette machine to be placed there, but this also was declined. He didn’t actually say, ‘if you don’t stop your shopping trips you will have to leave’, however, I am sure that was on his agenda. That in its self would not have bothered me as I only had a couple of weeks left, and I was concerned that once I had gone, my pal’s supply of fags and beer would dry up. As a parting shot I explained to him that if he did not back down regarding the residents, I would talk to local newspapers and the radio station regarding the conditions of the home. The home itself was well run. It was warm and comfortable. However, there were far too many rules, and the food was terrible. The food mattered little to me as I looked after myself in the flat. Some of the residents though had started wander up to my flat to join me for the evening meal. I am no great cook by any means, but I could and did serve up better meals than sprouts and chips which was the kind of meals they were served up in their own dining room.

Well folks we shall continue with my account of my stay in Abergele tomorrow.

It’s now 10.30 and still raining but who cares. I shall now take advantage of an empty Poulson Park and take Skipper for a walk.

Until tomorrow then, this Tom Glassey with News at 10.33 on the banks of the Silverburn River.