Puffins

On Puffin Island, the little puffins all go to nursery school.

This is Peter Puffin. He's a nice little puffin.

And this is Penelope Puffin who can be a wee bit naughty but underneath it all, she's also a nice little puffin.
Below these words there's a picture of Donald Puffin in his birthday hat and scarf. He's a nasty little seabird - always telling tales and saying bad things about the other puffins. 

Donald used to be considered the naughtiest and sneakiest little puffin in Puffin Island Nursery School, until...
 Vladimir Puffin arrived:
...which may lead to
The End


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😍

 Happy Friday.  How was your week?



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The Valeta and Other Stories

 

In yesterday’s comments Lizzy asked how such a quiet, clearly gauche young Welshman like me became a psychiatric nurse at the tender age of twenty.
The answer, is probably more complicated than I realised at the time, they always are, but the overwhelming reason was that I was looking for a career was that I hated my life as grade 2 bank clerk in the National Westminster Bank in Rhyl.
I wanted a job with kudos
Something I could be proud of 
Something my family would be proud of.
And my decision to be a nurse was thanks primarily to a woman by the name of Nerys Griffith 
Now Nerys was a student nurse at Wrexham Maelor hospital .She was and is,very Welsh, was a seriously committed General nurse and briefly was my second or third girlfriend ( I know it was a phase) I was also quite in awe of her general nurse tales of blood guts and gore so thought that I could be a nurse of sorts and psychiatric nursing seemed a logical move even though I knew absolutely nothing of what it would entail. 
Up to then my sole experience of mental illness was that I watched the film Ordinary People with Timothy Hutton in 1981
I hadn’t got a Scooby Doo!
And so I applied to three school’s of nursing .
The local psychiatric hospital in rural Denbigh.
The school of nursing based at the West Cheshire Hospital in Chester
And a dreadfully scary gothic looking hospital in Chesterfield of all places in Derbyshire 
I was accepted for both the English schools
Now my spoken welsh wasn’t good enough for the local hospital .
And so I chose Chester , a city I revisit weekly even now.

My nurse training was dominated by a camp,multifaceted Quaker tutor by the name of Leslie Brint. He opened my gauche, small town mind not only to mental illness and it’s treatments , but to different lifestyles, cultures, sexualities as well as to aspects of social injustice, pacifism and culture and literature
He was my Jean Brodie. 
A man of great charm
Safari suit jackets 
And a lover of the Valeta 
 

So , apart from the Valeta what did I learn from my three years at the West Cheshire hospital? 
I learned that fragments of human beings that were ravaged by mental illness were still people that required respect and care.
I learned to give physical contact to people before I even leaned to receive it for myself and
I realised that an unhappy childhood was a common experience of so many.




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