Liz Bentley with the Tesco Delivery Man, Prodrome, and The Great Reset

White woman in her 50s stands holding a green crate and a book called the great reset, while a black Tesco delivery man stands at the door

I’m reading The Great Reset

I’ve started a YouTube channel. It’s called Prodrome – The Liz Bentley Show. I love the word prodrome. It means ‘an early symptom indicating onset of a disease or illness.’ My trainee paramedic niece (who is right now dealing with mainly stroke, heart attack and mental health) told me that Chinese airline stewards are being advised to wear nappies – I’ll leave that one there. I didn’t believe her but it was on the BBC News, on the tel lie vision. It’s mad, MAD I tell you. I’m not mad, THIS IS.

I’ve bought a Selfie Stick Tripod so I can film anytime anywhere. Oh, what fun. I’ve begun a book club too. We are reading The Great Reset. Covid is the excuse to transform our civilization. The Great Rest reads like a foul plan.


As a result of the lockdowns, the pandemic had immediate effect on every possible industry around the world. This impact is ongoing and will continue to be felt in the coming years. As global supply chains are reconfigured, as consumer demands change, as technology disrupts, companies will be forced to continuously adapt and reinvent themselves.

Looking to the future, governments will most likely, but with different degrees of intensity, decide that it’s in the best interest of society to rewrite some of the rules of the game and permanently increase their role.

GAME??? It’s a game.  What is being done to our humanity during this game? Just a question.

I haven’t been out of the house for days. I was considering going into East Dulwich to go into a shop but heard there were queues everywhere, of which there were. Everywhere. Oh dear. More online shopping. Thank goodness for my cheery Tesco delivery men.

My step-daughters are watching 60 Days In, a documentary drama of life inside prison. One of my ex boyfriends (No. 31 in From Essex to London in 101 Boyfriends) was in prison for nearly three years for trying to do a post office job. Him and his friends concocted the idea the night before, they were all off their head, smack. They stole a car early morning (after no sleep). My boyfriend went into the post office wearing a grubby tracksuit and a balaclava hat. He carried a sports bag with a baseball bat in it. When they got to the post office, just outside of central Edinburgh (one of them knew because his friend cashed his giros there), one stayed in the getaway car outside while my boyfriend and the other went inside, got the bat out and said to the man behind the counter “Give us the money”. The man shook his head and said “Times must be hard” and hit the button which alerted the police. My boyfriend resisted arrest and the police got the dogs out. The dogs chased him, he got caught and his track suit ripped to shreds.

I received two letters a week from my boyfriend during his time in prison. One of my regrets was getting rid of the shoebox full of the thin blue envelopes I collected from HMP Saughton, Durham, Brixton, Wandsworth and Send. I was one of the first Samaritan volunteers to go into Brixton prison. It worried me that my boyfriend might be suicidal too. He was okay, that time, a few decades on, his death a long slow suicide from heroin addiction.

Our lives are now full of prison terminology, lockdowns, curfews etc. Forced to do what we are told in such a way our human rights are fading fast. Govern (Control) Ment (Mind) Brain washing us into thinking it is OUR fault that the virus is spreading. Our prison guards are our neighbours.

A week ago, in the pub, six of us discussing The Great Reset then a 7th joined us and was asked not to sit on our table so he sat on a different table but was nearer us. The bar manager was drunk and thought we were Covid deniers. How can anyone deny that Certificate Of Vaccination ID – set into action in 2019 is not a reality? We haven’t started on the 2020 new variable mutations to keep us in fear, distanced, masked and vaccines forever. COVID has only just begun. I’d love to be a denier, but I wake with anxiety every morning. Hoping it has all been a nightmare.

The bar manager got drunker, clearly he is struggling. As we go into Tier 3, his world has gone upside-down, again. I hope he doesn’t drink too much over Christmas. What else will he do? If he can’t resist it while he’s working I feel for him. Poor him. Poor pubs. Poor world.

This song is for anyone struggling, or going to be struggling with booze this Xmas. I’m still off the booze. Am enjoying a Nannystate Brewdog every now and again. Nanny state. I am infantalised. I wonder in the future whether guards will be checking our nappies as well as our masks and bibs. Merry Xmas blog readers. Do subscribe to my Liz Bentley channel for Xmas joy weirdness.

liz bentley – YouTube

My boyfriend’s got gout

What’s it all about?

Is it cause he’s stout?

I doubt – it

He’s just a red wine lout

He can’t eat cheese, sardines or sauerkraut

Or trout

He gives me nought

That’s why I pout

I’m just gonna point him out

That’s him on his way out

He’s got the gout

I’ve got the pout

Lets all shout

He’s just shout

He’s just banged his toe on the way out

Last night he went out

With the gout

Came home, gave me a clout

He’s given up the snout

Because of the gout

Taken up snuff

What’s that all about?

Gout, gout, let it all out, these are the things we can do with out

So come on

Freek gout…..

Free gout…..

I predict a diet

#Tescodeliveryman, I didn’t order Daz and a return to the #SELF

#TheCrown #darkwaters #miscarriage #bulimia #trauma #I’mexperiementingwithhashtags #secretmessage #theyarediggingupgravesinnunheadcemetaryasthetreerootsareunearthingthemeverythingisbeingunearthed

Black male Tesco delivery driver gives a thumbs up while a white woman in her 50s holds a huge box of washing powder

Tesco Delivery Man with me holding huge Daz, their substitute for no bio Tesco powder

This Tesco Delivery Driver was happy to come in and help with my shopping, good job too, my family eco non-bio washing powder wasn’t available, this was Tesco replacement. I can hardly lift the box, my legs nearly gave in.

A dry lockdown for me this time round. I wanted to be as alert, as aware and ON it as possible. To respond and be as true to my feelings as I can be. I’m returning to my SELF, whilst trying to stay grounded.

As a psychotherapist working continuously during 2020, the more the lockdowns, the more isolation we suffer, whoever we are, and whoever we are with. It is those who have been abused, and are aware (or are becoming aware) of emotions in relation to their abuse and abuser, recognizing intensely, the continued abuse this year brings, with Government threats of more, all across the world.

Most abuse (Including my experience as a survivor) occurs, and recurs behind closed doors, either alone or in a group (who are also being abused, in various TIERS!). The more isolated we are, the more oppressed we become and the more we ‘go along’ with what we’re told. The more we hear words like TRACK, TRACE, LOCKDOWN, NEW NORMAL, CONSPIRACY THEORIES, MANDATORY, LAWS, DISTANCING, KILLING YOUR GRANNY (where are grandads?), OVERWHELMING, AUSTERITY, WORST RECESSION … the abuse runs and runs and runs deep, like a needle in an arm…INJECT HOPE INTO MILLIONS OF ARMS…There’s another from Mr Hancock. That’s not a sign of hope, that’s a sign of torture to me, re what’s to come. The nearest I’m getting to a needle is going through the eye of one on my spiritual journey of love.

More recently, I saw a photo of a younger beaming Mr Hancock with the man himself, Klaus Schwab, also beaming at a WEF conference. Our government are looking for volunteers, scapegoats, to administrate our Christmas and New Year present of THE NEEDLE, oh two needles, then more because as Hancock said, there will be vaccines for viruses we don’t even know about yet. Our chance to be Captain Tom’s, and the Government are bringing in celebrities to help, dread to think who will buy into that one. I despair again, yet I know, behind the scenes (unseen in mass media) there are growing protest groups and the World Dr’s Alliance, triumphing over laws worldwide. Fighting for human rights.

Saturday night I watched Dark Waters, a film I recommend. It gave me some great insight into the enormity with what we’re dealing with right now. I’m putting my hope into the likes of Robert Bilott to save us (DuPont are selling PPE of all things). The Social Network, and Human Nature, both documentaries on Netflix, fabulous, I’ve never taken so much in, in my life.

And then there is the drama of The Crown, of which I have watched with delight. A friend on Facebook wrote:

“All Lady Diana does on the Crown is watch Bagpuss and pukes posh cake down the lavatory! Was she a Bagpuss fan?”

I replied:

“By watching Bagpuss and puking up posh cakes, Diana was busy putting bulimia on the map and by doing so has saved lives…

Watch Bagpuss

Throw up

Save Lives

I’m delighted that The Crown shows what it’s like, the shame and inner disgust. Diana helped me, that’s for sure. Before she came out about bulimia, I honestly thought I was the only person in the world who was that disgusting, at times I felt suicidal. Long may Diana puke on TV and watch Bagpuss which I believe may well have represented a time when she was a child and felt safe, before her mother abandoned her.”

Poor Diana, I was such a fan. Got beaten up by four girls on her wedding day and was on a day trip to Paris when she died (more about that another time).

Moving onto Meghan, who has now put miscarriage on the map with a more permanent marker I hope. Nice one Meghan. I am thrilled, yes, shame, pain, grief and inner torment, I know this pain only too well. Here is the song I wrote after my third miscarriage. I was too traumatised to speak after an appointment. I was at a friend’s house who was busy cooking for her three kids. She sat me down, got me a piece of paper and a pen and said “write a poem”. And here it is, I’m hoping to record it, post it on YouTube, maybe send to Meghan? I never got a chance to send my bulimia stuff to Di. The music of the song is like a cross between Nelly the Elephant and a Gang Show jolly ditty.

Recurring Miscarriage Clinic     Suite 8, third floor

Didn’t we have a lovely time at the recurring miscarriage clinic

You must admit it’s improved a lot with the new consultant Mr Jerkoff

And when he’s about the ladies shout aloud with glee

Didn’t we have a lovely time, all of the girls and me

Big long shiny probe right up your fanny

Searching, searching in every nook and cranny, oh!

Didn’t we have a lovely time at the recurring miscarriage clinic

You must admit it’s improved we see with new magazines and daytime TV

And when we all see a heavily pregnant celebrity

We all shout out aloud in joyous arouse, all of the girls and me

Pictures of foetus’s lining the corridor walls

Old ones, new ones and some in fallopian tubes, oh!

Didn’t we have a lovely time at the recurring miscarriage clinic

You must admit it’s improved the loss with the new receptionist Mrs Toss

And when she’s about the ladies shout aloud with joy

A fabulous time, I wonder what sex, a girl or a boy?

La la la la, la la, la la, la la la la, la la….etc

Didn’t we have, a wonderful time at the RECURRING  MISCARRIAGE CLINIC….My Charles and Diana tea caddy

Charles and Diana on my tea caddy

I watched 1984 last night. I recommend that too.

There is truth and there is untruth

To be in a minority doesn’t make you mad

Thank you Mr Orwell for those words right now