Yesterday I went to Bromley shopping centre. Not because I wanted to, but because I had to go to the Apple shop to sort out why no one can hear me properly through my iPhone 5s, when I can hear them perfectly.
This was the first time I’ve been to Bromley on my own and I’d sussed out it’s accessibility with my husband earlier in the year. In fact I was feeling so confident that he’d suggested I go to Karen Millen and see if there was anything I would like for my Xmas present, he said her stuff was good quality, expensive, but there might be a sale on. He knows about these things and I want to look nice for us.
When I came home, despite the phone working fine in the shop, it failed to work again. I figure that this a sign. My voice not ready to be listened to just yet.
“Did you buy anything for yourself?” my husband asked.
“No babe, I asked lots of people where it was but they just looked at me like they’d read one of my books. Are you sure there’s a Helen Mirren in Bromley?”
To be continued tomorrow ……….
It’s Saturday, 4th November, am thinking rain, fireworks and sparklers yet pondering over the washing powder that these two chirpy young delivery men have bought me. (As you can see from the clock I haven’t put it back from last Sunday because it keeps us all on top of things and Tesco Delivery are even less likely to be late.)
There has been a lot in the press this week about washing machines catching on fire. I was aware of this a long time ago when I wrote one of my first poems published in my first anthology “Tales in the Deep End”, even Amazon have a 2nd hand copy of this unique book which includes tales of assault by a charity London marathon runner dressed as a St Trinian’s girl with false bosoms, wig and hockey stick to yogic internal cleansing poetry and illustration.
Separation and Anxiety
My washing machine caught on fire
I will never leave it on its own again
People laughed when I performed this wearing a swimming hat, but as usual, this poem had come from my personal distress and PTSD and OCD around washing machines. I used to pay the babysitter an extra 50p an hour to keep an eye on it.
Half term and the time to be domestic. I have made a casserole for the family and a friend. I have made casseroles before but never been brave enough to put dumplings on. Today Tesco delivery man brought me Auntie Bessie frozen dumplings, full of shite I’m sure, but if they work, I may have the confidence and feel it worthwhile to make my own at a date in the future.
I have never been confident in the kitchen and this is picked up apon as I leave myself vulnerable for cooking attack, i.e. as serving up saying things like “It’s not very good”, “I don’t think it’s supposed to be like this” etc. Of course this instantly puts doubt into my consumers who are likely to respond with comments such as “Hmm, it’s okay” or “Pass the ketchup”.
I don’t eat meat, non of us eat meat much, this was supposed to be the family half term treat but unfortunately Tesco didn’t have organic beef and they sent me the Boswell Farm shite, half the price but not good. I’m hoping my meat eaters won’t know as the meat will be disguised with all sorts of other lovely ingredients and dumplings bobbing up and down as I serve. Assuming that’s what dumplings do when one serves them, I will see.
If it all goes horribly wrong all is not lost, we can boil up the Naked Noodles.
I am happy it is half term. Below is a poem I was writing while waiting for my last delivery man. I performed it at the #Klinker club last week, and read it out during a wellbeing discussion I facilitated at Lesoco college. It is as an example of how concern leads to abrupt response leads to anxiety leads to frustration leads to concerned response on all levels, leads to a lot of time being spent on issues that aren’t issues, demonstrating that we are just all ants milling about, doing our stuff until the next wave of ants take over.
10.43am Daisy has been late – Please respond with the reason
Firstly, I’m glad to hear she got to school, New Cross road is a big scary road, it amazes me that she gets there at all, dodging buses and crossing the Queens road all by herself, she’s so little. I find it scary just driving down it.
Re the reason why she is late, she left on time so there is the possibility that the bus was late or didn’t arrive or was full so she had to wait for another. There is also a possibility that she dropped her very heavy bag that she carries, or that something fell out, she was carrying so much, PE kit, water, large pencil case, books etc. It’s a real shame there is no room in schools for lockers, these children are going to have terrible problems as their little spines grow.
I have just realised, sometimes Daisy gets chatting to the homeless man sat by the bus stop, he could have distracted her and she missed the bus, or maybe she was chatting with a friend and got carried away. Maybe she was actually on the bus and got chatting and carried away and missed her stop, this is only her second week of secondary school, all very new.
I was also wondering if there had been an accident on New Cross Road. I hear ambulance and police sirens regularly and never sure where they end up, there is the possibility that the bus was involved in an accident or behind an accident and had to sit in traffic while other traffic diverted to the bus lane. Then there’s the driver, he or she may have had a psychotic episode, stopped the bus, got off and went to Sainsbury’s or TK Maxx. The bus could have broken down and passengers had to get off and get on the next one.
Sometimes there are people who stop the traffic because they have mental health issues and aren’t now being looked after. In the 1980’s when I was living in Bermondsey one of my neighbours spent all day walking over the same zebra crossing, over and over and over again. Sometimes that caused congestion. He’d been given away by his mother and lived in Barnado’s from the age of 2 and never really settled.
I’m struggling to think of any other reason, but if I do I will email straight back. I really hope this helps and if you get to see Daisy at school today, do please ask her whether I am on the right track with the real reason.
p.s. I was just looking at google travel info and there was a diversion earlier today on Lewisham Way, I’m not sure it would have had a great impact, it would depend on how many minutes she was actually late and where on Lewisham Way. If you would get back to me re the exact timings then I can work out whether this is the reason. I apologize, I should have looked at this first but my phone was on charge and I was eager to respond to you and I only have two sources of internet.
Since I’ve been writing this I have received another email from you re Daisy getting one behaviour point that I now need to discuss with her. The email was unsigned so I really don’t know who to respond to, however, please would you let me know the parameters of a behaviour point and if you are concerned about Daisy’s behaviour then I would appreciate a formal letter and a meeting.
At the weekend I stayed at my uncle Peter’s. Uncle Peter has been disabled since 1946 when he contracted Polio. On arrival I was pleased to find he had a new stair lift installed and sink moved in toilet to make mobility in and out of wheel chair easier. We chatted about delivery men and how he uses Sainsbury and how good they are in Southampton. We chatted about Brexit and education and he helped me respond to a ridiculous school email.
My uncle Peter suggested there should be a national competition for the prime minister who has been the most dangerous for our country in the last 40 years. He suggested the prize should be an inverted statue erected in Paliament Square with a plaque with the name and ‘or everyone’ inscribed below.
Tomorrow night, Tuesday I am very excited to be performing at the #Klinker club, details at http://www.klinkerclub.com Hugh Metcalf gave me one of my very first gigs there back in 2002. It’s a gem of a club. My uncle Peter would like it but he is like a fine red wine and doesn’t travel well.
All I have to show are old bananas and a not so chilled Liz Bentley waiting in for new bank cards and a call from the computer hospital .
Fraud line (via met police) were kind and gave out some good advice, a bit on the cbt side ie “go to the doctors and get something to help you sleep” subtext ,’ I don’t know how to stop you crying’ and, “an old disabled woman I spoke with yesterday had £54,000 stolen” subtext ‘think yourself lucky, there are people far worse off than you’ , but in that moment I linked myself to that old disabled woman, it’s the violation and abuse that sits uncomfortably , and now I’ve cried I’m angry for the loss of time and faith.
(warning – I was scammed by a bogus antivirus company who were mimmicking AVG (and an AVG technical 0800 support number) I had been using and trusting for years . Computer is having a serious expensive 4 hour operation …)
While I wait for no Tesco Delivery man I find myself analysing why my technical life is such a mess and yet the rest of my life is fairly ordered, I’m wondering whether it is linked partly to the hidden trauma of being born with a hole in my heart , then diagnosis of ms soon after it closed … I dreamt I was a baby again on one of those old X-ray machines (they’ve got 2 in the Wellcome museum ) being stretched like that 1950’s children’s character ‘Twizzle’ my father read us at bedtime . He scared me too. There’s one on eBay for £99 , Twizzle book not my deceased father of course.
This incident wasn’t my fault , I was set up and rang a bogus number. but I have learned I need to take more care of machines , nurture them , and get them a well man check regularly .
My computer is a man
It’s very yan
Just like the Tesco delivery man
There’s still only been one woman
I wish I could do my hair on my own, it only ever looks good when someone else blow drys it, this was an attempt to see if I could use curlers, they were put in shit and the result was shit.
We can’t have good days everyday. 30 years ago when I was struggling with MS to get onto an escalator a friend said:
“If you have one good day for every bad then life is good” I worked out that’s 50% of the time and decided right then and there I could manage being happy for that percentage.
It was National Poetry Day today and I was caught out because I thought it was in October, so I was caught out twice today, curlers and poetry.
I’m Happy, I’m Happy, I’m Happy, I’m not Happy anymore
I also went to the Post Office where a woman was upset about the air conditioning. By being upset she caused a long queue which made others upset. I was upset about something else I’d been thinking about in the queue that was likely linked to something in my childhood. Jung’s collective unconcious at work.
First 5,000 words of “From Essex to London in 101 Boyfriends” is winging its way back to me from proof reader Andrew Bylo – I hope there weren’t too many errors ….
“Can I take your photo? The Wales driver didn’t want to be photographed” The driver posed.
“He’s probably wanted by the police”
I was so excited to see the driver today that I forgot to check the delivery and the driver forgot to get out of the van the crate with all the fridge products. No roast chicken tonight for us. I rang the amazing customer services and spoke with Karen from Dundee and she gave me a £20 voucher towards a take away. Karen was lovely and told me that once she didn’t check her delivery and pet flea spray leaked out onto all the shopping. We agreed that the drivers are great and she told me she has fibromyalgia and I told her I had MS and we agreed that this was a fantastic service for disabled.
Roast chicken tomorrow instead, they are coming again between 2 and 3pm and won’t be charging the delivery fee. This is a lesson, I need to focus more on the shopping than the delivery men otherwise this could happen again and again and Tesco may tell me to stop distracting me and them and my new blog will end abruptly and that would be a shame when I’m only just getting going.