A day in the life

Posted by Jeni in Ad Infinitum | 21 February 2015

February 21st.

Snow.

Big globular melting drops.

Scrambled eggs - just the one. So it should read Scrambled egg.

Coffee designed by the old git.

The attic awaits.

Yesterday.

No sleep at all.

5.00 o'clock start.

5.40 taxi.

Big Polish driver who let me sleep.

GMTV 7.15.

On air 7.15

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TD

Posted by Jeni in Ad Infinitum | 4 February 2015

It started out as a bit of a catch up, but by 4.35 this morning all eight episodes of True Detective had been watched, stored, logged and discussed.

I went to bed with images of Matthew McCooouhannhunhgy and Woooolie Harrolscombe running around in my mind. The fire burst into flame, flickered and died, was rebuilt and spluttered but still the old git and I sat glued to the telly box.

New next door people have had scaffolding put up so for the first time in 32 years I had to pull the curtains in the bedroom lest a scaffolder watched me and him sleep, or worse still get up and pad around in the nudybins.

It's coming up to four o'clock in't afternoon. Taken my godson to the pub and ate his chips. stupid diabetic woman. My mouth is as dry as unleavened crackers, polished the piano, sorted some cook books and vacuumed the bathroom and stairs.

I will have a soak in some epsom salts and essential oils. Then read. Then a bit of this and that and then an EARLY night.

The True Detectives have polaxed. me.

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Difficult Viewing.

Posted by Jeni in | 27 January 2015

Been watching old VHS's from 1982 to now.....

My image changes. Happy, sad, fat, thin, pregnant, ageing.

Watching my life flash past on the screen was a painful experience.

TVam LWT BBC Thames Independent.

All that for what? All that and why? All that and who'd have thought it.

Never realising that time passes. When you're young there are endless possibilities.

I kept the tapes that made me laugh. The ones where I looked particularly scrummy. The ones where I looked particularly uncomfortable.

Doesn't matter how many boxes are kept in the attic, how many skeletons, how many closets, life rolls on.

Sobering.

And Oh! How I would have changed the direction, the writing, the image.

Oh! How I would have changed the shouting and the eggy moments.

Oh! How I would have changed the hamming and overacting.

Sitting there with David FROST ( DEAD) Alan Arkin ( NOT DEAD) Maureen Lipman - disliked me. Jackie Collins - liked me.

Interviewing. Singing. Playing the Piano. Eating.

On and on with mini celebrities including Gary Glitter and Jimmy Savile.

All those innocent years not knowing how things would change and work out. It is like looking back through a photo album only the moving image stamps the reality.

I did it. The life of the hustling presenter.

And now I'm looking at the next twenty odd years.

If reviewing those tapes taught me anything it was about living in the moment, Loving who you are whether shiny and bright or shady and antique.

Waking and being grateful to still be here. Enjoying the ride.

A box of my work is going to the tip. The tapes will rot, images fade. Little Richard in a skip, Gene Hackman hurled into the landfill.

My grandchildren will still have a handful of memories. Perhaps I need to create some more moments for them.

Lets see, where to begin?

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Pyjama Games.

Posted by Jeni in Ad Infinitum | 20 January 2015

I don't ever remember my father wearing pyjamas. My mother, however, wore little nightdresses that started out white but after successive mixed washes went either pink or grey.

Each Christmas my mother would buy me a new pair of pj's tied up in a ribbon or still wrapped in their cardboard and cellophane packaging.

Pyjamas are for padding around not for sleeping in. Getting tied up in knots having to untwist myself from too much garment makes for uncomfortable sleeping conditions. I have been known to fight a pair of Wincyette jim-jams with all the ferocity of a heavy weight boxer.

I bought an antique nightdress, from a vintage shop in Camden market, years ago. All lace and Edwardian trimmings. I fancied myself as Dr. Zhivago's Lara, pristine and intense. After tripping up the stairs umpteen times it was put in the Charity bag.

I've slept in my birthday suit for as long as I can remember. When on the road touring throughout the British Isles and beyond, it wasn't nightwear that came with me but big t-shirts.

The only time I remember sleeping in a blue and white silk two piece was whilst filming in Gambia. I was so frightened of getting bitten by mosquitos that I lay stock still in my silk confection. I didn't get sucked once.

Even after setting up home with the old git night attire was not part of the evening ritual. Socks and underpants dropped by his side of the bed - the left - books and journals by mine. Off with the daywear, into the bed, lights out, not a strand of cotton between us.

Living in London apartments meant pyjamas were de rigueur Chelsea neighbours or Wapping walkers were spared la nudité.

This Christmas, however I stepped into my mother's slippers. Who was to buy the onesies now? Who was to continue the tradition of 100% acrylic tastelessness? It fell to me to buy the mis-sized sleep wear and the packets of three socks.

I went to the Factory Outlet and bought the dawter a pair of navy blue reduced jamas covered in stars. Soft and baggy. They were half price. My dawter is tall with a less than Oriental shape. They were probably run up in a Chinese warehouse where the seamstresses had little arms, tiny waists, short bodies and questionable legs. The result was my offspring had to stand hunched over should she need to eat or walk. They are now mine. Everything's a little too long but still workable for padding around.

The old git surprised me and bought me a pair of pyjamas so soft, so snuggly, so comfortable that I spent all of Christmas in them. Whipping off the top when the fire got too hot, and putting it back on when the air got too chill.

A black sweater type top, and grey, black and rust, plaid trewsers. I love them. Soft to the touch, warm to the skin, just the ticket if the cat isn't around for a furry stroke.

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2015

Posted by Jeni in Ad Infinitum | 16 January 2015

alarm - buzzy noise, forgot to tune it to the radio

Yoga. Gawd blimey two days off and I'm like the Tin Man - where's the oil?

Veg soup - homemade. Big chunks of this and that. Chilies, ginger , garlic and many good thoughts

Shower. Couldn't let the water on my back I was so cold.

Hair wash

Towel dry

More soup

Pot of Oolong Tea

On the tray

Up too the attic.

Writing and writing and writing.

The old git is home

I'm at home

We are falling into a pattern.

Never had one before.

Little chat. Good hugs

Changing my beliefs. He already has his, which are a darn sight better than mine.

So here is my belief today

You are what you think so think good thoughts.

Happy everything to you lot.

May 2015 bring more than terror, more than fear , more than pain May 2015 bring love, light, sun and peace.

Now I sound like Miss World

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Year of the Goat

Posted by Jeni in Ad Infinitum | 31 December 2014

The fire is blazing, the telly silent till 'Mapp and Lucia', one cat asleep in the red bean bag, the other perched on top of the sofa.

Emmy growls. Solly stares at her and she moans like an old wart hog.

There was the possibility of going out BUT, well there's always a but; we've had visitors for two days, it's cold, we've got guests on Thursday, Saturday and Sunday, so we preferred to stay in.

We walked in the forest at noon. Bloody freezing, I was underdressed and the old git hatless and scarfe-less. I'd bought a bottle of water from the Ice-Cream man who parks in the car park come rain or shine. The bottle was colder than the air. 4 degrees and dropping.

We've got loads of firewood courtesy of the new next door neighbours who have been reshaping Number 3. It feels bad burning oak, but the 'oosbind says it's been split and smashed out of the house. If we had wanted to make something out of it we could have but taking to carpentry at this time of life ain't gonna happen, although my husband really is a trained cabinet maker.

So 2014 came and went some friends have fallen away new ones have emerged. We're one year older and lucky to be waking up in the morning.

Old friends have played Scrabble with us, older friends have gone the way of the angels, and new friends have started inviting themselves go the cottage. I love it. Feel flattered that the young things can be bothered to spend time with two folks as old as Methuselah.

My toe nails are painted red, my lips are painted red, the glimmer of the room feels red what with cushions and throws and silk lampshades.

The fire is crackling and sighing, at the chime of midnight we will pop a bottle of Jura Champagne, gifted to us by somebody, and my partner of 37 years will chink my glass, look down at me through his varifocals, declare his love for me, and by 12.34 we will be overtaken by fatigue and creep up to bed.

I will get up at 7.00, meditate for an hour, snooze then get up and do a further 30 minutes communing with the invisible world. We'll get dressed - properly this time - and walk in the frosty countryside. And then I shall make food for the self inviting guests.

We'll talk about what needs changing for 2015, we will crack yet more bottles of something boozy -which I shall decline - and then we'll sit down for some kind of nosh made from the left overs.

We will send the self inviting guests off, wash the plates, chat about how nice it was to have them but how much nicer it is to be alone. We will play a game of Scrabble, I'll win and before you can say twenty bloody fifteen we'll be in bed reading our Christmas gifts. Anthologies and such like.

Tonight though, as the fireworks cascade outside the window, the cat will curl up on the old man's head. I'll write my first post of 2015, take calls from the dawters who will all shout Happy New Year down the line from noisy places, read something until my eyes close, then create the menu for January 1st 2015.

I don't want to die yet too much to do.

So to all of you lovely bloggers, thank you for this year, may 2015 bring you health, wealth, love and perfect self expression. Lets catch up in Year of the Goat, I'm not kidding

boom boom.

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Christmas Cheer

Posted by Jeni in Ad Infinitum | 22 December 2014

Penultimate yoga class this morning.

I've just read that Yoga does nothing for aging. Interesting if you put 'for' and 'aging' together you get FORAGING aint that what you do when you get older. A bit of a forage here a bit of a mooch there?

Anyway whoever wrote that Yoga does nothing for aging is not a sprightly 65-year-old with a spring in her step.

This morning, despite Solly eating into one of the presents under the Christmas Tree, I ventured out into the damp, grey morning to sweat my way through an hour's hot yoga.

Then to the post office to send off 40 odd cards - yes I know I'm late, but I haven't sent cards for years. Now that everybody is dying I thought I would reconnect with the living.

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Pj Sunday

Posted by Jeni in Ad Infinitum | 14 December 2014

November came and went.

Parties, voice overs, writing and cooking.

Not a lot of walking - I'm sooooo lazy at the moment.

Meditating, yoga and film watching. Went to see PADDINGTON in Brighton. We all cried.

The dawters gigs.

Squash soup on the stove.

Red cabbage bubbling away in fancy red wine. Belly of pork slow cooking in the oven.

I'm still in my pj's.

I'm looking at the weather that has changed from gold to grey.

A quick vacuum and then sloppy viewing and perhaps a game or two.

Scrabble is 7/6 to me.

The old man is lagging behind - but then what's new.

happy sunday.

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