The all Clear

Posted by Jeni in Ad Infinitum | 24 April 2015

Broke the elbow on February 22nd.

Today I was given the all clear. But not after waiting for two and a half hours in the aircraft hanger that is called our hospital. One of the X-Ray machines had gone down. By the time I got into Zone 2 and booth five I was ready to strangle the lovely Irish Doctor.

If the Conservative party get in, along with Farage's louts, we will not have a NHS to talk of.

The women volunteers work their socks off, the nurses and docs work their socks off. All the while the stench of diminishing stocks fowls the corridors. You can't run a hospital on sticky tape and good will. Please tell Cameron that as he sells off yet more of Mr. Bevans legacy there is such a thin as Karma.

I sat next to a professional woman, whilst waiting to be marched past elderly people on beds through corridors to another x-ray room where the overworked radiologist apologised to me for my long wait so long. It's not his fault, the prof woman said she couldn't vote Labour because she couldn't trust Ed Miliband. Spouting yet more media garbage. One person doth not run the country, he is but a face. The nominal head for a cabinet that should be making decisions on our behalf.

If the blue brigade get in they will have been given the right to unpick our country like a frayed cardigan. I would never presume to tell anybody how to vote, we've all mostly made our minds up anyway. The media are in a frenzy of sound bites and uncontrolled nonsense, as long as greed has got his foot in the door propping it open with his well held brogues, the truth will not be heard. Scotland taking over!!! Ms NS being the witch of the Highlands!! The whole thing is nonsense.

Democracy is about electing a representative that will do our bidding. May we all bid for the best, however poor we are, whatever colour we are, however old we are. Let us stand together instead of allowing the haves to abuse the have nots.

As HSBC prepare to go to Hong Kong because they don't like the new rules, let us wave goodbye to greedy, grubby bankers, and pave the way for a decent society that builds houses for everybody not the few, values schools for al the kids, opens up shops , closes down superstores and revives a country thats struggling breathe. If only a few can inhale the oxygen what of the ret of us?

2015 and my father would be turning in his grave if he could see the mean mindedness of so many of our politicians. Take away he invisible boundaries and we are all living on the same planet.

Or am I wrong?

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Heavenly thoughts

Posted by Jeni in Ad Infinitum | 12 April 2015

First the dawters birthday.

Lots of people, lots of booze, lots of little sausages cooked in honey and sesame seeds.

Secondly my birthday. The big tall son-in-law came home from Bali. Enough of us to stand on the kick step to hug him and then sing happy birthday to me with candles on a cake that had such dense, thick chocolate icing that half a fingerful sent me careening around he living room.

I have a phone full of thank you photos that I haven't downloaded.

Thirdly it was Easter.

Fish pie and cauliflower cheese.

The biggest Easter Sunday breakfast with smoked salmon and sausages and toast and bagels and scrambled eggs and champagne and I'm not even a card carrying member of the Easter bonnet brigade.

Roast chicken - I bought one in a bag with bacon on top and stuffing inside - the instructions said to leave it in the tray. I admit I must have misread the small print cos the tray melted all over the oven, a gloopy, black mess.

Roasted potatoes Roasted parsnips Sweet carrots. Green beans and broccoli.

The evening ended abruptly when the 8 year old chucked a turn and her parents gathered up the weekend and left before the Bakewell Tart had been taken out of its packaging.

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Tales for Tim

Posted by Jeni in Ad Infinitum | 24 March 2015

So I bumped into my ex-singing teacher.

We went into the new Costa's in Crowborough High street, which let me tell you is in a parlous state, thats the High Street not Costa's

The bra shop is closing.

The vegetable shop/tea room is half the size.

A little Indian restaurant has closed.

The Fire Station café has closed.

The gold shop has closed.

Somehow the shoe shop and jewellers have kept going, in between Boots, and WHSmiths. The feel of the high street is decidedly depressing - but I digress.

The singing teacher and I sat opposite each other, me nibbling on nuts, him with a lunchtime sandwich. He had to leave at twenty past so we had little time to catch up.

But he reads my blogs and I promised I would write one when I got home.

I didn't. Something to do with birthdays and broken bones, minimal food and shopping.

So it was decided that there would be a bit of a do. Sunday was an impromptu affair since we had all got together for B's birthday not two weeks hence and it was more about welcoming our Bali Boy home than me getting older.

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Slinging along

Posted by Jeni in Ad Infinitum | 10 March 2015

I wore my sling on the train.

I took my sling off when I got to Dean Street.

I sat cradling my arm as I sucked through a straw on a big juicy juice.

I didn't kiss my host, he had the bug. I hugged his son who was 17 and facing a future that only Richard Branson's kids can dream off. I liked him a lot.

I cradled my arm as I sipped hot water with lemon and ginger.

I put my sling back on as I walked in the sunshine to Charing Cross.

I love London in the spring, to be honest I love London in all the seasons. I just love the crowds, the buzz, the smiles, the smells. I am, after all, a born and bred Cockerny.

I bought 'H IS FOR HAWK' and fannied around trying to get my card into the machine. I've only broken one bone in my elbow but my brain has turned into soft bucatini.

I took my sling off to drink my vegetable soup.

Put it back on as I read. Cradled my fractured radius as I snoozed my way home.

Jim collected. I took my sling off.

Went across the road to the farm shop bought apples, potatoes and more apples.

Sat at the table in the kitchen and ate almonds.

I've just climbed out of the bath - gingerly - and tonight I will watch the new series of NURSE with Paul Whitehouse, and LENNIE JAME'S new Sky 1 thingy.

'H' is a brilliantly written book, poetic, visual, sad and real.

Jim's warming my home made green soup and popping in cauliflower. I can't face any kind of chopping or cooking. My husband is extremely good and patient. I'm learning to take his generosity.

Tomorrow I'm researching this thing I'm doing at the end of the week, when I'm clearer about it I'll write about it.

I do love having my fingers back.


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Parisian Plaster.

Posted by Jeni in Ad Infinitum | 9 March 2015

22 days ago I went head over teakettle.

The morning had gone spankingly well. I had meditated the sun was sining on the white, white, frost and I got dressed early to go for a solo walk .

Down the hill, round the bend. The grass crisp and hard beneath my trainers. Down the avenue a quick tree kiss and then I reversed. Round through the farm, the fields laid out frostily before me. The white met the green met the brown met the sharp blue sky. I walked through my field, and decided that instead of going through the kissing gate, in case the little slope was too slippery, I would slide through the two gate posts.

One right foot down, up went my heel, down went my hand and the jolt to my my body was so sharp that I sat like a rag doll, wondering how life could turn on a sixpence.

I could feel my arm swelling as I walked down the hill, through the rocks and back through the avenue. There wasn't so much pain as discomfort.

I woke the old git. Who slid out of bed and tried to help me move the arm.

Into the car and to the local Cottage Hospital. I had called to make sure they were awake.

Ther man on reception told me they were open until 8.00 that night.

Five minutes later I was sitting in the waiting room. There was me, the 'oosbind, a little boy and his mother and two nurses. One I knew, one I didn't.

I was put into a cubicle, Ally asked me questions, then looked at me, threw several faces of concern and empathy and said she was sure it was just soft tissue damage. That's what they call a sprain now. She picked up the telephone and called Uckfield cottage Hospital.

The Xray opened at 12.00. That was when the appointment had been made for.

After breakfast, my arm hanging painfully, we set off. Twenty minutes later we were sitting in the Uckfield waiting room. Three nurses, Radio 2 and the offer of tea. I declined.

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A day in the life

Posted by Jeni in Ad Infinitum | 21 February 2015

February 21st.


Big globular melting drops.

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

Coffee designed by the old git.

The attic awaits.


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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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.


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.


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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