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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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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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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