November the 21st.

Posted by Jeni in Ad Infinitum | 21 November 2020

For ten days I have watched the leaves carpet the lawn. Listened to the rain on the sky light and the trials and tribulations of a host of friends.

I've started making lists for Christmas and have taken deliveries of fake meat, fake bacon seasoning and fake onion powder.

I have dusted the mantle piece, the piano and all the pictures in my bedroom.

I have polished the shelf holding the Chinese Baoding balls and two African sculptors.

I have vacuumed the hall, the stairs and put chick peas into my old sweetie jars.

I have tidied the pantry so that I can locate white rice, brown rice or quinoa easily.

I have watched television, listened to Chet Baker, blitzed the bathroom, joined a yoga teacher on FaceTime as she does downward dog in the jungles of Costa Rica. Driven to my acupuncturist who stabbed me in the belly and left a needle in my head.

I have walked round the red running track and shopped in my organic farm shop. I have made sag aloo, chana Dahl, tomato curry with peas and coconut rice. I have made soup with snow fungi, peas, mushrooms, yellow and orange peppers, sweet corn and garlic. It's sitting on the stove all golden and chunky waiting to be decanted into zip-lock bags for the freezer.

I haver marvelled at Cummings and his cardboard box, Trump with his grey hair. I have choked on Priti Patel's verdict and screamed at the bustards who are ripping up the woodland to make a train track for 14 rich people who want to go from here to there at the expense of houses, villages, ancient copses and Stonehenge.

I sleep when I can, meditate at all times, argue with the old git and open the door for visitors who can't come in.

I watch our local green spaces being cluttered with cheap new builds that nobody who needs a house can afford.

We dip into our diminishing savings to pay for broken cars, broken teeth and broken dreams.

I put money in the drawer for the farm shop over the road who only take cash and for the beggars who come to the car window whilst I'm waiting at traffic lights. A quid here, a quid there.

I'm bundling up old clothes, and taking them to the charity shop, which is closed, leaving my teeshirts and jumpers in the doorway.

I am fighting with lethargy, apathy and sack loads of thoughts that shouldn't be given the time of day.

So I allow myself hate time;

Watching the Prime Sinister talking to me from his isolated room and realising that he looks like an anaemic Shrek. Tick

Watching the fat fuck from Washington dribbling through his final days. Tick

Watching Eamon and Ruth being ousted without a hint of compassion. Tick

Watching Brexit being non negotiated. Tick

Watching The NHS being tampered with before our very eys. Tick

Watching our teachers, coppers, fire-fighters, bin men, and care workers being pissed on from a great height. Tick.

And the list goes on.

The peaceful quiet of our cottage can sometimes swaddle me in anxiety.

And so tonight we will sit in front of a blazing fire, and I shall watch the flames as another day disappears into the ether and a pile of celebrities dance before me as entertainment.

May your Sunday be filled with anticipated joy and may all who love you, and you them, be able to do fifteen star jumps just because you can.

Jeni Barnett tells of her scrumptious time at Good Food Live in her first audiobook! Download NOW from iTunes

Comments

1. At November 22, 2020 3:48 PM June wrote:

Yep me too Jeni, trying to keep a smile on my face but it is getting harder and harder.
Nature helps. As a very exceptional man said this year, “tomorrow will be a better day”. Thank goodness for exceptional people, that includes you Jeni. For making me smile, think, cry rage (with you not at you!). Darling girl.
Much love
June xx

Post your comments

(If you haven't left a comment here before, there may be a delay before your comment is shown. Thanks for waiting.)

Note: Your email address is required, but will not be published.






Copyright 2007, Jeni Barnett. Website produced by Chopstix.