Posted by Jeni in Ad Infinitum | 4 September 2008
There are two reasons for my being naked.
The first:
Walking into the flat.
Off with the outdoor attire, on with the body. I sit here, like Spike Milligan, or Monty Python''s lot, naked 'cept my wedding rings, necklace and my three bracelets.
The ring on my wedding ring finger is white gold with diamonds studded round it. I've tried to count the diamonds but I keep losing my place.
The ring on my index finger is pure gold, a single band. Both bought by the 'oosbind.
Bracelet number one was given to me by Sylvie. It's a collection of 10 little wooden blocks 1cm long and two little balls either side of them. Each wooden slab has a Saint on it. Some clearer than others. Elastic threads through the beads and the blocks. The elastic is loose even though the 'oosbind tightened it for me recently. I wear the Catholic gift with pride. It's mean to bring we luck, life and peace.
Bracelet number two was given to me by Jim. A pink piece of elastic, is joined by two bits of fancy plastic to a white piece of elastic. It's meant to keep me alive, repelling radiation from computers and mobile phones.
Bracelet number three was given to me by Ursula. It has a little hand on it and a tiny disk with Hebrew writing, both in solid silver. They dangle from a red ribbon. So who cares that its Kabbalah its meant to bring, long life, protection, love and prosperity.
My left wrist is indeed prophetic and weighty.
My Necklace is a good long silver chain on which hangs a little silver heart and tourquoise eye to ward off evil from Bee.
An Om sign in solid silver which sings out the sound of the Universe, from me to myself.
And a big silver thingermybob that's meant to ward off pulsating evil from everything around me. Jim bought it for me.
Between Sylvie, Ursula, Bee and Jim nothing can get to me.
The fact that I clank and chink and have slouching shoulders from the weight of it all is irrelevent, nothing dares get near me.
The second reason I am naked is the washing cycle.
Continue reading "Two times a nudist." »
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Posted by Jeni in Ad Infinitum | 2 September 2008
I used my gymstick this morning.
A stick about so long, with two rubber foot stirrups. Rubber tubes that can be curled round the stick makes the length longer or shorter. The aim, by working against the stick, is to strengthen muscle groups by maiming yourself in the process.
10 lots of bicep curls three times.
10 lots of tricep curls three imes.
Sit ups, sit downs and a 12 minute run.
The old git turned right to go home, me left and then a gentle run - 6 minutes to Battersea Bridge and 6 minutes back.
On the way there I spied a lone trainer under the honeysuckle bush by the seagulls. Somebody must have lost it out of their bag, tripped out of it, or discarded it so that I could meditate on its presence. It occurred to me that one trainer on its own was absolutely useless, unless of course, you were Long John Silver.
One trainer is possibly the most exasperating thing on earth. The poor cyclist who had dropped it out of their saddle bag? The shopper out of their basket? The runner out of their ruck sack? Then the endless wondering where they had left it, dropped it, hidden it. Looking for it in all the nooks and crannies, wondering whether they had left it in the kitchen, the bedroom, the cupboard under the stairs. Then the realisation that perhaps they had probably dropped it somewhere on the way to work, but where?
I pondered, for a split second, wondering whether I should put it on the ledge by the 'flooding' sign but decided against it.
Then I felt overwhelming compassion for the owner of the one perfectly heeled trainer. They would have to buy a whole new set, for a big pile of money, as nobody, to my knowledge,sellls one trainer at a time....
Continue reading "The end of an era." »
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Posted by Jeni in LBC | 1 September 2008
From vaccinations to hoodies, from summer houses, to dating.
It is possible to feel the audience, in the theatre they are one animal.
You can hear actors saying they were good tonight, or what a tight lipped crowd THEY were.
On telly it may be just one person you are imagining you are talking to.
But this radio lark is different. Talking to individuals, real people, having a proper exchange, and yet you are all part of the same big audience.
Today you excelled yourselves.
Wonderful;.
I now know I want to keep chickens,have a summer house to grow my herbs, and I definitely want to have a proper hoodie from M&S with diamonte trimmings and a pair of pants to match.
I wanted to talk spiders, but there were too many wonderful dating stories.....
maybe tomorrow.
If I had known about all the web sites devoted to getting people together I may well have ditched the old git!
only where would I find somebody quite so patient?
I bet there's a web-site called 'Patient dot com.' but dont quote me on that!
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Posted by Jeni in LBC | 29 August 2008
There are moments in life that stay with you forever.
The first embrace under dripping beech trees in Wales 32 years ago when the old-git looked like Paul Newman and I looked like Natalie Wood.
Th moment the child looked up and said 'Mummy I don't need you to give me money I've got a job pulling pints in a bar.'
The moment Little Richard dedicated a snog to me back in the day.
And today when I met Sean Hogan and his wonderful wife, they assumed different names the better to keep their secret and not endanger their life.
Forty odd years ago, when Sean was 8, he was arrested, abused, abandoned, incarcerated and finally suicidal.
He met his wife on a flight of stairs in Blackpool, 24 years later, after a call from the Irish Polioce, he revealed his life over a period of two years.
theotherwriter.co.uk, a site for ghostwriters, revealed MICHAEL CAMERON, who listened to Sean and helped him write his story.
Beautifully crafted, painfully honest and horrific in its detail, it is one of those books that remains in the consciousness.
They had never been interviewed before, they both shook, we all cried, and by 4.00 I understood what the power of REAL love means.
bo to lbc.co.uk and get yourself a copy of IN HARMS WAY.
to be cont....
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Posted by Jeni in LBC | 27 August 2008
There are times when you don't know quite how discomposed you are.
This morning I arrived at LBC all a bit queasy and overheated.
We'd been to the IVY to celebrate a friends birthday.
Jim had forgotten his wallet, I had forgotten how to walk in my new shoes and the chef had forgotten that it was Tuesday, the day after Bank Holiday Monday when the fresh haddock is not quite as fresh as £16.50 would have you believe.
I had overdosed on calves liver on Friday, whilst out buying gifts for the two dos I had over the weekend.
I had overindulged on very rich sherry trifle whilst trying to keep up with the other carousers on Saturdays fortieth wedding anniversary in Chatham.
I then overimbibed, overindulged and quite recklessly overdosed on Champagne cocktails in Goudhurst to celebrate the 'oosbinds coming of old-age.
By the time we had been to Tesco to claim our new bottle of Single Malt whiskey which had been accidentally dropped on the path to the Goudhurst gathering I was ready to die.
The only hope was a spot of Bank Holiday Monday telly. So wretched was I that I broke my promise to Becky in Camden who, on last Thursdays show, pledged with me to switch off all transmission until this Thursday. I did not know then that Coronation Street, my drug of choice, would be the only thing that could save me. Becky you must forgive me for I may never have made it into LBC on Tuesday morning.
I arrived bleary of eye, coated of tongue but bushy of tail. Okay not so much bushy as mangy, but arrive I did....
Continue reading "Fanny Haddock" »
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Posted by Jeni in Ad Infinitum | 22 August 2008
Samedi's sandals had done the trick, but Dimanche demanded firmer footwear.
Team leader Linda, and I had decided on our itinerary, we knew where we were going and we knew how to get there, we were ready to go by 10.00.
A quick sleush with the uber shower, on with the dalmation dungarees, which by the way are white with black spots, not black with white gaps, and then the elevator down four floors.
I slipped off the step, opened the metal door and we were greeted by a warm summer Sunday.
Sunday is still Sunday in Paris. The supermarkets close their doors, the background noise of the city is muted and most of the shops are shut. The ambiance is different, lazy, lazy like a Dimanche morning....
Left over the roadworks and right onto Blvd. Edgar Quinet, where instead of fruit and veg there were artists. Real, live French artists who smoked, individualised their paint splattered jeans, and hung their canvases under white linen tents.
It was Marche Parisien de la Creation. Tous les dimanches, give or take a couple of acute accents. Every Sunday 120 art and crafty types set up shop, open their big sudoku puzzle books and settle down to sell their wares. As we sauntered between hand-touched photographs of India and naked torsos fashioned out of wire, my stomach started to rumble. Linda thought I was getting excited over the whole art-work thing, I hadn't the heart to tell her it was because I had a hole in my belly where my breakfast should have been.
Continue reading "Dimanche 17th Aou" »
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Posted by Jeni in | 20 August 2008
Even roadworks look artistic in the Parisian sunlight.
Okay so I'm an inveterate romantic, but having made the decision to be in Paris on my own, ostensibly to work out the Metro, I needed to look at everything through my own myopic, rosy tinted spectacles.
Nothing was going to prevent me from seeing the Capital of France in style. For comfort I had travelled in my plimsolls, no space in my 16 x 10 bag for 'Crocs', but as it turned out my trainers were to hot to handle, or should I say feetle, so I borrowed a pair of mine hostesses sandals, essential footware for a Lau-treck through the Arrondisements of Paree. I figured if my feet were cool so would the rest of me be.
Linda and I took the lift down to the ground floor. I tripped onto the stone floor, (bloody sandals) pressed the button and released the big metal door onto the outside world.
The Gaston Baty square, with its leafy trees and shrubs, is home to sparrows and benches, the bin men had cleaned up very early, so all the bags of discarded garbage had been removed.
Then it was left over the roadworks and right onto Blvd. Edgar Quinet.
Nearly every 'Rue', 'Boulevard', 'Square' or 'Avenue' is named after somebody great. Edgar Quinet, par example, was a French historian and intellectual, whilst Josephine Baker, the black chanteuse, gave her name to the accompanying pavement.
As the sun beat down and the occasional cloud skittered across the sky I had to remind myself that not 180 minutes away the rain was pouring and everybody was crunching on their credit-flakes for petit dejeuner.
We sauntered off to the little market.....
Continue reading "Samedi 16th Aou" »
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Posted by Jeni in Ad Infinitum | 19 August 2008
I travelled to Paris with a bag that measured 16" by 10".
It contained three pairs of black knickers, one tooth brush, a bottle of Chanel No. 5, a Mac red lipstick, a bergundy passport, a return ticket, an Oyster card, just enough money, 2 door keys, 5 pens a red notebook and a plastic raincoat that rolls up into a ball.
I left LBC at 4.00, threw all the above in the bag, leaving the rest of my life in the middle of my bed and ran out of the flat at 4.45.
I continued running for the 170 bus to Victoria.
Ran down the stairs at Victoria Tube Station.
Smiled on the tube,as I hung on for dear life, all the way to St. Pancras.
The beautiful building was full of Friday night excursionists.
Bought one bottle of water and a double Mars bar.
Clutched my free Independent and the Evening Standard magazine for my hostess, who just loves it...
Waited for the train steward to call us then walked the platform. The train comes in so precisely that the platform is painted with the coach numbers. I kept looking down until I passed coach 15. Then I climbed up the steep step and took my pre-booked window seat, in Coach 16 on the 19.00 hours Eurostar to Paris, I had specifically pre-booked the window seat in Coach 16 on the advice of my hostess who said it would cut down on patform walking when I arrived the other end.
I settled down when...
Continue reading "Friday 15th of Aou..." »
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