In my collection: Mind Full of Mad Verse
In my collection: Mind Full of Mad Verse
How exciting, it’s Xmas eve and my delayed gratification self on this occasion has allowed me to open the pickled walnuts before our Lord Jesus was born.
Whilst chomping on the nut/vinegar delicacies my heart goes out to Joseph, a man who did all the husbandry things, carpentry and stuff and yet his child who is continually celebrated did not come from his sperm.
This montage is designed to give Joseph a voice, a voice that is not often heard. You can see by his face from the beautifully photographed Women’s Weekly 1984 special edition Xmas plate that he is concerned, troubled.
Whilst wishing all my blog readers a special Xmas and thanks for supporting my blog, I would like to share a thought and prayer to Joseph and all the other Joseph’s out there, everyone who is searching for a sense of home, a real home, people who are starving, people who are being tortured and abused, alcoholics, drug addicts, bulimics and all who struggle at Xmas time.
I wish you a merry Xmas and let’s throw up some figgy pudding
Liz Bentley XXXXX
After the excitement of the pickled walnuts I became a bit trigger happy on my last order and received 3 packets of 32 instead of 2 packets which were 2 for £2.70, instead of 1 for £3.32. I may not need 3 in my lifetime unless I pass onto my daughters so gave one packet back to Dwayne to refund.
Of course there is much controversy on tax on these products. Dwayne is currently my most favourite Tesco Delivery man.
I’m off to host an afternoon at the Lyric Hammersmith on Democracy. Organised by Hammersmith and Fulham Coalition against Cuts. #HAFCAC. Always feel privileged to be invited when I live in Southwark.
Now I’ve got my pickled walnuts for Xmas I can get on with the rest of my Xmas shopping. It’s important to put your gas mask on first, then you can help others put on theirs.
This Tesco delivery man is very happy that we might have snow, his little boys love the snow. How wonderfully different we all are, here I am, enjoying the talk about snow when I hate it. I don’t like Xmas either, apart from observing others enjoy it.
When I was a child, we had our presents at 3pm when Dad put our tree lights on. I’ve always been good at saving up things, delayed gratification, one of my specialities. Those pickled walnuts are likely to remain unopened until boxing day. Unless my husband finds them when I’m out one day, then I might have to buy some more, and Tesco might have run out.
When I was a child we had a walnut tree in the garden and mum would pickle the green ones. There were jars of 1996 pickled walnuts in the back bedroom of my parents house when we cleared it, 20 years on and they still tasted good.
(That green thing at the bottom of the photo is one of the kitchen chairs, not a very large courgette)
I am sensing a slight depression, Tesco delivery men don’t seem their usual selves. I study Tesco prices with interest, most of the basic items I regularly buy have in the last few weeks risen as high as sometimes 10%. Civil unrest is not far away.
I am going far away to Banbury Therapy Centre next Saturday to perform my new show “Sex, Politics and Men with grey/white beards”. I was there last in December 2012, performing with Ruby Wax who has done extremely well in promoting mental health. In the green room under the make up lights, I couldn’t take my eyes off her amazing smooth skin for a woman similar to my age. Face lifts/Botox etc are extraordinary. I met with another woman recently who said that HRT keeps her skin looking so young. I do think about it but am grateful to have my husband who finds me attractive and I favour to look after myself from the inside out, keeping the internal organs working whilst keeping MS at bay. Medication and surgery can come at a different price.
If you are ever unhappy about how you look, check out this amazing Canadian man who I am proud to know and have worked with:
#David Roche: Inspirational Humorist http://www.davidroche.com
Without taking care of my face with surgery it would be way too late to get on TV, but I don’t mind, because I have been on TV. When the BBC news came to Peckham Library mother and baby group in 2000, talking about the compensation that had been offered to Damilola’s parents, I was interviewed and got on the news with the soundbite. While breastfeeding I said “It’s not just about money, it’s about life”. I am content with my historical TV presence, it is an important message.
(There is also the subliminal with film and TV e.g. when the film “Let him have it” came out about Derek Bentley there were posters all over the underground. Lots of my ex boyfriends got back in contact with me around this time. It’s nice to be remembered. Oops, this reminds me, I should be using my time editing my book ..)
It’s been over a week now and the last two Tesco delivery men wouldn’t have their photo taken with or without me. I am wondering whether they have been told by their manager not to engage with me, has word got out? Only time will tell, but in the mean time, I’ve been talking with other delivery men about their terms and conditions and am wondering if this is why Tesco don’t want me to get too friendly with their men? All this could be my fantasy as I may find that this is just co incidence, however, if it happens again I shall email the CEO of Tesco to find out.
Other delivery men are proving equally as friendly and endeavour to get things delivered as best they can. I can’t walk round shops so sadly Amazon (e.g.) provides a good service, especially when I need tights.
As I am in a lot, I regularly take parcels for neighbours too, I am always happy to listen to anyone that comes to the door. When I was 21, I was told I was a good listener and became a Samaritan volunteer, the youngest in New Cross at the time, often more suicidal than the callers. All delivery men need an ear sometimes, they have a tough job, and road rage is ever-increasing, I hear the tooting and tooting all day.
If I knew how to airbrush and do things with this photo I would colour in my top, do my hair and put make-up on. I thought the man on the left looked like my husband but he said it looked nothing like him and wondered whether I really knew what he looked like. I’m not a visionary person. I’d been seeing my therapist for nearly 6 years and someone asked me what she looked like, whether she wore glasses. I really couldn’t tell them anything apart from the fact she was always there and was kind.
Yesterday I went to Bromley shopping centre. Not because I wanted to, but because I had to go to the Apple shop to sort out why no one can hear me properly through my iPhone 5s, when I can hear them perfectly.
This was the first time I’ve been to Bromley on my own and I’d sussed out it’s accessibility with my husband earlier in the year. In fact I was feeling so confident that he’d suggested I go to Karen Millen and see if there was anything I would like for my Xmas present, he said her stuff was good quality, expensive, but there might be a sale on. He knows about these things and I want to look nice for us.
When I came home, despite the phone working fine in the shop, it failed to work again. I figure that this a sign. My voice not ready to be listened to just yet.
“Did you buy anything for yourself?” my husband asked.
“No babe, I asked lots of people where it was but they just looked at me like they’d read one of my books. Are you sure there’s a Helen Mirren in Bromley?”
To be continued tomorrow ……….
It’s Saturday, 4th November, am thinking rain, fireworks and sparklers yet pondering over the washing powder that these two chirpy young delivery men have bought me. (As you can see from the clock I haven’t put it back from last Sunday because it keeps us all on top of things and Tesco Delivery are even less likely to be late.)
There has been a lot in the press this week about washing machines catching on fire. I was aware of this a long time ago when I wrote one of my first poems published in my first anthology “Tales in the Deep End”, even Amazon have a 2nd hand copy of this unique book which includes tales of assault by a charity London marathon runner dressed as a St Trinian’s girl with false bosoms, wig and hockey stick to yogic internal cleansing poetry and illustration.
Separation and Anxiety
My washing machine caught on fire
I will never leave it on its own again
People laughed when I performed this wearing a swimming hat, but as usual, this poem had come from my personal distress and PTSD and OCD around washing machines. I used to pay the babysitter an extra 50p an hour to keep an eye on it.
Half term and the time to be domestic. I have made a casserole for the family and a friend. I have made casseroles before but never been brave enough to put dumplings on. Today Tesco delivery man brought me Auntie Bessie frozen dumplings, full of shite I’m sure, but if they work, I may have the confidence and feel it worthwhile to make my own at a date in the future.
I have never been confident in the kitchen and this is picked up apon as I leave myself vulnerable for cooking attack, i.e. as serving up saying things like “It’s not very good”, “I don’t think it’s supposed to be like this” etc. Of course this instantly puts doubt into my consumers who are likely to respond with comments such as “Hmm, it’s okay” or “Pass the ketchup”.
I don’t eat meat, non of us eat meat much, this was supposed to be the family half term treat but unfortunately Tesco didn’t have organic beef and they sent me the Boswell Farm shite, half the price but not good. I’m hoping my meat eaters won’t know as the meat will be disguised with all sorts of other lovely ingredients and dumplings bobbing up and down as I serve. Assuming that’s what dumplings do when one serves them, I will see.
If it all goes horribly wrong all is not lost, we can boil up the Naked Noodles.