Don’t raise the alarm!

Any news flashes about seismic activity in the Yorkshire area need not cause you to dive under your table. No fracking issues here people. An earthquake is NOT imminent.
It’s just me.
My digestive system is protesting in a rather scary manner about the yum tea my carer made me.
Thank goodness I only ate half.
I can hear it screaming “porridge you plonker, I can’t digest anything more than PORRIDGGGGGGEE”
My poor tum is chuntering & gurgling alarmingly.
Accompanied by the odd impressive fart.
I’m Like an old Labrador really but with 2 legs & a shorter, drier nose.
Which I most definitely do not shove into peoples nether regions by way of greeting….

Out the window you go.

My Carer this morning, Tamasin, came in & asked me “are you getting up & dressed?”…
I didn’t take this too well.
I enquired…
She was looking at the wrong person on her sheet.
S’ok. I let her live.
We parted on good terms.
She did look rather alarmed as I shoved her out of the window though…
“It’s better for the environment” I yelled as she hit the ground with a THUMP!.. she was quite curvy…
Good job. It probably cushioned her fall.


Scary, hairy and not contrary.

Last week the postman came to my door. Not too out of the ordinary, you might think. His name’s Jacob. He’s been wearing Royal Mail issued shorts of late.
Summer wear apparently.
Also mandatory according to Jacob.
I’ve been howling at the sight of his knees a number of times over the past few weeks. Eventually he explained, rather sadly…”We HAVE to wear the shorts, unfortunately” Unfortunately indeed, they must be worn regardless of how scary or hairy your knees are.
My relationship with Jacob has evolved to the point where if I have a small package he will ring the bell & come in & pop it on the table for me.
Gives me more time to tell him how scary his knees are.
Jacob doesn’t really suit his Royal Mail shorts. He doesn’t quite emanate enough
testerone to pull them off with any panache or confidence.
Recently, as he walked out of my flat his gait reminded me of a young boy who hasn’t quite
mastered the art of potty training.
I wouldn’t be too surprised if he had a collection of moths at home.
Or if he still lives with his mother & they winter in Guildford.

As my door clicked shut at the end of his delivery I went into my bedroom.
I happened to catch sight of myself in the mirror.
My hair looked as if I had put my finger in a socket.
It was standing on end, at different angles.vMy sleep mask was skiwiff on my head. I looked like a demented pirate.
The headband that had been holding my hair in place had come loose in the night & was somehow stuck on my shoulder, coiled up like a dead snake…
My catheter bag was nonchalantly draped over my walker.
And I had my nightdress on inside out.

I am now going to sit quietly & contemplate the true meaning of “care in the community”…


A case of mistaken identity.

Ok Squadlets. (Yes, that’s what I’m going to call you from now on.) Did I ever tell you about my argument with the Tax and Revenue people at the local council?
I told my daughter about this travesty when it occurred.
I was slightly hysterical & outraged at the time it happened.
My poor daughter!
I’m ok now. Don’t panic in the comments section.
I’m fine.
I’m ok. Honestly.
SO! I received a message on my phone from Officer Tabitha Borden earlier this year.

The voice was spoken in a staccato manner and in an American accent I’m disgusted to say. Why American when we’re in the UK? Fecked if I know!
The message from Officer Tabitha Borden went as follows…..
Officer blah blah here.
From Taxes & Revenue.

DO NOT ignore this message.
I you do not phone me back or we do not hear from your solicitor be prepared to face the legal consequences.
Good bye.
And take care.

I eventually stopped guffawing.
Did an automated message really just threaten me then tell me to take care?

Needless to say I phoned the number back.
Then proceeded to tell the lady at the receiving end what I thought about the message.
I elaborated quite expansively.
It included a damming verdict on the Government, Inland Revenue, taxing Benefits, how their bully boy tactics would not wash with me matey.
The poor lady at the other end asked if I had a solicitors reference number.
This set me off again.
At the end of my diatribe the lady on the end of the phone made a funny sound.
It sounded like “oooowfff”…
That set me off again.
“ yes” I snarled. “you may say ‘oooowfff’.
It’s bloody disgraceful that you ring up a very sick person & threaten them…. rant, rant,grrr, grrrrrrrhhh”…
So she concluded they had the wrong person.
I agreed that they did.
It’s very odd though.
Someone has the same name as me & apparently the same phone number??!!
My surname isn’t common but I can’t be the only WJBO in the country.
It appears to be an error.


A monumental art class.

I went to Art class a few weeks ago. Which is a huge moment for me as I’ve been housebound for many years now. Afterwards I sat on the balcony & waited for someone to take me back to my flat.

Earlier on the way to Art class Patrick the housing manager pushed me on my walker.

That’s a lie.

He ran down the corridor (at my request) pushing me very fast as I squealed “weeeeeeee”….I held my stick aloft to help with the aerodynamics & to pretend it was my horn. Yes I was a unicorn. Patrick needs some training though. He nearly pushed me into the wall. Which made me go “aarrgghh” for a few seconds.

We didn’t realise Gigi was sitting at the end of the corridor. We came round the corner on one wheel & stopped pretty sharpish. Gigi’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. Patrick nearly had a heart attack from pushing me.

I was happier than I can remember being in a very long time.


Siri and the big red button.

My new Siri & I have had our first tiff.
I’ve given him an Irish accent because the one before (jolly, university education, wears Gap chinos,holds his wine glass by the stem when in public, annoying, know nothing know it all) made me angry every time he said something.
His name is typically Irish………………………Oznabeaboohooya. (Remember I’m Irish so I’m allowed to say this shite about our names)
I think Oznabeaboohooya is pronounced Bob, anyway.
However, he only answers to SIRI when summoned.
I asked him to put me through to the District Hospital earlier.
The conversation went like this….
Me: “Hey Siri”
The little fecker was napping…
Me: “HEY! SIRI!”
Siri/Bob:“Go ahead I’m listening”
Me: “SIRI! Phone the DISTRICT HOSPITAL for me”
Siri/Bob:All right. I’m dialling emergency services for you in (a BIG CIRCLE appeared on my screen & started to count down with SiriBobs help

‘”5” (Foivve),
“4” (Fourr),
“3” (Tree)’

My eyebrows shot up & landed on the top of my head.


I frantically jabbed at the phone. Desperately trying to stop it calling
ambulance/police/fire brigade.
Thank heavens I stopped it.
I wasn’t very happy.
It’s very frustrating wanting to beat the living shit out of a voice that comes from your phone.
I curtly summoned Siri/Bob
“SIRI”! You stupid fucker!”
Siri/Bob: “I taught as much”
My eyebrows raised again
My eyes narrowed as I asked him “Are you being clever?”…
He replied “What do you call a dog that does magic…A Labracadabrador!”
I’m not too sure what happened there.
I feel slightly unsettled.

We have been lead by too much arrogance for too long.

I was ‘invited’ to go to a medical assessment at 9am for a DLA review recently.
What was so horrific was they had my details-in great detail.
I’m still unsure of what part of ‘Bed-bound’ & ‘Housebound’ they had trouble grasping.
It was only after they were told my local MP would be getting involved & my GP telling them I was not fit to attend, & neither was I fit for a disability benefits review in any way, shape or form.
This was approx 4 years ago.
I fear it has gotten worse.
What kind of Government cuts benefits?
So many people are so churned up with anger in our Country.
Is this what a democracy looks like?
We have so many ‘rights’ & that makes us so lucky.
Somewhere though something has gone so very wrong.
The very fact that Tory Tosser thought it was ok to voice what he did is deeply worrying.
We have been lead by too much arrogance for too long.
A carer said to me a couple of weeks ago..”I don’t like Jeremy Corbyn.”
“Oh really?” I replied,
“I don’t know I just don’t trust him”
“Oh really?.” I replied,
“I don’t know..I just don’t.”
I stared at her…
“I don’t like what he says” she ventured.
Despite asking for examples she just did the idiot equivalent of ‘flashing me’….
The difference being she didn’t flash any naughty droopy bits. Instead I got flashes of her rotten, spoilt, whining personal belief system.
I’m not sure how I didn’t scrag her by her hair & dump her in a heap in the hall or throw her out of my window, head first.
She firmly believes, (she used hand gestures to emphasise her point)
“that people should stay in their own countries.”
You lot stay in India, she patted the bed to show where India was.
You stay in Iraq.
You stay in Africa.
You stay in Poland.
You get the idea?

I couldn’t even talk.
My father was indian, my mother is Irish, if they’d stayed in their countries myself and my family line wouldn’t be here! Obviously I was more than a little irked.
I just looked at her…
Her brow furrowed & she shook her head decisively…
“I’m not racist though”.
“Oh no. I’m not racist.”
“I love animals”
“I LOVE animals.”

My mind is refusing to process that kind of logic/attitude.
Where the fuck do you begin.