#FOWC. Experiment

FOWC with Fandango — Experiment

I used to like to EXPERIMENT with cookery. We had not been married long, and we invited the local vicar and his wife for a meal, as they had invited us for one. I decided to make pork balls, and then for afters a kind of toffee and peanut thing.

It was a disaster. The vicar’s wife did nothing but complain about the pork balls and the peanut toffee thing almost broke her teeth, she said.

Strange how most of my experiments turned out well, but as soon as the vicar was invited, it was disastrous!



All semblance
Of what makes life
Language fails to tell
Of the anguish within
No connection with others
No common reality shared
What use is language when life wanes dies
The death of one who is stripped of everything




Gemma looked wistfully at the MAY blossom on the hedges lining the road. Beautiful white lace. This might be the LAST time that she saw the beautiful blossom, and she remembered how six years previous on such a beautiful day as this, she was given the devastating news that she had cancer. It seemed so incongruous, with the sun shining outside and the trees all in full blossom. Her most favourite time of the year. And on such a day she was here, in this dark, drab hospital room being told that she had cancer and that she may very well die.

And so began her ENTRY into the world of needles, drips, and chemotherapy. It was a dreadful time. The chemotherapy was aggressive, and tough. No one could say that it would work and that it would save her life. She never knew whether it was worth going through all this or not.

No one had told her. She got through the chemotherapy, and would live, but she was blind and could not walk. The chemotherapy had saved her life, but given her a life sentence instead.

The May blossom was very beautiful, and Gemma could see it only in a very blurred fashion. And it was for the last time. And she wondered whether it had all been worth it.


O.K. So how do you write a poem?  I truly do not know.  I read other people’s poems, and I think, “wow,” and know that I could never write like them.  And I wonder how they do it.  And how do you choose a subject?  For me personally, I can’t write love poetry.  Just that is how it is.  I am not very good at writing free verse either.  I don’t know why, but I never know where to end lines etc.  I get in a mess with free verse.  But that is mostly what is wanted these days.  I wish I could do it.  I have written some free verse but mostly I write in form.

And also, how do I decide whether to write joyful or hopeful and sad or sorrowful.  Even shocking poetry.  They all have a place.  I am better at writing sad than happy.  Just the way it is.  I remember discussing this at a Writing Group I used to go to and everyone said that they could write poetry that came out of pain much better than any other kind.

I would like to write about many things that are on the edge.  Things that people probably don’t want to hear about.  So how do you write authentically?

So many questions!


Last night you fell
And I fell with you
For you are my light
Though often you don’t know it
And as I wake
I hear you breathing
And know that all is well
And wish for better days for you
That all could be peace again
Just like it used to be
But for us there is no peace
Just the daily struggle
Existing is no joke
Never did we think life could be so hard
And as they say
“There’s many a slip twixt cup and lip”
This we know well
But where is the cup?
And where is the lip?
I see neither
And you fall between them
I heard the thud
Will we ever reach the lip?
You and I together
Drinking on the shores of eternity?
For whither thou goest
I will go
Wherever thou lodgest
I will lodge
Last night you fell
And I fell with you


You try to redeem yourself
Or the self that you were
For that was what served you well
Whilst you thought you were serving others
You try to make yourself relevant
To a world where nothing seems relevant any more
Except love
Self emptying sacrifice
And now in your bigness
You have to be little
Or as nought as your role becomes extinct



And now I know that I am rich
Whilst you are poor
In spite of all you have
And now I know that I am full
Whilst you are empty
In spite of being full of plenty
And now I know that I can see
Whilst you are blind
In spite of having eyes that work
And now I know that I can walk
Whilst you falter, stumble and fall
In spite of having legs that work
And I who once did envy you
Know that here in my nothingness
I live in fullness of life



Have you ever thought of me
Whilst you moan about your isolation
You the one who had it all
Who walked away when I was dying
From lack of human contact
Locked in disaster
Do you even remember me
The one who tried to call you
When in despair so deep
Do you think of how you pushed me
And now you moan
With family around you
Friends to talk to
Just as you were then
When I was dying
The world you still can see
In different light
Though punctuated
By what you once clung to
And still wish to cling to
It no longer works
It couldn’t have
For it was never real anyway



It was just before Christmas. Ruth and Gerry had ventured out and travelled the hour long journey to the tiny ancient church that Ruth so loved. She always got a feeling of peace when she went there. Whatever was happening in her life, a feeling of calm would pervade her soul. As they drew up outside the church, it was very icy and the car began to SLIDE around slightly. They knew that they must not stay there long as their journey home could be treacherous.  Perhaps they had been silly to come, but Ruth so needed to feel that peace once again.

Slowly and steadily she made her way into the church. As usual its dark interior that was nine hundred years old absorbed her, and peace seeped into her. It was amazing how this always happened. Ruth always felt herself to be linked with souls from the past, and she knew that she was part of something much greater than herself. She didn’t stay long. She didn’t need to.

As she made her way out of the church she heard a SHOT. The terrible sound tore into her consciousness, and she knew immediately what it was. Then there were more, one after the other, assaulting her senses violently. But not as much as they were assaulting the birds. Ruth stopped to CATCH her breath. She felt afraid. The shots sounded close. What if they were to get her? Did anyone realise she was there? She had heard of shooting accidents before. She quickened her step.

“Did you hear that?” she asked Gerry as she got back into the car.

“Yes,” replied Gerry. “Look, they are on the road just there, shooting across it.”

Sure enough, there they were, guns at the ready.  Ruth shuddered. She loved birds. Each time they came here, they were ecstatic to hear so many birds, and to see the mallards wandering amusingly around the place.

“We’ll have to wait,” Gerry said. “They are blocking the road. We can’t get past them.”

Ruth covered her ears. She did not want to hear the sound of the shooting.

Some time later the sound of shooting stopped, and the men were loading their vehicle up with dead birds. As the vehicle passed them a few minutes later, they were able to see hundreds of mallards and pheasants, all dead. Ruth broke into sobs, her peace destroyed. How could such a terrible thing happen in this, her sacred space? Yet it did. Ruth knew deep inside her that this memory would remain with her for ever, and that her feeling of peace would never be quite the same again


We have been norty. We have been out in the car for a drive!

This morning hubby was going mad. Depression struck him very bad, because of not being able to go out. He could see no end to it. I too was going stir crazy. We see (or at least hubby does) people walking, cycling, running, which we cannot do. Being cooped up in four walls is horrendous as our house is not all that big and we have very little garden.

Because of how we both felt we knew we had to do something, and so we took the bull by the horns and took the car for a drive. Dog went too. She also has been going stir crazy and has been being very norty as a result.

We felt like fugitives 😀. But we saw no police cars at all.

We will now do it again. Norty norty!



They stood in the GRASS looking at the STEEL structure. Perched high up on the pinnacle was a huge BIRD. John spoke, with a BREAK in his voice,

“How many times have I driven down this HIGHWAY and never seen that amazing bird. The speed with which it flies is faster than a CHRONAXIE.”

John had had a ROMANCE with birds for a long time. He loved the SMOOTH manner in which the raptors flew through the air. He thought of the christening SPOON that his grandmother had given to him. With her INDIGO scarf that she always wore she introduced him to the joys of nature. Though she often seemed full of BLUSTER she was a gentle soul at heart, and John remembered her with affection coupled with sadness as he looked up at the great bird.



Ben had an ample RUMP, and he loved nothing more than to bang things with it. He had broken many a chair by banging rhythmically on it. But his habit was to cause much grief when Richie and Sue went camping.

They had never had a GREEN tent before, and when it was put up on the campsite it glowed eerily. Ben was quite phased by it, and began banging relentlessly on one of the tent poles. He had  a kind of scary grin on his face, which showed off all his pearly white TEETH in the eerie green glow.

Richie and Sue were rather alarmed by Ben’s antics, knowing what was about to come. And it did. The tent pole came out off the ground and the whole tent fell down on all of them.



I met Him while down on the ground,
We both spoke the same language,
It was the language of hearts,
Not the language of power
Where hearts have turned to stone,
It was a language of tears.

The world despises tears,
As it pushes us onto the ground,
But we are not like stone,
Pain and hurt forms our language,
Tears form their own power,
The power to heal hearts.

We all have sacred hearts,
When we can cry tears,
Not from a position of power,
But from way down on the ground,
It’s a universal language,
When our hearts are not stone.

It’s easier to be stone,
Nothing touches our hearts,
We speak our own language,
We cannot cry tears,
Unless we fall on the ground,
Losing all our power.

It’s frightening to lose our power,
To be kicked, like a stone,
Pushed further r onto the ground,
By many hardened hearts,
Come, cry with us your tears,
Come and speak our language.

For you it is a new language,
Now you’ve given up your power,
You may be frightened by your tears,
Now you haven’t a heart of stone,
Together, let’s join our hearts,
As we both lie on the ground.

When we’re on the ground we lose our power,
Our language can’t come from hearts of stone,
But from hearts empowered by tears.


Living in the town of Doodlepop were some people called Lolloplodes. They had inhabited the town for aeons and aeons. Each year their Loppys had got more and more loded and so they were very strongey. They were very fitty and could runnies and jumpies like they were kiddos. They loved to dancikins and every Saturday nighty they could be found bopping and loppying the night away. It was a bit of a nuisance though because when they were loppying and boooying home they were a bit noisy. They were singising and shoutising and laughising. All the townspeople were fed up.

One Saturday night though, it was one of the Lolloplode’s seventy tooth burpday, and everyone was determined to have a goody time. The Lolloplode whose seventy tooth burpday it was had four or five brandy and babychams and saw camels in his glassikins. He kept on going “Oooooh,” and “Aaaaaaah,” and then said he was fallising into his glassikins. His mateylodes decided that he had had too many brandy and babychams and they escortised him out onto the streety. He wibbled and wobbled and almost fellised over. They escortised him homey and got him into beddy, and he was still shouting “Wahey, it’s my seventy tooth burpday and I can’t wait while next year when it will be my seventy threeth burpday.”

The next morning he couldn’t remember anything at all about his seventy tooth burpday and so did it all over again.


This is a very strange day for me. My 72nd birthday. Last year my mother was still with us but now she is gone, having died not long before Christmas. Birthdays were always very strange affairs for me both as a child and as an adult. My mother was never one for any kind of ceremony, or parties, or anything like that. However she did always give me a birthday card. It seems very strange not to be receiving one from her this year and I really miss it. It was a very strange kind of a ritual when she was alive. It was almost as if she didn’t really want to acknowledge my birthday and yet she always did.

I always knew that I was not wanted and that she never wanted me to be born and indeed took measures to try and make sure that I was not born. However I was and here I am, still alive and kicking despite all. My mother was a very complicated person whom I never understood. I never quite knew how to think of her as she was so confusing. But I miss her desperately.

On this, my birthday, I would love to be able to talk to her. To tell her about this pandemic. I know that it would have frightened her terribly. But I long to be able to say to her,

“Hey Mum, look at what has happened now.”

It is so unimaginable. A thing of the movies, and yet it is real now, happening before our very eyes. And on this, my birthday, we are in lockdown, not knowing what the future is, and even if we have one.

In many ways I am glad that my mother is not still alive. She would never have coped with this. But today, I want to say Hi to her wherever she is. It is not possible, but I wish it were.


When I went blind, and found myself both blind and wheelchair bound, and unable to function, I began to explore the darkness. I looked for good in it, though to many people it might have seemed bleak. I did find good in it, and I speak here in a more emotional and spiritual way than physical. I discovered the “Dark Night of the Soul,” which many have embraced today, though the original “Dark Night of the Soul” was written about by a Spanish Mystic called St. John of the Cross. Nowadays even psychiatrists and others have found value in the concept. I, too, found much value in it.

St. John of the Cross speaks about the “luminous darkness,” and I have written and posted a few poems on this in the past. For me, the darkness should not be eschewed, but seen as something positive, that can glow. I have also written about the Treasures of the Darkness in the past as well

We are in very dark times at the moment and now, more than ever, we need to find something of worth in the horror and the darkness.  Hard, but we have to, in some way, or we would all give up. Here is a poem that I wrote on this theme when I was trying to deal with my own darkness.  I have posted it before, but anyway…….

Do not fear the dark night
Nor run fast from its embrace
Seeking only to be in the light

In the darkness we gain clear sight
Here is where we find pure grace
Do not fear the dark night

Often in the darkness we fight
Looking for the smallest trace
Seeking only to be in the light

In the depths we find the height
Of joy and wonder in sacred space
Do not fear the dark night

The dark is luminous, oh so bright
Never could we find a better place
Seeking only to be in the light

My friend, do not be filled with fright,
Here is where you come to see God’s face
Do not fear the dark night
Seeking only to be in the light


What will today bring?

Well, I am trying out a new routine. For me, routine is important. I thrive better when I have some kind of structure to my day. Not that I am always able to abide by that structure, but it helps to have one in mind.

Before lockdown, my structure was that I would be in the bedroom on my bed until about 2 p.m. and then I would go downstairs and slowly make my way to the car, where Hope would be waiting for me. This was my daily dose of Hope! We would then go out for a drive, and let Hope out for a run in a farmer’s field who very kindly allowed this. Hope would have a picnic in the car 😀 consisting of her favourite cheese biscuits. We would purchase a sandwich from Costas, and a drink.

It was not much, but that little diversion in an afternoon helped me to keep going. It was a break from being on the bed all of the time and it enabled me to see Hope. She loved those times, and would become very excited, “kissing” me as I settled down into my seat in the car. She is a very vocal dog, making almost human noises. We have never had a dog that almost “talked” like she does, and we have had a LOT of dogs.

We would always stop for a while out in the country,and often I would write. I would have my iPad with me, and write down my feelings and observations. Nature would inspire me.

No longer can we do this however, as we are not allowed to go out in our car, as I have said in previous posts. This is gut wrenching for me. It was how I kept going. So I have tried to find new ways of getting that break but it is difficult. I thought of just going and sitting in the car out on the drive, for a while but not tried that one yet. As I can’t see I am not sure if that would work, but it might, just a little bit.

Yesterday, as those of you who visited my blog yesterday may have seen, I went into the living room for an hour and spent time with Hope. She was chuffed to little green apples, as they say. Sitting in that room is normally difficult for me, as being in a chair hurts me quite a lot, and there is not room for my wheelchair once hubby gets in there in his. However, it worked for an hour yesterday, though today I am in pain, probably from trying to sit in that chair.

BUT, I DID it. It was liberating!

Today hubby is going to try and move a few tubs from underneath our front window outside in the front garden. Hopefully he will be able to do this from his wheelchair. As our garden is not very long, you are quite close to the pavement, so it was a bit of a worry as people do tend to walk past coughing etc. But we are going to try to clear that area so that I might be able to sit outside a bit in my wheelchair. I hate people seeing me in it, but I have to get over that. I hate to make a spectacle of myself! It’s just how I was brought up. It’s hard to throw it off!

We have a beautiful corkscrew willow tree in our front garden, where lots of birds go, so often, we get lovely birdsong from there. Maybe it might give me some inspiration.

Who would have thought that life would come to this? From being an avid hill walker, cyclist, gym lover and swimmer, here I am now, like this. It has been hard to come to terms with. And this lockdown has not helped.

But guess what – we have a TESCO delivery coming today. Finally, they opened up some slots for us! And guess what – we received an email from Asdas yesterday saying that they had had information from the government to say that we need help because I am on the government list of extremely vulnerable people and so they will open up slots if we sign up with them. You have to choose which supermarket you want to be with though, and stick with just that one, so we are trying to decide now. My spirits lifted though, when we got that email late last night. No more staying up until 2 in the morning, trying to get slots, and being unsuccessful.

And tomorrow is my birthday, and we have bought CAKE lol. Well, Cadbury’s mini rolls at least lol.

We hope and pray for better times soon – for EVERYBODY.




Geraldine leaned against the wall to The ARC, resting her BACK. In her hands was a BOTTLE of milk. The day was COLD. She still had a lot of work to do on her COMPUTER, but this brief visit to the shopping precinct afforded her a bit of a breather. She was deep in thought about the COVER for her new poetry book. She prayed that her computer would not CRASH just at this pivotal moment. She thought, with DELIGHT about taking her book to Craft Fairs, and making money for her favourite charity. Brrrr. It was cold. She pulled her HOOD more tightly around her face. It was icy too, and she was very conscious of trying to avoid any INJURY. She looked absent mindedly at the red LAMP glowing in the shop window. There seemed to be little NOISE in the precinct, for a Monday lunch time. Her mind turned to what she was going to put in the OVEN that evening. A nice warming shepherd’s pie for a cold day. Normally she would have fried something up in the PAN, but the shepherd’s pie was more appealing today.

When she got home the PIPES in the house were hot, making the place feel comfortable. She felt a feeling of PLEASURE go through her. And soon, she would have a nice amount of money in the POT for her favourite charity.

After her meal she began to PRINT off the pages of her poetry book. Then she printed off the covers of the book. On the front cover was a picture of SHEEP all gathered together by the water PUMP in a field. Just like it had been at her grandparents’ farm. Such wonderful memories. She could even now hear her grandmother saying “SHOO” to the chickens as they scratched around by the back kitchen door. She fingered the front cover of her book with love. Happy days.





This is Hope on the day she came to us as a puppy.  She came in May, and here, she was just twelve weeks old.  You can see that she was inquisitive then, inspecting our sun dial, and she is as inquisitive now.  We knew she was going to be big as she had paws the size of dinner plates !  It is amazing how fast time passes.  She is four years old now.  Hope you enjoy the picture even though it is mostly bum lol.


Yesterday in a News item, we discovered that a young 17 year old girl had killed herself because she couldn’t cope with the lockdown. She had said that it felt like 300 years rather than three weeks. I understood exactly how she felt. But she was only 17 and I am much older than that.

I felt a great sympathy with that girl, and the tragedy hit me with great force. But the comments below the article were extremely punitive of the girl. There was not one person who felt any sympathy with the girl. Everyone said that she should have been of stronger mettle, and/or that there must have been deeper seated problems or issues with the girl that had not been addressed. Her family described her as an outgoing fun loving girl, whom everyone loved. She had a packed life before the lockdown, but she had talked to her mother about her feeling that the lockdown was not going to end any time soon. I hope I have reported this correctly, butI am pretty confident that I have, as it stuck in my mind and I was thinking about it all day.

I found the comments extremely judgemental of the girl.

As my husband and myself have been considering this lockdown it has been hard to believe that we will ever be “let out” again. We have worried that whilst everyone else will be “let out” at some point, we will not. Apparently there is some talk of extending the age group that is seen as vulnerable to those in their sixties as well. So even more people are going to be hit by enforced lockdown rules, which means not even answering the door to anyone.  And of course they are also now talking about a “second wave” that may be even worse than the first.  Scary stuff.

None of us knows how this thing is going to pan out. It is like something from the movies. Not real. Just fantasy. And yet it IS real now. It is hard to believe, and yet it is true. We are LIVING it.

My husband and myself have found ourselves asking whether this is the only life we are ever going to know now. That as other age groups are gradually let out, we will not be. No one knows how it is going to be. Certainly it seems that the much younger age groups are going to be the ones let out first. Somehow or other the nation has to get back to some semblance of normality, but social distancing, we are told, may well continue until 2022. That was what we read yesterday.

And so, we are left asking if we, as the older age group, seen as vulnerable, will ever be let out again. Is this how we will be forced to live until the end of our days?

This sounds grim, and hard to believe or come to terms with. But could it be the cold, hard truth that we will have to face? I don’t know. It may be overly negative thinking here.

Whatever, I understood how that young girl felt. To her, there was no hope. She felt that this would go on for a very long time. I felt for her.

I would actually not want my lockdown to end unless it was totally safe to be out there. Not that my husband and myself ever saw many people anyway. But occasionally we would mix with other people.

But the question I have to ask is, “Is this going to be enfirced for a very long time? Is this how our lives are going to be until we die?”

To me, that is a very grim prospect if true. It does not bear thinking about. But my fears are that this is going to be the case.

I would love to know what you think. Though of course no one can know anything for sure, or predict the future accurately.



Outside the church two robins danced
Singing their song to the world
Rude in their audacity
Flitting in bright array,
In the distance sang many birds,
They found their haven there

Many times she had been there
Inside the church had danced
Listened to the sound of the birds
Freed herself from the world
Dressed lightly in bright array
Defiant in her audacity

The church stood there in audacity
Many years it had been there
Different seasons, different array
Whilst outside nature danced
A sign it gave out to the world
Like the singing of the birds

She always took her strength from the birds
Became strong in her audacity
Taking on the wiles of the world
Whatever came to her there
All of her life she had swayed and danced
Joined with nature in bright array

She celebrated in bright array
Taking her cue from the birds
Remembering how she’d always danced
Wildly, with audacity,
Making it known that she was there,
A force within the world

She knew her place within the world
Saw life in bright array
Knowing exactly why she was there
Flying like the birds
Drawn to their audacity
Even in sorrow danced

Even from being young she’d danced in joyful bright array,
Never defeated by the world becoming one with the birds,
Rude in her audacity whether here or there


One day during lockdown some bandyleggers decided that their bandy legs were very uniquey.  Everybody else had normal leggies and the bandyleggers stuck out like a sore thumby.

The bandyleggers discoveried that they had a terrible problemy because when they had to go shoppinge they were requirised to stick to certain linies  inside the superymarketies.  It was imperativie that they did because if they didn’t they got ejectedie from the superymarketie posty hasty.  And so the bandyleggies started to get very thinny.  They were very hungary and they didn’t know what to do.
There was much weepiesing and wailieing and wringing of handies, and some even shoutiesed and screamised.  They all said it wasn’t fairie because they couldn’t help their bandy leggies and they couldn’t help that they couldn’t walk straightie in the superymarketie   linies.
“It isn’t fairie,” they shouted out.  “It isn’t fairie.  This is discrimination against bandylegfers  and it is blamingising of the innocent.”
They became very agitatdie and started tearising their hairie out.  Then they were all bald too, and they sufferied from cold heads.  So peopliodes started buying them hatties and that at least kept their heads warm.
But the governmentie had to look closely at the problem of the bandyleggers  and address it properly.  Giving them hatties was not enough, because they were still hungary and getting thinner and thinner.
In the end the governmentie said that the bandyleggers could go to the superymarkets between niney and tenny at nightilode, and that solvied the problem.  The bandyleggers  started doing their shoppinge at that time of night then,  and they whooopised and screechised with happity because now they could eat like everybody else, and they ended up getting fatter and fatter, so all had to buy new clothies, and Amazon was very happy because it kept their delivery drivers in a job.

So all was well that ended well


Seriously, they did!

Would you believe, they rang me to ask if I was O.K.  Because I am on the government’s extremely vulnerable list!  They wanted to know if they could do anything for me, or if I needed any help in any kind of way!!!

“Well, errrrrm, do you have a few thousand pounds to give me to install a new kitchen with lowered cupboards and lowered work tops? Lol.

No, I didn’t think you had.”

So I ended up with a new bank card coming, that I can’t see to use, and my Statement to say I have nothing in the bank is going to be sent to me in big print!




Last night I had a terrible terrible nightmare.  I woke up this morning to find that it was true.  Hence my freak out.  My meltdown again.

It seems that this happens, I find some way of pulling myself up out of it with sheer willpower, manage for another day or two to cope, then have another meltdown.  I cannot help or control this.  Sometimes I feel stripped of everything that makes a person human.  I don’t like to write about it because it is depressing for others to read.  Also I do sometimes get quite critical responses or usually emails, which are hidden from the sight of others.  So be it.

I find it so sad that some of this could be relieved in such simple ways.  One is by having a person I can phone when it gets like this.  Another is to just allow us to escape these four walls, like others can.  I don’t LIKE having to make the kinds of posts that I have been making this morning.  But if I hadn’t I would have gone mad.  Maybe I am mad anyway.

This morning, my first feeling was fear and extreme nausea.  I have a deep fear of being trapped and held down (traumatic experiences from the past).  I was in a cold sweat almost vomiting.  I had to try and calm myself.  I had to try and drag myself out of the nightmare that was reality.  I had to try and put it from my mind that there was no one to call.  No shoulder to cry on.  No strong arm to hold me.  I had to get myself together somehow, whilst at the same time wishing there was a way to just end all this.

The fear was followed by anger.  Anger that I am in this position and unable to do anything about it.  Anger that I do not even have the few meagre freedoms that others have.  Anger and pain at being blind, thus cutting me off from the things that most people can do to relieve themselves in lockdown, like putting a CD on (hubby has to do it for me, as I don’t even have feeling in my hands to be able to feel the buttons on the CD player – and hubby is busy enough anyway, without my asking him to do that), reading (again, I need hubbys help even to play an audio book) sewing or embroidering, which I used to do – people in my town are sewinf aprons, masks, and all sorts of other things for the NHS and Carers. Looking at birds – yes I used to love birdwatching, and though I can hear them, mostly I do not know what they are unless hubby is here to tell me.  Cooking, baking – lots of people are finding new pleasure in that. Watching DVDs etc.  Not possible.  Can’t put one in anyway.

As I have said before, I write.  But what I really WANT to write would send everyone scurrying away.  My life is not pretty.  And for me, writing it and then throwing it away does not work.  I need to COMMUNICATE it.  To be part of the human race again.

And so, I feel the anger after the fear.  That then gives way to despair.  That then gives way to other bad thoughts.  And the knowledge that this shit is going to go on for a long time.  We are first of all told twelve weeks.  Then we are told six months.  Then we are told a year.  Then we are told eighteen months.  And now, some are saying two years.  For God’s sake, I may well be dead by then,being not exactly young in body.  And so, the last years of lufe are to be spent like this, when I have already spent a year of my life on this bed battling cancer.

Is there any wonder that when I am asked what I would like to order, I want to reply, “arsenic.”  And sometimes do.

We Are Not In The Same Boat

Lilly Eves World

I often hear “we are all in the same boat”, but that’s not exactly accurate. We are in the same storm, but not in the same boat. Your ship could be shipwrecked and mine might not be. Or vice versa.

For some, quarantine is optimal. A moment of reflection, of re-connection, easy in flip flops, with a cocktail or coffee. For others, this is a desperate financial & family crisis.

For some that live alone they’re facing endless loneliness. While for others it is peace, rest & time with their mother, father, sons & daughters.

With the increase in unemployment some are bringing in more money to their households than they were working. Others are working more hours for less money due to pay cuts or loss in sales.

Some were concerned about getting a certain chocolate for Easter while others were concerned if there would be enough bread, milk…

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A “SELFISH” RANT: What Woul I Choose?

If I could choose, during this lockdown, what would I choose?

Would I choose to be at least two metres away from other people? YES. And more than two metres.

Would I choose to stay in my house? YES, for the most part. I want to be safe.

Would I choose to let no one into my house or even answer the door? YES. I am afraid of possible germs.

Would I choose to not go out AT ALL? NO. I would choose to at least be able to go out, like others can, safely sealed in my tin box, not passing anything on to anybody else. TOTALLY safe.

Would I CHOOSE to live in a police state? NO. But I would want there to be some way in which people could be made to obey the rules, in a humane and reasonable way as some people seem to either unable to understand, or purely wilfull in wanting their own way and taking it. I would want some safety measures still to be in place.

All that I am asking is that some reason, and pure humanity be exercised here. I do NOT want a policeman stopping us in our car, to ask where we are going, taking our names and addresses, and DECIDING for us whether that journey is essential or not, thus ALSO exposing us to any virus that THEY might unknowingly have. Are they in my head? Are they in my heart? Are they in my soul? Do they KNOW that the stir craziness might make me yet another statistic of a different kind? Would I CHOOSE to be such a statistic? NO, but if I go stir crazy enough, I might be. In one crazy moment I might lose it, when a short drive in the car could have relieved the stress and tension, in the way that walking, cycling, or running can do.

Sorry for the “selfish”. “attention seeking” rant.