Headlong*

Achievements Of The Day:

  1. Sleep till 7.20am which is late in current manic mood.
  2. Spin:
  3. It’s the Master’s class and work really hard.
  4. Then Pilates:
  5. Here is combined graph for both classes:
  6. Oh no it isn’t. Graph hasn’t uploaded.
  7. Walk new Shiba Inu client:
  8. She is So Sweet and such a dainty little lady. She is going to be a regular client on Saturday afternoons. So pleased. She likes sitting on my lap like a tiny fox.
  9. Now I have to go to doctor to see if she will prescribe the expensive mouthwash I need for my ulcers.
  10. Will watch the tennis later.

Happy Friday everyone!

*1981. Song by Queen from the album Innuendo.

I Want To Break Free*

My mood’s too high, psychiatrist says,

I frighten Mum. Is this the best

That I can do. I must try more

To keep my feet down on the floor.

Now we’re too close: I’ll give you that,

I wish that I was at my flat.

Now we’re enmeshed – oh what the heck.

I light a candle in my room,

Dance around, blast out my tunes.

I burn the candle at both ends:

I just need to see my friends.

I just need to arrive at Spin,

I twitch my toes, I pick my skin:

A stitch bursts out from drain site, yesterday.

Lie on my bed and now I pray

For calm and solace from my G-d.

He doesn’t listen, now I thud

Down the stairs and up again.

Oh, when will this nightmare end.

I light my flamingo in the dark,

The fluffy’s here, not at the park,

My fluffy’s with me, I kiss his head –

They’ll all miss me when I’m dead.

They will think they could’ve done

Much more to help the lonely one.

As I lie here, writing this,

All I want now is his kiss.

All I need now is some peace

But I’ve angered the mood police.

They kettle me with batons and

I pick, I pick, I pick my hand.

I touch and touch and touch my hair:

Where is my love, for he’s not there.

And he’s not here, I spin around

I wish my feet would clasp the ground.

I wish my head was calm inside,

I’ve tried to come down, how I’ve tried,

I’ve tried to rest and tried to sleep,

But always there, there is the bleep

Of mania and racing mind:

I really, really, really ought

To just lie down.

“Think beautiful thoughts,” Mum says:

She will miss me when I’m dead.

They will miss me when I’ve gone,

Into the sky, up to the moon.

I fly about the sky now here,

It is bright blue, it is so clear.

A wood pigeon coos, it is now day –

Can’t help it if I want to play.

Can’t help it if I want to run

To catch the burning, rising sun,

To catch the winged horses high,

I lift my arms, I touch the sky,

I lift my head, I leave the ground:

The world it spins around, around.

Give me light and give me space,

Life is long – it’s not a race.

The tortoise trundles, heavy, home:

He wins the race, he takes the throne,

And I, the hare, am blown off course,

I really must now try to force

The race to end. And I must rest:

The race has ended and I’m last.

Oh, how I want just one glass

Of wine, but I can’t drink it anymore.

I wish my feet would touch the floor,

I hold my head up, head up high,

My light burns out but how I try.

*1984. Song by Queen from the album The Works.

I’m Going Slightly Mad*

I clear my bedroom:

I can’t wait –

I clean my bathroom:

What’s the date.

It will be Christmas soon:

I dance round my bedroom,

Is that the moon.

All is hot,

And all is bright.

Feels like it’s still

The middle of the night.

But it’s still Day,

Although it’s dark.

I hear the singing

Of the lark.

Swinging, swinging

Round and round –

When will my feet

Hit the ground.

When will my head

Inside, calm down.

I feel calm,

I feel clear,

Perhaps it’s just

This time of year.

Everything glitters:

It’s the spray.

Everything sparkles,

This winter’s day.

All is calm and

All is bright.

Soon it will be

Winter’s night.

Bracelets jangle

On my arm.

I know that I now

Must keep calm.

My tights’ drawer’s next:

Now that’s a mess.

Natural tan I think –

With that dress.

The purple one

With rhinestone straps.

Is this normal or

Is this a trap.

Mania is hard to fight –

Give in to it,

It is not right

That everything shimmers,

All is lost,

My poor self

Is tempest-tossed.

All is golden,

All is bright,

Is it the morning

Or still night.

Is it midnight

Is it noon.

My only clue

Is that same moon.

Soon it will be Day again.

I sleep all night,

I have to fight

My mind that says:

Don’t complain, just fight.

I fight my mood,

I fight the cancer’s spread.

I take the chemo,

Or I’ll be dead.

I fight the glitter,

Fight the heat.

I tap my fingers,

Dance my feet.

Around, around, around I go.

Is that an angel,

It’s my toe.

I do Pilates

To calm down.

My mind it spins,

Around, around.

The clear blue sky:

I really try,

To rest, and rest, and rest some more.

The tennis soon: So Much excitement.

The bluest surface:

I am frightened.

Red shellac nails,

Gold Minx toes,

And now my

Frustration grows.

Why can’t I just be

Mentally well.

Inside my head

I am in Hell.

Inside my body

Twitches come.

I have to say:

When will this

Be done.

Happy Wednesday everyone!

*1991. Song by Queen from the album Innuendo.

Don’t Stop Me Now*

Have a lovely walk with Dolly in the sunshine. Here we are:

A young photography student took the photos which are outside Starbucks. He also took some others with his camera which he’s promised to email to me.

Here is graph:

It’s a beautiful day and when get home, go out in the garden with my fluffy monster:

Then make a halloumi, avocado, beetroot hummus and spinach salad for lunch:

Watch the tennis. Kevin Andersen beats Kei Nishikori 6 – 0, 6 – 1. Poor Kei, but amazing from Kevin.

Have written all my Christmas cards.

Show you my new toy:

He is called Leggy and came from the garden centre. Am pleased with him.

Need to have a bath before supper. Am exhausted. Am listening to The Best Of Queen on Spotify.

Happy Tuesday everyone!

*1978. Queen Song by Freddie Mercury.

A Bullet In The Ballet*

Try a new class this morning: Barre Pilates. Here I am with my instructor:

Here is graph:

Work Really Hard and am well-behaved. Barre is Hard Work – especially the ballet bit at the start where you can see the yellow for over eighty percent effort. Despite not having done ballet since was five years old, am able to keep up.

The second half of the class is Pilates on the mat: lots of leg and bum exercises. Work really hard.

At the end, instructor tells me am good at it 🙃😇.

Here is my fluffy before breakfast:

Meet an old school friend for lunch. We go to Daisy’s again. Here is lunch:

It’s lovely to see her and she is going to walk Dolly with me next Tuesday, which is good as will save Mum a journey.

New trousers have arrived from Sweaty Betty. Show you:

Am pleased with them. They are aubergine.

Have just put that fluffy monster outside.

So, it’s the ATP World Tour Finals. Marin Cilic is 3 – 0 up against Sascha Zverev. Come on Sascha! He pulls it back to deuce. He needs to get on the scoreboard. Advantage Zverev. Come on cutie. His blond hair flops over his headband. Finally he wins a game. 3 – 1 Cilic.

Ah it is good to have some tennis to watch. Am going to settle down and do some knitting.

Here is Mum with Pat Cash when we went to the ATP Tour Finals four years ago today:

Pat is so adorable.

Tidy my bedroom and bathroom this morning so hope Mum will be pleased with me.

Happy Monday everyone!

*1937. By Caryl Brahms and S.J. Simon. An Inspector Quill Murder Mystery, Book 1.

Skin Deep*

So, I have a new Skincare routine.

At the Six Hour Spin event I packed the goody bags – helpful of me – and inside them was this:

It’s from Elizabeth Arden and contains these:

So, in the morning you cleanse with the anti-ageing treatment boosting cleanser on wet face; dry face; squeeze a ceramide capsule into hand and rub the serum into face; followed by the ceramide lift and firm day cream. So, use these three products from left to right. Am going to do this for two weeks and then report back to you on the state of my skin.

It feels really grown-up, having a skincare routine. It’s the first time I’ve ever done it. The products smell lovely too.

Today I do Pilates. Here I am with the instructor:

It calms me down.

Here is graph. Leave monitor on by mistake for forty minutes after class:

Unfortunately the instructor complains to The Boss about me being disruptive – my psychiatrist calls and I take the call outside. So am banned from her class now. Some people are So Horrible. Am upset.

To cheer us up: here is a funny t-shirt that Instagram recommends to me. Wonder if they have a Ragdoll one.

We have people coming for dinner so am just tidying my room and then am going to help Mum.

Happy Remembrance Sunday everyone!

*2018. By Liz Nugent. The heroine is called Cordelia! Thriller.

Dulce Et Decorum Est*

I light a candle for the millions dead,

I try to handle fluffy monster, red?

Red as poppies, red as blood –

Men and horses drown in mud

At Passchendale. They drown in mud,

They flail in blood.

It’s impossible, impassable- though

They advance the cause.

I touch his paws,

I kiss his head,

Steroids will cure his allergy I think.

The corpses of the soldiers stink.

I cannot sing,

I hear the thud

Of guns and shells:

They are in Hell.

The soft approaching roar of tanks,

They stall in mud and up sand banks,

I can’t fight, but I can write:

It’s such a mess

In my bed and in my head.

He sits upon the window sill,

Scarlet, crimson blood will spill.

A million dead:

Shellac nails red –

I cannot watch, I cannot do

Anything about the slaughter.

Them in power: they oughta.

Blood seeps down into the ground,

The earth it spins around, around.

A hundred years since guns stopped still.

I bend my mind unto my will

I bend my will, my will is good

I touch my cat

I hear his blood

Red above his eye

Red although we try

To feed him steroids, feed him love.

They cook and cook and eat the dove,

Pluck her feathers from her breast:

They think it will be for the best.

She cannot fly, she does not sing,

The church bells peal, peal, ring.

Today we pray That it doesn’t end this way.

It always does, it always has,

I watch the tv, smell the gas.

*1920. Poem by Wilfred Owen – pictured above and published after his death.

Anthem For Doomed Youth*

A hundred years now since war ended –

The war to end all wars,

The First.

The shells they crash and blaze:

Sound deafening from the guns.

I try to run from pain:

Can’t run from My Self –

My Self comes with:

Roaming over No Man’s Land,

Past unexploded shells

And blasted corpses.

This must be Hell –

The barbed wire forces

The broken pieces of my heart,

The shattered bottoms of my feet.

I wonder will I ever meet

Him.

I will meet him soon:

Down rain-soaked corpse-filled trenches,

Now he wrenches

At my heart strings.

And I sing:

Of better days,

Of days of wine and Roses,

Of days of Instagram poses.

My fluffy purrs

As the spurs

Stick in his flanks.

A million horses die

On the western front.

A million donkeys broken,

Why was I chosen

For so much blood,

And so much pain:

It has begun. Begin again –

Past broken corpses – my old lives,

Past the soldiers, past their wives,

Past the roads I didn’t take,

Past the cities: then the quake.

The world is shattered, shaped anew:

Soon it will be

World War Two.

Soon it will be Death again.

I do not die, and yet it rains.

And now: under storm-blasted trees

I shade myself – my self is these.

And as I rest the anger grows,

And as I sob, his tail shakes,

And as he moves how my heart aches.

It isn’t right, it isn’t fair,

I pick my skin,

I brush my hair,

Down long, dark tunnels we escape:

How quick life goes,

How my heart aches.

The blood: not my blood

Not now his –

He moans: it is, it is, it is.

I call – he doesn’t answer, then

I think I’ve had enough of men,

And yet I still begin again,

And yet I still breathe chlorine gas,

Drown in my cancerous lungs.

The monstrous anger of the guns –

Beyond the door they are all dead,

After the war there’s no more bread.

Break bread with me, love, and break my heart:

Dying well’s a dying art:

An art I should have learnt by now,

I make, remake my heart – and how!

Barbed wire fences:

War Horse stumbles,

Catches his leg.

I fumble for the words to say,

The perfect words to make him stay,

The perfect novel, perfect play.

Journeys end in lovers meeting,

Or is it history repeating.

Is it love or is it hate,

They cook the dove,

They just can’t wait.

They scorn my love,

Laugh at my pain.

Now, now it’s starting.

Start again.

*1917. By Wilfred Owen. The best poem ever written by anyone 😭💔

Something In The Water*

I don’t know much about languages

I don’t remember any French

Or German Hebrew, Dutch, Italian

I just want a Friesian stallion –

His mane down to the ground

His tail long

I like my men like

I like my horses:

Glossy with feathered fetlocks.

Physically strong but mentally

Vulnerable and weak.

We have a pet lock

On the cat flap:

To keep fluffy in

And others out.

All I know – is that

I did my best –

To make them stay.

I did my best

To act my part

In this tragic, tragic play –

Social satire, black comedy?

No – farce:

I have injections

In my arse

Today.

Can you see that lapwing

His crested head, his wings

Will he sing,

Do you think –

Eggs will be laid

In the coming spring.

We see him at Whipsnade –

Plans are made

To bring them back.

They were, once common, farmland birds

Now rare.

I wash and dry and wash my hair:

It falls out on the floor,

It trails to the door.

Fuck chemo, fuck bisphosphonates

They’ll experiment on me today

Now just you wait

An injection in each buttock, apparently

A knitting needle in my tummy

Will there be anaesthetic

That’s not funny.

My tiger’s an emigre

To Denmark.

Will his tiger wife, ex wife

Get a new man

For the rest of her life.

I light a candle in my room,

I sweep my carpet with the broom –

Clearing old clothes, old boyfriends:

From my space

But not my mind or heart.

Living is a dying art.

Now: it’s too soon to know

If the PTSD will return

In six months’ time.

I moan, I whine.

I’m that girl who

Has lost her heart

To her first love

And all the others,

countless times.

I cry, I moan

I moan, I whine.

Outside I see

The collared doves

They mate for life

A pair who love

Inseparable. Unbreakable.

*2018. By Catherine Steadman. Thriller.

Little Deaths*

Wake up with bad shoulder pain so cancel Spin. Walk into the village with my chum, another dog walker and her bulldog client. Is nice to see her.

Go with Mum to buy new suitcase from TK Maxx. Here he is:

Also get a crystal poppy and some new sleepwear from Marks and Spencer and have lunch in the cafe where all the tills are broken. Hell must be like Marks and Spencer: rails and rails of ghastly prints; everything in either a size 6 or a size 20; never anything you want and huge queues. There is no natural light upstairs in the cafe and the food is all prepackaged. It does seem to be a destination for the very elderly who pack the cafe.

Help Mum to plant the pansies with this person:

Get everything out of all clothes drawers and throw out a black bag full of old clothes.

Try on some of winter dresses to see if they still fit/ look OK. It was so cold last winter that wore trousers the whole time so haven’t worn most winter dresses for two years.

We are planning our trip to the Northern Lights – am going with Suzy in the Christmas holiday.

Kate Humble is coming to talk to us at the Radlett Centre tonight.

Happy Thursday everyone!

*2016. By Emma Flint. Murder mystery novel inspired by true events.