The 2525 Pilgrimage

Inspired by the Zega & Evans song, released in the 1960s, called ‘In the Year 2525’.

The 2525 Pilgrimage by Samantha “unextraordinarybint” Harris

Centuries since Corona Virus Alpha hit Earth devastating our population I sit here writing. Using a rusty old blade I scrape my marks on this fridge in hope that it won’t be discovered by monitors. It’s interior is used for storage of clothing, working well for keeping moths out. My up-bringers and I share it.

At school, we’re told our ancestors used fridges to keep carcasses fresh. It was a time when humans warred with each other, spoiling the planet with poisons. They murdered Earth’s inhabitants, selfishly eating animals, using them as a source of protein they’d manufacture products from their carcases and enjoyed wearing their skins, even using animal bones for medicinal broths.

I’ve never known a cold fridge. The harnessing of electrical power was outlawed for humans in 2050. For our safety, AI autotomic droids maintain the planet’s electrical grids. Distribution and Supply is strictly rationed to Necessary For Life organisations and not squandered by us.

I’m told my need to create is an escalation of my illness so I must be cautious. I’m a committed New Beginning Believer but the evilness of bad mental health remains. I scrape one word a day. My addiction craves more, risking raising my heart rate to a detectable level.

Weeks after the Corona Viruses Zeta variant attacked the planet in June 2030 a cohort study showed how vulnerable humans became when they left their homes. As a major medical discovery it saved billions of people’s lives but was not welcomed. Deadly protests spread faster than the virus.

It is history now, how it was necessary for AI to oversee human health for The Common Good and the protection of our species and others. Our homes, for our safety, had to become our cages.

Robots now distribute our care, limiting human error. Armoured vehicles travel streets delivering water tablets and nutrition, monitoring our vital signs so we rarely starve if we are viable. Thankful, we watch through holes we’ve piped into the hives on our windows.

Foxes, snakes, sheep, wolves and deer roam outside our homes on cracked tarmac. The grass verges, left to grow naturally, encouraging wildlife, are now host to the genetic insects released to combat stray humans carrying disease. Building nests and hives around us they are able to monitor movements keeping AI informed of our well being.

State television transmits a basic program service with special entertainment on Saturday nights. Generally television informs us of how the latest health programme progresses, which locations are expecting the Build Back Better vaccination robots and the daily birth rate over death rate graph.

International Communications are impossible for most since the satellites were, for our safety, reconfigured using space drones humans had invented for mining exploration. Anti vaccination terrorists had been using networks to organise resistance and were blocking The New Beginning Faith broadcasts.

Autotomic trucks collect human waste weekly from each street moving it to a collection point where it’s transported by manned cranes into giant air ships run on biofuel. These craft transport the sweet smelling load to the oceans where it is released for the marine life to feed upon. Our diets, controlled by AI, now produce nutrient rich waste.

Few natural humans, other than royalty, can safely move around outside. Crane drivers have outside protective freedoms. Having a skill AI can’t master, they bare witness to how the Build Back Better system works. I’m assigned a crane operator as my lover. I pray we’ll be fruitful.

Gratefully, I’m able to leave home once in a lifetime. I’ve been researching my Life Pathway Journey on the battery run Ethernet computer. It will be so exciting to see The London Eye. One has to be patient as current female pilgrimage age is the first month after the fifty-fifth birthday.

I pray I will still be considered worthy.

The End.

Ancestors Race – Poem

Ancestors tell me

In voices clear

Be close, but not near.

For centuries they took us

Never seen again

Ancient bones remain hidden

Under greed, envy and pain.

Wrath settles in dust.

Waken state they wake

Soldiers shoulders wide

Enemies show their scales

Poking the bear on the line.

Snakes rattle and spit

Ancestors remind me of it

Pirates of Barbary

Fair freedoms fought

Hold children safe

Whilst history is untaught

As we move into darkness

I hold to brotherly faith

I remember the contest but

Never the race.

The end.

By Samantha Harris

New National Restrictions in England – Stay at Home. Protect the NHS. Save Lives.

https://www.conservatives.com/news/stay-at-home-protect-the-nhs-save-lives

Watch “Special report: Infected Blood – The search for truth” on YouTube

So, while the world is looking at blood transfusions to fix the ‘covid19 nightmare’…this is going on.

The link above is for the youtube coverage of the NHS blood scandal which started in the late 1970s and continued – disgustingly- until the 1990s, accidently killing thousands including Anita Roddick who was The Body Shop founder.

It has taken forty years to get here and they have been investigating for some years now.

But was it really an accident?

I’ve been listening to the inquiry and it’s rather sickening. It’s more than sickening. It’s criminal.

At the time in the 1980s, 1990s, the patients’ questions were ignored, children were diagnosed and treated with large amounts of factor 8 after it was known to contain American prison drug users blood infected with the AIDs Virus.

After hours of questioning, the doctor did, when asked if he had anything to say, broke down and said, “It’s bad isn’t it, it shouldn’t have happened”.

Too right it shouldn’t have happened. Thousands lost their lives and children. No one lost their job.

How he did not lose his job is astounding.

Yet, here we are again. Using blood products supposedly safe for use in covid19 patients if the originator has recovered from covid19…is the blood being super heat treated to make sure no other viruses or diseases are present?

If you listen to this inquiry you’ll realise that there is no guarantee of that.

Thanks for reading.

worth watching as not being covered in national media

Halloween is Coming!

Soon it will be November. Already there is a chill to the air, the days are becoming shorter and the clocks went back last night. I woke to all the time being wrong in the house and a leaky ceiling. Thankfully there is much to look forward to. The 31st October 2020 looms….yay.

Yes. Next weekend is Halloween or Samhain. It is when the change from Summer to Autumn and then to the end…to Winter is celebrated. The dead growth period before the Spring comes around again.

We celebrate as it is a busy time. Harvests are in. Food is being stored for the future hard times and celebrations, it is a time to prepare for the coming necessary rest and the big Yule time feast or Christmas celebrations and gift giving. It is now that we start buying or making gifts to give in December – traditionally things which were needed but luxuries too.

If you live somewhere cold you will know not much can happen easily in it. Damn, I need to get fully dressed up in scarf and hat just to put out the rubbish. The wind comes at you from all directions and infection is just about everywhere, running noses, rosy cheeks and coughs are the norm. It is regretful that these things are now associated with ‘disease’ rather than with the normality of life.

So, basically I’m saying in October we are getting ready for ‘batten down the hatches’ – Winter time.

However, before we do so we like to have a gathering for Halloween. There will be party games like What’s in the box? Where children are encouraged to put their hands in to see what they can feel. It is usually something strange like a peeled orange in baked beans… Or play another game, a take on ‘pin the tale on the donkey’ called ‘pin the teeth on the skeleton’.

There will be toffee apples, fruit dipped in candy and chocolate. Lots of different games with apples as this is the tradition. We are not doing apple bobbing this year because of covid19 but there will be apples a plenty. I’m planning to do ‘shrunken heads’ from half peeled apples slightly baked…

There is no traditional food but it is usually something warming and nutritious. This year my daughter is doing Chilli Con Carne…as beef is at a good price and quality. Knowing her, there will be two choices of chilli…one for the children and adults with taste buds, and the other for those of us who may want to treat ourselves to a little spice and heat (regardless of the consequences).

Last year I had more energy, to be honest, and made the toffee apples that are pictured on this article. This year I’m planning some marzipan animals with some red food colouring for effect. We’ll see how we go for time and energy before next weekend. Most of the work for these events is taken over by my daughters now. As I always hoped it would be.

I’m looking forward to seeing my grand children. I’m looking forward to seeing my loved ones…well some of them. This year there will not be so many people as we have a conditional law in place during the Covid19 pandemic. They are calling it the rule of six. NO more than six people are allowed to gather at any one time.

We can obviously get around this by staggering the gathering. I can only attend for a couple of hours max before I fall asleep so I generally trot home after some time with the children – Adults talk all the time so it’s the children I miss as they haven’t mastered the art of phone conversation just yet…all under five years old – it’s cute but its’ not a great way to converse with the young.

I want to play hide and seek with them…and “what’s the time Mister Wolf” and maybe have a pretend fight with a toy, foam swords. I’m looking forward to seeing their little faces when they put their hands in the box and attempt to guess at what’s inside. I’m looking forward to seeing them in their costumes and scaring to hear them squeal in pleasure!

Times are really hard for many people during this pandemic. Small parties and gatherings and any excuse for a celebration is how we move forward in this ‘new normal’ and keep our society going.

I’m pagan but I know that church groups and other faiths are doing the same as me. They are holding on to what is dear to them and celebrating the darkening and lightening of life. I try hard not to take the ‘end of the world’ stuff to heart, after all it’s been said by them for a couple of million years now and we’re still all here.

For those that read my blog regular, my house guest and I are getting along fabulously and he’s had fewer and fewer accidents. Family and friends are coming around to walk him and he spends his time eating and sleeping near the radiators or on the sofa next to me.

Bruiser won’t be attending the Halloween party with me.

The children have already tromped across fields to get their pumpkins for carving… this event was too muddy for me but it looked a lot of fun and the children enjoyed it.

The carved pumpkins will be on display, next weekend, at the party. I may take pics…I may not as could be enjoying myself too much to ruin it by bringing out my phone!

I’ll try and get some photos of the food spread…the treats table. mmm

Thank you for reading.

Be sure to get some candy in for those brave souls who go ‘trick or treating’ over Halloween!

They usually wear masks.

Stay safe.

Fam – poem

Are you fam?

Would you know?

Who I am?

DNA will say.

We are in an age

When all alliances

Will go astray.

To find commonality

In humanity

I need to tell you

Hatred

Is distraction man

Love is

Bringing up the rear

No priority

Re-arranged here.

Fin

By Samantha Harris

Black Beauty and White Lies

So, a little look at what wordpress wants me to read is always interesting.

Black lady has a blog. Usual blog material. Children used to gain likes and some personal hardship stories. Most of the stories gravitate about her race. Like me and many others she feels it’s important to state her life matters.

Her blog promotes tee-shirts of one type. It has black lives matter tee-shirts and one of the slogans is – the link for amazon (I see no reason to support a racists blog) is just below in case you fancy one – LIGHTLY MELANATED HELLO BLACK

😎

lightly melanated hello black

I didn’t know what this meant so I went and looked it up. I looked up the medical. I looked up the black lives matter material.

There is much to say here but one thing is evident, the people printing the tee-shirts didn’t bother doing any medical research.

On a tee-shirt promoting page stating, white people are constantly racist to black and brown people and that there were no nice words ever put in front of black, I was invited to leave a comment.

Well, strictly I wasn’t invited as I’m not black, but I am human and we are the same race so I decided to drop my two pennies in.

Probably best if I don’t repeat what I wrote. Let’s just say I’m fed up a certain humans promoting segregation of the races.

There is article after article about how awful it is that black people feel they are being discriminated against but there is no proof presented, just feelings, that’s not discrimination.

Actual discrimination is when you are not entitled to the same freedoms as others or are restricted from facilities and services on the basis of colour, gender or age. It is definitely not ‘hurt feelings’.

The word Nigga for instance…for decades white people in my country are not allowed to say it but black people still use it amongst themselves and on music promotional material etc.

I got asked to promote something yesterday on another platform. I read the material for the album and realised that I’m not allowed to say one line of it. Why would I promote any musician who is calling himself a nigga?

We are not allowed to say something that black people are allowed to say. That is discrimination.

By the way, I don’t want to say nigga, it’s and I’m surprised that black people do want to say and promote themselves saying it..

I going to assume it’s so they can be discriminative in their speech knowing it cannot be repeated or sampled by people not allowed to say it?

Well please remember, it’s not actually against the ‘law’ of our country to say this word. We just refrained out of politeness..Perhaps ‘artists’ should consider doing the same?

If you have a talent do it, share it and become the best you can, being black isn’t a talent it’s a stroke of luck – like being born white or brown or pigmented.

It’s not easy being human but if we all continue trying to be heard on merit of colour – that’s putting life in the shade and life is going to get very boring.

I’m bored of writing about it and I’m bored of reading about it.

Why can’t wordpress show me the people I’ve previously followed in my reader rather than promoting the same agenda as the national papers and media in my country. It’s sad and see through.

Peace for all.

I’m The Problem? Poem.

I throw away plastic but am unable to make it

I wear synthetic clothes that I am unable to weave

I eat food that comes in plastic packing as I cannot farm

I heat myself with a source of power that I do not produce

I’m told that plastic is bad, constantly by media

And I believe it…I have it within my body and hate it.

So, how about stop making it?

Only the fossil fuel industry can.

Why lecture me to throw away less plastics?

I will. As soon as there is a new plan.

End

By Samantha Unextraordinarybint Harris

Be Careful What You Wish For. Bruiser.

Careful What You Wish For. Bruiser.

Why You Should ALWAYS Check What You Wish For

I spend a lot of time on my own. It wasn’t a choice. It’s something I am getting used to.

As I don’t go out much, I recently started pining for a dog. I can’t manage a dog, so I know its dream stuff, but I miss the dogs I had. I miss their personalities and I miss their company. If I’m honest I miss the security they gave me when I was outside too.

I suppose I was thinking about the need to feel safe when I leave my home.

I had a German shepherd called Bruno and my daughter’s dog Bruiser living with me for years and years. In 2016 I had to put Bruno down (he dislocated his hip) and then in 2018 I moved in here and Bruiser went to live with my daughter who’d, by then, sorted herself out somewhere more secure to live.

As you can imagine Bruiser is now getting on and coming up to his fourteenth birthday. His life with my daughter has been busy and he’s loved it. He has two human siblings now and I doubt he misses Bruno and me too much. He gets long walks in the woods, a lovely nature reserve, every day and lots of attention from the children.

However, he is exhibiting strange behaviour as my grandson is learning how to use the potty. Bruiser has decided to also start peeing around the house.

Bruiser is a mastiff rottie cross and not a small dog. My daughter called me earlier today, almost in tears, the school called so she had to pick up my granddaughter who is feeling rough after her flu vaccination last week. On arrival home she discovered the dog had urinated all over the laminate floor.

She slid in through the front door into the hall still holding the littlest one and managed to just stop the other child, already feeling ill, from slipping over in it too. I laughed as she explained that she looked around and couldn’t see one surface which was dry enough to place them.

Eventually she got in and cleaned up, but it was everywhere. Discovering it all over her sofa- bed was the last straw.

Now Bruiser had been out for his walk and usually has a good degree of control. He has never snapped at anyone or given us reason to be wary but this behaviour is bizarre and then he did something strange. He jumped up and knocked off a knife from the kitchen side. A meat knife.

It was done on the quiet too. If she hadn’t re-entered the kitchen and seen it on the floor, before the children, it could have been disastrous. It’s a no brainer. The dog is showing signs of challenging the grandson when it comes to food so there is a risk that his behaviour is becoming territorial generally. The dog gets put down or he comes to me.

I must admit, I was thinking about a dog. I wasn’t thinking about the realities of a dog just the lovely little things…the company, his soft fur and cuddles etc. I was not thinking about walking him, picking up his poo, the dog hairs everywhere or the smell. Don’t get me wrong, me and Bruiser go back a long way and I love him to bits, but I know I’m going to cleaning up after him. That’s the responsibility of the owner living in a built-up area.

Like many elderly mammals, Bruiser is no exception, he is getting grumpy. He has been a loyal and fantastic dog over the years but now his mind and body is going. He deserves the respect and room he needs; it would be cruel and perhaps dangerous to ignore it. Also, from my grandson’s aspect the freedom to pottie train without the dog in his bits every few minutes would also be nice.

Obviously, the main reason Bruiser is coming to me is that there’s no one else to take him and I know him, and we are not ready to put down a good dog (a usually good dog) just because he is old and being a pain in the arse.

I still remember the day my daughter brought him around to see me. He was so small that he fitted into a little black hat and you could hardly see him. Now he is still as black as the darkness night, but he is huge and is essentially having a pissing contest with his owner’s son lol.

Anyhow, I wished for a dog and hey presto, I’m getting one. I’m looking forward to the company and really hoping that his bladder hasn’t gone as bad as mine otherwise we will be a sorry pair. Hopefully, it is just behavioral and a good rest away from his home will do everyone good.

I know my daughter is certainly looking forward to getting him out of the house – she said it so he could hear “It’s Nanny’s or the local Chinese”.

Picture of a dog and a cat together.
Bruiser and old cat of ours, Misty. They were the best of friends.

Thanks for reading.

The Day I Met My Mother. Short real life story.

The Day I Met My Mum. Short real life read.

I was twenty two years old, married but separated and living in Brighton in the south of England when I first had news of my mother.

Maureen my mother lived in Plymouth, Devon, around four hundred miles from me. Even now, thirty years later, writing ‘my mother’ or thinking of her at all is proper alien to me. I am the beginning and the end of my family.

Knowing where you came from is a biological urge, but it is rare to find anyone in the same boat.

I’ve met many people who didn’t understand their fathers and some who didn’t know them at all but never met anyone else given up by their mother when they were one.

I had a friend whose mother left him with an aunt in Jamaica for eight years whilst she came to England to train to become a nurse. He said that when she did return home, she was like a stranger to him and he always had felt some awkwardness towards her but went on to recognise that she did it for him and his siblings.

I didn’t know how I felt about my mother. What did she leave me for? I suppose I should have been angry. But it’s not that easy. How can you feel anything when you don’t have a picture in your mind of who to be angry with? All I had was back handed remarks from my father and snippets of snide information from my step mother. My birth mother was a taboo subject.

If I’m honest, I don’t remember the drive down to Plymouth that weekend. It’s a journey I used to do more often but nowadays I barely remember the way and now would use googlemaps. Back then, I know I was intrigued and very nervous. Meeting my mother and Grandmother, Gwen, for the first time was an unprecedented life situation. A defining moment.

There was much to look forward to. Over the weekend I was due to meet other extended members of my family. I remember being happy. My partner, at the time was a man called Mike, he was an accountant. We thought we were in love. I was working as a model agent and instructor which kept me busy most days and two evenings during the week.

It was a weekend away. We were using his blue Ford Escort 1.4 for the journey. I loved driving his car. I’d never driven anything with less than three previous owners before and the journey down to Devon would have been quick as I always liked to drive fast.

Arriving at the bottom of Gwen’s tower block in Devonport, was unremarkable but forever indentured in my memory. The old worn heavy wooden doors gave way after I pressed the intercom to announce our arrival. The corridors and lift smelled as all council buildings smell; old, pissy with the faint taint of Special Brew. I live in tower block myself now and it is the same.

We arrived on her floor, the thirteenth, and buzz my biological Grandmother’s door. A small dark haired, wrinkled lady opens it and explains straight away that she isn’t my Nan. Her name is Ruby, and she’s Nan’s best friend. For some reason this flummoxed me briefly and Mike takes me arm. He gives me a nod of encouragement and we walked through the dark hall.

As we get to the end of the hall, a green frog, a soft toy security device, sounds out ‘rebbit’- making me jump but we follow Ruby through to where Nan is sat in her lounge.

I hear Nan laugh before I see her. Ruby sits down on the sofa nearest to Nan. My new/old/unknown Grandmother was sat in a chair to the right of me as I came through the door. In front of me were large picture windows looking out over Plymouth Sound. The view was breath-taking.

Photos were on every side and display collections of thimbles were on the walls. Grandmother Gwen’s short white hair stood up on her head above her pale forehead and almost invisible eyebrows. Her white skin was randomly spotted with light brown patches Her strong liquid blue eyes looked into my brown ones. We both had tears running down our faces as I leant down and hugged her for the first time ever, or at least for the first time since I was a tiny baby. She smelt of warm lavender air and talcum powder.

“Oh”, she said, wiping her eyes with a tissue from a box, “you look just like your photo, just like your mother and how I used to before the diabetes got me.” She referred to her huge size.

“Just like my photo?” I asked. I hoped that I didn’t sound as shocked as I was. My mind was swirling. They knew what I looked like. They had photos of me.  How could they know what I looked like when I didn’t know that they existed until a week ago? Had my father stayed in contact? I quickly saw it wasn’t that. New Nan proudly explained that they’d seen me in the local paper. They showed me the cuttings.

I’m glad I was sat down. I took it all in and Ruby made us all a cup of tea.

They all knew about me. They had the freedom to discuss me.

Nan chatted about biological Grandad and how much he’d loved Maureen and would have loved to see me again if he’d lived. I was shown boxes and boxes of photographs. Each one so important but all so overwhelming. I tried to remember all the names and places. What relation someone was to me, but it was too much. I couldn’t take it all in.

At some point I asked whether Maureen, lived nearby and then Nan said she’d call her for me. Then my grandmother picked up the phone and dialled her up on massive buttons. They spoke together on that telephone that was stood on a little wooden table near her floral arm chair. White doilies adorned both. The doilies were matching white cotton with embroidered roses. Nan gestured to me to come and talk. That was the first time I heard my mother’s voice. Stood on the dark reddish, brown, swirly patterned carpet, looking at my Nan’s elderly, eager face with the slimline plastic receiver in my hand held blaring against my ear.

What can I tell you? What did mum sound like? Well, there wasn’t tinkles and sprinkles of magic singing in my ears. Maureen had a heavy Devonshire accent and sounded like any other woman on the phone. She tells me she is at work and will come over when her shift finished.

I sit there for what seemed like an eternity, looking at black and whites, waiting to see what she looks like in real life. That really was the main thing I wanted to see. Shallow really but it’s the truth. I also wanted to know why she’d left me and what she was really like. Was she a tragic alcoholic who needed to party? I wanted to know her more than I felt any anger.

Finally, the door went. Ruby went to answer it. I looked at Mike. He looked back reassuringly. I was thankful he was there, being supportive, quiet and not intrusive.

My mother enters after the ‘rebbit’ followed by Ruby, who went to put the kettle on again.

Maureen stood across the room looking at me apprehensively. She said,

“Do you hate me?”

“No.” I replied. I looked at the woman who was my mother and my face cracked, so much emotional came forth and I cried heavily. I stood up and walked to her. I embraced her and she embraced me. She was smaller, fragile even. I carried on crying as we hugged. My desperate need for her to show me love overrode everything else and I don’t know how long we stood there like that just holding each other. She pulled away first. Telling me I had a sister and brothers. We sat and talked as Ruby served tea and my new Nan supplied biscuits.

I was shown the first photos I’d seen of myself as a baby. I was told my baby history. ‘Mother’ dropped me with my Aunt Chris on my first birthday so I could meet my father (Chris’s brother) and never went back for me. Maureen told me that she’d been breast feeding and they’d had to bind her to stop producing milk for me. She told me that I cried a lot. And that as my cousin was a Downs Syndrome baby.

It was difficult and their household could not cope with all of us. She was suffering with depression and didn’t want to make the journey back across Plymouth to get me. The longer she left it the easier it became then she met another man and got pregnant again. She tells me that it was difficult to love her new child, a son, because she was thinking about me.

We cried all afternoon. I see that she is similar but much smaller than me. The similarity is around the cheekbones and mouth, perhaps in the shape of the eyes. Maureen’s eyes are green so my browns must be from father. But the mannerisms surprised me. We both do similar things with our hands and heads when we talk or at rest. It was rather bizarre to witness. She tells me people call her Mo, but I decided to call her mum.

She invites Mike and I to her flat so that I can meet with one of my brothers and my sister. All fantasy that my mother had given me up to live a better life perished when I saw her flat and how modestly she lived.  My sister and brother were outstanding individuals and clearly close to Mo. We ordered fish and chips from the corner shop for tea.

My brother and sister were both blue eyed blondes so looked nothing like me. They tell me that my other brother, Matthew, is dark. I’ve yet to meet him to this day. In true Devon spirit my mother gives her bed to Mike and me for the night. The next day I meet the rest of my family from Devon and Cornwall and they make me feel welcome. I felt accepted but I didn’t feel like I belonged.

We were all close for a few years, Mum, her family and I, but by 2000 the relationship became sour, estranged and again, she is now unknown to me.

I’m glad that I know where I came from regardless of the fact that I no longer have a relationship with my biological mother and her family. I don’t belong to her tribe but because of her I never really belonged anywhere else.

Thanks for reading.

The End

Hair Colonies – Poem

Hair Colonies

Long hair is beautiful
But, it is the bind weed of the home
I hate stray hairs
I’m brunette (odd grey)
If I see a hair on the sink or side
Immediately, with it, into the bin I glide
Several reasons.
They wrap around the taps
They gather in the plug
They gather in the vacuum cleaner
Long hair is strong
It will inhabit an environment to which
It doesn’t belong
It will gather other hairs
Any hair
From any region – yuk
Any colour, colonies aren’t choosy
Even greys are acceptable
In their plans to take your hole
Then amazing strength you’ll see
Scissors and knives can shoved down the drain
To remove and attempt to regain
You’ll know the angiush…
Then, there is the hoover.
All that dust
Wrapped hair in colonies of lust
Undo this, undo that
Cut the fecking thing off
And, then put it all back
What a palava
And, you’ve still got the cleaning to do after!
Yeah, long hair is lovely
I could twiddle and twirl it all day
If only, when loose, they would all crawl away.

The End.
by Samantha “unextraordinarybint” Harris. Written 25th September 2020 Hertfordshire.UK.

 

Why Are the Beeb Not Researching ?

https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/m0006sg5https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/m0006sg5

It wasn’t just the BBC, other news channels also carried the story that Black Women were five times more likely to die during child birth than white women in the UK.

I have searched for this research for the actual figures. I cannot find any for the UK that support this. There are several infographs stating it but no figures to support it. READ THE REPORTS.

Click to access MBRRACE-UK%20Maternal%20Report%202018%20-%20Web%20Version.pdf

They talk about the statistics…but don’t say where they are..they say they are complex.

That is not enough. To understand the statistics one must read the report as the summary is bad. It’s worse than bad it totally ignores the fact that there is NO DIRECT DEATH INCREASE and states QUITE CLEARLY most of the deaths are due to suicide within the first year after death and bizarrely homicide. So, what we are actually talking about is black women dying after they have given birth.

I would like to add that focusing resources on black women on the back of no evidence is not the right way to do things. The bbc have a duty to research the facts as a public broadcaster.

All women giving birth of all races struggle to give birth in the UK. The NHS is basic care – for all. I have just seen my daughter go through the system and I myself have, more than twenty years ago, and can assure you that the women you have interviewed may be black but it is not just black women who are badly cared for in the NHS. All women are cared for badly, it’s a pot luck affair.

It’s great that the American’s are dealing with discrimination and racism – however, within the UK many of our doctors are black and so are our midwifes so if there racism it is not necessary by white people. It is very possible as a white person to suffer racism from a brown or black doctor I can assure you this is very common for white women.

All this black lives matter is just a ruse to get more funding. Praying on the feeling against racism when actually all women are treated like this…why not join us women and fight together for equality rather than try to cause hatred and division.

Women are treated terribly in the medical profession and it is getting worse.

The journalist says herself it is a bias against women in general she admits that’s its a lack of knowlege of the female anatomy generally…yet the BBC choose not to focus on this MAJOR FACT and go with a really incitive line.

Not good BBC please sort it out. What are you trying to do? England is not America. Two different countries so do not be so lazy with your program research !!!

There is an increase in deaths in childcare in the UK but it hasn’t been collected by ethnicity so there is no way they’d know. But it does show that our services were not as they were.

The medical profession in general is behaving terribly towards women and it’s about time the Beeb really covered the story rather than using just parts of it for their own agenda. Usually a black promotion agenda which is boring, so boring when you live in a predominantly white country.

What you have to realise is that there are private patients being treated at the same hospitals on the same wards as NHS patients so hey join the rest of us and stop thinking that it is because you are black and realise that it’s an elite agenda. It’s because you are poor and female. Get with the rest of us and start communicating rather than segregating and you’d realise that.

I’m white. There was no hot water available, no pain relief and although I have major connective tissue disorder was discharged from the birthing ward with my baby within two hours. I couldn’t walk, none of us can but what I am saying that although I have a rare disease I was given no consideration or even basic things like hot water. I definitely never saw a wheelchair. My daughter gave birth last year and there was no oxygen on the ward, they’d run out! The baby got MRSA and all the staff were black. One of the nurses kept coming in an touching him…saying, isn’t his skin silky. How would these ladies feel if a white nurse kept coming in and doing that to their black baby?

And listening to a brand new midwife with no or little experience is bizarre. How is she allowed to give her evidence as fact, truly unbelievable. Again, the BBC seem to have a total disregard for the truth and are more interested in pushing unsavory distrust and personal biases.

All women are discharged far too quickly, I accept it’s wrong, I’d like change. How can we get change when these so called black women are diluting the message?

Black women do not have curvature of their spines which makes giving birth more difficult…where is the evidence for this??? WTF???? I have a curvature of the spine and there is no extra consideration given for this condition! I’m disgusted at the BBC for promoting division, yet again.

Seems like a crooked attempt to get extra funding. And it will succeed too as too many people just accept this rubbish rather than reading the actual reports! However, black women shouldn’t worry as they are as safe as the rest of us the report says this clearly.

Thanks for reading. This piece was stuck in my drafts since last year so is published late.

Refused Aid During Pandemic

South Africa is worrying me.

The situation is becoming worse and worse and is being ignored by our international press.

Elderly man refused food aid because he is white.

Racist reporter attempting to make this man feel bad because he lives with white people.

Refused Aid by South African Government because they are white people.

Watch “Is the BBC solving or creating problems by giving staff ‘avoiding racial bias’ training?” on YouTube

Watch “NHS Going Going Almost Gone: David Halpin at UKIP SW -High Res” on YouTube

Ode to My Daughter

Ode to My Daughter – poem

 

My girl is a gem

There is not person

Who can measure up to her

Not another child I’d prefer

She’s seen and accepted

All of me

Even the ugliness that I see

A more grounded individual

Cannot be found

Better organisation skills

Than Capability Brown

Her logistical brain outstanding her peers

Accompanying, caring attitude with plenty of cheer

A prouder mum cannot be found

When my daughter is around

I feel so privileged to be in her life

I never assume that I have that right

She is my hero

My life and my light

As always, a button shining bright

That turns on the future

And allows me to see

How familiar love can be

Mother’s shouldn’t have a favourite

But they do…

So, credit where it is due

My beautiful daughter,

I love you.

 

Fin.

By Samantha “unextraordinarybint” Harris.

 

To my beautiful daughter, whom I’d be lost without.