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Ruby Wax and Me – Nipple Poetic Story

There is a woman called Ruby Wax.

A more lovely woman you would not see.

She has cheeks of red which glow, and she hates them so.

Excitable she be and there are none funnier than she.

In earlier days she travelled around England to circumvent our inhabitants.

With Hit and Run, she met me.

Robert Lenkievitz’s model was I with breasts that you could anchor a ship on.

A study of St. Anthony found me naked on the BBC.

The next day, at my work, Boss was grinning like a jerk.

By lunchtime she’d made me coffee and then slyly asked me.

Yes, it was me.

Modelling naked on the TV.

Better though, I said, glowing rather red, was being interviewed by Ruby Wax.

I was immortalised on canvas and TV and that history could haunt me.

But proud, eventually, I would become; of my breasts, nipples and bum.

Meeting Ruby Wax who is a comedy best was the making of that assignment for me.

Afterwards, she went down to Longleat, for tea.

I went back to my bar, as the maid I really was, then I got fired because I’d posed naked for The Painter. See? One rule for one and another for me.

Now, I have Ruby Wax on my Facebook but she does not know that I was the body on which one of her episodes did close.

The End.

Thanks for reading. – you tube links are rather unreliable in UK so you could search for,

“Ruby Wax meets Robert Lenkiewicz in Plymouth, 1990. Hit and Run. “

Thanks for your time.

It took a year for this program to air – hence the two job reactions.

Wrong Gender for Heart Trouble

I was said bad admin would bring this country down. And I’m right, it is. The moment some idiot said, ” it doesn’t matter”.

Well it does bloody matter. Major organisations have a responsibility to get fixed and get themselves in order.

I have heart and lung disease. On Friday morning my GP requested I be taken in as emergency to Watford General Hospital. I was unable to eat anything for days and had been surviving on sips of bottled water and milk when the stomach wasn’t in spasm.

I had chest pains and with my heart and lung condition it was felt I would be looked after in hospital, maybe I’d picked up a bug or suffering from the effects of the MRI dye a month previously. I had been the GP the previous week and fainted whilst trying to gain blood pressure reading in their stand-up machine.

The GP called the ambulance. She waited for ages but eventually she had to leave me. The ambulance staff took my heartbeat and my blood sugar levels. The ambulance staff were unable to bring my wheelchair or my slippers shoes phone medication and I found myself in Watford General hours later, shivering in a side room late Friday afternoon.

My chest pain is severe and I am finding it difficult to understand their questions. Finding it very difficult to talk. I tell them I’m under Thoracic surgeons for the last ten years. I have mitral valve prolapse and am having strong pain across the front of my chest. I tell them I have Ehlers Danlos and was born with cystic lungs.

I’m in pain. My usual pain relief patches have come unstuck and slide off – my daughter finding them in the bed a few days later when she was cleaning up the flat for me to recover in. I tell the nurses that I really would like to see a doctor as I am in a lot of pain. I am given two paracetamols.

At 10pm I realise I still haven’t seen a doctor, I still don’t have a name badge on with my allergens on and am feeling unsafe. I realise I have no alarm and I am still opposite the waiting area although all the people have changed. I realise that I am being ignored. I stay very calm because my chest is really hurting and I cannot lift my right arm.

I slide off the bed and wrap a blanket around my shoulders. I know I can walk slowly for a while before I have to sit down so that is what I am planning to do. I figure if I can get back home again I can get some paperwork to prove who I am and then come back. I try to leave the A&E dept.

I figure I should get out whilst I can before they come and inject me with penicillin or something by mistake. I don’t make it too far. I fall in corridor but remain conscious throughout. I am told to return to the bed and I will be seen shortly. I am returned to side cupboard room off main waiting area.

A nurse visits me and puts name badge on me. He tells me a doctor will see me soon, i should try and be more patient as there are others before me. Someone comes in and takes my blood but he doesn’t know my doctor or any of my details yet. They have my name and then I hear another Samantha Harris called but it isn’t me, just someone with the same name.

Several students then try to take some bloods. One tries to take blood from the middle of my forearm. I explain I have Eds and help them get the canular in. I have been vomiting with loose bowels for four weeks. Sharp chest pain esp.under arms. Unable to lift arms when pain is present. Heart beats so loudly in my head I think my hair is about to whirl off.

After this brutal needling, blood was taken and I am handed two cotton buds for MRSA infection. No rectum or groin swab was taken at this time as I was too weak to hold it myself and kept dropping the swab stick. Even though I dropped it and didn’t swab my groin or rectum the swab was returned for testing.

I was then taken to AAU purple ward level 3 I think. The nurse made sure that she came and spoke in very patronising voice when i arrived on the ward. Nurse told me there was nothing wrong and that I should just go back home, they were ready to discharge me. I asked that I at least see my thoracic surgeon and she told me I didn’t have one and that it was “all in my mind”.

Saturday morning, I wept on the ward, I waited for consultant to come and see me, I felt so poorly. One doc came and said I was fine to stay in hospital to gather some strength as I still felt so poorly. I relaxed then, my daughter had come to visit me and had spent an hour or so with me. Everyone was lovely whilst she was there. Then after she left, another seeming normal doctor turns up telling me I had no right to be there.

Basically a African British doctor came to visit me on the ward. He started to tell me I had Fibromyalgia and I disagreed telling him I had Ehlers Danlos with lung disease. He got very annoyed with me and stormed away, he told the nurses to undo the fluids they had only put on very slowly a few hours previously and to discharge me.

Then mental health team came down to see me on AAU. They spoke to me for some time as they had been called by the nursing staff that I was causing problem about being discharged. I’ve been under mental health services for some time, I don’t take antidepressants as I am not depressed. I am awaiting psychology treatment for assaults which took place in my childhood.

My mental health team stated clearly to nursing staff that my physical illness make me poorly and that my mental health was actually fine. The mental health team clearly told them they were to treat me medically. Someone then came and placed a Fentanyl patch on me. Then the HRT patch was also put on me and within a while I was feeling normal, as that is my normal medication. I still had chest pain. I was given paracetamol.

Other than the original EEG they took before bringing me in the ambulance not one person talked to me about the chest pain. I did not see a stethoscope or real doctor regarding the chest pain at any time. I was under a junior doctor was classed my illness as ‘psychological vomitting’. I’ll leave it how my junior doc spelt it.

Early Sunday morning, I was discharged, the nursing staff put me back in a ambulance and brought me back home. I didn’t want to come home. My flat was filled with full sick bowls and used incontinence pads. The sink in every room was puked stained and the toilet was brown, completely pebble-dashed. There was no food in the house and I am thankful for a fantastic daughter and son-in-law who came up and helped me.

My daughter came up yesterday when she called WGH to find I had been discharged back home already with no one here. She had made it clear not to discharge me without telling me as I would need someone to help me at home. The hospital chose to ignore her and occupational advice about my safety and well being. I’m thankful for my girl’s strong stomach. I held my new grandson whilst she cleared up the flat, kitchen, bed and bathroom for me.

I felt such a burden – my grandson, Devon, just one month old and been on antibiotics since birth because of infection at Watford General. At the moment they say he can’t hear but as I sang to him I swear he smiled and looked at me. I’m his grandma and I’m determined be around for him and his sister. So my girl spent the day scrubbing her mum’s flat and I know she doesn’t resent me for it but I feel this isn’t the point.

We are getting there. I am still feeling very poorly. I feel maybe some steroids or antibiotics may help. But, as they never swab or take samples from me, how will i get over this? I have not been given anything other than pain relief and considering that is not good to be on full time I have to wonder when, or if they will treat me.

The chest pain comes in waves so I have times of movement. It was something to be told in 2009 to make arrangement for my children. I’m still here ten years later but I am poorly, the pain makes it ‘in my mind’. The treatment I received at Watford General hospital is something I’m learning to deal with but what has been happening to our beloved NHS England?

I am generally a very calm, happy person. Today I’m not so. You see whilst I was on AAU one of the other patients and her feller felt it was necessary to tell me to leave too. This patient seemed to be making a point of how she had just had twelve weeks “rehab ” and how everyone was so lovely to her. Seems she is on the friends and family scheme. I didn’t enquire rehab for what…

The woman was vile. Her partner, visiting, called me ‘pyscho’ too. Apparently her leg was bad. She sat there judging the really frail around her with venomous righteousness. I don’t often tell people when they are mean but in her case I really hope that her leg to drops off. I said to them I can hear every word you are saying to me – he responded, well you said your ears were sensitive we were just checking that out. No privacy and verbal attacks and when I complained I got told to just go home.

So it will all turn out okay I hear the masses say. well, hey ho, I don’t think it will until I can even complain which I can’t. You cannot complain about Watford General Hospital as it doesn’t have a complaints dept.

There isn’t even a feedback system in place. How are they allocated funding without these proper facilities being in place. The lib dems in Hertfordshire along with the rest of the council know the hospital is failing but still give the funding regardless.

The healthcare is one of the many organisations which seem to do whatever they like nowadays. Perhaps they think this will continue as we leave Europe, no, this will not continue. You can not just break our health service. The Government need to gain control again and quickly. For all the people like me who want treatment, who need to get back to work, the NHS is necessary to keep us healthy and we need it working properly.

This Little World of Mine – England

BBC Bias Media Representation and Coverage – Rich People Are Doing My Nut In
By Samantha Harris, formerly Spetch, formerly Tucker born of Rogers

I recently made myself sit through one of the most cringe worthy shows ever screened. First, I thought it was some sort of satire but apparently it was serious.

During this program a BBC presenter had four other grown men carry him and his wheelchair up a rickety wooden staircase. It had proper regal tones. Apart from the obvious fact that everyone was pretty scared. But the BBC are good at lauding it over the poor folk.

But then this BBC presenter just had to go a step further and some.The interviews with the children were strong. You could say it was emotional – yes, those kids were bloody scared.

The fearless BBC were talking to them – in the open – with loads of soldiers around you. They probably even asked them their names in front of the man with guns. They had guns. It is likely those children know very well what those guns do and yet the BBC ask them to risk their security this way??? Why???There was militia at both ends of the street.

Many of these people have been told, by the fashionablefaithgroups and other dubious groups, that invalid people are devils… that disabled people sap good people energy and load of other rubbish – so yes, they were defo scared. They are scared of vampires – it is the era of misinformation.

Perhaps the BBC presenters could work on a more humble attitude to those less fortunate and not wave their bloody degrees and righteousness upon too many poor people – it can feel a little queezy. I did think that from my cosy flat in London.

I expect being able to research is probably a necessity if you are going to go into journalism but not if you work for the BBC. It seems many of the programs are not well researched and do not represent who they are broadcasting to.

Your willingness to show animals is distress is also rather worrying. The dinosaurs really don’t need grown men sitting on female alligators – in the name of some weird fashionablefaithgroups so called science program to show TRex had a strong bite.

This sort of thing is distressing to watch and unnecessary – I can assure you of that it also send out the wrong message was so unnecessary. Thankfully science has come a lot way since that sort of thing. It has become more humane and kind.

Very fed up of paying the BBC to abuse me. The licence is expensive. In the UK we have to pay. By court order if we and refuse we get fined. It is a must do thing. I do not support the BBC. I do not like their politics.

I then made myself sit through a misleading program on how black nurses saved the nhs what sort of racist reporting is this? This is against equality laws – and even if you were allowed to say it, which you are not, it isn’t even true. How can anyone save anything which was only just made…?

The BBC need to start getting responsible with their broadcasting. Just what is their agenda?

I am a woman in a wheelchair, screwed by the NHS and I would like something which reflects who I am and the wonderful life I had led rather than the dribble you keep churning out. I would be a wonderful study of just how bias the BBC is as I drove my car to Israel in the 1990s.

From Brighton I drove my car through Europe to the middle east.

I would love to see things which reflect my life and culture. Fed up of the BBC being racist and lying about our countries history. Fed up of the BBC following other countries interests and lying about ours.

Sort it out. You ruined my childhood with your disgusting broadcasting – and now I will give you my point of view. I watched the program called Rainbow in the 1970s. I got a beating for repeating some of the things you broadcast.

I also read some pretty strange books at a young age – Shakespeare and Steven King, both authors the British elite are determined to shove on us – it’s weird stuff and it’s underage and it should not be happening.

The BBC have a responsibility to be responsible. You have our money. You have the nations souls so you have control. Please play nice.
Innocence should be protected not worshipped or hurt.
Friends in the right places re funding
Friends in the right places re housing
Friends in the right places re medical treatment

The programs this evening were so ill informed that BBC is painful to watch but you make me pay for a licence or go to jail, I have no option but to see what you are trying to brainwash UK with.

So now we know – No more dribble – proper telly please – and stop editing things weird, leave women and children alone. Stop trying to push fashionable faith agenda – we don’t need it, we are just normal folk.

Crafting Pagan Style

The Bridget Cross


The intricately woven straw decoration that brighten churches throughout Britain at the time of Harvest Festival have their origins not in the christian religion but in the beliefs and the ideas stretching aback into prehistory.

The celebration of the harvest is steeped in legend and mythology, and centres around the story of Ceres the Earth Mother, goddess of all that grows out of the earth.

This is based on the theory that women once had complete control over production of food and distribution of services and supplies. As this legend is the same in every country around the globe it is probably more than a theory.

In 1973 in England is was still the custom in some areas of Britain for farmers to leave a row of wheat standing in the fields at the end of the harvest in the belief that bad luck will befall them if it is cut. The legend is that Ceres hides in the corn and to avenge what happened to her.

In some parts of England at least until 1900 as sheaf of corn would be left in the fields, and while it stood there no one was allowed to go into the field. When the sheaf was taken out, women and children were allowed to enter and glean through the stubble.

In another part of the country the last row of corn used to be beat down to the ground by the reapers who shouted, ‘There she is! Hit her.” And, “Knock her to the ground” – also “Don’t let her get away” – basically attempt to make the female creative energy from the remaining corn go back to the earth so the field would be abundant the following year.