I Have A Sty (hordeolum) – babble

I don’t know what it’s called where you live but, here in the United Kingdom, a ‘sty’ is the name for an eye lid pimple brought on by stress. It starts small, ‘kinda prickly and ends up as a swollen, crusty mess that makes it hard to blink and see properly.

All one can do is manage stress, not cure it.

Could I list my stresses? Probably. The question is, would anyone want to read them…?

I’m being coy as I know what’s done it.

Two weeks ago I submitted a book to a literary agent to ask if they’d consider me. It’s 47k words long and much is riding on it being positively received.

Naively I thought I could submit a book then ‘get on with the next’. Now this mistake seems massive. I can barely concentrate on anything. My head is everywhere negative.

What if I can’t write? What if my ideas are rubbish or they hate the concepts? Doubts continue to bug me along many different paths of thinking. I purged my wp account in case they looked…but what would they be looking for? Will they see me or be coloured by what they read here? Will they find the right Samantha Harris as there are so many of us?

AGGGHHH it’s all too much…hence the eye.

I’m wandering around the flat doing the most stupid things…procastinating for sure, is one of them.

Astragalus root has bizarrely worked to take the sting out of the sty. Initially I was drinking the self prepared astragalus root tea for my chest pain (long story). The small white used roots looked like they could be soothing. Why not take a wild stab at it? I did nothing more than swipe the root gently but directly onto my sore eye lid and it eased.

So, I’ll keep the used roots to keep the inflammation down until the infection goes and I’ve made chamomile tea too in a bid to relax this afternoon. Apparently, it could be twelve weeks before the agent gets back to me with some sort of reply about my book.

TWELVE WEEKS !!!!

I’ll have no eyelids left by then and will need more tea.

Should I warn kids not to mess with herbs? Ah, they’ll be alright.

Thanks for reading.

Interference From Software

Let’s talk about interference. I live in England, UK. We are now post Brexit.

Am I the only one getting frustrated with the interference of programs online while I’m trying to write? From searching to editing, the robot programs ( whom you did not ask for help) interfere.

Predictive search…I can’t stand this.

I can type. I don’t need help….I know what I am going to search for….no matter how often I try I will never understand it’s predictions and it’s results.

I am pretty sure that Google is sexist. I cannot get my site listed for love or money. See the featured image of this article for my search results for my own site… However, I have had problems with google mail and youtube for years. In fact I just paid for google to recieve my emails which they’d locked up…bizarre. I got some messages from five years ago…

Anyhow, it’s not just google misbehaving.

Microsoft was my chosen program for writing and editing my books…I’m 51 years old, it’s familiar.

I’ve had my hotmail account since last century and this is not a stretch of the truth. It doesn’t appear to be working now, at all, I’m trying not to panic. Many of us are affected so I’m sure it will be soon be fixed…

I have faith in you microsoft to fix the hotmail…however Word is lost, I think.

Does anyone know of a writing and editing program which is not cloud based? I am having real security issues with word and microsoft. I’ve been locked out of one laptop completely as I accidently removed it from my devices….no way around this it seems, I cannot get the machine into the BIOS screen to safely reboot.

Thankfully, being an electrical nerd I have a few devices around so can usually manage to get one of my machines online…however, I am not an IT nerd and I am out of touch.

I’m using the paid for version of Word…just incase some of you are judging me lol.

Months ago, I spent days trying to retrieve some writing and editing. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you guys how frustrating and time consuming this is. It also messes with my general work writing planning as I think I’ve edited something but then find out it hasn’t been done after all.

Asking yourself whether you’ve written this or that for a character and having to read through to find out, takes time and messes with confidence.

I contacted microsoft about my missing files and edits. They ‘fixed’ the software and apologised for my loses. However, as a writer of fictional adventure it’s not so easy to find your place again…especially when you don’t have faith that your changes will be saved.

It’s slowed my writing down and I feel stuck. I’m learning on the job as I’m disabled and it’s the only thing I can currently do in my own time etc when I’m well enough. I get tired easily but am always thinking about plot lines and character plays. I suffer from memory fog so need to be able to write when I can with out too much hassle or remembering where I am.

I’m I really looking at buying a typewriter? Surely not? Where would I get ribbons???

Hopefully someone will see that there is a gap in the market for writers with unreliable broadband and memories.

Until then I write on a laptop which I have disabled the wifi on. The bulk of my work being stuck in word on this laptop. I’m grateful that I did a hard copy, printed off for my alpha reader. However, many adjustments have been made since then.

But it’s not just the logistics now, it’s the feeling of insecurity which is holding me up.

I would love to write offline but with editing assistance, spell check etc. Why is this impossible? What am I missing? Is the interference from software programs necessary? Spellcheck not being on here is bad enough…why not? It’s the simplest thing…

Cloud or nothing? I’m hoping someone will give me some advice here, I really don’t mind paying for the right software but it mustn’t be on a disk as I don’t have a diskdrive (who does now?) Gig pen software doesn’t appear to be a thing yet…? So, I realise I would need to download the software initially…there are so many editing programs but they are all cloud based from what I can see.

Thanks for reading.

The Whiteness and Bloody Americans. Rant.

What is wrong with white people? This is aimed at white people in Europe not the States. I’m English and would also class myself as European. I voted to remain for Brexit.

How can white people not realise they may be a target for hatred? Because, in the same way my (white) ancestors had to scream out for help to London, most are not aware.

The media and social media only tell what it wants, but if you look you will find independent news outlets now giving out the very depressing news. Youtube is worth watching if you can circumnavigate the PR stuff, filters, sexist and racist search results.

Stabbing and shootings in towns up and down the country have increased dramatically during lockdown…they stopped collecting ethnicity as it was getting very obvious. In response, Far right activity rose by 4% to 8% of our countries total terrorist threat. This resulted in a news blackout of the ongoing attacks.

But, I want to talk about our health and the NHS, and a woman called Rano Bains.

Why should you be interested in what she says? Because she is Head of Equality and Diversity for many NHS Trusts and hospitals (national health service) in England. It is her words which drive policy, funding and training in our wards and universities.

Rano Bain’s words…

“The whiteness refers to white consciousness – the ‘silent’, pervasive, cultural norm that informs and shapes our racial ideology. Whiteness is constructed as a formless, empty cultural space that is neutral, natural and normative. Whiteness, because it is an unnamed, hegemonic position of privilege and power, becomes the point of reference for measuring others, unlike “blackness” which has been named in the language of white signification. Whiteness has defied scrutiny as it does not seem like a culture as everyone is apparently the same.”

hmmm…plain English would have been nice…..However, I will attempt to break it down.

Do white people know what other white people think? She makes it sound like we are plugged into an invisible big psychic cloud. Her claims of white consciousness of people in Russia, Israel, Poland being the same as white people in England, Germany or America are terrible.

It shows her racism immediately. The first line says that she is viewing white people from a position of suspicion and it is white people who declare racial identity, to her. Is Ms Bains the type of person who should be running our ‘equality and diversity’ departments?

Current serving Ministers have declared that white privilege has no place being taught in our schools, but are they aware that it is taught in our NHS to our healthcare assistants, nurses and doctors?

White people come lower down the humanity chart to many people in the media, the health care profession and education. This has to change. All lives matter all faiths matter, including those without faith – that doesn’t mean they make the rules.

When people are not offered the same facilities and services it is called discrimination. (eg. TB vaccine). When they are not warned of extra risks to them, (eg. flu vaccine) this is racism.

White people are the only race not afforded the indigenous land protections.

In this manner, the United Nations is racist.

My country – The United Kingdom of the British Isles, is a country RICH in culture and heritage. It is wrong to say we have none. To be frank it is racist to say white people have no culture.

Terms like ‘snowy peaks, and ‘the whiteness‘ are racist. They should not be allowed within training programs in our national health system. They should be discredited by academics within our schools and universities.

Explain to me why white people are criticized for holding positions in predominantly white citizenships or companies? How can that possibly be racist? But, it isn’t racist that African’s insist on their land being owned by black people? It isn’t racist that native American Indians have land that is just theirs?

If white people want their own space, it’s racist?

Explain why Christians can’t say they hate Islam? Both are bad, but Christians have become tolerant and are the standing religion in the UK along with paganism. Religion isn’t even a race but somehow it is being added to our ‘hate crime’ laws, originally designed to protect everyone. Soon I will be unable to say I hate religion!!!

This directly threatens our free speech and our security.

Explain why a black person (from anywhere) is on our national news talking about feeling hurt because she suspects racism? She suspects it was racism…? She may be getting hassled for all sorts of reasons to assume it is racism is not on. Because she is in a predominantly white country she declares racism, but she works within a predominantly non white environment in the NHS in London.

Regardless.

How is this national news when the same day people were stabbed, on UK streets, for being white? Another incident only covered at a local level, as all of these types of murders now.

Murder by colour code. If you are a white murderer or white child killer you will be plastered over the media, if you are black/brown/not English you may not even get arrested if your child dies unexpectantly unless the public pull the police up.

Explain why George Floyd is on BBC but Cannon Hinnant isn’t? Neither murder happened in Britain (BBC stands for British Broadcasting Corp).

I’m scared. I stand as someone who was attacked by people who were not of my colour. I am not imagining the hatred towards me. I’m verbally attacked when I leave my home by an awful Russian woman (white). I’m scared of the doctors and nurses no matter what colour they are, as many view me as spoilt immediately because I am English. White Irish ambulance staff can be especially mean. All white people are not the same!

As an English person I learnt a long time ago to lie about where I am from, but I will never again. I educated myself away from the white guilt, the same as I educated myself away from the Christian guilt and can now see it for what it is. Both are run for greed, envy, laziness, brainwashing and corruption.

I stand as someone who was born in Plymouth, Devon, England. The full history is not covered by the Americans EVER…they remain race blind on the slave trade history because of their own sordid history and because it suits certain people politically.

This lady, Rano Bains (no idea where she is from), has a nerve to say this of England with her Whiteness perspective. However, we are the most tolerant of countries. Perhaps she cannot see a long history or culture within our country, but surely this does not mean there isn’t one?

I read her pdf in 2018 and have been stewing since. I didn’t want to do a piece as I don’t want to add to a rise of hatred towards anyone but it seems I do need to defend myself and my life. A black lady is found online saying all white people are inbred and most of the comments underneath agreed…however, you will not be able to find it.

Search for any attack on a white person and google immediately takes you to black lives matter material unless you know the name of the victim and the date you will not find it on referenced on our news. Google is not relevant and neither is youtube.

White people are not the same, nor do we think we are the same. We are classed as white for measurement of resources for assurances to black and brown people to ensure that facilities are shared equally.

Also, we now appear to have strange advert quotas – air brushing blond people from TV, advertising, film and social media in Europe is also getting very tedious. European people are white. Get over it. Stop telling us we are racist.

White people are just people. We don’t deserve any more or any less than any other human. It is Rano Bain’s term, The Whiteness, that gave birth to many of my poems reflecting as The Blackness….ideally I wouldn’t be seeing the world in this manner. I never used to. But, this is obviously the idea, after all, you cannot capture a culture and it’s resources without upsetting a few people.

Our national anthem has come under attack. Us Brits will ignore it and will carry on with it but for the English (traitors), Americans, Indians, Pakistanis, Russians and African who called for it to be banned, please get a education by reading the following.

The history behind the British song Rule Britannia, UK national anthem.
In the 1600s the seas around Britain were ruled by North African Slavers(who were black). They boarded British ships and carried off the crews (whites) to be sold as slaves in Africa. The situation became so bad that fishermen wouldn’t put out to sea in case they were captured by African Slave Traders.
Between 1609 and 1616, 466 British ships were captured by Slave Traders in the English Channel, Irish Sea and North Atlantic, and the crews were sold into slavery. White crews.

Some other historical news stories from England include,

In 1625, sixty English people (white) who had taken refuge in a local church were dragged out, loaded up and taken off to Africa to be sold as slaves from Mount’s Bay in Cornwall

On 12 August 1625 the Mayor of Plymouth wrote to London for military help after 27 ships had been seized by North African Muslim Slave Traders in just 10 days.

In 1645, 240 people were seized as slaves in Cornwall.

White people – valued by other nations because of the colour of their skin for abuses in other countries. We didn’t value ourselves higher because of our skin they did because they wanted it.

One or two survived, made their way back to England and wrote of their capture, but most didn’t.

The situation only began to improve for Britain after the end of our English Civil War when the Royal Navy was built up under Oliver Cromwell.

By 1700, North African Slavers generally knew better.

It was in honour of this defence of our security, that in 1740, James Thompson wrote ‘Rule Britannia’.

Apathy will not help our children or our grandchildren. I stupidly did not go to the police over my own attack in Kings College Hospital but I did complain and I did go to my GP about my injuries so it is a matter of record. I also took photos of my injuries, they amounted to bruising.

People need to stop talking about racism as if white people are always responsible. Racists are everywhere and you cannot tell them by their colour.

Stop believing that because of colour you should have less and be grateful because you have nothing to feel bad about.

Stop believing that because of colour you should have more and other people owe you something.

The end.

Leave a comment if you like, I suspect this will be filtered out of google and bing search anyway.

Thanks for reading.

If anyone else can decode Ms Rano Bain’s words please enlighten me. Pardon the pun.

Friday the 13th Flash Adult Horror

Friday the 13th November 2020

The Modelling Assignment.

“Good Luck!” Jessie’s mother shouted seeing her daughter readying herself at the front door. The tall blond girl pulled her Chelsea football scarf from the hat rack and threw it around her neck and put her head around the kitchen door. Her mum was stood at the counter making a cup of tea.

“Thanks Mum. See you later for dinner. ‘love you.”

“Just remember you are as good as everyone else there…better! I love you too!”

Jessie pulled the front door behind her and pushed her scarf up against her chin. It was cold. It was an oddity of modelling work to be ahead of season. Today’s casting was for swimwear. It would be filmed in December for the following Summer.

The beaches will look enticing, empty, and warm because the models will make it look hot and inviting. The reality being that they were usually modelling bikinis and one pieces in between dashes into warm blankets and gulping down mugs of soup. There was always lots of makeup to cover up the red noses.

Today’s casting was in Paddington Recreational ground. Jessie travelled across London on the underground and stood waiting for the 81 bus for the remaining part of the journey. There was another model, Jessie could tell by the portfolio, stood waiting and they smiled at each other.

The woman was tall, blonde with blue eyes just like Jessie but her skin was clear, and her hair was long and extremely straight. She had a different shape to Jessie in that her body looked more toned and you could see a hint of muscle.

“Are you going for the Yellow Studio casting for Weeelo swimwear by any chance?” Jessie asked.

“Yes, I am doing this.” The model replied with thick Eastern European accent. “You doing this also?”

Jessie smiled and nodded as the bus came chugging into the stop and they both got on. The rest of the bus watched as they showed their Oyster cards to the driver and looked for somewhere to sit. A middle-aged man sat on his own stood up and invited them both to take his bench so that they could sit together.

“Thank you, very much.” They both said in unison and laughed together.

More people got on the bus and it threaded its way over speedbumps and through narrow streets until the stop at the bottom of the Park. They got off and brushed themselves over, using each other’s eye to check over each other’s back and hair. Both satisfied that they were as presentable as possible they walked into the leisure block where the casting was to take place.

A woman with a clip board approached them, “Girls! Are you here for the Weeelo casting?”

Her energy was high and contagious, both Jessie and her new friend and competition replied,

“yes!”

They were given pens and led to seats where they could fill out the forms. They were the usual model declaration. They gave the rights of the photos to the photographers but also stated that these were just for casting purposes and could not be used for published work.

A few moment later the employee came back with a selection of swimwear and told them a makeup artist would be with them shortly. She introduced herself as the photographer’s assistant and then said they should wait while she went to get drinks.

Jessie and the other model looked at each other.

They were both thinking the same thing. Why did they need makeup artist on a casting for swimwear? These were supposed to be ‘dummy’ shots. To see if the fit is right and whether they can model. Jessie walked to the end of the waiting room they’d been put in and opened the door. Expecting to see photographic lights, umbrellas, and rails, she was shocked to see nothing.

She looked at her perspective coworker. “What’s your name?”

“Greta Hombronas. What was in there?”

“Nothing was in there. There is no photographic equipment in there.”

“Maybe they shoot it on phone?” Greta responded her eyebrows raising optimistically.

“Maybe. Maybe we should get out of here Greta. After all, I got this lead from The Standard so where is everyone else?”

“True, it is not very busy here.” Greta looked seriously around the place, as if for the first time, “I think, maybe, you are right. Shall we go and get coffee?” She smiled at Jessie with a perfect set of railings and stood up.

Footsteps drew their eye to the door.

“Not going, already are we?” Stated a tall, dark haired man, stood there. Jessie moved closer towards Greta as four more men gathered behind him. The girls looked at each other nervously picked up the forms they’d filled out and tried to walk through the men, out the door. The men blocked their way and pushed them back into the room.

Jessie stood helplessly as two of the men held her arms fast on either side of her. The only man who had spoken took a syringe from his inside jacket pocket and jabbed it into her stomach. He pulled her chin up to his face as he plunged the contents of it into her.

She was aware that Greta was also being held and injected as she slipped onto the floor, between the strangers, into a deep sleep.

******

It was dark when she woke as she could not see through the binding on her eyes. Her arms and legs were bound with rope. Her fingers and skin could feel the familiar touch of wood. But this wood was unfinished and rough. She was in some sort of crate. It felt like it was packed with straw and there was a strong smell of animals and urine.

Trying to shout out for help found her mouth packed with cloth and her throat could only manage a low moan, raspy from thirst. What had they given her? Her head was hurting, and the straw packed between her naked thighs and under her arms was itchy.

She banged her bare heels against the wood at her feet three times. Listening out she thought she could hear three bangs back as engine sounds bombarded the space around her head, hurting her ears with its powerful thrusts.

Jessie tried to sleep, going in and out of consciousness with waking moments where she felt that the crate was being moved. The soft sensation of swinging and men’s voices shouting in the distance before a bone bumping journey which lasted over a day and was unbearably painful. It was three days and two nights before they stopped still, and silence surrounded.

Jessie could hear low whimpering faintly in the distance, she tried to bang on the floor of her crate, but the straw had shifted down under her during the journey and she achieved no sound that Greta could hear and be comforted by. Tears started flowing from her closed eyes as the crate was opened and she felt hands stroke her breasts, her stomach and between her legs.

“She looks good. No damage that I can see. Aww look, she cries. Is there more sedative?”

Jessie felt the prick of the needle as it entered her stomach shortly before passing out again.

***************

Jessie woke up lying next to Greta in a large marble room. The floor was cold and hard. Raising herself up to sitting position she started massaging her legs and arms. Welts were red on her wrists and ankles where the ropes had been but now, she wore a simple white robe.

Greta was also dressed in white. Her face was bruised. She had been savagely beaten as her face was swollen, both eyes were blackened and her bottom lip badly split. She laid on the floor looking up towards the crystal white ceiling without moving. Blood was spotted on her gown around her pelvis and her feet were bleeding.

Large, golden doors at the end of the room opened and a group of children, lined up in a row, walked through looking straight ahead of them. Behind them, also in a line, came nine women dressed in dark green with yellow sashes and veils. The women stared at them as they walked past and stood, queued, near a smaller door, looking back at the entrance.

Jessie tried to stand up, but her legs were not able to take her weight and she fell over. The women chuckled as the men made their way into the hall. One of the men shouted something out towards the women that Jessie did not understand and they skuttled away still laughing.

“They think your blond pubic hair is very funny. I must admit to finding it a little off putting so my aids will come and shave you to my tastes. It is lucky you are a virgin.”

He walked around them, his shoes tapping on the floor near her hands.

“Your friend was not so good at looking after her honour. He prodded Greta with the tip of his shoe into her torso. She did not react. It was not felt necessary to protect her from the workers. She fought hard, as you can see.”

Jessie tried to say, “What will you be doing with us?” but her voice was still suffering from the effects of the cloth and she needed water badly. Her head spun but she could make out three beds being rolled into the room, scraping lightly along the marble. Greta was lifted on to a white single width bed. Women came in with screens and placed them around the larger bed.

Three women came over to Jessie with a bowl of warm, scented water and a razor. Two of them held her legs open whilst the third shaved her bare. She sat, in shock, just watching them. Willing herself to wake up from this nightmare and be back at home. Time for her tea, sat chatting with her mother. The women continued to talk and laugh. Jessie blinked furiously but could find no words.

The woman shaving Jessie turned to the man and asks him something and the man shakes his head. His eyes closed and a smile dances upon his lips as the woman pinches Jessie’s bud hard between her finger and thumb. She brings the razor down hard across it and in one swift, strong movement, removed it. Blood splattered over the white gown as Jessie tried to kick the women holding her.

Her screams were met with a punch in the face and cloth back in her mouth whilst the women then swiftly stitched up the gaping hole and sprayed it with antiseptic to stop the bleeding. One of the women clapped three times in the air. A white hatted dwarf, his eyes facing the floor, came with a gold dish and collected up the bloody flesh.

The women pulled Jessie up onto the larger double bed. Partitions screened her off from the rest of the room. Her arms were tied up above her and her legs were tied apart to golden attachments on the bed. The women came, and one by one, left a red rose on her stomach.

Jessie’s eyes grew large as the tall man came to the bottom of the bed. He lifted up his robe, “Ah such beautiful body. You will be forever beautiful my lovely.”

He pulled her down towards him, her arms stretching, and shoulders popped. Her screams muffled and she tried to twist her body painfully away. He pushed his fingers into her bloodied vulva, exposing her vagina. He lifted his gown and penetrated her with one sharp thrust, releasing himself immediately.

Raising his hands in the air he raised his hands and clapped three times as he withdrew from the bed, his gown falling back down to cover him. Jessie turned her head to see a young boy come in with a water bowl. Without looking at his master or her the boy reached underneath his gown and sponged him clean of her blood.

The partition was removed, and Jessie was untied from the large bed and placed on a single bed near to Greta’s lifeless body by four of the men carrying each limb. Jessie could feel their hands touching and probing her before binding her again with cuffs attached to the beds.

One of the men approached and stuck sticky tape across her mouth. Forcing the cloth deep into the back of her throat it muted the moaning sounds which had been escaping her.

Silence then descended over the large hall as everyone left. Jessie and Greta were laid head to head, naked and bound for what seemed like hours. Jessie wrestled with her right hand, forcing her thumb to dislocate she pulled her hand free. Working quickly she pulled the tape off her face and spoke to Greta as she worked to free her other hand.

“Greta can you walk?”

Jessie reached out her free hand to touch her new friends face. It felt cold and sticky and she knew Greta was dead. Cold, stark fear flooded through her as the coldness of Greta seemed to seep into her own body and sap her strength.

“Oi. Nah!” Shouted a deep male voice from across the hall.

Jessie saw the tall man. He’d changed his gown to a black robe with white flowing ribbons and was flanked by the children. Jessie looked at his face and at the children’s.

“Please let me go. You have one murder on your hands. Do not make it two. Please. You don’t have to do this…” She pleaded, staring at him deep into his black eyes.

“Ah this is not murder my lovely lady. My Queen. This is ritual. My family have performed this ritual for luck and prosperity for over three thousand years. We feast upon the most honored rose lady and she brings us luck. This year, this is you.”

My children will prepare you for the feast.

Jessie screamed, pulling at her tied hand, as the children open their long red satin coats. They each drew out a blade and ran towards her…

The End.

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.

200 Followers – poem

It’s cracking when you follow

It’s in ter est ing

I always go to see

One hundred posts the same?

How and what is that game?

Marketing is a must

WordPress in sentence with trust

I suspect I’m spam again

So, in my tin I will reign

Thank you to each of who do

Whether through interest

Or trying to covert

I hope I’ve made a connection

You are a barmy collection

And, loved, each of you

I’ve corresponded with some lovely sorts

Every one polite, pleased to report

Manners like gravy make my world go around

Now over two hundred followers I’ve found.

I’m thankful for my blog right now.

Writing from my tower in the clouds.

Fin.

By Samantha unextraordinarybint Harris

Quick note written in thanks for reaching 200 followers on wordpress. Thank you all.

Ugly Beauty – poem

Ugly is interesting

Staring is inclined

Just as beauty draws

It shows equality defined

Ugly shows a character

You’ve not witnessed before

Surrounding yourself with beauty

Can’t keep ugly from your door

Ugliness can teach you

Ugliness shows

Ugliness is not a choice

It, like beauty, grows

Ugly is a part of life

Becoming a decomposition of holes

Without it, you know nothing real

As, one side of life shows

Appreciate the ugly

We have it within

Knowing we all slide

Slowly, regretfully towards aging.

Fin

By Samantha unextraordinarybint Harris .

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

Over A Thousand Likes

It’s a lovely thing

To hit a theme

To raise esteem

To be liked.

 

By Samantha “unextraordinarybint” Harris

Many thanks to all those who helped me achieve over one thousand likes on my blog.

The God in the Tree

Gone but not forgotten. Great poets, Seamus Heaney 1939 – 2013.

I’d like to share an extract from one of my favourite books, The Celts by Frank Delaney which extended from the BBC2 series published in Britain last decade.

This part comes from the chapter, Expressions, and is on page 151. The author, Mr Delaney, is discussing Mr Seamus Heaney, the writer, who said this:

Poetry of any power is always deeper than it’s declared meaning. The secret between the words, the binding element, is often a psychic force that is elusive, archaic and only half-apprehended by maker and audience. For example, in the context of monasticism, the god of my title would be the Christian deity, the giver of life, sustained of nature, creator father and redeemer Son. But there was another god in the tree, impalpable perhaps but still indigenous, less doctrinally defined than the god of the monasteries but more intuitively apprehended. The powers of the Celtic Otherworld hovered there.

Here is a link to one of Seamus Heanley’s poems…someone, probably him before he went, had the foresight to place them in photograph form so are searchable on google. This is one I rather like,

Enjoy Seamus Heaney's poem "Scaffolding" .
https://images.app.goo.gl/guNGYeRUzWLAPFhj6

Thanks for reading.

To me, poetry is as important as life and death.

How important is poetry to you?

Does it feature at all in your world?

Scoffy Snobs – Poem

Scoffy Snobs

 

They come in all shapes and size

This one did come as a surprise

You can usually tell a snob when they open their gob

And nothing but shit there resides

 

This one was set up quite cute

Lulled was I; like a magical flute

I looked at the page, was overcome with rage

And revenge plans ensued

 

The offense is difficult to say

It’s not one you come across every day

Perhaps I should take criticism on board

But it’s so easily ignored when I know it

Just grinds you away

 

The lesson I teach today:

Do not let academic snobs get in your way

A written poem they say, should not rhyme

Just another working class crime.

 

 

Fin.

By Samantha Harris written  3rd September 2020

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Begum Bucket – Poem

There is a woman like a bulldog but meaner

She is so ugly no one could see her

Travelling far, against the law of place, disgraced

She went and married an Islamic believer.

Now, this believer was an achiever

Realising she was so displeasing on the eye

He blew himself up in order to leave her

The proud widow then married a train of men

One after the other the husbands came

Her legs were bandy from the game

They too sacrificed themselves to the god in the sky

Rather than look her daily by ‘n’ by

Three blessed children died one by one

Starved by her or her many husbands

No remorse does she feel

God told her not to feed them

Many know her as Shamina Begum.

Fin

By Samantha ‘unextraordinarybint’ Harris

Regarding the brown british (unfortunately) terrorist islamic fighter Shamina Begum who will be facing trial soon I hope but not in my country. She should go back to Bangladesh – she is not a Brit.

Too many stabbings and attacks on white folk in my country to allow this any more, sorry.

I’m in a stinking mood. It’s almost out of my system.

Working Class Zero – Poem

Comrades, they’d say, listen

We’ll show you the way

Turn up, fight the cause

We’ll make lots of noise

 

Things happened at Hackney Downs

An unspoken part of history now

Secreted away before Tony Blair’s’ day

For New Labour to make way

 

Denials of rape came from their bowels

Apparently, lesbians don’t have clouds

Sexual assault on committee members

Swept under the carpet, but I remember

 

They were challenged at the time

Scheduled, listened and ignored the crimes

Made order of unequal ways

Without answers, questions live to be asked another day

 

So, a working class zero

I turned out to be, academic with no university

I look to Labour to represent me

But their eyes look away vacantly

 

The End.

by Samantha unextraordinarybint Harris

 

 

Comment on (Militant) Labour’s Conservative Tendencies –

I had a friend, she was lesbian. She had a relationship with a committee member of Militant Labour. She raped her lover during a domestic violence incident. The police were not involved by choice of the victim.

The rapist, the old friend, wanted to deal with what had happened. Wanted to discuss how domestic violence was not just about aggressive men…how society’s pressures could force anyone into that situation and how in her own childhood she’d been sexually assaulted and whether there was a correlation.

It was 1989 I think. Rape within a gay relationship was not accepted by Militant labour…  in their ideology women couldn’t be aggressors. Perhaps people still feel the same way…it was discussed and then shelved.

There were by elections in Edmonton. A nominated male committee member we’d been canvassing for had been accused of rape by a female member of the collective but as the elections were so close the victim was pressured into agreeing that it would dealt with later…for the greater good.

It never was. Those times are history.

Labour is not Militant Labour now. I’m unsure as to when they lost the New Labour title.

Now, what do Labour stand for? I see them arguing for things which rarely affect me. We had equality but Tories are giving pieces away bit by bit – see my housing policy articles and NHS health articles. Why don’t Labour stand up for these rights?

Why aren’t Labour taking Tories to town over the cannabis scandal here? Ministers with shares in medical companies selling cannabis to the world are voting for it still to be illegal for us poor peasants.

Neither Labour or Conservatives are talking about increased awareness and protection of our children because of the sex exploitation, servitude and slavery in our country. 

Neither Labour or Conservatives are talking about protecting our education system.

Neither Labour or Conservatives are talking about the increased murders and random stabbings, hit and runs and rising crime rates of UK citizens.

Let’s bring it back home. We need you.

Labour please sort out your closet.

Thanks for reading.

The bacon and egg butty was lovely.

 

Journalists With No Name – BBC

The level of journalism coming from the multi million monopoly the British Broadcasting Corporation is really starting to claw.  I live in Britain and the population must pay for this shitty broadcaster.

We can be thrown in jail for not paying our TV licences, or gain a heavy fine.

Many of us recognise when the media is attempting to trigger our behaviour rather than to give us news. Many of us must limit our daily dose of news for our own sanity.

Yesterday’s further attempt to sow division in our country didn’t go unnoticed…it’s like they think the public is stupid. Although we are all pleased when a missing child’s parents find some closure.

https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-52935728

Often the stories are faceless and nameless.. a so called public community service that can give us agenda driven dribble. State TV?

They are intermittently putting out really bad press. It’s like the deaths from a killer virus aren’t enough…when many of us were trying to raise awareness of unreported deaths in our care homes and community the BBC were not interested.

This one from 12th April 2020 . It’s by Rianna Croxford the Community affairs correspondent, BBC News. States – very early on in the pandemic – that there is emerging evidence that minorities are more likely to be hospitalized.

https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-52255863

It goes on to tell us that Labour is calling for an investigation into it – it quotes population figures from 2011.

From, from 7th May 2020 – the BBC stated ‘blacks were more likely to die’.

https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-52574931

Again according to 2011 population figures.

Being more likely to die and being more likely to be hospitalized are two different things. I got to look at the National Office of Statistic figures and screen shot it and have it on my blog.

It very clearly shows men over 65 were the largest demographic dying which white men were doing in their thousands and minorities were doing in their hundreds. Being obese was the overall biggest indicator for death from covid19 if you were unlucky enough to get it regardless of race.

The missing white girl story came through yesterday amongst hundreds of articles about the protests against racism in America after the Floyd murder. Our screens literary went from being all about black news stories to all about missing white girl…

Antifa and BLM groups must have been livid. The BBC did report that our police here in the UK were taking the knee at English and Scottish protests and the lack of violence here in the UK was news.

The BBC need to become a lot more responsible with their stories and I’d like to see the name of the authors…they are quick enough to come out and tell people not to read the internet because it’s full of untruths…well it takes a liar to know a liar.

 

Peace and love to all..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Capt. Tom – NHS Hero – Song +Article

https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-england-beds-bucks-herts-52303859

What a guy!!!We’re all saying it in the UK…

One hundred years old..

He started a fund to help the NHS with costs, originally to raise £1,000, during the Covid19 outbreak. However, such was the emotional upsurge for him that he has raised over £12,000,000 .

There are calls for him to be made a Knight. He would become Sir Thomas Moore…Let’s hope he gets that.

In order to raise the funds Capt Tom was sponsored to walk around his garden 100 times. No mean feat when you are told that he is about to turn one hundred years old and walks with the aid of a zimmer frame.

This is my ode to Capt Tom. I’m hoping the David Bowie estate won’t mind me borrowing one of his tunes – it’s only a bit of fun in appreciation of what Capt Tom has achieved.