Comfortable Pants

In England we have ‘pants’.

These are our undergarments. Affectionately called knickers or grots these slips of material with elastic cover our private parts, and clean ones must be worn daily for good health.

Pants must not be confused with the American term for trousers.

This is about comfy pants for females. I suspect men need comfy undergarments too but I’m not in a position to talk on their behalf so I’ll just deal with fanny coverings…and again, fanny in the united kingdom means vagina and only the vagina. (Unless you have an Aunt called Fanny the root of many a joke here in England.)

Without getting into too much detail females have more down in the lower abdomen than males.

Men have guts and bladders. Women have guts, bladder, womb, fallopian tubes, ovaries and cervix all crammed in the same size space.

As with all things in life, once it’s out of the box, it harder to get it back in.

Meaning…

After childbirth the womb has expanded…the area is larger. Fitting back into the garments she wore before children isn’t always an option. In fact, let’s be honest, it’s rarely an option.

As I get older I find comfortable pants are missing from my drawers completely. It is a constant grind that every pair of pants I own have been cut like those shown in the photo accompanying.

Excuse me, I own ‘special’ pairs for my lover. You know, lovely sexy articles to stimulate our carnal juices but I’m not talking about these that are barely on for half an hour.

It’s my ‘day to day’ pants. My ‘bread and butter’ pants. These are the pants that I hope I don’t get knocked over and taken into hospital with. What would the nurses and doctors say?

Anyhow, I’m going to leave this here today in the hope that some undergarment manufacturer hears my moan and does something about it. Please stop putting such a tiny waist into big knickers. If you are making big knickers…who are you making them for?

We have a saying in England,

“Put your big pants on and deal with it.”

Bet you never imagine our big pants would actually look like this.

Have a nice day.

5 Common myths about Pelvic Organ Prolapse

“I was just showering and reached down and suddenly noticed a bulge” “I had no idea something was wrong until my doctor examined me and told me I have a stage 2 cystocele” “I started feeling heaviness in my pelvis, then was wiping after I went to the bathroom, and noticed something was there!” Pelvic […]

5 Common myths about Pelvic Organ Prolapse

Reblogged from this amazing site for women.

South African Women Be Careful

We know the media do their own things these days and news isn’t what it was. The mesh scandal was quickly swallowed up by covid19 news here in the UK.

The TVT polypropylene – the vaginal sort. It is dangerous and pharma are now going to push it at other countries. In order to make you want it they may tell you it’s worked really well here, it hasn’t.

And I found this…

LIARS

The ban is in place for a reason. You are not being denied something that is good. It was not licenced in your country because it isn’t safe. PR companies will be writing articles saying how wonderful it is. Terms like ‘gold standard’ will be used and they will claim only a tiny percentage suffer side effects.

We have fought long and hard to be listened to in our countries. Many of us are maimed and more of us cannot have sex comfortably, if at all. Plus, we still have the wee problem.

The same firm who makes them, Johnson and Johnson, advertise constantly on our TVs to sell us the pads to clear up after our bladders. Ironic.

However, we organised, we’ve realised that many of us had untreated bugs in our bladder before the operations and that was partly responsible for the loss of control.

Rather than sort this out they claim it’s our physiological makeup and surgically attempt to fix us.

It is always down to the individual but a life without sex is pretty grim. The Gynaes here have dismissed us for decades with comment like “you can still do anal”. (Not everyone likes anal).

Stay safe and please do not believe everything the pharma tells you. Look to traditional methods.

There is an old surgical method which was used for centuries which doesn’t involve shoving plastic in your pelvic region. A couple of stitches in the right place. Could be done with cameras etc still. Do not let them put plastic inside you. It makes you feel ill.

Thanks for reading.

End of today’s rant.

The Menopause – Blunt Adult View

Menopause – What is the point? This article is my personal relationship view and own body issues with ‘the change’ and I will talk about how it makes me feel sexually, emotionally, physically and mentally. I am going to discuss my fantasy sex life so if you are easily offended you shouldn’t read.

The list of ‘side effects’ which are linked to the menopause are bordering on stupid and could go on for pages so I’m going to concentrate on the main ones which affect me, mainly, of sexual appetite, sexual performance, foggy thoughts, hot flashes and night sweats

How many women go through the change without so called side effects? And can we really call them side effects when it is evident, they happen most of the time?

I’m fifty-one and have been going through the change now for four or five years.

It started, for me, with vomiting. Constant vomiting. I had that for two years.

It was then noted that my ovaries had probably shut down my womb had been previously removed so I didn’t have periods to stop and I was put on HRT.

I was on HRT for two years until I started getting breasts cysts and then advised to come off the HRT by the breast cancer clinic. My symptoms returned almost immediately. My concentrated work flow decreased. My anxiety increased. But the breast cysts did go…

The night sweats have returned with vengeance. The hot flashes and flushes are a real bind too. I now have Cyclizine on prescription for the nausea.

I got to thinking about the purpose of these hot flashes and flushes. The human body doesn’t generally do things unless they are necessary.

Why do millions of women still suffer from these things and would there be an evolutionary reason as to why these two symptoms, especially, are so prominent.

For myself I have not really lost my sex drive, but I have lost the ability to have the energy to do anything about it. In my fantasy head I’m attending the local dogging site regularly and doing trains of men one after the other.

The men I fantasise about are generally strangers. They are usually imagined as overweight and possessing small penises that cum quickly. I fantasise that I am filled with their cum and they are queuing to do me. Then perhaps there is a clean up guy who licks me until I cum then I’m open for business again attending my queue.

Gang bangs were never my thing and I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t want the reality as some guy with a huge cock who takes ages is bound to join the queue and my pain level would interfere with the pleasure journey. Be assured that Grannie is not about to go dogging.

I have a TVT which makes certain types of intercourse and sex very painful. The fact that the mesh interferes with my fantasy sex life as well as my actual sex life is sad and something perhaps one day the medical profession could look into? However, for the moment, this is the sex life that I have. One where I am wanting and unable to scratch.

Hot flashes. A sudden hot feeling from head to toe. This makes me feel ill and like I am about to pass out unless I completely get naked. I literally have to strip off every time it happens so that I don’t pass out (I have mitral valve of the heart). I live and work from home and live alone so this is not a problem – unless a neighbour calls without phoning!

Evolutionally, it feels like my ovaries are making themselves known and felt, like they are screaming “hey we’re still here, we’re still useful, come and fertilise us!” My skin is bright red like a beetroot so kind of ‘beacon like’. Red is usually a sex switch colour in mammals after all.

The same could be said for the flushes, full on sweat from head to toe. They happen mainly at night time for me. A time when people are thinking about love (and sleep). The moistness wakes me up. I’ve often perspired from head to toe and the bed sheets are drenched, the duvet is drenched, and the pillows and mattress are drenched. Again, the only way out is to get completely naked and uncover myself.

In order to get back to sleep I have a system of towels, dry blankets and a dry sofa which help me get through each night.

Not the environment for a sexual relationship but I do feel incredibly horny whilst sweating…

Trying to find any research is remarkably hard. Afterall I am a woman and all women go through the change so why isn’t there any research? We are half of the world’s total population at any one time. Why are these things called side effects? Surely, they are just effects of the change?

Also, why is it a blanket HRT treatment with zero look at what is actually lacking hormone wise? Transgender patients get a better service from the National Health Service. Women who still want to feel like themselves are the bottom of the pile it seems.

I’d love to know if other women are horny like me or if perhaps this is a side effect of the TVT? Everything I read tells me I should be getting drier down there…not so. Everything I read tells me that my sex drive will lessen…. not so. So, what is going on?

From the male’s point of view sexually a woman who has gone through the change can have sex without a condom and without fear of getting pregnant but why would women still want to have sex when they can longer get pregnant? Does this mean that women’s sexual organs are useful and necessary beyond the child rearing? Is this why it is denied constantly? Or am I a ‘one off’…?

As a woman gets older the vagina gets narrower. It can often get less wet, perhaps this is why I fantasise about lots of cum, as it would lubricate proceedings…? However, I’m still as wet as I was when I was a teenager, so I don’t fantasise about cum because I need it to lubricate…it’s more than that, much more primal. The cum represents ‘want’.

For me, I do not like a big cock or even the thought of a big cock (remember I don’t have a womb). I don’t need it and it is the sperm which excites me. The feeling of being wanted so much a man is willing to give me his life juice, men cumming super-fast is more exciting as it means he couldn’t control his want for me (in my fantasy).

This is probably the reason so many women join dating sites for an ego stroke and then leave. Women, well I certainly do, need to feel wanted. If my man isn’t dry humping me at every opportunity, I think he’s looking elsewhere.

This leads me to the emotional side of not being fertile. Knowing younger women have more to give, are more beautiful and youthful and that I am going into ‘crone’ stage is depressing. Many of us adopt the name ‘Grandma’ during this period of our lives and the change is more than physical. I’m not a bitter crone but many of my friends are and I cannot bare their company as they sit bitching about those younger. I stay in, a lot.

I spend the day (when I’m not ripping my clothes off) thinking about men and trying to remember what I was doing. I’m writing three books, all on the same fictional theme, and the organisational skills necessary are complicated and unique to my project. I get so confused that I have weeks between being able to write anything conjoined. Choosing to concentrate on shorter easier to accomplish articles seems to be how I cope. I need to feel productive.

Creative frustration is the outcome. I can create constantly, I do but much remains unpublished as it is ‘Bernard Manning Style’ poetry, angry and personal. It is not the complicated building of characters and chapters towards my books…my future, my way out of my TVT situation. I need money to get the removal and recovery treatment. So, not being able to be as productive as I was is an internal torment.

Piles of unpublishable material, ideas for the books, chapters and bits of the storyline for the books lie in different places around the flat, on different formats, laptops, books scraps of paper and every time I go to collate them, I freeze. I often think I need a manager, but I cannot afford a manager. I need myself as I was but that is not possible. That person has gone but her ambition still remains.

Alarms are needed for my memory. If I place something in the oven or start running a bath, I must also grab the digital alarm, put a time upon it and take it with me in my pocket or near where I am settled. This way when the alarm goes off and/ or forget it I will eventually realise that I have the alarm on me for a reason and go and investigate why I have it. This system helps me hugely as before I was always burning my dinner and overrunning the bath.

It is certainly motivation and management for long tasks that I struggle with most. Procrastination is obviously the problem but that comes from fear of failure and I don’t fear failure I am confident, so this frustrates me more and possibly adds to the brain fog as it adds to my anxiousness.

I am considering looking for another lover and am wondering how to word the advert to avoid the obvious physical properties. Something along the lines of Menopausal Woman Needs Man with High Libido and Small Cock would do but seems a little forward for Grandma.

Thanks for reading.

Drinking Control

I don’t drink.

‘Got plenty of spirit already I think.

‘Always needed to have my wits around me

As Lords knows how they’d find me.

The End.

by Samantha ‘unextraordinarybint’ Harris

Written 8th September 2019.

This is just a comment on the perception of british women and alcohol.

I don’t drink and I rarely have – but I used to love the pub community, I miss pubs so much!

However, I love glass. At home I will often have water or juice in a wine glass because it tastes nicer to me than if it were in a straight glass…go figure.

In the pub you get your money’s worth by getting your soft drinks by the tall glass as soft drinks are incredibly expensive in English public houses because of the sugar tax.

Thanks for reading.

Rather Be Imprisoned Than Forced to Marry. Anchors – article and link.

British women, we would rather cut our noses off than marry for any other reason than love.

Once England was a matriarch society of equals. Then the church came, they helped the Lords of the Manor.

Over the centuries they turned the Lord of the Manor to The Lord my God.

Note this British Library article is public access for everyone apart from in the UK. Not sure why that is.

However, this article tells you about Anchors. These were women, rarely men, who were walled up alive within the church.

https://www.bl.uk/medieval-literature/articles/the-life-of-the-anchoress

Real Women’s Equality Please? (Article)

We understand don’t we? Oh yes we understand inequality only too well.

There is so much to be done for women in medical terms but somehow women are dying younger and they are dying of preventable illnesses.

The medical profession is still unsure of our anatomy – blimey.

Did you know women have a prostate gland attached to the bladder just like men but for some reason they are still arguing as to what is it to be named so it is referred to as Skene gland. But does the same thing in women as men…yep.

https://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/321801.php

In ignorance most women do not know they have this gland in fact most doctors don’t – also they do not know what it does in women because all the research and trials are done on men, and female prostate cancer is rare. Or so they tell us.

Did you know that the clitoris was only mapped out anatomically in 2009 yep that is just ten years ago…and is not in many medical books yet. …WTF??

I say it’s an important muscle or maybe even organ, as it wraps around the vaginal tube. As it is muscle it may help to protect the vagina, so the stronger the clitoris is perhaps the stronger the vagina and less chance of prolapse after child birth? Who knows? No one knows? Why? Because there has been no research.

Problems after child birth are common, especially with only being allowed in hospital for a few hours and then off you go home. More women suffer from prolapse now than ever before. Why? Because even though common sense says women should rest after pushing like buggery, there is no research to prove it. So they are encouraged to get moving immediately.

Basically, doctors don’t know women. They haven’t progressed much with us at all.

This really angers me. What the feck have they been doing for last few centuries????

One of the worse things is I can’t even complain that it is men that are the problem. Quite frankly women have been doctors for years and obviously like the status quo. In fact one of the most shocking smear examinations I ever had was by a female.

I mean this is England in 2019. We have had a national health system for decades now and it’s had a lot of money so how are we not understanding that women are half the population and deserve the same treatment as men?

Don’t even get me started or heart or lung care for women in the UK. A man goes into A&E clutching his chest and gets all the necessary advice and treatments. A woman goes into A& E clutching her chest and she’s asked if she is anxious. Even if it is proven she has a heart condition she will not get the same treatment.

This is unjust, this is unequal.

There is no research for the UK but I did find this great video regarding the problems faced for women trying to get treatment in the US

I suspect doctors don’t realise the extent of the ignorance. I know that most of mine don’t. I would never have been fitted with mesh tape right across my poor clitoris if more doctors knew where it was or it’s importance.

The healthcare profession owes it to themselves to get back in control with fact based, properly researched medicine. Just one trip to ResearchGate makes me feel nothing is being done – if anything it is getting worse.

Like the paper regarding women’s pain levels after hysterectomy…which I don’t think even deserves the paper it may have been written on. And if it was were, where was the control? I suspect men would also feel weepy and want pain relief after losing a major organ too.

At what point are women’s equality groups going to start doing something other than moan about minority women’s rights or gay women’s rights? This medical health situation affects all women and is truly an equality issue.

 I live in hope.

Added 1st October 2019.http://www.europarl.europa.eu/RegData/etudes/STUD/2019/634444/EPRS_STU(2019)634444_EN.pdf

Prothalamion

PROTHALAMION is an interesting old poem. By English Poet Edmund Spenser born around 1552 – died 1599. Published in The Penguin Book of English Verse.


As it is old English, I have left the spellings as they are written. Full ten verses are put down exactly as they are in the book – it is not my typing!!!
Edited by John Hayward
Book Club Associates London 1956 and 1978


Prothalamion
Calme was the day, and through the thrembling ayre,
Sweete breathing Zephyrus did softly play
A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay
Hot Titans beames, which then did glyster fayre:
When I whom sullein care,
Through discontent of my long fuitlesse stay
In Princes Court, and expectation vayne
Of idle hopes, which still doe fly away,
Like empty shaddowes, did afflict my brayne,
Walkt forth to ease my payne
Along the shoare of silver streaming Themmes,
Whose rutty Bancke, the which his River hemmes,
Was paynted all with variable flowers,
And all the meads adornd with daintie gemmes,
Fit to decke maydens bowres,
And crowne their Paramours,
Against the Brydale day, which is not long:
Sweete Themmes runne softly, till I end my Song.

There, in a Meadow, by the Rivers side,
A Flocke of Nymphes I chaunced to espy,
All lovely Daughters of the Flood thereby,
With goodly greenish locks all loose untyde,
As each had been a Bryde,
And each one had a little wicker basket,
Make of fine twigs entrayled curiously,
In which they gathered flowers to fill their flasket:
And with fine Fingers, cropped full feateously
The tender stalkes on hye.
Of every sort, which in that Meadow grew,
They gathered some; the Violet pallid blew,
The little Dazie, that at evening closes,
The virgin Lillie, and the Prmrose trew,
With store of vermeil Roses,
To decke their Bridegromes posies,
Against the Brydale day, which was no long:
Sweete Themmes runne softly, till I end my Song.

With that, I saw two Swannes of goodly hewe,
Come softly swimming downe along the Lee;
Two fairer Birds I yet did never see:
The snow which doth the top of Pindus strew,
Did never whiter shew,
Nor Jove himself when he a Swan would be
For love of Leda, whiter did appeare:
Yet Leda was they say as white as he,
Yet not so white as these, nor nothing neare;
So purely white they were,
That even the gentle stream, the which them bare,
Seem’d foule to them, and had his billowes spare
To wet their silken feathers, least they might
Soyle their fayre plumes with water not so fayre,
And marre their beauties bright,
That shone as heaves light,
Against their Brydale day, which was not long:
Sweet Themmes runne softly, till I end my Song.

Eftsoones the Nymphes, which now had Flowers their fill,
Ran all in haste, to see that silver brood,
As they came floating on the Christal Flood.
Whom when they sawe, they stood amazed still,
Their wondring eyes to fill,
Them seem’d they never saw a sight so fayre,
Of Fowles so lovely, that they sure did deeme,
Them heavenly borne, or to be that some payre
Which through the Skie draw Venus silver Teeme,
For sure they did not seeme
To be begot of any eathly Seede,
But rather Angels or of Angels breede:
Yet were they bred of Somers-heat they say,
In sweetest Season, when each Flower and weede
The earth did fresh array,
So fresh they seem’d as day,
Even as their Brydale day, which was not long:
Sweete Themmes run softly, till I end my Song.

Then forth they all out of their backets drew,
Great store of Flowres, the honour of the field,
That to the sense did fragrant odours yield,
All which upon those goodly Birds they threw,
And all the Waves did strew,
That like old Peneus Waters they did seeme,
When downe along by pleasnnt Tempes shore
Scatted with Flowres, through Thessaly they streeme,
That they appeare athrough LIllies plenteous store,
Like a Brydes Chamber flore:
Two of those Nymphes meane while, two Garlands bound,
Of freshest Flowres, which in that Mead they found,
The which presenting all in trim Array,
Their snowy Foreheads therewithall they crownd,
Whil’st one did sing this Lay,
Prepar’d against that Day,
Against their Brydale day, which was not long:
Sweete Themmes runne softly, till I end my Song.

Ye gentle Birdes, the worlds faire ornament,
And heavens glorie, whom this happie hower
Doth leade unto your lovers blissfull bower,
Joy may you have and gentle hearts content
Of your loves couplement:
And let faire Venus, that is Queene of love,
With her heart-quelling Sonne upon you smile,
Whose smile they say, hath virtue to remove
All Loves dislike, and friendships faultie guile
For ever to assoile.
Let endlesse Peace your steadfast hearts accord,
And blessed Plentie wait upon your bord,
And let your bed with pleasures chase abound,
That fruitful issue may to you afford,
Which may our foes confound,
And make your joys redound,
Upon your Brydale day, which is not long:
Sweete Themmes run softlie, till I end my Song.

So ended she, and all the rest around
To her redoubled that her undersong,
Which said, their brydale daye should not be long.
And gentle Eccho from the neighbour ground,
Their accents did resound.
So forth those joyous Birdes did passe along,
Adowne the Lee, that to them murmured low,
As he would speake, but that he lackt a tong
Yet did by signes his glad affection show,
Making his streame run slow.
And all the foule which in his flood did dwell
Gan flock about these twaine, that did excel
The rest, so far, as Cynthis doth shend
The lesser starres. So they enranged well,
Did on those two attend,
And their best service lend,
Against their wedding day, which was not long:
Sweete Themmes run softly, till I end my song.

At length they all to mery London came,
To mery London, my most kindly Nurse,
That to me gave this Lifes first native sourse:
Though from another place I take my name,
An house of auncient fame.
There when they came, whereas those bricky towres,
The which on Themmes broke aged backe doe ryde,
Where now the studious Lawyers have their bowers
There whylone wont the Templer Knights to byde,
Till they decayd through pride:
Next whereunto there stande a stately place,
Where oft I gained giftes and goodly grace
Of that great Lord, which therein wont to dwell,
Whose want too well not feeles my freendles case:
But Ah here fits not well
Olde woes but joys to tell
Against the bridale daye, which is not long:
Sweete Themmes runne softly, till I end my Song.

Yet therein now doth lodge a noble Peer,
Great Englands glory and the Worlds wide wonder,
Whose dreadfull name, late through all Spaine did thunder,
And Hercules two pillors standing neere,
Did make to quake and feare:
Faire branch of Honor, flower of Chevalrie,
That fillest England with thy triumphs fame,
Joy have thou of thy noble victorie,
And endlesse happinesse of thine owne name
That promiseth the same:
That through thy prowesse and victorious armes,
Thy country may be freed from forraine harmes:
And great Elisaes glorious name may ring
Through al the world, fil’d with thy wide Alarmes,
Which some brave muse may sing,
To ages following,
Upon the Brydale day, which is not long:
Sweete Themmes runne softly, till I end my Song.

From those high Towers, this noble Lord issuing,
Like Radiant Hesper when his golden hayre
In th’Ocean billowes he hath Bathed fayre,
Descended to the Rivers open vewing,
With a great traine ensuing.
Above the rest were goodly to bee seene
Two gentle Knights of lovely face and feature
Beseeming well the bower of anie Queene,
With gifts of wit and ornaments of nature,
Fit for so goodly stature:
That like the twins of Jove they seem’d in sight,
Which decke the Bauldricke of the Heavens bright.
They two forth pacing to the Rivers side,
Received those two faire Brides, their Loves delight,
Which at th’appointed tyde,
Each one did make his Bryde,
Against their Brydale day, which is not long:
Sweete Themmes runne softly, till I end my Song.

I’m Not Laughing Doc

Disgust and Division in The UK – Classifying People Aryan is Offensive.

It seems that our government has given reason a holiday. Richard Harrington may have resigned his parliamentary position he is still our head of County. I have some questions for him. What is he going to do about the discrimination in Hertfordshire towards disabled people, women and people who are not members of a fashionable faith?

For centuries people have picked on the outsider, the one that was different. One could be classed as different for all sorts of reasons. For instance, I am just a soldier’s daughter with no debate skills or further education other than electrical and science college. My writing and speach aren’t great. I also am estranged from my parents for more than thirty years. So I’m different.

There are other examples like, most people come from where they currently live. Those that move into a new area are different. Or a family who has five sons suddenly has a daughter, she’s different. Sometimes a baby is born with a different body or a strange set of features again that baby is different.

It could be a religious difference, like catholics are very different from pagans, hindi is different to christianity and then there is judaism and islam. Guess what? They are all different. They are all faith groups and we have managed to get along for a couple of hundred years at least.

Or so I thought. In England there has been tolerance and our culture has grown from it. I am proud to be British like many others who live in this country. As Brits we have stood against intolerance and attempted to stop injustices as a nation of people – what our government does is another matter and we are often dragged along with an aggressive option for untransparent reasons.

As a nation we have often had to force the hand of our sovereign and our government to do the right thing many times over the centuries of faith rule – as in all countries.  As nations we forced our governments to end slavery – although many aspect of faith groups felt it was still necessary and Africa demanded to still be allowed to trade.

Most of the faith groups worship innocence and pagans worship life as it actually is.

I have been discriminated against without realising it was happening. My right as a child to be protected, my right as a woman to education, then as a mother demanding education and care for my children, my right to healthcare and now, as a citizen.

My duty has always been to love and protect. Most girls are brought up in this theme. I have made mistakes – I arranged to pick a fellow student up on the way to Barnet College. Then I drove right past him, down Western Ave and up Woodgreen Highroad, back in 1994.

I’ve witnessed casual racism from every single nation. On building sites and within the army people celebrate their differences. Sometimes it’s harmful but if there is love between those throwing racial abuse it’s just different and often funny.

Being laughed at when you are loved by those laughing at you is a joy. It’s one of life’s little blessings that comes with being loved. You can’t just rib anyone though – it must be someone that you feel love for – otherwise it’s bullying. Forcing someone to laugh at others who are different and don’t know you is bullying.

You’d think that people would be able to recognise bullying, seems like it would be obvious. But they don’t always, it can sneak up on you. I think that bullying comes around when humans are disgusted by other humans.

It’s so easy to make humans be disgusted at others. I see it all the time as a disabled person. The nose crinkles up and the eyes narrow. Judgement. Most faiths warn of the judgement. In paganism there is a tarot card called the judgement. Tarot is ancient. Different faiths have attributed different meanings but essentially it is whether you judge yourself as a good soul.

In paganism we have a meditation called The Mirror Meditation. It means you look in the mirror. If you are interested, I can tell you how to ensure results but I will give you the key points. By staring in the mirror at your own eyes you will see into your soul.

Are you a kind person? Do you treat people as you would like to be treated? Or do you treat people as you’ve been told they should be treated? You will have completed the meditation when you can hold your own gaze through the past lives of yourself that you will see.

Division between people and non-acceptance of freedoms was something of the past in my living memory, it is currently 2019, yet here we are again. Today I got classified as Aryan in a UK hospital. This is something very new for me. I took a photo of the form because I still can’t quite believe it.

When I get back home, I searched through my gallery pics and bring the photo up on my phone, it still feels unreal. I looked up what this new classification means on the internet because all I can think of is nazis. I ask other people and they agree, that’s all they can think of too. It is an offensive term.

Apparently, according to wiki it means I come from Iran. However, I’m a Devonshire lass. I come from where ‘my lover’ is a greeting and is said to strangers and most people love a drop of cider. The land of cream teas and Cornish ice-cream. I love Devon and Cornwall, I only had to leave because I’m different.

As a coincidence they are also redeveloping Devonport, in Plymouth where I was born. Station Road in 1969 to a Welsh father and English mother. One of my grandads was the ferryman. All of my family have piecing blue eyes and blond hair except my mother, she has green. I have brown eyes and dark hair.

I am now fifty years old, to be told that I am not caucasian anymore is somewhat of a shock. Why such a category of aryan? Why not celtic British, welsh British or even ‘dark English’ which is what my Israeli friend once described me as. It seems that ‘Aryan’ is the term and I am told it is lawful. The word itself currently disgusts me and that is what worries me.

I have a black British consultant, an Indian hindi nurse and a Jewish receptionist all working in Watford General Hospital along with the muslim and christian folk at my local GP surgery.

I’ve always had doctors which looked different than me. The best doctor I ever had was a Chinese doctor down in Brighton in 1989-1992. I miss her. Dr Chung listened and she had knowledge and could get me help. She was never dismissive. She would swab my butt if it was necessary, she wouldn’t have thought it was inappropriate. I suspect MRSA would not be in her clinic.

There was a Chinese woman with her sick mother when I was at Watford General today, she was distraughtly waving her form, trying to get some help and being told to wait. She was why I was drawn to looking at the paper I was holding to arrange my next appointment after having had my appointment already. I would never have noticed it if it wasn’t for that lady and her mum.

Over the last twenty years or so our country’s freedoms have been removed. I know that I have been systematically bullied because of my lack of a fashionable growing faith. Being part of the world of woods, wildlife and folk tunes isn’t enough to be safe.

Filling out social housing forms has made me see that things are not as they were and worse still, what they were was an illusion. I’ve read all TRDC reports on equality since 2012. They are available for download from their site. They are not offering services across the seven protected groups. They are cherry picking who they provide good service to.

Forms need to be filled out for you to sign when you have a flat audit. The staff member explained that they had to make sure I wasn’t subletting the flat. They check the flat and ask for ID – I’m thankful for these checks.

The WCHT staff wanted to ensure I had everything I needed as she was also my equality services provider. I’ve been here almost a year, so I asked for a tenancy agreement so I would know if I was breaking it. I asked if they wanted to see all my occupational therapist reports and medical letters as I retched and I apologised for the smell. They both looked around the flat. They seemed unaware of any of my details or previous complaints.

Form filling – boring but forms give clues as to where funding is allocated. In Watford Community Housing Trust forms flat audit forms there was no box under religion for pagans. No pagan box to tick. This means pagans are not counted. No pagans in Britain is not possible. Pagans built Stone Henge and have been protecting this land and its occupants for thousands of years.

The woman doing the audit asked me if she could put pagan down under christian and I almost died on the spot. I thought of all the witches burning at the stake across the globe. I thought about the fat dripping down the side of Spitafield Market walls in London from the human burnings. I may love all that Jesus represented but I am not a christian.

The fact that christians like to cover up like the muslims is also not so pagan. Many more thoughts came to my mind but I stayed calm and polite.  I told her to draw a box. Then I asked her to write pagan next to it. Then I asked her to tick it and I know I used the word please. I have to say, that although ill-informed they were both very nice.

Funding from councils is allocated out to services and benefits depending on the community which responds to feedback forms. These forms are supposed to be anonymous but in Hertfordshire County Council they are not. Especially in Three Rivers District Council and Watford Borough Council.

If you are not happy with a service or group provision this council will increase the advertising budget for that service. The advertising budget is then allocated out to the different services and provision groups. Feedback is collected to ensure that protected groups are being protected, such as old people or disabled.

However, if the service or group provision is not on the page it cannot be ticked. Provision can’t be measured or any advertising budget increased because no feedback forms will be sent out to a service which doesn’t exist.

Advice on the new homes being built and who is allowed to buy and what help financial help is available is also allocated by the council authority. The advice is given to social housing tenants by it’s authority and as such who they invite to buy is supposed to be heavily regulated to ensure they follow equality laws.

Three Rivers District Council, Watford Borough Council and Hertsmere Council have all been made aware of the discrimination and breaks from procedure but have told me I do not have an argument. The UN law doesn’t count here they tell me. Well, until we actually leave Europe, YES IT DOES.

So it seems unlikely pagans are to be offered any advice on how to buy the lovely new homes which are being built in their communities. Watford locals are attempting to hold on in the midst of these ‘redevelopments’ with no literature to aid them or any idea of where to get help.

Pagans are a huge group of people. Not only are there a huge group of folk here in UK, but all over the world. China, for instance, is mainly pagan as it doesn’t financially support faith groups. Disabled people do not want to be disabled. Also, not all of us have always been disabled. I have every right to claim benefits and feel the judgements of disgust should be stopped.

Money has been spent on making us feel disgusted with all sorts of things, disgusted with benefit claimers and homeless people, disgusted by drug use, disgust at young girls that have been groomed from such an early age they don’t know the father’s names to their children, disgusted at people who hurt animals, disgust at how others live, disgust at adults in nappies, disgusted by witchcraft – which is just mirrors and spells.

Pagans are classed as devils by faith groups – they are hunted and killed. Blasted in the media as baby killers and bad people. Jesus had a saying apparently, I suspect it may have been an old pagan saying from the times, he tried to stop a woman from being stoned to death, he said, “He without sin should cast the first stone.”

Now we are classed as aryan, people will think we deserve it when we get stabbed…is that why a boy can be hammered to death after being chased by groups of men, hunted across Watford until he and his friends are finally trapped in by the gangs in a subway. The police only managing to arrest one and not gathering information or evidence correctly, the one they jailed getting just four years, out in two. The local newspaper naming the informant but not the men arrested?

Aryan. The term disgusts us. It’s hard to believe but it’s actually true. They thought we would be out of Europe by now and wouldn’t need to clean up but their arrogance has shown through their mistakes. I think their biggest mistake was thinking people don’t care. Not even bothering to check for spellings on their dummy websites or checking with a lawyer before writing letters claiming legal knowledge.

Some of these faith group fund guzzlers have resigned over the last few months. In Hertfordshire and across England they can be seen running, some back to the states. They realised it all might come out, they realised we may stay in Europe because people are beginning to see all the cheating things done to swing the vote. They realised that someone had been reading their reports.

Forms are just great, things like ‘Head of the Household’ is a telling term. It means housing associations can put the one person down as the main tenant – even if a couple joined the housing list together. If then that person finds themselves out on the street it is their own fault for not staying with hand that feeds them.

These things are illegal but since the referendum these injustices have run rampant. No one is checking that policy is correctly implemented. No authority in the County cares when disability laws are broken. No one cares when an organisation breaks from the equality policy – because they think it won’t matter.

No one checking policy is because they are busy. Busy checking their image in the mirror. I know of working families waiting for housing for years. None are offered new housing to buy although they meet the criteria. They were placed into social rental units instead. This takes up the social housing for those waiting and then councils move who they want to into the built to buy flats.

It seems faith plays a part in whom can be offered help to buy these lovely new homes which our swallowing up the little green spaces, the few we have left on council estates.

The word pagan has been associated with disgusting things of late. If I were to say the same of another religion, I should be prosecuted for breaking equality laws. However I must stress this – I don’t feel like saying nasty things to other people. Other people do not disgust me. We are all different. I just wish I didn’t disgust them so much.

Groups of people hating on each other isn’t nice. I look in the mirror. I look at my soul. I know the bad things within me. I do not judge the things in you. I just ask that you do not call me an aryan and ask that you revert Hertfordshire County Council back to how it was. We are still in Europe you are breaking the law of equality which the UK signed up to. Why would you do that to me?

Samantha Harris.

Past Caring, Not Sharing

A Space in My Time.

by Samantha Harris.

So, I woke this morning still in a scene from ‘I am Legend’. It was the scene where the mutant is head-butting the glass to get to the last human. The last human contains the antidote to the mutancy that has destroyed every other human. The last human is stood in an isolation containment tank.

I imagine that I am the mutant. It is me banging against the glass. The thickness of it shattering outwards from the impact of my head in spangled spikes. Each time I’m withdrawing, slowly walking backwards, concentrating on the human inside the glass, viewing the enormity of the task, before dropping my chin, focusing my eyes and running back at it, shattering another layer.

I’m slowly breaking through the glass. It is very thick.

The human on the other side is screaming. She has her hands against her cheeks and her eyes are wild with fear. She is also me. What is this dream saying? I pull back the covers and make my way through to the lounge. I sit down at my laptop. I’m sat at a table in front of a window so large that it takes up almost the entire wall, I start to write. The nodules on my swollen hands hurt and the pain shooting up from my rear is distracting. I have Ehlers Danlos syndrome.

I spend my time between two windows. One window to see the environment which surrounds me, the other to see the environment which surrounds you. I sit looking out on the world. I rarely close the grey blinds. I need to be able to see the skies. I will see them coming. And I have my superfast broadband and trusty laptop to help me circumnavigate you. I fight my battle on more than one frontline.

I cannot help myself. I cannot stop being angry. This is the reason why mental health can be a problem. These days it is rarely about depression. Why would I kill myself? Why would I even self-harm? I’m in pain every day with an incurable disease. Not killing myself is self-harming. It seriously would achieve nothing other than to hurt the humans I do care about. And, anyway, what if killing myself didn’t change my actual existence? That would be typical.

I’m angry at the world. I’m angry with myself for ever being young, subservient, ignorant and now unable to follow my own dreams. I will, no longer, use a capital letter for father, mother or god. Why should I? I’m subservient to no one. My anger manifests as revenge plots which I would not act on. It disturbs me that I spend so much time thinking of these plans.

Ideally, I would hurt others. But who? Who is actually responsible? My natural mother? My step mother? My father? The Courts? The first man who found me sexual at seven? The second man who found me sexual at ten? My madam? My second husband? My GP? Religion? Multinational corporations? The list is endless.

I do fear those flying unknowns. The triangular ones in the sky. Not the invisible religious gods. The real ones in the huge ships with the hatches and symbols. They are looking. They are waiting. What do they plan as they move invisibly and silently across our skies? They fly by when no one can see. When I look out and just see cloud, I imagine them lurking behind. On a damp, rainy day they sit, adding weight.

My partner comes into the room. The atmosphere frosty from an unspoken argument yesterday. I attempt to discuss it in a clumsy manner. It doesn’t work. He collects his things. Have I gone too far? I make tea, stirring and dropping in milk. I think, briefly, about when he takes me. I mustn’t look at him when he is really close. If I do, his blue eyes disappear, replaced by sharp black ones which dart from side to side and scales appear as his skin peels away. His tongue is replaced by one which has a split end. It flicks my face. My human’s beautiful face goes, only returning when I close my eyes and desperately blink away the image. I know it’s not real. It’s an image seen whilst modelling in a tiny, studio in Chelsea. My confusion isn’t any easier to live with knowing it isn’t real. Let me explain.

Years ago a famous fantasy comic artist showed me something. I was sworn to secrecy but as promised dues still go unpaid, I see no reason to keep it secret. To be frank, swearing me to secrecy wasn’t helpful. Not all images give me issues, the majority I can usually educate myself through.

I don’t blame the artist. How could I? How could he know I’d be forever haunted? Or that my brain would do whatever it is doing? He showed me the private work because I told him I’d seen a spaceship. I had. He was riding high on my naivety and I suspect my interest was stroking his ego. The work he showed me, was fantastically brilliant.

There were large grey reptiles with huge copulatory organs engaging with human women drawn across the page. The women’s expressions neither terrified or happy. I viewed only for a moment before he, sorry for showing me, quickly covered it up again. It was long enough to see several intergalactic pairings across the huge paper, they stood in strange positions, strained expressions on the upstanding lizards’ faces.

I was disappointed, at the time, that the spaceship in the background was only depicted by the presence of metallic stands as the scene was happening underneath and looked nothing like the spaceship I had seen. It was merely his imagination.

Robert Lankiewicz is another artist whose sublime, realistic work is also thoroughly entwined in my thought patterns. His stories, paintings and image play often in my head. His death lays heavy on me, feeling responsible only part down to my paranoia.

Now that my mental illness is enjoying a little freedom these images are becoming alive. Why some images more than others? I’ve no idea. Over my years as a model I’ve worked with fantastic artists and painters. Perhaps now they taunt me because I cannot be distracted, no long walks, no longer able to sing or play the guitar to cheer myself. The autoimmune response to a medical implant means I cannot even abide listening to music.

It’s been over thirty years since I first started getting reality and fiction confused. I just deal with it. I’m just writing about the first few minutes of my day.  I have been diagnosed with ‘unstable emotional personality disorder’ and ‘post traumatic stress disorder’ as well as ‘depression’. Personally I don’t think they’ve got me pegged yet. Thankfully I have started writing and it is an outlet of some sort.

Perhaps waking up imagining your bashing your head against a glass wall with yourself on the other side is exactly the same for you. Perhaps you have also seen a UFO and your lover morphs into a lizard. If so, I’m glad. We will be prepared when they do arrive from the skies. If not, then I hope this little slice of my life will unable you to humour the people in your life who may be struggling with mental health issues.

Past caring but not past sharing

The Great European Toilet Debate

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The Great European Toilet Debate

Straight Drop Toilet Bowl versus Ledge Drop Toilet Bowl (and it’s impact on Our Society).

Sorry if you found this whilst searching dirty jokes.

I will own up and hopefully save you valuable time. This is a piece about my hatred of the straight drop hole design. My preference is for the ledge and this is my explanation why.

When I first came across the ledge toilet, it was a shock. Having lived in England until I was ten years old, I had always assumed that the toilet bowl was a universally bad design that the whole wide world lived with the only other option being a hole in the floor.

The German toilet bowl features a ledge for you to deposit your aberration on. It gobsmacked me when I first saw it. I remember mother being horrified. In my opinion, and I have now spent over forty-eight years sitting on toilets and would consider myself an expert in the field, the ledge toilets are the better. The German toilet gives an all-round better toilet experience.

As I now live in the UK my toilet is straight drop toilet bowl design, so I deal with splash back daily. It freaks me. It annoys me more, possibly, because I know there is a better toilet out there. A more efficient toilet, a better designed toilet for today’s living.

The ledge enable’s one to either inspect and flush or just flush one’s excrement without looking. I preferred to inspect and flush, as this way I feel abreast about what was going in and out of my body. Another pro, for me at least, was that there was never any ‘splash back’. Splash back is something I continue to hate.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with ‘toilet splash back’. Let me explain. This is the action of the stagnant toilet water displacing as your poo goes into it. Usually this water is clean. However, it can be, on occasion, used. As your new poo deposit drops down the water splashes up. This can be felt by the person sat on the loo who deposited the poo. So, depending on the water in the bowl you could have dirty waste water or water containing detergent fluids splashing back up onto one’s fufu.

Now, I feel I need to interrupt myself to explain that I did some research. I have been made aware that not everyone has this ‘splash back’. Also, that maybe my poos are extra dense and that is making the splashback possible. I do not know. I need more diversity in my audience.

So why is it important to view your own poo? Should it really be looked at or just flushed away like the bad problem it smells like? Or could our very British attitude of covering up a mistake and being in denial of causing a problem to be aiding the continual preference for the toilet that doesn’t really show you what you have done?

The National Health Service in the UK like to use a diagnostic visual aid called The Bristol Stool Chart. This is a chart showing different colours, shapes and sizes of poo. They use this chart to help patients and doctors discuss results of treatments and medications. For example, if a patient had hard, small, round stools before treatment and then softer, long stools after treatment then the treatment did influence the bowel.

For this diagnostic tool to work one must be able to view one’s poo. My argument here is that is that with an SDTB it is extremely difficult to view the excreta. Once the poo lands in the water it tends to disappear back behind the U-bend, perhaps showing a glimpse but this is no indication of what the rest of the poo is like or whether there is blood or mucus present. Most of us don’t realise we have blood or mucus in our poo unless we are inquisitive enough to look at the toilet paper after we have wiped.

So, could our toilet bowl’s be making us sicker as a nation? I had a quick look at the figures and couldn’t find evidence to show this exactly, but it did look like there could be a percentage or two difference in colon morbidity rates, surely there is a point to be made here by someone who is better at maths than I?

Regardless, there is still the splash back. Detergent sat in the bottom of the SDTB can easily splash back up onto you. If it is bleach down in the water, one could end up with some lighter strands of colour amongst your pubic hair or maybe a chemical burn. I hate pooing into detergent. My attempts to wiggle my poo as it comes out, so it slides down the inside of the loo rather than the ‘big drop’ that would cause the unavoidable, to me, splash, usually fail. I am familiar with the toilet brush. I clean up after something I cannot see, have not seen and will never see. I only know the poo was there because of the trail of destruction left by its journey.

So how easy is it to get one of these ledge toilets? One of these toilets which stops splash back and makes one feel like one is dealing with one’s health? Not easy. They seemed to have fallen out of favour and one article I read told me that only older properties in Germany have these ledge toilets nowadays… How sad.

It seems people prefer not to know what is coming out of them. Most people, it seems, would rather deal with the splashback and maybe even deny that the splashback happens, than look at what they did.

I’m not a plumber so unfortunately will be living with my straight drop toilet bowl for the foreseeable future. And, as I also did a search online to buy one of these ledge toilets and found zero, I suspect I’m on my own in wanting one. Meaning, I will continue to long for a toilet without splashback and wonder what this all says about our society.

Open Letter To My Step Nana

 So who is it that is filtering your letters? Is it your solicitor son? Is it your daughter, my step-mother? If they feel that not telling me where you are and how you are doing is the right thing to do then they seriously need to look at their moral compasses. However, I accept that they feel that you need protecting from me for some reason.
I recently heard you had dementia and that they have moved you to a home. This explains why you didn’ t respond to my last letters. Nana, I’m so sorry I had to remove myself from my upbringing in such a way that the distance was always necessary. Between distance and poverty my visits were few and far between but the love you showed me grew in force and lives in my genes today.
I’m not interested in money. You and I spoke about it when I was a little girl. See I’m not the biological grand daughter. Not being my Mum’s daughter made it easier to understand why she treated me the way she did. You made me see that in a forgiving way.
So when the rest of my siblings got an early inheritance twenty years ago (yes I know) I didn’t say a word to anyone about it. Nor did I feel any differently about you because you still took the time to know me and be concerned about my life and then my children.
Family estrangement being like a piece of catgut string which has been stretched to atomic dimensions. It’s lines of attraction become so thin it’s impossible to see the connection but the pull is still there. Contary to how they, my parents, sign the seasonal cards I’ve not spoken to either of them for decades.
I recognised that it is a good thing Mum did for me. Introducing me to and allowing me to know her fantastic mum. Strong, beautiful and independent. You lost Granddad early on and never remarried. Never even had another love interest.You then worked through to retirement. Successfully buying your home and securing your future and helping to secure your childrens’. A perfect role model.
As a child, I remember running across the road for you to get your fags. No 6. Blue and white packet. I remember walking into the smoky, sicky, woody, alchoholly, smelly, Falstaff pub to get those cigarettes like it was yesterday. Doesn’t feel like it was over forty years ago.
You were made to stop smoking years ago but it still defines you. I expect that you have your face on too. You taught me about beauty. You taught me that people like to be able to view something pretty.
Your protection of me during Mum’s rages will never be forgotten. I can still feel the relief. The safety of being around someone who didn’t hate me. I have missed the loving feeling and your brutal honesty. I loved feeling I had someone on my side.
Nana you would love my Grand daughter. She makes my heart happy. She is delightful with gorgeous green, shining eyes and a gorgeous smile that shows the world the love she is shown daily. Izzy brings me such happiness that sometimes I really feel like I’m going to burst. Often I’m wiping tears of happiness just watching her.
Strong willed with fine, curly hair and a very generous nature. They’ve called her Isabella but I call her Izzy. Izzy and I are real pals. Partners in crime. Her mother, my daughter, looks on at our antics with a beautiful smile of grace and love. The madonna for sure. I am blessed in many ways. I’m now able to be the great Grandma you and Nanny showed me to be.
Thank you. I was and always will be grateful x