Friday, 3 March 2017


How Utterly Marvellous to be so Deliciously Decadent.

On the roof, a glass of wine in one hand, a smoke in the other, surrounded by local cheese  and charcuterie. Yum Yum.

 I am sitting on the roof watching the twinkling lights of Ajjacio and the sun setting over the "Blood Islands" called because at this time of day the string of islands opposite Portico are covered with every shade of red and orange clouds.

No matter that I am stinking dirty (no water for 2 days)..My hands are raw and bleeding from unaccustomed manual labour. Shreaded jeans tucked into stout leather boots and the cowboy hat I nicked off my eldest son when he came back from New Orleans.

In short, I look a right fright,

Now some one curious may wonder why I am on the roof....Well, to satisfy the "nosey parkers", it is because the roof is the only place that doesn't look like Lebanon...a real war zone...

You see, there was a minor explosion in the kitchen which has necessitated the whole thing being renewed, including the walls.

The salon, which 'tho I say it myself, I feel I have surpassed myself with its current decor...a fusion between forest and a blues club, has become the resting place for all those sorts of needless gadgets that over time accumulate in a kitchen.
Machines to whisk, wiz, chop, crush, shred and "juice"to name but a few....have I ever used any of them?
Yet, I can't bring myself to throw them away.
So, they, and all manner of other complicated devices, have spread through the house like bacteria on agar jelly.

The workmen spend more than half their time drinking the local red    which is really quite drinkable (as I can now attest for) and discussing the merits of their various girlfriends.

In another life I would be cracking the whip and reminding them upon which side their bread is buttered...but that would be entirely ineffective here.
 The locals work when they feel like it,  and don't when they don't. 
 All madly               
And yet,  I feel as if I have been slowly seduced by this mad, bad, crazy and utterly enchanting piece of paradise named Kalistra (the beautiful one) by the Greeks.

I have learnt to just let the tides take me where they will...any attempt to resist would be as futile as that Shakespearean character who tried to hold back the sea...?king Lear???

I started my journey here in a flurry of panic and pandemonium after being shown 'photos of hurricane damage to the 27.

 I had left the house for much longer than usual so that I could see how the edit of our film "Malevolent Shadows" was coming along.
If the rest of the film is as good as the first 35 minutes, A&E Productions and Team Gaudeamus will have a blast of a celebration.

Anyway, for reasons too complex to explain, I found myself on a plane to Stockholm..

Ha! so much for airport security!...
My ticket and boarding pass clearly stated Ajaccio via Nice....
 (those of you who know me will understand how I got myself into that sort of pickle)

Now, to address the matter of my pyjamas.
Unless husband is here, I wear exceedingly trendy psychedelic affairs...quite sufficient to blast any retina into the stratosphere.

The downstairs of the house having been drained and dried...and repainted by ME...nothing like as easy as I thought it would be (had to cut off half of my remaining hair which got covered in paint)

So, up with the proverbial lark, I decided to repaint the stairs from the upstairs bedroom to the downstairs salon.
 Quite logically, I started painting from the top and after 2 1/2 hours of back breaking artistry, I finally reached the bottom of the stairs.

Understandably, very pleased with myself, I thought I could now go down to the village and get some much needed grub in.......

But , Oh Dear!....
I couldn't climb back up the stairs to the bedroom where all my clothes were and most importantly where my bag containing wallet and identification was. Not to mention makeup, hairbrush and everything else required to make myself look half presentable for an English woman of a "certain age" to go shopping....Why not?
  Because the stairs were still wet and the tin said "12 hours to dry"

So there I was in my jolly pyjamas, bedroom hair and no shoes.
Quite a sticky situation don't you think, since I simply couldn't countenance wrecking all the hard work and starting again.

Only one option available ....which is why I found myself standing in line at the bank barefoot in my nightwear.
No one seemed particularly perturbed by my appearance until I finally reached the front desk behind which, stood a rather formidable looking woman whom I had never seen before.

 I said I would like to withdraw some euros, upon which, quite reasonably, she asked for some identification.
Now, my French, while adequate, is not really up to explaining very clearly the complexities of my life...But in order to get some cash....(if for nothing else to buy some jeans and a sweater,) I related the story of how I had painted myself out of my bedroom. 

For cultural reasons, the Corsicans, unlike the Italians, have a slight streak of the morose about them.
 You only have to listen to their music and the lyrics...."Oh my son is in prison and will be dead tomorrow".."Oh my wife has left me so I must kill myself"
But on hearing my half baked explanation for why I was wearing nothing but eye boggling pyjamas, they all fell about laughing.

The manager(who fortunately knows me) came out of his office to see what the broo - ha - ha was all about.
 He gave me the necessary cash but not before  I heard him use an expression I had never heard before. 
  "Elle a un grain de folie"
i.e.: she's slightly bonkers, but he continued, "what do you expect from a great artist?!"
 The later remark was said in my direction with more than a mere "grain de folie"

Oh Blimey, It's completely dark now so I must get myself and the remains of dinner off the roof while feeling somewhat wobbly wobbly.

Toodle pip for now,
PS. note to Old Looney Tunes.(who I know is reading this) Would you be kind enough to call your Old sister regarding your forthcoming arrival instead of sending some gobboldy gook text which doesn't make any sense..God help your poor patients if that's how you communicate with them.

Friday, 27 January 2017



NEW YEAR..... 
January (in this case 2017)

Dearest Cal Gal,
I will write to you personally re matters "more intimate"
but this is just my usual ramble, describing recent events and intended to generally wind a couple of people up!

For the most part, January is the time of year when your average Cove is busy recuperating from the previous weeks festivities. 
Grey around the gills, they are to be seen dropping vast amounts of paracetamol washed down with enough water to hydrate the Sahara and swearing on their life that they will NEVER indulge their voracious appetites to such an extent again.  (Ha Ha!)

Others, of a more optimistic nature, are, with great determination,  making all sorts of New Years resolutions. 
(A pursuit as trivial as it is useless)

But these normal, if not banal activities, are not for the likes of the dysfunctional mob loosely described as "my family" and with whom I share part of my life.

Oh no, not for us anything so mundane.

We are to be found humping skis, snowboards, ski boots ,snow boots, thermals, balaclavas, goggles and every other sort of apparatus required to prevent frost bite with its sequelae, gangrene, in preparation for a week living in   conditions suited only for polar bears.

Now, there was a time (in a different century) when I was impetuous enough to enjoy haplessly dropping down a mountain side negotiating moguls and ice with the sort of gay abandon typical of youth...
In fact, I must admit there was one occasion when I was reckless enough to endanger not only my life but that of someone else as well....

For any one who has read previous posts, it will not surprise you to know that "Old Loony Tunes" himself played an integral part in what has gone down in family history as yet more evidence of my irresponsible behaviour. 

So it was that I, my eldest son, a couple of nannies, and friends plus psycho surgeon brother(AKA Old Loony Tunes or just OLT) took off for the Alps...the fact that I was 7 months pregnant did not deter me from going...on the contrary, I thought, in my great medical wisdom, that a bit of Alpine air and gentle exercise would be rather good for me.

No instructor was required as Old Loony Tunes himself, when not taking out the knife and fork to hack up some fortunately anaesthetised patient, is also a formidably good skier.  (well he would be, wouldn't he..old clever clogs)

We were in Switzerland. It was  one of those gloriously sunny days that followed a huge dump of snow during the night, so the conditions were ideal . 
I was trying  to look cool, doing safe, wide turns down the slope. Loony Tunes, having just pointed his skis down, disappearing at lightening speed in a flurry of snow, yelled up at me "Don't be such a drip with all those turns..just get down here!"

Well, I was NOT having my younger whipper- snapper- of- a- brother implying that I was some "lilly- livered- simpering- miss" both skis pointing firmly downhill, I too shot off..

Oh how the god Hubris must have laughed!......
Just as I was inwardly congratulating myself at my expertise in avoiding the odd mogul, I slipped an edge and went tumbling base over apex, legs akimbo, skis and poles flying in all directions, slithering on my backside  to a very undignified halt at the bottom. 
This was NOT cool..but worse was to come..I had given myself such a shock that I peed myself with fear...
At least I thought I had .
 It was only when the contractions started that I realised I had broken my waters and gone into labour.

Oh the ensuing broo ha ha!..
A plane had to be chartered. The hospital in England put on alert for my arrival at Heathrow where an ambulance would be waiting....and the extreme embarrassment of having to deal with the repeated question
 "Don't you think it was irresponsible of you to go skiing when 7 months pregnant AND you being a doctor?!"

I will spare you all the sordid gynaecological details..
Suffice to say that WITH OUT an epidural (and I am not a fan of pain) a mini human being, half  cooked for only 7 months, shot out of me like a turbo fuelled rocket. 
Is it any wonder that ever since then, I have developed a severe case of Mountain Cowardice? 

Meanwhile, husband and ever expanding family are all formidable skiers who look on, perplexed at my tears and screams of "get me off this bloody mountain NOW!"
All quite convinced that I am demonstrating signs of early dementia.


It must be said that on this most recent Alpine excursion, husband had really extracted the digit..a beautiful chalet..We even had a log fire in our bedroom.
 (perhaps unwise bearing in mind my side of the family's affiliation with pyromania....did I ever tell you the story of how OLT set fire to the library roof of his school Winchester?...

Years later, when eldest son was at Eton, "The Beak" (or whatever silly name the headmaster called himself) was explaining to my son's class, the close relationship that existed historically between the two schools...Those with brains went to Winchester and those with neuronal deficiency attended Eton..

(apologies to Englands two princes)

 Any way, as an example, he described an incident where some Lunatic from Winchester, set a bomb off on the library roof causing an appalling conflagration, and Eton, being the more financially well endowed of the two schools coughed up the necessary dosh. He went on to explain that far from ending up in clink (as you might have imagined would be the natural fate of an arsonist) the boy concerned was now an eminent surgeon...How's that for a small world!...and you may wonder why I call my brother "Psycho" amongst other terms. 
Any way, back to this years pilgrimage  to the mountains......

Husband (first in law and general polymath) and I arrived with stepdaughter, her boy friend ( a first in PPE at Oxford) Husband's friend (an eminent psychiatrist and his daughter (just sailed through a first in maths from Oxford) and Finally "Old Loony Tunes" (medicine at Cambridge AND a degree in philosophy) plus acclaimed GP who's just won a gold medal for something or other....are you getting the picture? 

In short a more dazzling selection of "know Alls" and self opinionated Panjandrums would be difficult to find ...

After the usual expressions of surprise by OLT at my continued existence despite a conspicuously frail carcass (GP had some obscure explanation)...I became aware of developing tensions.

Of course with so many experts, all of whom were authorities on everything, from polemics, politics, paradoxes and paradigms, there were obviously fervent disputes (in my opinion involving much persiflage and obfuscation) 
But this was not the source of tension...OLT seemed unusually modest about his plethora of abilities as did my husband and his chum(the psychiatrist)....after some careful cross examination on my part,  I found the answer accounting for their despondancy.

Evidently, OLT had just recently been beaten in a slalom race by one of his daughters...and both husband and his chum had been informed by the ski guide that they were not expert enough to join their daughters on an off piste trail.

Further laments ensued....aching joints, stiffening of the muscles, memory lapses, lack of tolerance to port and horror of horrors...HAIR LOSS!

Yes indeed, like the rest of us mere mortals, even "geniuses"such as they, succumb to the inevitable CORRODING HAND OF TIME.

Blimey..I've just received some photos from Corsica..there has been a furious hurricane and the whole of the salon in my house is flooded and full of debris...must book a ticket and fly out at once.
Toodle Pip for now,

Monday, 2 January 2017




"Christmas anxiety" for me, usually sets in around about October.

 "Proper" House Wives start making Xmas cakes and puddings..(Don't they have anything better to do?..Sorry if that sounds catty...I'm just jealous)..

However, it's the TV adverts that REALLY make me despondent..
From October onwards, the TV  exposes us all at far too regular intervals to....

ALL those beautiful Christmas  scenes of
 ALL those perfect families,
 in ALL their perfect homes,
 stuffing themselves with ALL that perfectly prepared food.

 Quite frankly, It"s enough to make me weep and hit the bottle...
Those perfect images being so far away from anything I have experienced since I was a child.
 (I wonder if mum felt the same   way as I do now, all those years ago)

This year, the Xmas panic attacks started in August.
 We had finished shooting "Malevolent Shadows" and I was feeling fabulous.

Lolling round the pool with a few good friends..We were laughing our heads off at nothing in particular, drinking local vino collapso and sampling the delights of some delicious local charcuterie.

 I thought "THIS is how Christmas should be"..
and the palpitations started as I reflected on the sheer ghastliness of the previous years "festivities".

The house had been choc- o- block with some friends (thank God) and a motley crew of distant family.

At this stage, I must point out, that I always make certain that the bedrooms have the best linen, flowers, fruit bowls, caraffs of water...Not to mention an abundance of those little shampoos, conditioners and body creams which I "nick" in vast quantities from every hotel I have stayed at during the year.
  Yes, my Petals, in addition to all my other vices, I am a Hotel Thief......but I ALWAYS tip the chamber maid VERY well. 
And, as if all of the above is not beyond the call of usual hospitality, I am a very generous giver of presents........
So what could possibly have gone wrong?

Well, as Sod's Law would have it, I had one of my "attacks" on Xmas Eve....
Rendered blind as the proverbial bat and in more pain than my rather low pain threshold could tolerate, I was confined to bed in a dark room and had to tell everyone  to "get on with it themselves"..

Typically, friends rose to the challenge... but not so, certain other individuals who complained that on being invited to a house party, they did not expect to do the work of servants!...
The complaining woman promptly had a row with her husband for which I somehow was to blame.
Even from the confines of the bedroom, I could feel the toxic atmosphere developing..
Old family resentments erupted, people were understandably displeased with their gifts (as I was half blind during the "wrapping process"and, therefore, not too accurate with the labelling)
 Old "Loony Tunes"  (psychopathic orthopaedic surgeon of a brother) having expressed his usual surprise that I was still alive (just about) when I should have been dead long ago from decadent living, received some rather sexy lingerie meant for one of my mates. 
He thought (quite understandably) that I was giving him some sort of psychological message...need I go on?

Husband tried his best, but is an introvert by nature (understatement)

"Old Loony Tunes" pointed out to husband's brother (nick named "Pizza Face"by his friends)  that he had never seen such a severe and disgusting case of acne on an adult in all his medical career. ...Thus confirming what I have always said.
 My brother should confine his medical abilities to chopping people up..something he is considered very good at, rather than veering into the territory of physicians.

My own kids and grand daughter were doing "their own thing" else where, and I must admit this rather added to my feelings of despondency, inadequacy and deep depression..
(my kids are for ever telling me how embarrassing I am)...the days of their undying loyalty being only a hazy memory..
I am only embarrassing in that I do not sit quietly in a corner doing my knitting like any self respecting grandmother...
Bugger that!

..I want to LIVE LIFE !

So you might understand why the contrast between that perfect summer afternoon, full of "joi de vivre"  and general frivolity with friends, precipitated the pre Xmas palpitations sooner than usual.  

BUT, I am not so lilly livered as to give up without a semblance of a fight.
In other words, THIS year was going to be different.

 AS far as I was concerned, this would be a Christmas for those few people who enjoy my company as I enjoy theirs...
There would be no depression resulting from family refusing invites, as they would not be invited... the sequelae of that being family eruptions....why hadn't I thought of this before! 

Then,  "Loony Tunes" and his really lovely family invited themselves.
 My fab godchildren AND even eldest son plus daughter in law and grandchild also thought it might be fun to stay with the Bonkers Old Bat (me)  as did a few other family members who I thought had quite disowned me....

Blimey, back to a full house party...

But THIS time, it WOULD be different...

  There HAD to be some sort of secret to putting on a "Good Show"





I had an extreme "Pauline moment"

A moment of such Gargantuan Damascusian proportions that I was momentarily quite overwhelmed with my own brilliance.

The secret lay in the word "Show".

Now, I have done quite a bit of public speaking in my life and have always felt that your duty as a Speaker is to other words, put on "a show."

And What are the THREE vital ingredients to putting on a "good show"?





Why do I always get an auto immune attack at Xmas?
  Because I get into a fearful panic and stress myself into a frenzy.
This process stimulates the "Fear, Flight, Fight reflex"
 which in turn causes the body to produce amongst other things like adrenaline, vast amounts of the hormone cortisol.
 This  brings on my corneal ulceration..painfully blinding..lumps around joints, anorexia and other jolly symptoms.

So, AVOID stress at all costs.

  I immediately bought all Christmas presents...paid someone to wrap and label them. In addition, a few extra  presents in "Present Chest" in case of unexpected visitors.
 The panic of last minute wrapping now avoided.

Called Waitrose and ordered EVERY BIT of required food to be made by them..
didn't even feel guilty at ordering their mashed potatoes.


Organised for a couple of girls to do all the serving of drinks, food and washing up.

Found a photographer to take some pics of what I was beginning to think had the beginnings of a half way decent Xmas.

Made up all the beds in the house weeks in advance.

Decorated house and bought  tree by 1st December.

Remembered crackers.

Made a play list of decent music in advance to avoid the usual rummaging around  dvds for music when someone felt like dancing.

 Learnt a few line dances off You Tube, so that should people want to dance there would be no problems with "partners"

Tuned all instruments in the event of a "jam"

Made certain all leads worked plus microphone and amps.

Instructed husband to get in LOADS of alcohol...surprisingly, he did not so much as flinch at this request...

Normally, there would be some remarks about me and my friends all suffering from chronic alcoholic poisoning ...
Perhaps because this year one of his family was admitted to hospital with chronic liver disease secondary to booze he was more amenable.
 And if you are thinking that this was all a very expensive and massive cheat, I can only agree with you..
but WOW!
It was worth it.

Old Loony Tunes and family were the first to arrive..Both he, and wife (a GP) having expressed their usual surprise that I was still not yet 6 feet under, acknowledged that it must be my Viking blood that kept me alive, and, therefore, we made great plans for forthcoming skiing trip and they even invited themselves for a summer holiday to my dream house on the basis that it wouldn't be locked up in probate as a result of my impending demise...

Son and family arrived and were utterly charming.
 Grand daughter, a smashing little extrovert, got things going as she insisted on showing us all how well she could sing and dance...
soon the house was stuffed with all age groups..

The line dancing was a terrific success (I STRONGLY recommend it as an alternative to those ghastly Xmas games..... 
You know the ones...Monopoly... Charades and Trivial Pursuits...nothing trivial about THAT game..I have known it break up relationships)

The music room was soon throbbing.
A "Full On Jam" with godson on drum kit, son on piano, guitar and vocals. Me on electronic piano (Xmas present from husband) and all the singers harmonising while the others danced.
Grand daughter took to the microphone like a real pro along with all the other good vocalists...have you heard "The wheels on the bus go round and round" sung "Blues Style" in several harmonies?

Those not of musical persuasion lounged in my new "smoking room" drinking eating and generally flirting ...TWO new romances on the bubble.

I became rather weepy at some of the really thoughtful gifts I received and went into complete Blub mode on being presented with a poster that was supposed to describe only hinted at a scintilla of insanity!

Oh Dear, This all sounds too self satisfied for words...

 (From past experience) that my current feeling of  unusual happiness will be completely shattered by some impending doom filled event within 48hrs max.
 So please allow me a few hours of relative relief from lifes dramas..
Even as I say good bye
 and toodle pip for now,
I have a frightful sense of foreboding.
yours as ever ,

Friday, 2 December 2016



                     Of all the psychiatric disorders,
 this horrible condition has the highest mortality rate.        

Well, I, am FAR too busy to "kick my clogs" at the moment.
 So "Bollocks" to that useful bit of scientific information!

For the last 30 years "Old Loony Tunes" (orthopaedic surgeon of a brother) has been telling me, and the world at large, that his shocking sister will be dead before the next Christmas. 
30 + years later I am STILL hanging around, so I have suggested that he confines his medical talents to cutting people up.

Meanwhile, my sacrum and hip bones have broken through my skin, leaving bleeding and bloody painful sores and I am scratching around in my wardrobe for something that fits.

God only knows, I don't want to be like this...I simply can't bear  to look at myself in the mirror when I have one of these "episodes"
All the more aggravating when people imply that I am "dieting" out of some sort of vanity.

The fact of the matter is, that throughout my entire life, I have frequently simply forgotten to eat for several days....and then when I do try to eat, it's so, so, very difficult.......I have currently been carrying one yogurt around with me for two days trying to get the stuff down me.

Watching people eat at these times, is as revolting to me as the plate of food put infront of me...

I have developed "avoidance tactics" I get on with serving others, clearing up, having to make an urgent call.....anything rather than sit down looking at the plate in front of me.
 Many of my friends on the Island call me "La Navette" because like a shuttle I keep moving around. Ironically enough, when I am there, I eat very well..the local food is irresistible.

A psychotherapist once asked me  what it felt like at the times I found it impossible to look at a plate of food, never mind eat it.

"It is as if I am looking at a plate of faeces (shit)"
It is so difficult to explain to others what it feels like as there are so many factors involved.

When I had my own GP practice, I used to treat many anorexics with a modicum of success...I felt that was because,
 "It takes one to understand one."

I understand the frustration and the pain it can cause other family members who are at a loss to know what to do.

 I have seen the condition actually cause entire families to break 
up as a result of the continuous rows over mealtimes.

Parents and loved ones, rowing with each other as to how to handle "the situation."
On and on and on it goes, ad nauseum.

The ripple effect can be monstrous and yet only serves to make the "non eater" feel even worse. 
Feelings of guilt, self loathing, frustration, anger, depression often leading to feelings of total isolation.

This is NOT meant to be a "lecture" on Anorexia,
 It is merely an account of how I feel about it
 and how I have learnt to live with it and manage it
 (to a degree!)

In my case I stopped eating when I was 3 years old.

I have no doubt that it was not a coincidence that it coincided with the start of what was to be 7 years of very regular sexual assault by 4 boys, all brothers, who would tie me naked to a chair, make me drink "special milk"and do the most unspeakable things to my little body. 

At the age of 5, I told my mum who said I was making it up...How could I have done?..In those days, there was no internet or any other way of me being able to describe what was  being done to me.

 But it was 1958...and the parents of the boys were my parents great friends....The fifties really were an age of innocence  where these matters were simply unheard of and certainly never discussed.

I was sent to boarding school at 10, we moved house and I put the whole thing behind me....It was only when I started investigating anorexia as a doctor that I realised there might have been a connection.

So, if any one is interested, I will tell you how I handle the situation.

I make a number of little delightful canap├ęs, usually containing huge amounts of faux caviar (the real stuff is far too expensive for the amount I eat.)
Sometimes I will just eat a small jar of the stuff on its is very high in nutrients and calories.

I have a constant supply of freshly squeezed oranges in which I include all the pulp...the "fresh" stuff you buy, is not as delicious or as high in antioxidant/vitamin content.

I ask people around me (if I know them well enough) not to remark on my eating habits as this is a sure way of putting me off anything.

Frequently,I feel slightly hungry in the middle of the night, so I always have a sandwich or even a bar of chocolate in my bedside drawer.....
I often find myself cooking a "fry up" at 3 am in the this because my blood sugar levels have dropped or merely because like Lord Byron,I prefer not to eat in front of others? who knows.?...who cares? as long as I eat.

As a last resort, if none of the above works...I smoke a joint.
NOT this skunk shit that's around but weed grown by an old lady of Caribbean decent who lives near by.
She makes herself a nightly cup of tea with it as she says it helps her aching joints.

The effect it has on me is quite ridiculous.  I giggle for about 10 minutes, till my abdominal muscles hurt. 
And then.....I eat anything and everything in sight before falling into a deep sleep often waking up with a mouth full of cake...oh dear ,

Of course, I am not recommending for one moment that any one else should follow my regime.
There are plenty of psychiatrists and psychotherapists out there specialising in all sorts of treatments, but from my more than ample experience of them, I have found them all to be quite "off their heads "
 A greater bevy of bonkersness I have yet to encounter.

But I guess what I am trying to say is, that this condition so often described as hopeless, is NOT.

It is simply a matter of finding a way of handling it...there IS a light at the end of the seemingly endless dark's just quite difficult to find the torch to lead you there.

Sorry if this little monologue hasn't been a barrel of laughs, but if it helps just one person it may just have been worth it.

Ta Ta for now,
as ever 

Thursday, 1 December 2016


If it's Nanny holding the gun,...she probably knows best!

Before embarking on another ramble round my  thoughts..
This time on the matter of Nannies...
those people employed to look after our "little darlings"
I have sadly found it
 (after much provocation and aggravation) imperative that I give those who run this computer google blog thing a piece of my mind ....

Note to Beastly, Bloody well Nosey, Interfering,

Computer numpty that I am.
I am NOT, repeat NOT,  
completely devoid of neuronal activity. 

I am only too well aware of how you spy on us all...
The latest and most vexing example being, when MINUTES after I had ordered  some much needed "Magic pants" on line, 
To my horror up popped adverts for incontinence pads, little "pink pills" to help my evidently decreasing libido and other devices more suited to a porn shop. 
Now, let me tell you, I consider myself to be as broad  minded as any other  "woman of the world." But the implication that I may be in need of what amounts to female viagra is positively beyond the pale..
You  have all, clearly, been very badly brought up and are in dire need of acquiring some manners.
Matters of female intimacy are not to be paraded around the "Blogosphere" or which ever planet you inhabit. 

So, yes, apparently you now know that I wear knickers which are certainly not of the "lights-down-low-romantic" variety.
However, I do not expect any more "unseemly" adverts anywhere near my lap top.....should there be even a suggestion of the type of apparatus you think I require (and that includes Stanner stair lifts)  I shall immediately report you to the Head Bloggspotter..

 may I remind you, that apart from being some what of a dab hand at Kung Fu, and not REMOTELY adverse to causing grievous bodily harm when necessary,
 I am NOT a woman to be trifled with, particularly when my "blood is up"
As it now.

So shove THAT up your collective algorithms.......
And I am NOT finished yet.

I am most dissatisfied at the way you keep interfering with the way this blog works.
New passwords are demanded in the interests of "security"
WHAT security?
Adverts for music albums entirely contra to my tastes...what next?
Perhaps a quick add or two for a "discrete" agency providing women of a certain age with suitable escorts (for a suitable price)?

Nothing you lot of lunatics dream up would surprise me.....BUT, don't say you have not been severely reprimanded and warned!

So, to address the fraught subject of Nannies,
Do you know, I am so exhausted by that painful but necessary rant that I feel in need of a quiet lie down and fag( english slang for cigarette, Cal Gal) I know in California a "fag" is a cat of an entirely different colour.
If you agree with me, regarding these imbeciles who organise the various "social media platforms"
 (note my acquaintance with the lingo)
 please comment and let  me know your thoughts on the matter..
I need some feedback in the event of it being me who is quite bonkers,



Wednesday, 30 November 2016


              I AM IN A GARRULOUS MOOD 

Well, ........"Depression"...Is it all in the mind?

Until evidence suggests otherwise, I would say it hardly lies in one's little finger.....If so ,I would gladly chop off the offending digit.

         I'm not talking about the type of sadness felt when the cat dies or your kids let you down.   That, I feel, is a normal reaction to lifes harsher events.

        I'm talking about that awful sensation that your whole body is in suspended animation.
 When even to move requires an effort almost too great to make. 
When even to change into clean clothes is too great an effort..(..I know this is revolting, but on one occasion I did not change my clothes for three days and two nights, never mind attend to hair and makeup!)...Imagine what a fright I looked like..

       In my case, this detestable sensation can occur suddenly from nowhere...or may, like twilight, slowly encompass the very essence of one's being, making me both physically and mentally static. 
 Yes, sometimes there may be a triggering event, such as being told how generally ghastly I am  (usually, when words to that effect are said to me, depending upon how emotionally involved  I am with the bearer of such pleasantries, I feel "sad" but manage to shake the feeling off..thinking "well bugger you!") But sometimes that "trigger" can send me into a real decline...However, as I said,this feeling of all encompassing  and overwhelming depression, like an unwanted guest, can arrive without any announcement at all.

For those who have no Idea what I'm banging on about, I daresay their solution would be to 'pull yourself together and stop being such a drip"And they may well have a case.

But, if there is anyone there who will admit to knowing what I'm on about, they will understand the horror and more importantly the fear of what is happening to you .


                        SELF PORTRAIT OF MY MIND.

I emphasise the word fear, because it is truly frightening to feel that your mind feels as if it's in a blender which has no "off" button.
Unable to communicate as one would wish, incapable of doing the slightest physical chore without feeling that one has engaged in a war with one's body...It is as if you are an entirely different person.

A person with no life or laughter.

A person who can not envisage a life of joy ever being theirs.

A person who is incapable of controlling their mind.

A mind which feels as if some alien force has settled in, like some parasitic set of neuronal synapses.

And like all parasites, it feeds off the host...all the feelings of self doubt and self loathing provide more than ample fodder for the beastly creature..(Winston Churchill, who suffered tremendous bouts of depression called it his "BALCK DOG")

And what is so frustrating is, that all this negativity can occur when your life is apparently "fabulous"

Medical experts talk about chemical dysfunction of the brain....dopamine..seratonin..endorphins.....too much or too little of these chemicals. They will give you antidepressants....which, let me tell you DO NOT AGREE with everyone.

Years ago I was given prozac...a few days later ,I hosted a dinner party where I assured all present that the duck pate would make a wonderful face mask...I proceeded to demonstrate how to apply it while doing a semi strip teez)

Not long after, a very close friend of mine , ......who appeared to be "living the dream" in so much that he had inherited extraordinary wealth, was a Peer of the Realm  (this made him very "eligible" to numerous American fillies who thought it would be good fun to be a "Lady"should he propose to them.)

Anyway already taking Prozac for depression ,he started coming around increasingly frequently, telling me how miserable he felt not having a "proper' job.
 He felt that any female interest was due entirely to his wealth and title. One night, over a bottle of red, he began to cry. This was so out of his normal ebullient character that I said I would take him to "The Priory"(a psychiatric hospital for the rich and The Ritz with therapy)
He agreed this would probably be for the best, but that he would prefer to wait until the morning "when I feel little better"
How those words still meander 'thro my mind.
The next morning, the post man found him . 
He had hung himself from the bannisters.

Yes, depression can be a lethal disease. 
In the UK it is the greatest cause of death amongst young men.

                               OH DEAR,


                    BUT THE GOOD NEWS IS,




This, as every woman knows, can be a time of enormous stress (the chatelaine of the house being expected, like a magic fairy, to ensure that all guests feel as if they've had the 5 star treatment)
The disappointment when things do not go according to plan.
The irritation at the irritation of the guests, when things don't go entirely according to plan.
The mess, the washing up and complete exhaustion of it all.

                               CHEZ NOUS!

Christmas Eve And Christmas Day will be a low key affair. Husband and me...his two daughters and son in law, just popping in for no great food preparation and my two dear friends staying over.. One of them being my Co Producer and Co director of our film

                "Malevolent Shadows".

Boxing day will be our "Party Day."

I am still trying to get the conservatory (which has completely gone to seed in my absence on "the Island") it's a bit of a race against floor to be fitted..paintwork to be done....(now I'm such a dab hand at house maintenance resulting from work at house on Island ..I might do much of it myself)
Husband"s elder brother and his beautiful daughter (another medic)  My brother, a sociopathic surgeon, and his family of 6,  who despite his peculiar mental activities which are probably necessary for his job,  has a really lovely family....adorable nieces and an amazingly talented son (another God child of mine) plus only very good friends, are coming for a bit of a "Knees Up". Should be a good laugh....Have I told you about Old Loony Tunes ?    My YOUNGER BROTHER brother, not "TONTO TRUMPO"

To give you an example of his personality, there he was, in charge of A and E, at a teaching hospital ,when he is presented with some joker on a stretcher who was pretending to be unconscious (I don't know why, but even when I was a Cas 
Officer ...that's what junior doctors in A and E, were called in those days) there were always a number of these weirdos who probably just needed some attention or may have been curious as to what happens in A and E...

Any way, I digress... at the same moment a real emergency i.e. cardiac arrest arrives on a stretcher next to said joker....Old Loony Tunes, dispenses with conventional electrodes, paddles 'n all...... He demands an electric saw!

The saw is provided .Old Loony Tunes, now in his element (always a wiz with carpentry)  saws 'thro the patient's breast bone..instructs nurse to put up drip, he then picks the heart out of the thoracic cavity and starts squashing it manually while porters, nurses and patient on stretcher are whizzed into theatre so that Old Loony Tunes can replace the heart to its rightful position and sew the chap back together again.
On seeing this performance, Old Matey, pretending to be Lazerous, arises from death ,screaming his head off and departs A and E at the speed of Hussain Bolt.

Some one is at the must stop my I hear sighs of relief?

Toodle  Pip for Now,

Yours ,as ever Morag.