Monday, 19 January 2015

Behind Closed Doors...





Some of the brave performers 
Over the last few weeks, I have been humongously privileged enough to be part of a project, Stand Up To Stigma, funded by Time To Change and delivered by The Comedy Trust, whose aims endeavour to tackle the problem of mental health discrimination.



A group of us, under the guidance of some remarkable and dedicated people, crawled, with trepidation, beyond the boundaries of our personal sanctuaries, to leave ourselves exposed to the whims and cruelties of human nature, by each of us performing a stand-up comedy routine, written by ourselves, in front of an audience.

Friday, 16th January, 2015,  was our finale celebration at the local library, and regardless of my being one of the performers, I couldn't help but feel flushed with pride to witness the talents and the bravery of each act, as they put any issues they themselves might be suffering, or any issues they were privy to others suffering, to one side, in favour of doing their best, via their well delivered performances, in a bid to help educate others regarding the complexities of mental health and the stigma attached to it.

.
Me
And I'll tell you something else, everyone of the performers routines was met with genuine hearty laughter! Indeed, quite a few people said that they had laughed more that night than at other comedy events where they had paid to watch 'professional' comedians...so praise indeed...and rightly so.

I hope those who provide the funding will find a way to continue to do so, because money is running out now, and very,very soon, in about four weeks time, everything will come to an end. 





My Beloved
There are a couple of possibilities in the pipeline, which I'll tell you about, at some point, when they are better developed, but essentially, for the more immediate future, some other way to inject longevity into the project needs to be found now!


Maybe one of you can think of something?

It needs to be recognised just what a vital programme this is, and the amount of people who have already benefited and WILL benefit from its continuing.




Not just those suffering from mental illness, but those who would otherwise be restricted to adhering to supposition and archaic labelling theories, were they not better informed

AND, it is through this workshop and the subsequent performances, that I have also witnessed a growing interest, by the general public, in the issues brought to light.




Comedian Sam Avery - our mentor
More and more people are attending! More and more people are being made aware! Consequently, more and more people are being helped!

Indeed, the general public should be given credit here, because their positive reactions and feedback is helping to revive the belief, that there really is hope for all of us, for those suffering from mental illness and for those, who before this project came to light, were limited in their understanding of it.

In a world so dogged by tragedy, how wonderful to see a little comedy lighten even the darkest corner...


May the laughter continue...


I wrote this poem especially for the project Stand Up To Stigma


'BEHIND CLOSED DOORS'

Our world exists

Behind closed doors

Where we hide from being judged

By the duplicity

Of yours

Yet even here we are not safe


From the preconceptions


And the prejudice.


You see, the world out there

Needs to get to know

The people whose lives


Are lived and lost


Behind closed doors


Instead of  branding and labelling


All it perceives 

To be a virulent strain

Of humanity

A mental illness is not a disease


It cannot be caught


Through a cough or a sneeze


Ignorance is the germ to avoid


A contagious bug


That must be destroyed


By injecting understanding


And paving the way


Towards saving us from stigma


By stripping us of shame.  © 





Here's a video of me showing myself up at the Stand Up To Stigma Finale...

Tuesday, 16 December 2014

Grumbling Gargoyle and Mother Gargoyle's Big Bite Out!.....**BLOG POST**



Went for a bite to eat with MG ....( Mother Gargoyle )...recently, where, over a hot, festively frothy coffee, she reflected upon her childhood, eighty plus years ago, and the delightful simplicity of play, in a time when paved streets were the canvas upon which your imagination painted its own landscape of fun.


Engrossed by her tales of yesteryear, of her growing up in a gas lit, terraced street of the 30's, I gradually became conscious of a warm glow filtering through the chilled atmosphere of winters trappings to rest upon my heart, as I delighted in watching MG's face brighten with her happy reflections.

That's when MG casually chucked into the conversation how her and some of her friends would knock upon a neighbours door and ask if they could view the dead!..." Ah those were the days"...

I thought I'd misheard her, and I told her so....

"Oh no" she answered with a warm smile " It's what you did back then, we always did it!"

"Hold on mum, you 'always' did it? What do you mean? Did you just knock on random doors and hope there'd be a dead body inside or was it part of a tenancy agreement that you kept one? Was this a weekly occurrence...you know...like, was there a specific day set to one side for it...like wash day or shopping day...did you have 'visit the dead at home day'?"

She did that thing with her eyelids, you know, that thing you do when you half droop them like a narrowed shutter to minimise the amount of stupid your eyes are witnessing!



And then after a swallow of coffee she continued...

"It was the custom, back then, that when someone died in our street we'd go round to the house and ask to see the body" she paused here, for another little slurp, before finishing with...."and then we'd kiss it"

Instantly I regretted just having taken a huge gulp of my own coffee, as my flabergasted state caused me to spray most of it over myself and everyone within a 1 metre radius of our table...

" Oh for God's sake mother!! Kiss it!!! Why the hell would you do that???" I asked incredulously

With an exasperated 'tut' she went on...

" Because that's just how it was!...anyway, I stopped doing it when old Mrs Green from over the road died, because seeing her gave me nightmares...it was a struggle to kiss her, I can tell you!"

My face went through a series of expressions worthy of gymnastic merit, each displaying varying levels of repulsion, before asking..."Why, what was it about Mrs Green, in particularly, that scared you?"

Sitting back in the chair in the eatery, after a lengthy sigh and with a little bit of a shudder, MG sat forward, somewhat conspiratorially, to share with me in quieted whispers...

" She was a small grey haired woman, tiny and withered....her eyes were wide open and staring. Her mouth was open too but they'd stuffed cloth into it...REALLY stuffed it in!...She had a surprised look on her face and hollowed cheeks!" reclining back into her chair she shivered with the memory and drifted into a contemplative swig of her coffee.

My mind was flitting from...the possibility that given Mrs Greens post-mortem state...( bulging staring eyes...rag stuffed into gob )... maybe natural causes wasn't much of a truism to have etched onto the Death Certificate...to a series of business cards, that would have come in handy at the time, advertising the services of the most industrious partnership called 'Kiss A Corpse Inc'...and the slogan?.....'You Snuff It. ~~ We Snog It'........Hm...I think there's room for a revival here!....

Anyway, just as I was mentally sifting through the possibilities for merchandising this, cups, T Shirts...Lip Balm!....our food arrived...

I'd ordered a Chicken Caesar Salad, which, by the look of it, had been designed to represent the death of Julius Caesar himself! The lettuce lay across the plate in a theatrical state of withered collapse, like a disassembled laurel leaf crown, bearing the scars of a frenzied knife attack!


This being apparent by the profusion of brown, wounded leaves which were evident. The 'brown', as I'm sure you know, occurring due to the oxidisation process caused by the reaction of metal upon the lettuce....( impressive eh?...*smug grin* )...

As for the rest of the ingredients, as sparse as they were!...well, the chef must have flung them onto the plate via catapult whilst to-ing and fro-ing, at some speed, from his lofted position on his mood swing!!!...They were just measly, scattered offerings of chicken that wouldn't have provided sufficient nourishment to feed the actual chicken in the first place!...had that bizarre situation ever occurred.

MG had ordered fish and chips which, unfortunately, had also succumbed to the effects of the chef's psychotic break!
vesuvius
To be fair his mindset, despite its meltdown, remained loyal to a theme, and on this occasion he had seen fit to cook my mothers fish as a tribute to the victims of the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, AD 79.

Indeed, looking at the fish, which lay preserved, in an impossibly curled position upon the plate, it was obvious that it had been subjected to the same pulse of thermal energy that the poor residents of Pompeii and Herculaneum had suffered on that fateful day! All that was missing from this pseudo-biblical tableau, was a layer of ash from the chefs fag!

Well, whilst the culinary trip through the dark annals of history had been an engaging affair, our grumbling stomachs demanded to be fed and so, after voicing our complaint, the previous disaster was replaced with fare of such equally disastrous content, as to convince me that the chef had finally managed to attain a level of psychosis never before known to man nor lobotomist!

The chicken, and whatever other unidentifiable scraps which accompanied it, were even more meagerly distributed than before, and whilst the lettuce was more fresh this time,  psycho-chef had used enough of it as a filler on the plate as to feed the entire cast of Watership Down for several sequels!!

This time, MG 's fish  had taken on a mummified appearance, dry and tightly bound in breaded wrappings, applied haphazardly in such a style as to suggest the chef was wearing boxing gloves!


It was at this point myself and MG, our appetites now depleted, decided to admit defeat and so, after acquiring a well deserved refund, we made our escape from the restaurant with a backdrop of clanging pots and pans as an accompaniment.

Lunch hadn't quite been what we'd expected and we wondered what we could do to bring some cheer into the rest of our day...

"How about a nice walk around the cemetery?" suggested a smiling MG

"Mother, I can't think of anything more perfect" said I.............and with decision made, off we went, with a jolly step, to canter with the cadavers....


                                 © Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

Saturday, 29 November 2014

Ding-Dong-Soddin'-Merrily.....an' all that!!...




Just to explain...my most recent vent, which you are about to suffer, was written following my having been cruelly subjected to a certain 'Festively Heartwarming' video recently....I'm still trying to un-clench my fists!!...




Well it's that time of year again whereby it's generally accepted that if you stuff a random, dodgy looking, white-bearded fat guy into an equally dodgy looking red suit and ram a supposedly 'tear-jerking' script down his throat, amidst a backdrop of snow capped bullshit, in a  musty old shed with some suitably maudlin merry-mind-f**k music attempting to subliminally manipulate your emotions....


...he will regurgitate a heart rending story of such condescending bollocks as to have you racing to your computers to order industrial sized quantities of tissues inbetween clicking on 'virtual' orphans to pity during the festive season.........but not beyond it!... 



Obviously, that elevated feeling of...'Good Will To All Men'...an' all that shite, will dissipate the moment the video is over, allowing you to cancel your tissue order and replace it with whatever garbage the Yuletide advertising industry is insisting you can't live without this Christmas...as they themselves "HO-HO-HO" all the way to the Bank of Ding Dong Merrily & Kerching!!...

Anyway...

What am I going on about?...

I'll show you if you can strain yourself to be a little more patient...*points above to 'Good Will' etc...sighs*....

Right...before you read further, it is ESSENTIAL that you take a look at the video below...this should help you understand the rant which follows...



Okaaaaaaaay...let's put this into perspective!..

Where the kid could have offered to fill the universe with love and kisses for her 'daddy'...( albeit as a verbal gesture...I'm not expecting miracles, we'll leave those to the Catholics ).....she selfishly chose to use ALL the paper and VAST amounts of 'Scotch Tape' to pointlessly prove her affections via what is, essentially, a box full of spit, lies and deceptions...( 3 hours blowing wind into a cardboard void?...I don't effin' think so )... AND at the cost of the partial demise of yet ANOTHER rain forest!!...*arches brow*...

The real meaning behind the conversation......

Daddy : "You haven't saved any of the paper for me have you Katy"

Katy: " No Daddy...'cos F**k you Daddy"

But that seems to be acceptable to 'Santa' who also used the Scotch Tape to mock the Titanic tragedy with a morbidly-obese HO-HO-HO!.............How seasonably sensitive of him!...

What lessons have we learned from this festive message?...

Well, one is...that nothing puffs Santa's cheeks up with cheer as much as the misery and heartache which follows a good ol' human catastrophe...


In fact there's many a Christmas scene depicting a red faced jovial Santa in the forefront as the very iceberg which sank the Titanic drifts chirpily along behind him!

But mostly, the lesson learned is that the kid is a spoiled brat who, despite her father's requests to be frugal with the paper AND the reminder that it was 3 days before Christmas so present opening wasn't on the agenda, stamped her feet 'till she got what she wanted! Well more fool daddy....God help him during the teenage years!



And where's mummy through all of this? Rehab I suspect...driven to drink by her dysfunctional family and the bearded psycho-weirdo who is obviously stalking them!...This could explain why a four year old would be 'toddling' into the room to speak to her dad rather than walking with a gait more usual for a four year old!.....'cos she was off her face on the booze her alcoholic mother had failed to successfully hide!... 



ANYWAY......don't let my little rant on the moronic bullshit we're drip fed at this time of year, PARTICULARLY this time of year,  tilt YOUR  world....If this is how you enjoy a Merry Little Christmas....then feel free to do as Santa says and....

"Be The Santa In You"..........yeah....then see how YOUR family react when you give them a great big box full of f**k all on Christmas day........


Merry Christmas ....:)


© Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012


Monday, 24 November 2014

GREG...**BLOG POST**

In a previous blog I introduced you to Ted... a character I developed in a series of writings I penned a while ago...He's a thirty something young man of best intentions and dubious outcomes with an insufferable old granny, whom he loves very much, despite her terminal irreverence to everything!...

You'll probably hear more of Granny in the future, but for now, Ted's dealing with...

'GREG'...

"Listen Greg... 

For once in your miserable...insignificant...tedious...soddin' life do what you want to do! Stop being the pathetic, quivering, wimp that you are, who always succumbs to the wants of others, and have the balls to take control of your own bleak destiny!.

Do you enjoy being bullied? Eh?...Well?...Do you?...You gutless, weak willed failure!. Wake up! That's what's been happening to you, you spineless toad!

Look....we've been going over this for fecking hours now and you've gone from being completely resolute in your decision to, once again, letting those self serving voices gnaw into your lonely little brain cell and screw you up with doubt!

Think about this...when did any of those interfering bastards support you in what you wanted to do?. They spend all their time saying 'NO' and 'MUSTN'T'...and 'DON'T' when did they ever say to you...'So long as it makes you happy, Greg, we're behind you?'....Exf*ckingsactly!...Never!

Wasn't easy at school for you either Greg was it?. What did it say on your report?...Oh yeah..."Greg sets low personal standards...and consistently fails to achieve them"...Oh and..."Greg has delusions of adequacy". 

All your life you've let these people walk around your vacuous head and put you down...haven't you shorty?...Yes you bloody well have! 

So what if your own Mother said that as a child you were so ugly she had to be pissed to breast feed you!. Who cares if at the Maternity Hospital your incubator had tinted glass. You are bigger than all of this Greg...infact you're effin' massive...but you can be your own man if you just, for once, in your worthless, pointless, pitiful, meaningless life...do what YOU want to do. 

Just because you haven't been successful in the past doesn't mean you wont be this time...as for all those who are against you...well sod them all...do what you set out to do whether they like it or not. Infact...do it all the more because they don't fecking like it! Yeah...that'll show 'em!...

See that's a better attitude...look at you now!...raring to go and set to it!...That's the spirit!!...You'll feel a lot better when you've done it...I for one am already, quite proud of you...

....No need for thanks..."

A few days later Ted received this letter......

Dear Sir

I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for your interest in joining our team. I would also like to thank you for sparing us the time to actively take part in one of our live sessions. 

Unfortunately, however, all things considered, we do not feel the position offered is quite suitable for yourself and so, on this occasion, we must decline your application.

Wishing you every success in the future

I remain yours sincerely

Chief Samaritan North West Division

Jane Savem.

P.S.

Greg's family have requested you do not attend the funeral.


© Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

Saturday, 25 October 2014

Brenda...**BLOG POST**...

Ted's a character I introduced in a series of writings I penned a while ago...He's a thirty something young man of best intentions and dubious outcomes with an insufferable old granny, whom he loves very much, despite her terminal irreverence to everything!...

I'm sure Ted will share such goings on with you some other time, but for now, he has a few things he needs to say about his friend...


BRENDA...

I first met Brenda at Slimming World...I helped to open the double doors to let her in. 


;)
It was a beautiful summers day which was perfect because a little party was being held outside in celebration of one of the members losing an amazing amount of weight...( personally I thought Cancer was cheating...but...hey-ho! a party's a party I suppose ).

Me and Brenda got chatting over a low fat pork pie at the buffet...well, I say 'chatting'...she was trying to wrestle it out of my hand. Nevertheless, I couldn't help thinking how eye catching she was...not every woman could carry off a muzzle. 



To break the ice I asked her how she'd got there that day...( I suspected airlifted )...and before we knew it we were nattering away like old pals. I'm glad to say that that's exactly what we became.


Our relationship's always been platonic and that's nothing to do with her prices...to be fair she does offer a discount for mates...it's just how it was and there was no one as happy as I was when she met Barry through the 'Syphilitics On-Line Dating Agency'.


Brenda said it was uncanny really because she remembered Barry from when he was a little lad. Him and a few of his like minded mates, each keen violinists, formed their own little group called 'The Kiddie Fiddlers'.



Apparently they were very popular too in their youth and used to perform a lot at children's parties but sadly, for some reason, they didn't do as well when they got older.


Electric Chair Whoopie CushionAnyway, me, Brenda and Barry have all been pals together now for many years and in that time, I'm proud to say, I've got to know their families very well. So much so that I even got an invite to Barry's Dad's execution in Georgia last Christmas. It was a warming affair, I can tell you. 

As for Barry's Mum, well that woman always makes a particular effort to make people feel at home...indeed she never fails to welcome everyone with open legs...as Brenda's Dad will attest most fervently.


But enough of all that...I think it's time we got on with the celebration of the occasion..so all that's left to say now is......


"Ladies and Gentlemen...without further ado...would you please be upstanding and join me in raising your glasses, to the Bride and groom....Brenda and Barry...........hip hip......hoorayyyyyy"

Ahh I do love a good wedding...



©Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

Tuesday, 21 October 2014

Grumbling Gargoyle & Mother Gargoyle on Tour: Week One!... **BLOG POST**




Neither myself nor my ever present neuroses travel well, preferring instead to congregate within the confines of the haunt we call home where we can enjoy the tumultuous discomfort of endless bouts of prolonged misery in a familiar unsettling setting.

In this Shangri-la of derangement and mental maudlins, random panic attacks, general wailing and sudden bursts of hysteria roam free, unfettered by the judgmental arched eye brows of those who walk beyond this curious sanctuary and would question the bizarreness of such unorthodox 
behaviour...them being so perfect an' all... 


So, all this being considered, you'll probably find it strange that moi and the aforementioned neuroses..( who for the sake of this journal shall lovingly be referred to as 'friends' )...took it upon ourselves to accompany my octogenarian mother...( or MG as she's fondly referred to 'Mother Gargoyle' )...on her travels to Spain, as part of her ever expanding bucket list.

The reason I had to do this, despite my peculiar mindset, is quite simple...I love this woman. I want to savour whatever time we have left together and she is completely unaware of the odd company I keep in the darkened corners of my raddled mind...and that's how it shall remain.



To discuss the matter further would evoke far too many intrusive questions and require answers that I myself simply do not have nor bear to consider... so it is that, me and my curious pals continue our relationship in secret....as best we can...

Over the course of these chunnerings about mine and MG's travels you'll meet many of my little 'friends', though not all...some are far too disturbing to disclose even unto myself!!......Right...let's get on with it...


DEPARTURE...

Arrive at airport inwardly screaming 'cos am terrified of flying

Board plane - watch MG settle down in seat with book and barley sugar sweet - cast envious glance at her brazen nonchalance - swallow an inaudible sob.

Mentally revisit inane statements of recidivist flyers who bleat supposedly soothing comments - "Oh nothing to worry about, it's not a long flight" - also revisit fact that length of flight has f**k all to do with time it takes to dive bomb into oblivion!


Look around plane to determine if anyone looks dodgy - catch sight of own reflection in window - realise I qualify!


Fellow catastrophist thoughtfully
prepares for post-crash situation
Listen as cabin crew go through emergency procedures - only  hear " we're all going to die"

Quickly scan rest of passengers excited, smiling faces just before take off - wince as mind replaces this idyllic scene of rapture with graphic images of blood, guts and general post-crash carnage 

Spend entire flight covertly monitoring every nuance of cabin crew's body language, looking for signs of masked panic.



WEEK ONE: ARRIVAL...

Miraculously survive flight - eventually identify advancing alien feeling as hint of optimism

Travel from airport to villa - discover villa is up a f***in' mountain - stare wide eyed into cavernous maw of impending doom which straddles either sides of car as it crunches its way up precarious, rugged path of cataclysmic possibilities - commence to quietly shite self - spot MG casually reapplying lipstick previously licked off face in a barley sugar sucking frenzy - waves bye to former hint of optimism


Survive ascent to villa - survey all aspects of breathtaking, beautiful scenery surrounding temporary home - enter perfectly tended and welcoming abode - pause to greet onward return of approaching optimism


Notice steel bars firmly attached to every window including door - feel speedy retreat of aforementioned optimism as it's replaced by disembodied, strangled cry of claustrophobic terror

Spend night covertly hugging fire extinguisher 'just incase' - awake and shuffle into lounge with hooded eyes - spot soon-to-be-83 year old mater relaxed and freshly showered on settee reading


Notice stifled titter she affords me - shuffle off to get ready for trip out to buy provisions - remember this involves road of impending doom - fail to remember applying for Survival Course - die a little inside


Rest of time spent accompanying MG in exploration of beautiful town of Nerja, where we're based - struggle to suppress omnipresent want to rush back to villa to hide and adopt foetal position until time to go home to England - constantly bob and weave through assault course of people and noise of their ceaseless babble - avoid eye contact with anyone, especially with MG who has the ability to see through my soul 




Stand aghast at speedy approach of nun carelessly assaulting all in her path with scandalous flappage of bat black habit - grimace as scar tissue from convent education tears open to expose still  smouldering embers of pain, guilt and fear of 'all loving God'

Notice nun has face like an empty duffel bag, collapsed in a constant state of disapproval, scanning for souls to devour and lives to f**K up - shudder all way back to villa




Plan day around pool - sleep marginally better knowing not going beyond hideaway this day - follow sound of MG's voice calmly sharing "must have been raining through the night, take a look at this" - quickly put bathing cossy on as prep for pool - exit bedroom - enter hallway - spot MG by open door, adorned in vibrantly coloured Gallabaya, breezily sipping coffee from china cup


Smile and saunter over to see what SHE'S smiling at - follow her perfectly manicured talon to point of interest - instantly mind- f***ed by sight of thick carpet of slithering, squirming, pulsing, writhing, bowel motivating worms leading from path to pool, around pool and IN THE POOL!!! which greets my now bulging eyes



Remain rooted to spot as MG turns, smiles again, with a mischeivously arched brow before asking "fancy a coffee before your swim then"? 


Scream into the following week!...

( to be continued )...


© Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

Friday, 19 September 2014

Resisting A Rest!... **BLOG POST**




At some point in our lives each of us will suffer from stress. Some more than others...and anyone who says they have never experienced stress...are either liars....or carriers!  I'd probably suggest the latter in most cases.


Given the nature of my numerous neuroses I practically live on a diet of fingernails and chocolate, spending each day with a brow so furrowed as to render me Klingon in appearance!



So on occasion, when nervous energy is spent, you'll find me flopped upon the couch trying to prise my clenched fists open, in an attempt to relax with a milky coffee and a Prozac sandwich.

But I don't always manage to achieve this state of reverie, as was the case the other day.  I'd barely un-knotted my eyebrows before the phone started ringing!


Some hysterical, hyperactive individual, with a voice not dissimilar to what I'd expect if you'd hand reared a chipmunk on a diet of helium and crack, squealed an enquiry as to my well-being, before assaulting my senses with a garbled mention of changing energy suppliers.


I listened politely for some time before interrupting his monologue by saying...

"Well this has been lovely...but now I need to go and spend some 'me time' ramming the fridge door into my head"...and thus we parted.


That over with, I settled down again and gradually, I could feel sleep creeping up on me...and if it hadn't been for the door bell ringing it would have caught up!



Wearing the twitch of discontentment I dragged my reluctant body up from the settee and opened the door to find a dreaded Jesus Preacher  standing there, dressed like an auditionee for Men in Black, with his obligatory child accomplice!



These people must get to choose their own side-kick before they set off for a days worth of knocking on doors pissing people off!.

Sometimes it's a kid, sometimes there's a person in a wheel chair with them...and if they're REALLY going for the pity-party jugular...the kid will be in the wheelchair!


Still, on that particular day, for all I cared, he could have been accompanied by a choir of weeping orphans singing Old Shep, clutching tear soaked photos of their poor deceased mother, to their consumptive little chests ...I simply didn't care!...I was far too worn out and agitated to give a shite...and that's why I told him I was a Satanist.


These interruptions were really getting to me now and ruining the day. I was sick of the phone ringing...sick of the door bell constantly ringing...and then I was just sick.

I was about to attempt to lie on the couch again, when I heard something being pushed through my letter box. Instantly, the neurosis I carry which enjoys catastrophising every innocuous situation in my life kicked in, compelling me to run to the door in a bid to quickly assess whatever life threatening object had been thrust upon me!


It was a plastic bag with a note attached asking for clothing donations to help the starving.



Now I am not an unreasonable person and I applaud all of the charities for the work they do but...you need to understand... I was on the edge of my wits here!...I'd been pushed to the limit!...and that's why I opened the front door to confront the startled guy who'd posted the bag by shouting at him...

"If they can fit into my clothes they're not effin' starving are they????"...and then I ran in...ashamed.

For the millionth time I returned to the sofa. I could feel myself drifting again...ahhh yessss...gently beginning to float upon a bubble of bliss...lids folding over sleepy red eyes...drool welling up in the corner of my gaping gob...and then the phone rang again!!!...


I jumped up and snatched it with the dexterity of a demonically possessed Ninja, with a temper to match!...

"Whatever you want to give me I don't effin' want it!" I bellowed

 "What I want you to do with whatever it is that you want to give me that I don't effin' want ...is to stick it sideways up your mithering, intrusive, bug bearing arse. Do you think you could do that for me? Do you?"....

There was a slight pause, followed by...

"Well, I'll give it a go but one of the library books you've ordered is a hardback so there could be a bit of a struggle!"...


The most peaceful happening to follow that, was the small funeral I held in the garden for my library card.......at least one of us got to rest in peace!...


© Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012