Insanity

 Insanity is never far away

This is to help  maintain my sanity. Part ONE

Technology is driving me insane. I used to have a landline which worked really well. The caller could leave messages if I wasn't in and I could do the same for others. I could do 1471 to find out last caller and everything in my world felt fine. I had a mobile which worked perfectly well too. I could receive and make calls and send and receive messages when I was out and about. Then Nokia repeatedly sent messages to inform me that I needed a new sim card. They would send me one because shortly my phone would not work unless I installed the new one.  The new sim arrived but it was too big for my phone. I complained and was told that I had to buy a new phone. 

I abandond Nokia and bought a Tesco "SMART" phone which is supposed to-

1. Make and receive calls

2. Send and receive emails

3. Enable what's app

4. Enable messenger

5. Take and store photos

6. Send same photos

7. Enable Facebook

and probably other things which I do not want or need.

What is the problem with this cornucopia of availability?

A, it is all too small . I am 79 and have swollen fingers due to arthritis. Who decided that making things smaller and smaller was a good Idea? Whose fingers have shrunk?

Saving my sanity Part TWO

I had a new land line (bought for me by my granddaughter). I am sure it will be great if only I could "set it up". Perhaps  all the functions will be useful but all I want is to pick it up and listen to the caller when it rings.  It frequently tells me "Time is not set" but I have no idea how to set the time and anyway I look at the clock on the wall to tell the time.

Sometimes when I am on one phone  ( there are two receivers) the other one rings and then I lose both calls. I could go on but I have tried to read the instructions but was drowned in the jargon. I am sure well, almost sure that it said somewhere that if I pressed the right buttons it would sing and who knows maybe it dances when I am in bed.

Saving my sanity Part the THIRD

I was advised to put the apps - (a word I've only heard and can't begin to know the meaning of)  ( shouldn't end with preposition), to continue, to put the apps on my tablet , (by the way that's not medication) although I do think I need tranquilisers to help me to understand IT . I will continue assuming that people who are reading/hearing this will know what all these words mean. (and I thought learning French was hard it was a doddle compared to IT.) I thought of making a joke about IT being it like in the Adams family but I haven't time and I want to plant some bulbs and as far as I know I can do that in reality.

Any way, I put the what's app app on my tablet ( does anyone know the correct spelling ) and guess what? messenger also appeared and then froze the screen.

There is more to tell but having spent the first hour of my day on face book reading bollotics ( yes that's how you spell it).

I am going to make a coffee, put in a spoonful of brandy and cut a slice of my birthday cake which I bought for myself and plant some snowdrops. I might cry into my coffee, I like it salty.

PS It didn't work. I am really insane now. Isn't there a song, 'They are coming to take me away'.  Listen, I think they are here. Or is that 'Send in the clowns'.

Last Line first

 I knew I had flaws. Despite my vanity and pride, my quick temper, my eccentricates and rapacious literary ambitions, I believe Jack Theo Carter had truly loved me.  He had been an exciting and wonderful lover. Jack Theo Carter was the love of my life, the one who would for ever live in my heart.

As for my feminist leanings, the remark he had once made that he never objected to my writing, nor ever attempted to confine me in any way, was perfectly true. At least that is what he told himself.  

 He was a musician and at first I attended all his concerts and in truth some rehearsals too. I even flew over from Italy, where I had lived for a time, to hear him perform the Bruch violin concerto.  But early on I recognised that there was a danger of my life revolving around his. At first I managed to write in the margins as it were. Writing, unlike music is silent and moreover can be done descretly. There was no paraphernalia either. Unlike the amount of baggage he hawked around. It wasn't just the instruments (he played the french horn and the trumpet as well as the fiddle for a time) it was the bags of music and the music stands and sometimes amps and mics. At first no-one knew that I was a writer not even him. 

I am not sure how it came about but people started to ask, ”What are you writing?” and “I hope that is not a crit of the band.”  and “Are you a journalist?”

At first I  looked up, smiled and continued to write. Then I thought why not expose myself. So sometimes I'd say, “I am writing a short story.”  or “It's just my diary.”  Next I played games and I'd say ,”It's the last chapter of my novel. I have to get it to the publisher.” 

I had to change my replies because people to wanted  to know more and they would ask,”What's it about? And “What kind of novel is it? Detective? Historical? Love story? “

That did it. I had a light bulb moment. I asked myself some questions. “What in God's name was I doing? I wanted to be a writer. I had an office in my house with a damn good desk, a bookcase full of reference books, a telephone at my elbow, and even a computer which gave me access to wikipedia.”

At about that time my autobiography had just been published. Of course Jack knew nothing about it. He hadn't seen me writing it, nor had he been aware that I was comunicating with a publisher. When I received the first copies  I put them on my well stocked book shelves and he never noticed. That all changed when my friend, Janet, suggested that she wanted to help me to take it from the page to the stage.  She did most of the work here but I suggested which parts I thought would work and she did it. Jane had written a couple of plays and performed them around Liverpool and Manchester to great acclaim. We had a mutual friend who had produced and directed her plays and was willing to do the same for me. Keith was a really good friend who frequently accompanied me to exhibitions and theatre productions. On one occasion when I told Jack that I was going to Manchester with Keith he seemed upset and objected. 

“You know Keith's gay, don't you? “ I said. To which he replied, “Does he have a certificate to prove it?”

He was a good producer and director. We were lucky enough to perform my play in a prestigous theatre and it was well attended. The audience was very appreciative. Jack didn't appear. He knew the date the venue and the time.  A huge bouquet arrived at the theatre from him to me. Later he didn't ask about the performance. He wanted praise for his exceptional thoughtfulness.

 That was when I decided to end the relationship.  For now I had become what I had always longed to be, a woman of letters.

The Twelve Days of Spring

 The Twelve Days of Spring

On the first day of Spring time my garden gave to me.

One happy hellebore and a robin in a fig tree.

On the second day of Spring time my garden gave to me 

Two droopy snowdrops and robin in a fig tree.

On the third day of spring time my garden gave to me,

Three purple pansies and a robin in a fig tree

On the fourth day of Spring time my garden gave to me,

Four furry catkins and a robin in a fig tree.

On  the fifth day of spring time my garden gave to me,

Five  gold bees -----------------------------

On the sixth day of springtime my garden gave to me,

Six silver squirrels and a robin in a fig tree.

On the seventh day of springtime my garden gave to me,

Seven slimy snails and a robin in a fig tree.

On the eight day of spring time my garden gave to me ,

Eight  wriggly earthworms  and a robin in a fig tree.

On the ninth day of springtime my garden gave to me

Nine caterpillars and a robin in a fig tree.

On the tenth day of springtime my garden gave to me,

Ten tiny tadpoles  and a robin in a fig tree.

On the eleventh day of springtime my garden gave to me,

Eleven  bright blue eggs. 

On the twelfth day of springtime my garden gave to me

Twelve blue-tits tweeting and a robin in a fig tree.

And someting ate the fucking figs.

Fig Tree

   My   Fig Tree

I have a great big fig tree,

Nothing does it bear,

Not a golden apple,

Or a silver pear.

I have a great big fig tree,

In Spring the buds appear.

Still no golden apple 

Or a silver pear.

I have a great big fig tree,

In Summer leaves occur,

Still no golden apple,

Or a silver pear

I have a great big fig tree

Autumn hues bring cheer,

Still no golden apple,

Or a silver pear.

Now it's Winter- time,

Robins, blue tits, sparrows, come to visit me,

And all because of my great big fig tree.

Still no golden apple,

Or a silver pear.

And no fricking figs either. 

Latest news on my great big fig tree.

It's six years old, and very tall'

It leans against the wall

Up to the roof it reaches,

No sign of fluffy peaches,

Golden apple or silver pear,

but two tiny little figs.

Yes two fucking figs it does bare.