My new coat will be expensive… and I haven’t started it yet

I found the double-faced fabric I craved. At a price.

Pure wol apparently, at a famous shop in Dalston Ridley Road. At £17:50 per metre. The rain and cold started to get to me. It’s been a along time since I’ve felt that cold. Or wet. This past week at ‘work’, I recognised that my coats – the camel one in particular – have seen better days. but the snow blizzards and the bitter cold prolonged their lives somewhat.

But the end is now near. The lining is too patched, it needs a good dry-clean, and I’d rather have a new coat. Not a parka – although I like them.

I will have to get started sooner rather than later.

AAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

i cannot get too emotional at the dead bodies and collapsed buildings in Haiti.

I feel silly. Just childish. I cannot feel adult about all this at all. So out of control, yet strangely subdued. i long for the change when we can be masters of our fate once more.

I often shake my head at the negative perception of Haitians, their consistently poor governments and regimes and their attitude, but they are my brothers and sisters, even if we don’t talk. That’s not out fault – and certainly not theirs. We were torn apart by dynamics larger than ourselves. This has impacted me – but I can’t say how.

I feel a novel coming on.

You saw it here first.

And another thing… no Oyster point near CMH

…may the LORD G_D help you if you get stuck in the Central Middlesex Hospital area and you run out of cash on your Oyster Card. The only local facility is at the Post Office, on that road almost opposite the local Barclays. The local Asda doesn’t have an Oyster point, nor does the WHSmith just inside the hospital. That shop used to, though. What about when the Post Office is closed?

A good walk to North Acton Tube is in order. Not smart. Harlesden Overground at least 10 minutes in the other direction. TfL need to look at this.

Hard.

A piece of f***ing work. In his ‘Merc’. What a *uck*** jerk.

He pulled out right in front of the 187 bus, at a 45 degree angle away from the bus. GOD bless the bus driver for holding his nerve. He then reversed, and drove 90 degrees across both of the lanes just after the start of W*o***sley Road, stayed there for 5 to 7 seconds in an act of pure provocation. Then he completed his three-point turn, and drove off in the opposite direction, cursing loudly at the driver.

He did it deliberately. A big old man, not even a young hothead. Balding and fat-faced, too.

He must have brought his driving licence.

The jerk.

I am going to be a writer…

…and I will have to do some kind of ‘day’ job.

Do whatever it takes. The LORD wants me to get real with this. I must continue.

Looking at next door’s crack in the wall (outside) and seeing it properly (as the tree in front of the window has been cut down) has made me realise that I must fight for myself. How could the landlord be so heartless, knowing that the couple have two small children (one of them a baby) ? I feel sad for them, even though I don’t even know them – and also a little disgusted, frankly.

What my primary nurturer-carer-giver said earlier today was true. People of G_D have given too much ground.

But what’s in it for us? What will be my tent-making gig? Pitman? Dreamweaver? MS Office?

Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies…

It had to happen sometime.

I am sure that Alan Johnson will look back on this week as one of the worst in his political career.

The Home Secretary has angered scientists (scientists?) to the point of mutiny, and is now accused of beating a retreat over the Govern-ment’s immigration policies.

It is worth noting at this point that this is not the first time that a scientist (or clinician) has received a kicking from the powers-that-be for daring to bring them bad news.

Who else will be sacrificed on the altar of New Labour?

(apologies to Fleetwood Mac, didn’t mean to drag you into this – couldn’t resist)

Nick Griffin is an extremely shrewd steward

There. I said it.

The problem is not (just) with Mr Griffin. There are lots of people who think as he does. The extreme far-right are not all Doc Martins’ wearing Nazi thugs who aim to use their ‘well-placed boots and fists’ upon any non-white individual who happens to stray across their collective path.

These organisations need money. And time. And scriptwriters. In short, professional people, artists and intellectuals who believe in their ‘cause’ – namely, that the white working-class(?) are going to be put out of business by assorted non-white ‘others’ in the UK.

This is not about the religion of Islam, even though I know that many of its adherents hate us (me as a ‘Black’ female) too.

This is about race – and it is about having a black, brown, red or yellow skin in the land of the white man.

Oh no, not again…

Space is the Place.

Part of the reason why certain ‘communities’ or ‘collectives’ are down in the dumps is that these ‘communities and collectives’ need a certain amount of space in order to feel good about themselves. Put another way, certain peoples don’t thrive when they are stacked up on top of one another with no room to breathe, and this has a deleterious psychological effect on them as individuals, collectives and communities.

No matter whether one buys, rents or freeloads.

There is no limit to the things that you can do

Protected: Big hero asks big questions of Big Pharma (2)

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password:

Last day as a 44 year-old…

I feel melancholy. Have I got another crush on another tutor? This one (m@n t@¬¬y, we’ll call him) is different. First, he is an excellent tutor with a thing for smart analogies. But he also has a killer smile, and he’s nice and tall (I mean he’s really tall- cricketer height 6’4″+)…
I’m so strange. It was not my portion to have someone to love me, or for me to love. If only I’d known back then, I’d have lived my life very differently. I’d have gotten on with making as much money as possible, and set up a financial bulwark for my old age.
And still have ‘gaie Goddun’ Broon fuck the lot over the roulette table with Greenspan.
Laaad, Sah! Wattah juok…