The anti-Royalist police

 No, the anti-royalist police didn't come and arrest me. If hey had, I'd probably still be in jail.

The Brits gave the queen a good sendoff. Just wait until the taxpayers get the bill..

What I find interesting is that the British are obsessed with the royal family-and everyone who is famous (or would like to be). Royal family first-then the weather (ever meet a Brit who can't help but discuss the weather? Me. neither). Then drinking (as in, alcohol. Beer. Spirits. Anything that they can stuff down.). To them, getting pissed is grand. Then being as obnoxious, rude, stupid, horrible to everyone else (especially dogs and cats, who can't protect themselves). 

At the very bottom of the list of obsessions is: moaning. They whinge about everything. It's too hot (it's summer, you moron). It's too cold (autumn. Ditto.) 

In all fairness, I do my share of whingeing-but to you, since you know how much I love to put them down, wind them up, and generally make fun of them. That isn't an obsession. It's a hobby.

And nearly two weeks ago, the lunatic neighbor who has been threatening to kill me for more than three years nearly succeeded. Nothing to do with making fun of him, because I stay as far away from him as I can. A word of advice: stay away from mentally deranged people-even if you have to cross the street to do so.

Well... I've learned to keep my opinions to myself; I thought that if I avoided Terry Baster at all costs, I'd be okay. And I was wrong; I've got the black eye, bruised head, bruises everywhere, and a nasty concussion to prove it. Still got the black eye and all the bruises after ten days. CT scan at the hospital shows no evidence of a subdural hematoma, but I'm told that I have a bad concussion-and it could clear in a few more weeks, or could take up to three months. 

The embarrassing fact is that the police won't do anything about it because there are no witnesses. Even worse, the landlord (London Borough of Haringey, rated one of the worst in London-no surprise there!) refuses to take action. No witnesses, no evidence. Apparently my smashed face doesn't count as evidence! You couldn't make this up...

In case you're wondering how and why this happened: Baster "liked me" three and a half years ago. I wasn't impressed (if you looked at him you'd know why), but I was polite. I was only polite. Early on, I had to tell him that I was in a relationship and didn't go out with anyone else. Then he started to ask why the man didn't come around to the flat. I said that he won't come around because everyone is so nosy. And I had to tell him (politely) to back off, that I wasn't interested.

From then on, he stalked me and made my life hell. No matter how many times I reported him-Haringey turned a blind eye. They protect their mentally deranged tenants, I was told last week. 

So that brings us to the present. Unfortunately, if I carry so much as a nail file, I could be arrested if I wave it in self-defense. It's considered a weapon. Personally, I'd rather use it and still be alive-even if I'm arrested for assault. With a nail file. 

You couldn't make this up, could you? 

I'm going to go back, look everywhere before (and after) I go into my building, and make myself a good, strong coffee. And double-lock the door.

Just whem you thought it was safe...the fertilizer hits the fan

 I must be getting old. I'm getting polite. First, the ghastly replacement for the even more ghastly Bozo, the ever so crooked prime minister, gets appointed: an officious oaf called Liz Truss. She's bullish-but incompetent. Aren't they all?

Well...Liz got thrown off the deep end. Too bad it wasn't the cliff that her promises of "delivery" are leading us over. At least, if we survive without food, utilities, decent-well, everything (unless you're a millionaire, because everyone else is being taxed to death. Literally). 

On Thursday, I was coming back from infusions, and I had to lie down-after eating something and taking two headache pills. I was okay-just had a thumping head. I turned on the radio and discovered that the queen died. Oh, my! I'm sad for all the millions of people who adored her, but I have to say that I was never one of them.

So we've been subjected to the most nauseating, simpering, sentimentality- we've been bombarded with people weeping and wailing, you'd think the world just ended. I got very ticked off after a day of hearing all the messages from everywhere-the radio stations played crap music that sounded more like a dirge than music. The television stations stopped all the decent shows and all they would show was anything having to do with the queen. And Phil. And Charlie. Ad nauseum. 

There was so much crawling that I could feel my blood sugar rising just by listening to all the crap that the listening and viewing public got rammed down our throats.

Okay, the old girl was on the throne for 70 years (that must have been painful). And this is a monarchy, after all. And people are indoctrinated to think that the queen and all the sycophants, parasites and hangers-on are special, they have a sense of entitlement that the rest of us don't deserve. WHAT?? My egalitarian background and my feminist ideas are just making me jump up and down in disgust.

Sorry if you're a monarchist. Sorry if you're a hopeless romantic and believe in the prince/princess/man on a white horse coming to rescue you-and all that crap. 

I'm a realist and a pragmatist. When the pervert prince (Andy, what a creep) ran home to mummy and mummy didn't force him to go to New York and go on trial-the creep was-and is-guilty as sin. And the queen gave him a free pass. She should have given him a free ticket: to New York, to face the music like a man (that he isn't). All victims of child abuse and child molestation are probably still weeping at the injustice.

Then there's that vicious, low-life, parasite Harry. He lived off his old man for 30-odd years, so now he complains. It didn't stop him from taking money from the bank of Dad, did it? As for Meghan-she was crap in Suits, and the only performance (still not believable) was her weeping to Oprah (America's biggest gossip, with no credibility whatsoever) that she faced racism at the palace. According to people who worked there, she's a liar. There was never any racism, and she was never suicidal. She's now offended all black people everywhere, and insulted people who really were/are suicidal. 

Meghan's a disgusting and disgraceful liar. The pair deserve each other. They're so pathologically jealous of his brother and sister in law that they'll say anything. Oh, please, enough slander and libel. Why are those two still carrying their titles, which they don't deserve? Why are they still living off the very people they profess to hate? Someone tell the king to strip them of all their titles-permanently and forever-and their kids, too-take back the cottage and ban them from every royal residence everywhere.

Now you see why I have no respect for the royal family. Charlie has spent years giving to charities-the Princes Trust has done miracles for millions of people-but the rest of them? People in this country are going without enough food, without utilities (gas and electricity) because they can't afford to feed their families and heat their homes at the same time. The country is in a mess, Truss the moron won't tax the high earners and the rich companies because (she says) they should be putting more money into the country. What's left of it. 

So-the queen was 96. That's a good age (unless you happen to be 95. Then it's something to think about). And the rest of them go on living the good life while their "subjects" are starving. 

Does that seem right to you? It doesn't seem right to me at all; it seems criminal. 

Well-we're stuck with all this garbage until after the funeral. Thank goodness for Neflix.

I may be a wimp-but I'm a happy wimp

 I said last time that I was due to go for the fifth Covid jab on Friday. I've put it off since I was "invited" (that means ordered) to have it in June. I remembered how I felt after the last three; I'll remember that for life, probably.

Oh, well. I don't believe in coincidence. I believe in synchronicity, but not coincidence. And I kept wondering if I should cancel it for the sixth time, since I didn't think I could take another five days of agony. So I wandered around all week, and came to the conclusion that I was well and truly indoctrinated when it came to doctors believing that they know best. I knew that was a total lie twelve years ago.

On Thursday I went for my infusions. While I was waiting for my taxi outside the hospital, my phone rang. It was the testing centre-and my decision was made for me. They were doing polio vaccinations for the next few months until all the 1-10 year olds had the polio jab. So every Covid booster was cancelled. Talk about good luck!

I was so happy that I had to restrain myself from punching the air in triumph. If that wasn't a sign of refusing the fifth booster, I don't know what was. And that taught me a lesson: if I get a bad feeling about something, don't do it. Ever.

So that was my day of reprieve. I walked around all afternoon whispering thank you-quietly, of course. Is there a god/spirit/higher power/ super consciousness/bacon sandwich-who knows, and who cares? Someone or something was definitely looking after me. 

It's been a week, however. I live in a small community which was earmarked for disabled people; I didn't know when I moved in that some of the people were mentally disabled. If you have been following me for awhile, you'll know the story of the reptile who has been making everyone's lives a misery. And you'll also know that I got involved at the beginning of June. Now that I think about it, I think that my ego was involved, rather than my good sense. I should have said no. And the stress of dealing with 60+ year old people who behave like four year olds has taken its toll. On Wednesday I was walking back from the shops and I burst into tears. Truly not my finest moment. I had a meltdown. I managed to cry myself all the way back, locked the door, made myself a strong coffee, and sat and wept for a little while. Then I decided that I needed that to show me that the stress of dealing with idiots was too much stress. I'm done.

I'm stuck in the old quandary of getting myself as gracefully as possible out of the cesspit-or having to deal with the stress of dealing with people who are brainless and ungrateful. Truly. They seem to believe that they are entitled to everything without actually doing any work. And now I'm venting...First I cried uncontrollably for about an hour, now I'm venting. I rarely do either, so we know that I need to go and let them all fight it out by themselves.

I think that we come to a point in our lives when we need to examine our priorities and decide what is important. I was always an activist-and now I just want to enjoy middle age before I turn around and croak. So I'm going to do the things I promised to do, attend the meetings I said I would attend, and stop sending emails to the landlord, because as long as they get their pay every week, they don't care about the wellbeing of their tenants. Isn't that typical?

I'm actually setting boundaries. It took long enough. And, since utilities (gas and electricity) prices are rising at least 400% next month (yes, that's what I said: 400%), I'm using my cafetiere to make my own coffee. A fiver at Starbucks for a cappuccino is ridiculous.

Next week we'll know which of the untrustworthy and incompetent morons will be our next untrustworthy and incompetent prime minister. Oh joy. All this while people are afraid to turn on their heating in the winter because they can't afford it. 

What do I think of the candidates for the thankless job that was left by the useless and incompetent Boris Johnson? About the same as I thought of him. So I'll let you know the verdict next week. No doubt we will get the government we deserve (and God help us).