A neophyte twit

I decided some time ago that I was going to put the names of the bullies who are wrecking people's lives on Twitter. Did I do that? Well...no, I didn't. And now I hope that it isn't too late. 

I've got a Twitter account (miracles do happen!). As of this morning, I'm @Limerabbit44

Will this work? I've got no idea-but Thursday is Thanksgiving, so let me wish you all a very Happy Thanksgiving. It's a busy week for me, so I'm doing this early.

I'll be checking out Twitter later. Right now, I just wanted to join. Who knew?

I've also decided to put the really evil, malevolent, vicious gossips in my area and relegate them to the dustbin (garbage can). It's where they belong, after all.

Here's something that is profoundly interesting (to me, anyway). I could easily waste more of my time by going to the next useless committee meeting and telling them what I think of them. That wouldn't take long, but just because I can (I'd have to speak very slowly and use very small words), it doesn't mean that I should. 

I struggled with all this-payback, if you will-but it would be unnecessary and unhelpful. Because Baster is violent anyway, I'd be risking my neck telling these useless, malevolent cretins off. So I decided that it would be going in one ear and out the other-because there's nothing in between to stop it.

Another reason to be thankful - and I've got many, when I actually think about it - is that, when I stop and think rather than just reacting - wisdom takes over.

Like I said: just because I could easily annihilate them all with words, it doesn't mean that I have to. Blank them. Block their phone numbers (already done). Imagine that they don't exist.

Now here's an idea that comes from a friend of mine (too bad I didn't think of it years ago):

If you've ever been close to a camel - real life, not virtually - you will have been treated to the huge piles of camel dung and the accompanying horrendous, vomit-inducing stench. It' bad enough to make your eyes water and make you heave.

Camel dung is the food choice of maggots and blowflies. It doesn't really serve any other purpose, as far as I know. So I've told some of the older residents who have been offended or abused or threatened by Terry Baster (and his son) and Lorna Shannon-and their enabler, Sandy Pavlov, who encourages them - to do the following:

When they pass their flats, or see them, or hear them (hearing is the easy part. Baster and Shannon are so loud that they could wake the dead in Highgate Cemetery), just imagine that you're passing huge, stinking piles of camel dung. And hold your breath and keep moving.

Maybe that sounds gross, but I've been told by the older targets (older meaning in their 80s and 90s) that it really does work. It also makes them laugh.

So there you go. If people plague you, try the camel dung exercise. You'll not only have a really good laugh-you'll be doing breathing exercises, too.

Happy Thanksgiving, if I don't get back here before Thursday.

Trumpty Dumpty sat on a wall...

 I wish  I'd thought that one up. I think that it is hilarious. But no-my friend in New York emailed me to say that one of the newspapers had this as its headline. Only the Trumpty Dumpty part. I added the rest. Didn't he fall flat on his posterior!! Not far enough, sadly. 

It has been that kind of a week-or two. First, Election Day, when everyone here (and home) was terribly worried that the media would be right, in gleefully predicting that the Democrats would be annihilated in the midterm elections. So much for their powers of clairvoyance. And a big sigh for me, because we at least won the Senate. So people here who deride Americans (mainly because of Trump) can eat their words. Their credibility went down the crapper (a good, descriptive British colloquial term) with Liz Truss, who managed to severely mangle the UK economy in just 49 days. That must be a record. 

We've had a huge amount of rain since I last wrote-and the resulting vertigo made me realize just how much I have to go before I can regain some sense of a balance system. I say that I can; the neurologists say that I've come as far as I possibly can, and that I've done really well to get this far. Sure; it's only taken me 12 1/2 years. Maybe I'm completely bonkers to even contemplate any further recovery-but perhaps I'm either a pessimistic optimist or an optimistic pessimist. I truly believe that I can do more. I'll let you know, that's for sure.

Somehow-somewhere-lurks a suspicion (even if it could be wishful thinking) that scientists don't know enough about the human brain to be able to definitively say that there's no way back from vestibular destruction. Okay, the entire mechanism was destroyed (thanks, Barts) but who is to say that other parts of the brain aren't able to take over and deliver something resembling a healthy vestibular system? All the specialists are telling me that it's impossible. And I won't have it. Very few things are impossible.

I saw my immunologist on Wednesday. If you've been following this for awhile, you'll know that I've got hereditary CVID. So I was born without a functioning immune system. And if someone somewhere hadn't done the research to discover that regular infusions of antibodies (antibody replacement) will provide a baseline immune system (baseline. Not fully functional) and that patients can live longer. 

My point? My doc told me that I'm somewhat of a walking miracle, considering all the physical things that have gone wrong in my life. I said that I'm too obstinate to just roll over and expire. Not my time yet. And if I can successfully beat the odds and still keep going, so can anyone else. 

Next Thursday is Thanksgiving. I'll be celebrating. Once I stop moaning and groaning about things that I can't change (like the climate, and Ukraine, and the cost of living crisis that we're all in the middle of experiencing), I'm mentally making a list of the things about which I can be very, very grateful. Who knew that this list would be far longer than the other one?

When your get up and go has got up and gone

 Okay, I know that it's not grammatically correct-but I live over here, and nobody will ever know the difference...

Have I been busy since I last wrote? Yes, I certainly have-I don't give up without a fight. And I knew that a fight was necessary. I sat and read the caution letter several times, and I highlighted all the ridiculous accusations that made no sense. I then photographed all six pages on my phone and sent them to the Ombudsman. Then I called the Ombudsman. And waited. And waited. A lot of other people must have been complaining.

I'm waiting for notification that a case handler has been assigned. Apparently, the law changed on October 1, and anyone can complain without waiting the eight week cooling off period. And Haringey has so many black marks against them that nobody was surprised to read my complaint. But-and there is a "but"-the Ombudsman service is only there to mediate, not to make anything other than suggestions to the landlord. But-again-when the landlord comes back and refuses to make the changes that are strongly suggested by the Ombudsman, the landlord gets a black mark against them-and it's made public. As if Haringey cares.

I then rang our local councillor and told him what was going on. I emailed him the six page letter. I've been busy emailing-and calling-and threatening a lawsuit. And then I complained to the Haringey complaints department. This is another useless exercise, because complaints never get either answered or handled. They're usually ignored.

I did say that I've been busy. If I don't get any answers from anyone, I will contact the press for help. It'll be the local newspapers, since the big national ones are busy dealing with the fallout from the useless Liz Truss's resignation. 

I went into my local Waitrose to do my shopping; I was met with some very long faces. All the prices have gone up astronomically, just as the utilities (gas and electricity) have shot up. Every borough now has places where people can go to get warm, and to get a free cup of tea, and to meet and commiserate. It's so sad that this is happening in a so-called civilized country. 

I had printed out a small sign which I taped on the shelf over the vegetables-over the lettuce, actually. It read "Guaranteed to last longer than Liz Truss". I stuck it on, having looked first to make sure that nobody saw me. Then I slowly walked away.

Well! People kept coming over to read the sign, and there was a lot of laughter as shoppers looked around to see who put it there. When I chuckled over it and went to the self-service till to pay my bill, I found that the manager was standing right behind me. Uh-oh?

I've been shopping there for more than ten years, and many of the people who work there see a friendly face-and know their customers. I looked at him, he looked at me-and he said "That is so funny that I told the staff to keep it there and not take it down". 

How about that? There are Brits who have a sense of humor. In this current economic freefall, humor isn't so easy to come by. 

Every country seems to be affected-not just by Ukraine, but by everything from climate change to the Supreme Court deciding that women have no say over our own bodies. Next thing they'll do is target same sex marriages. Then it's women's right to vote. Trump won't be happy until he changes the country from a democracy to an autocracy, and takes us back 200 years, 

The man should be in prison.

It'll be very interesting to see what happens over the next few months. That's assuming that we all live that long, and that Putin doesn't start a nuclear war. Meanwhile, I'll sit here and consider what to do to right the injustices of the past few months-in my own territory.