Tesco Delivery Man has arrived and I’m still in my dressing gown. What on earth is going on?

White Tesco delivery man standing next to a white woman in her 50s in a dressing gown

Tesco Delivery Man and I’m still in my dressing gown

What a few weeks. Where shall I begin? Insomnia. Two weeks of waking up two hours after I went to sleep, then spending the rest of the night thinking, putting two and two together to make four, four and four together to make exactly eight, a hundred and a hundred, and so it went on. Then it dawned on me. The Great Reset, and I researched more, about the founder/author, Klaus Schwab, who was brought up in Nazi Germany, then I’m thinking about Alice Miller, ‘For Your Own Good: The Roots of Violence in Child-Rearing’. And then I make more sums about Klaus Schwab’s childhood, he is 83 now, the book came out in June, how did he write that so quickly? ‘All the world’s a stage’, what are we really playing in the name of ‘For your own good’? Some think that the sequel to this book is known to all world leaders. It sounds like utopia but how will it happen? However it happens, whatever happens, it’s likely to be in the name of ‘For your own good’.

Our world has been gearing up for this. I became aware in mental health when our Southwark (and everywhere else) holistic therapists were got rid of from primary care. We fought to save our services, to no avail, of course. I didn’t lose my job because I did a CBT course at the Maudsley, and for the rest of my time in the NHS, I pretended, I complied, I made up the stats in order to keep my job, whilst offering my patients my ‘true self’ in the room. I was complicit to use this method, going along with something I resisted so much. It’s not surprising I became ill and had to leave. CBT is useful for a symptom, but it often stops there, mind control, changing your thoughts, why should we change our thoughts? CBT rarely explores, and EXPOSES the cause. Many years ago, I performed at a conference on ‘hearing voices’ at the Wellcome Trust, curated by the wonderful Dolly Sen. “We want our voices heard”, sung the crowds of patients and carers alike. In my CBT course I cried “What about dreams?” the tutor said “Dreams? We don’t do dreams”. Like we can’t sing in a church now, and I can’t swim butterfly in a public pool because my splashing may infect someone with Covid.

Boris Johnson belittled Muslim women not so long ago, we are now all letterboxes. Well, I’m exempt so I’m not a letterbox. I will not have rubbish put into my box. It’s time to stand up for ourselves, but how do we do it? Liverpool did it, they wouldn’t let the police shut down their gym, their fines paid by supporters. They are safe places and promote health and wellbeing. This is madness and is pushing us to our limits, how far will governments, the WHO and whoever else is pulling the strings go? It is far easier to comply and remain hostage, than challenge. Our internet sets us up to divide, algorithums take us to places that fracture our relationships, confuse us, keep us in fear. The vaccine, like Prozac, like CBT never was and never will be the solution.

Our world is reacting to a symptom, wearing the masks, washing the hands, it’s as insane as the sanitizers used, every few hours, or in some cases, every few minutes. It reminds me of working with an OCD hand-washer, red rare hands, a symptom of self-harm from childhood trauma. The world trauma, decades, hundreds of years of abuse, is coming out. The amount of people searching for mental health services is taking its toll. It’s overwhelming. I have never been so inundated with people asking for help. Today I needed to call BT, it didn’t take long before the Scottish technician picked up on my empathy and told me his story. He has been on a waiting list for 3 months to talk with a mental health nurse. His 20 minutes phone consultation is at the end of November, we were on the phone for 40 minutes. My daughter’s school ‘Place to Be’ has a waiting list too long for her to wait. The kids are saying they feel ‘dead’ inside. The older ones are getting drunk and having accidents, or rather ‘onpurposes’ (I studied the psychosomatics of accidents in my Masters degree), turning up in A and E. And I’m getting calls from as far away as Harrow, as us therapists are all so busy. And that’s just talking therapy, with the new lockdowns coming we will be more overloaded as body therapists will no longer be able to work, again, their businesses still not recovered from the first lockdown.

During my insomnia, I have become acutely aware of a higher consciousness, I am an interpreter of the unconscious afterall, it is my duty, it is what I was put on this planet to do, I cannot stop this process. Once you become aware of something, you can’t put it back, it’s out there, but others don’t like it and attack. “Stop watching all this conspiracy theorist stuff”. I will not let the lies seep into my body and become ill, I will not pretend, like I did when I worked in the NHS, obscure statistics so I obeyed the NHS ridiculous (sometimes harmful) protocols, and believe me, they are so ridiculous that the patient, the human, could get lost, and that was over a decade ago.

For the last 6 months, I have felt like the little boy in the Emporer’s new clothes, now I feel like the prince in sleeping beauty, trying to cut through the dark forest to wake up the sleeping kingdom. I have found myself praying and when the new moon came, my insomnia subsided. My homeopath calls me the ‘Unsleeping beauty’. While I am unsleeping, I am continually asking questions, why? why? why? Why did they put covid on my friend’s dad’s death certificate and then change it when she challenged them? Why is it that the press tells us hospital beds are full when some hospitals have as few as 8 covid beds anyway and NHS staff are saying otherwise? Why doesn’t the BBC tell us when the deaths are very low in one day? Why doesn’t anyone remind us that the flu has a vaccinne yet still kills between 45 and 65,000 a year. I could go on and on, but I’m cooking a nice organic chicken in a bit. Ultimately, I haven’t a clue what’s going on, but I’m exploring what’s going on in my mind.

Below is a photo of the print ‘Mad Bonce’ I bought from the amazing artist and editor of DAO, Colin Hambrook, it depicts exactly what has been going on in my head during all these sleepless nights. It was a no brainer to buy from his website, the last time I had so much fun shopping was buying underwear from John Lewis with my husband, just before lockdown. Blue Water was dead, that will be the last time I shall be trying on underwear in a shop. But, Colin’s website is very much alive. We can’t stop being human, our dreams are very real right now, I’d love to tell you mine but there are too many. Oh, sod it, here’s one, I go back to my old family home, my kids are expected to arrive and when I go up to the attic space where I should be staying with my family, there is no roof, I question the parental figure downstairs who I don’t seem to know anymore “How can we stay there, what happens if it rains? Why have you had no roof on this house, for so long?”

My friend has put a bet on that Doris will get on his Santa costume and ‘give’ us Xmas. All I know is that my two friends, one a Selfridges Santa, one a Legoland Santa, have no work this year.

I wrote this poem in 1988, it goes well with Colin’s print, methinks. And below is the original picture I drew for the poem. Call me a nut job, shame or blame me for not wearing a mask, tell me to stop reading conspiracy theories – but it is the nut that sews the seed, the’ nut’ that does the ‘job’. My nut is connected to my gut. My gut says this is NOT for our own good. We need to socialize with our loved ones, be at their sides when dying in hospital beds, care not control and protocol, connectivenesses has never been so important. I am the sanest I have ever been. The strategies and tactics for this great reset are alarming, but that’s for another time, right now I’m thinking of roast chicken and I want a good nights sleep.

Living in a Squat with Uncle Pervious (1988)

An opening head

An exploding brain

Is keeping me sane

Diidle which reads an opening head, and exploding brain, keeping me sane

An opening head, brain sane, not sanitisedIllustrated artwork showing the cross section of a head with people in different rooms inside it

‘Mad Bonce’ by Colin Hambrook

Tesco delivery man in the heat and preparing my blog for World #MultipleSclerosisDay

It’s World #MultipleSclerosis Day on Wednesday 30th May, coincidently, the next Boyfriend (No. 43)  of my book/blog  fromessextolondonin101boyfriends  is set in 1987 when I was diagnosed with MS, that’s nearly 31 years ago.  My diagnosis is referenced in my blog re boyfriend No. 43, so only befitting to publish it on Wednesday to celebrate, rather than today, when I would normally post the next boyfriend.  Sorry to keep you waiting ….

To catch up with boyfriends No.1 to No. 42 thus far scroll down on fromessextolondonin101boyfriends.com

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Waiting for #Tesco delivery man with concern

I am sensing a slight depression, Tesco delivery men don’t seem their usual selves.  I study Tesco prices with interest, most of the basic items I regularly buy have in the last few weeks risen as high as sometimes 10%.  Civil unrest is not far away.

I am going far away to Banbury Therapy Centre next Saturday to perform my new show “Sex, Politics and Men with grey/white beards”.  I was there last in December 2012, performing with Ruby Wax who has done extremely well in promoting mental health.  In the green room under the make up lights, I couldn’t take my eyes off her amazing smooth skin for a woman similar to my age.  Face lifts/Botox etc are extraordinary.  I met with another woman recently who said that HRT keeps her skin looking so young.  I do think about it but am grateful to have my husband who finds me attractive and I favour to look after myself from the inside out, keeping the internal organs working whilst keeping MS at bay.  Medication and  surgery can come at a different price.

If you are ever unhappy about how you look, check out this amazing Canadian man who I am proud to know and have worked with:

#David Roche:  Inspirational Humorist  http://www.davidroche.com

Without taking care of my face with surgery it would be way too late to get on TV,  but I don’t mind, because I have been on TV.  When the BBC news came to Peckham Library mother and baby group in 2000, talking about the compensation that had been offered to Damilola’s parents, I was interviewed and got on the news with the soundbite.  While breastfeeding I said “It’s not just about money, it’s about life”.  I am content with my historical TV presence, it is an important message.

(There is also the subliminal with film and TV e.g. when the film  “Let him have it” came out about Derek Bentley there were posters all over the underground.  Lots of my ex boyfriends got back in contact with me around this time.  It’s nice to be remembered.  Oops, this reminds me, I should be using my time editing my book ..)

 

 

 

 

 

#Tesco delivery man and me experimenting with silvertone photo

img_0637I was so happy that this Tesco delivery man wanted his photo taken with me.  It’s been 7 long days without,  this included two men who declined my invitation and an Amazon delivery man who kindly stood in, lessening my pain.  These rejections are good practise for dealing with future rejections.  Since the cuts rejections have quadrupled, especially in the arts.

Rejection hurts as much as when we experience physical pain, this is now proven through MRI studies.  Interestingly, research also suggests that being rejected by a father leaves longer lasting emotional damage than if rejected by a mother.  If we are to understand Freud’s concept of transference, this means that if the Tesco delivery men were women, my blog may be emotionally less fraught.

 

#Tesco brought me Curly Fries while I was rehearsing for my show at the Guild of Psychotherapists this Saturday

#Tesco delivery man reminded me how to do a selfie and I did it all by myself.  I only wish I was more prepared for his arrival as I am make-up less (apart from the lipstick I quickly applied) and have more wrinkles around my eyes from 30 minutes of swimming goggle wearing.  I was engrossed in rehearsing for my show ‘Sex, politics and men with grey/white beards’ which I am performing as a fund-raiser for the reduced fee scheme at the Guild of Psychotherapists this Saturday.  The scheme is for people who need psychotherapy but can’t afford it privately and there is little psychotherapy on the NHS anymore and what there is has a waiting list of sometimes years.

I was with my psychotherapist in the 1990’s for 7 years on a reduced fee scheme.  A lot of that time I was unable to work because of MS but she still carried on seeing me when I could afford little.  With her I worked out the route and the psychosomatics of my MS, this has helped me manage life so I am able to appreciate the smaller things, like waiting for the #Tesco delivery man.

This #Tesco delivery man reminds me of the fabulous John Hegley who I have performed with many times, including in my Edinburgh Fringe swimming pool show where he happily fell out of the rubber dingey and got soaked.

With this delivery man I had a little chat about the #Tesco curly fries I bought.  I’ve never had them before but when I am shopping for 4 kids for the weekend I get bored and have to try these new things out.

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It’s Tesco Time.. celebrating my 30th year with MS

M – multiple, S – sclerosis, multiple excessive resistance to change

Clearly why I don’t use other supermarkets like Sainsbury or Ocado, but Tesco force me into change by almost always sending me a different delivery driver, and they are so often lovely and helpful, how could I possibly change?  Is this resistance or acceptance of change?  The mind/body phenomena.

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