A fear of tragic pasts feared imminent

You revealed the face within your face
Human,lonely,humbler than the ant
The pathos in your  eyes  made sad my gaze

The other  face,  phlegmatic, has no grace
With it ,you  appear  quite confident.
Yet you revealed to me  your  hidden face

I know now of the suffering of your days
A fear of tragic pasts  feared imminent
The pathos in your  eyes  made sad my gaze

The Lord says you’re his lamb and gives you grace.
Yet you must hide from men intolerant
You revealed the face within your face

Like Jesus, you were scourged and in disgrace
You   wandered feebly like  itinerants
The pathos in your  eyes  makes sad my  days

If God exists then would he not embrace
The lost, the lonely, even the vagrant?
You revealed the face within your face
The pathos in your  eyes  made  men seem base.


I now spend all day trying to compose a message for my answering machine.I have become addicted to it as my voice sounds so lovely.In the end, I revert to the default one which is a man with no accent.After that, a lady thanks you for phoning.I am unsure why.I’d prefer    to thank all those shops and insurance companies for not phoning me not to mention some of my former colleagues, the London Mathematical Society ,those  poor students I once taught at  a premier university ,[sounds like football]The Pope,The Archbishop, the  Chief Rabbi and  the Mormons.And Donald  Trump….and all the  other people I taught but no longer wish to remind myself  of.And if you want to marry me I do not play dumb.I never was good at acting.Moreover, women do not enjoy scrubbing your hankies and  ironing your underpants.You see, they did not teach that at University.Strange,isn’t it?After all, we were in an all women’s  college.
I accept men don’t enjoy driving on the Underground or killing pigs.What’s the answer? An ex blogger used to say he ate as much meat as he could.But would he kill the animals?I think not.I only eat  potatoes now as I am almost Irish.My bones are Celtic except for my skull which is Scandinavian.I bet you’d never have guessed that  from my writing.We have long heads and also we take a large size in hats.So ” one size fits all” is not true.Why do they lie? I think paranolia is arriving so I am leaving

Semiotics:a sign has two parts




A sign consists of the  signified and the signifier.If what is signified is love,the signifier may vary … it can be a  “x “.a bunch of flowers, a poem.Of course it may be misunderstood if two people come from different cultures/countries  or even different parts of the same country with maybe a different form of Christianity,with an atheistic family etcSome people tend to see a meaning in an act or word that was not intended…if carried too far it can lead to paranoia…I can imagine writing a funny play based on such confusion

Give me your hands


I can’t love you
without loving the whole world too.
I can’t open my heart
unless everyone can be part

Wait for me.
I’m not afraid.
Wait for me.
I may be delayed.
I see you in my mind
Smiling, sad and kind.
I can’t love you
Unless I love the lost too.
Give me your hands
Outstretched across the  strands
We’re all one.
Life has begun

Don’t allow your seriously ill /dying relative to be sent a rehab centre

 I found this  journal  entry by accident. The place  I don’t name is meant for people recovering from hip replacements who need rehab.
My husband had severe heart failure.When you have this your lungs and other organs get filled with fluid.You don’t feel hungry.You lose weight and look like people starving in places I am not going to mention
 Saturday May 30th  2015 North London

  • My husband is still alive.When I went [ to M Unit  in St M’s  once a hospital ]on Thursday he was having a severe prolonged asthma attack.coughing up some sticky sputum and rolling about wildly in  his bed.Apparently they were lying when they said they had the asthma medication in stock so he had not had his preventative spray for 2 nights and one morning.He looked dreadful.They had the spray you use when having an attack but nobody gave it to him.They said he was ok when a doctor had visited in the morning.I did not know that there was no doctor on site.It was a GP-led unit bit is now nurse -led.Say no more.Cheap place to toss  the old

    It is not a hospital but rehabilitation centre.. do you need rehab to get to heaven?
    They could not call a doctor until after 6.30 pm when they could get the emergency out of hours service we get by calling 111.No doctor locally could be called.. why not?I have no idea.They must be the only people in the UK who cannot call a doctor out urgently even when someone is 2 days from death
    As I was going to bed at 11 pm the phone rang and a woman asked for me.I thought it must mean he was going to die  soon but she wanted to know when he last had a chest X ray.Why had they not rung the surgery we go to?
    I don’t know by heart the dates of his various tests but of what use would it be? Can you imagine my night?
    He was not dying right  then, they just wanted me to know a doctor had just arrived 8.5 hours after he had suffered the severe bout of asthma.He now has a chest infection acquired after only 24 hours in the place.
    They blamed me for his not eating because I had not brought his dentures [which he had lost] Heart failure is called the wasting disease
    I found the dentures in a book case and took a cab round,told the Sister and gave him the top ones to put in.
    Shortly he turned red and his throat began to rattle loudly;he gasped for air.He had swallowed the denture
    Philip ran round the bed and managed to open his mouth and get his finger in to grab the denture.
    Shortly the Sister and a nurse  came down…. he was still a funny colour and had eaten little.She then whispered to the nurse,get him down for a soft diet.
    He had been given a so called Jacket potato with some cheese when they knew he had no dentures….. what  were  they playing at.?
    One nurse was in the garden on her mobile and two others chatting in the office.I noticed the man opposite had fallen half out of bed so I ran into the corridor and shouted for help.
    As I was leaving, fortified by a biscuit I had found, I saw an alarm flashing for bathroom 4 but nobody was reacting.They say I am too anxious about him and I should stay here  at home and watch TV.I rarely do that normally
    Don’t medics know anxiety maybe appropriate?

    Call this respite? Just buy me a gun!
    Either I am mad or they are all mad.
    [He died peacefully in A and E on  June 1st 2015 , less than 2 days after I wrote this,surrounded by caring nurses and some friends.I sang to him and he smiled at me.Then he went.The hospital could not have been better.He should have been there earlier.What care, what love the nurses showed]

One consolation proportionate to his affliction;

“With regard to the sharpest and most melting sorrow, that which arises from the loss of those whom we have loved with tenderness, it may be observed, that friendship between mortals can be contracted on no other terms than that one must some time mourn for the other’s death: and this grief will always yield to the survivor one consolation proportionate to his affliction; for the pain, whatever it be, that he himself feels, his friend has escaped.”
– Dr Samuel Johnson

Ribald stories


A spaniel in the lion’s den.
Samsung and  Delilah.
The garden of weeding
The pen commands it.
Roses ruined the concert by  roaming 40 times
Wash your clothes in  an Oasis?
Babraham and wise cracks
Was Jesus  retired?
A camel has nowhere for me to thread  it.
The pleading of the faux thousand
St Paul  had a few wits.
Lazarus was well  read before Jesus snatched his book off him
Salvation is a new face cream

As if my heart’s been stung by monstrous bees


I wish to live despite my love has died

And I have nothing but a cat to feed and stroke.

In memory, my love will long abide

Though as I write I feel my spring has broke.

My grammar and my spelling are perverse

I used to make religion out of these.

But now I feel that life is getting worse.

As if my heart’s been stung by monstrous bees

In such a state my words may get confused

My sentences are senseless as they’re writ

And as for syntax, it is now abused

As round this room the ghosts of lovers flit.

My grammar is not perfect yet it be

Sad ,I can say just the same of me