A Very UnMerry Christmas and an Exceptionally UnHappy New Year!

I’ve never been more upset, never! Never, ever. I cried myself to sleep last night I’m crying as I type this on my keyboard! A teardrop has literally just fallen onto the 'H' and then another one on the F5 (whatever that does)!

My nephew Michael says Auntie Ima's a conman! She hasn't sent me the money, £8.46 million stirling, but if you're reading this Auntie, then send me the money NOW and prove everyone wrong - but don't bother doing it if you're a conman, because then Michael will be right!

Because just before Christmas I got a lovely email from Auntie Ima in Nigeria, and I admit I didn't know I had an Auntie in Nigeria (but Dolly found out she had a cousin in Stanmore once), but Auntie Ima said because of a business transaction and also money being left to me in a Will, she had £8.46 million stirling for me, and all I had to do was send her a small transaction fee, but I wasn't to tell anyone, otherwise the £8.46 million stirling could 'burst'. But Michael says this wasn't true and that she's a conman!

Anyway, because I knew I was going to get all this money, I decided I'd buy my own mansion with a butler and slave, and finally tell everyone I knew, in the Home and out the Home, exactly what I thought of them. (Auntie Ima, if you're reading this, please get in touch, or just get a mini-cab over with the money as soon as is convenient!)

So the day before yesterday, at 5pm, I gathered everyone together, absolutely everyone, Dolly, Margaret, 'Mark', Zuzzie, Benny, in the Big Television Room at the Home and I'd written out all my thoughts the night before on Post Its I'd got from underneath at Reception.

So I told Margaret, who runs the Home, how dreadful her hair always looks and how I can't bear her boyfriend, his silly voice, and she looks like mutton dressed as lamb in those 'jeans', and I told 'Mark' how no one believes he's married, and then Dolly about how jealous she's always been of my hands, and Zuzzie about how I couldn't be bothered to give her the letter with all her chemotherapy appointments because I was sick of hearing her moaning about them -

And I only said all this to clear the air, and in fact, Auntie Ima herself said she thought it was a very good idea, which is how I knew I could trust her! But now Michael says she's a conman! And that she isn't even an Auntie (or not mine, anyway)!

I'd asked Michael and Louise along to the Big Television Room as well, so then I told Michael how I knew he was after my money and Louise how if she were to choke on a bone it would be too soon and I'd just watch her choke and choke and wouldn't lift a finger, and then I said to Dolly again that it was me who distributed the pamphlet in Brent Cross that said she was wearing a wig and that I was going to report Louise to social services for husband abuse and I was going to make sure that became a crime by writing to my MP as well -

And instead of being glad because I was brave enough to speak the truth, everyone got very upset and cross with me! And so I went upstairs and went to bed, and then the next day I waited for Auntie Ima to send me the money or deliver it in person...

But all day I waited, and she never came, and nor did the money, and as I say, Michael says she's a conman! My own Auntie a conman! And she's not even a Man, that's how good she is at conning!

And so now I'm sitting upstairs alone in my room, no-one in the Home is speaking to me, and I've lost a lot of money because Auntie Ima said in order to get the £8.46 million stirling, I had to email her a transaction fee, and then a handling fee and then a rehandling fee and then a booking fee and then a rebooking fee, and then a booking cancellation fee which she said wasn't what it sounds like, it's actually the opposite of cancellation, and now all of that money has gone, and my lovely nephew Michael's so cross with me, he's not answering my phone calls!

I wish I'd never chosen Auntie Ima instead of him, but I didn't know she didn't have the money so that's a mitigating circumstance, but Michael says he won't take it into account!

So now I'm going to be all alone in the Home over Christmas and the New Year, no one's talking to me, Margaret is furious, and I'm crying myself to sleep every night and every day, and that's my Christmas and that's my New Year!

Auntie Ima, it's Mitzi! Please get in touch! (But not if you're a conman, or if you're not a woman, or if you're not a real Auntie!)

Broigus Is Good

I watched the end and middle of a film called Wall Street yesterday in the small television room and I very much enjoyed it. It was all about Kirk Douglas, who’s a gown manufacturer, and he wants his son to take over the business, and then the people who made the film got confused about how to end it so they didn’t bother, but the point is, at one point, Kirk Douglas says to his son (who I think was in The Waltons), Greed is good.

Which I don’t think is true. My best friend Dolly is very greedy and she wouldn’t give me her piece of wedding cake from her grandson’s wedding even though I just fancied it (so I fought fire with fire, and hid it in one of the downstairs sofa cushions). I can’t see anything good about greed like that.

Of course what Kirk Douglas was trying to say was that sometimes feelings people have that other people think are bad, are really good. But he chose the wrong example. I think it would have been better if instead of saying Greed, he said Broigus. Because Broigus is good. I think being broigus is wonderful and can really help out lots of very difficult situations – can you imagine how dull and boring Christmas would be if no one got broigus?

Or, another example, I was broigus with Dolly about that wedding cake and I didn’t speak to her for three weeks. I stayed in my room with the heating turned up full until they had to bring in the doctors, and when they did I pointed at Dolly and said she was the one who drove me to this and Dolly broke down in front of me and the only thing that calmed the situation down was when I said I was willing to forget the whole thing if she gave me all her chocolates she gets from her son (which I’m glad to say she continues to do to this very day!). So broigus is good.

And of course with that B.T.I.H.C Louise, my niece-in-law, the same thing. I’ve never been anything else but broigus with her. I was broigus with her before I even met her and in fact, I refused to meet her the first time, even though Michael pleaded with me. I said, Absolutely not, and when Michael asked me why, I said, I’m broigus with her. He said, But Auntie Mitzi, you’ve never met her, and I said, You don’t have to meet someone to be broigus with them. You can be broigus in principle; in fact it can be very principled, to be broigus with someone from Day 1, if that’s how you feel. And I was proved right because my relationship with Louise has never really recovered from the stand I took at that time.

Anyway, I mention all this because, as I say, I think being broigus is a fundamental human emotion and beneficial to humankind, but the trouble with me at the moment is, I’ve got no one to be broigus with. Michael’s visiting me regularly; Dolly hasn’t done anything to annoy me; Benny’s just given me a piece of his fried fish; the male nurse ‘Mark’ is keeping himself to himself. Even Louise hasn’t said or done anything I can really pick up on.

So I’ve got nothing to be broigus about and, I must admit, it’s given me the blues.

Dolly's just come in and given me her son's chocolates. Rose creams, which I'm not crazy on, but I can't make a fuss about that.

I must say, Christmas seems a long time coming this year.

Good News for Mark

As you might know, darling, there's a new male nurse called 'Mark', and everyone says I'm prejudiced against him. But nothing could be further from the truth. I've got nothing against male nurses, nothing at all. Of course there must be male nurses, just like I'm sure somewhere in the world there are male ballerinas and male housewives and even male dress designers (!). So it's completely wrong to say that I'm in any way prejudiced against 'Mark' (which, as I say, is what he calls himself).

But that said, from the first time I saw him, I thought there was something 'funny' about him. Not 'funny' as in, someone's-died funny, but 'funny' as in, 'peculiar', 'odd', 'unusual', 'vaguely different to the norm'. Something about him didn't feel right, didn't 'click' with me. I couldn't tell you what it was that didn't click, it was nothing specific, just a feeling. Anyway, I know from past experience that when I get a feeling like that, I can't ignore it.

So in a very nice way, I had a word with Margaret (who runs the Home), and as ever with Margaret, I felt instantly reassured from what she told me. Apparently, before they can hire anyone in a Home, they do all sorts of tests on them, and according to Margaret, 'Mark' had passed all these tests. So, instantly, I breathed a sigh of relief.

And in fact, I must admit, I felt a little bit guilty. Not that I'd been horrible to 'Mark' to his face (I would never do that), but I had spread the word around all the other residents of the Home about my concerns, and rightly or wrongly (and I'd say rightly) posted anonymous posters on the Noticeboard saying things like, 'New nurse = Quite peculiar', and things like that.

So when it was visiting time, and all the residents were there, together with any family members who can be bothered to visit, I announced as loudly as I could to 'Mark', so everyone could hear, 'Congratulations on your good news, Mark!'

So the whole room went silent! 'Mark' smiled and said, 'Oh, what good news is that, Mitzi?' So I said: 'The test results! The test results!' He said, 'I haven't taken any tests!' I said, 'Margaret's tests!' 'Margaret hasn't set me any tests, Mitzi!' he said, still smiling. So I said, 'Well, actually, she has, though you might not know it, because they're secret. But Margaret has done all sorts of tests to find out whether you've ever done funny things with children, or even with adults, or been in prison for any activity like that, and after all the testing she did - and she said it was very, very thorough in your case - she said they couldn't find a single thing! So, on that technical level at least, no one's got anything to worry about and we can all relax!'

People can be very mean spirited. Despite the good news, no one really congratulated 'Mark', particularly none of the visitors.

In fact, now I think about it, 'Mark' himself didn't even seem pleased to get the news - which I find very odd, actually. But like I say, there is something peculiar about 'Mark'. Very peculiar.

Remembering Bubby Limpkin

I’ve cancelled everything, absolutely everything I was going to write about in my blog this week because of some very, very sad news:

Bubby Limpkin, one of the residents of the Home, passed away last night.

I thought it would be a nice gesture if I wrote about her in my blog, as a special ‘memorial’ to her. Not for thanks, or payment, but because I believe it’s important to commemorate the passing into a better world of not just celebrities or politicians - but ordinary people like Bubby, who people don’t really care about, who’ve contributed nothing special to the world and who would otherwise be totally forgotten forever and ever.

I’m not sure when Bubby Limpkin was born or how she spent most of her life, and I really don’t have the time to find out. But what I do know – and this is to stray from the subject – is that I’ve had a rash down the side of my leg that’s driving me barmy. I scratch and scratch, and the only thing that seems to do any good is cold water, but I can’t be dabbing that on all the time. I’ve said something to Margaret and she’s promised to get me some cream.

But of course, poor Bubby had more than a rash. She had a heart condition and I remember thinking when she first arrived in the Home, I’m going to win hands-down, she’s got three years to go maximum, and I was right – and Bubby was wrong, not about that, but about saying Midsommer Murders is all repeats, which I knew wasn’t true, because it was a new series. Also, I never liked the way she’d wait at the front door to wave goodbye to her grandchildren, causing a draught. That was typical of her, because she was always, to coin a phrase, ‘very selfish’.

But this isn’t the time or place to dwell on Bubby’s faults because, as I say, she’s dead. In some ways, I wish she’d had more faults or more something, because she was someone you barely noticed was there, she was a long drink of water, in my experience - she was like a nothing, except she got on your nerves. Always talking about her operations and how much she missed Jack (her husband)! She could bore for England, but anyway, there’s no point in giving myself aggravation about her now, because as I say, she’s dead.

My sincere and touching condolences go to her daughter Leslie, her other daughter whose name I don’t know, and her two sons, likewise whose names I don’t know and who more or less never visited her (once a month, maximum); one of them goes on business to Holland a lot (I don’t know why!), and the other’s got like a funny wife called Henny or Hommy or something like that. She never said a word to Bubby when she did visit, she’d just sit and frass all the biscuits and go to the toilet umpteen times, and not to do a wee, it was always the Other, she was there for hours on end. Hinny or Humpy, some name like that.

But the thing I’ll always remember Bubby for is not for something she did herself, but just a few weeks ago we were all having dinner and one of the nurses asked us if we wanted any more peas, and I said, More peas please, Denise! (although the nurse’s actual name was Carol) I can’t tell you how we all laughed, Benny and Dolly and Zuzzi, everyone..

I’m not sure if Bubby was there, but it’s the kind of thing she would have been there for, which was typical of this very special lady. Because although everyone will soon forget she ever existed, for now I’m sure she has a very special place in all our memories.

Bubby, rest in peace darling, and may you be more loved, respected and noticed Up There than you were down here, sweetheart (though that wouldn’t be difficult!). I’ll stop now as Margaret’s just brought me in that tube of cream.

Another Whole Business with Louise

Once again, I’ve had nothing but grief and more grief, more grief again, and then yet more grief, and then even more grief – like a big bowl of grief chicken soup, with grief noodles

Michael, my lovely nephew, had arranged for Louise (his wife – and a one-hundred-per-cent cow) to bring their gorgeous little daughter Joanna (aged 6) round to the Home for me to babysit on Wednesday afternoon. I could tell as soon as she turned up that Louise hadn’t wanted to bring her but there was nothing she could do once Michael had arranged it

Anyway, the whole afternoon went very well, and at 6.30pm, on the dot, Louise arrived to pick her little daughter up to take her back home. Have you had a lovely time? She asked.

So then Joanna told her mother all the lovely things we’d done. I must say, I’d really spoiled her but then that’s what great-aunts are for! First we watched a new DVD from the library, a self-help one called Making A Living Will, which is useful no matter what age you are. Then we played kalooki together like we always do, though Joanna got a bit upset because she lost six months’ pocket money (which came to £16.75) - I play a-pound-a-hundred and Joanna doesn’t really understand about kings, queens and jacks. And then we had a lovely tea (I’d asked Margaret to set an extra place for her): celery soup (not grief soup!), and bread, and butter, and black coffee for dessert, a real spread.

Oh that sounds lovely! said Louise, and for once I thought we were going to say Goodbye without having words, when Joanna, who’s always putting her foot in it, said something about phoning Social Services.

Well that let the cat out of the bag. What do you mean, Social Services? Said Louise, in a funny voice, like she’d heard someone say an alien had landed from Mars! So I explained that once Louise had finished dropping Joanna off, I’d noticed one of Joanna’s pigtails had lost its knot and that she had a scar on her knee and that her hands were filthy with pen marks. So, just to be on the safe side, I’d made a quick call to Social Services and reported that maybe – and it was only ever ‘maybe’ - Joanna was suffering from neglect, end of story. Just as a precaution.

Well! I wish you could have heard Louise’s reaction. None of the ladies in the Home had ever heard the like! How-dare-you this, and I’ve-never-been-so that, and my-heart-is-well-and-truly-broken; until eventually I said, Listen, Louise, I might have been right, I might have been wrong, I just didn’t want it on my conscience in the future if I’d done nothing. Apart from anything else, I didn’t fancy getting a mini-cab there and back to the Inquiry.

And then I said, and another thing, changing the subject, you need to lose some weight, darling. Why not try just having fruit for lunch?

Well, even that tip for her own good didn’t calm Louise down. So once again, she left the Home on bad terms with me - and all because I happen to care about her own daughter more than she does (though she owes me £16.75)!

Louise One-Hundred-Per-Cent Ruins My Birthday

Many Happy Returns? Many Unhappy returns! Unhappy, not happy. I think I've had probably the worst returns ever!

My birthday was going to be so lovely! I’d made my birthday list (premium bonds, or failing that, pounds Stirling); my best friend Dolly was organizing a wonderful party (in lieu of getting me premium bonds); and my gorgeous nephew Michael was going to come over to help me blow out the candles on the cake which Margaret (who runs the Home) had promised to prepare.

I was so excited I couldn’t sleep the night before – or at least, although I cried myself to sleep like I usually do because of all the terrible things that have happened in my life, all the people who have let me down and not been what they seemed, I soon woke up with excitement, and then had to re-cry myself to sleep all over again.

Anyway, next morning, after my birthday breakfast, I didn’t want to be too sleepy for my party, so I went up to bed and had a snack. I keep fishballs and peanuts in my bedside table and I’ve found if you put two fishballs in your mouth and then cram about ten nuts in and eat them all at the same time, you get a lovely flavour.

Anyway, soon I was woken up by Margaret telling me to get ready! And when I went downstairs, I couldn’t believe my eyes! What a party Dolly had laid on. Normally any functions in the Home are in the dining room, but Dolly had obviously pulled a few strings because my party was being held – guess where?...In the small television room, no less!

There was food (mutton pie), drink (a teapot of tea), and even decorations (torn up newspaper hanging from the lampshade). And everyone was there! Me, Dolly, and a funny little nurse whose name I can't remember (I didn't bother inviting Benny).

And there, to cap it all, sitting in the big armchair, was my darling nephew Michael, come to wish his auntie Mitzi 'Happy Birthday!' I gave him such kisses he nearly ended up in hospital! (In fact, he’s told me that sometimes after I’ve kissed him, he has to rub cream into his chin otherwise it gets very red and sore.)

And the first thing he said was, Where’s that cake? Where’s that cake, I’m dying of starvation for a bit of cake! Well, we all roared with laughter, and Margaret brought out the cake. And as you can see from the picture, she’d really gone to town. She said she’d made sure herself that one of the staff had gone to Londis to get it, because it’s the personal touch that makes the difference.

Then Michael said, Come on Auntie Mitzi, blow out your candles, and make a birthday wish! I said, I’m so happy, I don’t know what to wish for! Michael said, There must be something! So I had a think, and then I closed my eyes…


Well, I must have blown out the candles in the wrong way or something. Because instead of my wish coming true, it came untrue – the opposite! The complete opposite! Because suddenly, standing in front of me, was Louise, Michael’s wife! Yes, Louise, who hadn’t visited me once in the hospital after my Fall, not once! But now – now she was visiting me in the Home. A total visit-hypocrite, not visiting in one place, but visiting another!

And like I say, it was the exact opposite of my wish! For one thing, she was alive, and for another there wasn’t one little fragment, not a single splinter, of glass or steel stuck into her cheeks or neck or earhole. Far from it! She looked one-hundred-per-cent fit, grinning like a monkey, and saying, Happy Birthday, Auntie Mitzi! Happy Birthday, Auntie Mitzi! And then handing me an envelope! Well, when I opened it (very unwillingly, I might add), inside were two hundred pounds of premium bonds...

Well, that was the last straw. I’d had enough! You can’t buy Mitzi Sheinman because she won’t be bought! I grabbed the cake and I looked Louise in the eye...


I said, Excuse me, my darling, my miss madame! Do you really think you can buy my affection with premium bonds? She said, Oh sorry, auntie, I didn’t mean it like that, but if you don’t want to keep them, I’ll totally understand.

I said, Don’t want to keep them? Don’t want to keep them? I said, Oh I’m going to keep them, don’t worry about that – but only under protest! Under the greatest possible protest! And then I said (and I meant this with all my heart), And if you ever, ever try to bribe your way into my affections like this again, I shall accept those bonds, or cash, or cheque or whatever it is, under even greater protest, and that’s a promise!

And with that, I went straight up to my room. Michael tried to persuade me to come back down but I’ve stayed up here ever since, eating fishballs and nuts and checking and rechecking that I haven’t won on the premium bonds (there’s a million pounds to be won every month).

Benny's Damp Squib Literally

Well that was a fuss over nothing.

Benny Shooster, one of the old boys in the Home, asked me out for a special romantic dinner! He came up to me at breakfast on Wednesday morning and said: Mitzi, it would be a great pleasure and privilege if you would accompany me to a restaurant on the first Thursday evening of this present week (tomorrow). And then he said, You're my everything, Mitzi, my X-Factor, my Britain's Got Talent, my Big Brother all rolled into one! (I didn't really like him saying I was his big brother, but otherwise it was a lovely compliment.) Well! I was so excited! I started to imagine every moment of that special evening...

Firstly, I was sure Benny would book us up at a very expensive restaurant (he made a pretty penny from his clip-folder business). Once we'd sat down, I'd get the waiter to bring us some bread rolls, and I'd eat my roll quickly; and immediately afterwards, if Benny wasn't a gentleman and didn't let me eat his, I'd catch the waiter's eye and ask for another roll, so I'd be ahead of the game from the start.

Then I'd get Benny to order all three courses; I'd probably start with the soup, as long as it wasn't carrot - I can't stand sweet soups, they taste like dessert! - then perhaps the fish, with a lovely big pudding (and cream) to finish. Then maybe I'd get Benny to ask nicely for some of those petit fours things with our coffee, and even if I didn't have room to finish them all, they'd be small enough to slip into my bag without Benny noticing, and I could nosh them while I was watching the repeat of Countdown when I'd gone to bed.

I also had a funny feeling that Benny might use this occasion to give me a wonderful intimate gift; namely, a pearl necklace I'd spotted in the second drawer down in his bedside cupboard. It's his deceased wife Leslie's favourite piece of jewelry, and is of great sentimental value.

(I'd certainly treasure it, because I know for a fact it's worth in the thousands, and no, that's not an exaggeration. What's more, if me and Benny ever go our separate ways, it won't matter - I checked with my nephew Michael: as a gift, it would all be legally binding and Benny could sue me to the hills to get the necklace back and it wouldn't matter a jot. Even if he died, his estate couldn't touch me.)

So as you can see, I was all set for a wonderful night.

But then it all fell flat at a pancake! Thursday night arrived and I was in the middle of unpacking my smartest bra (M & S) from its packaging - but I was going at a snail's pace because some of the staples were almost impossible to pull out - when Benny knocked on the door. He said, Oh Mitzi, I'm terribly sorry, there's been a bit of a hold-up because I forgot to book the mini-cab. So I said, That's fine, Benny. But then a minute later, he knocked again and said, There's another problem, because Margaret (who runs the Home) says she has to have at least one day's warning if any of the residents are going to go out for the evening. Then it turned out Benny'd forgotten the name of the restaurant and he'd also forgotten to ask his daughter to get some money out for him, so he couldn't pay for the meal anyway.

So finally, I took matters into my own hands, and I went to see Margaret myself. She's a lovely, caring person and I knew she'd want to do whatever she could to help. So I explained all the mix-ups and I said, Listen, Margaret, I've been so looking forward to this evening, maybe Benny can pay for the food on his credit card, we can order the mini-cab to come now, and next time we promise to make sure to remember to tell you that we're planning to go out in advance. She said, No, I have to have more warning. I said, Oh that's such a shame, I was so looking forward to it. She said, There's nothing more I can do. And she really had done all she could, she's such a lovely person.

Anyway, it's probably a good thing we didn't go, because as it happens, while all this was going on, Benny had to go to the toilet and he was there for a good hour, apparently in some discomfort. So do you know what? I thought to hell with it! I took my bra straight off and put it right back in its packaging for another day; I even restapled the straps, so it would keep its shape.

And well done Mitzi! Because this morning I had some good news. Benny's said to me our evening is postponed, not cancelled! He's thinking to do it all again soon, when he's got time to plan things and after he's seen the specialist.

So who knows, I may yet have my romantic meal! Watch this space!

A Carpet Catastrophe Literally

My week's ended very badly, darling, which is such a shame because it started off very well. I've got a beaux! As I mentioned last time, Benny Shooster, one of the old chaps in the Home, has grown quite keen on me and it's very flattering! I must say he says some lovely things to me. Last Sunday night he said, I want to thank you so much from the bottom of my heart, Mitzi, for being such a Lovely Lady.

The trouble is, I think he wants more from this relationship than I do. For example he wanted to sit and watch television by the radiator in the small television room, but I told him, I'm not ready for the radiator yet. He got quite upset (a bit tearful, coughing a bit, then making little movements with his knees), so I said, Listen, Benny, if that's all you're after, go and ask Dolly. I'm sure she'll sit by the radiator with you, I think she'd sit by the radiator with anyone in trousers! That's the kind of lady Dolly is, that's why some of the male residents call her Radiator Rachel! But I don't like the radiator, and if that's what you want, then maybe this isn't going to work. He said, But I don't want Dolly. I want you, Mitzi, because you're a Lovely Lady. I said, Listen, Benny, I don't even know what it is you see in me!

So he took me aside up to his bedroom where we could talk properly. And he said, Listen Mitzi. Both of our lives have been marred by tragedy. You've been betrayed and let down by people all your life, as you've told me, and I've experienced some awful things as well. And I'd like to share them with you now, because I feel our relationship has reached that point. So anyway, he went on to tell me what these tragedies were - I don't know, his son or his wife had died suddenly, or got run over, and then his mother - something to do with his mother, or his brother - murdered, or they murdered someone else, I really wasn't listening -

Because the point is, what I did notice was that Benny had a new carpet laid down in his bedroom!

So I interrupted him (he was getting quite emotional), and I said to him, Excuse me Benny, how come you've got this new carpet in your bedroom? It turned out that while I was in hospital after my fall, about half of the residents of the Home got a new carpet in their bedroom. Including, I might add, Radiator Rachel herself, Dolly Finegold, my so-called Best Friend!

Anyway, I was fit to spit! I'd been making do with my old carpet while everyone else has been enjoying walking and what-not on their new one! So I made a big decision. I took matters into my own hands, and on Wednesday, I ordered my own carpet for my bedroom on the Home's computer! I couldn't wait to see Dolly's face when I stood on it!

Anyway, I was so excited all day Thursday, waiting for it to be delivered and then this morning, Friday, I could hardly eat my breakfast I was so on edge! But I waited and waited, and nothing. So after a little while, I went up to my room to have a fishball to calm myself down, when suddenly there was a kerfuffle downstairs and Margaret burst into my bedroom! She said, Mitzi! Did you order carpet! I had to admit it. I said, I'm sorry Margaret but everyone else has got a new one, so I took matters into my own hands! She said, Well they're trying to deliver it now.

The way she said it made me look through my bedroom window and double-parked outside the Home was a huge lorry, the size of a tanker. Some workmen were exiting the back of it holding roll after roll of carpet the same length as the tanker! I nearly had a heart attack. I said, What's going on? Margaret said, Well, Mitzi, I think you must have over-ordered.

I had over-ordered. I must have pressed the button wrong on the computer, or held it down or something, because it turned out I'd ordered six thousand square feet of industrial carpet, at a total price of £292,000.

I didn't know what to do! I was in such a state. I said to the workmen who were unloading the carpet, I'm very sorry, darling, there's been a mistake! I don't want as much as this, maybe we can come to a compromise, how about that? One of the workman said, How many square feet do you need then? I said it depends whether you do under my bedroom sink (which is currently lino-ed) or not.

Anyway, Margaret called my nephew Michael and then Michael called me, and then Michael called Margeret again and luckily it was all sorted out. But they took all the carpet away leaving me with the old one which I can hardly stand to walk on now. And I even had to pay them for the trouble of delivering all that carpet I didn't want! The only good thing was that Benny was very nice about it and comforted me and called me a Lovely Lady again (though if he thinks that's getting me to the radiator, he can think again)

Junior Apprentice: Who will Win? Mitzi's Perspective

My best friend Dolly says I've got a seventh sense about things, and it's true, I'm never wrong. I predicted who would win Britain's Got Talent! At least, they would have won if they'd got more votes. I got the X Factor right as well, except they didn't get to the final, but they would have won if they had. So now, everyone's asking, can you do it again, Mitzi? Can you get it right a third time, with the Junior Apprentice show? Well, let's see if my seventh sense is working!

The key is Sir Alan Lord Sugar of Alan. What's going on in his mind. I'm a very good judge of character - which is why I never married - and I've been studying the Lord very carefully the entire series. I know what makes him tick! And that's how I know who he's going to chose.

You see my seventh sense tells me Lord Alan doesn't think much of any of the candidates. I think he feels very let down by Arjun, Zoe, Kirsty and Tim - all of them. They only visit him once a week. And when they do visit him, they never bring flowers or even a treat, like just a snacky thing from M&S (I'm a nut for their mini-bagel bites), as though they've only come to see him out of duty. They never take him out or ask him round for dinner. Even a phone call, they never seem to phone him, he has to phone them in the morning so he can give them their task! And they never give him a lift, I've noticed he always has to get a mini-cab back to the Home.

I think he cries himself to sleep at night because his ungrateful apprentices don't care enough about him. All they're really interested in is his money. After all that he's done for them, and at his age as well.

And that's why I think there's going to be a twist in the tale! The Lord isn't going to chose any of the candidates to be his Junior Apprentice!

He's going to chose Nick! That's right, Nick. Can you imagine how surprised Nick'll be? How his face will light up? He'll say, Why me, Uncle Alan? And Sir Alan will say, Because you've been as good as gold all series! And then Nick will say, But what job am I going to do for you Uncle Alan? And Sir Sugar's going to say, You'll be my Chief Mischief Maker!

And then he'll give Nick a pea-shooter, and Nick will fire it at him and Sir Alan will be about to get very cross and shout at Nick! But then at the last moment, Nick will give one of his cheeky grins, and Sir Alan will say, I can't stay cross at you for long! And he'll give Nick a great big hug and a kiss on the lips. And then another kiss, just for luck! And then a third one. And then at least two more, both on the lips, including the third one, so all of them in other words.

So that's my prediction! Nick to win the Junior Apprentice! (And I'll enjoy watching that Karen's expression when she finds out; her nose will be right out of joint.)

Junior Apprentice, Week 4: Mitzi's Perspective

It's good news for Sir Alan of Sugar this week because Mitzi Sheinman's giving him the big thumb's up! I think he chose the right one to go in this week's Junior Apprentice! I've never been a fan of blondes (or brunettes, for that matter, or redheads (!), or any colour hair if it's a woman whose hair it is) but I think Lord Sir Alan was absolutely right to get rid of Hannah because, as he said, she was all very well in practice but what about on paper? Also, I didn't care for that mini-skirt she was always wearing, like she was on Top of the Pops!

Mind you, when it comes to blondes, I can't bear that Zoe! We all talk about her while we're watching in the Home. Her last name's Plummer, apparently, and Zuzzi said maybe she's Christopher Plummer's daughter from the Sound of Music, so I said, but I'm sure she's not a nun; and then Zuzzi said, well she wouldn't be anyway, because Christopher Plummer's an actor. And then Benny Shooster said, And Christopher Plummer wasn't a nun, he was a Captain. And I said, anyway, it was all made up. And then Dolly said, if her name was Zoe Andrews, then she might be a nun. Which was a very good point, because she meant Julie Andrews. And then I said, Oh what a voice. Pure as a bell. So we settled that one very amicably (the standard of conversation in the small television room is very, very high) but the point is, I've started to call Zoe "Silly Cynthia"! Whenever she comes on, I say, "Here's Silly Cynthia!", and it's a very good nickname! Everyone laughs - Dolly nearly swallowed her tangerine segment she was laughing so much. I don't know what made me come up with it.

Anyway, speaking of Benny Shooster, I think he's getting quite keen on me. He keeps on telling me not only am I beautiful on the outside, but I'm also beautiful on the inside. He meant to leave me some lovely white roses outside my door, but he got a bit mixed up and ended up leaving them outside Toilet Number 31 on the fourth floor and one of the old dears took a tumble and has to have another hip replacement. But it was very thoughtful of him, and I'm very flattered. I'm not giving him too much encouragement as I'm not ready to settle down yet. But I'm very flattered. Very flattered indeed.

VERDICT: Well done, Sir Alan! I agree one hundred and ten per cent literally that you got rid of one of the girls.

(One last thing: a lot of women have written in agreeing with me how much they'd like to give Nick a really good tea, and I was thinking the same thing again watching this week's Junior Apprentice; except not just a tea, but a nice hot bath as well! His knees would stick out of the hot water, and I'd give them a good scrub with the sponge, and then he'd say: "More hot, auntie!"; then he'd get into his pajamas and dressing gown and I'd give him baked beans on toast (though not if I'd given him tea as well, in which case it's straight up to bed, no books).

Junior Apprentice: Week 3, Mitzi's Perspective

I don’t know how that man could do it. Such a lovely boy! How could Sir Alan Lord Sugar get rid of Rhys? He had such a nice smile and lovely manners! And he spoke so clearly. And his lovely little face. And he’s just a schoolboy! I cried myself to sleep last night after he’d been fired (not for the first time – and not for the first time thanks to Sir Alan Lord Sugar: that man!).

And it’s not just Lord Alan I’m cross with – it’s the other members of Rhys’s team. The way they ganged up against him. And all because he was such a good leader! He did everything right in my opinion. Whenever anyone had an idea, he’d say: that’s a good idea, do that. Very encouraging. And when he wasn’t approving other people’s ideas, he was walking around looking very upright and serious, just like a young Prince Charles. Again, very encouraging. And in the board room at the end, I thought he behaved with great dignity, when he accused everyone else of being in the wrong. To me he was a Noble Schoolboy.

In fact, speaking of schoolboys. I think it’s quite unfair that all the growns-ups, Sir Alan and Lady Karen and Nick, wear such grown up clothes. It must be very frightening for those kids! I’d like to see Sir Alan and the other two wearing school uniform to put the apprentices at their ease – I’d very much like to see Sir Alan and Nick wearing school uniforms.

They could both wear caps, with muddy cheeks, and dirty knees even! And Nick’s got a lovely cheeky grin. There could even be a ‘spin-off’ series, I think they call it, where Sir Alan and Nick get into scrapes, but it’s all OK in the end. And then viewers could write in to get to give them both a lovely tea – I’d certainly write in to do that, and so would some of the other ladies in the Home. I’d like to give Nick a great big tea. Really fill his plate. Watch him gobble it all down and then ask for “More, please, auntie!” I could really enjoy watching him tucking into buns and things. And so could some of the other ladies.

VERDICT: Absolutely no, not guilty, Rhys! Sir Alan Sugar should have got rid of one of the girls, as girls haven’t got a head for business.

Actually, I was also upset that Adam left as well. I think he’d eaten too many of those cakes and got a tummy ache, a bit like Nick might do if he ate too much of my tea. I’d quite like to give Adam a big tea, when he’s a bit older.

My Faith Restored in the British Legal System

I have had a sword hanging over me, literally. By which I mean, the sword of Dolly Finegold. Dolly took me to the Committee at the Home, claiming that I stole her special cake from her son.

I was due to appear before the Committee today at one o’clock. And Michael arrived at twelve to prepare our case. I’d been feeling under a lot of stress so I’m the first to admit I’d frassed a number of fishballs (13) in order to relax me.

Anyway, Michael took me into the small television room to prepare my case (just like they do in LA Law). I ate a few more fishballs (6) and he looked me in the eye and said, Auntie Mitzi, did you steal Dolly’s cake? Suddenly, I couldn’t lie to him – he’s such a nosh! And he visits me twice a week (except when he goes to Pirates for his back). I admitted everything! I said, Oh Michael, darling, I did steal the cake! But I regret it, oh I regret it, darling! (And then I told him what I also regretted – even more than the cake - was his marrying Louise. Because she’s a taker.)

Anyway, he looked very disappointed and said, Well, I don’t know what I’m going to say now to the Committee. Then the Committee called us in to the room next to the kitchen. And so there was I, eating fishballs; and there was Michael, who didn’t even know if he was going to defend me; and there was Dolly, my Accuser, sitting next to Margaret at the Committee table with all the other members!

Anyway, I was in such a state that I put the last four fishballs into my mouth all at once. But one ball squeezed out of my cheek, dropped and rolled on to the carpet; and then the heel of my slipper caught on it, and I tripped! Well! I went down bump! And as I went bump, I swallowed the other three fishballs and they went the wrong way down the left-hand side of my windpipe – and suddenly I couldn’t breath!

Everyone rushed over to me! Michael was saying, Auntie Mitzi, Auntie Mitzi! But there was nothing I could do, my windpipe was crammed tight with minced fish! I could see my life flash before me as I drowned in what, just a few seconds ago, had seemed a very flavoursome snack! I was struggling to mouth my last words to Michael (“Divorce her…divorce her…”), when suddenly I felt a pressure on my chest and – woosh! The wedged fishball flew out of my windpipe! I could breathe again! And then I think passed out.

When I woke up, there were Dolly and Michael sitting next to me at my bedside. Michael said Dolly had performed the Himmler Manoeuvre. The first thing I said was: I forgive you! To Dolly. She’d helped me in my hour of need and it was time to let bygones be bygones.

So now, Dolly and I are best friends again. I’ve forgiven her for reporting me to the Committee (though I can never forget as long as I live), and the Committee never reached a verdict, so I'm in the clear. Which makes me think Jeremy Kylie is right, Britain has the best Legal System of Justice in the world.

Junior Apprentice: Week 2, Mitzi's Perspective

Hallo Darling,

Another lovely episode of the Apprentice. The task this week was to try and make something that would be impossible under any circumstances to use when you're going camping - a message I approve of, because it's so dangerous nowadays.

Anyway, the kids came up with some wonderful ideas, including a chest of drawers that could dissolve in water and drown you, and a small tray with wheels, that you could trip up on and break your neck if you went for a you-know-what outside the tent during the night. The chest of drawers was absolutely lovely because it was made of reinforced cardboard (which I think is cardboard enforced with more cardboard), and also because you could keep your shoes in it: there's quite a lot of things you can say that about, you can keep your shoes in shoeboxes, after all, or cupboards, or plastic bags, or cars, but it was wonderful that Adam had thought to design something special to do this. I thought that showed great originality, and he's such a lovely boy.

I thought Lord Sir Alan Lord Sugar faced a very difficult decision in the boardroom. Zoe had done everything right, but she's confident and blonde, three things which always ring alarm bells (the three things being: confidence, blondeness and that she's a she). Of course, Lord Sir Alan was never going to get rid of Adam - he's cut from the same cloth and obviously reminds Sir Sugar not so much of what he was like when he was a boy himself, but of what he's like now himself - because he makes terrible business decisions. But I very much liked Hibah, she was incapable of saying anything good about anyone or anything, which to me is always a good human quality.

VERDICT: in the end, Sir Alan made the RIGHT decision for the second week running, though I regret that he keeps on saying 'with regret' which I don't believe for a second. I think that's his favourite bit of the show!

Finally, Nick's expressions have been even more horrid this series, I wonder if he's got something wrong with his bottom? Or just with his lips? Or are the two somehow connected?

The Apprentice: Week 1 (and Fishballs and the Election)

Sometimes people say to me, Oh Mitzi, it must get very dull being in the Home, there's nothing to do! I wish they could have been with me this week, and then see what they think. I'm literally breathless! I can't catch my breath because things have been happening so quickly around here.

Firstly, the new Apprentice started with Sir Alan Lord Sugar, which I every much enjoyed, though the contestants seem to get younger every year! That seems to be the way nowadays, everything for the youth! In fact, I even noticed on the BBC News they've made a schoolboy, Little Michael Gove I call him, to be the head of education! which I think is wonderful, because he'll know what children today really want. He's such a nosh, I can't tell you what I'd like to do to his cheeks. If he wanted to have a sleepover here, I'd be first in the queue.

Karen and Nick seem a bit frosty with one another, but then you can't expect too much from Nick, he only divorced Margaret a little while ago. As for the hairy chap who couldn't put together his lunch boxes because he had wind, I thought Sir Alan Lord Sugar was very unfair - I've had wind just like that and it's hard to put your mind to anything else.

But so the Apprentice starting, that's one thing that happened. Secondly, there's been a delay in my appearing before the Committee about stealing Dolly's special cake. Not till Monday week now. Anyway, for the next ten days I'm going to try and get Dolly to put aside all her differences with me in a 'spirit of unity', just like David Cameroon and Nick Legg did for the national good, and in order that they could beat Tony Brown and become Prime Ministers.

So that's another thing. THIRDLY, I haven't eat a single fishball for two days now as I've run out, apart from the ones I frass at night from my bedside table, which don't count.

Busy enough? I think so! Last night I didn't even have to cry myself to sleep like I usually do, I just fell off anyway. That's the kind of week it's been.I tell you, I wouldn't mind if I could do a swap with Cameroon and Legg. All they seem to do is sit around gassing and smiling and holding hands with one another or their dolly birds! I bet they wouldn't swap with me, they'd be exhausted!

It's Still All In The Balance!

Well darling, this is a fascinating situation! After all this time, we still don't really have a winner! I suspect a lot of negotiating between the various sides will be going on over the next few days and maybe then we'll have a real result. For the moment, though, it's impossible to predict and we'll just have to wait for a final verdict. For now, the big question is:

Will Dolly manage to prove to the Committee that I ate her special cake?

I'm so upset she's taken me to the Committee about it, I can't tell you. I hardly stole her cake at all, it's very unfair. And she's my Best Friend, or used to be! As I say, I'm so upset! Taking me to the Committee about one piece of cake!

As you probably know, darling, there are some very important men and women on the Committee. There's Mr Casanov, Benny Shooster, and of course Margaret, who runs the Home, is its Chairwoman, but in order that she absolutely isn't biased, her Personnel Officer and boyfriend Chichi sits on it as well. He's from the Dominican Republic, which I've got no idea where that is! But he's always very kind to all the ladies in the home, and very well dressed. He says he likes to buy 'the best quality everything' made by people with lovely labels, because he says then it doesn't feel bad against his skin (but he should worry! His skin's smooth as silk!). He's also Margaret's shopper because it turns out they can more or less wear the same clothes, even though, of course, they're different sexes and he's about twenty years younger than her (I shouldn't say it, but they've got the same size bust, because Margaret's as flat as a pancake).

Anyway, I'm so upset about this silly cake business! As you know, sweetheart, I normally cry myself to sleep, but I've not only been crying myself to sleep, I've been crying myself awake - and as a result, I've not had a wink of sleep! Thank God for the fish balls I've got on my bedside table - last night I frassed them and watched the General Election results show on the BBC; they do those kinds of things so well, it was almost as good as the Lottery show.

I'm still hoping Tony Brown will win the election once all the results are in later today, but it turns out I'm in a minority in the Home. All the old ladies love Nick Legg. In fact, during the election debate, Margaret had to switch the television off because a lot of the ladies were reacting so strongly to his policies that the chairs they sit in around the side of the room were scraping against the wall, and Margaret said she wasn't insured for that kind of wear and tear.

And no, still no luck on that stain in the bathroom, which gets bigger and bigger. I tasted it yesterday morning and it was a bit like fish food, but I don't have a fish! (only fishballs, but you don't have to feed them!) So where it comes from remains enigmatic in the extreme.

I've Had Enough Of This Election, It's Just Repeats

I can't believe they haven't had the vote by now. I thought it was supposed to have happened weeks ago. And they keep on showing the same debate with the three of them as a schedule filler, the same way they always repeat Countdown!

I still don't know who to vote for. My nephew Michael said the newspapers just found out Tony Brown had an affair with a singer called Duffy, so I expect he's out of the running. As for Tony Cameroon, I don't think he can be Prime Minister quite yet as apparently he's still at school at Eton - and he can only attend parliament when it's a half-holiday. Tony Legg I'm afraid I still haven't heard of. But I've got a funny hunch Vince Cable might be his long-lost father-in-law. I expect they probably play swingball together in Vince's garden with all the grandchildren, but don't quote me on that, that's just an old lady's intuition and also I haven't taken my pill.

My view is: all politicians are the same. Look at Hitler and Stalin - both maniacs. It wouldn't have mattered which one you'd voted for. I wouldn't have voted for either of them and, in fact, it's a good job they never stood against each other in a British General Election, because then I really would have been stuck to know where to put my cross.

Of course, thinking about it, they might not have been able to stand because they would have been illegal immigrants. But Tony Brown wouldn't mind, because he doesn't care about illegal immigrants, except - thinking it through - he does mind about bigots, so maybe he would have kicked them out after all, particularly if he was really Churchill. (I mention that about 'bigots' because apparently that's what Tony Brown and this Duffy girl like to call each other during their 'love-talk'.) Anyway, this is supposed to be a personal blog, not a history lesson.

And on the subject of personal, I'm personally still not talking to my best friend Dolly, after she personally never offered me a piece of her personal special cake - which I was personally very upset about personally! I'm not talking to her much more than she's not talking to me, so I'm already winning that one. If they were holding a General Election in Not Talking to someone, I'd win hands down, they wouldn't even need to do exit polls.

The stain in the bathroom isn't any better. I've tried using toothpaste to get rid of it, but if anything made it worse. I say bathroom, but I really mean toilet, and I'm beginning to think the stain might be The Other, because it's of a darker hue than is usual. Any tips about how to make some headway on it appreciated.

The Election hots up!

It's been a fascinating week because there's a general election in Britain and I must admit, I don't know who to vote for. I don't like any of them! Tony Brown's got like a funny way with him, I don't even know who this Tony Clegg is that everyone's talking about, and I can't stand Tony Cameron's wife. In fact, I don't like any of their wives, with their silly smiles and views on things - what do I care what some young dolly bird says?! I once wrote to the Prime Minister to get him to do something about curtain material - it's so thin nowadays, but all I got was what I call a no-thank-you-very-much letter. So I'm afraid I don't put much faith in politicians! I'm too old to believe anything can ever change for the better in any way whatsover at all!

Anyway, I shall be making up my mind who to vote for before election day which I won't forget because it coincides with when Malcolm does my hair - and in fact, I'm tickled pink because he did it yesterday and everyone - absolutely everyone remarked on how nice it was. Michael came round and said the queen mother herself couldn't look nicer, and that if I didn't 'watch out' they'd make me the new Dr Who assistant! But I don't think that's very likely! Apart from anything else, I've got very little acting experience (actually, none, but I'd say 'very little' if they asked).

Anyway, Dolly seems to be giving me the cold shoulder because she's under the impression that I ate her cake, which her son gave her. And in fact, I did eat it, but it was so dry I might as well have not bothered and in fact I think I spared her the disappointment - but I don't expect gratitude from that quarter! Anyway, she's been terribly worried because her grand-daughter was stuck in Italy because of the Icelandic volcano - about which, I may say, I've never heard so much codswallop! How can there be a volcano in Iceland - I suppose snow comes out of it, does it?! So the Met Office got that one wrong for starters again!

On another note, there's a stain the bathroom that I can't rid of, though I scrub and scrub.