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.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
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)!
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)!
Friday, July 9, 2010
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).
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).
Friday, June 25, 2010
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!
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!
Friday, June 18, 2010
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)
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)
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
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.)
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.)
Thursday, June 3, 2010
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).
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).
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