The Holiday From Hell - Literally

Once again, a horrible summer holiday!

My nephew Michael invited me to stay with him and my niece-in-law-by-marriage Louise. They’d rented a villa some place in Italy, whose name I forget and even if I hadn’t forgotten it, I don’t think I’d want to remember it; or if I did remember it, I’d want to try and forget it again – that was the kind of holiday it was. I can’t tell you.

Firstly, the weather. The sun never stopped shining. Not once. So depressing. So I sat in my deckchair in the shade all day, and the only way of cooling down was this silly swimming pool they had which Joanna, their little daughter, did nothing but splash around in. I kept on telling her she was wasting water by splashing it everywhere, but she wouldn’t listen. I ended up coming down in the middle of the night to puncture her water-wings. It was the only way she’d learn about the importance of conserving water. What if there’d been a drought?

Michael kept on saying, Come in for a dip, Auntie! Come in for a dip! I just said, Ooh no darling, and sat in the deckchair in the shade.

Then there was the food! Talk about crummy! Pasta this and pasta that, all in some soppy sauce! I said to Michael, I’m easy, you don’t need to make all that, I’ll just have a few fish balls and then some custard. But he said, Oh just try it, Auntie! You might become a convert to Italian cuisine. I laughed! And then I said, Ooh no darling, I don’t want to get tummy trouble. And I was proved right because I didn’t get tummy trouble the whole time I was there – that was the best thing about the holiday!

Anyway, if I’m not having a nice time, I’m the kind of person who likes to make everyone else have one instead. Not just a nice time on this holiday, but future holidays. So as soon as we arrived at the villa I said to Michael and Louise that next time they should book a place that’s bigger and with a nicer atmosphere. And every day I was giving Louise cooking tips, and tips about her looks, and even about her social skills and personality – the tips I gave her about her personality were probably the most useful.

I also gave her my ideas about the ways she was bringing Joanna up wrong and also how I worried about Michael not being happy in his marriage. So I was the perfect guest and I’ve got nothing to reproach myself for in that regard.

Anyway, when Michael and Louise dropped me off at the Home, after we’d flown back to Gatwick, instead of complaining or moaning – which I would have been well within my rights to do - I was very gracious. I said there was no need for either of them to apologize about the holiday – I didn’t blame them.

I did say to Louise that a bunch of flowers wouldn’t go amiss – just to say Sorry Auntie! Anyway, a few days have passed and nothing’s been delivered, but no surprises there. She’ll have to butter me up a lot more than that if she wants me to go next year…

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).