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!)

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.

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).

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 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.