Life as an elderly spinster

Well I might as well accept it, life did not go the way I wanted it to.

I didn’t really want much out of it, I loved working more than anything really.  It is quite fitting that the rest of my time is going to be spent doing that.

I took on the mantle of chick with cats at a very early age, of course.  I was terrific at being 17.  I had a flat, two cats, some 3d renderings of lizard eyes to upset passing drug users all over the walls, and I used to get high and knit between reading Sartre and various Russian worthies.

The horror of my mother’s ‘death by stupidity’ is starting to set in now.  Fortunately I have a lot of work to do.  At the moment I am making some grant applications for the first time.  My artistic pursuits have always been self funded.  Whilst you were out spending money on a social life to get a mate and produce more vile little consumers, I was spending money on glue, varnish, wool and whatever else I needed.  No matter how little money I have had, I have always managed to find money to make things.  Even my shoes have been sold when necessary.

The age of this rather disreputable approach of creativity has now passed me by, however, and it is time to get things done before I lose the space to work effectively.  The rabid Scottish wolves that I don’t want are approaching the door, even as the one that I wouldn’t mind spending some time with gets on with bringing up his own little consumers with some chick that didn’t seem terribly bright or pleasant. (I am sure she is delightful, actually, apart from the territorial glaring)  It is all very sad.

I have reeled from the discomfort of my attachment to Wolfe for nine years now.  I still have a lot of work to do, and there is no probability that I am going to self-actualise any time soon.  This is rather depressing.  I am staggering towards it at slightly enhanced speed, but not really any further forward in real terms.  I don’t really feel that uncomfortable about it any more.  Today I thought about how ridiculous it was and wondered what the alternative actually is?  I had no answer, because I don’t think I really want one.  Some people get hitched to stop thinking about love.  I created a little box, stuck a picture on it and decided to forget about ever being happy since it didn’t seem likely anyway.

I miss my silly mother.  I don’t miss dealing with stupid people, and for that I feel guilty.  I have no tolerance left for them.

It is certainly a time-saver.

Rebekah Brooks is fit for work (2018)

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Additions to Boris Johnson Project

 

Priti Patel is fit for work

Rebekah Brooks is fit for work

 

These are the first in a lengthy series, which is taking a long time due to the expense of working with resin.  Jemima Khan and Iain Duncan Smith are coming next, but they may be some time due to the cost of resin.

I will probably keep Rebekah Brooks, as it was a nice table once. Priti will be getting a suitable lining shortly, but I had a grant application to make so we worked on the photo shoot today.

In the meantime, here is a picture of the most beautiful creature in the known universe.  Evidently I am feeling frisky today.

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How the NHS kills old people

There are a variety of techniques I have seen employed over the last decade.  Broadly speaking, if you are over 80, particularly if you are no longer on your feet, you should be considering private treatment for most ailments if you wish to remain alive.

I imagine that this cut-off will get smaller as time goes on.  It is as much for the benefit of the economy as it is for reducing costs of sustaining the lives of people that a consultant has written off and obtained the agreement of some colleagues, who may or may not have met you, to proceed with a process on the assumption that your ‘best interests’ are served by being dead.

Having had reason to read the legislation that the Social Work Department work from when dealing with adults with incapacity recently, even this has paragraphs which all end the same way ‘the problem ceases when the patient is dead.’  Hence we have systems in place which assume that the best interests of the patient are, in fact, for them to no longer exist.

Whilst the actions of so-called-professionals have given me many reasons for anger of late, it is not surprising then that they operate on several assumptions:

  1. That any carer needs some form of reeducation as they are sublimating their lives for someone else.
  2. That any elderly person getting few visitors is of no value
  3. That any difficult patient is draining resources and of less value.
  4. That ongoing health issues as you get older are again draining resources and making the patient actually cost money.

One of my elderly neighbours was actually told to his face that he was deserving of treatment because he was a high-rate taxpayer.  I was told by three separate doctors what was going to happen to my mother long before it actually happened.

When they decided to finish my father, it was the Liverpool technique.  He was drugged within two days of being in a unit devoted to sparing other hospitals from high death rates on the grounds of his being ‘difficult.’  He was still able to speak and was a relatively happy, plump and mischievous man when he was drugged.  Within four months he was starved, unable to speak and agitated when awake.

When they decided to finish my uncle, he was on  his feet and independent.  He recovered well from a UTI, only to be placed in a draughty ward and given further antibiotics until he contracted pneumonia a week later.

When it came to my mother, they actually came right out and told me.  Seven months before, she had been sent home, painfully thin with terribly fragile skin on the assumption she was going to die.  I knew this because of the daily visits of the district nurses, who were supposed to be there to give her an injection to clear any fragmented clots.  So keen were they to also give her painkillers, that a fight broke out when I changed her diet to a highly technical version of a raw food diet and not only solved the continuing weight loss problem but improved her skin and eradicated the infections she had had for the previous ten years on a normal diet.  My friend, a former medical professional, was astonished by her recovery.  So was her GP, who noted the astonishing improvements in her blood work, since the nurses were so keen to attempt to prove a case against me, that they invented stories about weight loss as she gained, clutter which was caused by visiting carers not knowing the house, and by accusing me of neglect if I left the room within the five minutes that they were there to see my mother.  It was a constant fight for seven months.  The social work department were brought in to tell me that I resented my mother, that my saving her life was, in fact, me somehow abusing her and that anything I did was wrong.

Finally, when she went into hospital after a GI bleed (she had also had one on her previous visit to hospital, so personally I would have regarded this as routine and simply given her a transfusion)  I was asked whether I wanted her to have medical treatment, to which I said yes, of course.  The next doctor I saw said that in future she would be ‘eased out.’  The third consultant stated that she did not believe in the science of my mother’s diet, and when I referred her to the blood test results I had established, simply did not bother to look because she was wrong.

I have had many reasons over the years to be highly suspicious of people who assume that their education is the end of them having to learn anything.  Crap doctors, crap accountants, crap former bank managers.  People who take their salary, pay their bills and carry on administering a conveyor belt.

You may choose to live in blissful ignorance.  It will not help you when it happens to your family.

Maybe, like my local shopkeeper and my neighbour, you actually want your loved ones dead.  I did not, and on the assumption that there are still some other compassionate and intelligent people left in the world, I suggest that you get out and learn what they are failing to teach so-called professionals.  There is no need for too many antibiotics.  As I said to a consultant pathologist I was working alongside several years ago.

We don’t need more doctors.  We need better health.

Where is the funding for that? Why aren’t the public told the truth?  If we fed animals the way we feed ourselves, the animals would be taken from us. How come a £150000 a year consultant cannot manage to find it out by themselves, and I can? I am very sorry that I did not know what I know now in time for it to have spared my father his miserable death.

I have heard a frightening number of people who think these issues will never affect them.  They will, and sooner than you think.  In memory of my parents, I think it is time to do something about it.

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My Dear Brother

My dear brother was terrified tonight, as I arrived with this blaring out of my car’s open windows to deliver a lovely parcel of the last photograph of him left in the house.

My dear brother, whose response to my easily attaining a far better education than him was to go behind my back to anyone who would listen and prepare his plan to tell the world that I was incapable of managing, even as he ignored all problems, failed to do anything properly, failed to help with any actual work and tried to steal from his own mother.

He did this by abducting her from her home, telling her that I did not want her any more, that she was a burden and that he would be splitting her money with his other sisters.  He gained access to her bank accounts using a fast method he had learned as a bank manager in the dim and distant past, when they actually employed people with crap degrees on the grounds that they could play golf.

He used to say that we were a family of middle managers.  This is before he learned that the more lying, conniving and pretending to be even stupider than he actually is he did, the more money people paid him for looking unthreatening in a suit.

He told everyone that he was my mother’s Power of Attorney as he did this.  He was not, because he had been too incompetent even to wangle that properly. He tried to force her to sign it after he had tried to rob her and failed, and was prevented because the social work department also wanted to rob her and were trying to declare her incompetent.  He then tried to devalue the property and the one next door by spreading rumours about its condition in an effort to rob his equally poisonous sisters.  I presume his friend wanted to bulldoze it and he was offered yet another backhander.

I then replaced him with a so-called-professional Chartered Accountant, who failed to be particularly helpful and is now pretending to be ill rather than offer any help of any kind, even as I save him from having to execute the will or doing anything resembling actual work.

I have been surrounded by lazy, incompetent people with easy lives, who did not even bother to send flowers when my mother died, far less say thank you for the 24/7 care I provided whilst not following my own career.  None of them have lifted a finger to help with any of the extensive work I have done on my father’s house, and they now think they will stand with their hands out after they smirked whilst my mother was killed by yet more incompetents in the NHS.

My brother apparently imagines that telling me that he ‘distanced himself’ from his own shitty behaviour is sufficient to restore his status, meaning that he will get his filthy stinking hands on my mother’s money.  I have gently suggested that he avoid doing this, but he will probably ignore it.  Instead my father’s hard work and my hard work preserving it is now to be wasted in court, since I would sooner see a lawyer get it.  My life is wrecked anyway.

Naturally he is too stupid to realise that he has a lot more to lose than I do, so it will all be wasted.

This, he will find out tomorrow, when he attends my mother’s solicitor thinking that he will be welcomed like a god.  He is an extremely stupid old man.  What a shame my parents weren’t actually very good at it.  What a shame my brother married a credit card whore.  She isn’t even amusing or attractive, which is probably how he managed to turn out to be such a titanic useless, lazy old bore.

 

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New Year with Ina

This year is likely to be a struggle, with no mother, my family employing their usual vicious and immature tactics and a general feeling of the immense ocean of stupidity surrounding my current situation.

I am remaining blithe about this so far.  Despite the monkeys throwing faeces at the door, I have plenty to occupy me.

Current projects include shoes, handbags, games and several books.

Current work includes environmental research, work for an American company and a few smaller projects.

I am working on a financial project for a new book, which will be under a new project heading.  I may announce it later in the  year, in the meantime Ina will carry on being Ina.

I will be doing a rebuild update later next month, in the meantime I hope you had a good festive season and are as relieved as I am that it is over.

‘Mobbing’ is a term for group narcissism that members of the disgusting scum family should look up in reference to their behaviour.

Ina

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