Let’s get something straight

The three people that I have kept in touch with in the last few years have talked quite a bit of nonsense in the last month or so, mainly due to the apparent distraction of my change in circumstances due to my mother being killed in hospital.

I have also had to tolerate a lot of nonsense from people who don’t know me, on the grounds that there was no point in concealing Ina any more when discussing what I am really interested in given that my cover was blown with the disgusting scum family.

Whilst this is very kind and well-meaning, I have to get something straight, so that I do not have to discuss it in person as being told that I am now free to find some random bloke/travel/whatever mad idea other people have about what would make me happy is driving me slightly mad. My mother was not the only thing keeping my nose to a self-imposed grindstone.

I haven’t changed my mind about the Wolfe issue in nine years.  Yes, I have been miserable, yes I have experienced significant change, and no, I am not likely to have a happy outcome.  That changes nothing.  I am fortunate enough to have at least encountered potential happiness, which is more than most people ever get to do. I’m extremely grateful to him, just for breathing.  I don’t think I’ve ever said that about anyone else. Yes, he still drives me insane. That is OK too. Perfection is extremely dull.

Settling for what is expedient, on the other hand, is not what I would view as a happy outcome.  I do not envy people who have done this, even though they probably believe that they have achieved something by going ahead and settling for what is real in order to obtain their preferred outcome.  I guess this is a matter of circumstance as well as personal choice.  People who want to have fifteen kids, for example, have to make a commitment fairly early in life in order to achieve their aims.

I never wanted this, nor did I prioritise finding a partner.  I was made aware of my responsibilities to my parents fairly early in life, and whilst in many ways could be viewed as being used, have got a lot out of that in terms of what I would call ‘sideways’ growth – I have a lot of strings to my bow, although there is still a lot of development work to get where it is going. That is fine with me.

It is important to remember, even if you hate my work or anyone else’s, that doing something is always better than fearing exposure, no matter what you choose to do.  Other people do not matter.  When you finally realise this, life gets a lot riskier and yet decisions become a lot easier.

Another thing to realise is that my first thought is always about work.  My father was exactly the same.  Love is work, work is love etc etc.  It is probably on the level of a disorder.  It is no fun if it is too easy and the journey is more important than the destination.

So, no, I do not ‘need a man.’  I do not want to settle for anything.  I am not in a hurry to leave my beloved home unless it is worth it, and it definitely won’t be worth it unless I get the current work done.  The work is way more important than anything.  Whilst my remaining priorities are Wolfe, cats and house related, they do not involve expected outcomes in any way whatsoever and never did.  I have my shit to do and that is that. I have no intention of settling for frankly tedious old or new relationships and I am not going to change my mind. There is only one me, and only one him.  The rest of it is tough tittie, frankly.

If any of the people that I am referring to had listened to anything, they would not be raising these issues.  Sometimes you have to self-destruct in order to create something better, whether that is real or a self-created mirage in order to achieve a much more important goal.

I have grown, particularly in the last few months, to fear different things.  I used to fear the fact I was different.  Now I fear narrow-minded stupid people who assume that everything they were taught is real.  They are the real monsters, and I do not plan to remain amongst them to suffer a stunted, stupid death of the soul.

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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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Ina outed

The nurses who colluded to murder my mother apparently also saw fit to out Ina to my disgusting family.

My siblings, who like to pretend that they are respectable, are the most repulsive, stupid, dishonest people I have ever come across, and in the past I have met some pretty dodgy people.

These are people who sat by my mother’s bed and refused to give her any of the mixture that kept her infection and pain-free for six months.  They smirked at the mere thought.

These are people who complained every time my mother went to hospital that they were not happy with the out of this world standard of care that she got from me, since she was my first priority.

These are people who thought it was perfectly OK to destroy my life, because they thought they would get some money out of it.

I have no idea who thought that it was a good idea to expose me to even more danger from these people.  They effectively colluded in the murder of their own mother, so why would I want them to know anything about me?

Nobody is this stupid.  Seriously, nobody.

If any of the people mentioned happen to stop by and read this, I hope that you die in a lot of pain whilst stupid people sit and smirk at the side of your beds.

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Merry Christmas to readers old and new

Sorry that I have not posted in some time.  My mother was being killed by the NHS and my attention was rather diverted by that.

How do they do this?  A couple of consultants decide that your aged relatives are a burden to you and pass this down the line, whereupon a team of nurses will tell you that they are professional and acting in your parent’s best interests as they then precede to feed them crap to ensure that the pharmaceutical drugs they are using destroy every nutrient in their body until they die of infection.

Be warned, this is very likely to happen to you.  I have seen it done to three people now, and there is no escape.

In the event that you wish to enjoy your full lifespan, I suggest that you avoid the NHS.

My alter ego, the serious academic type who fell in totally uncharacteristic love with Wolfe some years ago is now going to take on the NHS, the pharmaceutical industry and the social engineering system they have been perfecting since the first phase of their eugenics system, WW1 and 2, and demonstrate exactly how this works and how education has changed even in my lifetime to reduce your status as an economic unit to the point that there is little possibility of escape from a system that tells you what to eat, what to wear, what to worry about and when to die.

Merry Christmas, enjoy whatever someone else told you to enjoy, and I will return in a more cheerful state when I have more fully recovered from this latest case of institutional murder.

My mother was a much loved, much misunderstood, mischievous lady who deserved better.  Better from her other children, better from the NHS, a better final chapter.

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How the world works

A potted history

The 1950s, for a starting point, which is similar to now because they too had been wooed into thinking that manufactured chemicals were all beneficial and anything modern was good. This was immediately post-war, which saw the massive growth of the chemical and pharmaceutical industry, both of which had hugely benefitted from WW2.

This was the post-union golden age in the USA, where large manufacturers were enabled by lack of workers’ rights.  This meant potentially unlimited growth, however education was less accessible, so your degree actually meant something, and your technical skill, often gained in your workplace from an apprenticeship gained on leaving school, was duly rewarded.

A high level of employment  meant that consumer confidence was relatively high. In the UK, properties which had been impossible to maintain during the war period were now being snapped up by this population of eager consumers, who set to work spend, spend, spending on new-fangled fabrics and trendy furniture.

A golden time for many, still miserable for the rest, the 1950s saw huge interest in marketing, methods of communicating and advertising, on which my father founded his career as a commercial artist.

Moving through to the 70s, and we see the ‘natural backlash,’ and the food counter culture, which my father was again a big part of.  Both of my family doctors as a child were homeopaths as well as conventional doctors.  The enmity that we see now between natural health and conventional medicine did not yet exist, and so as a child, I was just as likely to be prescribed herbs or homeopathy as an antibiotic.  At that time, the pharmaceutical companies had not yet seen fit to condemn anyone in opposition, and perfectly normal people did not see fit to argue over science that does not exist.

Do you see the difference between this and today?  Today the Board of Nutrition and the medical community are entirely dominated by the food manufacturers and pharmaceutical companies.  They endlessly repeat a mantra of guidelines that aren’t even correct.

You are told to eat five portions of fruit and vegetables a day.  The benefits of increasing your consumption continue on a steep trajectory until you hit seven.  The World health organisation recommend 9-15.  The reason for this lie is that it is not possible for producers of fresh fruit and vegetables to have a member of the board of nutrition on the payroll to represent them. This lie alone ought to tell you that something is wrong with your reliance on advice from authority figures that you used to unthinkingly trust.

The medical community, meanwhile, are apparently taught that all natural medicine is to be condemned and replaced with pharmaceutical products.  This change has happened in my lifetime.  The doctors themselves seem to be unaware of this change, presumably the free holidays have affected their memories.

This attitude percolates down to the point that people scrap daily online that everything ‘scientific’ is good and anyone that does not subscribe to their viewpoint is bonkers or stupid.  Science is sponsored.  As with all statistics, the results are used to paint a picture, but that is all it is.  In a vast number of cases, the science does not exist, because the science does not attract profits for companies who have had it all their own way for decades, with budgets bigger than entire countries.

The only way to reach the truth, or to get the level of treatment that is possible, is to find out by yourself. Find out what to eat, find out how to solve problems that medical science cannot solve, of which there are many.

Someone online mentioned trusting a professional the other day.  My experience of professionals, whether they be financial, scientific or medical, is that they are paid to give you information that is limited by the scope of their day-to-day jobs.  You cannot expect them to be interested in their subject, because they have a salary to spend and holidays to take.  Trusting a professional is not an option.

The only answer is to find out by yourself.  The world is not improving, and you are not stupid.  Trust nobody, there is a lot of money invested in keeping you dumb.

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Scottish people eat meat

Well, readers, it looks as if my mother is to be killed in line with Scottish NHS policy after all.

According to the nurses on the ward that my mother is in following a GI bleed (they are treating her for heliobacter pylori)  the district nurses have a file on my mother and the social work department have ‘raised concerns.’

This is likely to be either the spurious concerns raised by nurses who were frustrated in their attempts to inject my mother with painkillers as they had been told she was sent home to die after her last trip to hospital, or concerns that I do not want the house full of carers and nurses who do not do very much but at any time feel free to make vile reports for the purposes of keeping us under investigation.  When you become upset by this, they then make further statements about you.

They do this to enable the social work department to repeatedly enter your home and make further vile statements because this is how they build a case to procure money from the elderly.

We have had false statements about cats, false statements about clutter, which was there because of them, statements about me being neglectful by leaving the room when they are in the house for five minutes.  This is how social work operates if you were stupid enough to work and have a home they can seize.

Now the NHS feel that as my mother is 90 with dementia, she should be killed.  The last ridiculous conversation with a district nurse had her asserting that I was to do as I was told, and the NHS was to determine my mother’s death in her ‘best interests.’

If my mother was unhappy, had a painful illness or was otherwise in danger of generalised misery, I could see their point.  As it is, they seem to be operating on a quota system.

The deaths from Alzheimers in Scotland went up by 31 percent in one year, so this is clearly NHS policy.

Sadly for my mother, this now means that it is probably too dangerous for her to return to her own home.  I have had six months of this now, and I am not putting myself or her home in this position any more.

Why is it not possible for a lady to live in her own home with her daughter who dotes on her, without all this?  Do these people consider how they would feel if I was to walk in and tell them that I was going to murder their parents and there was nothing they could do about it?  Probably not.

I have had good reason to become extremely mistrustful of the social work department and the district nurses over the last ten years.  Now they are going to kill my last remaining relative, since my siblings are not people anyone sane would want to be related to.  In the meantime I have to protect what the cats and I have left, not that I will get any thanks for it.

It is astonishing that mincegate is likely to be mentioned.  My mother hates mince, has not eaten it for years, but because my drunken sister wanted to feed it to her, an extensive investigation was carried out to determine whether she liked mince, to the point of her having to tell two people that she did not like it.

Such is the love of meat eating in Scotland.  Drinking some fruit constitutes abuse, even if your nutritional quality is far and away superior to a plate of mince.

Fuck Mince, and fuck the people who take pleasure in murdering the elderly for a living.

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