Alls Well That Ends well

First things first, lets not go down the route of bullying each other again. Scientists have a place, natural practitioners have a place, parents have a say in what they do with their children. I have a say in what I want – or dont want – put into my body. As a democratic Nation we should all be allowed to think what we want to think, say what we want to say, and live as we wish to live without offending anybody else. So no more nasty sniping please.
The swine flu outbreak is the next big thing health wise. Should I be vaccinated? It’s a knotty question, the scaremongering has certainly frightened me, as I am sure it has done to many others. We need a reasoned, honest approach to this so called pandemic.
I do not want to be duped into giving yet more money to the drugs companies.
I do not want to be filled full of flu unless I really know that it is safe .
I am concerned and I will be doing it on the programme.

Ageism reared its wobbly head again today. When are the young ones going to realise that they too will get frail, forgetful, lonely and invisible. If it’s the last thing I do I am going to get THE KNACKERS YARD up and running. It’s time that this oap, pensioner, crone, old cow, aging realist and big mouth gets back on the telly. Why? because I know what makes people laugh, I know what my aging audience wants, and I’m sick and tired of watching young pretenders pretending to know what they’re doing and doing it very badly. Move over children and let the experts have a go.
I was horrified to read about the couple who for 17 years, lived in fear of their lives because they were not from the same racial background. Me and the old git come from opposite ends of the spectrum, he’s a Catholic Northerner and I’m a Yiddisher Southerner. You can’t get more divergent than that but we’ve managed 33 years of marital blitz.
So up your bunkum to people who say mixed marriages cant work. And for the geezer who feels that cross breeding makes for a weaker species I would point him to the mutts who are so full of it they beat their pedigree chums paws down.
It’s 23.33. I’m going to bed, only two nights left in the four footer before our six footer arrives on Wednesday. This evening me, the old git and Siddhi the Kraut, went to a personal screening of a new sci-fi film. I nodded off for about five minutes in the crucial part, but still enjoyed it. It was mournful, thoughtful and directed by David Bowies son., I am interviewing him so I’ll be able to find out what I missed when I hit the snooze button.
I’ve bought a new soap dish and bath mat from Asda, called the daughter 73 times to-day and eaten Jim’s perfectly cooked meatballs in garlicky-tomato sauce. The garlic was a gift from a friend just back from France, the bulbs so fresh and crips they burst with flavour. Jim cooked it overseeing his dish with his nearly better blood shot eye. So to dear Marmite, you can stop worrying old red-eye is back.
The daughter has made so many leaps in two days she’s as happy as a pig in howsyourfather. Sorted her boiler, changed her mattress, organised her parking permit and argued with the landlord, and all before ten o’clock this morning.
So I finally feel that things are moving, getting unstuck. The only certainty is that nothing stays the same for very long, everything changes and with the grace of discernment ‘Alls Well That Ends Well.’
Tara.