Jeni Barnett

I sleep with Putin in my head. I dream that I fly a missile over the Kremlin and drop it on top of his head. I dream I take a pot shot and shoot him in the forehead. I dream I only maim him so he doesn’t become a martyr. I have nightmares of living … Read more

It was 1977, punk had exploded and we formed a band. A saxophone, two guitars, a bass, a set of drums and me on keyboard and vocals. It was 1977, I was 28 and the new Northern squeeze was 34. He played rhythm guitar and at a push drums. As an itinerant theatre group we … Read more

I have been deeply saddened by the conflict in Ukraine. Our world has become so interdependent that violent conflict between two countries inevitably impacts the rest of the world. War is out-dated – non-violence is the only way. We need to develop a sense of the oneness of humanity by considering other human beings as … Read more

My father didn’t have holidays; my mother didn’t have holidays; my father’s father didn’t have holidays, rocking up, as he did in Tilbury from the Pogroms of Belarus. Neither did my mother’s mother who came from Minsk, Pinsk or Omsk, take your pick. So it stood to reason that my brother and I didn’t have … Read more

The thought of 10.000 steps at sunrise hurts until the last shoelace is tied. Then, on with two pairs of mittens, two pairs of leggings, two quilted jackets and a bribe for Dennis to stay inside closed doors and the two hour trek begins. The sun peeped over the trees at 7.27a.m. I stood still … Read more

In 1922 the BBC was born. In 1922 my mother was born. Happy 100th birthday to them both. The British Broadcasting Corporation gave us the Home service. Terry Wogan, and The Goons. My mother gave us chicken soup and 733 crocheted blankets. My mother was born in the East End of London, married my father … Read more

I’ve said it before, if you stand still long enough your life comes round to greet you. Last year I was invited to give a talk at my local Arts club. February 4th felt like an eternity away but I put it on my calendar and carried on with life. When it turned up last … Read more

Every single story that comes out about number ten and I turn into Victor Meldrew. I DONT BELIEVE IT Every single clip of Boris I DONT BELIEVE IT Every single clip of Dominic Raab I DONT BELIEVE IT Every single article news bulletin, segment, magazine spread, e-v-e-r-y single comma and full stop about the state … Read more

Friday January 28th It was 1968. ‘Hair’ had just opened in London. France was doing what it does with revolutions, And four of us were moving into a flat in Frognal Lane. Hampstead. Years later I was riffling through a box of old books in Camden Market and came across a diary from a young … Read more

Thursday meant our away-day. We left at 10.45, after Jim had carried 6 bags of coal into the garden and I had completed my dawn walk. Our bums hit the car seats at the same time and we both breathed sighs of relief that we were actually sitting down. Off we went, Nigel at the … Read more