Jeni Barnett

Is the rain preferable to snow? I think so I can see the green of the grass..
Jonfan called me from the cottage, the guttering is frozen and it looks like the cellar is going to flood from all the water.
The old git has his first preview on Saturday night so I shall be alone in the cottage this weekend, dealing with it.
I need to go back I need the colour of the walls, the softness of the carpet and I need to pick up three weeks worth of post, not to mention doing the accounts.
January is always fraught, tax bills, lack of sunshine and nothing to look forward to until march. I love my birthday. This year I’ll be in Radlett on 21st, three days before I hit 61. Bloody daft age, if you ask me, I may just stick to 60 it sounds better.

Read more

The old git is in ‘The Three Sisters’ at The Lyric in Hammersmith, he’s playing the same part that Eric Sykes played.
He never shares anything about the production so I have no idea what he’s doing,how he’s doing it and whether or not the rest of the show is a shambles.
Press Night is the 25th of January, so I’ve got enough time to read the play, understand Chekhov and fix my hair.
Talking of which this weather makes me look like I’ve stuck my finger in a light socket.

Read more

Sunday January 3rd and I’m all set to go.
My new decade resolution is to write for three hours every day. Malcom Bradwell in the ‘Outfliers’ says that it takes 10,000 hours to become a genius. So by his reckoning 3 hours every day for ten years will turn me into Iris Murdock.
It was easy starting on new Years Day, even easier on Saturday, since Jim was rehearsing, and this morning was a delight.
The trouble starts with tomorrow.
Should I get up normal time and write at the end of the day?
Should I get up at 5.30 and write at the beginning of the day?
Should I have a cat-nap and write at 10.00 o’clock at night?
I’ve asked appropriate girlfriends, ‘What kind of sleeper are you? said Lyn B.
‘A railway one.’ I replied.

Read more

The rain it raineth every day.
The sky is grey.
The dustmen have finally been and taken away most of 2009’s Christmas.
The fridge is bare.
The plumber has been to cast his eye over the bathroom. The heater blew the day after Boxing day. Having a shower is like breaking the ice in Alaska, and who wants a long, cold soak?
The cat is asleep on the bed.
Jim is recovering from a bronchial infection, giving up smoking has caused havoc in his poor old body. He’s having to spend time in bed and I’m working round him.

Read more

Dinner last night comprised four young people, two old people, one cat and several dead fishes.
The smoked cod and salmon were scorched in hot milk they shared the pan with one BIG onion, some garden carrots, celery, parsley and three bay leaves. Four eggs were hard boiled, tiger prawns, pink prawns and scallops, were thrown into a big bowl, the eggs added, a good sprinkling of chopped parsley, then the tossing of the capers. Muddy potatoes were peeled and boiled. They were mashed with butter and sour cream, a silky white bechamel sauce was tipped over the fish, the pescatorial piquancy was stirred gently then all poured into an earthenware pot and baked on high until the tips of the potatoes were nicely browned like the tops of the Himalayas.
Jessie and Laurie sat to my left. Deedle and Pj sat to my right, The Old Git sat the far end of the table, I sat down wind and the cat lay along the top of the sofa.
The evening started around 7.30’sh and ended around 1.30’sh.
I laughed so much that I nearly damaged the gusset of my dungarees.

Read more