Jeni Barnett

Two weeks until Christmas and I feel about as festive as an undertaker in Ungava.
Dark when I wake up, dark when I get home. All my good intentions to walk in are dashed. I have a bucket full of excuses, the weather, my shoes, the time, when I get to Battersea Bridge and that number 19 is nudging its way into the traffic I’ve whipped out my Freedom Pass, negotiated the stairs and taken my seat at the front of the bus before the ding-ding of the bell has been dung.
The rain lashed the windows this morning. I could barely see the displays in Gucci, Fendhi and Louis Vuitton. Not that it mattered I can barely fit into my dungarees let alone a Chanel chemise.
LBC Towers was an adjustment as all my team are on holiday. Breaking in a new bunch requires patience and trust It’s as difficult for them as it is for me.
Today we pulled off teenage terminations, airport runways and climate change finishing off with hair loss from stress. All my co-workers were fab – WELL DONE US.
After the show I made a couple of calls declined dinner at The Ivy and a film at The Charlotte Street Hotel and set off home. I need a little time for my self as the rest of the week is chokka.

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Met up with the agent in Fiori Corner. I paid for two hot chocolates and tears. He left I sat and nursed my wounds.
Being chucked out into the big wide world again is not what I had anticipated for the end of 2009.
Then the rain came down, cats and dogs, poodles of puddles. I put up my hood, my Apple bag full of books strapped to my back. I made countless calls to the PR company that were sorting out tickets for CAT ON A HOT TIN ROOF and finally arrived at THE NOVELLO THEATRE so wet the faux fur on my sleeves looked like little dead pussies.
Clarence, my nearasdamnit son met me and we went and had a very good coffee and tea cake in the DOUBLE SHOT COFFEE CO. in TAVISTOCK STREET.

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Tuesday has been strangely long. It feels like I have packed an awful lot into a very short time. But Tuesday was the way of all my days starting at 7.00 and finishing a little time before 2.00.
I liked my walk to Leicester Square full of dogs and leaves. Cold air and smiles.
I had greetings from a cornucopia of canines. I had my sleeves rolled down over my fingers to keep them warm. It felt almost normal to have a frosty walk on the first of December.
I do not like the paranoia surrounding climate change. there is so much we/they could do if we/them wanted to. It feels less like climate control and more like people control. There are too many of us so they are frightening us to death.

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The cottage is gleaming due to my new treasure Caro. I haven’t seen it yet, and I won’t until next weekend.
My garden is overgrown owing to the fact that Anna has swine flu. We wish her well.
My left nostril is blocked.
My bank balance is not as bad as that but worse than the other.
B is working in HMV, has no time for anything accept making the blasted shilling.
Jim is coughing up the tar that has coated his lungs for the last 50 years of smoking. We have more bronchial preparations than Super Drug.
The old git went for an interview on Friday for ‘The Three Sisters’ at the Lyric in Hammersmith…

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The cottage is gleaming due to my new treasure Caro. I haven’t seen it yet, and I won’t until next weekend.
My garden is overgrown owing to the fact that Anna has swine flu. We wish her well.
My left nostril is blocked.
My bank balance is not as bad as that but worse than the other.
B is working in HMV, has no time for anything accept making the blasted shilling.
Jim is coughing up the tar that has coated his lungs for the last 50 years of smoking. We have more bronchial preparations than Super drug.
He went for an interview on friday for The Three sister at the lyric is Hammersmith…

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Its been tricky getting back into the swing of work. Yesterdays show was clunky and a bit doddery.
Today I was up at 6.30.
I meditated, with difficulty, stilling my mind was an effort. Then I put my OHI exercise CD on, the American voice took me back to Lemon Grove, as the wind whistled over the Thames and the leaves battered the balcony I closed my eyes, worked the booty and thought of San Diego.
I left the flat at 8.15 and walked briskly to Leicester Square.

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This week has felt nearly restful.
Being in my own home means I can see the cobwebs, weeds and unashamed mess around the edges.
Having said that I have been to the beautician, the osteopath and Brighton.
The journey from our cottage to Brighton is a mile a minute. So we get there, on a good day, which it was, in about 38 minutes. Past sheep and wild fowl, past, churches and piano wearhouses, past organic farm shops and Lewes. Under the Cuilfal Tunnel, on the duel carriageway into Brighton. I get nostalgic since B went to Music school there. It makes me think of her bass playing and raggedy arsed muso’s.

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