Auto-dentistry during lockdown.

Not for the squeamish.



I'm one of the many who are designated 'Shielded' and under strict self isolation. One side affect of the medication I need for my underlying condition is that I have a greatly reduced immune system and over the past few weeks my teeth have been under attack and have become the source of great pain.

It was necessary to remove two rather mobile front teeth. Of course I cannot visit a dentist. The process went as follows*:

1.  Eat 3 paracetamol washed down with copious quantity of Vodka.

2. Wash hands for length of time it takes to sing 'All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth'.

3. Wrench tooth from jaw ditherlessly.

4. Sigh with relief.

5. Drink Vodka to celebrate.

6. Receive call from kind dentist who took the time on a Sunday afternoon who advises that I have done exactly the right thing under the circumstances.

7. Start course of Amoxicillin.

8. Eat two Diazapam and 2 paracetamol washed down with Vodka.

9. Sleep like a filmstar.

* I AM IN NO WAY ENCOURAGING ANYONE TO SELF MEDICATE IN THIS WAY. I took advice before proceeding.

STAY INERT.

Politicians are lying, stay alert
Advice not worth buying, stay alert
Too many of us dying, stay alert
The NHS is crying, stay alert
Conspiracies are flying,
as are planes
accusations
drones and
speculations.

To save more of us from dying,

Stay INERT.

Psychic portrait that got it right.

Photo courtesy of Chalkie Davies.
 Little Boris in Pink With a Goblet Filled With Coronavirus by Joshua Johnson 1805.



Johnson was the first and only member of the American School of Psychic Portraitists. Founded by himself in 1803.

This portrait shows his great great great Grandson Boris in 2020.

Coronavirus questions answered: What is a 'Lert'?

Alert Lert.


A Lert is a small, stupid, non swimming mammal imagined by Boris Johnson to have no idea that the Prime minister is even more out of his depth than it is. Closely related to the Lemming and native to the UK.



Not alert Lert.

Books for self isolation. Pincher Martin by William Golding.

Pincher Martin is a novel by British author William Golding, first published in 1956. Recognised as an early example of British existential writing and for its minimalist style, it centres on a Naval lieutenant named Christopher Hadley “Pincher” Martin who is knocked off his ship. After nearly drowning in the freezing North Atlantic when he comes across a strange, misshapen rock that doesn’t appear on any map. On this rock, he finds enough food and water to survive, and attempts to carve out something of an existence for himself until he is rescued. As the days drag on with no company, Martin tries to figure out how to keep his sanity and uncover the truth about the strange situation in which he finds himself. Exploring themes of mental stability, the nature of life and death, and how far people will go to survive, Pincher Martin was Golding’s third novel and is one of his best-known. It was praised for its unique style and compelling—though unreliable—narrator. 

Wartime Hero Harry Nieupjur. The man with three eyes.

This time of V  E day celebration reminds me of My old friend Jan's Uncle Harry.

Harry fought in both World wars but it was in the great war that he acquired a certain notoriety as 'the man with three eyes'.

He lost an eye in the trenches of Ypres, then, while convalescing lost a testicle in a brothel in Arras. The circumstances of which he never disclosed. He was repatriated to Britain for treatment.

The doctors soon replaced his lost eye with a glass one but prosthetic testicles were not available at that time, however a sympathetic surgeon opened him up and popped in another glass eye.

Harry was thereafter subject to much ribald teasing in the mess hall and his tales of what his inner eye had seen became legendary.

State of the Nation report. Bring out your stupid.

While Boris and co dither in the Downing Street bunker the Government fed tabloids scream at the thick, the stupid and the poor that lockdown is over in order that as many as possible contract the virus  while the Times reports that lockdown is here until July.

To the Government the economy is far more important than lives. As in America, the sums have been done and decisions made. It does not take a rocket scientist to see what is coming next.... 

Today is VE day. I am having to park a German car in front of the house to protect myself from the combined forces of the Queens Own Stupids and the Boris Yout who will be out in force napalming the country with every Coronavirus laden victory exhalation. Is that irony?

The sane have two options today: 1. We can bunker down and sit it out.    2. We can attempt to fight them on the beaches, in the parks, at the street blah blah blah.  I'm opting for the former. Never in the history of Britain has so much stupidity been displayed by so many to protect the wealth of the few.

The plague carts will rattle over the cobbles once more and the air shall fill with cries of:'Bring out your stupid'.

Meanwhile in America Trump sits in his counting house trying to decide who to go to war with in order to distract the Nation, whilst they die in their Tens of thousands, from his Venal, narcissistic and callous stupidity.

Give me strength.

Love in the time of Corona.

The first time I saw her
I thought
She has been unlucky

She was the most beautiful girl in the clinic

The second time I saw her
I thought
She had been careless

The beautiful girl in the clinic

The third time I saw her
I thought
She was promiscuous or worse

That girl in the clinic.

The fourth time I saw her
I thought
Stupid me, she is a doctor.
I approached her then and said
'Doctor
You are the most beautiful girl in the clinic'.

She replied:
I'm not a doctor
I'm unlucky
I'm careless
I'm promiscuous
or worse.
But I feel that is about to change.

We left the clinic hand in hand
Separated by the thickness of two surgical gloves.

Later, much later the night before lock-down was lifted 
as we lay
Her head on my chest her hair in my face
the scent of hibiscrub filling the white room.
I said 'I love you'

and she said don't love me
I am unlucky
I an careless
I am promiscuous
or worse

And nothing has changed.

Men With Ven... 0 to 60.

Trump will urge Supreme Court to strike down Obamacare

A clear and succinct summary from Ilya Ruvinsky of St Louis.

As 2,000 Americans die and 25,000 are infected each day, the Trump administration is actively working to strip healthcare away from 29 million Americans in the middle of a global pandemic. Even Attorney General William Barr believes that the Affordable Care Act should NOT be dismantled in its entirety, but couldn’t convince the administration to back down from its extremist position.

A recent report estimated that if the unemployment rate hits 15%, nearly 18 million Americans could lose their employer-based health coverage. Over 9 million workers have already lost it.

In the middle of the worst pandemic outbreak in the world, the Trump administration is actively working to deprive the most vulnerable Americans of access to healthcare over the objection of its own Attorney General. LET THAT SINK IN.

https://www.politico.com/news/2020/05/06/trump-supreme-court-obamacare-240366?fbclid=IwAR0ZrSRbd19mmlzjTT7COY5UF3a09uR2ifrNo-H3dRfvzmXzsFYCZyiHkTw

Sad bloke in the kitchen No: 3. Zen relish.

This relish can only be made when the fridge Chakra are in perfect alignment.


Firstly you need to find the sacred, almost empty, pickled cucumber jar in the fridge.

Pour some of the pickle juice into a small pan and add some brown sugar, boil it up until syrupy. It will not take long, don't burn it.

Peel and dice ( having removed the seeds and hard bit in the middle) a couple of tomatoes and put in a bowl. Add 4 inches of cucumber diced, some onion diced, the solitary pickled cucumber from the jar diced, salt, pepper, chilli if you like, I use chilli powder but fresh or dried is probably better. Add the syrupy stuff from the pan and stir. you can add a bit of white wine vinegar if you like.

Try it and see what you think. Adjust seasoning but remember things are going to change over the next couple of days.

Now take the empty pickle jar that appeared to be at the end of its useful life and destined for the recycling bin, wash it out and fill with the relish. You will find that you have made exactly the right amount to fill the jar and that the jar lives again.... That is the Zen bit.

Leave it in the fridge for a day or two to macerate.

Great with burgers, kebabs and the like.

Time to re-evaluate how we measure wealth.

1.  I am a rich man. I have a great deal of money, many employees but no friends. I own many houses, two yachts and a helicopter. whilst self isolating in one of my houses I must contain myself to one room in order to protect myself (I care not about the welfare of the others in my house, it is my house after all). I am obliged to self isolate in my bedroom because it is the one room which has en suite lavatory and bath facilities. I have gold taps. Everything I need must be left outside my door by others, when I retrieve these things I must worry about whether the person leaving them there has the virus or wants to give me the virus and for that reason I wash everything with surgical spirit. I wash my hands constantly.  Having never lived in my own company alone before I am ill versed in the art of isolation. I am bored to tears and suffer greatly from insomnia, I count the sheep that huddle in the corner ostracising me. I do not want to die.   But I am a rich man.

2.  I am a rich man. I have little money but it is sufficient. I have good friends, no yachts, cars, houses or helicopters. I have a studio flat. Whilst self isolating I am happy to contain myself to within this safe bubble. I have my bathroom, a sleeping area, a kitchen area and a table on which to work. Kind people bring me the things that I need to survive, I do not need to wash these things because I trust those who bring them. I do not have to concern myself with constant hand washing. I cook what I want when I want. I sleep when I do and rise when I chose. Insomnia is not an issue, I count my blessings. I have a small balcony on which to grow herbs and from where I can stand at night to watch the moon and by day to fill my lungs with air no longer polluted by motor cars or burning coal. I'm writing daily, videoing friends, content to die at my own pace...  As I had been before the pandemic. I am a rich man.

Hmmmmm....

From the archives. Memories of Moll the bag Lady.

MAY

25

Memories of Moll the bag lady. 

What a weird few days.

Spontaneous pole dancing to the London Gypsy Orchestra in a church on Ladbroke Grove followed by a spontaneous party at my favourite Dutch girl's house.

My favourite dutch girl has a dog that fits into a bicycle basket and a record collection to die for... She makes good coffee and talks sense.

I also learnt from Moll the bag lady this weekend that a smiling woman is not necessarily an honest woman. Frequently a smiling woman is just a woman trying too hard to disguise the fact that nothing has gone to plan... the brighter the smile the greater the sadness.

Dysfunctional women have no time for happy, content men... There is nothing to manipulate and from the man's point of view, after a few shags, there is nothing there apart from a future consisting of fault, blame, psycho-sexual counselling, transference of doubt and the realisation that we are to blame for the ageing process, loss of looks, lack of orgasm, stretch marks, dead children, lack of children, unhappiness, family feuds, the price of cosmetics and the depth of wrinkles. Oh, and getting FAT.

For fuck's sake let's all take responsibility for ourselves.

Fortunately for dysfunctional women there are plenty of men out here who will buy the bullshit or ignore the bullshit just for a casual shag.

Imagine going through ones entire life presenting oneself as a sex object (and lying compulsively) in order to feel wanted.

I saw Moll the bag lady trawling through the rubbish bin of humanity the other day... Looking for an admirer.

Sadly she would not recognise an admirer even if he saved her life... she is too busy looking for trash.

She'll find it.

Posted 25th May 2010 by Tristan Hazell

Sad bloke in the kitchen No: 2. Breakfast in a glass.

Not to be confused with the 'Lost weekend' smoothie. http://jannieupjur.blogspot.com.pre-pentimento.com/2009/09/smoothie-for-lost-weekend.html




Into a blender chuck: Banana* sliced up, a raw egg, dollop of plain yogurt, some cold strong black coffee, milk, handful of porridge oats, dash of honey (or sugar if you must) and a few ice cubes.

Blitz and adjust thickness with milk.

Season to taste with vodka.

Top tip: When you have left over cold black coffee freeze it in an ice cube tray for making this.


*Quantities: Standard Sad bloke 'whatever' rules apply.

Sad bloke in the kitchen. No: 1. Coronavirus chicken.

This is almost as instant as a pot noodle.

Poach a chicken breast in stock. Do not overcook the thing. Let it cool.

In a bowl mix a grated carrot, very thinly sliced half an onion, shredded lettuce and finely chopped cucumber skin (I only use the skin because the flesh is too wet, I'll use that in a tomato and cucumber relish later) and some chopped parsley or shredded fresh corriander. Anything else salady can be added if you have it.

In another bowl mix a dollop of mayonnaise, teaspoon of curry powder, squeeze of lime or lemon, salt and a bit of milk or cream if you have it.

Shred the chicken, add to the bowl of vegetables then stir in the sauce.

Very nice with buttered new potatoes and pickled beetroot.

I was going to photograph it but had a taste, found it so infectious that I had eaten it before I could get the camera.

The screaming trampoline of isolation.

I cannot post a photograph as children are involved.

The kitchen window here opens directly onto the neighbours garden. A week or so ago they introduced a trampoline into the equation, shortly afterwards they introduced a number of small, overexcited children then wound them up and let them go.

The screams issuing from the garden now exactly mimic what I imagine to be the sound track to hell.

Kill me now.

The freedom to self imprison.

Looking in from behind bars made from harp strings on the poor souls trapped in the world with no-where to self isolate. Ironic isn't it... The freedom to self imprison has become essential to life.

And.

I love the way that threat of death brings a desire to reminisce.
( If it goes on like this I shall die from an overdose of joyful memories).
I guess that is why we have memory. To make death a time of contentment.
If all has gone to the plan that never was.
And we did everything we possibly could or wanted or had not imagined.
And have nothing left to learn or teach or give.
And have run out of Ands
And breath.

Lost masterpieces of modern art No. 2.

Detail.

Lunch with Rothko.

Jan nieupjur. 1897 -  Dutch.

5 a day green soup with Marmite, pistachio & parsley croutons, highly seasoned with ground pretension on porcelain.

8" x 8"

private Collection.

Portrait of a wealthy man during Coronavirus.

Funny how history repeats itself. In the 18th century pineapples were considered a symbol of great wealth, you see them on gateways to Georgian mansions to this day. Hostesses would hire a pineapple for the centrepiece of their dinner tables, no-one was allowed to eat it... Too expensive.

Now in this time of the virus it has regained elevated status.

When it arrived today this pineapple caused me to exclaim: 'Wow, a pineapple, I'm rich'.

DIY stores kept open in hope of reducing domestic violence?

Is the government allowing DIY stores to remain open during the crisis in the hope of keeping men busy at home rather than drinking their way through it and taking their frustration and fears out on the rest of the household?

If this is the thinking behind this strategy then I am all for it.

Lost masterpieces of modern art. No:1.

Jan Nieupjur. Dutch. b.1897 -

Breakfast with Roy Lichtenstein.

Egg tempera and bacon on ceramic. 6" x 6"
Private collection.

Trump sells the USA to Bezos before fleeing to Cuba.

My man in the White House tells me that Luz Morales; the presidential fluffer, overheard a conversation between Donald and Jeff during which Trump agreed to sell the States to the squillionaire for an undisclosed cash sum.

Later Trump told Luz that he had: 'Got a good deal, a,very good big deal, a clever deal, as the country isn't worth shit these days'.

Trump then boarded Bezos force One heading for Cuba.

The United States of America will now be known as Terror del Bezos.

Et in Isolation ego.

Forgive the cod Latin but anything goes when everything is going.

I started this blog 12 years ago not knowing where it was going.

I now find, in isolation, that a thousand people read something here every day.

Bless you all.

This is not isolation.

We now need to learn how to deal with grief.

Yes.

We expect to die some time
we expect others to die some time
we all hope that we will die before the people we love
to save us the grieving

None of us expected this
unless you live in the middle East
where people die all the time but no-one here cares
to save us the grieving

No one expected this
no one taught us how to cope
quite frankly I'd rather die laughing than crying
to save us the grieving

Death is inevitable
grief is the killer.

How the Fabulous furry freak Brothers helped resolve a Coronavirus dilemma.

Editors note: Young people may have problems relating to this post.



I just ordered some stuff online, you know food and the like and some vodka.

It arrived an hour ago and, rubbergloved, I retrieved it from the doorstep. After looking at it for a while I removed my gloves, washed my hands, washed the items in the bags and then looked at it some more.

I thought: That vodka needs to go in the freezer.

I opened the freezer to put the vodka in but there was no room in the freezer, it was full of food.

I thought. I need to freeze that vodka.

So I sat down and thought, then I thought some more until finally I thought what would the freak brothers do?

Eureka.

I rolled a spliff of a gargantuan size and smoked it.
Waited for the munchies to kick in.
Ate half the contents of the freezer making room for the vodka.
Chilled to a Cheech and Chong album while the vodka chilled to balalaika music.

Drank the bottle of vodka to get over the stress.

It's cool.

hydroxychloroquine

No matter how much idiot Trump
Gives it his blessing or his tub a thump
might cure Malaria or ease gangrene
will never cure Covid nineteen

Corona-virus hatbox.

Path of Coronavirus.

There was an old bat that swallowed a virus
hardly desirous to swallow a virus perhaps it will die

There was a pangolin that swallowed that bat
fancy that it swallowed the bat perhaps it will die

There was a hungry family that swallowed the pangolin
sauteed in oil and garlic and mandarin perhaps they'll die.

There was a virus that swallowed that family
as it leapt from the bat to the pangolin to humanity

It swallowed that family to kill off humanity
to save the pangolin
and save the bat
that swallowed the virus
that wriggles and jiggles and finally kills us
to ensure the planet wont die.

Fake news.

It is pissing with rain outside
the cobbles are awash with liquid Corona virus
the zombies are dissolving in the water
the zombie juice is killing the virus
and dissolving fatbergs on its way to the Thames.

Darth Vicar.

 Available for online weddings, christenings and Jedi exorcisms.

Imaginary friend.

My imaginary friend has left me, he just vanished in the night.
I called my psychiatrist and told him. He said: "Congratulations you are cured".
I said: "I don't want to be cured,

I'd rather be mad than alone".

Nurse.

I wrote this nonsense ten years ago when I was hospitalised with lung disease. It seems appropriate now.




With abject apologies to T.S Elliot.



She came to me in the ICU
I was weak and struggling for breath
hope it seemed was in short supply
and all roads led to death
but she talked to me of white horses
she took me for walks on the beach
she talked of Michelangelo
and dared me to eat a peach
she sang the songs of mermaids
to the sound of the surf on the sand
took my blood by the thimblefull
from a tube on the back of my hand.

I left one day in a mini cab
far preferable to a hearse
but she remained in the ICU
my wonderful NHS nurse.

The hoarders prayer.

Our freezer in Kitchen
Hotpoint be your name
your Kingsmill come
you will be filled
as if in heaven
give us this day our daily bread
and forgive our greed
as we have special need
And lead us not into Sainsbury's
deliver us from Aldi
Etcetera etcetera

Amazon.

Ozzy Osbourne and Coronavirus.

On January 20th, 1982, the singer infamously bit the head off of a live bat on-stage in Des Moines, Iowa during his "Diary of a Madman" tour after a fan threw the animal at Osbourne's feet. He picked the bat up, and, as he wrote in his book "I Am Ozzy," he said "Immediately, though, something felt wrong.

This of course did not cause the virus but did spawn a legion of Chinese tribute bands keen to emulate the master.

We may never know.

Balthazar, coronavirus and the future.

My companion in this time of crisis is Balthazar.

Balthazar is a baobab tree grown from a seed collected in Mauritius by a friend.
Last week things looked bad for Balthazar. I thought he had died. But in the last couple of days he is showing signs of life: leaves are sprouting.



There is a future.

God and coronavirus.

I couldn't sleep last night, too much on my mind, why Sarah will not talk to me anymore,viruses and the like..

I went downstairs in the dark to the kitchen to find some alcohol.

Before I could switch a light on a voice rang out: "Leave us in the dark my son" It said.
"Who are you". I asked, equally in the dark.
"GOD" was the reply.
I said: "Well sit yourself down, have a cup of sake and explain why you are doing this to mankind, after all we are your chosen lot, made in your own image and stuff like that".
"Au conrtaire" said God (did I mention he was a polyglot?)  "I am doing this to protect my chosen lot and the planet from you fools."

As he left the house I turned on the light.

Jasmine in crisis.

The streets are empty save
the occasional passer by
we nod in recognition of
something unspeakable but

The jasmine is flowering

The urban foxes, imploring eyed
are starving now
foodwaste a thing of the past
the streets are clean

The jasmine is flowering.

Knife crime at an all time low
and muggers cower in
their self isolated loathing
mugged themselves by the virus

The jasmine is flowering.

Each day I venture outside
remove my mask
lean in, smell the scent
and think of you

The jasmine is flowering.

Stockholm Syndrome.

As a result of weeks of self imprisonment I have developed full blown Stockholm Syndrome.
I am undergoing treatments including anti-selfamotory drugs and aversion therapy.

There is also an issue of side affects including self-loathing and low self esteem for which I am receiving two hours of compliments a day.

wish me luck.

Virus

Surrounded by mankind
intent on mass suicide
out of a self loathing and
fear of being alone
the virus thrives.

At peace with oneself
solitude is easy

the virus dies then
eaten up by loneliness.

Rumours of secret Govt plans to intentionally infect the unemployed with Coronavirus. Fact check.

From our medical correspondent. Nurse Luz Morales.

Rumours have been circulating of a plan by the Tory government to intentionally infect the unemployed in return for double benefits as they self isolate until free of Covid 19 in order that there is a stockpile of people ready to fill the job vacancies created by the virus.

A Whitehall mole informs me that he couldn't possibly comment on this but rather cryptically pointed out that  Coronavirus is certain to become the country's biggest job creator since Hitler annexed the Sudetenland.

When I pointed out that there was a distinct certainty that some of these people would die, he informed me:

"That is a downside to the plan but each deceased participant in the scheme will receive a photocopied letter from Boris Churchill informing them that it was their finest hour".



Editors note: This may be satire, please check with your local MP.

Sociopathic dermatology, borders and American literature.

A guest blog by Rusty McGlint.

I aint one for writing much on account of Lula Mae getting pregnant at 15 and me having to quit school to find a job in order to buy the diapers and such like and build us a tar paper shack out back of the trailer park.

I gotta write about this though:

Lula Mae has always been troubled, some would say trouble, and it had been getting worse. Holden down at the Liquor Parlour reckoned that she had a borderline personality disorder whatever that is but I told him she was cranky on account of her skin problems that she has had since she was a child.

Old Doc Steinbeck had been treating her skin problems for years to no good affect. He prescribed ointments and creams, unctions and emolients (both of the viscous and non-viscous variety) to no avail. He was flummoxed.

He referred her to an emotional dermatologist over in Boise so I gassed up the truck and took her for a ride.

Doctor Alcotts office was in a highrise so I dropped Lula Mae off there and headed down to the gun store.

When I got back to the doc's office Lula Mae was waiting and we were ushered in by his assistant Miss Faulkner.

Lula Mae seemed to have taken a shine to the doc on account of them having similar names and I hoped for the best....

However.

The minute we sat down the doc looked at Lula Mae and told her that after all her tests she was convinced that the skin complaints were the physical manifestation of her inner evil and as long as she was a man hating sociopath she would continue to have her skin problems.

Lula Mae laughed, then leaned over, picked up a silver paper knife from the doc's desk and stabbed her in the eye.

Now Doc Alcott didn't think too long about losing an eye as the paper knife went on to split her eye socket and pierce her brain. She was dead before her head hit the desk.

The long and short is that Lula Mae was arrested for murder as she agreed that she had done it. She is in custody now awaiting trial.

I went home and tried out my new gun then went down to the Liquor Parlour to tell Holden that Lula Mae's personality disorder was no longer borderline.

Holden said I hope for your sake Trump gets that border wall up before they let her out.

I guess I drank too much rye that night on account of Holden never demonstrating a sense of humor before.