Jilliana Ranicar-Breese


Hails from Liverpool decades ago and is proud of her Heritage!  Today she is a Life Writer/Memoir/Autobiography Writer and Facilitator/Mentor/Broadcaster on 'Your Voice Matters' - Brighton and Hove Community Radio on Fridays at noon reading 'Jilliana's Vignettes' - Episodes from her colourful and synchronistic life. Gastro slow traveller/photographer (faces and places). Interviewer/raconteur/storyteller/conversationalist. Travel consultant/Senior Reviewer (level 6) for TripAdvisor)/Editorial Consultant for foreign publications/websites in English/Linguist, who can lead women's Life writing groups at Home or Abroad in French, Italian and Spanish. Have ticket will travel!  Jilliana has experience in Mental Health. She has healed herself through the power of writing and firmly believes writing IS Therapy. She writes what she says and says what she writes! www.Jilliana.com  

Feel and Fear and Do It Anyway

Smoldering tongues of fire Hot embers to be conquered Heysel exhibitions grounds Bruxelles I must not fail Prove my courage No limits No boundaries Prove my inner strength Anxious Behind three Hassidics On the eve of The Sabbath Waiting like Moses The parting of waters ‘If they can do it So can I’ Said my inner voice A strength came over me I can I can As if on auto-pilot Marching forward with purpose I looked back Glowing pathway Estatic Being hugged and cheered ‘That’s it?’ Said I Through my tears Brighton 2007

Vampires In Havana.

I was soul searching When I fell in love With Victor Two years ago In Havana I was accepted as a Companiera A Comrade Holding hands tenderly Listening to romantic Boleros At  Casa de la Trova Walking on uneven streets in Centro At midnight The full moon shone on us Vampires in Havana I felt love A slow warm Glow creeping All over I looked into his face His laughing eyes Bewitching smile His mixed blood Intensity and passion Victor My Cuban Vampire London 2007


Like whirling Dervishes Clothes flicker past Butterfly eyes Clothes, like marriage Don’t last Forever Dumped into sad White crumpled bags Rejected rags and tatters Recycled Garments Cheap or dear Same price tag Classless Rich or poor Designer labels Abandoned Until Plucked by gleaming eyes Hunting for bargains Priceless Some things money can’t buy   Brighton 2007

Tomorrow’s Now.

We live in chaotic times Living for the moment For tomorrow we could be dead Blown to pieces Being in the right place at The wrong moment Death is at our door Lurking, surprising us “Any bombs today?” I ask Strangers, neighbours A special bonding between persons Known and unknown Like during the war A war I did not live through I was born too late But we ARE at war An intangible war A hidden Enemy with Cells world wide An Enemy too clever for the West’s Military, politicians and Intelligence A game of cat and mouse And the …Read more

Water – Life and Death

Childhood fear Drowning The harbour Bornholm, Denmark Slippery slope Near death Floods Rio de Janeiro Outside Inside High up in hilly Cosme Velho Bed floating Escaped possible death News received in Mexico West End Green Basement flat Flooded Months later Strench of damp rags Water essential to life Water essential to death Brighton 2007


Angeline pouting Visualising BB Her famous lips Her writhing nakedness Lusting After men and Boys of all ages In France Where the Sixties Cinema Revolution Began Vadim The Mentor The Svengali Inventor of cinematic Sexuality and sensuality Never before Never since Until Angeline A new pout A new independence But not a sex kitten Or Goddess An ambassador To The Third World Unforgiving Of her father’s infidelity A new kind of revolution “And God created woman…..” In the Noughties Jilliana Ranicar-Breese,  Wales, July 2005

Brighton A La Cubana

Morning. In my Hanover kitchen Smell of Cuban coffee Taste buds alert BBC News at 8.00 But No BBC English Spanish had infiltrated the airwaves Another time Another place Another Hangover morning First Che stepped down From 2005/2006 large square calendar Then he sat in my yellow, black And chrome kitchen Smoking His huge smoldering Havana Across the black varnished table A young Fidel With his brother Raul With Camillo Wearing his trademark wide brim hat Each blowing perfect smoking rings To each other Polluting my airspace Strains of Jose Marti’s ‘Quantanamo’ Filled my aromatic airwaves From my Roberts radio. …Read more

Money Episode in Brazil

There was a time when money was just given to me without anything in return! It was 1971 and I was living in Brazil. The first incident happened when I placed a small advert in a newspaper in Rio that I would give English lessons. I was staying in a flat in Copacabana and had rented a room through my protector Gerry Maretzski. She lived in an interesting flat and was at that time in a cast iron bodice because she had curvature of the spine. Every Sunday she would give a Salon. She had been a ballet dancer with …Read more

My Magical Life

I am Queen Jilliana. I have always given out individual playing cards with my name and phone number on. Each card was and is unique. Sometimes I would sign them JRB after I got married. I have also been called Madame Jilliana and The Duchesse by one of the waiters at La Pallette in the Rue de Seine in the sixth district of Paris. The liaison with a pack of cards is quite synchronistic because I was involved in the world of magic for more than thirty years. My antique dealer life in Paris began in 1977 when overnight I …Read more

Selbsdarstellung – Otto Muehl.

It was the late seventies and I was living in Paris when I saw an interesting advert in the Paris Metro newspaper in English announcing a Reich/Lowen Primal Scream workshop facilitated by Wendy Shute. I decided to attend even though I cannot scream and hate people screaming. I got on so well with fellow patriot Wendy that she invited me to stay a week at her flat in Grenoble. Well why not? I was unattached, happily living and working in Paris as an antiques collectables dealer with a stand at Marche Montreuil, the early morning dealers flea market. I was …Read more

Miss Young.

How I hated Wednesday afternoons. At 3.00 pm on the dot she would appear.  Miss Young. I never knew her first name, nor did I care. The piano was in the chilly front room of a late thirties semi in a respectable suburb of Liverpool. A room used once a week for the traditional Jewish Friday night roast chicken when the usual suspect relatives came with their weekly gossip. I must have been thirteen. I did NOT possess a talent for black and white ivory keys. She would sit primly in the Lloyd Loom bucket chair to my left. I …Read more

A Well-Heeled Man

Gigi sat pensively in the main square of the old Spanish city of Caceres. She became conscious of a man with black slicked-back greasy hair sitting near her.Gigi was dressed in her favourite French electric blue She prided herself on her sleek black hair with a heavy fringe which gave her a classical French look. She was busy writing in her notebook when the man asked if he could sit at her table. Despite his awful hair, he had an open, charming smile. He introduced himself as Charlie and spoke no English No problem, replied Gigi in excellent Spanish. They …Read more

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