Monday 11th April 2016

I woke (Which was a bonus) and once again laid there trying to recall the dreams, but this morning there was nothing but a sense of frustration, no details at all, but I’m sure I did dream a lot?

I thought about Olive in flat 82 (or 84), I’ll call to see her on my way out, see if she needs anything bringing in.

The first call to the porcelain was rather painful, so I took a Bisacodyl with my other medications with a strong cup of tea. A bit of blood too. Which reminded me, I must show the nurse my new black growth on my mush today.

I pondered on life for a few moments while taking the medications: The mobile phone has not rung for three weeks now. Popular, I’m not. Yet I try to be. I do not call people or their habits (Fair enough, Pavement Cyclist, Taxi drivers, racists, and politicians are not included in this), I love to help folks if I can. I suppose it is my lack of education and funny yet variable hobble and occasional feeling sorry for myself moments that are a handicap socially. Not hearing what some contacts are actually saying to me… or rather mishearing them doesn’t help?

I realised I was doing it again, so I put the headphones on as I started this diary and listened to some music on YouTube to pull myself out of the pitying state I was sinking into; Bernard Cribbins Gossip Calypso was playing.

That, soon had me feeling better! So, I listened to more of his songs and did a search for the missing paring knife I bought and misplaced and cut my finger with the other day, no luck.

An unexpected effervescent bubbly feeling took control of my ever-weakening brain as I went to make another a cup of tea. A shame that it didn’t last for long. I managed to knock a dessert in the fridge as I reached for the milk, and it fell ungraciously to the floor via my dressing gown and split open. I accepted this minor Whoopsiedangleplop with a surprisingly insuisiance.

The short dizzy I had when I got up from cleaning up the spillage, was not greeted in the same manner.

Made another cuppa replacing the one that had gone cold, and got back to the laptop nad the graphicationalising. Five hours later, I’d got the TFZers pictures done! Phew! No time left to get them posted as I have to get ready for the INR test and then go into town and get some things, including perhaps, a slow cooker. If anyone has advice on using these, I’d appreciate a little guidance.

Back in a few hours… I hope like! Hehe!

Got into town without meeting any other tenants en route.

Passing Clinton Street and the masses of shoplifters muggers and pavement cyclists, I took a photo of them.

Into Wilko to look at their slow-cookers on offer. I inquired of one of the ladies working there if they had any of the small ones available. (Like Olive’s one) She said they do not make them now. Wondered around the store and got a lavender Dettol disinfectant and a Zoflora Citrus.

Out and walked to the bank on Exchange Walk, passing through the Slab Square on the way.

The Bank gave me a figure of my balance, and I nearly lost my balance – by gum it’s gone down a lot!

All this paying for two Council Tax’s, utilities, etc. is crippling me. Hope they sell the house soon!

Even more depressed now, I wandered put and to the Debenham store to see if they had any small slow-cookers in stock. A bit of a maze this shop is, all floors on different levels and a job to find out where you are supposed to be going, Huh! Got to the top floor and found the department I needed. They had no small cookers either. However, they had some medium ones, with one brand being on offer from £35 to £20! Then I took a look at the paring knives on display; this is where I made another faux par… I thought the price on this paring knife was £1.70 and thought by gosh, that’s good value! Later when I looked properly, I found it was £7! Errors like this are not doing my confidence any good yer know!

I made my way to the bus stop but just managed to miss the L9.

So I had an hour to kill before the next and last one of the day.

Wandered around and ended up going in the small Tesco shop to get some bread.

Then along Upper Parliament Street taking some photographicalisations of the Nottinghamians as they milled around.

To the end and down onto Queen Street and got to the L9 bus stop again.

Where I had an altercation with six Eastern Europe youths, who were hanging about outside the Post Office doors behind the bus shelter.

Being young lads of about 17-18 years of age, and in lively spirits doing their testosterone testing by having mock fights with each other. V

One of them went for another and they both banged into me, luckily I saw them coming and fended off the nearest one with a blow to his neck. Which probably hurt me more than him. Hehe! I shouted out ” What the ‘f ‘ hell do you think you’re doing!” I surprised myself as much as I did them. The youth spun around and gave me the glare! At this point, I was amazingly not scared, more, angry. He muttered “Sorry” and he and the other youth wandered off down the street. His mates near the railings began to give me the eye. Now the fear kicked in, as the bus pulled up, I got on it as swiftly as I could!

At the next bus-stop, Bill from the flats got on, and we had a natter en route back to the apartments.

When I opened the slow-cooker and then felt a fool for buying it I found the leaflet with it was printed in minuscule fonts, and the information on it sparse.

Then the aftershock of the altercation arrived. I started shaking and did nothing but sit down, fretted and brooded for the rest of the night, apart from getting some nice nosh, but didn’t finish it all.

Feeling ‘orrible. Humph!