Monday 14th May 2018

Danish: Mandag den 14. Maj 2018

0325hrs: I woke with an abjectness and lugubriosity, undoubtedly brought on by the usual weekend’s loneliness, self-pitying and depression. The moment the brain engaged with the body, and I moved to extract my body-mass from the £300 second-hand recliner; the head and shin bruising reminded me of yesterday’s Whoopsiedangleplop when I fell off of the step-ladder while trying to change the light bulb. A behind-the-eyes headache that followed is still with me. Tsk!

The usual ailments all seemed to be kind to me at this moment. Well, apart from Duodenal Donald and Little Inchies lesion, anyway.

Off to the kitchen to take the medications, do the Health Checks and make a brew.

It was really pippy in the apartment again, this morning.

To the computer and made-up the record for last week on Excel.

Off to the Porcelain Throne. A much better, more comfortable and less messy evacuation this time. Good!

Back to the kitchen to make a second small mug of Breakfast Tea.

The wind was whistling in through where the plastering repairs were done last week.

Both the left and right-hand sides of the window frame was blowing in, around the room and right up my jammy bottoms! Hehe!

Oh, dearie me. I no longer own a dinky, just the right size clear glass milk jug. Schlemiel!

Dropping and smashing it was bad enough in the first place, but getting back up off of the floor after retrieving the shards of glass, and wiping up the milk, proved far more pestiferous for me! Humph!

I started to feel a little more down-in-the-dumps, despondent, after this klutzy Whoopsiedangleplop.

We all have to endure and tolerate accidents, misadventures, calamities and setbacks; but I seem to get such vast amounts of these?

Think about it: Born into the world and Mother’s first words to the Midwife were “I don’t want it, throw it in the Trent!” I caught double-pneumonia at the age of three. Mam and Dad were fighting all the time. Born with the smallest appendage ever. Thrown in the canal at five-years-of-age. Sister goes to live with relatives. Older Brother goes in the army, ends up in Hong Kong and stays there. Mother kept running away when she got too much in debt, returning now and then for a few weeks after Dad had paid off the bills she’d accrued in between, and she’d be off again. Me and Dad now. Got shot then stabbed while being a security guard. A hernia and Duodenal ulcer came along. Prostate Cancer next. New Aorta Valve ticker next. Then the reflux valve played up. Arthur Itis started. Hearing aids fitted. Hippy Hilda kicked off. Been mugged three times. I had the house broken into five times. Lost driving licence after the ticker operation. I got a parking ticket charge from Manchester, where I have never driven! Haemorrhoids become rampant, still waiting for ops. Moved into independent living accommodation. The flats are being upgraded, carpets destroyed, holes in walls, can’t hear the fire alarm and got a noisy neighbour living above me.

Got a bit morbid, frustrated and self-hating again there. Sorry about that.

Back to make another small mug of tea.

The usual morning blue-hue out through the kitchen window.

Got on with finalising the depressingly downbeat Sunday diary.

Posted it off to WordPress. Which once again started spell checking in American English. I had to go in settings yet again, but it was already on UK English? Back to the edit page and it was now correcting for UK English? All part of Whoopsiedangleplop ridden luck of this old chap.

Another mug of tea went cold, so off to the kitchen to make yet another one.

I got some Black bean cook in sauce in the slow cooker, then got the vegetables (Shallot, red onions, orange peppers, tomatoes and turnips. although of course are a fruit, not a vegetable) chopped up and placed in with lemon grass, onion salt, tomato puree and BBQ seasoning. Added a little balsamic vinegar.

When I’d got in the crock-pot, I took a close-up photographicalisation. Of a spoonful of the concoction.

How I managed to get the red first shot, I don’t know? I tried again without changing any settings, and it came out alright? What did I do wrong?

0550hrs: Herbert was making a bit of banging noises? Only the two of them, then nothing followed? A bit early that!

I recalled that tomorrow was the trip out on a coach to Melton Mowbray Market. I must get to pay Jenny for the outing later, and ask her what time the bus leaves. I’ll try to remember on the way back from Arnold to call and ask her.

I made a start on this diary.

0755hrs: Off to get the ablutions tended to. Jolly-good shave, teggies were done and a showering session of depth and a reasonable duration.

Made up the waste bags from the bins, and took them to the refuse chute.

All readied, I grubbled about and did the double-checking, had I left anything on that should be off or visa-versa, taps lights etc. routine.

And, then I was off. As I arrived at the Oberscharführeress Warden’s temporary HQ & Social gathering shed, I met Obergruppenfurheress Deana as she was coming out to do her rounds. We spoke briefly. But being as I have been forbidden by the Nottingham City Homes Management, from revealing any words spoken twixt myself and the lovely Deana and Julie on my blog; I shall say no more!

I turned back to facing the Woodthorpe Courts, and the new build extra care flats and Gefreiteress Wardens new HQ is being built. The rooftop recreational seating area will soon be finished at the rate these lads are going. I took this photographicalisation, in the not as warm as it looks, sunshine.

Got into the Obersturmbannführeress Catwalk Models and Warden’s temporary HQ & Residents Social gathering hut. To find There were about a dozen or so folks in there, and more joined us inside, and others added to the queue outside at the bus stop. Inside, I listened to their gossiping and discussions over which are the best types of bets to have on horse races and the optimum bookie to use for the best odds. Led by one of my neighbours, bless the little addict. Not that he is little!

No one to talk to on the bus, all my fellow tenants bar one, got off in Sherwood, where a lady and I went on into Arnold.

I was surprised at how many shoplifters there were about on Front Street on a Monday, as I made my way to the Asda (Walmart) store.

Where I spent a fortune again! Tsk! I took my time and enjoyed having a good look around, checking for the most extended ‘use-by’ dates and anything on offer.

I bought some cooking sauces, turnips, a parsnip, potato cakes. Irish Batch bread, sliced seasoned potatoes, a pork pie, some mushrooms. More nibbles for the Social Hour box, Fresh cream horns,  tomatoes and some new to me Breakfast tea bags; One by Yorkshire Tea, one Asda own label (Which I warn anyone wanting a strong or tasty drink of tea to avoid at all costs. Like catwaz it was!) Another £21.55 gone.

When I’d paid for the groceries and made my way out into the cold sunshine, I thought the bomb had been dropped or something. All the folk from earlier had seemed to have gone and left?

As I stood outside waiting to make my move to the bus stop on High Street, I saw this jet high above, and boy, was it moving, with seconds it was out of view!

I waddled up the hill to the bus request stop and put down the bags to ease Hippy Hilda.

She had begun giving me bother now, and she was not happy with me at all.

The guilt when I looked down and saw the Fresh Cream Horn cakes there on above was authentic!

The girl from the Care Home on Chestnut Walk arrived at the shelter. I was pleased to see her and lend an ear to her. The poor gal is not very good at the moment, with her problems. We spoke, but most importantly, I listened as she related the difficulties she was battling with, all the way back on the bus. Bless her.

As we were getting off of the bus, and that very kind lady from the 4th floor asked if she could carry one of my bags for me to the flats. Then as I was biding my farewells to the girl from the home, Caroline and the kind lady both said I looked poorly, with Caroline adding ‘It’s his hip again!’ The tender lady, replying ‘Yes, he doesn’t look well at all!’

And here was I, thinking I was doing so well physically, as well. Hehehe!

I took these shots above, of the buildings as the generous warmly-kind lady walked along Chestnut Walk at my speed with me, and chatted away. She held the door open for me too! I felt so blessed to have someone showing such warmth to me.

I thanked her for caring as she got off the lift.

I travelled up to the 9th floor and alighted, calling at Jenny’s apartment. I asked about the timing of the bus in the morning. I paid the £6 costs of the outing, and we chatted a little. As I was going up in the elevator, I realised I still didn’t know what time the bus was due. So I got up to the flat and deposited the bags, then I went down and visited the Generalleutnantess Wardens temporary HQ shed and Tenants Social hut, and inquired of Warden Deana if she knew of the timing for the bus to Melton Mowbray, tomorrow. Obviously, due to the Official Prohibition on my mentioning anything spoken of between any Nottingham City Homes representatives and myself on my blog, I cannot repeat anything that took place. But I was told to go and see Jenny!

So, back to the flats and up to see Jenny again. Which is permitted as reportable on my blog. I discovered, well, Jenny found I’d already paid for the bus trip earlier. And the bus leaves at 1000hrs were are to meet or congregate in the lobby at 0930hrs. I was happy to learn this.

Thanked Jenny, and limped back to the flat, with Hippy Hilda suddenly in a much better mood.

I checked the crock-pot progress, stirred and after a quick taste of a spoonful, I decided it needed an hour or so longer before it would be cooked to my liking. I added some caramelised gravy granules to the pot, another good stir of it, passed wind and went for a wee-wee. Washed-up and did the Health Checks. I was surprised but well pleased with how Hippy Hilda had calmed down so quickly.

Got on with updating this diary. Checked the slow-cooker regularly and after getting carried away with this post updating, three hours later, I got the seasoned chips into the oven and added some potato scones then.

I nipped to neighbour Doris (I think that’s her name, a lovely lady) next door and asked her if she would accept one of the French Horn Cream Cakes. Luckily she liked them and helped me out, thus saved me wasting food.

I misjudged the potato additions, and they came out burnt a tad. But still tasty, even though I had to soak them in the gravy to soften them enough to bite into them, especially the scones. Hahaha!

A delicious effort this time. I mentally gave the meal a rating of 9.55/10 and deservingly so, I thought. The cream horn cake finished off the feast perfectly.

I got the pots washed up, did the last Health Checks and settled in the £300 second-hand recliner, nodded off within seconds I think.

It felt like I was dreaming straight away, and what a terrible dream to have. 

Seated in a cell of some sort, with threatening looking women and blokes, with tattoos, nose, ear and lip rings and scars over their faces; They insisted I would not be allowed to converse with anyone on earth again. With verbal threats and promises of my physical mangulation and slow death, if I did talk ever again. They then left me alone with a bucket of water, a box of medications and a dictionary; telling me that I could use the book to learn words I can no longer use? They informed I would be given time alone to consider their ‘offer’ and give them a solemn promise not to speak again when they return after my ‘thinking’ time.

After they all departed after knocking me about a bit, they all said in unison, “We will return!” I pondered on this and realised I would find it difficult to talk to them to give a decision or promise, because that would mean my talking to someone, surely?

Confused, and no one returning, I died some years later and assumed a spiritual observation of the cell.

This is where the dream memories let me down. All the early stuff, I found written on the notepad on the Ottoman and used them to prompt real recollections to write here in the morning, but no mention of what took place after I commenced my watching of the cell? Shame!

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