Tuesday 19th June 2018

Yoruba: Ojobo 19 Oṣù 2018

0400hrs: Woke up to Neuralgia Nigel’s stabbing pains giving me some stick, and they stayed this way all day, on and off. Tsk! I’ll ask to see the doctor in the morning when I go for my blood test… Oh, hang on, they have not given me an appointment again? I’ll have to go to the City Hospital for the INR Warfarin test, then make my way to the surgery to beg to see the doctor. Tsk! By the time I get to the hospital, then get two buses to the Sherrington Park Medical place, the day will be gone. Ah, never mind.

It felt a bit nippy this morning, so I extracted my body from the £300 second-hand recliner and got the dressing gown on. Doing this, I noticed how the legs were almost thin now? The water retention must have had a leak? Hahaha!

Caught my reflection in the kitchen window as I was getting the Health Checks things prepared. (A bit of a shock, but I’m alright now, thanks. Hehe!)

Took a selfie, to show how pale and pasty I appeared. The blotches had returned as well. Innit odd how I wake up a different person nearly every day?

I like the ghostly hieroglyphics on my forehead. Another mystery, possibly an alien visit during the night? Haha!

I pondered over which ailments were currently hassling me, and those giving me a break. Neuralgia Nigel, we know about, he is very persistent at this time. I could sense I’d been bleeding from the Fungal Lesion again overnight. Must go and clean things up after I’ve done the Health Checks. However, these ailments have ganged up together to all take a break from giving my grief, bless ’em: Haemorrhoid Harold, Reflux Roger, Arthur Itis, Duodenal Donald, Hippy Hilda, Hernia Harry, Dizzy Dennis, Shaking Steven, Collywobbles Colin, Water-retention Rupert, even Anne Gyna at this time, all at peace. A rare event. How kind and sympathetic of them! Shame that Nigel is not in the same frame of mind, but that would be too much to expect.

Got the HC’s done.

Brewed up and got the medications taken. No creaming, lotioning or medicating done yet, I think I’ll do them when I get the showering session.

On the computer and updated and eventually posted off the Inchcock Today Monday diary to WordPress.

A call came for me to utilise the Porcelain Throne. But, it wasn’t the usual urgent one, just a gentle reminder. You’ve no idea how this pleased me. These ailments being so considerate can be very worrying to me, you know, Ha-ha! I strolled into the spare room to get some PP’s from the box and noticed how rather fascinating the view was from outside. That blue hue is lingering again, I thought it well worth photographicalisationing.

I’m sorry I did now. I clouted my knuckles getting the camera back inside from the little gap allowed in the narrow opening of the windows.

Off to the wet room. Once again pleasantly pleased with the mission. Haemorrhoid Harold was not bleeding at all, only the Fungal Lesion needed attention and a change of PPs.

Back to the computer and made a start on this post. Spent a few hours getting this far. I must get some new spectacles, and the ability not to tread on and crush this pair!

Getting late now, I’ll have to get the ablutions tended to. I do not want to miss the bus up to the top of Mapperley Plains. I intend to go to Aldi’s to try and purchase another pack of their marvellous tasty pork ribs, to have at the weekend. Although my EQ is telling me that something is going to happen, that will change all my pathetic, poorly prepared and irrelevant plans, soon.

One Whoopsiedanglepop right at the end of ablutionising. I dropped the soap powder box and walloped my head against the sink as I bent down to clean it up. What a shlemiel!

I have to listen to my EQ, but can’t understand how it works or sometimes what it means. This would be due to my having the highest ever at the time (2010) EQ rating in England, and in the same interview, they found I had the lowest IQ they have ever recorded. All I know is some calamity is going to take place, and affect me shortly. It’s never wrong. So, I worry not. Quidquid erit, omnis fortuna ferenda est. Off to the wet room for a shower, shave, teeth cleaning, gargling and medicationalisation session.

I had a good long cleaning and medicationalisationing session.

I took the black bags to the chute on the way out.

I observed that some strange marks had been made, on the outer edge of the lift door.

Into the elevator and down one floor to visit Penny with some more plasters I have found for her. No answer.

I could see out of the window, why the chaps are so extra noisy at the moment. The underseal they are fitting has white plastic whatever-they-are implanted. They have not reached my floor yet, I took this from the 11th level. I’d called on Penny to give her some more plasters I had found for her. No answer, she might be at the bus stop.

Down and outside, I took this first photo of the front of Woodthorpe Court, showing how far they had got up with the undersealing job.

I wonder if this might be the cladding after all because the blueprint photo shows this colour as what the finished block will be in? Multicoloured, you know. Hehe!

I turned and took a long shot of the Winchester Court flats.

Willmott-Dixon started on Woodthorpe first, then began Winchester Court upgrading. They are catching up with the first block now.

Throughout, they have not stopped with building the new extra-care block in between the other two.

This time of the day, during the week, I get to see many folks. The Willmott-Dixon lads and managers, people, going to or coming from walking their dogs.

Best of all, I can converse with other tenants.

Mind you, I have to take care of the lorries, plant machinery and traffic, no room for a walkway, while the build goes on.

I had a funny thought while hobbling to the hut. One day a lorry delivering building materials, from, say Lithuania, might open its doors and out will pop few dozen immigrants. We can house them in the new ready-made extra-care flats. Haha!

I got to the hut as Cyndy caught me up. Only a few tenants in the room, but all friendly ones. I wish I could remember their names, I’ll have a go; Cyndy, Margaret, Doris, Brenda, Welsh William and Roy. But of course, I have been forbidden from mentioning any communications I have with any Nottingham City Homes personnel or agents, on this blog, by the Management. So, I won’t.

I was feeling better now after having a few natters and chats and felt pleased with the helpful nature and asking of how I felt from some of the clan… well, Mishpochehs (My family) to me, nowadays. Obergruppenfurheress Warden Julie inquired as to my health as well. And I love it! Handed the nibbles around.

But three of them mentioned the blotch on my forehead. Cyndy got out a vanity-mirror for me to have a look. Bless her. I think it was when I spilt the soap powder and clouted my head on the sink, to blame. Tsk!

Out to the bus stop and more chinwagging was enjoyed. Caroline, from the Car Home at the end of the road, was with Doris (I might have got this pleasant lady’s name wrong, sorry about that if so), and I was in the middle of listening to tales when the buses arrived. Doris and I were the only ones who got the City bound L9. I said my farewells to Doris, as I alighted a few stops further on.

Walked along to the Aldi store, the taste of their tasty pork ribs was making me lick my lips at the thought of them.

Calamity! They didn’t have any in stock, and a lady I asked about them said: “I think they have stopped selling them, now”. My heart sank, and I drifted into a temporary semi-depression and sulking-mode-mood. Haha!

But this didn’t stop me spending a fortune on unneeded, unessential, but I suspect blithesome comfort foods. Social hour nibbles. Fresh orange juice. Strong cheese. OVen Bottom Muffins (Hurrah!). Yoghourts. Beetroot salad. Pork Pie. Fruit Fool. Ice cream cones. Frikadellens. Finally some fresh tomatoes.

Far less well-off now. I struggled with the weight of the bags. The glass bottles caused this dilemma. Grumph!

A certain vagueness of mind continued as I ambled along Woodborough Road to go down Mapperley Rise onto Winchester Street and home. Hard to find the optimum words to describe his sensation.

As got to the bend where the road drops off even steeper, where I turned right into Chestnut Walk, the view was fantastic and so much clearer than the last time travelled it on the way home. As I got down the road a fair way, a view of the complex was photographed, and I zoomed in from the same spot to see the workers on Woodthorpe Court all that way off, too. Not up to Tim Price’s standards, but a fairish effort, I thought. (Smug mode adopted) Hehehe

A little nearer and I took another shot. The Willmott-Dixon lads were still busy with upgrading, deliveries and removals.

Not many tenants about, though. In fact, none.

I hobbled the length of Chestnut Walk to the flats without seeing any residents whatsoever.

Got to and through the metal maze and went in, through the foyer, up in the lift out and into the flat without any human contact.

Had a short, sharp wee-wee.

Put the fodder away and did the Health Checks and took the midday medications.

Found a letter from the Nottingham Queens Medical Centre about the Strangulation Procedure for the haemorrhoids. I found this rather strange and gnomic, as they are being done at the Nottingham City Hospital, or so I thought.

But I appreciate that my memory problems are a ready-made omnium-gatherum of forgetfulness and confusion, disorientation, misleading, even to me. A mishmash of shortcomings, foibles and panic-mode inspiring, self-inflicted preconditions that do not bode well for my sanity. Just thought I’d mention it like.

Put the oven on to heat-up. I plan on having two of the Aldi bought pork frikadellens in two oven-bottom-muffins, tomatoes and chips of nosh today. No football of any interest for me to watch.

Got on the computer to update this post.

The workers were right outside my window now. It reminded me of when I worked at Carters pop factory, the noise I mean, but memory fails, and I think this drilling was even louder than the factory. It probably wasn’t, but they gave one hell of a headache. Ah-well! Decent s0rt of lads, I gave them a Nottingham “Aye-up mid duck, you-awl-right?” They replied in a North East accent that they were.

The lads finished for the day. Leaving me a new decorative covering of red dust on the outside of the window and frames.

Had a bash on Facebook while the potato fritters were cooking (Changed my mind about the chips).

A super-nosh. I felt guilty about the fat in the Frikadellens though. The beetroot in vinegarette tasting right-grand too! A 9.1/10 Taste Bud Rating was given.

Now a mystery of even greater depth than ordinary arrives in my life. I know I bought a packet of oven-bottom-muffins; it is on the receipt. I certainly got it home, I remembered taking it out of the bag.

But, when it came to my wanting to eat them – they were nowhere to be found! I searched high and low, giving up after a while, in case the prepared meal went too cold to eat.

I conducted another hunt for the muffins, after washing-up the pots. No luck.  How did I lose these tasty treats? Aliens? Ghosts or goblins? What a schmuck!

Got settled to watch whatever was on TV. Hoping it would help me get to sleep. This time it did, and I got-off-to-kip earlier than I have been doing. Slept a long time too.

TTFNski, each.