Sunday 1st July 2018

Icelandic: Sunnudagur 1. Júlí 2018

0505hrs: I wish I could recall anything about the dream I knew I’d been having, but no facts, storylines or notions of what they were about was retained. Humph!
I tried to get back to sleep in hopes of recontacting with the nightmare, but no, once awake, that’s it for me, I just have to get up. Or at least lay there while the muddled brain sorts itself out so I can remove my bulky but flabby-flobby body from the £300 second-hand recliner.

The agony; and this description is a fair one, from Harold’s Haemorrhoids was terrible! But, on the plus-side, Duodenal Donald was content not to bother me at all.

After disentangling myself from the chair, I visited the Porcelain Throne for an overdue evacuation. Not a messy one this time. Cleaned, dried and medicated the piles and had a quick wash.

To the kitchen to get the dosage pots made-up for the coming week. Even I find it hard to believe that the following sequences of Whoopsiedangleplops took place, I was here suffering them, and getting well wee’d-off, irked, exasperated and choleric with myself, as they seemed to go on neverendlingly!

And I woke in such a reasonable frame of mind as well.

I dropped the evening tray of half-sorted pots, and of course, the lids were open at the time and spent what seemed like a couple of days on my knees searching for and retrieving most of them. Then seemingly another hour in my getting back up on my feet! Huh!

Health checks about to be done, not without a bit of a kerfuffle come-bother later. Firstly, the flipping hemadynamometer failed to work for about four attempts. On the fifth try, it worked without any trouble.

Then I dropped the hypodermic and broke it. At least I knew why I did this, Dizzy Dennis and Shaking Steven hit me without any warning.

Eventually, I got the medications resorted and back in the drawer with the other trays. Not comfortable with the shakes. But they didn’t last long this time.

The three photographs on the left here were intended to show a ginormous bee. As I was getting the camera out of the tiny gap in the window, it appeared and buzzed around showing a lot of interest in my fingers and the Lumix.  I did not want the bee to come in through the opening, but I wanted to get a photograph of some sort of it. The result being these three bumblebee-free shots above. He was very quick. Haha!

Back to the Health Checks again.

On to the computer and updated the Excel HC figures.

I cleaned the potatoes and podded the fresh garden peas, and got them in the slow-cooker on a low light.

For a so-called slow-cooker, the sides warmed up quickly this morning. Burnt the end of two digits Haha!

On the computer and began to finish off yesterday’s Inchcock Today post.

I then had a series of Whoopsiedangleplops in quick succession.

• Dizzy Dennis gave me another visit.
• Herbert started his scrapping/dragging something, tip-tap noises
• I apprehended that blood from the fungal lesion was seeping through the PPs.
  
• I began a sneezing session that I was so glad finally ended.
• Then within seconds, a very urgent and unexpected call to Porcelain Throne arrived.

A tad bewildered with the onslaught of the sudden ailments, but I knew the need for the Porcelain Throne was the first and foremost that needed time in actioning.

I think you would have liked to had a good laugh if you had seen my antics in responding to the Throne usage needs.

  As I hurried to the wetroom; I knocked over the waste bin next to the computer chair.

Stubbed my toe on the Ottoman.

The lingering dizzies caused me to bang my shoulder on the door frame when I entered the Throne Room!

The evacuation made a right mess of me, the porcelain and the floor! Had to clean and medicate the lesion and haemorrhoids yet again! Took me ages, but I felt a lot better afterwards.

I’ve never used so much Daktacort miconazole anti-fungal cream in one day like this before. Or got through so much Germoloid cream, or used so many Protection Pants up in such a short time either. Thank heavens for Michaels help in that department.

I made a resolution to try and remain Whoopsiedangleplopless for the rest of today.

Started this post going up to here. Made a brew. And got the Morrison order made and sent off.

Many hours spent on blogging.

Did the next Health Checks and got the nosh on the go early so I could watch the (As I now know, Fiddled, crooked, Mother Russia bribed refereed); World Cup Match, Putin’s Thugs v the Danish Dilitants.

The meal was prepared, and with a lot of burnt fingers, dirty pots pans and cutlery and niggling kerfuffle as well.

I did not get the seasoning anywhere near to how I’d intended it to turn out.

But, it was passable and just about deserved its taste-rating of 7.5/10.

The Russian Mafia… football team, played to a plan and stuck with it. Assisted by the crooked referee who was brilliantly talented, in applying his skills and intent on Russia winning.

As the BBC put it later: Hosts Russia pulled off the biggest shock of the 2018 World Cup so far as they beat 2010 winners Spain in the first penalty shootout of the tournament to reach the quarter-finals for the first time in 48 years.

I found it difficult at first after the game, to understand how the Russians got away with fouling and manhandling the Danish players in the box so often, on the corners, without a mention from the bent referee, or the dishonest VAR monitor’s employed by Mother Russia, who ignored the Russian wrestlers’ antics. No doubt they were feeling threatened or backhanded to do so. Let’s face it, it is FIFA we are talking about, here.

Recent threats from Putin, include:

• 1st March: Putin threatened the West with a new generation of nuclear weapons Thursday, including what he described as an “invincible” intercontinental cruise missile and an atomic torpedo that could outsmart all American defences.
• 2nd March: Putin threatened America with his invincible nuke!
• 5th April: Putin Tells Britain; You’ll be sorry at UN meeting.
• 7th June: Putin threatened: If anyone attacks Russia, World War Three will end the civilised world. Although, how civilised was the chosen word to use, I don’t know!
  

It looks like Russia might win the world cup after all? Hahaha!

Did the last Health Checks and medicationing.

As I settled down in the £300 second-hand recliner, all interest, resolution and willpower failed, frighteningly quickly.

The unwanted fatigue overshadowed me. No nodding-offs arrived. I sat there with the brain closed-down, heedlessly, vacuously staring at some rubbish on the box, without any willpower to concentrate or to turn off the TV for ages. Semiconscious of my own existence, sensations, thoughts, surroundings, etc. The lowest part of the day for me this was, I felt out of control, phlegmatic, emotionless, lethargic and aimlessly acceptant of my failings.

I must have nodded off because I woke up with a start! Hehehe! Herbert was knocking away, at least I think it was him.

A thirst came over me, and I went off to get a drink of milk.

What a fantastic skyline greeted me when I got to the refrigerator.

So late at night, too.

I got the milk and returned to the recliner. Much more interested in life again now.

But, the brain started coming out of its hibernation and began going off on its meanderings, fretting, self-hatred and fearing everything again. Sleep was impossible. I think it must have been well into the early hours of the morning before I got off into the land of Nod. Still, I got there eventually. I hate weekends! Tsk!