Thursday 27th June 2019
Italian: Mercoledì 27 Giugno 2019
02:00hrs. I woke with the mind filled with, what’s the most suitable word? Dread, I think! Fear of the long haul to town on the £2.30 bus trip and slog through town and up the fearsomely steep Standard Hill to the Audio Clinic, I think. Ah well! The note I’d left to remind me on the TV screen helped!
I was soon out of the £300, second-hand, c1968, grotty-beige, rickety-recliner. Intent on getting the updating done to the diary before having to go out. The thought of the medications being delivered while I was not in, with my only having one beta-blocker tablet left! Meaning I will have to go to the doctors after the Audio Clinic, to find out what’s what. This didn’t help me get much peace of mind.
I got the hand-washing done, just a t-shirt and a pair of bamboo socks. Took the medications, did the health checks, and made a brew.
Straight on with the updating. The axonotmesis-driven electricityfied-dancing in the fingers, hands, arm, and shoulder, were not too bad first thing, Phew! So progress was reasonable this time with the blog. I got the job done and posted.
Made a start on this blog (between wee-weeing). Checked the bus times on Google, then got the ablutions tended to, as it was now gone 06:00hrs! All done and dusted, cutlessly, too!
I made up two waste sacks and took them down and out with me to the caretaker’s door, as it was only 07:12hrs, and too early to sue the chute yet. There was no time for photographicalisationing this morning, or I might miss the number 40 bus. I’d got it all planned out (I think I might have thought this before, Humph). The right bus fare in my pocket knew the times of the bus, I had 14 minutes to get to the stop. I arrived with for minutes to spare. Smug-Mode-Adopted.
It was a struggle on this bus to town. So many people were getting on, the trolly in the way, folks treading on and into me. I was so glad when we got into town, and I could get off of the bus last, as usual. I hobbled down Queen Street into Slab Square. I avoided a collision with a Nottinghamian Pavement cyclist as I got there. I was just about to take a photo of the two coffee robbers across the square. Came out a bit blurred, though.
Crossing the square to get to the Poundland Store (surely this time they will have some large Pork Farms pies or Payne’s chocolate Brazil misshapes in stock?). But no, they didn’t. However, I invested in: black bags, bleach, drain unblocker, cans of chilli-con-carne, an egg & bacon sandwich, and some more Ginsters beef pasty’s. The lady at the self-serve tills put them through for me and packed my bags. What an angel! As I left the store, some pigeons came down, the instant I dropped some nuts on the floor as I was taking the bag out of my pocket. There were not many left, but I lost them all! Still, the dickies benefited. Maybe they have learned that the bags can be dodgy from the Poundland shop, and other people have done the same? Haha!
I then carried out the plan, being as I had time if I didn’t take too long over it, to walk along and up Hounds Gate, and taking pictures along the way up.
I plan to make a post of these, with some funny comments, and get it posted off later, before updating this blog. Which I did! Which I did.
Hounds Gate Humour I hope you like it.
I turned right at the end of Hounds Gate, up Maid Marion way, previously known, when I worked at Tesco on the road, as Granby Street.
Getting over the traffic light crossing, at the junction with Friar Lane had its moments, I can tell you! I wasn’t (not that I ever do nowadays, going quickly) and needed time set the three-wheeled trolley guide down on a different level, the moved… the cross-lights were on green, and a naughty taxi shot around the corner! Tsk! Naughty!
I walked an alternate way to the Audio Clinic today, up Friar Lane, then Standard Hill, so I could take some photos of the Castle. I was amazed to see they were still working on it.
Then I hobbled up Standard Hil, again, I was threatened by an ignorant, uncaring, supercilious, cyclist. A self-asserting, insolent, toploftical, mocking, unlawful, sneering, huffish, nasty, overweening, pompous, discourteous and unhospitable, none-tax paying and uninsured, but handsome looking young Nottinghamian Pavement cyclist.
Near St James Terrace, I looked down at the view of the town and recalled this was where the last series of Boon was made. Just a thought!
To the end of Postern Street and left up to the top of Park Row, and on to the Ropewalk. A builder’s vehicle at the top, had me beat as to what it could be? Caterpillar tracks it had on it? Perhaps it is to get the wax out of me right ear-hole? Don’t know why I said that; it isn’t even funny. Am I losing it again?
I got in the clinic, and the chap who spoke to me about the appointment yesterday greeted me a shake come nod of the head, no words, mind. It dawned on later him that he’d seen me before. I gave him my appointment book, and he spoke (Yes!) He said; “I thought I recognised your limp!” I had to smile! Hehehe!
Within minutes a nurse, no, an audiologist, came and collected me and took me in her treatment room. A pleasant lady. She rechecked my ears for wax. And asked if I thought the ears (hearing) had got any worse since the stroke? I said not. The test was carried out, and there was no need for any changes. I mentioned the other lady who told me I need new inserts to stop the shrill-squealing. She said not so, all it required was the wax removing. If it builds up again, please call us and arrange for it be removed.
I departed after thanking her.
Now the new replacement worry was the medications and having only one beta-blocker left at home. So off to the Doctors again to beg and plead for some help (again).
Down Standard Hill, across Maid Marion Way and along Upper Parliament Street to the bus stops where I can catch a bus to the surgery.
I caught a number 58 bus, and boy was that packed with passengers as well! (although compared the one I got later on, from Carrington to Sherwood, it was almost empty!)
I alighted in Carrington and limped over the road and up to the Sherringham Park Medical Surgery, and spoke with the receptionist, hoping she could advise me. She got a list of my medications out from a draw and was confused herself as to why I had had them delivered from the chemist yet. They had the date of Monday 1 July as the next delivery date? But I was short on supplies. And only the one Bisoprolol beta-blocker left. For the first time in my life, I lost it a little!
I suppose I’d got myself all worked up and said just what I felt. I moaned about why it is a secret what day my medications when to be delivered? Told them I am fed up with not getting any help from the chemist and the surgery! Not the ladies fault I know, she did the best she could, and asked if I wanted to see the Doctor? It would be a long wait, but… I thanked her and accepted.
Now, I even more fuming, I sat in the other waiting room. By the time the Doctor got the time to see me, I was still concerned about things, but was back to my regular timid, shy, self! When Dr Vindla called me in, I explained my frustrations and confusions, plus the beta-blocker situation, and she called the chemist and spoke with someone. She said go home, and the prescriptions will be delivered this afternoon.
My EQ warned me that this may not be the case! However, I thanked her and left to go home as instructed.
I walked down the road and over at the Pelican lights and waited for a bus back to Sherwood. When it arrived, on the journey, I was battered and bruised from the mauling I had taken from cram-packed passengers on the short trip. Now I was all niggly again!
I walked down to the crossing and over the road, almost spitting with frustration! (If only I’d known what was to come yet, I wouldn’t have bothered!)
I went in the Co-op store and got a pod peas and some tomatoes.
I got up to the Wilko store and got some clothes-freshener and granules. And liquid soap flakes, plus a bag.
When I got to the bus stop at the top of the hill, Jenny’s Frank joined me in the shelter. We were having a great chinwag. As the bus arrived, I could not find the bus pass! This really irked me, I had it earlier. Frank said he saw it in my hand before, Tsk! Niggly-time again!
I kept looking en route without any luck! At the bus stop, when I arrived at the flats, going through the pockets. No luck!
I got in the apartment, what a mood I was in! Searched for ages, before I found the bus pass – I was so relieved! Phew!
I put the things away, and got on with doing the extra blog about ‘Hounds Gate’. Of course, the fingers and shoulder started dancing. Life be right codswallop at times!
Then, I updated this post. It took me ages, as the fingers were worse than ever now! It got to well before my usual head down time. But as the medications might be coming, I pressed on with the blogging, to make sure I stayed awake and did not nod-off!
I got evening med’s ready and made about the fifth mug of tea, and the landline rang (This being about 1830hrs!) It was the chemist checking on where I lived and how to get in the flats! He knows I go to sleep early, I’ve told him often enough. Niggle-Time again! Told him, and carried on with the updating. He’s on his way at last.
I thought I’d do the hand washing, but there was no hot water again! I must remember to report it in the morning.
Ah, the prescription pots and medicines arrived! The owner of Carrington Pharmacy, Deepak, brought the goods. I wish he would have shown me how the packs work, though. 1855hrs: I thanked him, he’s a decent chap.
I put away the medications and got with sorting the belated meal. I was all in now, so tired. But wanted to stay awake for the England Ladies match against Norway.
By the time the meal was ready for consumption, the match was starting on the TV. So, down in the £300 second-hand, rickety, c1968, tatty gungy-beige recliner, tray on my lap and a feast of fodder and fine football followed!
Although some of the food did get spilt into my naked lap, which made me jump at tad when England scored after three minutes!
Of course, I was tickled pink. But if they are to get to and win the final, it means taking on not only the gifted French girls; but FIFA, the crooked, bent VAR controllers, back-hander referees and European hatred and jealousy for Brexiting England!
In the unlikely event that they meet in the final, despite all of untrustworthy, amoral, cheating, lying, guileful, dishonourable, recreant, sneaky, unctuous, Pecksniffian, unjust, and Janus-Faced, FIFA’s efforts (Just ask any Croatian for proof), and England win. Would someone be kind enough to call the 999 number for me and send someone to help me with the shock-induced heart-attack and second stroke I will be having, thank you? Hehehe!
But I still live in hope, although possibly vain hope – but fear that FIFA will fluff and f____ up any possible festivites for anyone but the freebooting foul French fiddlers. The American team now have to face the fiddling bent French tomorrow. I fear that FIFA will again find a way to ensure victory for France. Just you watch, for VAR cons, yellow cards and false penalties. If America does win, and I would love them too, then they will meet England, and I don’t think I could stand to watch that match. I’d be torn apart.
At least I stayed awake for all of the match… well, I say all, there was a couple of two-minute nod-offs. When the game ended, I remember thinking that the excitement was going to keep me from nodding-off… as I fell asleep!