Sunday 8th September 2019

Catalan: Diumenge 8 de setembre de 2019

02:40hrs: Things seemed all calm, and under control, as I came to semi-life this morning. Maybe my dreaming of being a Holy Father had rubbed off on me, I thought. I rose to, for a change, to find a well-filled GPWWB (Grey-Plastic-Wee-Wee-Bucket).

This began the seemingly never-ending tormenting series of humiliations, Whoopsiedangleplops, Accifauxpas, and frustrations!  Unexpectedly, the wee-wee was of the BOBSL (Blasting-Out-But-Short-Lived) style. Which involved me having an annoying struggle to get things cleaned up afterwards! I turned into a fervid panegyric, as I spent what felt like time-immemorial, cleansing myself, and the surrounding items. Silently (mostly), waffling, carping on and complaining to myself about my recent Whooopsiedangleploop infestation and suffering with so many reverses. The waking up feeling in better spirits didn’t last long!

I was almost drained just by the time I finished the cleaning up of the wee-wee fiasco! I was in the kitchen after sanitising the bucket and moved the handwashing to the airer. Took the medications, and off to the Porcelain Throne.

The session was as different as chalk and cheese compared to the last one. Back to the substantially-sized torpedo, rear-end damaging mode! Oy Vey!

I pressed on with getting the Saturday post updated and sent it off to WordPress.

Made a brew, and started to do this blog…

It would not come back on despite trying all my usual ploys and tricks.

So, I sent into the kitchen, and taking the seasoning out of the cupboard to use on Josie’s meal later, I dropped it on the floor! It reminded me of a Will Hay scene! I used the long brush and dustpan to sweep it up.

The very moment I was about to tip it into the bin, the right leg launched into one its imitation Neuropathic Schuhplattler (The neuropathic medicine drop the dustpan) dances!

Not only did I bang myself against the server, but the long dustpan shot away and knocked the dishes in the drainer on the sink, and amongst the clutter and clatter, the blue serving dish shattered!

Then still had a job to do again, of sweeping up again, the now spread all over the place mixed herbs, as well as the pieces of the dish, and cutlery that was knocked over as well! It’s difficult to say exactly how I felt at the time, without ranting and using bad language! I’ll settle for, Well, and truly Pissed-Off!

The time was so late now. No time to get the Facebooking or this blog done. Because the ablutions needed tending to.

I had a check on the internet… A no-go! Spit, Globblegooks, and Argh!!!

I got a large potato in the crockpot cooking, to make Josie’s cheesy mash later.

To the wet room, then. Back in a while. Probably bleeding from shaving, that will likely cause me to bleed to death, thanks to the Doctors failure to do an INR Warfarin blood-test for over two weeks, with an injury from the sock-glide, a stubbed toe, and ready for another stroke! Tsk! Gawd, I hate Sundays! Virgin, The Sherringham Park Medical Practice, Pavement Cyclists, Myself, and… I’d better stop here. I’m not doing myself any good! Mind you, if I get through until Tuesday, the After-Stroke Physio might help me… Argh! I think this week, we get some homework in the form of sophrology, to do daily at home. But, I do get confused at times. Hehehe!

Back in a bit… or not.

Well, well, well! I do feel a fool for writing all that doom-ladened stuff about the ablutions, now! The pins (legs), were looking a lot better. Even the RAI (Rheumatoid Arthur Itis) in the knees had died down! The little scratch from when I hit the road with my knee when I did a Whoopsie yesterday, was already clearing. Amazing! The best bit was my dysphoricalness is improving.

Just two dropsies, toothpaste and then the razor. And one close call in the shower as I was cleaning the tiles afterwards, and Dizzy Dennis paid me a visit. But the grab rail proved it worth, and no CIDP activity or shaving cuts either! No other problems or glitches at all. Mind you, I didn’t put any socks on, so the daily battle with the glide was avoided altogether. Cunning eh? I’ll have that pleasure if I do get out later, to Sherwood to try and get some flakey-pastry finger sticks.

I tried the computer again, checked on the internet supply from Mr ‘Soddum em all’ Fries…

So, not as annoyed as I was earlier, I don’t know why. I made sure I had all the ingredients for the nosh to hand. Moved the handwashing on the airers. Then I considered the possibility of trying to do the kitchen windows, cause I can’t get hold of the chap who didn’t arrive last Saturday, who Jenny put me onto. Then, I recalled my going backwards off of the stepladders the last time I tried cleaning the unwanted new, thick-framed, light & view-blocking filthy windows – being a chicken-hearted whimp, I decided against doing them. Mardy, Mardy Custard! Haha! I don’t know how I thought of that phrase, I think we sang it in spite to other kids when I was an ankle-snapper – or rather they sang it at me! Ha-ha!

I had a wee-wee, a nice calm SNS (Short-No-Sensation) version.

Back to the computer, and was amazed, flobble-decked, to find Mr Fries Liberty-Global, Virgin Media Internet, was working. Bloody slow, though!

I pressed with blogging. It was as if the ailments knew the problems I was having with the Doctors over the lack of Warfarin blood tests, and, Mr Steven (Fabricationist, facetious, falsifier, failed-service supplier, and fat-cat) Fries, frustratingly-overcharging philargyrist. For they all eased off or affected me less often!

Got getting the meal prepped and cooking for Josie. Took the potato out of the slow-cooker, removed the skin, and got it well mashed with some Leicester Cheese, balsamic vinegar and a little sea salt, and what a mess I made doing this. Hehe! I got the fodder in the oven to brown off. While it cooked, I mixed in some malt vinegar and mayonnaise with the brined tuna. I had the pleasure of using the new tomato-slicer for Josie’s plate. Got the arrangement for the plate laid out, leaving space for the cheesy potatoes to go on last, so they will keep warmer longer.

 While waiting a few minutes for the potato to brown off in the oven, I thought I’d have a go at clearing the slicer, saucepan, forks etc. into the sink for washing…

I spilt some juice out of the slicer-tray on the floor. Bent down to wipe it up, and clouted my head on the cooker! A bad one this was. I think I hit somewhere near where I clonked my head when I fell off of the stepladder trying to get up to do the windows the other day, cause it stung something rotten! It has been aching ever since. Tsk!

I spotted the large blood papsule in the morning when I got the photo onto the blog. No pain or bother from it at all. It’s just the size of it that registered. Hahaha! I wonder how long it’s been there? Still, they come, and they go.

I took a few minutes to unwind, then got the potatoes out of the oven, and onto the plate. Got it all done, and delivered it to the gals door. Josie didn’t answer until I was going back in the flat, she’d been on the phone talking to family. At least she was alright, I handed her the nosh, explained about the mayonnaise and tomato slicer being used, but I don’t think she could hear me properly. But she gave me a smile, thanked me, and I returned to the bomb-site… I mean kitchen! I got it cleaned up eventually, and then, I decided I’d have a hobble into Sherwood, to try and get some decent tomatoes and flakey pastry fingers, I should be able to get the fingers from the Ozan shop.

Out, to Ozan’s in Sherwood, in search of flaky-pastry finger biscuits, tomatoes. I checked on the Fire Escape and exit door out to the alfresco seated area. It had not been mended yet, of course, it is the weekend. I do hope I live long enough to have the pleasure of sitting out there in the sunshine and doing the crossword book. Chances seem minimal, mind! It might be nice if I clock-out before next summer and the door ever does get mended if they would allow my hulk and bulk body ashes to be buried in with the flowers? No plaque or anything wanted, I couldn’t afford one anyway. Unless I get my valuables back that Brother-in-law Pete purloined while he was flat-sitting when I was in the hospital. (Which is as likely as a ten-legged, three-headed alien coming down on a heliotrope coloured leather parachute and doing a nude Neuropathic Schuhplattler dance, and then making love to a daffodil on a pink furry dray horse).  Just a desire to get to enjoy this alfresco facility (Wooden bench), even if a little late in life, or death in my case. Hehehe!

As I set off along Chestnut Walk, it seemed that all the other tellurians apart from me had relinquished their occupancy.

I pressed on casually, no rushing, and got on to Winchester Street hill, and the three-wheeler guide, that is not enamoured with going downhill, especially on the uneven ground, it needed a good bit of controlling. But I avoided any Accifaupaxs or tumbles. Smug-Mode-Engaged! I met Welsh William with two full bags of shopping, and Fred, with his hands in his pockets, coming up the hill. We shared greetings. 

I continued down onto Mansfield Road. I got to the Oran Continental Foods Store. But no luck in finding any of the finger-biscuits. Trouble is, there were a few, but with the wrapping mostly being in Latvian, Polish or Romanian, I couldn’t read the writing on the packets, to find out what the contents were.

So, I got some vanilla and lemon filled croissants, at three for a quid, and two tomatoes to have with my late nosh. (Another chance to play with the new tomato-slicer? Hehe!)

Paid for them, thanked the man, and exited to begin the uphill-hobble back to the flats. No buses on a Sunday.

There was a mixture of cumulus and Alto cumulous clouds in the sky. So much so, that my persistent viewing of them ended up giving me a stiff neck! Haha!

They really were so beautiful.

However, further up Winchester Street Hill, I took this rather sad photographicalisation to the North. A zoomed-in shot that came out nothing like it looked to the eye. I was trying to picture a trail of a jet-liner as it crossed the skies. Another cock-up!

The trudge up the hill to the Winwood Heights complex was completed with relative ease, but I took it steady and did have a few stops en route.

I walked along Chestnut Way, then into the Winwood Court entrance, and along the linking passage without seeing a soul. I hate weekends!

I noticed the fire doors were wedged open? But, I think they will open automatically in the event of a fire alarm activation. Obviously, the door out to the alfresco benches garden, might not, being as it is still not working, to let anyone out. But fear not, Nottingham City Homes have been made aware of the problem. I mentioned it two weeks ago, no, three now!

I felt so weary suddenly as I went up in the lift. So, I called at Josie’s to give her a lemon cake and advised her that I would soon be settling to try and get some sleep, so no need to return the tray and things later and wake me up. (which she did anyway! Hehe!) We had a natter, and I got in the flat.

I had to fight off the heavy eyelids as I put the bits away and prepared the meal.

Easy-peasy this time. The peas were still warm from when I heated them for Josie’s nosh. I put the sourdough baguette in the oven with the earlier prepared cheesy potatoes for ten minutes, and wallah! Added the misshape cooked meat and beetroot. Used the tomato-slicer (it’s had some use today, Haha!), and buttered the bread. Got settled, and really enjoyed the plateful. I ate slowly to fool the guts that I was eating more than I was! Clever, eh? A flavour rating of 8.5/10, given!

Medications were taken, and Phorpain gel rubbed in both knees, and the hands. To try and counter the bound-to-come cramps and RAI (Rheumatoid Arthur Itis).

I can’t remember now what it was, but I was watching something or other on the gogglebox, and almost before you could say Jack Robinson, I’d drifted off into a world of divertissement – Sleep!

A couple or so hours later, the door chime rang out. I tried to ignore it… it rang again. I forced my way out of my Brother-in-Law Pete damaged while he was flat-sitting, when I was in hospital, as he fitted new CCTC cameras, and searched for my valuables, which he found and took, I still haven’t got them back yet four-months later, £300, second-hand, near-dilapidated, gungy-beige coloured, c1968, sometimes working, uncomfortable, rickety, rinky-dinked, rattling, rusty, resurrected, reconditioned, recalcitrant, recidivating and rotting-away recliner. It took me a while to get to the door, the chimes rang out again before I got there. It was Josie (Bless her), returning the plates, pots and tray things from the nosh. The gal looked so amazed at me in the dressing gown (which I had put on, thankfully as I got up, Hehe!). At least she said she enjoyed the meal.

I crept, almost like a ghost to the kitchen and plonked down the tray and that on the counter. Then, had a wee-wee, an  RDD (Reluctant-Drip-Drip) version, back to the wet room to wash the hands, returned to the front dump… I meant, room, and back into the Brother-in-law Pete damaged-recliner.

Could I get back to sleep again? Despite my feeling so jaded, wearied, drained, tired and fatigued, I could not. For the brain had one its, ‘Let’s think of something to worry about’ attacks’, that occupied the grey-cells for ages. No sooner had a problem or worry been highlighted, and I got close to a solution – then, new anxieties or concerns would arrive to replace it, for consideration and fretting over!

I have no idea what time I nodded off again. Grumph!