Sunday 22nd December 2019

Italian: Domenica 22 Dicembre 2019

01:45hrs: I woke up drained through lack of sleep. The EQ telling me that if I had clinomania and didn’t want to get up, it would be alright?

However, the need for a wee-wee, quickly followed by the demand for a visit to the Porcelain Throne arrived. So, I detached my deteriorating and slowly disintegrating gargantuanly growing flabby-bellied body from the £300, second-hand, c1968 recliner. Grabbed the stick, and made my way dodderingly to the wet room. Passing the signs of my nocturnal nibbling en route.

The session went alright, and the bleeding was much less than the last one. It was another right dollop evacuated. Washed and wiped the contact points. And got the camera to photo the legs for the Doctor to see, when I can get an appointment, that is.

Well, it appears that the legs have swapped fluid retention between each other today? Now, its the right leg that is fatter. Beats me!

Off to the kitchen, and was pleased to note that I had not left the hot water tap running, the stove on, or the fridge freezer door open.

I took a photograph from the window, of the morning view. I don’t really know what it means, but I used the Aperture-Priority-Auto setting. It came out reasonable.

I got the computer on, and feared it might blow up! For the Liberty-Global Virgin Media Internet was going so fast! I was over the moon! Five minutes later, and it was back to its old self! Tsk!

As I was setting up WordPress, I heard clicking in the right ear-hole, and the ‘Hum’ became more noticeable. Off to the medical drawer to put some olive oil in the tab-holes, and noticed I had not taken the medications, last night, nor this morning! So, I imbibed them. Then used the Phorpain gel on Arthur Itis’s knees. Put cortisone cream on the cracked lips, and made another brew of the Thompsons tea. Then sanitised, cleaned and stored the grey bucket under the sink.

As I was updating the Saturday tale of woe, around 03:15hrs, I thought I heard a rumbling noise, but could not find anything untoward or what caused it. If indeed there was any sound, I suppose it might have been the ear wax oil, working its way down the ear canal?

The wee-weeing had changed to the SSSAO (Short-Sharp-Spraying-All-Over) style. And there were plenty of them, so many I got the GPWWB (Grey-Plastic-Wee-Wee-Bucket) disinfected and in use again, and kept it near the computer desk. It was well-used this morning.

I got the Saturday post updated and sent off to WordPress. Then went on the WP reader section. Finally, on the TFZer Facebooking.

Then back to the Porcelain Throne, only to find everything solid and unmoving again! After sitting, unsuccessfully doing the crosswords for a while, I gave up and washed my hands. Then, off to the kitchen, and made a mug of Macrogol and drank it. I seem to be taking a lot of extra medications this week?

Once again, I heard the rumbling noise, this time I knew it was coming from outside, or at least I believed so. I got the Nikon and leant out of the window, and taking it blind to see if anything untoward could be spotted that may have caused the sound that I heard. The new unwanted, unliked, light & view-blocking, thick-framed new kitchen windows, have been built with a hanging-out too far out ledge, that means unless you are young and fit or a contortionist, you cannot look out and down for ambulances, fire engines whatever, like one could with the old windows. But, never mind. Anyway, I could not see anything about that might have been the source of the noise.

As I was making another brew, some unplanned phuts of wind from the rear-end escaped. Blimey, can this be the Macrogol working already? Hehe! Nope, no signs of any movement or need for the Throne yet.

Back to the computer, dropping the stick on the way there, Humph! And made a start on this blog. The previously this morning, well-behaved finger-ends peripheral sensory nerves, now started to play up and failing to get the touch and contact messages to the brain. Thus, a most annoying session of ever making mistakes and corrections started! My spirits sank! But at least I’ve had a couple of decent hours in first!

05:25hrs: I moved on to making up the templates. With some angst, but I did get them done eventually.

09:05hrs: Phew! Got them all done!

I got the ablutionisationing done. Only the one cut shaving. The dropsies were multiple, in fact, there was not much I didn’t drop, knock over or walk into. However, the myasthenia gravis return to getting the messages through to the brain, and suddenly the Whoopsies all stopped. I liked that!

Had a brew while started to sort out and preparing Josie’s meal. I was a little tired by now, and had to concentrate on what I was doing – not that this stopped me later from clouting my forehead on the draining board and sending the goggles flying as I bent down to get the bleach and washing up liquid from under the sink for washing the pots!.

Extra today for her.

Strained tuna in brine, I added some mayonnaise mixed in, sliced tomatoes, garden peas with demerara sugar, gherkins and Josie’s favourite ingredient, soft buttered cheesy mash potato. A can of pink gin & tonic and a limoncello dessert to round it off. I got it on the wheeled-server and delivered the meal on a tray to Josie’s door. The gal seemed satisfied with the feast, and I took her photograph as she was inspecting her chef’s meal. Hehehe! The gal gave me a packet of two custard tart as a thank you.

I’m not keen on these but tried one later with my own nosh. 

A quick natter and back top the flat, to get my own nosh prepared. Wholemeal bun sarnies with German smoked Ham and lots of naughty butter, chips (fries), cooked beetroot and sliced apple. The gifted by Josie custard tart, and a mini-bottle of fresh orange juice. Another decent tasting meal this time, an 8.2/10 flavour rating.

It was enjoyed while I was sat on the £300 second-hand recliner, watching Liverpool’s Club World Cup win. It took me back, The Hillsborough and Heysel disasters. Kenny Dalglish, Roger Hunt, Keegan, Michael Owen, Ian Rush, Jimmy Case. Steve Highway, Ron Yeats, and Ray Clemence. The thought of the crooked back-hand taking Bruce Grobbelaar, spoilt the musing.

I went to get the washing up done, and there was plenty of it to do. The right-hand side neurotransmitters were occasionally failing to transmit touch messages to the brain, and somehow or other as I bent to go into the cupboard below the sink, I clonked my forehead on the edge of the door as I fell forwards.

There laid a blubbery-mass of Inchcock on the floor! His glasses shot off somewhere unknown. His head stinging. His pride shattered. And what a struggle to get back up again, ever aware that he might at any time tread on his eyewear! Tsk! Another problem was finding his spectacles after he had got up. Humph! In the end, about to accept he had gone bonkers, he spotted them, they had apparently hit something as they were falling, bounced off and landed right in the waste bin! Finding them unbroken, although the left lens was scratched a bit, cheered him up a tad. Crabs and Grobblecraps!

I put some cream on the bonce, got another drink of orange juice, and returned to the c1968 recliner, to watch a Kitchen programme. Of course, I fell asleep at the first commercial break!