Saturday 4th January 2020

Hawaiian: Poaono 4 Ianuali 2020

02:45hrs: I stirred into an imitation-synthetic-pretend life, and wondered for a moment what the smell was I sensed. I realised it was the Eau-de-toilette spray that the nozzle had come free on, and I generously got over myself and the carpet a couple of days earlier. Why I should suddenly sniff it now, I don’t know?

As I was encouraging Arthur Itis to let me stand up, the need for the Porcelain Throne arrived, and I had to put up with Arthur’s agony to get top the wet room in time. (They’re getting more urgent every day, these evacuations?) But I made it in time. Then as things started automatically again, I thought they may never end! Just where it’s all coming from, beats me! Massive and messy, too!

I put the kettle on and decided to try and get a few shots of the moon while it was out of the clouds. As you can see below, I had to rush them a little. On the third effort, Shaking Shaun gave me a rattling just as I was clicking the camera. I couldn’t have produced this piece of abstract-artwork if I had tried to? Hehe!

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Took the medications, made the tea. As I was looking for the ear-dropper, I found notes for an ode I’d made long, long ago. I decided to get the updating done for the Friday diary, and then make-up and renew this unused poem.

Doing the diary, took me ages, as the autonomic nerves in the hand and fingers were playing up something awful. But did get on with amending and updating the Rhyme post. I made a header in CorelDraw: Befuddling Thoughts.

Part of the Nottingham Lads True Tales of Woe

 

 

Pretty pleased with myself, I went into Smug-Mode, as the mobile tone chirped put, it was a Text Message. It came from Iceland, at first I thought they were going to cancel my order again. I went on the Email to have a look. Sent a message to Sister Jane while I was on there. Then found an Iceland message, which read (See right) re; Iceland’s famously inept and unsuitable substitutes. But, I shall make do with the no Pork Shoulder steaks, and accept the horrible oversweet, sickly Toffee yoghourt substitutes and hand the nm into the Winwood Court Social room kitchen, later on, at least the can be made use of. I hope someone here enjoys them.

I went to make another mug of tea. And took these shots of the morning partly red skyline. Red sky in the morning, ‘Shepherds warning’?

I got handwashing soaking in the sink. Then trundled of hobblingly to the wet-room to get the ablutions done. Not one of my more successful sessions. Number one, it was too early to use the shower, and I do enjoy showering so much. So a stand-up wash was needed. Not the most refreshing of things.

Taking off my jammy bottoms, was a little akin to a Bull-in-China-shop! Humph! I knocked the following, although it might have been more, but, I can recall that two cans of body spray, the kitchen towel, my scissors, the Germoloid and the Clobetasone cream, and the crossword book and pen, all tumbled off onto the floor. The pen went down the back of the cabinet, so will probably be found after I have snuffed it. I managed to retrieve the other stuff, much to the annoyance of Anne Gyna and Arthur Itis! Tsk!

I did the teeth, only dropping the brush and toothpaste once each. Then the nasal spray. Moved on to shaving, and the foam can went twice, and the razors repeatedly, so much so, that I decided to do flannel wash first, hoping the Peripheral Neuropathy would have calmed down a bit, and the nerve-end would be working a bit better by then. The flannel went a couple of times out of my grip, as did the carbolic soap.

When I got back to shaving, I have to say I felt a bit a Smug and Clever Mode come over me. For the dropsies had reduced tremendously as the nerve-ends were getting the message to the brain at last! I moved up to a Sycophantic-Smarmy-Mode! But this didn’t stop me getting a few tiny cuts. Then, the dreaded Sock-Glide Battle! Arthur Itis is particularly ‘Anti-Sock-Glide’ today! But at least I avoided any toe-stubbings and finger trappings! Yeehaa!

I dressed and went to get the handwashing finished. I got it done and wrung, but a problem when I started to get it hung! The flaming hangar that  I use for the jammie-bottoms, shattered into pieces!

Of course, the wet freshly washed jammie trews fell on the floor I hoovered and mopped yesterday, and tipped the waste bin up over its way down! So had to be cleaned again! And believe me, Arthur Itis and Anne Gyna were not happy about this in the slightest! (I wasn’t exactly over the moon with it, myself!) There are times when life doesn’t seem to be going right – this, was one of them! Crabs and Grobblecraps! In fact, Double Crabs and Grobblecraps! I’m all Gumpy and irritable, now!

Shortly afterwards, the Iceland man cameth. I mentioned the substitutes and he told me, nothing to do with me, you should have an email, sort it with them, not me! I signed for the goods and he shot off like Mr Bolt, only quicker! Haha! It was plain to me, that Iceland was forever letting folk down, and some customers were blaming the delivery men?

I got the coat on, and took the black bags to the waste chute, on my way down to take the substituted toffee yoghourts to the Winwood kitchen. Once on the ground floor, I thought I’d take the canon camera out ready take few snaps en route to the kitchen through to Winwood Court. Sod-it! I’d left it up in the flat on charge! And, the fire door out to the alfresco benches in the corridor was wide open again! Great security for the old folks that! I’ve reported it three times this week!

I got to the kitchen room, and about nine people were sat having breakfast. I didn’t recognise any of the clan, but I threw them a merry-as-I-could-manage. “Good Morning each!” All I got back was looks that said. “Who’s he then?’ I handed the yoghourts in at the kitchen window and returned, depressed and miserable back to Woodthorpe Court.

As I went through from the warmth of Windwood Court into the bitterly cold Woodthorpe, a ladies voice called asking if I was alright, it was Chrissie (I think), with some bad news. Mo in the hospital had passed away. This put me in a right bad frame of mind, and I nearly had a cry for Mo, she was a right character, we all liked her so. Here’s the last photo I took of Mo. I’ll see if anyone is going to the funeral, I’d like to go. RIP Mo, loved you, gal! ♥

I got in the flat and did shed a few tears. Mo was not the sentimental sort, so I’ll try to remember her as she was on the day I took this photo, bless her.

I decided to get the things ready for the meal later. The first thing was to get the mushrooms in the slow cooker. I added some sea salt and a splash of the Sukang Puti vinegar. This Malaysian made brewed vinegar is so tangy. Mmm! I opened a can of potatoes and garden peas and put it in a saucepan ready.

This is where things went out-of-kilt for me again. What a pickle I got myself into! My depression as boosted straight away. Had I not had enough things go wrong already today?

I reached up into the cupboard above the kettle to get the plastic jar of demerara sugar to add some to the peas and spuds! Well, the myasthenia gravis and Neurotransmitters failed at just the wrong time, perfectly to cause the maximum damage! The tub fell out of the insensitive hand, via the cabinet below and kettle, into the jug of water, and the container split open – the sugar poured out all over the place and water slashed on everything! Including the kettle workings.

I got the mess in the sink as fast as I could, but it was a pointless effort on my part!

Cleaning and sorting cost me an hours time, at least. But, for some unfathomable reason, I kept at it, and even failed to commit suicide! Haha! 

I was down in the dumps, though. I half-heartedly updated this blog. Later, I tried to lighten it a bit.

I got the oven warming and when it heated enough, I put some smoked haddock and a battered whiting fillet in and watched over it cooking. I dare not keep an eye one it, after today’s series of mishaps. I carefully got the plate filled with feast-like foods, and when I got around to taking a photographicalisation of it, Shaking Shaun shunted into this Saturday’s shenanigans.

Not Dizzy Dennis, just Shaun. But that was enough, the mood he was in. By the time I got taken the tray of fodder into the front room, I found I had left a trail of garden peas, and the odd potato and slice of beetroot scattered behind me, on the floor! I put down the tray and got the picker-upperer to retrieve the dropsied food. (More cleaning and sorting to do! Depression can become habit-forming, yer know! Haha! Humph! By the time I got settled to consume the food, it was well not-warm! And yet, I ate it all, (not the retrieved bits, Hehe!) and found it tasty enough. Flavour rating worth 6.5/10. 

I was too knackered to bother doing the pots, and just put them in the sink to soak. Returned to the £300 second-hand c1968 rickety recliner to rest, but sleep was not an option, the mind-blasting started. I did not want to go over losing Mo and other calamities of the day in my head again.

So, I put on the Steven Seagal – Mike Tyson ‘Tribal Warfare’ DVD. It was that bad, it actually helped me escape the brain’s mind-blasting. Yet Shaking Shaun was still with me after I cut short the film, and had to rise for a wee-wee, a near disaster was averted by me going to the wet room, for Shaun was shaking just about everything, including Little Inchy.

Thank heavens for having the wet room, and the shower to clean up the sprayed all over the place evacuation, and the clean pair of trews to exchange with the old, er… now-wetter ones! Which I put in disinfectant and liquid soapflakes to soak in the bucket overnight.

Back to the recliner, a shattered, depressed, welmish, tired and monumentally pissed-off old Nottinghamian, in search of peace of mind, a reduction in Whoopsiedangleplopalisation, and some sleep. Please!