Wednesday 8th January 2020
بدھ 8 جنوری 2020: Urdu
23:50hrs: I semi woke up. Had a mental battle to regain control of my mind, passed a vast, blasting burst of wind. Combed my hair with a pink lawn rake, and the call to the Porcelain Throne arrived. Like a young whipper-snapper, I almost bounded out of the recliner, jumped up, and skipped my way to the wet-room without using a stick and singing Wayward Wind aloud and proud… and started to wash my well-toned muscular young, lithe body in a bath of Guinness, and lit my pipe…
23:57hrs: I woke up for real, and realised I’d been dreaming. I think I was enjoying having a fit body again, drinking the Guinness in the none-existent bath… but reality had to be faced. And oddly enough, the first thing I did, was to pass-wind, but only a sort ‘Phutt-Phutt’ job. Which did bring on the demand for the Porcelain Throne for real!
I had to cajole Arthur Itis into letting me get my legs off of the chair, he’s been so kind to me yesterday over the tumble. So he was due a little fun with me. Having achieved the first proper challenge, I faced the standing up and catching my balance routine. Not too bad, a bit of a wobble, but I got up, and then had to rush a bit, to get to the outbound salvation room in time. The evacuation went well, minimal bleeding. Arthur Itis was not willing to get up again off of the throne. I applied the Phorpain Gel, Germaloid cream, Clobetasone cream, Corticosteroid cream, Daktacort lotion, and Clopidogrel ketoconazole. I olive-oiled the ear-holes, washed and off to the kitchen, with Arthur twinging away at me.
Made a brew and did the washing up from last night. And got the computer going. But…
I made a start by creating this post from scratch, I must get some more graphics done, today! After an hour or so, the craving for another mug of tea arrived. At the same time, as the flood of wee-wees began. Far too many to keep mentioning, most of the SSP (Short-Sharp-Painful) variety. As I was bringing the tea to the computer, the stomach started gurgling, aching and hurting. I naturally assumed that Throne Session number two was required, but no, nothing but wind and a particularly foul odour escaped.
Back to the computer and then started updating the Tuesday blog. Due to the overpaid and rated Mr Fries inabilities and uncaring attitude towards his ever-paying-more, customers, this took me a long time to get done! Many wee-wees activated as I worked away.
I went to make another brew, this time Glenghettie Gold. Took the medications.
And tried my bestest to get a decent photographicalisation of the high in the sky moon. I was not over-successful as it happened. The reasons for this failure being, I think; 1) The moving clouds. 2) The neurotransmitter sensory nerves failing, causing trembling and shaking of the right hand and arm. 3) My not knowing what the heck I was doing. Haha! The first two were taken on Auto-Mode. The others in Nightime Panorama, no, Landscape!
I read and replied to some WordPress comment, and then post pictures to Pinterest. Then went on the WordPress Reader section, but before I could start, Porcelain Throne Session numb er Two arrived, so, off to the wet room.
This Throne session was not so good. Messy, slow, hard work, bleeding and exhausting! But, I recovered alright. After a clean-up and some more medicationalisationing, I returned to the WP Reader perusing.
Well, I have to go on CorelDraw for a mammoth graphic-creating session for the upcoming blogs. I’ll make another brew first.
Blimey, it took, me over three hours just to get a few Thought graphics done. The concentration is not good at all. Confusion reigning in the brain-box.
I got the nosh on. I ended up going for the luxury (Expensive) can of roast gammon, to go in the stew I was making, well, a type of stew. Onions, peas, tomatoes, and potatoes were broiled together and nearly ready, so I put in the can of ham, and got it stirred in well. As I was doing this, Shaking Shaun came all over me, with what I was sure was a neuropathic drop-something and flail-about dance coming on the right leg! When, the door-bell chimed, Huh! Not the best of timing, I thought, with me still in my jammies, unshaven, and shaking-all-over so’s to put it.
I made sure the thin dressing gown was not revealing anything for someone to laugh at en route to the door, and everything changed the instant I saw my old mate Michael stood there, looking tired, but happy! (I was probably more delighted at seeing Mike)
I welcomed him, and the nattering started, which didn’t stop for over an hour he was here. I felt years younger. As the whole kit and caboodle of worries, concerns and fears dissipated into the ether.
I turned as the expected Neuropathic Schuhplattler drop-something, and flail about dance’, (as Tim Hancock had Christened it, Hehe!) burst into action. I was in the hallway, so avoided going over, with the help of the handily placed close-to-hand walls. You’ve got to laugh! Although Mick was taken aback a bit, he’d not seen me have an unplanned imitation of a cross between the Hokey Cokey and the Twist before.
Mick went in the front room, while I checked the food was alright, I didn’t want it burning or bubbling, it was all in the saucepan now, on low heat. With the big pile of washing up in the sink. Hehe!
Poor Micheal, told me of his ups and downs since seeing me last. He had his campervan holiday, which he enjoyed. When he got back, a week or so later, he collapsed, and his sister found him in his flat on the floor. Called for an ambulance, and was told it would be two hours before anyone could attend, there had been an accident on the motorway! Other friends arrived, and out of concern for Michael, rang again, and then they were told it would now be three hours before an ambulance would arrive! His family sorted out transport, and they took him to the hospital themselves. I shan’t go into detail of the terrible treatment he received there, it was convoluted and depressing. Just that he was told… no, I’d better not.
But being Mike, he still brought a smile to my face and soul with his zest for life and witticisms and stories of woe.
By the way, Michael, when you call again mate, remind me of the treats I forgot about in the junk room, please.
By his leaving, it was like a light going out, a power-cut. And I returned to cooking in a lower spirit.
I was stirring the mishmash in the saucepan and decided to put some chips in the oven. I had totally forgotten about the potatoes in the stew! I tried to have a read of the cooking instructions on the can of ham. Even with the magnifier glass, it was impossible to see the writing. So, I got the camera, in hopes that they might come out more legible in a picture. Which they did.
Oh, heck! It should have been done it in a microwave oven, and finished off under the grill! I do not have either available (No microwave oven, and the rack doesn’t work!) Humph! I was uncertain if I should eat it or not. But it had been in the saucepan for over an hour with the other stuff? I thought, blow it, if it tastes wrong I can always just throw it away.
Then I realised after getting it served up and on the tray, I had the chips in the oven as well! What a plonker! So I got the other dish and put the fries onto that.
The things that Michael had gone through kept coming into my muddled, mind as I dined. (Poetry slipped in there!) Then, while stuffing my face, I pondered over my visiting Sister Jane in the morning. Ideally, I should take a stick with me but cannot carry it with all the treats I’m taking… can’t cope with it either with the trolley-walker, oh, dearie me. I can catch the 07:25hr L9, and this should give me plenty of time to Tesco to get some nibbles and treats, that I already have for HRH Jane and Prince Pete, but cannot carry.
Suddenly (well it seemed quick to me), I’d finished eating nearly all of the fodder on offer (I’d left some fries). The gammon was fatty and not very tasty, though. Everything else was fine apart from the fries, which were also bland tasting. Flavour Rating: 5/10.
The cooking of the gammon wrongly seems to have caused me no bother, yet, anyway.
I felt extraordinarily tired-out and got the washing-up done, then settled down into the £300 second-hand, c1968 recliner, the one that xyrophobia-suffering Brother-in-Law Pete damaged. At the same time, as he was flat sitting while I was in the Stroke Ward, and he fitted new CCTC cameras and searched for my valuables, which he found and took. The CCTV camera he can now monitor, to ensure the most destructive, annoying and grief-giving time in which to phone me up. Which are always either; As I get down to eat a meal, get seated on the Throne, I’m in the middle of cooking or just leaving the flat. Hehehe
At first, the mind was musing about Micheals problems, how cleverly the Government had cunningly forgotten all about Brexit, and how the hell am I going to get to HRH Sister Janes house in safety in the morning? But the mind eventually gave me a rest, cleared, and sleep came… Lovely!