Sunday 2nd February 2020
Welsh: Dydd Sul 2il Chwefror 2020
02:00hrs: I stirred loosely into ersatz life-mode, and the thought-box had only the urgent need for the Porcelain Throne in it! I fumbled my way out of the £300 second-hand, c1968 recliner, got uprightish, grabbed the walking stick, and carefully made my way to the wet-room with considerable haste. (I didn’t think of it at the time, but Arthur Itis, Duodenal Donald and Anne Gyna were all once again, being kind to me!)
I panicked and blundered about, tearing off the jammies and PPs to get seated in time, and made it with barely a second to spare, and trapped my right hand between my body and the seat. Not realising the limb was stuck, until the Neurotransmitter nerves failure, was kind enough to let the brain know! By then, the evacuation had started, and I became aware of the bruised knuckles as I painfully removed the hand.
But, worse was to follow: As I struggled with the evacuation, which was proving to be a highly-reluctant, stubborn one. I heard a voice, as if on the radio? I have been known to set the timer on this radio in the past accidentally. But no, the Blaupunkt was not on?
I then thought it might be someone on the intercom, with the box being just outside the wetroom door? But with the evacuated product being half-way released and stuck, requiring more effort from me to free it, I was in a right pickle! If it was someone at the door, I knew I didn’t have much time before it automatically shuts off! So, I pushed and grunted, eventually freeing and depositing the item described above in the throne! Phew! Not without some discomfort, I can tell you!
Luckily the extracted product was not messy at all, in fact, it clunked into the water. So, no need for losing time wiping anything yet. I must find out who or what is making the squeaky voice.
I got up, clouting my ankle on the chair with the sock-glide sat there, looking smug, threatening, and contentious on it! The four-pronged walking stick utilised, and out to the hallway, but, no signs of any use of the intercom! (That is a benefit of the multi-pronged stick, you can leave it stood up, thus easier to find when you need it – and more straightforward to walk into or fall over! Hahaha!)
This mystery voice continued, sounding a little louder and more urgent, but I could not identify what it was saying, nor where it was coming from? I checked the front door, through the spy-hole, nope, nobody there?
I went into the front room, and the voice was instantly recognisable and understood, audibly! It came from the Nottingham City Homes On-Call centre: When I sat on my hand in the rush to be on-time with the evacuation, I’d pressed the alarm pendant on my wrist!
A link here for the On-call Centre advice and stories. I put it on here, so Winwoodonians can view a video, with Jenny and Frank on it! Nottingham City Homes – On-Call centre
The operator lady was kind, and patient enough with me when I told her I’d set it off by accident. Bless her! Obviously, I didn’t go into any detail about my Faux pas! Although, perhaps I should have, to highlight the problem of not hearing the voice-box when in the wet room? Then again, we are all not hard-of-hearing. Like a few of us who cannot hear the fire-alarm activation, either. That was a Flanglemanglingly-Frenetically-Frustrating start to the day and early morning. Worra Whoopsiedangleplop and-a-half! Tsk!
I got on with updating yesterday’s blog. I soon found that the famously unreliable and pathetic, inadequate Global-Liberty Virgin Media Internet was still causing me problems with not saving again. But I managed with a little forced never-mind-attitudinalisticalness adopted and used.
Many hours later, I got it finished. I then tended to the ablutionalisationing. I had to look decent for later on when I took Josie her Sunday nosh.
The session went absolutely marvellously! Apart from having so many dropsies, that is. All the usual ones, shaving foam, razors, toothbrush, toothpaste, carbolic soap, flannel etc., oh, and a new one today, my spectacles as I took them off! No, bleeding, no stubbed toes, no knocking anything off of the cabinets! And the legs looked great, they’d got some colour back in them, and the Clopidogrel lumps and blotches had all but disappeared! I felt a little smugness dawn, but the early morning farcicalness with the wrist alarm somewhat tempered my rare moment of exhilaration.
Also, I felt a little choleric later, when the picture I took of the pins (legs), had gone off into the ether from SD card. Grumph! This seems to happen every now and then. A conundrum not limited to mysteries of my beloved Woodthorpe Court, that lies somewhere between the twilight zone and a wormhole slipping through a tear in the fabric of space & the spacetime continuum, illusion, delusion, & hallucination! For, I have heard that this agravannoying loss is suffered by proper photographists who know what they are doing, as well. Which lessened my disappointment a little!
I started, what would turn out to be a marathon session on graphicationalisationing. But I to stop after an hour or two, to begin prepping Josie’s meal. It took me about an hour or so, but I got the plate on the wheelie-server, added some extras, a can of pink G&T, and a pot of vanilla cream dessert. Off and knocked on her door with it, as her official Sunday lunch chef!
She liked what she saw and thanked me. I returned to the flat, and chuffing hell, the number of pots, pans and cutlery that needed washing… then I got the smell coming from the smoked haddock in the oven, that I’d forgotten to put on the plate! What a schlemiel! I got it out, put it on a dish and took it to Josie’s, explained how I’d missed it off her plate, and hastened back to the kitchen again. I tackled the job of washing up. The cheesy potatoes tend to cling to forks, spoons and dishes, in a Gorilla glue type fashion! Humph!
It cost me a lot more time and agravannoyance in getting the cleaning done.
Back to the much-needed graphicationalisicalisationing. For many hours, but with limited effect. Thanks to the neurotransmitter sensory nerves failing again. Most frustrating.
It was getting dark now, the ‘Hum’ was the loudest it’s ever been, I was so tired, hours beyond my usual head-down time, and I was getting hungry. All-in-all, I was wearied, exhausted, and mentally fatigued. I saved wat bit of work I had done and turned the computer off. The eyelids were drooping, now. But I still recognise that the Porcelain Throne and GPWWB (Grey-Plastic-Wee-Wee-Bucket) had been little used?
I checked out the last of the stew in the saucepan and decided I could eat all of it, with some sourdough bread to soak up the gravy. I took some pictures of the blue night from the unwanted, unliked kitchen window. They came out better than I could have hoped for. Because the right side neurotransmitters were still failing at times. Here are the photos of the eerily coloured view.
I got the meal served up on a large plastic bowl, that would hold all the gravy, with less chance of me spilling any. (It didn’t work though, Hahaha!) A sourdough baguette, and a lemon curd yoghourt for afters. I put the TV on and settled in the £300, second-hand rickety recliner, and proceeded to eat all of the meal and enjoyed it so much.
I didn’t enjoy the cleaning up of the crumbs, spilt gravy, peas, and bits of leeks up from my over-abundant belly-folds, legs, the chair and the seat, though!
Nor my doing the washing up, or rather, dropping the bowl and wetting my jammies and the floor, so more work was needed to clean things up!
I took the medications, but Neurotransmitter-Nancy cut-off, and I dropped the tablets from my grasp. I did eventually find them and clean them up to ingest. But it took me ages to find the last one, the Ramipril capsule. He’s somehow ended up many feet away from the others, and rolled under the fridge! But I got him!
The worst of this run of bad luck, was as I tried to get some sleep, the Mind-Storming started. Worries, fears, doubts, failures etc. all flowed in!
Gawd knows when I eventually nodded-off.