Tuesday 11th February 2020

Hausa: Yau Talata 11 ga Fabrairu 2020

00:05hrs: I woke, with a picture of phlebotomy Nurse Christina in my mind. She is due to call today, I think, I’ll have to check later. No demands for any bodily releases? I was moving freer this morning, I was out of the £300, second-hand, unpleasantly, grubby beige-coloured recliner, up on pegs, stick in hand, and moving to the kitchen, within three or four minutes. Smarmy-Swank-Mode engaged!

As I was putting the kettle on, a double release was needed, front and back. Off I trudged to the wet room. It really was not worth the effort! Despite all the usual signs from the innards, the attempted Throne Session was not forthcoming. And as for the wee-wee, it took me three or four minutes, and I can’t have passed more than a couple of sprinkled fluid ounces, and they were in different directions, most missed the porcelain all together.  A peculiar start to the day, proper uncharacteristic! I investigated to see if Little Inchies fungal lesion was bleeding, no sign of any blood. Mmm, discountenanced about this scenario.

Back to the kitchen, made the tea, and took the ever-dwindling supply of medications. I must ask the Nurse to ring the Carrington Pharmacy, 343-345 Mansfield Rd, Nottingham NG5 2DA, for me. To find out if the prescriptions (that are late again this month) are coming. Or, do I have to go to Carrington to collect them. This thought made me check on what time Christina is coming. I went to check the diary. Oh, Grumpworthiness! She is not coming this week, it’s next Tuesday! Grrr!

I took this shaky shot out of the unwanted, light and view-blocking new kitchen window. I apologise for the terrible quality. Two excuses, I mean, reasons. First: I blame Nottingham City Homes for building the ledges that stick out so far, that anyone under eight-foot-tall. Cannot see out at anything below, especially short-arsed disabled, bald, not wealthy, partly deaf (well, mostly), bespectacled, octagenarian old men. Who live in flat 72 and happens to be keen on photography, and knowing if any emergency vehicles are on-site because he can’t hear the fire alarm. Second: I blame my ailments. Dizzy Dennis, Shaking Shaun, Stroke-Stewart, the Nicodemus Neurotransmitters dying, and Peripheral Neuropathy Pete! Lucky sod, I am!

January Prescriptions blister-pack label? Carrington Pharmacy, 343-345 Mansfield Rd, Nottingham NG5 2DA

But hey! If the chemist, Carrington Pharmacy, 343-345 Mansfield Rd, Nottingham NG5 2DA, can lie about delivering prescriptions after promising to do, also, fail to change the blister packs, and putting the wrong date on the stuff when it finally arrives. They can happily leave me without medication for five days as last month! The Doctor, nurses and medical team all fail to make any difference to the situation. What the heck! They’ll have dead between them, and probably be content about it. It will just mean one less old git to bother about. Only a genuine thought come worry!

Now, where was I before I went off on that paddy? Oh, yes! Gorrit now. I got with doing yesterdays blog update. It took many hours, due to having to sort the many photographs taken.

I had to go back to the wet room, another summoning to the Porcelain Throne had arrived from the innards. Heck, what a lengthy, painful one it was too! Solid as a rock, it took some moving after getting stuck half-way, just like it did on Monday and Tuesday. I might take a senna tablet later (I did). This time there was a fair bit of bleeding. The accompanying wee-wee was another not worth it type. A spread-out sprinkling drop or two. Things don’t feel right in this department at all.

The moo0nb was lingering on well this morning, I thought. So, I took some photographs from the heart-rendering hated kitchen window. Two of them have the low, late moon on view.

Back to the updating task, didn’t get it finished until gone 06:00hrs! Luv-a-duck! Went on the WordPress Reader section. Then it was time for the ablutions to be done. They went okayish. As per usual, a few dropsies. A couple of tiny nicks shaving. But no bleeding from Little Inchies fungal lesion. I reckon I could hear the flaming ‘Hum’ while I was in the wet room!

This reminded me of talking to the other passengers on the L9 bus yesterday, and I mentioned the ‘Hum’, and a well-dressed chap looked awfully puzzled, and asked me what it was! I replied: “A bloody nuisance that drives me mad!” A couple of the ladies said they get it too! I suggested that the man look it up on Wikipedia, and it is worldwide! But no one can work out what it is or where it’s coming from! He was the only passenger to get off in Daybrook. I wonder if they are Hum-Free there? Hehe! I might try to move if so!

I came out of the wet room, all refreshed and feeling betterer in temperament than I did earlier. So, I got the handwashing done. Taking extra care not to drop the bowl, or spill too much water over me or the floor. Of course, some got lost. I moved yesterdays washing onto the cloth airers. The jammie bottoms I hung in the wet room and left the heater on, fingers crossed I don’t forget about them.

What am I saying, me? Forget something? Hahaha!.

Then I decided the water falling on the floor, and my walking through it, created a need for the kitchen floor to be swept and mopped up! Great balls of fire; suddenly this, decision-making, determination and will-power! It can’t last long, surely? Better make a start on the floor cleaning straight away, while I’m in this unexpected and illogical, organically-impossible, semi-contented ready for work condition!

I got the floor done, and put some kitchen towelling down so, I didn’t spread muck while I went back in to make a brew. Why I even remembered to pick up the paper when the tiles had dried. Oh, Yes! Smug-Mode-Assumed!

I thought I felt something in the lower regions that felt warm and wet! Oh, dear!

Off to the wet room again. When I got in, the heat hit me, and the thought of ‘What the ‘eck are you doing, Inchcock? This flaming convector heater in the wet room is costing a fortune, and here you are drying your thin dressing gown with it! So, I moved it onto the flat airer, and put the t-shirt in the airing cupboard! A rare moment of logicalness there!

Back to the wet room, to check for any bleeding from Little Inchies fungal lesion. All was clear, I also inspected Harold’s Haemorrhoids. No leaking there either. The warm wet feeling baffled me? While there, I had a decker at the pins (legs). Amazing! They were still pale, a few more lumps courtesy of Clopidogrel, but the surprising thing was, the blood papules had all but gone, and they only appeared yesterday! I think?

Had a Dizzy, tumbled, cracked head, not good. Must get rest, made Dagwood type sarnies, sat down and ate them. Must feel alright for visiting the Doctor in the morning. That doesn’t ring right, does it? Well, it might!

Put the things in the bowl to soak, and took a snap of the impressive clouds.

I got down again in the £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. 

Zzzz!