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!
02:05hrs: Well that was a better nights kip, over 5½hrs! Great! I felt like I had had a good sleep, too! Yet another fantastic morning for Inchcock!
As my functions began to come into semi-life, and the brain kick-started itself, only Arthur Itis, Saccades-Sandra, and Colin Cramps seemed to be in a bad mood. Anne Gyna, Duodenal Donald, Reflux Roger, Dizzy Dennis etc. noticeable by their absence of botherations. I think I’m getting accustomised to these Good-Luck happenings. I liked ’em!
I manoeuvred my aged, wobbly-bellied body from the £300, c1968, rickety recliner, with the aid of the four-pronged walking stick, got up like a crippled elephant onto my feet. I availed the use of the handily-place GPWWB (Grey-Plastic-Wee-Wee-Bucket), a strong flow, that didn’t last long, of the SHLSDTAT; (Starting-Hosepipe-Like-Suddenly-Dying-To-A-Trickle) variety. On my way to the kitchen, the need for the Porcelain Throne arrived, so I diverted to the wet room (Limping along nicely, I might add!)
I got there in time quickly enough, and an evacuation of almost perfect conditions followed! Apart from a little discomfort from Harold’s internal Haemorrhoids. No bleeding or trickling from Harold of Little Inchies Fungal Lesion. The legs had gained some colour as well! Some new varicose and spider veins developing, methinks.
Just so’s I don’t get too excited about things, I knocked the haemorrhoid and Daktacort tubes off of the floor cabinets while getting the jammies pulled up.
With Shaking-Shoulder-Shay jerking kicked off as I left the room, but that doesn’t bother me much, and it’s usually copeable with, doesn’t hinder the typing on the computer much. See that? More good stuff. Colin-Cramps is keeping the Ailment-Mafia’s end up, mind. A regular rubbing in of Phorpain gel is helping me cope, I think.
In the kitchen, I took a shot of the morning sky; not just any shot, but the worst I’ve ever done! Humph! Yes, the neurotransmitter’s have failed again. It is impossible to stop this, but it comes and goes. It just picked the perfect time to destroy the quality of my picture! Grumpworthiness!
I got some mushrooms and leeks in the bigger crock-pot, on low heat. Made a brew, and took the medications. I added some salt, a drop of balsamic and clear distilled vinegar later on, with some caramelised gravy.
I then moved the handwashing that was hanging drying around. Got the jammie-bottoms on the wire airer, towel on the stand-up airer and moved the shirts above the heater in the kitchen. Then, I made another brew of tea, the last one had gone cold on me.
At last, I got the computer on to update the Friday blog Very late! But at least I’d got some other jobs done this morning.
I checked on the crock-pot stew first. I’m going to add some canned stewed steak in gravy to it after I get it in the saucepan on the hob later. That’s the plan anyway.
Well, the internet started off failing to save straight away, as soon as I’d written a sentence on WordPress! And I had to do three amendments due to the neurotransmitter’s nerves playing up, still. I decided to go on the TFZer Facebooking first, as nothing was needing to be saved on that, so it might prove more productive.
Well, I was wrong again! So, I went back to doing the updating of the Friday post, again! Much correctionalisationing was needed, and the internet also slowed me down, along with the neurotransmitter’s nerves. So very Agravannoying!
I popped in to check on the slow-cooker again. After yesterdays burnt offering, I was still a touch nervous of a repeat performance. No bother, though, the pots, onions and leeks were looking good and cooking rather swiftly.
Back to the computerisationing, and got the Friday diary finished, but it was well gone 06:00hrs by that time! Flanglemanglingly-Frenetically-Frustrating!
So, has my scintilla of good-luck come to an end? I suppose so! At this thought, I checked on the cooking again. All was okay, I transferred the food to the large saucepan, made and added son caramelised gravy to it, and stirred it in well. Then cleaned the large crock-pot and lid. They don’t half get dirty, don’t they? Took me ages and a lot of effort to get it looking something like alright!
Back on the computer, and my xyrophobia-suffering Brother-in-law Pete, called on the landline. Pete, the same age as wot I am, a bit older actually. Who still has his hair, is handsome. Much loved by the ladies. Is fit, capable, not lost his memory, is a mechanical and electrical genius too. The one that retired fifteen years early. Can’t blame him after his big wins on the pools then the lottery. Then, when he was left a fortune by an unknown relative. So, he invested in off-shore accounts, the stock-exchange, bought a new car and retired. Jealous? Me? We had a good chinwag, Sister Jane was dining out with her friends in Nottingham. I told him I was looking for a name to give for my Shaking Shoulder, and he suggested Shane, so it will be! Rings nicely, Shaking-Shoulder-Shane! Hehe!
We had a good gossip and laugh. But he had to go, Sister Jane was checking up on him again. Haha! Nice of him to ring, mainly to mention that I missed his birthday. I nearly told him to keep the money he stole from the flat and didn’t return while I was in the hospital from the stroke. But I didn’t. I understand getting cash out of the Scottish Widows European Back-Hander Fund is not easy!
I did some work on this blog and then went to make a fresh brew. Pete has mentioned the beautiful clouds at his posh-end of Nottingham, and I saw how picturesque they were.
I put the kettle on and went to open the unliked, unwanted, thick-framed, light and below-view-blocking window to take photographicalisation of the sky… The howling wind blew the window in and clouted me on the forehead, knocked the glasses of my head. And flung the t-shirt that was hanging there, right across the room. With the coathanger managing to hit my ear-hole as it went by! The mysteries of 72 Woodthorpe Court, the illusions, delusions, hallucinations, infestations, Whoopsiedangleplops, Accifauxpas and manic machinations that thrive here freely, are bountiful! Just thought I’d mention it.
I must try to get some graphics done, even though it’s beyond my usual head-down time. But no, only one ‘Thought’ done, and the fatigue set in.
I went to get the stew meal sorted and prepared. First, I just had to take a couple more photographs of the sky view, with the sun still trying to get its heatless, cold beam on earth. Bootiful!
I moved the mish-mash of leeks, potatoes, mushrooms and garden peas, from the crock-pot into the saucepan. Added some tinned beef in gravy to the mix, and out some more balsamic vinegar in. Stirred it well, tasted a spoonful, then made some gravy, and that was mixed in too.
While it heated up again, I washed the slow-cooker pot and casing. What a horrible, messy, time-consuming job! Cut my finger, dropped the rag, spilt water all over the sink. Dangwangles!
Got the things back on the counter, and made an orange spring water drink to take the medications with. I had a view of outside as I took the tablets, and down by the bottom of my sadly, much-missed tree copse, I could see people going over to something left at the foot of the hill. I zoomed in to see what it was. A tribute, possibly from a funeral, left as you can in. I wondered sadly if I will ever get fit enough to visit the copse again. I used to love going through and just stopping at times, to almost talk to the trees, and smell nature. I lovely gesture I think, putting this where presumably, the deceased used to stroll him or herself? Heartwarming, but depressing on a personal level, at the thought of my never being well-enough to visit it again! Maybe one day, with someone with me, I’d like to try.
I pulled myself out of my self-pity mode, to find the pan of ‘Inchcock imitation Stew’ was bubbling over! Oh, Gawd! More cleaning up and washing to do! Humph!
I got the meal served up and pondered on what I’d actually put in it. Potatoes, mushrooms, leeks, black Iberico tomatoes, garden peas in rich gravy… and the seasoning! Well, sea salt, balsamic vinegar, distilled vinegar and beef stock. Sounds a bit of a risk, but it smelt nice. Hehehe!
I ate it all up, with a flavour rating of 7.5/10 given.
Dropped the dish and things in the bowl to soak, and got down to watch a DVD.
01:00hrs: Woke, with memories of a dream I’d had floating about in the grey-cells. But they soon left, and all I knew was, the nocturnal mind-wanderings were of a likeable nature, but not the foggiest of any details, remained. Tsk!
Moments later, summoning from the inwards, advised me to hasten to the Porcelain Throne. So, I did. Which proved to be and up and down visitation. The evacuation went well enough, not too painful or messy, but it took a while and some effort.
During this, I had a go at the crossword book. And dropped it when the neurotransmitters failed in the finger-ends. I used the picker-upper to retrieve the book. I creased the pages in doing so. When I got it in my hand, a page with some of my scribble on it was on top. I’d written something about my xyrophobia-suffering Brother-in-Law Pete; I think I wrote it when I was in the Acorn home, recovering from the stroke, so out of interest, I read it. It related to Pete visiting me there. And suddenly it dawned… I’d missed his birthday! Well, I can expect him to raid the flat again now! Hehe! He might even arm one of his drones and send it over! I must apologise to the lad. Sorry, Pete, me old mate, catch you later, I hope, Sir. I do feel a right schlemiel! I blame my doing that housework yesterday. (Red-face and shame growing!)
I took a rinse and wiped the contact surfaces, and off to the kitchen to make a brew. I took the medications.
Then got on with updating the Thursday blog.
But it was a nightmare with the amazingly crap service provided by the Liberty-Global Virgin Media Internet, making things take several times longer than it should have. And yet yesterday, it was reasonably decent? In fact, it was to start with for the first fifteen minutes?
After about half-an-hour at it, the wee-weeing started, and it’s not stopped yet! Each and everyone was of the SSPAOQ (Short-Sharp-Painless-All-Over-Quickly) variety. But most frequent. I reckon that I must have dished the beta-blocker, in error for the Furesomide tablet! Thank you, Carrington Pharmacy, 343-345 Mansfield Rd, Nottingham NG5 2DA, for letting me down and failing to remove the Furesomide from the blister-packs in my prescriptions, as Nurse Leoni had asked you to do, and you said you would, but didn’t! She asked you again last week, and another prospectively worthless promise was received that you would on the next allocation. I hope you do get it right this time, bearing in mind you are classed amongst the top three Chemists in Nottingham by the Yell.co company. It’s only after talking with other old folks in the flats where I live about the problem that many have told me of their complaints about Boots, Llyods, and the Late Night Chemists in Sherwood. You all seem unreliable. So, how come you are in the top three? You used to be so caring, efficient, and reliable, too. Shame, a shame I can’t leave and use another pharmacist. And Boots and Lloyds are about to charge £10 per delivery.
I really went off the plot there, didn’t I? Sorry, but the annoyance of Mr Fries Liberty-Global Virgin Media Internet, and the suffering that Carrington Pharmacy, 343-345 Mansfield Rd, Nottingham NG5 2DA have put me through, gets to me sometimes, mainly when they both cause problems for me at the same time!
Now, my Grammarly keeps changing to US English, and I am so pissed-off!
As I gave up on the web and closed everything down, the landline rang out. It was Sister Jane to tell me I had forgotten Pete’s birthday. Oh, dear! ‘Trouble ‘t Mill!” I didn’t mention that I forgot my own last year! After all the help, the lad’s given me over the stroke, too. Oh, ecky thump!
I got the ablutions sorted out. The legs looked mighty fine! Dropsies that I can remember; Shaving Razors (4) Shaving cream. Teeth; toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash bottle. Showering: Showerhead, soap (3), sponge, and back-brush. Then another toe-stubbing against seat raiser. The sock-glide battle; that I had been mastering of late. Left me with a piece of the nail removed on the thumb, and a bruise on the knuckles. Also, I clouted my elbow on the sink edge, getting my trousers on! Now that’s more like me!
I felt almost happy about it! Sad, I know, but that happens to be how I think, good luck is unusual but pleasant. However, not as reliable or frequent as a good dose of my injurious calamities and failures are!
I tended to the handwashing next. A few bits needed doing, and I made a right mess of the kitchen in doing so. I was a smidge irked by having to clean the flipping floor again after doing it yesterday. A few quiet mutterings of a curseful nature were uttered. But overall, I remained in a decent enough mood with myself and the world.
When I’d got the clothes done, rung and hung, then the beep-beep hook on the coathanger with the jammie-bottoms hanging on it suddenly detached itself! And again water found its way onto the floor I’d just cleaned again! More foul language was silently-voiced, with one word coming out aloud, beginning with F!
I took a snap of the view from the unwanted, unliked, light & view-blocking new kitchen windows. It looked like some rain is on the way. Pretty in a way, though. No, that’s not the word to describe it! More like, erm… I don’t know now, the name just departed my brain and off into the ether? Humph!
I got dressed and all ready for a bus ride to Sherwood. After double, treble checking things, especially the potatoes in the new small cooker, lights taps, etc. I departed. I rang Josie’s bell on the way out, but no answer.
Down and along the link-passage to the ILC’s (Independent Living Coordinators), Wardens to us, Holding Cell office. A quick nip in and handed the nibbles out. All done in thirty-seconds, and off into the Winwood Court Social Lounge. Only one person in there, a Nottingham City Homes agent. There was a lot of them arrived today. Including the Nottingham City Homes Generalfeldmarschalless Housing Patch Manager/Catwalk Model, Angela Gould.
I got the crosswording tackled for fifteen minutes or so, did well today. Then forced the reluctant Arthur Itis’s knees to let me stand up again, and off to the Winchester Court foyer. Had a natter with Margaret, Mary, and some other tenants, then, out to the bus stop.
Got the L9 down to Mansfield Road, took a photo to the right, then the left.
I limped down to the left, to the Azam store, the one with the lime window shades, to search for some fruit and veg. But, oh, what a selection of old food at top prices they had on offer! I turned around and back up the hill and tried the Co-op shop. They had some Cox’s apples, not cheap, but they looked okay, a bag of small potatoes, a wholemeal bread thins, and some mushrooms.
I paid at the self-serve tills without any problems. Then out and crossed over at the traffic light, to go to Abdul’s shop with the Post Office in it, to get some Puff Pastry fingers.
The shop that was a Bingo and entertainment establishment had been graffitied. But not by good skilfull ones.
As I took this photo, a young Nottinghamian Pavement Cyclist came by, and gave the evil eye and said something, but I could not hear what it was he said. Then casually plodded on up the hill, with his hands in his pockets, not on the handlebars.
I got to Abdul’s and got a packet of the fingers and a pack of jam tarts, £1 each. I met Welsh William at the check out ahead of me. He held the door open for me as I followed him out. We had a chat on my way to the bus stop, and he diverted into the bookies. That’s William in the light blue jacket shooting off for a flutter on the gee-gees, I imagine.
I carried on to the bus shelter, just as the rain came down heavier. Good timing! Some tenants of the flats, unknown to me by name and I had a chinwag for a while, as the bus came a little late today. But it wasn’t cold with it like it has been these last couple of days. The rain seems to have scattered the local populace.
Back at the flats, I was off the bus last as usual, to avoid banging into anyone or getting hit about. One of them waited to hold the door open for me, bless the gentleman! I did my best to catch up with them for a natter, but they were already at the end of the passage near the swipe door, by the time I entered the corridor. William was leading the charge.
I got the few things purchased put away and began to formulate what to have for today’s nosh with the new potatoes. Which incidentally were ready to go now, in the crock-pot. So I moved them in with the garden peas in the saucepan.
Then, I got the computer on and downloaded the photos to Coreldraw for resising. Then, with a certain nervousness, I restarted the Libert-Global internet and made a mug of tea, while I waited to restart hopefully.
It was just the same as before, no change. It seems to be cutting out every few minutes, but only for a few seconds, then coming back on? But, it seems, only on WordPress this time? Unless its just the timing?
I went on Facebook to test that out on the TFZers page. Got loads of photos on. But some moving pictures set Saccades-Sandra off, and now the Dizzies are back. So I’ll get the nosh made and settle down to try and rest a while.
Head cleared now, and I nodded-off (beyond my usual head-down time now) for a few minutes, I woke and went to sort the meal out.
Oh, flippin’ ‘eck! The potatoes were slightly burnt! The leeks had disappeared altogether! Thank heavens I warmed the garden peas in another pan! The saucepan had to be put down. I said a few words over it as I washed it and put it in its final resting place, the rubbish bag. A sad event, cause this saucepan had lasted longer than any other in the depths of the Whoopsiedangleplops, and the cursed Accifauxpas mysteries of my beloved Woodthorpe Court kitchen. That lies somewhere between the twilight zone and a wormhole slipping through a tear in the fabric of space & the universal continuum, illusion, delusion, & hallucination! It was a veteran; it lasted the course without any damage for four months! Frogglemoths! I managed to clean the lid and kept it, in memory of the devoted pans loyalty, he’s not had an easy life, something I could empathise with.
However, I still ate the potatoes, not the black bits, mind. The feast was enjoyed, with a tinge of sadness for the saucepan. Hehehe!
Pork & mushroom pate, the lucky-not-go-the-same-way as the potatoes garden peas, an apple, a black tomato, beetroot, and the well-tasty potatoes! Lemon curd yoghourt for afters, with a bottle of fresh orange juice. A flavour-rating of 7/10.
Then, I went to get the pots washed. I returned to the junk room mark 2, got settled in the £300, second-hand, near-dilapidated, yucky-grungy-beige coloured, c1968, sometimes working, uncomfortable, rickety, rinky-dinked, rattling, rusty, resurrected, reconditioned, recalcitrant, recidivating and rotting-away recliner.
I got the TV on and noted that channel 81 on Freeview, a film, Crooks in Cloister was about to start. It rang a distant bell in my mind, so I decided to watch it… I nodded-off into slumberland as it was beginning. Not only that, but I slept for about 5½ hours uninterrupted!
