Saturday 25th April 2020

Samoan: Aso Toʻonaʻi 25 Aperila 2020

02:45hrs: I woke up, and stirred with a certain reluctance. Brought about by my anxiety of what the next mistake, error, memory lapse, blank-spell or tumble will bring forth with it.

No doubt about it, my confidence was low today to start with. It was almost like waking up a different person. The mind tormented and changed, I expect, from the four weeks of self-isolation. The thought of my being given instructions to keep isolated for another twelve weeks, and aware of all the problems that have arisen already, are doing me no good at all.

Determined not to get uptight and despondent like the last two days, I deliberated and brain-stormed in search of some positives from the situation. I surprised myself in how many I came up with. Most of the deformed, or contrived, but they made me feel a bit better, just for thinking of the silliness in most of them:

1. I’ve avoided injuries galore, by not putting any socks on, and avoiding the daily battle with the Sock-Glide! (Although, I do have  a fear of having to use it again)
2. No buses. So no catching the wrong one!
3. No buses. So no falling asleep on them and missing the bus stop!
4. No buses. So no forgetting the bus pass, reading glasses, hearing-aids, cash, wristwatch, alert-cards and wristlets, mobile phone, medications or shopping list!
5. No waiting in the lift lobby, as the cages keep going up and down missing the twelfth floor altogether, repeatedly and then being delayed and missing the bus!

Searching for some silver-linings, no matter how far-fetched, still felt of some benefit to this mentally mangled-mind of mine. For a few moments, anyway!

As I was slowly and unenthusiastically removing my flabby-bulk from the second-hand, £300, uncomfortable, c1968, rickety-relic of a recliner, and grabbed the stick, the need for a wee-wee came on suddenly, and urgently. It was crucial that I responded with all alacrity available, to avoid any undue leakages.

When I got in the wet room, and the flow, flowed with an amazing forcefulness for once, as opposed to the trickling efforts of the last few days. I noticed the lower right arm had gone a speckly red-orange colour? Still, it made a change from the usual pale bloodless white.

I washed my hands as I did so, the damned carbolic soap shot out of my palm, bounced off of the wall, and straight down in the toilet bowl! That’s the end of that then. I’ll have a ferret around in the airing cupboard later, to see if I can any soap in there. I wonder if they have invented a miracle soap, toothpaste, spectacles and hearing aids magnet, and are testing it in my bog? Hahaha!

Into the kitchen, and took the medications, guzzled a load of the inefficacious, unfructuous, otiose Peptac to try to calm Duodenal Donald down a bit. Made a brew and opened the window to see what the odd noise was, found no cause for it, and took a photo of the morning view of the twinkling Nottingham lights.

I got on with the sad Saturday post. Plodded away and got it done. Emailed the links. Pinterested two photos. Then on TFZer Facebooking. WordPress Reader next.

About 08:30hrs, I got the template for this one done, and started creating it. But had to divert to the Porcelain Throne.

Ah, well, Trotski Terence didn’t last long, back to Constipation Conrad being in charge again. Ten minutes after starting, and a lot of effort and pain, the evacuation was finished, with a certain relief all around my body. Hehe! I went to the sink to get a wash, and couldn’t find the soap. I actually started searching around for it, it took a minute or so before I remembered I’d dropped in down the toilet earlier. Ay-yay-yay! What an Eizel! I must ask the Doctor if I can remember her, and where the surgery is later after the isolation period ends if it ever does… now, what was I going to ask her? Oh, yes! If the Peripheral Pete Neuropathy inspired Nicodemus Neurtranmitter end dying, could be causing me to be losing it with the memory, and failure to grasp, and fear of doing so, almost everything nowadays? I think?

I then had a check on the WordPress comments. Then started this blog going.

I went on Gmail to check again if any new stuff had arrived, and found a couple, one from Iceland (on the left here). This is an example of me struggling to comprehend things. Does this mean… well what does it mean? I have an order in for Monday already?

Make amends to your order. I imagine that amendments as meant?

A strict time allowed. So, I waited until 10.00am, and carried on with the blogging duties. But with confusion milling about in my head!

Well, as they say on the message, they hope this makes life a little easier, but this doesn’t make my life a little easier! Does this mean its a one-off, do I have to do it next week? Confusionableitis is rampant! If I do make an order, will they send it if I already have one in with them? Oh, Wallupperisticles and Finglegoberisations! So, I made one. At ten o’clock, I pressed the link button and got more messages before it let me on the site. I clicked to book a slot and got one in for Tuesday. 8 >10am.

Well, this is likely to cause me more bother than if I’d not done it. I don’t know if it will be valid. On Monday, I have an order coming that will fill the cupboards and fridge, now I’ve ordered some more for Tuesday! Hopefully, if it does come, I can share some with Jenny, as a sort of thank you. I hope she’s got some room in her fridge and freezer. Doing silly things comes so much easier nowadays!

I made brew, and had some mini-cheddars with it, and watched some UTube stuff while I had the odd breakfast.

Sister Jane and Brother in Law Pete sent me a photograph of their latest just received freebie box of fodder. (Right one doctored by yours truly, to show what they really meant. Hahaha!)

Talk about taking the wee-wee! Hahaha!

But I’m not jealous. Oh, no! Not at all.

Thanks, Pete and Jane, gave me a rare laugh, and much appreciated too!

Fatigue Francis, Nicodemus’s Neurotransmitters, and Dizzy Dennis, all convinced me to stop, make some nosh and have a sit-down. But my appetite and gluttony came to the fore, and I decided to make a nosh instead. The Iceland beefburgers, tempted me. They are not fatty at all, this was the appeal of them. I hope they don’t make Duodenal Donald any worse than he already is.

Simple enough meal. The last of my low-fat, ‘Naturally Imperfect’ oven chips were crispy and not fatty at all. The burgers were grand. The last of the piccolo tomatoes were wonderful, a Marmite and plain cheese disc were okay.

No bread, the loaf I had in was going mouldy, so I dished it. But that was a good thing, no need for bread with every meal, I’m getting used to it now. The low-calorie thin weak yoghourt was made edible with the addition of some Maple syrup, and it was all devoured and masticated with great joy! Flavour rated at 8.8/10!

I did the pots. Considered doing the hand-washing, but chickened out.

I took the evening medications. Olive oiled the ear-holes, made up a bottle of spring water with added the last of the Orange Barley, had a wee-wee.

Then settled down to watch some TV, with a certainty that sleep would surely come early tonight, after all, I was feeling mentally drained. AS long as the Thought-Storms didn’t kick-off.

I opted to watch some Rosemary & Thyme episodes. I watched all the way through the first one, without a single no-off. By cunningly changing and scrolling through the other channels when the advert-breaks came on. (Swank-Mode-Engaged!)

I had to visit the Porcelain Throne after this episode finished. What a performance that was. Constipation Conrad had really taken over the rear-end proceedings. Pain, blood, crosswording and a toe-stubbing! With not being able to get the toe-nails cut anywhere, this was the most painful stub of all time! (Sunday a.m.: It’s currently competing with Duodenal Donald for the position of Top-Dog in the ailment ratings!) Little Inchies fungal lesion needed cleaning and sorting, more agony!

A different version of Inchcock returned to his £300, second-hand, uncomfortable, c1968, not-working rickety recliner. A sad, grumpy thing, who became sadderer, when sleep refused to come, he didn’t even have any nodding-offs.

Poor old sausage!