Friday 8th May 2020
Serbian: Петак, 8. маја 2020
01:40hrs this morning, I got finally got my head down. Helped by sheer mental-fatigue, earlier sleep deprivations, extra Codeine 30g having been taken, and the wee-weeing incidents slowing down.
06:00hrs: I woke, to my EQ warning me; “Just get on with it, bear the brunt of what is coming?”
The lightness of the late morning made me a little confused for a few seconds. Then the brain engaged gear and joined in with cringingly flobby and oversized-stomached torso, in activationalisationing.
As I tackled getting the lumbering body mass from the £300, second-hand, c1968, broken mechanically, rinky-dinked, démodé, rickety recliner, caught my balance and grabbed the four-pronged walking stick, the need for another wee-wee came to the fore. Off to the EGPB (Emergency Grey Plastic Bucket) for am HLSB (Hosepipe-like-short-blasting) type, wee-wee. Knocking some stuff off of the corner stand en route to the kitchen. Tsk!
Made a mash of Thompsons Punjana tea. Took the medications. Olive oiled the ear-holes and found I was not looking forward to the Party in the Pod.
Feeling a smidge melancholic, I suppose. I cannot physically move an easy chair and or table into the balcony. Can’t decorate the pod, I can’t even open the bloody windows! Such are the ailments, Nicodemus’s Neurotransmitters dying, RAI (Rheumatoid Arthur Itis, Dizzy Dennis, Saccades Sandra, Shaking Shaun, Roger Reflux, Shuddering Shoulder Shirley etc. are all going to prevent me enjoying and taking part in the so-called party. The Residents Group, are kindly going supply some nibbles for the picnic in the pod. Deafness will prevent me from hearing the music they are going to play from the rooftop, and join in. It makes one feel more isolated when you can’t physically join in things. As I mentioned, I can’t even open the new, unwanted, disliked balcony windows this morning. Nicodemus ensured that.
But, others are in the same boat. And this realisation soon brought me out of my appalling, momentary, self-pitying-mode. Bad innit, when you get feeling like this! Glad I shook myself out of it, and took some photos, some through the glass of balcony, others from the kitchen window.
On the computer and started this post off (In between wee-wees, Tsk!).
Put the computer in sleep mode, and off to get the ablutions done.
But had a change of plans for some unknown reason, I got the handwashing done, wrung, and hung, while I sang a song! Hehehe! (Tower of Strength, Frankie Vaughan)
Off to the wet room, and noticed how full the waste bin was getting. Another diversion! I took the bag and container into the kitchen to clean, and sorted out four small black bags of rubbish, and loaded them in the trolley-walker, and took them to the waste chute. Back to the flat, with the toes worse than ever making hobbling uncomfortable. (I mention this, cause I don’t want you to worry about me being contented, free-of-pain, or even slightly happy! Hahaha!)
I was not of excuses to avoid getting the ablutions tended to, (Har-har!) It was, I think, the thought of having to clean and medicate Little Inchies fungal lesion that was making me delay the procedure. (Gawd, it’s a painful daily task! [Coward?]). Another wee-wee first, then I got the teggies done.
I did manage a decently deep cut under the chin, shaving, though. Then under the shower, using the freebie shower gel pot, and the last of the carbolic soap. (Will I ever find any again? Sob!) Olive-oiled the ears again. Applied the Germoloid, and Germolene creams. Rubbed in the pain gel on the knees and arms.
The dropsies were not too bad this morning. Toilet roll, Toothbrush, razor (2), shower gel pot, carbolic soap, the Jenny ♥ supplied picker-upperer, and the Germoloid tube. Then, with no more reasons I could think of to avoid it, I tackled the fungal lesion medicating. “Argh!” comes to mind as the best descriptive word to describe the experience. But at least it was done, I hoped and prayed that the lesion does not start bleeding again and give me break. Tsk!
As I was spraying and freshening up the torso, with body spray, Dettol, after-shave and clothes freshener, te need for the Porcelain Throne arrived. A much more manageable, if massive, session, this time. Although for an unknown reason, it left me so sore. I cleaned the tender rear area and reapplied some Germoloid cream once more, (Thank heavens Jenny was able to get me some Germoloid on her order last week, thanks, Jen!). And, off to take a Codeine with a mug of tea.
The ‘Hum’ had now got as loud as yesterday’s was, and that was rambunctiously so! It was getting to me, so what any poor devil with decent hearing was going through, I don’t know.
I had a go on CorelDraw to try to make some graphics before the picnic-pack arrived, for the People in the pod celebrations on the balcony start.
Sister Jane rang, bless her. Told me to watch BBC1 again. I was waiting to get the picnic-in-the pod. I went onto making a silly ode about Coronavirus and the lock-down easing. Got it finished and published. It’s not of my betterer ones, but still. Such a shame.
The doorbells chimed, twas a very kind young lady delivering the Picnic-in-the-pod nibbles, bless her. Some Melton mini-pork pies in there! Perfect timing. I consumed a mini-pie and took one with me out on the balcony with a cup of tea. Not an easy job with the walking stick. It took me three trips.
I took some photographs from inside the balcony (Pod).
The end windows were too tricky for me to open. I recall slicing my finger the first time I tried when the lethal metal spring clip that needs pulling and pushing at the same time. The blood flowed! I managed to open two of the front windows, though.
I also waved to a few people, but no one responded. So, I drank the tea, put the cup in the washing up bowl, and returned to the balcony, even more, determined to get someone to wave back to me! Of course, no one did, not that I saw, anyway. Got the camera again.
I took a couple of zoomed-in shots of the flags on Elmswood Gardens.
I saw how bad the first photo was of the top of the hill, so I took another one. It seems that Winwood Heights was being photographed by a lot of people today.
I could not see who they were below, or who was in the pods, but I put my best grin on and waved away. No acknowledgements or return waves received.
So, I stuck to photographicalisationing a few more efforts. I noted that we had attracted the Constabulary. I’d love to know who the lady was in the period gown, HRH? ♥
Hello, are two more Police Ossifers with long shadows, going along Chestnut Walk, now! I wonder if they were checking on social-distancing, drug-dealing, or just after some freebie-nibbles? Hahaha!
I decided I’d been photographed enough, ignored, and needed a wee-wee. So, of I trotted to the wet room.
On returning to the balcony, I took the last snap of some folks down below, I think it might have been relatives of tenants, knowing we’d (well some of us) be in out pods, who’d come to visit from a sage, or even, safe, distance?
I attempted to close the windows. Hahaha! What a farce! I tried all sorts to get the panes to go back where I moved them from. I got a little frustrated with myself. I boldly applied extra pressure and raised the glass at the same time, and they closed? I’m really sure what I did, but it worked. It would be nice to know how I did it.
Then I thought I heard some banging, and thought it might not be Herbert, but someone at the door, so I went to investigate…
The door handle and fittings that were already loose, just fell off! Now, this was bad, but it had a good side to it!
With just going on the balcony earlier, I came the missing box of screwdrivers. Safely ensconced in the three-wheeled-walker! Good job, too, or it would have meant my disturbing someone to get help. I managed to get the mechanism back inside the slot and tighten things up. Smug Mode-Engaged!
Blimus, it’s late! Got the nosh on the go. I got the superb, kindly donated Melton Mowbray pork pies, silverskin onions and terrible, bitter-tangy, sour tomatoes on the plate. Then, got the superb-tasting ‘Naturally Imperfect’ chips in the oven, and readied some Petit Pois in a pot for later cooking.
I got my meal served up, on the tray. Rather a lot this time, but I felt I could manage it all, especially with not having any dinner the day before.
I had to nip to the wet room for a wee-wee and found that Little Inchies fungal lesion had been bleeding again. This cost me the meal going cold, and the usual agony, and some arghing. Hehehe! I got things cleaned up, changed PPs, washed and back to the semi-warm meal.
Got the fodder to the recliner, and found that the balcony doors clicked open of their own accord? Baffled as to why; I investigated. The catch was not snapping in, and I had a hell of a job, fiddling and guessing which position the lock button should be in, and trying to work out how. By pure chance came to the rescue, and I got it locked at last. It didn’t do me much confidence-wise when I realised I had three keys, all different?
The food was stone cold by the time I got down in the c1968, second-hand, £300 rickety, none-working recliner, to eat. Then, I realised I could not find the TV remote control!
I had the most extended search in history to find the controller, but no luck whatsoever!
What should’ve been a super-nosh, ended up being picked at, and only got a 4/10 for a taste-rating! It looked so delicious as well. All those wonderful chips wasted. The gorgeous petit pois, too. The only things that were not spoilt by being cold were the Morrocan tomatoes, but they were really foul-tasting, bitter and almost juiceless. Grumblebotherations!
I put the things in the washing-up bowl to soak and conducted planned search for the TV remote. All rooms checked, no success! I settled down, resigned to having no TV to help me fall asleep! Bad, that! Yet, within minutes, despite the Thought Storming, I nodded off. Yeehaa!
I woke up minutes later, to the sound of something thudding? I struggled out of the recliner, grabbed the stick, and went on a look around, to find what might have caused the noise. I found a lot of books on the bookcase had fallen over. Indeed this would not have been noisy enough to wake me up? But I could see nothing else untoward anywhere.
As I was successfully failing to get back to kip, the wall-clock fell off the wall!
My Gawd; is the building about to collapse?
As I struggled up and to the clock with the stick and picker-upperer, the mini vacuum cleaner, fell out of its charging base!?!? What?
Ah, the mysterious wonders of 72, Woodthorpe Court: The Ghosts, Hobgoblins, Boll-Weevils, Aliens, Gremlins, Karakia-cursing entities, that permeate, pass through the pores and interstices of space, through the time-continuum. Usually, without rupture or displacement within the building. To cause havoc, fear and frustration, as they dislodge time itself, in their aspirations and skulduggery, to complete their given by Satan, ‘Let’s Piss-off Inchcock’ mission?
I settled once again, with the thought, well, dream, of getting some sleep. The late sunshine burst through the flimsy, thin curtains, lighting up the legs.
I was probably the way the pins were resting on the chair, but they looked to be getting some more meat on them? I swear, the long toenails hurt in their own right, along with the Colin Cramps attack at the time I took this shot.
When the evening sunshine dipped, I was soon in the land of nod!