Sunday 7th June 2020
Croatian: Nedjelja, 7 Lipnja 2020 Godine
03:30hrs: I stirred reluctantly and felt the need for a wee-wee developing. I took a snap of the sadly overgrown toenails, and they stuck out from the thin quilt. I must get this quilt hand-washed later today, along with the two zip-up jumpers, I’m not too keen on the idea, but needs must and all that!
I ejurated common sense and went to get up without checking on the ailments first. No sooner nearly upright, and I was back down again with a ‘Thud,’ back into the £300, c1968, second-hand, sickeningly-beige-coloured, none working, ramshackle, uncomfortable in the extreme, rusty, rickety, near-lethal, recliner. Harold’s Haemorrhoids were instantly proffering forth pain, and, judging by the wet warm sensation, were bleeding as well! Not a very promising start to the day!
After a few mild curse words and questioning of my point in continuing, I regained my composure. And checked over things, yes, the piles will need attention. So, gingerly I made my way to the wet room. I took a WSSUGG (Weak-Squirty-Spraying-Uncontrollable-Greeny-Grey) wee-wee and investigated the rear-ends requirements. Cleaning and medicating ensued. (Silver-Lining Findings): At least Little Inchies fungal lesion was not bleeding. I had a good wash of the hands. I got a bit carried away with it, Hehehe!
Off to the kitchen, to get the medications, palmoscopy, injecting, creaming, ear holes oiling, and sphygmomanometerisationing was done.
The SYS was back up high again, Sys 172, DIA 79, Pulse 80, and the temperature was 35.4°c. There was no need for any extra pain-killers this morning. The rear end is a bit sore where I fell back down in the chair on Harold’s Haemorrhoids, but not too bad.
As I was taking this shot of the morning view, it dawned on me, I seek not fortunes or fame, but only ataraxia. But obviously, this is impossible; I don’t think it exists for anyone on earth, just a daydream state of mind. At the back of my warped troubled brain, I hoped I was wrong. I am an idiot!
I decided to take a photo of a chap who was walking down the middle of Chestnut Walk to the hill up to Woodthorpe Grange Park.
Now, how I managed to take four pictures is beyond me! I checked the camera, and it was on the ‘Auto’ option. Then as he walked to the gravel hill, I took another photo but took two this time?
Nicodemus’s Neurotransmitters were not playing up, nor was Shaking Shaun or Shuddering-Shoulder-Shirley. So why, how?
I made another brew of Thompsons Punjana and started on the updating of the Saturday blog. Then another graphic finished the Saturday blog, posted it, and the links off. On to Pinterest, WordPress Reader, then TFZer Facebooking.
Stopped to get ablutions tended to. And a fantastic session it was! Dropsies? No more than eight, no toe-stubbings, trapped fingers. No knocking into or anything over either!
The leg ulcer looks like it’s changed its mind about coming back and is much fainter now. I’m chuffed with this accident-free ablution session!
Made a start preparing Josie’s and my cheesy potatoes. Chives, grated Leicester cheese, salt and a knob of butter, well bashed and mashed. Got Josie’s meal on the server tray, and wheeled it to her door. She seemed pleased with it.
I got stuck into my nosh. The boiled new potatoes had been in the crock-pot for about six-hours but were not fully cooked, so they found their way into the waste bin sharpish. Flavour Rated: 5/10. A smidge disappointed, I rose and got the washing-up done, and as I did so, the doorbells chimed out.
Blimey, I’d forgotten all about the Amazon delivery coming. Burkinhamianism! It was the Stubbs Hickory bottles and the bags of Tiramisu Cashew nuts.
I got the Stubbs in the cupboard, and nuts in the spare room, after taking out bubble-wrapping, and put it in the box with the others, I aim to hand these to ILC and Ice-skating champion, Scharführeress Julie. She loves to destroy them, Pop, pop! Haha!
Then I got some handwashing done, but only one of the zip-up jumpers, but it’s a start. Got it washed, wrung and hung!
Then of to the Porcelain Throne, but Constipation Konrad ensured there was no action. Despite my best painful efforts! Hunglebrunkdunk!
Washed, and as I was coming out of the room, a sudden weariness and tiredness came over me.
The only thing to do was get sat down in the none-working, tattered, £300, second-hand, uncomfortable rickety recliner, and let nature take its course. Surprisingly, I was asleep within ten minutes, and having afternoon nightmares with it.
Gruumblesodditluck! I rose up and decided to get the black bags sorted ready for the morning, and by gum, the sun came out, so late in the day as well, bootiful it certainly was, though.
I amassed about eight or nine small bags for the skip. It was too late to take them to the chute now, the noise of the falling bags on there way down, they would disturb my fellow residents and neighbours. Not that it mattered to someone above who was tapping and clunking away, merrily doing something or other.
As I was going to get my head down and try again for sleep, I had to shoot off to the Porcelain Throne again. I half-expected another failed evacuation; and got the crossword book out. After a few minutes, the movement began! All of its own accord and under the guidance of the innards, it ground its way painfully out. I thought it would was never going to end… and when it did with a thud, more than a splash, the relief was so very welcome!
Aha, back into the land of Nod!