♫Doo – do-do-do, doo doo doo doo…♫ TFZers Clint!

Monday 5th October 2020

Haitian Creole: Lendi 5 Oktòb 2020

: 01:40hrs: I didn’t need to wake-up, I’d not managed to get to sleep. I was so worried about Sister Jane and Pete, and not knowing. Duodenal Donald was ever-present in differing degrees of pain-giving. Tsk!

I passed wind and wanted a wee-wee. Escaped the £300, second-hand, not-operational recliner, and without even trying to check my balance.

I took a wee-wee, an LDSSM (Long-Dribbling-Spraying-Splashing-Marathon) one. Trotted off, taking the well-used EOGPB (Essential-Overnight-Grey-Plastic-Bucket) with me to be emptied cleaned and sanitised, to the wet room.

: Midway through disinfecting the bucket, and I need a second wee-wee! The AMD (After-Micturition-Dribble) was more like a river, Tsk! (Later on, inspired by the wee-weeing flood, I changed the original thought-graphic above. and made this new one up. I thought it was funny enough and topical to the Inchies Tale of Woe? Hehehe!

Had a clean-up, and changed the PP’s. Then off to the kitchen. The lights seemed to be twinkling a lot more this morning, a little like Sister Jane’s when she laughs and smiles, which brought back the fretting and hopes that she is alright. She and Pete have gone through the medical grindstone lately. ♥

The Health-Checks were done. Duodenal Donald was hacking away at me again, most uncomfortable.

I reckon the worrying about our Jane and Pete is the reason behind the pain. They do not deserve such bad luck.

The SYS was still high, but down on yesterday.

The pulse was up a lot, though? I’ll check ion a while to see what it should be, on Google.

The stick-thermometer showed a decent rise of body temperature, at 35.3°c. When I got the check done on the pulse, this is a screen-shot of what it should be. But it only confused me more than before. Why two columns of figures? Anyroad, I reckon the pulse is a bit high. Hang on, though, Resting Heart Rate? Conrad Confusion, reigns?

I did some waste bag making and sorting out. Having to make tiny bags is a bind, but necessary all the same, otherwise, using bigger bags, means they cannot go down the narrow, tiny, wrought-iron waste-chute openings. Hence, I now have about nine bags to deposit down the shaft later on, far too early to use it now, it’d wake folks up on its way down.

This photo on the right is from last Monday. When Diarrhorea Donald, had taken over control of the innards, from Constipation Konrad was blocking movements, and I had to dose myself with capsules. 

Well, two days later, and Constipation Konrad was back with a vengeance, and has been ever since. So today, it was Senna, and Macrogol needed to try and counter Konrad. And many gulps of the inutile, ineffective Peptac will be of little use, as it is typically, against the horrors of the Duodenal Donald attacks. The ulcers are getting to me today, they just plod on peppering me with stabbing pains that are worse than on previous occasions! Mind you, maybe Anne Gyna is a part of the problem as well? All I know is, something must be done if they don’t ease-off soon, it’s fogging the brain’s thoughts and intentions. I’ve got enough worries about with Jane and Pete.

During this short spell that I’ve been up and hobbling about, I’ve needed four wee-wees, and am now going for another! Crumbleckskins! At least I’m getting a variety of modes, that one was of the LPT (Long-Persistent-Type).

I got on the computer and found this mystery photo on the right, in the SD card.

It was apparently taken yesterday morning? Perhaps it could be a target for the Tate Gallery, do you think? Haha!

The updating of the Sunday post was a drawn-out affair. I carried on working on it, getting more and more frustrated with my lack of concentration. Notwithstanding the three varied wee-wees taken. Weeeee! Got the link emailed, and posted the diary off to WordPress. Did some Facebooking, then onto the WordPress Reader, some great stuff on today.

When I around to consulting the notepad to start today’s diary going, I came across what looked to me like; Por or Par, 86 or 81 (10.15), written, or rather scribbled. I wonder what the heck it means. It’s really irking me, it must mean something or I wouldn’t have written it, surely? Grumph!

I’m getting tired now, not surprisingly, with getting no sleep at all last night.

I tried to make a Morrison online order for later in the week, but no slots were available. So I had to use the Sainsburys service. This may cost me more, well, it will, and the risk of short-dated items is almost as bad as Morrisons are. Phlump! Still, I hope to get some canned Chill-Con-Carne from them, as advised by Tim Price in New Mexico, as an Anti-Constipation Colin! Hehe! (I’m not going to get too hopeful though, most stores seem to be running out of stuff lately. Panic buying, I suppose. I’ve an Iceland order coming in the morning. I hope they have the ready-made Gino D’Acampo Cannelloni Ragù meals in stock, I really enjoyed that!

My super G5 modern mobile phone rang out, well, it might not be that new, Ahem!

It was Pete, my Brother-in-Law. I was overcome with joy when I asked about Jane, and Pete said she was at the side of him and was okay.

I shed a few silent tears of happiness.

He explained what had happened yesterday with Jane; They rang the NHS 111 number and told them of the Cluster-Headaches the gal was suffering with, and her losing the sight of her left eye (I think it was the left one). They were advised to go to the QMC hospital straight away, and this they did.

The Bratton’s duly arrived at about 15:00hrs – and got seen at 22:15hrs. Blimus!

A rarity said Pete: But they let him go into the treatment room with Jane, which I thought was brilliant. We chatted, and Jane came on the line, and we had a three-way natter of sorts, but much of what we said was not sinking in, My gratification, delight, ecstaticness and euphoria at hearing that Jane was okay, was blocking out some of what we discussed.

I know that Jane has to go back again today to the hospital. I reminded them of the link to the NHS Cluster-Headache pages on the web that I’d emailed them. I think Jane will get some encouragement when she reads the treatments listed that are available to treat the painful problem.

I recall Jane saying the nurse told her what she could expect on today’s visit, anarchy! She told them that Mondays are pandemonium at the QMC (Queens Medical Centre). I hope she can get seen sooner rather than later. ♥

After ringing off, I was over the moon, never been so contented for years. I was making notes on the pad to use here later, and the landline burst into life.

It was my heroin, Jenny ♥. Explaining that Asda delivery drivers do not come into the flats. So she has been going down to fetch the stuff for various elderly and disabled tenants and asked if I had wheeler, they could use. I got the spare three-wheeler out of the balcony and shuffled it somehow to the front door. Where Jenny appeared in a few minutes – but it was no use to her, the bag wasn’t big enough. The poor gal came all the way up to.

Herbert was model-making again. Tap-Tap-Clunk-Tap. Hehehe! But it didn’t bother me today, with my finding out that Jane was alright.

I had a look at the latest Nottingham and regional Coronavirus figures. A little concerning, I’m afraid.

The intercom rang, and flashed. It was the Amazon delivery of shoes arriving. I didn’t see the delivery person at all, but they left the box outside of the front door for me.

I got the box inside and on the flat airer.

Opened the container, and had a look at the footwear contained therein.

Crap, but I only expected them to be at the silly-cheap price they were asking for them. They were the same price as the Shoe Zone.

I then took my ninth wee-wee of the day. Hogglebogwash! They are now coming out as SWOP (Sprinkly-Weak-Orange-Painless) modes.

I got on with doing some more waste bags up. The cardboard from the Amazon deliveries was flattened and got in with the other waste. As you can see, there are rather a lot of them now. Hehehe! I’ll have to make an effort and get them to the waste room I suppose, it may take more than one journey, methinks.

Hello,  the Dusty Springfield tune, ♫I only want to be with you♫ has burst forth from the front door. I bet it’s Josie returning the dinner things from yesterday. It was, bless her. She told me that she enjoyed the brown potatoes, which cheered me up a little further! I got the Nikon camera on the charge, and I have to say, struggled to get the bags to the waste room. A bit of a balancing act with the trolley full to overflowing.

I got the Tower of Pisa-like imitation ( Piazza del Duomo, 56126 Pisa PI, Italy) like three-wheeled trolley through the front door, and by then had three bags of refuse dislodged and down onto the floor. Tsk! 

Retrieved them and restacked them on the trolley, and went the few feet to the lobby door and out into the lift area. More black and white bags escaped and had to be retrieved, not without a degree of, well, silently muttered naughty curse words had been used and got to the waste room door.

  I got the trolley and contents into the chute area, and thought as I took this photograph, ‘This is going to be another on that the Tate Gallery miss, and lose out on’. Hehehe! On the very first bag to be deposited down the shaft, I caught the edge of the iron grating chute, and now have a reasonable sized new bruise to show off.

Backing the trolley out of the room after unloading the bags down the shaft, I accrued another injury on my left buttock, as I walked into the door frame with a jolt. That’d be because I’m a dolt!

With a newly acquired style of limp, thanks to my bum-banging-blimp, I made my way back to my apartmentette and got the dinner prepared and served up ready for consuming.  

A ‘reet-treat’. Taste-Rating 7/10, got the pots and me cleaned up, and stripped and settled in the £300, second-hand, c1968, rickety recliner. I wrapped the thin green quilt around me, got all comfy and warm, snug as a bug, and so contented and smiling inwardly, at the good news about Sister Jane! Then…

Then as I went to turn on the TV, I realised I had not turned the set’s power on yet. Grumbleklunk!

The quilt was taken off, I dismounted the warmth of the c1968 chair, and hobbled over to turn on the power socket. Accruing a stubbed toe en route on the Ottoman! Whincingtime!

Wrapped the thin green quilt around me, got all comfy and warm again in the recliner…

Then I realised that the TV remote control had dropped between the chairs as I got up to put the plug into the TV! (I’d taken it out earlier, to use the socket, for the camera charger). Argh!

I tried to retrieve the remote with the long picker-upperer – but only succeeded in moving it out of sight, under the recliner!

I was just-short of suicidal feelings; only dejected depressed, despondent, and disconsolate,  dispirited, downcast, dismayed, and down-in-the-dumps with my sudden return to a world of Whoopsiedangleploppery! Not really, but I was irritated a smidge! Hahaha!

The quilt was taken off, I dismounted the warmth of the rickety recliner again, and got down on all fours, got the torch (handily kept on the recliner at all times when not in use), located the remote, and with the long picker-upperer, managed to slide it out from the furniture, then toward myself, and at last, reclaimed it. I put it in the Ottoman with the torch, and then planned to get back on my feet… somehow!

I did eventually get back up, via the Ottoman.

Falling off of the Ottoman (more bruises on the thigh), and banging the left foot. Then tried clinging onto the recliner…

But the cushion slipped off as I grabbed the chair, and ended up back on the floor where I started. I moved the cushion out of the way and tried again…

Next try, I utilised the swivel chair and Recliner as leverage, and success! I was back upright…

I knocked off the bottle of Springwater when I turned to get the quilt back on the chair…

I distinctly remember as I sat down to try and settle again, knocking the spectacles off of the recliner, Argh! But they were the old pair that I keep nearby if needed during the night, and I just left them there, as I’d got varifocals on anyway, to watch the Frost TV programme that I wanted to see.

I got back resettled, yer again, in the c1968 recliner, and wrapped the thin green quilt around me, got all comfy and warm, and…

Naturally, just as the heart started to calm down, I needed a wee-wee! Flagtoggles! Gragnangles! Granglesbognessbuggerit!

I got up, all the rigmarole, and farting about had to be gone through again. Got to the bucket and the darned mode of wee-wee was of the FFFONEC (Forceful-Furious-Fast-Orange-Never-Ending-Cloudy) variety. I had to endure one of the longest PMADs (Post-Micturition After Dribbles) ever! Humph!

Getting silly this is! I wrapped the thin green quilt around me, got all comfy and warm again in the recliner (Deja vu?). Oy-oy-oy!

Got the TV turned on and had a swig of the spring water/orange cordial. Then, I turned the TV to channel ten and realised the two-hour episode of Frost, had only fifteen minutes left to run, so there was no point in watching really now! Tsk! 

However, I can report that all these Whoopsiedangleplop, Accifauxpas and botherations; that usually would have got me all hot-under-collar (Not easy when you’ve not got any clothes on, Hehehe!) Honestly, they merely irked me a tad – and I can thank Jane for that, learning of her being okay, and chinwagging with her and Pete for a few moments, got me through this injury-ridden load of frustrations, and I felt in good form, with a definite sensation on contentedness!

I switched the TV to Radio three, and found some jazz music to listen to, and settled down. The Thought-Storms, were for the first time ever, unprecedentedly, idiosyncratic, enriching and pleasingly palatable.

I nodded of and woke an hour or so later, to hear the end of Nina Simone’s 1958, ‘My Baby Just Cares for Me!’ through the headphones. (Very memory prompting!) The quilt had come off of my feet, and the left one was stinging a bit, and seemed, well it was, swollen? Presumably, this happened when the limb collided with the corner of the Ottoman. Ay-yay-yay! 

Sweep Morpheous soon returned, as my mind happily mused over Sister Jane feeling better. I just had to put this picture of Jane (left) Me, and Christine Wright. We were young, frisky and having fun in our back yard. It was taken a few years ago… Hahaha!

Notice Inchcock had hair in those days? What we were doing with the hose pipe, well, maybe Janet will see this and remember, then she can tell me. Over to you, Jane and Chrissie!

I removed the headphones, passed wind, and drifted blissfully, smiling inside, off into the wonderful land of Nod!