Ill Inchcy – Sunday 28th February 2021 Diary

TFZer to the rescue!


Sunday 28th February 2021

Latin: MMXXI die 28 Mensis Februarii

01:40hrs: I stirred into imitation life, realised that I was not coughing or bringing up anywhere near so much phlegm. And it felt good, indeed, at last, the symptoms from the lethal to me Convid-19 AstraZeneca vaccine was weakening, after a full week! I spent a few moments fearing the second one coming up…

The innards bubbled, I adopted the Porcelain Throne – Defcon Two-Mode. And I fumbled my way out of the grotty, £300, second-hand, c1968, unsteady, not-working, incommodious, sickeningly beige-coloured, haemorrhoid-testing recliner, caught my balance of sorts and hastened to the wet room.

No sooner was I seated, and with Trotsky Terence in complete control, the vagariously doloriferous evacuation began. The discomfort and pain were soon over, but it was an Oh, so messy affair! The regular black and dark red mini-torpedoes funked like never before! 50% liquid! Bits of blood could be seen as I rose to assess the results of the dump.

The entire toilet roll plus was needed to clear things at the rear end! Gallons of water was used from the sink to remove the gooey pipework, funking, multi-coloured evacuated product! Many flushes later, things seemed to have been cleared.

The reliable, made in Hong Kong, the contactless thermometer showed a lower reading this morning, of 37.0°c-98.6°f. But this was still a smidge high, methinks?

The usually dependable, trustworthy, Chinese manufactured Boot’s Sphygmomanometer failed on the first two tries to come up with a reading.

On the third attempt, it worked, but the SYS was high at 180, DIA at 75, and the PULSE was 89bpm.

I updated the Excel file with the new figures.

Then took the missed evening medications and making up the moring one to leave in view so that I didn’t forget that one later, as well. Humph!

I made a start on updating the Saturday Diary. SSS Shuddering-Shoulder-Shirley and PP, Peripheral Pete, were giving me their ackamarackus tricks, which slowed me down with my progress.

As I was going to make a brew of Glengettie, the rumbling innards kicked-off again – which worked out well as it happens.  I was only feet away from the wet room door at the time and was soon in and sat on the raised plastic seat…

Oh, dearie me! This session was worse than the first one and more Accifauxpa-ridden, too!

  • The content was just the same style, but there seemed a lot more of it!
  • Not so much blood escaped.
  • I had to restock with toilet rolls and kitchen towels. Ultra-messy, and so much of it, gooey, gelatinous, gunky and semi-liquid at the same time!
  • Foul-smelling, evil-mephitic and noxious!
  • The clearing of the evacuated product took far longer this time. Several refillings of the tank, and many flushes, eventually did the trick!
  • Then, when I thought everything had been cleaned and freshened, I spotted a clump that had, I assumed, ejected itself as I position myself on the seat.

Embarrassment, shame, disgust and the futility of my hopes all lingered for a moment or two, teasing, humiliating me. I got things cleaned up.

Then I returned to the kitchen.

I took this photographicalisation through the kitchen window, it didn’t come out well, did it? Humph!

I got the updating finished and posted off to WordPress. Pinterested, a couple of yesterday’s pictures, then went on Facebook catch-up.

I made another brew. Then read and replied to some comments. Had a read of the Health Unlocked Peripheral Neuropathy site letters. And made a start on this post.

Well, time to get the ablutions sorted out, then. Off to the wet room, I trotted.

Well, just look at those legs, will you? Spider and iliac veins hardly noticeable! Clopidogrel almost gone! And the weals, lumps, myasthenia gravis, with no signs of any Idiopathic Polyneuropathy.  Admittedly the socks cover the ankle ulcer, but it was very faint.

I wonder if the Tate Gallery might be interested in buying a picture of my amazingly improving legs and knees? My pins photo would cost a lot less to the idiots who run the Tate Gallery, and if I may say so, are more artistic than Mr Andre’s ‘Pile of Bricks!’

Arthur Payne, Gallery Assistant, quoted in the Evening Standard, n.f.d. 1976: “These bricks have really brought the public in. They can’t make head or tail of them. Nothing has attracted as much attention as they have!”

Inchcock response: “It’s a shame something that is nothing to do with art should be bought by the desperate for fame, fools at the Tate Gallery!”

Of course, it doesn’t bother me! Oh, no!

Ablutions all done, I set to getting the walker-guide box filled with waste-bags and got them ready to rake to the waste chute.

I found another letter had arrived.

Worryingly it was from British Gas, an assured sign of price rises or confusing changes of tariffs! Sure enough, on opening the lying, two-faced, cheating, conning, unreliable, ignorant, mercantile, profit-seeking, undependable, unpredictable, untrustworthy, capricious, expensive, over-charging, anti-customer orientated, costly, compassionless, and pachydermatous British Gas envelope; I found an increase in payments! But it didn’t bother me!

I spat a little, cursed, sent a death wish through the ether, to Centrica boss-man, (who own British Gas,) Ian Conn, and the four bosses who raked in £2m bonuses as the customers were hit; with price-hikes! But it didn’t bother me! The profit-oriented gits are not going to get to me! Although, if I hear of any of them being cast-down and snuffing it excruciatingly painfully from Covid-19, it may cheer me up a little and bring a warm smile to my face.

I got out and into the lift lobby, with the rather well-filled box of waste-bags on the Trolley-guide and down to the tiny rubbish-chute at the far end.

I got in alright and even put the bags into the chute without any knocks or injuries down the tube. Getting back out was not so easily managed. There is not enough room to turn the walker-Guide around in the waste-room, so a spot of reversing is needed. I caught the trousers in the wheels coming out. Later I found a tear in the cloth and a spec of bleeding. It made me think of British Gas! I felt sick!

Out along the lift lobby in the opposite direction. The only art-deco end wall, I’ve not seen this on any other floor, seemed more attractive to me again. (Especially so with the bile being encouraged by British Gas!) I wonder if any other floors have this art-deco paint job on their wall?

I got back to the apartment, and I set about getting Josie’s nosh cooked and prepped. I was extra careful in the presentation of the extra cheesy, buttered and sea salted potatoes. They tasted good when I tried some; I hope Josie enjoys them. The strain-free tuna, mini-tomatoes, Surami sticks, roast onions, and today for a change, fresh garden peas and leeks added. A disc of the cheese she likes was left unopen, in case she fancied it later on. A can of Sainsbury’s Rum and coke added. I delivered it just before midday. I could her Josie talking to her sister on the phone as I rang the bells. Handed her the tray and explained about the peas and leeks and new drink. Again she asked why I buy the drink when I don’t drink it; also, I told her, ‘So you can drink it!’ today. She can’t understand it.

I washed the cooking utensils from her meal making, and I had a look to see if I could get in a slot with Iceland. I got one alright for next Tuesday. I hope they have the bread available this week.

I made just one more graphic on CorelDraw and made up my meal of the day. Potatoes with the rest of the garden peas and leeks, a few crispy onions, tomatoes and some horrible tasting cooked turkey pieces. But I did eat it all. The early weariness dawned.

I got the pots washed again and became rather insipid, and the tiredness came on rather quickly for some reason. I think I put the TV on and turned it off after a few minutes to search for Sweet Morpheus. But sadly, success was denied to me!

It was many hours before I nodded off. Yet I felt so weary and couldn’t understand why I wasn’t already snoring away? I do remember the door chimes going – that would have been Josie returning the food tray, I assume. But I just could not get up. The gal knows that if I am in, the door is never locked; she can open the door and place the tray and cutlery though the door. But the poor thing has a memory about as good as mine is, Hahaha!

Frustration was growing the longer I went without nodding off. It was as if something was determined that I would not get to sleep?

I lay there, started to plan the World Economic recovery from Covid, worked out that aliens would be seen openly next August 28th, and realised I had not had a wee for many, many hours.

Finally, I must have nodded-off, cause I woke up, in need of a wee-wee…


19 thoughts on “Ill Inchcy – Sunday 28th February 2021 Diary

  1. The SYS has gone of the deep end again, but the temp is good. Legs are worthy of the Tate. Your load of trash on the trolley is worthy of the Tate as well. A fine looking you meal you prepped for Josie. Decent looking meal you made for yourself.

    • Amorning, Sir,
      Up and down Sys!
      My legs are getting better and betterer, no idea why. The Covid-Jab, mayhaps? I can imagine Astra-Zeneca reselling the vaccine later, as a miracle Vein and Lump-Ridder for your legs? Hehehe!
      Now be the first to hear this, Tim… There is no noise this morning from the World-Wide Hum! (Not yet anyway) Worrying that is!
      Loved the Sisters and Beakers dining blog!

  2. You have the fear and foreboding that signal impending doom with an upcoming second dose of Astra Zeneca. The anticipation can be worse than the actual event itself.
    Those Tate-quality bricks do not seem to improve with time. They should be stacked on a pallet, then moved into storage from time to time. A little break from the display floor would have been better, just lift the whole display with a moving device and then into hiding could they go.
    Sweet Morpheus can be a difficult character to locate, mostly when he is needed the most. Lisa has been calling out for a spot of kip blessed by Sweet M. Long waits…then long waits…
    Hoping yer second jab does its job as designed.

    • The anticipation can be worse than the actual event itself? I know that, Billum. But with my recorded lack of luck, and the attentions of bad-luck, it is essential I think and anticipate the worst… in hopes of ebing wrong, of course.

      I am as you know, of low-breeding and suffer from a lack of being educated – but, I can still remember my disgust at this pile of bricks, and my opinion of the Tate sank, irretreivably! But it doesn’t bother me, of course! Hahaha!

      Sweet Morheus has been so kind to me lately, the Sunday lack-off was a shock to me! I estimate I still got three hours in, though. Tonight worries me, mind.

      Not sure when the next jab is due, Billum. It’s an unrevealed secret. And you know how confusing they can be?

      As, Dr Ghulam Habibullah told many years ago; “We shall make it a priority to book you in for the the physical removal of your duodenal ulcer, as soon as possible, Mr Chambers!”
      I’m looking forward to it, still.

      I hope your new medications are helping, and that Lisa is getting some sleep in. Accompanied by a furry, of course. ♥

      • At least, the Tate Awards granted in IT remind us of just how silly a museum’s panel of experts fare in choosing a worthy objet d’art that qualifies for display space. Perhaps suffering no notable side effects would be a welcome and decidedly unexpected result, a surprise gift is a rare treasure.
        Unrevealed secrets are unsettling and, as you note, confusing.
        That duodenal ulcer yet appears as one of your many fabled characters who appear in Inchcock Today. Somehow, the priority of duodenal ulcer removal got lost in the scheduler’s in-tray.
        Waiting for the hospital’s pharmacy staff to schedule my injection training. I am thinking that the chief object might be learning how not to accidentally drop the delivery device into the Porcelain Throne. 🙂
        Nibbles is the furry most likely to accompany Lisa when Sweet Morpheus eventually appears, a certainty!

      • That was advice and mentionablistical good value, Sir. Merci, Mon Ami!
        I recall the Nurse giving me advice on the Enoxaparin injecting – “Grab a bit of your belly and nip it, needle all the way in and push, dead easy!” The dead bit concerned me at the time – Hahahaha!
        One of the few less caring nurses she was.
        All the best with your efforts at it Sir! Care at all times.
        SM is in a slightly obsteperous mood eith me at the moment, but I pray he is kinder with preciuous Lisa, HRM! ♥

      • “dead easy” are two words that do not imbue confidence when used in tandem. You find yourself at heaven’s door and say “Hey, no problem. Death was easy, dead easy!” 🙂
        I wonder whom Sweet Morpheus bothers when he needs a kip or two. An obstreperous mood never helps me fall asleep. Might as well call on the sand man to toss a few more grains of pulverised rock under me eyelids. Sand in the eyes always makes the old lids eager to drop down. Grarrgh…away with you Sir SandMan!

      • Wednesday is a good day to express wise thoughts, you can call it Wiseday. The opposite day would rename Sunday to Summatday — a good time to remember that it is some day other than Sunday 🙂
        TGINS — Thank God It’s Not Sunday.

      • Loathing Sundays is the natural thing to do at the end of a week — just snap the day into the porcelain throne and flush. What could be more satisfying? Saturday could just as easily exist for 48 hours. Sunday could be the bleach for removing the rough edges that cling to the porcelain. Now there is a useful solution, leaves a bright finish on the interior porcelain. Makes a visit to the throne a betterer experience, do it not?

      • Makes a visit to the throne a betterer experience? Erm, well, I’m… err… “I don’t know how you do it, Billum – a bit of advoce through the ether – and perfectly timed just after this morning, best for many-weeks Porcelain Session! Trotsky is in the delcine! Mind you, I don’t want Constipation Konrad to regain a hold again… In’t life consusing sometimes?
        Merci Mon Ami!

      • A flush of the throne at the end of each week is just wot yer need. Porcelain sessions are betterer without occuring on Sunday.
        Indeed, relief from Trotsky is not to celebrate by welcoming Konrad. A bit less from each is wot yer need.
        de rien, mon ami!

      • I tries to spread words of wisdom in packets of hard-earned knowledge nuggets. Yer is most welcome to try them out, mileage and utility will vary according to yer individual set of vicissitudes and the availability of load-bearing walls, of course.

  3. Loving your blog sir. Very clever that you force us to climb over your defecation to access the rest of your day. I thought the night scene from your upstairs window quite artistic, far too good for the tate.
    Josie is a lucky girl, as long as you don’t go making her read your blog!

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