16 | March | 2023 | Inchie Today

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I woke after what I believed was a six-hour dream, and the memory of the ‘Gone-Missing-Laundry’ came to mind; as I was getting depressed and morbid at the prospects of having no dressing gowns, spending a fortune to replace them and the throws that may turn up, or likely will never will, and the email from the bank asking for confirmation and why I have bought the same things that I~~ did three months ago…

Then the real worry came to me. Wearing trousers for the Brain Scan at the hospital which is going to produce at least agony to poor Little Inchy as the catheter tube pulls and tugs again his fungal lesion. Next, the thought of having no dressing gown to change into and get out of the pain-giving trews when I get home to relieve the pain hit me… Argh!

A Mild Depression Dawned!
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When I forced my tormented body and mind to rise from the depths of the second-hand, £300, charity shop bought, crumb-retaining, microorganism-microbe producing, gungy, moth-eaten, beige-coloured, non-working, bacillus encouraging, incommodious, Haemorrhoid Harold testing, c1968 recliner, I found that the Catheter punch contents were…

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At the highest level of colouration on the chart.
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I think there may be a slight chance, remote possibility, hundred-to-one shot, that today may not be a good one. Then again, when was my last good day?
was not too hopeful of finding my ‘taken-away-to-be-laundered clothing’. The chances, must be slim, but she did say she’d have another look around for me.