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03:00hrs: I burst into violent wakefulness. With, or due to, hypnagogic jerking, hypnic myoclonic, involuntary twitching, shaking, and jolting. Even the teeth were jarring, and eyelids were blinking away crazily! My left leg slipped off of the resting chair, and my ankle papule hit the standing seat leg, and the fluid poured out. Over my foot, the quilt, and the carpet.
This caused a semi-panic for a few seconds; I don’t mind admitting it; I thought I was having another stroke at first. But soon realised that the blood and puss escaping was hurting. I don’t think I’d have noticed that if I were having a stroke. This cheered me up a smidgeon. Then, the task of freeing myself and getting up from the £300, second-hand, decrepit, Haemorrhoid-Harold-testing, sleep-deterring, nauseatingly beige-coloured, not-working, recliner, to clean things up. Took a shot of the nocturnal Catheter bag first. Not much in it, and a somewhat disappointingly dark colouring.
As I looked at the bed awaiting its safety bar to be fitted, I swear I moved! Oh course, I suppose it didn’t, really. The eyes are bad again this morning. Due, I think to  and or ? 

I took a shot of the early, early morning view from the kitchen window (Right). Then got a bucket of water with Dettol disinfectant and a cleaning cloth to sort out the mess, and I noticed how, within a minute or two, the change to the scene on view. (on the left)
Back to try and sort out the papule’s liquid escapages. Ended up with a fair bit of bother from from the bending down to clean up.
What an evacuation from the rear end this first one was! Hardly any effort was needed from me; I sat down, squelching, splashing, all done! And, no bleeding from !

This time it was for a longer period. I gave up and went to the kitchen to see what was available for a nosh later on in the day.
I popped out onto the balcony first, to see what the situation was with the end car park’s mudslide.
Here it is. Ten minutes later
it was getting lighter, but still raining a bit. About ten more minutes. As I toyed with salvaging some potatoes
Removing the eyes from them!

It had lightened quickly and I got a decentish photograph taken of the end mudslide scene. The internet came back on, then off again.
I saved the rescued potatoes ready for boiling then baking, and had to visit the Porcelain Throne again. Well, that was different for a change.
I took another of the Galpharm capsules, just to be on the safe side after the visit to the wet room was finished.
Back on the computer, and got a call from Jillie. Not heard from her for ages, Ah, Christmas is coming. She said she’d try to call on the 20th of December, to see me. It’ll be nice to listen to what she’s been up to; bless her.

The north side view had turned to a blue/red hue. Well, it would do… But I don’t know why, do you? Then I closed the window, cutting my finger on the spring clip screw. Poetic, if nothing else… Hehe!

Off to the wet room for the third time.
Slow evacuation, sticky, gooey, messy and even more stinky to clean up.
That’s a full roll of toilet paper and a half up to now, used.
The Galpharm capsules usually firm things up a smidge. 
The landline, that was so kindly killed off by the infamous number-crunching, mumbo-jumbo, slithery-sidestepping, hocus-pocus, Oligarchs of , and the none-working Severe-Frailty-Sufferers Emergency Panic Alarm were still not working, of course. I imagine that the Virgin Media O2 Owner Paid CEO Mike Fries a $62 Million salary plus a guaranteed bonus with an open-ended expense account. He must be really worried and ashamed about his failure to get a signal to Nottingham that works and then causing the landline and alarm to fail for the old folks, as well. And still charging us for the non-existent service. 
May he rot in hell, along with me as his cellmate! 
Still, he’s a handsome-looking brute, as Oligarchs go!

and a couple of in getting the meal prepared for myself tonight. Although a rescue attempt was fairly successful, as you can see in the photo here on the right. The flavour rating was 7.6/10.

❶: A scolded index finger draining the water from the boiled spuds.

❷ I dropped the stone crock-pot bowl and it hit poor little spot on target..
❸: As it made its way down to hit the left legs .
❹: A cut thumb-end while slicing the spuds to go into the oven for baking. 
❺: I dropped the tray taking out the seasoned and cooked potato slices. I’m treading on a few in my haste to retrieve them, and going close to having a tumble or banana skin-like skid and ending up my by bottom. oven. 
So, now you know why there are fewer potato slices in the meal than usual. Humph!
Then slipped on a piece of potato I’d missed on the floor, and hit my chin on the edge of the counter.

I thought the day was going too well compared to how the previous 1,525 days had gone. Luckily it did not bother me in the slightest. Not to a man of my calibre, heroism and pain tolerance, it was nothing! Possibly? Perhaps. Maybe…

I washed the pots and had a Yodel doing so. I heard a tapping noise from the flat above, so, I stopped the yodelling straight away.

I took these photos, with about ten minutes between each one taken. First straight ahead, the last one taken further to the right, north.

I could feel the wetness escaping from the water-geyser wounds on the left leg, underneath all the plasters, diabetic socks, leggings and ankle straps. This will be fun when the late Carer takes them all off for me. But, as I said, to a man of my courage and determination, it’ll be nothing to worry about. It’s only pain.

I closed the computer. Cursed, and had to visit no.10 to the Porcelain Throne.
Well, yet another change in passing mode for me. I’ve had a few of these multi-coloured evacuations before, but this was more distinct and three-coloured. Pale brown, straw and almost black. I was tempted to take a photo of it, but there are limits, even for me. Hehehe!

did the last call. A nice young lad. He took this snap of the right leg after he removed the ankle and leg strapping, then the diabetic socks for me. Oh, the wanting to scratch at the itching from both legs and feet drove me mad! I knew if I did, without any doubts, s geyser papules would start bleeding and leaking fluid. His laughter at my plight helped me resist doing so, but it wasn’t easy. He put the strappings and socks in the laundry bag for me.  
I did his BP & temperature. I’ll update the list for tomorrow’s blog.
Now if this photo I took of the lad, doesn’t look like a younger Wesley Snipes, I’m a monkey’s Uncle! Spitting image I think? I call him Wes when he calls. Hehehe!

How did you do?

Some photos that were taken during the modernisation and updating of Woodthorpe Winchester Court, and the building of Winwood Court, 2017 > 2019 by Nottingham City Homes for us old farts.

Through my Old kitchen windows during work.

Woodthorpe Court.

Balcony building in progress.

Hoists used by the builders up the flats.

End car park area.

Replastering near the balcony window.

Windwood Court right, Woodthorpe left.
Chestnut Way.

Chestnut Way.

Winwood Court.

Front of Woodthorpe.

TTFN, each!