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Another day of frustration, torment, mistakes, Accifauxpas, Whoopsiedangleplops, agony from the bladder, wee-wee not flowing correctly. Urine’s colour regularly changed from almost clear to a deep brown and back again, Little Inchie in agony, the Catheter Contraption tugging away at him, Constipation Conrad showing no signs of easing, and… Never mind, a typical day here up in the clouds in the imprisoning flat, with increasing rent, power to go up 20% at the Labour’s first budget in October, and the yearly Power Costs Support Money has been cancelled by the Labour Party. That’s the one that Keir Starmer told us at the election was safe in our hands! I hope I never meet him; I’ll be nervous expecting him to pick my pocket!  Or worse!
The Founder of the National Health Service and my top Hero, Anyeui (Nye) Bevan, must be turning in his grave! 
Keir Starmer is a liar, cheat, wealthy, and power-motivated creature who seems too clever for his own good.
Did he not know his deceit and underhanded lies by omission would not be revealed? It’s only the suicidal Conservative Party’s own ineptness and patheticness that got him into power! Well, fair enough. Keir’s blatant lies helped. One of his first sleight-of-hand moves was taking away the pensioner’s Winter Warmth cash: an easy target for him, and he knew it. 
The personal protection of the prime minister and former prime ministers is the responsibility of the Protection Command within the Metropolitan Police Service. The fleet of Prime Ministerial Cars provides the prime minister with a number of security features and transport. The Labour leader racked up an extraordinary expenses bill – an average of nearly £50,000 a year – while senior public prosecutor, including a chauffeur-driven car alongside first and business-class flights worldwide.

Starmer billed over £180,000 for chauffeur-driven cars in London despite living four miles from the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS) office.
He took first-class flights to four continents. As head of CPS, he took an 85-minute flight to Belfast, which cost us £443. 
Starmer spent nearly £20,000 on four flights to Washington, D.C., then claimed £7.24 for a taxi in the US capital.
His successor, A Saunders, served the same 5-year term but had travel expenses less than a third of the size of Starmer’s. And we have to grit our teeth, he says, at the budget?
Starmer took home £1m over five years in charge of CPS and accrued £336,000 in pension benefits.
Long-time watchers of Keir Starmer, who have questions about his murky rise to leadership of the Labour Party, will have noted the investigation by Gabriel Pogrund and Harry Yorke in last weekend’s Sunday Times with interest. Based in part on materials from investigative journalist Paul Holden, whose forthcoming book The Fraud: Keir Starmer, Labour Together, and the Crisis of British Democracy is due out early next year, the Sunday Times article reveals the slush fund of undeclared, unregulated, and unlawful dark money – more than £730,000 of it – that financed the reconquest and reclamation of the Labour party by its far-rightwing using Keir Starmer as a figurehead. 
Still, I mustn’t let the pug-faced, tergiversation, lying, duplicitous, untrustworthy, clever double entente master, and obnoxious Oligarch git get to me!  
Keir Starmer is at the peak of his dishonesty! Or should that be at the birth of unlimited new opportunities?

I got a little carried away there… didn’t I?

I woke late, at 0600 hrs, but I felt a smidge perky, so I decided to get up and do my ablutions. I looked down from the bed to see that the nocturnal catheter pouch had barely any wee-wee in it. But the gigantic, thick, overly-long tube was backed up with much darker urine that was not going into the bag. So, I applied the usual morning task of throwing the bag around like a football rattle, then threw it back on the floor. Sure enough, the urine flowed. Still too dark, but still. Can’t win them all. I popped into the kitchen before the wetroom to check that I’d not left the taps on, fridge or freezer doors open or cooker on. They all looked good to me.

The photo of the Bottom field and City Hospital in the distance was taken. They’re not bad either, well, alright.

First thing, a sit on the Porcelain Throne, pain, effort, and Oh, so slow coming out. Constipation Conrad is still in full charge. I took another Laxido sachet in warm water later). There were only a few specs of blood on the toilet roll, and there was no mess to clean up! After cleaning my teeth, I had a shave. The aftershave dribbled onto the flesh cuts. Tsk! A body scrub, and ont to the medicationalisationings. Olive oiled the earholes; Earache Erasmus was no bother today. Put the eye drops in. Then, I got the barrier cream under the man’s breasts and belly bulge.

Germoloided Harold Haemmoroids and antiseptic cream were on the top of the legs, where the catheter straps had cut into the skin a bit. Acne cream under the arms, around the neck, and to the forehead. Then Phorpain gelled the knees for Arthur Itis. I could not reach down to do the ankle ulcer; I’ll ask a carer later. But, of course, I forgot to! The last mendicant, as usual, was the ointmentating of Little Inchies Fungal Lesion. Gawd, doing this hurts! I cleaned the glasses and cut my fingernails. I was in the middle of the usual battle to get the fresh PPs on when the door chime rang out. I finished as quickly as possible, but whoever it was had gone by the time I got to the door. Hobbled back to check the wet room, but could I find my hearing aids? No! It’s still a mystery to me, like so many things nowadays.

As I put on the gown, I noticed the thick, long catheter tube was in backflow mode again. And even deeper red now! I’d also obtained a new cruise on the left leg. It might have been caused by the top strap trapping the skin. Or not. I didn’t know what I was thinking at that moment. A seizure was on the way, and I knew it. Although how I knew it, I don’t know. But it did come, as Carer Shaquille arrived. I think I was waffling a lot. I know Shaq got the diabetic socks on for me.

I made a brew and got onto the computer belatedly. I have no idea what I got carried away with, but hours later, I’d still not started updating the blog. It seems I got some work done on CorelDraw, but not successfully. Spit!

Carer Kimberley arrived to provide financial help, but of course, she couldn’t. I pointed out that until Kara told her what to do and how to do it, including changing the name of my Prime Helper with the bank, they would not talk to her. She had a look at the mail but does not know, nor do I, where or which folder has to go in where. Kara used to do it so well and efficiently for me. She will see if Kara can show her and change her name.

I took this snap of the clouds while making a mug of tea. I’ve already drank three days’ worth of my allowance, which is six mugs, which should be two daily. A twinge of guilt was soon cast into the abyss of the ‘I’m-not-bothered-anymore’ section of the brain. A Dark, Dank Depression fell that instant! 

I could not seem to break out of this downer. It appears that I also snapped a picture of a beetroot jar, but I cannot recall the reason why. But finding it on the SD, I thought I’d post it with a warning and advice for chefs worldwide who may use pickled beetroot from the UK. “Warning: This beetroot is as hard as concrete!” “It can bend knives used to cut it”, and “Break teeth”. But, think of the poor producers, who are like everyone else, who have struggled with the Conservative’s ineptitude and now face Tax rises, Price Rises, and cut-backs from expense-fiddler Herr Keir.
Just thought I’d get another dig-in at HMG.

The miniature catheter pouch emptying went on and on. And it was not a good colour at all.
That is until about 19:00hrs after Carer Israel made a quick visit. After a few minutes, the weight of the mini-pouch tugged on Little Inchie, so I emptied the bag again, as it was so light a colour? This is baffling me. 

I decided I was too tired to carry on. So, I went to the WP reader and viewed any messengers. But I needed to rush, as my hunger was growing, and I needed to eat before I fell asleep.

I was serving up the nosh when Carer Israel arrived. I forgot to photograph it. Israel took the diabetic socks off my legs and attached the nocturnal bag to what may be my most painful catheter contraption. It has a tiny bag that needs emptying far too often and a long, thick upper tube that is giving Little Inchy more pain than ever before. (Written in hopes of the Doctor reading this blog)

I took these shots of the near sunset earlier and forgot about them until I found them on the SD card in the morning (Now).

It’s not too bad an effort, even if I say so myself. Smug-Mode-Assumed!
Got settled to watch some TV, & although I was seated with my legs up, Dizzy Dennis visited me for a couple of hours. I was on the verge of pressing the wristlet alarm, and as he dissipated.

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TTFN