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‘Now look mush’, I uttered…
I know when my bread’s buttered,
No wonder I can see only the one gate,
Because it was hell on earth, mate!
Born to poverty, what a state!
Miserable, I died broke & intestate!
Bad eyesight, cancer pancreate.
Catheter, Peripheral neuropathy,
Mental & physical inadequacy,
Got shot twice, the leg and chest,
Born with nothing, I’ve got most of it left!
I grew floppy, womanlike breasts,
No help at my begging or behest!
Ended up losing loves like Audrey…
Grizelda, Marie, Christine & Suzie,
Am I pissed off? Absobloodylutely!
Send me back again? There’ll be some argie-bargie!
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I’d fallen asleep in the £300 second-hand shop-purchased, c1966, welt-causing, uncomfortable, not-working, itch-inspirational, crumb-containing recliner. The broken, ever-wakening sleep was no worse or better than struggling to get in and out of bed. I must have had ten bad nights on the trot now. Talking of trot, my first aim of the day was to get to the Porcelain Throne ASAP. The rumbling and grumbling started as I detached the nocturnal pouch from the day bag. Trotsky Terence won the battle, as he had for eleven days now, but Constipation Conrad was trying a counterattack, and there were some small globules and lumps in the basin. Once again, all the evacuated varieties are composed of almost black and light brown/karki. It was colourful, almost, but messy. I had a body scrub and medicated the areas in need. I didn’t shave, but I may brave it to have one later.
I’d not noticed what the time was when I woke, but after the wet room session, I went to the kitchen to check the taps, etc. and took a photo of the dark, foggy view that was on offer from the kitchen window.  , I knocked the clock mentioned above off of the window ledge. Then I got out the last of the four clocks I bought last year, put a battery in, and set the time right. 04:55hrs. 

I got the computer on and soon regretted doing so. Over the next six hours, I went through torment, botherations, mood swings, and frustrations and ended up in a deep depression. CorelDraw crashed three times! CCleaner failed to enable me to upload photos, so I tried it with the Norton cleaner and had the same results. Zilch success!

During these hours, Carer Shaquille called. Then Carer Kimberley had to do the financial help, which she couldn’t because no one had shown her how, and I didn’t know. I had the joy of Carer Kara doing it all for me for months. But learnt nothing, or couldn’t remember, how to get through to the bank on the website; none of the passwords or numbers were safe in Kara’s mind. She has been moved into the carer’s office. I had to close everything down five times! My failings and inabilities made me feel even worse.

As it got lighter, amidst the computer problems, I gave up on the computer and turned everything off. I made myself a brew of Glengettie tea and ate four large cookies in dunking mode. I took six photographs as I went to wash the mug. Amazingly, the computer let me save the first two. But the other four, which had caught some seagulls flying on them, were not getting saved for some reason. The old photos I was saving had disappeared! I tried renaming the old images first, but that didn’t work either. They still went off into the ether. Saving was difficult enough before this happened! Grrr! I can’t take much more of this.

Yet earlier, when updating yesterday’s blog, it sent everything. I know there were only 4 snaps and graphics, but it seems terribly hit-and-miss since then. More miss that hit!

I got a comment from cyber-mate Tim about me trying a Tablet to solve the computer issues. I felt like a fool, not knowing what one was. Another message with links to suitable types of Tablets on Amazon. I tried them and got this message.

This is a very long-winded bit. Skip it if you like. Again! In the afternoon, after Carer Kimberly had been. She’s going to do her best to get me some help. I was going back on the computer after her visit and heard something drop that obviously I’d knocked off of the end of the c1962 Hopwells sideboard, with the hanging off doors and unclosable drawers; it took me a while to discover that it was my mobile phone. I searched everywhere, looking for it, without finding it, so I assumed it was that it fell. I moved things, boxes, books, etc., searching for it. The only place I’d not looked was underneath the sideboard. I had to search for my wind-up torch, and more time was lost! I could not bend down too far, fearing that Dizzy Dennis would have on my knees. But the frustration of not knowing where it had got to, if it was the phone that made the clunking noise and not something else, meant I’d lost the mobile. I’m making hard work of this for you. Sorry! I bent down a smidge too low with the torch search and lost my balance. Banged down on the knees, which was probably the least damaging fall ever… but one of the most painful, worse than the head wound one. Arthur Itis in the knees, the Cartilage Sister Carol and Chloe really hurt… then I felt even more pain from poor Little Inchie, as the Catheter tubing yanked at him when I tried to move as I tried to get to the c1968, tatty, scruffy, unkempt, uncomfortable, virus, microorganism, bug, bacterium, bacillus, germ, parasite producing, and disease-fermenting second-hand, eyesorely-horrendously grungy beige-coloured, £300, charity shop bought, crumb-retaining, moth-eaten, non-working, itch-encouraging, incommodious, Haemorrhoid Harold testing, recliner, to attempt to haul myself up.
I then realised I could have used my 1982-model newly found mobile to call for help. The thought of pressing the alarm wristlet button never came into my mind—what a clot!
Then it dawned on me that I didn’t know any numbers!
Aha! I spotted the new landline where Carer Kara had put Meridian Care, Warden Deana, and Sister Janes’ auto numbers for me. I pressed the preset bottom and got ILC (Independent Living Coordinator), Oberstgrüppenfuhreress Warden and Primo Ballerina, Warden Deana. Who kindly said she would get some help and come up. ♥
As I waited, I did my best to get my elephantine wobbly body back up on its plates. (Slang for plates-of-meat), Feet!)
But there was little chance that I could, and I couldn’t!
Minutes later, the rescuers arrived. I was in a praying position on my painful knees. They took an arm each from the back and hauled me up. They were here for about two minutes, did a grand job and rushed off. Both were busy ladies.
Thank you! ♥

Carer Israel arrived for the teatime medications.
I was telling him of my Whoopsiefauxpas but stopped when I realised he was writing on his log.

Then back on blog catchup.
Then, on the WordPress Reader.

I was serving the meal and took a shot of the late-evening view from the kitchenette window.
Can you see the ghostlike child in the clouds? Or dog?
The computer let me save these last two photos to WordPress in the morning!

Doesn’t it look horrible?
The Parmentier potatoes were baked in the oven, along with a pot of Polish pork knuckle meat, Milk Roll bread, and tons of strong Branston sauce.
I agree that the meat looks sickeningly repugnant. But the taste, especially the pork jelly, was lovely! 

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May you Receive All That You require & Desire!