Inchy: Friday 10th January 2025

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When I snuff it, will I get theosophy?
Or be greeted by nothingness, dimly?
I don’t ask these questions grimly,
Will St Peter be there to greet me?
Will I be sent to Heaven of Hell…
Is there a difference? Who can tell?
Will Hell be running a brothel…Does 
Does Heaven have a mosque or Chapel?
What will they do to a dead infidel,
Will I see Hitler or Oliver Cromwell,
Will I still have a catheter bag or navel?
Are Heaven & Hell both topological?
Sometimes, I hope they will be real?
Will they both be parallel or mutual?
Will they serve tea, coffee or oenomel?
Will we see Angels, anything celestial?
Will we see relatives or a pet poodle?
Grizelda, will we be able to canoodle?
Get reborn to see another crepuscle?
Will the St. Peters interview be conflictual?
Have to go through a validity ritual?
Have the same problems cardiological?
Will Dementia still be in situ, cerebral?
Arthur Itis, FND, PN be there? It’s credible,
Will we at least resemble being corporeal?
Will we be negative, nervous, or joyful?
Whether Hell or Heaven, dying is awful,
Being sent back to earth is too stressful!
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Went to Kip late. Got up late again at 06:00hrs
Nocturnal pouch removed.

I amalgamated three of the waste bags into one.

First-morning view from the kitchen.
Not too good.
I tried to get a decent shot of Devonshire Ave.
I didn’t manage it. Tsk! Temp -3ºc.

Food Delivery.
Sods, bread rolls, sausages & fresh peas.
I had to empty the box of battered fish balls into the freezer to get them to fit in it!

The fridge is not as full this time, but still too full! I got some of the beef in gravy in a pouch again. Yeehaa!

A fine mix of fodder. Beef in stout gravy, sausages, pasties, tomatoes, frank’s, jacket and roasting potatoes, & jellies.

Carer Chris arrived. He did his thing and was about to put on the diabetic socks, but I stopped him and said I was going to do my ablutions and shower first. He told me he would make the next call and get the socks and catheter contraption replaced then. But he did not come! Luckily, Carer Joeanne did; she fitted the catheter and put my socks on for me.

In between   , they were a bit more bothersome again, but they seemed to keep giving me little breaks now and then. How kind.

Over the next hour, I took three shots of the sky.

I was miles behind with the blogging but persevered, as any other young, athletic, fit, good-looking man would. 

Sunsetting.

It’s getting late, dark, it’s getting colder…

Time for some fodder.

Beef in stout gravy, sausages, potatoes.
Two cheesy bread rolls to soak up the gravy.

Washed up, and as I climbed into the £300 second-hand shop-bought, c1966, moth-eaten, bedraggled, grotty, cringingly beige-coloured, much-dilapidated, crumb-containing from my nocturnal nibblings, bug-ridden, itch-inspiring, not-working recliner to watch an episode of my favourite, ‘Heartbeat’, Sweet Morpheus took me. A few minutes of bliss enveloped me…. not only that, but was noticeable by his absence! 
Then Carer Chris arrived to wake me up, gently mind.
Without me moving, he put the nocturnal catheter bag on. Gave me the medication and seemed to drift off, like an angel back to the clouds. I had been drinking shandy after the meal, so I may have been mildly tipsy; I don’t know. More likely that I was under the influence of . It all felt surreal.

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Life is like an avenue,
Lined with hatred, little affettuoso,
Filled with the unexpected blanscue,
Daily selections of bugaboo…
Oligarach rule, the financial hullaballo,
Conning the proletariat & ingenue,
Rulers rulings, decisions are impromptu.
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TTFN, Best to all of you!
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