LIBERTY-GLOBAL-OLIGARCHS?
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Let’s delve into the truth of ‘Hope’, clinically,
To see if it developed from ampullosity,
‘Hope’ to me seems somewhat bizarrerie,
Because finding it is hard for me…
I don’t act belligerently or truculently,
I’m a ditherer, I don’t act confidently,
My Carer say’s I’ve got too much benignity,
I think I’m shy, nervous and cowardly,
There I go off the subject again, you see?
I’ll try to concentrate more, hopefully…
‘Hope’, to me, seems to be, hypothetically,
A forlorn dream, with no reality…
I thought ‘Hope’ would help Inchy,
But I forgot about his mental instability,
His? I’m him! Another drift from verity,
I still want ‘Hope’ & help regardlessly,
Although I see the pointless futility,
Sometimes I consider ‘Hope’, frivolously,
The next time, maybe negatively,
Then back to frustration & hostility,
Yet I still try so desperately…
Then I go all unenthusiastically,
Depression falls, I turn apathetically…
A seizure, a giving way from Cartilage Chloe,
The coming arrival of complacently,
And I ‘Hope’ for ‘Hope’, pessimistically,
Body & mind acting chaotically,
Ménière’s Mini-seizures, increasingly,
I think I must not lose hope, glibly…
I even turned for help to quixotry!
As if to prove my eccentricity,
Or maybe that ought to be docility?
My physical ailments seem a triviality,
Finding ‘Hope’ & help, surely unrealistically,
The Lord made my life qualificatory…
A body and mind, deformed & queachy,
Doomed; never be happy or peachy,
I have had luck! But only quadrennially,
I acted rightly & astutely, well, in 1953,
I’m more hopeful for my sempiternity…
Not knowing where or when, for eternity,
Pray, please, no return ticket awaitingly!
If I find ‘Hope,’ will it also make me lucky?
Finding ‘Hope’, I try so persistently…
‘Hope’, is it mythical? It’s beyond me!
Why is it such a mystery to me?
Is ‘Hope’ biodegradable and sugar-free?
Why is it issued unequally, unfairly?
I can’t get any ‘Hope’, that’s a certainty,
No ‘Hope’ within by boundaries, locality,
I live in la-la land despondently…
And a part-reality, customarily,
Like others ‘Hope’ seeking, despondently,
I collect bills and demands; it’s called scripophily,
Carer Joe sorts them out for me weekly,
No offers of hope delivered to Inchy…
Finding ‘Hope’ may help propitiatingly,
‘Hope’ I get it before my necropsy!
Sorry about this Ode’s nugacity,
Call on me, & we’ll have a mug of tea,
Ice cream and/or chocolate biscuits…
I’d love a chinwag, mischievously!
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Got yesterday’s nosh photo to go on!
Well, I think it was.
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I didn’t rise until gone 0630hrs this morning. I’d had a long sleep again, broken, but not all that often. I reckon I got six hours in, and that was on the incommodious, uncomfortable, cumbrous, toe-curling, cringe-making, second or third-hand bought from the Oxfam Charity shop, Cathleen-Catheter-Tube-Crushing, hurtful for Harold’s Haemorrhoids, germ-ridden, horrendously grungy, uncomfortable, not-working recliner.
I felt a little perky when I got up and decided to clear the waste bins, etc. I
pictured & emptied the night bag. U6 rating.
Took a snap of the morning view out of the kitchenette window. I was hit by another of the odd seizures where I knew what was happening, but I was unsure why or what.

This was followed by general confusion and an almost total lack of concentration. I coughed, bringing up phlegm, and my voice went croaky. Walking, it was not easy to keep my balance.
Carer Ahman arrived. He showed concern and again wanted to phone for an ambulance. I disuaded the lad, telling him I was going to get in the bed as soon as he finished. I assured him I’d use the alarm wristlet if things didn’t improve after I’d had a kip. I’m sure we spoke of other things, but not what about? He put my diabetic socks on and gave me the medications. I got into bed while he was doing his report on his mobile phone. He also shut the curtains for me as the light in the room annoyed me for some reason. Ahman said I was not talking clearly but mumbling more; I think he said the same Sunday morning. I genuinely hope that this is not going to happen each morning. A third time, and I will have to press the alarm. I do not have the foggiest idea why this waking up and fading is happening. At least it didn’t last for long.

I bade him thanks and cheerio and settled in the bed, adjusting the settings to ensure I was not lying too flat. Comfort arrived. Yes, I did nod off for a short while. Waking up without any neck, shoulder, or leg jerkings. That in itself was nice! I was under the impression that I’d slept for a few hours because I was feeling so much better now. The wall clock told me I’d only slept for half an hour, but it did the trick.
I wasted no time in taking advantage. I went to take another kitchen window photo and used the speed mop to clean the disgustingly dirty kitchenette floor—I hope I’ve not left it sticky again. Then, I took another snap of the late morning view.

I spent ages trying to get the photos on the blog and got most of them on, but it took an aeon!

My beloved tree copse, looking thin still.
Close up of the battling for life leaves.
Even closer & higher, the crows
have not arrived yet?

Much to my amazement, Carer Joe arrived. It was already 13:25hrs! So, I assume that

Arithmaphobia Arnold had me fooled again. Maybe I’d had some non-epileptic seizures? I can’t remember having them. 
Peptac issued, I was thinking of asking for a Codeine, but with Anne Gyna being minimal bother at that time, I didn’t want to give her an excuse to kick off with her mobile stabbing pains, which make breathing a little overheavy, painful & hard work.
The unsteadiness of my balance was lingering but slowly getting less frequent. The froggy-sounding voice remains, but none of the serious stuff.

I wondered if I’d gone into the kitchen with Kodak-Tim-2 to snap the incredible view while the floor was still wet. I went to check. Now I really was confused. It must have been many hours ago when I mopped it up; there is no chance it could still be wet. What a plonker! Still, I took another shot at the pathway I could no longer get into Woodthorpe Park. Spit!

However, now things were getting better, not the croaking voice. Anne Gyna had belatedly started greeting me with her roving pains and breathing botherations. However, my dizziness and balance had improved, and I found myself singing.

Great Balls of Fire! What’s going on here?
Where have I been? What was I doing?
It’s nearly 20:00hrs already!

The Carer will be here anytime now, over the next hour or so, and I’ve not had anything to eat or done the ablutions or medicalisations yet! 
How can this be happening?

Skin on chips, a vegetable and no-meat meat pastie, pickled chestnuts & mushrooms, two wholemeal rolls to make chip butties out of, and salt & vinegar, pepper and  Soya BBQ sauce. (A little too hot for me… anybody fancy a bottle?)

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Chow!
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