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Frustration makes me wish I was unborn,
Depression; Why? I’m not certain,
Before I face my final curtain…,,
Why do I always underperform?
I can’t sleep due to my own thought storm,
What could make my life, less tiresome?
With the catheter contraption worn,
<<<<<>>>>>
I’ve done nothing to make me admirable,
I’d like to be again analytically capable,
Have romp, with lady so angelical,
These thoughts are all antilogical,
Sex at 82 is not recommendable,
Not only is my ticker undependable…
Life for me is no longer wadable.
<<<<<>>>>>
As failures and worries accumulate,
Dementia makes the brain less accurate,
Thinking of sex? Long ago did mussitate,
Catheter? Forced me to terminate…
Distant memories of when I could mate,
Desires, passions, no longer machinate,
It’s been forty years since I had a date!
And that’s frustrating to me mate!
<<<<<>>>>>
Not that I had any sexual effectiveness,
Lost abilities = gained acrimoniousness,
My appointment with the neurosurgeons,
Waited three years, with little urgence…
Both legs with diabetic bandages,
And rapidly failing cartilages,
Power charges, HMG, both bloodsuckers!
Day & night, I get the seizures,
Most of all I get the desires…
No more sex, or dancing, it’s pathetic…
I’ve Glaucoma, deafness, nothing climatic,
Daily I’m growing much more empathetic,
What I miss most, I’ll not be too explicit,
Is Grizelda’s sessions, they were fantastic,
Frantic, frenetic, fundamentalistic,
Memories, now far out of reach…
My dream of Grizelda’s return, is foolish,
The fearful truth, is tempus fugit!
Self-consoling with things gastronomic,
Now I’ve a bouncing belly, that’s gigantic,
<<<<<>>>>>
Creating humankind? Was it just a gimmick?
All I’ve got from life, is acroparesthesia,
No longer interested, I’m now a flaneur
Starmer the acclaimer and enjoinder,
Putin the attacker, ever threatening,
Liar Trump, now liar Putin copying!
Why are all tellurians fearing?
Squabbling, murdering, starving,
Quarrelling, arguing bickering,
World-ending leaders & Oligarchs,
Daily they are contraindicating,
Midst the violence, the mugging,
Shooting, stabbing & conquesting,
Battling, waring, the world’s combusting,
Betraying, cheating & deceiving,
So many innocents grieving…
Rulers? Champagne, vodka, delabating,
While earth’s population is detritioning.
>>>>><<<<<
I once found life to be coruscating,
Now I believe it is devastating…
Dangerous, and debilitating…
But not for the idiots who are ruling,
As they carry on greedily enfeebling…
their own voters citizens; uncaring,
Getting evermore disobliging:,
Uncivil, unsympathetic, morally-offending
Laughing at imagined enemies, taunting,
While global-warning denigrating…
Blameless, faultless families, scared & hiding,
Poor mites no water, possibly starving,
Underground, hugging and/or cuddling,
Millions running away, emigrating,
Leaders carry on as usual…
Manipulating, cheating and defrauding!
A saviour? I hope he arrives in the morning!
>>>>><<<<<
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I spent that long on today’s Ode (Although I did enjoy doing it – not the content, but my protesting). It is already 17:40hrs, and I got up at 04:00hrs! This will have to be brief and concise. Otherwise, it will be another early morning, head-down time.
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Up at 0400hrs. The nocturnal catheter bag contents showed a 6-rating this morning.
No seizures yet, and only one cartilage gave way on me all day long, well up to now. Cartilage Chloe.
Early Morning 
I started with a similar evacuation to yesterday on the Porcelain Throne.
Which shows that I was not entirely with it. Cause I had to move it to get into the shower.
Yes, I know, I’m an idiot!
So I got the towels from the airer.
And swapped them with the Kagoule.
Then I could start the ablutionings…
No, another Whoopsie!
So I took poff the Kagoule, and replaced the towels on the airer. Putting the Kagoule in the kitchen sink,
Another Whoopsie!
I realised that I’d not taken off the catheter contraption’s day bag holder pouch. Back into the front room to remove it and get it in the laundry bag.
By the time I got back to the wet room, I felt tired again, as if I’d been up for couple of hours already and had got nowt done.
I had to smile when I saw the clock in the wet room. I had been up for over two hours! Now I needed to cut corners to save time and ensure I finished before the Carer was due.
After two false starts, I tried again.
Great! one cut shaving, bloody toothache again.
I was amazed at how well things went.
Even getting the fresh Amazon PPs on was was a piece of cake. I wasn’t wearing pants made of cake, you’ll understand? Hahaha!
I got on the computer and started on the mammoth ode above. I got a little carried away with it, cause if flowed so easily. Just the one mini seizure, and as for 
Carer Ejaz, formerly Ahmed arrived a little later than usual. As it is a Bank Holiday and the public is finding it difficult to use the Sunday Timetable buses.
He gave the medications and got my diabetic socks fitted. He was already well behind, so he did not stop for the usual chat that we have.
I made a JS food order for next week, Tuesday. This week’s ASDA order, I cut back on a little. I think!
This Arithmaphobia is getting worse. I’m bad enough with word remembering. Good job I’d made lists to use on my blogs. Numers, dates etc. I regularly find errors on the calendar and blog. To many!
Carer Joe arrived. 13:15hrs. He obligingly tried to obtain the Electricity meter reading for British Gas online. However, we were unable to get it to accept them. He spent more time than he wanted to and had to give up when he found a message saying ‘They could not access my account!
Why? No reason given. Hump! We shared our farewells and off he trotted. Nice lad.
Back to the Ode again, and got it finished. Even the punchline came easily this time.
Made a start on the blog proper.
Then I went to make up the feast I had planned for today’s meal in advance (I thought). Realising the time, and it wasn’t in advance… What happened to the time again?
I put the items in the fridge and worked on the WP reader, perusing and replying to comments.
Getting late now. Better heat the meal up.
I watched the Burnley v Sheffield United match. My second-favourite team, Burnley, won. To be honest they didn’t deserve to. But I was so glad. This meant they would be promoted to the Premier League as winners of the Championship. have spent 60 seasons in the top division of English football, 47 in the second, 11 in the third, and 7 in the fourth division, historically. In the 2020s, they have been promoted to the Premiership on six occasions, and relegated after one season on six of them in the first year.
In 1960, Burnley won the First Division, and Forest avoided relegations by just one point. Mixed emotions there!
1962 FA CUP FINAL
SPURS BEAT BURNLEY 3-1
THEY WAS ROBBED BY
A CROOKED REFEREE!
Tottenham Hotspur took an early lead when Jimmy Greaves scored past Burnley goalkeeper Adam Blacklaw with a low left foot shot to the right corner of the net. The score remained 1–0 until half time. Burnley equalised shortly after the interval through Jimmy Robson, who in doing so had scored the 100th FA Cup Final goal at Wembley. However, Bobby Smith quickly countered for Tottenham Hotspur to restore their one-goal lead. Smith had scored in the 1961 final and remained the only player to score in successive finals for the next forty years, until Freddie Ljungberg of Arsenal repeated the feat with goals in the 2001 and 2002 finals. With ten minutes remaining, Burnley defender Tommy Cummings handled the ball on the goal-line and a penalty was awarded to Tottenham. Danny Blanchflower sealed victory for Tottenham with a penalty that sent Blacklaw the wrong way, securing Tottenham Hotspur’s fourth FA Cup.
Despite the opinion of the final by the press, the game itself actually produced more action in the penalty area than any previous post-war final, with the two keepers being forced into more saves from shots on target than any two keepers in any previous post-war final. The game also pivoted on two moments of controversy. The first came midway through the second half when Jimmy Robson was put through to score what looked like a second equaliser for Burnley. The linesman’s flag ruled the goal out and while BBC television pictures are not conclusive the call was an extremely close one. The second centred on Tottenham’s decisive penalty when the opposite linesman flagged for a foul, presumably on goalkeeper Blacklaw seconds before the handball incident for which the penalty was awarded. The referee did not seem to see the linesman’s flag and pointed to the spot while, to their credit, none of the Burnley players protested. I bet you’d never have believed that this could happen?
But the scumball of a cheating, backhanded referee got away with it.
Thus, my horrible-hatred and loathing for Tottenham Hotspur was given birth. I still have most of it left!
Just thought I’d mention it!
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CHIN-CHIN, ALL!
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Whoops! Nearly missed off the night photo…
