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05:50hrs: I forced myself out of the bed.
Emptied the nocturnal pouch (6 on the NHS colour scale). I later noticed, after creating the graphic, that I’d put a 5½ on it. Tsk!
Off to the wet room.
Constipation Conrad had regained control of the evacuations. Still, it gave me a chance to catch up on the older crosswords that I had not yet completed, which is about 98% of them in that book. I did well, so I should have, too, the time I spent awaiting the torpedoes to evacuate.
The waste bags were sorted out.
I went to get the kettle on, and while making up (flavouring) a bottle of spring water, I noticed the tree copse looking even better, being blown about in the wind this morning. A deep green, beautiful.
I decided there and then… Yes, I gleaned a moment of determinationabilitly! I would try to get myself into the copse as soon as the first Carer has been and gone. I decided this would also be the topic for my Ode of the Day today.
Carer Ejaz arrived as I was making the water with flavourings. The lad had no socks to put on me, as my legs seemed so much easier this morning.
He played with the Hoover and issued the medications. I had a quick wash. I did not shave or put on fresh pants. As I got dressed, I began feeling almost excited at the prospect of getting into the tree copse again. 
After a lot of effort and struggle, as I was getting dressed and ready to go, I realised I could not get my shoes on. Because I can’t bend down to fasten them. So, I had to wear the toughest of the three pairs of slippers. They are often washed due to urinal leakages. I got a smidge nervous when it came to going out, and the dangers and risks involved came into my mind. I didn’t take the walker cause I knew that I would only get entangled in the undergrowth. I took the strongest of the wooden sticks with me.
I got as far as the corridor, and boy, did I get a wobble on! I’ve never instantly lost balance and got a Peripheral Pete leg dance at the same time before. 
Any thoughts as wonderful as how they felt a while ago of getting into the tree copse literally crumbled from my mind. Still, I did get as far as the flat door!
I got to sit down, and then I moved onto the bed.

I felt so much easier when I woke up. I got the feeling that it might be well into the afternoon, but it worked out that the sleep had lasted about two hours.
It’s been a long time since I last had a .
The aches and pains it left me with all came back to my memory. I’d missed these always unexpected, uncontrollable, painful one-legged tangos. I can’t remember when I last had one?

But talk about being lucky; it couldn’t have burst into life at a safer time as far I was concerned. Being in the hallway when a , ,  , Lose-Balance-Barbara or an Instant-Seizure visit always results in less physical harm for yours truly. It’s the precious walls being so close, within reach, you see.

As I dismounted from the bed, that little rest did me good, I think. Also, I was genuinely lucky to get away with such little physical harm.
I stretched the limbs Back-Pain-Brenda twinged the instant I got stood upright, but nothing too bad.
I’ll try to continue the tale with the Ode.
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Today, the tree copse was to be visited,
Had I got there, I’d have bragged & boasted!
Over plans to get there safely, I ruminated,
As I reached the front door, my plans were terminated
Unexpectedly, a P.H. leg dance instantly activated…
My dream, desire and plan were abrogated!
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I resisted going over, tumbling, but only momentarily,
Then I slid down the wall, but not abrasively,
And I got up by myself, most amazingly!
So I didn’t get to my copse to talk to any tree,
The very idea was a little over-adventurously,
I stripped and got into bed, you see.
Getting up again went painfully…
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No bleeding, no bruising, apparently,
A fair bit of pain from each knee,
Arthur Itis, and Cartilage Chloe,
I got away with no serious injury!
Well, that’s good enough for me!
Did I have good luck? Absolutely!
Did I break something fallingly?
I went into the hallway to see…
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Attempting to carry on with this blog,
Virgin Media is a dog!
The internet went down, and my brain needed an antifog
No TV, telephone, alert alarm, mind in a fog,
Can’t take anymore, I may have a grog,
I feel cheated, failed, the underdog,
I need a full-time Carer or watchdog,
The depths of bad luck can’t be unclogged,
This is more than being pettifogged,
From finding some faith, I’m now feeling hangdog,
Can this be my current epilogue?
In my youth, I scrumped the odd apple & goosegog,
Never drank champagne, port or had an eggnog,
Always easy-going, now spew like a cholagogue,
It’s been ages since I socially chinwagged,
Mentally and physically challenged,
My failures and bad luck cannot be camouflaged,
My speck of good luck has boomeranged,
My plans and hopes have both been besieged, 
My end is in sight, has to be acknowledged,
But fear not, for now, I’m well-aged,
At the same time, I’m well-advantaged
Looking back at life, I wonder how I managed…
Fears, torments, ever feeling cursed.
I’m the one that’s deselected or repulsed,
Gullible one, overcharged, not reimbursed,
I once got caught speeding as I reversed!
My brain & Doreen’s Dementia are juxtaposed,
Yet I know I’m cursed; it obviously showed,
I’ve been sacked, falsely accused…
Shot twice, was childhood abused.
Thrown in a canal, education abused,
My growing up was bypassed…
We were very lowly-working-classed,
These memories of events in my past,
All in the same boat, I didn’t feel like ballast,
No signs of greenery or need for compost,
Coal or coke fires, not hot water, doors not locked,
Rag & bone men, milkmen, & bakers flocked…
When the police came, the door was knocked,
Outside toilets with newspaper & candled,
A chain to pull, flushers were not handled,
In the sky, in the bins, the pigeons fluttered,
It cost a penny for a jar of Coleman’s mustard,
The politicians that pamphleteered,
Scraggy little children & babies pawed,
A free lift to the pawn shop was assured,
We’ll mend your roof, they pretended,
It was our Untermensch life that we defended,
Why? We worked, slept, and quarrelled,
From my school days, I never recovered,
I expected them to be regimented…
The teachers showed a determined inattention,
I can’t even recall getting any detention,
I got the cane or strap, which was not validated,
We called it the War Zone, our playground,
A place for me to get beaten & pummeled…
A flood is coming, they rumourmongered,
Off to school the next day I tottered,
The caretaker said, “Yer shunt ‘ave bothered.”
Now, of course, I’m older and wrinkled,
A lifetime spent being miniature pinkled,
Corrective measures were never actioned,
Failures, losses, repeatedly vapulated,
Disabled, neglected, feeling isolated,
They are things that I’ve overlooked,
Meals now are so often burnt, overcooked,
Little Inchie getting smaller; I know; I looked,
For my luck to change, I’ve prayed, cadged & begged
At the end light, you’ll see I lunged…
Determined not to be whinged!
Smilingly, off to hell’s fire and get singed.
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Saturday’s nosh. (I think)
Sunday’s Nosh. (I think)

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NIL DESPARADUM (CARER JOE SAID)
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