Inchie Today: Monday 27th April 2026

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0625hrs: I leapt out of the bed, somersaulted over the aged, grotty-looking, c1966-made, charity-shop-bought, horribly beige-coloured, £300, Harold’s Haemorrhoid-testing, non-operational, acne-giving, virus-breeding, rickety, easy-to-fall-out-of recliner. Landing and started doing some shadow boxing. A 100 press-ups, and got the weights out, 150 double curls, and burst into song, ‘I’ve got the Whole World in My Hands…’ Into the balcony, threw open the windows and burst forth with a few minutes of Tarzan wailing. I suppose you have doubts about the validity & truth of the above? Very wise!
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I took off the Catheter night bag and hobbled into the kitchen to do the pots and safety checks. Then the bins, and off to the wetroom initially for a poop. Trotsky is in charge this time. Messy! I decided to get a stand-up wash, teggies, shave, etc., while I was there. It all went fairly well, just one bad cut shaving.
Got the kettle on and opened the window to take this shot of the morning sky. Realising how much easier the swollen right leg & foot were today. Nice! I brewed the tea and got on the computer. Slowly, my earlier feeling of being overall in a better place faded. When the Carer called, it was Rachid.
I had another of those long active seizures after I’d got rid of the Carer. Don’t really know how long or what I had been up to. But I noticed the Hoover had been moved, and the mug of cold tea had been knocked or dropped onto the floor. It took me an age to recover from this seizure. I felt almost groggy.

The INR agency worker came to take the blood for the DVT Warfarin clinic testing. The result came back at about 17:50 hours: Mon 2, every other day, 1½.

I had long periods of feeling out-of-it, almost like being drunk. Confusion lasted all day.
And as the late afternoon, tea-time came, I honestly was an utter mental wreck.  
The following might be out of sync again, because in the morning, when I read my memory notes, well, it looked nothing like my handwriting, and my memory was only prompted by some of the photographs I’d taken.
I can remember this one. I had two giant potatoes left and fancied my hand at making some of my beloved cheesy potatoes. I couldn’t decide which of the spuds to use, as they both came well battered about.
At least I could tell when I took this snap, of the battery calendar clock.
These shots of the clouds were a pareidolia’s delight.

The INR blood was taken.

I got a phone call that I could not hear any of the words. The Carer was here, so I asked him to take the call. He did, but said not a word to me; he just started looking around the Carer’s desk and on the floor. Then shot off out of the flat.
Returning to sit down and get back on his mobile. 
I never found who or why they called me. Despite asking the Carer. Mysteriousnesses?

I got the potato into the oven and got on with the blogging. It was hard work, as per usual, with snaffles and Concentration Konrad not helping in the slightest. Carer style.
Taking this photo of the sky was when the ultra-drunken feeling and sensation deepened, along with genuine confusion.

The joy of seeing Caring Carer Ejaz make his only call of the day really perked me up. I felt much more like myself. Someone who cares, speaks, doesn’t grunt and ignores me when I say or ask for anything to be done or whatever. He did a full-body check, asked how the legs felt, and asked if I wanted a brew and some bikkies. Phorpain Gelled my painful Shaling Shoulder Shirely, rubbing it in until it was fully absorbed. Much better reaction when they spend a minute rubbing the gel in. 👍🏻
The hard work chap called. Still no body checking, not that I needed it after Ejaz had done it for me. I put the oven on to cook the large spud.

I hastened to fetch the camera from the junk room to take this amazing shot of the evening sky. Another pareidolia’s delight.

I got the spud out of the oven and got so annoyed when I had a feast of dropping stuff, spilling things, and losing my grip on things. Plus, difficulty in using the implements needed to make the meal. Unbelievable problem! What a mess I’d made in the kitchen. It was bad enough before, with no Carer cleaning it for three or four weeks now. Ejaz was the last one to do it. I’ll try to remember the sequence of droppages & spillages, etc. Oddly, I could recall these with ease. I think this is because I was all het up and angry at myself for repeatedly making such a mess that it stuck with me… maybe.
I took the monster potato out of the oven; the husk disintegrated on the outside, with flakes of skin all over the counter, tray, cooker, and floor… Grrr!
Belatedly, I got the chopping board out and used that to slice the spud in half. It took a long time to clean up, but it didn’t matter that the veg was cooling, as I was going to scoop it into a basin for mixing, then put it back in the oven to brown off.
I got the no-butter butter from the fridge to mix in, and picked up the large mixing bowl, this is where interfered again. I dropped the bowl, & no-butter butter. The bowl, hitting a large stack of Tupperware washed earlier and left to drain, with several different-sized bowls, fell to the floor, rolled around, and surrounded the No-butter butter! A bit of luck this time, the long picker-upper meant no bending and less pain and dizziness!
Still determined to have my favourite meal, I pressed on after a few minutes of recuperation.
I cut the mammoth potato in half lengthwise and began scooping the flesh into the mixing bowl. It was here, that kicked off.
I stood looking down the bowl at some of the potatoes on the floor. I’ll not say what I called myself.
But it was a smidge defamatory.
No choice, I could not avoid bending down, if I was going to clean this up with the little bits on the floor.
I’ve asked every Carer to find out where I can get a long-handled brush & dustpan set. And how! Being as I am now flat-bound again!
Irritation brewed in my mind, not self-pity this time, more like a semi-anger.
Back to cooking. I scooped the flesh into the bowl, added the last of the Leicester-grated cheese, and some No-butter butter and sea salt. Bashed it up for as long as I could, into t semi-smooth state, refilled the two halves of the husk, ran a fork over the top of each to ensure crispiness when cooked, and went for a sit-down without doing any clearing up, and fell asleep.
Not for long, but I could smell the potatoes when I woke up. So, off into the kitchen and they were just how I like ’em, well done. And they were red hot when I extracted them from the oven. So while they cooled a bit, I cleared and washed things up.

Then at last, and with great physical and emotional pains, I got the meals served up… After adding Chilli & Lemon Potato Curls. Great!
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Worth All The Hassle? You Decide! Hehehe!
Despite it all, it was lovely,
But I have to say, costly,
Pricewise, Physically & Mentally,
I say this enthusiastically,
I fare with life intolerantly,
But, voided living in xerophagy,
I need help neuropsychiatrically,
I can feel high, but hesitantly…
With the crap-luck that haunts me!
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