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My last photographic adventure,
I thought I’d caught an alien invader.
Come to see Europe’s raging wildfire?
I had a minutes-worth of Ataxia,
Did they bring weapons, armamentaria?
“‘Twas the light bulb’s reflection, “I get dafter!
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Last night’s meal left me with digestion,
How did it taste? A Good question,
My rating was 3.5 out of 10!
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TUESDAY 28th JULY 2025
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06:30hrs: Bounced out of bed, removing the night pouch as I jumped over the wheelchair and did a few minutes of shadow boxing, as I hummed the National Anthem.
A hundred or so press-ups later, then some squats and toe touchings, and I needed the Porcelain Throne…
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Alright, I’ll start again then…
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I begrudgingly woke up with bladder pains of the flowback nature. My immediate thought was: Shit! I’ll have to get a taxi to the QMC A&E now. Naked, I instantly started finding problems before checking first. 
Another £30+ in taxi fares, then a wait of four-and-a-half hours like last time, waiting to be seen. Blood and urine bursting out through the fungal lesions on my sadly shrinking minuscule, battered mini-pinkie… The embarrassment, frustrations, and a mega-depression to cope with…, then realised there was nobody to help me get dressed! I’d have to go with the clothes in the walker-trolley, and a dressing gown on. 
I checked the night bag to find I’d left the smaller day bag on overnight! That was the problem giving me the backflow to the kidneys. I emptied it straight away, and slowly, after emptying & taking an Oxycodone.
I noticed my eyesight was much worse this morning, put oil in the ears, and drops in the eyes.
Then all the other unsettled, unsorted, not solved issues came flooding in. Oligarchal British Gas & Virgin Media. CorelDraw, the bank farce, Neurology, EENT, Nutall Hospital… on and on these worries worried me. 
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Some bother with the Carer this morning. I was in a right bad, gruff mood, and I kept finding things for him to do each time he sat in the recliner to use his mobile. I told him yesterday that we would go down on his longer call to get the keyboard I can see. He went through each of the clapped-out keyboards I had and found one that had packed up yesterday. Got it going, but it is still too much hard work seeing it in such a worse state.
I suggested we go to the computer shop to get a replacement; then he told me the man rang him and said he had no lit-up keyboards in stock. Doubts showed their faces, but I said we would go to the shop tomorrow. Then get some spuds, then call at the opticians to explain that I had a seizure at the pre-op meeting at the EENT, and had to wait six weeks to get another appointment; that was for two weeks later! Then we can catch a bus outside the opticians back to the flat. If I have time, he said.   
I got him to mop the kitchen floor; it needs it nearly every day, with me being barefoot. Got him to clean between the fridge door; it was filthy. He returned to his mobile in my recliner. I asked him to check the dates on some food in a box behind the chair. Five minutes later, he was back sitting on the recliner, mobile recording.
I asked him to clean between the cupboards in the kitchen. But he just watched me do them instead. I did a decent job too. Then realised it was me who did them. I asked him to sort the dates in the fridge, and he said, “I’ve done enough now”!
So, I was busier than before he came on his second hour-long visit. Which meant that when he arrived for the 16:00hr medicine call, I’d barely started this blog!
I used to love doing the blog. I was so weary, foofy-eyed, and frustrated that I let him do his usual: more time spent on his phone than doing anything.
Which tempts me to accept the offer from the lady to be Carer for me, and get rid of the pathetic young Carer I’m stuck with. No problems with Misra, but he calls on me less often, and Carer Ejaz doesn’t call at all now.
I still sense an ulterior or hidden truth about the way I’m being treated. Shame.
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Sister Jane rang me, but I was at my lowest ebb in years at the time. I may have been less than appreciative, forcing a thanks for calling as I put down the phone.
Feeling ashamed and guilty.
The last time my balance was as low as this,
would be around about 1966.
I can’t write anymore.
I’m a gibbering wreck.
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I’m hoping that Carer Mirza comes tonight.
He did not come; another vote in favour of
getting rid of the Carers altogether.
Without the help of Mirza & Ejaz,
it’s just not working. I cannot see it working, and I cannot afford it. I need intervention from a safe source, PLEASE!
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Carer in other room as I prepped the meal.
Mizra would help me when using knives, knowing I drop and lose grip on things later in the evenings.

Dropped the mug Jenny gave me last time I broke one, grabbed at it and clouted my knuckles on the counter edge and missed the mug, which shattered on the floor. Carer appeared and got the mess cleared for me.
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I wondered for a moment if my plea to go into a home is proceeding or has been rejected? No communication re the situation. But with the crisis in Social Care and the NHS, I can understand if it is being refused.
But I can’t go on much longer financially, or emotionally, with the cost of the Carers, and the bank statements not being looked at yet, weeks after they arrived and I informed the relevant people. The Warden and the NCC Procurement. No communication re the situation.
Understandably, methinks, but it still makes one think about an existence amidst billions, and feeling useless, pathetic and abandoned.
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Sourdough breag, bacon, fresh peas,
potato Curlies. I ate the lot!
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