TFZer discrete meeting? Hahaha! ♥
Thursday 19th November 2020
Danish: Torsdag den 19 November 2020
00:40hrs: It all happened in a sort of slow-motion, to start with. I semi-woke up and lay there pondering the upcoming opportunities this dedicated ‘Toilet Day’, of 12th November, had to offer.
What Accifauxpas, Whoopsiedangleplops, Disasters, Failures, Stalemates, Mental-implosions, Frustrations, Defeats, Katzenjammers, Nonachievements, Babalaases, Pitfalls, Disappointments, Mysterious wonders of Woodthorpe Court: The Ghosts, Hobgoblins, Boll-Weevils, Aliens, Gremlins, Karakia-cursing entities, Hallucinations. Materialisations, Poltergeist, Lemures, Spectres, Spirits, Spooks, Eidolons, Wairuas, Kehuas, Manifestations that permeate, pass through the pores and interstices of space, through the time-continuum, to torment and frighten the bejesus out of me; that might present themselves this Thursday.
Oddly enough, as I was thinking of this ‘Dedicated Toilet Day’, as I was removing my potbellied, portly, wobbling, paunched-bellied body from the c1968 recliner, a borborygmic mini-explosion from the innards, signalled the expergefactorial need for the Porcelain Throne. I thought it would be a good idea, if I didn’t delay, and got to the Porcelain Throne with all haste! So, I did!
Not only did I get to the wet room without any bother, (Well, there was a short loss of balance, but that was my own fault for not catching it as I grabbed Metal Micky), and that only lasted a few seconds without any detrimental damage or injury.
What followed was most encouraging. This session was the even less painful, no enteralgia, no bleeding!
And comfortably evacuated; This is first-time that this has happened in many a month! Yee-Haa! But I knew this could not last for long. But I enjoyed it while it lasted.
Mind you, the poo colour was a sort of green. Still, it made a change: super-easy passage, and a pretty new colour for me to photograph for the gastroenterologist’s Neurogenic bladder and bowel management record.
I was tickled-pink, started singing to myself! (The Young Ones – Cliff Richard) As I was getting up to sort the cleaning up, I spotted the gunk-cleaner on the shower floor, that I’d left to soak in last night – and had forgotten all about doing! Oh, dear!
I went out to the hallway and turned on the shower-power at the box. Back in and as carefully as I could, got the shower on and I sprayed the cleaner away…
But it looked far worse than it did before my orgulous bright-spark of an idea was used.
Humph and Knackwrangles!
And then, of course, to completely demolish the memory of the successful Throne session and semi-contentment of the marvellous evacuation; The moment I moved the showerhead into the right hand so I could turn off the water, and Nicodemus’s neurotransmitters failed, and the showerhead flailed all over the place. This resulted in my attempt to retrieve the moving water-jetting, hose-pipe like head, I had a tumble to the floor and got an early morning closed up shower, and soaked the jammy bottoms and me, and I got a few knocks new and bangs, in the process! Tsk!
The struggle to get back up, the cleaning and sorting out, were done in a silent, stewing mood, ruminating and chewing the cud; determined not to get in a sulky frame of mind at the return of my devil’s own luck, and eventually affirmed it as just a tribulation. I was pleased with myself then, at how I’d talked myself into just accepting things, knowing these incidents will only get worse as the neurotransmitters slowly die anyway. Confusingly, sometimes it’s like this, others, I get all het-up, cursing my fate, and start Duodenal Donald and Anne Gyna off, but not on this occasion? I sort of habituated, adapted to the situation. I’ve no idea why this is so, but I’m pretty content and stilled about things now.
I made a brew of Glengettie tea and realised than yet again, I’d not taken the evening medications! What an Ahntoisht, Shilmazel! So I took the evenings doses, and hope that I remember in size hours or so, to take the morning ones. Putz!
I carried out the Health Checks. The sphygmomanometerisationing first. But I didn’t fret over this reading, no doubt the falling over altercation had effected the reading, I’m sure.
The new thermometer did not work first try. Do I turned it off and back on again, and got this disappointingly low reading, again though, this is probably due to the fracas in the wet-room?
I got on the computer and started to update the Wednesday blog. Which was done in a reasonable time for once, the ailments seem to be feeling sorry for my tumble, and are being kind to me perhaps? (I might be losing it again here!)
I poddled to the wet-room, for another wee-wee, and when I got back, I noticed the veins in the left arm were almost luminescent? And, odd;y they looked a little greener than usual? When I took this photo, I used the flash, and it came out looking more strange than it really looked, but I WordPressed it anyway, cause it looked so odd. A camera glitch? Anyway, it made me think of Soylent Green. Hahaha!
Of course, it might just be one of the resident Woodthorpe Court mysterious Eidolons, Goblins, or Aliens, that are checking out my innards. The Chilli-Meatballs last night might have confused them? Chortle! Cackle! Guffaw!
I got the updating finished and sent off. Then emailed the link.
Pinterested some snaps, the got the ablutions sorted out. Well, I started to anyway. But I remembered the morning dosages needed to be taken, so returned and tool them, then back to the wet-room.
I noticed as I stripped off (a horrible, harrowing thought for you, I’m sorry. Hehe!), that I must have picked up in the tumble. Pretty scratch, though! Hahaha!
The teeth cleaning went fine.
The shaving surprisingly, only brought about two tiny weeny nicks, not worthy of mention really, but it’s too late now, I have written it. Simper!
I found one of the miniature wounds from the Accifauxpas on the right-hand knuckle. I seem to have picked up some nicks and bruises, ain’t I? However, the showering, which was something I was a smidge concerned about with the balance not yet back to normal, went great! No Dizzy Dennis’s, there was not a single clout or banging into anything, I was well pleased again.
The medicating was as smooth as could be expected! No bleeding from Harold’s Haemorrhoids or Little Inchies fungal lesion! The dressing was only bothered temporarily by a dodgy-wobble getting the trousers on, but I remained on my feet, Oh. Yes! This is a better day, up to now! Perhaps, my prayer and a few words to Mr G the other day had got through? Or, not! Snortle!
I was in good form after the ablutions, and set about moving the hand-washed togs about, to nearer the heater, now they had stopped dripping.
That reminds me of when I was a whipper-snapper! Every Saturday morning, come rain or shine; after I’d set and laid the fire, and done my paper rounds, I had to go to Sanderson’s Tripe & Cow Heel shop, on Arkwright Street, and wait (sometimes for hours), to claim the ham bone, once enough had been sliced and sold, 3d (Threepence it was) And heaven help me if I couldn’t get it! Dad would not be happy with me at all!
This look like the original shop, I could find a photo of when they were open. Gawd the place smelt gorgeous! Once a fortnight I had to some tripe as well. Every week, the jellied pork dripping they sold, 9p a pound (weight) was bought as well. Oh, the memories are flooding back now! Of course, when Dad was working on a Saturday, meant I had a few hours of waiting for him to arrive home. Which, in the rare event that one of the three items was unavailable; meant I had to wait for the clips around the earhole longer.
Happy days, rough, hard work. Mater kept disappearing to avoid the police, so muggins had set the fire every morning! Do the paper rounds so kindly got for me by Dad, the cooking and cleaning too. But I did feel needed, wanted, and the odd belting!
But I was content, I knew no other life! There were plenty of lads worse off than I was… I’m waffling again, Sorry about that. It’s a bad habit of mine, wandering off, on some unrelated topic. Still, I do enjoy getting these memory-prompting meanderings.
I got the black bags gathered and onto the three-wheeler-guide trolley, and had a job to do it, but got it out of the door, along, the lift lobby, and into the waste room, and deposited all the small bags down the chute.
It was deathly quiet, and no signs of any tellurians. Even the ‘Hum’ was quieter today.
Even Herbert has only been heard on two occasions up until now. I’m beginning to worry about this. He’s not one for persiflage, more your sort of taciturn, reserved, reticent, antisocial type.
The walk back to the flat along the newly, highly-attractive, ornamentally decorated and floored lift lobby.
It felt so. Haha!
Getting into the three flat’s lobby was easy enough this time, and at that moment, I was feeling better than I have for a few days, getting tired, but that’s to be expected.
But, when it came to getting into the front door, that’s the maroon one, that the workers laying the floor for us all, decorated with some gunk for me, and left it there, and I have no intention of cleaning up – Swine!, I felt the weariness take a strong grip on me, and the missing so far today, Dizzy Dennis kicked into gear.
But I was not mentally tired, only bodily. Does that make sense? I went out on the balcony to take a couple of photos of the busy scene down below on Chestnut Walk.
Blimey, we had a traffic jam! Hahaha!
I spotted some crows in the distance and snapped them, but it was not a good shot. Shame. I wanted to post them to the TFZ site, Lona might have appreciated them.
Doing some updating on this blog, and I thought I heard a clunk, it may be the belated INR WArfarin results and new dosages. It was, and the dosages had changed. Meaning, because no one from the Clinic, Anticoagulation or Deep Vein Thrombosis had informed me from the Monday test, I have been taking too few Warfarins tablets since then. This Coronvirus is most likely killing a few people without the virus!
The landline chirped and flashed. It was some woman on a recorded message again, telling e they had taken £75 something from my account for ‘Prime’, if I want to cancel this press One, so I did. Waffling on a woman with either a Chinese or Indian/Pakistani accent – I couldn’t tell if it was recorded or real voice, she was going that fat, and without a cat in ells chance of understanding anything she was saying. I rang off.
Dizzy was joined by Anne Gyna, and I gave up on the computer and got the nosh prepped.
I had a good sniff at the out of date potato cakes, and luckily, they passed the sniffing nasal-assessment, so went in the oven, and were added to the tray.
The Chilli-Con-Carne, with the added tomatoes, mild chilli seasoning, Squid vinegar, garden peas and gravy, tasted jolly good!
There was so much of it though, you can see here that I couldn’t eat it all. Titter! Seriously, it was a worthy 9.3/10 for a Flavour rating!
I was doing the washing up when Dizzy Dennis and BLB (Balance-Loss-Brian) allied to attack me. From here onwards, memory, of the night was enveloped it a vague mistiness.
When I woke up later – there was no scribbling on the notepad. I had a criminally, painful backache, and the shoulder was so painful. Signs of an Accifauxpa? But no memory. I’d not taken the evening medications, and was wearing the reading glasses?
Another mystery of life in Woodthorpe Court. Hey-Ho!
Gawd the lower back hurts?