Sunset shots, no idea when from, sometime in the last three days I’ve been without the capability to upload.
Yesterday morning (Maybe?) Colin Cramps was paining me, All night long, eight hours, no sleep, scarily, But still, in wealth, health, finances and pecuniarily… I have no worries… I am totally hassle-free… I’m lying here, to a certain degree… I can’t walk properly… It’s harder than ever to see… Arthur Itis murdering the knee… Constantly I need a painful wee-wee, Lost the remote control for the TV! Using the Porcelain Throne leaves things increasingly phooey! And to varying degrees, it’s always bloody! So many medications, I’m becoming a druggie, Of pains, aches, worries, fears… I’m never free! Diabetes stops me from eating chocolate and toffee… Always some other medical examinee… Vascular dementia has taken my minds synchronicity, More operations are due, but that’s just a technicality, I’m coping well, really, but with a vulnerability… Too occasional depressions and pathetic self-pity, Yet, I’ve a gift of physical, not mental, survivability, Sometimes, I have an outlook of determination and doability… Often prevented from actioning by my docility… Yet, I press on, causing more damage, such is my senility… Why did the Lord give me life, but not the ability? Fair enough, he gave me more than a fair share of verbosity, And great bonus, in a massive bouncebackability, But far too much instability and aperiodicity? Not to mention my fretting, worrying and trepidity, Oh, I said them – that’ll be the memories absentia! Psychasthenia, I’ve avoided, I’m glad to say it’s not obligatory, Thank Gawd, for my beloved Lisa, Jenny and Jillie 🧡
Made up some Polish pork sarnies, so good they tasted! Planned it for them to be ready, To eat it watching the telly… Heartbeat was on… but I soon capitulated!
I’ll turn on the telly a fine-looking nosh, and I waited… Again, my plans had been incapacitated… The TV remote had absquatulated! Spend so much time searching, going wud! The meal went stone-cold; it could not be ameliorated! No TV, eyesight too bad to read; aggravated! Hearing no good to listen to the radio… The remote control was not appropriated! After a lengthy search, of finding it, there was no likelihood, I was self-annoyed; I could have spat blood! At least the sandwiches tasted really good! A Dark Depression accumulated… As the next Whoopsiedangleplop, I awaited…
The following day I woke, and photo’d the feet, The limbs looked okay, felt alreet, Colin Cramps was easier last night, his pains petite, Then, as I moved, the action was only slight… Arthur Itis attacked – in the right knee, with all his might! Hearing myself whimper made me uptight, I struggled to move and was not very sprite… Then, went to Phorpain it… What a sight!
My disjointed but prettily coloured patella.
The sort of knee one may find on a troglodyte? No sunshine for them either, very little light, But I was more concerned with the failing eyesight, I make myself a sarnie, using Vegemite… Just two little slices, more weight I will not incite,
It was cold, misty and windy tonight, Got the camera, the end car park to highlight… Will the computer let me import? Well, it might… Good heavens, it did! Much to my delight!
The red van on the no-parking zone is like a benchmark, It’s never been known to park up properly, I remark… The van reminds me vaguely of the Bismarck?
Sod it! The knee cap’s come out, off to the hospital!
My EQ had already warned me, today would be different, special,
But I’ll have to be prepared for aggravation, be on my metal!
But explained things won’t be wrong, not an early burial…
But plans, like life, can be so decoctible…
Plans, well mine, are easily cock-uppable!
However, EQ’s warnings were mostly corrigible.
I thought that my will-power and contentment was indestructible,
Which, to say the least, was a rarity and unexplainable!
I got the blog created and sent off… although it was minimal,
The Carer was a smidge depressed, not very cheerful,
Gave him a can of Gin in thanks, told him to be safe, be careful,
Departing, the Carer definitely seemed a bit more gleeful,
Which made me feel better; did you know he was bilingual?
I only did a small blog, the eyes are getting worse, seeing less,
Still can’t get the photos on the computer – I’m at my pottiest!
Sorting out the paperwork needed for ophthalmologist,
The Bank Manager, whose visit I’d have gladly missed…
And added herb-slices to my little shopping list,
Readied things for the escape, shopping, bank and optometrist…
Here we go…
I got to the door, seeing I’d enacted my habit of being a noctambulist,
Boxes had been moved, stuff out on the trolley, can a hypnotist,…
Be consulted, for I do not recall getting from bed; was I pissed?
I think not; I stopped drinking years ago… mind you, it’s still missed!
Some bits of paper on the carpet as well, to be honest…
I don’t think my mind is at its mentally healthiest…
Hit my head picking stuff up… but this was not to be the painfullest,
Half an hour later, I felt at my poorliest…
I hobble out along to Winchester Street, limping down the hill,
A car parked on the pavement again, cruel and evil…
Not sliding in the wet leaves was taking all my skill…
I was soon swearing like the devil!
I tripped on the crack underneath the leaves, twisted my knee…
Bagged my leg falling on the soggy gravel,
It hurt, but so did me wanting to have a pee!
But more important was my desire to see Jillie!
My tumble meant nothing now; I hobbled like the devil,
My mission is to see Jillie, whatever the peril…
My fears and pain had disappeared – they were nihil!
We met, and in her arms I did cradle…
Nothing mattered then, even my wanting a piddle!.
The time shot by while I was Jillie, my lover… in my mind
She’s regal, beautiful, and so very kind…
I found her 60 years too late; it drives me out of my mind!
But she had partly adopted me, that was so very kind,
She is a gift, a pleasure, a desire, of all mankind ♥
Jillie walked with me to the opticians, beautifully coiffured,
She is even aware before I say so when something I’ve misheard!
A treasure-find for me, patient and so good-natured!
My confidence was boosted, hopes temporarily recaptured…
Into see the ophthalmologist room, to have the eyes inspected!
Prodding and eyes, the drops all done; 20 minutes, I waited…
The Oculist came out with the problem after I was examined,
The result was not unexpected… I’m overly cataracted!
She set the ball rolling for me to have two lenses fitted…
Paperwork to the Doctors’ was remitted…
She explained further to me of the operation…
Risky at my age, but without it, I’ll be blind within a year As was expected and natural to me, worry, but no fear.
Gave me some leaflets to read. There is no point in prescribing the new glasses until after the operation. Because having two plastic lenses replacing the genuine lenses would alter the sight a lot, they will sort the spectacles out with another examination after the procedure.
Also, she can look into the Glaucoma and Saccades issues after my getting and trying the new spectacles. Which can’t be done until so many weeks after the operation has been completed. Ah, well! Only what I expected, really.
I had the pleasure of thanking them, and going with Jillie to the bank. Which took a lot of her time, but she was very patient. We went into a room with an advisor. I could not hear what he was saying, and the rapidly declining eyesight meant I could no longer see well enough to try lip-reading. But, Jillie did all the talking for me. ♥ She asked about the Carers Direct Debit situation, and the chap told her, as she explained afterwards, I had no idea what was going on, Hehe! that the transactions were set up, but nothing had gone out yet? Crumplemost Confusing!
After a long time, we left the bank, and Jillie had to help me with the cash machine to get some money out. Bless Her! I don’t know what I’m going to do when the gal is unavailable!
Got some bits from the local continental store, not a lot; I’ve got a food delivery coming in the morning.
We walked back to Jillie’s house, and I got a hug (Boy, that felt good!) as we parted. Despite the morning’s happenings, I felt up to walking up the hill back to the flats!
I got in and made a meal. Gobbled it up, and sat down; and fell right asleep! For about four hours! Got up, and I started to mop the kitchen floor as Carer Richard arrived. We had a little natter, but he was in a rush. So I gave him one of his favourites, a pink gin and tonic, thanked him as he departed. Then got on with the moping again.
I sat down with a mug of Glengettie tea to watch Heartbeat on the box… But only managed about ten minutes, and I drifted off again.
After an hour, I sprang awake in absolute agony! The hobble (I imagine) had set off Colin Cramps, and boy was he giving me some pain! Worse, he went on all night until about 04:30 in the morning!
I used up an entire tube of Phorpain overnight! But it did me no good. Even taking two co-codamol didn’t ease things at all! All in the left foot and leg. Knob-Gobs! I’ve never had cramps so bad in my life before?
Inchcock’s computer was doing odd things again,
Inchie knows it is doomed; he feels the pain,
Still, he’s got his other worries, Morphine and Lidocaine,
Everything nowadays confuses him; facts are so hard to retain!
His efforts to improve his memory have all been in vain,
But Inchies determination to survive remains unslain,
Then he stubbed his toe, lost his key, then a tumble again!
He set about making an imitation dinner…
Perseverant, dedicated to making this one tastier!
After a few meal failures lately, he’s getting jitterier…
Confidence gone, he tried, but this meal was crappier…
His language, as he turned into a self-hater…
He should have stuck with sausage and mashed potato!
Boy did he swear, spit, as his self-loathing went nuclear!
A good job that no one else was in the area!
Then pains from Duodenal Donald did appear…
The old codger is not having much luck, I fear!.
Depressed with himself now, he got his camera,
His mind wandered… thinking of his meal… beefburger?
“I fell asleep and missed the fireworks, silly bugger!”
As he saw the sky, he thought of being an astrologer,
Realising his eyesight, with so many a disorder…
Cataract Katey, Glaucoma Gloria, and Saccades Sandra,
He’ll see nowt, and the telescope he couldn’t manoeuvre…
His pre-2022 brain and thoughts were even unclearer…
Inchcock got into his overwhelmingly sickeningly…
Beige, second-hand, £300, c1968, uncomfortable, recliner,
Nodded off, woke up in the kitchen – how? Somnambulistically,
Dropped off again, woke at 00:10hrs, not very jocularly…
He’s missed photoing the fireworks – he blames his dementia!
But he still got his camera, and onto the balcony, he did venture…
2022 Had Arrived!
He whipped back the cover where he was reclined,
And mottled legs, and glowing ulcer he did find!
But, no time for medicating now; his leg he disentwined…
Got his fully charged camera, all realigned…
Took two photographs, not too badly defined!
Kettle on, and off he went to the Porcelain Throne,
After half an hour, I had to check on him (Alto-Ego) all alone…
I heard no screams, not even a moan!
I floated into the Porcelain Throne…
He sat there glum-faced, scratching his thigh bone…,
Into his crosswording… He said, “Nowts moved, Alto”,
“Rock solid, burrit won’t move, though!
“Have yer given the Diapharm capsules a go?”
“One yesterday, one today! No, it was two today!”
As I laughed and left, I thought I heard him pray!
Inchcock Leaves The Wet Room!
Forty minutes after going into the Porcelain Throne,
He came out wearily, in pain, and took a Ziprasidone,
He seemed fed-up, looking drawn and on his own…
His usual contentment seems to have been blown…
He started rubbing on his cheekbone…
Oh, dearie, he’s got toothache; but he doesn’t moan,
Just stands there, fascinated, looking out at a drone!
Health Checks Time
Well, the BP SYS is a little high,
As is the Pulse, he wonders why?
Temperature is at 34.2°centigrade, not too high,
He’s unconcerned, and I think I know why…
He’s been in the fridge, reading instructions on his beef pie!
Then checked the cooking times on his chips… Oh, my!
Then went on CorelDraw, to make a graph, that’s why!
I heard him talking from the other room; he was going at it,
He does a lot of chinwagging to himself…
But I’m not worried about his mental health a bit,
Although his finances are losing wealth…
He was happily talking to his pet, Rabbit Rupert…
All the others as well, he did look a little hurt…
When I called his brown bear, Burt…
He grabbed me by the shirt…
Even though he’s only a little squirt…
And I always thought he was an introvert?
I soon discovered why he was being so short with me,
His favourite nurse did not arrive…
I laughed; he threatened to kick me in the knee!
But Arthur Itis and Dizzy Dennis made him fall over, you see,
I’ve never seen him so active…
Till he tumbled over, now he’s definitely inactive…
But he did get back up; it took him a long time to rise…
I laughed at him again. He was very reactive…
To the point of being so argumentative…
I told him, I’m not real, you do realise?
That’s why kicking me was very unwise!.
Inchie sulked a while, took some more painkillers, and skulked off to prepare a meal. I’m worried about him…
He went into Photographicalistical mode straight away. Well…
And after the traditional painful, challenging wee-wee, He got his Canon camera and dropped it, accidentally, Well, he’s getting senile now and rather elderly… His thoughts and actions are slow, performed dottily, He hurt his back, bending to retrieve it; he needed another pee! Yet it still worked, so he took his first photo, jauntily…
He took it from the balcony,
The red van parked, again, illegally…
Yesterday, the lights shone brightly…
This photo came out fairish – a periodicity!
Clear morning, t’was no longer foggy…
The following two shots were taken in duplexity…
Top one to the north-east,
Second to the south-east,
Not so good these, my apology!.
He took an extra snap, using technology…
He’d zoomed in, to him that’s using gadgetry,
He went into a smug mode, as he did one correctly!
He even charged up the battery…
For him, that’s technological activity!
But the twerp couldn’t get the card to work The computer was confusing the burke! Card reader not recognised, he went berserk! From his efforts, he did not shirk… And by some miraculous quirk… He got it to work, the jerk!
After making a brew of Thompsons Punjana tea, stubbing his toe, and dropping the milk bottle, he cleaned the mess up. Took his CBD.
The formula was frivolously formulated for phrasemaking while Inchcock was busy cutting himself shaving. He can’t recall what it was exactly but decided that as he continued with his ablutions and medicationalisationing, he might get inspiration or a vague idea for a new plot. But, by the time he stopped the chin bleeding and utilised the Porcelain Throne, the earlier plan of his blog’s theme had plodded off into the ether, lost forever…
Teeth cleaning, nasal decongesting, and into the shower. Inchie banged his shoulder against the power-box (Dizzy Dennis to blame). Swore violently. Took his shower, then set about doing his medicationalisationings.
These went reasonably well (Did I say that?) The most painful bit of agonistically applying the stinging Betamethasone cream really was nowhere near the pain it usually was? This was a good start.
Treating Arthur Itis, Colin Cramps, Shaking-Shoulder-Shirley, Ankle-Ulcer-Herbert. Harold’s Haemorrhoids, Saccades Sandra, Duodenal Donald, Back-Pain-Brenda, Little Inchies, Fungal Lesion were all medicated. The none Carer and prescription items were applied to many parts of the body.
Saccades eye drops. He was gobsmacked at getting some of the liquid into the eye, for once. Of course, he managed to get some in his nose and mouth as per usual.
A second hobbling speedily attended visit to the Porcelain Throne was followed by taking two Dioctyl® capsules. To counter Trotsky Terence’s return! Messy, very much so! Took ages to clean things up afterwards.
Carer Richard arrived. Soon got the medications sorted, and he made sure I took them and didn’t drop any, bless him.
It was his last call, so he spent a little while having a chinwagging session with me. The lad’s gone through many similar procedures as I have, but poor Richard got them a lot earlier in his life. Which I appreciated.
He’s coped amazingly well with things. A caring bloke, too.
He seemed to be cheery,
And, off Richard did flee,
I had another pee…
Colour chart for the wee,
Was on number three,
Now six, it smelt musty!
Oh, back to the lavatory,
Oh, what a malady!
Well Into The Afternoon…
But no one had told Inchcock, the chatterbox…
Chattering to himself, sipping dandelion & burdock!
Thinking he may just wash his socks…
A message comes through on his voicebox…
Unsolicited mail, through his letterbox…
He forgets the socks: arrears in his Carer fees shocks!
Over £400 – Oh, Hollyhocks!
That’s not what he said, but it also rhymes with Bullocks!
He plans to get it paid by the following equinox!
A change of nosh style, I’m watching the size of my hips!
Vegetarian sausages, peas, swede and lentil potatoes…
Chilli sauce, onion gravy, a banana, oranges…Oh, and chips!
I forgot to take from the fridge the tomatoes…
And now my rear quarters blows and blows!
The Nottingham Lads True Tales of Woe In Rhyme Series
The extra handicap of the reaction to the Booster Jab; made my doing anything, taking an inordinately much longer time than usual. Thus, it was nearly midnight last night by the time I’d got the blog finished and posted. Although aching and in pain, and really needed to get some sleep. The mind and body wanted to close down. But, Inchcock, an epicurean, foodie, glutton, gourmet, chow-hounder, and well-known foodaholic, put an end to any thoughts of joining in with any Sweet Morpheusness for a while.
I foolishly started to make a belated meal, and a mini-feast it was too! At last, come around about 01:00hrs, I got it served up.
Raw fresh peas from Nigeria. (Shame the ones from Peru are not available, they were sweeter than the Nigerian ones by a mile, but beggars can’t be choosers when things are out of season) Oven-baked potato slices, tomatoes, crispy smoked bacon was the main course. The bacon was eaten in slices of milk roll bread and was dunked in some absolutely great tasting Thai sweet chilli sauce. I was satisfied with the substituted bottle; as for where I got it from, well, I’ll get some more from Amazon.
Which reminds me, I’ve got some diabetic bamboo socks delivered today. Well, that’s what I say! Bearing in mind my cock-up stroke Whoopsiedangleplop with Sainsbury’s and Morrison’s order dates, I get them arriving yesterday; when my Google calendar clear says that the Sainsbury one is coming Monday and the Morrison one on Tuesday… I’m sinking into the morass mess of mental mayhem of memory mishaps. It has to be admitted. Vascular Dementia Doreen is to blame, methinks.
Of course, you have to bear in mind that it is me we are talking about! No chance! Anyway, I feasted well, did some belching, took an extra Codeine, and flaked out on the recliner searching for sleep…
Sleep as I recall it, when I got up for my fifth wee-wee, at 03:00hrs, seemed far away, a luxury denied me again! Thought Storms Stewart kicked of the instant the eyelids drooped and threatened to nod off. It’s incredible how many things you can fear, hate, smile and laugh about, returning memories to torment you on your failed options and actions. Self-disgust, the injustices of those in charge, shames… not to mention the ailments having a go at you. I had no idea what time I got off into the land of nod, but I kept waking up thinking, I’d better get up, the carer will be here soon – then nodded off again.
The Doctor’s response to this problem when I spoke with her (a few years ago now, of course) Was, “Yes, many older people get this… any other problems?” I decided not to bother her further.
As I woke for the umpteenth time and was going through the routine of planning to get up, then falling asleep again, the door chime rang out its loud, ♫ Oh, Susanna ♫ tune. Gawd, it was late! Carer Richard came in to find a foggy-brained Inchcock staggering up out of the recliner. Hahaha! Fair enough, he does usually find me fuddle-brained anyway.
Richard asked the required medical question, as they do on a Monday. And did a wristlet alarm check to ensure the signal was getting through to the Nottingham City Homes people.
It was his last call, and I enjoyed a little nattering and moaning session with the lad. I thanked and treated him, and off he went.
Then as I put the kettle on belatedly, I took some shots of the morning’s misty views from the kitchenette window.
The photographs didn’t help my spirits much, Didn’t cheer me up; I still felt I was a bit of a schmuck, An old man, (Gillie) again being lovestruck… If she was to adopt me, I’d be thunderstruck!
I wonder when the socks will arrive, they’re made of bamboo, Had to get some; it’s too cold not to wear them now, Boo-Hoo! I’ll check the Amazon tracker; that’s what I’ll do… Nine stops away, couldn’t ask for better, could you! The socks seem to be of reasonable value… One can’t say that very often of Amazon, can you?
In an effort to cheer missen up, I perused the box of gifts that HRH Lisa and Billum had sent to me from Fort Thomas in the USA. I know, I wasn’t going to open it until Christmas Day, but anyway…
The box within the box was so pretty, it had to have been decided on by a lady. I put it on the server trolley and investigated away! But I’ll not put them on display until Christmas day.
Just look at all the work Lisa must have put into making these for me!
She even named them for me in the card she sent with them! ♥
Crazy Furry Goat (Goliath), Long Eared Rabbit (Roger), Wacky Cat Kawaii. Pink Fuzzy Monster (Malcolm), Rudikth, the Red-Nosed Reindeer! The names in brackets are those I’m considering giving them when they get on display and become along with Koala and Teddy Bear, my morning chinwagging partners! ♥
I’ll have to make sure I give them names that I might remember. Otherwise, they will get confused about who I am talking to if I use the wrong word. Hehehe! They put in some ‘Moon Pie’ cakes as well. They are not available in the UK. And they look rather tasty! I shall not indulge until Christmas day!
When I showed them off to the carer who came to check on my medicines stock, she thought they were just like a Wagon Wheel. When I put a picture of an unopened lemon Wagon Wheels on my blog a while back, Billum said how they looked like Moon Pies. Thus they sent them to me to try. Bless their cotton socks! ♥
♥ Thanks again, HRH Lisa and Billum! ♥
The door chime rang forth again;
♫ I come from Alabama with a banjo on my knee, I’m going to Louisiana, my true love for to see It rained all night the day I left; the weather it was dry The sun so hot I froze to death; Susanna, don’t you cry. Oh, Susanna, don’t you cry for me cos’ I come from Alabama With my banjo on my knee… ♫
The daycarer from the Meridian office was the day carer; she’s come to check that my medical stocks were sufficient for over the holidays. She thought the Moon Pies were like Wagon Wheels… Oh, I’ve already said this, I guess, sorry!
She thinks I’ll need some more Codeines getting in to last me. Which is not surprising, with all the extras I’ve been taking; What with the 15hr agony of the hospital trolley marathon, the bruised bum, then the absolute nightmare of the reaction to the booster-jab, I think I needed, they got me through anyway. I expect someone somewhere to believe I’ve become addicted, however, and another lecture from the Doctor, of course, over the phone.
Another Escapee Pea!
Making a fresh brew, I trod on something rock-hard on the kitchen floor, almost like an electric shock, it made, jump a smidge. It seems lately that these escapee garden peas are coming out of hiding regularly? Haha!
I checked again in the Mazon bamboo sock front situation. And guess what? As you see, this was the message I got from them. Delivered today; your package was left near the front door or porch. Well, it hadn’t been! I got myself into a mini-flap when I wondered if it had been delivered to Winchester Court in error?
So, I rang ILC (Independent Living Coordinator), Warden, Desktop Dancer, and who is also not interested in adopting me! Tsk! It’s just not fair! She said it might be downstairs in the lobby; I mentioned Winchester Court, she said the flat is empty. I had a vision of them leaving the stuff outside the door of an empty apartment – if so, it would not last long! Deana said she’d look for me and let me know. I thanked her and returned to the computer in another failed effort.
Hehe! Ferreting around for something to nibble, I came across the packet of new mini-cheddars I’d ordered, but I resisted the temptation. I’ll have them later when I’m more depressed or even hungrier.
The right arm looked betterish, and the pain has subsided a lot now.
Little Inchies fungal lesion had not bled all day. I liked that a lot! But I am in no way being fooled; it’ll come again!
The legs (the Knees) had improved beyond recognition this Monday. I had a job to recognise them as my own. Although, Arthur Itis was getting a little frisky with it when I was writing this.
Warden Deana Saves The Day
Deana rang the door chime and entered – with the parcels of socks in her hand, bless her! They had been left down in the front lobby by the Amazon delivery urchin. Along with several other packages for different people! I thanked her kindly.
Cleaning the teeth broke another tooth, The few teggies left are getting corrosive, But I wash brushing a little aggressive, Shaving, not a single cut or nick, Showered, I almost felt hygienic… On the radio, the London philharmonic, Stubbed my toe; that was chronic… But, I don’t want to nitpick, Even though I tripped over the walking stick!
Food Glorious Food
The dessert was a bit special. On the label, it read; Raspberry Gourmet Greek-style thick & creamy live yoghurt with fruit layer. Confusing innit? Tasted okay. Cooked seasoned sliced Polish pork knuckle with seasonings sarnies, Nigerian podded peas, and crispy chips (oven fries). Flavour rating; 8/10.
Late Phone Call
A call from the opticians came in. Which left me more confused than ever. According to the lady calling me, I did not have an appointment with them. But when I called in there last week on my way to the dentist, I called in to book an appointment, got home and put a date in the calendar, January 4th 2022. She said they had not made an appointment for me?
I’m getting mixed up here; back to the phone call: She asked if I could come in the morning (today at 09:00hrs for an eye test? Presumably, they had had a cancellation?).
Being the keen attentive, alert, sharp sort of person that I’m not, I made another Whoopsiedangleplop; I told her her ‘Yes’ I’d come. Then realised I had the Amazon order coming? Too late to get help ringing her back; the staff had all gone!
Evening Carer Valerie arrived, and I soon fell asleep after she’d gone.
Fed up! Woke up wide awake at midnight and got this blog finished and posted, a little late, but betterer late than never!
A few years ago, before the onset of the awful Coronavirus onslaught and his latest disabilities, Inchcock used to get out and about. To feed his beloved Mallard Ducks at Arno Hill Park Lake. Taking the safe to feed them pellets and seeds, the old fart was in his element. He was even attempting to learn the quacking language from the Mallards! It gave him someone to talk to, not any humans, naturally.
So looking forward to his day out, he rose early to ensure everything was done and readied on time for him to catch the bus. Took a while to find his keys and bus pass. It did not go well…
05:00hrs: He woke and was soon up and getting on, carefully carrying out his essential ablutionalisationings. Really, he should have got the message and not bothered to go out today. Things did not go too well!
One of his top front teeth cracked, cleaning them. The traditional cut shaving, well, three actually. Nasal cleaner bottle dropped and broken. Banged his head on the sink when he dropped a razor as he bent to pick it up. Little Inchies fungal lesion started bleeding in the shower.
A late dizzy spell, and he cracked his shoulder on the shower-power box. Things were not going well!
Medicationalisationing the fungal lesion on Little Inchie was particularly painful and brought a few naughty words from the old chap. When after thinking he’s won, the bleeding started again, he cursed with an unexpected venom! He forgot to turn of the heater in the wet room. Going back in to use the Porcelain Throne later, he realised when thereat hit him as he entered the room – stubbing his toe against the creases, feared sock-Glide-Glenda. Things were not going very well!.
However, being used to these many Whoopsiedangleplops and the more frequent Accifauxpas, he soon felt his old chirpy self again after stopping the bleeding and taking his medications. Then he hoovered the mess up. Not looking very good for today?
He put the computer on to check the times of the buses. But Virgin Media and Liberty-Global top dog Mike Fries had failed yet again.
As Inchcock got everything he hoped together and was moving into the hallway on his way to the door… the wheel fell off of his Walker-guide trolley!
Unfazed, Inchcock retrieved the fallen wheel, and as he picked it up, it somehow morphed into about ten or twelve pieces, then fell on the newly hoovered carpet! Now he was fazed!
He’d missed the bus, of course. Spent the hour swearing, cursing and picking up the bits from the wheel. But it takes a lot to completely destroy Inchcocks spirit. He decided to walk without the guide (having no choice if he was to visit and gossip with his mallards). He set off, full of renewed anticipation for an enjoyable trip on the L9 bus and getting some pleasure from mother nature and the mallard ducks.
A note on the bus stop pole pointed out that service will not be operating today due to roadworks. Back to normal tomorrow. Not a good start this!
Inchie dropped back down into a sort of semi-moroseness, tinged with a high degree of pissed-offeredness! The clot thought perhaps he could go to the Nottingham canal to feed the birds, like the previous week? Then it clicked in; the fool would still not have a bus to use to get there either! What an absolute moron! Things were getting to him, now – Not good!
A Dizzy Dennis visited while he was pondering what to do – followed by a worryingly strong ‘Mind-Fog’, and he sat down on the bus shelter and went into a few minutes of daydreaming mode.
Finally, making up his mind. He’ll climb up the steep gravel footpath into the Woodthorpe Grange Park and have a search to see if he can see any of the wild ducks and hens that frequent it. Mayhaps he thought, I can visit the garden centre as well. Cheered a smidge now, he set off up the hill and began to peruse the woods and paths. But no signs of any wold life, the wasn’t many humans either, but that didn’t bother him.
He legged it down the avenue to the Garden Centre and Tropical Plant House. It was closed! This was not a good day for the old codger, and an iota of self-pity was brewing!
He hobbled around painfully as Arthur Itis kicked off in both knees. Resolutely searching for the wildlife birds. Of course, he had no luck, well, no good luck! Now lousy luck… that was in good supply, and about to get crueller, too!
His Nokia 100 virtually antique mobile phone burst into life, and he dropped it as he fumbled to get at it before it stopped ringing. He didn’t! He fell as he bent to pick it up, fortunately landing in some unstinging nettle bushes, which also cushioned the belly flop fall, right on the epigastrium coeliac plexus (I looked that up to sound clever, Hehe!) which started off Reflux Roger along with Arthur Itis. He had to crawl on all-fours to get to a tree stump, to haul his overweight, blubbery, lardaceous, wobbly-bellied body, back up onto its feet. Cutting his shins as he progressed. It was now a worserer day than ever for the pitiful old goat!
Now, almost a physical and mental wreck, he decided to make for home. Thinking he’d take a shortcut via Winchester Street, as all the aged-whimp wanted, was to get back to the flat, take some painkillers, use the Porcelain Throne, clean up his injuries, and make a good strong brew of Glengettie tea, with dunked shortcake biscuits!
Hahaha! Of course, his plans were stymied; they always are!
The road was blocked off – he might have worked it out earlier when he read the cancelled bus notice, but there you are. To make things worse, it started to rain, and his brolly was still in his broken-wheeled walker-guide trolley back in the flat! Thick as a plank, Inchie!
He did resist crying, but only just. After taking a marathon walk around the park again, he arrived at the lobby doors, wet, in pain, miserable, bloodied, and totally discouraged with life! He’d fought his way through the woods, bushes, rain, the end car park and back to the flats. Showing worrying signs of losing it… Jabbering on to himself and having a distinct twitch in his right eye now… not to mention his trousers being so wet and heavy, his braces were not holding them up far enough.
Once Inchie got inside the dry and warm lobby, the lad immediately began to cheer up a little! History should have told him not to bother!
Residents had gathered in the lift lobby – in vain hopes of one of them working. This just shows not only the stupidity but the banality and hopelessness of Inchcock’s everyday existence! Of course, with the day has been going so wrong, he should have known better than to allow thoughts of semi-contentment and hopes to rise.
Yet astoundingly, the dripping wet, frustrated, injured Inchie wasted no time in legging it limpingly, painfully slowly, up the 24 flights of concert stairs, towards his flat. (Desperate measures call for desperate actions!) He was urgently in need of the Porcelain Throne!
At the flat door, he fumbled about, still dripping wet; he gained access and almost bounced off of the walls in his rush to the Porcelain Throne. Whipped off his wet trousers and protection pants and plonked himself down on the pan… the evacuation began immediately, and it was all over within about a minute. Inchy just sat there, breathing a sigh of relief. Which was tempered by the cleaning up and medicating that needed doing next.
The wet (possibly 85% rainwater – 14% wee-wee, and 1% blood?) PP’s first, they had to be rung out, packed up in plastic bags to later go to the waste chute.
Unbeknownst to Inchcock, Little Inchies fungal lesion had burst open in the tumble he presumes. So that was medicated straight away. The neighbours always know when the Betamethasone cream is applied to the fungal lesion, the loud Argh, and Bloody hells give it away. Inchies day is just not getting any better, is it?
New PPs on, Piles of clothes into the laundry box. Rubbish bags were taken away.
He found a letter that had been delivered when he returned from taking the waste bags to the chute. It was confirmation from the Council that I am not going to get any attendance allowance. This really rubbed it in for Inchie – Hence his day continued in its ‘Let’s Annoy Inchcock Mode!
Too weary for making and eating any food, Inchie got down in his £300, second-hand, c1968, cringingly-beige-coloured, not-working, rickety, incommodious, grotty recliner, in search of Sweet Morpheus.
He was still waiting for sleep or at least rest of some sort, about two hours later.
Some thunderclap music from the yobboes on Woodthorpe Park having a party started up. Heavy Metal brand, Inchie thinks.
So he got up and went on the computer to start tomorrows blog off…
Upon waking, Inchcock will often do a sensual check on any ailment attacks or changes. Sometimes, a discussion will occur twixt Inchcock and a specific ailment, typically one that has been giving him a little extra pain and, or hassle. When these occur, the silly old goat usually makes an Ode and graphic about his demented, dreamt up, nonsensical clap-trapping, as below from an old one.
For some unknown reason, the idiot asked me to show this graphic, as he puts it: ‘Wot I Made!’ cause he’s seems to think it is one of his rare, almost non-existent successes?
As his Alto-Ego, I will now let the uneducated, lonely old fool take over the writing of this rubbish. TTFN.
Once the physical activity starts in the morning, I often wait for the mental conditioning to begin; it usually catches up within a few minutes. It can take hours, but not often.
They were tackled then.
Sphygmomanometer showed Sys and Dia, readings high,
The Wee-Wee chart: I need to drink more! Gin & Dry?
Would it help if I go to a detoxify?
On this mind of mine, I cannot rely!
A quick look for any new damage, I don’t want to oversimplify,
Another bruise was found on the top of my left thigh…
An unknown round welt, right arm, that I can’t quantify,
The torso seems to have started to transmogrify?
Heart Op Scars raised, itching again, certainly uglify!
The broken Terence Tooth hit the pain-boards bullseye!
Shuddering, Shoulder Shirley’s eased off, but why?
Hit my head on the stove but didn’t get a black eye!.
The following tasks were ablutionary,
Not worn any socks since about July,
Cold, Brr! should I dare to use Sock-Glide Georgina?
I’ve no medical aids that are any meaner!
One Sock-Glide injury needed micro-surgery!
Hickeys, bruises, cuts, and a bleeding periphery,
Stubbed toes, damaged knees, I felt all fluttery…
Should I put my socks on? I recalled the imagery,
Of the last time, I fought Georgina, bitterly!
I chickened out of wearing socks; what a mockery!.
Anytime in the next three hours, cometh Meridian,
An incredible variety of Carers, one who is Balearian,
Unless I misheard her, and she is Algerian?
Not that it matters, none of them shows me derision,
An American gal, English, British, and an Assyrian,
All make a positive impression!
Porcelain Throne Sessions
Ah, every visit is a different evacuation, indeed.
Some days it can be half an hour, then I’ve only peed!
Rock-solid torpedoes, agony, things bleed! Next time, liquid, 30 seconds, messy but what speed!
Housework Tended To
Took the chance to clean the fridge up, ready for the delivery to arrive shortly – well, I hope so.
Iceland Delivery Arriveth!
Then, on with Prepping Josie’s Meal
Got it delivered almost on time for her.
I was so proud of how Josie liked the look and smell,
The beef arrived two hours later, took in the dish for the gal.
Water chestnuts, potatoes, tomatoes, beef chunks as well,
Leeks and onions, chilli, three beans, the lovely smell!
Seasoned with liquid smoke, paprika, beef flavour gel,
Said she loved the cream Pretzel,
Even called me an old Angel!
I mentioned the extra lidded pot for the Damsel,
To have later, quantity double,
Too long at her door, I did not dwell,
I sensed she was hungry… Oh, yes, I can tell!
End Car Park
End car park area busy today.
I shall have to go now. Most likely the evening Carer will crave my body, mind and bank account… Ahem!
After Inchcock was diagnosed with Peripheral Neuropathy, he then got told he was a diabetic. Then had a stroke. (He’s a lucky lad… Not!) Next, a Subconjuntival Haemorrhage in his right eye.
Then while recovering in an NCH (Nottingham City Homes) Care Home, Shaking-Shoulder-Shirley introduced herself. He presumes this is due to the (Nicodemus’s) Nerve ends dying. But the occasional Neuropathy Pete’s shuddering, shaking and jerking of the right side of his body and limbs rarely last for more than a few minutes at max. Usually, Shirley is a lot more violent for some unknown reason and can wear the old man down when she’s persistent. Shaking and lashing about. Her efforts recently have increased somewhat, time-wise, and Inchcock says, “After a long hour or so session, I’m convinced she is trying to wrench my humeral head bone free of the socket” Oh, and Inchcock also needed three stitches in a shaving cut!
A mixture of awake, half-asleep, and dreamt discussions, wrote from notes and during the actual multiple chin-waggings…
Inchcock: I’m not sure why or how you came about… Shirley: Ha!, now you talk to me; I’m not as important as Bloody Boris bladder then, what’s that about? Inchcock: Whaddya mean about? Shirley: Yo started this ‘ere Talking to yer ailments series of blogs off wiv him… not me, who is far more painful indeed… innit, no doubt? Inchcock: Well… it depends which ailment is worst at the time… giving me the severest clot… Shirley: Argh, shurrup! You’ll know now why I’ve been giving the jerks and aches then? Cause yer doesn’t rate me was mean enough… yer, I’ll put yer in more pain than gout! Inchcock: I wouldn’t and don’t doubt your pain-giving qualities at all; I’m already in pain, tired and worn-out! Shirley: I suppose Bartholomew give it more to you? Inchcock: Well, he has been lasered and still works, Shirley: Cum on mush, look how yers treated me, bad or not! Inchcock: I massage you twice a day with Phorpain gel Shirley: Not like you, an old fart that still drinks bottled stout! Yer just an ungrateful old trout! Inchcock: I… Shirley: And another thing, I’ve never let the shoulder joint fall out! Inchcock: Well, I doubt… Shirley: I’ll tell yer to wot you done to me int past, Inured me you have, I remember the Colwick security stakeout! Inchcock: Go one then, tell me all about it… it won’t make me freak out! Shirley: Now yer makin’ me want to puke and pout! Inchcock: Pout? Why? What about? Shirley: Oh! Yer not bovvered about me puking then, yer an emotional wash-out! Inchcock: I remember now, Shirley, Colwick, when we did an overnight lookout… Shirley: Ah, year, that’s wot it was about! Inchcock: When I was using the night goggles, from the back of the van… and from it, I fell out, giving you a good clout? Shirley, you landed in a field, and blood did spout… Inchcock: Blood? Who’s? No, surely not? Shirley: It was me, and you bleeding.. have you no memory left or what? Inchcock: Erm… Shirley: The burglars arrived? You felt around in the dark for the R.T., went out of the van to take a nighttime photo, missed the step.., and fell on me! What an idiot! Inchcock: Ah, yes… I fell on a broken tin pot… Shirley: And it cut me! And you still never got the I.D. shot!
Shirley: Oi, you Inchie! Are you ready to have anuvver talk wiv me? Inchcock: Well, I’d like for me… Shirley: Don’t tell me, you’re back on the Drambuie? Inchcock: No, no, no, I don’t drink anymore… Shirley: Sounds like an oxymoron, yer fibbing, you see… Inchcock: No, I’m not, you’ve been hanging around for over seventy-odd years, must have noticed, so you must indeed acquiesce, concede, and agree? Shirley: Oh, trying to get clever with words, I see? Inchcock: Why are you so nasty and sarkie? Shirley: Me? I’ll tell yer why, dumbo! In left Shoulder Lilly, never, always me, that’s what causes my incongruity! Why is it always me the doctors stick the hypos in? Inchcock: Now look, we’ve grown old together, Shirley… Shirley: Yea! Inchcock: We’ve been through some tough times, we all suffer, Duodenal Donald, Anne Gyna, Reflux Roger, Deaf Darren, Hemorrhoidal Harold, Saccades Sandra all of them, oh, and Toothache Tiffany… Shirley: Enough of this claptrap mush! But I do wish you well with this little ditty! Inchcock: She suddenly returned into the ether; what a pity!
I begin with Little Inchies Bladder; I think I used all my luck up for the rest of my life around 1989. I got a hernia from lifting the bins at Hero Drinks at Kegworth, went in to have the Hernia Repaired, which they did immediately, putting me in the Men’s Surgery in Ward 19.
When I woke up, and they told me how lucky I had been! And they were right! When they went in with the laser and camera (Yes, I know… how the heck did get all that down Little Inchy you were going to ask, weren’t you? Well, I don’t know, I was blissfully asleep all the way through the operations!) The Consultant carried on; they found cancer in the bladder, which showed up on the mini laser camera, and being as they had all the same tools needed for the hernia, they burnt it out straight away! But my bladder capacity is reduced by 50%. Fair enough, I thought, thank you!
That brought a smile to my face! But the man wouldn’t let me kiss him. Hahaha!
He added that they would remove the catheter and bag from Little Inchy for me in a short while.
An Auxhilary nurse on her own arrived to do it. The poor gal was a bag of nerves and started to pull it out without bleeding it enough first. I asked her to stop and bleed it a bit more… the gal was shaking, bless her.
Above my ward was Prince Charles come in to have his tennis elbow looked at. The staff earlier were disgusted; the hospital had emptied the ward above me. I could hear them moaning about patients being put into a corridor!!! And set two nurses and a Sister on duty, 24/7 for the duration of the Prince’s visit.
Back to the beside:
A sudden, unbelievably loud screech/scream burst out from a nurse. I think, “Look, look, it’s Princess Di coming in!” At this, everyone who could move did so over to the window to look down at Di and her (they told me later) the armed protection officers, as they got her in through a fire door to avoid the press waiting, with cameras at the main front door!
Most unfortunately for me, the young nurse was amongst the Royalists who stampeded to get a view of Lady Di – and pulled the catheter out, catching it with her foot, I assume, as she rushed for her Royal treat!
So, I was with blood spraying up like a fountain, and covering me the bed, clothes and floor… Which the nurse spotted a minute or two later, and she came to me in a panic and crying at what she’d done! Sobbing her heart out, she was! Other staff arrived, the poor young lass couldn’t stop crying, and eventually, things got sorted.
A ranking nurse joined us and started to tear a strip off of the Axhilary nurse; I don’t know why, (Well, I do, I felt terrible for her), but I said; “No, it wasn’t her fault, I turned to see what the fuss was and pulled it out…” I’m sorry I said that now, cause for the next two days, my name was mud with nurses!
The first wee I took with the catheter out, shot forth as if from a fireman’s hose, bounced back from the walls – and I kid you not, left an imprint of my body on the back wall, with blood around it!
I’ve wandered off the plot here, haven’t I?
Sorry, back to the chinwag with the bladder fun…
Inchcock Gerry: Why do you have days when you don’t want to wee-wee, then go bad at it, mate?
Bladder Inchock: Why? It’s obvious, innit? Anyway, I don’t want to confabulate!
Inchcock Gerry: But for two days, you’ve flowed freely, been considerate?
Bladder Inchock: Humph!
Inchcock Gerry: What’s up? I’ve been taking in the extra fluid. Now it must be gallons you hydrate?
Bladder Inchock: That bloody surgeon lasered me; no wonder I can’t concentrate and urinate!
Inchcock Gerry: You should be glad, freed of death! A bit of pain, indeed you can tolerate?
Bladder Inchock: Listen clever-clogs, weeing for me, is variable, strangulate, freeflow, then it may stagnate!
Inchcock Gerry: What? I make sure water does circulate…
Bladder Inchock: I have pain too, do you appreciate?
Inchcock Gerry: Well, I can only speculate!
Bladder Inchock: I send you messages beforehand, admittedly just a few seconds at times, but you also had cancer on my prostate!
Inchcock Gerry: Oh, that’s my fault too, is it? I did ruminate.
Bladder Inchock: I hate talking to a thicko like you – why didn’t you become a graduate?
Inchcock Gerry: Well, I was uneducated and got a job cleaning the sluicegate…
Bladder Inchock: Sod off! You were chasing girls on yer one rollerskate!
Inchcock Gerry: Times were bad back then…
Bladder Inchock: Other people Inchy, have a toilet inside, not going out into the backyard, and having to wait…
Inchcock Gerry: Trust you to be irritable as you postulate…
Bladder Inchock: Ha! So now you accuse me of having irritable bowel syndrome as you orate?
Inchcock Gerry: I’ve no idea what I’m doing talking to a bladder?
Bladder Inchock: You’d better shut up then cause you’re making me madder!
01:20hrs: Blimus! I stirred back into imitation misery and life, and I realised I’d just had over five-hours in the nurturing arms of Sweet Morpheus! Gadzooks! Plus, I had a short nodding-off yesterday afternoon. Involuntarily, though! The need for a wee-wee developed, so I was out of the recliner and standing with my balance caught in no time?
I wandered over to the NWWB (Nocturnal-Wee-Wee Bucket). And worra shock, it was a wee-wee of the LPP (Long-Powerful-Persistent) type, and with no PM (Pre-Micturitional) or CM (Cessational Micturitional) dribbling.
Things seem to have altered in the wee-wee stakes suddenly? The NHS colour chart was consulted, and I was dehydrated again, but down to level four! Yippy! But the wee-weeing carried on all morning, repeatedly, and in the same mode. I got a little irritated at times with demanding needs, but the urge for a wee-wee cometh so often, and I have to goeth! Haha!
Then I got the summoning to the Porcelain Throne arrive, so off I limped to the wet room. A pungent, Trotsky Terence dominated evacuation that needed a lot of cleaning up afterwards again. Of me and the Porcelain!
As you can see by the time on the travel clock om the cistern top, I’d only been up for about ten minutes, three wee-wees already.
Then, as I was asking, I needed yet another leak! Gotten Himmel!
To the front room, and I got on with the sphygmomanometerisationing, with the Boot’s BP machine. SYS 148. DIA 81 and PULSE showing as 83bpm. Which is better than many days have been the March up to now. Not too bad at all!
The dependable, trustworthy, Chinese manufactured contactless thermometer preferred a reading of 36.9°c – 96.9°f. Perhaps a smidge high, but maybe not. I asked Mr Google and got this answer: 97°F (36.1°C) to 99°F (37.2°C).
I updated the Excel NHS record log with the details. Looking much improved on a week ago. This is the third day that I’ve got access to Excel, and there was no Updating unavailable message coming on the screen.
I wonder if Microsoft’s owner is related to Mike Fries, the man who bought Virgin Media and renamed it as Liberty-Global Virgin Media, and then proceeded to dismantle any semblance of trust, ability or compassion that was left in the business?
You certainly have to admire his skill in running the crap internet service and spending a fortune on advertising lies about it being reliable, don’t you? Fair enough, he perhaps has no idea what he’s doing. But being educated in a Wesleyan Business School and now paid a $19m salary, plus expenses and compensation totalling: Fries’ cash compensation of $8.5 million, was not the highest on the list. Fries’ stocks and options awards — valued at $79.2 million in stock and $24.2 million in options — helped lift Fries to the top salary-wise. Fries also received a $5 million sign-on bonus…
So, it’s no surprise that with the crappiest service and a cunning system installed that blocks anyone from leaving their contract – have you ever heard of anyone who left them? It’s no wonder the overpaid, under-capable git who only makes any profit for Liberty-Gold on paper! And installs hatred in his customers for the intermittent failure of connection of the internet and his contempt shown for them. However, fair does; all the other suppliers are bad as well. I did manage to leave BT when I moved into the flats here, to Virgin, who were then bought out by Liberty-Global – My bad luck! I waffled a bit there, sorry!
I got the Tuesday blog updated, between wee-wees (they were getting longer and more fierce now!) And within four hours I’d got it finished. Flibbledonkackles! Pinterested some snaps, went on the WordPress Reader, not much on again today, but what was sent, was top quality. I read and replied to some comments, then did a couple of graphics on CorelDraw. Made a brew, had a wee-wee and was just about to start on this Diary, and I realised I had not done the ablutions yet.
Gulped down the tea, and off to the wet room. A decent session to start with, the usual dropsies, of course. Only two nicks. tiny ones, shaving, and the ankle and feet were looking fine as I got ready to go in the shower. The long toenails were a bit bothersome.
I really enjoyed the showering today and spent ages in there with the cloth and loofah. I used the mint & cucumber shower gel but was not too keen on the scent. Just as well that I dropped the bottle in lost it all down the drain when it shattered! Hehe!
Dried off, and did the medicationing without any hassle. No socks put on, I’m sure I heard a groan from Sock-Glide-Glenda (Hahaha!)
Got the kettle on, and back to the computer and rebooted it.
The landline rang. It was Sister Jane, telling me she hadn’t received the Inchcock Today diary link? I was sure I’d sent it – I mean; as if a man of my calibre and dedication would forget to! Huh! Ahem! I thanked her for worrying and I checked the Emails…
What a nitwit, dumbhead, pillock, schmuck, numskull, cretin, schlemiel, flibbertigibbet, dope and senile twit, I am! I rang Jane back to tell her I’d now sent it… I believe my red-face may have somehow seeped through the telephone cable. She was very very calm with me. Hahaha! Lovely of her to check on me though wasn’t it. ♥
Thought! I was born years too early yer know. If mankind survives a few more years, I can see people, not the commoners, mind, getting a memory transplant on the NHS… not that’s doomed innit? You’ll probably be able to get a decent second-hand one. Possibly, around the year 2065, you can get a taxi-drivers memory box, who died of Covid-1219, reconditioned and fitted for about £2.500m in a few years of paying back for Brexit? Hehe!
My mind wandered on to my epicurean-gastronomical fancies. (Food!) So much fodder to feed on at the moment. I dithered, dillied and dallied, changed my mind a good few times… Went for a wee-wee, washed and returned, and started musing over the available foods in the fridge, and there were many to pick from, all I had to do, was decide which one to have… Mmm!
Decisiveness, emphaticalness and obdurateness used to be my strong points in the old days when I was alive, you know. Not now, though! So many different permutations of the meal to make, came to mind; then left it, pretty blank as well! Humph!
Ah. I’ve just remembered, the writing pads should be arriving today, from Amazon. Of course, I only said that for effect, as if I would forget anything, Hahahahaha! Ahem! I reckon my guess is going to be a long way off! I’ll no made anything to eat until delivery has arrived, whenever that is. I tried to ignore the hunger. Oh, I am good… what for, is another question!
I made a mug of Thompsons Punjana and took the evening medications.
The landline rang out, it was a recorded message, obviously a con-job, telling me that Amazon Prime will be taking £79 from my account, and if I wanted to cancel, I had to ring this number… I rang off. Maybe another Nigerian scam? I opened the YourArea Emagazine for Sherwood, I must do something to avoid falling asleep and miss the Amazon package.
A bit of good news on the Covid-19 front! The figures for new cases in Nottingham are down by 22.5% on the previous seven day period!
Blow me, the next article telling of a school in the Sherwood area, where six children and thee members of staff have tested positive!.
Good heavens, what next will I come across?
Now new variants of Covid from the Pillillines have been found in Nottingham!
I made a brew of Glengettie, then I took the afternoon medications.
Checked the Amazon tracker, it was in the same place on the graph. Oh dearie me! But never mind, eh?
So tired now, done in mentally not physically… yet. Hehehe!
My ETA guesses at the arrival for the notepad order from Amazon, (16:00hrs) is fast approaching.
I got some mini-Dagwood sarnies made up, in the bowl covered it with foil, but there was no room for it to go in the fridge until the parcel arrives. I didn’t work or think that out, did I? Had a look at the tracker on Amazon. New ETA on it now.
I’m so tired and so hungry. Must stay awake! Aha, the delivery arrived at 17:50hrs.
Got the nosh sorted.
No idea what I’m doing now (Thurday morning) WorPredd have changed things around, and I’m f’ing lost! Sod this!
Can’t edit photos as before, edit and view modes different – Blocks appearing
Ho do I add… never mind, this is my last diary – Thank You WordPress! I’ll try once again, but I’m terribly confused Too much to take in, so I leaving.