TFZers Making a Film, perhaps? ♥
Friday 25th September 2020
Welsh: Dydd Gwener 25ain Medi 2020
23:58hrs (Yesterday): I woke, thanks to some noise that sounded like someone tapping hard with a stick on the floor, came from above? It may have been something in the water-works I suppose? It could have been going on for a while and did not bestir me earlier, but the five clunks, with a few seconds between them, I heard without my hearing aids in? I had to get up and have a look around, well, a wee-wee first, then I took a look outside, and in the flats lobby, but I’ve no idea what it was or where it came from, other than somewhere above. Ah, the mysterious wonders of Woodthorpe Court: The ghosts, hobgoblins, boll-weevils, aliens, gremlins, grotesqueries, urchins, karakia-cursing entities, hallucinations. Materialisations, poltergeist, lemures, wairuas, kehuas, manifestations that permeate, pass through the pores and interstices of space, through the time-continuum. Usually, without rupture or displacement within the building. To cause havoc, fear and frustration, as they dislodge time itself, in their aspirations and skulduggery, to complete their given by Satan mission; ‘To destroy the sanity, confuse, and scare the hell out of Inchcock,’ was back attacking again! I hope it wasn’t noisy-Herbert trying to get help. Certainly not fireworks this time.
Feeling a little like Stan Laurel, I blinked, and made my way aimlessly to the kitchen, blurry-eyed, and annoyed that I could not find anything out about the midnight-tapping.
And got on with the Health Checks. The stick thermometer gave another decent reading of 34.8°c for me.
Then I got the sphygmomanometer from the medical cupboard and utilised it. Oh, dearie me, the flipping SYS was up again! Will it ever come withing range again! So, there’s no ♫ Home, home on the range ♫ for me then? Hahaha!
By gum, it’s not-half nippy this morning!
I got mini-potatoes, that seemed a little large for mini-potatoes to me, in the crock-pot, and added some of the Squid brand vinegar to marinate for a while.
Got the computer going, and got ready to update the Inchcock Today diary.
But, could I find where my reading glasses were? No! I even got down (foolishly) on my knees to have a look underneath the cabinet, in case they’d fallen off.
Getting back up was a challenge, but I managed it with only Back-Pain-Brenda giving me any bother, mind you, it hurt!
After a search around in silly places, I decided I’d have to wear the old ones and cope as best I could. I can have an in-depth forage around for the misplaced new spectacles later on. As I settled again, there they were, to my right, two-and-a-half feet away from me, there they were! I did feel like a right fool, idiot, pillock, dumbo, plonker, wassock and putz! But these are frequent emotions of mine nowadays. One gets partially-used to the stupidity and memory-loss.
Herbert accompanied me with his frequent drumming noises, as I pressed on with sorting out the photo’s to use. And a few hours later, I got the Thursday blog finalised. What a slog that was, Humph! I emailed the links, went on the WordPress Reader, Pinterested some snaps, made a brew of Thompsons Punjana tea, then went on a mammoth Facebook updating session.
Made up a template, then made the Sainsburys order for next week, Wednesday 30th Sept, twixt 7-8 a.m. Put it on the Google calendar. And tended to the ablutionalisationing.
–: Not such a good session this time, I’m afraid. Toothache Trevor kicked off. 3 dropsies.
Then a few nicks shaving, many dropsies, the foam can twice, and I lost count of the razor’s dropsies. I was on the verge of giving up and trying later! Gragnangles! But I stuck at it.
Next, the showering was a bothersome and painful affair. The showerhead went down, clouting Arthur Itis’s left knee en route to the floor! I had two bangs into the grab rail, hip and head when I went to pick-up the thrice dropped carbolic soap! As I came out of the shower I did a double – I walked into the sock-glide, and stubbed my toe against the metal shower-chair at the same time! This session certainly made up for the previous two easy-going ones!
On a brighter note, the legs I thought were looking a lot better today.
But I wasn’t bothered, it didn’t hurt much, I didn’t start using naughty language, or feeling sorry for myself, oh, no. Ahem!
After the sock-glide incident, things calmed down. Dizzy Dennis departed, and I got on with the towelling down and medicalisationing. Which both went marvellously? Not knocking anything over or walking into anything, the furuncle was dying off I think, cause it gave no pain at all! Harolds Haemorrhoids were not too fierce at all! Yee-Ha!
I got the computer closed down, to give it time to cool down. And got a load of waste-bags made up. I’m not taking the recycling bag, although it is nearly full, cause I don’t want top miss window cleaner Pete, calling. I got a bag for dropping off at Jenny and Franks on the three-wheeler, ready to go to the chute. I had a check around before leaving, to monitor the state of the taps (faucets), heaters, stove, lights, doors, sink plugs etcetera.
Out to the rubbish room with the bags, and got them down the chute, I had a bit of bother doing this, because Nicodemus’s Neurotransmitters had started failing again, so I had to take care; that iron chute-lid can be lethal!
I got to the lift lobby and was soon down on Jenny’s floor. Dropped the bag near the door of their flat, and as I came out, Frank appeared at the door. He was looking in rude health bless him. I wished him a happy Christmas from a distance, he returned the best wishes and laughed. I love it when folks laugh spontaneously.
Getting the elevator back up to the twelfth floor, was a nightmare. It must have taken me half-an-hour! (At least it felt like it!) The contractor lift arrived, which we are not allowed to use, a chap in it said something to me, but I didn’t catch what he was saying, but he seemed in a good mood.
The Residents lift arrived and had two people in it, they were not wearing masks, so I declined their offer of getting in with them.
The cage went down to the ground floor, then started coming up, it went by the ninth floor I was at, and came down again, with a chap in it, he had no mask on wither, I politely declined his offer, telling him I was after going up, not down.
The lift went down to the 4th floor and stayed there for yonks. Eventually moving down to the ground floor, then up the top floor, and started coming down, and was on the 13th floor for ages. I expected people to be in it and got ready to explain I was going up when the cage stopped, but there was no one in it?
It came back up, (I needed another shave by then, Hahaha!) and it was empty, I got in and back up to my level.
As I got out, the need of a wee-wee, made me hasten a little and going through the flat’s foyer door, I clouted my right shoulder on the frame. When I got in the apartment, a Nottingham City Homes Newsletter had been delivered. I didn’t know what it was, but it looked official to me, and I feared it might be the appointment for either the bladder or bowel scan. I didn’t read it yet, I hadn’t got the time to.
I got the kettle on, well, I had the wee-wee first, of course, to make room for the brew. Haha!
I rebooted the computer, and a Your Area Newsletter had arrived.
So, I had a look at the latest Coronavirus figures for Nottingham. It was a smidge confusing for me. As you might know, I have trouble with number calculations, this started after I’d had the stroke.
Arithmophobia it’s called. Or is it Dyscalculia? Or both? I’ll look it up on Google.
My problem must be Dyscalculia. I found this article. Czechoslovakian researcher Ladislav Kosc defined the disorder as, A structural disorder of mathematical abilities” caused by impairment to the parts of the brain used in mathematical calculations. With the stroke, it makes sense, to me. But I waffle again, sorry!
Then, I found later that it must be correctly stated as ‘Acquired Dyscalculia’: It read; Usually acquired as the result of a stroke or injury. Another ailment that will need naming, and I can use to sound more intelligent than wot I am really. Har-har!
On the ‘Your Nottingham’ emailed report, it gave this statement and updated figures for the Coronava statistics in Nottingham. Neither of the publications gives a very bright, or encouraging viewpoint, do they? Anti-Gloom tablets needed? Hehehe!
It’s 14:40hrs now. No signs of Pete, the window cleaner, and its getting towards my nosh and head-down time. I’ve been up for 14 hours or so, now. Thanks to being woken up at midnight. Just thought I’d mention it again!
I rang Frank and Jenny, Frank was there, but Pete did them and left them hours ago. So I don’t know whether to make the nosh and get my head down or not? Will he be calling? Did my getting stuck waiting for a lift cause me to miss him? Oh, shit!
I took some photos of the beautiful late afternoon clouds. Very nice they looked too, but I didn’t really appreciate it, with not knowing what’s going on with the windows, and dare not go to bed, in case Pete arrived.
I rang Jenny again, in the hope that she knew something about the window cleaner’s situation. But, no answer.
Feeling a bit down now! Going to try and get a graphic done… Hello, the landline ringeth and flashes! It was from Jenny. She’s found out what had happened, for me. Apparently, Pete went up to the 13th floor by mistake. And someone told him they didn’t want the windows doing! Claptickleisation! I’m a lucky bugger!
Thank heavens for Jenny! ♥
So, I got on with making the meal.
The Jenny supplied yellow tomatoes, and onions tasted. The Irish potato farls were too.
I got the pots washed, took a wee-wee, got washed and imbibed the evening medications. Then, down in the £300, second-hand, c1968, cringingly beige-coloured, unkempt, fluctuant, ramshackle, broken-down, uncomfortable, dusty, rusty, decaying, tatterdemalion, heavy yet tottery, rickety recliner.
It wasn’t long, before my frustrated brain, and incapacitated, over-stomached, wobbly-bellied body, was safe in the hands of Sweet Morpheous. Better late than never! Bliss!