Tag: Colin Cramps

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Inchie Today: Wednesday 15th July 2026
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I leapt out of the bed, did a double somersault, and a few press-ups… Woke wearily, instantly in a depression, and after a good while, forced myself to get up and unattached the nocturnal Catheter pouch.  
Interested, well, almost, in seeing if the Blood Pressure had dropped yet, I got the tackle out and utilised the 
sphygmomanometer. Flipping heck, supposed to ring 111 again. But I dare not ring them. I know what would happen: take a taxi straight to the QMC-A&E; this is considered an Emergency Situation. With the £30 quid needed to get there & back, no Carer to help me get dressed, and the memories of the hellish last visit to the A&E in mind, I’ll not bother. What’s the point?
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The nasty letters from last afternoon caught my attention as I went to get my hearing aid in. British Gas is telling me the RTS signal has now been switched off across Great Britain (Oligarch-ruled). Again, they are going on about the electricity meter. A quick catch-up on this. For at least three years, they have been asking for a meter reading. I’ve called them to ask how to take it, but it doesn’t seem to have the coloured buttons they told me it had. And the Carer Ejaz spent ages on the phone with them. He even took photos of the meter and sent them to Oligarch-Ruled British Gas. They continue to send demands that we let them have a reading for years. Now, a new tactic. Surely they know they promised a visit today to sort out the meter. Confirmed by two Carers, Edward and Mizra. So, how come there are clandestine threats in this communication? Are they necessary? Just like the Untrustworthy Trustee Bank, both should use the slogan: Customer-Service-Not-Available. 
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Evening all
Sun’s out again
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Sadly
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Made a right mess of this!
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Many moans, groans, things gone wrong, depression attacks, and sulking were missed off today. Not to mention England’s second-half performance. 
I’m not complaining. I’m just absolutely, totally fed up to my two-and-¾s back teeth with moaning.
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Sorry, Monday turned into a horrifically worrying day.
My bank balance is down another £1000, and I panicked so much because if this carries on, I won’t have enough to pay the standing orders for rent, power, insurance, all the crap I’ve signed up for on the web, nothing. The really annoying things are: 1) That Mr K, who is looking into it. 2) The Bank tells me to go to the bank in West Bridgford – to do that will actually empty my account – YES! It’s that low! Also, it would cost me to take the required Carer with me, and at least £40 in taxi fares. This would surely empty my account.
Nobody seems to understand these problems I have.
I’ve explained it to the Warden of the flats. No response.
I see ulterior motives.
3) The Red Cross said they would send someone to help; that was last November when I was in the hospital.
4) A Social Lady on my next visit to the QMC said she would send someone to look at the problem. Zilch yet.
4) The Doctor referred for Financial Assistance, but that was only last week. No rush, with any luck, I’ll snuff it and be cremated by the time help arrives.
5) No one listens or seems interested in my inability with numbers (arithmophobia), frustration & depression.
6) I almost wish I was brave enough.
7) I had silly thoughts this morning (Tuesday), but then again, I thought at the time that my decision seemed a sensible one, a solution to the misery of old age, and the mental & physical impositions that I am failing to cope with. (Not now, but…)
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I had a bad tumble on Monday. As I was prepping the stew pot of peppers, potatoes, onions, and soy chunks. I dropped the hotpot, which was hot. Hitting my potbelly and wrist on its way to spreading the contents all over the floor. This photo was taken minutes earlier. I’d just added the red peppers.
8) I don’t think I’ve ever been so frustrated and angry at the same time. Cursing, swearing at myself. The Carer said he’ll clean it up tomorrow. The late Carer did clean up the bits I’d missed. But each time I see the rest of the floor that needs doing, it makes me feel pathetic.
I won’t bother making any more soy chunks; I’ll throw them away.
But, hinger lingered. So, I made up a tray of mackerel, flavoured it with some teriyaki sauce, and covered it. Then I labelled it and put it into the fridge for later consumption. So, no more cooking for me; it’s too dangerous… but how can I buy fresh salad stuff, money permitting? The bank will not let me buy anything more online. And the Carers want me to pay for an escort and use a taxi to go down the hill into Sherwood to get food. Writing this is again making me feel pathetic, lame, and pitiful, and it has brought on a depression with silly thoughts attached.
I’ll try not to let it get to me, and I apologise for the wretched state of my mind. Feeling so low. This is why I’ve not blogged for a while. I think I’m fighting a solo fight against the unbeatable & incurable.
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TUESDAY

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On the bottom are the recorded morning BPs.
Hope you can see them. Scary in the extreme!
Suppliers by the financial Phook-Phup, and no one seems to be interested in helping. Again!

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I spent the miserable, much more than any other, night ever-waking up in a sad state and didn’t have to think of the problems; they were there, almost mocking me.
This may sound as if I am giving up, overfrustrated?
This is because I am giving up, overfrustrated!
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I won’t bother Jenny today, cause given how I feel, I’d probably say something that would reveal my thoughts. I get worried about my constant self-pity in coping.
Why in Hell can’t I get help?
Well, that was a silly thing to say. Let me think again…
💗Thanks to Matron for referring me to a Respite Home. Coming back to this place and its concerns concerns me. But I’d go like a shot if allowed to.
🤎Appreciation to Mr K. for helping me, bout please speak to me if you can, please.
🤎One of the Red Cross volunteers is coming to do a hospital bed safety check today. Thanks. 💗Also, just in case they do get to call on me, the Ladies who will be looking into my finances, banking, etc.
❤️‍🔥Not forgetting My Angel, Jenny. The one person who, being of similar age, can understand my health & mental problems more than any other. And she has so many problems with her health. XXX
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BANK TEXT CAME IN… Chissenhausen!
My account is now another £100 less!
Carer arrived, and he saw how perturbed and depressed I was, and rang Mr K. ‘Unavailable!’
He then ran British (don’t know what they are doing) Gas. To confirm, they will be calling today to assess the meter.
The Carer was assured they were coming, either today or tomorrow. Since this so-called appointment was made, I’ve received four more texts: one about the increase in payment, two asking for a reading, and one telling me to visit their website. Which we would have if they would let us, but no! They won’t!
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Jenny sent an email, bless her. She has family calling today. Lovely! And she told me the Willow House does deliver. So, I’ll look up their number and menu and try them out. My favourite Chinese, without doubt. Albeit a good few years since I’ve used them. I can’t get out to fetch any, and having just looked at the price list, menu. All the great taste came back into my throat just looking at the menu. Their Cantonese sweet & sour pork ([31]£6.50) with chips ([59]£2.20) will qualify for free delivery! But strange as it sounds, I’ll risk it, cause in a week or two, I won’t even be able to pay my Direct Debits, with all the cash disappearing from my account. Does that make sense? Does to me.
I just can’t believe no one is interested… Well, whoever is pilfering my funds would be, of course.
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Bet they’ll show some concern when I can’t pay my standing orders or my food bills. I’ll likely get arrested. What’s prison like? I’ll get quicker medical care, perhaps? A free lift to the hospital when the Catheter blocks? A lift either way, saving on taxis? There should be someone to call when I have a tumble, seizure, or fungal bleeding lesions session. Cause of this, they might even give me a single cell, like the flat? Although I’ll have no money. Will I? Maybe, perhaps I can wangle it to get drugs in there on the tick? The likelihood of my kicking the bucket sooner rather than later… I won’t be able to pay for them?
Hang on, I’m getting to like the sound of this. Hehe!
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Early morning clouds. But the sun soon came out shortly after this rather gloomy photograph was taken. It did cross my mind while taking this snap how easy and quick it might be to end all my problems. One giant leap for Gerrykind would be just the job… if I could muster up the courage. Depression Darus may well help me out.
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Then, as I nibbled on a biscuit.   Showed her displeasure at the hardness of the not aforementioned biscuit, in her usual style. Arrgh!
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The sun blasted through
Lovely later
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Carer Andrew did the laundry. Left it in the dryer, collected it later in the day.
Left it in the bag, I found after the lad had gone. Most of it was damp, the towel nearly wet. I took some togs and put them on the disabled clutter in the balcony to dry. The sun was still out. Hanging up the kagoules and dressing gowns was a smidge painful, reaching to get them on a door or peg.
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Made a nosh. Yellow tomatoes, buttered milk roll bread, lippers, potatoes, peas and red peppers. Then had the last Lemon cheesecake dessert. Rating: 8.2/10.
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Watched the World Cup semi-final between Spain & France. I was most surprised at how poorly the French played. More than impressed with how Spain played.
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Tired out, I did one more BP test but didn’t record it. Why? It was 184/69! Oh, I recorded it here!
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I was not going to fall asleep easily. The worries over the finances, medical appointments, and the lack of communication from all the promised offers of help that I’d had had not materialised.
Basically, a lack of confidence, awareness, depression, futility, helplessness, and self-anger.
Plus, I have to say, my decreasing ability to cope.
Installing a feeble, pathetic forlornness that lingers.
Sad, innit?
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Moaning and groaning bring no respite.
I must remember that. I suppose.
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Nice & Light last night!
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https://offcenternoteven.com/2026/07/09/tis-the-season-tern-tern-tern
I’d love you to have a look at this
blog where I took ‘with permission’,
The above photo. Hard to pick a
Favourite, but I picked this one.
Just see others, they are great!
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Friday 10th July 2026
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After emptying the night Catheter pouch, failing to evacuate on the Porcelain Throne, and walking into the doorframe after washing, I decided to get the meal on.
Same as the last two days, although I later changed my plans. Got some garden peas and potatoes into the slow cooker, with some Soy sauce, onions & pepper. Put it on a low heat, had to shoot back in a hobbled haste to the wet room and Porcelain Throne. Aware that the belated motion was in transit from my innards to my back passage, of its own accord!
I felt in a right embarrassed mess.
By the time I’d got down on the plastic seat, the forceful torrent of yellowish, almost liquid content had all but finished its job. My next job was to clean myself and the wetroom furniture and floor.
By the time I’d finished the job completely, I was not only in pain with my back and knee, but I also managed to have an . Clouted my head on the raised seat bar while reaching for a little splash I’d missed earlier.
Got a wash, and off to the kitchen to make up a couple of day bottles to feed the Catheter.
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Onto the balcony, pretty hot out there already with no sun out yet. Took this shot of the end of the car park. Not many pap-paps about today. Nice not to see any mudslides in view. There will be when we get the rain next week. I hobbled precariously; the toes and soles of my feet are bad today. Not helped by failing to get a toenail cutter, to the kitchen. The sun was not coming over from behind.
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Back into the computer. I made a very sad & sorry effort, taking a photograph of the bottle with the cold water in it.
I also made a right proper mess of taking my first swig of the spring water.
Taking the cap off, I dropped it, got the picker-upper to retrieve it, and let the bottle slip. I grabbed it and spilt water over my muscular, handsome, fit body & protection pants, legs, and the carpet.
I just laughed it off, of course.
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Later, I decided to add some Soy Chunks to the peas & potatoes in the crock-pot. I felt sure I could remember how to prep them, having done so a couple of weeks ago, and I really enjoyed them. But had to empty the Catheter first; it surprised me how quickly it had filled up this morning, back to the kitchen.
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I soaked the chunks in boiling water for 20 minutes. I was amazed at how I could remember all this; in fact, a crept in. Haha!
Got the template updated, & 20 minutes later went to drain the chunks, and leave them in cold water for 30 minutes. All was going surprisingly smoothly here!
Back to the template: set the alarm to remind me and respond when it rings.
Back to the kitchenette, drained and washed the chink in cold water, then wrung out as much water as possible, and added them to the crock-pot. Also adding some soy sauce, Teriyaki sauce, and onions.
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The Carer arrived, medications were given, and we pretended we knew what we were doing, appointment, lift, Carer escort-wise. Of course, it was not Carer Ejaz or Mizra, so we fuddled with the figures and dates for a while before giving up. We were only getting ourselves into a bigger muddle the more we tried.
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After the Carers’next call, I went to check on the food.
Another Cock-Up!
The chunks were the same size as when I put them in. And I was so sure that I’d done everything right in prepping the meal…
Now there’s a statement and a half! Me, Certain! I looked up on Google how to prep Soy Chunks. Then, of course, I found what I did wrong. Just one thing, but crucial. I’d boiled the water and soaked the chinks in it for twenty minutes – what I should have done was boil them for twenty minutes, not soak them! I tasted one of the chunks. Euurgh! Horrible.
Not sure which emotion was strongest at this point.
Frustration, self-hatred, or depression.
Maybe it was a third of each?
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FOOD RESCUE MISSION!
I REMOVED THE FOUL-TASTING CHUNKS
Sliced and added some red onions & red pepper.
Some more sauce, Sweet & Sour. Opened a can of water chestnuts, sliced some, and added them to the crock pot. Put the rest in a lidded jar in the fridge.

Getting late now, I left the pot on low for an hour or so, to see if it might come out edible – I have my doubts.
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Aha, World Cup Match.
I’ll watch it while the meal is being cooked and altered for six hours, again!
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The current World Champions, Spain, won the match, as the world will now know.
Begrudgingly, and reluctantly, I have to say they were the better team on the day. Through gritted teeth, I congratulate Spain.
Why? I’m not sure.
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Carer Mizra made the late call. A nice lad, I like him and Ejaz. Both are a cut above the others. Shame, they rarely come to serve me now. Sad, actually. 
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Oh, flipping heck! Meal thrown away!
All day long, I seem to have been making changes to the stewpot meal in the crockpot.
The cock-up with prepping the soya chunks. Took them out of the pan, threw them away, then made what proved to be a disastrous effort to add seasonings to salvage the meal. Now I’ve just been to check on the mixture…
I tried a spoonful of the foul-tasting, with a twinge of metallic flavour, caught the upcoming acid-tasting dollop of sick that came up and out of my mouth, spat it out, and gargled. I left the rest of it where it was, to be washed in the morning. Leaving me pondering on what I can have to eat instead… also feeling a fool. Incompetence, that is what I’ve developed in old age, with a smidgen of, well, an abundant acceptance of my ever-worsening senility and mental infirmity.
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I ended up eating two bags of Frazzles, a just-out-of-date pot of cheesecake, and fell asleep. Waking later to find I had not eaten the cheesecake, and cleaned it from my chest and stomach. Found the pot on the floor, but the search for the spoon continued into the morning.
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Of course, it was a dream, animated!
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Wednesday 8th July 2026
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Several properties have been evacuated after a large fire at a scrapyard in Nottingham

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Morning Clouds
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Very nearly made the bed!
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SUNDAY 5th JULY 2026
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A bad night again. Kept waking repeatedly. Gave up at 05:30hrs, and got out of bed, painfully. Mainly due to the shaking shoulder and my left knee pain. Also, a call to the Porcelain Throne. Off to the WC and passed a messy, stinky dollop of wet poo, all done in seconds. As I was cleaning up the porcelain splashes, my left knee gave a sharp stabbing pain and gave way on me. Nothing new there. I didn’t go down but caught the knuckles I burnt last night against the rails, as I  grabbed them so as not to go down. Back in the main room, I took a strong Oxycodone Hydrochloride painkiller capsule. I took the night pouch off and made up some bottles of water to keep the Catheter Contraption working. Had a good few gulps, but the day bag was not receiving any urine from the bladder. I admit this scared me a little – well, no, the thought of having to go to the A&E in a £15 each-way taxi, to get ignored, embarrassed and scowled at by the medics. Not all of them, just two.
Panic over 15 minutes later, when the wee slowly started dribbling into the pouch. Phew!
On the computer to finalise yesterday’s blog, and got it posted. Then started the Ode for today’s effort. It’s a shame that CorelDraw is not working on the new £850-plus-fitting computer properly. I hate digging into the files that the new computer lets me access old graphics. I’ve been conned again! Grumph!
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07:55hrs: Carer arrived while I was making a mug of tea and getting some corn flakes. Forgot about that. The lad gave me my medications, and I told him I’d taken the Oxycodone earlier. Also mentioned that I might be going to a home for Respite time. It’s not certain yet; I don’t know where or when, obviously. I’m telling you out of decency. Which is more than you do when all three extra-hour calls this week failed to come through, and the week before. Two wrongs don’t make a right.
Then realised he was on his mobile. He disappeared for a while and returned… I tried again, catching his attention before he got on his mobile again… I said: I might be going to a home for Respite time. It’s not certain yet; I don’t know where or when, obviously. I’m telling you out of decency. Which is more than you do when all three extra-hour calls this week failed to come through, and the week before. Two wrongs don’t make a right.
He then asked When? How long for?
Then I felt a seizure coming on and looked at the clock in hopes of working out how long it was; it was 25 past. Carer was asked how long I was out for, and it did. I came around with the usual jerk and acid flux. Clock on the half hour. Asl Carer, how long was I out for? 2 minutes, he told me. I probably misread the clock then.
I asked for a Codeine, as the shoulder must have been rattling, shuddering, and hurting a fair bit. Then I asked him to apply more Phorpain gel to the shoulder. Which he did for me. He muttered something from behind me as I was getting my two sticks for a balance test and hobbled around. Got the sticks stood up, and he was gone. The walk was a bit wobbly, but I’ve had worse after seizures before. Sat down for 15 minutes, then I went to the kitchen. It went well enough. So I got the kettle on to make a brew of Glengettie. Tasted a little off, but it wasn’t the milk this time. I reckon it was the acid reflux from the seizure that caused it. I have plainly not fully recovered from the effects yet. I sat down, took the mug to be washed, and was wobbling a bit, and my left fractured knee was giving way again. I got sat down again and stayed there for an hour or so. Feeling a little steadier now, but still unsteady when standing or walking? I hope the cause was the seizure and nothing new.
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Got back on blogging. I even found a way to get new photographs onto WP. I still cannot access the external box, but I can now get snaps on. The trouble is that I have to upload the photos one at a time from the SD card (when the new £850-plus, fitting-new computer gives me access, which is hit-and-miss) into MS Word. That has some basic editing on it, if needed. Then, save as a picture and convert to another format, in my Picture file. Then load them into WP one at a time. Life is not going well. But every little advancement helps. I’m not sure how I found out this works. The seizure after-effects seemed to help? Just the balance and knee are giving me trouble now.
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Going to have a sit down again, keep drinking to feed the Catheter, and maybe fall asleep… Oh, no, I won’t. The Carer is due back in about 20 minutes. Tsk! My 
stomach is rumbling again now. What next, a trip to the Porcelain Throne, methinks. No, my mistake.
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Midday Carer arrived. I was not in good nick mentally. I moaned about the new problems with the dentist and the Red Cross not being tended to, and asked him to watch me as I try to book the appointment as they asked me to do online.
I clicked the green Book Now swatch above. It took me straight to the booking appointment page…
Clicked the Book an Appointment tab.
It told me there were no appointments available.
Giving a number to phone them on.
Does reading about bad luck depress you?
It certainly gets to me that way!
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I’m not sure of anything now.
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The Carer, even after I explained about my distant nature and why, the seizure aftermath, just changed the subject every time. I was more confused than ever. I asked him to take some pot-noodles to the laundry sink.
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I might get a meal prepared. Unsure if it was a wise decision, as I felt well out-of-it for minutes, then it came and started all over again. Of course, I could make an appointment to see the neurologist at the QMC again.
Silly me, I forgot for a moment last time, and the first time I went to him. 2-year wait for the appointment. 4 minutes spent in his office. Told to send in a video of me in a seizure. Which took two months before a Carer was here at seizure-time, sent it to him. Not easy; he didn’t give me his email address. Carer Ejaz got it and emailed it.
3 months later, I sent it to him. Another 6 months on, I got a letter telling me they are signing me off their list… off? I didn’t really get on, did I?
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I’ll have a wash & shave then.
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SATURDAY 4th JULY 2026
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LAST NIGHT’S WONDERFUL SUPPER
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Maybe more of a verbal ramble,
  My thoughts were not refereeable,
Many errors, mistakes, regrettable,
Faults flowed, most non-reminisable,
My WC visits, all reminiscentable,
Many problems… none resolvable,
Two new ones, financial & rectal,
My mobile is no longer rechargeable,
I found one Accifauxpa, reprehensible,
Left my fungal lesion looking rhizoidal,
The new Catheter got in a tangle,
Hope you don’t find this too recremental!
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Just thought I’d use this old photo from 2018.
To warn anyone from using this crap company.
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Had Tuesday & Wednesday scary BP
returns came three months ago, they
would have been of concern.
But not now; Disappearing funds from
uncaring, Untrustworthy Trustees bank,
British Gas, Virgin Media, the Red Cross, my
 hooked tubed Catheter contamination, 
Premorbid Cognitive Impairment, the
unwanted return of Caracts & Glaucoma, 
Mega-Depression Darius, my TBI, and
increase & reclassification of my arms,
shoulders, back, & knee arthritis agony,
are of more concern.
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I meandered into the kitchenette.
With the sun rising from behind the building, it looked a little spooky in there.  Haha!
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Two more confusing letters were received today.
Confuses me anyway.
I put them down to investigate further later on; first off, to the WC.
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Emptied the
nocturnal Catheter pouch, which was rather fuller than normal. Then the Trotsky Terence Torrent evacuated. Smelly!
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Carer Akram arrived. Medications given. Phorpain gelling of the knee, shoulder, back and neck was done. He informed me that Carer Misra had booked the lift for the EENT cataract preparation procedure. I recall last time, and all the drops having to be put in the eye several times a day for a few weeks. Before the lasering operation could be booked and done. Most of the liquid ran down my cheek as I misaimed, onto my cheek and lip, then into my mouth, leaving a brown stain that was the devil to get off my lips and chin.
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The flat’s intercom was still down; I hoped this would not put off the British Gas engineer coming to check the meter and/or the Red Cross electrician checking the Health & Safety of the hospital bed today.
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I asked the next Carer, Andrew, (I think) to ring Easy-Link to try and get a lift for the Hospital visit at the mad-house, Nutall Hospital. He said he’d text them later. He was in a rush. I asked him to keep me updated. He confirmed that the lift for the EENT was one-way only. I may have got the venues the wrong way round here, sorry. The lift is only on the outward journey, and we must get a taxi back. Christ, more money gone!
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I wonder if I can get a private cleaner, who is known for doing a good job, who is prepared to help me with dressing and washing, giving medications, creaming, etc., and how much would she or he cost? It might be cheaper than having the Carers? Just a thought.
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A VISIT FROM THE WARDENS
They explained that Mr V had arranged the paper statements to be delivered to me. He will examine them to see if anything dodgy is happening.
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Rushing now, just realised it is so late, the England match starts in half an hour. I’m hoping for the best.
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The Carers’ monthly bill arrived. With an extra £33.32 added, marked as an Adult Care and arrangement fee. Knowing me, it may have been on all the other bills, but who knows for sure. Not me. Another letter from the gerontophobia-ridden, Oligarchal, rule-the-roost, sod you and all customers, British Gas. Who have twice in two days confirmed that an engineer will call today to check the meter when the Carers phoned to check, they will.
It is now 19:10hrs, no signs of him.
I intend to make an Ode about British Gas, but time stops me, or lack of time. Such a busy day again.
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FRIDAY 3rd JULY 2026
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Yet another bad night for sleep, well, for staying asleep. Always waking up.
I needed the Porcelain Throne, and almost went over getting there. My balance was bad, and the swollen toes, feet, and legs made things feel worse. Constipation is in charge on this first visit. But it was the only one that way, and I took the four more visits in two hours. Each one is getting a degree even sloppier, wetter, splashier and stinkier. They stopped quite sharply. Hope that the trots don’t start again later, if I can encourage, bribe, or beg the Carer to take me to Sherwood for bread, tomatoes, lemon wafers, and, most vital, get some cash to pay the window cleaners, toenail cutter, etc., who won’t take the card.
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8: 10hrs, Carer Mizra arrived. He noticed the things I’d knocked over and dropped earlier, while I was making up the bottles of mineral water mixed with soda water, on the floor. Cleaned, picked them up without my having to ask. He’s a good help. Medications given, shoulder Phorpained, my privates barrier creamed. Catheter emptied and colour & amount recorded. I asked Carer Mirza to turn on the booster button on the metre in the outer hallway on his way out.
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Throne visit number seven, the last of the day, was just water with bits in it. Oh, the stink – Cor!
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Midday Carer arrived. I asked how long he was doing this visit, in case it was being done as catch-up for an hour & a half, but that didn’t come again. One hour, he said, after consulting his beloved, nearly always in use, mobile. I launched a forceful appeal for him to escort me into Sherwood for food and cash. He went on his mobile and then asked if we would have time to get it done. 
I said, if we rush, you can help me dress; we’ve 20 minutes before the bus is due. 
I could not find my pair of trousers! But realised we did not have time to look for them, and wore a khagoule with a coat over it. Getting the shoes onto my swollen toes and feet was agony! But he got them on okay. Then we went as quickly as I could walk with the walker, through the other two complexes to the bus stop. He was well ahead of me; just as well I didn’t have a seizure or take a tumble.
I just told him the bus would be here in ten minutes, and he got up, muttered something, and started walking back to the flats. I shouted out ‘No!’ and he turned, saying he had left his bag in the flat and was going to collect it. I pointed out that it was not a good idea to go into the flat while I was not there, and walked all the way back with him. He got his bag, and we returned to the bus stop as the bus was arriving. You know why I did this. We got on the bus, a close call.
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Down to the bottom of Winchester Hill, I told him when to press the stop button. Got off the bus, good job he was there, else I’d have taken a tumble getting off the bus.
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We walked up to the Ozan store to use their ATM outside. I pointed out that while he’s chasing ahead, would he know if I’d had a tumble or. Like on an earlier visit, I had a seizure and walked into the road, making a bus jam its brakes on and panicking the people around me. As Ejaz explained when I recovered from the seizure. He was not yards ahead of me and physically pulled me back. 
Thanks, Ejaz. It did nothing, he carried on walking too fast for me to catch up. Outside the store, after we realised the ATM was not there, I asked him again not to
rush ahead. After this, he stayed closer to me. 
We plodded on to the JS shop and used their ATM. Then walked back to the Ozan Continental Store, and did a bit of shopping. He was rushing me a little. I think he was nervous that we’d take too long. Understandable.
I purchased some lemon wafers, Brown tomatoes, two bread rolls, and a red onion, then went to the delicatessen and got a pack of sliced Kielbasa and Krakowska. Then, at the serving counter, four thick-cut slices of Boczek. With all the hurrying, it took away the rare pleasure of browsing of the shelves to compare and make choices.
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We hobbled back to Winchester Street, and there were so many police emergency vehicle horns and klaxons heard. The Carer said eight at least. At the bus stop, the sign said the 40 bus would arrive in ten minutes. The Carer sat on the fag-ends, leaves, twigs & food waste covered filthy pavement and took out his mobile.
The bus arrived 15 minutes late; obviously, to me, the police incident must have taken place somewhere on the bus’s route, I assumed. We got back to the flat, Carer in a bit of a state at being late, sorry about that. I asked him to get my shoes off, nothing else, so he could get the bus to his next client. 
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All the hobbling seems to have affected the legs and feet; all were far less swollen than when I started out on the little trip. Yet they hurt far more than before. A lot more.
I was so hungry that I put the food away, all but what was needed for my snack. Cut the two bread rolls in half. The finger didn’t bleed too much.
Loaded both sides with my favourite No-Butter-Butter. Two slices of meat, sliced tomatoes added, and salted the tomatoes a little. I just knew I was going to like these! The smell! 😋 
Let the tomatoes sink in while I had a quick wash, put them in the baking tin, and devoured them slowly, appreciatingly; lip-smacking-tasty!
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I put the tray down and fell into a deep sleep.
Woken first, by a telephone call from Sister Jane. I must remember to send her an email on Saturday.
I couldn’t believe how tired that little trip had made me.
Also, getting out of the recliner to answer the phone, the dropsies returned. I dropped and trod on, crushing a biscuit, making a mess on the carpet. Knocked the toothpaste-tincture off of the counter. Call-over, I dropped my walking stick, knocking the open tub of biscuits, to join the single crushed one. 
Cleaned the mess up; finding out that the back, shoulder, neck, toothache, feet, leg and left knee pains had all returned with a vengeance. After finishing the cleaning, I took an Oxicodone & Codeine.  
Back into the bed this time. I could do nothing else, the computer was not opened until late Saturday morning.
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I was woken up by the man door chime, quickly followed by the landline chirping. I struggled out of bed, limping, and even more painfully, to the front door, but nobody was there. The phone stopped ringing.
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The doorvhime burst into life again. I was not in any condition mentally or physically to communicate with the ICC lady & Carer, and then my Carer came in. Confusion: I think they brought some medications and took some away. They could not have timed it better; that’s all I can remember of the visit, and I am not certain I got this right. Drained and in pain.
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This time I got down in the c1966, £300 Oxfam charity shop-bought, wincingly grotty, beige-coloured, crumb-covered from my nocturnal nibblings, itch-making, uncomfortable, positively unhealthy, and dangerous, no longer operational, virus-breeding, easy-to-fall-out-of, catheter-tube-trapping recliner. Dropped of quickly.
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Carer Mizra woke me up. I vaguely recall talking to him, but I don’t recall any other details. 
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Nodded off again, for 7 hours! Good for me.
Waking up at 06:0hrs Saturday…
Cruelly, in absolute agony!
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Tuesday 30th June 2026
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I had a chat about my telangiectasias veins, which were showing up on the tops of my feet. Of course, with my mouth being at the other end of my overweight, elephantine body, I could not hear what the spider-veins were saying back to me… if, indeed, they were replying. It gave me a wee feeling of being wanted. Timothy’s Telangiectasias have not visited me for months and months. I reckon they heard from either Neuropathy Pete or TBI about how much things went right today for two hours, then I discovered poor Little Inchie embedded in the deep red growth from the fungal lesions’ waste, which was almost as hard, maybe as hard as a diamond. They knew my fear of going back to the hospital to have things looked at. 
I can stay in the flat to be ignored, put down, bullied, and depressed, without paying £15 either way for a taxi. Come to think of it, I haven’t got enough cash anyway. No long-call Carer came today. (Nothing new about that) They missed one or two last week as well. So that was another chance to get down to the shops and use the ATM lost. If only some of them could understand my problems. I’d have more chance of climbing Mount Everest backwards using only one leg and arm than getting that. Tsk!
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But that’s enough of this good news…
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Nae, I joke, here is really good news!
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I’m afraid my scribblings have been rather poorish, well, terrible really. Do my bestest.
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Up at 0600hrs. Pouch off and emptied, very, very carefully.
Hoovered, and off to the Porcelain Throne. Bit of a bloodied Constipation Conrad battle.
At least cleaning things up was much easier than of late.
Then I stripped off, had a shave, did the teggies, and saw the state of poor Little Inchy. It looked like a live growth around Little Incy’s lesions and the tube entry point. I put some Dettol in the warm flannel and tried to gently ease of the growth. But, no! I was unbelievably solid and rock hard. I managed to get a tiny bit off, but it hurt like Hell.
I examined it with the reading glasses on… on me, not the growth. Hehe! I concluded that it must have been a mixture of blood, urine, and barrier cream. This was heartbreaking in a way at the time. Because Carer Mirza had arranged an assisted shower for me this morning. The first one in many weeks. I decided that, with the tube-array gripper now completely off, I would be taking too much of a risk by showering.

Along with the mass of whatever it was hanging loose and liable to block things, I’m a little nervous. Seeing the Doctor next week. Making up a list of my problems.
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Mirza took photos of the Catheter problems.
He took one for the Doctor of Little Inchies crusted, like cement, blood & urine mess found this morning.😡
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The bottom (Do not remove without using Alcohol) sticky tube array holder that was stuck on my thigh has now fallen off, leaving an unreadable rectangular bit that was on top of the lost securing disc.
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Not up to much, now.
A full page, the last page of notes, that I was trying to decipher, beat me. Tiredness, frustrations, and worry had got to me. I cannot believe how bad my writing was.
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