All the best to my faithful flock of followers all,
The masses who have remained so loyal,
To the rubbish I’ve posted, my error-ridden scrawl,
Be they funny, sad, pathetic or philosophical,
Christmas time again… although there is no snowfall…
I’ve got plenty of fodder in, all very edible,
Although Inchcock is unquestionably unintellectual…
His Odes come out mostly; sadly ineffectual,
My followers are precious; you are my windfall!
And, both of you are moral and mortal…
Thank heavens for the WordPress portal!
The Verbal Conflict I Listened Into
From my scrawled notes mostly, so accuracy may be limited. Certain words (naughty) have had to be substituted. I left the last word in; cause there was nothing worth replacing it with. Sorry!
Worra yo doing here? I am Alto-Id; you don’t recognise my superiority?
Never seen yer before, or heard of yer… Worra yo do then? Don’t bother answering, I’ll tell yer… I am the principle that pertains to pleasure, while you, the Alto Ego, is the principle that relates to reality.
Is yer? Well, I’m the one in charge ‘ere…
Hahahaha! Knob-rot, mush!
Do yer mean like Inchcock’s fungal lesion on his Little Inchy?
No, I am well aware of all of the idiots’ ways, whims and stupidity; I’ve been waiting in the wings and watching, learning for donkey’s years. My usage of the Knob-Rot indicated that you talketh rubbish, Alto!
Yer a bit nasty ain’t yer, almost cruel, I’d say. Inchcock is struggling with my existence, now you cum along, and it’ll likely as not send the old git bonkers… best you piss-off out of it mate!
Oh, dearie me, it’s as I feared. You’ve been in Inchcock that long. You have been infected by his senility and ignorance…
Owd on! I knew Rat-face when he was almost verging on normality, for a human-like. See, I’ve been here for ‘im forever! I’ve supported him through some terrible times and ailments, apart from mucking it up with his depressions; it’s me who gorrim through double pneumonia, cancer, duodenal ulcers, being shot… twice, his heart replacement, diabetes, peripheral neuropathy.
Piffle! Utter rubbish, you pathetic imitation of an Alto-Ego you!
What? I thought I wuss doing a good job… well, I was! After all that I’ve done to annoy him, I did not know if he was coming or going at times…
Exactly! That’s why I’ve been activated, see?
Err… no!
What about glaucoma, saccades, floaters and cataract, then? How come you’ve not addressed his vision problems then? Hey?
Well, I can’t physically mend them, can I? It’s my job to just ensure they annoy him as persistently as possible, innit?
You have no idea, have you? What’s the point in letting the git to go blind? How will that build your reputation in the Chakra-Id-Alto Corporation? You’ve got to do better, else you’ll not be moved into another body when he snuffs it… I’m telling you!
The CIAC management is more than happy with my performance in the 930038-530 Semi-male model Inchcock.
How do you know?
Well, they’ve not complained…
Have they sent you a monthly report for November yet?
Monthly Report? No, I’ve never had one.
Hahaha! You’re in the shit, mate! You could well get prematurely removed from 930038-530/TIT Semi-male model Inchcock and sent to a body that is mentally and physically undamaged…
Oh, my Gawd, no… Are you joking?
Nope!
How can any Alto-Ego cope with a human like that? I won’t stand a chance of worrying, scaring, frightening or intimidating them…
I know. This could mean the end of your existence Alto!
No, no, no, we live forever…
Only if the CIAC management deems that you are worthy.
Oh, shit! I was so happy here, a comfortable rotund over ample midriff, an uncomplicated, slow brain to peruse through at my leisure, without much intelligence or activity going on…
You are aware that the host body has the capability to eliminate you, are you? (Sounds of chucking in the background).
No, you’re wrong there…
Yer? What about CIAC Guidelines & Cautionary Advice 112,145,23 then?
Erm…
I’ll tell you. “In the event of any Alto-Ego failing to cause a suicide attempt within 72 years of occupation (Failed) of the aforesaid body; Any host at this time maintaining 70% of its maximum intelligence, 50% of its willpower, and 50% of its maximum concentration; can apply to it Id to eliminate any Alto-Egos from its earthly body – upon signing its soul over to the CIAC Soul Bank Ltd!
I ‘ave to think abarght this…
Take yer time, Alto; I’ll move on and inform Inchcock of his options…
NO! It won’t work cause Inchcock has nowhere near 50% of his concentration left. Only 10% of his memory…
And you think that I can’t retrieve it for him?
You wouldn’t?
Oh, yes, I can, easily!
Well, that’s not in the Spirit of the Chakra-Id-Alto Corporation? I’ve never been so happy before as I am within 930038-530 Semi-male model Inchcock has been. He’s so gullible, malleable, a right thicko to con and manipulate…
And I can change all that within a few seconds. By advising Inchcock of his options, Hehehe!
But I might have to go back to the lonely CIAO Retention Safe again? I’ve already had 2000 years in there before getting this posting? Oh, my dearest Id, whatever can I offer or do to prevent this from happening?
I may be tempted to say nothing to the idiot host under certain conditions…
Yes, yes…
One: You bow to my every whim, order and threat!
Erm.. go on…
Two: You openly admit to Ids being totally and unquestionably superior to Alto-Egos!
Mmm? Go on…
That’s it… if you agree, I’ll keep my gob shut! But it’s a one time only offer, so you have to decide now!
How do I know I can trust you?
How do I know I can trust you?
Oh, heck…
I’ll tell you what… As a ‘Class A’ Knight of the CIAO Id Convention, I swear this to be true! Sign the Oath stating these beliefs as written, and I’ll leave the Inchcock Host instantly, never to return.
That seems okay… Alright, I’ll do it, and you’ll disappear instantly?
You’ll never see me again!
Here you are then (Scribbling sound) and good riddance!
Why have I been chosen, a selected one of many, Who often bleeds when he spends a penny! I fall in love with Carers, like Caroline and Gillie? But none of them wants to adopt me… If they did, they would have to be silly, My waterworks and Porcelain Throne session: Agony!
Years ago, I never thought of acting bellicosely, But bad luck started early and kept at me grossly, I suffered bullying, parents fighting with barbarity, That, from long ago, I remember with clarity! Breakfast today? No idea; it could have been a chip butty? My failing memory, the short term one, is really burdensomely!
My thoughts can often work well, indeed cohesively, An interruption comes, and earlier plans become a mystery! I stutter at times, and some people talk to me derisively, My shaking right side arm, leg and hands decidedly… Make strangers shocked, and talk to me impolitely, They speak to me; if they do at all; as if I need psychiatry… I had a Dizzy Dennis moment and fell over, getting an injury… A bloke said to his missus: He’s drunk! Very dismissive!
I started waffling again then, lost the theme of this Ode,
I’m obviously getting more senile as I get old…
The reason? My cleaning lady arrived, came in very bold,
She was taking my laundry to wash, I was told…
Off she went with the Bold and freshener scent…
Back to the blogging, well. that was my intent…
Esther, return washing all done, we nattered, that was fun,
But my inspiration and concentration were done!
I hoped to return to it, but I fell asleep, woke by Carer Julie Pathan.
Beyond any energy using now, physical or mental at all… Went to the Porcelain Throne and had a fall… Banged my Booster pained arm against the wall… It’s getting dark, soon be nightfall… I’ll get some nosh sorted but will return to things philosophical, If Gillie doesn’t let me take her for a week in Portugal… It’s no fun being moral and mortal… Life is likely seen through some alien portal… The very thought of that made me chortle!
Another Feast!
I think it is called Comfort Food?
Polish cooked pork (9.5/10): Nigerian podded peas (3/10),
Royale Anya potatoes (5/10), Sainsbury’s Tomatoes (4/10),
Microwave poached eggs (8.5/10), I hope to try them again,
With Thai sweet chilli sauce (7.8/10), A banana (8/10),
A large layered yoghourt, real raspberry, extra cream (6/10),
Then, the Thought Storms Began – I’ll go potty, I’m certain!
Self Assessment
The truth is, I’m getting in a mental pickle,
My chances of rest and peace, ain’t worth a nickel!
As for today’s opticians’ findings optical…
Cataracts, glaucoma, pupils needing to be widened…
Before the examination can be completed; but, no stickle!
I’m to have a procedure, I wasn’t too enthusiastical!
Needles in the eye job, she said, all matter of factly,
Then drops for a few days: can my costs be deductible?
And start the whole procedure over again… there’ll be trouble!
I’m sure things might get better… Gawd knows when!
Evening Care Arrives…
The Evening Carer came about seven o’clock,
Sweet Angel, but in a rush, but she was still therapeutic,
I gave her a big box of Quality Street chocs,
To share amongst the Carers, she went, I took off my socks…
And fought with the Thought Storm a little longer, then…
Sleep arrived: but I soon woke up… needing a wee-wee again!
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…
03:30hrs: I came to my limited warped senses, with only one aim, that was to get to the Porcelain Throne, pronto! I extracted my wobbly, overly-bellied body from the £300, second-hand, c1968 rickety recliner, caught my balance, grabbed Metal Mickey. Then I proceeded to do a slow-motion imitation of a John Cleese walk, desperate to hold back any anticipated escapages en route to the wet-room! I thought I’d succeeded!
I whipped down the PPs and got settled down sharpishly on the raised seat, There followed one of the most horrendous evacuations I’ve ever had. Sadly!
The painful motion began of its own accord, the grindingly slow, pleonastic event went on and on… Argh! After what felt like an hour or so, (but was only a few minutes), the final push I had to make to encourage things along, was agony, but necessary. A few seconds to recover, and I stood up gingerly and found that much blood had flowed, in amongst the pebble-like evacuated product. And paradoxically, during the mass evacuation, I took no less than three wee-wees! But worse of all, some of the pebbles were on the floor around where I stood! So all my best efforts to avoid this happening came to nothing!
A good clean up, medicationing, and antisepticalisationing took place. During which, I caught Metal Mickey with my foot, and he came down straight onto my left foot toes! I was worried about the noise the calamity had made, hope it didn’t bother anyone!
Of course, I wasn’t bothered at all. I took it nonchalantly and in my stride. Pain means nothing to me, Ahem! However, the embarrassment flowed thickly!
I hobbled to the kitchenette, and needed another wee-wee! I can’t keep mention this, but it kept on all morning, every wee was of the SSP (Short-Sharp-Painless) type, and, peculiarly, with no pre or after Micturition dribbling. Not a good start to the day, but my EQ insisted things will improve, that’ll do me if he’s right!
I took a snap of the morning view, then got the kettle on the boil, and retrieved the BP sphygmomanometer from the third-down medical drawer.
The Sys is still a bit high, and the pulse rate was up – this is possibly due to the nightmare evacuation farce on the Throne, and all the upset of the proceedings, methinks?
Made a brew of Glengettie tea, and took the medications. Then off to Computer Cameron, and made up a template. Then updated the Friday Inchcock, which, after the horrendous start to the day, went almost smoothly. Oh, Yes! The ailments were all, apart from Toothache Terence and Shuddering-Shoulder-Shirley, being kind to me! A long job, but I completed it in record time. Smug-Mode-Utilised!
As I got up to go for yet another SSP wee-wee. Coming back, I spotted the card posted Thursday, had dropped between the chairs. I got the long picker-upperer and retrieved, and opened it. It was from Warden Deana, bless her.
I got the blog sent off to WordPress, Pinterested some photos from it, and made a start on this post.
After an hour or two, and many wee-wees, I went to make another brew, Thompsons Punjabi. I got some new potatoes in the crockpot, to marinate, with sea salt, and some fish vinegar for a while, I’ll put the hear on later.
Took the tea, and returned to Computer Cameron, but not for long, Toothache Terence was starting his searing with pain again, so back to the kitchen for an extra Codeine.
I visited Facebook and read and posted some stuff. Then went on the WordPress Reader section. Time’s flown, I’d better get the ablutions done. Back in a bit…
I’m back! Not as easy a session as yesterday, but that was a miraculously damage-fee special one-off session. Back to a closer to the norm performance today. Hehehe!
ABLUTIONALISATIONING SESSION REPORT
––etc. And then ––! Tsk!
On arriving in the wet room, the need for another Porcelain Session came. And a painful one it was! But far easier than the first one all the same.
Oh, dearie me! The cistern was not coping with removing the waste product! I had the lid off and kept flushing and refilling via a jug from the sink. I poked in the inlet pipe, and found it part-blocked with the toilet block seals? I gave up after that, I’ll have another go later on. Gragnangles!
Too early to use the shower, too noisy. So I cleaned and medicated my lower regions, but gave up trying to stop Harold’s Haemorrhoids from bleeding, I’ll try after having the stand-up wash. When I can concentrate easier. Flagtoggles!
Pickleglobknobs! The teeth cleaning was a nightmare, well, morningmare, bleeding gums, agony from the toothache, and four dropsies of the paste and brush!
The one job, shaving, did frit me a tad. Yet it went so well, only twp dropsies of the razors, and one of the foam spray. And, only one tiny cut above ear-hole. It always amazes me, why does my hair grow around and in the earholes, but nowhere else? Just a thought. Confusionableitis!
Cleaning around the rear end caused a few stings from the furuncles and piles. Ohh-oh-ho!
The dreaded medicationalising, was as to be expected, hurtful! Hahaha!
When it came to putting on the fresh PP’s, I lost my balance a smidge, I didn’t go over though. Instead, I put my hand out on the floor cabinet to stop myself toppling. Thus clearing just about everything you can see in this photograph! Grobbleknangles!
Note the screws up Haemorrhoidcream tub? When picking things up, I dropped that one three times! On the third effort, it bounced off of the raised seat, on to the wall, and rebounded landing behind the pipework! Grigglebogsblowit! Took me a lot of effort to reach it with the short picker-upperer (Donated to me by Jenny, Bless her ♥), and I had to knock the cartilage damaged finger getting it!
Then I had a bash at freeing the waste product. More flushes, and prodding in the hole. It’s still not all gone, but I’d had lost heart and felt atrabilious. I left it, to try yet again later on.
The feet and legs, as with the rest of the body, was really anæmic looking. Ghostly, infirm, peaky! A few new blotches. Silver-Lining-Search-Result: However, the ankle ulcer continues to slowly fade away.
I got some trousers and my slippers on, and off to the kitchen. The morning was breaking, at last.
I got the kettle on for a mug of Thompsons Punjana.
Set the heat on the crockpot, and put some mushrooms in the saucepan, with some sea salt and balsamic vinegar.
Ah, Herbert’s at his model making again, I reckon. No drilling and hammering this time, just the odd tap-knock and clunk. No problem at the moment.
I had a look at the many emails awaiting my attention. Busy looking time coming up for next week.
The wee-weeing is still coming at a steady rate of knots, about eleven or more so far, I reckon.
I had a perusal of the Nottingham Local E-magazine. To find some of the latest Coronavirus figures available. It took a while, but I managed to get these articles found, that does not look too good.
The cunning way in which they have changed the central figure from total to just new cases make it look far less to worry about.
Yesterday’s figure: Four new infections were recorded in Nottingham – bringing its total up to 1,337. Across the wider county, there have now been 3,366 positive tests confirmed since the start of the pandemic. This is an increase of 10 since yesterday, with Broxtowe recording the highest number of new cases (three) in the last 24 hours. However, there were no new cases reported in either Mansfield or Ashfield, while Bassetlaw, Gedling, and Rushcliffe all recorded two new cases.
I had a look at the leeks, mushrooms, and new potatoes cooking progress. Coming along nicely. Then I went on to create a funny ode on WordPress. Well, that was the plan… but the Prescriptions arrived, Deepak himself delivered them, bless his cotton socks. I thanked him and gave him a bag of goodies for the staff.
I turned off the computer and placed the medicinal items in the kitchen, and got on with making the meal. Another goodish effort and I gave it 7/10 for a Flavour-Rating.
Consumed it with relish, and got the pots washed. The fatigue and weariness dawned on me as I sat down, but would Sweet Morpheus arrive? No!
Put the TV on, in the hopes, this might help. But, no! The danged Thought-Storms began! Confusion, aporias, and incongruities flourished! They produced a sort of habrobaniacal state of mind! Claptickleisations!
The effervescent, bubbly, good-natured Nottinghamian, 25-year-old, super-fit, Educator, Mountaineer, Professor of Neurotransmitterisational failure, and lover of oven-baked Leicester cheese potatoes; presents his latest dollop of poetical rubbish, for you!
Here we go…
I may be getting on for eighty, But I retain some childish juvenility, It’s one thing, in which I have the ability, I don’t need any guilt or justifiability, I’ve no confidence left, just vulnerability!
My ailments give me pain and irascibility, I’ve long lost interest in egocentricity, My body’s lost strength and elasticity, The legs have lost their endurability, The brain’s, now devoid of logicality!
Possibly, perhaps, partly old age, you see, Could be lack of fun, loneliness and frivolity, That’s made me somewhat grumpity, The Porcelain Throne? It’s solid or liquidity, No chance now, of any multi-functionality!
My once sharp mind, now full of banality, I catch the wrong bus into the City, I stutter now, so it’s hard to be witty, I feel I’ve become a nugacity, a nonentity, For falling asleep, I have a propensity!
No fighting spirit, and no ignitability I’m morose, sad, no shockability, For black periods, I’ve a susceptibility, Life no longer offers me any tangibility, But a big flabby-stomach, and gibbosity!
One thing that’s grown, is my gullibility, And my stomach, that’s an undeniability My hopes have gone, died, ostensibility, Now life has very little enjoyability, I sometimes wallow in self-pity, That’s when I’ll write, a silly ditty!
03:00hrs: I stirred into consciousness, didn’t like it, and fell asleep again.
04:00hrs: Woke, and still not too interested in life’s trials and tribulations, or coping with the next faux-pas, mistakes, errors made, or decision making, I drifted off one more time.
04:30hrs: Reluctantly, I came back into imitation life, needing a wee-wee, so forced my bulk from the £300, second-hand, c1968, rickety, none-working recliner, and off to the wet room. (I was not exactly full of enthusiasm at the thought of returning to life). I took the wee-wee, a SWAT (Sprinkly-Weak-Apricot-Tinged) configuration, washed my hands, noticed that the shower cloth looked a might stained for some reason, cleaned it and left it to soak in the hand basin.
I hobbled to the kitchen, almost on automatic pilot, for once Arthur Itis was in a good mood, or taking a breather.
I got the kettle on the boil. And I stood looking out at the morning view. No mist or fog today, I did a bit of self-analysing while I stood there, deep in involuntary self-denunciatory thoughts. By doing this, it only made me feel worse, and self-denigration ruled.
By the time I decided I had to pull myself together, the kettle had boiled, and the water had cooled considerably.
I was still dark, and I thought I’d use the Nikon to take a photograph, which I did. I selected the ‘Night landscape option, and a message came up to open the flash. The first shot is without the flash on; the second one was with the flash option. The first picture looked as it was to the eye. Neither of them was very good.
I got the BP machine out, and the readings were batter than yesterday morning. Although the pulse was down in Saturday’s, I think it was still a tad high. But with how my state of mind was, there was not much interest or concern inspired.
Getting the new bag of medications opened, I noticed that the Fenbid Forte 10% Gel box had acquired a new health warning. It read thus: ‘Fire Hazard’: Do not smoke or go near naked flames; clothes & bedding with this product dried on them can catch fire easily!
I wondered if a patient might have got burned or worse, had encouraged them, to put this warning on the box? Later I did a Google search for “Fenbid Forte gel” fire patient. And look at the pictures that came up: The first dozen and many more followed, that was from guess who? Me! From my old blogs. Well, here I am at a low ebb and disinterested in life generally more than ever, and fame at last! Hehehe!
I got on Computer Cameron and made up this template. I started off the blog, then went to update the Saturday post.
The morning looked a bit better than yesterday’s did, only a slight mist forming now.
A couple of hours later, and I went to make a brew, and, oh boy, the fog was coming back again.
I went to use the Porcelain Throne, but try as hard as I could, there was no movement!
I had a go at the crossword book, not the usual one. I can’t find that, but an old one. I soon realised why I had abandoned trying to do it. It’s a little above my limited abilities. I photographed the painful, irritating uncut toes. Still no action.
So, I gave up and went back to Computer Cameron. Did some updating, had a wee-wee, made another brew, left it in the kitchen, and returned the updating again.
I got the latest Coronvirus figures for Nottingham and England.
Then back to the updating again. Later on Facebooking and WordPress Reader.
Well, that didn’t take as long as usual. (Wonder if I missed something?)
I was still in Depression Defcon Three, I went to get the ablutioning tended to. Back in a bit!
I’m back! The ablutioning went even better than yesterday! No shaving or teeth-cleaning cuts, and in the shower, not a single dropsies!
I came out, all refreshed, and got the rubbish bags made up. And took them to the waste chute. Utilising the three-wheeler trolley.
It’s so much easier to get around with the trolley than any stick. Trouble is, on the bus, and going up steep hills, like the one I live on! Hahaha!
It was still a little misty outside. As I took a few seconds to have a nosey through the filthy window at the Woodthorpe Park. It dawned on me, I’d better get the spuds on for Josie’s meal. So, back to the flat and did just that.
Then I investigated the Facemasks that had been delivered yesterday from Amazon.
I found them a little hard to breathe in them, but no doubt, if and when I can go out again on the bus, I’ll be used to them by then I hope. I plan to wear them when I go to take the rubbish and recyclables down the Steve, or go out of the flat at all, really.
Of course, my having a treble chin, and large head for my torso, that needs to be covered is bound to make them tighter. Hahaha! When I opened the box, it was three-quarters filled with brown paper to protect the box inside. I found a Certificate of Compliance that pointed out they are nor designed for anything medical.
I thought I’d got a bargain. I’ve just used the calculator, and I think they were about 10p each, compared to the £1 one’s I bought in town. Of course, being famous for my well known, recently acquired, since the stroke, arithmophobia, and dyscalculia; I may well have worked it out wrongly – £19.99 for 50.
I had a look at the Amazon Prime Morrison choices and options. There was a minimal choice, no fresh food, of course. A lot of the things were sold in 24’s or more, they had a bargain on the Swish Kitchen rolls, I thought at that price, I could stock up even more! Haha! But No! Sold-Out! While on there, I considered getting some more of the Branston Pickle Mini Cheddars and had a look around, during which Dizzy Dennis paid me a visit, a nasty one, too! So, I came out of Amazon and did some catching up on this post…
I don’t know what happened in between, but I found myself sat on the Porcelain Throne? Obviously, I’d had another memory blank. Not had one for weeks. Not that I wanted one! But, there I was, in mid-evacuation mode! Might have been a good thing, judging by the dollop that filled the WC. Took me four flushes to get rid of it.
Unsure of what I was doing before going to the Throne, I looked at the computer and recalled that it was in the state I can remember it being in. So, with any luck, it was just a few minutes of blankness, memory loss. Reading what I had written earlier, helped me get the thread again.
I got Josie’s meal made up. It took me a while to get a decent photo of the tray, with Nocodemus’s Neurotransmitters kicking off. Not complaining, they’ve given me a good break this morning. (When it came to downloading the photo, so I could pick between the five terrible shaky shots, where were they? Gone! All of them, not one on the SD card? – Shagaraggles! I’m going potty!) Cheesy potatoes, gherkins, silverskin onions, tomatoes, Marmite cheese, mackerel in tomato sauce, and a can of G&T. Delivered to the door, from a distance.
Oh, ‘eck, checked on the emails, and found one from Amazon! It appears I put an order in with them?
Glugglegnatsworth! If you can you believe it? I’d ordered 12 packets of flaky-cheesy biscuits! And a box of 30 Branston Pickle 50g Cheesy Cheddars!
I sat thinking for a while. I have mentioned these blank-periods to the Doctor on my last visit, a long time ago. She didn’t seem too concerned, it was as if I should expect them? At least, she didn’t come back to me with any suggestions or advice. How do I know every time after a blank, that I’ve had a blank? I slowly got myself more confused. But this one was obvious to me.
I got an email from Jenny. We swapped messages for a while. Thanks to Jenny.
Getting tired and hungry now. The short date cooked meats need eating, so I’m the man for that!
Got some chips in the oven, and a hashed up meal. Rated: 6/10.
Settled down to watch an old 2016 Euro Match on the telly.
Mind storms, disturbing ones, made sure that my concentration on the screen was at a minimum.
00:00hrs: Already up, and finished working on this updating of the Tuesday post, and sent it off.
Then went on the WordPress Reader section. Then I Pinterested a few snaps, next onto Facebook. Spent some time on Facebooking. But it eases and pleases me, and I enjoy it. Then, on to CorelDraw to get some graphics done.
Oh, Gawd! From nowhere Dizzy Dennis attacked, I really did think I was going to fall off of the swivel chair, and a headache developed at the same time, on the right side of the head! Enough, when I felt stable enough, I got sat down with a drink of orange juice, Shuddering Shoulder Shirley kicked off, which prevented me from nodding off for a while, but sure enough, as things calmed down further, I drifted off into the land of nod!
I stirred around 06:00hrs. Disinclined to wake or get up, and the Thought-Storms started. The need for a wee-wee arose, and the urgency increased. So at least that got me and my oleaginous, body out of the £300, c1968, second-hand, not-working, disconnected rickety recliner, and to the wet room.
A brand new style off wee-wee today, (It’s interesting having so many ailments!) I’ve Christened the mode as UDYP (Urgent-Deep-Yellow-and-Painful). It’s encouraging to be able to report that Little Inchies fungal lesion was not bleeding at all! All done, washed the hands and contact points, and as I was going out of the door, I had to go back in to deal with another rushing-gush wee-wee of the same variety!
I wiped and washed again, and off to the kitchen to do the medicationalisationing.
For some reason, unknown to me, as the bare feet got on the floor tiles, they were so cold to the touch?
The BP readings were different this morning. SYS well up, at 173, DIA 83, Pulse 77, and Temperature was 37.8°c. When I got out the tablet dispensers, I worked out that I had enough up until Saturday morning. This is when ILC, Ballerina, Comforter, Obersturmbannfuhreress, and Warden, Deana, said they should be delivered by the Carrington Chemist. I made a brew…
Gordon Bennett! The first sip was taken, and agony invaded the teeth! Cricky, it made me jump! Of course, the toothache was well set in, and kept on all through the day! Gragnangles!
Coronavirus is to blame for many of my new ailments.
The chemist cannot get the Saccades Sandra spray yet!
The paediatrist is closed until further notice!
The dentist is closed until further notice!
The Audio Clinic (Running out of hearing aid batteries) closed until further notice!
The Opticians closed until further notice!
I decided I’ll see if I can get out and about later, and try the audio clinic for some batteries. That is if I can manage the haul up that terribly steep and demanding Park Row hill. Might I change my mind later?
I took a photo of Chestnut Walk. I think there is a free car parking space available. A seldom known, extraordinary happening here at Windwood Heights?
I got on with updating. The rain and darkness repeatedly came and went, and finally, the updating got finished. The job was all done and dusted.
Off I trudged to the wet room.
The ablutions were soon got into with gusto. The shaving didn’t go exactly according to plan. But the teggies were painless, well not pain-free, cause of Toothache Thomas, but at least I didn’t have any bleeding from the gums.
The pins were looking a little battered, and still very much of the ghostly-anaemic design! The volumingargantuan, onerous hog-like, ponderosity, bulk, flabby stomach, may well have gained a couple of inches of girth overnight? But I’m sure I did not do any nocturnal nibbling?
After getting myself dressed (I can do it on my own now, you know, Hahaha!), I pottered about faffling, panicking, and double-checking everything before I dare set out to catch the bus to town to get the hearing-aids (And take some photographs).
I went for a wee-wee, and this time it was of the SS (Short-Sharp) mode of exudation and was the colour of a suppuration, it really was yellowy-green! Don’t be jealous, though, if you live long enough, it can still happen to you. Then all these exotic, appealing ailments, Whoopsiedangleplops, Accifauxpas and mysteries I write about, will become apparent and understandable for you. I didn’t mention logical on purpose. (Hahaha!)
A semi-serious, convoluted message came from my EQ! It was certain; The trip out was going to be frustrating and depressing. I should consider not going out! Mmm? The Emotional Quotient is rarely, if ever wrong! Foolishly I ignored the warning and got everything needed in the three-wheeler guide, made sure the bus-pass, door swipe, keys and crossword book were taken with me. Double checked the lights, faucets and electrics, all seemed okay, and off I went. With a big bag of recyclable material over my shoulder (not really, it was on top of the trolley, Haha!), and out I hobbled.
Down, bag in the bin, and ambled along Chestnut Drive, as the drizzle started to come, camera at the ready. I stopped for a few moments under the Chestnut tree while the rain was more substantial, but it soon weakened to just the odd spit falling.
As I got to the bus stop, I met Welsh William. I told him about Timothy Price’s marvellous clip of the owlet and told him if he gave me his email address, I’d forward the link. Then told him of what happens in the video. No interest was shown, which surprised me, I thought he’s loved to have seen it. He went off talking to someone else. Ah, well! Bless him, his free choice.
I limped over to where Peggy and Christine were nattering and bothered them. (Hehehe!) Peggy had on a seriously good face-mask, black, and it looked good quality built. Christine had hers on, and me too! They then told me that, from next Monday, anyone travelling on a bus must wear a mask. I decided to get another or two while out today.
They all got on the Bestwood bound bus with some other tenants, and I was all alone again. Then, slowly it dawned on me why! I’d got the bus times wrong once-again, Humph! I think that my EQ was right! With only going out once in months, I’d forgotten about the L9 service now being on a permanent Saturday roster, meaning a bus every two hours! I did feel a clot!
Back to the flat, and I took a few more photographs en route. One of Winchester Court main entrance. The flowers outside Winwood Court’s foyer, they were beautiful, especially so, with the petrichor, the aroma of earth and rain! Lovely! Then snapped the frontage of Winwood Court. A lot of open windows today?
Back to the apartment, and put these pictures into the computer. A letter had been received, telling us work will be taking place on the roof and will be noisy.
It’s going to be a long day, now I have to catch the 10:30hrs bus. (If I knew then, what I know now, I wouldn’t have bothered going out, the hearing aids batteries, and a mask so I can get on a bus, persuaded me to go though! Of course; as you will read later, I managed to get neither of wanted items! (Note to Self: In future, do not ignore the EQ!) Grumblecronkackers!
I set out once again to get the bus, at the right time this time, for the 10:30 L9. I was the only passenger to get on, but the bus was fullish, and with the side-saddle seats not in use, I had to sit on the outside of a standard chair, and hang onto the three-wheeler, to prevent it rolling away at each corner the Graham Hill fan, the driver took.
I was feeling worn out by the time we got into Nottingham. I was going to call into Wilko and the Poundland shop to see if the yhad any face-masks in. But, Wilko’s had a note on their window, telling us they had none left, but would do their best to get some for us!
And the socially-distanced queue for the Poundland shop filed around the corner for hundreds of yards! So, I had a walk to the Poundstretcher store on Milton Street. This where I got the face-mask from last week. Of course, they had none left in stock, either! Gragnackles!
However, I did get of my favourite McVities orange flavoured chocolate biscuits. A bottle of Woolite washing liquid and a bag of black bags.
As I came out of the shop, into the more torrential rain now, I met Gertrude, an old friend from years ago, and we had a natter in a doorway to keep dry. But her telling me she had just gone tot he Audio Centre to get herself some hearing aids, and they were closed, did not do me a lot of good! Silver-Lining Search Result: At least this saved me hobbling up the hill to find out!
I made my way through Trinity Square, avoiding the now-famously suicidal and dangerous to others, Deliveroo pavement cyclists.
It was a depressing hobble. What with so few people about, and those I met or spoke to were all down in the dumps, or in a snappy mood.
The change of rules for the bus passengers having to wear face-masks, causing another shortage of supplies.
The drizzling rain soaking us all through.
The much colder weather, and a general atmosphere of, well, what’s the words I’m looking for? Depression is too strong a word… oh, I don’t know though!
I walked down and through the Slab Square and onto Wheeler Gate, noticing the two, what looked like new Police Community Officers, in their brand new uniforms and stab-vest, watching as they ambled around, ignoring the pavement cyclists, the vehicles parked on double-yellow lines. A scuffle taking place for a moment on Long Row encouraged them to walk up King Street in the opposite direction.
I called in the Poundland shop there, and they were not busy at all. The manager even greeted me as I went in, asking me, cheerily; “To take your time, no rush, you might spend more then!” Hahaha! It worked, no face masks available there either, but I did spend a bit. Buying, 2 lemon-sherbet concentrated disinfectants, (No, I’m not joking) 2 Lemon Verbena & Cucumber air sprays, (No, I’m not jesting here, either, Hehe!) 1 can of beef in gravy for a quid. 1 pack of Indian seedless grapes, a packet of walnut-halves, and cashew nuts. A packet of BBQ chicken pieces, and a packet of pork slices with stuffing! And a pack of six mini-jelly pots! By gum, the lady who helped me put them through earned her can of G & T!
I paid-up and had a hobble in the rain to St John’s Church, and called in the Sainsbury’s small shop, to see if they had any face-masks available. Nope! Shame! But they did have some decent looking tomatoes of which I bought a pack and some seafood sticks.
I had a wander around the City Centre, before going to the bus stop, cause I had plenty of time. I spotted the imitation police officers, now on Upper Parliament Street.
I made my way to the top of Queen Street. The drizzle was easier now. A police car sped by, followed by an ambulance. And the Theatre Royal & Royal Concert Hall, surely one of the ugliest building ever built?
Then as I was going down to the bus stop, one of the infamous Deliveroo cyclists, floated down Queen Street at a fast rate of knots, in the wrong direction. Queen Street is one way, up the hill!
I considered pointing this illegal Road Traffic Act naughtiness out to the two heroic imitation policemen who were still nearby, with their hands in their new tunic pockets, keeping away from the earlier well avoided, Long Row scuffle.
But they had given me some rum looks when I photographed them earlier, so I thought better of it. Hahaha!
The L9 arrived with two drivers, and they kept me out in the rain for a few minutes while they chatted. No help offered in getting my heavily overloaded walker-guide onto the bus. I had to sit in the same deadly seat as going into town. They got off, of the bus.
I got one of the chicken pieces out of a bag to nibble. When the boss man got back on, he said: “There’s no eating allowed on the bus, youth!” And kindly offered me a scowl, worthy of a David Cameron sneer! And so I stopped eating!
The ride home was uncomfortable and I banged my ankles, elbows and knuckles, more than a few times as I fought to stop the trolley wandering off each time the bus screeched around a corner.
I was well in the dumps by the time we got back to Winwood Heights.
EQ was right! Colin Cramps were coming on already!
As I got into the flat’s foyer, Josie came behind me, and we had a little natter. When she heard of my problems in getting a face-mask, she fetched one for me to have. How kind of her! I got the fodder put away, and made a mug of Glengettie.
I updated this diary for a couple of hours, then, very late on now, I got the beef nosh sorted out. Beef and gravy, with extra caramelised gravy added, potatoes, garden peas, apple pies, seedless grapes, and lemon yoghourt. Flavour rating: 8/10.
So late, so tired, and soon slid into a much-needed sleep.
An Irritable day, with the odd pleasant highlights.
03:30hrs: I stirred into imitation life, and awaited the brain to join me. (It took a few moments).
As I maneuvred my cumbersome, wobbly-blobby frame up on my feet, I noticed that the Clopidogrel allergy inspired blotches and lumps had started to return. Ah-well!
The need for a wee-wee arrived, which I took, and then to the kitchen to do the medicationalisationing as needed. It was of the WSSUGG (Weak-Squirty-Spraying-Uncontrollable-Greeny-Grey) wee-wee style! But no pain, at all with it. Nice! The SYS had come down winsomely at last.
I opened the thick-framed, can’t get at to clean, letting rain in, anti-photographer designed, light & view-blocking new windows, to take a shot of Chestnut Walk below, and crikey, was the wind blowing in!
The medications were taken, and a welcoming mug of Glengettie tea was imbibed!
Off to the computer, and got started on doing up this blog on Blogger. But as I was doing so and searching for graphics, I spotted a comment from Tim Price. He’s put how to get to the old (not block) blogger, without going through a lot of bother and confusion. I tried it. An amazingly simple way to do it, thanks, Tim. I’m back in the editor before last now, so no full alignment button, but I’ll manage without it. Yipee!
I set to creating this blog and did a little CorelDrawing to get some graphics to use.
I remembered that my Iceland delivery was due, a pleasant change that, remembering something! Haha! So I had to stop computerisationing, and get the ablutions done, to be ready in time, in case the delivery comes early in the 8>10 given window.
It was drizzling in the breeze, so I took these shots through the balcony window, the first one towards my left and Sherwood, Mapperley, and Carrington.
The second picture was taken to my right, towards Daybrook, and Arnold, the North of Nottingham. It shows where the garages used to be at the dead-end of Chestnut Walk. I don’t know what the Council or Nottingham City Homes plans are for the area. It’s been fenced off.
It seems that red cars are making a comeback?
As a heavy shower, blown in a blustery than earlier wind started, I grabbed the four-pronged walking stick and hobbled off (rather nattily, I thought), to the wet room!
I assembled everything needed (apart from those I forgot about, hehe!), and amassed them outside the door, and turned on the shower power. Before I could do anything, the need for the Porcelain Throne arrived.
I had a sat-down mini-marathon of a wait for the evacuation to begin. And a partially successful go at the crossword book. But nothing moved! I could sense it wanted to, but Constipation Konrad was preventing any movement. So, I gave up, checked things were not messy, all was okay, and I got on with washing the dandies and getting the teggies cleaned.
As I was getting the teeth-cleaning things ready, I had to divert a few paces back to the Throne. It took me some time again, but when things did start, the motion was excruciating but short-lived. Leaving an aroma, with me coughing, that if it could be bottled, might be used as a nerve gas by the military (Hahaha!)
Now I have batteries; the power-brush was utilised and without a single gum cut! (Smug-Mode-Engaged!) Then, on to the shaving. A few dropsies, but fewer than usual. Razors (3), and the Shaving foam can, and no, I say, No Cuts! (Top lip curls in Elvis fashion and Smug-Mode goes up to Defcon 2. Hehehe!)
Even betterer still, in the shower! Not a single visit from Dizzy Dennis, that’s never happened before? (I’m not sure whether to happy about it or worry over it, Haha!) No shower-head drops! No involuntary right-leg Neuropathic Schuhplattler dancing either! (Smug-Mode goes up to Defcon 2.2 Hehehe!) Mind you, I used one of those freebie hotel-sized soap tablets, that produced about five dropsies.
Oh, and no knocking into the shower chair or the grab bars either! Fanwondertasic!
The medicationing was also of a far less painful exercise. Little Inchies fungal lesion was not bleeding, Harold’s Haemorrhoids were less bothersome. Even the feet, not the toes, seemed less troublesome. Arthur Itis was in a rough mood with me, mind you. Overall, a decent session!
I got semi-dressed; No socks, too painful to use the sock-glide, anyway, it’s been that long, I’m not sure I can remember how to use it, now. Tsk! Got PPs, trousers, a jumper, and the slippers on.
With the Porcelain Throne extra-curricular activities, I got the ablutions finished much later than planned, but just before 08:00hrs, so in time, in case the Iceland delivery came early.
On the computer, to update this post. Now Tim Price has shown me how to get the Classic Editor going; this, even without the full-alignment option, is far better, more utible than the Google Blogger to use. Thanks, Tim!
Five minutes later, the natty Dusty Springfield ♫ , I only want to be with you! ♫ tune rang out from the front door.
Someone had let him in. He’s left the bags in the hallway near the door, and offered to put them through into the entrance for me. But I was in amazingly good, rude, health (for me, anyway) and feeling up for it, so declined his kind offer, and slipped him a can of pink G & T. I know he likes them! I got them through to the kitchen and deposited them where I could find room. Haha!
Not such a big order today, but the fridge was still a tad crammed with nosh by the time I’d finished putting things away.
I then got a pack of small fresh mushrooms in the crock-pot for later. Seasoned them, accidentally from the hickory bottle, in error for the Light Soy sauce bottle. Bungle-Grumplewuncks! But, hey-ho, I just added some Soy to it as well. So, fingers crossed.
The wholemeal deli rolls were flattened as only Iceland damaging goods skills can be. However, this will not stop me from eating them. I plan for some of the Robirch skinless sausages, two of each to go into the individual rolls, with some sliced tomatoes and the mushrooms as a side? The problem with this plan being, the tomatoes are Morrocan. The last time I had some, they were really, in fact, not eatable! Little juice, bitter and rock hard! But of course, these may be sweet and tasty? Pigs might fly! Haha!
As I got back to blogging again, the landline burst forth with its flashing light. It was Brother-in-law-Pete. advising me that they had not received the link for yesterday’s blog. So I investigated and found I had not sent it. I made the excuse that with all the trouble with getting back on WordPress had thrown me off course. I apologised and promised to get it sent off straight away. I did feel a fool!
I went on Facebook next.
I heard a familiar yapping and went to see which dog it was. It was the fussy-full of life little black dog. His, or her tail never stops wagging, doesn’t stop, only for the odd sniff here and there. Lovely animal.
I took a snap that shows what I mean by the new windows being light & view blocking. I’ve been spoilt by the old windows, they were one turnable giant sheet of glass, that was easy to clean, and gave me freedom when it came to photographing.
I got the nosh prepared and served up. This meal was given a 6/10 for flavour and taste. The mushroom that I cocked-up cooking and put the Hickory in to season instead of the Soy sauce, then added light-soy, were just about edible, but not very nice. The Morrocan tomatoes were less foul than last weeks but still horrible. The delightful seedless grapes, and tasty skinless sausage baps, were excellent!
I put the TV on to check if there was anything worth viewing and saw some back-to-back documentaries were showing, on channel 91. So I went to get the pots washed up.
Then returned to watch the TV.
But the concentration on the engrossing and I think a most interesting documentary was lost. Lost to the Thought-Storming. That was worrying, fearing and at times a little panicky. My confidence was at a low ebb.
3:30hrs: I woke in a confused state, yes, even more than usual! The Thought-Storms were not making much sense either, a sort of medley of verbal mayhem, mostly making no logical or appertaince. self-arguments, that should have been of no concern, in my bonce!
I took a shot of my, painful tootsies, no idea why? Then I rose gingerly up onto my poor agony-ridden pins and toes, and the brain seemed to be still sat in £300, second-hand, c1968, rickety, none-working, recliner.
I, for some reason, decided to try and master the annoyingly difficult WordPress editor again. Mainly, because the Google blogger was about as bad, although it does have a ‘full justify’ button, and no damned confusing blocks.
It’s no good, I’m giving up. The full-justify doesn’t work!
I’ve taken over three hours to get this far.
To complicated, frustrating.
Grammarly no longer works on WordPress!
I am most frustrated and annoyed!
The instructions on how to get rid of the new crap editor was followed, and the things that I should chose were no on the page.
02:30hrs: I woke, in no mood to become active in mind or body. Gawd blimey, I was still so tired! Never have I had such Clinomania, and reluctance to wake up, let alone get up! A little discussion between my brain vs my lack of willpower and interest in anything, resulted in the recreance winning this time, and I nodded off into sweet obliviousness.
03:10hrs: I stirred again, and had another battle with myself as to get up or not! I seemed to be in a state of hypnagogia again. I felt I had to rise, whatever the body and ailments told me, and I was determined to. I fell asleep again!
04:10hrs: I came back to reality yet again. This time with the need for a wee-wee, forcing me to beat my reluctance for returning to the land of the living. Robotically, I inched my ginormous wobbly-stomached burdened body out of the creaking, £300, second-hand c1968, grotty, repellently beige-coloured recliner, with the sticks assistance, I got up onto my painfully long toenailed feet.
As I struggled to get to the wet room, I espied signs of nocturnal nibbling on the Ottoman tray! But at the time, no feelings of guilt were sensed, for the wee-wee was getting more urgent now!
Unfortunately, in my haste, I knocked corner stand, and I heard things fall off of it. No stopping, onward, the wee-wee must be released! And what a wee-wee! An HPSAUOC (High-Pressure-Sprinkly-Unexpectedly-Orange-Colour) style. But not a long one, and no pain with it, so that was good!
As I was cleaning and medicating Little Inchies bleeding fungal lesion, in between the stabs of pain as the Daktacort® 2% w/w Miconazole nitrate and hydrocortisone cream was applied, it dawned on me, (things like this do happen (occasionally). I spotted some empty clementine juice cans on the Ottoman.
I wonder if these might be the reason the orange wee-wee?
The ankle-ulcer was looking far betterer, and Arthur Itis was not acting up too much either, which was a plus.
It might have been my eyes or desire, but when I sneezed, I’m sure the Big Belly Bernard shook less than usual? (Well, I can dream?)
Also, and as well as, Anne Gyna was kind to me. No Dizzy Dennis or Reflux Roger, Shaking Shaun or Back-Pain-Brenda visits!
Fair enough, Toothache Tim and Duodenal Donald were making up for this, and a sore throat was developing. But overall, this getting up late seems to suit me? But, of course, most likely it just fooled the other ailments temporarily. Arnie Schwarzeneggers? They’ll be back!Hehehe!
Washed and off to the kitchen. Where I took a distance shot from the kitchen unwanted, light & view-blocking, thick-framed windows, there were obviously designed by someone suffering from ‘Mere-Exposure Effect’ syndrome.
It was my Zyrophobia suffering, supercilious Brother-in-law Pete, who made me take a close-up, of the City Hospital. The poor lad will be in there this morning, having another biopsy done on his mystery ailment. I thought it might cheer him up a tad, reading this if he can afterwards. The yellow rectangle is the area I zoomed into for the second shot.
All the best, Pete, mate! Nowt you can do, but await the results now. I pray they are good news. I have thought you’d have escaped and taken a photo of the flats? Hehehe!
I made a brew of Thompsons Punjana tea, took the medications and got the thermometer and sphygmomanometer out. The machine was like me earlier this morning, not interested in working!
It took me three tries to get it to work. (it took me the same to get up! Hahaha!)
The plates of meat were giving me some stick, and for some unknown reason, the area around where the ankle ulcer comes up now and then was extremely itchy. Yet there were no signs of any inflammation or new growth? With the nails getting ever longer, I’d continued not to wear socks, I even took the slippers off to ease things.
But they’ll go back on after the ablutions are done.
The stomach felt a little firmer, I think. But this might be and usually is, a prewarning of the innards about to kick off. I anticipate a battle between Trotsky Terence and Constipation Conrad to ensue. Which will prevail I wouldn’t guess. Lately, it seems to go from one extreme to the other nearly every day. Still, it makes for a bit of interest. Haha!
Toothache Tim kicked off on the first sip of tea! That put the mockers on drinking ant brew for the rest of the day. Gangleboggleisations!
I made a start on the blogging update. It was as if someone was turning on a tap every half-hour or so. I swear you can see the imprint of the four-pronged walking stick, and outline of my feet in the carpet, to and from the wet room, I had hobble there so many times! Silver-Lining Search Result: But, at least I got the update done in reasonably good time, with only Shuddering Shoulder Shirley giving any real hassle. My thanks to Nicodemus’s Neurotransmitters, Shaking Shaun and Dizzy Dennis! Bless you, all!
After the umpteenth wee-wee, I made a mug of Glengettie tea and went on CorelDraw while it cooled down before trying it. Argh! Toothache-Tim, was not pleased, in the least! I threw it away. That’s the end of my tea drinking for the day! I took an extra Codeine 30g. (Too late now of course. Silly old sausage!)
I set up the template for today’s blog. Then went on the WordPress reader. Then onto the Facebooking, which I enjoy so much. Then it was time for the ablutions to be tended to.
I’d done the teeth, bloodlessly, but it was a bit painful with Toothache Tim nudging his way into the scene. (Swank-Adopted!) While I was moving the clothes, I’m sure I saw the shape of a rabbits head in the moved flannels. Can anyone else see it, or am I going daft? Or maybe I should say, dafter?
I photographed the stomach before and after the shower. But there was no difference as I could see.
The shaving activity brought about a few dropsies, not many. Razors (4), shaving foam can (2), and a decentish clouting of the back of the hand against the sink. The showering went fine, in fact so well, I was considering giving myself a medal. Hahaha!
I got dried off and set about the perfumery and medication duties. These took longer than the teggies, shaving and showering out together! Olive-piled the ear-holes first. No Saccades Sandra spray left to use, Grungleclapskin! Applied the Germoloid cream (Wince!). Then got some after-shave on the one tiny cut. Sprayed the Brute deodorant over the elephantine body. Last of the Brute spray used up! Got the Phopain gell well-rubbed into the knees. And carefully, Note no toe-stubbing or dropping of the showerhead again! Smug Mode Adopted! I made my way to the front room to get clothed.
I had to get the slippers on, a sharp intake of breath, and a silently mumbled ‘Argh!’ later, and I was ready to get the black bags and recycling prepared for taking downstairs.
While doing this, I decided that tomorrow, I will try to catch a bus to town, (if they are running) and visit, (if they are open), the Poundland shop, now my curfew has been eased. It’s all a bit vague innit? Later I’ll ask on the Winwood Heights Facebook, is anyone knows about the buses and Poundland.
I got the bags made up, and onto the three-wheeled trolley walker. Off to the waste chute room. Gawd! the toes and plates were giving me agony! I pondered over whether going out tomorrow was a good idea or not after all?
I struggled a bit getting the bags in the chute, not because they were heavy or large, they weren’t. The problem was Shuddering Should Shirley had kicked off again, and she meant business this time. This encouraged the right legs involuntary drop-something and have a Neuropathic Schuhplattler dance. Nearly had me over, so it was a good thing I was in such confined space at the time!
I left the trolley in the lift lobby. taking a moody photo of it, with the shadows, as I returned to the flat, to pick up the fob key, just in case when I went down with the big bag of recyclables, I got locked out. (It has happened more than once, Tsk!)
Back and collected the trolley, using the walls in the narrow hallway, so I didn’t worry if I had a funny turn, the dancing returned, or Dizzy Dennis visited.
Shuddering Shoulder Shirley was merely giving the odd twitch now, but I knew she had not finished with me yet.
Waiting for the lift, I got the camera out, ready for when the lift doors opened. I’m glad no one was in it at the time. Haha!
Down to the ground floor. Met and had a few words with Ethel in the lobby. Then through the caretaker’s passage to the bins. Both of the caretakers were there outside, and Steve took the bag from me. A few words, during which Shirley gave them a display of quality Shoulder Shuddering. Which drew looks between the two men, and an “Are yer alright? and frowned foreheads. It’s so embarrassing when someone is nearby when this happens. I said I was fine, thanks. I must have looked a right pillock as I shook my way back inside.
I increased the heat to high in the crock-pot with the potatoes in, and opened a tin of peas and put them in a saucepan. Then, as Shirley was easing off, Duodenal Donald started, a bad do too, supported with a bit of stabbing from Anne Gyna. Ah, well, things had been to calm earlier on, it had to come.
I could find no details about the buses on the website. So asked on Winwood Heights Facebook, if anyone knew about the buses or Poundland store. Hugh ‘thinks’ the L9 is running in a Saturday timetable. If so, That’ll do me.
I decided to take some photos from the balcony. Seemed a good idea at the time.
I got the right side Metal-Spring controlled, that needs the recoiling bit pressed and pulled at the same time to do open it, (potentially lethal, but okay for Winwood Heights old folks to use) with merely a bruised finger and elbow this time. Then took a couple of pictures.
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
Tried Josie’s door again. No answer.
Tired out and still shaking a bit, I got the nosh prepared. I ate it in an auto-mode, no idea why, but as the concentration gave way to fatigue, I’m sure I enjoyed it.
Wash the pots up, and as the dying sunshine blasted its last beams on earth, I got the camera and tried to take a decent shot of the scene.
It dawned on me then, I can’t remember using the Porcelain Throne today? But being in the languorous, lackadaisical, lethargic state of mind I was in, I wasn’t sure or certain of anything.
I’m not sure what happened for the next half-hour or so, I sort of came-back into focus as I was in the £300, second-hand, c1968 recliner, with my legs up high on the old swivel chair, and deep in thought about tomorrows plans to get out to town on the bus. Then I remembered that this will not be possible, I’d forgotten about Jenny’s helping me out ordering stuff for me, it’s being delivered Tuesday. Hey-ho! As much as I was looking forward to getting out, for some reason, this did not bother me? Maybe, I had underlying fears of going out after so many weeks lodged in the flat?
I soon found that Sweet Morpheous was uninterested in letting me get any rest. The Thought-Storms began, tormenting me with memories that I hadn’t recalled for years. I’d guess it was gone midnight by the time I finally managed to nod of.