A risky business if you forget to tick the No-Substitute button on each item ordered. Their best foul-up was substituting a Milk Roll loaf of bread with pikelets. Their worst, and mostly unrelated to the thing ordered, was when I ordered a bottle of disinfectant, and they issued me with a pot of brown shoe polish! The most hilariously opposite was when I ordered Marmite Biscuits, and they sent a box of iced lollies? But with supposedly suitable substitutes from Sainsbury’s record, it’s better to have nothing than something you cannot use or do not like or want!
Ah, there will be much of this. All of differing nature, from accusative, mock-caring related, but mainly of a financial nature. Then the circulars, cunningly disguised to look like officialdom paperwork to confuse and con. Plus, of course, notifications of increases in rent, carers fees, reduction in bank interest, medical appointment, debt chasers, and the odd birthday card.
Nottingham City Council Fairer Charging Team, Nottingham Revenues and Benefits Team. Financial Assessment for Social Care Services
Since Coronavirus, thus anticipated to continue forever, are the telephone interviews and questionnaires. Last week, I got a call telling me they would ring me later in the week to fill in a detailed form from the… I love the length of this title… The Nottingham City Council Fairer Charging Team, Nottingham Revenues and Benefits Team. Financial Assessment for Social Care Services. The chap had a clear voice on the phone, so I caught most of what he said. He would ring on Wednesday at a specific time, and we might be on the phone for a while as the questionnaire was several A4 pages long.
Come Wednesday, a different man rang as promised. We started the Q & A’s. Talk about detailed: we were on the phone for over two and a half hours! Mind you, I did have to stop twice, for a wee-wee. (You’ll find this a problem in your dotage!) Bank details taken? All my ailments were requested, with the effects they cause me, in particular. There are so many, I must have missed some off. I wondered at one time if I should have mentioned the pustules and boils on my bum, but I didn’t bother.
After so long using the phone, Colin Cramps came on in the left hand and fingers. I had to swap to use the right hand, which has Peripheral Neuropathy and is affected by the Stroke. This gave me more pain and hassle, I dropped the phone and got the shakes, and the right knee got a sudden jerk as Peripheral Pete started jerking and jumping, which I thought had broken my patella! All the time, considering what the interviewer must be thinking is going on! I had to stop again. to take a painkiller.
Finally, all done, I was a physical and mental wreck!
Something you whippersnappers might keep in mind for your future mind’s delving into senility. Not an easy thought, I know.
I’ve not heard any reply yet.
DWP Department of Work and Pensions, Disability and Carers Services Charging Team
We may write to your doctor or someone else who can tell us how your disability arrests you.
We may arrange for a doctor to examine you
We may write to you asking for more information
We may arrange for someone from your local Social Security office to come and investigate you.
To me, this blast out a message: You fiddling lying old git! No chance! You can whistle for any financial help from us.
It seems that Vascula Dementia Doris (Who will undoubtedly visit many current Whippersnappers in their old age) had been causing me to get the taking of the medication all wrong. And I’d got into a bit of a mess with it. The Social Services supplied me with Carers, AM and PM, to sort and control my medicines. This has not been the success that I’d hoped it would be… Humph!
I’ve been having the carers call for about two months now. Last week was the fifth time that no one arrived. Not so bad during the week, cause I can get help to call them, and someone in charge will be on site. Which I’ve done four times now.
On one occasion, on a Saturday with no one in the Winwood Court Meridian office, I rang the number and got a central control room, wherever that is. The gentleman (I use the term loosely), answering, got annoyed at my not hearing what he said, and I was stuttering a little, which seemed to bother him somewhat. But someone did arrive shortly after and sorted the medications. But why did they not get in touch on any of the occasions to let me know? I was just told that someone failed to turn up?
Rather annoying, and this meant taking the tablets so much later. Which on one occasion was six hours late, by which time I was in severe pain with Duodenal Donald because the Omeprazole had not been taken! Also, every prescription package from the chemist has had a problem with it. Being late, no Codeines sent, the wrong Peptac… on and on it goes. If the charges go up, or when, I shall have to be vehement in my complaints cause nothing has changed.
Be aware of these problems, Whippersnappers!
Self-Administered Subcutaneous Injections
As you young-uns get older, there is a good chance of you having ticker problems. By-pass, Aorta Valve replacement, DVT (Deep Vein Thrombosis etc. Of course, I have been blessed with them all.
In my case, subcutaneous injections are infrequently needed. Only when the INR level gets below 1.0, but it has to be kept in stock just in case, as it could be a lifesaver. Two injections, twice a day. Along with increased Warfarins for a few days, whatever is instructed to me by the Haematology, DVT Clinic at the Queen’s Hospital.
It helps a lot if your chemist supplies hypodermics with needles that are unbent. My chemist is very good at sending them to me (picture above). As well as wrong items on the prescription, missing them off altogether, and failing to deliver them. Who is it?
Carrington Pharmacy, 343-345 Mansfield Road, Carrington, Nottingham NG5 2DA, near the launderette and pub, is near the ignorant staffed Lidl store. Telephone: 0115 960 5453. Be wary!
: 01:40hrs: I didn’t need to wake-up, I’d not managed to get to sleep. I was so worried about Sister Jane and Pete, and not knowing. Duodenal Donald was ever-present in differing degrees of pain-giving. Tsk!
I passed wind and wanted a wee-wee. Escaped the £300, second-hand, not-operational recliner, and without even trying to check my balance.
I took a wee-wee, an LDSSM (Long-Dribbling-Spraying-Splashing-Marathon) one. Trotted off, taking the well-used EOGPB (Essential-Overnight-Grey-Plastic-Bucket) with me to be emptied cleaned and sanitised, to the wet room.
: Midway through disinfecting the bucket, and I need a second wee-wee! The AMD (After-Micturition-Dribble) was more like a river, Tsk! (Later on, inspired by the wee-weeing flood, I changed the original thought-graphic above. and made this new one up. I thought it was funny enough and topical to the Inchies Tale of Woe? Hehehe!
Had a clean-up, and changed the PP’s. Then off to the kitchen. The lights seemed to be twinkling a lot more this morning, a little like Sister Jane’s when she laughs and smiles, which brought back the fretting and hopes that she is alright. She and Pete have gone through the medical grindstone lately. ♥
The Health-Checks were done. Duodenal Donald was hacking away at me again, most uncomfortable.
I reckon the worrying about our Jane and Pete is the reason behind the pain. They do not deserve such bad luck.
The SYS was still high, but down on yesterday.
The pulse was up a lot, though? I’ll check ion a while to see what it should be, on Google.
The stick-thermometer showed a decent rise of body temperature, at 35.3°c. When I got the check done on the pulse, this is a screen-shot of what it should be. But it only confused me more than before. Why two columns of figures? Anyroad, I reckon the pulse is a bit high. Hang on, though, Resting Heart Rate? Conrad Confusion, reigns?
I did some waste bag making and sorting out. Having to make tiny bags is a bind, but necessary all the same, otherwise, using bigger bags, means they cannot go down the narrow, tiny, wrought-iron waste-chute openings. Hence, I now have about nine bags to deposit down the shaft later on, far too early to use it now, it’d wake folks up on its way down.
This photo on the right is from last Monday. When Diarrhorea Donald, had taken over control of the innards, from Constipation Konrad was blocking movements, and I had to dose myself with capsules.
Well, two days later, and Constipation Konrad was back with a vengeance, and has been ever since. So today, it was Senna, and Macrogol needed to try and counter Konrad. And many gulps of the inutile, ineffective Peptac will be of little use, as it is typically, against the horrors of the Duodenal Donald attacks. The ulcers are getting to me today, they just plod on peppering me with stabbing pains that are worse than on previous occasions! Mind you, maybe Anne Gyna is a part of the problem as well? All I know is, something must be done if they don’t ease-off soon, it’s fogging the brain’s thoughts and intentions. I’ve got enough worries about with Jane and Pete.
During this short spell that I’ve been up and hobbling about, I’ve needed four wee-wees, and am now going for another! Crumbleckskins! At least I’m getting a variety of modes, that one was of the LPT (Long-Persistent-Type).
I got on the computer and found this mystery photo on the right, in the SD card.
It was apparently taken yesterday morning? Perhaps it could be a target for the Tate Gallery, do you think? Haha!
The updating of the Sunday post was a drawn-out affair. I carried on working on it, getting more and more frustrated with my lack of concentration. Notwithstanding the three varied wee-wees taken. Weeeee! Got the link emailed, and posted the diary off to WordPress. Did some Facebooking, then onto the WordPress Reader, some great stuff on today.
When I around to consulting the notepad to start today’s diary going, I came across what looked to me like; Por or Par, 86 or 81 (10.15), written, or rather scribbled. I wonder what the heck it means. It’s really irking me, it must mean something or I wouldn’t have written it, surely? Grumph!
I’m getting tired now, not surprisingly, with getting no sleep at all last night.
I tried to make a Morrison online order for later in the week, but no slots were available. So I had to use the Sainsburys service. This may cost me more, well, it will, and the risk of short-dated items is almost as bad as Morrisons are. Phlump! Still, I hope to get some canned Chill-Con-Carne from them, as advised by Tim Price in New Mexico, as an Anti-Constipation Colin! Hehe!(I’m not going to get too hopeful though, most stores seem to be running out of stuff lately. Panic buying, I suppose. I’ve an Iceland order coming in the morning. I hope they have the ready-made Gino D’Acampo Cannelloni Ragù meals in stock, I really enjoyed that!
My super G5 modern mobile phone rang out, well, it might not be that new, Ahem!
It was Pete, my Brother-in-Law. I was overcome with joy when I asked about Jane, and Pete said she was at the side of him and was okay.
I shed a few silent tears of happiness.
He explained what had happened yesterday with Jane; They rang the NHS 111 number and told them of the Cluster-Headaches the gal was suffering with, and her losing the sight of her left eye (I think it was the left one). They were advised to go to the QMC hospital straight away, and this they did.
The Bratton’s duly arrived at about 15:00hrs – and got seen at 22:15hrs. Blimus!
A rarity said Pete: But they let him go into the treatment room with Jane, which I thought was brilliant. We chatted, and Jane came on the line, and we had a three-way natter of sorts, but much of what we said was not sinking in, My gratification, delight, ecstaticness and euphoria at hearing that Jane was okay, was blocking out some of what we discussed.
I know that Jane has to go back again today to the hospital. I reminded them of the link to the NHS Cluster-Headache pages on the web that I’d emailed them. I think Jane will get some encouragement when she reads the treatments listed that are available to treat the painful problem.
I recall Jane saying the nurse told her what she could expect on today’s visit, anarchy! She told them that Mondays are pandemonium at the QMC (Queens Medical Centre). I hope she can get seen sooner rather than later. ♥
After ringing off, I was over the moon, never been so contented for years. I was making notes on the pad to use here later, and the landline burst into life.
It was my heroin, Jenny ♥. Explaining that Asda delivery drivers do not come into the flats. So she has been going down to fetch the stuff for various elderly and disabled tenants and asked if I had wheeler, they could use. I got the spare three-wheeler out of the balcony and shuffled it somehow to the front door. Where Jenny appeared in a few minutes – but it was no use to her, the bag wasn’t big enough. The poor gal came all the way up to.
Herbert was model-making again. Tap-Tap-Clunk-Tap. Hehehe! But it didn’t bother me today, with my finding out that Jane was alright.
I had a look at the latest Nottingham and regional Coronavirus figures. A little concerning, I’m afraid.
The intercom rang, and flashed. It was the Amazon delivery of shoes arriving. I didn’t see the delivery person at all, but they left the box outside of the front door for me.
I got the box inside and on the flat airer.
Opened the container, and had a look at the footwear contained therein.
Crap, but I only expected them to be at the silly-cheap price they were asking for them. They were the same price as the Shoe Zone.
I then took my ninth wee-wee of the day. Hogglebogwash! They are now coming out as SWOP (Sprinkly-Weak-Orange-Painless) modes.
I got on with doing some more waste bags up. The cardboard from the Amazon deliveries was flattened and got in with the other waste. As you can see, there are rather a lot of them now. Hehehe! I’ll have to make an effort and get them to the waste room I suppose, it may take more than one journey, methinks.
Hello, the Dusty Springfield tune, ♫I only want to be with you♫ has burst forth from the front door. I bet it’s Josie returning the dinner things from yesterday. It was, bless her. She told me that she enjoyed the brown potatoes, which cheered me up a little further! I got the Nikon camera on the charge, and I have to say, struggled to get the bags to the waste room. A bit of a balancing act with the trolley full to overflowing.
I got the Tower of Pisa-like imitation ( Piazza del Duomo, 56126 Pisa PI, Italy) like three-wheeled trolley through the front door, and by then had three bags of refuse dislodged and down onto the floor. Tsk!
Retrieved them and restacked them on the trolley, and went the few feet to the lobby door and out into the lift area. More black and white bags escaped and had to be retrieved, not without a degree of, well, silently muttered naughty curse words had been used and got to the waste room door.
I got the trolley and contents into the chute area, and thought as I took this photograph, ‘This is going to be another on that the Tate Gallery miss, and lose out on’. Hehehe! On the very first bag to be deposited down the shaft, I caught the edge of the iron grating chute, and now have a reasonable sized new bruise to show off.
Backing the trolley out of the room after unloading the bags down the shaft, I accrued another injury on my left buttock, as I walked into the door frame with a jolt. That’d be because I’m a dolt!
With a newly acquired style of limp, thanks to my bum-banging-blimp, I made my way back to my apartmentette and got the dinner prepared and served up ready for consuming.
A ‘reet-treat’. Taste-Rating 7/10, got the pots and me cleaned up, and stripped and settled in the £300, second-hand, c1968, rickety recliner. I wrapped the thin green quilt around me, got all comfy and warm, snug as a bug, and so contented and smiling inwardly, at the good news about Sister Jane! Then…
Then as I went to turn on the TV, I realised I had not turned the set’s power on yet. Grumbleklunk!
The quilt was taken off, I dismounted the warmth of the c1968 chair, and hobbled over to turn on the power socket. Accruing a stubbed toe en route on the Ottoman! Whincingtime!
Wrapped the thin green quilt around me, got all comfy and warm again in the recliner…
Then I realised that the TV remote control had dropped between the chairs as I got up to put the plug into the TV! (I’d taken it out earlier, to use the socket, for the camera charger). Argh!
I tried to retrieve the remote with the long picker-upperer – but only succeeded in moving it out of sight, under the recliner!
I was just-short of suicidal feelings; only dejected depressed, despondent, and disconsolate, dispirited, downcast, dismayed, and down-in-the-dumps with my sudden return to a world of Whoopsiedangleploppery! Not really, but I was irritated a smidge! Hahaha!
The quilt was taken off, I dismounted the warmth of the rickety recliner again, and got down on all fours, got the torch (handily kept on the recliner at all times when not in use), located the remote, and with the long picker-upperer, managed to slide it out from the furniture, then toward myself, and at last, reclaimed it. I put it in the Ottoman with the torch, and then planned to get back on my feet… somehow!
I did eventually get back up, via the Ottoman.
Falling off of the Ottoman (more bruises on the thigh), and banging the left foot. Then tried clinging onto the recliner…
But the cushion slipped off as I grabbed the chair, and ended up back on the floor where I started. I moved the cushion out of the way and tried again…
Next try, I utilised the swivel chair and Recliner as leverage, and success! I was back upright…
I knocked off the bottle of Springwater when I turned to get the quilt back on the chair…
I distinctly remember as I sat down to try and settle again, knocking the spectacles off of the recliner, Argh! But they were the old pair that I keep nearby if needed during the night, and I just left them there, as I’d got varifocals on anyway, to watch the Frost TV programme that I wanted to see.
I got back resettled, yer again, in the c1968 recliner, and wrapped the thin green quilt around me, got all comfy and warm, and…
Naturally, just as the heart started to calm down, I needed a wee-wee! Flagtoggles! Gragnangles! Granglesbognessbuggerit!
I got up, all the rigmarole, and farting about had to be gone through again. Got to the bucket and the darned mode of wee-wee was of the FFFONEC (Forceful-Furious-Fast-Orange-Never-Ending-Cloudy) variety. I had to endure one of the longest PMADs (Post-Micturition After Dribbles) ever! Humph!
Getting silly this is! I wrapped the thin green quilt around me, got all comfy and warm again in the recliner (Deja vu?). Oy-oy-oy!
Got the TV turned on and had a swig of the spring water/orange cordial. Then, I turned the TV to channel ten and realised the two-hour episode of Frost, had only fifteen minutes left to run, so there was no point in watching really now! Tsk!
However, I can report that all these Whoopsiedangleplop, Accifauxpas and botherations; that usually would have got me all hot-under-collar (Not easy when you’ve not got any clothes on, Hehehe!) Honestly, they merely irked me a tad – and I can thank Jane for that, learning of her being okay, and chinwagging with her and Pete for a few moments, got me through this injury-ridden load of frustrations, and I felt in good form, with a definite sensation on contentedness!
I switched the TV to Radio three, and found some jazz music to listen to, and settled down. The Thought-Storms, were for the first time ever, unprecedentedly, idiosyncratic, enriching and pleasingly palatable.
I nodded of and woke an hour or so later, to hear the end of Nina Simone’s 1958, ‘My Baby Just Cares for Me!’ through the headphones. (Very memory prompting!) The quilt had come off of my feet, and the left one was stinging a bit, and seemed, well it was, swollen? Presumably, this happened when the limb collided with the corner of the Ottoman. Ay-yay-yay!
Sweep Morpheous soon returned, as my mind happily mused over Sister Jane feeling better. I just had to put this picture of Jane (left) Me, and Christine Wright. We were young, frisky and having fun in our back yard. It was taken a few years ago… Hahaha!
Notice Inchcock had hair in those days? What we were doing with the hose pipe, well, maybe Janet will see this and remember, then she can tell me. Over to you, Jane and Chrissie!
I removed the headphones, passed wind, and drifted blissfully, smiling inside, off into the wonderful land of Nod!
I do hope you enjoy this bit of Nottingham history.
Please let me start with a sad point, the end of the much-loved Metropole Cinema, (Remember the open log fire?), and the business ventures that followed and failed.
Regrettably, I could not find a decent photo of the Metropole in its glory days.
Located in the Sherwood district of Nottingham at the top of the hill on Mansfield Road at the corner of Elmswood Gardens. The Metropole Cinema was an outstanding suburban cinema. It opened on 3rd August 1937 with Fred McMurray in “Champagne Waltz” and Marsha Hunt in “Accused Finger”.
A striking feature of the exterior was a slender fin tower on the left of the building which had the name ‘Metropole’ across the top. This could be seen for miles around. Inside the auditorium, seating was provided in stalls and circle areas. The proscenium was 60 feet wide, and the stage 18 feet deep. For a while, they had an open fire in the reception hall, and this was much appreciated by many in winter.
Initially, it was independently operated by W. Wooley & T. Wright, who ran the Goldsmith Street Cinema. The Metropole Cinema was taken over by the Associated British Cinemas(ABC) chain in 1943. Closed by ABC on 27th October 1973 with Malcolm McDowell in “O Lucky Man”. It was leased to the Star Cinemas chain who converted it into a Star Bingo Club. Closed as an EMI Bingo Club in 1979. Then the interior was stripped out, and it was converted into a supermarket. Last used as a Kwik Save Supermarket, it was closed around 2004, and the building was demolished in 2006. A Somerfield supermarket was built on the site. Later a failed Co-operative Food Store. Now, it is a 24-hour gym.
I use it myself three or four times a week, you know. Only for three hours a visit. Hahaha!
The earliest photo to be found was of a Horse Tram, on an outbound journey, about to pass Devon Drive, and the then called, the Methodist Chapel.
c1920, oh, how life must have been then. The electric trams were kings of transport. Just look at the motorbike! Kids strolling across the road.
Ah, now we are talking. Note how the rain always look more foreboding in a black and white photograph? The housewives make time for a natter, and no doubt to bemoan the rationing still on so many foods? The Marsdens food stores were the tops then. I worked for them when I left school at 14. The best job I’ve ever had! Happy times.
Opposite where the library is now, I think anyway.
The Robin Hood Hotel. I frequented this pub years later, for the company, certainly not for the taste of their Home Brewery beer. Eugh! Haha!
Ah, the Vauxhalls, Austins, Hillman, Wolseley’s, and Morris vehicles. All gone now, I’m afraid! Look at the sensible clothing worn, the ambling pedestrians, and lack of street-sleepers and hooded youths. All changed nowadays, not always for the better!
Fine Fare Food Supermarket, late Wilko moved from over the other side of the road. The excellent sell anything Fords clothing shop. The Regent five buses. Ah, sad!
A relative newcomer to our roads, the Mini! The Bass Beer sign? No double yellow lines! The broken crossing beacon! And the general gloom, that’s back with is again, only worse, we can blame the Coronavirus for that. Tsk!
Aha, Wilkinsons before it moved and got renamed Wilko. Is that where the Japanese restaurant was opened? I can’t see any bus stops on this stretch?
Aha, Tesco in the new to be Trustees bank spot? I worked for Tesco, then the Co-op, then Tesco, then the Co-op, then back to Tesco, by Gawd we were lucky, it was so easy to get another job. Note the Sima car, a Lada, I think, and a Vauxhall Viva?
It must be early morning, judging by the lack of vehicles and pedestrians in this photo?
Kwik Save, in the old Metropole building, still going in this shot. I liked to shop there, a good car park at the back, low prices, and stale bread on sale. Hahaha!
Is that Drayton, or Melrose Street? That garage was great for repair prices. I took my three-wheeler Robin estate there years earlier, and got a new manifold fitted, dirt cheap! Fair enough, the engine blew up a week later!
I remember standing under a shop doorway to take this one, and I missed the flipping bus! Still, you don’t like to complain, does yer?
Ah, well, that’s yer lot folks.
I hope I’ve stirred a memory or two and raised a little laugh. TTFNski! ♥