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TUESDAY 25th AUGUST 2026
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06:35hrs: I stirred back into ersatz, pretend life. Wriggled and rolled a little to test out which ailments might be the most painful, in my effort to dismount the hospital bed and get my nocturnal Catheter pouch off. The outcome was rather less than expected. The new magic neck pain, the discomfort of the day Catheter tubing, and Anne Gyna were the only ones sensed.
Colin Cramps and a few seizure aftertastes, which had been waking me up so often overnight, had dissipated altogether. Nice!
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I managed to get up, sort the pouches out, and do a safety check of the flat for taps left running and fridge/freezer doors open. Then got the kettle on. Doing these little tasks, I had to make three visits to the Porcelain Throne in 15 minutes. Constipation Conrad in total charge.
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Carer Andy arrived in a perky but reluctant mood. Medications were issued, but we could not find any codeine tablets. We both searched through the medical prescription and Over-the-counter medicine drawers. Andrew said he had informed his head office about them. I got the waste bins into one large bag. It’s still there now (2040hrs).
Carer departed, and I had another dock-hard, Haemorrhoid-tearing visit to the Throne.
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The expected delivery from Morrisons arrived. I tell you now to get the embarrassment over quickly; Today, I made super-cock-ups with the food orders. Arithmophobia and my stupidity are what I put the blame on. Maybe Premorbid Cognitive Impairment, Inchie. I was utterly disgusted with myself. The idea of doing an order to cover three weeks seemed so clever at the time. All three came on the same day; Today! Understandably, people complain about my stupidity in doing the things I do. But I simply cannot help it; in a way, it is not me doing these and other daft & dangerous things. But I still do them. Now Morrison, then came Asda, and finally the Iceland deliveries! It hurts, frustrates and annoys me doing them. No particular depression, just self-loathing.
I’d prefer to not mention them again, please. Thanks.
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The new Warfarin INR blood results came in the post; that was quick. New doses confirmed.
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Carer Mirza visited. Checked LV house content problem, and I called Complex Warden Deana and asked Mirza to talk with her about the lower cost of NCC insurance. Not sure what happened. Just had a seizure while writing this. Memory Mangling Malcolm? Mirza fitted a new Catheter on the right leg this time.
He then took the laundry down to the laundrette. Then he mopped the kitchen floor for me.
Then went down to put the clothes in the dryer. Did the safety checks and hoovered up. Checked the drawers to see if the missing Codeine tablets were there, but no.
Then he went down to collect the laundry.
While he was out, more food arrived, and I was having difficulty getting all the canned food on the top shelf of the double cupboard.
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I got the shakes while reaching up to put the cans on the top shelf and knocked about eight of them off onto the floor! Some bounced of the hard-top counter, but one of 
them, a can of new potatoes, took the more direct route, via hitting my right shin, then to the floor.
At this point the self-cursing started, as Carer Mirza returned with the washing.
He cleaned up a 
scrape wound and put some Germolene and a plaster over it. Saved the day again. Mirza did another grand job of caring for me today.
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How did I take this photo with no camera?
Well, as soon as Mirza departed, Amazon delivered the camera. I can’t photograph it, but I’ll ask a Carer later to take one on his mobile and email it to me. Like any other childlike 81-year-old with a new toy, I decided to set up and use the new camera. As recommended by Carer Ejaz: “It would be a good idea to get the same model as before; otherwise you’ll get in a pickle with the new contraptions and workings of a different one” Very good suggestion, mate; a wise idea. Thanks!
So, after setting it up but entering the wrong date and not remembering how I set it in the first place, I gave up and got on with taking some sky-cloud shots.
Here is my first effort…
Almost square shape?
Nice views though
The trees are begging to look greener!
Caught the balconies on this one.
Then back to try and set a wider
view for the snaps.
I attempted to read the instructions…
Writing was too small
So to change, on the fly…
Aha, I cracked it…
Can you see the animal’s head?
General Degaul in this one?
The worms?
From the kitchen window, this one
A smug mode developed.
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I mentioned that I do some acts almost like a remote control, unthinkingly, and I told the Doctor at Haywood Hospital about this trait acquired months ago.
Well, me making this a great dollop come mound; this agglomeration, hodgepodge of a gigantic meal, is a perfect example of what can happen when something in my head tells me not to bother and to press on. Worrying.
It consisted of Mushroom pâté, chicken lumps, tomatoes, carrots, garden peas, soft cheese, curly fries, pork & pickle mini pies, cheese & onion bread, cooked beef, gherkins, and potatoes!
Needless to say, I could not eat it all, and must have binned two-thirds of it. I recall eating all of the mushroom pâté, the peas & carrots, the bread and the potatoes.
Then washed the dishes, etc., and moved on to an ice
cream cornet & lemon curd dessert?
Then put the TV on early to watch the Nottingham Forest match against Leeds Utd. (Sister Jane called to remind me it was on ITV). I stayed awake up to half-time, and the adverts came on. Zzz! Waking up in a seizure a couple of hours later, still TV on and the volume louder… Sorry, neighbours. I think going into a home might help me; I’m not coping well.
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Stuttering Stephany
Inchie Today: Monday, 24th August 2026
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06:20hrs: I was feeling the usual confusion, but no worse than it has been lately. That was a plus to start with. So no complaints about things yet. The arthritic neck, back and shoulder were all calm. A twinge or two from the toothache, but quite bearable, using the painkiller.
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I got out of bed and guessed at the colour of the product inside. Read the amount on the pouch label chart: a good dollop again. 1600ml. I’d had a lot of cramps overnight. Fingers, hands, and lower legs. Still alright now.
Emptied the pouch, bagged it in the yellow bin, cleaned 
my teeth and hobbled back to the living/bedroom, and turned on the computer. I had a brainwave from I know not where! I cleared things a bit around the bed, then made it! Yes, oh, yes. A snug mode was adopted; I took a photo of the table I’d moved temporarily onto the bed and took the photo here on the left. Another Mega-Smug Mode!
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As I dropped the table, I went over on the bed, catching my ribs on the frame.
The usual, but extended, session of cursing, swearing, and self-lambasting had its moments. I put the last of the bruise-ease ointment on the ribs.
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Carer arrived. Put some more cream on the chest. Issued the medications. Phorpained gel to both shoulders (the arthritis is spreading over to the left one now) and the oddly painful neck. The Doctor said it was arthritis, but I find the pain very different to the ankles, shoulders, back and knees affected. Sharper, and hurts when touched. Could it be something else? The gel has no relieving effect at all, and it stings when applied.
Not that it is too bad yet. Then I disturbed him on his mobile, asking him to make a mug of tea. He said, you didn’t ask! I said I just did. You know how we English love our tea and get bothered when we get a mug of light brown, unbrewed tea with a gallon of milk in it? Haha! I reminded him not to put too much milk in and to let it brew properly this time. Well, he made a darn good brew for me this morning, bless him.
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After he’d shot off, I got the computer on; eventually, anyway. It took a while, but I got there by switching things on and off, hoping for the best. And openened 
CorelDraw. Which, after slowly opening, promptly crashed. Again, the usual: I closed everything, and pressed reload and waited. And waited, but it would only get so far in loading, and it froze again. Turned everything 
off, and left it that way for 15 minutes or so, and had another go. I got the death screen up. So, being me, did all I could think of: all off again for half an hour. A prayer, hope, and crossed my fingers, and yet again restarted. Convinced I would lose my beloved computer, no anger this time, I felt sort of condemned and hopeless. Was it something I did with caught keys when I got the shakes?
It opened alright, but was I brave enough to open CorelDraw? Not at first, and it was gone by midday, with all the kerfuffling I’d done. Hours later, after using MS Word, WordPress, and Notepad’s word lists to make the Ode of the day, I needed to Doctor a graphic and put a photo in the Ode header. I was on a late-in-the-day roll now, and without thinking of what happened earlier, I opened CorelDraw. Dang, dang dang Dang! I realised what I’d done, and got ready for the Blue Screen of Death to appear! Positive that it would show up!
As of this moment in time (13:20hrs), I’ve not had a moment’s bother from CorelDraw! I’ll hold back from going into a Smug-Mode for now, though.
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Carer Andrew came. Carer Andrew left.
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I went to make a mug of tea, and Carer Mirza arrived. I was so glad to see him again; I’d almost forgotten what he looked like. (Sarcasm for them not sending him to serve me for so long) Not his fault. A Caring lad.
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Dropped the Kodak 1 camera. Now not working, broken, no longer usable! Heartbroken… again!
I decided to buy another one, which means using Amazon. I’m nervous about this. The number of times they have left parcels down in the main lobby, and someone has nicked them, puts fear in me. Cause I can’t get through to tell them. Complaints: click here. The list of options you can select from is not what you want, so you pick “My parcel has not been delivered. Then they show you a photo of it as it was delivered to the correct address. A snap of the parcel outside what was supposed to be my flat doorway, which had a different flat number on it. “
It took Carer Ejaz three weeks to get an acknowledgement, and a month to get me money back.
Now, I think, did I order it properly? Did I order the right one? I’ll check the site out later.
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The blood-taker arrived to take some haemoglobin for testing my Warfarin INR level.
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Deleted some things I put in Monday’s blog. It was pointed out that it was risky prosecution-wise.
I reckon I’m doing risky things when I’m in a deep depression. Or could it be the TBI and/or dementia being a part of it? Laura told me afterwards, after the assessment, that I struggled with many parts much worse than on the last assessment.
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I cleaned the narrow bits around the non-working cooker, using the thingamajig I got ages ago and could not find for ages. Sorted the bins into one bag. Then decided to have a wash & shave.
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ACCIFAUXPAS
I got into the wet room to find I’d left the hot tap running, yet again. Needless to say, but I will: 
. To make matters worse, I was on my way to the front door to go out and boost the power supply at the box when Carer Prem arrived. And I completely forgot about pressing the booster. Somehow, I felt I had done it. When Prem departed, tasks done, I went back to the wet room to get a wash and shave, teggies done, but no!
I realised I’d not boosted the British Gas meter.
WOT-A-PLONKER! So, B.O. alert put in place. Hehe
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Inchie Today: Saturday, 22nd August 2025 – With Memory Photos
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Another chronically wasted day. No shower, no laundry done, no reply yet from email ot the Carer Company about the financial situation, and on top of that, I was all over the place, losing things, deleting things, making errors galore; and all with a confused outlook. Sorry about the little moan again, but that’s how it went.
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I deleted the photographs taken on the camera after downloading them to the computer. Then later, deleted them from the file, thinking I had already put them on the blog. I shan’t tell you of how angry I got! Especially when I broke and dropped and shattered the glass biscuit barrel. The language I came out with surprised even me. Boy, did I get Angina after this. It is likely that I lost, misplaced, or couldn’t find umpteen things: dates, letters, my mobile phone, the TV remote control, even the walking stick once! Losing patience with me, I got me so wound up.
So, a sad block. Or even blog!
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Afternoon skies.
Still saw the beauty in them
A little later, after the Carer
Got me on my feet. (A tumble)
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In the evening, still not having made a start on this blog, I tried to calm down and make a concerted effort to begin working on Friday’s blog. Got the computer on. I just kept switching things off, back on and crossing my fingers.
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Yesterday…
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Not sure which year…
Dad & Brother Pete
Railway Houses, two up, two down
Brookfield Place, the Meadows
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Long time ago…
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Sister Jane, Hubby Pete 1974
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Jane & Inchie… 1950?
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Inchie: Wed 19th Aug 2026 Hopes go stagnant…
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An even more terrible day.
Amongst the, oh, so many things that harassed me, and those that piffed me off so much, especially those I was understanding, digesting and interpreting wrongly.
Making me feel a far greater… as Del might have called me: Plonker, than I was… he’d have been right.
The damaged brain box was not compatible with common sense, at all. I don’t know why I bothered saying that: It’s been like this and getting worse every day for weeks, but at a more rapid rate. Going to the Nuthouse Hospital on Friday to finish the assessment we started last Wednesday. The Carer ran out of time, and the kind lady set up another one. This time it is going to prove a more costly visit. The Easy Link & L9 buses have stopped trading altogether. I anticipate that, instead of the £3 charge each way, the taxis will likely cost me £40.
Bit of a tip for the whippersnappers here:
Sort your pension out (if you are working) and underestimate how much you will need. If you are a non-worker, don’t worry. You’ll be looked after. Better of than someone who has worked all his life and is on the breadline. Free transport, free Carer costs, rent, no Council tax, etc. On and on, all sorts of help.
Cause I am currently spending nearly £1,721 a week on needed Carers. Been told I need one every time I go out, due to my having a seizure and walking in front of a bus on Mansfield Road. Our wonderful NHS has told me that in future, if I have any trouble with Catheter blockages, I have to get a Taxi (last time it cost me £24.50) to the hospital A&E because it is a medical emergency and will be quicker than waiting for an ambulance.
No one saw me medically for four hours, well, 5 hours, adding the time getting there and waiting to be seen for my medical emergency. and the pressure from the bladder forced urine out through my penile fungal lesions, and I was soaked through. If you happen to have a Catheter fitted and are forced to do the same, take a few rolls of kitchen towels and some bog roll with you, cause they had neither in the toilets. You may lose your place in the queue too. I did when I hobbled to the toilet to clean myself up, and even then I was dribbling urine on the floor when I went back to be told, “Your name’s been called; you missed it; you’ll have to take a seat and wait again.” Yes, you’ll feel embarrassed, frustrated, uncared for, humiliated, angry and ready to give up.
So, best to have some uppers with you. Benzodiazepines, cannabis or opioids. If you are lucky enough to have crippling arthritis, or a blocked Catheter, get your quack to give you some Oxycodone; keep a stock for when you go to hospital in your late years, when you’re about 80. They work for me when I remember to take them with me, which has yet to happen since the one time I did, and when a keen-eyed Doctor took them off me.
(Only joking about that). Hehehe! I think. Failing that, if you take a tube of glue with you, it’s cheaper than fags and real drugs.
If you have mental and/or physical problems and no pension, fret not. We workers, now suffering for doing so, are being refused help because of the private work pensions we paid for over 59 years. Wearing down our mental and physical health, can supply part of our taxes paid to make sure you want for nothing.
Forget what I said!
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Well, another thing that got to me in the morning.
Further proof, if needed, of my abilities and memories 
getting increasingly worse…
I’m not sure how I managed this, but since I got such a late start on this blog this morning, I thought I’d start by getting the photos on file.
I started getting Thursday’s snaps on the file… and stupidly thought I’d already used Wednesday’s, and happily deleted them all!
Finding out when I got around to updating this one;
I could have dried,
Self-hatred intensified,
My few teeth gnarled,
My brain had glitched,
Calmness was not applied,
I even self-bepitied,
My self-respect box emptied,
Guilt, self-loathing emanated
Self-castigated, chastised,
I could have gladly died,
My little pride, attenuated!
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Not that this hasn’t happened before. It can happen when my memory stutters. I lose grip and drop things. I think of TSB Bank, British Gas, Virgin Media, FIFA, Putin, Trump, or any other Oligarch… fiddler, mugger, flimflammer, mountebank, chiseller, illywhacker, or terrorist.
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Inchie: Tuesday 18th Aug 2026
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AN IOTA OF HUMOUR
Waking up, I felt a bit better, if not my best,
Jumped out of bed and thumped my chest.
Did some press-ups, 200 at least…
Back somersaults, a hundred squats,
To the balcony, for an hour’s hopscotch.
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Tue 18th Aug 2026
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To-dos for tomorrow. Tomorrow… the worst day of the year. Not sure if there will be a blog. Embarrassed!
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Cooler today
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Potatoes boiled with Soy sauce.
Rating: 8.2/10
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Inchie: Monday’s Bank-Begging Report. I lost
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A 2015 photo of when I could, & did, get out.
Reminded of when the UK got far too much rain.
Not now though, sad innit.
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MONDAY 15th AUGUST 2026
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THE BANK FARCE – Truncated
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I did not cope well. I am not coping well.
Lousy, Wank… no Bank meeting; not fully understood.
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With the L9 and Community Easy Link bus company closing down, taxis were my only option. The Carer Company had not confirmed if a Carer I cannot afford was coming with me. Phoned them. Yes.
Caught the bus in the City Centre with Carer Ejaz; we were going to catch the Clifton bus to avoid taxi fares. He said he’d found a TSB Bank in Victoria Centre on Google Maps. So we searched for the bank in Victoria Centre. I asked a Victoria staff member; it was at the far end of the complex. I walked to it, found it, and discovered it was seating and advertising. No bank. By then it was too late to catch a bus, so we went out and caught a taxi. The £18.50 outward trip ended with me hitting my head on the roof and all but falling off as I got out. Ejaz saved me. Bless him!
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Paid the fare, walked over to the TSB bank, and to the end sign-in table. I was glared at and looked down on by the young gentleman sitting there. No smile, a distinctly snotty talking style, and instant hatred brewed.
After 10 minutes, he said; We’ll have to put you in a room for further questioning. He waved from the counter with his left hand as he commanded we take a seat. As we turned, I saw ‘Orange.’ I turned back and asked him, “Were you trying to scare me then? Threatening me just then? It didn’t work. Do you want me to show you how to scare someone?” It’ll be my pleasure! No response.
A young snotbag came to take me in for our “Interview”; she instantly reminded me of pictures of Eva Braun.
After endless questioning, I was getting more and more
confused as to why they did not want, indeed, refused to transfer the money I wanted from one account to my other. Constantly calling a Führer higher up in the bank’s oligarchic ranks. We need positive ID to go any further. You only have a bus pass, not good enough.
They allowed me less than the minimum I needed.
I got less than a 1/3rd. And the trip home cost even more, £ 19 or £20-something. Did I mind? Better not say. Especially now (Tuesday), when WP informed us of a (mysterious) spike in viewing numbers.
The Police? The Bank? Fraud Squad?
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We got back. We had to cut things a smidge short, cause Ejaz had to get to his next client. Same as at the Hospital, and that is on for next Friday again. (I think) And it will not we £6 both ways like last week, more like £44 both ways; now the EasyLink disabled people’s bus service has been closed down. We were children; now 80-year-olds are losing out all the way. Cheap transport gone. Going into the City or QMC NHS hospitals is a nightmare. So scary, as the staff have had enough. Especially in the A&E and Geriatric wards.
Lost track again there, Tsk!
Ejaz got me back to the flat and had to rush off.
I couldn’t find the note with the details Eva Braun provided at the Oligarchic Bank on how to access the TSB site. I’ll have a good search around in the morning.
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Despite the pains and particularly the one from my head-butting it and my knee on the ledge getting out of the taxi, and the cost of it all and having now less than £1000 in my account, and not knowing or even being able to know, how to check to see if the pittance they granted to move for me… An unexpected, unreasoned small visit 
from High Horis, a short, but gloriously ‘Sod-em-all’ worry-free half-hour or so, of bliss.
Until I realised that I’d put far too much curry powder in the poor imitation curry I’d made. So another might of eating crisps followed by ice cream!
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It is now 2000hrs, on Tuesday. A very busy day again.
Here are the snaps I took
Begged the Carer to replace the day Catheter bag for days and days now. Blimey, he did it last night!
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That’s all there is. Tsk!
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Inchie Today Sunday16th August 2026
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I lay in my high-class oligarch’s bed for ages after recovering from the horrible night’s sleep. Or rather, lack of sleep. My mind was stewing over so many worries and tasks that I had to get done today & tomorrow. The fear of certain carers being due, and missing Ejaz and Mirza, accompanied by 
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, and the odd twangs of pain from Neck-Pain-Nigel and 
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I was a shadow of myself. Gloomy, depressed, and frustrated. I knew I had to get up; it was still early in the day, and I was sure I would have to get up soon to visit the 
. As I gently twitched parts of my 
body to test, feeling out which ailment would be master over me today, I was amazed when I moved and caught sight of the nocturnal Catheter pouch on the floor. (It’s got a very long tube – it was Anne Gyna, by the way) I was more surprised than the other morning. How the 
pouch hadn’t split, I don’t know. 18,500ml! This helped me break the deep depressive thoughts I had.
I confirmed the reading on the bag, and the rear-end evacuation was coming on, so I hobbled to the wet room. It was a mass of long-winded farts for about two or three minutes. Constipation in control again, and just like the last two mornings, a good few splurts from Trotsky Terence as follow-up. Then a comical, the perfect word for it, too!
Not at the time, but later, I saw the humorous side of it. I seem to get these funny things happening to me at any time, but mostly within ten minutes of getting up?
It wasn’t me having them; I think I might doubt the veracity of my own writing.
Popeye had his spinach, Schwarzenegger had his muscles, Elvis had his hips, Hitler had Europe, for a short while. What do I get? Whoopsiedangleplops, Accifauxpas, PN, Angina, Cataracts, a TBI, Scary Carers, a wank Bank (TSB) that will not let me move my own money around and talks down to me on the phone. Duodenal Ulcer, got shot twice, had a stroke, went partially deaf at 40 years old, Carers who do not turn up but I still get charged full whack, and seem determined not to communicate with me. They are very good at that. Arthritis, Cramps, and depression, like… well, very deep lately. But this has been written wittily to try and bring some smiles around.
Cause really, I’d be lost without the greatest supporter, Jenny. She is not very well at the moment. I try not to ring or email her while she is so poorly. My Angel, she is.
So I must tell you the tale; that is true. I am not moaning. Flipping heck, I’ve not said about the tumble in the toilet yet. So here it is, every aspect, honestly spoken… Well, written. Hehehe!
Please wish Jenny the best. 🤞🏻💗🫶🏻
I’d just cleaned up after the evacuation and flushed the loo. Decided to have a wash & shave. I reached for the toothpaste, and as I did, my famous right side wobbled- shoulder, leg and foot – and this time it had me over. I leant towards the porcelain to grab the WC, missed it, and my shaking right arm went in the WC’s water up to its 
elbow! I hit my chin and kneecap. The second Carer, the nice one, took this snap of it for me. It looked far worse than it was. On the plus side, at least I’d cleaned up the mess from Trotsky’s follow-through before I plunged my arm into the pan. Haha!
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Pleased to report that now the toenails have had £35 worth of cropping, I’ve been walking much less painfuller. I’ve clouted my chin and bruised the right knee, though. I mustn’t complain. I’m not sure why.
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BP was high. Carer looked at my chin, said nothing, and did nothing about it. Carer Prem washed it and put some ointment on it and a plaster. Phorpained my shoulder, back, Coccyx, and privates. He made three visits today. A nice, non-pushy Carer who listens.
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I found a source of solace in working on the computer today. Fair enough; it was a day of mistakes and faults, and a memory-mangling day, too. Without much doubt, I did have my thinking cap on. I thought that if I delved deeply into the record-keeping, blog, etc. I would not start panicking about the trip to the Titx TSB bank tomorrow. I’m sure it worked for a few hours. But it all came flooding back. Then I could not concentrate when I started updating the blog.
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I’ve got no idea if a lift has been arranged, and with the L9 bus and the Easy-Lift buses both stopping work, I’ll have to go by taxi. That is, if a Carer turns up to go with me. The bank insists that I take a Carer; if one doesn’t turn up, I’m in a mess. If one does turn up, the taxi fare will break me. And will so please the bank. It’s the aforementioned lack of communication that gets to me most. Now I’m a bag of nerves. Can’t get dressed on my own. Or the walker, sort the timings out, ordering taxis, Humph!
The kitchen really needs cleaning. The Catheter bag has not been changed for over a month. I need to phone the Post Office; I had an email saying they are delivering my parcel tomorrow! Can I stop them in time?
Lots more happened today, but I’m going to have to stop. I’ve got to phone British Gas about their non-arrival! Call the Social Lady about the money situation. I am a nervous wreck. Ball of anxiety. Frazzled, Anxious, jittery, edgy, tensed up, a worrywart, a hand-wringer, a basket case, disconcerted, emotional cripple, fretful, overwrought, distraught, self-conscious, in a discountenanced, in a dither, distracted, a neurotic, a fussbudget.
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LATE NIGHT NOSH
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Inchy Today: Saturday 15th August 2026
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SATURDAY 15th AUGUST 2026
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I WOKE WITH THE MISERY OF YESTERDAY
STILL RAMBLING THROUGH MY MIND.
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04:45: I stirred. Mused, remembered, moaned, complained, self-lambasted, and decided all was lost; thus, I accepted the hopeless situation.
Nowt can be done, thanks to my haughtily non-communicative inept, antisocial, oligarchal, customer-hating, vilifying, snotty, TSB Bank’s refusal to transfer my own money from one account to another. And the consequences of this unfair, typical bank-like decision.
I also pondered whether I should demand all my money on Monday and put it in another bank or building society. After trying to convince the snotty, superior-sounding, bad decision-making, uncaring, customer-hating customer service staff… I stopped myself from daydreaming. Maybe I was a little bête noire in my thoughts and apprehension of the problem?
Should I go in on Monday with the expensive Carer, by costly taxi, to speak with them; Put on a smile, and act super-pleasant with them?
Even have a wash before I go? Practice in the mirror how to put on a smile without showing the five-tooth gap at the front of my mouth? Try to charm them into giving me my own money? I’ve put my truncheon in the three-wheeled walker, just in case.
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Off to the WC, an appalling session this one was. About six chunky, hard, thick, separate greenish-coloured chunks were evacuated, immediately followed by a long, semi-liquid flow of what looked like Chilli con Carne, which was the same colour as Chilli.
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I started working on the blog, finishing and new template, and the Carer arrived. Ejaz: 1 call; Mirza: 0 this week. It was Carer (no listening because I’m on my phone), Edward. On his usual form. Left medication where he used it, not back on the medication table. I asked him to return the pill pot from the computer desk. Other Carers had to search to find them. Then, when he’d shot off, I found the barrier cream in the same place. Times & Carers like this make me lean toward finishing with help altogether. However, it would be risky. But the value of Mizra & Ejaz is much-needed and irreplaceable, as is my money – I’m simply spending a lot more than I have coming in. I heard not a word from the financial institution that the Social Lady signed me up for. I think I know why. She explained that they would aim to make sure I have money over the total of the bills and would give me cash to spend. That total means I have to go out and mug someone or rob a bank to get my cash.
There’s a thought… a TSB bank maybe?
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Inchie: Thu/Fri 13th/14th August 2026
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THURSDAY 13th AUGUST 2O26
NOT VERY GOOD TODAY
Mentally struggling, and my Coccyx is bleeding.
Bit of a curt, catching-up job, Friday AM. Sorry.
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Passed well last night?
Condiment shelf
Morning shots
Taken by the Carer
Afternoon, by Inchie
Carers organised desk
Evening snap
Blue cheese sarnies,
Sliced potatoes, Tiriyani’s,
Some sweet fish sticks,
Topless Pork Pies,
With on-top pickles.
In the morning I got the s_ _ts,
One giant torpedo, concretish!
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FRIDAY 14th AUGUST
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The most frustrating one for years!
Although it started with actual hope in my heart.
I am in low spirits. So another below-grade, humourless blog is in the offing. I’ll do my best. Doom & Gloom!
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0650: I woke and got the night Catheter bag removed; I actually felt a smidge perky. (Hahahaha! I didn’t know what was coming then!)
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I waddled off to the wet room to get a wash, shave, clean the teggies and, as seems to be the pattern lately, a session on the Porcelain Throne first. It took me even longer than yesterday. The thick, broad, single green-looking torpedo edged its way out. But it took a lot of pain and effort on my part to encourage it.
I imagine it must have been a full ten minutes before it fell into the water below. Oddly enough, the Coccyx was bleeding but not the haemorrhoids.
I set about getting the teeth cleaned. A simple task, you’d think? Not for Inchie, oh, no. I dropped the toothbrush, which hit the edge of the sink and dived almost gracefully into the centre of the WC bowl. I recovered it and left it soaking in a basin to sterilise it. I used an old one and carried on. The old brush was a lot harder than the new one. I was spitting out blood all the time while cleaning the teeth. To my surprise, I’d broken more bits of off a few teeth again. The gap in the top row is so much wider; the top of a water bottle stuck itself between the two teggies left at the front of the mouth later in the day. The lower two teeth around that gap was so loose I think I’ll lose one of them in the day. (I didn’t, though, yet)
I washed, then shaved with only one teeny-weeny cut,
I washed, dried, and applied Barrier cream to each area in need that I could find. Privates, belly-fold ones at the front, and under my man-breasts. On the last tube now, but I think Carer Mirza has ordered some.
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I got some potatoes in the crock-pot. The uninterested Carer arrived while I was finishing off and asked me to pass him a protection pad. No offer of any help in getting them on. He put the Barrier cream on but missed the Coccyx; no blood this morning. I had to remind him as he got on his mobile again. I took just one Oxycodone painkiller. Then put the Barrier cream he’d left near the computer and the skin cleanser he’d left where he was sitting, in my 1963-built, falling-to-pieces Hopewell’s E-Plan Sideboard, with the doors falling off. I asked him to order some night Catheter bags on his next visit.
No answer. He didn’t, of course.
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Today the toe-cutting lady is arriving in the afternoon. So I got out the £35, ready to pay her. I sorted a drawer out and made a tentative start on the daily doggerel.
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Thank heavens it was Ejaz who came to do the long call.
Ejaz did a body check and told me the Coccyx was clear of blood. Issued the medication. We spoke of the British Gas problem, and he asked how Jenny was.
He decided to call the bank early on. To transfer money from my savings account into my current account.
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THIS TURNED OUT TO BE A FARCE!
I) First call: The usual AI voice: “We are very busy, please be patient…” with some piffle added and repeated over the ten minutes we waited.
2) Then the inquisition started. I was expecting them to ask how many spots I’ve got on my bum! Ejaz kept cool, and persisted and was eventually put through to someone else. A full-of-himself, smarmy-speaking snotbag answered the call. Ejaz was repeating what the lady had asked earlier. The line went dead!
Ejaz kept his composure and rang back again.
Me? I was all churned up inside, Livid, shaking, and I thought I had a short seizure while Ejaz waited for the call to be answered. The acid taste pulled me out-of-it. I was not in a good place.
3) Ejaz went through the ID checks again. The poor lad was near the end of his visit time. He persisted. That lady spoke with me and asked if anyone could vouch for me. That got to me deeply, because I hadn’t!
The lady then transferred the call to someone else.
4) Another long wait to get through; AI messages got to Ejaz a bit. The whole incident had done me in.
5) The snotty-voiced one came on again. I’m looking forward to seeing him when we go to the bank on Monday. Ejaz was getting worried about the time.
I was handed the phone and asked him why he was refusing to move my own money between my own bank accounts. Security: cannot and will not do it unless you tell me why and call the bank. No appointment needed, just turn up, can’t you? That got me over the edge.
Why? Because I have to have Carers, and they cost me about £485 a week. So, £1700+ a month. My pensions are well short of that figure. That is why my bank account has suddenly gone from £18,000 to £3,000 since having the Carers… he just repeated his refusal and demand that I call the bank. “Me: Taxis will cost me £60, Carer will cost me a fortune, so I could run out of money for minor things like paying my rent, buying food, paying the dentist, optician, audio, Internet, Virgin, rates, Norton, Grammarly, window cleaners, toenail-cutter, or even the taxis that I’ve been told to use when the Catheter blocks to the hospital, & cost of the Carers rescort duties, and the £760 montly bill the them. But I don’t suppose you could give a toss!”
I got no response, of course.
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During the losing battle against the oligarchic, uncaring TSB Bank, which took so much longer to lose than I expected.
Here was Ejaz and me; me being naked but for the protection nappy and the Catheter Contraption, and in came the toenail cutter gal. So, in the middle of Ejaz being cut off on the phone by the objectionable antisocial and gerontophobic scum at the TSB Bank. Another person gets my banking details. Every Carer has them, the Warden has them, the NNC Social has them. And the repugnant TSB still won’t let me have my own money! ?!&🏴☠️#ers!
I could write a book! A biography, and give it the title of ‘Embarrassing Moments’.
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Toenails clipped at last, for only £35, for a five-minute job. Taking this snap of my feet, I noticed that my legs were still so far reduced in swelling that they looked seriously skinny; the left one. Some new blotches were appearing on both legs, and the feet were down enough for me to get the slippers on, with help.
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Late night before I got the day’s meal prepped & on the tray. Stilton cheese, pickled onions, the last of the pickle-topped pies, gherkins and sliced potatoes.
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Inchie Visits The Madhouse: Wed 12 Aug 2026
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WEDNESDAY 12th AUGUST 2026
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Pouch to pot, Porcelain Throne. Comp pn, update checks. Took ages to get it to reload; no idea what I was doing.
Carer Ejaz was a great help this morning. A good lad.
Prepped things for hospital visit. Mirza escorted me, although I said I’d go alone to save money. Glad he did, really. Painful drive there, pleasant assessment, lovely Laurie. Mirza contributed with things I’d forgotten about during the Q&A sessions.
The lift home was even more painful. The trouble being my bus trip yesterday, and the two today, played havok with my bruised coccyx.
Got back to the flat; Mirza helped me up, and had to shoot off to his next client. A great lad, Mirza is.
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Took some snaps…
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Prepped a meal of the day and got the computer on, but did nothing. Matron arrived, and we had a Q&A session. I mentioned the coccyx being so sore. And Matron took a 
look at that and my bum. Said the coccyx was really sore-looking, and she applied some barrier cream to it. Leaving a note on the packet for the Carers to see, who, in the morning, didn’t even notice the writing on the outer box of barrier cream.
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I started to update the well-behind blog from the day before. But fatigue took hold, and I decided to get the meal of the day done. That turned out to be a bit farcical. 🥱
Amongst the dropped items that had to be retrieved, thrown away and/or cleaned were: The cock-pot, a spoon, a spreading knife, and a sharp knife and the fork
(three times!) To round these off, after taking this poor-quality snap of the trayed meal, I dropped that, then the walking stick, and hit my head on the counter edge, automatically bending to salvage some of the food!
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Once I’d regathered the slop of a mixture back onto the
tray, I had to clean the floor so I didn’t slip on it; the nosh was all cold and messy; the urge & hunger for it left me. Ended up all depressed, and had some cheese biscuits, crisps, fish sticks and an ice cream cornet.
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