.. KITE WE FLY,
HOME ON A BREEZE WE BLOW

Actually, substitute “ambulance” for “kite” and the rest would fit quite nicely because right now I’m sitting on my comfy chair at my own desk in my little apartment having had the quickest drive home that I have ever had.

The hospital rang the taxi company to tell them that I could go home and could they have a car here for 11:00? The taxi company replied “could he wait until about 14:00?”.

With the new Social Security regulations about combining trips wherever possible now in force, that told me one of two things – either that there was a vehicle already on its way to Paris, having just set out, with a passenger for Paris, or else there was someone else who needed to come home a little later than me.

Not that I am complaining of course. As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … it’s a free service for me in view of my terminal illness and France is, as far as I am aware, the only country in the World that offers it. So who am I to complain or argue about anything?

It gave me an opportunity to catch up with my work, because it had been a very slow start to the day. That’s not surprising because it was after 23:30 when I finally made it into bed. And once there, although I fell asleep quite quickly, this was one of the noisiest nights that I have had and it seemed as if I’d hardly had a wink of sleep.

Round about 05:30 I gave up trying and I began to work.

First thing that I did was to review the dictaphone to see if there was anything on it. And to my surprise, I must either have had much more sleep than I thought or each one of the different personalities living inside me must have gone off on separate trips. I’d been out with my friend from Newport and the first thing that I noticed at the bottom of the door and the door frame were covered in some kind of white material like flour and there was a wooden batten nailed to the side of the door frame. When I leaned on the front door it opened wide and I fell in. It looked completely different inside and I couldn’t understand what happened. I went into the bedroom and one of the cupboards with the clothes in was missing. I suddenly realised that we’d been burgled. I had a good look round the apartment and noticed that all the guitars had gone. All my camera equipment had gone, everything like that, and my clothes, the television, the hi-fi. I went outside to call the police. I was standing by the bus stop outside and dialled 511 but I ended up with the police from the UK for some reason. The policemen to whom I was speaking on the ‘phone knew me and made some kind of remarks. I hung up and tried to dial 911 but for some reason my ‘phone wouldn’t give the number. It didn’t matter how I pressed the keys on the keypad the number 911 wouldn’t come up. Then another policeman walked over to me and made some kind of remark about how if he were me, he would be very careful about doing certain things and saying certain things. I wondered what was the matter with him but I just couldn’t persuade my ‘phone to come up with the number 911.

The apartment was not the same as my current one or my future one and the bus stop was a totally different one. It was in the countryside near some hills etc where I’d been for a walk in the past with Liz.

When I move downstairs, my apartment’s front door will be right by the front door of the building at the foot of the stairs. My door will be locked at all times but nevertheless if anyone leaves the front door open and anyone undesirable comes in, or we have any undesirable guests in one of the apartments that is let to holidaymakers, my apartment would be the first target. And it’s strange that I’m having a panic attack about the ‘phone not working. Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that it’s usually the camera that is giving me these kinds of problems.

And then we (whoever “we” were) were doing something with a drama. I can’t remember exactly what now. We ended up outside the house in Shavington with this Morris 1000 Traveller. We had to unload some musical gear from it and take it into the house. There was a guy who had been with us. He was the father of some friend or someone like that. We were talking about different music as we were emptying this thing. He replied “oh yes, that’s what they call ‘kitchen music’ “. I said “ohh look! Here’s someone trying to teach his grandfather to suck eggs here”, thinking that we as musicians would all know that, so he smiled. I began to tell the story about why it was called “kitchen music” but everyone wandered away after a few seconds and left me on my own so I carried on unloading this Traveller. Then we ended up in some recording studio where we’d been recording a radio programme. It was concerning what we’d mentioned as “kitchen music”. I was ushering everyone off the stage at the end. A piece of ordinary, banal music appeared as the background sound for the credits. I suddenly had this really good idea. I went and fetched a guitarist whom I knew and he played this lovely rock lead guitar solo over this banal music and it sounded really good and with that I decided that we would use as the introduction to the programme and the background music for the credits at the end.

We (that is, Nerina and I) nearly had a Morris Traveller once. Someone advertised one for sale that “needed welding” and Nerina fancied it so we went to look at it. The “needed welding” was that the rear spring hanger had sheared off the chassis and come through the floor at the back. It was certainly possible to weld it up but it would have taken a lot of effort. I’m not sure now what the circumstances were that led to it not being added to our fleet. With a BMC 1.5 diesel engine, MG Midget discs and rear brakes, uprated front and rear springs, we could have had a very useful vehicle that would certainly have kept up with modern traffic.

As for mocking the current trend in music, I have to be very careful when passing comment otherwise I’ll find myself turning into my father whenever he heard mine. As for the guitar solos, there are many, many banal, mundane pieces of music that have been utterly transformed by the addition of a lead guitar solo. Just listen to some early “Santana” stuff like NO-ONE TO DEPEND ON and take away the guitars of Carlos Santana and 16-year-old Neal Schon.

Later on I was in a hospital. One of my friends, a girl, was pushing me in a wheelchair. We were trying to find a doctor, a specific doctor for some reason or other. We wandered around – it was a morning and everyone was coming on shift but we couldn’t see the doctor whom we wanted so she went and made a couple of enquiries. In the end she managed to find a name and I recognised the name. When she came back and said the name I replied “he’ll be over there in that café on the far side. That’s where he is usually with a group of other people whom I knew who preferred the smaller café to the big one. Just as she was about to set off, Nerina came out of another doorway into the café. I said “hello” to her. This girl pushed me in the wheelchair around to the far side. The doctor wasn’t there but his senior nurse was, a young girl. We asked her to step outside, which she did, and my friend began to discuss the case with her. I looked in and there were only two other people in this smaller café and they were people whom I knew too. When the girl had finished explaining to the senior nurse I said “if you go over to the far side there and tell my ex-wife that you are going to perform the operation on me, she’ll probably slip you €100 to make sure that you forget to turn on the gas on or something”.

Seeing as we are talking about the ex-wife … "well, one of us is" – ed … everyone knows that X is the Latin for “ten”. But there’s an interesting story about a wheelchair that you will find out if you have the stomach to read any more about this. And “forget to turn on the gas” – knowing my family it would be to have a small accident whilst wielding a scalpel or a circular saw.

Finally, I stepped back into that dream later on. It was raining and we were round the Civic Centre. The girl pushing me in the wheelchair went into an office and came out. She telephoned our Head Office to explain that the gentleman we wanted to see wasn’t in work this week and had not left a forwarding address so we couldn’t contact hm anyway. The arrangement was then that we’d go back to my house to await the arrival of the stuff from Parcelforce or whatever company it is that is delivering and then come back down here to unload what we didn’t need and take away whatever else there was, and then head away. Just at that moment, out of the library came the guy and the girl for whom we were waiting in the previous dream, the doctor. We explained that we were going back to my house to await delivery and we’d be back later on. She also asked for his name so that she knew for which person to ask when we came back, rather than looking idly around the place for a person whom we recognised.
This brings back memories of being pushed around in a wheelchair in several hospitals looking for the correct ward, or unit, or place to go

In the bathroom having my usual scrub, the young Asian nurse came in and asked to take my blood pressure and temperature. She asked me if I needed any help washing myself but you’ll be so proud of me – I retrained myself. However, I did point to my feet which, not having had any care and attention for almost a week, were looking quite bad. She had things to do just then but ten minutes later she came back and washed them

Breakfast this morning included a yoghurt but apart from that, it was quite nice and then, while I was trying to work, I had an endless stream of visitors, especially my Romanian stagière doctor, a different one from last time.

But with an Asiatic nurse, another Romanian stagière doctor, British racism and xenophobia is driving away many people who want to come to bring their talents to the UK. The NHS is suffering and countries like France are profiting.

So they told me about the taxi. But its late arrival did not concern me. I had plenty to do, such as answering stupid questions put by another therapist.

Lunch was a yoghurt, and some fish, neither of which I could eat. I just had the potatoes in sauce, polenta and courgettes

after that I packed my bags and I wasn’t quite ready when I had the first of two ‘phone calls from the ambulance drivers wanting to know whereabouts were of the building where I was.

Eventually they found be, helped me pack and we set off -at least one of the drivers and I did. The other had to wait for the paperwork. I was supposed to leave at 11:00 but God knows what might have happened then because the paperwork wasn’t ready. The poor driver had to wait an hour for the papers to be ready.

It was a good guess about the ambulance earlier. They had indeed brought a patient up to Paris – hence the ambulance coming for me -and had me as a return trip.

It was a struggle for me to climb into the ambulance but I managed it and when the other driver joined us, we shot off through the streets of Paris. They were quite quiet, with many people doing the Pont – taking a day off to bridge the gap of Thursday and the weekend.

It was the fastest drive that I’ve ever had – three hours and forty-five minutes, and that included a ten-minute stop. There were no hold-ups on the prif for a change, with half of the population of Paris being in Granville right now. T won’t ever be that quick until August when everyone goes off on holiday.

The coffee machine where we stopped said “cards only” but when my driver looked, he saw that it also read “card reader not working” so I had to go without. That was sad.

Back here, my faithful cleaner was waiting for me and she helped me upstairs. And I needed it too after being a week in hospital. I only did one of the flights. I took the lift from the first half-landing up to the next one and waled down to my apartment. And wasn’t it nice to be in my own place?

Checking through the papers I found that I had been prescribed a wheelchair. I remember talking to the Romanian doctor who said that I ought to be in a wheelchair because of “those steps”, but how she expects a wheelchair to go up 25 high chairs I really don’t know.

Tea tonight was salad, chips and the last of those mini-vegan nuggets followed by chocolate cake and soya dessert.

So right now, I’m whacked so I’m off to my own nice, comfortable bed.

But seeing as we have been talking about parents … "well, one of us has" – ed … I remember my youngest sister once telling off her two kids, ranting at them, and suddenly stopping mid-word
"Ohh God!" She exclaimed. "I’m turning into my mother!"

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… other day that I never ever wanted to go through the pain that I suffered on Tuesday when I had that muscular biopsy.

And so this morning, trying to put on my compression socks I put my hand onto the wound, didn’t I? And then later on, when I tried to put on my shoes at the dialysis centre … well …

Anyway, enough of that. Retournons à nos moutons as they say around here.

Last night I was in bed at about 23:30, totally flaked out, and I went straight to sleep. Not for long though, and when the nurse came in at 06:00 to fit my anaesthetic patches I was already wide-awake thinking about leaving my stinking pit. I’d actually been awake for some considerable time.

It wasn’t long after she left that they came in with my breakfast. For a change, everything on the tray was something that I could eat. And the coffee was wonderful.

They had told me that a porter would come to fetch me at 07:30 for my dialysis so I went into the bathroom at about 07:10 to do what one has to do. Sure enough, two minutes later the porter turned up.

That was rather a shame, for he had to hang around for a few minutes while I finished.

He pushed me in a wheelchair downstairs to one of these electric vehicles that they have, and then he drove me round to the dialysis centre.

What I experienced there made me glad that I am usually dealt with in Avranches. Here in the hospital, although it was a comparatively modern building, it was old, quarry tiled, no ticket printout on the weighing machine, no television for the patients etc. It really was rather sad.

The nurses were nowhere near as pretty as those in Avranches, although the one who saw to me was friendly enough. But they had no echograph machine to find the connection under the skin so it really was like playing darts on your body. I’m not sure how many goes she had to find the bullseye. At least she managed to miss treble nineteen.

Luckily I had taken my laptop so I had plenty of things to do seeing as there were no pretty nurses to admire.

One good thing about it all was that for the coffee break, they proposed an orange drink as well seeing as I can’t eat their cake. And the orange juice was one of these protein drinks, lactose free too. I shall have to make further enquiries about this drink.

After they unplugged me, the driver took me back to my little room just in time for lunch. The vegan meal consisted of a salad niçoise (that’s a tuna salad) and fish. Of course, tomorrow is Friday and in a Catholic country, even though it has been officially laic for well over one hundred years, we know what that means.
"IT’S FISH EVERY FRIDAY, IT’S FISH TWO FOOT WIDE
IT COVERS UP YOUR PLATE AND HANGS OVER THE SIDE"I

After the first day of non-vegan meals served to someone on a vegan diet with a recorded allergy to animal fats, I wrote to the complaints department of the Hospital. As yet they have not replied so I sent them another one about the meal today.

This afternoon, it was just like yesterday afternoon. A huge wave of fatigue came over me and after trying to fight it off for quite a while I was overwhelmed.

When a nurse came in to see me, I asked her what they were giving me to make me go like that. "Nothing that’s not recorded on your prescription" she replied.

And I’m not even having that because the tablets that she brought me for my afternoon snack were one short, and I’ve not had even one of my disgusting drinks.

The laptop sliding off my knees caused a sudden rush of adrenalin that awoke me, so I buttonholed a passing Auxi who brought me a coffee which was nice of her.

Back in the land of the living, I could make a start on the dictaphone notes. I was with a girl from school. I thought that it was a certain girl but it didn’t look like her. We’d been doing a lot of things together and we’d spent the Sunday doing things and we’d seen each other for a few weeks after that. Then I became time to take her home. I said that I’d take her home but if she wanted, she could stay the night. After thinking for a minute she agreed to stay. I promised that I wouldn’t do anything silly – she could stay fully-clothed and I would stay fully-clothed but it would be nice just to spend the night together. She agreed to that so I began to prepare things. There was a problem with the house in which we were living and some other smaller women there, whom I recognised as being my sister, was involved in sorting out these problems. This went on and on and on and on. In the end the other girl came to me to apologise, saying that she had had second thoughts and wanted to change her mind. She’ll stay the night here, she said, “but I don’t want to share a room or bed with you because if I do, we’ll be sharing a bed with each other every time we meet up and I don’t think that I’m ready to do that. Of course I was disappointed but I could understand so we agreed that she’d stay in another part of the house somewhere and we’d meet up for breakfast. By this time, the searches were going on in this room for whatever this problem was. There were all kinds of people in thee and I couldn’t go to bed because of it. Whatever it was, my sister was looking at this girl who might have been the one with me. She expected to hear that the girl was spending the night with me. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that she wasn’t. She came out with some kind of talk about how she would spend the night with me sometime but she had to tell him and sort things out with him, all this kind of thing. I wondered who “him” was because I was convinced that she didn’t have another boyfriend somewhere but this long speech implied that there was someone else to whom she needed to talk first. Then this enquiry into what was happening with this business went on and on and on and they’d moved down the street to somewhere else and there was no way on this earth where I could find a bag of chips now because all the shops were now closed or closed down ready for demolition so we didn’t last very very long in that route (…fell asleep here …) but we did alright as a sort-of couple I suppose.

There is actually a story about going to bed fully clothed with a fully-clothed girl, but the World isn’t ready to hear it at the moment. As for the girl in the dream, a name was mentioned but it certainly wasn’t her. The girl with the name had a mass of black hair but the one in the dream was smaller and had light brown or dark blond hair, very fine and only shoulder-length. I have a feeling that I might know who she is, but I just can’t remember. However, despite their best efforts to throw a spanner into the works, my family managed to avoid disrupting my evil schemes. The girl must have seen them for herself and come quickly to her senses.

Later on, there had been some huge conflict between my youngest sister and someone or other – some guy. I was out and about on my travels walking around and I came across a friend at his house who was going to a party that night to which I’d been invited too, and a few others. He was outside trying to deal with a huge snowfall that had covered his car and covered his drive. He was trying to sort it out so that he could make things ready for him to come tonight so I went to lend him a hand. Another one of our friends was there. I’d had a long talk with this other friend at some point in the recent past. The three of us ended up chatting. Something came up in the conversation that this third guy had said. The first guy asked him “from where did you receive that information?”. The third guy pointed to me, saying “we were talking about that and in the end Eric mentioned it”. We carried on and something else that came up – the first guy wanted to know where the third guy had learned that. The third guy said “oh, Eric had mentioned it”. The first guy said “well, Eric is doing a lot, isn’t he at the moment?”. We set about to try to shovel the snow while the conversation went on, saying “it’s going to be hell tonight. This lot is going to freeze and it will be a nightmare”. Someone mentioned that the guy with whom my sister had had an argument was going to see her. I thought that I’d better go there as well. So I went, and she was in hospital, in her little bed. She had all her stuffed toys around her, and STRAWBERRY MOOSE was there too. I sat him up properly at the side of her bed and made sure that she was comfortable. Then I saw this guy come into the ward and walk down towards her bed. At that moment a nurse came in and awoke me to fit my anaesthetic patches.

The snowfall in this dream was a snowfall of Montrealesque proportions. It reminded me of my epic trip along the North Shore of the St Lawrence that I DID IN THE WINTER OF 2001/2002

And how often does His Nibs appear in my dreams? In the old days when I used to be able to travel, he was my constant companion and was the first moose to set hoof on Ellesmere Island, Philpot’s Island, the Brother John Glacier and the Greenland Icecap. But my youngest sister seems to be back in my dreams again. As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … it’s rather depressing that my family keep on sticking their noses into my dreams and I can’t seem to summon up any of my young ladies, apart from that flying visit from Zero the other night.

Once I’d finished my notes I had a quick chat with my faithful cleaner on the internet and carried on with my hunt for films of Launder and Gilliatt to download. I was in luck because I found two classics – ROME EXPRESS starring my hero Gordon Harker and then the legendary GREEN FOR DANGER starring Alastair Sim in what I consider to be his best performance.

By the way, if you notice aside in the right column, I receive a small commission from purchases made from Amazon via my links. It doesn’t alter the price that you pay, but it helps defray my web-hosting expenses which are quite considerable these days. I know that some of you do already, and I’m very grateful to you, and if other people were to make use of the opportunity, I would be just as grateful.

For tea tonight, my vegan meal included yoghurt and omelette, so another e-mail followed the ones that I had sent earlier. If no-one replies by the time that I go home (whenever that might be) I’ll print them out and send them to the director-general of the hospital to demand an explanation, firstly for the state of the vegan meals, and secondly for the failure to reply and take any action over my complaints. I shall go on the offensive and regular readers of this rubbish will recall that “offensive” is certainly the correct word to use in these cases.

Right now though, it’s late and I’m off to bed. But seeing as we have been talking about His Nibs … "well, one of us has" – ed … he went with me on our first Arctic Expedition in 2018 when we reached about 600 or so miles from the North Pole via the Greenland Icecap and the Kane Basin
In 2019 when we went back for part two of our expedition, we encountered some anthropologists scratching their heads.
"What’s going on here?" we asked.
"That’s what we don’t understand" they replied. "There’s a very strange phenomenon here"
"What’s that?" we asked.
"Several polar bears have given birth this summer and there’s something very strange about their offspring. They are just like little polar bear cubs but their fur is brown and furry and they look as if they may have antlers."
"I see" I replied helpfully. "They look like what you might say ‘like a moose in front but with a bear behind’"

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… a day of rest today. And who can blame me for that after yesterday?

And especially after the wretched night that I had had. I was in bed by about 23:15 and was asleep quite quickly, but it didn’t stay like that for long.

By 04:00 I was wide awake again and when the nurse came to take my blood sample I was about ready to rise up from my bed.

However, I stayed put until about 06:50 when I limped gingerly into the bathroom.. I say “limped gingerly” because I’m not supposed to put any weight on the leg from which they extracted the sample. That’s not possible of course because I have to move around, but I have to be careful.

Back in here there was a long wait until breakfast (which included a yoghurt for my vegan diet) but the coffee was scorching hot and had a lovely taste

After breakfast we had the usual interruptions while I tried to transcribe the dictaphone notes. I was seeing Nerina off on a train somewhere. I had to find some extra clothes for her because it was going o be cold. I gave her the sweater that I was wearing. A friend of mine, who was on a bed in the hospital but one of these mezzanine beds hat was raised quite high-uppish, she had another one of mine so I took that one and ran to the train. Nerina was sitting in the very last carriage at a window right at the end. I threw her the one, that she caught, but I couldn’t find the second one so I had to run back to this mezzanine bed but I couldn’t find it. I found one of my lightweight fleeces and dashed down the corridor of another train right into the driving compartment where there were four or five men sitting talking. They began to make some kind of weird remarks about the speed in which I was travelling. Then I went right out of the cab at the front and down the steps at the front which were a long series of stone steps right down to the bottom. One of the guys took off behind me and shouted at me to stop. He told me that I was trespassing but I took absolutely no notice whatsoever. There were some policemen there, halfway down the steps, and he shouted out to them but they didn’t do anything at all. I ran down and reached the bottom. At the bottom he caught me up and said that he was going to “sort me out for my impudence”, everything like that. He was struggling to put on his police overcoat with the stripes on it. “So you are going to teach me, are you? Come on then, let’s see you do it”. He took a swing at me but I stepped back. I goaded him again “do it again” but he burst into tears. I left him there and ran but when I reached the platform where Nerina’s rain was, it had gone. I walked back and there were a few people whom I knew there. One or two had used to play in a group that I knew but had been asked to leave and had been replaced by some other people whom I knew. I expected these people to come over and talk to me to ask me what I knew about them having to leave this group but they didn’t even notice me so I carried on walking towards the doorway for the way out of the station.

That situation is one that I could easily manage to have – from all points of view. If I had something urgent to do, I wouldn’t let protocol stand in my way. And if someone wants to take a swing at me, they are quite welcome to try.

And then I was out taxi-driving last night. I had to go to pick up some people off a little mews in Welsh Row, Nantwich to take them to the railway station. They turned up and climbed into the car and I set off. When I came to the corner where I turned into Hospital Street I felt the clutch begin to slip on the car. I felt “ohh, not again!”. I carried on and we were chatting. The woman asked me if I would be going anywhere near Brierley Street. I explained that I would be going straight down Crewe Road. By now we were on some kind of country lane that I didn’t recognise at all. I wondered “how did I arrive here and where had I gone?”. The road went round to the left on a bend but in the past there was this big U-turn type of thing, a U-bend … "he means ‘hairpin bend’" – ed …. I ended up taking the old road for some reason or other and when I reached the end it was gated so I had to apologise, turn round and go back again. Then they began to ask me about cashing up. When did I cash up? How often did I cash up? Do I have a £10:00 note on me? Could I see one? I had to begin to make excuses about this. I thought “this is all beginning to sound suspicious to me. I wonder what is going to happen next”.

That’s something that used to happen every now and again after I had my taxi accident in Sandbach and fractured my skull. I’d suddenly find myself in a street and I’d have to stop to think …
1) how did I arrive here?
2) to where am I heading?
It was all very confusing. And I had my fair share of strange characters in my taxi at different times.

So no family last night, except Nerina. As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … seeing as I invited her to share my life, she has every right to appear in my dreams. And frankly, in what might come as a surprise to many people, if I had to choose between Nerina and any member of my family (except the Canadian side of course), Nerina would be in pole position, and by a country mile too.

Some therapist came by too. She asked me a pile of questions about my autonomy and then had me putting pegs into holes and then taking them out – doing it against the clock.

For much of the rest of the day I was left alone so I cracked on with the radio programme 260403. All of the notes are now written ready for typing. It took me much longer than usual because I kept on falling asleep. I don’t know what pills they have given me that are different from the normal but they are knocking me out.

After I’d finished, I hunted down the names of songs for the next programme, 260410. That’s the anniversary of the Titanic setting out on its first and only voyage, so I’m going to have a sea-related programme that week, I reckon.

There have been e-mails to write, ‘phone calls to make and to receive, nurses and auxis coming in to interrupt me for no good reason, but I sent them off to find a doctor. When one finally arrived I mentioned the missing Burinex and she told me that I’d been prescribed one per day. However she changed to prescription and sent a runner off for a couple more pills.

The meals were as usual. For a vegan diet my meals included
1) breakfast – yoghurt
2) lunch – yoghurt, cheese slice and cheese omelette
3) tea – yoghurt and steamed fish

So now I’m off to bed ready for my dialysis tomorrow.

And seeing as we were talking about protocol … "well, one of us is" – ed …
One day in 2022 there was an important dignitary coming to the office so it was all decked out and the cameras from the TV stations were there.
And what the crowds, and the millions or people on European television saw, was a dark green Opel Omega driven by Yours Truly pull up to drop off my boss’s assistant.
The woman in charge of protocol sailed down and gave me a really stern lecture that went on and on.
When she finished, I replied "if you had said nothing, I would have been in and out in ten seconds. However, you’ve kept me here for five minutes on live television and made me famous, something that I appreciate greatly. Thank you very much"

My car was an Opel Omega, armoured of course and with the police’s 6-cylinder 24 valve engine that would run the four and a half tonnes of car at 260 kph easily on a German autobahn at night. But it was an ordinary car, with civilian number plates, and we never ever had an official police escort. I convinced my boss that the best security was to pass unnoticed in the crowd, rather than draw attention to ourselves.
One day he asked me "are you armed?"
"No I’m not" I replied. Anyone who wanted to attack us would have his gun all ready anyway and I would never have had the time to pull mine out of my pocket or from under the car seat.
He was surprised by that. "but what would you do if we were attacked?"
"Well, Sir Brian" I said. "I would rely on the force of my personality."

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… before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … a thoracic puncture is the most painful medical intervention that I have ever suffered in my life.

And, having said that, I now wish to withdraw that remark. I do not ever in my life wish to suffer the pain through which I went with this muscular biopsy. I would rather take a dozen thoracic punctures any day. I have never hurt so much in all my life.

But be that as it may, there is a lot of ground to cover before we actually arrive at that point.

Last night, after I’d finished writing my notes, I was thoroughly exhausted despite all of the sleep that I had during the day, and by 22:30 I was in bed, tucked up under the sheets. Not “under the blankets” because there weren’t any on the bed.

It wasn’t all that long before I was asleep either, although as is usual in a hospital, being a very light sleeper means that I have very little sleep, what with all of the racket that goes on in a hospital during the night.

And as I have also said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … there is no point whatever going to bed early because all it means is that I wake up correspondingly early.

And while 04:05 might seem to be rather absurd to some, I didn’t have any choice in the matter. There I lay, drifting in and out of reality until the nurse came to take a blood sample at 06:30. Her procedure was what I would call “efficient” and she didn’t hang about either. It was all done and over in a matter of a handful of seconds with no trouble at all.

Before she left, she asked me "Anything else that you need?"
"A coffee" I replied, more in hope than expectation, but needless to say, I was told to clear off.

Round about 07:30 the circus began in earnest and I had no more rest after that, with blood pressure, temperature, all of that kind of thing.

As Hawkwind once famously said in SONIC ATTACK "your only protection is flight" and I fled into the bathroom for the morning ablutions.

Not that I was safe in there either because someone came to look for me – to ask me if I needed any help, just as I was finishing.

Breakfast wasn’t long a-coming, but my medicine never arrived. And never arrived at all during the day, possibly because no-one had thought to take my prescription yesterday when I checked in.

After breakfast I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. There was an advert on television about washing powder or something. Some woman was sitting on a sofa holding a bowlful of it when a dog jumped onto her lap and the bowl went everywhere. My younger brother decided that he would try it. He waited until someone was sitting on the sofa with a bucket full of something but it was actually cooking fat. He was training the dog to jump up on her and the cooking fat went everywhere. I went in to see what the commotion was and saw the mess. I went back into my room and on the two-way radio I said “that looks three metres by three metres, nine square metres, nine metres cubed so we reckon that if you make a start now, you might have it all tidied up and cleaned away by breakfast. My mother heard it and was immediately swept up in a kind-of anger. She dashed into the bedroom and sorted out some old bedclothing, bed covers, sheets and so on. She said “you can’t leave your brother to clean that up. I’m going to do it”. I asked “how do you think he’s going to learn? And then again, you’re always complaining that no-one ever takes any notice of me. Here I am, giving some kind of instruction and you’re almost immediately undermining it, so what do you expect?”. She completely lost her temper at this point . She stuck her face right in front of mine and began to scream at me. I just couldn’t understand what on earth was the matter with her. My brother had caused all of the mess so it’s up to him to clean it up. It all seemed quite logical to me

“I just couldn’t understand what on earth was the matter with her”. That was perfectly true when we were small, but as we grew older we certainly began to understand exactly what it was. It was a combination of several factors, none of which should be the subject of discussion here. But, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall, the idea that I would get it in the neck for anything that my brothers and sisters did was a habitual state of affairs. As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … I remember talking to my friend’s daughter in Florida on the internet years ago who was having a major bout of pre-teen angst. "whenever I do anything wrong and my little brother tells my mom, my mom yells at me. But whenever he does anything wrong and I tell my mom, my mom yells at me for not watching him". I really felt for poor Tina at that moment.

And having said all of that, since when did logic ever play any role in anything that our family ever did?

Somewhere along the line, Nerina put in an appearance. We were talking about the USA. She said that although she had only visited three or four States of the USA she had certain opinions about certain things. I asked her which States she had visited. She listed four of them in New England, Maine, Vermont, Rhode Island, Connecticut, that area, That was how that part of the dream went on but I’m not sure how it fitted in.

If ever I had to live in the USA (not that I would – the USA has become a horrible place since the election of Bush and the de-humanising of the country – I would be most at home in New England. Vermont would be my State of preference – I’ve spent many a happy hour, day, week there in Burlington and Brattleboro’ – followed by New Hampshire and then Maine

I was talking to friends about the underground floor of the Place d’Armes when suddenly the door of my apartment opened. There were people in there brushing it out and it was filthy, disgusting. There was dust and all kinds of stuff everywhere. it looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned for twenty years. As they carried on working with the door open, firstly the woman whom I knew came out and said a few words. Then an older woman with only one eye came out and said a few more. Then a man who was probably the partner of the first woman came out. He saw me and said “you’ve done all right out of this, haven’t you?”. This started a huge row in the …. On one occasion I said “on one occasion I did propose that you can take over my apartment. I wasn’t putting you out on the street”. He replied “she can’t do that. She has two weak knees”. I replied “and what do I have?”. He didn’t have an answer to that. In the end I told him to shut his mouth, go back into the apartment and carry on. He could of course spend as much time arguing with me as he likes because the longer he argues, the less work he’s doing so the more work he’s going to have to do so the longer he’s going to have to stay so the more rent he’ll have to be paying me.

As regular readers of this rubbish will recall, I did offer the tenant an exchange of apartment as far back as November 2023, but the tenant refused. She’s also had at least two opportunities to buy it (in France, if a property with tenants is put up for sale, the tenant must be offered the property first) and has refused to buy it on either occasion. But seeing as she has had informal notice 18 months ago and formal notice in July last year, she’s had plenty of time to find somewhere else as she said herself in a letter in her reply to me eighteen months ago.

As I was revising for my Welsh course, I was invaded by a doctor and a gaggle of students who began to pull my legs apart and watch me as I marched later up and down. He gave a running commentary on my condition and the examination that he made and then had a lengthy chat afterwards, which told me nothing that I didn’t really know before.

He disappeared with my paperwork and my inscription but it changed nothing. I still didn’t have any medication. It’s a good job that I’d brought my own anti-cancer medication with me.

Because of his lengthy visit I had missed the first fifteen minutes of my Welsh class. I joined in rather late and was doing quite well, despite the lack of preparation, but had to exit rather hurriedly when lunch came.

It was a good job that it came when it did because about fifteen minutes later they came to fetch me for my biopsy. We had to wait ten minutes outside the laboratory in the wind and then I had a fifty-minute wait inside until the specialist arrived.

Whatever happened in there, you don’t want to know and I don’t want to talk about it, except that I will go through anything except a second one of those.

Back here, I collapsed into my chair and I haven’t moved since. I’ve been searching for a few more films by Launder and Gilliatt to watch in bed tonight, without very much luck although I did manage to locate a copy of the “dummy run” for the SAINT TRINIANS films, a film called THE HAPPIEST DAYS OF YOUR LIFE with many of the usual suspects.

Yesterday, I was afraid that I was rather over-optimistic with the vegan meals. Today at lunch, the vegan option was an omelette. This evening, it was steamed fish. So I ate what I could tonight and then made myself a cheese butty. It’s a good job that I’d brought my own supplies

So now I’m off to bed. I have a blood test in the morning at 05:30, so I’ve been told. That means another night of studying, I suppose, one one day I might even pass. We shall see.

But seeing as we have been talking about States in the USA … "well, one of us was" – ed … when I took Kit, Liz (“this” Liz, not “that” Liz)’s daughter to University in Ontario I crossed over the river and went to have a look around Detroit.
Back in France later, someone asked me "what State is Detroit in?"
"Well" I replied, "from what I saw, it was in a flaming dreadful one."

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… not sitting in a rainbow but sitting in a chair by the window in a room on the fifth floor of the Neurological Ward in the Hôpital Pitié-Salpetrière in Paris.

It’s a new departure … "he means ‘arrival’" – ed … for me, seeing as I’m usually in the Haematology Ward, so presumably this is to do with the neurological development of my cancer that has been eating into the nervous system of my legs this last couple of years

It’s been a very long, hard, tiring day that began, would you believe, at 04:00 when I awoke this morning. As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … it’s pretty pointless going to bed early because all it means is that I awaken correspondingly early.

That was true of last night. When I finished everything that I needed to do, it was still 22:30 and I lost no time in going to bed. Fully-clothed too because I needed a good start to the morning, with the alarm set for 05:30.

It didn’t take long to go off to sleep either but unfortunately I didn’t stay that way for long. I awoke at about 04:00 and couldn’t go back to sleep. When the alarm did go off I was busy in the dining area packing my bags. Two bags, because I decided to keep the “office” separate from my travelling items.

There was even time to have a proper breakfast with porridge and my lovely fresh loaf (no coffee though) and I rearranged the stuff in the freezer to make room for some of the bread because I’m taking most of it with me, along with a packet of vegan cheese slices, some of my flapjack and one of these vegan spice cakes. I’m not going to be caught out for food.

My cleaner (poor thing) turned up at 06:30 to fit my anaesthetic patches and we waited for the taxi to turn up, which it did, fifteen minutes late.

At the dialysis centre I was one of the last of the morning patients to show up. I was shown into a private room in the other ward where I ended up being the last to be connected. I thought that I would be tired but I had plenty of work to do in order to keep myself busy.

My machine only played up once or twice, because of my low blood pressure, but everyone is used to that by now. There wasn’t much water to remove again so the machine wasn’t set very high but even so, it’s very tiring.

My taxi driver turned up at about 12:30 to run me to Paris. It wasn’t my favourite one but it was a chip off the same block and we had an interesting drive all the way there, my driver using her hands not on the horn but in a series of gesticulations of the kind that you would expect more of an Italian taxi driver.

We had a pretty good run as far as the Tunnel St Cloud but from there on we were stuck in the traffic and it took a while to come here.

The building is one of the more modern ones but I don’t understand why they have the entrance so far from the edge of the pavement. It’s a long way to walk for someone with neurological problems, and I wasn’t the only one having a great deal of difficulty.

It took ages to find the correct floor but once I was in, I was in. We had the usual problem of trying to find a vein for a blood sample. In the end they had to send for a specialist nurse. He told me that he had learned his technique in the Army’s medical service and I shall carry the scar for ever, but he managed it in one go.

On the way here I’d dozed off a couple of times for a few minutes but once I’d settled down in a comfy chair I was out like a light despite a desperate struggle to keep awake, and was away with the fairies (but not in a manner that would incite any comment from the editor of Aunt Judy’s Magazine) for an hour or so.

And to my delight, tea was a veggie burger with cauliflower. Not very much, but some vegan food at last. Things must be looking up.

As far as any nocturnal rambles went, there were two balls, one green and one red, attached to my clothes somehow. One had fallen off and was already in the bathroom. The red one fell and rolled into the bathroom where it kissed the one already in there and rolled to the left closer to the bath. It looked very much like my bathroom in Winsford.

So dreaming about my house in Winsford? That’s not a very common occurrence by any means.

Right now though, early though it may be, I’m still wasted so I’m off to bed. I have a blood test in the morning at 06:00 so I’m told, so I need to sit up and do some studying.

Seeing as we have been talking about Italian taxi drivers … "well, one of us has" – ed … when I was chauffeuring, I had a colleague who was Italian.
We had to go on a very long trip somewhere, the two of us, and another colleague had warned me of his rather garrulous nature.
When we returned, the other colleague asked me "how did you get on with him?"
"He didn’t talk much" I said
"Why was that?"
"Simple" I replied. "I tied his hands together".

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