Category Archives: doctor

Monday 13th October 2025 – CHEMOTHERAPY IS …

… officially cancelled for tomorrow. Emilie the Cute Consultant seems to think that I’m far too ill to go and that chemotherapy will only make things worse.

Yes, lucky me! I’ve had Emilie the Cute Consultant soothing my fevered brow at dialysis this afternoon, and I reckon that I ought to be ill more often when she’s on duty.

But joking aside, after yesterday, I needed someone to take me in hand and sort me out. The day began awfully and as time advanced, it went from bad to worse. Those of you who saw the half-dozen notes that I posted last night will probably have gathered that I was in bed before 21:00, and it’s a long, long time since that has happened.

Once in bed, I was asleep straight away, which is no surprise. And I stayed asleep too until all of … errr … 00:30.

At that point, I was giving some light-hearted consideration to leaving the bed but in the end I decided against it, and spent several hours drifting in and out of sleep. Round about 05:30, I gave up trying and arose to my feet.

After the bathroom, I had another leisurely period of medication-taking, before coming back in here to restart writing my notes. But not for long, though. At about 07:00 I set the alarm for 08:05 and, something that I don’t recall doing for years, I went back to bed and slept for another hour or so. That’s the kind of state in which I found myself this morning.

Once the nurse had been and gone, I made breakfast and, once more, took my time while I ate it. I was in no real hurry, and I certainly wasn’t in any kind of mood to read my book.

Back in here afterwards, I finished off my notes from yesterday and then had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. We were in the American Civil War this time (not the Revolutionary War). We were trying to track down the enemy, or the enemy was trying to track us down. I was suffering from fever and having to use my toilet frame to walk around. It was becoming extremely complicated. At one point, I knocked some things off the kitchen worktop, and with my improvised walkframe, I positioned one of the feet on top of two of the spice jars that I have. I thought that it was a good job that I noticed this before I put my weight on it otherwise they would have broken. But I still don’t know what I’m going to do about my health and how I was going to deal with the issue of the enemy, of them looking for us or us looking for him.

If I’m dreaming about a war in the USA, it makes a change not dreaming about the Revolutionary War. But then again, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall, when I was in Eastern USA in 2005 for Rhys’s wedding, I VISITED SEVERAL SITES CONNECTED WITH THE CIVIL WAR.

Later on, there were three ships, the Ateb Harry, the Ateb something else and a third one. The Ateb Harry was coming back from the USA to Europe as a passenger liner, and was intercepted by the contraband patrol. The patrol found, underneath the coal, a pile of shells and ammunition. The captain tried to argue that it was for his own self-defence but they saw that it had been manufactured in Germany and was of a German calibre rater than an Imperial one so they decided that they would take the ship and intern it.

This relates to something else about which I’ve been reading recently – the British blockade of Germany in World War I. They set up plenty of barrages across the North Sea and intercepted as many of the vessels that they possibly could that were heading east, in an attempt to stop supplies reaching Germany. They were quite successful too and by the end of the war, there were shortages of every kind of imported goods over there.

At some point though, I had my Welsh lesson to do and I was parked in a car park. There was a lorry in front of me and its rear door was open. A policeman told me to close it so I closed it as best as I could and explained to the driver that there was only one of the two catches was working. He replied in a foreign accent “never mind” – to leave it with him and he’d sort it out. I went back to my van, which was a dark blue Sherpa long wheelbase towing an enclosed trailer that looked like the rear of a Sherpa. I climbed in, and could see on the laptop that my Welsh class had started. I took off all my excess clothes and found my sleeping bag. But my sleeping bag was inside-out so I had to turn it the other way, and then I could climb into the sleeping bag and begin to attend the lesson.

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that I had a Sherpa for a couple of years. It was quite nice when I bought it but it rotted quickly and ended up being unsafe. Furthermore, trying to find spare parts for it in Belgium was impossible in the end and it became a liability.

Next task was to finish off my Welsh homework and send it off, and the rest of the morning was spent revising.

At one point though, I could no longer stand the cold in here and so I switched on the heating for the first time. It’s not like me, and it shows just how ill I am right now.

My faithful cleaner turned up to apply my anaesthetic and then I had a long wait for the taxi. Not that I minded, because it was one of my favourite drivers. However, rather regrettably, I wasn’t in the mood for chatting.

Once again, we were late arriving, but for a change I was seen quite quickly. Because of my health, they put me into a private room and then spent half an hour examining me, including a Covid test (I was negative). I wasn’t too keen, but Emilie the Cute Consultant insisted on it being done, and I noticed that there seems to be no argument or discussion with her when she makes up her mind.

Having been wired up and plugged in, they left me alone pretty much. That was just as well because I slept through most of the session. All that I seem to be doing right now is sleeping.

At the end of the session, Emilie the Cute Consultant gave me another thorough going-over, and wanted me to spit into a container so that it can be analysed. She is of the opinion that I have a pulmonary infection. I can’t go to chemotherapy like that so she’s going to cancel it.

One thing that was nice though was that she patted my shoulder, and as I said earlier, I’m going to be ill again when she’s on duty if that’s the reward.

The poor taxi driver had to wait hours for me, and then we had to find a chemist’s that was open so that we could buy some medication that was prescribed. There was someone else to fetch too, so I ended up being the latest back here that I have ever been.

After my cleaner had sorted me out, I made tea. Burger with pasta and even though it was a small portion, some of it still ended up in the bin.

So I shall be at my Welsh lesson tomorrow then. In that case I’d better go to bed. It’s already later than I would like.

But seeing as we have been talking about spitting into a container … "well, one of us has" – ed … I remember taking my niece to see my premises in Canada, situated as they are with one border of my land being the international border with the USA.
"Blimey!" she said. "You could spit into the USA from here!"
"I know" I replied. "Now ask me how I know."

Monday 29th September 2025 – I HAVE DONE …

… something today that is so rare and so unusual that it is worthy of some note.

And that is that I have left food on my plate tonight.

Usually, I’m really good at estimating how much food I want to eat at a meal, but tonight, even with my much reduced appetite, I still didn’t manage to finish the small (for me, anyway) portion of food that I served myself.

It’s down, I reckon, to a combination of a lack of appetite, a horrible salty taste of just about everything (since chemotherapy began) and a feeling that things are fermenting in my stomach, and I’m not sure which is the principal, or worst of those three situations.

That’s rather a shame because it was looking as if it might have been a good day today. Although it was later than I would like when I went to bed, I slept right through until the alarm went off at 06:29, and judging by how I was lying in bed, I hadn’t moved a muscle all night.

In the bathroom, I had a good wash, scrub up and also a shave in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant this afternoon. While I was there, I washed my undies and had a change of clothes too, and then I went into the kitchen to take my medication.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I’d started a new job in a solicitor’s office and was being shown around the building. I was looking at all of the files and all of the documents, and thought that all of the things in there that they had collected over time were magnificent. Then I was taken to a table where there were two girls sitting, and was introduced to them. I was told that this was going to be my little case group. The first thing that I wanted to do was to find out what their attitudes were towards different things, motorists and so on, so that we could have some kind of uniform approach. However, they didn’t seem to be all that interested in that kind of thing so I had the impression that there wasn’t really any kind of uniformity there. Everyone dealt with the legal cases as they saw fit. Later on, we were filing away some papers, and I was fascinated by some of the things that I saw in there, on the files and on the evidence etc. It was the little comments that made my morning when I was looking at these – all kinds of remarks scribbled on them by other solicitors. They were sometimes hilarious, sometimes very cutting remarks. There were old papers there that you could see written on them details of the cases and similar things. There were files there relating to old vehicles that went back years. I remember saying to one of the girls that I could have an immense amount of fun just sitting here and reading these old papers. Then we began to file away some books. This girl had a book where the name of it began with an ‘A’ so she was trying to put it at the very beginning of the run. However, I had noticed that at the beginning of the run they had things that were grouped and the alphabetical names only began about halfway down this run. She was up on the top trying to put away this book. I explained to her, but she dropped the book. A whole pile of other books fell off and I caught them, but it was a real struggle to pass them back up to her so that she could put them back on the shelves.

Now, that would be a job that would be right up my alley – poring over ancient papers and files, noting all of the interesting information that they contained. When I worked for that Insurance Company in Chester between 1972 and 1974, several of the files held old deeds of trust and deeds of assignment dating back to the Seventeenth Century after the Restoration. I could (and did) sit and read them for hours, even though I worked in the section that dealt with the insurance of commercial garages.

The nurse was early today, but that was because his client from down the road was still in hospital. Not doing so well, apparently. He … "the nurse, not the client" – ed … didn’t stay long and was soon out of the way so that I could make breakfast and read some more of BATTLES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION.

The subject today had been the woeful lack of urgency, and the delay by General Howe in following up his victory at New York, allowing the colonists to slip away in good order. And then the embarrassment that the British must have felt when, having occupied Trenton, they forgot to fortify it or even mount a proper guard, so that they were overwhelmed and pushed back with the loss of most of their supplies and weapons.

That really is the eternal story of the American War of Independence – the British refusing to press home their advantage with enough speed or determination to launch a killer blow.

Back in here, I had things to do and then I spent the rest of the morning working on my Welsh. I’ve finished reviewing and preparing the chapter, and I’ve also made a start on the homework. I’m trying my best to keep up to date with that at least because I can’t afford to fall any further behind than I already am.

My faithful cleaner came along as usual to apply my anaesthetic cream, and the taxi came early for me too. Not that it did much good because, even though I arrived at 13:30, I wasn’t plugged in until 14:20.

While I was waiting, though, I had a ‘phone call from the Centre de Re-education. My fourteen-week course there starts on … errr … Wednesday at 11:30.

Believe it or not, Emilie the Cute Consultant came to see me today. She told me that they have thought of a way to repair my implant, but they are not convinced that it will improve the situation any. What did I think?

"What do I know?" I replied. "I’m quite happy to leave it in the hands of the medical staff and follow their advice."

We discussed my recent blood test, and then she asked if there was anything else that I needed.

"A pretty nurse to sit at the foot of my bed throwing grapes into my mouth, and a couple of dancing girls on that table over there" I replied. She laughed at that, but I wouldn’t like to type out what she was thinking or my site would be taken down.

The rest of the session was spent preparing my LeClerc order ready to send off tomorrow. It’s going to be a large one too because it’s been a good three weeks since my last delivery.

When the alarm sounded to signal that I had finished, I had to wait a good 20 minutes for them to attend to me, with the result that, once more, I’m hours late returning home and it’s dismaying me.

After gathering my wits (which takes longer than it ought, seeing how few I have these days) I made tea – a stuffed pepper. There is plenty of stuffing left for the next few days too.

But as for leaving food on my plate, that’s worrying. It’s not like me at all and it’s a sure sign that I’m not at all well. Perhaps a good sleep might make me feel better, but that’s a comment made more in hope than expectation.

But seeing as we have been talking about being off our food … "well, one of us has" – ed … it reminds me of the cannibal chief of a village where the chief cook put a captured blonde woman in the stew pot.
After thirty seconds or so of contemplation, the chief went over to the fire and put it out.
"What’s the matter, chief?" asked the chef. "aren’t you hungry?"
"Not really" replied the cannibal chief. "I don’t think that I could eat anything right now. I’ll probably just play with my food for a while and see how I feel later."

Friday 26th September 2025 – ONCE MORE …

… I relapsed into a catatonic fit at the end of the afternoon, and was away with the fairies (although not in any manner that would offend the editor of Aunt Judy’s Magazine) for at least an hour.

Mind you, I put this down to the fact that I have had quite a hectic and energetic (for me these days, anyway) afternoon and it’s worn me out.

It should have been a good day too because, for once, I was in bed before 23:00. Not long before, it has to be said, but even so, it’s a welcome sign of progress.

It was another night too where I found that I was able to turn over in bed without using my hand to lift my leg, and if that’s not some sign of progress, I don’t know what is. But as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … one swallow doesn’t make a summer and I must be very careful not to tempt fate.

The alarm at 06:29 didn’t go off this morning, for the simple reason that I had switched it off. I had awoken at about 06:00 and as there was no point in going back to sleep, I vegetated around for a while and then arose from the Dead.

After the bathroom, I went for my medication, piling the stuff down as usual, and came back in here, rather earlier than usual. I don’t know what happened there.

First thing was of course to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. We were somewhere about the High Arctic of Canada. It was something to do about taking the statistics which involved the temperature, the length of darkness etc. One of the girls who was doing this had this paper. She was trying her best to read it and write it in the semi-darkness there, so I shouted at her a couple of times to turn on the light, but for some reason she was very reluctant to do this. I began to wonder why it was that someone had been taken on board this expedition to keep all the notes and statistics when I was quite capable of doing it myself. However, for some reason I was promoted to assistant … of the ship which, in view of its history, made me fairly famous, I suppose. But I kept on urging people to write things down instead of committing it to notes on board the ship, which could easily be lost at any moment in the ice.

When I look back (as I did later this morning) at the statistics that I used to keep, all the way from 2006, when I lived down on the farm, it brought back several memories. All of the notes that I took of rainfall, temperature, wind speed, solar energy and so on. That was all going to be my maître d’oeuvre for my Master’s Degree, but like everything else, bad health came along to confound it all.

And also the High Arctic. I loved my time out there in 2018 and 2019 when we ended up about 700 miles from the North Pole, and what wouldn’t I give to be able to go back there again? Samuel Gurney Cresswell once said that a voyage to the High Arctic "ought to make anyone a wiser and better man" but looking at myself in a mirror and pondering over my adventures ever since, he was clearly far from the truth with that comment.

Later on, I’d been on holiday somewhere and I had my really big suitcase and a rucksack full of stuff. I’d been staying in this hotel and had to go off somewhere for a couple of days, which had put me all behind. When I came back to the hotel, I asked the landlady if I could stay for another couple of days. However, she said “no”. The hotel was fully-booked and I had to leave, so I picked up my things and wandered away. I contacted my old friend in Stoke-on-Trent and told him that I was on the lookout for a hotel, but I was popping round to his house to pick up something on the way. I took a taxi down to where he lived, climbed out of the taxi and then walked into his driveway. There was a car parked up there, and there was a pile of things propped up against the side of the gate. I knocked a tow bar down that hit the wheel of his car, and I picked it up. I went on up to the house. They saw how much baggage I had, and helped me into the house. His wife said “I’m just going to make you something to eat before you go to bed”. I asked “what do you mean?”, and they had converted the sofa in their living room into a kind-of bed. I was so surprised and so overwhelmed because I hadn’t planned on staying there at all. It was lovely of them to have made a little bed for me.

There was once a friend of mine who would indeed do anything he possibly could to help anyone along the way. However, the drugs and medication that he was obliged to take after a serious motorcycle accident transformed his personality completely. In the end, I had to stop going round there.

Anyway, I digress … "again" – ed …

The nurse turned up as usual to give me my injection and then to sort out my feet and legs, and then after he left, I could have breakfast and read some more of BATTLES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION.

Today, we have been discussing the Battle of New York, when the British sailed up the Hudson and East River in some considerable force … "why didn’t they sail up there in a boat?" – ed … to launch an attack on the city.

After breakfast, I had plenty of things to do, and doesn’t the time fly quickly when you are enjoying yourself? Before I’d even done half of what I was hoping to do, my cleaner arrived to do her stuff. Luckily, I’d managed to prepare my file of documents for the Centre Normandy and to write out a timetable of when I’m occupied and when I’m free.

That’s the kind of state that I’m in with my medical appointments.

It was one of my favourite drivers who took me down to the centre this afternoon. And how my health has deteriorated over the last year, as I remarked to myself as I struggled into the building. It was never as bad as this in the past. In fact, I can’t believe how it could be possible for a building dedicated to the rehabilitation of disabled people to be so awkward and complicated in which to move around.

At the reception, I was interrogated and quizzed, and then I had to retrace my steps to see the nurse.

She gave me a good going-over and then insisted on accompanying me upstairs to see the doctor, and so we re-retraced our steps.

The doctor, Elise the Cute Consultant, was horrified at my state, especially when I couldn’t rise out of the chair in which she sat me. She began to insist that I have a wheelchair, I flatly refused, and we ended up with a Mexican stand-off.

In the end, after much negotiation, we reached an agreement. No wheelchair, but I have to see a psychiatrist. And as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … God help the poor psychiatrist who has to probe the innermost depths of my subconscious mind.

She also wants me to see a dietician and also to have twenty-eight sessions of therapy over fourteen weeks. I’m now trying to work out when I’ll have any time to go to sleep, what with all of these medical appointments that I have, one after the other like this, the dialysis, the chemotherapy and now the Centre Normandy.

But Elise the Cute Consultant really is cute and we had a good chat and something of a laugh. I wish that more people would be happy and cheerful like this.

Having failed to persuade me to have a wheelchair, she accompanied me to the edge of her office and waited with me until a nurse arrived to accompany me to the reception, where it was confirmed that I would be having some therapy sessions there. They’ll call me in due course with a timetable.

While I was waiting for my taxi, I saw several of my favourite taxi drivers. I told one of them to take me home instead of the passenger whom she had come to collect, but she told me that her boss wouldn’t be too pleased.

"But I would, though" I retorted "and it’s my opinion that counts.". However, she was unmoved.

It was another one of my favourite drivers who brought me home where my faithful cleaner was awaiting me. She helped me into the apartment and sorted out my things for me, and then after she left, I collapsed into this catatonic fit.

It took an age to bring myself round, but I was unable to do anything for quite a while. I managed tea though – chips, salad and vegan nuggets, although I didn’t really feel much like it.

But now, still exhausted, I’m off to bed. But I’ll probably end up listening to THE REST OF THIS CONCERT BY MY FAVOURITE QUÉBÉCOIS FOLK GROUP, LE VENT DU NORD, and especially the demon hurdy-gurdy and violin solo in “Forillon”, a song that starts at about 49:00.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about how quickly time flies … "well, one of us has" – ed … I remember talking to a friend of mine … "yes, he does have one" – ed … saying "time flies like an arrow"
"I know" she replied "but fruit flies like a banana".

Tuesday 16th September 2025 – SEVERAL PEOPLE SENT …

… me best wishes last night for the Chemotherapy session today, and I am really grateful for your thoughts. It all passed reasonably well (as you will soon find out) and I am now back home, ready to Fight The Good Fight again tomorrow.

In order to be ready for the trip out this morning, I’d set the alarm for 06:00 to make sure that I was awake in time to do everything. And to make sure that I’d have enough time for a decent sleep, I positively sprinted through the evening’s work at quite an indecent pace and was in bed by 22:40.

However, regular readers of this rubbish will recall exactly what happened next. I awoke round about 01:40, again at about 03:20 and again at 04:45. This latter one was the last straw. I couldn’t go back to sleep afterwards and so by 05:05 I was up and about.

After a good wash, I came back in here. No medication today, on the basis that what doesn’t go in won’t want to come out during the journey.

So I transcribed the dictaphone notes to see what had been going on during the night. Some young lad had a market stall selling fruit and vegetables. It was his first real attempt at doing anything like this. What he would do would be to go round three or four different fruit wholesalers, buy the cheapest product, but sell it on the local market at the price indicated by the most expensive wholesaler. It was quite a challenge because he knew very little about the business but he managed to attract a few crowds who came in. One pricing wasn’t very clear on his product, and there were a few occasions where people would knock things off the shelves into the baskets of fruit and then make some comment about the price that the fruit had now become, depending on the price of whatever article had fallen into it. He took it all with something of a smile, but he was going to have to learn very quickly if he wanted to make a success of it. There was more to it than this but I can’t remember now.

Despite the realism of this dream, I really have no idea at all to what it relates. I can’t recall a subject or a discussion that refers to anything like this.

And when I awoke, I was in the middle of a really exciting and interesting dream, but every last vestige of it simply evaporated and I was so disappointed. I would have been even more disappointed had it involved TOTGA, Zero or Castor.

So I had no breakfast, no drink, no nothing this morning. I made some cheese, lettuce and tomato sandwiches to take with me, Isabelle the Nurse breezed in and blew out with a promise to be back at 06:15 ready for my 07:00 start tomorrow, and then I waited for the taxi.

It wasn’t long a-coming either, but we had to go to pick up someone else in Granville before we could leave the town and head for Rennes.

Our driver knew a back way behind the railway station and past the airport in order to beat the roadworks in Avranches town centre and on the motorway, but she could do nothing about the closures on the ring road at Rennes that meant that we had to drive through the city centre to the hospital.

We eventually found our block and the driver found me a wheelchair (it really is miles to walk on foot). She pushed me to where I needed to be, where I had a lengthy discussion with the doctor who will be handling my case.

And I’ll tell you something for nothing, and that is that I learned much more in half an hour with him than I have done in all of the time that I spent with all of the other doctors who have seen me.

The hospital is quite modern, but the furniture isn’t, and the chair on which I had to sit was not the most comfortable that I have ever had. The nurses were brusque and efficient rather than friendly, and one of them threw a right paddy when I refused the “doliprane” painkiller when she went to couple me up. If I were to repeat on here what I heard her say under her breath, my website would be taken down.

It was exhausting too. I was supposed to be sitting in on the start of my Welsh class today but I only managed fifteen minutes before I crashed out completely.

To my surprise, there was something to eat for me – boiled potatoes and a spinach burger. I’ve had much better vegan food than this, but the hospital has full marks for trying. You can’t expect too much with “Tricatel” catering.

When the session was over, I had to telephone for my taxi to pick me up. And the advantage of coming to Rennes rather than going to Paris is that there are 30 or 40 trips to Rennes by my taxi company every day, and to my good luck, there was already one here at this hospital picking up another patient for near Sartilly. So even though it meant a scenic journey home, there was no waiting at all.

But I was wasted, and had to send for a wheelchair to move me. They had only unplugged me five minutes before the driver arrived, and I was in no state at all.

There was a third passenger to pick up elsewhere in the city but she lived just down the road in Jullouville so it was no big deal. As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … I’m seeing parts of Normandy that I never knew existed, thanks to these new Securité Sociale regulations about sharing taxis.

My cleaner was waiting for me, and I needed her help to find my way back to my apartment. I still hadn’t fully recovered. However, sitting down for an hour or so helped somewhat and I began to feel a little better.

As I had had a cooked (of sorts) meal at lunchtime, I ate my sandwiches for tea. And as my travelling laptop is still in my day-bag, I began to read a book, LIFE OF SIR JOHN FRANKLIN AND THE NORTH-WEST PASSAGE.

This is the biography of Sir John Franklin, “The Man Who Ate His Boots” (and a few other bizarre things too, but we won’t talk about the suspicious disappearances of some of his companions on one of his visits to the High Arctic) and who, in 1845, led a party of 129 to their doom in a vain quest for the North-West Passage.

As regular readers of this rubbish will recall, I SET FOOT ON ONE OF THEIR WINTER CAMPS IN THE HIGH ARCTIC and visited the graves of three of the crew members who had died there.

And that reminds me – before I shuffle off this mortal coil, I must begin to upload my photos of that famous trip – all 3504 of them.

But why I’m commenting about the book is that, not half a dozen pages in, we come across one of those delightful paragraphs that has clearly escaped the attentions of the proofreaders. "In 1779 Willingham Franklin, the father of the subject of these memoirs, purchased the freehold of a small one-storied house, situated in the main street of Spilsby ….. his house, in which John Franklin was ushered into the world, is still in existence, but it is now the property of a coach-maker, who is, however, always ready and willing to show the little room upstairs in which, it is said, the distinguished Arctic Navigator was born."

We see plenty of errors like this during our travels, and there are probably more than just a few in whatever I write, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall. However, the one in the paragraph above ranks amongst the best that we have seen so far.

But before we go to bed, seeing as we have been talking about comfortable chairs … "well, one of us has" – ed … Nerina once bought me a lovely office chair and encouraged me to try it out.
"It’s really comfortable" she said. "I had it made especially for you"
"Okay" I replied. "But just take your hand away from the electrical switch, will you?"

Monday 15th September 2025 – I AM THOROUGHLY …

… completely and absolutely fed up with this blasted dialysis.

The taxi came early for me for a change, and I was one of the very first to arrive at the dialysis centre. And yet, just to confound everything, it was another one of the latest returns back home that I have ever had.

It seems that everything has conspired against me and confounded my expectations, and I really must stop being so paranoid about it all because it’s doing me no good.

Yesterday, as usual, it was another evening that dragged on and on as I struggled to bring myself into a position where I could actually finish things off. Not that things were of much use because even though I might have finished my notes before 23:00, there was so much else to do and I couldn’t find the energy and motivation to do it.

Eventually, I managed to crawl into bed, much later than I had intended, and there I stayed, fast asleep, until 06:03 this morning.

“Just give me two minutes and I’ll hop out of bed” I said to myself, but the next thing that I remember was the alarm going off at 06:29. I must have gone back to sleep again, which is a surprise because I’m not able to do that when I would like, but can somehow almost always manage it when I don’t want to.

In the bathroom, I had a good wash, a scrub up, a shave and a change of clothing in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant today, and then I went for my medication.

Back in here afterwards, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. There was something happening concerning the West Point Military Academy in the USA -about how if people stuck to the correct geometric … "he means ‘geographical’" – ed … co-ordinates, they would find themselves slap-bang in the middle of the camp quite properly, but if they were to deviate by even half a degree, they would find themselves in open country that surrounded the establishment. I’m not sure what else there is to say about that.

This presumably relates to something that I read about Benedict Arnold, who entered into an agreement with the British to hand over West Point to them during the American Revolutionary War.

My friends had built a log cabin for me. It was on the roof of a big hotel, and they had used some of the natural features of the rock at the back of the hotel to form part of the shape of it, and then built the rest out of small logs positioned width-ways around it and all cemented in. They had made a beautiful job of it. They showed me around afterwards and it looked really nice. It was fairly primitive with a beaten earth floor etc but it was exactly what I wanted. I hadn’t believed that my friends could have made something so nice as this. When they showed me around, there was a nurse there who gave me a massage on my back to make sure that everything was working fine for a while, and then they all left me there. I was really comfortable, looking out at all the scenery in the mountains with all the snow. The way into this cabin was to go into the hotel and ask for permission to use the lift to go right to the very top floor, and I could come out onto the roof and I’d be there. The first time that I tried this, there were some oranges on the hotel reception desk, so I took an orange too. But the nurse who was there, she came up to me afterwards and said “when I come again, there will be a little present in my room for me, won’t there?”. I realised that, of course, she’s going to need paying for coming to give me a massage and that kind of thing. But the bad news was that I overheard a conversation between several people, one of whom was a medical type, who told me that the illness is now creeping into my back and my arms, so I thought that I’m not going to be able to enjoy my little cabin for all that much longer

This could relate to my wonderful friends who helped me move house a month ago, although I’ve no idea where the hotel and the nurse fit in. It is generally reminiscent of my plot of land in Canada where I had indeed intended to erect a log cabin so that I could go there every summer. However, my health had other plans.

The nurse came around today, his usual (these days) cheerful self, full of joie de vivre and bonhomie. He didn’t stay long, so I could crack on with breakfast and read the rest of BATTLE MAPS AND CHARTS OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION.

That book is now finished and I’ve started the next one, BATTLES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION. This is the full-length version of over 800 pages and goes into everything in a much greater depth.

So far today, we’ve been having Carrington’s eulogy and it looks as if it might continue in this vein for a couple of days yet. He takes and age to reach the point … "think of a well-known phrase involving pots and kettles" – ed …

After breakfast, there was some housekeeping that needed attention, and then I had to send off the radio programme for the coming weekend. That was something else that took an age with this new file transfer program that we are obliged to use now that the old one has died a death.

There were also a few ‘phone calls to make, and then I could concentrate on my Welsh homework that I should have done ages ago. It’s going to take an age because I can’t remember anything at all about the unit on which the homework is based.

My cleaner was late arriving, so I’d already begun to prepare my bag for dialysis. We had quite a long chat too, which was interrupted by the arrival of the taxi driver, abut 20 minutes early.

We had to pick up another passenger in Granville to take to Avranches, but even so, we were still about 20 minutes early.

My bed was all ready for me, but it still took them one hour and fifteen minutes to plug me in, by which time I was a most unhappy bunny.

The delays continued throughout the session – I even had to be reconnected because one of the pins had missed its aim and they had to start again.

What with all of this, I was in no mood to work. I just wanted to leave there. The doctor came to see me but he had nothing to say for himself and left quite quickly.

When the alarm went off for the end of the session, I had to wait 15 minutes to be unconnected. And then they decided to work on my feet for a while.

The taxi was 15 minutes late too so by the time that I returned home, it was long after 19:30, and that’s quite late (although not unheard-of) for a dialysis session.

With it being so late, I wasn’t in the mood to do much so I had pasta and falafel for tea – the falafel well-overcooked in the microwave.

But now I’m off to bed for an early night (I hope) the alarm is set for 06:00 tomorrow to give me a good start for chemotherapy. But it really is awful, all of this.

But seeing as we have been talking about Emilie the Cute Consultant … "well, one of us has" – ed … she was there this afternoon but all that I had was a grudging “hello”.
It’s a far cry from last summer when she would sit at the foot of my bed and chat to me about nothing in particular.
Regular readers of this rubbish will recall when she brought the first set of test results to me. "You have acute anaemia" she said.
"Thank you" I replied. "I’m so glad that you like it."

Monday 8th September 2025 – WHAT A DAY …

… this has been. It’s been another one where almost everything that could possibly go wrong has gone wrong and I’m beginning to become totally fed up with days like this.

It all began to go wrong last night when I seemed once again to take hours to do the simplest of things. It ended up, from an optimistic start, being quite late yet again. It wasn’t far short of midnight when I finished everything that I had to do.

As the programmer for the water heater was due to fire up at midnight, I waited around to make sure that it did. And it was just as well that I waited around for it because, in fact, it didn’t start up. It took me an age to work out how to fire it up manually (and I still don’t understand how I managed it) and it was after 00:30 when I finally crawled into bed.

It was quite a turbulent night yet again with more long periods when I was unable to sleep, but when the alarm went off at 06:29 it caught me unawares, deep in the Land of Nod. And it’s been a good while since that has happened.

After breakfast, I came back in here to see where I’d been during the night. We were in West Street in Crewe, a group of us. We were again packing ready to go away. At the same time, a big box came and I had to unpack it. It was my Fender Jazz bass and amp. I picked it up and began to play, but realised that I could no longer play. I didn’t know how to. I was racking my brains about how I was going to start to play the bass. After a while, Nerina came up to me and said “we’re leaving in five minutes. You have to get a move on!”. I started quickly to pack everything away, and Nerina said that she was going for a shower, however the other girl with us had begun to pack and I had to give her a hand, and either put my boxes into a big box with handles or else cut handles into the sides of my own for easy manoeuvre. But then I noticed the moon. It was huge tonight, it was very close and was completely full. Away in the distance, I could see the sun that was quite full too. I thought that we would have a lovely sky tonight. But back inside the office of the service station where we were packing, the girl who was packing my stuff, I asked her how she was. She said that she was struggling to fit my things in. I had a look in the hold of the ship. The first thing that I noticed was an old pool table. I asked why it was there, why can’t we move it? She said that it weighs a ton. It was an old-style table and no-one can lift it. “We’ve asked the Council if they would lift it but they need an authorisation and my authorisation” she said “has expired a long time ago”.

So I’m going away yet again. This has become a regular theme just recently, and it must be my body telling me something. The Fender bass is another issue that I need to resolve. The bass and amp are currently languishing in Canada and they need to be brought over here quite soon before I forget. As for the ship’s hold, that is self-explanatory. If I’m going anywhere, there is inevitably a passage on board a boat somewhere.

At another point, we were walking down Chestnut Avenue in Shavington, looking at the new houses. I mentioned that the houses on one side of the street were built on the rubbish dump. Someone else pointed out that the houses on the other side of the street were built on a hill slope, but one that was secured with special material like a net. It was the best material that we had ever seen. So we had a look in the driveways of one of the houses. In one of them, on the side that had been netted, we actually saw a piece of net sticking out of the ground so we had a good look at it.

These hare hardly new houses in Chestnut Avenue. I remember them being built in the early 1960s on the field in which we played and over the brook into which we fell with monotonous regularity.

When the alarm went off, I was talking to a girlfriend of mine about another girl with whom I’d been in a relationship. But the moment that I changed apartment to buy a bigger apartment maybe for us all to move into, she suddenly developed cold feet and our relationship immediately fizzled out. But that’s all that I remember about that because the alarm went off.

Nothing new in this either. It’s something that has happened on a couple of occasions in the past.

Isabelle the Nurse came in to deal with my legs, and she gave me yet another dire warning about the dialysis at home issue. I promised her that I’d mention it today at dialysis, promising that I’d refuse it.

After she left, I made my breakfast and read some more of ADVENTURES ON THE COLUMBIA RIVER.

Our author has arrived on shore and is busy setting up camps and trading posts. He describes the cruel and savage reprisals that took place during the inter-native conflicts, acts that defy description. And he also recounts his experiences in the forests with wild beasts when he becomes separated from his party for a couple of weeks.

It’s full of stories like that, all described with immaculate care and attention.

Back in here, the plumber had set me a few tasks to check the pipework, and that occupied me for quite a while. I had to break off because my cleaner arrived to apply my anaesthetic cream.

She was late arriving today so naturally, the taxi was early – although not before I’d fallen asleep for five minutes, sitting on my chair waiting.

There were three passengers all told, including me, with the driver, and we had to drop off one of them on the way. However, we arrived quite early and I had high hopes of being connected quite quickly.

And so I was, but one of the needles had missed its aim and had pierced me, making me suffer the most indescribable agony. It had to be replanted, and it wasn’t much better.

While I was lying there, I organised my shopping list for tomorrow. There’s some new vegan produce available and I’m determined to try it to see what it’s like.

The doctor came to see me, and amongst one of the things that I wanted to mention was that I intend to refuse the “dialysis at home”.

My explanation was that I’d spoken to people like the visiting nurses and they had strongly counselled against it. His response was "they don’t know what they are talking about".

That was, I thought, a very strange response seeing that one of the nurses was actually a nurse in the dialysis clinic in St Malo. However, that cut no ice at all. Instead, I carried on with my shopping list and, regrettably, crashed out again.

It took the nurses an age, unfortunately, to unplug me and compress the punctures, and when I boarded the taxi, I was told that not only was the closure of the autoroute this month responsible for a long nose-to-tail traffic jam through Avranches, a road accident at Marcey on one of the deviation routes had bottled that up too and it was chaos.

To rub salt into the wound, we had to go to the clinic at Avranches to pick up someone else. Going there, through the backstreets, wasn’t too bad but coming back was a nightmare. By the time that we reached the dialysis centre on our way back from the clinic, we’d already been on the road for over an hour.

So from one of the potentially earliest departures that I might have had, it was probably the latest ever that I returned home, totally fed up.

For tea, I just scratched something together quickly. I was going to make something interesting, but not at this time of night. For some reason that I can’t explain, I’m exhausted and so I’m off to bed. I’ve had enough for today.

But seeing as we have been talking about the wild beasts in the forests of North America … "well, one of us has" – ed … the amount of alcohol that they used to swig down while hunting was phenomenal.
That’s a characteristic of North American hunting that exists even today.
I was once with a group of hunters in the forests of Maine and it went something like this –
BANG! – "I got a deer"
BANG! – "I got a bear"
BANG! – "I got a moose"
BANG! – "Oh, sorry. You OK, Bob? Well, never mind. Throw him on the pickup anyway. No-one will notice the difference"

Monday 1st September 2025 – I AM ABSOLUTELY SICK …

… tired and totally fed up with this dialysis nonsense, and if there’s much more of it, I’m going to write my wills (because there will be three), call a halt to it and let nature take its course.

One of the doctors told me a few weeks ago that if I were to stop the dialysis, I wouldn’t last out the week. But at least I would have a week to myself without being dragged around from one medical appointment to another and totally inconvenienced in the process.

The taxi was early today – 12:45 instead of 13:15, and we arrived at dialysis at 13:20. So there I was, looking for an early start, a quick “in and out” and back home early for once. But ohhhh! Cruel, wicked fate! How you (and I suspect some human agency too) conspired to thwart my plans. And in spades too.

The way things went last night, I might have expected some problems today. Despite my best efforts, it was 23:40 when I finally crawled into bed, much later than I had been planning. But once in bed, I had a really good sleep for a change.

When the alarm went off at 06:29, I was actually on the point of throwing off the covers. Not actually out of bed though. And leaving the bed was not as simple as it might have sounded. It was a desperate struggle to beat the second alarm.

In the bathroom, I had a good wash, shave and clean up in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant … "if anyone from the dialysis centre finds this objectionable, may we ask why you have invaded Our Hero’s private life by hunting him down on the internet, in defiance of the Patients’ Charter?" – ed… and then in the kitchen I had my medication.

Some of the medication in the drawer in the table had run out so I had to go to the supplies. And what a marvellous surprise. I’ve moaned and moaned about the medication all over my apartment, making it look like a Chemist’s shop and depressing me no end but my lovely cleaner has fitted out a cardboard box, complete with little curtains, to store everything. That’s one of the nicest things that anyone has done for me.

Once more, I’d hardly come back in here before the nurse arrived. Once more, he was in a really chatty, sociable mood and I hope that he stays like this because it makes things so much nicer.

After he left, I made breakfast and read some more of MIDDLESEX IN BRITISH, ROMAN AND SAXON TIMES.

Our author is now well into his stride about Roman surveying, and I’ve been having to rack my brains from my Primary School days in the early 1960s about rods, poles, perches, chains and furlongs. I suspect that tomorrow we’ll be discussing bushels and peck, and the difference between avoirdupois and troy weight.

However, it’s his comments that are the most interesting. When discussing the longevity of the Roman system of land division, he observes that "it is manifest that neither the rude Saxons nor their Norman successors were capable of designing or carrying out such a big undertaking."

It makes me wonder what the Saxons must have been doing, and did the editor of Aunt Judy’s Magazine know about it?

He also talks about the erection of wayside shrines at the intersections of Roman field trackways, and how Pope Gregory encouraged Christian missionaries to adopt these wayside shrines and convert them to Holy Christian places.

Anyone who has wandered around rural France as much as we have will have noticed statues of the saints at many intersections of rural trackways.

Another thing that he mentions is that on "Rogation days, when priests with the Cross went in procession round their parochia, and certain Gospels were read in the wild field among the corn and grass, so that wicked spirits which infest the air might be laid low to the extent that the corn may remain unharmed."

The ceremony of the Beating of the Bounds and of well-dressing is still carried on today in parts of the UK.

After breakfast, I came back in here to spend a brief fifteen minutes finishing off the connecting up of my office and all of the computer peripherals, and when my cleaner came to sort out my anaesthetic cream two and more hours later, I was still in here trying to sort it out.

No matter what I have tried, I can’t make one of the external back-up drives fire up. I’ve changed cables and everything, but the warning light is far paler than the warning light on another one and the computer won’t read it. I shall have to keep on trying. Everything else works fine.

Once my cleaner had dealt with my arm, she began to chat. And was still chatting when the taxi came. I really am flavour of the month around here these days.

There was only me in the car with the driver today – a nice young guy who has taken me to Paris before – and we had a good chat. But the fun came to an end when we arrived at dialysis because we arrived at the same time as seven other people.

Not only that, they weren’t ready in the wards so we had to wait. And when the doors were opened, it was a mad stampede to the beds. My bed was the farthest possible away from the door, as you might expect, and because I am the slowest, I was last to arrive.

It was not surprising that I would therefore be the last to be connected, but 14:30 – well over an hour after I had arrived – is really taking the mickey.

There was plenty of room to manoeuvre with the weight loss so I asked the nurse to wind it up so that I’d have a head start for Thursday, but for all the good it did, I may as well have saved my breath.

Once everything was under way I had a brief doze … "he means ‘half an hour of deep sleep’" – ed … and then I was in no mood to do any work. I really am over-tired these days.

Even worse, the chef de service came by, and said that one of the other doctors had made some remarks the other day about my overall health and how I seemed to be suffering under the strain of dialysis. And so, he cut right down to a minimum the amount of fluid extraction.

And the final straw – despite all my entreaties, he left me 700 grams short, which means almost inevitably that I’ll be stuck here for four hours on Thursday. People could be forgiven for believing that he’s deliberately setting me up in an act of revenge for my letter to his Head Office.

So the ridiculously low extraction came to an end at 18:00 precisely, but I wasn’t unplugged and attended to until 18:25. It was 18:50 when I finally walked out of the dialysis centre – the poor taxi driver had been awaiting me for over half an hour.

To cap it all, we had to drive right across Avranches to the private clinic to pick up someone else and run them to Granville, where they were dropped off first.

It was 19:40 when I finally came back here, as if I don’t have anything else to do, and I was totally seething. I really am fed up with all of this. I was away from home for almost seven hours for a three-and-a-half hour session and that is totally unacceptable.

If I don’t calm down soon, I’ll be the one blowing a gasket.

Tea was a quick pasta with chick peas and veg, and then I had the dictaphone notes to transcribe. I can’t remember who I was with but I was wandering around somewhere like Stoke-upon-Trent last night with someone. We came across a car that was for sale, a red Morris 1000 traveller and whoever I was with was trying to make up her mind whether to buy it or not. I couldn’t see how it would fit in with our plans but it was a nice vehicle all the same. We met a few other people wandering around there too and we had a talk with them. The next thing that I remember about this was that we were in Nantwich, having a look at the water pumps there and the system to distribute the town water. They were at the back of the Swine Market, at the back of one of the shops. We were talking about how they were installed and the controversy about digging up all of the streets, stopping the traffic from circulating for months but that’s all that I remember about this dream.

Nerina and I went to see a Morris Traveller once. It was for sale at a giveaway price because one of the spring hangers had torn out of the chassis. I would have had it and welded it up, but she decided against it, which was a shame. I’m not sure why we ended up in Nantwich though. In those days, Stoke-upon-Trent would have been much more likely.

So still fuming, still seething, I’m off to bed. I hope that I will have calmed down by the morning although I doubt it. But I’ll be interested to see how my dreams are tonight. However, knowing my luck, there won’t be any at all.

One thing that I am going to do at the dialysis clinic though next time, is to watch very carefully how the nurses operate the machines. And then, when their backs are turned, I can adjust my machine myself to how I would like it to be. Then we can watch the sparks fly!

But seeing as we have been talking about religion and Priests … "well, one of us has" – ed … a priest and a couple of parishioners were standing on a road with a sign saying "The End Is Nigh. Turn Round. Retrace Your Steps Before It’s Too Late"
However, a car drives past, with the occupants hurling abuse at the Priest and his parishioners.
Next moment the Priest and his parishioners hear a loud “splash”.
One of the parishioners turns to the Priest and says "Yes, I reckoned that a simple ‘Bridge Washed Away’ sign would have been a better idea"

Saturday 30th August 2025 (… continued …) – SO STARTING AGAIN …

… after the adventures reported in the previous entry, Saturday has not been a very good day for me, for a whole variety of reasons, and I’m glad that it’s over.

It started off with me still being at my desk working at some ridiculous time like 00:40, and long after that too. But you know how it is … "No. How is it?" – ed … Once you start something, it’s very difficult to stop it, and trying to download about 50GB of Artificial Intelligence data software is not the work of five minutes.

That was something that was going on and on and on, and I didn’t want to stop it and start again. I was working on the theory that if I’m really tired during the day, I can always have a good sleep at dialysis in the afternoon. In the end though, it was starting to become ridiculous so I simply switched off the screen, left the computer working away to itself and went to bed.

Despite the very late night, I was awake again a few minutes before the alarm went off but, as you might expect, it was something of a struggle to persuade myself to leave the bed and have a good wash, shave and clean up in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant … "if anyone from the dialysis centre finds this remark objectionable, my we ask why you have invaded Our Hero’s private life, in defiance of the Patients’ Charter, by hunting him down on the internet?" – ed…

After the medication, I ended up back in here, a good hour after having left the bed, and listened to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. There was a Roman empress or the wife of a Roman emperor or the wife of a British governor who visited the office of one of the native tribes in England for some kind of interview, but things went so badly that the woman took out a dagger and slashed all of the horsehair-filled seats that were in the room, causing a lot of damage, so the tribal leaders tried to contact the Roman legions who would pay for the damage, but of course they wouldn’t and everything was left up in the air with a very bitter taste in the mouths of the British people and the tribe concerned.

Quite recently, I’ve been reading quite a lot about different Roman Emperors, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall, and there was also something going on in my mind yesterday about car seats. Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that several years ago in Québec we went to visit the RIVIERE DES VASES which was where the eel grass, used to stuff car seats in the early days of motoring, was harvested and the discussion had turned round to horsehair seats in the UK

The nurse came in at his usual time today and caught me working at my desk, so he took my blood pressure here at my desk. He reckoned that it would be a much more accurate reading if I remained sitting here rather than standing up and going into the other room.

He sorted out my legs too, then after he left, I could make my breakfast and read some more of MIDDLESEX IN BRITISH, ROMAN AND SAXON TIMES.

This morning, I didn’t go very far into the book because I went off on a tangent, following the trail of the Roman armies as they wandered peripatetically around what today is Scotland. There was also a little trail to follow about the collapse of the “Hen Gogledd” culture as the Romans pushed from the South and the Picts pushed down from the North, events recited in the Heroic Welsh ballad Y GODODIN.

After breakfast, I came back in here to see how the Artificial Intelligence downloads had gone. By the looks of things, everything was complete, but it’s going to take a good while to sort out. And after all of that, when everything is ready, I’ll probably find that I would have been much better off with Natural Stupidity because, as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … Artificial Intelligence is not all that it’s cracked up to be.

However, having said that, it’s an old principle of computer programming, drummed into us when we were messing around with Machine Code at Night School in the mid-seventies, that the only equation in computing on which you can rely is GI = GO, which stands for “Garbage In” = “Garbage Out”, and it’s probably fair to say that … errr … “confusion” in a computer program is inevitably the fault of the person who has programmed it.

Once more, my faithful cleaner caught me unawares as she came to put the anaesthetic cream onto my arm, and she stayed for quite a while chatting. I’m not sure why I seem to be the “Flavour of the Month” right now. However, our chat was interrupted by the arrival of the taxi so we went outside to meet it.

Unusually, I was the only passenger in the car today, so I asked the driver about the lovely lady who usually accompanies me. However, he had no news of her, so we travelled alone.

For once, I was early arriving, but as usual, I was one of the last to be connected, which was a shame. And as I expected, for the first half-hour I was away with the fairies, although not in any fashion that would be of interest to the editor of Aunt Judy’s Magazine. When I came back into the Land of the Living, I didn’t really do all that much.

The doctor came to see me and I told her the story of the injections. She thought too that I’d be much better off going back to the old series of injections rather than this new one that had so upset my body.

Eventually, they came to unplug me after, for once, having had a full session of three and a half hours without a crisis of any kind. However, the woman in the next bed was not so lucky and they had to unplug her after an hour or so. When she’d recovered, she was whipped off to hospital for observation

Earlier on, I had asked one of the nurses if she knew why the lady who usually accompanies me on Thursdays and Saturdays was not present today. She had checked up during the course of the afternoon and while she was compressing me, she told me, to my deep shock, that she had died yesterday.

When I’d seen her on Thursday, I noticed that she didn’t seem to be herself, but to hear that she had died the following day was the last thing that I expected to hear.

On the way out, they weighed me as usual, and I am now the lightest that I have been for quite some considerable time. I can see that this is not going to end well, but I can’t think of what to do about it, with the lack of appetite and everything that I eat tasting heavily of salt since the chemotherapy began.

The taxi was waiting for me when I left, but there was another passenger who needed to be dropped off in Avranches, so what with all that had gone on today, I was far later arriving back home than I otherwise might have been, which was annoying. There was a rainstorm too that was rather annoying.

My faithful cleaner was waiting for me and she sorted me out quite quickly. She’d also brought two of the guitars downstairs, which was nice. The others will follow in due course.

After she had left, there was football on the internet. The game between Hwlffordd and Caernarfon had started half an hour ago but the advantage of being on the internet is that you can wind it back to the start.

Mind you, it wasn’t a very interesting match. For some reason, all of the liveliness and energy that had seen Caernarfon go to the top of the table and score a bagful of goals so far this season seemed to have disappeared and it was a very lethargic performance. Hwlffordd gave a workmanlike performance but didn’t set the game alight either.

A 1-1 draw was probably a fair result, and I have seen far, far better matches than this one. If Caernarfon wish to stay at the top of the table, they will have to play much better than this. However, perennial champions TNS dropped another two points with a tame draw down south at Barry Town and Penybont, who have shown some class and character over the last two or three seasons, were surprisingly beaten at home by Connah’s Quay Nomads.

At half-time, I paused the game and went to make some tea – pasta and veg with chick peas. And it was a big mistake because what with the nausea that I have been feeling these last few days, I ended up in some kind of severe difficulty. In the end, as soon as the football finished, I typed a terse note and went straight to bed.

Tomorrow is another day and we’ll see how we feel. My cure for everything at the moment is to go to bed and sleep it off.

But seeing as we have been talking about my poor fellow traveller … "well, one of us has" – ed … I told my faithful cleaner about her death. After all, she had met her a couple of times.
"How many of your fellow passengers have now passed away over the last year?" she asked.
"Three" I replied "and a fourth one now has to come by ambulance".
"You’ll do everything you possibly can to have a car to yourself, won’t you?" she said.

Thursday 28th August 2025 – YET ANOTHER MORNING …

… when I slept right the way through until the alarm at 06:29. And once more, I had no end of a struggle to leave the bed prior to the alarm going off.

Last night wasn’t however as late as some have been just recently. I was actually, for once, in bed prior to midnight although it does have to be said that there can’t have been much in it.

Once in bed, I was asleep quite quickly and that’s all that I remember of anything until 06:29 when the alarm went off. It’s not very often that I sleep as soundly as that.

It took me an age to make myself ready this morning too. What with having a good wash, scrub up and shave in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant this afternoon, I went into the kitchen for my medication and didn’t come out again until 07:41 precisely. That was what I would call a “slow start”.

Yes, and “Emilie the Cute Consultant” … while I was waiting for my Doppler examination yesterday, with nothing better to do, I found a copy of the “Patients’ Charter” and read it. I do strange things like that every now and again.

Article 11 states that "a person who has been hospitalised has the right to express his observations on his treatment and on his reception." Consequently, if I have received an “over-generous” welcome from a member of staff, I shall say so, whether or not the doctor in charge of the service blows a gasket.

Even more importantly, Article 9 says that "every hospitalised person has the right to have his private life respected." It continues by saying that such a person "has the right to confidentiality respect of his …" communications.

Therefore, if the chef de service doesn’t like what I’m writing, I shall want to know why someone has been disrespecting my private life by hunting me down on the internet and reading my communications.

Frankly, I’m not in the least bothered about who tracks me down on the internet and who reads anything that I have written. But as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … if you have seen something that displeases you, no matter how you found it, there’s a “contact” button on the bottom right.

But if you are reading this and you aren’t supposed to, no matter what the reason, you only have yourself to blame.

Back in here, I listened to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. At some point during the night, I was at Aberystwyth watching Aberystwyth Town playing in the JD Cymru South League following their relegation from the Premier League. It was a completely new side with all their old favourites missing. It just wasn’t the same kind of team that it was before. Several of their former players who had left in the summer were there but seemed not to become involved or take any kind of side during anything that was going on. That was a disappointment again.

Amongst the players whom I recognised in the stand was Louis Bradford, Aberystwyth’s former centre-half, but also Alec Mudimu, someone who has no connection at all with Aberystwyth. He’s a Zimbabwe international defender who played in the JD Cymru League previously with Cefn Druids and after a spell playing in Eastern Europe, signed for Y Fflint the other day.

The nurse came at the usual time for a change today, and once more, he was full of jovial good humour. I really don’t know from where it’s coming, but I hope that he keeps it up. He’s a much more agreeable person when he’s in this kind of mood.

After he left, I made breakfast and read some more of MIDDLESEX IN BRITISH, ROMAN AND SAXON TIMES.

Our author is still setting the scene but he’s now moved on to talk about hunting. And in the middle of his discourse, he stops to paint a very illuminating but fanciful account of a fictional hunt involving Cunobelinus and his “daughter” Helena, a personage just as fictitious as Montagu Sharpe’s description.

Sharpe talks about the wild "animals turned by the long line of bank and hedge now known as Grimm’s dyke, blindly rushing towards these outstretched leafy arms," of the hunting trap. And then he loses the plot completely as he talks about the "blast from a long bronze carnyx, the sportsmen scatter to their places, and with weapons ready".

Would anyone like to guess what might happen to a herd of wild animals if someone in their vicinity were to blow a note on a solid bronze anything?

Really, this kind of writing has no place in what is supposed to be a genuine and serious historical account.

Back in here, I had a few things to do but time caught up with me quite rapidly and my cleaner arrived to sort out my anaesthetic patches. After she’d finished, we had a very long chat and then she left me to await the taxi to take me to dialysis.

It was late coming this afternoon and the other passenger in the car with me had the air of being extremely unhappy. We were late arriving at Avranches and as you might expect, I was the last to be plugged in.

To make matters worse, having had the session interrupted on Monday, I had so much liquid to lose that I had to stay for four hours. And the internet was down all day too, which really put the tin hat on it.

Océane was looking after me today, which was nice. The first needle, I felt a sensation when she pierced the skin but that was all. As for the second, the one that gives me problems, I didn’t even realise that she’d injected me, so good was the puncture. She can do it again like that and I’ll be happy. And once she had finished, I crashed out for a whole forty-five minutes

The doctor came to see me at one point. They had had the report from the hospital. The implant is definitely faulty and they are discussing whether to repair it or replace it. That was not what I wanted to hear.

During the session, the blood pressure alarm kept sounding as my blood pressure dropped. With twenty minutes to go, it was down to just about eight so at that point, Océane stopped the session. She’s already seen me in a coma once and doesn’t want to see it again.

She raised the bottom of the bed to give my blood pressure the space to recover, and when my pressure was stable at 9.5 she uncoupled me. The doctor gave me a prescription for the nurse to monitor my blood pressure for the next couple of days.

The taxi driver was waiting for me, last out of the building as I was, and she brought me home. My faithful cleaner was awaiting me and what a relief it was to come back into my apartment without those wretched 25 steps.

After a good while to recover, I made tea – a leftover curry. And now I’m off to bed, exhausted once again. I don’t know what’s the matter with me these last few days.

But seeing as we have been talking about hunting … "well, one of us has" – ed … two guys are out hunting in the forests of Maine when they are attacked by a black bear. One of them escapes but the other one is badly mauled.
Eventually, the one who escapes goes back to his friend and sees the bloody mass on the floor.
Taking up his ‘phone, he ‘phones 911."My friend has just been badly mauled by a black bear. I think that he’s dead"
"Really?" asks the dispatcher. "Can you make sure?"
On the other end of the ‘phone, the dispatcher hears a “BANG”
"I’m really sure now" says the surviving hunter. "What do I do next?"

Saturday 16th August 2025 – IT WAS ANOTHER …

… horrible day at dialysis where even more things went wrong than on the last horrible day that I had had. And add to that the fact that the nurse who dealt with me was the one who doesn’t like me all that much, it could hardly be any worse than it was.

However, it was brewing up like that last night. As regular readers of this rubbish will recall, I was off my food last night – a sure sign that I was sickening for something. Once more, it was quite late when I went to bed and I didn’t take long to go to sleep.

However, I awoke at 04:10 and couldn’t go back to sleep at all for quite a while. I was giving serious consideration to leaving the bed at one point, but the next thing that I remember was the alarm going off at 06:29. I must have gone back to sleep again.

That’s twice just recently that I’ve been awoken by the alarm. I hope that it’s not becoming a habit because I enjoy my early mornings, even if I am dog-tired by the end of the day. I must have a think about this.

It took a while to summon up the morale and the energy to go into the bathroom to have a wash and a shave too, in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant this afternoon, and then I went for my medication.

While I was in the kitchen, I could see the sun rise over the roof of the church. A tiny, bright-red disc, nothing like its usual morning appearance. Some say that it’s another Sahara sandstorm and the smoke from the wildfires in Spain that are causing the problem.

Back in here, I listened to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I can’t remember too much about this dream but I was living on one of these housing estates in Crewe. I’d discussed with someone the idea of going round to see them one afternoon. As the afternoon came round, I thought that I’d take a cake with me but I didn’t have a cake tin so I put a message on the internet to ask if anyone could lend some cake tins to me. There were one or two answers so I called for a taxi, and the taxi took me to one of the addresses. When I began to talk to this woman at this address about cake boxes, she shook her head in bewilderment. She had no idea about what I was discussing, and after five minutes it became quite evident that I had the wrong address and that I’d come here instead of whee I ought to be going. Eventually, after quite some time, I managed to work out that I could borrow a cake tin. The old lady who lived there was reasonably nice in the end although she had been somewhat brusque and sharp at first. I climbed back into the taxi to be rushed over to the next football ground accompanied by a beep from the driver and a hand-wave from the woman. I was thinking that well at least I had my cake for this afternoon so it’s not a bad thing.

It was part of my big plan to bake a cake or two, and a few other things for when my friends come to help me move but unfortunately, first of all, I’m feeling far from well and secondly, what with dialysis, chemotherapy and the like all happening next week, when am I going to have the time?

The nurse was very late this morning. He’s just back from his holidays so I suppose he wanted a lie-in. So I had to wait quite a while before I could make breakfast.

Having finished Daniel Gooch yesterday, I’ve started a new book today – Montagu Sharp’s MIDDLESEX IN BRITISH, ROMAN AND SAXON TIMES. It’s a comparatively modern book for me, written in 1856.

It has all the air of being quite interesting … "you’ve said that before about others" – ed … and at the moment, we are discussing the sharpened wooden stakes that were found in the River Thames, presumably to guard the British ford crossing the river at Brentford.

After breakfast, I came back in here and carried on packing a few more boxes ready to be moved downstairs. The more I can do, the better while I’m still in the mood and in the health to do it.

And then, I went a-playing with this radio soundtrack that I’ve been preparing. After much binding in the marsh etc, I’ve managed to fix one of the joins that was annoying me. It’s now much better than it was. There are still one or two more to fix, and I suspect that they might give me even more trouble.

My cleaner turned up to fit my anaesthetic patches and then we went downstairs to see how the plumber was doing. He’s made a really impressive job of the bathroom, and the shower looks beautiful, as far as it has gone. He seems to think that it will be all finished by Monday afternoon, which will be wonderful if it is.

There will still be a few other jobs to do, but I’ll contact the kitchen fitter and see what he thinks about his availability

This morning, I had awoken with a pain in my chest. I mentioned yesterday that I reckoned that I was sickening for something. But at dialysis, I made the huge mistake of telling them.

The preparations for the dialysis shuddered to a dramatic halt, I was given an electromyogramme and they took a blood sample, that needed to be analysed. "It’ll only take twenty minutes" they assured me. And when the blood pressure dropped to 7.0, then they really did go into a panic.

These twenty minutes turned out to be one hour and forty minutes and by that time, I was seething with rage. I’m afraid that I left the doctor and the nurse in absolutely no doubt about how I felt, and now the nurse likes me even less than before

Having arrived early at dialysis, it was 18:45 when the session finally ended and they unplugged me, and I was totally past caring.

If I have learned anything from today’s disaster, that is that next time they ask me how I am, I shall say that everything is perfect. I’m not being messed around like this again.

Another decision that I have made is that this trip to Paris will be my last. If they want me to continue with chemotherapy, it will have to be done in a local hospital or, the absolute limit, Rennes. I’m fed up with being a slave of the medical service.

Back here, there was a reception committee awaiting me – my cleaner, my friend from Munich and the Hound of the Baskervilles. It says something for my friends that they are prepared to make a 2400 km round trip just for a few days to help me move house. No-one could ask for better friends.

My friend had a guided visit of the new apartment and he thinks that it’s wonderful too. I really am pleased with it and I hope that it all works as well as it looks. With a little luck, I might even be in there on Monday when I return from dialysis. It would be wonderful if I could.

Tea was something of an ad-hoc scratch affair as I wasn’t up to doing much, and then I staggered in here to write my notes. I really am finished tonight and I shall be glad to climb into bed, where I shall sleep for ever, I reckon.

But seeing as we have been talking about showers … "well, one of us has" – ed … in one of these hostels of the kind where I stayed in Leuven, a girl went down to see the manager.
"It’s the man in the room next door" she said. "He’s doing rude things to himself in the shower."
So the manager went up to her room, had a look round, and said "I can’t see anything, miss."
"Well, " said the girl "if you put this chair onto the table just here and then climb ap to the top, you’ll be able to see him if you stare closely through the air brick up there in the wall."

Thursday 14th August 2025 – WHAT A HORRIBLE …

… day at dialysis that was! Everything that could possibly go wrong went wrong and it wasn’t until 19:45 that I finally made it back here.

It had all gone wrong a long time before that, though. Once more, another night where I failed miserably to beat my curfew time of 23:00, mainly due to prevarication and lack of motivation, and I really need to do something about that. Over the last eighteen months or so I seem to have lost the will and there’s nothing that I can do that seems to recapture it.

At least, once I go to bed, I don’t stay awake for long. I’m away quite quickly, which is at least an improvement on how things used to be. But in some kind of weird compensation, I seem to awaken quite early and quite easily.

It was 02:45 when I awoke for the first time, and try as I might, I couldn’t go back to sleep at first. I reckoned at one stage that I may as well leave the bed and do something constructive, but as I was trying to summon up the energy, I must have gone back to sleep.

And then a strange thing happened. For the first time since I don’t know when, I was still asleep when the alarm went off at 06:29. I must have been really tired last night, because I was completely out of it all at that moment.

It took a good few minutes for me to gather up my senses, which is a surprise seeing how few I have these days, but I still managed to beat the second alarm – but only just.

After a good scrub up and the morning medication, I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I’d gone to Paris for the weekend. On the Sunday morning I awoke and went down to the metro station to buy a metro pass. I then set out for a little walk. I walked down alongside the River Seine for a while and then decided to catch the metro. I climbed onto the metro and headed south along the river. I suddenly then had a horrible sensation that I’d left my keys in the metro station when I bought my ticket. So what was I going to do? I had to leave the metro and then run all the way back, all the way down the banks of the Seine, all the way to the metro station where I had been. I remember thinking that I don’t have my crutches here. How am I doing this? When I reached the metro station, I had to climb into my car and drive out into the suburbs or something. I drove out, and it was quite a fast drive with people not really obeying the speed limit at all. When I reached where I was supposed to be, I found that everyone from work had assembled there. One of the people gave me my suit that was in one of these plastic suit cover things on a hanger. I mentioned to him about my keys so he opened the plastic suit container thing and pulled out my keys. Of course I was extremely relieved about this and I thanked him, but then everyone began to take the mickey out of me. Although I knew that it was done in good nature, I wasn’t really in the kind of mood to be teased at that moment again. It was more a great big sigh of relief.

These days I seem to spend a lot of time wandering around without my crutches. If only it were true! But why would I be walking around Paris? That’s something that I certainly can’t do these days, not that I would want to, because Paris isn’t my favourite European city. The last time that I had a good walk around Paris was about three years ago with a certain young lady who figures every now and again in these pages. I don’t know why my colleagues from work would be there either, but that’s another story.

Isabelle the Nurse breezed in as usual, and as well as dealing with my legs, she removed the plaster from my catheter, without giving me an opportunity to express my opinion on the matter. She’s probably right to do so, but it’s still going to be uncomfortable for me if I see it.

Once she’d left, I could make breakfast and read some more of THE DIARIES OF SIR DANIEL GOOCH.

Today, we’ve been treated to a very lengthy and involved discussion about fishing in 2400 fathoms (14400 feet) of sea with a couple of grappling hooks for the broken end of a transatlantic telegraph cable so that they could haul it up, splice a new length in it and lay it as a second cable from Valencia to Heart’s Content.

He also spends some time talking about the shipping that went past them as they fished for the cable. And in those days, there was so much marine traffic and so many different companies sailing the Atlantic. When we sailed the Atlantic in 2019, we met just one ship after leaving the Orkney Islands behind us until we were in the Davis Strait off the west coast of Greenland.

After breakfast, I did some more packing for a while and then came back in here to begin work on the next radio programme. And just five minutes convinced me that this is going to be a real mess. I’ll be lucky to salvage anything at all out of it.

And seeing as we have been talking about the radio, don’t forget that this weekend features my series of Woodstock programmes. I hope that you’ll all listen to it, even if you can’t understand French. After all, it took ages to prepare and involved an enormous amount of research. I was really happy about how it all turned out.

You can hear the broadcasts HERE at 21:00 Central European Time, 20:00 UK Time and 15:00 Toronto Time on Friday, Saturday and Sunday, and even download them for later perusal.

My cleaner turned up a little later than usual to fit my anaesthetic patches, and then we went downstairs where I had a good chat with the plumber. Judging by what remains to be done, it looks as if he might be finished by Monday night if he works tomorrow, which is a Bank Holiday around here.

The taxi was late arriving but the driver put her foot down and we weren’t too late arriving in Avranches. But the doctor wanted to inspect the fitting in my arm, and then the nurse found that one of the patches had missed the fitting so it hurt like Hades, and the needle that goes in there missed the fitting too, so they were talking about doing it again. But wiser counsel prevailed and they fitted a “Y” branch on the one that was working.

They also found that I’d gained quite a lot of weight this last couple of days and so I had to stay for four hours. And to add insult to injury, they put me in the bed that is the most uncomfortable.

Having arrived at 13:45, it was 14:45 when the treatment actually began. And as I said earlier, s late as 19:45 when I returned home.

We had a quick look in to see where the plumber had reached this afternoon. He had made good progress while I was at dialysis. The plasterboard walling is all done and he’s applied the first layer of jointing compound. He has everything that he needs to repair the floor and to tile everywhere. It’s looking really impressive and will look even better when it’s finished

Coming back upstairs was a nightmare, and shan’t I be glad to no longer have to do it? I was exhausted and it took me a good half hour to recover enough breath to make a quick tea. Nothing exotic at all – I wasn’t in the mood.

So I’m off to bed now, wondering if I’ll have another sleep like last night or whether I’ll be back to the “four hours per night” lark.

But seeing as we have been talking about shipping … "well, one of us has" – ed … Nerina and I met a couple of people on a ferry once and had a really interesting chat with them.
"My husband is a sea-captain" said the woman. "He works for Cunard."
"My husband runs a taxi business" replied Nerina. "He puts a great deal of effort and energy into his work too."

Monday 11th August 2025 – I HAD NOTHING ON …

… the dictaphone again this morning.

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that at this point I usually wail about the lack of excitement and interest etc, but as I have said it before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … you are probably as fed up with it as I am, so I shall desist.

Mind you, it’s not really all that much of a surprise because I was still letting it all hang out after midnight last night. For one reason or another, despite my best attempts to be early, it was nothing like. I really don’t know where the time goes these days.

And so in bed after midnight, I was asleep quite quickly, but not for long. At 04:10 I was wide awake again, which was probably why there was nothing on the dictaphone. You can’t go far in four hours.

Try as I might, I couldn’t go back to sleep. By about 05:15 I gave up the struggle and arose from the Dead.

In the bathroom, I had a good wash and shave in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant this afternoon, and then I went into the kitchen for the medication. Back in here, I discovered that there was nothing on the dictaphone, but not to worry because I have plenty to do.

In the living room, I filled all of the boxes that we had emptied on Wednesday so they are now all ready to be taken down and emptied. I also emptied one of the CD racks so that one is now ready to be moved.

Isabelle the Nurse inspected my catheter port and changed the dressing, and then dealt with my legs. She didn’t hang around for long, and I could make breakfast and read some more of THE OLD ROAD.

Our author is at it again with his flowery prose. He wants to talk about the Dissolution of Monasteries. I’m not going to reproduce what he has to say but if you were to look at page 199 you’ll see that he takes well over a page of his book to say "the monasteries were taken into possession of the Crown."

There’s another one of his … errr … rather inexact paragraphs. Talking about the Enclosure Act 1773 and its effect on the road, he says "it has been caught by the enclosures of the great landlords in four places alone : Albury, Denbies, Gatton, and Titsey. It passes, indeed, through the gardens of Merstham House,".

So is it “four places alone”, or is it actually five? Rhetorical hyperbole is one thing, but that which he is writing is something else.

The plumber finally turned up this morning, and we had a lengthy discussion about how I want the job to be done. Today, I found him much more amenable to my ideas than he was the last time that he was here, which is good news. He had also appeared with a trailer and he intended to move the bath, sink and mirror which I had been trying to give away but no-one wanted.

After he went downstairs, I had a few other things to do until my cleaner arrived. We fitted my anaesthetic patches and then took everything downstairs, where we found the plumber busily smashing old tiles off the wall.

We had a chat, and he showed me a few more defects that the builders who had converted this building into apartments in 1998 had done. The standard of workmanship in this place is appalling.

While I was waiting for the taxi, I began to unpack the boxes. But when she arrived, I was whisked down to Avranches at a rapid rate of knots by an impatient and probably very busy driver.

For a change, they had found a comfortable bed for me and I made the most of it because I crashed out completely for an hour or so.

Emilie the Cute Consultant came to see me but didn’t have much to say. She asked me if there was anything that I needed, but I told her that whatever I needed wouldn’t be supplied by the dialysis clinic. One disappointment was that she hadn’t had an opportunity to speak to Paris about transferring my chemotherapy to Rennes.

If I were honest, I have to say that there wasn’t much work done this afternoon. I was far too tired to concentrate.

When the session was over, I had to wait around to be disconnected, so consequently I was no earlier coming home.

Back here, we inspected the work that the plumber had done. It’s quite impressive, it has to be said, but not so the work that we saw underneath that the builders had done in 1998. It really is disgraceful and one of these days, I’ll post a few photos of their efforts.

The climb back up the stairs was awful again, and so my cleaner and I have made a decision. While I am at dialysis on Monday next week, she’ll round up some willing volunteers and move my bed downstairs so that I don’t have to worry about coming back up here when I return.

If she is able to do that, it means just two more climbs up the stairs and my nightmare will be over. Mind you, that’s still two climbs too many. I really wanted to stay down there today – really.

Tea tonight was a stuffed pepper, but I really wasn’t all that hungry. I just wanted to go to bed, and I’m on my way there now.

But seeing as we have been talking about the awful standard of renovations in this building … "well, one of us has" – ed … it reminds me of a builder’s van that I saw once in Birmingham.
Written on the side was "Gurdeep Singh, builder. You’ve had the cowboys, now here come the Indians."

Monday 4th August 2025 – BANE OF BRITAIN …

… strikes again:

Sitting here all morning fuming because the plumber hadn’t shown up, I eventually decided to re-read the message that he had sent me at the beginning of last week.

And sure enough, there in black and white, is written “a week on Monday” – i.e. the 11th August.

Here I am, having been fretting all day for nothing at all.

Even worse, in the mad rush to order what I needed and ended up with what I could buy at short notice rather than what I would like, it turns out that I had plenty of time to shop around and make an online order. Still, it’s too late to fret about it now.

And seeing as we have been talking about it being too late … "well, one of us has" – ed … it was too late last night when I finally went to bed last night. After my marathon lie-in on Sunday, I wasn’t all that tired, which is no surprise

Mind you, I was asleep quite quickly and there I stayed, flat out, until all of … errr … 04:10.

At that point I could easily have left the bed but I decided once more to loiter around for a while. The next thing that I knew, it was 05:45 and so at that point I decided to leave the bed. Not that I managed it straight away – it took me a good few minutes to summon up the courage to leave the bed.

The first thing that I did was to go back to yesterday’s entry and add in the dictaphone notes that I had forgotten to include last night.

After a good scrub up and a shave in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant this afternoon, I went to sort out the medication and then I came back in here to find out what was on the dictaphone from the night. I was in an apartment in the rue de Villedieu. Looking out of the window I could see someone going past with a pile of books and records so I wondered what was happening. As I opened the door, a paper that had been on my desk blew out and I had to run after it but the faster I ran, the faster it blew in front of me. It took me quite a while, up to the hospital roundabout in fact, before I was able to catch it and stamp on it. By this time, the people with all these books and records had disappeared. I was chatting to a friend about this and we had no idea of what was going on. A few days later, I was walking down by the old cemetery and in the corner at the bottom where all of the records of the cemetery and the burials of the town had been kept, it was now an office for an auto-electrical company. I was wandering around a little more and came across a guy who used to supply sand into the cemetery. I asked him if he knew what was happening. He replied that the books and records department had been closed in May. I thought that this was the reason why the books and records had been moved, but to where have they gone? No-one at all seemed to know. They had disappeared off the face of the earth. I thought that if the company had closed down, that might be the reason why there was no football on Sunday morning, maybe because the commentators who accessed all of the records for their broadcasts, they had decided to move on too although it would be extremely unlikely.

This reminds me of an incident in Hanley, Stoke-on-Trent, in 1992 where the disposal of a pile of records led to an extremely unfortunate crisis that had still not resolved itself when I left for the European mainland. It was one of those events that would have the most enormous repercussions but we’ll leave it at that, for fear of incriminating certain people.

Later on, I stepped back into that dream. We were talking about the ancient martial art of Terzhik which involved a way of entering through the window of some kind of sacred or special place. This is what had started off on this series of dreams by thinking that I had seen someone coming through the window into the records office. However, I didn’t spend long dreaming of this because I awoke with a start again halfway through.

As for any martial art called Terzhik, I doubt very much that there is such a thing. But people coming in through the window is a concern that I need to address when I’m on the ground floor, knowing how suddenly and how profoundly I can crash out.

While we were tidying up, my cleaner came across a video that I hadn’t seen. It talked about the Welsh migrations during the Industrial Revolution when hundreds of thousands of people left their homes on the farms and in the mountains to go to work in the coal mines and in the big cities. I hadn’t seen this before so I sat down to watch it. It was extremely interesting, talking about the lines of emigration up the Conwy valley and places like that. It went on to talk about the migrations from the South to the North in 1913 when the Wrexham coal mines open – that would seem to be when my grandmother moved from Penrhiwceiber in South Wales up to Wrexham. It showed all kinds of interesting things like the contemporary carriages and the rock-strew routes that they used to take, how their carriages were broken down along the way and had to be repaired so a whole new breed of carriage repairers had to be set up in mid-Wales. It talked about the cemeteries being vacated, bodies being removed and being found just about everywhere because there was no possible way to bury them anywhere else. It was just reaching the interesting part when I awoke.

Rural depopulation is something that has been going on since the start of the Industrial Revolution but in Wales, with the dramatic rise of heavy industry, the process was much more intense and many villages lost a huge amount of their population. In 1871, Penrhiwceiber wasn’t even listed in the census, yet in 1909 there were over 4,000 people working in the coal mines there As for the roads in mid-Wales, they are not much better than those that I saw in my dream. The problem in a lack of investment – neither the Welsh Assembly nor Central Government believes that there’s anything north of the “Heads of the Valleys” except sheep and druids.

There was another part of a dream somewhere but I can’t remember where it fitted in, but I’d gone for a walk and had gone almost as far as Nantwich before I realised that I had set out without my crutches. I wondered how that was possible and, more importantly, once I realised, how was I going to return home?

Wherever this fits in, I have no idea. But it’s not the first time that I’ve dreamed that I’ve been walking without my crutches. But I’d love to know how I returned home once I’d realised.

Isabelle was late this morning and she didn’t stay long, just enough time to sort out my legs and then she was away. I could then make breakfast and read some more of MY BOOK.

Our author has pressed on today and is now discussing the chronology of the Bishops of London.

He has quite a few comments to make about some of the Bishops, but he reserves his most incendiary vitriol for Eustachius de Fauconbridge, the Chancellor of the Exchequer who was made bishop in 1221. He says that while Fauconbridge "was giving Holy orders, a great tempest of wind and rain annoyed so many who came thither whereof it was gathered how highly God was displeased with such as came to receive orders, to the end that they might live a more easy life of the stipend appointed to the churchmen, giving themselves to banqueting, and so with unclean and filthy bodies (but more unclean souls) presume to minister unto God, the author of purity and cleanness."

Back in here, still fuming over the non-arrival of the plumber (I hadn’t re-read the message at this point) I drafted an advert onto one of these Chamber of Commerce sites to see if I couldn’t find another one.

While I was at it, I put some more things online for sale and, in the case of the old bathroom fittings, to give away. There is still plenty more to be sold.

When my cleaner had finished applying my anaesthetic patches, we collected some more things together, photographed another piece of furniture, and then took downstairs the things that we had assembled.

Once I was down there, I put things away, mainly in the new bathroom unit, and then began to rearrange and reorder the food in the kitchen cabinets. There’s now much more space in there, which is good.

When it was 13:00 we went outside in the sun to await the taxi, but it was half an hour late. Not that I was complaining, because it was a gorgeous afternoon and I was enjoying the fresh air.

There was another passenger in the car and the driver spent all of the time talking to her. No-one said a word to me. I settled down in the back of the car and had a nice rest.

At dialysis I was put in a small room with three other people. It was a nice, comfortable bed with nice surroundings so I didn’t do much this afternoon. I simply relaxed and enjoyed the nice view.

And who should come to chat to me but Emilie the Cute Consultant. We discussed the issues about chemotherapy, and an in-depth discussion it was too. In the end she promised to ring Paris to explain in greater detail the issues that I’m having, and suggest that I go to Rennes for any subsequent treatment. It would be lovely if she could persuade them

With being late arriving, I was late leaving but we made good time on the way home. Back here, we measured the windows in the apartment downstairs so that I could order some curtains, and my faithful cleaner has struck lucky. Some of the shelves in the fridge here are broken and I would have to order some new ones as replacements before I go, but someone has dumped over in the rubbish bay a fridge the same size as mine and she was able to rescue a couple of shelves, which is wonderful.

It was another long, weary climb up here and I had to sit down for twenty minutes to recover before I could make tea.

We’re back in our usual routine as of today, with stuffed pepper, and enough stuffing left over for a couple of days. It’s only a small mix of stuffing too, but I’m really not in all that much of a mood to eat a great deal right now.

So tomorrow, there is plenty to do so I’m going to go to bed, late as it is. And here’s hoping for a good sleep because despite the events of Sunday morning, I really need it.

But seeing as we have been talking about the cemetery here in Granville … "well, one of us has" – ed … someone from Crewe came here years ago and was astonished by the number of graves in it for such a small town.
"Do people die here often then?" he asked the gravedigger.
"Ohh no!" replied the gravedigger. "Only the once."

Monday 28th July 2025 – YET MORE TORTURE …

… at the dialysis centre today. The mattress on my bed has collapsed and there’s a big hollow right where my left hip fits. And so, after about ninety minutes, with two hours still to go, I was in total agony. And so it dragged on throughout the entire session.

It’s bad enough being poked, prodded, stabbed with needles, awoken when I’m trying to doze, but this is the final straw. I shall telephone them tomorrow and tell them that if it’s not fixed by Thursday, I shan’t be coming again. I reckon that i’ve had quite enough.

Especially after last night. Chatting with my kitchen fitter after he’d finished seemed to take hours and all that I wanted to do was to eat my pizza. It was stone-cold by the time that he went, I was royally fed up and in the end, it was some quite ridiculous time when I finally managed to haul myself off to bed. I really can’t take much more of this.

When the alarm went off at 06:29, I was totally flat out in bed. It was quite a battle to raise myself out before the second alarm and had there not been a second alarm to encourage me to leave the bed, I probably would still be in there now. I was totally shattered.

In the bathroom, I went for a wash and a shave and then into the kitchen to sort out the medication.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night but there was nothing thereupon. I must have had a really deep, intense sleep. And if so, why aren’t I feeling much better than I am right now?

There were a few things that I needed to but I was interrupted by the arrival of the nurse. He was in and out in a flash, seeing that he’s off on his holidays this evening. I could push on, make breakfast and read some more of MY BOOK.

We’re still on our perambulations of course, but today he tells us that "on the River Thames, of late years, was placed a corn mill, upon or betwixt two barges or lighters, and there ground corn, as water mills in other places, to the wonder of those who had not seen the like, but this lasted not long without decay, such as caused the same barges and mill to be removed.". I would have loved to have seen that in operation. It must have been a fantastic machine.

We’ve also had another rent payment made in flowers. This refers to one of the towers in Baynard’s Castle, which Edward III gave "to William, Duke of Hamelake, in the county of York, and his heirs, for one rose yearly.to be paid for all service."

There’s also a movement inspired by the Bishop of Rochester and several others to provide aid for the poor, and many men "moved liberally to grant what they would impart … and what they would contribute weekly for their maintenance for a time.". Where is the church today when it should be leading the same kind of campaign amongst the wealthy and privileged?

And yesterday, we had a fight amongst a couple of priests. To day, he tells us of a rather incendiary confrontation between the Archbishop of Canterbury and his retinue and the canons of the Priory of St Bartholomew. Tomorrow, we’ll probably find the Pope in there somewhere having a helping of violent disorder.

Back in here, I had a radio programme to review ready to broadcast. But once more, I didn’t like it so I re-edited it and remixed it. The programmer is off work on holiday in August so I’ll have to review the programmes for that month tomorrow and send them off.

There wasn’t much time to do much else before my cleaner arrived to fit my patches. When she had finished, we went downstairs with a few boxes to empty out. And I did take a photo of the bedroom but I’m so whacked that I really don’t have the energy to post it. I shall do it tomorrow.

The driver who took me to dialysis was the young, chatty guy and we had a very interesting chat all the way down there. We were early arriving too, but it did no good seeing that so were several other people and as usual, I was last to be plugged in.

They gave me a prescription for an x-ray on my chest, which is arranged for tomorrow. That is just crazy. I’m not having a moment to relax, with yet another climb back up the stairs when I should be resting. Why couldn’t they arrange it for a day when I have dialysis?

The disinterested doctor was on duty today and he didn’t seem too interested in what I had to say. He did, however, inspect (at my insistence) my catheter port and pronounced it healthy. But there’s a bruise that is causing the pain that I am feeling.

Apart from the mattress, which has totally annoyed me, nothing much else happened. Being late coupled up, I was late leaving. It was the young Asiatic girl who brought me home and we talked about Italian food all the way home.

Back here, we went into downstairs and began to make a list of the work that needs doing, but it ended up being something of a building meeting with a group of us outside my door chatting.

It was a real struggle to climb back up here. I feel that I’m going backwards with this chemotherapy and losing whatever mobility that I had. There was another barrage of messages from the kitchen fitter but I’ll reply to them when I’m in a better humour.

Instead, I made tea – a burger with pasta and veg. I couldn’t be bothered to do much else.

So right now, I’m off to bed, hoping that I’ll awaken in a better frame of mind tomorrow, although with this trip to the x-ray and the climb back up here, I doubt it very much.

But seeing as we have been talking about flowers … "well, one of us has" – ed … it reminds me of one of those “Mr and Mrs” quizzes in which Nerina and I competed.
The presenter asked me which was Nerina’s favourite flower. And Yours Truly, completely misunderstanding the question, replied "Homepride self-raising, I think."

Thursday 24th July 2025 – WHAT A HORRIBLE …

… day I’ve had today. If I’m leaving the table with food still left on my plate, then you know that I’m really ill. I can safely say that it’s been a long, long time since I’ve felt as bad as this and I’m beginning to understand when I was first at Leuven that I chose a place with breakfast provided, so that at least I’d have one meal each day.

But last night, after finishing writing my notes, I was back in bed at about 23:45 and I wasn’t long awake.

The alarm going off at 06:29 shattered my joyful sleep, and I was feeling so ill that I switched off the alarm, switched on the one for 07:59 and went back to sleep.

Not for long, though, because Brain of Britain had forgotten about the second alarm at 06:33. That put the tin hat on it and as I couldn’t go back to sleep, I arose from the Dead.

A desperate stagger into the bathroom was followed by another desperate stagger into the kitchen for the medication. All in all, it took me a whole hour to sort myself out this morning.

Back in here, I listened to the dictaphone to see what there was that I’d recorded. There were a couple of little voyages that I’d had over the last couple of days that I added back into the various entries, and then turned my attention to last night’s. I’d gone to a rugby league match at somewhere. It was an important cup final. There were all kinds of confusion taking place. First of all, it was freezing cold and the ground was extremely hard. Secondly, one of the teams had changed its starting line-up and the referee had to intervene to make sure that the players who had not been in the original starting line-up were placed in positions in which they had registered themselves rather than in positions in which the team wanted them to play, which meant that there was an extremely strange field formation for one of the teams at the kick-off. The game started, and I began to wander around and came across an Indian market, one of these tiny little affairs inside a village hall where the local Indian community was having a kind-of car boot sale type of thing. I had a good wander around in there for a while but didn’t see anything that I particularly fancied but it was coming up to lunchtime so I went to find a food stall. There was a food stall there but it didn’t open until a little later. I thought that I wasn’t inclined to waste too much more time wandering around in here until the food stall opens or was I going to go to somewhere else to see what was happening there instead.

It beats me why I would go to a rugby league match. That’s a sport that has no interest for me. We did play it at school, but mainly to annoy our new games teacher who wanted us to play rugby union instead of football. We passionately refused to co-operate and in the end he gave up. He spent the games lessons in the staff room drinking coffee and we carried on playing football. However, I did find a hidden talent. I could kick quite accurately with either foot so our tactic was to pass the ball to me and I’d kick it over the bar, something that totally enraged the teacher.

It’s much more likely that I’d be at an Indian market, especially if there’s Indian food about.

The nurse came as usual today and expressed his sympathy at my plight, although I need more than sympathy right now. Anyway, he didn’t stay too long.

After he left, I could make breakfast, not that I wanted much, and I could read some more of MY BOOK.

Our author is still perambulating around the various wards of inner London and he’s come across another payment of rent by flowers. Ralph Le Feure and his heirs could hold a parcel of land from Thomas de Arderne "freely without all challenge yielding therefore yearly to the said Thomas and his heirs one clove or slip of gilliflowers at the feast of Easter."

Back in here I wrote out the notes for Tuesday that were outstanding, and they are now online, complete with some photos of my new kitchen as far as it has gone right now. It’s well-worth a look if you haven’t seen it before.

That took me up to the arrival of my faithful cleaner who sorted out my patches and left me to await the arrival of the taxi.

That was when I discovered that the electric door lock wasn’t working and I had to descend the stairs, in my state of health and carrying my bag, all alone. And that’s not something that I ever want to do again.

The bad news at the dialysis centre was that my weight was over the three and a half hour limit so they put me down to stay for four hours, something that I could well do without. And with all of the tests that they had to do, it took hours to connect me and I wasn’t let go until 18:45.

The doctor came to see me for a chat but didn’t have much to say really that was of any kind of solution. But he had the blood pressure sensor set for every fifteen minutes so I was constantly disturbed by nurses running in.

Not that I minded much because one of them was Alexi, the baby of the service and she’s quite cute. She can soothe my fevered brow any time she likes.

Eventually I could leave, and then we had to drop off someone else in Avranches so it was 19:30 when I returned home, quite fed up.

My cleaner had brought down a couple of boxes of stuff from upstairs so I sorted those out in the new apartment, and then I failed miserably once more to climb the stairs.

After my cleaner left, I tried to eat some food but that failed miserably too, and so I’m going to bed and I don’t care any more. I really am in a state right now.

But seeing as we have been talking about restaurants, food and the like … "well, one of us has" – ed … it reminds me of a sign that I once saw in the window of an Italian restaurant in the Midlands somewhere.
"Don’t stand outside feeling miserable. Come inside and be fed up."

EPIC HALL

The Poisoned Pen (or Poisoned Chalice, more like) – or my relentless struggle against reality

Category Archives: doctor

Monday 13th October 2025 – CHEMOTHERAPY IS …

Monday 29th September 2025 – I HAVE DONE …

Friday 26th September 2025 – ONCE MORE …

Tuesday 16th September 2025 – SEVERAL PEOPLE SENT …

Monday 15th September 2025 – I AM THOROUGHLY …

Monday 8th September 2025 – WHAT A DAY …

Monday 1st September 2025 – I AM ABSOLUTELY SICK …

Saturday 30th August 2025 (… continued …) – SO STARTING AGAIN …

Thursday 28th August 2025 – YET ANOTHER MORNING …

Saturday 16th August 2025 – IT WAS ANOTHER …

Thursday 14th August 2025 – WHAT A HORRIBLE …

Monday 11th August 2025 – I HAD NOTHING ON …

Monday 4th August 2025 – BANE OF BRITAIN …

Monday 28th July 2025 – YET MORE TORTURE …

Thursday 24th July 2025 – WHAT A HORRIBLE …

Your reactions

Excellent

Useful

Interesting

Weird

Surprising

Boring