…the Assessment that was.

And I’m still here to tell the tale after all of that. Not that there was all that to still be here after, because she was here and gone withinghalf an hour and I don’t know what all the panic was about.

Last night would have been another quite early night except for … you guessed it … trying to staunch a flow of blood.

This time it was on my left arm. Somehow I’d managed to knock it just a few inches from where I had the operation and it was bleeding copiously. Putting a plaster on it slowed down the flow and eventually I could crawl off into bed, having done everything that I needed to do.

And once again I was asleep quite quickly, something that seems to be a habit these days.

What else seems to be a habit these days is waking up early. I’ve no idea how early because somehow my watch became detached from my wrist during the night and I couldn’t find it in the bed

It didn’t take long to go back to sleep but I was tossing and turning for the rest of the early morning until the alarm went off at 07:00.

Switching off the alarm I made my way to the bathroom to make myself look pretty and then came back in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. At one stage I dictated As I was getting ready to get into bed the original recording leapt out of my hands and darted across the room somewhere and left me standing there looking pretty silly with this piece of live broadcasting stuff being carted about around the room. I didn’t half look silly while all of that was going on trying to calm it down and reunite it with me

Whatever that’s supposed to mean I have no idea at all. I’d been asleep in bed for quite some time when I dictated that so I quite clearly wasn’t “getting ready for bed”. The rest of that dream makes absolutely no sense whatever but there again, it’s a dream so it’s not really supposed to.

Later on I was doing a video of a game between Raith Rovers and Partick Thistle. I let my tongue run away with me when I was criticising Raith Rovers. As a result, Raith Rovers contacted me with several admissions and insisted that I record a separate radio programme to apologise to their club based on the information that they provided me to put the matter right. Football fans are renowned for letting their tongues run away but they should still be governed by the laws of slander and governed by other appropriate laws and rules. Fair play to Raith Rovers who took a very mature and adult way around the affair dealing with the issue. But I wish that I knew what it was that I had said because I’d never commented on a game between Raith Rovers and Partick Thistle in my life. I’ve no idea where this dream was coming from.

These days it’s quite dangerous to let one’s tongue run away with one. Occasionally you might find some incendiary comment or two within these pages but I won’t print anything definite unless either I have the evidence to support it or the remarks have been published elsewhere. Of course, if you ask a question, such as “is it true that …?” , that’s not libellous and as well as that the High Courts have ruled that neither vulgar abuse nor exaggerated hyperbole nor rhetorical hyperbole nor “colourful adjectives” is libellous. But what this has to do with Raith Rivers and Partick Thistle I really don’t know. They won’t be dancing in the streets of Raith tonight, folks!

And then there was something about having to interrogate that woman about that part where he thinks that she has the same name as some other woman who was quite famously associated with some footballers at one time and air traffic control when they called a delayed flight pinged him to say that if the bust with the passengers on board were to drive past him on their way to the ‘plane the driver of the bus would respect him for his decision.

And that’s a mystery to me too, what’s happening there. In fact, I must have spent a totally clueless night with all of this. I’m clearly overlooking the key to all these mysteries.

When the nurse came he tried his best to raise my morale, but that’s rather a difficult thing to do these days. I seem to be in the Slough of Despond again, and for no good reason. Not even a good breakfast cheered me up afterwards

Back in here I listened to the radio programme that will be broadcast this weekend and, satisfied, I sent it off to be included in the stream.

When the person from the Government came round she interviewed me for about 45 minutes.

The question of going into a Home never came up. She didn’t even say that I didn’t need to. It was just something that was taken for granted I suppose.

She thinks I ought to have much more help though. She would like my cleaner to come in every day but I drew the line at that. In the end she said that she would tell the Committee that I need help three times per week and hope that they approve it.

She didn’t really come up with any practical points about my life here although she agreed that once I’m downstairs things would be better. She didn’t offer any solutions about being in there earlier.

She did know and recommend a couple of garages that do conversions to cars to make them suitable for handicapped people, so that’s back on the agenda for next year too

One thing that surprised me was a question that she asked. We’d talked about who helps me and is it sufficient or do I need to be taken under the wing of a big organisation who can help with my care. I told her about my helpful cleaner and she asked "do you declare her?" (presumably to the Tax Office).

As it happens, I do. But she asked in such a matter-of-fact tone that it almost seemed to be the normal way of proceedings not to declare her.

After she left I had a coffee and then joined my Welsh class. Once more, it was quite successful which was nice. I’d done the homework so at least I was all clued up

My cleaner came in and skipped lightly around the apartment while I was at my lessons, and she disappeared afterwards just as quietly without disturbing me which was nice of her.

And during the lesson I only fell asleep once, and that was during a break. I soon awoke when class restarted.

After my hot chocolate and cake, I had a ‘phone call. Someone had sent me a message and I needed to call back.

It turns out that another friend of mine in Germany, the husband of another University colleague, has died. He was quite elderly and had several major health issues, but unfortunately he had one issue too many.

When I was in Germany last I visited them and we had a pleasant afternoon out by the local lake. I’ll just have to remember times like that. But this old age thing is terrible. The Grim Reaper is waiting round the corner for all of us.

Tea tonight was a leftover curry and naan bread, but it was a leftover curry with a difference. I still have these jars of Korma that I bought and which need eating at some time so I heaved one into the curry tonight and made enough for two nights. The other lot will be frozen for another time. I need to start up my cooking again.

So right now I’m going to go to bed ready for my Welsh lesson tomorrow. Let’s see if I can manage without bleeding everywhere. It’s no joke, this trail of blood that I leave all over the apartment that my cleaner has to deal with.

Still, it could be worse, I suppose. I don’t know why I’m complaining. At least I’m still here and people are looking after me. Imagine what would happen if I were ill like this and in the UK.

In on eof the hospitals I met a guy who had been a patient in a British hospital. There, the surgeon said "xr have some good news and some bad news"
"OK doctor" said the man. "Tell me the bad news first"
"I’m afraid that in all the confusion we cut off the wrong leg"
"Good grief!" exclaimed the man. "What’s the good news?"
"The good news" said the surgeon "is that your bad leg is getting better".