Category Archives: France

Tuesday 30th September 2025 – IT WAS ANOTHER …

… afternoon that ended up just like so many others just recently – with me hunched over the table in some kind of catatonic fit for well over an hour.

Perhaps not exactly a catatonic fit because for a good part of that time, I really was asleep. I know that because of how far the Byrds’ concert that I was listening to had advanced.

That’s the thing, though. When I’m having one of these fits, I can hear quite clearly everything that’s going on, but I’m just not capable of reacting to anything. Perhaps one of my followers from Avranches, presumably the dialysis clinic, can supply some information in this respect to help me understand what is happening.

But all of that is for another time. Right now, I’m more interested in what happened last night.

What also seems to be the case is that no matter how quickly I finish my notes, everything else seems to take correspondingly longer and I’m still no earlier in bed, no matter how I try.

And such was the case last night. My notes went on-line at 22:41 yet it was 23:30 when I finally crawled into bed and made myself comfortable. I don’t know why it takes so long to motivate myself these days.

During the night, I remember awakening and turning over a couple of times, but when I awoke at about 05:50, that was that and I couldn’t go back to sleep.

After vegetating around for a while, I left the bed and went for a good wash, followed by the medication and something to drink, because I had a thirst that you could photograph.

Back in here, I listened to the dictaphone to find out what had been going on during the night. It was in the Revolutionary War again. We were there patrolling the outposts of the British front line. We noticed that one of them had seemed to be under attack by the Native Americans because there was food scattered around, indicating that there had been some kind of fight during the lunchtime. We had to think about how to reinforce these posts with enough men to defend the front line, making sure that first of all we didn’t step on the toes of any colonist there, and secondly, that we could find some trained troops to do it, who wouldn’t panic and run if the Native Americans decided to attack.

By the looks of things, I seem to be totally immersed in BATTLES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION. I wish that I could dream like this about other things in which I have an even greater interest.

And then the Social Services had intervened in the case of a girl and her baby. One of the many things that they were doing was trying to sort out her car for her, an old Ford Escort estate. They had been in contact with a female friend of mine about this car. She had asked me to come along to look at it. The guy from the Social Services had sent a long list of work that needed to be doing on this vehicle, much of which wasn’t really all that important, such as grinding off the surface rust and treating it, painting it etc. I noticed that one of the gutters had come away and was flapping around. While I was examining it closely, I saw that the sill on the nearside was rotten. It would need to be replaced. First of all, I went to attack this gutter mount but I couldn’t find any self-tapping screws the correct size so I would have to go back to my garage to look for some. But the sill, I marked it off with a big piece of chalk where it needed to be replaced. I thought that at the weekend, I’d go to the body panel shop to see what I could find. But as soon as I’d put this chalk mark on, my brother went to fetch an angle grinder to cut it out. I told him not to do that because if we can’t find a sill and the existing sill had been cut away, we are going to have an awful lot of problems. I could patch it if necessary with some of the sill remaining by welding a few plates over the missing pieces, but if it’s all cut out, it’s going to be extremely complicated to manufacture something. When I explained this to my brother, he picked up the angle grinder again. I had an enormous amount of problems trying to stop him cutting this sill out. I still wasn’t sure that he was going to take any notice, and the moment my back was turned, he’d cut it away, and that would be that as far as this car goes if I can’t find another sill.

Once upon a time I did actually have a Ford Escort estate. It was quite a nice car and I wish that I’d kept it now. But the number of cars that I must have welded up in the past when I had my big oxy-acetylene kit – it must have been phenomenal. I remember once having to weld the floor back into someone’s ancient Cortina but we couldn’t remove the seat to take out the carpet. So I was underneath welding it and every time the carpet caught alight, the guy would tip a bucket of water on the flames – and on me via some of the holes in the floor.

And as usual, my brother is up to his shenanigans – not being able to leave things alone and doing his very best to make the situation even worse than it already is.

It’s Isabelle the Nurse’s turn to be on duty now for a week, so she breezed in as usual just as I was in the middle of doing something. She didn’t hang around long, though. She took my medical card so that she could do her accounts and when she’d seen to my feet and legs, she cleared off.

That was the cue to make breakfast, and with my porridge, toast and coffee I read some more of the aforementioned book.

The British invasion of the Hudson Valley from Canada has come to a shuddering halt and an embarrassing defeat AT SARATOGA, WHERE WE VISITED ALMOST EXACTLY TWELVE YEARS AGO.

It’s a defeat that can be summarised by three factors –

  1. the failure to adequately supply General Burgoyne with the necessary men and stores
  2. the failure of General Howe to push General Clinton and his troops further up the Hudson Valley to take the American defenders in the rear
  3. the overall lack of aggressiveness and haste in the British Army, who, having cornered the Americans on several occasions, was far too slow to press on and finish the task

Although Point Three is probably the most crucial. Regular readers of this rubbish will recall – at least, those of you who were with me twenty years ago at the THE FIRST BATTLE OF BULL RUN – that the Confederates had the Union Army – and Washington DC – at their mercy, but failed to press home the advantage. This lack of the killer instinct seems to be infectious.

After breakfast, I came in here to revise my Welsh, and then I went to class. And how our numbers have grown! There are quite a few new faces, as well as one or two returning former classmates.

For a change, not only did the lesson pass really well, I actually felt confident, and it’s not at all often that I can say that. I reckon that over the summer, despite having done almost no studying, I’ve been listening to a large amount of Welsh football commentary, and I suppose that it’s a case of throwing a lot of whatsit at a wherever and some of it will stick. I was disappointed when the lesson finished.

Nest task was to book my taxi for the Centre de Ré-education tomorrow, and then to send off my order to LeClerc.

It was quite a large order today, and it took an age to unpack and put away correctly. And having done that, that was when I had my little wobble, and had to go to sit down.

It’s quite worrying really, these little fits that I seem to be having. One of these days, I’m not going to awaken from one of them and that will be that. I’ve tried to speak to people about them but no-one seems to be all that interested in discussing it with me. I have the feeling – and I don’t think that I’m too far from the truth – that the treatment that I’m having is more palliative rather than curative, maybe because the overall long-term prognosis is not good at all.

After a while dealing with the radio programme that I really need to finish, I made tea – a taco roll with rice and veg. And I managed to eat it all tonight – just about.

So my physiotherapy begins tomorrow morning. I’ll probably be worn out again after that but if it’s free, why should I worry? I’m not expecting it to do much good but it’s worth giving it a try. What do I have to lose?

Right now, I’m off to sleep in the hope that I can actually recover some of my force and energy. I’m not doing too well right now.

But seeing as we have been talking about force and energy … "well, one of us has" – ed … one of the doctors once prescribed some force and energy pills for me
However, I had to ring him up – "do you remember those pills that you prescribed to give me force and energy?"
"Yes I do" he replied
"Well, I don’t have the force and energy to be able to open the bottle."

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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."

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Sunday 28th September 2025 – AS I HAVE …

… said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … it’s totally pointless going to bed and going to sleep early, because all it means is that you awaken correspondingly early too.

So, having dashed all the way through my notes and all of everything else that I needed to do, I crawled into bed just before 22:30 – some kind of record these days – thinking to myself how glad I was to be in bed at something like an early night, with the prospect of a nice lie-in until 07:59 awaiting me.

And there I was, after my nice, long sleep, wide awake at … errr … 04:11, trying desperately to go back to sleep and failing miserably.

Round about 05:00, I gave it up as a bad job and left the bed. And for the first time this year, I put on a dressing gown because it was definitely colder than I would like it to be.

Today, we have had a footfest. Well, actually yesterday, because yesterday evening there was a live televised match Y FFLINT V LLANSAWEL in the JD Cymru Premier League. However, as I had missed the first hour or so of the game, I had deliberately kept away from anywhere where the score might have been displayed, and waited until this morning so that I could see all of it non-stop.

There have been many, many more skilful matches than this that we have seen, but this match was by far and away the most exciting that I have seen for a long, long time. It ranged from end to end at 100 mph and the entertainment was a credit to the league.

Whether or not there are any football fans reading these pages, I really don’t know, but if you have a couple of hours to spare, have a look at the game. The link is a few lines higher up.

At the final whistle I went for a wash and then for the medication, and finally came back in here to listen to the dictaphone while I awaited the nurse. In the vicinity of where this second battle was taking place, some British troops had installed themselves on the high ground nearby so that they could shoot the battlefield and keep a fire of stready maleiks or mareiks or something onto the dug-in soldiers. They did this as best as they could and managed to advance almost two hundred metres, and were then sent to bomb the English positions so they gored over a late attempt to cross by Proncis Richards take of work, although she’d long-since retired and seeing if they couldn’t between them manage to push this guy Simpson out of the post that he’s occupying.

What happened to the first part of this? It sounds as if it might have been really interesting, even if it did descend into a pile of utter gibberish towards the end. And what is a stready maleiks or mareiks or whatever?

We were back in North America last night. The Americans had dug themselves in somewhere and the British were on the point of advancing towards them. The British notes were quite unclear about this but they must have set out, for bloodstains along the way indicated that they had had little battles and skirmishes. The Native Americans were interested in what was happening but were remaining neutral. The results of this advance were that the American positions fell to the British. But there was no account of the battle or anything ever prepared by anyone.

This dream and the previous one must relate to Colonel Carrington’s BATTLES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION that I have been reading recently, when the British tried without success between 1776 and 1783 to suppress the colonial revolution.

Nerina and I had been living apart. I’d come back to Crewe to find a whole pile of stuff, old furniture and things like that, put on my driveway around the back of the house. I asked Nerina if she knew of anyone who would come along and remove it – she knew people who had a van – but no-one heard at all. I never heard anything from her. I was walking around the town late at night, wondering what to do. There were crowds of people drifting around, and I remembered that there was a nightclub on the corner of Market Street and Victoria Street where I could make a ‘phone call. I passed through these crowds of people going home, but when I arrived at the nightclub, it was far too noisy and far too loud to make any kind of ‘phone call. As I walked in, I met a friend of mine carrying a double-bass. He was dressed in a red velvet jacket. We began to talk, and asked him how he was, what he was doing. I told him that I was living in France, which he knew. He said that it had been the talk of all the clubs after I left. We carried on chatting and he introduced me to his friends. We had a chat, and I asked them if they knew anyone. They replied that with the sheerest bad luck, they were supposed to be meeting someone that evening who had a van but he hasn’t turned up. I persuaded them that if they could think of anyone, to send them round to my house. I prepared to leave but they offered to give me a lift. Parked outside across the road were several coaches, some with foreign number plates. They had a van out there. When we arrived at the van, there was a pile of rubbish in the back of it. It was a pick-up. Someone set light to the rubbish, and the woman of this group thought that this was a dangerous thing and she wanted to unload it and let it burn off the back of the van. When the lorry behind moved, she began to think of how she was going to do it, but it was well-ablaze by now. Someone reminded her that every community was obliged by law to appoint a fire warden. She replied that she was the one for this community. Someone thought “wouldn’t it be a good idea to write spoof orders and spoof instructions for spoof fire wardens in spoof villages, and publish it in all of the local papers?”. She wasn’t too happy but everyone else thought that it was a good idea.

The guy in the dream is – or was – actually a drummer and used to play in a cabaret band whose van and equipment I drove around from gig to gig in 1974 and 1975 after I left my job in Chester. And another dream about things burning? It’s becoming a habit. It must have some significance somewhere.

And the “nightclub” in question is the former Burton’s menswear shop, on two floors, that is currently up for sale. Its corner situation would make it an ideal spot for a café, bar, and games venue and I’ve often pondered about what I could do with a place like that.

Finally, in the back of my van was a whole pile of furniture equipment moving stuff and a whole pile of things that had accumulated over the years. I wanted to dispose of it but no-one would come along and lend me a hand. The van’s controle technique had expired and I couldn’t drive it, so I came back from Europe after four years to try to organise something. I couldn’t even find the van so I began to hunt around. Nerina was with me but she was living somewhere else – she’d just popped by. In the end, we went upstairs to one of the bedrooms, and in the bedroom at the rear of the house, there was the van. I thought “what on earth was it doing in the bedroom? How did I bring it up here?”. It was buried in the hedge in the bedroom. I had a look around it, found the keys, unlocked the back door, and the whole of this furniture stuff was in there. One thing that I noticed was that the light came on, so I went round to the cab, put the key in and turned it, and it started. I thought “that’s not bad for four years being away”. I worked out that I must have brought it up into the bedroom by winching it up on a couple of planks, making a kind of ramp, so I need to find those planks and then I could winch it back down to the street again. Once it was down on the street again, then never mind the controle technique, never mind anything, I would nip out one night down a really dark road that I knew and just drop everything off because I was beyond now thinking of any kind of reasonable or logical way and with no controle technique on the van, I couldn’t go anywhere in daylight where there was a waste recycling centre open

Can you imagine it? Winching a van up to the first floor bedroom on a couple of planks, and losing it in the hedge inside the room. But it’s true that there are many things that I’m having to consider and having to think about winding up as my health deteriorates from day to day.

There are also many things that will have to be wound up by other people as there are simply not enough hours in the day to deal with them. It will be an extremely sad and emotional moment, but at least I won’t be around to witness it.

The nurse finally turned up at 09:45 this morning, ninety minutes or so late. He’d been to another client and had no answer at the door when he knocked. However, he could hear noises from inside so, not knowing what to expect, he called the emergency services. When they arrived, they broke down the door and found the client on the floor, where, apparently, he had fallen yesterday and was unable to stand up. The nurse had to reanimate him and then he … "the client, not the nurse" – ed … was rushed off to hospital.

That, by the way, is the reason why I’m here in Granville. In the Auvergne, one is totally isolated if anything goes wrong. An old English guy with whom I was very friendly had a fall down his stairs and lay there at the foot for five days in temperatures of minus 10°C until someone found him.

He was still alive, but he didn’t survive long. And that was the fate that awaited me if I were to have a health issue.

After breakfast and more of my book, I came back in here for part II of my footfest – Stranraer away at Dumbarton.

Stranraer are having a wretched season so far and up at The Rock in the driving rain, things weren’t looking much better. A penalty had put them in the lead, but Dumbarton had equalised shortly after. However, a wonder goal in stoppage time from James Dolan gave Stranraer their first win of the season.

During the week, Stranraer had played against the Motherwell junior team and those highlights were online too, so I watched that game. How nice it was to watch Stranraer amble on to a comfortable 3-0 win for once.

While I was at it, I picked up a few other matches from Saturday, and it made a nice morning’s relaxation.

After the disgusting drink break, I spent some time working on my Welsh and then went to make the dough for the pizza and for the loaf.

The pizza was perfection itself – absolutely wonderful – and having read the instructions closely and adhered to them, the bread turned out to be marvellous too and it even looks like a proper loaf.

So now, I’m off to bed, trying … "in vain" – ed … to catch up with my beauty sleep ready for dialysis tomorrow.

And seeing as we have been talking about difficulty sleeping … "well, one of us has" – ed … it’s not like the hill farmer in Cumbria being interrogated by someone from the Ministry of Agriculture, Fisheries and Food.
"And how many sheep do you have?"
"I’ve no idea" replied the farmer
"My goodness!" exclaimed the official. "Don’t you ever count them?"
"I try" replied the farmer "but I get just so far and then I fall asleep."

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Saturday 27th September 2025 – THIS HEALTH ISSUE …

… that I mentioned the other day is still continuing. I’m feeling absolutely wasted right now and wish that I could just climb into bed and go to sleep, and forget about everything.

What makes it worse is that I had another decent sleep last night. I might not have been in bed so early but I managed to sleep right the way through until the alarm went off. There had been a couple of times during the night when I remember tossing and turning about, but I managed to go back to sleep again quite quickly afterwards.

As usual, it took a while for me to raise myself from the Dead but I picked up my bed and walked to the bathroom for a good wash and scrub up, and even a shave in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant today.

After the medication, I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone, and I was surprised by how much there was to hear. It was late in the afternoon and I needed to have a bath, so I decided to go into work where I usually had a bath at the time. I arrived there and it was just like at school, with many of my colleagues and classmates hanging around there trying to do some work. As I walked in, I overheard someone asking about STRAWBERRY MOOSE – did anyone know where he was. I piped up to say that I had him, which made everyone realise that I’d arrived at last. I went to sit by my bed, which was already being filled with water, but one of my classmates came over and he climbed into my bath. He stood there up to his feet. We had a little chat, and then I pulled out the plug, saying “right, you have to go now because I’m having a bath”. He moaned and groaned and then left. There were some clothes on my bed which were now soaking wet so I asked “whose are these?”. My brother piped up, saying that they were his. When he came to see them, he had a moan too about them being wet. He said that I’d done it deliberately. I told him that if I had had the time to arrive here, sort out a few things, fill the bed with water and then drain it all out again in the time that I’d actually been here, I must be doing really, really well. He took his clothes away with something of a moan. I began to chat to the little girl in the bed next to her, but as I turned my back and turned round a minute or two later, my brother was bringing a mortmain bag over, the kind of thing into which you put bodies that have died in a hospital. I wondered what had happened to that girl in the minute that my back had been turned. I thought that I’d wait until my brother has packed her in and then gone away until I could open the bag again to have a look to make sure in fact that she is still dead.

Mortmain is a French term that was common in post-Conquest England. It literally means “dead hand” of course but in those days, it was used to describe the type of holding that a body such as the Church would have, holding properties that were not governed by the usual laws of inheritance. So whatever its significance might be when discussing the death of a girl in the bed next to me, I really don’t know.

However, that’s how my friend Marianne died. I sat by her side for almost six months, watching her fade away as the cancer spread. But I was called away from her bedside to answer a telephone call. There was no-one on the line and when I returned to her side, she had died in that minute.

As for the rest of this dream, apart from the appearance of one of my family, the rest is meaningless. But then again, you expected that.

Later on, I’d been out for a ride on a little 50cc moped. I’d gone out towards Wrexham way, and I’d kept on meeting all of the little mini service buses coming back as I was riding. I travelled so far, and then I turned back. I was listening to a news report about one of the buses while I was busy chasing one on the bike. It was talking about someone who had taken a series of photos of the interior of what was said to be one of their buses and was using them in a campaign about some kind of ill child. Although the interior in the photos resembled very much one of their buses, the people who owned the buses were convinced that it was not one of theirs and wondered what had been going on with this coach trip with this disabled person on board. Gradually, I ended up behind another person on a motorbike. It was interesting because with the two motorbikes limited to 30 mph, I was passing him in certain places and he was passing me in certain places, but on an uphill stretch he managed to pull away from me. At a certain point, we came across a car that was on fire. It looked as if it was at the bottom of Gresty Road at the foot of the hill on the way up to Gresty. It was blazing away. We heard on the news that they were asking for the person’s relatives, to ask where this person was. Someone suggested that he was in the Cheshire Cheese in Gresty, although they called it Caws Sir Gaer of course in Welsh. But this car that was blazing, it had some flashing orange lights on the roof. They weren’t horizontal like many flashing lights but there were two of them set vertically, these banks of orange lights, and it looked totally strange to me.

Apart from the dream in Welsh, this dream didn’t mean all that much to me either. Consequently, seeing as I have been playing around with Artificial Intelligence recently, I asked an AI Bot what it had to say about it. Its reply was "Dreams about cars on fire often suggest turbulence or transformation in your drive, path, or personal ambitions. The exact meaning depends on your emotions in the dream and what’s happening in your life, but it typically signals strong feelings or changes needing attention. If the dreams recur or feel disturbing, consider exploring what real-life worries or transitions might be influencing your subconscious.".

Exploring my subconscious is a job for this psychiatrist person, so we’ll leave it to whoever pulls the short straw. However, these dream analysts don’t mean all that much because the whole point of this project when it started twenty-five years ago was that dreams couldn’t be analysed like this.

Finally, I was with my niece last night and her husband. We were doing something to the brakes of one of my cars, and we found that we needed a certain nut to hold on the brake pipe into the brake calliper. He had a few cars lying around so we went and went to take one off one of them. Of course, with the flared end on the brake pipe, we couldn’t pass the nut over the end. After a few minutes pondering over this, we began to reassemble it. I thought that my niece’s husband could post over from Canada the parts that I needed at some time if I were to ask him. While we were trying to reassemble this brake pipe into the car, the owner turned up. My niece gave him some story about checking it over for its annual safety check and that we’d be finished soon, but I couldn’t make this nut start up onto the threads on the calliper onto where it would fasten, no matter how I tried. I thought that for a simple job like this, it’s going to take me hours.

My niece will, hopefully, be here in a few weeks, but I doubt if she’ll be bringing with her any brake parts. Tinkering about with cars, though, was something that we did quite often over in Canada and, as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … how I wish that I was over there now.

The nurse came early this morning. He gave me the last one of this series of injections, sorted out my feet and legs, and then cleared off, leaving me to make breakfast and read some more of BATTLES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION.

The British have succeeded now in dislodging the Americans from their best defensive positions on Long Island and are preparing to inflict upon them a vital disaster. However, as in the American retreat from Québec, the British are far too slow to follow up and press home their victory against demoralised and disorganised part-time soldiers.

Back in here, there were the highlights of last night’s game between Y Bala and TNS, and Llanelli and Hwlffordd. It goes without saying that TNS beat Y Bala, but Llanelli beat Hwlffordd, pushed the latter down into the bottom position and climbed out of the relegation zone, something that looked most unlikely three weeks ago.

My cleaner came along and sorted me out as usual, and for once, the taxi was early. However, it was to no avail because firstly, we had to pick up another passenger, and secondly, the patient connected before me had so many difficulties being connected – even the doctor was called -that they kept me hanging on.

13:30 was when I arrived, and it was 14:20 when I was finally connected up.

It was about an hour later that I crashed out, and then I was groggy for quite some time afterwards. It was a tough day there, all in all.

Luckily, I was uncoupled straight away and my taxi driver was waiting too, so I wasn’t all that late returning home.

My faithful cleaner was waiting for me as usual and helped me into the apartment where, after she had gone, I crashed out again. For fifteen minutes, this time.

Tea was baked potato, salad and breadcrumbed quorn fillet, and now I’m off to bed, thoroughly wasted and totally fed up. I hope that I feel better tomorrow.

But seeing as we have been talking about the American defeat on Long Island … "well, one of us has" – ed … one of the American Generals spotted some of his rearguard digging a trench instead of covering the retreat.
"What’s going on here?" he asked
"Well, sir" explained one of the privates "it’s a last-ditch attempt to stop the enemy."

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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".

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Thursday 25th September 2025 – I AM DEFINITELY …

… not feeling myself today, which is just as well because it’s a disgusting habit.

But what I mean is that although there was an improvement this morning in how I was feeling after yesterday evening, the improvement didn’t last long and now I’m back to where I was.

One was of dealing with how things were yesterday was to try to dash through my notes and hope for an early night, but if only I had been able to manage it. As usual, having dillied and dallied and been side-tracked all the way, it was just as late as usual when I finally managed to fall into bed.

And what a nice bed it was too! Lovely brand-new sheets, quilt cover and pillow cases. I felt really in my element in there, and although it took a few minutes to fall asleep, I enjoyed every minute that it took.

Something else that I noticed was that when I went to turn over, I had the force to move my right leg without having to heave it over with my hand. It’s been an absolute age since I’ve been able to get my leg over without having to use my hand. I hope that it’s a good sign for the future.

It was another morning when I was awoken by the sound of the alarm. I’d slept right through until 06:29, and that can only be good news. Mind you, it was not 06:29 when I finally crawled out from under the covers, but that’s quite another story.

After a good wash, shave and scrub up in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant this afternoon, and then went for the medication. It was rather a slow start in the dining area, and I was later back in here than I intended.

Once I’d settled down on my chair, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out if I’d been anywhere during the night. Surprisingly, I had, but I can’t remember anything about it. I was dreaming about Cheshire’s ace master-spy, a woman called Sue who was a dancer and was used frequently to infiltrate into the hearts and minds of the Germans of the people who were leading the French Revolution who had landed in Britain in an attempt to overwhelm it. According to one of the words that was sung, she saved England from subjugation, or saved Cheshire from subjugation. One of the dancers with her had a job controlling the movement of German Reparation officers. This led to quite a lot of conflict between the two.

This would seem to relate to the book that I read during the odd moments when I’m waiting around for the taxi to take me to dialysis – THE SECRET HISTORY OF MI6. There is plenty of talk about spies and secret agents in there, although not so much about the dirty tricks that they performed.

The nurse came round as usual and he was still in this typical good mood that has persisted since he came back from holiday. I can see myself wishing that he would go away more often.

After he left, I made my usual breakfast and, once more, had a very leisurely time over it. I just can’t seem to motivate myself at the moment and I don’t know why.

Back in here, I had a few things to do and then I spent the rest of the morning researching some stuff for the radio programme that I’m preparing. This is another thing that’s taking far longer than it ought.

My faithful cleaner turned up as usual to apply my anaesthetic, and then I had to await the taxi. He was early today but it counted for nothing, because with all of the roadworks that are covering the area at the moment, there were all kinds of diversions and hold-ups.

Today at dialysis, I persuaded them to increase the amount of extraction. We ended up with 700 grammes extra taken out, which is more like what I am hoping to see. It’s just as well, because even though it’s been three days since I’ve been dialysed, there was just officially 1500 grammes to remove.

There’s definitely something wrong with me just now with regard to my fluid and food intake. Over a three-day period, there’s usually twice that and more, so I’m glad that I managed to persuade them to extract 2200 grammes, to help me catch up with this new dry weight that they seem to be ignoring. But there’s still plenty more room to manoeuvre.

While I was being dialysed, one of the nurses came for a chat. They are all lovely and I love them all but the one who came to see me, if it had to pick one, would be my favourite, although that’s hardly fair on all the others.

She wanted to have a discussion about my implant, which is extremely difficult seeing that I don’t want to know about it, so it was rather a stilted conversation. We ended up talking about all kinds of other things, which was nice.

For a change, I didn’t have to wait all that long to be unplugged, and I was home at something of a more-reasonable time. I seemed to need less effort than usual to force myself over the hump that protects the building from rainwater running off the road, but that’s probably my imagination working overtime.

By now though, I was feeling the effects of everything and after my cleaner left, I crashed out on the chair for half an hour.

Tea was the left-over pasta from Tuesday, accompanied by a vegan burger, and now, feeling thoroughly lousy, I’m off to bed. I have the Centre de Réeducation tomorrow and I’m definitely not feeling at all like it.

So before I go to bed, seeing as we have been talking about the nurse, his holiday and my sentiments … "well, one of us has" – ed … regular readers of this rubbish will recall that I have vowed never to criticise anyone for their attempts to speak another language.
However, there are some occasions that are too good to miss.
In Brussels, all of the shops are doing their best to prepare adverts and publicity in English in order to woo the officials of the European Union and entice them into their establishments.
And so in a window of a Travel Agent’s in Jette where I used to live, was this lovely big sign that read, in huge bold characters, "WHY DON’T YOU GO AWAY?"

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Wednesday 24th September 2025 – I DON’T KNOW …

… what happened to me this afternoon, but I suddenly went ice-cold, frozen to the marrow in fact, and I had another one of those sessions that I haven’t had for ages when I simply sit and am totally unable to function, rather like a catatonic episode.

It’s surprising really, because it was another night when I had something of a decent sleep. I was in bed by 23:30, which, although it’s later than I would like, is earlier than some have been.

Once in bed, I remember nothing at all until about 06:00 when I awoke. I hadn’t moved an inch during the night, which is quite rare.

No point in going back to sleep at that time so I switched off the alarms and slowly eased myself out of bed and into the bathroom.

After a good wash and after the medication, I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night, but there was nothing on it at all. That’s disappointing in some sense, because the only excitement that I have these days is what happens during the night when I’m asleep. On the other hand, nothing on the dictaphone means that I must have had an undisturbed night.

Yesterday, there had been a full programme of football in the JD Cymru League, including a live match, and I hadn’t seen any of the games. I’d deliberately kept myself from looking at the scores so that I could enjoy the games this morning.

The live game was Hwlffordd v Y Barri so I watched that first. I didn’t get very far because the nurse put in an appearance.

He was disappointed that my guests had gone, but he gave me my injection and then sorted out my legs, forgetting to put away the oil afterwards. It drives me berserk, that does.

Once he had left, I could make breakfast – porridge and toast with coffee. And I do have to say that my bread is excellent these days, since I bought that scientific measuring gauge for the water. To think of all those years that I have been producing failures, all due to the measuring gauge on the water jug that I was using being incorrect.

Back in here, I resumed watching Hwlffordd v Y Barri. It sounds like an interesting and exciting game, finishing 3-2 in favour of Y Barri, but it really wasn’t. It had its moments, but the rest of it wasn’t a really good advert for the league, despite what Steve Jenkins, manager of Y Barri, said after the game.

The defeat for Hwlffordd has rooted them in the basement of the league along with Llanelli and Cardiff Metro.

It’s hard to believe that just two months ago, the club was competing in European Club Competition. It had just about the meanest back lines in Wales last season but the club sold the goalkeeper and three of the four defenders, and failed to replace them. It was odds-on that they were going to struggle in the league this season without adequate replacements, but what do I know? The chairman obviously knows best.

Their plight is worsened by Llanelli having their first win of the season last night, away at Llansawel. They are now on four points, with Hwlffordd and Cardiff Metropolitan on five, so things are looking interesting down in the basement.

While I was at it, I watched the highlights of all the other games and there were no real surprises in the results, although Y Fflint could leave Park Hall with their heads held up, having gone toe to toe with perennial champions TNS until the final ten minutes.

After a disgusting drink break, my faithful cleaner arrived and she organised a shower for me. After all, it’s been a long time since I’ve had one, what with chemotherapy etc.

And while I was showering, she changed the bedding. Even better, when we were unpacking a few weeks ago, we came across a brand-new quilt cover and pillows, with matching new sheet. So I’m going to be in unashamed luxury tonight.

Once she’d left, I had some bills to pay and then I went for my mid-afternoon disgusting drink break. That was when I had my catatonic episode, sitting at the kitchen table. And I was there like that for well over an hour.

There was still time to carry on with another radio programme that I’d started the other week. I need to motivate myself much better than I am doing these days, because I’m really struggling to exert myself right now.

Tea tonight was lovely. There was some boiled potato and veg left over from the vegan pie meal on Monday, so I fried it in oil and butter, and with a vegan sausage cooking in the air fryer, I ended up with a lovely dish of bubble and squeak. It’s been years since I’ve eaten one of the “great peasant dishes of the world”, as Howard Hillman once described it.

But now, tiredness and my lovely new bed are calling, so I’m going, and if I wake up tomorrow, which is doubtful the way that I’m feeling right now, I’ll see you all tomorrow.

But seeing as we have been talking about bubble and squeak, one of the “great peasant dishes of the world”, another one of the “great peasant dishes of the world” is toad in the hole, made of sausages in a suet or batter pudding.
When there were three of us, impoverished as we were, living in an apartment in Crewe, we would often eat that when the money ran out.
But one day, just as we had finished cooking the dish, another group of starving friends turned up.
"What did you do?" asked my girlfriend when I told her later.
"There wasn’t much that we could do" I replied. "We all just ended up with more hole and less toad."

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Tuesday 23rd September 2025 – HERE I ALL AM …

… not exactly sitting in a rainbow but sitting all alone in my nice apartment. My visitors have flown the nest this evening due to wanting to put some tarmac underneath their wheels. They have an appointment in Limoges tomorrow evening and so want to break the back of the journey this evening.

They had a lovely lie-in this morning, though. My alarm went off at 06:29 – yet another morning where I slept right through, out like a light – and as there were no signs of life coming from elsewhere, I cracked on and wrote yesterday’s blog entry.

By the time that I had finished, I heard sounds of movement so I went and made some coffee for everyone. While it was brewing, I went to the bathroom to sort myself out and then we sat around drinking coffee and chatting.

One thing that I learned was that my camp bed was not very comfortable. In fact, not at all comfortable. I shall not be proposing that to anyone in the future unless the unlucky recipient brings an air mattress.

The nurse was surprised to see me with a house full of women. Nevertheless, he sorted out my legs and gave me the first of this series of five injections that I have to have a week after the chemotherapy.

When he left, my visitors took turns under the shower, and the first one in found out all about the length of time it takes the hot water to run through from the water tank.

After they had showered, I had to give a couple of porridge-making lessons to my hungry visitors and we sat down and had breakfast.

Almost immediately afterwards, the bowls were whipped from the table and the washing-up was done before I could even blink an eye. I told my visitors that they can certainly come again.

We had another long chat afterwards, and then I mentioned the sheet of chipboard that needs to be … errr … lost. A brief flurry of text messages, and it was cut in half with my circular saw and stuffed into a car from where it will end up in Limoges at some point.

After a coffee, my guests wandered off for a walk, and I came in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. This was another one of those dreams where something went on at one of the testing stations while we were stopped en route somewhere and I didn’t have enough room for all my things. They were on one of the carts. This led to an argument and one of the inspectors was knifed but I was convinced that it wasn’t me who did it.

This is another one of those dreams of which I remember nothing at all. I like the bit “I was convinced that it wasn’t me who did it”. As if I would need convincing.

We were discussing the treatment of captured women spies by different States of the USA. There were some States, like, say, South Carolina who would really just interrogate them and then let them go where there were other States that were farther north like New York that would take them very seriously and execute them. But that’s all that I remember of this particular dream because the batteries went flat in the middle of dictating it, and by the time that I’d wired it up again, all of the memory that I had was gone.

It makes me wonder what the rest of the dream that I had forgotten was all about. I suppose, however, that this dream relates to what I have been reading about the American Revolution.

One of the players on the opposite side was called for a foul, and the referee called him over. She began to talk to him about the incident but he took absolutely no notice at all. She began to become a little sterner with him but again, he just totally ignored it. She began to take out her notebook, which was an electronic notebook, but he just took it from her. A couple of us tried to intervene to take the notebook back but in the end, he just hung on to it. She was obviously not able to deal with him so she sent him off but he refused to leave, so she called the police. In the meantime, he took the notebook and went into the buffet. There was an oily salad in there. We heard him inside there, soaking this notebook in the oily salad and then taking it into the kitchen and boiling it into the pan of orange juice that someone had left. We all thought that this was the strangest thing that we had ever seen. We then heard a car pull up outside and the sound of tramping feet but it wasn’t the police at all but something else. However, they didn’t come in, so we were sitting there in this kind-of impasse waiting for the police to arrive.

Yesterday at dialysis, I was watching an old football match in the Cymru Alliance – I can’t remember now which – where female referee Cheryl Foster was officiating. A mass brawl broke out and in the end when things had calmed down, she sent off one of the players

When the alarm went off, I had some kind of metal plate, an oval type of metal plate with three screw holes in it. What I was trying to do was to screw it to something like a porcelain dish or porcelain plate. I’d already done it once in the past because there were three screw holes in the plate. However, it’s really complicated to screw into something solid and hard like that, so I had to find the exact three screws that I used last time, so I was searching through my box of loose screws, trying to find the exact three screws. The aim was that this plate would have this bracket on it, and the bracket would support a tripod, a small desktop tripod, but I had no idea why I wanted to do this.

There is actually a mini-tripod on my desk. It belongs to the webcam but since I moved down here, I’ve positioned the webcam elsewhere. But screwing something into a porcelain plate is certainly a novel idea.

When my visitors came back, I showed them where the bread and salad were, and they made themselves some cheese salad sandwiches for lunch. I settled for a disgusting drink.

We had another long chat, reminiscing about all kinds of old times from school. We were so engrossed that it took us all the way up to tea-time.

My faithful cleaner had dropped in earlier to give me some sunflower seeds and an aubergine that I had asked her to buy. The sunflower seeds, I put on one side for future bread-making activities but with the aubergine, I made an aubergine and kidney bean whatsit for tea, which went down very well.

Once more, the empty plates were whipped off the table and washed before I even had time to think.

Finally, my friends left me for Limoges, with a promise to come back to see me again. And I really do hope that I do. I don’t have anything like enough visits these days, although it’s certainly more than it used to be.

But before I go to bed, making a sandwich reminds me of a conversation that took place in the film HELLZAPOPPIN’.
One of the actors was talking on the ‘phone –
"That’s good – that’s bad – that’s bad – that’s good – that’s bad – that’s good – that’s good …"
"Who are you talking to?" asked his sidekick
"I’m talking to my sister" replied the first.
"But what are you doing?"
"Why, I’m helping her sort a box of strawberries!"
If you want to know where shows like Monty Python and the like obtained their ideas, have a look at HELLZAPOPPIN’.

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Sunday 21st September 2025 – ONE OF MY …

… WEB PAGES is going berserk right now with hits, and the hit counter is rolling off the page through sheer weight of numbers.

The tiny little village of St Paul’s River, or Rivière St Paul, on the Forgotten Coast of Québec close to the border with Labrador has become famous overnight. It seems that a consortium of fourteen residents of that tiny place have won the latest round of Canada’s national lottery, a prize of no less than $50,000,00 or, as the Canadian national newspapers have to explain to their intellectually-challenged audience, about $3.4 million each.

When I say “the Forgotten Coast”, I really do mean the “Forgotten Coast”. Totally isolated from the rest of Québec, pretty much ignored by the Province and with its only road connection being east into Labrador. There is so little known or written about the place, and as I seem to be the only person on the whole of the planet who has ever researched and written about it, everyone seems to be coming to me and my web page for newsworthy snippets.

Not that I mind, of course. Everyone should be entitled to his five minutes of fame, especially me. After all, it’s been a long time since I’ve had any, as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed.

But thinking about it – which I always do, of course – if I live for another year or so, I will have more than five minutes of fame. I was told right at the start of this illness that no-one had ever survived more than eleven years with it. I was diagnosed in November 2015 and in principle, based on the Law of Averages, I should have been pushing up the daisies, or “eating the dandelions by the roots” as they say around here, a long time ago.

In fact, when I was ejected from the hospital in Leuven after eighteen months and told to find somewhere civilised to live, I asked the professor if I should buy myself a nice little apartment somewhere.

"You won’t have your money’s worth from it" the professor told me brutally. But here we are.

Mind you, we won’t be here much longer if things carry on like last night.

Once more, I sprinted right the way through all of my chores and ended up nicely tucked up in bed by 22:30. And how I wish that I could do that every night.

The next bit isn’t so clever, though. And that is that at 02:30, I was wide-awake. Try as I might, I couldn’t go back to sleep so eventually, round about 04:15, I left the bed.

Yesterday evening, I’d missed the live Caernarfon v Penybont game so I found the link to the game and sat back to watch it.

It’s really difficult playing football in a tropical monsoon, especially when it’s accompanied by a hurricane, and I could tell after five minutes that most of the Caernarfon team was wishing that it was somewhere else than on a football field. They really did seem quite disinterested.

After about 75 minutes, they totally fell apart and Penybont were striding through the Cofis’ defence with monotonous regularity. They scored two quick goals and could easily have three or four more.

Caernarfon pulled one back late in the game when Adam Davies latched on to an underhit backpass, and even had the ball in the net a second time in stoppage time, only for it to be controversially ruled out for offside.

Seriously though, I was convinced that the referee was refereeing a totally different game to the one that we were all watching.

After the final whistle, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. At some point during the night, I had this desire to turn round in bed but try as I might, I just wasn’t able to move. I kept on trying to think how I could bring everything that I wanted down towards where I was, which was in bed with some trees that had been planted to celebrate some kind of victory growing all around me if I was unable to change my position. It wasn’t until I awoke at 02:11 that I was able to move into a different position.

Reading this back, I have no idea whether or not it was true because I have no recollection of any of this. I’ve certainly no idea why trees should be growing all round my bed, planted to celebrate a victory.

Isabelle the Nurse was next to interrupt my train of thought. She was grateful for the prescription that I had obtained for her, and so was I because, without it, she couldn’t give me my injections. We had a friendly chat as she dealt with my legs, and then she disappeared off on her rounds.

Once she’d left, I made breakfast and read some more of BATTLES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION.

We’re not discussing the American invasion of Québec which Colonel Carrington, our author, describes as strategically correct but with enough tactical and logistics shortcomings to short-circuit the entire procedure. And I do have to say that I agree with him in this respect.

It was a slow start to the day. I was a couple of hours in the living room doing not very much at all, and then I came back in here for a footfest of highlights, including Stranraer gaining only the second point of the season.

But what a flukey equaliser the Elgin City goal was. I reckon that Kane Hester will TRY THAT SHOT a thousand times over the next ten years and not put the ball anywhere near the goal, never mind in it.

After the usual disgusting drink break, I came in here and began to work on the next radio programme, being interrupted by my visitor for tomorrow asking me to confirm my address.

Round about 16:00, I knocked off and went to make a loaf of bread for next week and some pizza dough for this evening. I was however interrupted by Rosemary, who ‘phoned me to say that she was back home after her mega-adventures in Italy.

She told me quite a bit about her holiday, but it was only a short ‘phone call today, just one hour and five minutes. Not up to our usual standard at all.

While I was at it, seeing as I had some vegan pie filling in the freezer, I baked a vegan pie for my guests for tea tomorrow. They have to eat, after all. For Tuesday night, I might ask my faithful cleaner to find a small aubergine and then I can cook one of my aubergine and kidney bean whatsits.

Tonight’s pizza was totally delicious, another candidate for one of the best that I have ever made. And now, I’m off to bed ready to Fight The Good Fight tomorrow, I don’t think.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about the football highlights … "well, one of us has" – ed … a footballer from one of the games was injured and carried off the field.
They took him to hospital and while he was sitting there in the Accident Department, the registrar came over to check him in.
"And why have you come to the Accident Department?" she asked.
"I’ve no idea" he replied
"What do you mean?" she asked
"One of the other team kicked me on the knee" he explained. "But it wasn’t an accident. He did it on purpose."

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Saturday 20th September 2025 – I HAVE NO …

… idea about what is going on at the dialysis centre right now. After Thursday’s controversies, I seem to have been left in limbo. It’s not true to say that there was no doctor on duty today because I definitely caught a glimpse of Emilie the Cute Consultant at some point, but nevertheless, no-one seems to be interested in following up the examination that took place on Thursday.

It’s a shame, because it all seemed to be going so very well today. It actually started last night, even though I was feeling so ill. I’d dashed through my notes yet again and was, for once, actually in bed by 22:30, something that has not happened for quite some considerable time.

Even more rare than that, I slept right the way through until the alarm went off at 06:29, and I can’t even begin to think when was the last time that that happened. Mind you, I was totally exhausted after the previous night when I don’t think that I slept at all.

It took, as usual these days, an age to raise myself from the Dead and head off to the bathroom. I had a good wash and scrub up, and even washed my undies in the sink. Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that, from my days of living out of a suitcase, it’s very important that I keep on top of the washing.

After the medication, I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I was in South Africa last night, in a column with the British Army that was attacking the Boers in World War I. The Boers had decided for self-administration, they were armed and had risen up. The British had sent several armies to confront them, but at first things went horribly for the British and they were pushed back after three major battles. Everyone in this dream wanted to rise up and go again on the attack but the Prince of Vietnam wanted to hold on until new weapons were available because they were on the verge of coming up with something that worked over a distance and the cannons were not as successful as they had hoped that they would be. They were effectively living with the girl’s mother.

The first part of that is easy to explain. Yesterday, I was reading about the opening battles of the Boer War in South Africa, the three major opening battles that left the British with a very bloody nose and the four “Creusot” Long Tom artillery pieces that the Boers acquired. Where the dream goes after that, with the Prince of Vietnam and the girl’s mother, I have absolutely no idea where this fits in with anything. But then again, that’s nothing new.

Isabelle the Nurse breezed in, and once more, I’m in her bad books. I obtained the prescription for the injections that I am supposed to have after chemotherapy, but apparently I forgot to ask for the prescription for the visiting nurse to inject me with them. But what do I know about all of this?

After she left, I made breakfast and read some more of BATTLES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION.

Our author, Colonel Carrington, is discussing the Battle of Bunker Hill that was in effect the first major battle of the American Revolution. The British in Boston attacked the Americans who were entrenched on Bunker Hill and Breed’s Hill, and although they won a major victory, albeit at terrific cost, the complete and utter lack of a strategic master plan left the British at a loss as to what to do next.

It was this type of indecision that in later battles eventually ended up with the British being expelled from what became the USA.

Back in here, I had plenty of things to do and in the hour that remained, I attacked my Welsh homework. It’s almost finished now, so I’ll do the rest tomorrow and send it off so that I’ll have it back by Tuesday. Then I can crack on with the next one which will be due in a week or so’s time.

My faithful cleaner came down to sort out the anaesthetic on my arm, and then I had a rather long wait for the taxi to take me to dialysis.

We also had to pass by Champeaux to pick up another passenger, so the driver took me on a series of very interesting rural roads. Just outside Champeaux we drove past the ruins of the Léproserie Saint-Blaise– the old leper hospital from the Middle Ages.

We were late arriving at the dialysis centre and once more, I had to wait a while to be plugged in.

And herein lies the disappointment. They told me on Thursday that my dry weight had been over-estimated by 2kg, so I’ve been on a very thin diet and have drunk almost nothing at all to prepare myself for a massive drainage session today. Based on the previous dry weight, I had just 1.7kg to eliminate instead of the usual 2.8 or 2.9 so I was well-prepared.

However, to my astonishment, the doctor who attended to the session on Thursday hadn’t altered my dry weight to the new revised figure so instead of the machine running at the maximum 950g/hour as I was expecting, it was a very sedate stroll along at 480g/hour. It seems that I had been depriving myself for no good purpose, and that’s really annoying.

Just you wait until Monday when they tell me that I have to stay for four hours at the max!

That wasn’t all either. Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that yesterday I mentioned these dizzy spells and hallucinations that I’d been having. Towards the end of the session, they started up again and the dizzy spell was by far the worst that I have had.

Mind you, I didn’t say anything to anyone. There isn’t much point. They would probably just offer me a Doliprane and cut the session short, and then I’d be in an even worse position than I am now.

When the session ended, I had an interminable wait until they came to unplug and compress me, and then I could leave, about an hour later than planned.

In contrast to the driver who took me to dialysis who hardly said a word throughout the entire journey, it was another one of the interesting, chatty drivers who brought me home. We talked a lot about, would you believe, women’s rugby but also about travelling.

There was a howling gale blowing here when I returned, so in view of that and my dizzy spells, my cleaner and my driver had to help me into the apartment. I was glad to sit down.

She had been to the chemist’s this afternoon and fetched the latest supply of medication, and there is more to come, especially the injections that I need.

Tea was a baked potato with vegan nuggets and a small salad, because I’m still not hungry at all. The good news though is that having sent an e-mail to the doctor in Paris about the injections, he had sent me the missing part of the prescription, so Isabelle the Nurse should be happy, I hope.

Me too, because I’m off to bed now, and I really do need my sleep. All of this is just so tiring. I don’t understand what is happening to me right now in this respect. Gone are the days when I could work for thirty-six hours and more, non-stop, with no problem at all.

But seeing as we have been talking about dizzy spells … "well, one of us has" – ed … I mentioned to someone at the dialysis centre a while back that I’d been having the odd dizzy spell now and again.
"That’s terrible" she said. "Do you have vertigo?"
"Ohh yes" I replied. "It’s a forty-five-minute drive to Granville."

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Friday 19th September 2025 – I HAVE HAD …

… a really bad, horrible, awful 24 hours since I last published my notes.

In fact, I would go as far as to say that today has been the worst that I have felt for a considerable number of years. My faithful cleaner has told me that she has seen me "much worse than this" but I remain unconvinced.

It’s really reaching the limit right now and I’m not sure that I want to keep on like this. These days when I am totally unable to function, I thought that I’d put them well behind me, but apparently not.

Everything began to go all wrong last night. I’d finished my notes quite early … "for a change" – ed … and was looking forward to something of an early night, but while I was … errr … contemplating the state of the nation before going to bed, the stabbing pain that I have occasionally in my foot suddenly recommenced.

And recommenced in spades too.

After I finally managed to crawl into bed, in total agony, the stabbing pain continued. And continued throughout the night too. Every time I began to doze off, there was another stabbing pain that aroused me from my slumber, and so it went on. Round about 06:00 I finally managed to fall asleep, but what good is a sleep of twenty-nine minutes?

It took a good while (longer than it ought) for me to rise to my feet, and then I staggered – quite literally – into the bathroom. Once I’d washed, I went for the medication, which I really didn’t feel like taking, and then came back in here.

Had Isabelle the Nurse not been coming round, I would honestly have gone back to bed, stabbing pain in the foot notwithstanding, but as she would be arriving in half an hour, I had a listen to the dictaphone. And to my surprise, there was something on it from the night. I dreamed that my visitor for next week was here already. She turned up and we began to chat about old times. She was her usual exuberant self. It turned out that she had left her bags in the laboratory which was in the classroom next door so she wanted to go to fetch it. I set off on my crutches and she followed me, and we went into the classroom next door. What she was asking for was – I can’t remember now but it was a strange term that she used. I was puzzled as to what it was that she actually mentioned. Then she pointed to a white box, so I went over to the white box, and it was full of ammeters. That was what she was finding. I went to pick it up but of course I couldn’t. In any case I couldn’t hold it with having to hold my two crutches, so she picked it up and slung it over her shoulder and we went back into my apartment next door. Again, this is another dream where I was sure that there was more than this

And that’s something else that’s bothering me. She’ll be here in three days’ time, with a bit of luck, God’s help and a bobby, and if I’m not going to be in any kind of better shape by then, she will have had a long drive from Limoges to here, all for nothing.

When Isabelle the Nurse came round, she took one look at me and told me to go back to bed once she’d finished with my legs. She said that I looked awful, and that it must be the contre-coup following the chemotherapy.

However, I went to make some food. I’ve been having very little to eat just recently and it’s not doing me any good at all. I made a small bowl of porridge, and that was that. No coffee, no toast, no nothing else.

It took an age for me to summon up the energy to leave the table when I’d finished. I really was thinking about going back to bed but there are things that I wanted to do.

Firstly, I wanted to finish this important letter that I’d been writing. It’s now all finished and reviewed, but it took me all day to do it, given my current state of health etc. I’ll be reviewing it again before I send it off, though, which is likely to be Monday now.

Something else that I have done is to relearn (because it’s been so long since I last did it that I’ve forgotten) how to add layers to my images. I mean – I know how to add layers of course, but how to set the various sizes and configurations that I need to use.

It took several hours to figure it all out, but now it works even better than it did before, which is good news.

My faithful cleaner turned up to do her stuff. She had been intending to help me into the shower seeing as I didn’t shower on Wednesday, but one look at me was enough to convince her that it wasn’t going to be a good idea. I could hardly stand up straight. Instead, she packed me off in here to sit down. Apparently, I was swaying about all over the place.

Even though I didn’t feel like it, I managed to force down some food. Overboiled potatoes and veg with a vegan burger, and not very much of that either. But I’m really going to be very ill if I don’t eat anything at all.

It’s strange, though, what’s happening right now. Apart from the stabbing pain in my foot, I could be sitting down feeling quite normal, and then my head begins to spin round and I feel really faint.

All of a sudden, there’s a very short moment of a brilliant flashback of memory, although when I try to analyse it, I can’t actually place the flashback into anything that I recall having done. Nevertheless, it seems to be so incredibly real. It’s almost as if there’s some kind of chemical release in my brain that’s triggering some long-lost memory or some hidden part of my brain.

Whatever it is, it’s totally bizarre and I don’t understand it at all.

However, right now, I’m off to bed, hoping that this foot issue eases off so I can go to sleep. I’m thoroughly exhausted right now with having had so little sleep.

But seeing as we have been talking about stabbing pains … "well, one of us has" – ed … Nerina once rang me up and asked "do you ever suffer from these really stabbing pains, you know, the type as if someone is stabbing a voodoo doll image of you with a pin?"
"You know what?" I exclaimed. "That’s a really good way of describing what’s going on with my foot right now."
"Oh good!" she said. "It really does work!" and she hung up.

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Thursday 18th September 2025 – I’M THOROUGHLY FED UP …

… with this dialysis nonsense and for two pins, I’d throw it all in. I’ve been trying to talk to the medical staff for weeks upon end and no-one has paid the slightest heed to what I’ve been saying. Today, it was the time for the monthly assessment of my “dry weight”, and the results are exactly as I predicted and I am rightly furious.

The doctor on duty must have realised too, because he kept well out of my way and only showed himself in our room for a brief second.

It’s the last thing that I need, on top of everything else that’s going on right now.

Last night, I mentioned going to bed early. But if only … I finished my notes early enough but I simply could find neither the energy nor the motivation to haul myself out of my chair. I sat here like a vegetable until almost midnight before I could stagger, fully clothed, the two feet from my chair to my bed.

It took an age to go off to sleep – it really did – and that’s so unusual these days. I was still wide-awake at 02:30 and well beyond that too.

Once I was asleep though, I slept right the way through to … errr … 05:20 or thereabouts. That three hours in the afternoon must have made a difference somehow. I left the bed at about 05:50 and then went off for a good wash, a shave and a scrub up in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant at dialysis in the afternoon, and then went for my medication.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night – and yesterday afternoon too.

Yesterday’s notes are now amended to include the relevant entry, and then I turned my attention to those from the night. I had a strange dream last night. I was with my friend, and it was a question of hunting down some of his papers for some reason. It turned out that he had given them to another friend of mine to store because he had no particular way of storing his papers. He was always someone who was on the move around so he needed some kind of place to keep them. But there was again much more to this dream, but the moment that I awoke, it all evaporated yet again. But there was certainly something going on in my head about something called “The Familynappers” but I’ve no idea now why this seems to have related to anything.

This is another dream that seems to relate to nothing at all, although I wish that I knew what the missing pieces were all about. I’m missing far too many extracts these days with this disturbed sleep pattern following chemotherapy, and I’m not all that happy about it. Not at all.

Isabelle the Nurse was late this morning but she was her usual cheery self today. It seems that both she and her oppo are very happy, which is nice to see. As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … I hope that it keeps up.

After she left, I made some breakfast and read some more of BATTLES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION.

Our author, Colonel Carrington, is excelling himself with this book. When discussing revolutions, rebellions and insurrections in general, he criticises Shay’s Rebellion of 1786 in Massachusetts, saying that it "The claim that the Governor’s salary was excessive, that the State Senate was aristocratic, and that taxes were odious,". One would think that he hadn’t heard of the Boston Tea Party and the American War of Independence.

Later on, he tells us that "The first grade is that which devolves upon distant dependencies, the assertion of Independence, when the controlling authority is unable or unwilling to grant the people their rights and proper representation; when laws are constraints without equivalents, and the subjects are, in fact, slaves". Twenty or so years previous to when he was writing his book, the US Government left John Brown’s body mouldering in the grave after the events in “Bleeding Kansas”.

Back in here, I had things to do, and then I had a very important letter to write. It’s been taxing my French and it’s not finished yet, because it’s going to end up like GUERRE ET PAIX, but for all the good it might do, it will be finished some time soon.

My cleaner came along as usual to apply my anaesthetic cream, and then she stayed talking for quite a while. The taxi was late, and with someone else to pick up too, I was quite late arriving at dialysis.

As I said earlier, it was time to assess my dry weight, which took about fifteen minutes to complete. And sure enough, it’s 2 kg less that they have set it. That means that there was 4.9 kg of water to remove.

The nurse set it at 2.9 kg, using the old dry weight, and said that she would speak to the doctor. However, he disappeared from view and that was that.

For weeks and weeks, I’ve been telling them that with my appetite reduced to next to nothing, I’m rapidly losing weight. But not only has he taken no notice whatsoever, he increased the dry weight a week or two ago, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall, and he also cut halted a session a short while ago with liquid still to be extracted.

Another thing was that on Monday I asked them, seeing as there was a margin of manoeuvre on the maximum hourly rate to be extracted, whether they could increase the limit to the maximum in order to give me a head start for chemotherapy, but they refused. "We can’t take out what isn’t in" was the reply, but the events of this afternoon has shown clearly that it was in there all the time.

It beats me why I go through all of this pain and suffering for what seems to be no good reason. But watch this space over the next few sessions when they oblige me to stay for four hours, through no fault of my own at all.

The session eventually finished, at the old dry weight with still 2 kg to go. However, to cheer me up, I had the young chatty girl taxi driver to bring me home and we had a lovely journey home, talking mainly about cats.

My faithful cleaner helped me back into the apartment and, once more, stayed chatting for a while. But almost immediately after she left, I had a ‘phone call. It was the ex-girlfriend from school. She’s planning on turning up on Monday evening to stay until Wednesday.

As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … I have very suddenly become extremely popular these days and I’ve no idea why. I’ll have to buy one of these “take-a-ticket” machines to install outside the door if it carries on like this.

Tea was a handful of pasta and an overcooked veggie thing in breadcrumbs (I still haven’t fathomed out the intricacies of this new microwave) and now, I’m really going to try to go to bed and to sleep much earlier than usual.

But seeing as we have been talking about vegetables, Starmer was in a restaurant with “a certain visitor from overseas” last night, when the waiter came over to take their order.
"What would you like, sir?" asked the waiter.
"I’ll have the steak" replied Starmer
"And what about the vegetable?" asked the waiter
"He’ll have steak too" replied Starmer.

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Wednesday 17th September 2025 – I HAVE HAD …

… a horrible afternoon today and I’m going to bed in a moment. Sleep is and always has been my remedy for all kinds of illnesses; aches and pains, so if this posting suddenly stops half-way through, you know what has happened.

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that I’ll pick up the threads some other time when I awaken, if I ever do, because the way things are right now, that’s not at all clear.

First of all, my apologies to Alison. Firstly, for missing her birthday yesterday, and secondly, for replying to a text message of hers at … gulp … 03:40 this morning and probably awakening her from her beauty sleep.

Yes, I was up and about at 03:40 this morning and if the truth were known, I could have been up and about a long, long time before that.

With not cooking a meal last night, eating my lunchtime sandwiches instead, I was well over an hour earlier than usual and I made good use of the time by dashing through the notes from yesterday, probably missing off a pile of important stuff that I’ll find that I need to consult in the future.

That’s one of the many purposes of this blog, by the way. I have a hopeless memory – a "brain of a duck, you know" as was once FAMOUSLY SAID ON FILM. Consequently, I have to make notes of what goes on so that I can recall them later. Nothing is more satisfying when contacting “authority” to be able to say things like "but in our conversation of 9th April 2016 you said …" and to be able to put the contemporary quote before their eyes.

Meanwhile, back at the ran … errr … office, I sprinted through my notes and everything else, and was in bed not long after 22:00, which these days is something of a record.

However, regular readers of this rubbish will recall exactly what happens next.

That’s right. There I was at 01:30, tossing and turning in my bed trying my very best to go back to sleep after a dramatic awakening, and failing dismally.

After a couple of hours, I gave it up as a totally bad job and arose from the Dead. And contrary to the expectations of other people, I did not have a wasted morning.

Apart from disturbing Alison’s sleep, there were two radio programmes which, as I mentioned the other day, needed some amendment to their text. And so I re-wrote the text and, in the absence of the howling gale, that seems to have died down now, re-dictated them (one of them twice because yet again, the first five seconds of one of the recordings had gone walkabout).

Once I was satisfied with what I had, I edited them and rebuilt the two programmes and now they are ready to go, sometime in March next year.

At that point, the alarm went off at 05:38 so I went and had a good wash and scrub up, then came back here to listen to the dictaphone. And I needn’t have bothered, because with just three or so hours of sleep, there hadn’t been much time to go anywhere during the night.

There were several other things to do, but in the end, at 06:30, I was interrupted by the arrival of Isabelle the Nurse who came to sort out my legs. She was in a very lively mood this morning and so the news that I had later of an incident involving a patient whom she visits after me took me completely by surprise. Anyway, that’s another story – rather like the one that I told yesterday about the house of the Franklins in Spilsby.

No breakfast, and no medication this morning because, as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … what doesn’t go in won’t want to come out at an inconvenient moment during the morning.

It was the young, chatty driver who brought me home yesterday who came for me this morning, bang on 07:00 as promised. He’d ‘phoned me a little earlier to confirm his arrival so I was ready and waiting by the door.

And that was where the first effects of yesterday’s chemotherapy hit me. It’s a very gentle, almost imperceptible slope up to the road, but I had an awful struggle going up it and I needed help. That was devastating news for me.

There was another passenger in the car with us, with an earlier appointment than mine at Rennes as I predicted, so we fought our way through the back lanes around Avranches station and the traffic queues on the rocade around Rennes to drop off our ladyfriend, and arrived at my building bang on 09:00.

Surprisingly, I was seen immediately, and by 09:15 I was coupled up and running.

It was only a short session this morning so I didn’t bother with the internet (although I found the free connection, which is good news). Instead, I read some of THE WAR IN THE AIR – the official history of the Royal Flying Corps.

It’s a fascinating book but, as you might expect, it’s full of the gung-ho jingoism that so characterised the inflated egos of the British upper classes at that moment. Reading things like "Flying Corps, when it took the field with the little British Expeditionary Force, was enabled to bear a part in saving the British army, and perhaps the civilization of free men, from the blind onrush of the German tide." makes me cringe.

As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … the advantage of going to Rennes is that there are thirty or forty voyages to Rennes made by my taxi company every day. So when the secretary ‘phoned them to say that I was ready to leave, there was a car here in fifteen minutes with one passenger already on board and another to be picked up after me.

But it’s like being on a production line at Rennes. You’re in, you’re dealt with, and you’re straight out. No time for recovery or to calm down or anything. They had to fetch a wheelchair for me again as I was in no state to stand up, and I had to be helped into the car.

On the way home, I was feeling awful and as sleep is my usual remedy, I dozed off for half an hour.

We had the usual guided tour of half of Normandy, during which I visited a couple of places where I’d never been before and didn’t even know existed, and was back here by about 13:00, where my faithful cleaner was waiting. She helped me into the apartment (and I needed help) where I sat down for an hour to recover.

Once I’d recovered slightly, I had a small bowl of porridge (all that I’ve eaten today – and if I’m off my food, then regular readers of this rubbish will recall that I’m not at all well) and then went to bed where I slept for over three hours.

While I was asleep in the afternoon, I remember making something like a model lighthouse. It was made of plastic, like an Airfix model, with bits that we had to glue together and paint. It was rather complicated to do it, and we realised when we almost finished that it looked nothing like in the plan and we were doing it the wrong way round. Someone came to check on me while I was asleep in bed, and that jogged my memory so I went to have another go at making this lighthouse. I realised that in its natural position, it was pulled square but I had to tighten up the pillars, columns and safety bars which would draw it up into a hexagram – a circle, rather – and that was something that I hadn’t done at first so I set about having a go at doing that.

This evening, I’ve had a lively chat with my niece’s youngest daughter who tells me that she and her mother "are all booked in just down the road from you" so it looks as if this visit in November is really going to happen.

Alison and I had a little chat too, which was nice, and then Jackie came for a chat too. It’s been my lucky day today.

However, I really was feeling awful, and I’m not much better now so I’m off to bed in the hope that I’ll feel better in the morning.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about the gung-ho jingoism of the British Empire … "well, one of us has" – ed … it has been rivalled, if not exceeded in modern times, by the manner and behaviour of many Americans.
In a small pub in a rural area in Wales, I once heard an American going on about "the miserable size of the Welsh hill farms. Why, back in Texas, I could get into my car, drive for three days, and still not reach the boundary on the other side of my land!"
"I know exactly how you feel" replied a Welsh hill farmer
"You do???" exclaimed the American, incredulously
"Ohh yes" replied the farmer. "I used to have a car like that too."

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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?"

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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."

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