… to say that Day Seven of my Summer School passed uneventfully.

However, after my hot chocolate I came in here and sat down in my comfy chair ready to start work and the next thing that I knew was that it was 19:07. I’d been out like a light for well over an hour and hadn’t felt a thing.

One thing that can be said though and on which many of us are agreed is that we are cracking on at a hell of a pace.

The conclusion was reached that there are some people attending the regular courses who are maybe not as committed as the rest. Those who give up several weeks of their Summer and pay the money to attend the course are amongst the most committed and most enthusiastic and hence push things along that little bit quicker.

But it’s all at quite a cost. And I’m not talking about money either. I’m totally exhausted and there are another three days to go before I can have a week’s break.

It might possibly help matters if I manage to have an early night one of these days but last night was another one of these interminable evenings where I seem to have so much to do and not enough time to do it.

By the time that I’d finished whatever it was that I have to do, it’s long past my bedtime and I’m eating my way into the next day. This kind of thing is doing me no good at all.

So eventually I managed to stagger into bed once everything had been completed. I was soon under the covers and once more, I was out for the count. No need to even start my little bedtime mantra because I was away with the fairies almost straight away.

At some point in the middle of the night I awoke, but I’ve no idea what time it was. A strange, random fact is that since I’ve stopped wearing that new watch that I bought a couple of months ago I’ve not felt the urge to scratch my arms. That’s really quite strange. I think that I must be allergic to whatever the watch strap is made from.

So for that reason, I didn’t notice the time at all

Instead I turned over, tucked myself down under the quilt and went back to sleep until the alarm went off.

After I switched off the alarm I went into the bathroom to sort myself out, and then came back in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. The Police in North Wales were investigating a big drugs ring in North Wales. One of the people whom they actually pulled in in this respect was someone who played for one of the bigger clubs but has recently been transferred. He was caught with a considerable amount of drugs that he was trying to move around the country and was imprisoned practically straight away. From there on the Police were working really hard to dismantle his ring and to catch who else was in it if they could. They were interviewing some man who seems to have been involved in it for three years. Interestingly they had come across a car with three women in it. It turned out that these three women were Russian and worked as interpreters so naturally the Police became interested in them to find out exactly what they were doing and why they were travelling, where they were going. They speculated that these women were officially listed as dead in the Russian people’s work so that they cold move around quietly without being controlled and use their skills to infiltrate organisations or societies, things like that, where they could be expected to extract certain information, submit it to Russia and move on to the next case. The Police felt that they were on the edge of breaking some kind of case in some kind of record numbers. This would be a huge feather in their cap for their Force.

As for the footballer, I could tell you much more about him but this isn’t the kind of event with which too many people would wish to have their identity associated, even if it were in a dream and bore no relation to reality. But it was certainly interesting. As for the three women, that was a well-known ploy back in the olden days for someone to acquire a birth certificate and hence a passport in the name of a person who had died. But after the STONEHOUSE AFFAIR that particular loophole was blocked which was a shame because I had … errr … plans…

Later on I was working in some office. There was an issue with regard to the electricity that we were using. The bills were coming out really complicatedly and expensive. When the Accounts girl complained to the Electricity Company she was accused of being nothing but a lousy American cheapskate. Being British, she was immediately offended. But that gave her the idea then that if she converted all of the temperatures and all of the figures in the office to Centigrade instead of Fahenheit the consumption of electricity would be a lot less and that would spike the guns of this company. As well as that, they had te habit of using one of our car-parking spaces. That privilege was immediately revoked. All the labels on our appliances were changed from Fahrenheit to Centigrade throughout the office. Several Americans didn’t understand it. I had to ring up the File Repository later on about the disposal of a file, the origin was someone called R. McHarrie, a young, tall, slender white girl with long light brown hair dressed in Office Manager-type of clothing.

Can you imagine anything worse than being described as a “lousy American cheapskate”? I know that if anyone were ever to think that I were American I’d be outraged. I’m not sure how changing the labels from Fahrenheit to Centigrade would reduce the electricity bills but the fact that “several Americans” wouldn’t “understand it” is something with which we would all agree. And I’m impressed that I could remember a name like R McHarrie when I’m asleep.

It’s Isabelle doing the nursing duties now for the next seven days, and I don’t mind her cheerful chatter quite so much. We “exchanged pleasantries” and she wants me to wash my puttees tonight. So yet more work to make me late going to bed.

After she left I had breakfast and then I had a few ‘phone calls to make.

The first was to the taxi company. There have been one or two extra trips added to the list just recently and I needed to make sure that they would come to pick me up. And that reminds me – I need to collect a taxi voucher for one of the trips. I mustn’t forget to ring up to request one from the doctor concerned

The second call was to that evil clinic where The Beast of the Hôpital de la Baie hangs out. They want me to go for another appointment on 10th September so I phoned them to say that I wouldn’t be going.
"I’ll find you another date" said the secretary
"It won’t do any good because I wouldn’t come" I replied
"But you have to come" she wailed. "It’s the post-operative review"
"I’m sorry" I said "but I’m not setting one single foot inside your “maudit établissement”" and I told her my tale of woe about the bill

She was totally astonished, as have been everyone else to whom I’ve recounted my little story. And having told it now to the surgeon’s secretary, it’ll spread like wildfire. Yes, the French have a saying – la vengeance, c’est un plât qui se mange mieux froid – “revenge is a dish that’s best eaten cold”. And I have the patience to play this out for as long as I think it necessary

There was no Welsh homework but nevertheless I went over a few things, and then I went to the lesson. We have now acquired a student from that well-known outpost of Welsh culture … errr … The Czech Republic. It’s becoming quite an interesting course.

In fact, the lockdown was the best thing that ever happened to the language. With the College that provides my courses, when the courses were face-to-face they had on average 100 students per year from North-East Wales. With lockdown and on-line courses, the first year they had 1038 students from all over the World.

During the pauses I was chipping away at these radio notes with the intention of finishing them off later but instead, at the end of the course I crashed out. And while I was out I was away on my travels. There was something going on about being in a house with a conservatory and to reach the hilly land behind the house the only way was to climb through the venting window in the roof of the conservatory. I had that down to a fine art, even as far as wearing my shoes inside an oversize pair of wellingtons when it snowed, which t did quite often. But the conservatory soon became too public with other people in there so climbing out of the roof window became more difficult and led to confusion about whose shoes were whose when it came to climbing out of the window

That was a complicated procedure but it did remind me of my family home in Davenport Avenue in Crewe which did in fact have a glass conservatory of the type in this dream. But at the back of our house instead of hills we had the Mornflake Oats factory and then the railway line to Shrewsbury.

Tea tonight was a taco roll with rice and veg followed by another slice of this delicious apple crumble. That was a lovely recipe that has produced a really good topping and I’ll have to make this again

Back in here I finished off the radio programme. I now have my two halves but tomorrow morning I’ll have to choose the final track and write the notes for it.

So having finished my notes I’m going to wash my puttees – or, at least, put them to soak – and then go to bed ready to fight the good fight tomorrow. In the evening I have a medical appointment which ought to be fun. Would I have a neighbour in the next cubicle as the one that I had last time?
Once I overheard a discussion between the doctor and his patient. The patient was bemoaning his lack of … errr … success.
"What do you expect?" asked the doctor. "You’re eighty-three"
"My friend Joe is eighty-seven" he said "And he tells me that he makes love to his wife twice a day"
"So what?" asked the doctor. "If it bothers you, you could always tell him the same thing"
"Maybe I could" he replied. "but I don’t know his wife as well as all that."

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