Category Archives: cleaner

Tuesday 3rd February 2026 – THEY SAY THAT …

… wiser counsel comes overnight. And that’s certainly true in my case, especially last night. And that’s because I had plenty of time to consider it.

Going to bed at about 22:00 is all very well, but as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … it’s a pretty pointless exercise if you wake up at … errr … 01:05.

Last night though, I really was ill. Not in a medical sense, I suppose (even though I am, of course), but my morale had dropped through the floor and it was carrying on sinking. There’s only one place to be when that happens, so I dashed through my notes at an incredible rate of knots, finished off everything else as quickly as possible and then headed for the hills.

It didn’t take long to go to sleep, because I really was wasted. However, as I said just now, I didn’t stay asleep for long.

So there I was, tossing and turning for hours, trying to find a comfortable position without much success, but I must have eventually fallen asleep because some company or other sent me a text message at 04:25 and that awoke me.

Nevertheless, I did manage to go back to sleep and there I was when the alarm went off.

As usual, it took an age to summon up the courage and the strength to go to the bathroom, and then I came in here. No medication this morning.

The first thing that I did was to transcribe the dictaphone notes to find out where I’d been during the night.

I had some Welsh homework outstanding, and the tutor came to see me – a male tutor, this particular one. I explained that I’d had that many medical appointments recently that it was difficult for me to find the time to do several things that I wanted to do, including the Welsh homework. But I was surprised that he was hardly sympathetic at all. He said “you seem to be putting much less effort into your course just recently”, to which I replied that I was putting most of my effort into my medical issues and it can’t really be helped. He told me that he’d give me until Monday and that would be the final cut-off for the homework period. I had to sort out all of my paperwork after he’d left. I took some bread and cheese and things and went to sit in my van with the paperwork out, but I just couldn’t concentrate at all, time was dragging on and I hadn’t even begun to make any progress. Some of my friends were back in the building and wondered where the butter had gone. No-one knew exactly where it was so I said that I had it. They came over and brought me a little note or something to get well, which was nice of them, but I was just sitting there and couldn’t really function and was doing absolutely nothing whatsoever towards this homework.

This is the story of my life, isn’t it? Being paralysed with inaction when I should be doing things. I can go for weeks like this and then have a sudden burst of energy during which I not only catch up with everything but actually soar ahead.

Round about 07:45, I decided that I’d better go into the kitchen to wait for Isabelle the Nurse who should arrive at any moment. Instead, though, it was the taxi driver who had come early, so I had to quickly put on my shoes and stuff my socks into my pocket.

Halfway across the courtyard we met Isabelle the Nurse. She was on time, but with the taxi being early, she was confounded. And so we ended up with the undignified spectacle of me sitting in the car, feet outstretched outside in the cold and rain with Isabelle the Nurse oiling my bare feet and sorting out my socks while the taxi driver, a passenger that she had picked up earlier and a whole crowd of people waiting for the 08:10 bus looked on with interest and amazement.

You can’t say that I don’t live an interesting life.

So Part One of today’s adventures began, with a trip down to Avranches. We dropped off the other passenger at the clinic and then my driver took me to the hospital. She found a wheelchair for me, and then we played “hunt the doctor” until we finally found her.

This doctor, I think she’s wonderful. She’s a tiny woman of “a certain age”, and while she’s examining your arm and your dialysis implant, she’s complaining all the time about the standard of work that the surgeon did and a lot more besides. Just like my favourite taxi driver, she puts a lot of ambience and atmosphere into her work and I think that it’s great. Today, though, she was rather restrained and I was somewhat disappointed.

It was the same driver who brought me home, although there was someone else to drop off along the way. The driver had to help me into the apartment because my faithful cleaner was with one of her other clients this morning.

Back in here, I grabbed a quick bowl of porridge and a mug of coffee and then headed off for my Welsh lesson, arriving rather later than I intended.

One thing about the lesson, though, was that it went really, really well and I was quite impressed. Spending a couple of hours over the weekend reading through the notes and checking the vocabulary seems to be paying dividends with my course, although I wish that I could remember it afterwards. That’s the problem with having a Teflon brain – nothing sticks to it at all.

So Part One of my day was at Avranches. Part Two was my Welsh course. Part Three was my shower. My faithful cleaner turned up and organised the bathroom for me so that I could have a nice, hot soak. And I needed it too. And I felt much better afterwards, that’s for sure. I wish that I could shower more often, but I’m not allowed to do it unsupervised.

However, all this might change. The handles and restraining bars to be installed in the shower arrived a couple of weeks ago and with them, I’m much more independent. My cleaner and I decided that on Friday, we’ll go round the apartment to make a list of things that need doing, and then I’ll contact the carpenter to see if he’s available.

If anyone else who has visited the apartment can think of anything that I ought to have done, don’t hesitate to let me know because this will be the only chance to do it.

But meanwhile, back at the ran … errr … shower, I suddenly realised that I’d been trying to walk out of the bathroom without my crutches. If only …

Part Four of my day came later. That was at about 16:30 when my favourite taxi driver came to pick me up for an appointment with the heart specialist down in the town. That was quite a hike to his office too but I managed it, just about.

He was running behind time too, so I had to wait for quite a while, all the time standing up because, with no armrests on his chairs in the waiting room, I can’t stand up afterwards. And that’s an interesting fact – since I’ve become disabled, I’m seeing the World in a totally different light than I ever did before.

Eventually, he saw me and gave me a good going-over. And apparently, there’s an improvement since the last time that he examined me. Everyone is worried, and I’ve been having these tests since the announcement that the chemotherapy has failed. It’s nice to have some good news for a change, even though it doesn’t explain why I’m so out of breath these days.

As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … with a lower red blood count than usual, my heart is having to work correspondingly faster to pump enough oxygen around my body. Even so, there’s no circulation in my feet (hence the daily visits of the nurse, to massage them and rub oil in) and at times, there’s a loss of circulation in my fingers. But as long as the heart can keep up with the pressure, I can keep on going (in that respect, but maybe not in others).

When the taxi dropped me off, my cleaner helped me into the apartment and sorted me out.

In between all of that, I’d been working on the next radio programme. I’d managed to collect all of the music that I need, reformat, remix and re-edit it, pair it off and segue it ready for me to write the notes tomorrow. I’m trying to break the back of at least two every week so that I can build up a pile in advance for when the inevitable happens. I intend to live on, long after I’ve begun to push up the daisies.

For the very first time since I don’t know when, I managed a full meal today. It’s probably due to all of the exercise that I’d had with all of these medical appointments, running here, there and everywhere. I had the leftover Chinese food, from when I tried unsuccessfully to make those spring rolls, in a stir-fry with noodles. And it was delicious too, if rather salty (but then again, everything that I eat tastes of salt since the chemotherapy).

My neighbour, when she came to visit the other day, had brought me some fruit – they might have been apricots – so I had a few with some of that vegan sorbet that I’d ordered for Christmas. And that was quite lovely too. So much so that I’m seriously contemplating ordering a few tins of fruit for pudding in the future, especially as I now have some custard powder.

Back in here, I started to write up my notes, but the effort was far too much for me after everything that I’d done today, the early start, the two medical visits, the shower etc. I fell asleep twice before I’d even finished the first paragraph and even then what I’d written was a load of gibberish anyway … "so what’s new?" – ed … so I called it a night and crawled into bed. I can finish it off in the morning.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about the heart specialist … "well, one of us has" – ed … while he was running his machine over my chest, I asked him "have you found my heart, doctor?"
"Oh yes" he replied. "It’s still there."
"Thank heavens for that!" I said, relieved. "I’ve not turned into a Conservative yet."

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Monday 2nd February 2026 – IT’S BEEN ANOTHER …

… tough afternoon today, and being at dialysis hasn’t helped one little bit.

What also probably didn’t help was that, once again, I remained stuck to my chair last night for ages and couldn’t sort myself out and go to bed. As a result, it was yet another late night, long after 23:30, and being as tired as I am right now, it’s all becoming far too complicated for me.

Once in bed, though, I was asleep quite quickly, and I remember nothing whatever until the alarm went off at 06:29 as usual.

It took an age to sort myself out and head to the bathroom but after a good wash and shave, I could head into the kitchen for the hot drink and medication, including the last of this course of five days of antibiotics.

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

I was driving my taxi last night. I’d just started to be self-employed so I was looking for as much work as possible to set myself off. A message came through on the radio to tell me that there were two people to pick up in Crewe to take somewhere at 06:30. But the following morning was a Sunday, so would I be able to do it? Even though I wasn’t particularly keen, the idea that there was a job like that to do made me feel that I would be able to do it. While I was speaking on the radio, a car pulled up alongside. It was the postwoman and she gave me a parcel. I hadn’t been expecting a parcel but I took it anyway. What I’d been doing while I’d been waiting for things to happen was that I was trying to make some tea. I’d been washing a load of really dirty vegetables and I now had four clean carrots, so I was going to make some kind of stew. I had dirty water, vegetable peelings and diced vegetables all over the place, and someone gave me a parcel, the postwoman. I put it down on a worktop where it became all wet, and then opened it. There were four solar-powered racing cars in there, each with its own track, and it was nothing that I knew anything of. However, I remember my mother talking about something like this so I called her up on the radio and asked her. She said that it was indeed something that she had been waiting for and could I bring it round some time? I wondered when it would be best to bring it round because she usually had piles of grandchildren hanging around and I imagined that she didn’t want her grandchildren to know about this parcel arriving.

Apart from the fact that I’m back driving a taxi again, there’s quite a lot of mileage in this dream. For example, my friend in Munich and I were talking yesterday about solar power and also about curried vegetables, and in Mortimer Wheeler’s MAIDEN CASTLE, part of the preamble that I mentioned the other day was a discussion about the cursus — the weird Neolithic structures that resemble something like an ancient racecourse.

And as usual, my family puts in an appearance.

The nurse breezed in quite early today, and he was soon gone, leaving me to make my breakfast and read some more of my book.

Mortimer Wheeler is reaching an interesting stage in his opening discussion. He notes that in the beginning, there were some reasonably substantial defences around Maiden Castle, but after a period that he estimates to be about fifty years, the defences are allowed to decay, although the site is still occupied. This seems to suggest that once the inhabitants were settled in, they were living at peace.

However, all of a sudden, there’s a hasty reconstruction of the defences, as if the situation has changed and warfare has broken out somewhere in the vicinity. And from then on, the defences are improved and improved with some massive, impressive defensive walls and ditches, enough to stifle any invader’s attack. And there are whole hoards of sling-stones discovered, tens and tens of thousands, cached at important points along the defences as if the defenders were prepared for a massive siege and attack.

After breakfast, I came in here again. There were a few things to do and then I revised my Welsh, seeing as I’m going to be out early tomorrow morning.

Rosemary sent me a message or two today to ask me a couple of questions. I forgot to mention yesterday that she had also ‘phoned me for a “quick chat” which, while not one of our usual length, was only supposed to be “just a quick question”.

My cleaner turned up to sort out my anaesthetic and then I had to wait for the taxi. The driver was early today because there were two other people to pick up, one in Granville and the other one in Donville-les-Bains.

The driver dropped me off first, and for a change, I was quite early. However, it counted for nothing because with a trainee nurse and no fewer that two trainee nursing assistants, I had to wait forty minutes before I was plugged in.

It was while I was waiting that I felt my morale disintegrating. And after a couple of hours of dialysis, I had another one of these fits that I have where I cease to function and just sit there, staring into space. This time, though, I closed my eyes and hoped to doze off, but that didn’t happen.

But you can tell that things aren’t going my way. We had a “satisfaction survey” to complete and when I read mine back after I’d filled it in, I noticed that what I had written was full of doom and gloom and pessimism. Still, I suppose that this is normal these days. The spark seems to have gone out, and gone for good too.

The taxi driver was waiting for me when I finished. It was the young, chatty guy and at least, he cheers me up when he’s driving. It was pouring down with rain and blowing a gale … "yet again" – ed … so he dropped me off at the back of the building where my faithful cleaner was waiting to open the fire escape so that I could come in that way. It’s much less of a distance to walk.

After my cleaner had sorted me out, I warmed up the half-pizza that was left over from yesterday and ate that. And now, early as it may be, I’m going to bed. I’ve had enough for today.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about Rosemary … "well, one of us has" – ed … she ended our little chat by saying "you are a real treasure".
And I quite agree with her. The way that I’m feeling right now, I really ought to be buried on a desert island somewhere.

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Friday 30th January 2026 – JUST BECAUSE I …

… awoke this morning at 02:10 doesn’t mean that I was in bed early last night. I would have liked to have been, and I might even have been too, had I not fallen asleep on my chair during the evening. However, it was nearer 23:00 than anything else when I finally crawled underneath the covers.

However, as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … it looks as if dialysis is the catalyst for these early awakenings. It always seems to be following a dialysis session that I only have a very short sleep.

So last night, after lying awake for well over an hour (I was watching the clock), I must have gone back to sleep at some point because the alarm awoke me at 06:29.

As seems to be the case these days, it took an age to sort myself out and crawl out from underneath the covers. In fact, I was giving serious thought to abandoning these 06:29 starts and setting the alarm for 07:15, today and for the future, but I still harbour faint hopes of being able to pick up my old lifestyle at some point.

In the bathroom, I had a good wash and scrub up and then went for my hot drink and medication. And I do like my hot lemon, honey and ginger drink.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out what went on during the night.

I’d received some kind of offensive e-mail from some kind of organisation so I was determined to sit down and reply. I’d been thinking for quite a while how to do it but eventually, I had some kind of idea formulated in my head. There was a young child, who was a cousin, who was in the house with us at the time so I sent her on a little errand to fetch a book, to fetch some paper and to fetch something else, and I said that she could help me write a reply. We sat down at the table, but for some reason, she was at the far end and I was at the other. There was a huge tablecloth on the table and as I tried to write, the pattern on the tablecloth was preventing me from writing on the paper so in the end, I had to roll it back. I began to write, and made three or four attempts but I couldn’t find the correct kind of words. All the time, this girl was sitting at the far end of the table. In the end, she asked if she could come and sit up near me. I said that she could, so she came up and climbed up onto the lorry that was parked next to me, opened the door and sat on the back of one of the front seats so that she was level with me at the table. Then I sat down to write out this reply. Even then, I couldn’t seem to express exactly what I wanted to say. I could see myself sitting there for hours trying to formulate some kind of response with what I had going around in my head previously for ages.

In fact, I have actually had such an e-mail, and I’ve been planning for some of yesterday evening and much of the day in order to make a suitable response. Why my cousins should appear, though, I don’t know. That’s twice in a week or so, and I haven’t really paid them much attention in the thirty or forty years before that.

As for the lorry, that was an extremely surreal situation. And I can see it now. It was either a Thames Trader or a Bedford S-series and was painted olive green.

But there was also something else about another one of my cousins who had left school. I enquired whether she had found a job yet. The response was “well, she doesn’t come from a very well-motivated family, does she?”. But I reminded whoever it was speaking that a couple of her elder brothers had actually gone on in life and started their own business so they were certainly well-motivated, and so were one or two others, so I didn’t really think that it was fair to pick on the younger ones like that.

And that’s perfectly true too. Two of my cousins, having left school with no job and no prospects, joined the Army and served under fire in Northern Ireland. On demobilisation, they went to work for a roofing contractor in Nantwich, and within a couple of years, they had their own roofing business. My niece came across a third who had been in a similar situation after leaving school. However, when she met her twenty-odd years later, she was running her own contract cleaning company. So even if their family environment had been non-motivational, they certainly weren’t.

But as I said, where do my cousins (my father’s sister’s children) come into all of this?

The nurse blew in quite early today to see to my feet, and he didn’t hang around at all, which suited me. I could crack on and make breakfast and read some more of A ROMAN FRONTIER POST AND ITS PEOPLE.

We’re now quite close to the end, going through the appendices. We’ve finished plants, animals and humans, and we’re now on coins. And once more, I must confess to having had a laugh at James Curle’s tale of cataclysm at the end of the occupation, as I mentioned yesterday.

He talks about the abandonment of the fort and in particular, "the bodies of unburied men". According to the anthropologist to whom he sent all of the human bones that he found, they related to just ten individuals, most of whom were in pits or ditches. Of those that were identified, two were children, three were women and four were men, and only one showed any signs of battle damage. That’s not, of course, to say that the others did not die a violent death – just that the parts of the skeletons recovered show no evidence of it.

The passage on sheep is interesting too. The bones recovered seem to relate quite closely, if not exactly, to the Soay sheep, the feral sheep on the island of Soay in the Outer Hebrides. As long as there have been written records – over a thousand years – there is no evidence of anyone having introduced a different breed of sheep to cross with the feral sheep there, so they would seem to be truly Neolithic sheep.

We’ve now started coins, which is interesting. And this is how a lot of dating of sites can be done. For example, if you find a coin dated 120 AD underneath a Roman road, you know that the road can’t be any earlier than that date. And successive coins (and pottery, of course) in successive layers can further help in dating.

After breakfast I came back here, and the first thing that I did was regrettably to doze off until about 11:00. I really was tired.

And then I had to chase up the comptes rendu of the aborted fibre-optic installation so that I can go and sit on the building’s management committee and make them pay attention to what’s going on.

Next task was to track down some music for the next radio programme, and if this lot isn’t going to be an obscure collection of songs, I don’t know what is. It took hours to track down everything that I needed, reformat, remix and edit it, pair it and segue it.

There were the usual interruptions too. My cleaner came in to do her stuff and she brought me a new pair of slippers, seeing as my old ones had died a death. We went for a stroll down the corridor to see what was going on in the technical zone too.

Then Rosemary rang. "Do you have a minute or two?" And so, one hour and twenty-two minutes later …

There was even time to write some of the notes for this programme, and with a bit of luck, God’s help and a bobby, I shall finish it tomorrow.

Tea tonight was vegan sausage, baked beans and chips. Proper beans too, not ones that I made. The sauce on those that I made was quite good but it was the beans that were wrong. I’ll buy a tin of French baked beans with my next order to see what they are like, and if they aren’t up to much, I shall have to bite the bullet and buy a tray of real beans online, unless any of my British friends are passing a supermarket on their way here sometime.

There’s one thing about this meal, and that is that it seems to be the only food that I enjoy these days. And as it’s packed with protein and fibre, especially when I drop a handful of vegan cheese into it, it’s quite a healthy food.

So on that point, I shall clear off to bed ready for a good start tomorrow (I hope).

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about sheep on the island of Soay … "well, one of us has" – ed … they are in fact a protected species, classed as “endangered” by UNESCO.
And as with most endangered species, they have to be counted every year. However, quite rarely for an endangered species, there has NEVER been a recorded tally of their numbers in the UNESCO yearbook.
One day, at a European Union meeting, I met a representative from UNESCO, and I asked him about it.
"Well, we do send people there" he said "but they don’t come back and we have to go to look for them"
"And do you find them?"
"Ohh yes, they are always there, but the task is never completed"
"Why’s that?" I ask
"Well, they only ever get as far as ‘sixteen’ or so, and then they always fall asleep."

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Thursday 29th January 2026 – I SHAN’T BE …

… sorry to crawl into bed tonight. I’ve no idea what’s going on but yet again, I’m thoroughly exhausted and it’s still quite early.

It might be something to do with the late night that I had last night. Having fallen asleep in the chair while I was typing out my notes, I ended up in bed round about 23:45 and that’s much later than I would have liked.

As well as that, it took a while to go off to sleep too and although I was fast asleep when the alarm went off this morning, it wasn’t actually much of a sleep.

It took an age to haul myself out of bed this morning and stagger off into the bathroom where, as well as the usual good scrub up, I had a shave in case Emilie the Cute Consultant comes to see me this afternoon.

After the medication and the hot drink, I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night.

I was at the top of a really, really steep hill. There had been a gale warning of winds and I decided that I’d head down in my car into the valley. But I thought that I’d roll it down and see how quickly I would arrive at the bottom. While I was doing that, there was a gale warning from the UK coming through on the radio. It was calling all owners of light boats to head in to shore and to keep out of certain rivers. It was even listing the registration numbers of some. But halfway down, I saw a speedboat coming up the hill at an incredible rate of knots. I stopped to watch it, and it looked to me as if it was completely out of control. It came to a halt, and there was a guy slumped to the side of it in overalls. It looked as if his head had split open and there was blood everywhere. He was moaning. My cleaner, she asked him what was the matter and he mentioned the name of some waterfall, pointed to it in the distance and muttered something. She said to me that it sounds as if he’s had a collission with another motor boat at the waterfalls and that he’d come down. I asked her to repeat the name of the waterfall but I didn’t understand it. Anyway, I dialled 15 for the emergency ambulance. When they asked me where the incident had taken place, I asked my cleaner again to give me the name, but I still didn’t really understand it. But somewhere along the line in this dream, I’d been going through a box. There were all piles of old car radios and speakers and things in it. I managed to make two of the radios work again and when I went to pull out another one, it was actually playing all by itself. I showed it to whoever I was with – it might have been Percy Penguin – but she didn’t seem to be in the least bit interested. There was some kind of design on it as if it was the front end of a car with two pop-up headlights that were popped up, and a kind of pop-up clock on the top of the bonnet by the windscreen, but instead of facing into the windscreen, it was facing out. I was trying to identify which car this was when it drove off and disappeared round the bend.

That dream sounds as if it might have been extremely interesting. However, I’m not convinced about all of the blood that there must have been, given how I feel when someone begins to talk about blood and gore.

However, I have been on the top of this hill before during a dream, and on more than one occasion too.

As well as that, there are quite a few old car radios and speakers around in the barn on the farm. Whoever inherits or cleans out the farm after I’ve gone can make quite a few bob selling them on the retro market to owners of old, classic cars. And that’s one thing that worries me – that someone with no idea of what there is down there on the farm will just tip it all into a skip and send it down to the déchetterie, throwing away a fortune.

The nurse turned up as usual and moaned at me for wearing the same face mask for a couple of days. He thinks that I ought to wear a different one every time someone new comes to the building. That’s all very well, but just how am I supposed to be able to go out and buy a supply?

After he left, I made breakfast and read some more of A ROMAN FRONTIER POST AND ITS PEOPLE.

The book is drawing to a close now. There are just the appendices to read, the reports of the objects that he sent away for specialist examination.

His conclusion, though, is fascinating. Apart from the five or so different stages of rebuilding, he’s identified three separate phases of occupation. The first came to an end round about 90 AD or so, when there seems to have been a dramatic withdrawal to the south. The second period was round about 138-140 AD when Lollius Urbicus passed by on his way north to what became the Antonine Wall until, according to builders’ marks on some of the stones, round about 158 AD. The third period was a rather hurried reoccupation sometime later and which ended in a cataclysm round about 180 AD.

As James Curle puts it, "a tale of buildings thrown down; of altars concealed, thrown into ditches or into pits, above the bodies of unburied men ; of confusion, defeat, abandonment ; of a day in which the long column of the garrison wound slowly southward across the spurs of the Eildons, leaving their hearths deserted and their fires extinct."

But who says that archaeologists have no sense of humour? Towards the end of the book, he can’t resist a sly dig at one of his contemporaries by quoting a speech that the latter had made when discussing jewellery, clearly without thinking. "That these chains were in use among the Celtic peoples during the first two centuries before and after our era."

Back in here, there were things to do and then I attacked the radio programme on which I’d been working. It didn’t take long to finish either, and I spent the rest of the morning in the unlikely pursuit of tidying my bedroom.

My cleaner was late arriving to apply my anaesthetic, but she didn’t hang around for very long. That left me some time to make a start on tidying up the kitchen, but the early arrival of the taxi caught me in flagrante delicto, and I had to clear off.

On the way to Avranches we had to stop at Champeau to pick up someone else and even so, we arrived at dialysis earlier than usual. It goes without saying that there was an issue with one of the patients and what with a new starter nurse learning the ropes, I was no earlier being plugged in.

Once the machine was off on its travels, I was left pretty much alone. The new nurse asked me a few times if I was OK but apart from that, no-one came to see me.

And with a new starter, it took me quite a while to be disconnected while she ran through her procedures. And with havin gto drop someone off at Genets on the way back, I was late returning too.

My cleaner helped me into the apartment and after she left, I made tea. A taco roll with kidney beans accompanied by pasta and veg. And it goes without saying that a lot of it ended up in the bin. I couldn’t face it all.

Now I’m off to bed, hoping for a good sleep. I really do deserve one at some point. But having just fallen asleep for fifteen minutes, I’m really at my wits’ end about this.

But seeing as we have been talking about the new nurse at dialysis … "well, one of us has" – ed … when I arrived, she was busy chasing a patient down the corridor, brandishing a pair of scissors.
"No, no!" cried the supervisor. "I said ‘remove his spectacles’".

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Wednesday 28th January 2026 – I HAVE HAD …

… one of my very rare culinary disasters this evening, and a pile of food ended up in the bin, much to my regret.

Still, as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … I never make any mistakes. I simply learn a lot of lessons, and some of those lessons can be expensive.

However, it is a symbol or an emblem or something of just how my day has gone today. It’s not been very good at all.

Last night was, however, quite interesting. By the time that I’d finished my notes and done everything that needed doing, I still wasn’t at all tired. So instead of going to bed, I dictated ALL OF the radio notes that were written but outstanding.

That was one job very well done, although it will probably need a lot of editing because I can only keep on going coherently … "!!!!" – ed … for so long.

Eventually, I did manage to make it into bed, something like round about 01:00, and I did actually manage to fall asleep.

When the alarm went off at 06:29, I was still asleep, and it really was a battle to leave the bed. In fact, I was in two minds whether to reset the alarm for 08:00 and go back to sleep, but that’s not getting the baby bathed, is it?

Eventually, rather later than usual, I staggered into the bathroom to sort myself out and then went for my hot drink and medication. And Bane of Britain strikes again! The antibiotics that Emilie the Cute Consultant has prescribed for me and for which I’ve been waiting for so long are exactly the same as she prescribed for me last time and I had half a box left from then.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out what went on during the night.

I’d been let out of hospital and ended up in Rope Lane opposite The Vine or a little further into Shavington from there. I was sitting down, working on the computer, doing things. It was taking me ages, but I was enjoying it, so I carried on. When I’d finished, I suddenly thought to myself “why is it that I have so much trouble standing up from some places, yet when I’m sitting at the edge of a pavement, I can stand up comparatively easily?” So I tried it again because I had to move – I’d finished what I was doing. I found that although it was very ungainly and very unsteady, I could actually rise to my feet and use my crutches to hold myself. I thought that this was totally strange because a pavement is only three or four inches high, and I can’t rise up off a chair that’s, I dunno, twenty inches high. I was staggering around on my feet with my crutches, trying to find my equilibrium, when a huge lorry, a tanker, roared past me while I was in the middle of the road. I had no idea that he was coming until I heard his engine noise a second or two before. It was dark and he had absolutely no lights on, so I certainly wouldn’t have been able to see him. I set off to walk, leaving my things behind, into the centre of Shavington because there was something that I had to do. There were all these people, standing by their gates in the dark like ghosts. It turned out that there had been a general order to release everyone from hospital, so they were all waiting for their family members to arrive. But it was extremely eerie, the way that they were standing there like that. I must have done what I intended to do because I found myself back at a pub somewhere. This is where I was living for the moment. I remember thinking that the first thing that I need to do is to buy some credits, although I didn’t say what credits they would be. I remember thinking how lucky I was to have a place here because it was most convenient for me for this and for that. As I went in, I couldn’t decide whether I had all of my things with me or not, whether I’d gone back to where I’d left them to pick them up or not. I just simply couldn’t remember.

If only I could stand up straight from sitting down at the kerb. These days, I have to be almost vertical before I can stand up at all.

But this dream looks as if it carried on from the previous night, with me leaving my things behind as I went off to do something else. And another anxiety attack at the end to round it off.

Being in Shavington is a common theme these days, but the wraith-like people waiting at their gates is something different. It really was eerie.

The nurse turned up as usual to sort me out. Today, he behaved himself, which suited me much better. He also didn’t stay long, which suited me even more. I could make breakfast and read some more of A ROMAN FRONTIER POST AND ITS PEOPLE.

James Curle is today talking about ornaments and jewellery. Not that it holds much interest for me, but I waded on just the same. It’s interesting though, to note that he refers Celtic art to Roman Art in this respect

Back in here, there were things to do, which unfortunately didn’t include watching last night’s game between Stranraer and Clyde because it had been postponed. It did, however, involve telephoning the taxi company about a trip out on Tuesday next week. Two, in fact, but they knew all about one of them already.

Once I was up-to-date, I attacked the next radio programme. I managed, not without a great deal of difficulty, to find all of the music that I wanted. It’s now all reformatted, remixed, edited, paired and segued, and most of the notes have been written.

In fact, I could easily have finished it all, but there were several interruptions.

My faithful cleaner came in twice. Firstly, to bring in the next month’s supply of disgusting drinks, and secondly, for me to try on a new pair of slippers, as the pair that I’m wearing is falling apart. The slippers that she brought are, regrettably, too small, so I shall have to persevere with those that I have for now.

She did, however, bring me the post, which included a letter from the Province of New Brunswick in Canada.

Every year, there’s a Government exercise that makes an official revaluation of property in Canada. Generally speaking, it’s usually in the region of a handful of per cent, but in 2025, the increase has been a whopping, massive TWENTY-FIVE PER CENT.

Over the last year, property prices in Canada, especially those close to the border… "and there’s nowhere closer to the border than your place" – ed …, have gone through the roof as millions of Americans are fleeing across the border into Canada, seeking asylum.

And that reminds me – any of my friends living in Great Satan who wish to flee north of the border are more than welcome to install themselves in my place while they sort themselves out.

A third interruption was much more disappointing. Once more, I crashed out without realising that I’d gone, and I remember nothing whatever. And by the time that I awoke, I’d been out for over an hour.

It looks as if I’m heading back to the old, dark days before dialysis, something that I was promised would be solved by having dialysis. That was wishful thinking.

But while I was asleep, I’d been on my travels again.

This afternoon, I was in charge of some kind of hostel somewhere. There were all kinds of different people in there. While I was doing some work in my room, I heard someone shout at the top of their voice to someone else that he was “nothing but a dead-beat rock star”. I knew who the victim of that shout was but I went to find out who it was who had shouted it. In the end, someone gave me a name and I knew who her friends were, so I went to track them down and asked them if “such and such a person” was there. They said that she wasn’t so I told her that I had heard a comment that had been made, and as soon as that girl appeared, they were to present her to me. On the way back, I saw the victim come in. He was with a group of other people. As he approached his room and the other people left, I asked him if he could spare a minute. I went into his room with him and he had some kind of minder with him. I told him that I’d heard this outrageous remark and I was ashamed of it. I wanted to apologise on behalf of whatever the institution was, and that I’d taken steps to identify and speak to the culprit concerned. At that point, he broke down in tears and told me that he’d had a really bad time, and that there was only one album, an album called THE CUTTER AND THE CLAN by Clannad that had actually saved him from something serious. I replied that I understood exactly how he felt because there were several albums that did exactly the same thing for me. But it really was an appalling comment to make and I really was offended and quite angry by it.

“The Cutter and The Clan” is actually by Runrig, not Clannad. But in a dream, it can be by anyone at all and it makes no difference.

There are actually several albums that can change my mood in the drop of a hat. But usually they plunge me into a deep depression. It’s a very rare album that can lift me out.

And as if I’m ever likely to be in charge of anything …

Incidentally, throughout these pages, you’ll see links to Amazon products appearing every now and again. Being a Sales Associate of Amazon, I receive a small commission on goods sold via my links. It costs you nothing at all extra, but helps defray … "part of the" – ed … cost of my not-insubstantial web-hosting fees.

There are also links on the sidebar for AMAZON UK, AMAZON USA and, since the recent “troubles”, AMAZON CANADA for the use of my numerous Canadian visitors. As I said, I am extremely grateful when someone uses them to make a purchase

And then we had our culinary disaster.

A few weeks ago, I’d read about making spring rolls, so I’d bought all of the ingredients, even down to the brick pastry.

The filling of beansprouts, macedoine veg, onions, mushrooms and chickpeas with ginger, garlic and soy sauce was straightforward, but when it came to rolling it up in the pastry, the pastry just fell apart. It wouldn’t seal either, so the filling began to fall out after a couple of minutes.

It was such a disaster that in the end, most of it ended in the bin, and I made do with rice, veg and a ladleful of the mix. It was nice, even if it did give me severe indigestion.

But now, having already fallen asleep typing my notes, I’m off to bed, later than usual, of course, ready for dialysis … "I don’t think" – ed … tomorrow.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about culinary disasters … "well, one of us has" – ed … I was telling a friend about my very first culinary disaster years ago.
"I started off with a pan of boiling water and a load of diced vegetables.
I put the vegetables into the water and then threw in a hyena.
That was followed by an OXO cube, and finally, I jumped into the pot."
"How did it go?" she asked
"Not very well" I replied. "In fact, everyone said that I had made a laughing stock of myself."

0

Tuesday 27th January 2026 – AFTER THIS EVENING’S …

… little crisis that some of you may have caught and others of you may have missed, I’m trying my best to resume normal service right now.

In all honesty, this afternoon and this evening have not been very good at all.

The downhill spiral probably started last night. Early in the evening I was feeling reasonably OK but things rapidly fell apart, and I was in bed immediately after I’d finished my notes, leaving plenty of things undone that I ought to have done.

There was no problem going to sleep either, even if it was only 21:40, and … "for a change" – ed … I’m not going to come out with any nonsense about “as I have said before …” because you are probably as bored reading it as I am of writing it. But anyway, at 02:43 …..

So there I lay, tossing and turning, thinking that even in my ambition to make an early start, this is still far too early, so I turned over and tried to go back to sleep.

When the alarm went off, I was talking to my aunt in London. I’d been staying at my youngest sister’s, and I’d had one of those fits that I used to have years ago when I’d just switch off, lose all energy, lose all motivation, and have to go to bed. I remember my bedroom at my sister’s being in a really disgusting state, but in the morning, I set out and ended up back home. I remembered nothing whatever after that except that I vaguely heard someone coming into my bedroom, trying to shake me awake but not being able to do so, then going back downstairs again. When I awoke, my room was in an even worse state. I couldn’t find my clothes, I couldn’t find anything, there was that much rubbish and dirty, sweaty stuff all over everywhere. I dressed and went downstairs, and my aunt was there. I apologised. I said “I must have given you a dreadful fright”. She replied “I wondered what on earth was happening”. The first thing that I did was to go to see my youngest sister who was here, and apologise to her for how things were. Then I went back to talk to my aunt again. She told me that she was now living in an old people’s home in Brent and asked me to smell her arm. I smelt this perfumed hand cream and said “owww, we don’t get that for less than twenty guineas per ounce, do we?” in a very affected posh London accent. She then laughed. She was telling me about other people whom she’d met when she lived in the Barbican who had now died, and I must have misheard something because when I said “yes”, she looked at me and said “so you don’t speak English then?”. She also made some kind of remark about my clothes. But I noticed something, that the whole living room had totally changed round. Nothing was in its correct position, everything was completely different. She said that she’d seen a poster on the wall saying to ring someone. She’d ‘phoned that person when she saw the poster and that person had asked if she knew where my niece’s husband’s skis were, which, of course, she didn’t. But neither did I. It was more-or-less at that moment that the alarm went off.

The significance of this will become apparent in due course, but anyway, I’m not likely to be staying at the houses of any of my sisters. My aunt, though, was a different matter. For some reason, which I shan’t explain here, she was very fond of my eldest sister and me. When each of us was a teenager, she invited us down (at different times) to London for a six-week summer holiday. For me, it meant being armed with a bus rover ticket, an A-Z map and a pile of sandwiches, and I roamed aimlessly and endlessly all over the metropolis visiting all of the places about which I’d read, for I was a voracious reader when I was a kid.

Long after that, I’d still go down to see her, but it all stopped dramatically after a certain incident at a certain funeral, an incident that I thought was of the worst possible taste and which still leaves a very bitter taste in my mouth.

As for the devastatingly untidy rooms, that needs no further explanation.

Although I was feeling better, I had to struggle to leave the bed and even more of a struggle to stand up. I didn’t have the force to raise myself to my feet. But eventually I managed to head for the bathroom, stopping on the way to take some more bread out of the freezer, as I had forgotten last night.

After a rather cursory wash and scrub up, I headed into the kitchen for the hot drink and medication and then back in here to see if there was anything on the dictaphone.

I’d been staying the night at my eldest sister’s. When it came to morning, I came to pick up my things ready to leave. I had a few other clothes with me and one or two other things, a pillow, a quilt cover, bits and pieces of food. But I couldn’t find the coffee that I’d brought. Eventually, I found the coffee container in the washing-up, so we must have used it. That was all still wet and dirty and hadn’t been washed so I didn’t want to take it as it was. I’d have to come back for that. My sister gave me some biscuits and a few other things and I was loaded up like a packhorse. I really had trouble trying to carry these so I went outside and stood on the corner on the steps of the bank to put everything down to think of what I would do. In the meantime, a bank employee came up behind me, closed the door and locked it because it was lunchtime. Then an American friend and his wife came past. They were talking about an incident that had taken place where they had found this beautiful lake, but it turned out that they were right on a mortar range and all these explosions began to go off around them. I asked them if it was at Garrison in Colorado but they replied “no, it was somewhere in Florida”. I tried to continue to talk to them but they just disappeared. So with all of these things that I had, and there was some shopping to do on the way home for some coffee and I needed some ink for my computer printer, I thought that I’d never carry all of this so I left half of my things on the steps of the bank and walked off. I noticed that at the top of the Rue Couraye, one whole side of it had been demolished and they had begun to build something else with it all fenced off. I’d gone a couple of minutes when I thought “if I go on like this, I’m not going to be able to find my things when I go back. Someone is bound to have moved them”. I had to turn round and head back towards the bank. Somehow, I had to work out a way of how I was going to carry all of this at the same time and also go to do this shopping on the way home.

Seeing as we have just been talking about my eldest sister … "well, one of us has" – ed … why have my sisters suddenly started appearing during the night? What’s happening here?

But this is a strange dream in the sense that if I were heading home from the town, I wouldn’t be going up the Rue Couraye at all but in completely the opposite direction. Any demolition there wouldn’t surprise me, though. Our mayor has his delusions of grandeur about turning this town into a paradise for tourists, at the ratepayers’ expense, of course.

An anxiety attack at the end of a dream is nothing new either. We have dozens of these.

There was another dream too, but it is far too overly-political and I am doing my best, in these horrendous times, to keep politics off these pages.

The nurse came in to see me and to sort me out. His cheerful mood is keeping on going, although there were one or two things that shocked me and I was glad that he left. I hope that he will learn some good manners and behave himself tomorrow.

After he left, I made breakfast. Porridge, coffee and toast made with lovely fresh bread. And I could read some more of A ROMAN FRONTIER POST AND ITS PEOPLE.

James Curle is talking about horse harnesses now, which is not really my cup of tea. However, I … "as usual" – ed … was led up a side-alley where I ended up for quite a while, totally intrigued by the story of the Ring of Silvianus, said by some … "and hotly disputed by others" – ed … to have been the inspiration of the One Ring of TOLKEIN.

Incidentally, throughout these pages, you’ll see links to Amazon products appearing every now and again. Being a Sales Associate of Amazon, I receive a small commission on goods sold via my links. It costs you nothing at all extra, but helps defray … "part of the" – ed … cost of my not-insubstantial web-hosting fees.

There are also links on the sidebar for AMAZON UK, AMAZON USA and, since the recent “troubles”, AMAZON CANADA for the use of my numerous Canadian visitors. As I said, I am extremely grateful when someone uses these links to make a purchase

Back in here, I revised some more of my Welsh and then went to the lesson. And I do have to say that this was one of the best lessons that I have had. I did really well and I enjoyed it. If only they were all as good as this…

After the lesson, I tidied up a little in the kitchen and then in here after the mess that the technician had made the other day.

When my cleaner turned up to do her stuff, she shooed me into the bathroom for a shower while she changed the bedding so that I have nice, clean bedding today, and then she carried on with her stuff. We had a nice little chat afterwards for fifteen minutes and then she went on her way.

There were a few things left over from last night that needed finishing, and it was round about this point that my batteries began seriously to run down. I remember seeing 17:10 on the clock and thinking that I’d better stand up and go for my disgusting drink, but the next thing that I remember was it being 18:45 and I was slumped over the desk, head in the crook of my elbows.

What was I saying earlier about “those fits that I used to have years ago when I’d just switch off, lose all energy and lose all motivation, and have to go to bed”?

So indeed I climbed into my nice, clean bed, trembling as if there was an electric current running through me. And that was that.

At about 21:05, I awoke and by 21:45 I was sitting at my desk again. Surprisingly … "or maybe not" – ed … I was feeling hungry. It was far too late to think about making a meal, so I had a couple of slices of my emergency flapjacks.

Equally surprisingly … "or maybe not" – ed …there was something on the dictaphone from that couple of hours.

There was a European Union meeting taking place, with loads on international bodies present. I was in charge of part of the organisation so I was sitting right near the front with a couple of other people of my grade. Every now and again, I had to stand up and sort out some kind of problem, then come back to sit with my grade again. At one point, there was a huge disruption over on the far side so I went over to see what it was. It was someone from another multinational body having a huge row with a group of people. I made some enquiries about what the matter was but this guy then turned on me. He said that he was extremely disappointed because it seemed that he had been denied access to some part of the building or some part of the meeting. I explained something along the lines of “well, if he had been denied access, it’s not really my problem. I’m just here for the general organisation”. He flew into an absolute rage. In the end, I just turned my back on him and in the best Roger Daltrey fashion, I said “why don’t you just f-f-f-fly away?” and walked off. I went to sit back down again, but this time I sat in a different place which was right in the front on the corner of one of the aisles. There was then some kind of musical concert. I’d noticed that there were several groups of children from all over Eastern Europe present, and they all had musical instruments. One of the groups came forward – they were all in these East European peasant clothes, boys and girls, and the girls had a kind of fringe of gold tinsel or something which, just before they began to play, they pulled over their heads. I turned to the girl sitting next to me and said “I could think of plenty of people around here who ought to wear a mask like that”. After they played, I expected the next group to be called forward to play but instead, there was some kind of prize-giving. It was for the best instrument in this orchestra. The first one was awarded to a girl and the second instrument, it was a boy’s turn. The boy’s name was called, but another boy was extremely angry about this. He thought that he should have it and complained that there was some kind of feud against him. This was extremely embarrassing for this meeting to hear this high-pitched discussion/argument going on. As the presenter was finishing this particular presentation, he then began to introduce a couple of very small children to the crowd. Then he introduced another young girl who was walking past. I began to think that this is going out of hand now. If he’s supposed to be presenting prizes for these instruments, he should get on with it. If there are other groups waiting, he should let them get onto the stage and do their bit rather than him trying to monopolise the whole evening. I wondered if I should be intervening at this point.

This reminds me of when I worked for this bizarre American company in Brussels and we had a big international meeting to organise. And I distinctly remember at least one attendee being most offended by something, to the extent that he stormed out. Roger Daltrey said, of course, “why don’t you all f-f-f-fade way?” but nevertheless, I’m pleased that I came that close in a dream.

As for the kids, I’ve no idea where they fit in, although I do recall a certain incident at Primary School … And when I was on my peregrinations around Eastern Europe in the past, I saw plenty of kids in local peasants’ dress and I always thought that, no matter who they were, they all wore it very well.

So having written my notes and finished off what needs doing, I’m off to bed where, if I’m lucky, I may even be able to sleep.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about my family … "well, one of us has" – ed … it’s totally untrue to say that I’m estranged from them.
In fact, I told my friend that I’d sent them a lovely parcel for Christmas.
"Did they enjoy it?" she asked.
"Unfortunately not" I replied. "The Bomb Squad managed to defuse it before they could open it."

0

Monday 26th January 2026 – AS I SUSPECTED …

… when they weighed me at dialysis this afternoon and calculated the figure against the dry weight figure the last time that they calculated it, there were just 19 grammes to remove today.

Telling them that I’ve eaten next-to-nothing this last week or so cuts absolutely no ice with them. Their calculations must be correct, and that’s all that counts. It’s a far cry from the days when they were taking out 2,500 grammes three times per week.

Last night, though, as I said, I did manage to eat something, even if it was only half a small pizza. And I still managed later to end up being late finishing off everything. Nothing that I seem to do makes any difference.

So it was not far short of 23:00 when I went to bed, and once again, it seemed to take forever to go off to sleep.

Even then, I remember it being something of a turbulent night, not being able to settle down. However, I was asleep when the alarm went off at 06:29.

Isabelle the Nurse told me to stay in bed this morning but, with so much to do, I left the bed … "eventually" – ed … and headed off into the bathroom. And I do have to say that I was feeling rather better than I had just recently.

In the kitchen, I sorted out my hot drink and medication, and then came back in here to see where I’d been during the night.

On a eu un deuxième .. – what am I doing, talking in French? We had a second lockdown and everyone was confined to home again. The first couple of days, it didn’t bother me at all and I had plenty of things to keep me occupied. But after a while, I began to feel that I had cabin fever, so I thought that I’d take advantage of the calm by going out for a walk. So I left my house, which was a little terraced house in a pedestrian area and began to walk towards the village square. The first thing that I noticed was a hairdresser’s, with the bust of a woman in a window, with some long, flowing hair on it and a sign “with sadness after 109 years”. However, the hair didn’t resemble at all anything of any woman of that kind of age and even in the 1960s when this style had been the rage, that woman would still have been well over forty and that didn’t look right at all to me. There was another terraced house with a white stucco front and no window, with newspaper cuttings on the front. While I was reading these newspaper cuttings, a couple more people came past so I ended up following them, only to be sidetracked again by some more press cuttings pasted on the end wall of a house as we turned the corner. Having turned this corner, I walked about another hundred yards and found myself in the village square. Across in the corner was a building that I recognised. Although it looked like the village hall, it was in fact the local supermarket. People were queueing to go in, with several people loitering in the vicinity, looking as if they couldn’t make up their minds whether to join the queue or not. I was debating whether to join the queue, to go into the supermarket just for a walk around and maybe pick up a packet of biscuits just for some comfort food when suddenly an enormous dogfight broke out between two big dogs. Neither of the owners of these two dogs could seem to control it. In the meantime, there was a radio broadcast about some event that had taken place. It was on the Saturday in September, a week before the cup final involving Seraing. But there would be no cup final taking place in September – the new season should be well under way so I wondered just what this news broadcast on the radio was all about.

This reminds me of the first lockdown. I had a medical appointment that morning so had to go out, and I’ve never seen the town so deserted. I was half-expecting a tumbleweed to roll out of an alley. And do you remember having to queue to be allowed into a shop?

But leaving aside the question of a cup final in September, there would be no chance of Seraing competing in it. It’s one of the professional football clubs in Liège, although its fortunes have been such that it’s played in the amateur leagues on several occasions just recently. As for Seraing itself, it’s the home of the old Cockerill-Sambre steel mill, and it’s probably the grimiest, dirtiest industrial place that I have ever known

We were coming back from the Auvergne towards Brussels and we ended up going round the bypass of some small town or village in the middle of Burgundy. I pointed out one or two buildings to my companion as we were going past, and I was surprised that I hadn’t driven through the centre, because the centre was extremely old and decayed but was really mysterious and weird at the same time. It was a town that I really loved. At some point, a group of us, who were together by now, stopped and being accompanied by one or two other people, walked through the town and came to some kind of bar or café. My companion made as if to go into the bar so I opened the door for her. However, she stood there at the door and glared at me with some kind of really evil look in her face so I made a laughing remark that “some people don’t like having the door open for them these days”. The guy who was with us gave my companion €2:00 and asked him to buy her a can of pop. She went in, still glaring at me, ordered two small bottles of some kind of alcoholic spirit and another drink. As soon as she had these bottles, the ripped the tops off and drank them both at the same time, followed quite quickly by this glass of beer or whatever it was. I had to remind her about the can of pop, which she eventually bought, and we made our way back. I carried on walking and ended up in the town centre of this really large city. I was on my own and that began to suit me much better because I’d seen a side of my companion that I didn’t wish to see. I began to walk, but then I had some kind of epileptic fit and was bouncing around on all fours on a patch of grass at the side of a pavement. One or two people came over to see that I was OK. One of them was this companion, and she made some kind of crazy remark about taking the wrong acid, but all that I wanted to do was to be there and calm down and let this fit pass, then gradually be able to get up and carry on with my walk. I was in no mood for company at that moment.

We’ve been to this small town or village before, in a previous dream quite some time ago. It’s not actually a real town, although when I was asleep, I was convinced that it was. “It was a town that I really loved”, probably because I’m “extremely old and decayed” too.

And what was going on with my companion was really strange and unnerving, especially when I had this epileptic fit.

I was back somewhere around the centre of France last night. I was in another small town. When I parked the car, I had a walk around the town to find out where the strongest radio signal was. It turned out to be right outside this doctor’s surgery place so I went in there to sit down, thinking that this would be a good place to wait in case anyone wants me on the radio. There were a couple of other people in there. The doctor came out and instead of inviting them into his room, he began to give them a medical examination right in front of me. I thought that this was totally wrong. He tried to make me move so that this patient could lie down where my chair was so I told him that there was another chair over there that he could use. He took this woman over to this other chair. All the time that I was sitting there with this mug of coffee and a young girl came in. She was looking for a place to sit so I asked her to sit next to me, and we began to chat. At that moment, my brother came in and he began to make some really sarcastic comments about me and what I was doing and why I was chatting to this girl. In the end, I just stood up, picked up my mug of hot coffee and threw some of it into his face. Everyone stopped and looked, including my brother, but I just sat down and carried on talking. After a while he came over and apologised but I took absolutely no notice whatsoever and carried on with what I was doing. Then, this girl and I decided that we’d go for a walk together. I found out then that the reason why she’d come into the doctor’s surgery was also because of the strongest radio signal. We went for this walk and it went just around this particular area where the radio signal was. But shortly later, we found ourselves out of the town, sitting down in a lay-by. We were having something of a picnic. My brother came up again and dropped some kind of map on the table. He said that the next day, he was going on a tour around the power stations of Yorkshire, and mentioned one or two. I pretended to be interested, but I wasn’t really, and carried on talking to this girl. After a while, we decided that we’d both get on my motorbike and head back into town and make plans to do something extremely similar the next day

So not only do I Get the Girl last night, I manage to put the family in its place too. That’s a rare event for a dream and I wish that I could do it more often.

The bit about the medical examination in the public waiting room of the doctor’s surgery is interesting, and I would love to know the significance of it.

Isabelle the Nurse breezed in on her last day before her week’s break. She took my temperature, and it’s now down to normal. She wasn’t impressed when I told her that I hadn’t taken the doliprane, but I stuck to my guns all the same.

After she left, I made breakfast and read some more of A ROMAN FRONTIER POST AND ITS PEOPLE.

It’s not just pottery where the developments have been quite surprising. Talking about wheelwrights for example, he tells us that "at the bottom of Pit LXX, which, from its pottery, had evidently belonged to the later period, lay the remains of a large wheel. It had been, on the whole, coarser and heavier than the wheels found in Pit XXIII,"

It really is surprising, this. Two possible explanations may be that the potters and wheelwrights had so much work that they were obliged to recruit less-trained assistants or, chillingly, some kind of cataclysm in the Western Empire had seen the wiping out of the skilled craftsmen, leaving their untrained assistants behind.

There are probably a dozen other explanations too.

Back in here, I had a radio programme to review before I sent it off, and then my Welsh homework followed it into the “out” box.

Finally, I could revise my Welsh but here wasn’t much time.

My faithful cleaner turned up to apply my anaesthetic, followed by a neighbour who was also having a lot of trouble trying to have a fibre-optic connection installed.

There wasn’t much I could do for him, and after my cleaner left, I awaited the taxi.

It was early for once, but it made no difference as we had other people to pick up and drop off, so we were still pretty much at the same time as usual.

Here, I had my discussion about the weight. They were pretty much unmoved by my pleading, although in the end I managed to have it increased to 300 grammes – not a lot but nevertheless …

They left me pretty much alone today, although Emilie the Cute Consultant came to give me a prescription for these antibiotics – the original, presumably, being lost.

The taxi was waiting for me when I finished and, after dropping off someone in Sartilly, we came home. My faithful cleaner was waiting for me and she helped me into the apartment. After she left, I warmed up the other half-pizza and ate it, even if I didn’t feel like it. And now, I’m off to bed. I’m absolutely exhausted and I’ve fallen asleep twice already

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about pleading … "well, one of us has" – ed … I once asked a friend why my pleading never seemed to work.
"Let’s face it" he said. "You’re such a miserable pleader."

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Friday 23rd January 2026 – EVEN AS I TYPE …

… these notes, I really ought to be making tea. But the truth is that I have a churning stomach right now and running through a list of possible menus that I might eat, there isn’t one that appeals to me. All it seems to do is to make my stomach churn over even more.

As well as that, although I’m feeling somewhat better than I did this time last night, I’m still feeling a lot worse than I ought to be, so the aim is to do what I have to do as soon as I am able to do it and then head off to bed again, in the hope that yet another good sleep will do me some good.

Not like yesterday, which, despite my early, really early night, didn’t go according to plan.

As I mentioned yesterday, despite going to bed at 19:25 or thereabouts, I was awake again four hours later. And although I said that “I settled down again and waited to go back to sleep”, I was still wide-awake at 02:30 and showing no sign of dropping off.

At some point though, I must have gone back off to sleep because I was awoken by the alarm, and it took me completely by surprise. And I must admit that I have never felt less like leaving the bed as I did this morning. It took me an age to rise up to my feet and head off to the bathroom. As a result, I was running really late for everything else.

In the bathroom, I changed my clothes, having been in the same clothes without a change for forty-eight hours and I washed my undies. I like to keep on top of my clothes like that, having spent years living out of a suitcase. And then, I went into the kitchen for my hot drink and medication.

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

I was in the Soviet Union last night in my van. There had been some kind of concert supposed to take place, so I was in this village or small town down in the south of the Soviet Union on my way to Asia and I bumped into these two American girls who were also going to this concert. We went into this room and there were probably thirty or forty people standing around. So we sat down and waited for something to happen. We were expecting this music concert and then perhaps a discussion about what came out in the songs, that kind of thing. But I fell asleep, and when I awoke about ten minutes later, everyone else was asleep too except these two American girls. They were looking at their watch and one of them said “well, we may as well go. There’s a bus back to the USA in an hour. In the end, the three of us left, with all these other people asleep. Outside, there was plenty of snow, and we walked, and where the bus was due to be picked up was at this car park and there were two white MkIII Ford Zephyrs there with the word LEI written on the badge instead of “Ford Zephyr”. The girls went to stand there, and in the end, I invited them to come with me to Asia, but they were reluctant. They asked me if I’d ever been there before. I replied “no, but I have travelling in the blood”. I said that I’d been a taxi driver, coach driver, chauffeur and I’ve travelled the Northern Hemisphere all on my own in the past, and my father was a lorry driver so it’s all in the blood. But they were very reluctant, so in the end I left them and climbed over the roof of one of these Ford Zephyrs to head back to the van. I heard one of them say to the other one “it’s a shame that he’s such an untidy person” so I was thinking that maybe if I’d been more tidy, they might have come. I walked over to where I’d parked the van but couldn’t see it. This looked nothing like where I remembered having parked it. I thought that I must be in the wrong place so I tried to retrace my steps and ended up miles out of town trying to find the van. Where I was, all the snow had melted and it was an urban scene with trees in the distance. I wandered through all of these buildings, trying to find my way out to see if the van was behind them, but I couldn’t find my way out of these buildings. I was wandering around for ages. In the end, I found myself on a train. I was standing by a window, looking out to see if I could see the van somewhere, but I heard a commotion behind me. It was a teacher with a bunch of maybe ten girls. She’d gone to find the ticket controller. It seemed that some English-speaking people were sitting in these girls’ seats and she had to make them move. She spoke to them in English, so I spoke to her about the van. She said that she couldn’t help me. I need to see the police. I replied that the van hasn’t been stolen – I just can’t find it and in any case, I can’t speak Russian. I tried to speak some Russian from what I remembered but made a mess of it and she really wasn’t able to help me at all.

What a strange dream that was! For a start, I did learn to speak Russian, although I’ve forgotten most of it now. That started off when I was working for Shearings and I’d heard that they were trying to win a contract with an American travel agency to transport American tourists behind the Iron Curtain to “visit their roots”. It sounded probably the most fascinating coach-driving work ever, so I found a local Russian exile who taught me over a period of six months. When the company announced that they were looking for drivers to go behind the Iron Curtain, I naturally volunteered.
"Why should we select you ahead of everyone else?"
"Well, actually, I can speak some Russian"
It was the most fantastic work that I have ever done, and I enjoyed every moment of it, even if it did mean a relentless diet of wiener schnitzel.

But meanwhile, back at the ran … errr … dream, I could easily imagine myself at one time driving through the Soviet Union to Asia, somewhere like pre-revolutionary Iran, but the political climate east of Poland and Romania these days would put anyone off. And wandering around aimlessly looking for my van because I’d forgotten where it was parked is just like me, especially these days.

As for the white Ford Zephyrs, I couldn’t ever imagine them being in the Soviet Union, whether under a different maker’s name or not. They are much more likely to have been ZIL 111G vehicles, although if you were to see one of those, you would know that you are in trouble, because they were only ever given to members of the Politburo.

Isabelle the Nurse took me by surprise this morning. Fitted with a mask, she stormed into the apartment and attended to my legs. She had a go at measuring my temperature with my thermometer and it’s still quite high. However, she doesn’t think much of my thermometer and she’ll bring her own tomorrow.

After she left, I made breakfast and read some more of A ROMAN FRONTIER POST AND ITS PEOPLE

James Curle is still discussing pottery, and now, we’ve moved on to how we are able to identify the different potters. There’s a fascinating list of potters’ marks and some equally fascinationg comments such as "this little fragment is an example of pottery classified by Dragendorff as ‘Dragendorff 37’, and there is a sample of this ware in a museum in (some obscure town in) Bulgaria."

Back in here, I had a variety of things to do, not having attended to my affairs as I should for the last forty-eight hours, and then I had last night’s notes to write.

They are now online, and then I finished off the notes for the radio programme on which I’ve been working.

In the meantime, I was having a good chat with Liz, who was giving me loads of motherly advice about how to find natural remedies to deal with my current health issues, and later on a brief exchange of messages with Rosemary.

There was football too. On Tuesday night Stranraer had played Queen’s Park of the second tier in the Scottish Cup on a swamp in a monsoon and had beaten the Spiders 6-5 on penalties after a 1-1 draw during one hundred and twenty minutes.

In theory, they now have a match at Ibrox against Glasgow Rangers, but the behind-the-scenes and off-the-field controversy after the game will need to be resolved first before it’s confirmed.

But that’s about everything, really. I suppose that there’s much more about which to write, such as my faithful cleaner coming down to do her stuff, but instead, I’m going to bed. And good riddance to me. I really don’t know how to cope with this latest illness. It’s getting on my wick and it’s high time that something happens before I go berserk.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about the Soviet Union … "well, one of us has" – ed … I once saw a man in the Red Square holding up a pice of paper.
I asked a local – a very vocal local yokel – what he was doing, and he replied "protesting, of course."
"But what about?" I asked.
"Ignorant foreigner!" he replied. "Why would he need to put that on his sign? Everyone knows what’s wrong! ".
Two minutes later, a police van pulls up and they drag him inside.
"So what’s he done now?"
"Ignorant foreigner!" he replied. "Everyone knows what he did!".

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Thursday 22nd January 2026 – WHAT A HORRIBLE …

… day it’s been today.

And for a change, I’m not going to start with “As I have said before …” because you are probably just as fed up of reading it as I am of typing it and as I am of it happening.

But I really was quite ill yesterday. As I mentioned, it was some time shortly after 20:00 (and had I not fallen asleep in the chair after I’d finished my notes, it might well have been not so long after 20:00 too) when I climbed into bed, fully clothed, threw the bedding over me and went straight to sleep.

And there I stayed until all of … errr … 02:30.

After that, I lay there, trying to make myself as comfortable as possible and, if possible, go back to sleep but, I thought, without much success. However, it certainly wasn’t four hours later when the alarm went off at 06:29, so at some point, I must have dozed off to sleep for a couple of hours without realising it.

It took quite a while, much longer than it ought, to extricate myself from underneath the covers, and then I staggered into the bathroom. At least, I was feeling a little better than I was last night.

In the kitchen, I made my hot drink and took my medication, and then came back in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night.

I was in the USA last night and had ended up in a motel where I was waiting for my friends to arrive. The receptionist was a rather simple boy who couldn’t speak very well and I had a great deal of difficulty understanding him. There was an old black-and-white film on the television about a group of people, men and women, who were escaping from somewhere. One or two of them were caught and were rescued. The film was probably from the early 1930s and it was an interesting one so I was trying to watch it but this boy kept on interrupting me. He mentioned something and I said “well, that’s pretty small beer really” to which he said “yes, we have nine of those”. Then he had to open the door for the stairs up to the rooms to let a dog out but the dog came down, looked around, and went back upstairs again so he closed it. At some point, I’d left the motel and ended up in Montreal. I went to look at this huge basilica that was built of brick and was going to photograph it but I couldn’t find a place to park the car. Everywhere was “no parking” and there were one or two police patrols so I thought that I would have to come back and do this on foot again, but I couldn’t think when I’d be able to. I drove a little out of town to try to find a place to see if I could have a good view with a telephoto lens but I noticed that time was running on so I had to abandon that idea too. Then I was walking back to the railway station. The streets were crowded and I was trying to watch this film as I was walking but the film kept on freezing and when it began to move again, it had actually finished. It was really disappointing for me that I’d missed the end. But outside one of the big stores in Montreal was a guy with a barrow with all kinds of things on it from the store such as pencils, paper, writing pads, sweets and everything. As I walked past, I thought that maybe I’d buy a bag of sweets or something to take with me on the train. I thought that I had five minutes so I nipped into the store. It was something like Woolworth’s or British Home Stores. Despite a good search, I couldn’t find where all of the sweets were and I began to feel rather disappointed that I’d have nothing to take with me on the train.

There’s a story about a motel in Flagstaff, Arizona, where I stayed in 2002, that relates to this, but the World isn’t ready to hear it and I doubt if it ever will be. As for the basilica, the big brick-built basilica is actually the Basilique Nationale du Sacré-Cœur at Koekelberg on the northern edge of Brussels and although the view of it and its situation that I had in this dream is nothing like its actual situation, it’s very similar to its situation in a dream that I had a few months ago.

I’d been to Manchester with my niece’s eldest daughter. We’d been roaming around the different TV studios. We’d seen several performances being recorded and we’d even seen a football match taking place in one of the studios there between Llanelli and Y Barri. On the way back, we bumped into one of my father’s friends from Winsford who asked us if we’d had a good time, what we’d done and where we’d been. I noticed that gradually he was separating my niece’s daughter from me and having a very intimate chat with her at the other end of the street. I wondered what was happening between the two of them and what was going on.

This is a kind of situation that I could easily imagine, had it been a different girl (not a daughter of my niece) and a different friend of my father. But the indoor football match is “interesting”, to say the least. There are very few full-size indoor stadia in the World, and certainly none in the JD Cymru League.

Isabelle the Nurse breezed in as usual to sort out my legs. She was her usual chatty self but didn’t stay long. I could then go on to make breakfast and read some more of A ROMAN FRONTIER POST AND ITS PEOPLE

James Curle is still telling us about pottery – it seems that there’s a long way to go in this. And I’ve learned two interesting facts about Roman pottery –
Firstly, pottery from the earlier period of the occupation at Trimontium (up to, say, 120 AD) is of better quality than the later period (from, say, 140 AD until 180 AD). That’s unusual. You’d expect it to be the reverse.
Secondly, even in 1909, the examination and cataloguing of Roman pottery had reached such an intense degree that even without the potter’s stamp on his wares, they were able in many cases to identify the potter, his workshop and even the period during which he was working.

Back in here, I had a few things to do and then I made a start on writing the notes for the next radio programme. But I had noticed that my health was starting to slip back again and my cough, which had calmed down for a moment, had now returned with a vengeance.

My cleaner turned up as usual to apply my anaesthetic, and after she left, I waited for the taxi to take me to dialysis, all the time feeling weaker and weaker.

It was actually quite a struggle to walk to the car and even more of a struggle at the other end to walk to my bed. By now, I was freezing cold and eventually, they were obliged to bring me a blanket.

That made very little difference, so they took my temperature – thirty-seven point seven degrees. The nurse telephoned the doctor, who told her to check it again in an hour.

After an hour, during which I became even worse, she checked the temperature again. This time, it was thirty-eight point four degrees. She telephoned the doctor again and Emilie the Cute Consultant came a-running.

She performed various examinations (including a Covid test, which was negative) and took several samples and said that she’d let me have the results tomorrow and that she’d send any prescription necessary directly to my chemist.

When the taxi came for me, I could barely walk out to it. It was a most undignified stagger. However, I made sure that the driver wore a face mask because I don’t want to infect her with whatever I’ve caught. When I sent my message to my cleaner giving her an idea of when I’d be back, I told her to wear a face mask too.

While I was at it, I sent a message to Isabelle the Nurse to tell her to wear a mask when she calls tomorrow. I don’t want her to spread my viruses around her patients.

When I arrived back here, it was 19:20, and by 19:25, I was in bed, fully-clothed yet again. There was just time to take off my shoes, but no time (or desire) to make any food. Once in bed, my cleaner threw the quilt over me and went on her way, and I went straight to sleep.

Round about 23:30, I awoke, and thought that it might be a good idea if I were to post an entry to say that at least, I’m still alive. Alison must have read it quite quickly because we ended up having a little chat about our health problems. She has a few of her own right now. We’re all growing old and it’s sad.

After that, I settled down again and waited to go back to sleep.

But before I doze off again, seeing as we have been talking about face masks … "well, one of us has" – ed … I once asked someone why it was that doctors and nurses always wear face masks around the hospital.
"Is it to prevent the spread of infection?" they asked.
"Oh no" I replied. "It’s that if ever they make a mistake or do something wrong, you can’t identify them and bring them into Court."

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Wednesday 21st January 2026 – RIGHT NOW, PEOPLE …

… even though it’s ridiculously early, I’ve abandoned and gone to bed. And without any food too.

The fact is that I am definitely ill. It’s twenty-three degrees here in my bedroom, according to the thermometer, yet I’m here in a fleece fully buttoned up and a thick dressing gown over the top, and I’m shivering like a jelly on a plate when a lorry goes past the house.

It’s difficult to understand what’s happening with me right now. Last night, having a tea already prepared, I was finished quite quickly. It didn’t take too long to do what needed to be done afterwards, and I was in bed just before 22:30.

And in contrast to the previous night, I slept right the way through to the alarm going off at 06:29. I was dead to the World at that moment, so far out of it that I didn’t move, not then, and neither when the reminder went off at 06:33.

It was closer to 07:00 when I finally stirred and staggered off into the bathroom. And then into the kitchen for my hot drink and medication.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone but, as I expected, there was nothing on it. It must have been a really deep sleep. So instead, I did some work on the computer.

Isabelle the Nurse put in an appearance, and in “chat” mode, she sorted out my legs. After she left, I began to prepare breakfast but I didn’t manage to go very far because the technician came to install the fibre optic.

And that was a total waste of time and money (one hundred and nine euros) because after two hours, he left without installing anything. Despite what the management company for the building has told us, the building is far from ready for the installation.

The aim, he tells me, is to disconnect the two ends of the telephone cable, attach the fibre-optic cable to one end and pull it through the conduit from the other end. And then fasten up the cable.

He pulled on the cable, and it moved about two inches before jamming up solid.

In my apartment, the telephone cable goes up to the ceiling, but in the cupboard under the stairs where all of the technical equipment is, it goes down into the floor. So somewhere, it climbs back up to the ceiling. He climbed into the false ceiling in the WC, but the cable is definitely stuck and won’t move. It’s attached to a junction box somewhere and he couldn’t find it.

It might be behind a wall, or in the ceiling, or under the floor of another apartment, which will, according to him, involve a massive reconstruction job with much inconvenience to everyone, but without a wiring diagram for the electricity and the telephone cable, it’s pointless even trying to make a start. And so, after two hours, he left.

What I did next was to write a report and send it to the management company and also to members of the House committee, and expressing my dismay. I received a reply from the President of the House committee telling me “C’est un retour sur des questions très pratiques et concrètes évoquées très antérieurement” – "This is a return to very practical and concrete questions mentioned very previously."

So, in other words I’ve paid one hundred and nine euros of my own money to tell them something that they already know and have known for quite a while. That has enraged me even more and I haven’t replied, for fear of using what can only be described as “unparliamentary language”.

However, generous person that I am, I printed out my note and posted it on the entrance door of the building. There’s been no reply or communication from the management company, which is shameful to say the least. The company should be notifying the other residents as quickly as possible and I don’t want anyone else paying one hundred and nine euros to further underline the knowledge that has been going around the House committee for months.

After that, I could finally go to make breakfast and read some more of A ROMAN FRONTIER POST AND ITS PEOPLE

James Curle has moved on from weapons and is now discussing pottery. There were two European experts who have made a really good study of Roman pottery. They have dated the examples by looking for finds in camps, forts and towns where the period of existence was known, i.e., nothing in Pompeii can be later than 79 AD, that kind of thing.

From there, by examining the contents of different wells and ditches, the pieces of pottery present can give a date range of when the well or ditch was first used and when it was finally abandoned. And this explains how he is able to date the different periods of reconstruction of the site.

Interestingly, though, while hot on the chase of a subsidiary subject, I came across the following quote by Tacitus while discussing the Roman forays north of Hadrian’s Wall – "Robbers of the world, having by their universal plunder exhausted the land, they rifle the deep. If the enemy be rich, they are rapacious; if he be poor, they lust for dominion; neither the east nor the west has been able to satisfy them. Alone among men they covet with equal eagerness poverty and riches. To robbery, slaughter, plunder, they give the lying name of empire; they make a solitude and call it peace."

Now, who does that remind you of today?

My cleaner put in an appearance to ask me how I found the fibre optic. I explained the shambolic nature of the visit and let her read my mail to the management company so that she’s aware of the issues.

Back in here, I began to edit the third lot of radio notes that I dictated the other morning. And I managed to complete it too and assemble the radio programme, so that’s ready to go at some point in the future.

At that point, I began to write the notes for the next programme but instead, I crashed out. And properly out too. I remember nothing whatsoever. I must have been out for at least an hour.

However, I had been away on my travels.

While I was asleep this afternoon, I was having to edit an audio track. It was quite a long one and it needed cutting into various lengths, so I laid it on the floor. It took up a lot of room down the school corridor, and when I enlarged it to double size, it became almost unmanageable. However, even at double size, it was still too small to see where to cut. I had to guess where I had to cut it, but with the width of the nib of my biro being drawn down the side of my green ruler, the line was so thick that I would end up cutting it just about anywhere with no accuracy at all. It was clearly totally unsatisfactory. However, while I was working on it, I heard two people talking in American accents. One was saying that they’d managed to install extra security behind the line. But then, I awoke.

Now that’s a novel way of editing a radio programme, and it’s clearly a preoccupation, with me trying to record as many programmes as possible so that I’m well in advance before I shuffle off this mortal coil. The American voices are clearly a reflection of what’s going on in the World right now.

But having awoken, with the stabbing pain in my foot, wracked with pain, with a nose running like a tap, feeling totally miserable, shivering and freezing and generally feeling unwell, even though it’s only about 20:00, I’m off to bed with no tea because, quite frankly, I can’t face any.

Let’s see how I feel tomorrow. Maybe a good night’s sleep will do me good, but it’s doubtful whether I’ll even wake up in the morning. I feel like death.

But seeing as we have been talking about Roman pottery … "well, one of us has" – ed … James Curle was asked to identify something that came out of one of the pits.
"What is it, Mr Curle?" asked an apprentice.
"It’s a Roman urn" he replied.
"What’s a Roman urn?" asked the apprentice.
"Oh, about ten sesterces per week."

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Tuesday 20th January 2026 – AS I HAVE …

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

So last night, having had a quick, ready-made tea and with nothing much to say for myself … "makes a change" – ed … I was able to finish everything off at some kind of respectable time, like 21:55, and I was in bed about twenty minutes later.

Not only that, I was fast asleep quite quickly too despite the wracking cough and the stabbing pain in my foot, and there I lay until all of … errr … 02:30. And that, dear reader, was that.

Well, not exactly, to be honest. I did manage to fall asleep again round about 04:30 but only for about 30 minutes. I lay there for another half-hour trying my best to go back to sleep, but in the end, I abandoned the idea and left the bed.

Taking full advantage of the early start, I dictated the radio notes for no fewer than three radio programmes that were in the pipeline. I’d even managed to edit one of them by the time the alarm sounded.

When the alarm sounded, I headed off into the bathroom for a superficial wash (because I’ll be showering later) and then wandered off for my hot drink and medication.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. And I was surprised to find that, despite the short night, I had actually managed to go travelling.

For some reason, there were a few of us being handcuffed. First of all, when they went to try to handcuff me, they dropped the handcuffs and fell about twenty feet down onto the ground. It took them quite some recovery time in order to rescue them. Then, when they had rescued them and they had to start again, it still wasn’t actually working correctly at all and I had a feeling that my whole upper body was totally twisted round and I had no idea what was going on when this was happening

As Europe prepares for imminent war, this dream is not as far-fetched as it may seem. As well as that, I’ve been deliberately steering clear of commenting on the state of current events because there is much more going to be going on in the very near future, but it’s interesting to recap on something that I WROTE IN MAY 2005 that is likely to come to pass in the very near future.

This was about a tribe of Africans, somewhere in Africa in years gone by who had invented a process of heating water. They had managed to make flexible copper pipe and had succeeded in coiling it around the chimney of a cast-iron stove. They poured cold water in at one end that went down a pipe and swirled around the coil that was around the chimney. When the chimney was lit, it heated the water and the water came out the other side and it was quite hot. This was the kind of thing that took the earliest European explorers completely by surprise.

This was actually a project of mine for down on the farm when I finally had my big stove installed on the ground floor. However, we never managed to make it that far. But it would be interesting indeed if some fifteenth- and sixteenth-century Africans had developed flexible copper piping.

I had plenty of things to do in the garden so I went outside and began to make a start. I was gradually organising everything and there were all these people heading past. They all seemed to be on their way to the local school, the children and adults. They were chatting and one of them was talking about the swimming baths, and they might need a bath cap to go into the swimming pool. They were trying to arrange between themselves where to pick one up and who would lend one to them. There were a couple of little girls going past, picking wild flowers as they went. Then I had to go for a walk to somewhere else so I set off. It was up some kind of hill and there was that much water, even though it was a nice day, that the road was like a river. It was very difficult to find a dry spot in order to go to where I wanted to go. My appointment was at 17:30 but I’d set out at 17:00, but I’d seen this motorcycle for sale, a big five-litre two-wheeled thing, and I was so impressed with it that I thought that I would come back to have a ride on it and maybe even to buy it. But one thing that I’d been noticing throughout this dream was that I wasn’t on my crutches at all and was walking quite normally. When someone asked me about it, I said that I had days when I could walk around like this and other days when I needed crutches. But it’s rather embarrassing when I go back to school when I’m on crutches because I’m called all kinds of names by the other kids.

My house at Gainsborough Road was at a junction of roads that led to four different schools so there were always kids and parents going past. The motorbike was interesting too – five litres on two wheels! But how many times is this now that I’ve been walking without my crutches during the night?

Isabelle the Nurse came by this morning to start her round. She was dressed as a leopard today, furry jacket and spotted slacks. We had a brief chat and then she pushed off, leaving me to my breakfast and A ROMAN FRONTIER POST AND ITS PEOPLE

Today, we’ve moved on beyond armour and are discussing weapons. James Curle has identified some of the swords as being of Celtic origin and believes that this indicates that a cohort of native mercenaries was recruited to swell the numbers in the garrison.

On the other hand, it could equally mean that it was Celtic warriors from Galloway who actually attacked the fort and drove out the Romans, causing them to flee to Hadrian’s Wall in round about 120 AD.

Back here, I revised for my Welsh and then went for my lesson. It was another one that passed quite well, due to the amount of preparation that I’d done. I wish that I could persevere and do this all the time.

When my faithful cleaner appeared, she shooed me into the bathroom for a shower, so I’m a nice, clean boy now. And then I had to pack up and wrap the computer that I’m sending back to my online retailer, mainly because it was so late arriving.

Once my cleaner had left, I attacked the next radio programme whose notes I’d dictated earlier. That’s now finished and ready to go, and there was even time to make a start on the next one.

Tea was the last of the leek, potato and mushroom soup, which I had with some bread out of the freezer. It was followed by Christmas cake, which still seems to be going strong. Not much left now, and then I can go back to the jam roly-poly and the spotted dick.

But right now, I’m off to bed again, hoping for a better night tonight, although I doubt it very much with this cough, this pain in my foot and now my nose that’s streaming like a tap again.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about kids going to school … "well, one of us has" – ed … I once heard a story about someone who refused to go.
When his mother asked him why, he replied "I don’t want to go to school. All the kids hate me, all the teachers hate me, all the dinner ladies hate me, the gardener and the secretary hate me, and even Norah the Nit-Nurse hates me. In fact, everyone hates me<"
"Look dear" said his mother, soothingly. "You have to go to school"
"Give me one good reason why."
"Well, dear, You ARE the Headmaster."

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Monday 19th January 2026 – I HAD NOTHING ON …

… the dictaphone again this morning.

It was rather late again when I went to bed last night, and I was asleep quite quickly, but I remember absolutely nothing at all until the alarm went off at 06:29. I must have been dead to the World all through the night.

But I wish that I could focus my energy on actually doing things that I need to do and doing them without interruption so that I can push on and have an early night one of these days. The only early nights that I have had just recently have been when I’ve been too tired to carry on, leaving me with a mountain of work to do the following morning.

Last night, I managed to finish everything, but it was still almost 23:30 when I crawled into bed and went to sleep.

The alarm took me completely by surprise, so much so that I threw off the quilt without having my customary couple of minutes to slowly come round. That’s not like me at all. Nevertheless, it took me a good couple of minutes to summon up the energy to actually stand up.

In the bathroom, I had a good wash and scrub up and even a shave in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant this afternoon and then went off for my hot drink and medication.

Back in here, with no dictaphone notes to transcribe, I caught up with a little housekeeping in the bedroom until the nurse arrived.

He was early again, but he didn’t hang around too long, leaving me to make my breakfast and read some more of A ROMAN FRONTIER POST AND ITS PEOPLE

James Curle seems to have finished the excavations of the pits and wells, and now he’s sorting out into groups what he has found.

At the moment, we’re discussing armour, and it’s extremely interesting how he’s managed to identify the different parts, such as the scales for scale armour and the chainmail. He’s giving quite a comprehensive talk on how it all fits together and how it’s worn, and the book is probably worth reading just for that.

Back in here, there was the radio programme for this week to review before I sent it off, and the quality of the audio was abysmal. In the end, I had to remix it completely, and that took quite a lot of time that I could well have used for something else, particularly when, with my first remixing and editing, I closed the file without saving it, so I had to do it again.

With the time that was left this morning, I revised my Welsh ready for tomorrow. Having missed a week of the course, I’ve no idea where we are so I’m hoping for the best.

My faithful cleaner turned up as usual to apply my anaesthetic, and then I had to wait for the taxi, becoming increasingly more frustrated as my new internet box, promised by 13:00 at the latest today, failed to arrive.

It eventually turned up at 12:46, which was cutting it fine.

However, the taxi was fifteen minutes late, and we had another wild ride around the back of beyond in Normandy to pick up two further passengers. I’m certainly seeing parts of Normandy that I never knew existed since I’ve been ill.

We were late arriving at dialysis (again) and, as usual, I was the last to be connected. Once everything was under way, I asked the nurse if I could see the doctor as the prescription for my medication had now expired. However, no doctor showed his or her face in my room, so I was left pretty much alone, coping with, once more, the pain in my foot and severe, non-stop bouts of coughing.

Eventually, they unplugged me, and I had to wait around for the taxi again. Consequently, I was late home yet again.

My faithful cleaner helped me into the apartment, and after she left, I made tea – or, rather, warmed up the half-pizza left over from yesterday.

Right now, I’m off to bed, hoping for another good sleep ready for my Welsh class tomorrow. A good sleep will do me good, as will a successful lesson.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about wearing apparel … "well, one of us has" – ed … it reminds me of the Scotsman who was interviewed on the street by a news reporter.
"Is anything worn under the kilt?" she asked.
"Och, no, lassie. It’s all in purrrrfect worrrrking order."

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Friday 16th January 2026 – AS I HAVE …

said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … it’s a waste of time going to bed early, because all that it means is that I wake up correspondingly early the following morning.

Take last night, for example. I went to bed at some time round about 21:00 and I was wide-awake again at 03:20.

Yes, I was totally wasted last night, and I’ve no idea why. However, it seems to be connected with my dialysis sessions. But anyway, I couldn’t keep my eyes open and after having fallen asleep I don’t know how many times, I gave up everything and went straight to bed.

And there I stayed until all of 03:20 when I awoke. Not that I left the bed at that time, of course. I lay there drifting about in a haze for a while and at one point did actually manage to go back to sleep.

But not for long. At about 05:25 I was wide-awake again and at 05:40, I fell out of bed.

With plenty to do, I took full advantage of the early start. I dictated the notes for the joining track of a radio programme that needs finishing and then dictated the notes for another programme, leaving just the joining track to be done now, when I know how long it needs to be.

When the alarm went off, I went for a good scrub up and then into the kitchen for my hot drink and my medication. I do like my hot honey, lemon and ginger drink.

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

There were a load of TV cameras around Nantwich last night. In fact it was a Sunday morning, and it was a kind of street racing thing for motorbikes. The motorbikes had come from all over Europe and probably the World to see these races, and the streets were crowded. It started off with a race by quads. They started in the town square and went out by Hospital Street. Once they were out in the country, they were racing through fields, etc., where there was plenty of mud and sliding, etc., and then back along Millstone Lane and Beam Street and into the town centre again via the market hall. The first quad race was won by someone or other, but the second race was won by someone from Nantwich, which was quite a surprise and was well applauded. There were all kinds of these races. One of the races involved horseboxes, lorries transformed into horseboxes rather than towed ones. That, apparently, was total carnage as they kept on slipping and overturning in the mud. There was someone who managed to complete the run in record time, but no-one else managed to return for quite some considerable time. It all ended with a football match in the mud. Stanley Matthews was playing for Blackpool. He had a beautiful header that went to someone from Huddersfield Town. One of the attractions was a Lotus Cortina used as a rally car in the late 1960s. It was on display, and someone was saying that it cost £2,000 when new, but it’s probably worth a hundred times that now. The car transporter that was bringing it was at the garage having a hose-down because it was rather dirty.

This would have been an exciting event to see, and no mistake. But competing with St Mary’s Church on a Sunday morning would have invoked Divine retribution without any doubt at all. But where did the football match fit in?

However, there did used to be a world-championship-class motorcycle scrambling venue at Hatherton, just outside Nantwich, in the 1960s, and my brother and I would cycle there regularly to watch the races. But unfortunately, motorcycle scrambling is very much a thing of the past today.

There were three criminals who had broken into a house. Their aim was to take away the safe that was on the first floor. They planned to do this by cutting away the ceiling underneath it and letting it drop onto the ground floor. As the householder was in, how on earth they expected to do it without waking him, I really don’t know. They set out to be extremely silent but they began to make a little noise so one of them went to position himself at the foot of the stairs. Sure enough, the householder came downstairs and he reached the bottom stair. The crook who was there hit him in the face with a shoe, knocked him unconscious and then ran. Eventually, his friends caught up with him. They were disappointed because with the householder now being unconscious, they could have gone ahead and removed the safe. However, the guy reminded them that the safe weighed fifty-two tonnes, so how were they going to move it? They replied that they had a block and tackle and could lift it into the back of a van. He felt that at fifty-two tonnes, that would be absurd. The police became involved but couldn’t identify any of the crooks, even though that one particular crook was very well-known to the police. But something that was interesting was that one of the other two was having an unofficial relationship with the Asiatic wife of this householder, and they had been seen together on a couple of occasions after this attempted burglary.

Wherever this dream came from, I’ve no idea at all. It doesn’t seem to relate to anything that has happened recently. But trying to fit a fifty-two tonne safe into the back of a van is a clear absurdity

The nurse was early yet again and didn’t hang around long, so I could push on and make breakfast.

And read some more of A ROMAN FRONTIER POST AND ITS PEOPLE.

Our author, James Curle, has begun the excavations and at the moment he’s uncovered a couple of skeletons lying on the floor under sixteen hundred years of accumulated soil and two severed heads tossed down an abandoned well. Fun times indeed on the Roman limes.

After breakfast, I had a few things to do and then pushed on with finishing off the radio programme that I’d started the other day. That’s all written now (except for the joining track) although it took a while because there’s almost no information anywhere about the groups that played at this particular festival. In the end, I had to resort to setting an artificial intelligence searchbot off on the hunt.

My work was interrupted by the arrival of my faithful cleaner who had come down to do her stuff. I noticed from the shopping that she had left that she had been down earlier, but I hadn’t heard a thing.

Anyway, she shooed me into the shower and now I’m a nice, clean boy with nice, clean clothes. And that makes me feel better.

She carried on with her stuff while I was sorting myself out, and after she left, I finally finished my notes. To round off the day, I edited the notes that I had dictated for the joining track for one of my programmes and assembled the programme. That’s now ready to go.

And with what time was left, I carried on with editing the next lot of notes, but I didn’t manage to go very far because with the new version of my sound editor, one of my favourite effects, “adjustable fade” seems to have been dropped and now I’m stuck.

Tea tonight was sausage, chips and home-made baked beans followed by Christmas cake. But the beans aren’t really as successful as I would have liked, and I’ve pretty much decided that if I don’t have any visitors from the UK in the near future, I’ll have to order a tray of beans online.

So now having finished my notes, I’m off to bed.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about motorcycles … "well, one of us has" – ed … we were once riding through the Wirral on a friend’s Velocette 500 when we were stopped by the police.
"What’s up, officer?" asked Ray
"I’m going to have to give you a ticket. You’re riding with three people on the seat"
"Three? Three?" asked Ray, incredulously
"Yes, three" insisted the policeman
"Blimmin’ ‘eck" said Ray, looking at the rest of us. "Can anyone remember where Alvin fell off?"

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Thursday 15th January 2026 – I’M FED UP …

… of all of this, that’s for sure.

This afternoon, I arrived at the dialysis centre at 13:50. I was finally plugged in at … errr … 15:10. That’s one hour and twenty minutes that I had to hang around like Piffy on a Rock. As if I don’t have anything better to do than to wait on their convenience.

That’s how it has been today, one thing after another after another. It started off last night when I ended up going late for tea and not actually finishing until 23:30 or thereabouts everything that I needed to do.

With this racking cough that is still not improving and a nose that’s flowing like a stream in full flood, I didn’t really have all that much of a good sleep either. I did in fact go to sleep rather quickly, but I kept on waking throughout the night with a desperate desire to cough.

When the alarm went off, it was a desperate struggle to leave the bed and it took me quite a while to summon up the energy and make an effort to go to the bathroom, where I had a good wash and a shave in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant.

After the hot drink and the medication, I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out what had gone on during the night.

I was in the hospital again. I’d been staying there for a while and they had changed my mattress around so that it would have sides of even wear rather than all going to be bogged down on one side. However, as soon as I changed my position to the other side of the bed, it was like being in a different bed and I ended up with a second lot of flowers, which was not what I expected. I didn’t really know what to do and how to react to this kind of thing, and especially the two deliveries of flowers, one for each side of the bed, that I’d had. That was becoming complicated.

That’s the problem with my mattress here. I turned it once, but now both sides are worn and it really does need replacing. As for the hospital and the flowers, I wonder what they are doing here.

Later on, I was driving my taxi around Shavington in the Basford neighbourhood, I suppose. There was something about a couple of red roses in the middle of the road. I’ve no idea why, and that’s all that I remember of this particular dream, unfortunately.

So I’m back to driving taxis again. I’ve not done that for a week or so. But flowers yet again. There’s definitely something happening today with those.

And then there was a third dream. It was about a university meeting, and there were hundreds, if not a couple of thousand, people there milling around. They were talking about plans for the forthcoming year etc., and then we had to go along and choose a place to stay on a student exchange for two weeks. They had all kinds of guides to help you choose, notebooks and music etc. I went straight over there and began to liberate all of the RUNRIG cassettes because where I was hoping to go was that I’d heard that there was an exchange to the Outer Hebrides or to an island almost out as far as the High Arctic. I was determined to be on that regardless. Once I’d collected all of these cassettes, I wandered round but couldn’t find any tutors. I asked a couple of people but no-one else could find them. They had all disappeared, so I wondered what was going to happen next – we needed to be allocated rooms, we needed to be fed etc. Then I suddenly realised that I’d been walking around without my crutches so I went back to where I’d been sitting. The girl who had been sitting next to me was there so I gave her a wave and said to her “you’re in trouble”. She asked why, and I explained that it was for letting me walk around here like this without my crutches. We had a little comment about it. Then I saw that the food was arriving so I went, but it was only the dessert. I couldn’t really see any vegan desserts so I had to hope that what I’d chosen was a dessert. Then the main course arrived, but it didn’t look very healthy. It was mashed potatoes and a kind of meat stew, something like that. It was strange that they had put the dessert first and the main course second. I couldn’t help it – I was nibbling away at my dessert rather than helping myself to a main course. I noticed that there was a vegetarian option but no vegan option. Everyone seemed to be taking lumps out of the vegetarian one rather than the vegan. There was also a starter there that was placed in the third position but that had nothing but cheese on it. There was no vegan cheese either. I couldn’t help but nibble on my dessert instead of trying to organise a main course. I was beginning to feel extremely frustrated by this time – not being able to find a tutor, not being able to register my choice of student exchange, not having any real meal to eat, and finding myself automatically nibbling on a dessert first. This wasn’t the kind of situation that I was hoping for.

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that we have visited this island in the past during a nocturnal ramble. It doesn’t have a name but it’s right out of place, where it was during that previous dream.

But how many times is this that I’ve dreamed of walking without my crutches? It’s probably a good dozen or so. And then having one of these attacks of uncertainty that I have sometimes during the night. But dreaming about food is an unusual twist to this.

The nurse turned up early again and sorted out my legs. He didn’t stay long and I could push on and make breakfast. And to read some more of A ROMAN FRONTIER POST AND ITS PEOPLE.

James Curle has now started his excavations but is still setting the scene. He has, however, now worked out that the reason that the Roman fort wasn’t put in the most logical place, as I mentioned yesterday, was that there are the remains of a huge Roman camp there. and he’ll be excavating that in due course.

After breakfast, I gave in an inch to fear and went one better than David Crosby. Probably because, having had the ‘flu for Christmas, I’m not feeling up to par and it just increases my paranoia, like looking at my mirror and seeing a police car.

Back in here, there was post to deal with, a package that needed returning and a few other bits and pieces. Once I’d done that, I began to do some more work on the radio programme that I’d started the other day.

There wasn’t much time to do very much but nevertheless, I made a certain amount of progress before my cleaner came in to apply the anaesthetic on my arm. While she was here, she busied herself with a few small tasks about the place, seeing as she hadn’t been here on Tuesday, and then she wandered off, leaving me to wait for the taxi. I came back in here to carry on with the radio programme.

The taxi was a couple of minutes late coming for me, and then we had to drive out to the back of beyond to “rescue the perishing” – pick up someone else and take him to dialysis too. Consequently, we were several minutes late arriving.

Once I’d weighed myself, I installed myself in my bed and waited. And waited.

There was another new girl there today being given instruction by one of the experienced nurses. Consequently everything was done by the book with procedures rigorously obeyed. On top of that, another one of the patients, already plugged in, had a crisis so everyone downed tools and rushed to her aid.

The delay was such that the afternoon coffee was served long before I was even plugged in, so I had to sit and look at it while I waited.

Eventually it was my turn to be plugged in and, once more, it was all done by the book. As a result, it was 15:10 when my machine was finally switched on and running. I’d been waiting one hour and twenty minutes. To add insult to injury, the internet there was down so there wasn’t a great deal I could do, except to drink my now-cold coffee and read a few papers about ancient roads.

Actually, that was quite interesting because the author contends that roads such as “Dere Street”, once north of the Roman outpost camps north of Hadrian’s Wall, are not Roman at all but ancient prehistoric trackways used by the Romans. He contends that they do not show the typical characteristics of Roman roads, and they aren’t mentioned in the Iter Britanniarum.

He seems however not to have considered that if the Iter Britanniarum had not been written during the reign of Antoninus Pius but later, as several people suspect, it’s likely that the Antonine Wall between the Clyde and the Forth had been abandoned by the time the Iter Britanniarum was written, and so there wouldn’t be any Romans likely to be going beyond the outpost forts so there would be no need for a route guide for those roads.

During the session, the new nurse kept on asking me if I was OK, not that it made any difference, and although Emilie the Cute Consultant was the doctor on duty today, she sent a messenger to ask me how it went in Paris. I replied that it was as expected – there had been a deterioration in my condition – and I expected that once the news reached her, she would come dashing to my side to soothe my fevered brow. But she clearly doesn’t love me any more.

Eventually, they unplugged me, totally by the book of course, and by then it was 18:50. I’d been there for five hours for a session of three-and-a-half. As if I don’t have anything better to do with my time. Luckily, my chauffeur was waiting and she drove me home quite rapidly.

It beats me what’s going on there at times, because it always seems to be that no matter what time I arrive and in what order, I’m almost always the last to be connected and it really is getting on my wick.

There was a howling gale again and a driving rainstorm outside when we arrived so I was dropped off at the back outside the fire escape where there are only three or four paces to walk into the building. And being helped by my faithful cleaner, it was quite a comfortable walk.

After my cleaner left, I made tea, horribly late again after all of this. Rice and veg with a taco roll full of spicy Mexican beans and mushrooms. However, I didn’t enjoy it as much as I could have done because I fell asleep three times while I was trying to eat.

Back in here, I made a start on the notes for the day but having fallen asleep twice while trying to type and seeing that what I was writing was a load of gibberish … "nothing new there" – ed … I threw in the towel and went to bed.

But seeing as we have been talking about cutting our hair … "well, one of us has" – ed … it reminds me of once being at work when I absented myself for half an hour and the boss wondered where I had been.
"Having my hair cut" I replied
"What? In the company’s time?"
"Well, it grew in the company’s time, didn’t it?"
"It didn’t all grow in the company’s time"
"Well, I’ve not had all of it cut off!"

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Wednesday 14th January 2026 – I HAD NOTHING ON …

… the dictaphone this morning.

However, although that may be a surprise to some, the fact is that last night I had probably the best night’s sleep that I have had for a long, long time.

What with the football and everything, I had quite a late night again. By the time that I’d written my notes, taken the stats, and backed up everything, it was after 23:30 when I finally crawled into the bed underneath the covers.

Once I was warm and comfortable, I went straight to sleep, and the very next thing that I remember was the alarm going off at 06:29. I was so surprised that I sat bolt upright and slid sideways out of bed in a panic.

Usually, during the night, there’s some kind of very vague memory of something, either me turning over in bed or having a coughing fit, but last night, there was absolutely nothing. It really was the Sleep of the Dead.

Sitting upright on the bed with the feet on the floor is one thing. Standing up and heading to the bathroom is something completely different. It took me a good few minutes … "as usual" – ed … to summon up the energy to leave the bedroom again this morning.

However, I was early into the kitchen after my scrub up, and I made my hot drink with which to take my medicine. And back in here, with nothing on the dictaphone, I checked my mails and so on.

The nurse was early today — actually before 8:00. He asked how things went in Paris, so I told him the news. He had the air of being disappointed, but then again, so am I. He sorted out my feet, and then he cleared off. It didn’t take him long.

Once he’d left, I made breakfast and began to read A ROMAN FRONTIER POST AND ITS PEOPLE again.

It’s been so long since I last read it that I’d forgotten where I was in the book, so I started all over again. At the moment, we’re walking along Dere Street, the Roman road that leads from Hadrian’s Wall up to the Antonine Wall in Scotland, and we’ve just arrived in the vicinity of Newsteads.

James Curle is at the stage of wondering why the Romans didn’t build their fort on the promontory commanding the area, instead of halfway up the slope. However, once his excavations make a start, he’ll find out why. And it becomes much more exciting when he does find out why.

Back in here, I began to install the office correctly. I’m now just using the new laptop as a desktop work unit, with the desktop screen plugged in. Some of the external drives are plugged into an adapter that is plugged into one USB port of the machine, and there’s another adapter in the second USB port with the mouse and keyboard from the desktop plugged into it. And that’s a much better way to work.

After all of that, I had a footfest with the highlights of all of the matches from last night, including Y Bala’s most improbable win against Y Fflint. That kept me busy for a while, and then there was some post that needed my attention.

Eventually, I could push on and do some work.

The next radio programme is going to feature a rock festival, so I had to track down the groups that played there, try to find their setlists for the festival and then see if I actually had any of the songs in my collection.

That took much longer than it ought, but then again, as usual with these festivals, many of the groups are quite unknown outside their orbit, and their music is unavailable by conventional means.

However, I eventually managed to round up enough music, including at least one very rare track that the group concerned only ever played live once and never ever recorded on an album. That should be of interest when it crawls into the public domain. But then, having a friend whose son was once sound engineer for the Pink Fairies has conjured up all kinds of rarities in the past.

So now, all of the music has been selected, converted to the correct format, remixed, re-edited, paired and segued, and I’ve even started to write the notes for it all.

That took me up until teatime tonight (a rather late teatime, it has to be said). I had peas, carrots, a mash of sweet and ordinary potatoes and gravy with a slice of my new vegan pie, followed by a slice of Christmas cake.

The vegan pie is wonderful, and I shall be looking forward to trying the other seven slices. I cut the pie into eight, and the other seven are now in the freezer ready for later.

But right now, late again, I’m off to bed. Dialysis tomorrow, and I expect that Emilie the Cute Consultant will ignore me again. She definitely doesn’t love me any more.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about the frontier … "well, one of us has" – ed … someone once asked me "how many ears did Davy Crockett have?"
"Three" I replied. "His left ear, his right ear and his final front ear. Now you tell me how many ears Captain Spock had"
"I don’t know" he replied
"He also had three" I answered. "His left ear, his right ear and Space."
"Space?" he asked
"Yes" I answered. "Space, the final front ear."

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