Category Archives: cleaner

Friday 25th July 2025 – WHAT A HORRIBLE …

… night that was last night.

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that in the past, me still being up and wandering about the apartment (and anywhere else) at 02:15 would be a fairly common sight, so seeing me wandering around at 02:15 this morning would have been nothing unusual – except that I went to bed at about 22:30, had been asleep, and was now wide awake, out of bed and working.

That’s something that has happened only extremely rarely in the past.

For a change, I actually made a really great effort and dashed through my notes for the day, took the stats, backed up the computer, sorted myself out in the bathroom and then climbed into bed, all by 22:30 or thereabouts.

Once more, I was asleep quite quickly too, but not for long. Round about 01:00, I sat bolt upright again, wide awake, drenched in sweat. It was unbelievable.

Nothing that I could do would make me go back to sleep. I was hot and uncomfortable and really couldn’t settle. After just over an hour of trying, I left the bed and had a wash.

The first thing that I did when I came back in here was to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I didn’t expect to find anything on the dictaphone in view of the somewhat diminished time span involved, but I was surprised. There was something going on in some American magazine about people and hospitals and ill-health etc. For some reason, I’d been asked to download some kind of article and upload something else etc. They were talking about me on a radio show doing this. I had the book in front of me but I couldn’t find the article and I couldn’t see any of the addresses or anything but they were urging me on to do this and I was hunting through this book trying to find the correct page but I was getting nowhere. I know that one of the people involved in this whom I had to download or upload had zebra-striped white and black hair and I was wondering more about that. I was trying to find this book but every time I turned a page there was either nothing on it or it was one of these intercalcary sheets etc. I just wondered how on earth I was going to find this.

So we’re back thinking about hospitals again, are we? It seems to be a major preoccupation of mine right now. Having some kind of panic attack in a dream is also becoming something of a regular occurrence, and that’s quite possibly also something of some significance.

The second thing that I did was to dictate the radio notes that I had written just before going off to Paris. That took much longer than it should have done too, because my computer screen decided to go to sleep in mid-type and it took me a few minutes to restart it.

In the meantime, I had to stop and restart the ZOOM H8 because I didn’t know how long it would take to restart the screen and I didn’t want the recording running away with itself.

Once I’d finished that, the next task was quite surprising. I actually went rather further than Dave Crosby, because, although I didn’t have the ‘flu for Christmas, I’m definitely not feeling up to par and it was increasing my paranoia, like looking in the mirror and seeing a police car.

However, I wasn’t giving in an inch to fear and I promised myself this year that I’d do something about it, so I went on the attack.

A nice, trim and tidy me came back in here and I watched a football match, with the Skunks putting eight past Annan Athletic in Tuesday’s Scottish League Cup match.

When the alarm went off, I went to have a good wash and sort myself out, and then a leisurely stroll into the kitchen to take my medication.

After that, I didn’t have long to wait. The nurse was very early this morning and, like a fool, he asked how I was so I gave him both barrels and I bet that he regretted asking. He saw to my knee and to my legs and then cleared off rather sharpish-like so that I could make breakfast.

Not that I made it very far as my faithful cleaner came to interrupt me. I’d heard her moving around in her apartment upstairs so I knew that she was awake, so I sent her a message asking about some medication that I needed. She knew where it was and pointed me in the right direction.

Once sh’d left I could carry on making breakfast, not that I wanted much but I have to eat after all, and then read some more of MY BOOK while I ate what little there was.

Our author, John Stow, is still wandering around the pre-Great Fire churches of London, and between the two of us, we have made a rather interesting discovery.

At the Battle of Agincourt in 1415, the Duke of Bourbon was captured and held for ransom. Although the ransom was paid, and on a couple of occasions too, he was never released and never returned to his home.

Our author has been wandering around the old Greyfriars Church and in there is a tombstone, so he says, of "John, Duke of Bourbon and Anjou, Earl of Claremond, Montpensier and Baron Beaujeu, who was taken prisoner at Agincourt, kept prisoner eighteen years and deceased 1433."

That explains why he never returned home, but being held prisoner for eighteen years despite the payment of a couple of ransoms, that seems to be rather extreme.

Another interruption was the President of the Residents’ Committee who came to see how I was, which was very nice of her. She spent half an hour chatting, and I gave her the key to downstairs so she could go for a little inspection. She was well-impressed.

After breakfast, I sorted out some more things to go downstairs and then eventually came back in here to edit the radio notes that I’d dictated earlier.

Not that I kept going for long. I soon drifted off into sleep, sitting on my chair, and for once I wasn’t surprised or disappointed.

In fact, I fell asleep in the chair on a couple of occasions for about twenty minutes here and there. And I was having some gorgeous psychedelic dreams that faded in and out, just as I had one a long time ago when they were giving me some perfusion at one of the hospitals where I’ve been. There’s only one that I remember, and that was telling a friend of mine that I’d be down to see him at about 14:00 when I leave to go to see a girl with whom I’d been invited to stay for a while in the run-up to Christmas. He asked me her name and honestly, I couldn’t remember it, so I’ sure that he thought that I was bluffing. But after he left, I remembered that I couldn’t drive and that there was no contrôle technique on the van, so what was I going to do about this visit? And then another friend of mine came in to give me some presents that had arrived. We shook one and it rattled so we opened it, and it turned out to be a plastic box full of waffles. I can’t eat them of course so I offered them to her, and she snatched the plastic box out of my hands and made off with her booty.

But there were several like this, in such a short space of time, and they all slipped out through my fingers. It was simply impossible to try to record them.

My cleaner came round at about 14:00 to do her stuff and found me engaged in an on-line chat, with a robot from my telephone company. I need to sort out the line to the apartment downstairs for when I move. It took well over an hour to do what should have been a relatively simple task, but at least it’s going to go ahead with no complications.

And that reminds me. I have made an executive decision, and for the benefit of new readers, of whom there are more than just a few these days, an executive decision is a decision that, if it turns out to be wrong, the person who made the decision is executed.

The decision is that I am slowly moving the moveable stuff downstairs and just before my next chemotherapy, which seems to be about the 19th of August, my bed and office will be going down there too, so that when I return, I won’t have to climb the stairs. The rest of the stuff can come down to join me at a later date when there are people to help.

That’s regardless of the state of the apartment, whether the work is finished or not. I’ve been speaking to the kitchen fitter and told him that as of now, the bedroom is the priority followed by the part of the bathroom that is not the shower. The shower is going to be extremely complicated.

Eventually, I finished the radio programme and now have to look for one more track to finish it off. I can do that on Saturday and Sunday, but that’s going to be complicated too.

Tea was a baked potato, small salad and falafel. All of it very small, in fact, because I’m not hungry.

Actually, I’m fed up, I’m in pain, I’m ill and I’m not looking forward to dialysis tomorrow where I expect once more to be detained for at least four hours. I really can’t take much more of this.

But before I go to bed, seeing as we have been talking about Jean, Duke of Bourbon and the Battle of Agincourt … "well, one of us has" – ed … as he was leaving his château, he gave the keys of his wife’s chastity belt to his oldest and most faithful servant.
"Here, take these keys" he said to the servant. "While I’m away at battle, you are the only person who I can trust with them". And he set off on his shining white charger.
He hadn’t gone half a mile before the oldest and most faithful servant caught up with him, panting and out of breath.
"My Lord, my Lord" he gasped. "You’ve given me the wrong key."

Thursday 24th July 2025 – WHAT A HORRIBLE …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday 23rd July 2025 – AS I WRITE …

… up my notes from today, I am sitting, not "holding a rapier in one hand and a pistol in the other" like my hero the Irish politician Boyle Roche, but sitting on my chair at my desk in my nice, tidy, dust-free bedroom.

That’s right – against all of the odds after a wicked day, I have finally made it back home. And I found that my cleaner had been busy in my absence

Last night, I left you all (until I rewrite Tuesday’s entry sometime) gripping the edges of your seats as I climbed back into bed to await the arrival of the second half of my chemotherapy, little knowing at that time that it was the second third of three thirds of treatment. I had this lovely surprise to come.

This part of the treatment involves the product that my body so violently rejected nine years ago and having asked yesterday why they were giving it to me again, I was told that it’s by far the most effective treatment for what I have, and they reckon that I should persevere.

Translated into layman’s language, this means that knowing that no-one has survived more than eleven years with this disease and I have been suffering therefrom for ten years, minus the odd month or so, we are now reaching the critical stage.

However, knowing the effect that this product has on me, I went straight to bed and settled down under the covers.

They turned up about an hour later with the product. It was the nurse with whom I’d had that huge argument last time that I was here, but this time his behaviour was much calmer and much more like how it should be.

He wasn’t long coupling me up and after he left, I settled down to await the fireworks.

When he uncoupled me fifty minutes later, nothing had happened up to that point although I knew that it was only a matter of time. And I was right.

About ninety minutes later, I began to shake. And how! Had I been in a bath at that moment, you could have put all of your dirty washing in there with me and it would have become the cleanest that you would ever have seen it.

This went on for a couple of hours and what happened next, you don’t want to know if you are eating your meal. It was certainly impressive and the poor nurse had to clean the side of the bed and the floor near the head of the bed. And not just the once either.

It was exactly like in 2016.

The nurse gave me some pills to ease everything and round about 04:00 I fell asleep.

No-one disturbed me during what little night there was, and “little” is certainly the word because guess who forgot to switch off the alarm at 06:29? Mind you, I had actually been awake for a minute or so by then.

By 06:45 I was sitting in my chair trying to start work but with no success and when the nursing staff found me at about 08:30 they put me back in bed. I refused breakfast except for the apple juice and fruit purée which I saved for later, and went back to sleep.

At 11:30 the senior doctor awoke me. We had a lengthy discussion about the events of the night and I reiterated my comments about having future treatment at Rennes. She promised to discuss the situation with my consultant, but whether she will, and whether something comes out of it remains to be seen.

After she left, I managed to do a little something but knowing that the taxi was due to arrive, I began to pack my things.

It was shortly after this that they told me that there was a third part of the treatment, but this time they gave me the easing pills first.

The treatment didn’t last long but even so, the taxi driver had to wait while they finished off uncoupling me.

The nursing and medical staff was doing its best to persuade me to stay and to send the driver home without a passenger, but I couldn’t do that. Ill as I was, I couldn’t abuse the hospitality of the taxi company, so I went off with him.

We had a pretty uneventful drive home until we reached the outskirts of Caen where we were stuck for thirty minutes in a traffic queue without moving, just like in the 60s in the UK at holiday time with the explosion of car usage and the lack of upgraded infrastructure at holiday resorts.

It turned out to be a serious accident on the autoroute which needed clearing. We learned later that one person had died and another one was seriously injured.

When I arrived home, it was 18:40. I was so feak and weeble that I couldn’t climb the stairs. My cleaner had to help me lift my leg. Even so, I went by lift for the second flight and climbed down to my landing, which was only a little easier.

There was time for one of the new disgusting drinks, which aren’t actually disgusting, and then I went straight to bed where I crashed out for a good three hours. Totally painless.

On reawakening, first thing that I did was to listen to the notes from the dictaphone about the dream that I had had during the night, such as it was. Four medieval knights decided to set out on a crusade so they began to cross France on their way to the Holy Land. That’s all that I remember about this dream because I awoke with this pain in my foot again.

That’s right, having been for a few weeks without the pain in my foot, the chemotherapy re-ignited it almost straight away and that’s a disappointment.

So having written my notes for today, I’m going back to crash out again. If you want to know what happened on Tuesday, you’ll have to come back tomorrow because I’m certainly not going to do them now. I’m wasted.

But seeing as we have been talking about what happened after they gave me the second part of the treatment … "well, one of us has" – ed … the nurse told me "the trouble with you is that you have a weak stomach."
"Rubbish!" I retorted. "I’m throwing the contents much farther than most other people"

Monday 21st July 2025 – THAT WAS THE …

… quickest drive to Paris that I have ever had.

We left Avranches at 18:30 with an estimated travel time of 3.06 which is what it tells us almost every time, although with the heavy traffic around Caen and particularly around Paris, it’s much closer to four hours Today, though, we pulled up at the Haematology Department here at the Hospital Pitié-Salpetrière at 21:24 – a trip of less than three hours.

The first time that we actually had to slow down for traffic (never mind stop) was on the Prif about two miles from the Porte d’Italie, and then it was only a momentary braking and we kept on going.

And we won’t ever have a trip like that again.

Not that I was looking forward to it either. Last night was another one of those nights that went on and on and I wasn’t able to make much progress. I was hoping to be in bed early but once more, it ended up being round about 23:45 when I finally crept into bed.

Not that I stayed asleep for very long either. For the past few weeks I’ve been having one of these heavy summer colds and I awoke with a streaming head and a stuffed-up nose, feeling very uncomfortable indeed.

Despite all my trying, I couldn’t go back to sleep and in the end I abandoned the procedure, left the bed, and had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been. A friend of mine was out there walking his dog last night amongst a crowd of people but that’s all that I remember of this dream. The rest of it seems to have evaporated as soon as I went to pick up the dictaphone and I wasn’t able to dictate any more than that.

That’s all there was, which is hardly a surprise because if you don’t go to bed until 23:45 and you are up and about at 03:30 the following morning, there hasn’t been all that much time to go very far

Having dealt with that, such as it was, I had a listen to the radio programme that I’ll be sending off for broadcast this week. I didn’t like the voice at all so I re-mixed and re-edited it. It’s not much better now but I sent it off anyway.

Having done that, I wrote the notes for another radio programme that was in the middle of the queue for which I’d sorted out the music quite a while ago, and then I sorted out the music for another one and began to write the notes It was what one would call a “productive morning”.

It’s Isabelle the Nurse’s last morning today for a week, so she was extremely busy with blood samples and injections that folk don’t want her oppo to do, so she didn’t have time to hang around.

After she left, I made breakfast and read some more of MY BOOK

Our author is still on his prowl around the churches, but also mentions the situation where "the houses of London were built of stone for defence of fire, which kind of building was used for two hundred years or more " but lately, "houses of timber set up in place".

You can see the seeds of the Great Fire of London already being sown.

After breakfast, I made some sandwiches for Paris and packed my backpack, fitting in all kinds of goodies to keep the lupus from the porte as they would have said in Ancient Rome … "well, puer amat mensam!" – ed … and then I was back in here to carry on with my radio programme.

However, I did have a brief power nap of about 10 minutes. This early start is playing havoc with my body clock.

My cleaner turned up on time to fit my patches and then we had a chat about moving stuff about. While we were at it, she moved the two boxes that I had packed yesterday and took them downstairs where I’ll empty them on Wednesday or Thursday.

While she was here, I told her about the very uneasy feeling that I have about this trip to Paris. I can’t explain why, but I’ve been uncomfortable about it all day and all last night. And I’m spoiling for a fight, but for no good reason, and I’m not there yet. Things are not going my way.

The taxi driver wasn’t very helpful today. He’s clearly not used to dealing with the elderly and the infirm, but he’ll have to learn, and quickly too.

At Avranches, once more I was one of the last to be coupled up and it was as painful as I have ever had. And one of the punctures missed its aim, and that made it worse.

What with this early start, I wanted to go to sleep, but no such luck. The doctor who doesn’t like his work, he was on duty and he shook me awake. They are afraid that I’ll have another crisis, I reckon.

He stayed around so we had quite a chat. I told him about the uneasy feeling that I’ve had all day but he wasn’t much help on that score. In the end, he left me to it and I could crack on.

Unplugging me was complicated too and once more, I was one of the last to leave, not helped by confusion at the weighing machine. However, we thrashed through the autoroutes with its accidents and overturned artic lorry (and I’m sure that you are thinking that I’m making this up) and arrived nice and early.

A nurse eventually took me to my room and my driver could leave, and then they took a blood sample. I valiantly resisted the idea of a perfusion and rehydration (why take two litres of water out at dialysis and then immediately put half a litre back in?) and they even brought me some food – of sorts.

So now I’m off to bed, ready to fight the good fight in the operating theatre tomorrow morning, and then the chemotherapy begins.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about the nurse here … "well, one of us has" – ed … he looked at my notes and said "you have acute anaemia".
"Thank you" I replied. "I’m so glad that you like it"

Saturday 19th July 2025 – I HAVE BEGUN …

… to move my things downstairs.

Just a few things from the kitchen for the moment – nothing at all exciting, but nevertheless, it’s progress of some kind, having some of my possessions in some of the drawers downstairs.

What I have decided, with my faithful cleaner’s co-operation, is that every time she goes downstairs, she will take with her a box of things to put in the apartment. And then each time that I come back from dialysis, I will sort them out, put them somewhere and then bring the empty boxes back upstairs ready for the next load

But my kitchen really is magnificent. I am even more impressed with it than I was with my galvanised steel dustbin. I can’t wait to move in there for good … "the apartment, not the galvanised steel dustbin." – ed …

Mind you, the benefits of sleeping up here in my comfortable bed can’t be ignored either. I could certainly do with as much of that as I could have too.

Last night wasn’t early enough to enjoy it. As usual, I dillied and dallied and dallied and dillied, lost my way and didn’t know where to roam as I tried to concentrate on writing up my notes, but with not much success. It was almost midnight when I finally crawled into my stinking pit.

However, once in bed, I fell asleep extremely quickly. I didn’t even have time to start, never mind finish my bedtime mantra before I was away with the fairies, although not in any fashion that would excite comment from the editor of Aunt Judy’s Magazine.

For a change, I slept right through until all of 06:27, and then it was a mad scramble to put my feet on the floor before the alarm went off, and I wasn’t convinced that I actually managed it.

In the bathroom, I had a good wash and scrub up, and then I filled the washing machine and switched it on. For a change, everything went into it without too much of a crush. There were no clothes left over at all.

After a slow start to the day with the medication, I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. There was a group of us down on the Auvergne. One of the people was the old British guy who died in 2013. Someone was talking about him having taken all different kinds of medication. The side effects of one particular one that he had taken was that it made his hair grow which of course was something that he really liked because he had started to lose his hair several years ago and was trying many different things for it to come back. The quite accidental secondary effects of something incidental was really quite a surprise to him.

It was a shame about him. His fate was what made me decide to come to live in civilisation instead of in the mountains. In that really severe winter of 2012-2013 when we had snow from 25th October to 27th May, he had a bad fall and lay for several days on the floor of his house undiscovered for almost a week when he suffered from hypothermia and never really recovered.

Strangely enough, the first time that I took Cécile out on a date was to his funeral. The first time that she took me out on a date was to the court at Riom where she had been summoned to give evidence against a defendant (and it wasn’t me). No-one could ever accuse us of having boring dates.

There was also something happening too about football matches, about a footballer going back to the club from which he had been signed and how the crowds of people there appreciated his return and how much he was looking forward to playing for the team again after having left in January early this year.

That’s a true story too. In the January transfer window, one of the fastest centre-forwards in Wales was signed by a well-heeled opponent, simply, I suspect, to stop him competing against them and his teal threatening them. They hardly played him and signed several other centre-forwards, I’ve no idea why, and so the subject of our story has returned this last week to the club from whence he came

Finally, I was in my new kitchen again, trying to work out how to bake a cake or something like that. Of course I needed first of all to find everything, which was in a totally different place to how it had been. Secondly, it was a case of how long it would take now that I have a decent oven instead of my old hit-and-miss thing. But even after thinking about that for a couple of minutes, I was still wandering around looking for the clothing for the club’s striker

It’s nice to be in my kitchen at last, even if it is in a dream. But it will be quite a problem trying to find things when I’m finally settled, and it will be an even bigger problem to work out all of the revised cooking times now that there’s a decent oven that (hopefully) will work properly.

Isabelle the Nurse was running late today so she didn’t have much time to hang around. She applied my heat treatment, dealt with my legs and then cleared off. I could then press on and make breakfast, and then read some more of MY BOOK.

We are still wandering around the churches of London today. Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that yesterday we had a very strange transfer of property for the sum of "one rose at Midsummer, to him and to his heirs for all services, if the same were demanded.".

The strange property transactions are continuing today. He tells us of a property that changed hands for a fee "paying yearly one clove of Gereflowers at Easter, and to the prior and convent of St Mary Overy, six shillings.".

He also talks about someone called William Fitz Osbert, the leader of a large gang of rioters, who holed up in the steeple of St Mary Bow church until he was smoked out when someone lit a fire at the base of the steeple underneath him. He was stabbed in the ensuing melee and captured, subsequent to which he was drawn to a scaffold and hanged.

Stow clearly didn’t like him. He comments that "such was the end of this deceiver, a man of evil life, a secret murderer, a filthy fornicator, a polluter of concubines and (amongst his other detestable facts) a false accuser of his elder brother."

Now come on, Mr Stow, don’t mince your words. Tell us what you really think.

After breakfast, I came in here to assemble the “Sunday Woodstock” radio programme. And it’s now all complete at long last. However, it runs out at about one hour and ten minutes, so it looks as if two songs are going to be filed under CS. I have a good idea which ones they might be, and I can deal with them tomorrow.

As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … I’m quite impressed by how the three programmes have turned out.

My cleaner turned up to fit my anaesthetic patches and we discussed our (or, rather, my) plans for moving and she fell in with them so we made a brief start before the ambulance came.

It was driven today by the boss, and he had already picked up the woman who travels with me so we had a very interesting chat all the way down there.

At Avranches, the bad news was that they had to carry out a few tests on me before they could plug me in. Consequently, I wasn’t plugged in until 14:40 – which meant being unplugged and compressed ready to leave at 18:00.

None of the doctors came to bother me so I was left to my own devices, and one of the things that I did was to listen to my radio programme to see if there were any errors. I picked up one, and I can soon edit that.

Once I was released, it was a very weary me who made his way to the taxi, and it was 19:15 when I returned home. Having to sort out some things that my cleaner had taken downstairs meant that it was nearer 19:45 when I finally made it back here.

Vegan salad, baked potatoes and veggie balls were on the menu tonight but I wasn’t all that hungry. I was glad to be back in here.

Hopefully, I can have a good sleep tonight and feel more refreshed tomorrow. It’s really dragging these days, this health issue, and I wish that it was over.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about William Fitz Osbert … "well, one of us has" – ed … during his interrogation concerning his actions and subsequent arrest, he was asked "were you stabbed in the fracas?"
"Ohh no" he replied "it was actually in the right shoulder, nowhere near there."

Friday 18th July 2025 – AT LONG LAST …

… I can see some light at the end of the tunnel.

This afternoon, just before tea-time, I finally finished editing the notes for the “Sunday Woodstock” radio programme, and I’ve actually made a start on assembling it too.

It’s probably been the most difficult series of all of the radio programmes that I’ve ever made, from a technical point of view and also from a research point of view, and so I hope that it lives up to the hype that surrounds it. I’d be disappointed if it doesn’t.

And that is despite all of the interruptions that I’ve had today.

And as if there weren’t enough interruptions last night too. For some reason (probably, mainly bone-idleness) I just couldn’t make a start on writing my notes and it seemed to take an age to do anything at all. It was after midnight last night and I was still letting it all hang out.

Once in bed though, I remembered nothing at all until … errr … 05:50 when I had another one of these dramatic awakenings that I seem to have quite often these days.

And as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … being awake is one thing, being out of bed is something else completely. It was about 06:10 when I finally found the strength and courage to haul myself out of my stinking pit.

After a good wash and scrub up I went to have my medication, and then I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I had been during the night. This is another one of those dreams that faded away the moment that I went to reach for the teenage mortar board … fell asleep here …

First of all, I have absolutely no recollection of anything at all. I certainly can’t remember this dream and no-one was more surprised than me to find something (such as it was) on the dictaphone.

Secondly, the significance of the second part of the dream totally escapes me. I’ve no idea where this “teenage mortar board” comes from.

Isabelle the Nurse turned up early for once. She’d had a good start and was keen to press on. Consequently, she didn’t hang around for long – just enough time for the heat treatment and to deal with my legs.

After she’d gone, I could make breakfast and read some more of MY BOOK.

We’re still wandering around the various churches of London and our author, John Stow, is still sticking in his thumb and pulling out some really interesting plums of knowledge.

We’re at St Swithin’s Church where, "on the back side … Sir Richard Empson … and Edward Dudley … had a door of intercourse into this garden wherein they met and consulted of matters of their pleasures." I shall make no comment whatsoever, except to enquire as to whether the editor of Aunt Judy’s Magazine knew all about this.

A little further on, we have a very lengthy and detailed description of the very colourful annual parade of the Fraternity of Skinners, finishing with "thus much to stop the tongues of unthankful men such as used to ask ‘why have ye not noted this or that?’ and give no thanks for what is done.".

But there’s so much of interest in this book that has been missed by temporary historians. There’s a very lengthy and complicated account of a series of land transactions in which several houses changed hands several times, and the price, according to our author, was "one rose at Midsummer, to him and to his heirs for all services, if the same were demanded.".

After breakfast, I made a start on editing the radio notes but I didn’t have much time because my friends from Ulm came round to say goodbye as they were heading to Bayeux to see the Tapestry and then driving home.

We had quite a lot to discuss and we took a long time to discuss it too. I may be busy and have a lot to do, but I’ll always stop to have a chat to friends. I don’t see people anything like often enough, and it’s nice that they take the trouble to come to see me.

My faithful cleaner was next to arrive, and she spent a happy hour going through the apartment with her brush and cloth making it look nice. We discussed the possibility of beginning to take things downstairs. I shall begin, I reckon, to sort out the kitchen and see where that takes me.

There’s a lot of stuff that I don’t need at the moment, and that will make some kind of room. If I box it up, my cleaner will take it down and when I return from dialysis, I can spend half an hour sorting it out each time that I pass by.

At some point in the day I was interrupted by a phone call. "Mr Hall – your next chemotherapy session is arranged for Tuesday and Wednesday next week, but we’d like you to come here on Monday evening straight after dialysis so that we can fit you with a catheter port.".

So here we go, then. I rang up the taxi company and gave them the bad news, but it’s also bad news for me. What I don’t understand is that if they know that this chemotherapy had such a bad effect on me nine years ago, why are they insisting on giving it to me again?.

Eventually, I could carry on with my editing, and that’s now all done. I can start to assemble the programme tomorrow morning and see where I finish. If I’ve not finished it (which will probably be the case) I can do the rest on Sunday.

But now, later than I would have liked, it’s bedtime again. I hope that I can have a good night’s sleep and plenty of exciting voyages because I could do with going out more often, as I’m sure you will agree. I’ll go out as often as I can, but I wish that there could be somewhere else to go instead of dialysis and chemotherapy. My little nocturnal voyages are the only possibility these days.

But seeing as we have been talking about going out and about … "well, one of us has" – ed … regular readers of this rubbish will recall that I used to spend a lot of my time walking around, and I sometimes had some very interesting walks.
Graveyards were some of my favourite places in which to walk and sometimes I would talk to the people whom I would meet.
On one occasion, I saw a man standing thoughtfully by a grave so I wished him a "good morning."
"Of course not" he replied. "It’s a very sad thing to do."

Thursday 17th July 2025 – MY KITCHEN DOWNSTAIRS …

… is looking wonderful, it really is.

It’s not finished yet – it probably needs another full day’s work – but even so, it’s quite impressive as it is. The oven and microwave are installed and the hob will be next, and then it will just be a case of the final touches. But it really is impressive.

It will be another five weeks or so before I’ll be moving in. It seems that the weekend round about 22nd, 23rd and 24th of August is when a few volunteers have offered to come along to help, although I’ll be hoping to move a pile of stuff before then, if I can. So if anyone is at a loss for a few things to do one week or one weekend in the near future…

Meanwhile, back at the ran … errr … apartment, it was another late night last night by the time everything was finished. Or, rather, it wasn’t finished because I had forgotten, would you believe, the backing up of the computer.

But anyway, once I was finally in bed, there I stayed until 06:27 precisely, two minutes before the alarm was due to go off, and I managed to struggle to my feet to beat the alarm. But if that’s not impeccable timing then I don’t know what is.

After a good wash and my medication, I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I was having some kind of injection because of all these foreigners who were coming to play football around here. Many people were disillusioned by the fact that they had signed a lot of the youth players from English clubs because they were thinking that the academies of these clubs were of absolutely no useful purpose at all – it was simply a paperwork exercise to show that the club has some kind of development certificate and there was no possibility of these young boys ever being included in some kind of first team round-up and some kind of Premier League involvement in due course. Most of these lads were destined to have the job when they reached the end of the age group.

This actually refers to a discussion that some of us were having on a football news forum yesterday, talking about how many under-17, under-18, under-19 etc football academy players, even youth internationals, are now playing part-time in non-league or minor league football, saying that these football academies are really nothing but window-dressing for the clubs concerned, simply to abide by certain rules and regulations with absolutely no intention at all of promoting local youth talent.

Isabelle the Nurse came in to see me and gave my knee some heat treatment, and then she attended to my legs.

After she left, the kitchen fitter put his sooty foot in the door. I organised him and he wandered off to start work. I made breakfast and read some more of MY BOOK.

Our author is still giving us the conducted tour of various churches. He tells us that in the Church of St Mary Woolnoth there is a memorial to"Thomas Roch and Andrew Michael, vintners, and Joan, their wife." And I’m definitely eager to find out more information about that cosy set-up.

Interestingly too, he tells us that "in divers countries, dairy houses or cottages wherein they make butter and cheese, are usually called ‘wicks’.". A “wich” is quite often associated with a salt town and has other meanings in Norse and in Anglo-Saxon too, but Stow’s interpretation of the ending is certainly food … "groan" – ed … for thought.

After breakfast, I came back in here to sort out the radio notes that I dictated yesterday. In total, there is about twenty-five minutes’ worth and that’s going to take an age to edit. I shall be here for the next two months doing that, I reckon, and miss the actual programme dates if I’m not careful.

My faithful cleaner came along and sorted me out with my anaesthetic patches, and I came back in here to carry on working.

The driver who came to pick me up was the Belgian girl and I like her very much so we had a lovely chat all the way down to Avranches, except for the time when she was having an argument with one of her children on the telephone. I suppose that a pair of eleven-year-old twins would be a handful for anyone.

My luck was in at the dialysis centre. I was attended to by Julie the Cook who showed me some photos of her latest culinary creations. And wonderful they are too. But she had a lot of trouble coupling me up to the machine today and for quite a while, my machine kept on sounding the alarm.

One of the doctors came to see me today to ask me how I was. I told him that it’s pointless asking me because they don’t do anything about what I’ve told them already. So he departed with a flea in his ear.

The dietician was next to come along, with a prescription for forty-eight samples each of four different varieties of a new protein drink. I wonder what all of that will be like.

And then all Hell let loose. There’s a patient who has a four-hour dialysis session who is currently in hospital at Granville. His session is due to start at 14:00 but the ambulance didn’t bring him until after 15:30, meaning that the girls have to stay until about 20:00 this evening. It goes without saying that they were not too happy about it, and they expressed their displeasure quite forcibly to the ambulance crew.

There’s another person there who is … errr … well, he <DOESN’T HAVE BOTH PADDLES IN THE WATER. He was an endless source of trouble and stress to the nurses this afternoon and in the end, one of them had to sit with him for quite a while to keep an eye on what he was up to.

For once, I was unplugged quite quickly and the taxi was waiting for me too so we were soon on our way home. We came back via the town centre so that we could have a look at the chaos with the rebuilding paused for the summer, and then the driver dropped me off at home where my faithful cleaner was waiting.

First thing that I did was to go to inspect the kitchen and to chat with the kitchen-fitter and his wife who was helping. And my kitchen does look lovely. He’s done a really good job and I’m well-impressed. It will be even better when it’s finished.

Mind you, I had a very late tea tonight because I had to wait for an age while he finished off and packed up his tools.

He also presented me with a bill to date, and after I’d paid it, I had to go to lie down in a darkened room for a while.

Tea tonight was just like The Carmichaels, as SUPPER WAITS ON THE TABLE INSIDE A TIN. It was too late to cook a proper meal.

So now I’m off to bed, later than I would like. And I need to be on form as there’s a lot to do tomorrow. There’s the Sunday Woodstock notes to continue to edit and also June and Catherine are coming round to see me before they head off back to South Germany.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about the kitchen fitter … "well, one of us has" – ed … I asked him if he would like to install a mirror for me in the kitchen.
He thought for a while and then replied "ohh yes, why not? That’s just the kind of job that I could see myself doing."

Wednesday 16th July 2025 – WHAT A LOVELY …

… afternoon I have had, catching up with old friends.

My friend June was a fellow student of mine and activist at University. Her daughter Catherine was a lecturer there. They live in the wilds of Southern Germany near Ulm and whenever I was on my travels around Europe, she was one of the people on whom I would always pay a visit.

She and her daughter were part of the musical community there and her son was Sound Engineer for the Pink Fairies, thanks to whom I have some of the huge pile of live concert recordings from when the Fairies were a support band or when he took the equipment out as a freelance Sound Engineer.

June and Catherine have been in the UK visiting family and as June has been wanting to see the Bayeux Tapestry, they are o their way back via Normandy, so they popped in to say hello this afternoon and that was a really pleasant interlude. It’s lovely to meet up again.

But anyway, I digress … "again" – ed …

Last night was another late night, and it felt like it too. I had a real struggle to keep going and finish my notes. And then there were the stats and the back-up, which I really didn’t feel like doing but I forced myself. Nevertheless, when it came to the heat treatment and the ice pack on my knee, I had already run out of steam.

It was midnight or so when I finally crawled into bed, and it didn’t take me very long to fall asleep. But I didn’t stay asleep for very long. By 04:30 I was wide awake again.

While I was trying to make up my mind whether or not to leave my bed, I must have fallen asleep again because the next thing that I knew, the alarm at 06:29 was sounding.

At that moment, I really was exhausted and it was all that I could do to throw off the quilt and put my feet on the floor so that I could at least say that I had beaten the second alarm.

It was a very slow start to the morning too. I didn’t feel like doing anything at all. However I went through the motions of having a wash and taking my medication, and then I came back in here to find out where I’d been during the night.

There was some kind of advert going around about some kind of computer program. It concerned a video that was circulating around on the internet and how if you were to treat it with a certain computer program, it seemed as if the bird that was in the video was flying backwards into its nest right at the very start. It certainly sounded something very interesting to do, but reading the announcement, it just really seems to be some kind of free publicity towards the certain computer program that was mentioned and not really some kind of news item or interesting observation at all.

This is something that I’ve noticed with a depressing regularity these days. Sites that tell you to “click here to find out more” or “click here to speed up your computer” or “click here to access your details”, and when you do, you are confronted by a screen that tells you “this costs $7:99 per month” or some such nonsense.

There’s an Academia site that regularly sends me notices asking me something like “are you the Eric Hall mentioned in a paper about Labrador? Click here to find out”, and they expect me to buy a membership so that I can see my own name and my own research, if it is indeed true that it is a reference to something that I have written.

Isabelle the Nurse breezed in again, and breezed out just as quickly, having applied the heat treatment to my knee and dealt with my lower legs.

After she left, I could make breakfast and read MY BOOK.

We’ve been visiting churches today and discussing the memorials in there. There’s a delightful entry in his book about "John Master, gentleman, was by his children buried there 1444." I do hope that he was dead at the time.

He also mentions "the Writhsleys to be buried there, I have since found them and other to be buried at St Giles Without Cripplegate, where I mind to leave them." I then pictured him having a change of mind and setting out with his spade under cover of darkness.

Most of the day has been spent radioing. I read through the notes for Sunday and revised them several times, after which, seeing as it was deathly quiet outside, I dictated them. And that took a while because I was continually rewriting them as I was going along.

This is another one that is going to overrun by miles and will need some serious editing to bring it down to one hour in length. But I want to finish it before I go to Paris next week (if it is next week) so that’s presumably a job for Friday and Sunday.

There were the usual interruptions – a couple of disgusting drinks breaks and my cleaner turned up in mid-afternoon so I had a wonderful shower again. And how I am looking forward to having a shower unit fitted downstairs where I can shower much more often than once a week, and do everything on my own too.

June and Catherine turned up later just as I was finishing my notes, and we sat around to chat and catch up with old times for a while, which was very nice. But I wonder why I’m becoming so popular these days. What do all these people know that I don’t?

After they left, I made tea – bangers and mash with vegetables and gravy. Again, it tasted much nicer in my imagination than on my plate but that can’t be helped. Even if my taste buds are distorted right now, I still have to eat something sometime.

Tomorrow afternoon is dialysis, to which I’m not looking forward at all. I hope though that if I have to go, I will have one of my favourite nurses to look after me. I’m in need of some cheering up.

But seeing as we have been talking about funeral monuments … "well, one of us has" – ed … in one of these London churches, our author, John Stow, heard a mysterious tapping noise late at night.
He walked over gently, and saw a man chiselling something on the tomb of a deceased person.
John Stow breathed a sigh of relief. "For a moment" he said "I thought that it might have been a ghost."
"There’s no need to worry about that" said the man.
"So what are you actually doing?" asked Stow.
"I’m just making a little correction" said the man. "They put the wrong date of death on my memorial."

Monday 14th July 2025 – I DON’T THINK …

… that Marion loves me any more.

The last time that she was on shift when I was at dialysis, she was nagging me to do my own preparation.

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall exactly why I am simply unable to do it and so it doesn’t do any good at all to insist. It’s simply impossible.

And so this afternoon, she tried a new tactic. When my machine pinged to say that my session was over, she half-uncoupled me and then wandered off to do other things, leaving me hanging around like Piffy on a rock for twenty-five minutes.

If she thinks that that is going to galvanise me into action, she’s mistaken. I simply can’t bring myself to touch this pulsing, throbbing vein that they installed in my arm a year ago and that’s the end of it.

Meanwhile, back at the ran … errr … apartment, last night, for a change, I actually finished early. After taking the stats and performing the back-up, I went and sorted myself out and ended up in bed by 22:40 which made a very welcome change, and how I enjoyed it too.

However, as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … it’s really pointless going to bed early because all that it means is that I awaken correspondingly early the following morning. So quickly to sleep once I was in bed, but wide awake this morning at 05:20.

As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … being awake is one thing, being up and about is something else completely and you have to wait until 05:40 when I finally crawled out of bed.

The ice pack had slipped from my knee during the night and was flapping about in the breeze this morning, so that hadn’t been of very much use, but nevertheless, I was moving about a little easier, which was a surprise.

First thing that I did was to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I was dreaming that I was going into hospital so I was checking everything that I had and that I needed to take with me. I took my ‘phone. When I was finally in bed, I strapped an ice pack onto my knee and just lay there. At a certain point a little later I heard my ‘phone making noises as if there was an alarm or something going on. After several minutes I realised that it was one of the chat programs on my telephone that had received a whole series of messages with the usual message tone but I hadn’t realised it prior to that.

Packing ready for hospital is something to which I look forward very much (I don’t think), knowing that in the immediate future I have to go back to Paris for the next session of chemotherapy, when I shall be insisting upon knowing why they are giving me the same chemotherapy that my body rejected violently nine years ago.

As for the ‘phone “making noises”, this morning, when I looked at my ‘phone, I found that I had indeed received a whole series of messages and photos from the kitchen fitter who had clearly been burning the midnight oil.

Later on, I was with my cleaner and my former friend from Stoke-on-Trent. There was a big group of people and we were connected in some way to a chevreuil which of course is a small deer. There was some issue about this deer and it had escaped, so everyone was out looking for it. We had other things to do but we couldn’t stop to look. Instead, we were going somewhere in a Mini. We were driving through a field and we had to perform a “U-turn” somewhere at the side of the road. There was this little turn-round place into a small field there but the only way out was on a blind corner so I went across the field in the Mini. It turned out that there was a really steep drop in this field so I told everyone to hang on and I went down in this Mini. We came across some traces of where these people had looking for the deer. There was some old pet’s bed there that had probably belonged to it. We continued to drive until we came to a huge set of gates where a lot of people from this search party were congregated. One woman was incensed about seeing the three of us together. She was complaining about how there were only two of her – she and someone else – in their group, how there ought to be more of them and how we ought to help. We explained how we had much more complicated and difficult things to do but she carried on and on and on. At these gates, she was struggling to open them with a key, this complaining woman, so I took a key and managed to open it straight away. It was a car scrapyard like McGuinness’s in Stoke-on-Trent. Inside was a “K” registered Škoda parked round by the door which I recognised as belonging to this woman. Once I’d opened the door, my friend from Stoke-on-Trent with his car and caravan drove inside. I went for a walk inside but it was totally empty. There was hardly anything at all in there. That disappointed me intensely because I was expecting it to be full of old vehicles as it usually was. Instead, I had a little walk, just looking at the wasteland while my friend drove around in his car and caravan. He came back, parked it up next to the Škoda and stepped out, looking as if he was walking away and leaving it. He asked me if I had my camera so that I could take a photo and asked me if I knew what kind of year the car was. I said “It’s ‘R’ registration so that puts it at about 1976”. However he thought that it was something different but he didn’t say exactly what. I went to fetch my camera to take a photograph of his car, the caravan and the Škoda, which were about the only three things in this entire scrapyard.

Now, there are loads of mileage in this dream. For a start, is this the first dream in which my cleaner has appeared?

As for my former friend, as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … he was the kind of person who would do absolutely anything for you, but after his accident 25 or so years ago, he became a totally different person and I couldn’t handle the stress. I had enough trouble dealing with my own problems at that time without having to deal with someone else’s, and when he left his car to go, on his crutches, to thump the person in the car behind who had just beeped at us, the writing went on the wall. There were several other incidents too that convinced me that things had run their course by that time.

Where this “U-turn” place was situated was at the corner of Warmingham Lane and Groby Road in Crewe, across the road from the depot of the coach company where I worked in winter when there was no tour work at Shearings.

The “Škoda” was actually a gold FSO “Polonez”, but much more slimline than the car would have been in real life. They were strange cars, a nice design but the quality was appalling. When they finally sorted out the quality issues in the early 1990s, they were wonderful cars but by then the damage had been done. They were powered by a clone of a FIAT engine, and when importation into the UK stopped because of emissions issues, the aforementioned friend and I were thinking of buying one and fitting a FIAT diesel engine in it.

The highlight of the dream would have been wandering around McGuinness’s scrapyard. I’ve had many a happy weekend in there and the stuff that I’ve had from there was unbelievable – even an old Jaguar 420 that I wanted for spares for my Daimler. I once saw a Rolls-Royce in there, only the second that I have ever seen in a scrapyard after the one that I saw IN A SCRAPYARD IN BRIDGEWATER, MAINE, IN 1973

But mountaineering over mountains of scrap cars in scrapyards looking for exciting bits and pieces. Those were the days. You can’t even go into them now, thanks to “Health and Safety”.

After a wash and my morning medication, I came back in here and dealt with the last of the outstanding correspondence and paid the bills that I didn’t pay yesterday. And then I had to sort out some money for the kitchen fitter who had bought some wood and so on for the kitchen that he’s installing.

The nurse was early again? He applied some more heat treatment to my knee and then after having dealt with my legs, he cleared off quite rapidly.

He was closely followed by the kitchen fitter who came to do another day’s work. I gave him the money for the purchases he had made and he and his son went downstairs to carry on.

After they had left, I could carry on with making breakfast and to read MY BOOK.

Our author start off today by talking about the Bedlam (or Bethlem, as he calls it) Hospital for "distracted people" as he quaintly puts it, and tells us that "in this place, people who are distraight in wits are, by the suit of their friends, received and keep as afore."

All that I can say is that if that kind of situation were to persist today, I would have nothing to fear because quite simply, I don’t have any friends.

He goes on to talk about some works being undertaken at Spitalfields, and we have a gorgeous eyewitness account of the discovery and unearthing of a Roman cemetery and an account of the contents of the graves. It’s one of the most fascinating accounts that I have read.

Something else that he mentions is a land dispute between the parish clerks and a local nobleman who had been gifted some monastic property after the Reformation that had been gifted previously to the parish, and "the parish clerks having commenced suit … and being like to have prevailed, the said Sir Robert Chester pulled down the hall, sold the timber, stone and lead, and so the suit was ended.".

After that, I came back in here to attend my Welsh Summer School but it wasn’t a real success because I couldn’t stay here for long, having to go after ninety minutes to prepare for dialysis.

When my cleaner had fitted my patches, I didn’t have long to wait for the taxi, and we whizzed down to Avranches.

It took them forty minutes to couple me up today, leaving me sitting around for quite a while as they dealt with other people. I really felt quite out of it today.

However, the good news is that my friend from Ulm and her daughter will be on their travels and they plan to pass by later in the week to say “hello”. As well as that, my friend from Macon with whom I was on a student exchange in 1970 will be in the area at the beginning of September. He and his wife are planning to come to see me, and that will be nice too. I seem to be in great demand these days.

It was the je m’en foutiste doctor on duty today and he passed by to see if I needed anything, but when I spoke to him, he didn’t seem to be interested.

At one point, I dozed off for five minutes but Marion awoke me. I really think that she has it in for me at the moment, what with waiting around at the start and at the end. She also “forgot” the cold spray when she coupled me up, so all of this cannot be coincidence.

However, as I said just now, it’s not going to change a thing.

The poor taxi driver had to wait around for an age while we had the shenanigans at the end of my session, and I didn’t return home until 19:00. I stuck my head in downstairs to look at the kitchen and it really is impressive. I shall enjoy working with that when it’s ready.

Tea tonight was something cobbled up out of a handful of mushrooms and a small tin of kidney beans with pasta and tomato sauce. But now I’m off to bed, ready for my Summer School tomorrow. I have a feeling that tackling this course is not my wisest move, but we shall see.

But before I go to bed, seeing as we have been talking about Bedlam Hospital … "well, one of us has" – ed … it’s a little-known fact that I once served on the committee of the hospital.
One day we had to interview a patient who wasted to be liberated, so we had to go to see him to find out why.
"God told me that I was no longer crazy and that I could go home" he explained.
The man in the next bed shouted up "I said nothing of the kind!"

Saturday 12th July 2025 – HERE WE GO …

… again.

For once, the taxi came early and the other passenger who travels with me on Thursday and Saturday was already on board.

For once, we arrived quite early

For once, they were ready and waiting

For once, I was coupled up quite quickly and quite early

For once, it was only a three-and-a-half hour session

For once, as the session slowly drew to a close, I was looking forward to an early escape and return home

And so regular readers of this rubbish will recall exactly what happens next in circumstances like this.

In fact, it was a pretty miserable day all round, what with one thing and another, and I wonder when I might be able to step off this treadmill.

Despite my best efforts, last night was another late night when once more I failed miserably to make any impression upon the idea of having an early night.

This pain in my chest was also playing havoc with me. I couldn’t cough and I couldn’t sneeze because I was in total agony every time I tried to expand my lungs. I’ve no idea what’s happening now.

Anyway, I settled down in my lovely clean bed thanks to my faithful cleaner … "huh?" – ed … Yes, I suppose that I’d better explain. It wasn’t she who settled me down in my lovely clean bed, but in the afternoon she had changed the bedding as part of the plan to make my bedroom/office/recording studio look nice, clean and comfortable, as indeed it proved to be.

It didn’t take long to go off to sleep either, however, when I awoke, it was still dark. I tried to go back to sleep but I wasn’t able to do so, and so I gave some serious thought to raising myself from the Dead. However, a glance at the time on my ‘phone dissuaded me. 03:10 is far too early to be up and about, even if I can’t sleep.

Consequently, I decided to lie there semi-comatose until a more realistic time, but the next thing that I remember was the alarm going off at 06:29. Bane of Britain has struck again, asleep when the alarm went off.

When I awoke, I was dreaming about something to do with the Welsh Premier League and Y Bala FC. As usual, it evaporated so quickly from my mind before I could take hold of the dictaphone.

It’s not difficult to guess what it might be, though. Having failed to qualify for Europe for a couple of years now, the money has run out, the budget has been slashed, and according to the FAW’s squad lists, at least twelve of their star players, more than an entire team, have voted with their feet. As far as I can tell, to date they have signed just four, and none of them would be what I would call “significant” signings.

Over the past few years we’ve seen several clubs in the same position and it’s usually always ended in tears and involving relegation. But the future of Y Bala looks more bleak than all of the others right now and I reckon that unless they pull something magical out of the free transfers elsewhere, it’s going to be a very long and hard season.

It took a while to come to my senses yet again and to unstrap the ice pack, with which I went to sleep, from my right knee. And with the pain still wreaking havoc in my chest, I went off to the bathroom for a wash and shave in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant this afternoon.

While I was in the bathroom, I set the washing machine off. With loads of bedding and everything else, there were probably about three machines-worth but one will suffice for now, with the bedding and the hospital stuff seeing that I might be back for chemotherapy in ten days time.

The kitchen was another really slow, leisurely affair while I took my time with the medication. I just couldn’t find the motivation today. As I said earlier, it was a pretty miserable day all round.

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

Nerina and I had to go to see a sports scientist kind of person for my knee. We were sitting in the waiting room and we heard him sawing a child’s foot to even off the bone. We could hear her screaming and it was absolutely horrible. Then we had to go into the room and it was freezing cold so the first thing that I did was to light the gas fire. Nerina was busy arranging everything and tidying it up. She made some kind of remark to me about why I wasn’t helping. I replied “I can’t possibly help because I’m so slow to move around these days on my crutches and you are very much quicker than me in doing everything”. However, she wasn’t very happy with that kind of answer.

As regular readers of this rubbish will recall, it’s not my usual habit to post distressing dreams like this. Some of you will be eating your tea right now, others will be turning the page, and I will be feeling extremely uncomfortable. In fact, I can’t understand why I did post it because “distressing” really is the correct word to describe it.

And why this kind of dream should occur when Nerina is there, I don’t know that either, but Nerina and I ended up just as we would end up after coming back from holiday

However, there was something in there about a group of musicians being on tour. They had a Volkswagen Microbus and there were so many of them that half of their group, the smaller ones, were sleeping on the floor with a series of camp beds above them. That was where the elder ones slept, all inside this VW caravan. The heat generated by these people must have been intense and the smell of bodies overpowering. I seem to remember it heading towards Barry Town in order to be there for the special day a week next weekend when hopefully the gates might be hung.

As for what this may be about, it’s a pretty good description of that trip I mentioned a few months ago when a group of people piled into a J4 van in Crewe in 1973 and drove all the way down to the Windsor Free Festival, blowing a tyre and almost overturning on the way, while my friend from the Wirral and I went down a different way on a Triumph 350cc motorbike.

The nurse turned up early yet again. He applied this heat treatment to my knee and dealt with my legs, after which he left. I could then push on with breakfast and read MY BOOK.

Our author has been talking about the various “Undershafts” in London, and explains how the name came about, "because that of old time, every year on May-day in the morning, it was used that an high or long shaft or May-pole was set up there … which shaft … was higher than the church steeple."

He goes on to describe how it was stored "laid along over the doors and under the pentises of one row of houses" and mentions its ignominious end when the curate of St Katherine’s Christ Church denounced it as idolatrous and "whereon it had rested two-and-thirty years, they sawed it in pieces, every man taking as his share so much that had lain over his door".

After breakfast I took the washing from the machine and hung it up in the living room window to dry. And that’s a task that’s becoming harder and harder as time goes by.

There were things to do after that and I was in the middle of doing them when my faithful cleaner turned up to fit my anaesthetic patches.

She was still here chatting when the taxi arrived and so I descended to the vehicle and we cleared off into a glorious, hot summer’s day. Far too nice to go to dialysis.

At the beginning, I spoke about some of the events at dialysis today, but one thing that I haven’t mentioned is that the connection was the most painful that I have had for a very, very long time and I was in agony throughout the entire session.

The je m’en foutiste doctor came to see me during the afternoon. I told him about my complaints so he put his stethoscope to my chest and totally ignored my knee yet again.

There was plenty of work for me to do and I was advancing quite well, looking forward to a really early finish with just ten minutes to go, when another patient had a crisis and all of the nurses went a-running. And I was simply left there, sitting like Piffy on a rock while the nurses dealt with the emergency.

Eventually, Sarah came back to deal with me and to unplug me, for which I was heartily relieved. Mind you, she dropped the pipe and there is now blood all over my shirt. The good news is that I am now below my “inactive” weight which suits me fine.

In the hallway my co-passenger and I waited for the taxi. And waited. And waited. Twenty-five minutes later, he turned up.

It’s the busiest weekend of the year this weekend, and we’d seen the enormous queues on the motorway as we came down. There had been plenty of breakdowns in the afternoon and as the taxi company holds the contract with the Highways Authority for dealing with repatriations, they had a whole pile of vehicles out of the area, so those who remained were rushed off their feet.

Consequently, we were no earlier coming home than we might otherwise have been.

My cleaner was waiting for me and watched as I struggled upstairs, and then I collapsed into a chair, totally worn out.

Tea was a breadcrumbed quorn fillet with salad and baked potato, all very nice, but I struggled to eat it tonight. My appetite still hasn’t come back and it’s only ten or so days to my next chemotherapy.

But I’ll worry about that another time. Right now, I’m going to bed and I can’t say that I’m sorry.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about Nerina … "well, one of us has" – ed … someone once asked me "what did you like especially about Nerina?"
"I liked the fact" I said "that she could see both sides to every argument."
"Could she really?" he asked.
"Indeed she could" I said. "Both sides – her side and the wrong one."

Friday 11th July 2025 – REGULAR READERS OF …

… this rubbish will recall that yesterday I posted something about the generous contributions given by certain members of London society to the poor, the sick and infirm, and I finished that paragraph by saying "that modern-day society has collapsed, with the rich squirrelling away as much as they can in their offshore accounts."

As if to underline it, and bang on cue, this morning I received probably the most offensive e-mail that I have ever read in my whole life (and you don’t need me to tell you that I have received plenty like it all throughout my career).

Usually, I try my best to keep politics out of my ravings, mainly because, with the rise of 1930s Fascism in the Western World over the last fifteen years, I’d be writing about nothing else at all. However, sometimes it is quite unavoidable, especially when the timing is so perfect.

It came from Helen Whately, who, as many people will doubtless know, is the Conservative Party’s Shadow Secretary of State for Work and Pensions. In this mail, she’s having a bitter rant about the £100 billion that needs to be spent on Welfare and Sickness Benefits this year, and the cost that it entails.

“That’s more than we’ll spend on our armed forces. And more than we’ll spend on the police” she wails.

Her plan, being a good, loyal Tory, is to slash welfare and sickness benefits. “No more generous handouts” she cries, not that I’ve ever known any welfare and sickness benefit to be “generous”. All so that the wealthy (such as she and her husband Marcus Whately, who, according to Companies House, had a net worth of £629,272 in 2023) can pay less income tax.

And anyone whose husband has a net worth of £629,272 and describes “between £29.20 and £187.45 a week” – according to the Government’s own website – as “generous” must be totally deranged.

Offensive and inhumanitarian gestures by the Tories are pretty much par for the course but when it comes to kicking the sick and disabled in the teeth, I don’t think that there can be anything quite as low and despicable as Helen Whately and her dreadful mail.

Anyway, I digress … "again" – ed …

When the alarm went off this morning at 06:29, I was sitting on the edge of the bed sorting out a few papers, having arisen from the Dead about five minutes earlier. And I hadn’t had an early night either. It was only a few minutes before midnight that I finally finished everything and headed up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire.

There had been an ice-pack strapped to my knee all night so I had hardly moved at all while I was asleep, and I could move a little easier this morning. Still, it was a very slow start to the day as I took my time to sort myself out.

After having a good wash and taken my medication, I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I was with my disabled friend from Congleton last night and we were in some kind of classroom. We were having to give her a talk or debate on something. She was sitting there, hardly responding, so I tapped her on the shoulder to remind her. She stood up and began to talk about this particular motion and these particular events, and said “when Èric and I begin to do things like this, we always do something” and she carried on. I became extremely embarrassed by this because I didn’t want my relationship of any nature being thrown around at that particular moment. But as usual, she was ill and had all of the cares of the World so I was wondering whether it was in fact my friend from Congleton or whether it was that I was trying to make this place ready for my Dutch friend and her, with the other girl’s voice.

There is actually some talk that my Dutch friend might be coming here to help me move, but it is just talk and with her fragile health condition, it’s very unlikely that she will be able to make it here. I’m not banking on it.

Later on, I was there with a lot of people with whom I used to work. It involved some girl in a wheelchair or some kind of wheelchair. Everyone had been looking around for something or other without much success so they had been sent a little further wide where they had encountered other groups of people. Some of these encounters had been difficult. There were animals too and on one occasion they were looking for some people from their own group when someone appeared in a wheelchair being pushed by someone else. They were pushed into one of the toilet blocks as if it was at school. Some other people came to look for them and eventually found them and they began to leave but not until after they had caused some kind of commotion in the toilet block but I didn’t know what it was. In the end, these people were assembled in a large group talking to someone else. There was a lion at the far end, and it was the girl in the wheelchair who noticed it but because she couldn’t see it too well, she couldn’t say too much and no-one could understand her. It wasn’t until the lion was actually in the air pouncing that they realised the danger so they quickly moved over to the side and the lion landed right where they would have been. He turned round to go again at them but I fell asleep then.

This could also possibly be some kind of reference to my disabled friend from Congleton. And if so, why have I suddenly started to think about her again? I haven’t seen or heard from her for probably fifteen years.

And then finally I was at school, busy searching through some documents for something or other and the deputy headmaster appeared. He’d heard on the news that the North Vietnamese Army had reached somewhere like some kind of bay in South Vietnam so we went to have a look on the map to see where it was but the map’s scale was wrong. He remembered that he had a huge-scale map of South-East Asia in his room so we went into his room, but his map had gone. He seemed to remember that the Headmaster had borrowed it for something so we had a laugh and a joke about the Headmaster assuming that everything in the school was his and no-one else had the right to anything. I explained that that sounds like the story of my life anyway. We began to discuss history in general. I told him that the period between 1871 and 1912 was really the most fascinating of all as Europe gradually changed its borders, changed its ambitions and developed an air of nationalism. He told me about a programme on the television that was being broadcast that night. It would go on for about three hours and that if that was my favourite period of history, this would be a programme well worth watching because although it was fiction, it laid out much of it in the correct kind of historical terms. I thought that I was going to be out that night so I told him that I would have to find some kind of blank videotape that I could use to record it.

This period actually was my favourite historical period at school, except that the rise of Nationalism and the security of borders dates from the “Year of Revolutions” of 1848. However, the more that I read (or didn’t read) of history subsequently made me much more interested in the so-called “Dark Ages”, the period between the collapse of the Roman Empire in Britain and the elimination of the educated classes by the arriving Saxons, and the rise of religious education under such people as Ceolfrith, Bede and Alcuin at the end of the Seventh and beginning of the Eighth Century.

The nurse was early again today to sort out my legs and to apply this ointment to my knee. He didn’t hang around long so I could make my breakfast (without it boiling over this morning) and read MY BOOK.

We’re prowling around Aldgate today where, according to our author John Stow, "is a fair house … possessed by Mrs Cornwallies, widow … by gift of Henry VIII in reward of fine puddings by her made, wherewith she had presented him"

There is also a very interesting account of the demolition of the Priory of the Holy Trinity following the dissolution of the monasteries after it had been offered to the public "but no man would undertake the offer".

After breakfast I made a start on some desultory tidying-up but I can’t do very much, unfortunately, these days. When my cleaner turned up in the afternoon, she blitzed through everything. I now have a nice fresh bed, a tidy bedroom and it all looks quite wonderful in here. I don’t want to move now.

The estate agent came round at about 15:30, as promised, to ostensibly photograph the place, but I was right in my original assumption that she had merely come on a spying mission to check out the place to see if it needed redecorating or anything before it would be re-let.

She seemed to be quite happy, which was just as well, because there wasn’t going to be any other alternative.

After she and my faithful cleaner left, I made a start on the next radio programme but I didn’t make much progress before I had to stop to make tea.

Air-fried chips, vegan salad and some of those mini-breadcrumbed things were on the menu and I didn’t really feel like eating too much. My appetite has still not recovered which is just as well. Now that I’m approaching the new, svelte me, I intend to stay that way

And so I’m off to bed, ready (I don’t think) for dialysis tomorrow. Anyway, I’m aching all over and I don’t know why. I can’t even sneeze because there’s such a pain in my ribs. What kind of state am I in?

But seeing as we have been talking about the charitable nature of the Conservative Party … "well, one of us has" – ed … a few years ago, at the annual Conservative Christmas party, someone passed a collection box around, marked "for the sick".
The next year, at the following Conservative Christmas party, the same box was passed around, with the same label "for the sick".
However, underneath that label, there was another one that read "please note that this box is restricted to monetary contributions only".

Thursday 10th July 2025 – I AM FED UP …

… of the dialysis centre and the je m’en foutiste of the doctor who always seems to be at the centre of any dispute that I may have.

Once more, we’ve “had words” and it wasn’t a very ideal situation. I’ve made my point but it will have made absolutely no difference at all.

In fact, it’s been a bad day all round. It started off badly by me being asleep yet again when the alarm went off. How many days is this? A far cry from the heady days when I was up and working at 04:30, things like that.

It wasn’t as if it had been an early night though. It was quite close to midnight when I finally crawled into bed, but once in bed, there I stayed without moving.

It was actually difficult to move because my right knee was covered in this heat treatment and I had an ice pack strapped to it too. “Kill or cure” is my motto for right now.

When the alarm went off, it took a while for me to gather my wits, which is a surprise seeing how few I have these days, and then I had an undignified stagger into the bathroom for a wash and scrub up in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant this afternoon.

It was a very slow early morning in the kitchen sorting out my medication too. It seemed to take an age before I was back in here.

First task was to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I was with a football club that was preparing for a series of pre-season friendlies. The match that was coming up was against Manchester United and so everyone was quite nervous about how the score would unfold. However, when we took to the field we found that it was against another club and that the Manchester United game had already taken place. However, no-one could remember the result of that game. Then the whistle sounded for the kick-off but it wasn’t the whistle, it was the alarm sounding at 06:30.

There are so many pre-season friendlies going on right now that this could refer to just about anything, although it was interesting to see me having yet another bout of confusion.

The nurse turned up early again. I asked him if he could have a look at my knee so he gave it a cursory examination and reckons that it’s simply bruised rather than broken or chipped or anything. This heat treatment and ice pack is the way to go, he reckons.

After he left I made my breakfast and had to deal with a volcano in the microwave, because the surveillance of my porridge was interrupted by my faithful cleaner arriving to check on me, to see how I was.

After she left, I cleaned up the mess and sat down to eat breakfast while reading MY BOOK.

Today, we have been talking about the wealthy people whose donations to various charities enabled the poor of London to have a less mean existence. And when you see the amount of money donated by some people, you can see immediately, with the Margaret Thatcher "Who is society? There is no such thing! There are individual men and women and there are families and no government can do anything except through people and people look to themselves first.", that modern-day society has collapsed, with the rich squirrelling away as much as they can in their offshore accounts.

Our author gives us a lovely example of how things were in the Sixteenth Century. There "were some small cottages … for some bed-ridden people … devout people … were accustomed oftentimes, especially on Fridays, weekly to walk that way purposely to bestow their alms."

What price that now?

Back in here, I read through my notes for the “Saturday Woodstock” programme, making a few corrections and additions ready to dictate the next time that I’m up early, whenever that might be. But the way things are going, it will be a while yet.

My cleaner turned up and fitted my anaesthetic patches, and after she left I came back in here to work. However, unbelievable as it may be, I dozed off.

The taxi awoke me and I staggered out into the lovely warm afternoon to drive down to Avranches. It was the chatty young female driver who took me so we had an interesting chat along the way.

At the centre, I was met with the bad news. Having insisted that I was losing weight and they denying it and insisting that these 200 grammes here, 300 grams there was correct, they performed another scan on me to determine my dry weight.

As I suspected, I have lost about three kilos just recently and I’m now officially below my preferred “inactive weight”. This also means that I had about four kilos of water to lose that they hadn’t extracted over the period that my weight was decreasing, and that means a stay of four hours.

All of the messing around meant that the procedure didn’t start until late either.

My blood pressure was horribly low so every fifteen minutes when the machine checked it, it sounded the alarm and the girls came running.

The je m’en foutiste doctor was there on duty so I complained to him. As usual, he didn’t seem to care so I expressed myself in somewhat … errr … forthright tones, but it made no difference.

While he was there, I also told him about my dizzy spells and the fall, but he didn’t seem to be too bothered either. He didn’t even examine me. He’s definitely in the wrong job.

The dietician came to see me too. They are all concerned about my loss of weight and in particular, the loss of protein. She was trying to persuade me to adopt a carnivorous diet, even though my body can’t digest animal fats and that I had a recurrence of my pancreas issues back in April.

These people really have no idea.

In the end, she told me to take as many as four disgusting drinks per day, and gave me several recipes to make it more palatable, including a recipe for a banana and orange milk shake, which totally threw me, seeing as about six months ago, she banned me from eating bananas and oranges because of the potassium.

The nurses came back and gave me some kind of electrogram test, although I don’t know why and neither did they.

During all of this, I was fighting off wave after wave of sleep but in the end I succumbed and poor Alexi had to awaken me to disconnect me.

Horribly late again, there was another passenger in the taxi and we had to drive miles through the Normandy countryside to drop him off, meaning that it was long after 19:30 when I returned home.

On the way in, I stuck my head inside the new apartment to see the work that the kitchen fitter had done, and it was so impressive. I can’t wait for him to come back and crack on.

My faithful cleaner has been busy too. She had been through my apartment here, tidying up and cleaning and it looks wonderful. Tomorrow, she’s going to blitz my bedroom so it all looks good for this photography session.

Tea was bangers and mash with vegetables. I don’t know why, but I had had a craving for them all-day. However, as is usual, they tasted much better in my imagination than they did in real life.

So now it’s bedtime, ready for a good day’s work tomorrow. There’s a lot to do and I can’t hang around. It won’t be done on its own.

But seeing as we have been talking about the je m’en foutiste doctor … "well, one of us has" – ed … during our chat, he told me "if you are really becoming fed up with being here for four hours, you can ask to be unplugged and then go home".

"If I could go home whenever I became fed up with dialysis" I retorted "I would never arrive at all"

Wednesday 9th July 2025 – CAN YOU IMAGINE …

… anything as embarrassing as being in the middle of a conversation with someone and suddenly dropping unconscious at their feet?

The kitchen-fitter and his son who came this morning to start work don’t need to imagine it because they saw it for themselves as a conversation that I was having with them came to a rather dramatic pause.

That’s now the fourth of these little wobbles that I’ve had. There were the two that I mentioned last night, a third as I was going to bed, and the fourth which was the daddy of them all this morning.

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that yesterday, I was becoming concerned about all of this. The one that I had when I was almost ready for bed made me even more worried, and then collapsing unconscious for a couple of minutes at the feet of a couple of visitors is extremely perturbing.

As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … one of these days I’m going to have one of these attacks and I won’t awaken from it. And the way that things are going, it won’t be long a-coming.

It was a late night too last night – I didn’t go to bed until about 00:15, what with one thing and another … "and until you’ve started, you have no idea how many other things there are" – ed … but I was soon asleep. And there I stayed until about 06:00.

As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … being awake is one thing. Leaving the bed is something else completely. It was about 06:15 when I finally saw the light of day and fell out of the bed.

In the bathroom I had a good wash and scrub up and then went into the kitchen for my morning fruit juice and medication. It was yet another slow start to the day while I slowly unwound.

Back in here I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. We shared a holiday home with some people, a home in France. Eventually we decided that we were going to settle down there and stay forever. The other people who were sharing the house were not particularly happy about the situation of Brexit and all of that. In the end, one night after a rather heated discussion, they simply packed their bags and left, leaving us in charge of the house. Nothing much happened about that after a while except that one evening, just as we were moving some furniture around, someone knocked at the door. We had to rearrange the furniture quickly and let them in. It was some people who had come to see the house. Obviously the house had been put up for sale, no-one had said anything to us, and now there were people arriving to have a look around it. They took a big liking to our collie who was six years old but the cats took absolutely no notice of them. We ended up having something of a chat about the situation. One of the things that came out in the discussion somewhere was the question of the rateable value of the land. Someone had a big plot of land in a forest but they were only paying a small amount of tax on it. After they had had this campaign to try to equalise the tax payments, someone explained to them that if the land is not capable of being exploited, for example, it’s too steep, it doesn’t attract council tax. Here in this forest in the middle of the mountains, a lot of the land was far too steep to do anything with it so it had no rateable value.

This sounds rather like what will be happening here over the next few weeks. The estate agents are coming to photograph the place on Friday and from then on, there will be streams of people coming to look at (and to sight-see) the apartment while I’ll be in the throes of trying to tidy up and move house.

If anyone has a free weekend some time, I shall be needing all the help that I can find.

The nurse turned up, much earlier than usual, and sorted out my legs. And while I was making my breakfast, the kitchen-fitter and his son turned up to start work.

They needed to know where my new apartment was and what needed to be done so I went downstairs with them. And it was while we were in the bathroom discussing the shower unit that I hit the floor quite dramatically.

Eventually, I recovered and it was a very sad, weary me who struggled in vain up the stairs. In the end I had to take the lift from the first half-landing up to the next and then struggle downwards to my door.

Breakfast was next, and I read MY BOOK but I was so out of everything that I couldn’t begin to tell you what I read.

Back in here, it took me a while to recover and then I started on my “Friday Woodstock” programme. And that is now, at long last, finished and is just how I want it to be. It took an age and several retries to bring it down to exactly one hour but there it is, all done and dusted, and the only artists excluded are Ravi Shankar and Swami Satchidananda, but there again their performances aren’t really the style that will fit into our rock music programmes.

Tomorrow, I’ll start on the “Saturday Woodstock” programme and see how I go. That is going to be much more complicated because there is so much that needs to be omitted if I want to keep it down to one hour.

There were the usual interruptions, such as a couple of disgusting drink breaks and the arrival of my faithful cleaner, who, as usual, helped me into and out of the bath while I had a shower.

And bless her, she spent much more than one hour going through the kitchen and bathroom making everything look respectable ready for the photograph sessions on Friday.

While all of this was going on, my right knee began to swell dramatically and it hurts like Hades. I can hardly move without being in some kind of agony and it looks as if there is a balloon on my knee. I must have fallen with quite a thump.

The kitchen fitter came to say goodbye and to show me some photos of what he had done. It certainly looks impressive and I can’t wait to see the finished product. That’s likely to be in a couple of weeks, he reckons.

The shower room isn’t going to be so easy, he thinks, and he’s probably right. I’m already beginning to redesign it in my head and I’ll probably do that three or four more times yet.

Tea tonight was a burger with pasta. I wasn’t feeling up to much. And my faithful cleaner came by to pick up some things for downstairs and to take a few more photos of the work

But that’s everything now. I’m going to rub some heat treatment into my leg and then strap an ice-pack on, and then go to sleep. I want to see if this swelling and the pain will go down overnight. If not, I’m going to have an enormous amount of difficulty going to dialysis.

But seeing as we have been talking about my bad leg … "well, one of us has" – ed … I’ll have to be careful about hos this works out.
Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that I had a bad fall a few years ago while I was out and about and hurt my knee quite badly.
Some guy walking by stopped to help me and offered his advice.
"Are you a doctor?" I asked
"Not exactly" he replied, "but I do have some kind of medical experience"
"So what do you think?" I asked him
He examined me and replied "I’d better go to fetch my gun"
"Your gun?" I exclaimed. "Why a gun?"
"I’ve seen that injury before" he replied "and I had to use it on the horse."

Monday 7th July 2025 – MISERABLE FAILURE …

… that I am yet again, I was once more asleep when the alarm went off this morning. How many times is this now?

It’s not as if I had a late night either. It wasn’t 23:00, that’s for sure, but it wasn’t as late as 23:30 either. That means that for once, during the night, I had seven hours of uninterrupted sleep, and it’s been a long time since that has happened.

And “uninterrupted” it certainly was. I remember nothing whatsoever about anything at all during the night.

When the alarm went off, I struggled to sit on the edge of the bed, and that’s where I stayed for a good few minutes while I waited for the bedroom to stop spinning around.

In the bathroom, I had a good wash and a shave in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant this afternoon, and then went off in search of my medication for the morning.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I was at the local technical college last night and there had been some kind of meeting in the great hall. Everyone had waded through there to fetch their meal, this meeting had taken place and slowly, everyone had left. We were some of the last to go. We were having a look around the place, looking to see where would be the best place to put some kind of permanent stage for holding meetings, but we noticed on the wall some small button-like things and realised that these were micro-camera lenses. The wall had been covered in micro-cameras to film what had happened at this meeting. As we walked out of the hall we walked down the front of some kind of supermarket where there were some military people investigating things with machines. We wondered whether they were using these unidirectional receiver things to pick up what people were saying on their mobile ‘phones from a distance. As we walked out, there was a commotion at one of the cash desks. It seemed that some soldier and some civilian were having an argument, the soldier had pulled his gun but the civilian was not backing down and was haranguing this soldier. Quite a crowd had gathered around to watch.

With no recollection whatever of this dream, I have no idea about what must have been going on in my mind … "neither have we" – ed … during the night and it certainly doesn’t seem to relate to anything that is currently or has recently been ongoing.

My only forays into the Technical College at Crewe were at nights where I learned paint spraying and welding, and where I did my first computer courses back in 1974 and 1975.

Isabelle the Nurse breezed in and returned my “War and Peace”, making a few comments as she did so. After she fixed my legs she disappeared off into the sunset for her week’s rest, but not before we’d talked about Alvin Tofler and SOME OF HIS MOST ASTONISHINGLY ACCURATE PREDICTIONS.

Once she’d left I could make breakfast and read some more of MY BOOK.

Today, we covered an extraordinary amount of ground, discussing many different subjects such as medieval games, including primitive ice-skating where "some tie bones to their feet and under their heels". I could write pages and pages about the sports that he mentioned and their descriptions, and so could he, apparently, for he mentions how the maidens would "dance for garlands hung athwart the streets, which open pastimes in my youth being suppressed, worse practices within doors are to be feared."

He talks about alms for the poor and gives several examples, including "Ethelwald, Bishop of Winchester, … about the Year of Christ 963, he in great famine sold away all the sacred vessels of his Church for to relieve the almost-starved people, saying that there was no reason that the senseless temples of God should abound in riches.". Contrast that with the Church today with their works of art, silver candlesticks and the like.

Another thing that he mentions is the rise in traffic in London at the end of the Sixteenth Century, commenting that "the World runs on wheels with many whose parents were glad to go on foot.", a quote that I have added to my little library because I have rarely heard a truer word spoken.

We’ve also had the accounts of several large households, sums that would be extravagant even by today’s standards.

In fact, I can say without fear of contradiction that this has been the most interesting day’s reading that I have had for quite some considerable time.

After breakfast, I began the arduous task of sorting out the kitchen. I’ve gone through the boxes with the plastic containers in and binned about 90% of the contents. Well, not actually “binned”, but earmarked for disposal. My faithful cleaner can then distribute them amongst the needy. Regular readers of this rubbish will recall, I’m doing my best to go over to glass and have amassed quite a collection of the big olive jars which I am now pressing into service.

Back in here, I made a start on editing the radio notes and by the time my faithful cleaner arrived, I’d edited about a quarter of them. This is going to be a very long job, I reckon.

After she had fitted my anaesthetic patches, we went through the medication and anything that is not actually in use went into an old box ready to go downstairs. We need to crack on with this emptying and tidying up ready for the estate agents to photograph the place on Friday ready for re-letting

The taxi was late arriving, we had to go to pick up another passenger (making three as there was already a passenger in there when it arrived) and what with one thing and another … "and until you’ve started, you have no idea how many other things there are" – ed … we were really late arriving.

There were also three ambulances there in front of us, one of which was a new patient. And they all were destined for my ward. Consequently it was 14:40 when I was finally connected.

Once I was finally off and running, I dozed off, to find myself being shaken awake by a panic-stricken doctor. Not, unfortunately, Emilie the Cute Consultant. Anyway, we had a good chat about chemotherapy and Paris. His idea as to why they are starting to give me the medication that my body rejected in 2016 is that they have now run out of other solutions. That makes for some grim reading.

He agrees though, and so does everyone else, that I ought to persuade them to send me to Rennes, closer to home and more relaxed

When I was finished, the taxi home was already waiting, but it was still 19:30 when I returned. And I wasn’t sure if I’d come to the correct apartment. My faithful cleaner had shifted a couple more loads downstairs.

It took me a while to recover and then I made a stuffed pepper, even though I didn’t feel like it. I have to eat.

So now, much later that I would have liked, I’m off to bed. Tomorrow I’ll crack on with the radio notes and see if I can’t complete the first run of the programme, to give me an idea of what I’ll need to edit to cut it all down to an hour.

But seeing as we have been talking about medieval games … "well, one of us has" – ed … one of the most popular medieval games was “hide and seek”.
John Stow asked me if we played “hide and seek” in modern times, so I assured him that we did.
"Is it still an enjoyable game?" he asked.
"Maybe so" I replied "but I never really enjoyed it."
"Why was that?" he asked.
"Because I would always be the one who would have to hide" I replied "but no-one ever bothered to come to look for me!"

Saturday 5th July 2025 – MISERABLE FAILURE …

… that I am, I was asleep again this morning when the alarm went off at 06:30.

However, I had been awake earlier just as it was becoming light and I was lying there thinking about struggling to my feet but I must have gone to sleep at some point because the sound of the alarm in broad daylight was the next thing that I remember.

It wasn’t as if I’d had too much of a late night either. I was in bed for about 23:45, which is quite early these days, and I must have gone to sleep quite quickly too. I’ve no idea at what time I awoke but it wasn’t too early either, even though it was only just becoming light, and I wish that I’d summoned up the energy to look at the time.

Once I was up, I had a very leisurely start to the morning and it took me over an hour to be back in here after having had a wash and taken my medication.

First thing that I did back in here was to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I’d signed up for a new team of something or other. The reason why I’d come there was because I knew some of the people there and they were really quite friendly. I soon had a change of opinion when I went in to start there. There was one particular incident where we were changing and someone came along and took the chair that I was using to put my clothes on so I simply went to fetch another one. The boss came roaring in, accusing me of pushing in front of other people to fetch a chair. I told him that that was nonsense. I told him what had happened and he pointed to someone else, saying that he says differently. I said that he was wrong so the boss asked if I was calling him a liar. I replied that I was saying what I did and not what anyone else says that I did. He replied “right, then we’ll ask him what this other person did” but the other person turned his head away. The boss wasn’t going to let this drop. He asked “where are your clothes anyway at the moment?”. I replied that they were on my body, so he asked “what do you need a chair for?”. I replied that they won’t be on my body for very long. He pointed to me and said “in any case, you have a broken back. What are you here for anyway?”. “I don’t have a broken back”. “Yes, you have” he retorted. I was about to say that I’d just had a medical and no medical had ever picked up anything about a broken back but he just went on and on and on. Then he turned to a girl who was there too and asked “what about your medication?”. She replied “I don’t take it while I’m at work”. He replied “you should take it while you are at work and it should be noted down”. She replied “if I were to do that, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be on sick leave”. He replied “it doesn’t matter. You note down all the medication that you take when you go on work”. I said to this girl “I can see exactly how this is going to turn out. Neither of us will be here by the end of the week”. She replied “yes, just after I’ve ordered a barrel of 400 litres of something to last me all through the year too”.

This is a combination of a couple of events. The first one was an interview with a new player at Stranraer, who said that what encouraged him to sign for the club rather than any other was the fact that he already knew several players who were already there and so it would be like being on familiar territory.

The second part is clearly a reference to that most disagreeable male nurse at Paris whom I bawled out in front of the doctor because of his arrogant, aggressive tone. And if he starts his nonsense next time I’m there, never mind the end of the week, I won’t be there at the end of the session. I am rapidly reaching the end of my tether with all of this nonsense.

There was also something about being at a hospital, but I have only the vaguest recollection and nothing was recorded about it.

Isabelle the Nurse breezed in on the end of a hurricane. She couldn’t stop, and hadn’t read my “War and Peace” from Paris, but one thing for which she did ask was a copy of my photo from Paris, the one with the mouse on it. I’ve no idea what she intends to do with it, but it all sounds quite mysterious.

After she left, I made breakfast and read some more of MY BOOK.

Today, we’ve been discussing the Barons’ War of 1215, its effect on Baynard’s Castle and the grievances of the Fitzwalter family but there was nothing particular of any interest.

The allegations seemed to be that King John had set his eye on Matilda, the daughter of Robert Fitzwalter, but both father and daughter refused John’s advances and when some kind of undercurrent against the Kings reign swelled up, Fitzwalter attached himself to it vigour in revenge.

After breakfast, I had some housekeeping to do in here on the computer, only to be surprised by my cleaner who caught me unawares.

The taxi came early too and despite ending up with three passengers, we were early arriving at Avranches.

For a change, I was coupled up early. There wasn’t much at all to extract so I persuaded them to go for 1 kg and bring down my dry weight. And then left in peace to carry on with my work. Not even the doctor came to see me, which was unusual considering the events of Thursday.

One interruption though was from the house agents of my landlord here. They have had my notice of leaving and want to come round to photograph the place in order to advertise it. We arranged for them to come on Friday afternoon

Connected up early, I was disconnected early too and for another change, the taxi was already waiting. The drive home, behind all of the arriving tourists, stopping every half-mile to admire the seagulls, took longer than it should and we had a drama when the driver drove right past the turning where we need to go to drop off my fellow passenger. We had to do a quick lap round the block to go back.

Back here, my faithful cleaner was waiting. We went into the apartment to rescue the lettuce and had a discussion about how we would try to make my place look presentable for the photographer.

Back here, I collapsed into a chair for half an hour, and then made some tea. Chips, falafel and salad. Not very much of it at all, but I still struggled to eat it all. And, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall, if I’m off my food, then I really am ill.

It’s still quite early but nevertheless, I’m going to bed. I’ve had enough for today. I’m still not feeling very well, even after all of this time, and I now have one of those heavy summer colds that I have occasionally.

Tomorrow I have a Welsh class all day, so I need to be on the best form that I possibly can. God help me.

But seeing as we have been talking about doctors and other people telling me how ill I am … "well, one of us has" – ed … it reminds me of the time when I went to see the school nurse after an accident on the football field.
"You’ve broken your arm in two places" she told me
"So tell me which two places they are" I replied "and I shan’t go there again."

EPIC HALL

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