…. bunch of coc … errr … I have a lovely clean bed in which t climb later tonight.

And in fact, there’s a lovely … "well, maybe not" – ed … clean me to climb into it too. It’s Wednesday and with my cleaner giving me either the grand toilet or the soutien moral, one or the other, I’ve had a really beautiful shower.

And while I was under the shower she went and changed the bed for the clean bedding that was washed a couple of weeks ago. It does look lovely, fresh and inviting, and I shall be doing my best to be in there at a reasonable time tonight.

Not like last night. Having crowed yesterday about my reasonable night and early start, I couldn’t find the energy to go to bed last night and it was quite a way after 01:00 when I finally made it into bed

And there weren’t ‘arf some strange goings -on last night. At one point I was away with the fairies, being careful not to do anything that would earn reprobation from the editor of Aunt Judy’s Magazine, when I used a certain word. Someone else in my bedroom repeated it loudly, but in an interrogative way as if questioning why I’d used that word, and that awoke me. I sat up, bolt-upright, and of course there was no-one there. I looked at the watch and it was 06:57 and the alarm was due to sound any minute now. I wish that I could remember what the word was now because it must have been really important and significant.

When the alarm went off I staggered into the bathroom to sort myself out with a good wash and scrub up, and then came back in here to listen to the dictaphone.

To my surprise there was something on there from last night. I was trying to kill some kind of insect that was living inside the kernel of some nut. I put it in some kind of heated – what would you call it? – a heated kind of pair of scissors that make an impression on a piece of paper or something on a wax seal … "an embossing stamp" – ed … I tried to press it with that but it didn’t seem to work. In the meantime there was someone else, some woman, who was trying to sort out the decoration of some of the rooms in this palace. I was supposed to be helping her but I was too busy with a little task. She said that she’d have to go off and find a stronger ladder to do one particular job. I looked at this press that I had and squeezed it but the kernel was burnt and whatever was in it was burnt to a crisp. The pair of scissors thing had become so hot that whatever it was that would melt the wax seal had melted away itself so I doubted it these would be any good. Then I noticed that up in the building, higher up, there were some lights that had come on in one room so I went up there. There was someone else there decorating and they had two rooms on the go at once. I could see that they were busy so I helped them with the masking tape to hold down some of the paper that was being used to protect the woodwork and the drawings on the walls from being painted over.

It’s not as if I would have volunteered to do any painting and decorating back in the old days. But when I had finished the attic and the first floor back at the farm and it was time to wallpaper and paint everywhere, I found that I quite enjoyed doing it. However, it’s certainly different when you have the time, the space and the proper tools and material to do it. Cheap white emulsion with some coloured dye in it makes a lovely surface on top of some of that glass-fibre paper. MY BEDROOM DOWN ON THE FARM looked wonderful when it was finished. It’s a shame that I only benefitted from it for four months. I hope that the mice are enjoying it.

Isabelle the nurse came round again, slightly less rushed than yesterday. She had some news to tell me and taught me a new useful phrase which I promptly forgot. That’s just how it is, I reckon.

After she left I made breakfast and carried on with this thesis that I’ve been reading. Our American friend tells us that William the Conqueror must have had some genuine belief that he was overlord of Wales, because of a remark that one of his chroniclers said.

Apparently, William’s defeat of the English was equated to Caesar’s defeat of the Britons and our friend thinks that the “English” refers to the people living in England but “Britons” means the people living in Great Britain – the whole of the island – and so equating the two events means that William considers himself to have the same rights over all of the island.

That’s a perfectly true situation today, this definition of “English” and the one of “Britons”, but that certainly wasn’t the case in 1066 and in 43AD. In 43AD there were no English people in Britain so it’s quite natural that Caesar didn’t fight them. The Angles and Saxon who made up the roots of the English people didn’t begin to flood in until the 5th Century.

Consequently Caesar was not differentiating in his speech between the “English” and the “Britons” as our American friend seems to think

And that is one thing that really gets on my wick, as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … People should stop looking at historical events and people from a modern perspective. They need to be judged on the standards, opinion and perspective of their time.

Back in here I had a few things to do and then I pushed on with the radio programme that I mentioned yesterday.

This one was extremely complicated. There were only four tracks, one of which was 21 minutes long, and there could neither be any more nor any less. And even finding the four that I ended up choosing was complicated

With that kind of constraint I had to have the text to approximately the correct length right from the very start because there was no other music that I could add in, and nothing that I could take away.

When I write out the text I calculated who long it would run when dictated and I planned it to be 30 seconds over, in case of emergencies. But by the time that I’d finished merging it into the music I’d trimmed off 25 seconds off the time and I could find plenty of speech to edit out to lose the extra five seconds.

But it didn’t ‘arf take some juggling about.

After I’d finished that I chose all of the music for the next programme. That’s going to be a return to the boring, run-of-the-mill programmes because there was nothing special to celebrate or to remember on the date for which the programme is being prepared.

There were several breaks in the proceedings.

There was lunch of course – one of my flapjacks and an apple. later on there was the hot chocolate and crackers with hummus as a mid-afternoon snack

But there was also the shower, and you’ve no idea (or maybe you do, I dunno) just how good it feels to be in there. I had the water really hot and I loved every minute of it. And I took my time, washing my undies while I was at it.

But my faithful cleaner gave me a good scrutiny going in and coming out. She noticed that this week I didn’t need any help, and I was moving so much better, climbing in and out without aid. I might be tempted to have a go on my own one day when she’s not here.

One thing that was quite important was that I managed finally to have a telephone conversation with the hospital at Paris.

The secretary assured me that I hadn’t been forgotten even though I’d had no contact with them since June and the promised appointment at the end of August had come and gone and nothing had happened.

She said that only a week or two ago my case was discussed and there are plans to bring me back for a week. I replied that that was what they said in June about coming at the end of August, but she promised me that it really was on the cards this time.

We shall see.

With no leftover stuffing, tonight’s curry was a leftover curry from several weeks – even months – ago that had been in the freezer. It was still just as good, even if the naan bread fell apart

So tomorrow I’m being dialysed again. I wonder if it will hurt as much as the last few times.

But right now, there’s clean bedding, clean clothes and a clean me and we are all looking to unite in bed tonight even if it’s somewhat later than intended

But seeing as we have brought the Romans into the story … "well, one of us has" – ed … Caesar is walking around the Forum when he sees a young man who looks exactly like his son.
So Caesar goes up to him and asks "Young man – I don’t suppose that your … errr … mother ever worked in the Imperial Palace on the night shift, did she?"
"Ohh no" replied the boy "But my father did"