… something this afternoon that I haven’t done for quite some time.

But that’s enough about Percy Penguin for now – what else I did this afternoon that I haven’t done for quite some time is to crash out on my chair.

Back in the old days, I remember the times that I’ve fought against going to sleep, but I’ve never been able to do anything, being so tired. So letting myself go at those times, I’ve awoken feeling much more energetic and lively.

And that’s exactly how it was today. I’ve had a dreadful, painful morning (and afternoon, and evening) and round about 15:00 I reached a point where I was no longer able to function. At 15:36 when I awoke, I was certainly feeling much better and could crack on

All of this started yesterday. I wasn’t feeling myself all day (which is just as well, as it’s a disgusting habit) and it gradually drifted deeper and deeper into the abyss. I finished my notes and everything else at about 22:55 and having then dictated the radio notes, I was in bed at 23:15 ready for a long night until 08:00 and my Sunday lie-in.

However, regular readers of this rubbish will recall what usually happens on a Sunday following a Saturday dialysis session. And this morning was no exception either.

It was still pitch-dark outside when I awoke. I’ve no idea what time it was but I certainly didn’t look. I buried myself back under the bedclothes and there I stayed.

At some point I must have gone off to sleep again because I awoke just as it was becoming light. A glance at the clock showed that it was about 06:05. This time I didn’t go back to sleep and when I heard the electric water heater switch off at 06:20 I crawled out of my bed.

If ever there was a morning that I didn’t feel like it, then it was today. The stabbing pain was still going in my foot and is still going now which, after thirty hours, is something of a record. I felt washed out and exhausted, "like butter scraped over too much bread" as Bilbo Baggins once famously said.

In the bathroom I had a good wash and then went for my medication.

Back in here I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. My cleaner came by while I was in hospital and had a quick look at me, then proceeded to wipe her hands clean on the bed clothing. I was so annoyed. I thought that it was a horrible thing to do

Not that she would ever do such a thing. After all, she’s nowhere near as uncouth as I might be.

And then I was working on the accompaniment for a TV show with a group. They were performing some music there. One of the songs was an extremely complicated song, although it wasn’t complicated – it was complicated to make it right. It was just not seeming to fit at all no matter how we edited it. Listening to it became rather painful after a while. That was when I began to have the pain in my heel again and that awoke me

Yes, that’s rather psychosomatic, isn’t it? Building up to an attack of pain in my foot like that.

There was also something else about being out for a drive around Northern France somewhere, coming across a repair garage, an old place with a couple of old cars outside. It was a total mess of untidiness inside there. I stopped and had a brief “hello” with them and carried on driving. I went past there a couple of times. On one occasion, there was a Traction Avant and a microcar stuck outside. That suddenly rang a bell with me. I stopped and went in and they all greeted me, even in the mess that they were in. I asked “you didn’t by any chance used to live in the Auvergne, did you?”. One of these two guys said “well, we did have some connection with somewhere”. I asked “it wasn’t Montlucon in the Allier, was it?”. He replied “as a matter of fact it was”. I replied “then you’ll remember me from 25 years ago. I came with a friend and we took away some microcars from you”. He could remember, and remember more about it than I did, and we had quite a chat. They were preparing to go somewhere while I was hanging around there. We went out of the rear of the garage to look at the other cars that he had, but there was nothing particularly interesting there. His wife was there, busily trying to cut off a tree, a tree that had been pollarded in the past so it had shot out from about nine feet upwards. She was there trying to cut off one of these outstretched branches to use on the fire before they went. I thought that that was really strange. Then they were preparing to go. They had a tractor just like mine. We were talking about fitting a tow-bar on it and towing trailers etc. They also had someone there who was really not all that intelligent, rather slow, so they suggested that he went to talk to the others who were busy trying to sing this song while we finished off preparing everything and then we could all go.

This rings loads of bells with me. Nerina and I did once meet a guy who had a Traction Avant for sale, a garagiste in Cergy-Pontoise in the suburbs of Paris. His place was like this one in the dream. And there was a garagiste in Montlucon in the Allier who had a pile of scrap Microcars and two of those ended up in the UK at the house of someone whom I knew at the time. I also did once have a little tractor with a tow-bar, and I rigged it up with a generator and inverter so that I could run my cement mixer down the fields. There are loads of miles in this dream.

Having done that, I carried on with the printer and now the offending file has been identified and eliminated. I could proceed with the uninstallation of the remaining bits of the program and then perform a full install ready to start again

Isabelle the Nurse didn’t stop for long and I didn’t manage to see her photos of Copenhagen. Not to worry though. It’s not as if I don’t know where Copenhagen is.

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

We’ve now left Portchester and have arrived at Richard’s Castle in Herefordshire. But before leaving Portchester, I must admit that I did have quite a laugh, even though I know that I shouldn’t.

He tells us that "Henry I., probably before 1133, seems to have built the keep, and enclosed the inner ward, repaired the Roman curtain, rebuilt or restored the gatehouse, and placed a hall and other domestic buildings along the south side of the inner ward. It may be that Henry himself raised the keep before the works were completed, ".

There I was, picturing the scene of King Henry in his ermine robes and crown, wielding a trowel and a bucket of cement, stacking blocks of ashlar one on top of another while his courtiers all stood around admiring the handiwork.

Back in here I had quite a slow start but I managed to edit the notes for the eleventh track of programme 260403 and now that programme is all ready to go at the appropriate moment.

Next task was to print out the invoice for the electrician and prepare it for sending off, and then order the taxi for 3rd of June to take me to Paris, sending off all of the paperwork.

There were some radio notes from a couple of weeks ago that I’d begun to edit but didn’t go very far. I finished those off this morning too and assembled the two halves of the radio programme. I chose the eleventh track and wrote out the notes ready for dictation on Saturday night next.

Rosemary rang me at about midday and we had a short chat today – just about one hour and four minutes. We’re obviously losing our touch.

That took me up to lunchtime, and then after my cheese on toast I came back in here.

All through the day I’d been feeling dreadful and feeling worse and worse as the day wore on. Round about 15:00 I abandoned the fight and let myself slide into oblivion. Very disappointing, I have to admit, but necessary

When I awoke I was feeling better, and I cracked on and dealt with the notes for the following radio programme. The eleventh track has been chosen and the notes prepared ready for dictating for that too.

In between, I made a spicy ginger cake and it looks really good. I can’t wait to taste it.

Tonight’s pizza was excellent too, another one of the best that I have made. And now I’m going to bed while I still can. If I can sleep is another matter completely, what with all of this pain in my foot that’s still going on.

But seeing as we have been talking about the King and his labours … "well, one of us has" – ed … it reminds me about Charles and Andrew discussing the art of making love. They couldn’t agree whether it was work, or pleasure, or a combination of both.
In the end they decide to ask one of their humble serfs on one of the Royal farms.
They put the question to the first one that they met and after a moment’s thought he replied "I reckon that it must be one hundred percent pleasure"
"Why is that?" The Royals asked.
"Well, " said the humble serf "I reckon that if there was any slight amount of work at all involved in it, you badgers would have us poor sods do it for you."