Thursday 19th March 2026 – I AM BACK …

… on this “not eating” lark again. Regular readers of this rubbish will recall me saying over the last few days that I was sure that my taste buds were changing again. Well, tonight, half of my tea (and a big half too) went into the bin before it had even made it onto the plate. I simply couldn’t face it.

Coupled with that, the pain in my foot, which had subsided for a period of about twelve hours, is now back. And back in spades too.

A lot of this might actually have something to do with last night. As usual these days, it was another late night – just after 23:30 when I finally crawled into bed. And once more, it took quite a while to go off to sleep.

It was another turbulent night as well. I can’t remember how many times I awoke, but I do know that when the alarm went off at 06:29, I was wide-awake and had been for about half an hour.

In the bathroom, when I eventually arrived there, I had a good wash and a shave, not that it would do me much good, and then went off to have my hot drink and medication.

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

There was some kind of raid on the Football League headquarters by some group or other. They had managed to kick down the door and swarm in. Several clubs on the ground floor, mainly the lower-league ones, they simply didn’t try to reinforce any more doors and stay safe. Of course, all the big clubs fled upstairs, and some of the smaller ones were overwhelmed by the invaders. Gradually, they came higher up the stairs, picking off others. Someone who was so incensed by the activities of the bigger clubs in sitting there on the top floor, apparently safe, that he would shout up every time a smaller club was overwhelmed. He would shout up the name of the club in the hope that it would embarrass, but gradually, this dream became something like the play-off or something or other for the next round of the cup. There was a ball in defence that was kicked way out of the field halfway across Wales. Two players, one from Crewe Alexandra and one from a minor club in Crewe, set out to chase after it. After a long period, it was the club, the representative or whatever from the minor club in Crewe who came back with the ball, about ten yards ahead of the Crewe Alexandra player. This brought cheers from everyone because it meant that it would be this club that would be playing in the next round of the competition and not Crewe Alexandra.

This is another weird dream that seems to have no significance at all.Mind you, I’ve grown up with Crewe Alexandra being eliminated from the FA Cup by all kinds of part-time or amateur outfits, so nothing in this dream surprises me at all.

The idea of other football leagues raiding the FA headquarters and eliminating some clubs is certainly a novel idea, though. I can think of several candidates for elimination myself.

I was back in Canada. I was living there throughout the winter, and I needed to adapt myself to some Canadian winter clothes. The first thing that I really needed was a really heavy overcoat with a hood on it, so I went to look. I heard of someone part-exchanging one, so I went along to see. They had several in there so I chose the one with the front toggle fastening and hood, so this person proceeded to put it on and to demonstrate to the people who were watching. I had to tell him five or six times that that was the one that I wanted. In the end, even I became confused. He was intent on showing every last feature on this overcoat to the watchers before he’d give this coat to me. Eventually, I was given it, so I tried it on. It was a little too big for me but that was fine because I could wear several layers of clothing underneath.

This is rather wishful thinking, isn’t it? me being back in Canada. I need to resign myself to the fact that I’ll never be there again, with or without a duffel coat.

There had been a series of serious crimes committed in Georgia. The FBI had been on the trail and they’d obtained the identity of someone whom they thought was the perpetrator. One of the things that they knew about him was that he used to eat orange after orange after orange. They made a few enquiries and found that there was an old shack that was some kind of workers’ rest place from many, many years ago in an area of forest which used to be an orange grove in the past. I was sent to keep an eye on this place, which was very difficult because there wasn’t any cover. I saw whom I thought might have been the guy, who came out of and then disappeared back into this forest, so all of the police turned up on a bus. They set out to comb through this forest, piece by piece. Eventually, we found this building and I was one of the ones chosen to go through and search it. Some people were taking this search very casually, and others were being extremely cautious. I was one of those being extremely cautious in that I’d open a door really wide and wait for a minute before going in, and I was continually looking over my shoulder to make sure that somehow he hadn’t come behind me. We combed through the building but found nothing. There was a member of our party who was some kind of senior woman who was actually sitting on a window ledge with her back to the outside, sending messages on her ‘phone. I tried to explain to her that that was not the place to sit because he could come up from the outside and pull her out, but she didn’t seem to take too much attention, so I left her to it. After I was satisfied and everyone else was satisfied that there was no-one in this building, we went outside. Sure enough, he crept up to the building and pulled this woman out and held her as a kind of hostage. However, he was picked off by a sharpshooter who hit him in the shoulder and he was taken away. I headed back to town – I was given a lift by this woman. She was telling me about her work and her position, and everything that she had to do, which sounded extremely complicated. Because her partner, or other shift leader or whatever, was on holiday, she was having to work to be in charge of the two shifts. I thought that that must be extremely tiring.

This is another long, totally meaningless dream that relates to nothing at all that I know of. But can you imagine – a dangerous lunatic prowling around and someone sitting with their back to an open window?

Isabelle the Nurse turned up as usual and reminded me to berate the doctors at dialysis about my state of mind. Not that I need reminding, of course, because it’s preying on my mind, and I wish that someone, somewhere would find a solution.

After she left, I made breakfast and read some more of ESSAYS ON THE LATIN ORIENT by William A Miller.

Today, the subject was the death of Francisco II of Lesbos, who, we are told, "on a journey through the island, while passing the night in one of the lofty towers then common in the archipelago, was stung by a scorpion. Alarmed at his cries, his attendants and nobles climbed up into his room in such numbers that the floor collapsed and he was killed on the spot"

His father, by the way, was killed when the building in which he was sitting collapsed during an earthquake, and Francesco II was the only survivor.

Back in here, I had a few things to do and then I attacked the radio programme that I’d started yesterday. By the time that I needed to go to make myself ready for dialysis, all of the songs had been chosen, remixed, re-edited, paired and segued, and I’d even written some of the notes.

One of my favourite taxi drivers came to pick me up and we had a lovely drive down to Avranches in the sun. And not long after I arrived, I was coupled up to a machine, which was nice. They even remembered to adjust the dry weight.

Generally speaking, they left me alone throughout the session – the doctor on duty never even came near me – and I was unplugged at something like a respectable hour.

The taxi driver was waiting to take me home too, but the enormous traffic jam spoiled any chance of being home at a reasonable hour.

My cleaner helped me into the apartment, and then I told you the sorry tale about tonight’s tea. At least my vegan cheesecake was nice.

So right now, I’m off to bed, hoping for a good sleep … "if the pain in his foot will let him" – ed … ready for my postponed Welsh class tomorrow.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about being held hostage … "well, one of us has" – ed … a certain American president was being held hostage in a house at the side of the highway by a group of Iranians.
The American police were there, stopping all of the traffic.
"It’s the President" said a policeman. "They are holding the President in that house there, and they say that if they don’t receive ten million dollars by tonight, they’ll douse him in gasoline and set him alight. We’re taking a collection"
"How much are people giving?" asked a motorist
"The average so far is about two litres each."

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