… we returned to something rather resembling routine this morning.
Yesterday, I mentioned that I was up and about, writing my notes, at 04:01 this morning. and it didn’t take me too long to finish them either. I was back in bed for 05:10 and there I lay, dead to the World.
It was Isabelle the Nurse who awoke me when she came in at about 08:30. She sorted out my legs and feet and I told her my tale of woe from yesterday. She sympathised but didn’t offer any practical advice or solutions.
After she cleared off, my friend brought me a mug of coffee in bed, which was lovely, but I fell asleep again, and when I awoke, it was stone cold so I must have been asleep for a long time.
When I finally went into the kitchen, the place was as deserted as the Marie Celeste. I reckon that the Hound of the Baskervilles had dragged his master off for walkies again. So I made my breakfast and read some of THE REPORT OF THE WOOLHOPE NATURALISTS CLUB 1870.
This morning, we were reading a report on Goodrich Castle, so naturally, I was off on a research trip all of my own, just as I used to do in university.
Back in here later, I had a few things to do and then I began to transcribe the dictaphone notes.
A famous footballer from Stoke City could only ever be that Manly Statues guy. Apart from him, the only other player who could ever approach anything near his fame would be Gordon Banks.
But it’s a strange dream, this one, because I have never before ever been interested in what the Clayheads have been doing.
Later on …
Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that Nerina and I WENT TO NEW YORK A FEW DAYS AGO on a voyage, so this must be in the throes of becoming a regular occurrence.
And some of our family deciding to accompany us would be the kiss of death on a trip like this, too, so it’s just as well that I fell asleep again before it all went out-of-hand.
In fact, when I arose from the bed earlier, I’d found the dictaphone on the floor down by the bed, still switched on, still recording.
Interestingly, it contained not only me snoring and coughing, but also Isabelle the Nurse coming into the apartment, and the first thing that she said was "Bonjour, the Hound of the Baskervilles!" – nothing at all to my friend and me. And her last words were, inevitably, "au revoir, the Hound of the Baskervilles!"
After the dictaphone, there was football – the match in the Scottish fourth tier between Stranraer and Dumbarton. Stranraer went a goal down in the first half, and then an astonishing change of fortune enabled them to play like I have never seen them play before, and they scored a runaway three goals. Wouldn’t it be nice if Y Flint could ever have a change of fortune like that?
Once I’d finished all that, I went for a disgusting drink and the midday medication, and then I came back in here to begin to write the sixth chapter of my book.
However, by 14:00 I once more had a thirst that you could photograph, so in a wild break from the usual traditions, I had a beer – one of my “Kronenburg” alcohol-free ones – and it was delicious, straight out of the fridge, and I’ll buy some more of these next time, sales or no sales.
Back in here, I finished off Chapter Six, and at least, my chatbot likes it, which is good news. He’s currently my proofreader and keeps a check on spelling, punctuation and continuity. However, I really want a “real reader” to read it and to tell me if she likes the book and what she thinks, so that I know whether I’m on the right lines or whether I’m wasting my time.
It can’t be an adult, though, because adults won’t understand it and they’ll probably say that it’s boring and repetitive. It needs to be a girl of the same age bracket as our heroine – namely the 9-12 age group – and preferably brought up in a British environment. Volunteers (or their parents) please form a queue on the right. The story is effectively a modern-day fairy-tale.
Seriously, though, if anyone can conjure up such a person as part of their tribe, there’s a “contact me” button on the lower right of your screen.
Roubd about 16:15. I knocked off and went into the kitchen to do some baking, and by the time that I finished, I had a rather bizarre-shaped loaf and a really good pizza. I didn’t fancy the pizza myself but my friend tells me that it’s delicious.
So now, I’ll finish off my notes, do a few other things that need doing and then go to bed. If I can have an early night and a good sleep, I’ll be more than happy.
But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about fairy tales … "well, one of us has" – ed … there was an obvious story that I could tell, but this isn’t 1967 so it would go down today like a Led Zeppelin. Instead, I’ll tell the story that once upon a time, a little girl asked me if all fairy tales began with "Once upon a time".
"Of course not" I replied. "Most of them begin with ‘if I am elected, I promise’ … "
