Tag Archives: bouquet granvillais

Wednesday 6th August 2025 – I HAVE DONE …

… something this afternoon that I haven’t done for several weeks. That is, I have crashed out in my chair.

It might have been only for fifteen minutes but nevertheless, you have no idea how disappointing it is to have done so.

What was worse was that it was one of those moments where I didn’t realise that I’d crashed out until I awoke. I had not the slightest idea that I was on the verge of going. The only reason that I knew that it was for fifteen minutes was because I had just started listening to a concert soundtrack and when I awoke, I was just about fifteen minutes in. Otherwise, it could have been fifteen hours or even fifteen years and I wouldn’t have known the difference.

It wasn’t as if I was tired either. Admittedly, I didn’t go to bed until a little after 23:30 but I slept right the way through until all of 05:50 and these days, that’s a very long time for me.

It could, and should have been much earlier than that but as usual, I was carried away by all kinds of irrelevancies that distracted me from what I was supposed to be doing and I couldn’t press on with the important tasks at hand.

When I eventually found my way to bed, I wasn’t in the least bit tired. I imagined that I would be awake for quite a while but I didn’t hold out for very long at all and I was soon deep in the arms of Morpheus.

Awakening was another one of these sudden jolts upright. It was still dark so I was surprised to see that it was as late as it was. The nights are drawing in quite rapidly already. Gone are the days when it was becoming light at 04:00.

As usual, it took a good few minutes to haul myself out of bed and head into the bathroom for a good wash, and then into the kitchen for the medication.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night and, more importantly, who had come with me. Last night I was with Percy Penguin. I was in Canada preparing to go back to Europe but for some reason it took me an age to pack my things. Percy Penguin was sorry to see me go. My brother was preparing to leave too. We were struggling to have everything done when suddenly the bus put in an appearance so we had to rush. I found myself outside the gates of the garden with my suitcase and had to shout to the bus to tell him to wait for me for two minutes until I caught him up. Then I realised that again that I wasn’t on my crutches and I had my suitcase and my rucksack but by now the gates were closed and I couldn’t go back in, and the bus was there to take me to the airport, I’d forgotten the sandwiches that I had just made and I could see that this was going to be some kind of catastrophe. Then I heard that, with my brother deciding not to come, Percy penguin was trying to find her way out to catch the bus and come along. While this was all going on, we were listening to some kind of radio programme that was being prepared. It sounded totally crazy to me but it turned out to be a broadcast of the Goon Show. They were talking there about someone who had been responsible for a lot of Britain’s landscape and had designed the last foam rubber road and the last patchwork quilt field. I didn’t know what was happening with all of this.

It’s nice to see Percy Penguin back in my dreams. It’s years since I’ve seen her and a good while since she last came to see me during the night. She doesn’t figure in my dreams half as often as she deserves, seeing as she helped me through some very dark times all those years ago. But here we go again with my family and not only that, with Canada, without my crutches and another panic attack too. This dream is obviously telling me something and I wish that I knew just what it was.

Later on, I had a pick-up to do for someone at 20:30. I was quite early so I went to the village hall or whatever it was at 20:00 because I noticed a few people hanging around there. When I went in, a rock group was taking to the stage. I recognised it as being the modern equivalent of Man with John Mckenzie playing guitar. I didn’t recognise the bassist but he said that he had been with the group for twenty years so I assumed that it was Josh Ace, son of Martin. They began to play and it was a really good concert. There weren’t all that many people there but it was enjoyable all the same and I began to regret very much that I had this job to do at 20:30 because I could have stayed there all night.

By the way, I’ve added in the name of John McKenzie because during the night, I couldn’t think of it. He was the bassist with Man for a while but last night, he was playing a six-string guitar with Josh Ace, a guitarist, on bass, a black Rickenbacker 4000-series. At least, I think that it was Josh Ace. He was tall, well, built and with red hair and a beard. I met his parents, Martin and Georgina, when they were in Hanley years and years ago playing with their group, The Flying Aces. I seem to remember that they had Richard Treece, ex Help Yourself, also on guitar but I can’t for the life of me remember who the drummer was.

However, I do remember once in the early 90s driving halfway across Europe to a village hall somewhere because I’d heard that Man were playing there. It was a tiny village hall, just like the one in the dream, but the band was a totally different band of the same name and their music was … errr … disappointing.

Isabelle the nurse breezed into the apartment to sort out my legs and feet. She didn’t stop long, and I could press on with making my breakfast and reading some more of MY BOOK.

We’re reaching the end of the book so our author is summing up his work to date. But one thing that I have noticed is that despite the passage of time, there is very little that has changed.

He tells us, for example, that Londoners "be natural subjects, a part of the commons of this realm, and are by birth for the most part a mixture of all countries", very much like the London of today.

Another subject that is very topical today is what is considered to be the drain of wealth from beyond the M25 into the capital. Stow tells us that back in the last 16th Century there were"men which charge London with the loss and decay of many (or most) of the ancient cities, corporate towns and markets of this realm."

A third thing that he mentions is that one of"the only inconveniences of London" is "the immoderate drinking."

As you can see from the above, in the four centuries since Stow wrote his book, nothing whatever has changed.

However, I did have a smile when I read what he had to say about certain privileges of the Londoners being revoked by the King and only reinstated on payment of a heavy fine. He states various reasons why this should have taken place, such as that the citizens "misbehaved themselves in point of government and justice" but concludes by saying "to speak the plain truth, the princes have taken hold of small matters and coined good sums of money out of them."

But seeing as we have been talking about concluding … "well, one of us has" – ed … the book is now, regrettably, concluded. I found it a fascinating book and really enjoyed reading it too. Tomorrow we’ll be starting on Hilaire Belloc’s THE OLD ROAD – the story of the old Pilgrims’ Way from Winchester to Thomas a Beckett’s shrine at Canterbury Cathedral.

Back in here, I had the important task of going all the way through the list of what I need for the apartment downstairs, such as curtains, internet cables and the like. When my cleaner arrived to do her stuff, we went through it again and I sent it off. The stuff will start arriving on Friday and then we can crack on.

In the meantime, I’ve had some more disappointing news. One of my friends who was down to help me move has had a bad fall and dislocated his shoulder, so he’s had to withdraw. It seems that people are dropping like flies when I try to round them up.

This other plumber turned up this afternoon to inspect that work that needs doing. First of all, he couldn’t do half of the work but after a lengthy discussion, he went away and he’s now found a tiler who will fit the false wall and tile it. So if this plumber who is supposed to start on Monday fails to turn up, we may well have a Plan B.

In between everything else, I was writing the notes for the next radio programme and they are almost complete. And I could have finished them too had I not had that unfortunate doze off. Ahh well!

Tea tonight was a delicious leftover curry, and how I enjoyed it too. It really was one of the best that I have ever made.

So late again, I am off to bed ready for dialysis tomorrow, I don’t think. And when I come back, there will only be five more trips after that back up the stairs – assuming that there will still be people alive and kicking to help me move. At the rate that people are dropping out, it’s most unlikely that there will be anyone left.

But seeing as we have been talking about falling asleep … "well, one of us has" – ed … I think that if I were to die, that’s just how I would like to go. Just like this afternoon. All of a sudden, with no warning, no notice, nothing at all. Peacefully and quietly, just like my paternal grandfather.
Not yelling, screaming and panicking like the passengers in his minibus.

Tuesday 5th August 2025 – WHEN THE ALARM …

… went off this morning at 06:29, I was already sitting at my desk working.

In fact, I’d already dictated the radio notes that I’d written the other day, decided that I didn’t like how they turned out, deleted them and dictated them a second time.

That’s the kind of thing that you can do when you awaken at 05:10 and leave the bed at 05:20.

It wasn’t as if I’d had an early night last night either. After tea, I came back in here and dillied and dallied as usual these days, exhausted as I was after dialysis. I completely lost track of time and by the time that I realised what time it was and put my head down to work, it was far too late to do anything about it.

Eventually though, I finished my notes, took the statistics and backed up the computer, and then wandered off to bed.

For a change, it was a restless night. I must have awoken three or four times during the night, not that I remember too much about it. But at 05:10, as I said just now, I was awake and couldn’t go back to sleep.

With it being nice and quiet outside in the street, this was the opportunity to attack the notes and dictate them. And then delete them and dictate them a second time because the first attempt sounded as it I had been dictating with my head in a metal bucket.

When the alarm went off, I went off for a good wash and to take my medication. Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night.

My brother and I found ourselves back at home last night but there had been an enormous load of changes. We didn’t understand any of it because our mother had totally changed the system of supplies and we didn’t know exactly where we were. When we began to look through everything, we could see that there were some deficiencies so we went into the rear living room to have a further look in there. My mother was most aggressive when we began to ask about certain things and chased us away. We began to go through the pantry where there were all kinds of different kinds of food there, all these special types of food that had points with them for prizes etc. There was one set that had points for individual presents rather than out of a catalogue. We just didn’t understand why all of this had been bought. My brother wasn’t being very careful. He was dropping tins over the floor and I was picking them up to put them back. In the end I was stressed out so I just picked up a tin of luncheon meat off the floor and threw it at him, telling him to be more careful. He didn’t really appreciate that. There was all of this going on to our food supplies, what we had in stock in the kitchen which was nothing at all like what we were used to having

So here we go again. No matter what happens, I don’t seem to be able to separate myself from my family during the night. Apart from my niece in Canada, during normal waking hours, I haven’t wasted a minute’s thought about my family for decades. But during the night, when I’m trying my best to think about Castor, Zero and TOTGA, along comes my family to push me out of my stride and I wish that they wouldn’t.

As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … I don’t mind Nerina coming along during the night because I did invite her to share my life, for better or worse (and she will probably think that it was more of the latter) and in any case, you can’t live with someone for nine years and not like them, but the others can push off.

The description of my mother as “aggressive” was certainly very apposite. She lived in her own little World and only very rarely did she make contact with the World in which the rest of us lived. She had had all kinds of torments when she was younger which explains a lot, but it didn’t make life easier for the rest of us.

Anyway, I digress … "again" – ed … I shall have to stop being in such an introspective mood and look more outward, even if that’s not possible until I’m downstairs (two weeks to go).

Isabelle the Nurse turned up to deal with my legs so I told her of my encounter with Emilie the Cute Consultant, whom she knows.

Isabelle also thinks that going to Paris is too much for me and is wearing me down. She’s seen how I am when I return and notices a great difference. She thinks that I’ll still be very ill when I return from Rennes if they keep on giving me this second product. She reckons (and so does everyone else) that the biggest difference will come when I don’t have twenty-five stone steps to climb every time I come back from a medical appointment.

And seeing as we have been discussing medical appointments … "well, one of us has" – ed … the Centre de Réeducation has contacted me. They would like me to go for an assessment interview on 26th September.

The letter contains a note “pre-admission” so it looks as if they are lining me up for another thirty sessions of treatment. Not that the first course of thirty did me much good, but I’m hoping that with the chemotherapy, something might happen that will make my lot a little easier.

After Isabelle left, I could make breakfast and read some more of MY BOOK.

Today, we have been reading an endless list of mayors and aldermen of the City of London, with his acid remarks about some of them.

There’s nothing exciting from that point of view, although some of the actions of the mayors that John Stow highlights are quite interesting.

Two that spring to mind are firstly, in 1352 the mayor "procured an act of parliament that no known whore should wear any hood or attire on her head, except red or striped cloth of divers colours."

Secondly, in 1472 the mayor "Sir William Hampton punished strumpets and caused stocks to be set in every ward to punish vagabonds."

The stocks clearly didn’t act as the necessary deterrent because in 1503, the mayor, Sir William Capell "caused a cage in every ward to be set for the punishing of vagabonds.".

Back in here, I had some more furniture to put up for sale, and that involved taking photos and measurements.

Once they were online, I had two offers straight away but after some time spent in intense negotiations, I worked out that these were some kind of phishing attack for my bank account details so I abandoned the discussion. One of the site owners also came to the same conclusion because one of my correspondents was pulled from the site.

The rest of the day has been spent dealing with the radio programme, that is, when I’ve not been having a disgusting drink break. The programme is now finished and it sounds quite good except where there is the “blip” where the speed changes and I had to do my best to adjust it. I can hear the change, but I doubt if anyone else can.

Tea tonight was a taco roll and as I had run out of mayonnaise, I had to make some more. The wine vinegar is downstairs and the only vinegar up here, apart from the malt vinegar, was some balsamic vinegar. It certainly gives the mayonnaise a different taste and it’s not unpleasant at all.

So right now, I’m off to bed, later than I would like, but that’s what comes of having to stop and make mayonnaise and then wash up all of the oily, greasy machinery. Tomorrow it’s shower day so we shall see how we go. Someone wants to come to look round to see the plumbing job so that will keep me out of mischief for a while.

But seeing as we have been talking about my mother’s cooking … "well, one of us has" – ed … it reminds me of a girlfriend from school who came round to our house one evening.
My mother made everyone a hot drink and then a couple of hours later, she asked if we wanted another one.
My girlfriend hesitated. "If that just now was coffee, " she said "could I have tea, please? But if it was tea, could I have a coffee?"

Sunday 3rd August 2025 – I HAVE DONE …

… something this morning that I have not done for several months, and it took me completely by surprise.

This morning, I awoke early as usual after a dialysis session – 03:10 in fact. But that’s far too early to be showing a leg, even if I am accustomed to some very early mornings these days, and so I decided that I would curl up underneath the quilt and see if I couldn’t go back to sleep for a short while.

And sleep I did. When I awoke, the sun was streaming in through the bedroom window, the birds were singing, and a glance at the time showed that it was actually 07:37. How long is it since I’ve been in bed at that time of the morning (illness excepted, of course)?

It wasn’t as if I’d had a late night either. I’d finished all of my notes by 22:15, so the timestamp tells me, and after taking the stats and carrying out the back-up of the computer, it was 22:30 when I crawled into bed. And it didn’t take long for me to go to sleep.

On a Sunday, I plan to have a lie-in and so the alarm is set for 08:00 but since dialysis began seriously, I don’t think that I’ve ever actually stayed in bed until then, a far cry from when I had no visiting nurse in the morning, no alarm call and sometimes I’d stay in bed until after midday.

Had it been a normal day with an alarm at 06:29, lying in bed like this would have been classed as an abject failure, but on a Sunday it would be classed as an early start. However, I’m not going to note it as such because it’s disappointing.

Despite it being late, it still took me a few minutes to rise to my feet, and then I wandered off into the bathroom and then into the kitchen for the medication.

There wasn’t a lot of time for me to do anything much before Isabelle the Nurse arrived. She’d told me that she would be late because of the annual book sale in the walled town but she had the wrong date and it’s not until the 16th of August so in fact there was nothing to interrupt her passage and she was early.

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

Our author is still in Westminster and has gone to the Great hall, where he describes in great detail the origins of the King’s Bench, the system of Courts and Judges that lasted until about 1875. Initially, it followed the King around on his Royal Circuits, trying cases that had arisen since its last visit and which later settled in the Great Hall, with only a part of the Court followed the King.

He tells us that "King Edward IV, in the year 1462, in Michaelmas term" because the Court had four terms, Hillary, Easter, Trinity and Michaelmas "sat in the King’s Bench three days together, in the open court, to understand how his laws were ministered and executed."

Another thing that he mentions is "a cloister of curious workmanship" built by Doctor John Chambers, the King’s physician. How I would have liked to see that!

He’s being continually surprised by the meals and banquets that are being served up, as am I, I have to admit. He tells us of John Mansell, the King’s Councillor, who organised a banquet for "The Kings and Queens of England and Scotland, Edward, the King’s son, earls, barons, knights, the Bishop of London and divers citizens." His house turned out to be far too small and he had to erect "tents and pavillions" and "there was such a multitude that seven hundred messes of meat did not serve for the first dinner."

There’s also mention of another huge banquet with an enormous quantity of food and "sundry wines and plenteous wise" that went on through the night and ended with "the king and queen being conveyed with great lights into the palace."

Back in here, there were the dictaphone notes to transcribe. I was in Canada last night, round at my niece’s. Everyone had gone out and left me on my own for a while. By now, it was almost teatime and I was feeling hungry but it was very difficult to know what to eat. In the end I had a scavenge around and found some noodles and some powdered soy sauce which I thought would probably do for now. Then I found that I couldn’t open any of the tins or bottles. By now my niece and her husband were back and they were watching me as I tried to saw off with a sharp knife the bands that hold things like knives in their sheaths etc to try to have some kitchen utensils. My niece asked me if I wanted something else so I replied that I’d made a start on this so it would do. My niece’s husband asked me if I wanted to listen to any music. I asked him what he had and he read out a whole list of CDs so I mentioned one or two, so he gave them to me. However, he didn’t tell me where to switch them on, where the CD player was. So I was standing there with these useless utensils in one hand and a useless couple of CDs in the other hand and this strange concoction of food on the plaque de cuisson.

So here we go again. I’m feeling nostalgic for Canada again. That’s something that I shall have to chase out of my mind and accept that it’s never going to happen again. However, I did actually find a packet of noodles when I was tidying the kitchen the other day. Apart from the indecision, which seems to happen a lot in my dreams, I can’t fit the rest in with anything else.

Nerina and I had moved house, and we were thinking of adopting a cat. We went to the local animal shelter and the person there listened to our story and offered us a female cat and her five new-born kittens. Much as I liked cats, I thought that that was far too much and so did Nerina but the guy was doing his best to persuade us, saying that all food will be provided etc, but we were still not keen at all on this idea of having this kind of cat family in the house.

Anyone who has ever looked after a cat will know that you don’t actually choose a cat – a cat chooses you. You’ll have an idea about the kind of cat that you would like and go to a refuge to find one but you’ll always come back with completely the opposite of what you would have liked. Your ideal cat would be there, but it would take one look at you and slink off into a dark corner but another cat will cling to your legs and won’t let go.

There was also something about being in Virlet but I can’t remember anything about it now.

After that, I had a very slow start to the day and didn’t do very much at all for quite a while. I had hoped to see the Forfar v Stranraer football match but for some reason, the stream didn’t come online this morning and it’s still not appeared. I’ve no idea why not either because usually, the camera team is quite reliable.

Once I’d decided to start work, I carried on with the radio programme that I’d started the other day. All of the music is now remixed and apart from in one or two places where we had issues setting tone and amending the speed of a couple of tracks, it’s come out quite well and I’m quite happy.

The notes have also been written ready for dictation but I shan’t dictate them immediately because I’m not convinced that they are long enough and they will need reworking.

There’s also a photograph of STRAWBERRY MOOSE doing the rounds of the internet in Granville right now.

The estate agent who came round a couple of weeks ago took a couple of photos of the place and these are being used to advertise my apartment here as available to let, and His Nibs is prominently featured, sitting in the middle of the bed.

In case you are wondering why I’m not posting the link, well, let’s just say that it does not show my apartment in the best of lights. Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that tidiness is not my particular forte.

There were the usual breaks in the afternoon for disgusting drinks and also for baking. I needed more bread and a base for my pizza so I dealt with that this afternoon.

The loaf is slightly heavier today, but the pizza base was perfect and it tasted delicious. However, I’m not sure why, but I’ve suddenly developed a craving for Cheshire Cheese. It’s a shame that I can no longer eat it. Since I went onto this vegan diet in 1992 when my pancreas ceased to function, cheese is the one thing that I miss.

So right now, I’m off to bed ready for dialysis tomorrow … "I don’t think" – ed …
. Do you realise that there are at most only seven more trips up the stairs after dialysis and then I shall be installed downstairs and shan’t have to worry any more?

And if the plumber, who is coming tomorrow, extricates his digit, there might be even fewer than that. As long as my bed, my desk and my kitchen stuff are down there and the water is connected, I shall cope as best as I can. I really have to move downstairs as quickly as I can because the stairs are finishing me off.

But before we go, seeing as we have been talking about banquets … "well, one of us has" – ed … some friends of mine once went to a big banquet in Spain where the dish of honour was the … errr … cojones of the bull that was killed in the corrida that morning.
However, at this particular banquet, the main dish was … errr … rather small
"what’s happened here?" asked one of my friends
"Well you see, señor" replied the waiter "the bull, he doesn’t always lose."

Friday 1st August 2025 – AFTER YESTERDAY’S DISASTER …

… things are much better today and I’m feeling a little less … "only a little less" – ed … miserable, depressed and ill.

What probably helped was a much better night’s sleep than just recently. Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that yesterday’s notes were somewhat … errr … compressed as I dashed through them before ill-health and fatigue overwhelmed me.

It was something of a mad rush to finish them but I managed to climb into bed just before 22:30 and once in there, that was that. I was out like a light and didn’t feel a thing until all of … errr … 05:40.

That might have sounded as if it was early, but it represented over seven hours of uninterrupted sleep, and when was the last time that I managed that?

It took a good few minutes to gather my wits, which is a surprise seeing how few I have left these days, but by 06:10 I was in the bathroom having a good scrub up.

The medication was next as usual, and then back in here to listen to the dictaphone to see where I’d been during the night and, more importantly, who had been there with me. And lo! And behold! I had a telephone call while I was asleep. It was from TOTGA. She was telling me that she was thinking about moving and in fact was planning to move on in a couple of weeks’ time. I told her that I was really pleased for her, but I was really sad in another way because her bakery would be closed and there would be no more fresh bread from there. We had a lengthy chat over the telephone. Halfway through it, I had to go out so I walked off down the street taking the ‘phone with me, chatting on the way and I came to her bakery. Of course, with it being a Tuesday it was closed. I could hear her inside talking to me on the ‘phone. Anyway, one of the blinds moved. It was her husband who was peeking out through one of the blinds. After a little minute or two, he opened the door and let me in. She was saying that she was moving in a few days’ time or in a short while. Her husband said that he would be there for another couple of weeks and then he’d be moving. I said that I’ll be moving in a week or two’s time too so we had a big chat about moving. Then she began to pack her boxes. She wanted her boxes opened in a certain peculiar way that meant that the tops had to be folded right back. I couldn’t understand why she was having to do that this way.
So welcome back to TOTGA, who has been missing from these pages for far too long. So she’s on the move too, at least in the ethereal World. I wonder what might be the significance of that. I don’t keep in touch with people as I used to since I cast all of my Social Media adrift eighteen months ago.

However, I could easily picture her running a bakery. Apart from the fact that she’s a good cook, she has a natural talent for organising and managing. With someone like her in the background managing all of my ideas, we could have ruled the World, but she had far more sense than to come anywhere within range of my evil clutches.

The next task was to review the news article that I wrote the other day and see how it was. In the end, I practically rewrote it and I still wasn’t happy with it. However, on the principle of “over-egging the pudding”, I left it as it finished and sent it off. And for a news source that is crying out for articles, it’s not been published as yet.

Back in the olden days in Brussels and down on the farm, I wrote quite a few articles for various publications and made myself a little pocket money, but even though this publication pays three fifths of five eights of … errr … nothing, I ought to go back into the habit of working for a living before my brain seizes up completely.

There’s an interesting article in the local news this morning. Regular readers of this rubbish will recall the controversy three years ago about the Russian sailing ship Shtandart COMING TO VISIT GRANVILLE during the Festival of Sailing Ships, and how it seemed that I was the only person in the whole département who found it objectionable give the political situation and the number of Ukrainian refugees here.

Apparently, the organisers of the festival have invited her back this year, but this time, the regional and national authorities have intervened and refused her a landing permit. And quite right too, in my opinion. But all the same, this incident and that of three years ago shows quite clearly that, despite the number of Ukrainian refugees living in the area, on which side of the fence the local politicians are sitting. Remember that they even banned my pro-Ukrainian rock concert.

Usually, I try my best to keep politics off these pages because otherwise, I’d be talking about nothing else. However, sometimes, it’s unavoidable

Hurricane Isabelle the Nurse blew into the apartment to give me my injection and to sort out my feet, and then she blew out as quickly as she had come in. And once she’d left, I could make breakfast and read some more of MY BOOK.

Our author, John Stow, has now made it to Westminster which, in those days, was a suburb of the City of London. His account of the area is fascinating, telling us all about the origins of the names of some of the places that are so famous today.

St James was a house for "fourteen sisters, maidens that were leprous, living chastely and honestly in divine service" but when the religious establishments were surrendered to Henry VIII, the King "built there a goodly manor annexing thereunto a park, closed about with a wall of brick, now called St James’s Park."

He also speaks of "a large plot of ground inclosed with brick, and is called ‘Scotland’ where great buildings have been for the receipt of the Kings of Scotland.". So “evening all”. And I bet that the plot of land is more than three feet long and three feet wide.

There are pages and pages of explanations like this, and it’s fascinating to read it all. I shall be sorry when this book comes to an end.

Back in here, I made a start on assembling the next radio programme’s music. It’s to be a live concert but it was recorded by different people in different fragments and so I have two complications to face.

Firstly, to make the recording levels and sound balance etc the same
Secondly, what to do about the gaps of a few micro-seconds in between some of the tracks where nothing was recorded.

Where there are overlapping parts, that’s quite easy, just fade in and out as appropriate and merge the tracks, but filling holes is more complicated, especially when one recording is 0.5% faster than the other one.

So that’s a task that has taken all day and it’s far from finished

The very first job though was to complete my order for LeClerc. And it’s extremely sad as more and more produce is being removed from the home delivery service. And when it was delivered, we had a catastrophe. The box of grape juice burst and soaked half of the shopping, so some of it had to go back.

There was an endless stream of visitors too today. Firstly, the energy guy came to do an energy audit, then my cleaner came along to do her stuff, and finally the sewing lady from down the road came to talk curtains with me.

It’s rather unfortunate, that, because she’s on the verge of retiring and so her stock of cloth has run down. She had nothing that I liked. She’ll have a rummage in the back of her shop to see what she can find, but it looks as if it’s going to be another on-line order.

People talk all the time about “shop local”, but these days, you can’t even give work away to people. They just don’t seem to be bothered.

When the LeClerc order (or what was left of it) arrived, I washed, diced and blanched the carrots ready for freezing, washed the tins and jars to remove the grape juice, and then went to sit down for a while. My knees were killing me.

Tea tonight was falafel, salad and chips – not very much tonight as I’m not that hungry. And then I put away the carrots and the rest of the stuff that needs freezing.

So having written my notes, I’m going to bed, later than planned, but still hoping for a good sleep before dialysis, which I hate with a passion.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about Westminster … "well, one of us has" – ed … John Stow tells us that "had ye one house, wherein sometime were distraught and lunatic people."
While I was chatting to a friend of mine, I mentioned it to her.
She replied "so he’s not a big fan of the House of Commons either."

Thursday 31st July 2025 – I HAD NOTHING ON …

… the dictaphone from last night.

But when you don’t go to bed until 23:45 and you awaken at 03:10, what do you expect?

It’s quite a surprise that I was awake so early because I really was ill last night. I was so feak and weeble that I could hardly move, and when I finally fell into bed, I expected to be there for a week without moving a muscle.

Moving a muscle I certainly didn’t do, but when I awoke, that was that.

03:10 is far too early to be up and about so I tried valiantly to find a way to go back to sleep. However, nothing that I could try seemed to work and by 04:45 I’d abandoned the struggle and was sitting on the edge of my bed trying to find the courage and the energy to stand up.

Once I was on my feet, I made my way over to the desk and by the time that the alarm went off at 06:29, I’d dictated the radio notes that I’d written yesterday, edited them and assembled the programme ready for broadcast some time deep in the future.

Next stop was the bathroom, followed by the kitchen for the medication, and then back in here I had plenty of other things to do that took quite a while.

Isabelle the Nurse breezed in and gave me my injection, followed by the treatment for my legs, and then I could crack on and make breakfast and read some more of MY BOOK.

It’s surprising how many “modern” aspects of life that we take for granted were well-known in John Stow’s time. He tells us that in 1530, Bermondsey Abbey "was valued to dispend by the year four hundred and seventy-four pounds fourteen shillings and fourpence halfpenny" – proof if ever any were needed that they had accountants in those days.

Take holiday homes too. Many people think that they are a modern phenomenon but that’s far from the case. When our author is talking about the buildings extra muros, he says that "wherein are built many fair summer-houses and, as in other places of the suburbs, some of them like Midsummer pageants with towers, turrets and chimney pots, not so much for use of profit as for show and pleasure, betraying the vanity of men’s minds."

There’s a lengthy account of the plague pits on the edge of the city, and also a very whimsical account of St Giles’ Hospital where "the prisoners conveyed from the City of London to Teybourne, there to be executed … were presented with a great bowl of ale, thereof to drink at their pleasure, as to be their last refreshing in this life."

Back in here, I began to sort out the music for the next radio programme, and I was well under way when my cleaner came to fit my anaesthetic patches

When she’d finished, we went downstairs to the new apartment to tidy up and put away a few things, and I took a few more photos that I’ll publish one of these days when I’m feeling like it.

That’s not going to be today though because I’m feeling totally dreadful, the worst that I have felt for years. I crashed out completely earlier this morning while working on the radio programme and while I felt a little better when I awoke, it didn’t last long.

The drive down to Avranches was horrible and by the time I was on my bed, I was finished. I crashed out for an hour and a half and felt even worse when I awoke. In the end, they had to cut short the session because I was not responding.

If ever there was a time when I needed to talk to a doctor, it was today but as regular readers of this rubbish will recall, whenever you want a doctor, they keep well away.

The drive home was painful too and I had to struggle to reach the building’s front door. My cleaner and I went into the new apartment to finish off a few things, and then we had to come back up here. I really couldn’t manage it at all and my poor cleaner had almost to carry me up.

Once I’d caught my breath I gad the rest of last night’s curry and now, even though it’s early, I’m off to bed. I’ve had enough. Here’s hoping that I feel better tomorrow.

But seeing as we have been talking about prisoners … "well, one of us has" – ed … three prisoners at Wormwood Scrubs were talking to each other, discussing their sentences.
"I only have three years to serve" said the first.
"That’s nothing" replied the second. "I only have two and a half"
"I only have four days to serve" replied the third
"You lucky so-and-so!" exclaimed the others. "How did you manage that"
"Well," he replied "they are hanging me on Thursday."

Wednesday 30th July 2025 – AT LONG LAST …

… after several days of prevarication, I’ve finally come around to putting a photo of the bedroom online. The blue is rather bright, I agree, but there’s a huge difference between what I saw on a computer screen when I chose the colour and what the colour turned out to be in real life.

It’s complicated when I can’t go out myself to choose anything and have to rely on other people and the internet, but in those circumstances, we have to take what we can obtain. I’m sure that STRAWBERRY MOOSE and I, and the eventual cat of course, shall be very happy in there.

And in answer to the obvious questions that are bound to follow, yes I do have a sea view. If I go to the window and look to the right, I can see over the wall and over the clifftop to the sea. When the weather is really good, I can even see Jersey, even if it is 50 or so kilometres away.

You can also see the lovely granite walls that we have in this building, one metre twenty centimetres thick of granite – the legendary Grès de Chausey, built in 1668. Grès de Chausey was also used to build Mont St Michel down the bay from here.

With walls like this, I can play music as loud as I like and no-one can hear me.

As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … this building is part of the Patrimoine de France – the equivalent of a listed building in the UK. In theory, we can’t even knock a nail into the wall without asking permission.

Meanwhile, back at the ran … errr … apartment, I’ve had a horrible day. Just like the Wednesday a week after the last chemotherapy, I’ve had a major relapse.

There were all the signs of that last night. Once more, I had a major wave of tiredness wash over me as I was writing my notes, and it was all that I could do to keep awake to finish the evening’s work.

Nevertheless, it was quite late by the time that I finally crawled into bed, relieved that I was to be there, and it didn’t take very long at all to go off to sleep.

What I didn’t anticipate though, although I should have done so, was that I would be awake at 03:20. Not just awake either, but totally unable to go back to sleep despite my best efforts.

In the end, a few minutes after 05:00, I finally gave up the struggle and crawled out of bed into the bathroom for a wash, followed by a trip into the kitchen for the medication.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night, and in view of the short night that it was, I was surprised to find something on it. I was back in medieval times. A few of us were associated with some kind of trade or brotherhood and were busy organising things for some kind of event. At that moment, the archbishop came in and he asked the person in charge of our party what we were doing. He replied that he was preparing things ready for the start of the hunt. The minister was outraged “having a hunt on a festival day? Don’t tell me that you are hunting on a festival day”. The boss had to deny it with some kind of stammer and embarrassment. Then we could continue our own preparations for celebrating this day by having sport and some kind of athletics competition followed by of course the dialysis for the day.

It’s no surprise that we have gone back into medieval times with the amount of medieval information that I’ve been reading just recently, especially with regard to the jousting tournaments. And involving dialysis too – there’s no surprise about that either. Just wait until I begin to dream about chemotherapy.

There were a few things to do this morning, such as finishing off sending the radio programmes for the month of August. And then Isabelle the nurse turned up. She gave me the injection, sorted out my legs, and then disappeared into the blue yonder.

However, I have heard on the grapevine that there’s some kind of issue regarding this nursing practice. I shall have to keep my ears open for more news.

Once she’d gone, I could make my breakfast and read some more of MY BOOK. Not that I managed to go very far as the kitchen fitter turned up. However, he had all of the keys and everything that he needed, so he simply stayed downstairs and attacked the remaining work.

There were a few things of interest in the book that are worthy of note. Our author tells us that there "was sometime a large and most sumptuous house built by Charles Brandon, late Duke of Suffolk" that went through several ownership changes and eventually a merchant "pulled it down, sold the lead, stone, iron etc and in place thereof built many small cottages of great rents, to the increasing of beggars in that borough."

That was a fate that befell many large houses in urban areas in the 1960s and 1970s, with the same consequences.

One question that has also been answered today was "why are the effigies of some medieval knights shown on their tombs with their legs crossed?". Stow tells us that of the eleven tombs that he has noticed in the Temple Church in London, "eight of them are images of armed knights, five lying cross-legged as men vowed to the Holy Land, against the infidel and the unbelieving Jews."

So in other words, a cross-legged statue or effigy lying on a tomb is of a medieval knight who has taken the Oath of the Crusade

Something else that I’ve learned are the rules of running a brothel or “stew house”, which I’m sure will come in useful one of these days. Stow tells us, inter alia that "no stew-holder is to receive a woman of religion or another man’s wife.".

Even more interestingly, "no single woman to take money to lie with any man, but that she lie with him all night until the morrow."

Running a brothel back in those days was apparently a respectable business. "William Walworth, then mayor of London" was the keeper of one such place, so Stow tells us.

Not so respectable, apparently, for the women who worked there. Stow says that "these single women were forbidden the rites of the Church so long as they continued that sinful life and were excluded from Christian burial if they were not reconciled before their death, and therefore there was a plot of ground called ‘The Single Woman’s Churchyard’ appointed for them far from the parish church."

There’s no doubt whatever that I’m learning a lot by reading this book, which is just as well because that’s why I’m reading it (and all the others like it).

After breakfast, I was going to make a start sorting out more things to take downstairs but there really wasn’t much point with the kitchen fitter being there, so instead I came back in here to prepare for my Welsh discussion group.

There were only three of us there today and it was awful. I couldn’t remember anything, not even the basics. I seem to have gone completely to pot. Mind you, I put it down to the ill-health that was starting to overwhelm me because by now, I could feel myself sliding down into the hole.

After the meeting, it was time for my disgusting drink break and, girding up my loins, I had another one of these extremely disgusting pea and mint ones. And if anything, it tasted worse today than last time. Just two more of those to take and I won’t be ordering any more of this variety.

Next to arrive was my cleaner, who came to do her stuff. And that included supervising me having a shower. By now though, I really was feeling terrible and I had never felt less like doing anything in my whole life. However, I forced myself and I suppose that I was glad that I had. But I was ruined afterwards.

Back in here, once my cleaner had changed the plasters on my arm, I crashed out. That was no surprise either.

One of these high energy drinks brought me round half an hour later which was just as well because Rosemary rang up for a chat. Just a short one today – a mere sixty-five minutes.

There was time afterwards to write the notes for the next radio programme and then I went to make tea.

There was a large curry in the freezer so I defrosted it and ate half of it with some rice and veg. The other half will do for tomorrow. My imagination has run aground.

The kitchen fitter came up to give me his final account and I paid him. His bill might sound expensive but it includes all of the stuff for the shower and also, he’s done a great deal of work that was never included in his original quote. Not only that, I’m well-pleased with what he has done.

There are one or two small jobs that he hasn’t done, and something that needs some repositioning, but I can sort that out.

The situation is that the plumber will be here on Monday to fit the shower, and we’ll see how far he intends to go with the finishing of the bathroom. Whatever he leaves unfinished, I’ll contact the kitchen fitter who says that he’ll find some time to finish everything off.

Right now though, I’m even more impressed with my little apartment than I was with my galvanised steel dustbin.

Right now though, I’m off to bed ready for dialysis tomorrow … "I don’t think" – ed … I hope that they have changed the mattress on my bed otherwise there will be a row.

But seeing as we have been talking about the Patrimoine de France … "well, one of us has" – ed … Liz once told me that she thought that it was quite appropriate that I lived in a historic building.
"why is that?" I asked, bitterly regretting ten seconds later having done so
"Well" she replied "You’re something of an ancient ruin yourself."

Tuesday 29th July 2025 – I STILL HAVEN’T …

… uploaded the photo of my bedroom, despite what I said yesterday … "and the day before" – ed …

For a change, I have been in great demand and I’ve no idea why I’ve suddenly become so popular.

Not that I was in any fit state to upload the photo last night either. I was so tired last night and had a real struggle to reach the end of the day’s programme. I was fighting off (sometimes unsuccessfully) wave after wave of sleep while I was working and that made me even later than it otherwise might have been.

In the end, I’ve no idea what time it was when I finally hit the hay. I couldn’t be bothered to look. All that I wanted to do was to sleep.

Not that I managed much of that either. It was an extremely restless night that saw me awaken several times. In the end, round about 05:30, I gave up even trying and crawled out from under the covers.

It was the usual desperate stagger into the bathroom followed by an even more desperate stagger into the kitchen for the medication. None of this should be any surprise of course, bearing in mind how I was feeling.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night, and I was astonished. I must have travelled miles. I was at the dialysis centre last night. They were busy sorting out people into what particular treatment they needed. With me of course it was the filtration but also I’m there for three and a half hours with my legs raised somewhat. During the dream they had me weighing myself and they were calculating the weight of my legs, fitting weights and things to them that were inclined and much more complicated to work so that I was walking around with my full weight all the time. It was a most uncomfortable situation to walk around or to sit down or to sleep like this but they didn’t seem to care. Into the room came some Jamaican Hercules dancing troupe people who had presumably been captured by the ancient explorers and brought to Europe. They were there in full dance mode while we were waiting to be treated with dialysis.

As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … even though I’m asleep when I’m dictating, when it comes to transcribing the notes there’s some kind of recollection of something in the back of my mind. But for this one, I have absolutely no idea at all. Apart from the dialysis and the musculation exercises (which will become relevant as you read on), it’s totally meaningless … "aren’t they all?" – ed …

On the dictaphone too, some time later was a note that I can still see the emblems from this dialysis session too. On this machine where I was being treated, on the floor was an arrow and a drawing of one of these ad-hoc storage unit things on wheels, something like a portable patient, with a drawing of a patient upside-down by his ankles and the person in charge of the county of Chester was also drummoned and sentence to be executed on this Danish island somewhere and he had a small chest and a double overlooking a uniform thing, yoga pants, tight yoga top. People were wearing that and this was how it was drawn, this pictogram, along with you upside down having been held by your ankles and an umbrella upside down, being held by the hook over the arm of the dialysis thing.

It’s strange that I stepped back, totally unawares, into a dream of which I was totally unaware. This is some kind of new experience. Usually, I can remember stepping back into dreams, even if it doesn’t happen as often as I like, especially when one of my young ladies is involved.

Later on, one of the boys from the Welsh class came round last night. He was in an extremely bad mood and I thought that it was something that I had done at first. Instead, it turned out that he had been trying to do the Welsh homework all day, which was a bookkeeping exercise, and had failed miserably despite all that he could do. We sat down and looked at it, and I couldn’t make head nor tail of it either. Generally, when bookkeeping goes wrong, you have something in the wrong column. We tried various permutations but that didn’t work. In the end, we thought that we’d leave it and let our heads clear, and go back a little later. He told me that he’d seen another member of the class wandering around who was on his way to sit on the beach at Goodwin Sands so after seeing him leave, I went for a wander out onto the cliffs overlooking Goodwin Sands. That guy was there on the cliffs looking down at the people. We could hear someone having a really good discussion with a small group. Suddenly, he mentioned the name of our classmate and there was a reply, so we shouted down his name. He stuck his head out of the crowd, saw us and waved so we waited. Someone wanted to know who it was who called down to him. He replied “it’s some friends”. They said something like “it’s not that little girl who follows you around who has come to see what you’re doing, is it?”. He replied “no, because her mother is already down here on the beach and she’s hardly likely to come down here on the beach and leave her daughter somewhere else. So if her mother is here, the daughter is here so it can’t have been her who yelled”.

We should have had a Welsh group chat today but this morning we had a mail to say that it’s been postponed. The area around the Goodwin Sands, that is, the cliffs of Pegwell Bay, is an area that I know very well from the days of my youth and summer holidays with my mother’s relatives on the Isle of Thanet.

There was a whole group of us wandering around in IKEA doing the shopping but it was dragging on and on and on. In the end I lost a little patience and went for a wander around. Eventually, everyone else caught up with me and asked where I’d been. I told them that I’d been off with Zero looking at a few things and then I’d wandered off into the food hall. “Well, Zero never said anything” her father said “but she did ask if anyone thought whether she was trying to get you into trouble”. I replied “no, she won’t ever get me into trouble”. “Well, you need to be careful because she’ll dye your work trousers brown without any second thoughts”. We had something of a laugh about that but I was definitely not in a very good mood during that shopping trip. I was really fed up with this whole kind of thing at the moment.

So welcome back, Zero. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. It really is nice when one of my young ladies puts in an appearance during the night, and how I wish I could step back into a dream with one of them. However, as seems to be always the case, someone comes along to throw a spanner into the works.

Isabelle the nurse turned up this morning. She gave me my injection and then sorted out my feet. I could then make breakfast and read some more of MY BOOK.

Today, we are talking about all of the jousts between knights etc and the trials by combat that all took place at Smithfield, quite often in front of the monarch. One of the combatants was called, rather eloquently, “The Bastard of Burgundy”

There’s a lengthy discussion on the banquets that were served up at the Bishop of Ely’s residence, and I couldn’t believe the amount of food cooked. Even our author says that "it were tedious to set down the preparation of fish, flesh and other victuals consumed at this feast."

As it happens, I’ve seen the list, and I wouldn’t know where to begin to describe it. We start with "twenty-four great beefs… and one ox" through an entire menagerie to "larks, three hundred and forty dozen."

More interestingly though, he touches on the origins of the Old Bailey and the Inns of Court.

After breakfast, the taxi came to pick me up to take me for my x-ray. It was the guy who thinks that he’s the boss, and we had a very interesting chat all the way to the hospital.

When the x-ray was finished, I had to wait around for the taxi to take me back, and as there was no cleaner to help me upstairs, I had to manage myself. After a pause to recover, I packed a few more boxes.

My plumber had mailed me with a list of things that he needs for the shower so my kitchen fitter and I spent an age going through various on-line catalogues to find stuff that was available at short notice.

In the end, we had quite a list and he went off on a prowl to try to find what we need. He found most things, and acceptable substitutes for the rest, so who knows? I may even have a shower quite soon.

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that yesterday I had something of a moan about the kitchen fitter, but I really must shut up and instead, count my blessings that I have found someone who is prepared to go way beyond the extra mile to help me out.

When my cleaner turned up to drop off tomorrow’s injection, she took down the boxes that I’d packed and they are now ready for putting away, which will be Thursday’s task.

There was the radio programme to finish, and that’s now done. I followed that by reviewing the programmes for the month of August and they are being sent off one by one ready for inclusion while the coordinator is on holiday.

In the middle of all of this, the Re-education Centre contacted me. Would I like to come for an assessment interview on 26th September? I don’t see why not. After all, it might even do me some good, even if I doubt it very much. But one thing is for sure, and that is that the taxi owner can buy himself a new Rolls-Royce this year.

While I was at it, I rang up the dialysis centre about the mattress, but for all the good that it did me, I may as well have saved my energy. "No-one else has complained about it" was the helpful … "I don’t think" – ed … reply.

So having had a fry-up (for a change) for tea, I’m off to bed ready for all of this work that I have to do tomorrow.

But seeing as we have been talking about x-rays … "well, one of us has" – ed … while I was in the hospital, I heard two x-ray plates talking to each other.
"I’ve lost an electron" said one of them
"Are you sure?" asked the other.
"Ohh yes. I’m positive."

Monday 28th July 2025 – YET MORE TORTURE …

… at the dialysis centre today. The mattress on my bed has collapsed and there’s a big hollow right where my left hip fits. And so, after about ninety minutes, with two hours still to go, I was in total agony. And so it dragged on throughout the entire session.

It’s bad enough being poked, prodded, stabbed with needles, awoken when I’m trying to doze, but this is the final straw. I shall telephone them tomorrow and tell them that if it’s not fixed by Thursday, I shan’t be coming again. I reckon that i’ve had quite enough.

Especially after last night. Chatting with my kitchen fitter after he’d finished seemed to take hours and all that I wanted to do was to eat my pizza. It was stone-cold by the time that he went, I was royally fed up and in the end, it was some quite ridiculous time when I finally managed to haul myself off to bed. I really can’t take much more of this.

When the alarm went off at 06:29, I was totally flat out in bed. It was quite a battle to raise myself out before the second alarm and had there not been a second alarm to encourage me to leave the bed, I probably would still be in there now. I was totally shattered.

In the bathroom, I went for a wash and a shave and then into the kitchen to sort out the medication.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night but there was nothing thereupon. I must have had a really deep, intense sleep. And if so, why aren’t I feeling much better than I am right now?

There were a few things that I needed to but I was interrupted by the arrival of the nurse. He was in and out in a flash, seeing that he’s off on his holidays this evening. I could push on, make breakfast and read some more of MY BOOK.

We’re still on our perambulations of course, but today he tells us that "on the River Thames, of late years, was placed a corn mill, upon or betwixt two barges or lighters, and there ground corn, as water mills in other places, to the wonder of those who had not seen the like, but this lasted not long without decay, such as caused the same barges and mill to be removed.". I would have loved to have seen that in operation. It must have been a fantastic machine.

We’ve also had another rent payment made in flowers. This refers to one of the towers in Baynard’s Castle, which Edward III gave "to William, Duke of Hamelake, in the county of York, and his heirs, for one rose yearly.to be paid for all service."

There’s also a movement inspired by the Bishop of Rochester and several others to provide aid for the poor, and many men "moved liberally to grant what they would impart … and what they would contribute weekly for their maintenance for a time.". Where is the church today when it should be leading the same kind of campaign amongst the wealthy and privileged?

And yesterday, we had a fight amongst a couple of priests. To day, he tells us of a rather incendiary confrontation between the Archbishop of Canterbury and his retinue and the canons of the Priory of St Bartholomew. Tomorrow, we’ll probably find the Pope in there somewhere having a helping of violent disorder.

Back in here, I had a radio programme to review ready to broadcast. But once more, I didn’t like it so I re-edited it and remixed it. The programmer is off work on holiday in August so I’ll have to review the programmes for that month tomorrow and send them off.

There wasn’t much time to do much else before my cleaner arrived to fit my patches. When she had finished, we went downstairs with a few boxes to empty out. And I did take a photo of the bedroom but I’m so whacked that I really don’t have the energy to post it. I shall do it tomorrow.

The driver who took me to dialysis was the young, chatty guy and we had a very interesting chat all the way down there. We were early arriving too, but it did no good seeing that so were several other people and as usual, I was last to be plugged in.

They gave me a prescription for an x-ray on my chest, which is arranged for tomorrow. That is just crazy. I’m not having a moment to relax, with yet another climb back up the stairs when I should be resting. Why couldn’t they arrange it for a day when I have dialysis?

The disinterested doctor was on duty today and he didn’t seem too interested in what I had to say. He did, however, inspect (at my insistence) my catheter port and pronounced it healthy. But there’s a bruise that is causing the pain that I am feeling.

Apart from the mattress, which has totally annoyed me, nothing much else happened. Being late coupled up, I was late leaving. It was the young Asiatic girl who brought me home and we talked about Italian food all the way home.

Back here, we went into downstairs and began to make a list of the work that needs doing, but it ended up being something of a building meeting with a group of us outside my door chatting.

It was a real struggle to climb back up here. I feel that I’m going backwards with this chemotherapy and losing whatever mobility that I had. There was another barrage of messages from the kitchen fitter but I’ll reply to them when I’m in a better humour.

Instead, I made tea – a burger with pasta and veg. I couldn’t be bothered to do much else.

So right now, I’m off to bed, hoping that I’ll awaken in a better frame of mind tomorrow, although with this trip to the x-ray and the climb back up here, I doubt it very much.

But seeing as we have been talking about flowers … "well, one of us has" – ed … it reminds me of one of those “Mr and Mrs” quizzes in which Nerina and I competed.
The presenter asked me which was Nerina’s favourite flower. And Yours Truly, completely misunderstanding the question, replied "Homepride self-raising, I think."

Sunday 27th July 2025 – SO THERE I WAS …

… last night, talking about having an early night and hoping to have a lie in until the later time of 07:59 when the Sunday alarm goes off.

There’s nothing like a bit of optimism, is there?

Firstly, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall and probably expect, the early night didn’t happen. I’m not sure what went on, but I found myself at 23:00 still sitting at my desk working. However, I didn’t stay there for long. An early night I was determined to have and although it was not as early as I would have liked, I downed tools and cleared off.

Just as the last couple of days, I fell asleep quite quickly, thinking of having a really good sleep of eight hours at least.

Consequently, no-one was more disappointed than me to find that when I awoke, it was all of 04:10. I could well have done without that.

Refusing to give in, I curled up and did my best to go back to sleep again. And it worked too, at least for a while. 06:05 was still far too early to be awake again, and this time I couldn’t go back to sleep. When the water heater switched off at 06:20, I was already having a ride on the porcelain horse.

After a good wash, I went into the kitchen for the medication and then came back in here to find out where I’d been during the night. I dreamed that I was parachuting last night, taking some kind of course of something or other that wasn’t parachuting but parachuting was included in it. We went up in an aeroplane to quite a height and I leaped out. Eventually, I managed to touch down onto the ground, far quicker than I was intending to land, but it was a quite accurate landing and I was impressed. Someone came over and asked me how it was. I replied “to be quite honest, I was freezing. The wind was cutting through my jeans and I ought to have worn some kind of windproof trouser underneath to stop that”. Then I was thinking about going to do it again, working out that if maybe I were to pull on this guy rope here and that guy rope there, I’d be able to direct the parachute and land much more appropriately, much closer to the target and be able to steer the parachute and land pretty much where I liked.

There is absolutely no danger whatever of me ever leaping from a ‘plane wearing a parachute. And I certainly wouldn’t do it a second time. I’ll take all of my chances on solid ground, thanks. But it would be just like me, when I’m falling headlong towards the ground, to be thinking of a way to improve the system or its accuracy.

Later on, I’d been associated with a football club somewhere and our team had been promoted from the bottom division to the third at long last. The manager of one of the other teams in the club came over. He was surprised. He asked if it were true that we had been promoted. I replied that it was. He answered “God! Because I’m short of players for Sunday”. It was for a game in St Niklaas in Vlaanderen against The Old Irish. We had a chat and it turned out that one of my friends was playing in it, so I replied “go on then. You can put me down as a substitute if you like” although I really wasn’t interested in playing all that competitively. So off we went on the Sunday to the field to have a look around. There were plenty of people swarming around, including one woman who had a dog and a cat, each on a lead and was taking them for a walk. I had a chat with the woman and the cat. Her husband usually took the cat for a walk but he was away for a few days so she was doing it. The cat usually went in a certain direction but there was something going on there and she didn’t want to take it this time. The more I looked around, the more I saw that there was going to be an auto-cross in the middle of this field after the football match so I thought that this was going to be a really nice day to have out as long as I don’t actually go onto the football field.

Back in the Auvergne, I was associated with a football team – the 3rd XI of FC Pionsat St Hilaire, who were one of the worst teams in the local pyramid in the Puy de Dôme and always finished near the bottom of the lowest division. And I do have to hold up my hand and admit that my involvement was completely by default – none of the other committee members wanted to run the team and I happened to admire the players for continuing to turn out week after week so I took on the task.

However, there is plenty of mileage in this dream apart from that. Leaving aside the fact that this seemed to take place in Vlaanderen, although I might not be interested in playing, regular readers of this rubbish will recall that there have in the past been rafts of dreams where I’ve turned out for a local football club and some of those dreams are far too real for my liking.

As it happened, I did have a friend who played for the club, and I also know a man who really does take his cat for a walk in the evening.

When the nurse turned up, the first thing that he wanted was my health card. He’s off on holiday on Monday night so he needs to bring his accounts up-to-date. Once he’d sorted out his paperwork, he attended to my legs and then cleared off to continue his rounds.

After he left, I began to make my breakfast but I didn’t get very far because the kitchen fitter came and I had to throw him the key to the front door seeing as the electric door lock on the front door doesn’t seem to work.

When he turned up here, I gave him my instructions and he wandered off downstairs to begin. I could go back to making my breakfast, only to find that my toast had burned.

While I was eating, I was reading some more of MY BOOK.

We started off in the quaintly-named Bladder Street, wherein he makes mention of several local "tippling houses." I shall have to remember that little phrase the next time that I want to make reference to the local boozer.

He also tells us about Allhallows Church in Bread Street where "two priests of this church fell at variance, that the one drew the blood of the other …. the priests were committed to prison … and being enjoined penance, went before a general procession bare-headed, bare-footed and bare-legged, before the children, with beads and books in their hands, from Paules, through Cheape, Cornehill etc."

It’s a real shame that modern-day clerical transgressors aren’t subjected to the same humiliation.

After breakfast, I sorted out more things and put them into boxes ready for my faithful cleaner to take downstairs whenever she’s next passing.

Back in here again, there was football and I watched with no little amount of amusement as Stranraer, near the bottom of the fourth tier, beat hated local rivals Queen of the South, championship contenders one division higher up.

Watching the players of the team from Dumfries totally lose their cool in the final five minutes as they panicked to the core when Stranraer unleashed their lightning-quick young centre-forward and had a player sent off, several others booked for professional fouls and for fighting was one of the funniest things that I have seen for quite a while

By now it was time to start work and the first thing was to sort out all of the music that has accumulated over the last couple of years but has not been classified. That took much longer than I would have liked.

Eventually, it was finished and I could then find the final piece of music and write the notes for it, which I can dictate when I next have an early start so that I can finish this radio programme and move on.

There was a break in all of this while I made my pizza base, and when it had arisen, I baked an excellent pizza which tasted delicious.

Just as I was getting my fork stuck in it, the kitchen fitter came up to say that he was leaving. He showed me the photos of the new, nicely-painted bedroom and it really does look wonderful. That room is now finished, except for the curtains, and I shall be organising those in very early course.

When I’m down there tomorrow, I’ll take some photos of it to show you, and I hope that you’ll all be as impressed as I am.

So now that my pizza is eaten and my notes are written, I’ll take the stats, do the back-up and then go to bead. It’s dialysis tomorrow, and how I am not looking forward to that. But then two days off and I can pack a whole pile of stuff ready to move downstairs not that things down there are drawing to a close.

But seeing as we have been talking about the painter in the bedroom … "well, one of us has" – ed … before he bought the paint, he said "the bedroom here looks the same size as the one downstairs. When you painted it, how many tins of paint did you buy?"
"Actually, I bought three" I told him
When he finished this evening, he came up to me and said "I bought three tins of paint, but when I’d finished, I had one tin left over"
"What a coincidence!" I exclaimed. "So did I!"

Saturday 26th July 2025 – JUST FOR A CHANGE …

… when the alarm went off at 06:29 this morning, I was still flat out, fast asleep in bed. And that’s something that hasn’t happened too often recently.

What I put it down to was the miserable night (if you can call it a night) that I’d had the night before when I’d had just about two and a half hours’ sleep, and odd cat-nap during the day. In fact, looking back on it, I’m surprised that I kept on going for as long as I did yesterday without too many signs of fatigue later in the day.

It wasn’t as if it had been a very late night either. I wasn’t sure what time it was when I finished my notes, the stats and the back-up, but it can’t have been many minutes after 23:00, if at all. And once again, I was asleep almost straight away, so tired was I.

But when I awoke this morning, once more I was drenched in sweat as all of this chemotherapy stuff that they pumped into me in Paris slowly fights its way out of my body. This is not a pleasant situation in which to be.

It was a struggle to leave the bed before the second alarm but I managed it, and then headed off to the bathroom for a good wash and shave, in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant at the dialysis centre.

Once more, it was quite a leisurely start to the day and it was about 07:40 by the time that I finally finished my medication and made it back into here.

Once I was settled down at my desk, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I was at a match between Ayr United and Morton last night. At first, Morton had no kitchen. They had positioned a couple of players in the kitchen area to defend the space but it wasn’t very easy without any furniture in there at all. They were conceding ground regularly. Then the furniture began to arrive and they began to assert themselves much more strongly as the trainers took more charge of the players, gave them more instructions and told the fans basically to no longer try to coach the team so that they would be able to manage and do a better job of it. The place where this was taking place was called “Canada Hall” – a huge one-storey building on top of a tunnel under which the railway ran. It belonged to the tunnel. There were all kinds of jokes going around talking about what would happen if it were to change its name to another railway company in another particular set of circumstances.

There was something else though about animals and pets in this dream but I can’t remember anything particular about that.

It’s no surprise that I can’t remember anything about the above because when I was transcribing these notes, I had no recollection of ever having dictated them. As regular readers of this rubbish will recall, I am in fact usually asleep when I dictate these notes. However, when I’m typing them out, a light usually switches on in the back of my mind with a tiny spark of recollection, but there was nothing whatever about any of the foregoing.

Later on, I was with Nerina last night and she was wearing the dark blue anorak that she had bought in Luxembourg when we were on our honeymoon. We’d been wandering around together as usual and ended up in some kind of military auction. We were going through some of the goods that were on sale there, having a laugh and a joke about things like “lots of half a ton of gentleman’s battle dress blouses” etc. We couldn’t really see what kind of use a large lot like that would be to everyone. But just as this dream was becoming exciting, the alarm went off and I awoke. But from what I remember, we’d been walking through the countryside on the edge of this town in order to reach this car boot sale and we’d seemed to be fairly happy, although I’m not quite sure why. I can remember us crossing a big, main road. One thing that I’d noticed though was that we’d been on the road for several weeks and I was wearing these jeans that were quite dirty and stained. I wasn’t looking very respectable at all

The only times that Nerina and I would ever be able to relax would be on holiday. We’d wait until September when all the brats would be back at school, and then take off across the Channel, drifting aimlessly around Western Europe from one cheap village hotel to another, eating local food, drinking local wine and generally chilling. Nerina had a map that indicated scenic routes (a green stripe along the side of the road, the thicker the more scenic) and she’d guide the car along as I drove. We neither knew nor cared where we were or where we were going.

They were good times and we had several good stories to tell. In one tiny village in Brittany we had the cheapest wine on the menu – a litre of house red – with our main course. For the dessert we had, as usual, the cheese board.
"Do you know what would go really nicely with this cheese" she said.
"Tell me" I replied
"Another bottle of that wine" she answered.

On the way back to the hotel I had to walk her around the village for two hours to stop her giggling.

The nurse was early once more this morning. He forgot the heat treatment on my knee, which isn’t really important, and didn’t take too long sorting out my legs He soon cleared off and left me in peace.

Once I’d made my breakfast, I sat down to eat it and to read MY BOOK.

We’re still roaming around the churches of London intra-muros and I’m thoroughly impressed by the number of bodies said to be interred in the old Grey friars Church and in the old St Paul’s. I’m surprised that they could fit them all in, what with so many recorded by John Stow.

He also quotes the Charter of St Paul’s, granted by William The Conqueror. "to all his well-beloved French and English people, greeting. Know ye that I do give unto God and the Church of St Paule of London and the rectors and scruitors of the same, in all their lands which the church hath, with borough and without, sack and sock, thole and theam, infangthefe and grithbriche, and all the rights that into them christendome byrath, on morth sprake and on unright hamed, and on unright work, of all that bishoprick on mine land and on each other man’s land. For I will that the church in all things be as free as I would my soul to be in the day of judgement".

He’s also talking about St Paul’s School again, and it’s a veritable tonic for today’s teachers who believe themselves overworked with twenty-five kids. He tells us that the school has been created "for one hundred and fifty-three poor men’s children … for which he appointed one master, one surmaster or usher and a chaplain."

After breakfast I packed a few more boxes with kitchen stuff ready to take downstairs. There are six now waiting to be emptied and we’ll do that this evening when I return from dialysis.

Back in here, I went a-searching for more music for another project and was still hard at it when my faithful cleaner turned up to fit my anaesthetic patches.

When she finished, she took down the boxes while I made my way slowly and gingerly downstairs to my new home. The aim was to begin to unpack but a neighbour came along for an inspection and chat, and then the boss of the taxi company turned up early so we accomplished nothing. However, I might have recruited a couple more volunteers into the moving plan – quite useful since we’ve already had one fall by the wayside.

We were early arriving at the dialysis centre but once more they took their time connecting me. I’m not sure what I’ve done to upset them but once more I was put into the little room at the end – the “naughty corner”.

They left me pretty much alone, except for when my machine gave out an error message. And I crashed out for twenty minutes too. I must have been really tired today.

When my time was up, it took them an age to see to me and as a result, I was no earlier that I might otherwise have been. But at some point, they had run a resistance current through me, recalculated my dry weight, reset the machine, and now I’m the lightest weight that I have been for probably 15 years.

Much as I enjoy the new svelte, slimline me, if I continue to lose weight like this, it’s going to start to become worrying

Late returning home, we had time to unpack the boxes nevertheless, although I’m going to have to sort everything out again when I’m down there permanently and put it away much more tidily.

It was another desperate struggle up the stairs. I could manage two steps before I needed help. This chemotherapy is sending me backwards instead of forwards. Throughout the day, I’d noticed an improvement in my health, but just these two steps were enough to knock me right back.

After my cleaner left, I had a disgusting drink break and then made tea. Baked potato, vegan salad and breaded quorn fillet and not very much of it. I’m not hungry and in any case, I couldn’t stomach it tonight.

So now I’m off to bed. The alarm is set, as usual on a Sunday these days, at 08:00 and wouldn’t it be nice to actually be asleep from now until then with no disturbances?

But before we go, seeing as we have been talking about Nerina and her map … "well, one of us has" – ed … we were driving along one road and I asked her "is this supposed to be a pretty road?"
"Ohh yes" she replied confidently
"Where are we?" I asked
"Somewhere along here" she said, indicating a line on the map with her finger
"That line there" I said, "that’s a canal!"

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."

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"

Sunday 20th July 2025 – I HAVE BEEN …

… a very busy boy today, and have accomplished quite a lot. It’s not often that I have days as productive as this, so it’s worthy of note.

Not that last night was any indication of how things might have been. It was another one of those nights where things dragged and dragged, and I seemed to be struggling to do the simplest of things.

Even though I’d started my notes at some kind of reasonable time and looking forward to a reasonably early finish, instead it was almost 23:30 when I finally crawled into bed.

Mind you, I was soon asleep, and I can’t remember anything at all until I had another dramatic awakening at 06:05 this morning. So much for my lie-in until 08:00, and does anyone else apart from me remember my legendary lie-ins until midday and later on Sundays prior to dialysis?

As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … being awake is one thing. Being up and about is something else completely. It was actually 06:20 when I finally staggered into the bathroom to sort myself out for the day.

After the medication, I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I ended up buying an old lorry and was looking for work for it. In the end, a place down near Audlem was a tar centre and they were disposing of some of their tar so I bought ten tons of it and put it in a tanker. Then, I was wondering what to do with it because I couldn’t think of how I was going to dispose of it. My father told me that they put it mostly on the roads. I asked him how far he thought that ten tons would go, but he didn’t think that ten tons would go very far. After much thinking about it, he suggested that I head north out of Audlem and look for some of the salt mines that rare around there and see whether their roads need upgrading etc because there were other places in the vicinity where I could have my tank washed and prepared for whatever, a different kind of load. But I was totally bewildered by what I was going to do with this ten tons of tar and couldn’t think why I had bought it. It was just a weird decision to do that but I didn’t know what else I could do

One thing that I could easily have imagined myself doing in the past was owning a lorry. It wouldn’t have been a tanker though – too many safety certificates and the like to obtain, and I certainly wouldn’t have gone out to buy ten tons of tar on spec without having a ready market for it. Mind you, I have done wilder things …

Later on, I’d met a couple of Americans who were in the UK doing business. I wondered whether there might be some kind of opportunity for me with them so I had a little chat and talked about my business, puffing up my affairs a little. They told me that they had two representatives in the UK at that particular time, one of whom was in the area and the other one was in Lincoln, so I was chatting to them. I had to set off in a car and ended up stopping at a motorway service station where I was talking to a lorry driver about all of the changes in the service areas over the years and how he was saying that he would continue having trouble finding the right kind of place. He and I tried to leave the building but even with his pass key it was still a struggle to leave. I told him about the times that I’d been down on a motorway service station driving lorries. I climbed into my car but I drove off the service station without looking. I thought “that was a lucky escape”. I then had to decide where to go. I was heading somewhere down the M1 but I wondered if I should go to Lincoln instead but I thought “what am I going to do when I’m in Lincoln?”. I carried on driving to my destination and when I was there, I created a website and set it up in a foreign country, then sent a link to these American people with the idea that with my business being registered in a foreign domain, it would confuse them. But they were in the middle of the street in Nantwich Road – the middle of the pavement – having a huge discussion. I dropped my coat but even with a big shovel, I still couldn’t pick it up. I was just pushing it farther and farther into the road.

“Commercial puffs” are well-known in business and I think that just about every businessman has engaged in them. Some were so convincing and overwhelming, in the cases of companies like Enron and WorldCom, and individuals such as Bernie Madoff, that when they were finally exposed, they collapsed whole economies. Not, however, that any puffing up that any sole trader on my scale of business could do would ever damage an economy. Chance would be a fine thing.

Isabelle the Nurse was late today, having overslept this morning. consequently she was in and out in a flash and I could carry on and make breakfast.

There was also MY BOOK to read.

Our author is still on the prowl around the churches of London and it looks as if he’s going to be there for quite a while. He does, however, make some interesting remarks about various bequests that were made by the rich in order to aid the deserving poor, finishing by saying "how this … was performed I have not heard, for executors of our time having no conscience (I speak of my own knowledge) prove more testaments than they perform.".

Back in here, I watched Stranraer away to Edinburgh City, and almost fell asleep in the middle, such was the game. I have been to funerals with a more lively atmosphere than the atmosphere at the Meadowbank Stadium during the game.

Next task was to tackle the “Sunday Woodstock” radio programme. I had ten minutes and seventeen seconds to lose so that meant “goodbye” to two groups, whose style doesn’t really fit into our programmes, and a rewriting and editing of certain vocal parts. I’d anticipated some exclusions and had dictated some notes to cover them. There was plenty of applause amongst the tracks too and so I had some room to manoeuvre … "PERSONoeuvre" – ed … in there.

It took an age to do all of that and line up the various sections of the programme afterwards, but it’s now all done and it sounds quite good Even the bad mistake that I had made and which I identified yesterday was patched over.

So that’s a huge weight off my mind, because it has been the most difficult radio task that I have ever performed. The research alone took a couple of months all told.

There was an interruption – I had to pause for a while to sell some furniture. I’m slowly having a clear-out and have advertised some stuff on one of these websites. Today, it was the turn of the four cheap kitchen units, those that I bought a few years ago just before I fell ill and so never installed here, to go out of the door.

Well, they were out of the door already – on the landing outside where they have lived for three or four years – but anyway, they aren’t there now, the ground’s all flat.

After a disgusting drink break, I had another task to perform.

There has been a huge accumulation of paperwork around here that I haven’t filed away for eighteen months and it was completely out of hand, so I sorted it all out into date order and it’s now all neatly filed away in various folders.

At one point I had several piles of papers on the floor and it reminded me of the good old days when Nerina and I were sorting out the paperwork for the taxis. We’d have several piles of paperwork on the floor, and then the cats would come in. They would make a very intelligent and correct guess about which pile of paperwork we were actually working, and then go to sit on it.

And that reminds me – I shall have to think about trying to find a cat for when I move downstairs. I am determined to have one.

Something else that I’ve done is to pack a couple more boxes with things to be taken downstairs. I shall let my faithful cleaner take charge of that.

There was bread to make this afternoon, as well as a pizza base for tea. And that all worked well, except that the bread needed much longer than usual this afternoon to bake. I’ve no idea what was the matter with the oven today.

So now that I’ve had my delicious pizza and tidied up a little, I’m off to bed. Tomorrow, I’m going to be busy. There are my bags to pack, food to make, and then I’m off to dialysis in the afternoon. When dialysis is finished, I’m going straight to Paris for chemotherapy so it will be unlikely that there will be a blog entry for tomorrow night. You may have to wait for Tuesday to read it.

But seeing as we have been talking about wills and testaments … "well, one of us has" – ed … a very true story is that someone was left a sum of money in someone else’s will "on condition that he could prove that he was not dead."
The heritee had to present himself before a Commissioner for Oaths who asked him "Are you Mr …..?"
"Yes I am" replied the heritee.
"Are you dead?" asked the Commissioner
"No I am not"
"Are you prepared to swear an oath to that effect?"

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."

EPIC HALL

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