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Friday 14th November 2025 – MY NEW OFFICE …

… chair is not as comfortable as I would have liked it to be.

Mind you, that’s not the end of the World, not at all. Firstly, if I can’t try it out before I buy it, I have to accept whatever I can find. And secondly, it’s far more comfortable than the previous one.

Anyway, my faithful cleaner and I had loads of fun late this afternoon assembling it and I’m now sitting in it, making the most of a seat that actually goes up and down as it’s supposed to do and a backrest that reclines into a comfortable sleeping position if ever I need it.

As you can gather, I’m feeling rather better this morning. As regular readers of this rubbish will recall, sleep has always been my go-to cure for all evils.

Not that I had a good sleep last night, though. I was determined to push on and write up the notes for yesterday and the missing ones from the day before yesterday, before I went to bed, and although I managed it, it was not far off midnight by the time that I hit the sack.

And although I was asleep quite quickly, it lasted until all of … err … 05:10 when I awoke, and no matter what I tried, I couldn’t go back to sleep.

In the end, round about 06:10, I gave up trying and had an early start to the day. Not that I was in any rush, though. I took my time having a good scrub up and taking my medication, including making another honey, ginger and lemon drink, and I wasn’t back in here any earlier than I might usually have been.

And so I transcribed the dictaphone notes to find out where I’d been during the night. I was in the tower block at work and had gone out for a quick coffee. However, there had been a couple of folk musicians playing in the café so I stayed around to listen for much longer than I really ought to have done. On the way back to my office, I found myself on the roof. It was November and it was a beautiful sunny day. There was a sandy kind of beach on the roof and you could see for miles, and the sea in the distance looked beautiful. I thought that I could bring my sandwiches up here at lunchtime to have a nice little relax. I looked back into the building through the fire escape. It seemed that the top floor stairwell had been completely redesigned over some kind of period and repainted. One of the senior officials who knew me was there, so I asked him when it had been done. He said that it had been done during the Luxembourg Presidency and made the building much easier to maintain and clean. I set off to walk down the stairs to my office but after about three or four floors, found myself on the ground floor. It was inside a little delicatessen type of place in the busy shopping street just outside. I wondered what had happened to all the intervening floors. I was being hours late back to work so I rushed to the lift and opened the doors, but there was a girl in it. I asked her “do you mind if I join you?”. She replied “yes, if you are going to do it today”. I asked her which floor she required but she gave a very non-committal answer so I set the dial to go to my floor and the lift set off. But there was the sound of a girl panting very loudly. It wasn’t the girl who was with me so I asked her if she knew what was happening. She replied that it was obviously some girl in a hurry so I asked “where is she?”. She replied “ohh, she’s around somewhere” and that made things even more confusing.

The tower block relates to a building in which I once worked for a short while in Manchester, although it didn’t have a beach on the roof and you couldn’t see the sea from there. There was no delicatessen on the ground floor either.

However, being horribly late back from a tea break or a lunch brings back a few memories of a very troubled time and I’m surprised that it has risen its ugly head once more after all these years.

And later on, I was at someone else’s house and my niece was there with one of her daughters and her daughter’s friend. They were messing around with an AI app and had managed to make the television in this room talk to them. They were discussing things like going out. It was a Sunday afternoon and fairly late and I would have expected them to go out much earlier because it was such a nice day. But they were talking to this app about going out, and in the end, one of them asked about when they could have a taxi. The app replied that he could be there in about ten minutes. My niece said “well, I want to get washed and get ready and everything” so I said “well, just go out as you are”. So they arranged to have this car come to pick them up via this AI app and they dashed upstairs to get ready. I went to look out of the window and there were crowds of people walking up and down the street, kids running around, and there was a huge dog, an enormous thing. Then there was a slightly smaller dog, all white like a polar bear, and there was a strange kind of deer that was also white. It had the two hind legs much shorter than the front legs so it was walking on a lead with someone in a kind of strange fashion. As I looked, a brown Cortina MkIII pulled up in the street at the bottom of the hill and went to reverse into someone’s drive. However, he hit a trailer that was parked on the pavement. I thought that if he’s the taxi, he’s going to be in a lot of trouble. But he parked in the drive and walked off. So then I went up with the television and found my mobile ‘phone, which was an old type of Nokia. The back of it didn’t seem to fit on the front. I noticed that I’d written some notes on the back about where all the data was stored on which memory stick. I didn’t remember doing that in the past, so I sat down and began to play around with this television and this AI map. However, it was long after ten minutes, the taxi hadn’t arrived and the girls still hadn’t come downstairs from getting ready.

The view from this house corresponds with a view that I had from a house that I used to visit in Neston on the Wirral fifty-odd years ago, although my niece never ever visited it. Talking Ai apps are all the rage these days, although I’m doing my best to avoid them. I prefer text that I can cut, paste and save rather than rely on my fading memory.

The animals were quite curious too and I don’t know what to make of them.

Isabelle the Nurse turned up and sorted out my legs. And then, in accordance with the prescription that I received yesterday, she took my blood pressure.

"If the blood pressure is less than 8.5" said the prescription. "telephone the dialysis clinic immediately."

And so she telephoned immediately. "Mr Hall’s blood pressure is 7.9!"

"Oh" came the reply. "That’s normal for him!"

After she left, I made breakfast and for once, I managed to eat everything as well as drink my coffee. And how I have missed a good mug of coffee!

Back in here, there was the uploading of a pile of little miscellaneous programs, some of which I’ve been using for over twenty years and which are difficult to find these days. Luckily, I’ve been saving all the installation programs but even so, there are one or two of the full executable programs that are no longer on line and in one case, the link to the executable program has been hi-jacked so I had to end up cleaning out all of the mess that it had created.

After a disgusting drink break, I made myself ready for the Centre de Ré-education and the taxi came to pick me up.

Having told them that three is the maximum amount of sessions that I feel able to do in a day, they had changed my programme to give me four this afternoon. And while it’s back to three next week, the week after, they have given me four again. I may as well talk to myself, I suppose.

The first session was sitting at something like a rowing machine, using my leg muscles (such as they are) to move some weights. A whole thirty minutes of it too and I couldn’t stand up afterwards. They had to lift me from the machine.

Secondly, I was with my physiotherapist who had me lying on my side giving me breathing exercises. She also suggested some exercises that I can do in bed, although I have my own ideas about those. That was when I realised that I was feeling better.

Thirdly, they strapped me to a machine that had me standing up. They kept on asking me every five minutes if I was still OK. I’ve no idea why, because it didn’t seem like any effort for me and I was enjoying the view out of the window.

Finally, the occupational therapist wanted to see me about hints and tips for the shower. However, that was really a waste of half an hour because he had no suggestions to make. And when he was talking about non-slip rubber mats, he was showing me examples at €150:00 or thereabouts. We’re doing the same job with a worn-out bath towel that one of my cleaner’s other clients was throwing away.

Back here, my cleaner helped me in and then we attacked the new chair. It was a complex piece of machinery to assemble but it seems to work really well. As I said earlier, it’s not as comfortable as I would have liked, but it’s definitely an improvement.

Tea was air-fried chips with salad and those breaded quorn nuggets that I like. And, regardless of there being only very small portions, for once I managed to eat everything. And it’s been a long time since that has happened.

So now I’m off to bed. With a repaired (I hope) washing machine, I shall be clothes-washing in the morning and then off to dialysis to see what delights they have in store for me there.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about the girl in the lift … "well, one of us has" – ed … I did once meet a girl in a lift
"Do you mind if I join you?" I asked.
"I suppose so" she replied. "But honestly, I had no idea that I was coming apart."

Friday 31st October 2025 – AND EVEN THOUGH …

… I served up a much smaller portion of food for tea tonight, I still left the table with some food left on the plate. My appetite has all-but disappeared these days and, as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed …. I’m beginning to worry about it.

At least I’m managing a reasonable breakfast, so that’s something for which to be grateful.

Last night, I remember saying that I was going to leave off worrying about my (lack of) appetite, and so I did. I finished my notes at a time that was much more reasonable than just recently, and then after taking the statistics and backing up the computer, I crawled off to the bathroom.

Managing this time not to fall asleep on the porcelain horse, I sorted myself out in the bathroom and then fell into bed at something like 22:45. Not early, but definitely not late either.

Although I awoke at about 04:15, it was only for a couple of minutes or so, and I was soon back fast asleep in bed. And there I stayed until the alarm went off at 06:29.

There was nothing on the dictaphone from the night, and so it must have been a really deep, relaxing sleep. But I’m in two minds about this. A deep, relaxing sleep will probably do me the world of good, but as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed …. I enjoy my nocturnal travels. It’s the only excitement that I seem to have these days.

After sorting myself out in the bathroom, I went into the kitchen for my medication.

Because of this cough that I have that doesn’t seem to want to go away, my cleaner recommended a hot drink of fresh lemon juice, ginger and honey. I had some honey so yesterday she brought me a root of ginger and some lemons. I made myself a hot drink with some of it and then went for the medication.

Of course, Brain of Britain forgot that the Calcium Carbonate powder that I take, diluted in liquid, is alkaline. Consequently, when I added it into the hot mix which contained very acidic lemon juice, I had a most interesting reaction.

Anyway, I’ll tell you how this concoction goes when I can find my throat again.

There was some repair work to do this morning. These IKEA drawers are very poorly made and every now and again, one falls apart when I pull on it. Last night, I had one do exactly that so this morning, I had to gather up the pieces and reassemble the drawer.

That didn’t leave much time before Isabelle the Nurse arrived.

She sorted out the injection and then tended to my feel and legs, and then disappeared off to her next port of call. I went and made breakfast.

Back in here, there were things to do, as there always seems to be. But once I’d completed everything, I began work on the radio programme, editing, pairing and seguing the tracks that I’ve chosen.

There are two more tracks than usual in that week because they all seem to be quite short ones. To make up for it, one day I’ll play the thirty-two-minute version of Mountain’s NANTUCKET SLEIGHRIDE.

When the music had been sorted out, I went for my disgusting drink break and then I prepared myself for this afternoon’s torture.

The driver came on time, which makes a change, and I arrived at the Centre de Ré-education just in time for my 14:00 appointment. However, I had to send someone in search of my physiotherapist. Consequently, I missed ten precious minutes of my session.

Today, she had me walking with this huge upright walk frame. It’s certainly easier to use than a pair of crutches, but I almost came to grief when, on the little slope, the front end reared up and nearly sent me flying.

These walk frames are OK, but where am I going to put one? They don’t fold up so there’s no room in here for it, and it won’t fit into the boot of the taxi either.

The rest of the session, she had me trying to stand up from a seat without pushing with my hands. I managed it once, but after that, it was a dismal failure.

She reckons that I’ll benefit from some more “advice” from a few more people, and will arrange the appointments. If it’s free, why not?

The second session, after a half-hour pause, was fifteen minutes sitting down pushing a series of weights with my legs. I can’t manage all that much, but every little helps, I suppose.

The remaining fifteen minutes was lifting weights with a downhill pull on a cord. That wasn’t too difficult, but the greatest part of the exercise was trying to stand up out of the chair afterwards.

The taxi was waiting for me when I left, so I didn’t even have a second to relax and recover. And it’s a long, complicated hike out to the car.

Back here, with the aid of my faithful cleaner, I staggered into the apartment and sat down on a chair, totally exhausted, while I had another disgusting drink.

And then back in here, where I began to write the notes for the songs that I’d chosen. That was a task that took me up to teatime, by which time I’d written about half.

Tea tonight was salad, chips and some of those breaded quorn nuggets that I like, but as I said, I left food on my plate yet again.

When I’d finished, I made another one of these ginger, honey and lemon hot cocktails. I reckon that it’s a case of either “kill or cure”. We’ll find out if it works in the morning.

But seeing as we have been talking about these wonderful cures … "well, one of us has" – ed … it reminds me of the two farmers at Crewe Cattle Market back in the 1960s.
One of them, clearly worried, asked the other "when your cow had that mystery ailment in her throat, what did you give her?"
The other replied "I gave her a mix of turpentine, molasses, beeswax and rapeseed oil."
They met up in the market two weeks later, and the first one said "Remember that mix that you told me about? I gave it to my cow, but she died."
"Now isn’t that strange?" said the second. "So did mine!"

Friday 17th October 2025 – I AM COMPLETELY …

… exhausted again right now.

In fact, I spent much of the late afternoon asleep on my chair in here. That is, however, no surprise, because they really put me through the mill at the Centre de Ré-education earlier.

As well as that, I spent half an hour or so asleep on the chair this morning. But then again, that’s no surprise either when you consider that I awoke at 04:10 this morning, despite how tired I was last night before going to bed.

All in all, it’s not been a very good day at all, and I’m going to have to snap out of this and organise myself properly before long.

Last night, I finished off by saying how exhausted I was, and I wasn’t wrong. I had never felt so relieved as I did when I finally crawled into bed, bang on 23:00. And the prospect of a deep, uninterrupted sleep of about seven and a half hours was so, so welcoming.

The deep sleep I certainly had, for I remember absolutely nothing at all about anything during the night. But long, it was certainly not. As I mentioned just now, I was awake at 04:10 and once more, I couldn’t go back to sleep no matter how hard I tried.

After about an hour of trying, I thought “no time like the present” and arose from the Dead. And it wasn’t easy either.

Taking advantage of the early start, I dictated the radio notes that I’d written on Wednesday. And I made a total mess of them too. My heart wasn’t in it at all. I remember thinking “this is going to take a lot of editing”.

When I had finally finished, I had a listen to the dictaphone to see where I had been during the night, and regrettably, there was nothing on there at all. It must have been a really deep sleep. Instead, I checked my mails and had a look at what else had been going on elsewhere during the night.

Isabelle the Nurse turned up, as cheerful as usual, and she asked me if I’d spoken to them at dialysis about the proposal for chemotherapy on Tuesday. I said that I’d mentioned it, and that they would examine me on Saturday and see how I am. If I’m still full of infection, they won’t allow me to go.

After she left, I made breakfast and then came back in here to start work.

There were a few things to do and then, as I mentioned earlier, I rather regrettably fell asleep. I was out of it all for a good half-hour or so too. I really do need to pull myself together and push on. I thought that dialysis was supposed to put an end to all of this.

Once I’d finally brought myself round into the Land of the Living, I made a start on editing the radio notes that I’d dictated. And I was right about them needing a lot of editing too.

After a while, I had to break off for a disgusting drink break and to prepare to go to the Centre de Ré-education.

My faithful cleaner turned up too ready to start her rounds. She noticed the enormous pile of washing that has built up while I’m waiting for this plumber to fix this leak, and she proposed to take a handful with her so that there could be more room in the basket. And I wish that the plumber would hurry up and sort out his problems and come round to sort out mine.

The taxi turned up on time, with two other passengers so I had to squeeze into the back. And, although you might find this hard to believe seeing as we are in mid-October, going past the port I noticed that they were putting up the Christmas decorations already. That is really taking the mickey.

At the Centre de Ré-education the first task was to sit on a chair and pull on some elastics in order to work the muscles in my upper arms. That was OK but the chair was too low and there were no armrests, so it was a nightmare for me to stand up again.

In the end, the monitor had to help me haul myself up, in some kind of bear-hug. And then some passer-by had to pass me my crutches. But while the monitor had me in her arms, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to ask her if she would like to dance.

Chance would be a fine thing, wouldn’t it?

With my physiotherapist, I was given some kind of apparatus to hold my knees steady and then invited to stand up, just pulling on the safety bar of this apparatus. I had about ten attempts, and actually managed it twice. So all is not lost. However, I was completely exhausted trying to do it. It took an awful lot out of me.

The rest of the session was spent walking around in some kind of machine that’s like a walkframe but it’s quite tall, with handles rather like that of a skid steer machine. She asked me if I would like one of these at home, but where on earth would I put it? It wouldn’t go into the boot of a taxi either so it’s quite pointless really.

As I was leaving, they gave me the programme for the next series of sessions, and they are taking the mickey too. Two sessions per day I can just about handle, three is the absolute limit, but giving me four? I put my foot down at that.

One thing that I noticed though was that my effort today was much less than previously. Whether my body has deteriorated over the last week or whether it’s the effect of this infection, I really don’t know. But whatever it is, I don’t like it.

It was a struggle to come back in here from the car and I crashed into a chair, where I sat for a good half-hour or more while I tried to gather my wits – something that should take much less time seeing how few wits I have left these days – and then I came back in here and crashed out definitively.

While I was away on my travels, I was at some point busy untangling small lengths of wire from a huge mass and testing each wire for conductivity. I’m not sure why.

Eventually, I managed to sort myself out and carry on with editing the rest of the radio programme, texting with Rosemary while I was at it.

Tea tonight was vegan sausage, baked beans with cheese and fried mushrooms, and air-fried chips. That was the first meal that I’ve properly enjoyed for quite a while, although after about half an hour, my stomach was back in the usual turmoil.

So now I’m off to bed. And I can’t say that I’m sorry. There’s no point in wishing for a good night’s sleep because it makes no difference what I would like. I’ll “get what I’m given” as my mother used to say.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about the washing … "well, one of us has" – ed … it reminds me of back in Gainsborough Road. If the man was hanging out the washing, it was always going to be a sunny or windy day. It never rained when he had the clothes out.
One day, I asked him the secret.
"It’s the wife’s rheumatism" he replied. "If she’s lying on her right side, it means that the weather will be damp. If she’s lying on her left side, it means that the weather will be fine, so we do the washing."
"And if she’s lying on her back?" I asked. "What does that mean?"
"It means that we have far more exciting things to do than to worry about the washing."

Friday 10th October 2025 – I AM TOTALLY …

… exhausted.

Today, I have been to the Centre de Ré-education and they have put me through the mill. I don’t think that I have ever worked as hard in recent times as I have today.

And seeing as we have been talking about being tired … "well, one of us has" – ed … last night, I was totally dead to the World. I’ve been extremely tired late in the evening on a few occasions just recently, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall, but last night’s beats just about everything that I’ve ever had before.

In fact, I was asleep long before I finished writing my notes, sagging face-down over my desk on a couple of occasions before wrestling myself upright again with a few Herculean efforts. It’s a mystery how I managed to carry on and finish.

Once I’d sorted myself out, I was in bed quite quickly, flat out asleep in an instant, and there I lay without moving until all of … err … 04:10.

At that point, I was again wide-awake, and for quite a while too, but just like the other morning, the next thing that I remember was the alarm going off at 06:29. Either I’d gone back to sleep or else I must have been dreaming that I was awake.

Being awake at 06:29 is one thing – being up and about is something completely different, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall. And especially after yesterday evening. Consequently, it was a very slow start to the day today.

After the bathroom and the medication, I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone to see where I’d been during the night. I didn’t honestly expect there to be anything on it, but there we are. We were back in the State of New York during the American Revolution and the commandant of a group of forces was cornered and was obliged to surrender to the British, where he was taken as prisoner in a barge and imprisoned in one of the forts in New York. But the food there was terrible and the conditions were terrible. It was easy to dodge the British controls so he had been out and about several times during his imprisonment, trying to line up strength of supporters ready to oppose General Carleton, and General Carleton was just as careful not make sure that he would lose his numerical advantage if things began to go wrong for him in New York.

Later on, I was back in the American Revolution. The Americans had been besieging a British fort in the interior and after a while, they had finally captured it. Then there were all kinds of discussions about expelling the British garrison etc and what happened to the fort afterwards but I can’t remember very much more about this particular dream unfortunately.

My book, BATTLES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION, is really getting to me right now. I’ve been having quite a few dreams about it just recently, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall. What am I going to dream about when I’ve finished this book and moved on to the next one?

The nurse turned up, early as usual these days, and sorted me out. He asked me a few strange questions, presumably out of curiosity, before he left. which took me by surprise … "with asking the questions, not leaving" – ed.

Breakfast was next, and some more of my book. The British Army has now surrendered at Yorktown after putting up only a token resistance.

And that is perplexing. Reading the stories of Lord Cornwallis, his total lack of aggression, his insipid retreat and how he allowed himself to be trapped with his back to the sea, I can’t help feeling that his heart was never in this campaign from the beginning. I reckon that his whole aim was to extricate himself out of the Southern States without a care as to how he did it, what the fate of his army would be, and without a thought about how it would affect his country.

The politicians in Britain were no better. They prevaricated and prevaricated, refusing to send to the British Army the supplies and reinforcements that they needed to fight a decent campaign, and in the end, abandoned the army to its fate.

Maybe I’m being unkind – I dunno. Perhaps there are a lot of issues hidden much deeper than I realise that influenced the conduct of the war.

One thing of which I am sure is the partisan nature of our author, Colonel Henry Carrington. He writes pages and pages about the reprehensible conduct of the British, looting, pillaging and plundering as they go around. However, in George Washington’s diary, which I know that Carrington has seen, Washington talks about the lack of supplies, arms, ammunition and clothing for his troops "and in all that business, or a great part of it, being done by military impressment, we are daily and hourly oppressing the people, souring their tempers and alienating their affections"

A while ago, I mentioned something like this, but whatever – it shows that irony is not Colonel Carrington’s strong point.

Back in here, I began to work on the next radio programme and, after a while, I decided that what I was doing was in rather poor taste, so it all went into the bin and I decided to start again.

After a disgusting drink break, I waited for the taxi. And waited. It finally turned up, fifteen minutes late, and I barely arrived at the Centre de Ré-education on time.

There were three sessions today – the first being weightlifting. The monitor had me lifting weights, using my arms only, from a sitting position, and I’m disappointed with how much force and strength I seem to have lost. Long-gone are the days when I could lift a Ford Cortina engine out of a car without an engine hoist.

There was half an hour before my next session, so the monitor had me sitting on a bench practising how to raise myself up. As if I don’t do enough of that during the day when I’m here, but it’s free, I suppose, and I may as well do something while I’m waiting.

With my physiotherapist, it was pretty much more of the same – lifting myself in and out of a chair, and then exercising my legs. And there’s no doubt – all the force has gone from my lower legs and she doesn’t think that it will come back. That’s really bad news.

After a half-hour pause, it was back into the gym for group therapy – involving standing up and sitting down once again. I wonder if someone is trying to tell me something.

By the time that I had finished, I was exhausted and my head was spinning round. It was really difficult to walk down to the car. It’s the very first time that I have felt that maybe I’m doing too much, but if it’s not stretching me and causing me discomfort, then it’s not doing any good at all.

My faithful cleaner helped me into the apartment and I collapsed into a chair with a disgusting drink to cheer me up. I was there for well over half an hour trying to recover, before I could find the strength to come back in here.

Until teatime, I worked on the radio programme and then went to make myself some salad, chips and some of those vegan nuggets. And I’m still off my food. This is no good at all.

But now, I’m off to bed. I have dialysis tomorrow, just by way of a change. And then Sunday is a Day of Rest while I prepare for chemotherapy. I have a medical appointment of some description every day (including Saturday) next week. All I need now is one for Sunday to complete the week.

And there is some exciting news about yesterday, in that I set a new record as far as readership went. We had one thousand and six readers, which is the very first time that I have ever had a four-figure readership in one twenty-four-hour period. Well done to all of you.

Anyway, before I go, seeing as we have been talking about being awake … "well, one of us has" – ed … it reminds me of the old Tommy Cooper joke –
"I once knew a man who dreamed that he was awake. And when he woke up – he was!"

Friday 3rd October 2025 — AFTER YESTERDAY’S LITTLE …

… health and morale wobble, I have spent the day in a much better and much more positive state of mind. And, to my, and probably your surprise too, not only have I not crashed out at all today, I have also managed to keep going without sinking into one of these catatonic fits.

It didn’t seem as if it was going to be like that last night, though. I really was feeling quite out of sorts and a late night … "yet again!" – ed … didn’t help matters all that much. I was certainly ready for bed, and glad that I could slide in underneath the covers without any further ado.

If only it had continued like that. At about 03:15, I awoke, and couldn’t go back to sleep. There was this nagging feeling in my mind about whether or not I’d switched on the water heater before going to bed and, if so, was it still working?

Realising that I’m never going to have any peace at all until I find out for definite, I went to look. And sure enough, it was switched on and still heating, so there will be hot water to wash the dishes in the morning.

On that note, I went back to bed and luckily enough, I managed to go back to sleep quite quickly.

Not for long, though. By 06:00 I was wide awake, having given up all hope of going back to sleep, and so I heaved myself out of my stinking pit and headed for the bathroom and the lovely hot water.

After the medication, I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. It was during the American Civil War. I was in some kind of charge of a small area where I had eventually to transform everything into war defences to keep the Union army out. For a few months, it was a very vicious siege until at the end of the day we had beaten the Union Army and they began to retreat from the area. This was another one of those occasions where I really was ill and had a most upset stomach. I didn’t really feel like doing anything at all during the night and morning with all this going on.

As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … although I’m asleep when I’m dictating these dreams, there is usually some kind of vague recollection that comes back to me when I am typing them out. On a few rare occasions though, I remember nothing whatever about them and they are a total mystery to me, just like this one is.

There was some kind of meal being given in a restaurant where my boss, I suppose, had invited someone to lunch. Anyway, it wasn’t my boss at all but another guy and he was sitting at a table upstairs in this restaurant. I was hovering around on duty. I could hear the front door open and someone come in. As I looked down the stairs I could see this woman coming upstairs. She came in and stood by the door, but before I could go over to her, my boss went over to her and invited her back to a chair at his table. I felt embarrassed about that because I should be doing this. But this woman, she had Zero with her. They began to discuss the meal and the point of this meeting, but she said that she would like to start the meal straight away and eat while she is talking. For starters, she decided that she would have meatballs, and everyone else would have meatballs – the man would have meatballs and so would Zero so I beckoned the waiter over to take the order.

So welcome back, Zero! How lovely to see you again! I wish that she, and Castor, and TOTGA would come back more often into my dreams. As for this restaurant, though, I’ve been there before and I can still see it quite clearly in my imagination, but can I recall where it is? But it does remind me of a restaurant in Brussels to which I went once with a young lady of my acquaintance, but I shall say no more about it in case she is one of my anonymous readers.

By the way, if you are one of my anonymous readers, introduce yourself and say “hello”. I like to interact with my audience. There’s a contact button on the bottom right that you can use. I don’t bite … "well, not hard, anyway" – ed …

There was something else about someone coming into Granville. I’d arranged to meet them at the roundabout at the Sports Centre. However, I can’t remember anything else about this. It’s one of those that has evaporated completely.

Is this the first time that I’ve dreamed about Granville? I can’t recall Granville figuring in the dreams before and that’s a surprise because I’ve been living here for eight and a half years after I left Leuven.

Isabelle the Nurse came around, her happy, enthusiastic self as usual. She didn’t stay long, so I could push on and make breakfast, and then read some more of BATTLES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION.

The British are at it again. Despite an overwhelmingly superior army (in numbers and supplies), they are refusing to take the battle to the Americans in the Northern States, and are abandoning coastal cities in the South for fear of being enveloped by the French fleet that has now joined in.

As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … the British are not going to win this war unless and until they bring the American Army to the battlefield and defeat it. Running away from a fight won’t win any battles. I have the distinct feeling that the British are wasting their time here. If they aren’t going to fight to the bitter end, what was the point of starting?

Back in here, after dealing with some correspondence, I’ve spent the rest of the day dealing with this difficult radio programme that I’ve been trying to sort out for several weeks.

By the time that I’d knocked off for tea, I’d sorted out and remixed all of the music and I’ve written over half of the text. It all took an age to do and I’ve no idea where all of the motivation and energy came from, but here we are. I’m hoping to finish it tomorrow so that I can dictate it on Sunday morning and then move on to another one.

There was an interruption for me to go down to the Centre Normandy for my physiotherapy etc. My first appointment was for 13:30 but the taxi came for me at 12:45, which meant that I had a wait of over half an hour. Why can’t the taxi come early like this when it’s dialysis?

To my surprise, my physiotherapist proposed a foot massage, to try to force the circulation back into my feet and toes. They are actually quite cold and numb, as no blood is reaching them. It sounded such a strange idea to me, but who am I to complain? I’m just grateful that I’m having all this attention, all for free. There have to be some consolations with being terminally ill.

The second session was with the ergotherapist. He discussed my living arrangements and what I would need to be more autonomous. And one thing that I learned was that “a young Thai serving wench” is not the answer to my problems – at least, according to the ergotherapist.

He took a lot of notes and filled in several forms, but what the outcome of all of that will be, I have no idea.

When I went in, they gave me a programme of next week’s sessions, and the driver duly photographed it to send off to her dispatching office. And so, when I came out, they gave me another one to replace the one that I’d had just an hour or so earlier.

Back here, my faithful cleaner helped me inside and then she cleared off. I had a little relax, a disgusting drink, and then carried on work.

Tea was falafel and chips with vegan salad, and now I’m going to bed. It’s dialysis tomorrow so I need to be on form. And then with a bit of luck, there will be a foot fest on Sunday if I’m lucky. It seems to be my only source of enjoyment these days.

But seeing as we have been talking about useful help around the house … "well, one of us is" – ed … it reminds me of a chat that I had once with a French woman.
"What do you call in English that machine thing that you have around the house to make the clothes smooth and flat after you’ve washed tham?"
"Ohh, that," I replied. "That’s called a ‘wife’."

Friday 12th September 2025 – I DON’T KNOW …

… why I bothered buying an apartment. I may as well have saved my money because it seems to me that these days, I’m being passed around from one hospital bed to another and it’s all getting completely out of hand. There has been another message today – "please present yourself at the aforementioned at 09:00 in the forenoon" – and all that kind of thing.

That’s the last thing that I need right now because I’m not doing all that well at the moment. It was another wretched evening when I couldn’t seem to find the motivation to finish rapidly what I was doing. Although I had the notes from yesterday online at some kind of reasonable hour, it still took an age to finish everything off and crawl into bed.

It was a bad night again, where I spent most of the time tossing and turning and not being able to sleep. At one point, I was thinking of leaving the bed and dictating the radio notes that I’d prepared during the week, but the howling, roaring gale and the sound of the waves crashing onto the cliffs out here rendered that idea a waste of time. No-one would hear me over the noise.

By the time that 05:50 came round, I was wide-awake so I switched on the light ready to leave the bed. However, the spirit may be willing but the flesh was quite weak this morning again and it was … errr … somewhat later when I finally had my feet on the ground.

After a good wash and the medication, I had some jars of spices to fill. And woe is me! I’ve run out of cumin. I’ve seen the price in the local supermarket too and how I wish that I could go back to Leuven where I can buy enormous bags for next to nothing.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I dreamed that I was in chemotherapy again – dialysis again last night and had to plug myself into the machine. There was some big, aggressive, domineering type of nurse who was surveying me, seeing if I had done it properly, but it took several goes before she was satisfied with what I’d done, and I’m not surprised that I awoke at that point.

This is something else that is going beyond a joke. It seems to have become a nocturnal obsession with me, dialysis and connecting myself up with tubes. It’s bad enough being confronted with it during the day but dreaming about it too when I really want to be dreaming about other things … "like TOTGA, Zero and Castor" – ed … is too much.

When I awoke just now, I was convinced that I’d been sitting down somewhere talking to a girlfriend of mine, discussing four different options of piles of clothes, one of which was supposed to be wet but I couldn’t see which one was wet when I touched them. This evolved into talking about the dictaphone. I was going somewhere so I was planning to leave the dictaphone with her. I had to show her how to work it but she said not to worry because she’ll have plenty of trials with it to make sure that it was working fine for when she actually needed it.

As it happens, I remember this. And I really did think that I had been sitting down too. I’m not sure why I would be letting anyone else use my dictaphone though. It usually accompanies me if I am away from the house.

At this point, I went and put my fleece jacket on. I forgot to say that yesterday, I put on a fleece in the apartment for the first time this year. It’s gone quite cold this last couple of days. "Winter is acumen in. Lhude sing Rudolph."

The nurse turned up again, in a very good humour yet again. I hope that he keeps it up for the rest of however long it will be that I’m here. I have a sneaky feeling that it won’t be long at this rate.

After he left, I made breakfast and read some more of COLONEL CARRINGTON’S TESTIMONY. In fact, I’ve read all of it now because it wasn’t that long.

Apart from the usual facts that were chiselled out about the running of the forts and the deaths of Fetterman and his party, there were the gruesome details about how Fetterman and his men were mutilated – in many cases before death. And it doesn’t make very pretty reading. In respect of Lieutenant Daniels, who was killed a few weeks before, Carrington tells us that "Lieutenant Daniels, a little in advance, was shot, scalped, and barbarously tortured with a stake inserted from below." That is nothing compared to the fate of some of Fetterman’s men.

However, to give you some idea of the constraints under which he was operating with his 375 men against a war party of at least 3,000 Sioux, he reports to his General that "One contract train with supplies for Fort C.F. Smith"; one of his outposts further down the Bozeman Trail "(thirty-one wagons) had but five arms with the party. I had to furnish an escort, especially as I had to send ammunition to Fort C.F. Smith, then reduced to ten rounds per man."

In his own case at his own fort (Fort Phil Kearny), the chief location along the Bozeman Trail, "I found Spencer ammunition at Reno and thereby am relieved from some trouble on that account, but having drawn, en route, all I could, I have not now for my Springfield rifles, fifty rounds to the man.". How on earth he was expected to hold at bay a whole Sioux Army is a total mystery.

Rather ominously, in view of the disaster that befell Fetterman and his troop, just six weeks before the dismal affair, Carrington assures his General that "In no case will any rash venture be made". Carrington did indeed give instructions to Fetterman, in the presence of witnesses, "Under no circumstances pursue over the ridge viz; Lodge Trail Ridge, as per map in your possession" i.e. out of the line of sight of the fort. However, when I walked to the battlefield from the fort in 2019, I found it to be well over the crest of the ridge and halfway down the reverse slope, a long way (as in several miles) out of the line of sight of the fort.

Back in here, I had various things to do, and then I attacked the radio programme that I’d been preparing over the last couple of days. And now, after a Herculean effort, because I really wasn’t feeling much like it, it’s now finished and ready for dictation. I’m now going to have to find a quiet early morning with no storms when I can dictate the notes that are building up.

All of this was interrupted by a text message. "Don’t forget your appointment at the University Hospital of Rennes on Wednesday 17th September at 09:00."

My appointment is actually for the Tuesday so I rang them up to see if there has been a mistake or a change of plan. But to my surprise (and dismay) I was told "the chemotherapy goes on for two days. You need to come here for both sessions."

"So do I get to stay the night in between?"

"Ohh no" replied the nurse. "You go home and come back the following morning."

My cleaner turned up as usual to do her stuff in the apartment, and she’s been busy rearranging things. That means that I probably won’t be able to find a few more things for quite some time now, and when I do find them, the next day they will all be rearranged again.

After she left, I made some more vegan mayonnaise as I have now run out. And I shovelled loads of garlic into it to give it some added bite. Not in the sense of werewolves or vampires, because the amount of garlic in that stuff will keep them away. They don’t seem to come any closer to me than Transylvania.

Tea tonight was chips with vegan salad and vegan mini-nuggets, delicious as usual.

But now, I’m off to bed, all ready for dialysis, I don’t think. But I really am fed up with this endless series of visits to hospitals. Wouldn’t it be nice if it could all stop?

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about keeping things away … "well, one of us has" – ed … someone in Shavington where we used to live as kids always planted garlic in with his strawberry plants.
"Why are you doing that?" asked his neighbour
"It keeps polar bears off my strawberries"
"But the polar bears are in the Arctic" replied the neighbour. "that’s 2,000 miles from here"
"Yes, it’s powerful stuff, isn’t it?"

Friday 5th September 2025 – I HAVE HAD …

… a lovely afternoon this afternoon in the company of friends, and it’s not very often that I can say that. Or, at least, not often enough.

Back in 1970 when I was 16 I went on a student exchange and ended up in a small village in the Burgundy Hills at the back of Macon, and the poor boy went to stay with my family in the UK.

What with me living a very nomadic existence after that, we lost touch but A CASUAL ENCOUNTER WITH ONE OF HIS RELATIVES rekindled things and we’ve kept in touch ever since.

Anyway, the last few days, they’ve been camping in the area and today, in between all of my medical appointments, we managed to meet up and see each other for the first time for a couple of years.

While I was at dialysis yesterday, he and his wife sent me a photo of themselves outside the building here so they had found where I lived, and they arranged to call here today.

That gave me something to anticipate eagerly last night, because these days there’s not all that much in the way of eager anticipation. I could certainly do with more of it because, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall, it’s been a long time since I’ve had any.

Especially when I was feeling as ill as I was last night. Apart from the pain in my shoulder, I was feeling quite awful everywhere else and flat-out tired to boot.

Despite finishing my notes early last night, somehow the time evaporated afterwards and it was after 23:00 when I finally crawled into bed, tired out, in agony and totally fed up.

When I awoke, it was 03:30 and once more, I couldn’t go back to sleep no matter how hard I tried. I was all for leaving the bed after an hour or so of trying, but I thought that I’d give it five more minutes.

The next thing that I remember, it was 06:18, eleven minutes before the alarm. I had apparently gone back to sleep at some point. But seeing the time, I thought that I’d better leave the bed quite quickly and claim an “early start”.

After sorting myself out in the bathroom I went for my medication, and then afterwards I spent a very pleasant twenty minutes … "I don’t think" – ed … tidying some more of the kitchen.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I was with some friends again. We went to some kind of luxury hotel for breakfast one morning. The place was crowded and we had a struggle to find a seat. I ended up having to perch between the two seats of my two friends. I went to find some soya milk for my cereal. One of the waitresses said that they had some soya milk and it should be on the table at the back. I looked, but it wasn’t there so she replied that someone must have borrowed it. I walked around the table looking for the soya milk and saw a bottle on someone’s table, but as soon as I started to look at it to see if it was soya milk, the guy grabbed hold of it and put it on the floor between his legs. In the end, I went back to see one of the waitresses. She said that she would try to find me some more. There was no vegan butter either so I had to have my toast with jam on it. But by the time I finally returned to my seat, still without the soya milk, everyone else had been finished but I’d had no coffee, no cereal, no toast or anything. I was perched in between these two seats. I thought to myself that for a five-star hotel, this is absolutely awful. But while we were sitting there, some kind of Reverend or Vicar came up to talk to one of the girls with us. It turned out to be her brother. They were doing something with a car. The Priest or Vicar handed her the keys, saying that their mother had said to just leave it around somewhere and it will all be sorted out but it’ll need the keys for it.

In the past, I’ve stayed in five-star hotels where vegan alternatives don’t exist, and where I’ve met some of the most arrogant people on the planet. I’m much more comfortable and at my ease in steerage than I am up on the First-Class promenade.

Later on, I was talking to a former friend of mine from Stoke-upon-Trent. He was talking about my van, saying that someone had seen me and I was driving too fast, recklessly, all of this kind of thing. He gave some kind of fanciful description of a route that I was supposed to have driven around the town that this other guy had seen. I said that I don’t recognise that at all, and didn’t believe that it was me. He had a really good moan about the state of my van, about how when I first had it, I used to really look after it. I was by this time pretty much fed up because I didn’t recognise the journey that he was talking about, I didn’t recognise the state of the van etc. This kind of thing is really getting on my nerves now.

There’s a long story behind this former friend of mine. One of the nicest, most helpful people on the planet, his character totally changed with the medication that he was obliged to take after a serious motorcycle accident. There were several occasions when I ended up in some quite uncomfortable situations and in the end I had to stop going round there. I had enough of my own problems with which to deal without having to deal with the consequences of someone else’s.

Isabelle the Nurse breezed in, early for once. She was in chat mode once more and we spent a lively five minutes discussing this and that while she saw to my legs, and then she wandered off again, leaving me to make breakfast and to read some more of MIDDLESEX IN BRITISH, ROMAN AND SAXON TIMES.

In the past, I’ve often talked about the Local Government Act of 1888 that eliminated the hundreds, if not thousands of enclaves, counter-enclaves and even counter-counter enclaves of different Counties embedded within the borders of other Counties, speculating that the previous County boundaries an enclaves corresponded in many cases with ancient Bishoprics and Church lands.

Our author tells us that certainly in the case of Middlesex, the County boundary corresponded with the boundary of the Middle Saxons after the defeat of the West Saxons at the Battle of Fethanleah in AD584 but before the subsequent peace treaties in the Seventh Century. He goes on to quote from another author that the origins of these enclaves etc was during the reconversion of Britain to Christianity where "a lord had a parcel of land detached from the main of his estate, but not sufficient for a parish of itself, it was natural for him to endow his newly erected church with the tithe of those disjointed lands.".

This morning, I spent some time tidying up my office, rethreading cables etc, tidying boxes, putting things away and so on. But I’m really disappointed in how long it takes me to do even the simplest thing these days. It’s really depressing. Even picking up a box from the floor these days is almost beyond my capabilities.

After a disgusting drink break, my faithful cleaner appeared and set about today’s task of tidying up everything that I had not been able to do, but she was interrupted by the arrival of my friends.

They are Honda Goldwing owners and members of the Goldwing Owners’ Club. There’s a big annual reunion of the Goldwing Club up at Ouistreham near Caen, so they came from near Macon on the Goldwing to camp around here for a few days to see the area and to visit me before moving on to Ouistreham.

We had a good chat about all kinds of things, which was really nice. I don’t meet people anything like as often as I would like and I hardly talk to anyone these days. We ended up being here for hours drinking coffee and idly chatting.

After they left, I made tea – vegan nuggets, salad and air-fried chips.

Now it’s quite late, as usual, and I’m off to bed. Dialysis tomorrow afternoon, but I have washing to do in the morning which will be exciting. I’ve not had the washing machine going down here yet and I still don’t know where I’m going to put the clothes to dry. But as “It’s A Beautiful Day” once said, IT’LL ALL WORK OUT IN BOOMLAND

It better had, anyway.

But seeing as we have been talking about my student exchange visit, one of my sisters asked me afterwards "does their family say a prayer before they eat their meal like we do over here?"
"Ohh no" I replied. "His mother is a good cook."

Friday 29th August 2025 – I HAD FORGOTTEN …

… all about the wind outside here.

When I lived on the first floor, I was at the back of the building and so my only encounters with the wind were on the rare occasions when I went outside the door – or couldn’t, because the wind was so strong that we couldn’t open the front door so I would have to go out of the back.

However, last night, I remembered all about it.

The wind had begun to rise as I was on my way home last night but I hadn’t really taken much notice. However, by the time I’d finished my notes and was preparing for bed, it was blowing quite hard, and then I realised that being in the front, overlooking the cliffs and the sea to the right, is not necessarily always a great advantage and that there are after all, some drawbacks.

But last night, I was so tired. I fell asleep a couple of times while I was writing my notes and no fewer than three times when I was … errr … contemplating the state of the nation. I was glad to make it into bed, when I fell asleep almost immediately.

And there I lay until all off … errr … 05:29. For once just recently, I awoke earlier than the alarm, and I was seriously contemplating raising myself from the Dead, but the next thing that I remember was the alarm going off at 06:29, so I must have gone back to sleep.

It was a real struggle yet again to find the energy and enthusiasm to leave the bed and sort myself out. Yet again, it was over an hour, all told, before I ended up back in here after the medication.

First thing was of course to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. Last night, I was doing something with some kind of radio equipment, I can’t remember what, when a couple of my friends turned up. They weren’t going to stay for long so it was necessary to clear the sofa of everything so that they could sit down. One of them volunteered to put all of the clothes away even though there wasn’t room for them anywhere. In the end, they both managed to sit down. Later, after they had left, I had to look for the clothes again. They had been rolled up in bundles and put on the stairs, each bundle, and several had been put into other places. One had been hung inside a CD cupboard, with the CDs from the shelves in that particular column being merged into other shelves in columns elsewhere. I was thinking that that probably means that I have to sort all of these out into alphabetical order again.

That’s a task that I still have to do, because the records, CDs and DVDs seem to be in any old kind of disorder, and sticking the clothes back into places where they don’t belong is also something quite relevant at the moment.

Later on, I was on a Plaxton Elite coach, driving it, taking a load of English kids back to boarding school. When I went to join it, it was crammed full of children and I couldn’t understand at first what was happening. It turned out that these kids were all French refugees who had fled France during the invasion by the Germans in 1940 and were being taken to some kind of hostel. I was charged with distributing all the food around. That became extremely complicated as people were moving around, and I didn’t know who had had some food and who hadn’t. There were all these giant biscuit things that I was distributing. Every now and again someone would raise their hand and ask for some more food. If I had some, I would take them half of one of these biscuits. Earlier, I’d been talking to a couple of boys about how comfortable it is to be going back to school. When I met them on the bus at that moment, I asked them what they thought of it now but they didn’t say very much. There was a mass of clothing on one of the seats right by where these two boys were sitting. I asked them what it was and they replied that it was a little French girl who was asleep. In the end, this began to become more and more confusing as I was awaiting the signal to leave and handing out these biscuits. I thought that at one moment that these biscuits will run out and what am I going to do then?

It would be a good dream to be driving a Plaxton Elite in wartime, seeing as they weren’t introduced until about 1968. And once again, in a dream, I’m worrying about something that might never happen, and that seems to be a recurring theme these days.

The nurse came as usual, armed with his blood pressure tester, and once he had taken one of the measures of the three that he was supposed to take, his batteries went flat … "in the machine, not in him" – ed …

After he left, I could make breakfast and read some more of MIDDLESEX IN BRITISH, ROMAN AND SAXON TIMES.

Once more, it’s hard to understand the thought patterns of our author, Montagu Sharpe. He’s spent several pages bewailing the loss of artefacts from the period, salvaged by all and sundry without any record being kept, yet on page 37 he tells us that when he spoke to the person who had discovered and uprooted the Ancient British stakes that guarded the ford across the Thames at Brentford, "He kindly gave me several specimens which I have since passed on to Museums and to interested persons.".

He goes on to add that "from the inner portions various articles as mementoes have been made".

A little earlier though, on page 32, he has a crisis of T Rice Holmesque proportions when examining some notes by JS Maitland on Caesar’s crossing of the Thames. He tells us that "Maitland, in his “History of London,” places Caesar’s passage of the Thames at Chelsea" and continues by saying "All that Maitland seems to have done in 1732 in support of his theory was to take a boat to sound the river for shallow places, and thirty yards west of Chelsea College found the “channel N.E. to S.W. was not more than 4 feet 7 inches deep.” ! ! He made no quest for the remains of the stakes which Caesar says lined both the bed and bank of the Thames, which have in great numbers been so found, guarding the great ford of the river at Brentford,"

That’s not what I would call a respectable academic criticism of Maitland’s theories.

After breakfast, I had a couple of ‘phone calls to make. The nurse is writing up his accounts for the end of the month and needs the prescription for the injection that he gave me on Monday. And so I telephoned the hospital at Paris. I tried on several occasions, but they didn’t answer the ‘phone, which is no good at all for an emergency helpline.

In the end, I e-mailed them, only to have it returned as my professor is on holiday. I had to resend it to his assistant.

But that gave me an idea. It was Monday when I had this new injection, and it was about Monday that my problems of nausea and dizziness began.

Accordingly, I rang the dialysis clinic, but once more, it took several attempts before I was able to speak to the doctor who saw me on Thursday. I explained to her that I’d had a new injection, and she confirmed that side effects of dizziness and nausea are quite common with this new injection.

My cleaner turned up early in the afternoon to do her stuff, and we had the nurse back at 16:00 to take the afternoon’s blood pressure, with new batteries this time.

After he left, the President of the Residents’ Committee came down to inspect the apartment. She loves it so I thanked her for giving me the tip about it going up for sale. Without her, I would never have managed to purchase it. She brought me a yellow tea towel, to match the walls, as a housewarming present. That was really nice of her to do so.

The rest of the day has been spent playing around with some Artificial Intelligence. So far, I’ve managed to run two Artificial Intelligence chatbots into endless loops, which goes to show, as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … that Artificial Intelligence is not all that it’s cracked up to be.

Something else that I’ve found is an Artificial Intelligence server that downloads to your own computer. Even as we speak, I’m having a play around with that and downloading it, to see whether I can program it to be more random than it actually seems to be. It takes about 50GB of space, so I’ll be here for ever doing that.

Tea tonight was vegan nuggets with salad and chips, and now I’m off to bed, long after midnight but I’ve been dealing with all kinds of things this evening that have run me up a variety of blind alleys. And I’ll have the howling gale outside to blow me to sleep.

But seeing as we have been talking about Artificial Intelligence … "well, one of us has" – ed … I remember an old Andy Capp cartoon that featured two men struggling unsuccessfully to move a large computer through a small door.
"No problem" said Andy Capp. "Just plug it in and let it work it out for itself."

Friday 15th August 2025 – HOW LONG IS IT …

… since I stood up and left a table with food on my plate?

Usually, I’m pretty good at working out how much I feel like eating but that certainly wasn’t the case tonight. Even when I tried to force myself to eat, it didn’t seem to make any difference, and I ended up wasting quite a pile of food.

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that if I’m off my food, or don’t feel like eating, it means that I’m on the verge of having another illness. So what’s going to happen next? And more importantly, when?

For all I know, it might have happened last night, I suppose. Once more, I’ve no idea why but it seemed to take an eternity to finish off everything that I have to do before I go to bed. And while it wasn’t midnight when I finally crawled under the covers, it wasn’t very far off.

Once in bed, I went to sleep quite quickly and remember nothing at all until about 05:40 when I awoke. No danger of sleeping in until the alarm this morning.

It took a good few minutes to summon up the energy and the courage to leave the bed, and then I went for a good wash and the morning medication.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out what was going on during the night. I was doing something at dialysis last night. This time, it was under the supervision of some builder and interior designer who had us all wearing some kind of uniform that was managed by the park service. The park service came along and dressed us once each day etc so it was some kind of average prices, dandelion somebody and someone else, and we all had to look our best and behave our best because of the status of the society tailed off into a mass of incoherent mumbling.

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that even though I’m asleep when I dictate my notes, there’s usually always some kind of vague recollection of the events when I’m transcribing them. Occasionally though, there is absolutely no recollection whatsoever, and this is one of the latter. I really don’t know what this is all about.

Later on, a whole group of us had gone to Chester on some kind of office trip. We’d arranged to meet everyone outside Buyrite. The coach stopped and dropped us off on the way in to Chester. I knew where Buyrite was, and we’d been dropped off at the wrong roundabout so we had to walk down to where the correct roundabout was. We went down through into the pedestrian maze under the roundabout and came out on the top. This was where there was a Saturday market with all kinds of handbags and everything like that. One of my friends there bought himself a new briefcase because his old one had split and the one that he’d used to replace it wasn’t big enough. We saw a strange thing happening. That was a woman driving a car with a small girl of about seven or eight running after it, crying and screaming, shouting “Daddy”. We were looking at this and wondering what on earth was happening, whether the woman had decided to abandon her child or something like that, we really didn’t know.

After I ran away from home, I spent two very happy years living in Chester. I hated my job and was glad to leave, but I loved the city and the people and wish that there had been a way by which I could have stayed. But the part of that dream about the child – that’s the thing that would prey on my mind. I hate to see children treated badly. It seems to me that children often have a very raw deal at the hands of adults.

There had been a couple of parcel deliveries just recently, mainly of stuff for downstairs, but there were a few things that belong up here so I had some fun unpacking them and playing with my new toys. I ought to treat myself more often.

Isabelle the Nurse bounced in as usual, all bright and cheerful which is no surprise, seeing as it’s her last day for a fortnight. Tomorrow, she’s off to the Alps. But today she dealt with my legs, wished everyone a pleasant fortnight, wish my furniture removal team good luck, and then bounced out.

Once she’d gone, I could make breakfast and read some more of THE DIARIES OF SIR DANIEL GOOCH.

And by the time that I’d finished, there was no more to read. It didn’t take long to demolish that book.

On 10th July 1869 "We saw a very curious effect of mirage this morning. A large ship on the horizon was upside down, sailing on her mast-head, and her hull up in the clouds ;"

That’s an effect called a fata morgana – caused by the differences in air density as you look across, say, a large body of water. Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that we have witnessed a few of them ourselves, such as here ON THE ST LAWRENCE RIVER in 2012.

Later on in the book, he’s having a moan about the workmen, who are "earning so much in wages that they will only work three or four days a week, and then only do part work.", wishing "may God avert so sad an evil to this country,". Meanwhile, in other news, he mentions a page or two earlier that "the half-yearly meeting of the Great Western was held on the 2Qth February, and we were able to pay a good dividend of 5 per cent. ." and that "the shareholders passed a resolution, giving me 5000 guineas, in very complimentary terms"

“Sauce for the goose” is a phrase that went through my mind at that moment.

There’s quite a profound comment that he makes a while later when he retires from his seat as an MP in the House of Commons. "I have taken no part in any of the debates, and have been a silent member. It would be a great advantage to business if there were a greater number who followed my example.", sentiments with which I concur wholeheartedly.

For several years, he was a director of the company that laid several telegraph cables across the Atlantic, and actually sailed on three of the trips. The experience on board these sailings led to him changing his opinion about several important matters. On the first expedition, in 1865, he notes that "as the insulation of this cable has gradually improved as it was put into deep water, until it is now twelve times better than the contract standard, a cheaper material might be used in the outer coatings of the core, and the whole cable be laid at a much less cost."

However, having lost several cables to the depths over the next four years, he tells us in 1869 that "there is much discussion just now as to laying light, and therefore cheap, cables. I do not think they could be laid across the Atlantic. You need a cable of considerable strength, as difficulties are sure to occur. A light cable would be, in my opinion, sure to break; and I doubt whether in great depths it could be picked up, as it would be impossible to tell when the grapnel had hold of it. If the experiment is tried, I will certainly take no share in the work."

Once I was back in here, I began to work seriously on this soundtrack for the next radio programme. I was beginning to wonder how I was going to be able to produce it, as it seemed to have far too many bits and pieces missing, with big holes everywhere.

However, by the time that I knocked off for tea, I’d managed to produce 58 or so minutes of fairly seamless soundtrack music. It wasn’t easy, not by any means, and there were times when I was tearing out my hair. But now it merely needs a couple of tiny tweaks and then I can write the notes.

My cleaner turned up to do her stuff, and we spent a happy hour beginning to pack away my office ready for moving. We really only scratched the surface of it today but at least it’s a start. If I pack a few boxes every day, it will soon be done, I hope.

Tea tonight was breaded nuggets and chips with salad but as I said earlier, I wasn’t hungry and left a pile of food on my plate. And with chemotherapy looming on Tuesday and Wednesday, this is telling me all kinds of bad omens … "oPERSONS" – ed …

Anyway, now I’m off to bed, ready for dialysis tomorrow, I don’t think. But before I go, another player from the JD Cymru League has been called up for international duty by his country. Abdul Sharif of Connah’s Quay Nomads will be flying out to Somalia to participate in their World Cup qualifying matches in early September. That’s not a surprise following his impressive performance the other day against Colwyn Bay.

But seeing as we have been talking about the early days of telegraphy … "well, one of us has" – ed … a team was engaged to erect telegraph poles from London to Lizard Point to connect up with the cable coming from Valentia in Ireland.
At the end of the first day, the foreman calls over the erector from Crewe and asks him "how many telegraph poles did you erect today?"
"Two" replied the erector from Crewe.
"That’s no good" said the foreman. "Most of the other guys can erect ten or twelve."
"That’s as maybe" said the erector from Crewe "but look how far out of the ground they leave them!"

Friday 8th August 2025 – I HAD NOTHING ON …

… the dictaphone this morning.

That is not, however, a surprise. When you are in bed just before 23:00 … "for once" – ed … but awaken at about 01:30 and just lie there vegetating without being able to go back properly to sleep, you don’t have all that much time to go travelling.

That’s right – for once, I was in bed by 23:00 and that doesn’t happen all that often, much to my regret. Tea hadn’t taken very long to make and it was soon over, so I could come back here to write my notes, take the statistics and back up the computer.

And as it happens, I could have been finished even earlier had I applied myself more diligently to my work but as usual, I was sidetracked here and there during the evening.

Once in bed though, I remember nothing whatsoever until I awoke. And being awake, I did my very best to go back to sleep but somehow I couldn’t doze off again. I simply lay there in bed, drifting occasionally into a kind of semi-consciousness but still being aware of my surroundings, and then drifting back out again.

Round about 06:00, I gave up the struggle and took to my feet. I went into the bathroom and had a good wash, and then into the kitchen for the morning medication.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone but as I said just now, there was nothing on there from the night.

As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … I find that extremely disappointing. These days, the only excitement that I seem to have is whatever takes place during the night. The rest of my existence is a boring, humdrum tour around these four walls with the occasional delight of dialysis and the odd trip to Paris for chemotherapy.

There was plenty to do this morning, such as to watch the highlights of Forfar Athletic v Stranraer and a couple of other matches too, and then the weekly summary from Stranraer as the club prepares for the match against Edinburgh City on Saturday.

Isabelle the Nurse was horribly late today. She forgot yesterday to tell me that she was going to undertake her morning round today in the reverse direction, due to one of her later patients having an early medical appointment.

After she left, I could make breakfast and then read some more of THE OLD ROAD.

It’s a book that is beginning to annoy me and I’ve only just started to read it. It’s his flowery prose, where he takes several lengthy paragraphs to express an idea that he could put down in a dozen words, that’s the problem. I mean – look at this as a way of expressing “the passage of 120 years” – "From just before its opening till a generation after its close, from the final conquests of the Normans to the reign of St.Louis, from the organising plan of Gregory vii. to the domination of Innocent in., from the first doubts of the barbaric schools to the united system of the Summa, from the first troubled raising of the round arch in tiers that attempted the effect of height to the full revelation of Notre Dame—in that 120 years or more moved a process such as even our own time has not seen."

It’s not only that either. His curt dismissal of the pre-Roman British civilisation as "savages" and "barbaric" when in Neolithic and Iron Age times we had classic pottery, jewellery, the smelting of iron (in the later period) and an agricultural system that was not surpassed until the early days of the Agricultural Revolution, is totally unsustainable.

He writes "Letters, geography, common history, glass, and the use of half the metals were forgotten. Not tU the Latin reconquest in the eleventh century was the evil overcome and an organisation at last regained.", but while the first sentence is only partially correct – letters, geography, common history and glass had been restored for several centuries by 1066 – the “reconquest” of which he speaks was not “Latin” at all. He should be reminded that the Duke of Normandy and his followers were in fact for the most part fourth-generation Norse who had occupied Normandy following the Treaty of Saint-Clair-sur-Épée in 911.

Another thing that he mentions is "the rudest and most remote of our ancestors,". It made me wonder what on earth they must have been doing in their remote isolation.

But returning to our road for the moment, he goes on to talk about "Chalk is viscous and spongy when it is wet. It is never so marshy as to lose all impression made upon it. It is never so hard as to resist the wearing down of feet and of vehicles. Moreover, those who are acquainted with chalk countries must have noticed how a road is not only naturally cut into the soil by usage, but forms of itself a kind of embankment upon a hillside from the plastic nature of the soil.". Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that WHEN WE WERE IN WYOMING looking for the emigrant trail of the 1840s towards Oregon and California, we saw some really good examples of trail ruts in chalk.

After breakfast, there was work to do. I went right through the kitchen a second time, sorting out what I won’t now need for a couple of weeks, and packed it all away in these plastic boxes that I have. Having done that, I then began to pack away the crockery, carrying on until I ran out of boxes.

There was time after that to write two important letters. One concerns a shareholding that I bought in 1977 and about which I had completely forgotten until a chance remark had jogged my memory. And before any of you lot says anything, it’s a tiny proportion of the total shares and the company has never ever paid a dividend. The purchase was more in the nature of a charitable donation.

The second letter will heave an enormous shark into a very small swimming pool. There are several matters that are annoying me, spinning around in my head, and yesterday I reached the limit of my patience with one of them. Consequently I wrote a letter to the Director General of the organisation concerned and I was … errr … unrestrained. There will be some fall-out about this, without a doubt.

Having done that, the next task was to persuade the printer to work. For some reason, it was proving to be extremely recalcitrant. It took a good while, including cleaning the print heads on no fewer than four attempts to persuade it. But in the end it managed to squeeze out a couple of fair letters.

Whatever it is, I don’t know but I never seem to have much luck with printers.

My disgusting drink break was thus later than usual and it didn’t take long to drink. However, I wasn’t long back in here before my cleaner came up to do her stuff.

She stuck me under the shower, due to the fact that I’d missed out on Wednesday, and then we sorted out some more things to go downstairs. She ended up taking the boxes downstairs, as well as some of the CD racks, Tomorrow, I’ll go downstairs and put everything away while I’m waiting for the taxi, and when I come back if the taxi comes early again.

After she left, I finished the radio programme on which I’d been working and then made a start on the next one. The music has been sorted out and the notes almost finished. It won’t take long to do and then I can crack on and do another one while I’m in the mood.

Tea tonight was miniature vegan nuggets with a salad and air-fried chips, with some more of that nice mayonnaise that I made on Tuesday.

So right now, I’m off to have an early night. There’s football to watch in the morning and plenty of other things simmering away in the background. I don’t know from where all of this work has appeared.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about the Norse ancestors of William the Conqueror … "well, one of us has" – ed … when Prince Rollo sailed up the Seine to besiege Paris, he had difficulty controlling his fleet of longboats.
Consequently, he installed a gong on each of his ships. One bang signified "go to port" – two bangs signified "go to starboard" – and three bangs signified "go full ahead."
That system is the basis of the modern system of remote communication that was popularised in the Nineteenth Century and was called "Norse Code." And that’s why every Norse raid was dreaded because of its series of gong bangs.

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."

Saturday 12th July 2025 – HERE WE GO …

… again.

For once, the taxi came early and the other passenger who travels with me on Thursday and Saturday was already on board.

For once, we arrived quite early

For once, they were ready and waiting

For once, I was coupled up quite quickly and quite early

For once, it was only a three-and-a-half hour session

For once, as the session slowly drew to a close, I was looking forward to an early escape and return home

And so regular readers of this rubbish will recall exactly what happens next in circumstances like this.

In fact, it was a pretty miserable day all round, what with one thing and another, and I wonder when I might be able to step off this treadmill.

Despite my best efforts, last night was another late night when once more I failed miserably to make any impression upon the idea of having an early night.

This pain in my chest was also playing havoc with me. I couldn’t cough and I couldn’t sneeze because I was in total agony every time I tried to expand my lungs. I’ve no idea what’s happening now.

Anyway, I settled down in my lovely clean bed thanks to my faithful cleaner … "huh?" – ed … Yes, I suppose that I’d better explain. It wasn’t she who settled me down in my lovely clean bed, but in the afternoon she had changed the bedding as part of the plan to make my bedroom/office/recording studio look nice, clean and comfortable, as indeed it proved to be.

It didn’t take long to go off to sleep either, however, when I awoke, it was still dark. I tried to go back to sleep but I wasn’t able to do so, and so I gave some serious thought to raising myself from the Dead. However, a glance at the time on my ‘phone dissuaded me. 03:10 is far too early to be up and about, even if I can’t sleep.

Consequently, I decided to lie there semi-comatose until a more realistic time, but the next thing that I remember was the alarm going off at 06:29. Bane of Britain has struck again, asleep when the alarm went off.

When I awoke, I was dreaming about something to do with the Welsh Premier League and Y Bala FC. As usual, it evaporated so quickly from my mind before I could take hold of the dictaphone.

It’s not difficult to guess what it might be, though. Having failed to qualify for Europe for a couple of years now, the money has run out, the budget has been slashed, and according to the FAW’s squad lists, at least twelve of their star players, more than an entire team, have voted with their feet. As far as I can tell, to date they have signed just four, and none of them would be what I would call “significant” signings.

Over the past few years we’ve seen several clubs in the same position and it’s usually always ended in tears and involving relegation. But the future of Y Bala looks more bleak than all of the others right now and I reckon that unless they pull something magical out of the free transfers elsewhere, it’s going to be a very long and hard season.

It took a while to come to my senses yet again and to unstrap the ice pack, with which I went to sleep, from my right knee. And with the pain still wreaking havoc in my chest, I went off to the bathroom for a wash and shave in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant this afternoon.

While I was in the bathroom, I set the washing machine off. With loads of bedding and everything else, there were probably about three machines-worth but one will suffice for now, with the bedding and the hospital stuff seeing that I might be back for chemotherapy in ten days time.

The kitchen was another really slow, leisurely affair while I took my time with the medication. I just couldn’t find the motivation today. As I said earlier, it was a pretty miserable day all round.

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

Nerina and I had to go to see a sports scientist kind of person for my knee. We were sitting in the waiting room and we heard him sawing a child’s foot to even off the bone. We could hear her screaming and it was absolutely horrible. Then we had to go into the room and it was freezing cold so the first thing that I did was to light the gas fire. Nerina was busy arranging everything and tidying it up. She made some kind of remark to me about why I wasn’t helping. I replied “I can’t possibly help because I’m so slow to move around these days on my crutches and you are very much quicker than me in doing everything”. However, she wasn’t very happy with that kind of answer.

As regular readers of this rubbish will recall, it’s not my usual habit to post distressing dreams like this. Some of you will be eating your tea right now, others will be turning the page, and I will be feeling extremely uncomfortable. In fact, I can’t understand why I did post it because “distressing” really is the correct word to describe it.

And why this kind of dream should occur when Nerina is there, I don’t know that either, but Nerina and I ended up just as we would end up after coming back from holiday

However, there was something in there about a group of musicians being on tour. They had a Volkswagen Microbus and there were so many of them that half of their group, the smaller ones, were sleeping on the floor with a series of camp beds above them. That was where the elder ones slept, all inside this VW caravan. The heat generated by these people must have been intense and the smell of bodies overpowering. I seem to remember it heading towards Barry Town in order to be there for the special day a week next weekend when hopefully the gates might be hung.

As for what this may be about, it’s a pretty good description of that trip I mentioned a few months ago when a group of people piled into a J4 van in Crewe in 1973 and drove all the way down to the Windsor Free Festival, blowing a tyre and almost overturning on the way, while my friend from the Wirral and I went down a different way on a Triumph 350cc motorbike.

The nurse turned up early yet again. He applied this heat treatment to my knee and dealt with my legs, after which he left. I could then push on with breakfast and read MY BOOK.

Our author has been talking about the various “Undershafts” in London, and explains how the name came about, "because that of old time, every year on May-day in the morning, it was used that an high or long shaft or May-pole was set up there … which shaft … was higher than the church steeple."

He goes on to describe how it was stored "laid along over the doors and under the pentises of one row of houses" and mentions its ignominious end when the curate of St Katherine’s Christ Church denounced it as idolatrous and "whereon it had rested two-and-thirty years, they sawed it in pieces, every man taking as his share so much that had lain over his door".

After breakfast I took the washing from the machine and hung it up in the living room window to dry. And that’s a task that’s becoming harder and harder as time goes by.

There were things to do after that and I was in the middle of doing them when my faithful cleaner turned up to fit my anaesthetic patches.

She was still here chatting when the taxi arrived and so I descended to the vehicle and we cleared off into a glorious, hot summer’s day. Far too nice to go to dialysis.

At the beginning, I spoke about some of the events at dialysis today, but one thing that I haven’t mentioned is that the connection was the most painful that I have had for a very, very long time and I was in agony throughout the entire session.

The je m’en foutiste doctor came to see me during the afternoon. I told him about my complaints so he put his stethoscope to my chest and totally ignored my knee yet again.

There was plenty of work for me to do and I was advancing quite well, looking forward to a really early finish with just ten minutes to go, when another patient had a crisis and all of the nurses went a-running. And I was simply left there, sitting like Piffy on a rock while the nurses dealt with the emergency.

Eventually, Sarah came back to deal with me and to unplug me, for which I was heartily relieved. Mind you, she dropped the pipe and there is now blood all over my shirt. The good news is that I am now below my “inactive” weight which suits me fine.

In the hallway my co-passenger and I waited for the taxi. And waited. And waited. Twenty-five minutes later, he turned up.

It’s the busiest weekend of the year this weekend, and we’d seen the enormous queues on the motorway as we came down. There had been plenty of breakdowns in the afternoon and as the taxi company holds the contract with the Highways Authority for dealing with repatriations, they had a whole pile of vehicles out of the area, so those who remained were rushed off their feet.

Consequently, we were no earlier coming home than we might otherwise have been.

My cleaner was waiting for me and watched as I struggled upstairs, and then I collapsed into a chair, totally worn out.

Tea was a breadcrumbed quorn fillet with salad and baked potato, all very nice, but I struggled to eat it tonight. My appetite still hasn’t come back and it’s only ten or so days to my next chemotherapy.

But I’ll worry about that another time. Right now, I’m going to bed and I can’t say that I’m sorry.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about Nerina … "well, one of us has" – ed … someone once asked me "what did you like especially about Nerina?"
"I liked the fact" I said "that she could see both sides to every argument."
"Could she really?" he asked.
"Indeed she could" I said. "Both sides – her side and the wrong one."

Friday 11th July 2025 – REGULAR READERS OF …

… this rubbish will recall that yesterday I posted something about the generous contributions given by certain members of London society to the poor, the sick and infirm, and I finished that paragraph by saying "that modern-day society has collapsed, with the rich squirrelling away as much as they can in their offshore accounts."

As if to underline it, and bang on cue, this morning I received probably the most offensive e-mail that I have ever read in my whole life (and you don’t need me to tell you that I have received plenty like it all throughout my career).

Usually, I try my best to keep politics out of my ravings, mainly because, with the rise of 1930s Fascism in the Western World over the last fifteen years, I’d be writing about nothing else at all. However, sometimes it is quite unavoidable, especially when the timing is so perfect.

It came from Helen Whately, who, as many people will doubtless know, is the Conservative Party’s Shadow Secretary of State for Work and Pensions. In this mail, she’s having a bitter rant about the £100 billion that needs to be spent on Welfare and Sickness Benefits this year, and the cost that it entails.

“That’s more than we’ll spend on our armed forces. And more than we’ll spend on the police” she wails.

Her plan, being a good, loyal Tory, is to slash welfare and sickness benefits. “No more generous handouts” she cries, not that I’ve ever known any welfare and sickness benefit to be “generous”. All so that the wealthy (such as she and her husband Marcus Whately, who, according to Companies House, had a net worth of £629,272 in 2023) can pay less income tax.

And anyone whose husband has a net worth of £629,272 and describes “between £29.20 and £187.45 a week” – according to the Government’s own website – as “generous” must be totally deranged.

Offensive and inhumanitarian gestures by the Tories are pretty much par for the course but when it comes to kicking the sick and disabled in the teeth, I don’t think that there can be anything quite as low and despicable as Helen Whately and her dreadful mail.

Anyway, I digress … "again" – ed …

When the alarm went off this morning at 06:29, I was sitting on the edge of the bed sorting out a few papers, having arisen from the Dead about five minutes earlier. And I hadn’t had an early night either. It was only a few minutes before midnight that I finally finished everything and headed up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire.

There had been an ice-pack strapped to my knee all night so I had hardly moved at all while I was asleep, and I could move a little easier this morning. Still, it was a very slow start to the day as I took my time to sort myself out.

After having a good wash and taken my medication, I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I was with my disabled friend from Congleton last night and we were in some kind of classroom. We were having to give her a talk or debate on something. She was sitting there, hardly responding, so I tapped her on the shoulder to remind her. She stood up and began to talk about this particular motion and these particular events, and said “when Èric and I begin to do things like this, we always do something” and she carried on. I became extremely embarrassed by this because I didn’t want my relationship of any nature being thrown around at that particular moment. But as usual, she was ill and had all of the cares of the World so I was wondering whether it was in fact my friend from Congleton or whether it was that I was trying to make this place ready for my Dutch friend and her, with the other girl’s voice.

There is actually some talk that my Dutch friend might be coming here to help me move, but it is just talk and with her fragile health condition, it’s very unlikely that she will be able to make it here. I’m not banking on it.

Later on, I was there with a lot of people with whom I used to work. It involved some girl in a wheelchair or some kind of wheelchair. Everyone had been looking around for something or other without much success so they had been sent a little further wide where they had encountered other groups of people. Some of these encounters had been difficult. There were animals too and on one occasion they were looking for some people from their own group when someone appeared in a wheelchair being pushed by someone else. They were pushed into one of the toilet blocks as if it was at school. Some other people came to look for them and eventually found them and they began to leave but not until after they had caused some kind of commotion in the toilet block but I didn’t know what it was. In the end, these people were assembled in a large group talking to someone else. There was a lion at the far end, and it was the girl in the wheelchair who noticed it but because she couldn’t see it too well, she couldn’t say too much and no-one could understand her. It wasn’t until the lion was actually in the air pouncing that they realised the danger so they quickly moved over to the side and the lion landed right where they would have been. He turned round to go again at them but I fell asleep then.

This could also possibly be some kind of reference to my disabled friend from Congleton. And if so, why have I suddenly started to think about her again? I haven’t seen or heard from her for probably fifteen years.

And then finally I was at school, busy searching through some documents for something or other and the deputy headmaster appeared. He’d heard on the news that the North Vietnamese Army had reached somewhere like some kind of bay in South Vietnam so we went to have a look on the map to see where it was but the map’s scale was wrong. He remembered that he had a huge-scale map of South-East Asia in his room so we went into his room, but his map had gone. He seemed to remember that the Headmaster had borrowed it for something so we had a laugh and a joke about the Headmaster assuming that everything in the school was his and no-one else had the right to anything. I explained that that sounds like the story of my life anyway. We began to discuss history in general. I told him that the period between 1871 and 1912 was really the most fascinating of all as Europe gradually changed its borders, changed its ambitions and developed an air of nationalism. He told me about a programme on the television that was being broadcast that night. It would go on for about three hours and that if that was my favourite period of history, this would be a programme well worth watching because although it was fiction, it laid out much of it in the correct kind of historical terms. I thought that I was going to be out that night so I told him that I would have to find some kind of blank videotape that I could use to record it.

This period actually was my favourite historical period at school, except that the rise of Nationalism and the security of borders dates from the “Year of Revolutions” of 1848. However, the more that I read (or didn’t read) of history subsequently made me much more interested in the so-called “Dark Ages”, the period between the collapse of the Roman Empire in Britain and the elimination of the educated classes by the arriving Saxons, and the rise of religious education under such people as Ceolfrith, Bede and Alcuin at the end of the Seventh and beginning of the Eighth Century.

The nurse was early again today to sort out my legs and to apply this ointment to my knee. He didn’t hang around long so I could make my breakfast (without it boiling over this morning) and read MY BOOK.

We’re prowling around Aldgate today where, according to our author John Stow, "is a fair house … possessed by Mrs Cornwallies, widow … by gift of Henry VIII in reward of fine puddings by her made, wherewith she had presented him"

There is also a very interesting account of the demolition of the Priory of the Holy Trinity following the dissolution of the monasteries after it had been offered to the public "but no man would undertake the offer".

After breakfast I made a start on some desultory tidying-up but I can’t do very much, unfortunately, these days. When my cleaner turned up in the afternoon, she blitzed through everything. I now have a nice fresh bed, a tidy bedroom and it all looks quite wonderful in here. I don’t want to move now.

The estate agent came round at about 15:30, as promised, to ostensibly photograph the place, but I was right in my original assumption that she had merely come on a spying mission to check out the place to see if it needed redecorating or anything before it would be re-let.

She seemed to be quite happy, which was just as well, because there wasn’t going to be any other alternative.

After she and my faithful cleaner left, I made a start on the next radio programme but I didn’t make much progress before I had to stop to make tea.

Air-fried chips, vegan salad and some of those mini-breadcrumbed things were on the menu and I didn’t really feel like eating too much. My appetite has still not recovered which is just as well. Now that I’m approaching the new, svelte me, I intend to stay that way

And so I’m off to bed, ready (I don’t think) for dialysis tomorrow. Anyway, I’m aching all over and I don’t know why. I can’t even sneeze because there’s such a pain in my ribs. What kind of state am I in?

But seeing as we have been talking about the charitable nature of the Conservative Party … "well, one of us has" – ed … a few years ago, at the annual Conservative Christmas party, someone passed a collection box around, marked "for the sick".
The next year, at the following Conservative Christmas party, the same box was passed around, with the same label "for the sick".
However, underneath that label, there was another one that read "please note that this box is restricted to monetary contributions only".

Monday 23rd June 2025 – I HAD A …

… special visitor during the night last night – someone who hasn’t been to see me for quite some considerable time.

But more of that anon. This time tomorrow I shall be … well … not sitting in a rainbow, but sitting in a hospital bed in Paris where they will be starting this Rituximab cancer treatment.

Or, rather, restarting it, because, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall, that was the product (or Mabthera, a generic thereof) that they gave me right at the beginning back in February 2016 after the chemotherapy failed.

And it worked at that moment too. Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that I was unable to walk and so ill that I had to live with friends because I was unable to cope by myself, yet six months later I was in Canada. I’m not expecting the same miracles this time, but any little help and relief that it might give me will be most welcome.

And in other news, it looks as if this apartment move will be taking place during the week of 18th-25th of August. That seems to be when the usual suspects are collecting themselves together, and I’m recruiting further volunteers if anyone else would like to join in. All are welcome and I do not practise any kind of discrimination at all. I hate everyone equally, regardless of race, creed, colour or sexual orientation.

Meanwhile, back at the ran … errr … apartment, had I exerted myself last night I could have been in bed well before 23:00 but as usual, dillying and dallying about, it was about 23:30 when I finally crawled in underneath the covers.

When I awoke at 05:20 I was somewhere about in the dialysis centre but whatever it was that I was doing evaporated from my mind immediately … "not that there’s much in there to hold it in" – ed … which is just as well because, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall, I don’t like to dwell on that place when I’m not there. It’s bad enough that I do when I am.

The first task that I undertook when I finally settled down at the desk (at … errr … 05:50) was to listen to the dictaphone notes to find out where I’d been during the night. And, as I said earlier, I had a special visitor come to see me. There was a group of us in a house somewhere and who should come in but our old friend (or mine, anyway), Zero. And what a long time it’s been since she last put in an appearance. I wanted to say “hello” to her but she walked right through the front of the house all the way to the stairs. I pretended to chase after, and she saw me, let out a squeal and ran upstairs. Her mother said something about going to frighten her away and that I had to look after her at that end of the room. My brother was upstairs in his room at the time and I could hear him and Zero talking to each other. I thought “how am I going to look after Zero at this end of the room if she has already gone upstairs?”. I thought in any case that he was supposed to be busy doing some things that he needed to do rather than sit around talking, but apparently not.

So here we go again. Zero having far more sense than to hang around chatting to me, and a member of my family turning up in my nocturnal rambles to spoil all my fun. I thought that we’d put all of that behind us, but apparently not. Presumably, some psychiatrist somewhere would come out with a few interesting remarks about this kind of situation, but it would all be news to me. There’s no other logical explanation for it, although whatever logic would have to do with what went on in my head during the night would also be news to me.

Round about 07:00 everyone else began to surface so I went for a good wash and scrub up ready for dialysis and Emilie the Cute Consultant, although I forgot to shave. And then we sat around waiting for Isabelle the Nurse to come to see me.

Almost as soon as she left, the taxi came round to take me to the Medical Centre to see the doctor about my heart.

At first, I saw his assistant who coupled me up to an echograph machine with a rapidity that took me quite by surprise.
"That’s not the first time that you’ve done this, is it?"
"Oh no" she replied. "Only a few thousand times.".

When she’d finished, she took me into the doctor’s room where he gave me a thorough examination.
"It’s not your heart that’s causing your problems" he said. "That’s working fine."

And that’s just as well because it’s only my heart that is keeping me going. With my low blood count and low blood pressure, my heart is having to beat about twice as fast as anyone else’s. Anyone’s heart can do that for a while, but mine’s been doing it for almost ten years. When it gives out, I’ll be gone in an instant.

But at least he found my heart and I still have one. I’ve not turned into a Conservative yet.

"Where’s all your paperwork?" he asked.
"No-one told me to bring any" I replied. "The dialysis centre arranged this appointment. I imagined that they would have sent you whatever you needed"
"You should always bring all of your medical paperwork with you when you come" he said
"I’ll remember that" I replied. "Do you know where I can hire a fork-lift truck?"

But as Kenneth Williams and Alfred Hitchcock once said, "it’s a waste of time telling jokes to foreigners."

Back here (in the rain) I was halfway through eating breakfast when the ‘phone rang.
"What are you doing tomorrow?" a voice asked
"Not a lot" I replied.
"Good. Come to Paris and we’ll start the Rituximab"

So there we are. Now a frantic ringing-round to book taxis and obtain permission from the Securité Sociale.

My cleaner turned up as usual to fit my anaesthetic patches and then we waited around for a while. As the weather was now back to sunshine, we went downstairs to wait outside.

The taxi was bang on time with our other passenger already in, and we shot off to Avranches at the Speed of Light, me with my eyes closed. It’s not very often I feel nervous as a passenger these days.

And as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … there’s no point being ten minutes early anywhere if you have to spend that ten minutes washing your underwear.

When we arrived there were three ambulances ahead of us unloading the horizontal patients so I knew how this would pan out. And when one of those ahead in the queue had a crisis and everyone had to rush to help, I knew that that was that.

Having a trainee didn’t improve my morale much, and my 13:30 arrival turned into a 14:30 coupling up.

The doctor came round to see me to ask me how I was.
"OK at the moment but it won’t be for much longer if you keep on prescribing me these" and I showed him one of the boxes of tablets that I’d been prescribed on Saturday, a product that contained lactose.
"And your doctor moaned at me a few weeks ago when I had that attack of pancreatitis"

He didn’t stay very long after that.

The dietician came to see me too, to ask how I was getting on with the disgusting drink that she prescribed for me.

When I told her that I was taking it as instructed, she replied "Good" and renewed the prescription for another three months. I should have said nothing.

Julie the Cook was back from her holidays and she had ten minutes to come to sit on my bed for a chat, which was nice. She’s a really nice, bubbly, cheerful girl and always has a smile on her face. She can also perch on my bed any time she likes.

When I was uncoupled, I went out to the taxi but we had to wait (and wait, and wait) for another passenger who needs a lot of assistance. And who is dropped off first so it was at 19:37 when we finally arrived home.

My adjustable stool had arrived this afternoon and so things are looking much more positive downstairs. The stool will certainly ease my cooking issues, as I can now sit down while I’m at the worktop cooking, and take the weight off my knees.

Tea tonight was baked potato, salad in balsamic vinegar and a mix of falafel and veggie balls. It was delicious as usual.

Tomorrow I have bags to pack, sandwiches to make and food to rustle up, seeing as I don’t know how long I’ll be staying. They say that I’ll be back on Wednesday, but we shall see. I’m really grateful that my friend is here to deal with the kitchen that will (hopefully) arrive.

But first, I’m off to bed in the hope that Zero will come back.

Seeing as we have been talking about the doctor’s surgery just now … "well, one of us has" – ed … the patient before me was complaining about having a very sore throat
"Right" said the doctor. "Go over to the window, stick your thumbs in your ears and stick out your tongue as far as you can."
"Will that make me feel better?" asked the patient
"Oh no" replied the doctor. "My wife’s standing on the pavement outside."

Friday 20th June 2025 – WE NOW HAVE …

… a plumber to do the shower. He charges much more than I was expecting but he’s available and willing to do the work. The only thing that I have to watch is that he wants to do his project in my bathroom rather than my project in my bathroom. That’s the kind of thing that irritates me intensely, so I shall have to keep a close eye on him.

And on Wednesday next week we shall have a kitchen – well, at least, a delivery of all of the flat packs that will need to be assembled and fitted. It’s all ordered and paid for, and paying for it was an adventure in itself, more of which anon.

So, retournons à nos moutons as they say around here, last night I was totally and utterly wasted. I don’t think that I’ve ever been so tired. I staggered through the notes, the back-up and the statistics etc, feeling less and less like it as time went on.

In the bathroom I fell asleep while I was … errr … riding the porcelain horse and it took some effort to make my way beck here where I fell straight asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow. It was only 22:45 too, which makes a change.

And there I lay, fast asleep and didn’t move a muscle until all of … errr … 05:20.

As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … being awake is one thing. Leaving the bed is quite another thing completely. It was about 05:50 when I finally dragged myself out from under the bedclothes and saw the light of day.

First task was to transcribe the dictaphone notes. There was some drink that I was supposed to be drinking and its chemical composition was really precise. I’d stir it every day with a metal spoon. One day, I’d left the metal spoon in there. When I went to pull the spoon out, I noticed that half of the spoon had dissolved into the liquid and wasn’t there any more. I was wondering “what on earth is this caustic substance that I’ve been prescribed that I’ve been drinking two of these each day?”.

This sounds like the disgusting drink of which I’m supposed to take two every day. I shudder to think what it might be doing to my insides if its chemical reactions are as bad as its tastes.

Everyone seemed to wake up early this morning so I didn’t have long to spend in here. I went and had a good wash and then to drink some coffee and have a chat.

However, we were all interrupted. A taxi turned up to take me for a medical appointment.

Don’t ask me why, because I was convinced that the appointment is on Monday, but apparently not. So I quickly put on my shoes and went downstairs with the driver.

It was nice to be outside in an early summer’s morning so I wasn’t complaining, although I did wish that there had been someone there to greet me at the doctor’s when I arrived. And after waiting half an hour and having tried the doors and found them all locked, I telephoned the dialysis centre. They confirmed that it is indeed today.

When the driver turned up to take me home, one hour later, the doctor still hadn’t arrived. We went back downstairs anyway to speak to the receptionist of the medical centre. She told me that the doctor wasn’t in today. She checked my appointments on the central medical website and there it was – for Monday, as I had thought. And so we went home.

It goes without saying that I’d missed the nurse. I did ring her up but it was the answerphone that answered the ‘phone.

At least, I could now eat breakfast and drink some more coffee. I certainly needed it.

The next task was to contact the kitchen fitter to remind him that we were waiting. I gave him a gentle nudge with an e-mail and he rang me back as I hoped that he would.

We had another lengthy discussion about everything that we needed and he promised to send me a final schedule later in the afternoon.

The postie turned up in the middle of all of that and dropped off a couple of parcels. All that I seem to be awaiting now are the microwave oven and the kitchen stool. The kitchen stool will be a boon because I really am now struggling to stay standing up for any length of time.

After lunch, the cleaner turned up, closely followed by the plumber. We showed the latter round the bathroom and he seems to think that it’s straightforward, although somewhat complicated.

He doesn’t like my idea of a wall and thinks that I should have a glass panel, “so that there’s more light” – not that light has ever bothered me, and that I should run the pipework behind a false wall rather than embedded in the new wall. He also wants me to change the toilet for a new one.

However, unless there’s a very good reason (which we won’t know until we remove the bath) my plans are staying put.

It took him a while to sort out everything that he needed to know, and then we agreed a price. Or, rather, he told me his. It’s useless giving me an estimate because we don’t know what’s involved until we remove the bath but I know his daily rate. Had I had any more time left to find someone else I would maybe have thought twice, but if he can do the job by the middle of July, which he thinks is eminently feasible, then I shall have to bite the bullet. Each month longer that I stay here, I’m having to pay an extra month’s rent.

With it being such a nice day, my friend and I went for a walk outside afterwards. I went over to the clifftop and watched the sea and the boats for a while until the heat drove me back inside again.

By this time, the kitchen fitter had sent me the list. He’s going to order the stuff from the DIY shop, but I need to order the stuff from IKEA.

That took a while and I blanched at the price that came out of it all, but it has to be paid. I’m probably over-engineering the kitchen But I’m only ever going to do this once and it has to have an island, if, for the only reason, to stop me falling over.

When it came to pay it, the struggle for position of The Worst Bank In The World took a new turn as the Crédit Agricole refused to make the payment.
Consequently, I telephoned them, and they told me "it’s over your transaction limit".
My reply was "I don’t care about the transaction limit. I want to make the payment. What are you going to do about it?"
"We’ll send you a form. Sign it and send it back and we’ll raise your limit temporarily"
"So I have to wait for the post to bring it, and the post to return it?"
"I’m afraid so" she replied.
"How much money do you have of mine in your bank?"
So she told me exactly
"Good. I’ll take it all out and find another bank who wants it and who will do what I want"
"I’ll have the manager call you back"
It goes without saying that the manager has yet to ‘phone.

However, I have been in this position before and it’s not for nothing that I also have bank accounts in Belgium, the UK and Canada. Consequently, the kitchen is all paid for and the things will be here on Wednesday.

In between everything else, I was editing the radio notes that I dictated the other day. They aren’t quite half done but I’ll keep on going with half an hour here, an hour there until they are finished. But it’s difficult to work when you have visitors.

There was also some time somewhere for me to make a loaf of bread, seeing as we had run out. I don’t know where all of this energy came from – or all of this time either, but I’ve certainly been busy today.

Tea tonight was sausage, beans and chips. And very nice it was too. I certainly enjoyed it and so did my friend.

And now I’m off to bed, ready for dialysis tomorrow I don’t think.

But seeing as we have been talking about the Crédit Agricole … "well, one of us has" – ed … an old farmer went into the bank to speak to the manager
"I need to take out a loan" said the farmer. "I need a new tractor and trailer and a few other bits and pieces"
"And how long will you need it?"
"I can pay you back over fifteen years"
"We can’t do that" said the banker. "To be honest, I doubt that you’ll live that long to repay it."
"Well, if I die" said the farmer "God in his Heaven will reward you when I arrive there."
"And what if you don’t go to heaven but go to hell?"
"In that case," said the farmer "I can give you the money myself when I see you."

EPIC HALL

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

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Friday 14th November 2025 – MY NEW OFFICE …

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Friday 15th August 2025 – HOW LONG IS IT …

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Monday 23rd June 2025 – I HAD A …

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