Tag Archives: early night

Sunday 13th March 2016 – PHEW!

When was the last time that I was up and about and eating breakfast long before the alarm went off? And on a Sunday too! And what has surprised me more than anything else is that after all of the travels that I was on last night, that I managed to make it back here in time.

But start as you mean to go on. And before you start, I perhaps ought to warm you that the sum total of my travels last night comes to something about 2200 words.

You have been warned.

I started off last night by falling asleep watching a film on the laptop last night and it wasn’t long after that at all before I was on the road. It started off at first as if I hadn’t done a great deal because I’d been away with a group of people. There was a timetable for us and on the first day we had to inspect half a dozen countries and on the second day another half-dozen, on the third, yet another half-dozen and so on. This didn’t leave me much time to be going off on a nocturnal ramble but then I found myself in Chester. I don’t know exactly where I was living but it was on top of a bunk-bed somewhere and this was quite a long way off the ground and difficult to climb on to. There had been a young girl that I had quite fancied in the past when I was younger, and so had a few of my friends, but she had started to go out with a boy who was older than us and quite a bit older than her. There was some kind of correspondence that had taken place between the two of them, and one of these letters had fallen into my hands. I was busy parcelling up this letter into a brown envelope and trying to write a letter to one of these friends of mine to tell him about this letter. Obviously the contents of this letter were interesting and I reckoned that it was worth a couple of quid for me to give him this letter to read and I could buy myself a pint of beer. The difficulty that I was having was to make my letter sound sufficiently encouraging and interesting to make him part with the money and it was taking me hours to think of the ideal form of wording.
The next port of call started off to be quite amusing. I was out and about with a dwarf and we were trying to book ourselves into a hotel. While we were there at the reception desk, a message came downstairs to the effect that a woman in one of the rooms required a companion. Of course, the ears of the dwarf and I pricked immediately up, imagining full well what might have been meant by that and so as soon as we had finished registering ourselves into our room, we shot off to the room that had been mentioned. In the room we found a girl who was totally surprised by our intrusion because that wasn’t the kind of companion that she meant. She wanted a companion to talk to and confide in. All three of us were taken by surprise at what had just unfolded. The dwarf then left the room to go back down to reception and arrange a room for himself I started to chat to this girl and it seemed that she was intending to stay not for just one night but until the middle of next week and so I jokingly suggested that I could check myself into her room for a couple of nights and see how it goes. I slid quietly into her bed (it was a big double-bed)while she was adjusting her hair and her night attire and she didn’t seem to mind at all.
I’m clearly going to have to keep up these injections and anti-allergy patches and so on if this is the kind of thing that happens to me during the night. I’ve never had this kind of luck when I’ve been on my travels in real life.
Anyway, after all of this, I made a guest appearance as Sherlock Holmes (not for the first time just recently either) in the case of a girl who had been murdered. There were five people who had been arrested in connection with this and the newspapers were making ever such a fuss about all of this, how there was some really rough street in Leicester (why Leicester?) where all of the criminals seem to live and how this case was connected with this. But it turned out that only one of these five people was connected with this street
I next found myself out and about with Terry and Liz, but it wasn’t Liz but my friend Helena from when she was quite young (and making her debut in these voyages too). We’d all been for a drive out and had stopped somewhere in the salubrious surroundings of somewhere that looked like a gent’s restroom and changing rooms for a sports ground, but somewhere that had clearly seen better days and was creosoted rather like an outdoor toilet of the 1950s. We were all hot and sweaty, having been for a really good walk and we were all thirsty. Terry produced a tangerine for himself and Liz (or Helena) said that she was going to have something else and no-one asked me what I wanted. This depressed me a little, but then Helena produced an orange, a really nice juicy one, peeled it and gave it to me, which I thought was really nice. She asked me to save her a segment, which of course I was only too happy to do. While we were here, we were listening to the radio. Speaking was Mike Harris, the chairman of the TNS football club. The club used to play at a ground in the village of Llansantffraid but had moved up the road to the old army football stadium at Park Hall near Oswestry. He’d offered to sell the ground to the local community on some kind of share basis, £10 per share. This was of course about 10 years ago and property prices had risen dramatically since then and now the local council was trying to buy the ground at the price that Mike Harris had asked for it 10 years ago, presumably to sell on for redevelopment and make a profit based on today’s values. It goes without saying that Mike Harris was not at all willing to sell it under those terms and conditions, and this discussion was the basis of the radio programme that was being broadcast. What was interesting about all of this is that from where we were, we could see the old football ground across the valley behind a shopping precinct in the distance (which incidentally bears no resemblance whatever to the actual site or situation of the ground). I immediately dashed to the car to fetch my camera because what was going through my mind was that if this broadcast was live, everyone would be down at the football ground right now and the ground would therefore be open. After all, the old ground at Llansantffraid is one of the places that I’ve yet to visit while I’ve been on my travels around the various Welsh football grounds (this is in fact actually the case). The others saw my camera and wondered what I was going to do, and so I explained. But I had to go to the bathroom first, and this was when I awoke – right at that moment, because I actually did have to go to the bathroom. And once more, I found all of my bedclothes all over the floor. Rushing to the car for the camera must have been the reason for that.
After the bathroom break, which was actually the Easter break for me, I found myself back at work. The first thing that happened was that one of my colleagues said “hello” to me, which took me completely by surprise. And all of the new vehicles had arrived – new white vans of various shapes and sizes (and “H”-registered too, which was something of a complete surprise). We were to swap our vehicles for the new ones but I couldn’t find the one that had been allocated to me, and I couldn’t find a place to park my own either as the car park was full. So I went back to my desk and started to chat to Anne-Marie, a chat that went on for ages while I was trying to do some work. And someone had put a pile of files on my desk with all kinds of post in there dating back to 12 months and even more, all kinds of legal stuff and so on, a problem that I solved in the good old-fashioned and well-tried way of simply “losing” the post somewhere inside the file and filing the file away on the filing racks, where they would be lost for quite some time. Once Anne-Marie had wandered off, I went to take my coffee things back but I couldn’t leave the office by the front as it was all closed in with windows rather like the front end of the upper deck of a double-decker bus. Walking back up the other end I came upon Anne-Marie and her two friends Caroline and Theresa, lounging about on one of the side-on seats that you find over the rear wheel of the lower deck of a double-deck Lodekka type bus. I said “hiya, girls”to them but they all turned their backs to me which I thought was rather impolite. What had I done now? So downstairs with my coffee things, I found myself out on the edge of a cricket ground where a match was due to be played sometime soon, somewhere out towards Stafford. There was a huge discussion taking place about this match and about the players. I hadn’t been selected (I don’t think that I expected to be) but it seemed that a couple of footballers from FC Pionsat St Hilaire, Gregory amongst them, were going to be playing and the person who was organising it, none other than Mark Dawson, was urging the rest of the team to welcome them. Mark had been waving around a yard brush which had a plastic handle, but people had been stubbing out their cigarettes on it and burning the handle, so I took it from Mark and put it back up against the wall. “It wasn’t me” said Mark. “I don’t smoke”. I replied that I knew that he didn’t, but nevertheless it was marked and so I put it out of everyone’s way. There was someone else there with a Velocette Venom which had become the subject of some discussion. The owner said that it had cost £129 new but now it’s worth about £66,000. The bike was being pushed around and so I put it up on a piece of hard-standing right by this little building where we were congregating. Someone said that we had been told not to park motorbikes up there but I replied that it was OK because it had its centre-stand up on a paving slab. From here I was heading off onwards down south past Stafford and I noticed that Mark didn’t have transport and so expecting him to be heading now for the cricket pavilion, I asked him if he wanted a lift. I was in my big old Senator so I opened the door for him and he told me to drop him off near the town hall in Stoke on Trent, about 10 miles away through the traffic in the opposite direction and that will cost me a couple of hours in time. But a promise is a promise so I bit my lip and set off.
And I still haven’t finished yet either. Because all of this ramble about me being at work seemed to have started off with me being on a wide-bodied jet aeroplane (and I do mean “wide” – it was rather like a cinema auditorium). I seemed to be the first on board so I chose my seat in the central part but against the aisle, and put my black fleece there. There were four air hostesses in a bunch over on the other side in the aisle and they waved me over, so leaving my jacket behind, I went over to see what they wanted. “Ohh, come over here and sit by us” they said. “Why? What’s up?” I asked. “Am I the only passenger on the aeroplane?” “Ohh no” they replied. “But you’re first on so you can sit here if you like”. And so I went and fetched my jacket, and then came back to sit by these air hostesses. I’d boarded this plane by chance, really, just looking to get away for a few days and this was the first plane in. It was flying out to the Channel Islands somewhere on this Friday late afternoon and was coming back on Sunday evening, which suited me fine for a short break.
No wonder it was a surprise to find me up and about so early this morning after all of that.

So with all of this effort I had another day of sitting and vegetating. I mean – it took me all morning just to type up my notes from through the night.

But this afternoon, I finished all of the notes from September 2015 and I’ll soon be ready to start on the ones for August. And then, I have 2014 to do. Then, I can take the 2013 notes and merge all of them together in the appropriate places. It’s not going to be something that will be over in a day or so.

But with it being Sunday, Liz has been cooking. For lunch, we had home-made mushroom soup (made with real home-made mushrooms of course), followed by vegan carrot-cake for our afternoon snack, and then for tea we had home-made nut roast followed by home-made vegan chocolate chip ice-cream. As I have said before … "and you’ll say again" – ed … whenever (if ever) I’m fit enough to leave here, I’ll immediately try to find something else wrong with me.

And so on that note, I’ll leave you all. I’m not even going for a walk because I need the early night as I’m off to Montlucon and the hospital early in the morning and I’ll be doing more than enough walking while I’m there.

And if you’ve managed to read down this far then congratulations because it’s a mere 2474 words, a new record posting for a blog entry, and by a country mile as well.

Good night!

Saturday 12th March 2016 – BLIMEY! WHAT A NIGHT!

I don’t know what it was that they put in all of those injections that they gave me yesterday, but saying that I had a disturbed night last night was something of an understatement. In fact, when the alarm went off, I found that all of the bed clothes were all over the floor. And in trying to get out of bed, I fell right on my nether regions. Clearly, something was going on.

And despite being crashed out in bed long before 20:15, I didn’t need to make a trip down the corridor despite having such a fitful night. Instead, I was off on some of the most astonishing voyages that I have had to date. I’m sure that all of these injections and medicaments that I’m taking are responsible for the greater part of what is going on in my head during the night.

We started off back in Crewe, in West Street yet again but at the town end by the Jet garage. Someone had sent me a panoramic photo of the area and you could see just how bad the area was, with abandoned houses and demolition sites all around, particularly in the area between West Street and Richard Moon Street. It goes to show just what a horrible place Crewe is – something ironically that I had been discussing with Terry and Liz during the evening. I was down at that end of town because I’d had a message from Cecile that contained a file but my telephone wouldn’t open it, so I went down there because she had a flat down there where she lived with her mother. So walking down the street, I came across Cecile and I went in to see them and we had a good chat, not about anything in particular. Cecile had been given some money by her mother, some of which was Belgian money including a 20-franc piece which she had put on one side to make an emergency phone call if necessary if she needed help, which just goes to show how far behind the times Cecile’s mother was because you couldn’t even buy a cup of coffee with that in Belgium these days. But it turned out that Cecile’s mum hadn’t given just a couple of hundred Belgian francs in notes to Cecile, but also a couple of hundred Euros in notes too. I had a brief glance and it looked to me as if there were at least 500 Euros in there. Cecile’s mum had a huge stuffed gorilla which she was cuddling. I made the remark that I should have brought Strawberry Moose around for her to cuddle because he was missing her. Or maybe, they should both come round to my house to see him because Strawberry Moose is missing Cecile’s mother. Cecile’s mother interjected to say “well, give him a big kiss from me” and that sort of thing. At that point, I left the apartment to continue my travels.
These took me to the far north of Alaska or Canada with someone who started out to be Rachel (but it wasn’t her) and we were off driving somewhere and ended up in this town. Where we parked was on some kind of concrete quayside by a river that was running through an open culvert and which was a non-fishing river, and another car pulled up alongside up. In this car was a family consisting of a man and presumably his wife, with a daughter in her early teens and an older son. This “Rachel” girl and I had gone there to do a few shady deals which involved a couple of people belonging to the local ethnic group and these people had now spiked our guns, so we needed to be much more discreet. These native people needed to leave us and travel into the centre of the town, and so chose to travel by canoe down this river, their canoe being was fitted with an outrigger. It was important that this family didn’t see the canoe with its occupants, but the boy saw them. He started to say something about them not having the right to be in there, seeing as how it’s a non-fishing river, but the father tried to reassure him, saying that maybe they were just voyagers, but the boy thought that this was strange. He made the point that dawn was only just breaking and so if they had set out from a neighbouring village, they would have had to have set out in the pitch-darkness and that would have been impossible down the river in the canoe. This led to something of an argument. I ended up going for a walk with the mother of this party and we went for a good stroll around. she told me about the issues that she was having with her son – he was 18 and at college but was bone-idle. We were trying to access the internet but we couldn’t make a connection – all we had was a long length of telephone cable instead of an ethernet connection. Plugging in the telephone cable, we couldn’t make a connection. This was annoying the boy who complained that he needed to access the internet, but I asked him how he expected to access the internet without the correct cable. Despite that, he still carried on complaining. This woman was saying that he really was a spoilt child. At this moment, the girl appeared. There was a little bit of sun and so she went out to sit in it in a short-sleeved tee-shirt and jeans. We had a laugh, and said that we expected her to be in a bikini in a minute or two. The woman and I then set off to walk back to the car, through a crowd of people that were milling around on the pavement. One of them was one of my niece’s daughters. She wasn’t expecting me to be there so as I walked past, I gave her a cheeky wave, causing her to burst out laughing. She started to call me “dad” and say things like “how’s my son?” We had quite a laugh about that. But this woman was still going on about her son. I had half a mind to say that this is what happens when you spoil your son far too much and don’t impose any controls on him. Kids should be taught to fight for what they want, not to be given everything regardless. But I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
By now, I was back at Montreal airport, employed as a taxi driver, although I was living in Rope Lane in Shavington. We had been having huge discussions about how quickly we should be moving passengers on from there, how to recognise quickly the ones who are looking for a taxi and so on. We needed one full-time driver from 06:00 to 18:00 and another from 18:00 until 06:00, with others coming on for 12-hour shifts at 07:00, 07:30 and every half hour until about 10:00, and then part-timers taking over for short shifts until the very early hours when the airport quietened down. People who are on their own or clearly looking lost, we need to approach them and at least find out their names and find out if they are waiting for anyone, and at least rule them out of our work. It would help to identify our potential customers so much quicker. The daughter of my niece was still with us and this is one thing that we had notice about her – she was waiting for a fare and there were a couple of people loitering around, so we asked her who they were (“I don’t know”) and what they wanted (“I don’t know”). It was these kinds of situations that we needed to avoid. And so the next morning, it was time for work. I was in the airport waiting for a fare and a big man came up, wearing a kind-of cowboy hat rather like the fat bad-tempered man on Carry On Cruising. He wanted to go to the brewery in Montreal so we walked round to where I had parked my car, but it wasn’t there! We tried another two or three places of where I might possible have parked it and it wasn’t there either. I had to go back to the house to find the other driver and get him to take this fare. All of this had made a total nonsense of my ideas about being quickly away from the airport. Now I had to go to look for my car. The other driver had parked his car in the marketplace but I was sure that I had looked in there for mine, but nevertheless I had to go back there and look. All of these fine plans that I had had about improving our business, and I couldn’t even find my own car.
I then went off to a railway station somewhere – a private railway station on one of these council-funded lines. We were waiting for a train and there was chronic under-funding as you might expect with anything involving British Rail and Local Government. The Flying Scotsman was there, not only pulling freight trains but then going off to do some shunting in the absence of any British Rail shunter or any more-suitable locomotive in the yard.

The alarm broke the spell of all of this and I ended up downstairs via the bedroom floor.

I spent most of the morning typing up the notes of last night’s voyages – all … gulp … 1572 words of it. And then after lunch I carried on with merging in the blog notes to the voyage around North America in September 2015. I say “North America” because I’m now in the USA, Burlington, Vermont, to be precise, where I was in early September.

And apart from that, I’ve not done anything at all. Just taken it easy.

And thinking about life and all of that as I reflect on the news that someone so gifted and talented in his life as Keith Emerson was should find something so wrong in his life that he should choose to end it by a gunshot to the head. If that’s not enough to make anyone ban the sale of firearms, I don’t know what is.

Friday 11th March 2016 – JUST IN CASE YOU WERE WONDERING …

… what happened last night with me not posting my blog, the answer was that by the time 20:15 came around, I was already tucked up in bed and out like a light. Crashing out was certainly the word – I had gone completely.

But then again, I’d had a hectic day – and one that had started not long after I had gone to sleep. And furthermore, it all started with yet another appearance by a girl who has been described on these pages as “the one that got away”. But for the second time in succession, she didn’t get away from my evil clutches last night.

Ohh no she didn’t!

I’d been out yet again in Nantwich, having been for a really good wander all around the Crewe Road End – Millstone Lane area of the town, having a good look at all of the houses and so on. And all of the area behind the houses on Millstone Lane, between there and The Crofts, had been cleared away, flattened and rolled out ready for a new housing estate to be built there. Even Flash Meakin’s hovel had gone. I wandered over there to make a brief inspection but the builders tried to chase me away. However, it was common land and so I had every right to be there, and I made sure that they knew it. And there I stayed. Having made my inspection, I wandered off to continue my travels and this is where I bumped into the aforementioned young lady. She was living on The Crescent apparently and so she invited me in for a coffee. We had a really good chat about old times and then she invited me to stay for dinner. So I prepared all of the vegetables and she cooked the food – a risotto it was. I was given a choice about what I wanted for dessert – beans on toast was mentioned (this is why I enjoy so much going on these nocturnal rambles – they are totally surreal) but of course I had some completely different ideas about what I wanted to have for afters. But I settled on a banana, which I suppose is rather symbolic. But then her young daughter came in and was telling us about how she had been threatened by some young boy who had somehow found his way into the house. She had been in the attic and had gone out onto the roof to see what was making a noise, and he had sneaked in behind her. When she came downstairs he surprised her. She was shocked and so the police were called and he was carted off, even though he insisted that he’d only done it for a dare. He ended up with 30 days inside and was ostracised by all of his friends. In the meantime, the two of us were carrying on chatting and the conversation came round to what was happening in the evening. I invited her to the cinema and her daughter thought that this was a really good idea. But her elder boy looked rather worried as if he was afraid of having his mum taken away from him. But there was no doubt that she was really keen to go to the cinema with me and I was of course just as keen to take her.

Yes, it’s a shame that things like this don’t happen to me in real life.

The alarm went off before I’d reached the exciting bit and it left me wondering about what would have happened had I been able to sleep in until the usual time of 07:45 instead of this wretchedly-early time of 07:00. I was feeling as if I’d been cheated out of 45 minutes of wishful thinking, but there we are, I suppose.

I was on the road by 07:40 and at the hospital at 08:35, managing to pinch the next-to-last parking space on the car park. The allergy clinic is weird, with just a half-dozen or so of comfortable seats, and with le being the first arrival, I had the pick of the chairs – right by the door by the power point. I had some kind of pattern drawn in biro on my arm, with initials and numbers, and then injected and some kind of fluid rubbed in. One or two of them flared up quite dramatically and the nurse measured them with some kind of hole gauge.

The nurse then found a sheet of something that resembled an aluminium-backed piece of bubble-wrap, peeled off the sticky front of it, stuck it to my back and then burst the bubbles so that, presumably, the product in each bubble would interact with my skin. I have to leave this on until Monday.

But if I think that I’m hard done-to, what happened to me was nothing to what happened to the young girl next to me. They drew some kind of chess-board on her arm and she had a huge number of injections, a couple of which flared up like nothing that I have ever seen before. One of them was starting to look like something out of Quatermass’s Experiment.

I felt so sorry for her that I let her have my cake that came with our mid-morning coffee. And then I invited her for a game of draughts on her arm.

One thing though that surprised me was that each one of us, on entering the room, had a drain put in our arms. Not that that was surprising, the surprising bit was that they didn’t use it for anything. Rather a waste of effort to me. But at least the nurse who did it had “the touch”. I hardly felt a thing.

But my results were such that I have to come back for a full morning on Monday, and an hour or so on Tuesday. And as for my Monday-morning blood test, the nurse will do it then and there as long as I remember to take my prescription with me.

We were thrown out at 12:00 and I went down to the Amaranthe. I bought some more vegan cheese and some mixed seeds, as well as a couple of hundred grams of muesli biscuits. I think that I deserved a little treat. But the Amaranthe is now selling Mozzarella-like vegan cheese (and this is progress, considering that even 18 months ago they didn’t stock any at all), although I didn’t buy any to try as it looked to be tainted. I’ll pick some up next time maybe.

Lunch was a plate of chips and vegetables at the Flunch, and then I went around the Carrefour and the Auchan for some shopping. There were no loose porridge oats, but the Auchan “own-brand” packaged oats were a reasonable price so I bought a few packets of those. I can’t be without my muesli now, can I?

I went home afterwards for a relax and to look for some more stuff that I forgot the other day. I still can’t find my Paint-Shop Pro disk but I did manage to find my dash-cam. I’ve also copied all of the dictaphone notes onto a rewritable DVD and onto a back-up drive, one thing that I’ve been meaning to do ever since I finished transcribing them.

I went to the pharmacie in St Gervais on the ay back here. I needed to pick up the medication that I ordered. The good news about this is that a month’s supply of the new injections only cost half of the price of the current lot, and then of course it’s only going to be once a day too. So that’s something like progress anyway. I shan’t be struggling quite as much for finances.

But the bad news about it is that the other injection that I need to take with me to the hospital next Friday – it’s more like an injection for a cow or a horse, judging by the size of the box. I don’t like the idea of that.

I also forgot to ask for some more boxes for my empty needles, and then I also realised that I hadn’t been to pick up my paperwork from the Archives at the hospital either. It clearly wasn’t my day. And on leaving the town, someone in a small silver saloon of which the registration number began CZ flashed his lights and waved at me. I wish that I know who it was.

Chips were on the menu back here, so that’s twice today. Not that I am complaining of course, because we have real malt vinegar here. And then I crawled off to bed – I didn’t even go out for my walk, but then that’s no big deal because I’d walked enough (at least, for my present state of health) today.

And with this patch-thing on my back, I’m glad that I had a shower yesterday.

And so are we” said terry.

Thursday 10th March 2016 – I HAD A SHOWER …

… today, and I’m not talking about anyone from … "you aren’t still doing that, are you?" – ed.

First time since the end of January in fact, the morning of my operation. But then I couldn’t have a shower with my soluble stitches in place. I had the clearance from my surgeon on Monday but what with one thing and another, it wasn’t until this evening that I had one, while my pizza was cooking.

That’s right. It seems that Thursday night is pizza night in Sauret-Besserve, and so I made my own. Tomato, mushrooms and onion with tomato sauce, vegan cheese and herbs. And it was delicious too. So much so that there’s none left for lunch (which is just as well, for I’m not here for lunch).

During the night, I was having rather a fitful series of voyages halfway around the world. The first part featured me as some kind of sheriff or marshal (I’ve clearly been watching far too many westerns before I go to sleep) and I was keeping an eye on a bunch of drunken factory workers dressed as either Indians or baddies who were on the way to the seaside but there were three hours or more of the train travel before we got there and someone needed to keep an eye on these people to make sure that they weren’t up to no good. But at this point, I awoke rather dramatically so I didn’t see how this was going to develop.
But never mind – I was soon back to sleep and found myself in Canada for some reason or another. I was at Rachel’s and Darren’s and the first night that I was there the bottle of gas in the gas heater ran out. And was I cold! I had no heat, no hot water and nowhere to make any coffee in the morning. But then I remembered that there was a bottle of gas in the verandah – like I have at home – so I went to fetch that and couple it up. But before I could do that, I was interrupted by someone like Sherlock Holmes, with Doctor Watson and a third man. This was round about the time of the disappearance of Holmes, and Watson was struggling on his own to solve a couple of cases, but he wasn’t making any headway. But Holmes returned and we had the meeting between Watson and Holmes-in-disguise, with Watson fainting and having to be put to bed. Holmes then started to shave off his whiskers, which clogged my yellow-and-white razor. but this part of everything was filled with some delightful anachronisms (like the black-and-white Sherlock Holmes films of the 30s) with record players, LP records, plastic macs and so on in this scene of Sherlock Holmes. But then I started to talk to Darren about this gas again and Rachel was saying that it doesn’t matter now because look how the temperature has gone up.
After the obligatory walk down the corridor, I went off to Mid-Wales where I was driving along this road – on the right as it happens on a dual carriageway, and in the distance was this enormous rain cloud. I was in my car and had just been overtaken by this huge lorry, who clearly couldn’t care less about conditions on the road. The road was soaking wet and he was splashing spray everywhere and at times you just couldn’t see anything.We drove down this hill with the lorry sending spray everywhere and soaking the pedestrians and policemen gesticulating at the driver. We ended up in one of these big mid-Wales towns (but nothing like any Mid-Wales town that I ever knew) and by this time I was driving a Van-Hool Alizee coach of the late 1980s, the type that I used to drive when I worked for Shearings but which was white with no writing. There were a variety of ways out of this town – at the junction there were five roads out. One of them, a diagonally left-of-straight-on, went under a railway bridge and up a hill, round a right-hand bend and then higher up to a set of traffic lights. That was the way that I went. Just after the bend parked on the left in a restricted area was a purple mark I Escort van with a “four plus two” 1963 number plate (which, seeing as how they weren’t made until 1967 was something quite surprising), and next to it was an old 105E Anglia. I was wanting to stop and take photos of them but there wasn’t anywhere to stop, we were climbing up the hill and there was all kinds of traffic queues. I thought that I would never get to the top of the bank at this rate, stuck here in this enormous traffic queue for the lights to get out of town.

After breakfast, I carried on with my Canada 2015 notes. I’ve finished the dictaphone notes for September and I’m now incorporating the blog notes into the text. That might take a few days as there are quite a lot of those. So far, I’m on that place where I camped overnight about an hour and a half from Happy Valley-Goose Bay (but travelling backwards).

So in a few minutes’ time, a nice clean me will go for a walk and then I’ll be off to bed. I have to be up at 07:00 tomorrow ready for my early morning drive to the hospital at Montlucon. I am not looking forward to that.

Wednesday 9th March 2016 – I’VE BEEN OUT TODAY …

… and I didn’t feel much like it because it was taters outside and sleeting down too. But out I had to go.

Most important was to post my claim for medical expenses. As I said the other day, what my expenses to date (as far as has come in – there’s still plenty to go that hasn’t come in) come to is the equivalent of 3 months’ income. As soon as I can receive the reimbursement, the better I’ll be. It was well-worth the … gulp … $14:70 to post it off.

I had to go to the boulangerie too.When I left, the mobile boulangère hadn’t been by and we had run out of bread. You can’t leave bread to chance if you are going out anyway. And so I went to the wrong boulangerie, bought the wrong bread and when I returned home I found that the boulangère had been here anyway. But still, that’s what freezers are for.

Another place that I needed to visit was the pharmacie. The prescription that I was given for my new medication expires on March 16th so I need to order that now. And then I need another injection to take with me to the hospital when I go for the scanner on the 18th. It goes without saying that a remote pharmacie like the one at St Gervais wouldn’t have the stuff in stock and so I’d have to order it.

And so after visiting the Post Office I clambered back into Caliburn and drove round to where the pharmacie is – only to find that it had moved. Upon enquiring of a local yokel, I discovered that it had moved to just behind the Post Office, right by where I’d parked Caliburn.

But now everything ordered and I’ll pick it up on Friday afternoon on my way back from the hospital.

During the night, I don’t remember too much about my little wanderings. I remember having to take a group of kids somewhere – kids aged round about 4 and 5 – and so the first thing to do was to check them all to make sure that they were clean and properly dressed. And having done that, we could set off.Once we’d arrived at our destination, the kids went off to do what they had to do and I went into the hotel bar for a coffee. And who should be in there but a friend of mine. We ended up having a really good chat, and when I went to the bar, he asked me to fetch him a MacKay’s and something (I can’t remember what it was now). But anyway, a MacKay’s was a blend of whisky and the something was like a tonic water or ginger ale in a small bottle like that and the bill for this came to an astonishing £11 and more. I was totally surprised by this and so when I took his drink to him I asked him if that was correct – not that I minded paying for it but that I thought that it was really excessive. He assured me that the bill was probably about right, and I reckoned that I was glad that I don’t drink alcohol. From here, I had to go back and pick up my charges and make sure that that they were all present and correct and had everything that they had supposed to have.

What I’ve done today, now that my web server is back and running, is to finish the collating of the notes of my voyage to Canada for the month of October 2015, and I’ve made a decent attack on the notes for September 2015. We will then have the notes for August 2015, and then all of the notes for 2014. The notes and photos of much of the route that I did in those two years, together with some of my 2013 journey and some of my 2010 journey, can then be superimposed and make more of a travelogue than a blog. That’s what my aim is anyway.

So now that it’s stopped snowing again and the rainstorm has died down, I’m off for a walk and then an early night. But my walk around St Gervais (in the sleet) today has shown, at least to me, that my movements are freeing up.

I just wish that I could do something about this lump in my lungs. But, as my surgeon said the other day “we’ll see what this scan says and then we’ll see what we can do!”

Mother!!!!!!!

Monday 7th March 2016 – I WENT TO RESCUE …

… Caliburn today. And it’s a good job that I did too.

When I arrived around back at my place during mid-afternoon, it was just another grey, cold day with nothing particular to say about it. And I went inside to look for some stuff that I needed – some clothes, a small rolling suitcase, my missing Paint Shop Pro CD, my passport, the post, all kinds of stuff. And while I was up in the attic I remember thinking “blimmin’ ‘eck – it’s going dark early!”

But looking up, I could see that the skylights were completely snowed over and flakes the size of dinner plates were falling down. No wonder it was dark up there.

This wasn’t the time to be hanging about in my opinion. I grabbed what I could and headed for Caliburn and then headed for the hills before I could be snowed in.Luckily, after about 6 weeks of standing around, Caliburn started up easily so that was no problem.

And I’m glad in some respects that I didn’t have to hang around too much. It was taters in my attic – all of 5.9°C although it did warm up to 6.4°C after I had been there for an hour or so. Such are the advantages of having the place bung-full of insulation. I keep telling people – money spent on good insulation is never wasted.

But never mind that for a moment – let’s go back to this morning and the blasted nurse because he flaming well forgot me YET AGAIN! And it’s blood test day too so that has put the tin hat on it, hasn’t it?

I had made a special effort to get up early too, even though I was well away with the fairies.

It was an evening at weekend and, as was my custom, I’d gone out to a nearby town (and I can’t remember now which one it was) for a good prowl around. It was something that I did every weekend, and it was always to the same town, and I knew by heart everywhere to go here. It suddenly occurred to me that I was bored with it? Why didn’t I go to somewhere different? After all, the Potteries weren’t too far away. There, I had six towns to choose from and there was plenty to do, much of which would be totally new to me. But the downside of that was that where I was visiting, there was a kind of hotel where you could go for just a couple of hours and crash out. That was something that I did every time that I was there and I reckoned that it was quite important to me. There wasn’t anywhere to do that in Stoke on Trent, as far as I was aware. But on one of my walks around the town I was looking in the window of a motorcycle shop. There was a Honda 350cc in there – something totally modern that I had never seen before. It had no seat on it and the engine was missing, and the frame was really low-slung like a racing bike. My brother (him again???) came to stand next to me and we were looking at the bike. I told him that I couldn’t make out whether it was beautiful or totally hideous. There was also an old British 2-stroke twin in the window and that was much more like my kind of motorbike. He asked me about Hondas, and especially the Honda 250. Which was the best – the CB or the CD? I told him that the CB was more highly-tuned so it would respond better when being used under normal circumstances around town and on the road (ironically, whenever I had been asked this question in the 1970s, I had always recommended the CD).
From here, via a long convoluted trail I ended up back at my house with a crowd of people there, including my brother (yet again!) and the debut appearance on these pages of his wife. While we were talking, she suddenly produced a modern single-bore shotgun. This enraged me completely and right on the spur of the moment I started to sing a song that I made up on the spot as I was going along. Sung to the tune of “I don’t want to join the army” from “Oh! What A Lovely War!”, it started off –
“Don’t bring guns into my kitchen”
“Don’t bring guns into my hall”
And it concluded
“I may not want to kill”
“but I’m not so very ill”
“to let myself be shot inside my home”
and the astonishing thing about this is not only do I remember myself singing it, but the fact that I could come up with the lyrics, all of which scanned perfectly, as I was going along – and in a dream as well.
My technique must be improving!

Being fed up of waiting once 09:15 had arrived, I had my breakfast and then carried on with a few little things that I had to do, and seeing as how I was going to see my surgeon, I thought that I would make myself pretty.
“You’d better get a move on” said Terry. “We have to be off in four hours!”

So having done that and come back downstairs to another barrage of abuse – “well?” asked Terry. “When are you starting?” – we eventually had lunch and then off on the road to Montlucon.

Now I don’t know what they are spending the money on at the hospital but it’s not on the archives department, I’ll tell you that. It was like something out of Charles Dickens. Anyway, they can give me a complete copy of my file but not straight away as they need to photocopy it – at … gulp … €0:18 per page. This is going to run out to be very expensive. I can pick it up on Friday.

Back in the hospital, I’ve changed the appointment for the scanner. As you know, it should have been the day after my appointment in Leuven but that’s clearly not going to happen. But down at the secretariat of the X-ray department, they managed to find a little gap for me – they had a cancellation for 10:30 on Friday 18th of March and so I’m fitted in there.

I finally got round to seeing the surgeon, having bumped into my little student nurse on the way up and we had quite a chat. My surgeon didn’t say anything but the look on her face was enough when I told her that my blood count was going down quicker than the lifts in the hospital. Her response was “well, we’ll see what the scanner has to say and then we’ll see what else we can do for you”.

It was those last few words that filled me with foreboding.

But everything that I asked, and all of the problems that I discussed, everything was “we’ll see what the scanner has to say”. I really do believe that they have run out of ideas and are groping a little in the dark. But my stitches have indeed disappeared – they were indeed soluble – and now I can at last have a shower, which I shall be taking tomorrow.

I only had to wait two minutes for Terry, who had been to Brico Depot for an earthing rod – and then we were off back to my place.

And after everything back there, it was nice to be back behind the wheel of Caliburn even if there was a load of snow on the road as far as the Font Nanaud. I’ve missed driving, and I’m now toying with the idea of maybe going by road to Leuven.

That’s not as silly as it sounds, actually. I was in no difficulty at all with the driving, and I have four trips to make to Montlucon before I need to leave for Leuven so that will ease me back into it. And not only that, it will save on having to walk and drag a suitcase around with me while I change from train to train.

But even that might not be an issue because with all of the walking that I needed to do today, as well as all of the stair-climbing, I was moving quite a good deal easier than I was even yesterday, never mind last week when I first started on my exercise.

If only I could do something about this continual loss of blood – but if the nurse doesn’t come to give me the tests, what can I do about controlling it?

Sunday 6th March 2016 – HOW LONG IS IT …

… since I posted a photo on here?

It must be ages and ages – I know for a fact that I didn’t take any photos at all during February and that has to be the first time for about 15 years since I had a photo-free month.

But so that you don’t feel deprived, here’s a photo taken with the camera in my mobile phone and it shows the snow that came a-falling down today.

And you’ve no idea how nice it is to be sitting inside here, by the stove, with a mug of hot coffee and a home-made banana muffin, and watching it fall. Unfortunately it didn’t stick around because we had a weird sort of weather day. heavy snowfall and then sunlight which melted the snow, and then snowfall again, and then sunlight, und so weiter.

When I went out for a walk just now, 99% of the snow had gone, but there was a crystak-clear sky with tons of stars and a rapidly-plummeting temperature. It’ll be cold tonight, that’s for sure.

As for my walk, this was the best so far. I’ve progressed to a fair distance now – about 150 yards away, I reckon. And I’m moving easier and quicker without quite so much pain and with less of a breathing difficulty although I still have this egg in my lungs that I can feel when I’m getting out of breath. So apart from that, there might be hope for me yet if only I could overcome this blood-loss thing.

So what else did I do today?

Apart from laughing at Manure, I spent all of the day going through my medical receipts. Now that the Insurance Company has agreed my maladie grave and given me a case number, I can send them all in. That meant putting them in date order, finding the prescriptions that went with them, printing out a dozen or so claim forms and filling them in, and then scanning the documents in order to keep copies. That lot took me from about 09:30 to about 16:00, with a couple of pauses for coffee and home-made banana muffins and a pause for lunch.

And how much do they owe me then? Well, to date, bearing in mind that there are quite a few bills that have yet to arrive, it’s about three months’ pension money. And that’s what I’ve spent out in about two and a half months of illness. So you can see why I’ve been struggling and in all kinds of difficulty.

So why haven’t I made a claim beforehand?

The answer to that is that without having had my claim for a maladie grave approved, I would have had to submit my claim under the normal procedures and only had part of the expenses approved. And then, the relevant claim file for that period would have been closed and you know just as well as I do what it would have been like trying to persuade an Insurance Company to reopen a closed claim.

I also had a haircut today. Liz was busy scalping Terry and so I took my turn in the queue. It needed doing but it wasn’t ‘arf cold outside afterwards.

As for last night, though, I was on my travels yet again.

I was up on the moor somewhere round by Northumberland and the Scottish border with a party of soldiers, maybe 100 of us, but we weren’t troops and in British Army soldiers but more like a throwback to Roman times, that kind of thing. We were in search of a powerful band of orc-like creatures who had been devastating this area. We had travelled so far into the wilderness and it was late in the day so the leaders of the party called for a halt for the night. He sent out two parties for observation. One of these parties had some kind of flying machine – a primitive light aeroplane made with a tubular aluminium frame but with no covering and they would fly over they area to see what was happening and see if any trace could be found of these orc-like people, while the second party, of which I was a member, would go to a watch-tower, something like a Martello tower not too far away, to liaise with whoever was in the aeroplane and receive their signals. So there we were, inside this watchtower but there was no sign of this plane – we waited and waited. Just when we considered that it was time to go back to the main party, we heard the plane flying over so the leader of our party took the lamp, a big black affair with a solar panel for recharging the battery (you have to admit that the Romans were very advanced technologically) and went outside. He didn’t return, so someone else went out, and found the first guy with an orc spear right through his body, thrown with tremendous force to the extent that it had gone halfway through him. At that moment he too was speared by the orcs, and this is how it went on. There were just 5 of us left and then the other party that had been with the aeroplane, they came back (minus the aeroplane). Not being quite aware of what was going on, I went down to meet these four people, who had a girl of about 4 with them. But there were also four other people there, two men and two women, and they were in business attire and the people from our party were looking at them. Suddenly, the penny dropped and I shouted out “run, you fools! Can’t you see that they are orcs!”. This led to something of a struggle and two of our group of four were cut down and the other two made it inside. But the little girl was left cowering by the door. I fought off these orcs and in a short time they had gone. I picked up the girl and went inside but the place was deserted. All that I could see were muddy orc footprints all over the walls and the ceiling. They had somehow managed to enter the building and removed the rest of our two parties while I was outside fighting. This left just me and the little girl, and we had to rejoin our main party a mile or two away, and God knows where these orcs were. Had they gone off with their captives, or had they killed them and were lying in wait for us, or were they attacking our main party. So we just had to grit our teeth and make a run for it, hoping that we would get through.
That was another unpleasant situation to be in and I was glad that a call of nature had aroused me from certain death. And after the usual trip down the corridor I was back with a group of children and there was gambling, people injecting themselves with needles and all of that kind of thing, which (strangely enough – or maybe not, as it happens) relates to a discussion that we were all having here on Saturday afternoon.

So now, having had my walk, I’m off for another early (but not quite so early) night. I have a blood test in the morning so I need to study.

Friday 4th March 2016 – HAVING MADE THE EFFORT …

… to dash downstairs ready for the nurse as soon as the alarm went off this morning, it goes without saying that he didn’t arrive until about 08:30. But then, that’s typical, isn’t it?

Mind you, I was lucky to be here at all because I had travelled quite a long way during the night. And that’s despite it taking me ages to drop off to sleep last night too. Despite my little walk, an early night and an exciting hour or so watching “The Raiders Of Tombstone Canyon” or some such, I was still tossing and turning around at 23:30. Clearly the effects of my nightmare last night were having something to do with all of that.

But eventually, off I went. And “off” is the right word to use too. Belgium was the first destination last night and there was quite a large mob of us in the Belgian public transport system, which included my brother (him again?) and my niece in Canada and a couple of her girls. It was almost as if we had been to a family gathering and I do remember Shavington featuring in here somewhere – Hunter’s Avenue being where we got onto this bus. Once aboard, the conductress came round to check our tickets and she overheard me talking to someone, telling them a most improbable story about 2 different lines on the Montreal Metro. “Oohhh” she said. “Do you know the Montreal Metro then?” and so we had a lengthy chat about Montreal (very reminiscent of something that really did happen to me on a bus in Montreal a few years ago where it turned out that the driver was not only from Brussels in Belgium – he recognised my accent – but actually drove on the route that I used to take to see my friend Marianne, so we spent the journey chatting about that route). So after all of that, she checked my ticket, which was one of these Belgian 10-pass tickets but I had forgotten to stamp it when I got on the bus so as a favour to me she took it off with her to stamp. But it kept on showing up an error, so I thought that it had probably run out and so I needed a new one, but for some reason I didn’t have any money on me. After yet another lengthy discussion, she agreed that she would let me off for this trip but I’d have to buy another ticket immediately as soon as I alighted – after all, we were planning to make quite a lengthy voyage involving a few changes of vehicle. And so we alighted at our first destination and so one of our party was asking where we could go to buy a ticket for the transport. There didn’t seem to be a ticket office anywhere. I seemed to remember that there was a place downstairs in the station where we could buy some of these ten-trip tickets and so that was where we headed. But here, at the entrance to the restaurant, was an automatic ticket machine (but it was blue like in Montreal, not yellow as in Brussels). I pointed it out and said that I may as well pick up my ticket here, so everyone else said that they would go downstairs to the railway station and buy my train ticket for me while they were waiting for me to join them. So I went off to the machine but the first side of it was actually a telephone, not a ticket machine. The second side of it had a huge queue hanging around by it, and the third side was out of order. I went to the fourth side of the machine and I was just on the point of trying to buy a ticket from here when I suddenly and inexplicably woke up.
After the usual trip down the corridor we were off again and this second part concerns a boy who was being kept as a slave somehow in a weird first-floor apartment and was being made to perform all kinds of household tasks and general slavery duties. He was determined that at the first available opportunity he would to make his escape, and he had some kind of confidant who would help him. His master, who resembled a kind of cross between Ebenezer Scrooge and Alastair Sim was equally determined that he wouldn’t, and so his life became even more grim. One day one of the windows breaks in this apartment – the day that the master is having to leave the same evening and be away all night until the following evening. It was the next day, the day that the master would be away until the evening, that this escape had been planned. Now with this broken window the master decides that he isn’t just going to have the pane of glass replaced but four complete new windows with frames at the back of the apartment overlooking the rear entrance to the courtyard. Some workmen arrive and they start to take out the old window frames and to fit new ones. As the work is progressing well, the master leaves on his journey and the young boy is delighted by being invited by the workmen to kick over all of the windows that have been stacked up against the wall and watching them break. But by the time the workmen come to finish for the day, there’s still one window not installed so they need to come back the next day. But with the window missing it’s easy for the boy to escape from the house and climb down a stack of old furniture that had been piled up against the rear wall of the house. And so he makes good his getaway. He ends up down West Street in Crewe, out by Merrill’s Bridge heading into town past the pubs and chip shops, being followed by this big ginger cat that allows him to stroke it but not pick it up. He passes by a pillar box that is crammed full of mail and a couple of postmen are busy trying to wrestle a couple of sacks of letters from it. And a little farther down the street there’s a railway level crossing with a branch junction that swings round immediately to the right to opposite where this pillar box was. Eventually, he ends up with friends and tells them some (but not all) of this story and how he is leaving the next day. In the meantime these people whom he’s visiting are loading all kinds of scrap paper into a shipping container and compacting it in with a hydraulic ram. It ends up with this boy having to go back to the apartment for some reason but he’s really worried in case the master has unexpectedly returned (why he couldn’t make his getaway that night I really do not know) but that’s a risk that he has to take. And the rest of this story becomes something of an anti-climax because he goes back, re-enters the apartment, the master hasn’t returned unexpectedly, and next morning with the aid of his friend he makes good his getaway and disappears into the sunrise to presumably live happily ever after.
After all of that it was my turn to look at a couple of short videos offering ideas for holiday venues. One that particularly caught my eye was a snow-swept Central European town and so off I went. I was walking up the street here in rather inclement weather, somewhere near a road junction, and some woman was driving down the hill slowly on the wrong side of the road, totally oblivious to me. She approached closer and closer and rolled forward to come to rest against my shin. Her car was one of these little Autobianchis, a red one, and I was musing to myself that I could flip it over with my foot, it was so small and lightweight.

At that moment, the alarm went off so I never knew how it all finished. I shot off downstairs, as I said.

This morning, I had plenty of things to do but I didn’t manage anything much because Liz and Terry left me here on my Tod while they went off to do some shopping. I had a good play around with my 3D program and tried out a couple of new techniques that I had been thinking about.

Lunch was left-over pizza (which, like anything else spicy, always tastes better the following day) and bread with vegan cheese spread. and then this afternoon, I made a start on one of my courses – this one being a basic Dutch course. I’m off to Leuven in a couple of weeks and I’ve forgotten most of my Flemish. Dutch and Flemish are very similar languages so if you can understand one you can understand the other, but I’m not sure how that’s going to work as most people can’t even understand me when I speak English.

But we did have some excitement today. Being fed up of waiting for my Insurance Company to phone me back, I sent another one of my incendiary e-mails. And having blistered the paint off the walls of the receiving office, I received a reply. Basically “please find attached our acceptance of your claim to be suffering from a serious illness”. It’s only taken them 7 weeks to agree this.

What it means in practical terms is that instead of being reimbursed the ceiling limit of claims, I can receive an ex-gratia payment to cover the costs of my actual expenditure, together with certain other benefits that would not ordinarily be covered. And that is certainly a great help as far as my finance go. I may even be able to afford to eat as well, if I am careful. It’s quite reassuring for my voyage to Leuven, which I was half-expecting to have to pay out of my own pocket.

But talking of eating, I’ve had home-made vegan lentil-burgers for tea tonight, with chips and peas followed by vegan ice cream. Liz made the burgers and I was lucky enough to be in the kitchen just as she was starting. Consequently, I had a grandstand view of the whole procedure and have made copious notes.

Now, I’m off for my little walk up the hill again, even if it is pouring down with rain and has been all day, and then I’m off for another early night.

Tuesday 1st March 2016 – I HAD A PHONE CALL …

… this morning, but it wasn’t necessarily the one that I was expecting.

>round about 10:15, while Terry was out cutting wood, the phone went off. “Mr Hall, this is the hospital. The Doctor has seen your blood test results and thinks that you should come in for a transfusion right away”.

So at last, someone seems to have taken notice of what is going on with my blood. But as I have said before … "and at great length too" – ed … a blood transfusion isn’t the answer. I could have kept on having these without the need to have suffered all of the agony in having my spleen removed.

But I told them that there was no chance of me going in at that time of day. Terry would have to run me, and then sit around all day until it’s done and he’s got plenty of work to do. And so we agreed that I’ll be going in tomorrow. Liz has a short day so she’ll take me in and bring me back. It’ll mean that I’ll have to sit around for a couple of hours in the hospital but that’s my problem, not anyone else’s.

Last night, I had a quiet night and didn’t go anywhere. And I do mean “anywhere” too – not even down the corridor for a ride on the porcelain horse. That is – I did go at 06:30 but seeing as how I didn’t go back to sleep afterwards and that it was nearly getting-up time, that doesn’t count. But no nocturnal voyage either – I must have slept the sleep of the dead last night.

As for today though, I’ve finished all of the dictaphone notes. Every last one of them. I would be going round to my house tomorrow where I could burn a DVD with everything on it, but I cancelled that idea yesterday as you know and in any case, I’ve the blood transfusion tomorrow.

Tea was one of Liz’s home-made vegan pies with new potatoes and beans, and didn’t that taste so nice? It made me feel so much better, that I promise you. What with the left-over pasta and tomato sauce for lunch, what more could any person desire?

So I’m off for another short walk in a bit and then I’ll be having a good wash and shave ready for tomorrow. After all, I must look my best.

But I’m bitterly disappointed with you lot from yesterday. 29th of February and I didn’t even get one proposal of marriage. You miserable bunch!

Monday 29th February 2016 – LOCK UP YOUR DAUGHTERS AND HIDE THE SILVER!

Especially if you live in Leuven, in Belgium. Because I’ll be off on my travels in early course and Leuven is the destination.

I was on the phone for quite some time this morning, firstly to the hospital at Montlucon clarifying all of the appointments that are organised for the next couple of weeks. And once we had done that, I spent the rest of the morning on the phone to the UZ Leuven in Belgium. I told them a brief story of my medical history, how I was satisfied with neither my treatment nor my progress and, quite surprisingly, the doctor with whom I spoke totally agreed with me. I ought to be doing better than this.

The upshot of this is that he’s agreed to see me in Leuven on 22 March at 14:00. And so I’m going.

What’s even nicer is that my friend Alison who lives a short drive away from Leuven has very kindly offered to put me up for a couple of days while I’m there and let me borrow one of her three cats. I think that that’s a really nice and generous gesture on her part and makes me feel so much better. Terry however clearly reckons that she doesn’t know me all that well.

And not before time too because I had the blood test this morning and the results were ready by teatime.

And it’s grim reading. What started out at 10.4 when I was in hospital and went down to 9.8 and then to 9.0 has now dropped dramatically through the floor to a dismal figure of just 8.0 – that’s a loss of over 12% in a week. And that’s after everything that I’ve been through and all that I’ve suffered over these last couple of months. Nothing has improved, I’ve picked up a pulmonary embolism and I’ve suffered pain like I never knew existed.

And all, apparently, for nothing.

And the thing that galls me the most is that my loss of blood is dramatic to say the least, and there’s not been a peep out of the hospital. I would have thought that this is all becoming urgent, not to mention crucial, and the people at the hospital haven’t shown even the slightest hint of interest at all.

In other news, I’ve had a reply back to my e-mail the other day. They’ve asked for my phone number so they can call me for a chat. Right after I made “other arrangements” for a second opinion. But of course this phone call is probably to tell me that I’ve been sacked or some such. I wouldn’t be surprised.

So having got all of that off my chest, what else has been happening?

We had another night of being careful how we left the bed due to bits of me being all over the floor. Twice in two nights, this.
But back in the arms of Morpheus and I was back off to a lock-up garage somewhere that I didn’t know and in there was some kind of small two-door estate car, dark blue, resembling a late 1960s Toyota or a FIAT 128. I was looking at this along with another person who had some kind of mechanical aspirations. The vehicle had been bought by my brother at an auction for £400, which was a lot of money to pay for such a vehicle, never mind its poor condition, and the person I was with expressed his surprise that my brother hadn’t tried to beat down the vendor to a more realistic price. Anyway, I couldn’t hang about. I was off up to Stoke on Trent, somewhere round about the Waterloo Road (which it wasn’t, but never mind) in a big van that I had at the time. I ended up down a side street in a maze of terraced houses being shown a room that was to let in a terraced house that was being used as a lodging-house. A girl that I knew – someone from my old days in Stoke on Trent – was running the place and so I asked her about it. She said that it was formerly a vet’s office but when it came onto the market it was too good to miss and so she converted it into rooms, with she and her family living in a tiny room right at the top. We went outside, there was a lovely (if that’s the word) view of the street lights and the urban area in the dark of the North-Western Potteries, all of the lights twinkling in what was a very late and clear evening. They say that the best time to see the Potteries is during the hours of darkness during a power cut and the local newspaper once famously described the old railway line that passed through here as “10 miles of the world’s worst scenery”.
But scenery notwithstanding, I’ve now moved on to Brussels (so there really isn’t all that much difference) living in an apartment that was part of a house conversion – what they call a trois pièces en enfilade. It’s not a very pretty apartment but anyway we start off with me not being there. I’m with Nerina up on the huge concrete windswept plateau on the high-rise council estate not too far from the Heysel Stadium and we’re looking over the parapet to some mid-rise (about 10-storey, I dunno) concrete-and-glass tower blocks. There are about dour of them, with a square footprint and they have some kind of reputation of being quite comfortable and pleasant places to live. Nerina was saying that we should have gone to live in a place like that and while I didn’t disagree for a minute, I did say (and quite rightly so) that a place such as that is way outside our budget. But we ended up back at our apartment (or maybe it was mine and she was only visiting) and we started to tidy up the place. There had been a new television delivered and I was idly flicking through the channels when I suddenly found a Morecambe and Wise film – and one which wasn’t part of the Morecambe and Wise trilogy either. And so I sat down to watch it while Nerina sat down at the other end of the apartment to do some painting. At a certain moment she asked me to pass her a bottle of paint of a red colour and so I walked over there to hand it to her, but it was the wrong bottle that I gave her.
Before she had time to say anything about this, the alarm went off and that was that. And despite a reasonable night’s sleep I was thoroughly exhausted. It was all that I could do to stagger downstairs.

At least I didn’t have to wait too long for the nurse to come to take my blood test.

Once everything had been sorted out and we’d had lunch (I had the very last of the curry with some bread) I cracked on with the dictaphone notes and now, there remain just 26 soundfiles to transcribe and we’ll be done. And I can’t wait to finish them off because there’s a lot of other work that has now built up and I need to deal with that too.

For tea we had pasta and sauce and garlic bread, and I’m really going to miss all of this when I go to Leuven – if I ever get there because I went out for a walk just now with Liz and I couldn’t even make 50 metres up the hill outside.

I have therefore cancelled my little trip out on Wednesday to collect Caliburn as I’ll be in no state at all to drive him.

All of this is starting to look very ominous indeed and I am dismayed.

Sunday 28th February 2016 – THE DOGS …

… managed to behave themselves last night. I hardly heard a peep out of them. But nevertheless, I was taking no chances and you have no idea just how pleasant it is, lying there in the dark with headphones listening to really good music at something of an impressive volume. I awoke briefly at 00:30 just in time to hear the tail-end of my Simple Minds concert, and that made me feel so much better.

But just a litle word of caution – when I went to the bathroom, I had to leave my bed on the left-hand side (which is what I do here, although not what I do at home) because of the floor on the right-hand side being littered with all kinds of stuff relating to my illness. I’m not quite sure what, but then logic has never really played a great part in anything that might (or might not) go on during the night.
After the customary trip down the corridor, I fell back into the arms of Morpheus and ended up somewhere in mid-Cheshire, at a Tesco supermarket (although the facade of the building did actually seem to be the Morrison’s supermarket in Winsford). I was carrying a bottle of water and looking for the manager, who eventually appeared to see me. I explained that I was from the Tesco supermarket at Whitchurch and when we were checking the shelves we found a bottle of water in a place where it shouldn’t have been on the shelves, and so it would seem to have been delivered to us in error. I was therefore taking the opportunity to return it. He took the bottle, went immediately over to the cold shelves, and there stacked in amongst the lettuce was another bottle of water of the same time. He said therefore that it must have been done in some kind of error and there was no problem or issue about our having this bottle of water.
So clutching a giant packet of crisps which I had somehow acquired, I left the supermarket and mounted my bicycle. I had the idea to telephone a girl that I knew in the Whitchurch area to see if she fancied coming out for a drink, seeing as I now had an hour or two to spare, and if she turned me down it would be no big deal. But my battery showed just 3% charge and so I needed to charge it up in the van. I freewheeled off down the steep hill to the car park and this involved a sharp right-hand turn into the car-park entrance. I remember pelting down this hill and swerving sharply into this car park entrance, and I wasn’t sure if I was going to make the turn. And just as we reached the crucial point, whether I’d miss the entrance, overshoot, fall off, hit the kerb or make it round, the alarm went off and I sat bolt upright in bed.

At least, despite everything, I’d had a reasonable night’s sleep.

After breakfast and after the nurse, I pushed on with the dictaphone notes. All of France 2014 is now done and dusted and I’ve started on the final batch of football notes. There were about 70 soundfiles of those to deal with and now the number is down to about 50. With a bit of luck, God’s help and a Bobby, this might be up-to-date by next weekend too. This will be progress, I’m sure. All that I need to do then, next time that I’m home, is to save it all to an external drive and then burn a CD with all of the files. Then, I can clear the dictaphone.

I’ve tidied up my paperwork too and managed to find the details of the next appointment that I have at the hospital. This seems to be Monday 7th March, although Liz and I are both convinced that there’s something mentioned about Friday 4th. I suppose that I’ll have to ring them up to find out.

This morning we had a snowstorm too. Just a small one for half an hour and nothing stuck, but just a reminder that winter hasn’t yet departed.

For tea, Liz and terry had chicken. But I was the lucky one, for there was some of yesterday’s curry left over. What with a baked potato and a naam bread that was discovered deep down in the freezer, I had a meal fit for a king. So much so that there was no room left for any vegan ice-cream.

So tomorrow is Monday.people will be back at work and so I’ll be expecting a “response” to the rather incendiary e-mail that I sent out on Friday, but I’ll also have to set Plan B in motion because I can’t wait any longer to start something off.

Saturday 27th February 2016 – NOW THAT’S WHAT I CALL …

… a bad night!

The guy across the road has eight or nine hunting dogs which he keeps in a compound about 40 yards from this house. They are mostly well-behaved, but they can have their moments. And last night was one of those.

They started off about something at about 20:00 and they were still at it at 01:30, which was the last time that I remember glancing at the clock and sighing. What made it worse was that I had a pain in my ear so I couldn’t use my headphones, and so that ruled out watching a film in bed. And so the whole idea of having an early night was totally wasted.

What made it worse from my point of view anyway) was that I remember absolutely nothing of my little ramble during the night. Just 30 seconds of garbled notes on the dictaphone telling me that my medical condition wasn’t improving – in fact, quite the reverse (so tell me something that I don’t know!). As a result I’d become something of an outcast and ended up living the life of an outlaw (in the traditional sense) in some kind of distressing and poverty-stricken circumstances(ditto).

Talking of the dictaphone, I’ve made an enormous amount of progress today. So much so that I’ve finished my Canada 2014 notes, finished the Germany 2014 notes, done some of the outstanding football notes and almost finished the France May 2014 notes. This is progress indeed.

I know that I clearly have nothing better to do right now, but I can be pleased that at least I’m taking full advantage of this now and bringing up-to-date a situation that I have let drag on far too long. Mind you, there is always something that comes along to disrupt the best-laid plans of mice and men and I don’t see this as being any different.

We had visitors today too and they stayed for quite a while, but it was nothing to do with me and s I left them to it.

All I can say now is that I’m going to try to have another early night and hope that the dogs behave themselves tonight. At least I’ll have a nice breakfast in the morning because I ran out of muesli today and had to make some more.

Friday 26th February 2016 – AND THE ANSWERS …

… to last night’s questions are “Nowhere” and “No-one”.

I had my early night last night of course, but didn’t go straight to bed as I had a few things that needed doing. So I attended to them first while I was off on another nostalgia trip listening to my “Simple Minds” concert – the one that I engineered for Radio Anglais.

Eventually though, I was able to settle down and watch “Inspector Hornleigh on Holiday” – with the missing part recovered and the missing soundtrack restored and it was just as good as I remember it being. It’s quite possibly the best of the trilogy of films, I reckon.

And once I had settled down for the night, the next thing that I remember was the alarm clock going off at 07:45. First time for ages that I’ve managed to sleep right through the night, and also the first time for ages that I’ve not been on a nocturnal ramble (or, at east, a nocturnal ramble that I can recall). I’m not sure whether to be really pleased about the good night’s sleep that I’ve had, or sad that I didn’t go off walkabout during the night. As I’ve said before, these nocturnal rambles are the only way that I’m bringing some excitement into my life and relieving the boring existence of what is effectively an imprisonment right now.

It took me a good while to struggle out of bed and make my way downstairs, and much to my surprise, I managed to coax the boiler into life and had a lovely blaze going by the time that everyone else came downstairs. My technique must be improving.

Liz and Terry went off shopping this morning and left me to my own devices. I had a play with some of the new purchases that I made yesterday from the 3D Store that I use and generally took it easy. And I’ve also made great progress with my dictaphone notes for Canada 2014. I’m now on the outskirts of Montreal which means that I have only four days of voyage to transcribe. Who knows? I might even be able to do all of this over the weekend and that will please me greatly.

Now there’s one thing for which I should be grateful now that I am retired. And that is that I can’t possibly be sacked from my employment. Had I still been in employment and sent the mail that I sent out late this afternoon, I would have been in serious danger of being handed my hat.

But my excuse is that I was unnecessarily provoked.

I wrote to the Médecin Conseil of my Health Insurance provider to explain that the operation that I had four weeks ago (God! is it THAT long ago?) had evidently failed and that I reckoned that I ought to go somewhere for a second opinion. This will involve them in added expense and so I needed to consult them beforehand, to make them aware of what was going on and to approve the expenditure, and to see if they could recommend someone well-worth his salt, someone at the top of the profession who could give me the best possible advice.

I received the very helpful (I don’t think) reply of Nous ne pouvons, le médecin conseil, ne peut pas nommer aucun hôpital, vu que chacun a le libre choix de se déplacer à l’ hôpital de son choix _ crudely (and if you want “crudely”, then in the words of the late, great Bob Doney, “I’m your man”) translated by Yours Truly as “we on behalf of the Médecin Conseil cannot give out the name of any hospital, seeing that everyone has the free choice to go to any hospital of his choice”.

That’s all very well of course, but how on earth do you know which hospital to try and which hospital has the best reputation, and which hospital has the most efficient service etc. etc?. And which consultant is the most experienced and has the best connections? The hospital here clearly isn’t even sure about what illness I’m supposed to have so what hope do I have of knowing?

And so I sent them back a reply that would have blistered the paint in their office, and I ended up by asking if vu que chacun a le libre choix de se déplacer à l’ hôpital de son choix wasn’t merely a more-complicated way of saying “we couldn’t care less”?

As you can see, I can rule them out of any active involvement in my future well-being (such as it is) and as the hospital at Montlucon clearly has already run out of ideas (I’m really surprised that they haven’t been in contact with me this week to discuss the dramatic drop in my blood count) then I really am on my own here.

I have sore misgivings, and I don’t even have any ointment to rub on them.

And before I go, I would like to wish a happy birthday today to a girl who once played some kind of role in my life 45 or so years ago. I’m astonished that, with all of these various people making all kinds of cameo appearances in my nocturnal rambles, that she is yet to make her on-stage début. I would have placed her at odds-on to have made an appearance a long time before now.

Thursday 25th February 2016 – IN WHICH OUR HERO FINALLY GETS THE GIRL

And we aren’t talking about the Girl from Worleston either, but someone else completely.

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall a girl who has featured a few times in my nocturnal rambles. She and I had something of a close encounter (but nothing like as close as I would have liked it to have been) over a period of a couple of years a good while back and ever since then she’s been described as “The One That Got Away”.

But she didn’t get away last night.

I was back in Nantwich, at the top end of Welsh Row right by King’s Lane, which was the back entry into our school. Up Welsh Row, hand in hand with a boy of her acquaintance, came the young lady concerned. They were both wearing the school uniform of my old school (which is surprising because the girl didn’t go there, and I don’t have a clue who the boy was). When they reached where I was standing, we started to have quite a chat, a laugh and a joke. I was teasing them both, particularly this girl, because something had happened in her past that related to a pile of younger children. I was therefore talking about her “15 children”, implying that she was their mother (which would of course have been absolutely impossible) and quite naturally, the subject of her “16th child” drifted into the conversation (well, it’s quite natural in any kind of conversation in which I’m involved). At first, she was not willing to participate in all of this teasing but as the conversation wore on she became more relaxed and joined in the fun. From here, we all ended up heading back into town. As we set off, the boy and girl were still hand-in-hand but by the time that we had crossed the River Weaver Bridge and up towards the Swine Market, the situation between the girl and Yours Truly had become such that the boy had disappeared and it was me walking hand-in-hand with her. We turned into Beam Street towards the bus station and the further down that we walked, the more evident it had become that we were now a “couple”. Turning into Market Street, we passed in front of the Civic Hall and who should come out of there but Mrs Hayes, the school secretary (although of course, it wasn’t her at all) and she gave us a really long, cold, withering stare. And so we continued onwards, down and round the corner into Churchyardside, passing all kinds of other people who knew us and who were noticing what was going on between us. There were crowds and crowds of people milling around outside the church – apparently there was some kind of service going on there and such was the size of the attendance that people had to assemble in the shops opposite the square and were being sent over to the church on batches of 100. By time we realised what was going on, we thought “well, sod it! Enough people have already seen us together so that the word of our new relationship will have already spread like wildfire around the school no matter what we were to do from here on” and so we walked off hand-in-hand into the sunse … errr … shop across the square. All very nice and homely, it was.

But last night, I managed to watch the first of the “Inspector Hornleigh” films. And I must be mistaken when I say that it’s never been broadcast on British television because, sure enough, every 17 minutes or so we have the “revolving checkerboard” in the top right-hand corner that was put in by ITV to indicate that the commercial break would be along in 15 seconds and sure enough, you can tell from watching the film closely that the commercial breaks have been edited out. The quality too is very suggestive of VHS video, so it looks as if it’s been downloaded fom ITV onto a good-quality video recorder and then edited.

The film itself, the first-ever collaboration between Harker and Sim, doesn’t have the rapport that developed between them in the later films and Harker himself hasn’t developed the quick repartee and master of disguise that became his trademark in the later films. But there were certainly some priceless moments in the film –
Chancellor of the Exchequer – “members of the public shouldn’t go around robbing the Chancellor of the Exchequer with impunity like this!”
Harker – “quite right. It’s usually the other way around!”.

What with one thing and another, I had a really good night last night and you have absolutely no idea just how hard it was to pull myself out of my stinking pit this morning. I was well-away in the land of the fairies.

And after breakfast I was once more distracted because the site of the 3D program that I use was having a sale of items at $0:80 a throw so I spent the morning having a really good trawl through it. After all, I haven’t bought myself a birthday present yet.

This afternoon, in a totally new departure from my current existence, I went out and about. To St Gervais in fact. Liz’s new spectacles had arrived but a couple of things about them needed to be sorted out so I had to go with Terry as interpreter. And it was snowing there too. I know that it’s forecast for tonight here, and al of the way through to next Thursday too, but St Gervais, which is 100 metres higher up, is starting early.

This afternoon, I pushed on with the dictaphone notes for Canada 2014. I’ve made a considerable amount of progress too – so much so that I’m almost back to the point where I entered the USA from Canada in early September. If I can keep this up at this rate, I’ll be finished within a week and won’t I be happy?

I’ve made myself a pizza tonight and there’s enough left for lunch tomorrow. These big pizza sheets that Liz prefers to the round ones that I like do have their advantages.

Anyway, I’ve done enough for today. I’m going to have yet another early night and watch the second Inspector Hornleigh film.

And then, I wonder where I’ll end up tonight. And more interestingly, who will be coming with me?

Wednesday 24th February 2016 – HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

Yes, I’m not going to tell you how old I am but when we lit the candles on my gorgeous vegan chocolate birthday cake, there was an avalanche on the ski slopes at Super-Besse and when I went to blow them out later, I was driven back by the heat.

We had vegan meatballs and tomato sauce with spaghetti as well for a birthday tea and now I’m well-and-truly stuffed. And to make things even better, the nurse forgot to come this morning and give me my injection. What more can any man desire?

I haven’t bought myself a present because firstly, I wasn’t sure that I was still going to be here (either here at Liz and Terry’s, or anywhere else for that matter) and as you all know, I’m not all here anyway. Secondly, I do have my eye on something but whether I’ll now be able to have the use out of it is anyone’s guess.

But I know that I am going to be in for a good time tonight because the birthday present that I do have lined up is something well worth having. I’m a big fan of the 1930s actor Gordon Harker, as regular readers of this rubbish may have realised. Amongst his output were three films in which he starred as Inspector Hornleigh with Alastair Sim as his sidekick, Sergeant Bingham. One of them, Inspector Hornleigh Goes To It, has been discovered and was broadcast, with 20 minutes of it missing, on BBC television years agobut since then it’s been restored in its entirety and is available from archive.org. Of course, I’ve long-since downloaded it.

As for the other two films, “Inspector Hornleigh” and “Inspector Hornleigh on Holiday”, the latter was likewise rediscovered and broadcast on BBC Television but had not only a 20-minute missing section but a 1O-minute piece where the soundtrack was lost. Since then, it has disappeared. The former film has never been aired on TV as far as I can tell, and I’ve always considered it to be lost.

However, there’s a new film archive site that’s sprung up, and would you believe, it’s actually offering those two films. It goes without saying that I’ve downloaded them, and I’ll be watching them in bed tonight as my birthday treat.

I didn’t contact the Medical Insurance people today because other things cropped up. We had another visit so we needed to tidy up, and the visitors stayed until early evening. You can’t do much when you have company. I’ll have to do this on Friday now. But I have cracked on with my dictaphone notes and seem to be making quite good progress.

I wasn’t making much progress during the night however. Anything but, in fact. I started out in an office trying to work out the business affairs of a couple of stockbrokers but I couldn’t receive a reply from them to a simple enquiry. One of these stockbrokers was a magistrate and what I wanted to know was how many penalty points a person received for being convicted for shoplifting (yes, this makes sense, doesn’t it?). I couldn’t obtain a reply to my phone calls or my letters – then suddenly a big illuminated sign went up in our office to announce that the firm of stockbrokers concerned had undergone a heavy internal re-organisation and were far too busy training new stockbrokers than to spend their time helping businesses like us perform our tasks (and the message was delivered in rather a patronising, insulting tone). We were told to contact them after 15th January (it was September at this moment, I recall). This meant that I needed to find someone else who was a magistrate and so I asked around the office. In the end, some of my colleagues gave me a name which was a Mr Hyde-White (Wilfred?) so I had to search the building in order to find him. Everyone with whom I spoke replied that it was in fact Mrs Hyde-White who worked here but even then, no-one could direct me to her office and I seemed to be going around in circles. The simple answer, of looking on the internet or even trying to find the records of the relevant Court case, never ever occurred to me;
But clearly my medical situation is preying on my mind because one of my nocturnal rambles last night was to go off and seek a second opinion about my medical condition. This involved taking the train to a town called “Port” which was somewhere along the railway line between Lyon and Marseille. The train that we needed was one of these old-type of 1960s long-distance expresses (not the TGV) and so we set off for the station, which was a huge station, just like the one at Crewe but many times bigger. We arrived there hours early for our train which was at 11:30, so we settled down to sleep on the benches on the platform – me, my brother (whatever is he doing here again?) and a girl whom I don’t recognise. Suddenly, I sat bolt upright – and it was 11:25 and the train was just pulling into the station. But here I was, half-undressed, I couldn’t find my socks (there was a pair of blue ones but I was sure that they weren’t mine but I tried to put them on anyway) or my jumper, my possessions were strewn about just about everywhere. My two companions were in the same state but they were in no kind of hurry to prepare themselves to board the train – there was only me rushing to get ready – I was trying to encourage one of them to board the train so that we could simply throw our gear on board and leap on straight away afterwards. But bang on 11:30 the train pulled out (this is of course any other country in the world rather than the UK) and we were stranded, totally unprepared. I was now panicking that I’d missed my appointment for wherever I had to go. The woman with whom I was travelling just didn’t seem to have any sense of urgency whatever. My brother and I wandered off to try to find some left-luggage lockers to dump all our superfluous stuff. I had decided that there would be just me and the clothes that I stood up in. He then decided that he would like to have the keys as he was going to wander off and make some other kind of arrangements for something else. “Don’t worry!” he said, “I’ll be back in a day or two”. I replied that I wanted the keys to do this NOW and I want you back in five minutes. This of course led to yet another interminable argument. Afterwards, I ended up back with this woman who was still totally nonchalant about all of this. She said that she couldn’t understand all of the fuss. “We’re taking the train to Porto, aren’t we?”. I replied that we weren’t at all. It was to PORT that we should be going. She couldn’t believe it, but there it was, written on the tickets. She wandered off to find a ticket inspector to see if there would be another train within the next 5 minutes that would take us to our destination in time for my appointment. But we STILL weren’t ready, with our possessions strewn about the place, I still didn’t have any socks on and all of this kind of thing. It was totally absurd, it was.
I can’t remember where I was after that but it was nowhere that I recognised. We (whoever we were) were driving along a road through a town or city that may well have been mainland European (we were certainly driving on the right) alongside a railway line and then up a slip road into the main traffic. There was a song playing, one about “riding in a taxi” and we were changing the words to sing “riding in my A60” which is strange to say the least because much as I like A60s, the cars with which I will always be associated when it comes to talking about taxis will of course be Cortinas. But as we merged into the traffic up ahead, we noticed in front of us a Morris Marina which was clearly a taxi because it was black on the lower part and up to the high waistline on the sides, with white upper body and roof and boot lid.But this was a bizarre vehicle to be using as a taxi in mainland Europe.

But this is twice just recently that I’ve been having issues about trains. This is bizarre. I wonder what it’s all about.

But I can worry about this later because I’m now off to bed to watch my films. I reckon that I’ve earned it.

EPIC HALL

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