Tag Archives: eric hall

Tuesday 3rd June 2025 – WHAT A DAY …

… this has been. I certainly seem to have packed a lot into it. And there will be more to come in due course – much more.

And considering how little sleep I had last night, I reckon that I did quite well too, even if I did have a little doze off once or twice in the taxi coming back from Paris. Yes – I’ve been to Paris and back today in a taxi.

But not for much longer, so they seem to think.

Last night, any dream that I might have had about going to bed early was shattered by yet more prevarication and aimless wandering around in cyberspace before I could summon up the energy. And with the alarm set for 06:30, I knew that it was going to be a short night.

But never mind the alarm. I needn’t have bothered because I was wide awake yet again at 05:50 and up and about, having a really good scrub, by 06:00.

No medication this morning, and no breakfast either. I’m working on the principle that “what doesn’t go in won’t want to come out at some inconvenient moment in the middle of a four-hour journey”.

Instead, I came in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I was with Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson last night. We were on the trail of some kind of primitive life-form like a large snake or slug that was slithering around London bringing terror with it. We – or someone – had come across it and there had been some kind of conflict, and the creature had escaped so Sherlock Holmes was reviewing the confrontation. He decided that it was light that frightened it more than anything else so later on Sunday night we arranged for all of the lights in a certain area of the city to be turned off and we set out to hunt it. Watson made the point that surely this is dangerous with all of the people wandering around the streets. Holmes said that there’s not one member of the serving class of London who would be out on the streets at this time of night. We heard a noise and saw a movement so we constructed our ambush, which was basically to be in the dark and have a light burning underneath a dark lantern so if the creature were to come to us as we were the only people on the street we could illuminate it with this dark lantern and be able somehow to overpower it and deal with it accordingly.

A dark lantern is just like an ordinary lantern, except that it has a thick black cover over the lens. You light the lantern, close the cover, and there is no light emitted. When you want there to be light, you simply lift up the cover. It’s the Victorian equivalent of an on-off switch.

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall however that in the past we have been on several nocturnal rambles with Holmes and Watson, although I don’t recall that we had too much success at whatever it was that we were doing.

Later on, I dreamed that I was in hospital and it was dialysis time. I had to make myself ready for dialysis and was not looking very forward to it so I was sitting there in my bed and then drifted off to sleep. I awoke again with someone shaking me awake, like at the hospital yesterday when it was a nurse but today it was no-one – I just awoke and slipped off to sleep in the middle of that dream again

It sounds just like the little student nurse who awoke me yesterday, with a little shake. But it’s really sad that I’m dreaming these days about dialysis. As if I don’t have enough problems about it during my waking hours, never mind spoiling what are supposed to be enjoyable, relaxing rambles.

Isabelle the Nurse turned up nice and early to sort out my legs, and she brought with her the first of today’s news. There is apparently a large van outside the building and my tenant and her friends are busily loading it up. So it looks as if this move might actually be on.

It’s a good job that Isabelle came early because no sooner had she left than the taxi turned up – a good half-hour earlier than I was expecting and I was nowhere near ready.

Nevertheless, in the glorious sunshine I staggered down the stairs and across into the waiting vehicle, seeing for myself that this move really is happening. However, as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … I have no sympathy with her, and even less now, having seen her walking across the yard carrying boxes of things when I can’t even carry a saucepan out of the bathroom.

The drive to Paris was exciting – road accident after road accident, bus on fire, car overturned on its side, half a dozen collisions. And the queues around Paris meaning that despite setting out half an hour earlier, we were half an hour late arriving.

The news about the biopsy the other week is that they have actually found something. It seems that I might be suffering from something called AMYLIODOSIS. Traces of amyloids have been found in the nervous system in my legs.

This is apparently what they were suspecting ever since the beginning and why I have had so many tests. However, until just now, the amyloids have been remarkably good at hiding.

It seems that the thinking in the past was that my recurring illness was something that was causing my neurological issues, but now they are slowly coming round to wonder if it’s not the reverse and that it’s the neurological issues that are causing the other problems.

The first positive result is that the anti-cancer treatment, that costs €4950, can be stopped as of right now. This begs the question “what do I do with the full, unopened bottle sitting on my shelves?”.

The second positive result is that the doctor tells me that the treatment they are going to try is one that involves a stay in hospital for a couple of nights every month or so …. and when he said that, a few bells began to ring in my head.

… and they will throughout that time be giving me an intravenous drip … which rang yet a few more … called Rituximab. And that was when the siren inside my head went off

"Haven’t I done this before?" I asked.

"As a matter of fact, you have" he said. "Back in 2016"

So in nine years and many, many miles, we have gone round in one big circle. If we aren’t careful, we’ll end up like the Oozelum Bird.

But it’s not all doom and gloom. Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that I was so ill back in 2015 and 2016 that I couldn’t fend for myself and luckily, Liz and Terry took me in for four months and nursed me, something for which I shall always be grateful.

One of the problems there was that I was having enormous difficulty walking and had to learn from the very beginning again. However, after six months of treatment with Rituximab (actually, its generic equivalent, Mapthera), I was IN CANADA.

Of course, I’m not pretending that I can do the same thing again, but being able to walk would be something. However, I mustn’t build up any wave of optimism. I’ve been told quite clearly that this isn’t going to be a cure – just a relaxation of the symptoms at best.

They have told me that the first two sessions will be done here in Paris, and if it all goes well, they’ll find a more local hospital, that might be either Caen or Rennes. So it’s just possible that if it works, I might not be going back to Paris.

The drive home was completely uneventful – there wasn’t even the slightest sign of a traffic queue until the autoroute junction at Caen. And we were home by 17:30, when I found that my apartment downstairs was indeed empty and shuttered up. No keys in my letter box though. I shall have to see the letting agent about those.

Back in here, I had a disgusting drink break and then relaxed in the chair until tea time – a taco roll with rice and veg followed by ginger cake and soya dessert.

So early as it might be, I’m tired and so I’m going to bed in a few minutes to see if I can have a good sleep after my exertions.

But seeing as we have been talking about Holmes and Watson … "well, one of us has" – ed … on one of our previous rambles I spoke to Holmes.
"You don’t seem to be as popular these days as you used to be" I said
"It’s true" he said. "The young people don’t seem to care for me these days. I relate mostly to the previous generations"
"I see" I replied. "You’re more like an Old People’s Holmes then"

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Monday 2nd June 2025 – WHAT AN ABSOLUTE …

… debacle this afternoon was. Almost anything that could have gone wrong did go wrong and I ended up being one extremely tired, unhappy bunny.

You are probably thinking that I seem to dwell on the depressing side of life, but that seems to be all that’s happening right now. The solution to this would have been, in the past, to changer les idées as they say around here, but how do I do that when I can’t go anywhere or do anything?

Last night was another one of those nights where I seemed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory and what should have been an early night ended up being much later than intended. I just can’t seem to concentrate on anything right now and it’s driving me berserk.

When I finally made it into bed though, I was asleep quite quickly and there I stayed until … errr … 05:50. It took me a few minutes to gather my wits, which is a surprise seeing just how few I seem to have these days, and then, in a magnificent fit of enthusiasm, I dictated the radio notes for the eleventh track of the radio programme that I was organising yesterday.

Having done that, I wandered off to the bathroom to sort myself out and make myself look pretty in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant this afternoon. And in the kitchen, as well as the medication, I cut the bread that I’d baked yesterday and put half of it into the freezer.

After the medicine I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. And no-one was more surprised than me to discover that there was actually something on there from the previous night when I was convinced that I hadn’t been anywhere at all.

First task therefore was to transcribe those notes and add them in to that day’s entry. If you’re interested, you’ll have to go back and have a look.

Having done that, I could turn my attention to last night’s notes. There was a girl I knew who had been staying as some kind of paying guest at a house somewhere in the countryside. She’d taken with her some of her urban habits to which they were not particularly accustomed. On one occasion she had to go to try to find a job somewhere. She went for an interview of which she seemed to take control, and when she returned, she told the owner of the house all about it. She told me later that she was horrified that she’d been behaving like that because it was not the kind of behaviour to which he was accustomed, although of course she and I had a joke about it and a laugh. After staying there, she came back to live in temporary accommodation in the town again where she could pick up with her usual habits and way of life, and not be out there on a limb in such an extraordinary position.

This reminds me of a girl whom I used to know in Brussels. She was a free-lance worker for one of these NGOs and her work was interesting, but irregular. On one occasion she had no money to pay her mortgage so I agreed that she could come to stay with me for twelve months and let out her place to a tenant on a short let in order to catch up with her arrears of mortgage.

She would have been the type to have taken control of an interview, and she was also the type who seemed to do nothing but complain about how far out of town my apartment was. I did offer to push it closer to the city centre for her but the humour went right over her head. After she left, she didn’t speak to me after that and I’m still waiting for her to make some kind of “gesture” towards the accommodation. Not that I was expecting any but a gesture would have been nice.

The nurse turned up and organised my legs, with more of the banal talk that gets on my nerves. Luckily it’s Isabelle the Nurse for a week starting tomorrow, which will cheer me up.

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

We’re now on a whistle-stop tour of various castles as we dash towards the end, not hanging around long in any of them. Our author seems to be losing his interest in them, judging by the lack of clear description, and I can’t say that I blame him.

He tells us on page 490 that for Taunton Castle, "The inner court is further subdivided into two parts, of which the eastern half seems to have been raised into a sort of platform upon which probably Ine’s actual residence was placed.".

Just a handful of lines further down he tells us that "The walled part is roughly triangular, the base being the east side, arid the truncated part open to the west. This area seems further to have been divided by a cross wall into two parts, the keep, hall, and gatehouse being in the western, and in the eastern, the earthworks, which favours the notion of this having been the old English citadel.", totally forgetting that he mentioned that just a few lines previously.

On page 498, with regard to Tickhill Castle, he tells us that "The outer front of the first floor is ornamented with four stiff rude pediments". I don’t know about you, but my imagination is working overtime.

Back in here I attacked my Welsh homework and finally finished the outstanding unit ready to send off. I also reviewed the radio programme that will be broadcast this coming weekend and sent it off. It’s a concert that came from Germany in 1982 and it’s certainly interesting.

My cleaner put her sooty foot in the apartment and sorted out my patches, and then I waited for the taxi. And waited. And waited. And waited.

It was 13:11 when it finally turned up and I was not in a very good humour. We arrived at Avranches at 14:00 and it was, would you believe, 14:45 when I was finally coupled up.

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that I had vowed to “have a discussion” with them about this fiasco of changing the dates, and so regular readers of this rubbish will recall that, knowing my luck, it would have to be Emilie The Cute Consultant on duty today.

She explained basically that it was only an idea, apparently not understanding that it’s the kind of decision that involves not just me but half the town as everyone else has to shunt their appointments around. She definitely doesn’t love me any more now.

No-one else bothered me at all. They were far too busy organising a new visitor who was not co-operating with them. I tried to revise my Welsh but I couldn’t keep going and drifted off into oblivion, to be shaken awake by the little student who told me that things were finished.

Nevertheless, they took their time sorting me out and the little student drew the short straw so uncoupling me took longer than it should. Weary and exhausted, it was 18:50 when I finally staggered out to the taxi and it was 19:35 when I finally sat down in my apartment.

And so I’m just about done for the day. It’s an afternoon that I would like to forget, and the quicker the better too.

Right now I’m off to bed where I would like to sleep for a hundred years but I’m up early tomorrow to go to Paris. I am not looking at all forward to this trip. Not in the least. But before I go to bed, I’d better check on my stiff, rude pediment and make sure that it’s OK.

But this idea of moving my apartment towards the city centre reminds me of the American tourist who staggered into a pub in Dent and asked the landlord "why did they build the railway station so far from the town?" (it’s three miles away).
After thinking for a moment, the landlord replied "they probably thought that it was a good idea to build it at the side of the railway line."

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Sunday 1st June 2025 – JUST FOR A CHANGE …

… this morning, I had a later start than usual.

When I stuck my head out from under the quilt, it was all of 06:56, and bright sunlight too. That’s the latest sleep that I have had for quite some considerable time, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall.

Mind you, not only is it earlier than the habitual 07:00 alarm call, with it being a Sunday we have the alarm call at 08:00 and so it was definitely what we would call an “early start”.

Not that it was looking much like it last night though. Despite having made a good start on finalising everything that I needed to do, in the words of the old song
" I dillied and dallied, dallied and I dillied
Lost me way and don’t know where to roam.
And you can’t trust a Special like the old time Coppers.
When you can’t find your way ‘ome"
Consequently, by the time that I’d finished everything it was long after 23:00, and then I had the radio notes to dictate.

Whatever went wrong there, I really don’t know. It was almost as if I’d lost the ability to read because I was making mistake after mistake after mistake. And while the finished article didn’t end up being the longest that I’ve ever dictated, it wasn’t all that far off.

There will be a lot of editing to do with that tomorrow.

Once I was finally in bed, I was soon asleep, and there I lay without moving until 06:56 when I fell out of bed in surprise.

In the bathroom I sorted myself out and then went for the medication. Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone but;, to my disappointment, there was another night when there was nothing on it. It must have been one of the longest, deepest sleeps that I’ve had for quite some considerable time.

Anyway, that was what I wrote at the time. The following day, no-one was more surprised than me to see that there actually was something on there from this particular night. I had absolutely no recollection of this at all. It was back in the Middle Ages and I was something to do with whatever went on in the Courts. However, one afternoon during some kind of challenge a group of people and I began to sing “Carry On” by Steven Stills. It went down so well that we decided that we’d stay together and keep going. We had to teach the audience quite a lot about the stage behaviour – they mustn’t climb on the stage, they mustn’t handle the artists etc, but generally speaking, they were quite benign with their attention and applause, and I don’t think that anyone was in any danger of hurting or being hurt while the festival was proceeding.

No-one was more impressed than me by the fact that in a dream, of which I had no recollection at all, I could remember that it was Steven Stills who wrote “Carry On”. Incidentally, it was a casual occasion of three people spontaneously singing in harmony at a birthday party that led to the creation of Crosby, Stills and Nash.

But as for the dream itself, this must be relating to all of the stuff about Woodstock that I’ve been doing recently where, amongst the 500,000 attendees, there was not one single case of interpersonal violence recorded by the medical team and the only incident of any note in that respect was when Pete Townshend of The Who threw protester Abbie Hoffman off the stage.

When the nurse came round, we had the usual banal chat about pizzas that we have every Sunday – I could write down the script in my sleep these days and I wish that he’d find another subject to discuss, or, at least, say something different about it.

After he left, I made my breakfast and read some more of MY BOOK. We’ve left Skenfrith and, having passed by Southampton Castle, we’ve arrived at Tamworth.

In the early medieval period Tamworth was the de facto capital of King Offa’s Mercia until it was ravaged twice in quick succession by the Norse. There was a mint at Tamworth in those days and many silver coins minted there can now be found in museums in the Nordic countries, presumably loot from the sacking of Tamworth.

When breakfast was over, I made some dough for the bread roll for my lunchtime toasted cheese. I’m still allowing myself one or two little luxuries despite everything else. I’m not going to deprive myself completely, that’s for sure.

Back in here I had several things that I needed to do, and then I set about editing the radio notes that I had dictated last night before going to bed.

It was in quite a mess too and I was right too about it all needing a lot of editing. What with all of the various side-tracking, I was ages working on it but by the time that I’d knocked off, I’d assembled the two halves of the programme and chosen the eleventh track that links it all together and written the notes. Here’s hoping that I’ve calculated the times correctly this week.

As for all of the interruptions, there was a lunch break with my delicious cheese and tomato on a toasted fresh roll.

Then there was a disgusting drink break, after which I made a loaf of bread with sunflower seeds for next week. I’d also taken some frozen pizza dough out of the freezer and it had been defrosting throughout the afternoon, so I kneaded it and rolled it out and left it to fester on a pizza tray.

Later on I baked my bread and assembled my pizza. When the bread was ready I put the pizza in the oven to bake. I ended up with a really magnificent loaf and another candidate for one of the best pizzas ever. At least something that I’m doing these days seems to be working out very well.

So right now, I’m off to bed after another good day’s work. It’s dialysis tomorrow of course, and I shall be expressing my displeasure to whichever of the dialysis team has drawn the short straw and has to come to see me. I bet though that they’ll all run away when they see me coming.

But seeing as we have been talking about the Norse raids on Tamworth … "well, one of us has" – ed … I was picturing the scene as King Offa sat in his hill fort at Sutton Walls when a serf comes bursting in
"Sire! Sire! Terrible news!" cries the serf. "The Norse have sacked Tamworth"
"That is indeed terrible news" says King Offa. "Who will they have in the dug-out for the next game?"

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Saturday 31st May 2025 – AS I SHOULD …

… have expected (because, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall, it’s par for the course), this idea of changing my dialysis to the mornings was just a brief, ephemeral illusion.

When I arrived there this afternoon, I told them that my cleaner and I had had a lengthy discussion and decided that it was a much more practical arrangement for us, only to be told "it’s OK – we’ve found another solution now."

What with everything through which I have gone over the past few years, I’m convinced that the medical service (everywhere in the World, not just here) fails to understand that we are not pawns on a chessboard that can be moved here and there at will or at a whim. We are human beings, with lives of our own to fulfil and (in my case at least) my own life and activities have a much higher priority that anything that the hospital can conjure up.

So, as you can probably tell, I was in a bad mood today.

There isn’t any special reason for that either. Although it wasn’t early when I went to bed, it wasn’t all that late either. I was asleep quite quickly too, and there I stayed, totally flat out, until about 05:50.

It took something of an effort to raise myself from the Dead but when the alarm went off at 07:00 I’d sorted myself out in the bathroom, washed the clothes that needed washing and was on my way to the kitchen for my medication.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. There was a group of us from school again hanging around together. One of them was a girl from Shavington who went to Nuthurst, the exclusive private primary school in Nantwich. We were talking about the maths classes, discussing in particular these pyramid graph things that we used to do, describing how we used to do them and talking about one or two examples. This girl was saying that during one or two of her maths classes she became carried away and began to make one of these pyramid graph things for the pills but by the time she reached about the third row she just put the downward shafts and wrote underneath “lots and lots”. There was also something about someone whose idea of a pyramid graph was that if he had something like a small party and a big party he would just draw simply one line between the two elements and that would be his pyramid graph.

There’s a story about that girl too, but that’s another one that the World is not yet ready to hear

One thing that I, and, presumably, regular readers of this rubbish will recall is that just recently there has been a whole spate of these stories that the World is not yet ready to hear, coming into my subconscious mind during the night. There’s definitely an undercurrent of something, and I wish that I knew what it was. Maybe is simply a story of regrets for my wasted, mis-spent youth. But on the other hand, it’s certainly not wasted or mis-spent because everything about it was what brought me here. As Paul Peña once famously wrote and Steve Miller famously sang, YOU KNOW YOU GOTTA GO THROUGH HELL BEFORE YOU GET TO HEAVEN

Later on, I was in Congleton with the guitarist and drummer with whom I used to play. We were going somewhere in my van and we reached a house. I left the van and said that I’d be back in a minute, and wandered off. Then I came back and we climbed into the van and went to the next place. I said again “I’ll be back in a minute”, left the van and went into the drive. There was a woman there smoking a cigarette. I asked her a question and she just gave me a strange look, so I asked it to her again. She just smiled and gave me a very non-committal answer so I’ve no idea what was the matter with her. I went round to the back of the house and knocked onto the door. I could hear someone say that there was someone at the door. At that moment a big tabby cat stuck its head through the window so I went to stroke it. Then some young guy came to the door. I told him that my guitarist wanted to see him. He grabbed his cigarettes, came outside and went down to the van. We ended up then in another house. His response was that he was really comfortable with the idea that people from the street could come and go into their house at any time they liked. When the guitarist came back from wherever he had been, they began to talk. The drummer joined in with the conversation. I felt that I was being isolated here and I’d no idea why. In the end I simply sat down and waited for everything to finish.

When that group came to an end back in the Winter of 1976, my intuition told me that I actually was being slowly isolated and edged out, which was a shame. And then I had a load of other preoccupations that stopped me from pressing on. For the next couple of summers I lived in my van with the winter spent in that squat. It was not a very happy time and it took me a while to sort myself out – a task that is still not finished 50 or so years further on.

The nurse was on time today for a change, and we had the usual banal chatter about nothing of any importance whatsoever.

After he left I could make my breakfast and read some more of MY BOOK. We didn’t stay long at Scarborough, and we’ve now arrived at Skenfrith Castle, which is in that fine old English county of … errr … Monmouthshire.

And here we go again. On page 469 he tells us that "there is a sort of recess, which may have been the kitchen fireplace, the cooking being usually, in these towers, carried on in an upper floor".

Meanwhile, on page 471, he tells us that "The history of Skenfrith is obscure, but it is evident that it was built simply to contain a small garrison, and not at all as a private residence. The area contains no trace of hall, chapel, or kitchen."

Don’t you wish that he’d make up his mind?

Back in here, I’ve been chatting to plumbers. I posted an advertisement on one of these traders’ websites for someone to take away the bath and tile around where the bath used to be. I’ve had a few enquiries and I spent most of the morning following them up. We’ll see where this takes me.

My cleaner turned up, bang on time, to fit my anaesthetic patches and it was such a lovely day that we went outside to stand in the sunshine until the taxi arrived. And we took full advantage of the nice weather, because the taxi didn’t arrive until 13:05.

It was a nice, sunny drive down to Avranches and, to my surprise, I was seen quite quickly too. And only three and a half hours today which is good news. The less-than-good news is that the ice-cold spray that they recommended didn’t seem to do me much good and one of the pins hurt like Hades all through the session.

Early on, for about fifteen minutes, I crashed out but I soon got to grips with myself and pressed on to revise my Welsh, seeing as I’ll be in Paris on Tuesday instead of at my lesson. But it’s hard going when I’m wracked with pain like that. I really can’t concentrate.

Eventually I was let out and the same driver who brought me took me home in the sun and warmth. My cleaner was waiting for me and it was just as well, because it was a very, very weary me who climbed up these stairs. I shall really be glad to be downstairs and can cut out all of this.

Back in here I collapsed into a chair for a while and then eventually went to make tea. Falafel, baked potato and salad followed by ginger cake and soya dessert.

So right now, I’ll dictate my radio notes and go to bed, in the (vain) hope of having a nice, long sleep. It’s been a while since the last one and in principle, it’s a lie-in tomorrow.

But seeing as we have been talking about pyramids … "well, one of us has" – ed … it reminds me of a story that Frankie Howerd used to tell.
During World War II he used to say that he served in Egypt and on one occasion he was taken in an aeroplane to see the pyramids.
Halfway round the circuit, the plane was hit by a gust of wind. It turned upside-down and Frankie fell out.
The pilot recovered control and performed a circuit around to see if he could see anything, when suddenly there was a “thud” and Frankie was back in his seat.
"What the …" uttered the pilot
"Don’t you worry about it" said Frankie. "The point on that pyramid is sharper than it looks"

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Friday 30th May 2025 – I HAVE HAD …

… another day when I seem to have accomplished a great deal, and I’m not sure why.

The biggest news of the day is that my magnum opus, the “Woodstock Weekend” is now finished to all intents and purposes.

The second news is that I now have a kitchen fitter lined up for next month. All I need now is a plumber and tiler, but heaven alone knows where I’m going to find one of those.

It’s all possibly something to do with the fact that I actually made it into bed last night at 22:45 – the first time (barring ill-health) that I’ve been in bed prior to 23:00 for quite some considerable time. And I was so tired that I needed it too. It was quite a difficult day yesterday.

Once in bed I was asleep almost immediately and that was how I remained until about 06:05 when I had another one of these dramatic awakenings, of which I seem to have been having quite a few just recently.

When I awoke I was doing some stage effects for Genesis. They were trying to make some kind of thing similar to dry ice but would actually foam up. It involved putting it into a cardboard box and leaving it to ferment for a minute or two, then watching the reaction. We made very little progress in that because they were still trying to work out what would be the best way to go about it. We were in the middle of a discussion like that when I awoke. There was one thing, and that was all the music on that particular album was credited to “Genesis, Peter Gabriel and Steve Hackett” which was strange.

Dry Ice used to be quite a thing with Genesis’s live performances back in the Peter Gabriel days, and I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if he had indeed been thinking about going one step beyond with an adaptation of his dry ice formula. It’s also interesting to see that Peter Gabriel and Steve Hackett were mentioned separately to the rest of Genesis. My opinion, for what it’s worth, is that when Gabriel left, it ripped the heart out of the group and when Hackett left, that was really the end. Mind you, anyone who has listened carefully to TRESPASS will realise that Anthony Phillips, one of Hackett’s predecessors, could do just as well.

When the alarm went off at 07:00 I was in the kitchen sorting out my medication, and then I came back in here to find out what was on the dictaphone from last night. The current incarnation of the needs of the group began. The first thing that they did was to round everyone up from their homes and bring them into little squares here and there. They then explained to everyone what they intended to do and cried out for the people to support them so that people would bow down and kneel and pray in homage for their town. This didn’t last very long though because they decided that everyone who was currently being injected would have to be pierced instead. This meant a lot of work and … fell asleep here … I was one of the people there and I was asked to kneel. I explained that I couldn’t but they didn’t accept the explanation and I was dragged off and told to prepare to go to a Gulag somewhere in the Soviet Union

That is another dream of which I have absolutely no recollection at all, which is no surprise seeing how incoherent it is … "not that it makes a difference" – ed … And as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … when I’m dictating these dreams, I actually am asleep. But when I say that I’ve fallen asleep, what happens is that the dictaphone goes quiet, and then you can begin to hear my heavy breathing. Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that I have mentioned that on many occasions in the past but I shall mention it once again for the benefit of new readers, of whom there are more than just a few these days.

And more than just a few too. Yesterday, according to the stats, we had 256 readers and we’ve not had that many since the halcyon days of the internet 20 or so years ago. Now if everyone who had visited had bought something using the Amazon links that litter these pages, I would receive a nice little commission that would set me up for the next few months. After all, I deserve it for all of this entertainment I’m providing.

There was time for me to go surfing through the internet to my Welsh Course provider and look for a Summer School or two. And now I’m fixed up with a Sunday School at the beginning of July and a week’s course in the middle of July. While I was looking through the short courses to see what was happening, I came across a WELSH FOR FOOTBALL SUPPORTERS from which many of you lot will benefit when you watch the highlights of the JD Cymru League games that I post regularly.

It’s the “other” nurse back on duty today until next Monday and as there were no blood tests or injections today, seeing as he won’t do them, he came early. And that meant that he left early too and I could crack on and make my breakfast.

While I was eating, I read some more of MY BOOK. We’ve now moved on from Old Sarum and have arrived at Scarborough Castle. And in a book that is supposed to be concerned with “The Medieval Military Architecture of England”, we’ve spent rather a lot of time discussing the arrival of the Saxons, which, in theory, may well be considered to be medieval, but almost nothing of their architecture is extant.

He tells us that in the years to 1189, the castle cost a total of £682/15/3d, which shows that they had accountants back in those days too.

We also have another one of these classic tongue-twisting sentences that he loves to impose upon us every now and again. He tells us that "Percy, however, did not long retain this manor, for Eudo of Champagne, kinsman, and by marriage nephew to the conqueror, on the departure of Drogo le Brevere, the reputed founder of the Norman works at Skipsea Castle, received from William the land of Holderness, and with it, probably, the adjacent manor of Falsgrave."

Back in here again, I made a start on my Woodstock programme and by the time that I knocked off, it was all finished – a marathon forty-six minutes of text to be dictated at some point. It won’t be done this weekend though because I’m going to spend a couple of days reading through it a couple of times. There will bound to be some amendments here and there as we go along, and I don’t expect the programmes to be assembled for a couple of weeks yet.

There were, as usual, several interruptions. There were two disgusting drinks breaks, my cleaner came along to do her thing (and came back later with some stuff from the chemist’s) and then there was a lengthy discussion with a joiner-type person who wants to fit my kitchen.

We’d had a lengthy chat 10 or so days ago and he’d been pricing things and working everything out. I had an idea in my head of what the likely price would be, and his estimate came in at about €15:00 over what I was expecting, so I wasn’t going to argue with that. When we’d spoken earlier, he’d come up with a few good suggestions so it seems as if he knows what he’s talking about.

All I need now is a tiler and a plumber, but I’ll worry about that in due course, I suppose.

Tea tonight was a vegan salad with air-fried potato cubes and some of those vegan nuggets, followed by ginger cake and soya dessert. As I’ve now run out of my breaded quorn fillets, I wonder what I’m going to have for tea tomorrow.

But that’s tomorrow. Tonight I’m off to bed, ready to Fight the Good Fight at the dialysis centre tomorrow.

But seeing as we have been talking about visitors … "well, one of us has" – ed … it reminds me of the talks that we used to give when we were up in Labrador as winter was approaching – remember that July and August are the only months of the year in Labrador in which snow is uncommon. There is never a month when there is no snow, and I’ve fought snowdrifts in September, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall.
We used to warn people that Labrador in late Autumn and early Spring is when they would be likely to encounter both brown bears and polar bears.
"When people are hiking in the interior, they usually wear small bells on their clothing and carry a pepper spray." I’d say. "They are useful if you ever encounter a brown bear. The bells will frighten it away but if they approach, the pepper spray will drive them off."
"What do you use to drive off a polar bear?" they would ask.
"There is no defence against a polar bear" I would reply.
"So how do you make yourself aware of which bears are about?"
"You need to be alert and examine the ground around you as you walk. Look out for bear droppings. Brown bear droppings will usually have seeds and leaves mixed in with them" I would say
"And polar bear droppings?"
"They usually have small bells and grains of pepper in them."

0

Thursday 29th May 2025 – ANOTHER PAINFUL DAY …

… at the dialysis centre. Things don’t seem to be going any earlier. It’s been ten days that I’ve had this enormous bruise on my left shoulder, together with the pain that accompanies it, and while some people think that things might be improving, then if they are, they are going far too slowly for me to notice it.

And added to that, the pain in my right foot, that slowly subsided over the last day or two, is now back. And in spades too.

But anyway, all of that is for later on. Last night, I tried my best to rush but once more it didn’t work out quite like that. It was after23:00 once more by the time that I finally hauled myself out of my chair and went to sort myself out ready for bed.

Once in bed, though, I remember nothing whatsoever until I awoke at 06:10. With no possibility of going back to sleep and seeing that with it being a Bank Holiday, it was deathly quiet outside, I dictated the replacement radio notes for the ones that I had rejected yesterday.

After I’d sorted myself out in the bathroom and washed some clothes, I went into the kitchen for the medication, and then back in here to listen to the dictaphone. However, there wasn’t anything on it. That’s disappointing, because, as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … I rely on what goes on during the night to provide me with the only excitement that I seem to have these days.

Instead, I made a start on editing the radio notes that I’d dictated earlier. However, I hadn’t gone very far before Isabelle the Nurse came along to interrupt me.

While she was sorting me out, she told me that she’s ring me on Monday evening to confirm the time that she’ll be round on Tuesday morning. She’d better be here before 08:00 because I shall be hitting the road for Paris round about then.

After she left, I made breakfast and carried on reading MY BOOK. We spent another dozen or so exciting pages discussing the activities in the forest around Rockingham (steering clear of any rude doors of course) and various obligations and rights under all of the charters that relate to the place. Strangely, though, nothing whatsoever about any kind of architecture.

And neither will we now, because we’ve moved on to Old Sarum, discussing the conflicts between the religious leaders and the soldiers that led in the end to the establishment of “modern” Salisbury. And who knows? One day we might begin to talk about the architecture.

Back in here later, I finished off the editing of the radio notes and assembled the programme. And would you believe? I was now forty-two seconds OVER instead of forty-two seconds short as I was yesterday. I’ve no idea what is happening with this

But at least if I’m overrunning, I can always edit out some commentary, although forty-two seconds is a lot to edit out. Nevertheless, with some ruthless editing I managed to bring it down to exactly one hour, so I suppose that I’m happy with this.

There was even time to do a little more of Woodstock before my cleaner came around. She fitted my patches and then I had to wait for the taxi to arrive. It turned up at 13:00, within this forty-five-minute window so I can’t complain and with another passenger already in, and then we set off.

As usual, I was one of the last to arrive and be plugged in, and the bad news was that it had to be a four-hour session today, as you might expect seeing as everything was running late.

It was extremely painful too, and the pain persisted throughout the session. And the pain in the foot came back too. I was in agony throughout the entire period.

They’ve asked me if I would consider changing my hours, and coming on Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings. Mornings make much more sense to me as they don’t break up the day like the afternoon sessions do. And they told me about a spray-on anaesthetic that I might try.

By the time I returned here, it was 19:10 and I was totally fed up. My cleaner though is in favour of the morning sessions as it won’t cut up her day so badly either, so I’ll tell them on Saturday that I’ll go for it. It’ll cause a problem with a medical appointment on 23rd June but I’ll let them sort that one out.

Tea tonight was a vegan burger with pasta in tomato sauce followed by ginger cake and soya dessert. And this cake really is delicious. I did well with that

So with a little luck, tomorrow I might finish my Woodstock programme provided that I don’t have any interruptions, although of course that’s not guaranteed. But I’ll worry about that tomorrow.

But seeing as we have been talking about conflicts between the military and the religious orders at Old Sarum… "well, one of us has" – ed … it’s a fact that the conflict really did escalate out of control.
Someone once told me that one of the soldiers had been arrested as a result of the confrontation
"What on earth did he do?" I asked.
"He threw a bucket of Domestos over one of the clerics" was the reply
"What was the charge?" I asked, bitterly regretting ten seconds later having done so
"He was charged with Committing a Bleach of the Priest"

0

Wednesday 28th May 2025 – GUESS WHO …

… has been a busy boy today?

It’s been a long time since I’ve had quite such a burst of energy, and I wish that I would have similar bursts much more often. I would be able to accomplish so much more.

It didn’t look as if it was going to be like that last night. As seems to be the case just recently, from a position where I was on course to have an early finish, I managed once more to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory and ended up going to bed rather later than I anticipated.

Once in bed, I managed to go off to sleep quite quickly yet again and managed to sleep all the way through until … errr … 05:50 this morning. And with no prospect of going back to sleep afterwards, I was up and about, washed and cleaned up, and in the kitchen taking my medication when the alarm went off at 07:00.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. We were going somewhere on a trip. There was a coach and I noticed on the dashboard that there was a “Bedford” emblem so I asked the driver if it was a Bedford. He said “yes” so I asked about the engine that was in it. He replied that it was the O-600. I thought that that was an interesting combination. I pulled out a workshop manual and began to read a little about it. I was with a friend of mine, a young lady who may well have been Moonchild. I was trying to interest her in something but I noticed that she was asleep. One of the guys there said “why don’t you awaken her?”. I replied “I wouldn’t be very popular if I did but it’s nice to think that she can sleep and feel so comfortable like this so we may as well leave her to it”.

So hello again, Moonchild. It’s nice to know that at least one of my favourite young ladies hasn’t deserted me completely as the other three seem to have done. And it’s hardly surprising that I’d be interested in the bus having an O-600 engine. While a few Bedfords had the smaller O-400 engine, they were lightweight coaches usually with a Bedford lightweight lorry engine, rather than a big heavyweight Leyland O-600. We had a few Leyland coaches at Shearings and quite often when I was running up to Scotland I’d “rev out” at 70 mph in 5th gear, never mind sixth. When I worked for Salopia back in 1979 it was embarrassing struggling up Frankley Bank on the M5 in a modern Ford R1114 lightweight coach when an ancient Yelloway AEC Reliance O-600 would roar past me as if I were standing still.

But going back to Moonchild and being asleep, there’s a story behind that too but it’s another one that the World is not yet ready to here.

Isabelle the Nurse breezed in as usual, sorted out my legs and so on, and then breezed out again. She didn’t hang around long. I could then press on and make breakfast and sit down to read some more of MY BOOK.

Today, we’ve left Rochester Castle and its rude doorways and bold architraves, and have now arrived at Rockingham Castle. Our discussion on Medieval Military Architecture has turned to the interesting and very relevant subject of the trees and deer in the Royal Forest there, and the expropriation of the King’s land by various local people, including some people of a religious persuasion who clearly consider themselves exempt from the provisions of the Ten Commandments.

Back in here, I had a few tasks to finish off, and then I decided to have a look at the next radio programme, 260612. And by the time that I’d finished this afternoon, not only had I planned the programme, I’d chosen the music, remixed, edited, paired and segued it and written all of the notes.

As well as that, I’d edited the notes that I’d dictated the other morning for the two extra tracks for the two programmes that I’d prepared on Sunday and even assembled one of them too. I would have finished the other one too, except that Bane of Britain seems to have misread his timing run and chosen a track 2:32 long instead of 3:23 long.

So that’s now gone back onto the drawing board. I’ve chosen a new track, written the notes for it and I’ll dictate them at the next opportunity.

All of that was despite two disgusting drinks breaks and the appearance of my cleaner who came in to do her stuff this afternoon.

After she left I sorted out some naan dough from the freezer and left it to defrost ready for tea.

Tonight’s leftover curry was the best that I have ever made. I’m not sure what I did and I wish that I could remember because it really was excellent, just like a shop-bought one.

So that’s enough for tonight. I’m off to bed ready for tomorrow morning to attack my Woodstock programme and then prepare for dialysis, to which I am not looking forward at all.

But while we are continuing our discussions about medieval castles … "well, one of us is" – ed … the mystery of the rude doorway at Rochester is resolved.
When one of my friends came online earlier today I mentioned it to her.
"I know what’s the matter there" she said
"And what’s that?" I asked, bitterly regretting it ten seconds later
"Seeing as it’s a medieval castle" she said "it’s probably suffering from Turrets Syndrome"

0

Tuesday 27th May 2025 – MY CLEANER IS …

… a heroine.

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that I’ve been moaning … "surely not!" – ed … about the yeast available for bread-making – how I can no longer find any of the neutral yeast that I like and how all that seems to be available is the smelly stuff.

So there she was in Leclerc this morning browsing around, like you do … "like SOME people do" – ed … and she suddenly came across some packs of six of the small sachets of neutral yeast, put on the shelves totally out of order, miles away from where they were supposed to be.

There were six of the packs altogether, and it goes without saying that there are now none left on the shelves. So what with the coconut oil that she found for me and liberated, and the tahini that she found ditto, she is certainly keeping me going with all kinds of stuff, and that’s something that’s extremely useful. She’s a handy person to have around.

Meanwhile, back at the ran … errr … apartment, last night I tried my best to go to bed early but somehow, once again, despite being in a comfortable position at one time, I managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory and it was another night rather later than I liked before I finally crawled into bed.

Despite the pain in my foot, I was asleep quite rapidly, which was no surprise considering how tired I was, and I didn’t move at all until … errr … 05:50 when I had another one of these dramatic awakenings.

There was no possibility of going back to sleep after that and so I seized the opportunity and, in the peace and quiet of the moment, dictated the notes for the two additional tracks for the two programmes for which I had edited the rest of the notes on Sunday. I may as well take advantage of some of these early starts if I can.

When the alarm went off, I was already sitting in the dining area taking my medicine, following which I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. Nerina and I had been apart for a while now. When I met her, she was with someone else. She hadn’t known him long but they were planning to marry. She asked me if I would like to come to the wedding. I thought “why not?” but then I had to find someone else to come with me, and I didn’t think that that was going to be particularly easy. I could think of maybe one or two people who would but I wasn’t all that enthusiastic about inviting anyone

And that’s half the problem these days. I’m not really enthusiastic about anything any more. My idea of a good night is a comfy chair, a good film on the computer and a mug of really hot chocolate. And these days, I can manage the chair but I no longer have the time to watch a film and instead of the hot chocolate that I used to enjoy so much, I now have a disgusting drink break.

Then I had to go outside to fuel up the van. The fuel was in jerry-cans so I began to pour them out. One of them didn’t seem to be open. It seemed to be sealed so I thought “how did I manage to fuel this up?”. I cut a hole in the top and smelled it. It didn’t smell like anything particular so I poured it into the van anyway and it started, so I set out on a drive. I had someone with me but I can’t remember who it was. I was in the North of England and I was going down this narrow, narrow track between all these rocks. Then I came to where there was a dam that was being restored. That was what I had come to see. I stopped the van and took the camera to take a few photos, but the wind was getting up. The water was behind some kind of small retaining wall to my left. Every now and again a gust of wind would bring some water over the top. As I was standing there, the water was coming over the top of this retaining wall quicker and quicker. It was being very difficult to stand there and take photographs because I was being soaked in this water. The dam was a kind-of stepladder arrangement made of old stone and was being covered in earth presumably to reinforce it but the water behind this retaining wall was only – I dunno – twelve feet high and I thought that this doesn’t look right at all

Even now, I can still see the dam. It’s made of large sandstone blocks in the form of a series of steps, and there is a covering of red powdered sandstone being laid over the slope. For some reason though that is not obvious, the drive to the dam and its surroundings reminded me of when STRAWBERRY MOOSE, Strider and I went for a wander around THE OLD IRON MINE IN THE ABANDONED TOWN OF GAGNON in the peri-Arctic tundra of Upper Québec.

Isabelle the Nurse breezed in and didn’t stay for long, just long enough to change my dressing on my leg, deal with the usual treatment and fit the compression socks. She’s told me that she’ll try to be here by about 07:00 next Tuesday when I have to go to Paris.

After she left, I made breakfast and read some more of MY BOOK. We’re still exploring the (civilian) architecture of Rochester Castle, but we have yet to find any more rude doorways, although there are bold mouldings and architraves a-plenty. It must have been an exciting place in the Thirteenth Century.

Back in here I made a start on the Welsh homework that I had missed while I was in hospital and I’d managed to do most of it by the time that I knocked off for a disgusting drink break.

My cleaner breezed in shortly afterwards with my soya yoghurt and with six packs of neutral baking yeast. Now I’m set up for the next couple of months, which is good news. I’m not a big fan of this other yeast that I’ve been having to use.

This afternoon I’ve attacked my Woodstock programme. There are just two groups for whom I need to write notes, and then there’s the summary so it’s not going to take too long.

However, that’s the easy bit. The difficult bit is going to be to decide what to leave in and what to cut out. That will be a decision and a half, and no mistake. And whatever I include or leave out, it will always be the wrong choice. You can’t satisfy everyone all of the time.

There were a couple of ‘phone calls. Firstly, the hospital in Paris rang to see how I was doing. Secondly, a plumber called. He was interested in my project but his idea of a rapid start is in November, which is not much use to me.

Tea tonight was a taco roll followed by my ginger cake. And the cake is wonderful, really spicy just as it ought to be. But I shall be intrigued to see how all of this turns out when I have a real, decent oven to use. I can’t wait for that.

So I’m off to bed at last, tired and weary, and hoping for a better sleep that will last through until the alarm goes off

But seeing as we have been talking about castles … "well, one of us has" – ed … 20-odd years ago I took Roxanne with me to visit an old castle in Belgium
As we climbed the stairs, I said to her "just think. Hundreds and hundreds of years ago there would have been Kings and Queens and Lords and ladies climbing up these very stairs just like we are doing right now."
"Of course there would have been" she replied, shaking her head in bewilderment.
"Aren’t you surprised?" I asked her
"Of course not" she replied. "There would have to have been. They didn’t have lifts in those days."

0

Monday 26th May 2025 – YET MORE CHAOS …

… at the dialysis centre today.

Well, not exactly. Whatever they did there seemed to be okay, but it was almost everything else that was associated with it that all seemed to go pear-shaped. The fates really do seem to be conspiring against me right now.

And not only that, but the stabbing pain in my foot that died down earlier this morning is now back, and with a vengeance too and it’s really stressing me out that I can’t seem this time to shake it off.

It seemed to begin to quieten down late last night which was just as well because I managed to find my way into bed at something like a reasonable time. Not before 23:00, it has to be said, but not all that far off. I was asleep quite quickly too and I remember nothing at all about the night until all of … errr … 05:40.

Even worse, I couldn’t go back to sleep at all and when the electric water heater switched off I was already in the bathroom having a wash, a shave and a wash of the undies.

After the medication I came back in here for a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I was down in the town during the night, having a wander around in the evening. It was a cool, dry night and there was a guy down there busking, playing the guitar and he had a friend with him. The guitarist was quite simple but quite good. I had the idea that maybe why didn’t I bring my guitar and I could do one morning on one street corner and another morning on another street corner and move around as much as I possibly could to play at different places. I walked down past where the new War Memorial is and came eventually to a restaurant. This was a well-known restaurant for being very close to its hours and not serving very close to closing time. I looked in and it wasn’t as crowded as it might have been so I walked through and walked out of the back door onto the car park. But the back door didn’t lead onto the car park. It led into another type of café that was facing the sea. It was pitch-black in there but there were still people. I heard the voice of the woman who owned it asking “did someone call me?”. Another voice from the far corner replied “yes, we were trying to order a pizza”. The woman answered “yes, but give me five minutes and I’ll organise it for you”. I thought that that was quite strange because normally, if you went in there shortly before closing time, they would refuse to serve you. In any case, I didn’t recall this room at the rear at all. I used to walk through there and out of the door at the back and find myself on the car park.

Believe it or not, I know where this restaurant is but I just can’t place it. And the back door does lead out into a little square or car park where there’s a quayside across the way. But there’s a story about a restaurant where Nerina and I went once (only once) where they refused to serve even though we were there ten minutes before “last meals”. And, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall, I had similar problems once IN NORTH CAROLINA.

Another thing that I did was to fill in the forms from that electrician and pack it in an envelope with a cheque on part-account for my cleaner to post. I may as well sign him up and set him to work so that at least something will be done fairly soon.

Isabelle the Nurse was in chat mode today but she didn’t stay long all the same. And I still didn’t manage to see her photos of Copenhagen.

After she left, I made breakfast and read some more of MY BOOK. We didn’t stay long at Richard’s Castle and we’ve now moved on to Rochester. There would usually be a lot to say about Rochester Castle, but it remains to be seen if our author is going to say very much about it.

So far, he’s admiring the civilian architecture of the place, having noted that "the architrave has a bold chevron moulding." and that "the north loop, which opened into the bridge-pit of the main entrance, has been converted into a rude doorway,". How I would have loved to have seen that and to find out what it was doing.

Back in here I made a start on my Welsh homework and by the time that my cleaner turned up to fit my anaesthetic patches I’d done about two-thirds of it. It’s not due for another couple of weeks but I want to push on ahead if I can.

After my cleaner left, I cut up my ginger cake and put it away. And if the crumbs taste anything like as good as the cake does, it will be wonderful.

However, even though I had the cake as low down in the oven as I possibly could, I ended up with a hard crust on the top and the base is slightly undercooked. I can’t wait to have a decent oven and try some proper baking with proper facilities instead of trying to make do with a very unsatisfactory tabletop oven.

The taxi was late again – except that it wasn’t. It should have been here at 12:30 but it turned up at 13:05 with another passenger, well within the 45-minute Social Security guideline for combining passengers.

It was my favourite driver too and so we arrived at 13:28 which is some good going. I didn’t have to wait long to be connected up either.

No-one bothered me this afternoon but with the pan returning to my foot I didn’t feel like working too much. It’s difficult to concentrate at these moments.

After I was unplugged and weighed I found my taxi already waiting, with another passenger on board. He wasn’t going far and when we arrived at his residence, one of the assistants asked "where’s his wheelchair?"

How could it be possible for someone to forget his wheelchair? It beats me, especially as we had to go all the way back for it and drop it off on our way past again. Therefore it was once more late when I returned home, in agony with my foot and totally exhausted.

Tea tonight was a stuffed pepper with the last of the chocolate cake, so ginger cake tomorrow for tea if I feel like it which, right now is debatable. I’m going to try to go to bed but this pain in my foot is driving me berserk.

And seeing as we are talking about pains driving us berserk … "well, one of us has" – ed … it reminds me of that famous incident when Brian Close, fielding in close to the wicket was hit by a vicious drive from an Australian batsman
The other players dashed around him. "Does it hurt, Brian?" asked one of them
"Of course it hurts" he replied. "It always hurts when you tell a bowler to ‘pitch it up’ and he totally ignores you."

0

Sunday 25th May 2025 – I HAVE DONE …

… something this afternoon that I haven’t done for quite some time.

But that’s enough about Percy Penguin for now – what else I did this afternoon that I haven’t done for quite some time is to crash out on my chair.

Back in the old days, I remember the times that I’ve fought against going to sleep, but I’ve never been able to do anything, being so tired. So letting myself go at those times, I’ve awoken feeling much more energetic and lively.

And that’s exactly how it was today. I’ve had a dreadful, painful morning (and afternoon, and evening) and round about 15:00 I reached a point where I was no longer able to function. At 15:36 when I awoke, I was certainly feeling much better and could crack on

All of this started yesterday. I wasn’t feeling myself all day (which is just as well, as it’s a disgusting habit) and it gradually drifted deeper and deeper into the abyss. I finished my notes and everything else at about 22:55 and having then dictated the radio notes, I was in bed at 23:15 ready for a long night until 08:00 and my Sunday lie-in.

However, regular readers of this rubbish will recall what usually happens on a Sunday following a Saturday dialysis session. And this morning was no exception either.

It was still pitch-dark outside when I awoke. I’ve no idea what time it was but I certainly didn’t look. I buried myself back under the bedclothes and there I stayed.

At some point I must have gone off to sleep again because I awoke just as it was becoming light. A glance at the clock showed that it was about 06:05. This time I didn’t go back to sleep and when I heard the electric water heater switch off at 06:20 I crawled out of my bed.

If ever there was a morning that I didn’t feel like it, then it was today. The stabbing pain was still going in my foot and is still going now which, after thirty hours, is something of a record. I felt washed out and exhausted, "like butter scraped over too much bread" as Bilbo Baggins once famously said.

In the bathroom I had a good wash and then went for my medication.

Back in here I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. My cleaner came by while I was in hospital and had a quick look at me, then proceeded to wipe her hands clean on the bed clothing. I was so annoyed. I thought that it was a horrible thing to do

Not that she would ever do such a thing. After all, she’s nowhere near as uncouth as I might be.

And then I was working on the accompaniment for a TV show with a group. They were performing some music there. One of the songs was an extremely complicated song, although it wasn’t complicated – it was complicated to make it right. It was just not seeming to fit at all no matter how we edited it. Listening to it became rather painful after a while. That was when I began to have the pain in my heel again and that awoke me

Yes, that’s rather psychosomatic, isn’t it? Building up to an attack of pain in my foot like that.

There was also something else about being out for a drive around Northern France somewhere, coming across a repair garage, an old place with a couple of old cars outside. It was a total mess of untidiness inside there. I stopped and had a brief “hello” with them and carried on driving. I went past there a couple of times. On one occasion, there was a Traction Avant and a microcar stuck outside. That suddenly rang a bell with me. I stopped and went in and they all greeted me, even in the mess that they were in. I asked “you didn’t by any chance used to live in the Auvergne, did you?”. One of these two guys said “well, we did have some connection with somewhere”. I asked “it wasn’t Montlucon in the Allier, was it?”. He replied “as a matter of fact it was”. I replied “then you’ll remember me from 25 years ago. I came with a friend and we took away some microcars from you”. He could remember, and remember more about it than I did, and we had quite a chat. They were preparing to go somewhere while I was hanging around there. We went out of the rear of the garage to look at the other cars that he had, but there was nothing particularly interesting there. His wife was there, busily trying to cut off a tree, a tree that had been pollarded in the past so it had shot out from about nine feet upwards. She was there trying to cut off one of these outstretched branches to use on the fire before they went. I thought that that was really strange. Then they were preparing to go. They had a tractor just like mine. We were talking about fitting a tow-bar on it and towing trailers etc. They also had someone there who was really not all that intelligent, rather slow, so they suggested that he went to talk to the others who were busy trying to sing this song while we finished off preparing everything and then we could all go.

This rings loads of bells with me. Nerina and I did once meet a guy who had a Traction Avant for sale, a garagiste in Cergy-Pontoise in the suburbs of Paris. His place was like this one in the dream. And there was a garagiste in Montlucon in the Allier who had a pile of scrap Microcars and two of those ended up in the UK at the house of someone whom I knew at the time. I also did once have a little tractor with a tow-bar, and I rigged it up with a generator and inverter so that I could run my cement mixer down the fields. There are loads of miles in this dream.

Having done that, I carried on with the printer and now the offending file has been identified and eliminated. I could proceed with the uninstallation of the remaining bits of the program and then perform a full install ready to start again

Isabelle the Nurse didn’t stop for long and I didn’t manage to see her photos of Copenhagen. Not to worry though. It’s not as if I don’t know where Copenhagen is.

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

We’ve now left Portchester and have arrived at Richard’s Castle in Herefordshire. But before leaving Portchester, I must admit that I did have quite a laugh, even though I know that I shouldn’t.

He tells us that "Henry I., probably before 1133, seems to have built the keep, and enclosed the inner ward, repaired the Roman curtain, rebuilt or restored the gatehouse, and placed a hall and other domestic buildings along the south side of the inner ward. It may be that Henry himself raised the keep before the works were completed, ".

There I was, picturing the scene of King Henry in his ermine robes and crown, wielding a trowel and a bucket of cement, stacking blocks of ashlar one on top of another while his courtiers all stood around admiring the handiwork.

Back in here I had quite a slow start but I managed to edit the notes for the eleventh track of programme 260403 and now that programme is all ready to go at the appropriate moment.

Next task was to print out the invoice for the electrician and prepare it for sending off, and then order the taxi for 3rd of June to take me to Paris, sending off all of the paperwork.

There were some radio notes from a couple of weeks ago that I’d begun to edit but didn’t go very far. I finished those off this morning too and assembled the two halves of the radio programme. I chose the eleventh track and wrote out the notes ready for dictation on Saturday night next.

Rosemary rang me at about midday and we had a short chat today – just about one hour and four minutes. We’re obviously losing our touch.

That took me up to lunchtime, and then after my cheese on toast I came back in here.

All through the day I’d been feeling dreadful and feeling worse and worse as the day wore on. Round about 15:00 I abandoned the fight and let myself slide into oblivion. Very disappointing, I have to admit, but necessary

When I awoke I was feeling better, and I cracked on and dealt with the notes for the following radio programme. The eleventh track has been chosen and the notes prepared ready for dictating for that too.

In between, I made a spicy ginger cake and it looks really good. I can’t wait to taste it.

Tonight’s pizza was excellent too, another one of the best that I have made. And now I’m going to bed while I still can. If I can sleep is another matter completely, what with all of this pain in my foot that’s still going on.

But seeing as we have been talking about the King and his labours … "well, one of us has" – ed … it reminds me about Charles and Andrew discussing the art of making love. They couldn’t agree whether it was work, or pleasure, or a combination of both.
In the end they decide to ask one of their humble serfs on one of the Royal farms.
They put the question to the first one that they met and after a moment’s thought he replied "I reckon that it must be one hundred percent pleasure"
"Why is that?" The Royals asked.
"Well, " said the humble serf "I reckon that if there was any slight amount of work at all involved in it, you badgers would have us poor sods do it for you."

0

Saturday 24th May 2025 – I AM ABSOLUTELY …

… and totally whacked right now and I shan’t be up for very long. It’s been another difficult day at dialysis.

It was a difficult night last night too. Despite all of my best efforts, it was after midnight when I finally made my way into bed, having let it all hang out for far too long. And whether I went straight to sleep or not afterwards, I really can’t remember.

One thing is certain though, and that is that I awoke at about 06:05 this morning. And interestingly, my cleaner said that something awoke her round about that time too so I’m wondering if there really is a disturbance in this building at that time of morning.

And for a change, I went back to sleep again straight away. That’s not something that happens very often.

It was round about 06:45 when I awoke next, and when the alarm went off I was in the bathroom having a good wash and scrub up. And a shave too, after all, you never know if I’m going to meet Emilie the Cute Consultant.

With a pile of bedding and other clothes that needed a wash, I filled the washing machine, once more running out of space and with clothes left over, and set the machine off on its way while I went to take my medicine.

Back in here afterwards I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. Did I dictate that dream about handing out receipts to people who were using taxis? … "No you didn’t" – ed … How it became compulsory? It was bound to cause a few complications because there were some of these jobs that were account work so what do you do now? The story moved on and I was in South London again. There were all these buses going past which had as their route numbers things like “A-B-C-D” and “E-F-G-H”. I began to wonder how they could actually run these buses on four different routes simultaneously. It turned out that when i enquired they just had these buses running the common parts of the route and we had feeder minibuses I suppose that would run the individual pieces which were like on housing estates etc.

This compulsory issue of receipts reminds me of a situation in Belgium that existed – and maybe it still does today, I don’t know – of restaurants being compelled to give receipts and tax certificates to diners as they leave.

The idea of feeder buses onto a major route is not new. It was one of the idea that I had for the trams of Greater Manchester, where the trams would feed up and down a main-line system and minibuses would be used for driving around the housing estates feeding passengers into the tram stops. However, in the UK at that time there was a chaotic free-for-all in public transport so there would have been little point.

Isabelle the Nurse was in a good mood today and chatted for a few minutes. She’s promised that tomorrow she’ll show me her photos of Copenhagen and I can’t wait (I don’t think)! It’s years since I’ve been to Copenhagen – with a coach in 1981 if I remember correctly.

After she left I made breakfast and read some more of MY BOOK. We’ve left Pontefract Castle and we’re now having a very interesting chat about the work that was done on building Portchester Castle by those well-known Medieval English builders, the … errr … Romans.

After breakfast I came back in here and began my laborious process of unpicking my printer’s installation files, deleting them one by one until I come across the one that is corrupted. As if I don’t already have enough to do.

My cleaner turned up bang on time right in the middle of everything and she sorted out my anaesthetic patches. The bruise has diminished and the swelling has gone down but it still hurts.

The taxi was early today, which was nice, but by the time that we’d picked up the other two passengers it really made no difference.

Coupling up was not quite as painful as Thursday – not quite – and once I was connected no-one really bothered me. However, I wasn’t in much of a mood to do a great deal, what with all of the pain. I spent most of my time mainly vegetating.

Uncoupling was quite painful too but I was glad that it was all over quickly. I can’t do with much more of this. The French are bringing in a law of Euthanasia to bring the country in line with Belgium and I shan’t be sorry. I would give all that I had … "and more besides" – ed … just to have a really good sleep.

The climb up here was pretty awful tonight. I’ve not been feeling well all day and it’s slowly becoming worse. I had a struggle to make tea and now that I’ve finished my notes, I’ll dictate what needs to be dictated and then I’m off to bed.

It was nice, though, that the taxi was early. Usually they are late and sometimes quite late too.
Not so long ago I remember berating a taxi driver about being late. "You should have been here half an hour ago" I said
"Why?" he asked. "What happened?"

0

Friday 23rd May 2025 – I’VE HAD ANOTHER …

… one of those days when I just couldn’t seem to get going. It was a day of interruption after interruption as I lurched from one important task to another, and I don’t think that any of them are really completed either.

But last night was another one of those nights where, even though I finished work fairly early, couldn’t summon up the energy to go to bed, and just sat in the chair vegetating for a while. It’s really doing me no good at all, this. I know exactly what the problem is, though, and it’s that it takes so much effort to stand up from wherever I might be sitting. To rise to my feet is a major operation involving quite a few logistical issues.

Eventually though I forced myself and headed off into the bathroom to tidy myself up, and then I headed for my comfortable repos underneath the quilt, much later than I anticipated.

Once in bed, it took quite a while yet again to go off to sleep but once I’d gone, then I was gone, and gone for good too, all the way to … errr … 06:10. I remember nothing whatsoever of the night.

When I heard the electric water-heater switch off, I decided that I may as well leave the bed and go to sort myself out in the bathroom. And when the alarm went off at 07:00 I was in the kitchen sorting out the medication.

Back in here I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. It was in the clinic of the hospital, something like just before dialysis. The nurses had to fit the antiseptic patches for all of the people who were in there, mostly elderly with delicate skin. Very few of them were people with this tough kind of skin that you would expect to be resilient so it became something of a painful session and there were a lot of recriminations being traded around while people were waiting for their chairs to dry and for them to be called into their anaesthetic machines.

And that’s something else that’s getting o my nerves. As if I don’t already spend more than enough time in the hospital as it is? That’s the last place that I would want to be in my spare time when I should be out there on my travels in search of pulchritude.

That reminds me of course – that I’m going for another dialysis session tomorrow with my arm just as painful as it was on Thursday. I am not looking forward to this at all.

Isabelle the nurse came along as usual. Today she changed the plasters on my leg before sorting out my legs and feet and fitting my compression socks. She’s here for ten days, so she tells me, and that’s good news.

After she left I made breakfast and read some more of MY BOOK. We’re still at Pontefract Castle but I’ve been wandering around the Wars of the Roses in cyberspace for much of the time, following one lead after another, being side-tracked as usual.

After breakfast, the first job was to measure the bathroom, and that involved moving stuff around in the bedroom so that I could make my way into the wardrobe here to find the toolbox.

Having measured the bathroom, I waited around until 10:00 for this bathroom company to ‘phone me. Bang on time, they were there and a very helpful and polite woman told me that their company wouldn’t be able to do the bathroom as I required.

She did however say that she “knew a couple of people” who might help and if I were to forward to her some photos and a brief description of what I needed, she would pass the message on.

So the next task was to take some photos of the bathroom, and that involved moving stuff around, cleaning up and washing the tiles etc Then I had to edit the photos and send them off with a report. Now we have to wait for things to happen.

In the middle of all of that, my cleaner reminded me about my LeClerc order so I had to review that and send it off. And I bet that there is plenty of stuff that I’ve forgotten.

After a disgusting drink break I went to print out the invoice from the electrician to sign it and send it off with a deposit, but the print program crashed. After several hours of trying to repair the program I decided to uninstall it and start again. But with a document stuck in the corrupted print queue, the program won’t uninstall. So that’s another job for tomorrow.

If all else fails, I’ll set up a print program on the travelling laptop and print from there.

There was an interruption in the middle of all of that too when my faithful cleaner arrived to do her stuff. We went through all of the medication and sorted that lot out, and then she changed the bedding for me so that I have nice clean bedding for tonight. A shame that there’s not a nice, clean me to go in it but I can’t shower until this leg is healed.

After she left, LeClerc turned up so I had a pile of shopping to put away and 2 kg of carrots to clean, dice and blanch. While what was going on, I made a bread roll for tea because I fancied a burger in a bap.

As it happened, I used the wrong “burger” and ended up with a batch of frozen soya mince instead, which didn’t taste as nice as I was expecting, to say the least

So at some point today I managed to do a small amount of my Woodstock concert, but nothing like as much as I was hoping. I really need a couple of days when I can sit down and crack on with it, but I’ve no idea when that might be. There’s far too much going on right now and it’s not going to become any easier.

Anyway, before I go to bed, seeing as we have been talking about the lack of progress today … "well, one of us has" – ed … I happened to mention it to a friend with whom I was chatting on the internet a little earlier
"Whatever happened to all of the famous ‘get up and go’ that you used to have?" he asked
"Ohhh that!" I sighed. "That has all got up and gone a long time ago"

0

Thursday 22nd May 2025 – LAST NIGHT …

… was a somewhat different night from the last God-knows how many. Although I wasn’t feeling particularly tired, I’ve been a lot less tired than that just recently too and somehow managed to fall asleep quite quickly.

However, not last night. I don’t know what was happening but I had some kind of skin irritation that kept me awake for hours and round about 03:00 I left the bed in search of some kind of cold cream because I reckoned that that was the only way that I was going to have any kind of sleep at all.

And it worked too. Not as quickly as I would have liked, but I did manage to go off to sleep eventually.

Nothing of the foregoing, however, prevented me from awakening round about 06:15, and that was a surprise. I must have had less than three hours sleep. Strangely enough, I wasn’t all that tired either … "relatively speaking, that is" – ed …

So when the alarm went off this morning I was on my way out of the bathroom, having had a good wash, a shave and a wash of my clothes in the sink.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to see if I’d been anywhere during the night. And no-one was more surprised than me to find that even though the night was so short, there was something on there too. I was still working in an office and nothing at all was going right there. I was hardly accomplishing anything but then again it was only a week or two before I was due to retire so I was just going through the motions anyway. I could tell that the bosses and everyone like that were unhappy about my efforts but I couldn’t really care less. I thought that I’d had a very raw deal at that place and I didn’t think that I owed it anything. I was just waiting to leave and if anyone said anything to me that would have provoked any kind of argument I would have quite simply walked out. Things reached some kind of head on Monday and I was due to go back in on Tuesday but I ended up going to see a friend on Monday night who had a collection of strange vehicles. He told me that he was planning on cutting one of them down to salvage the cab to put on another one. I thought that that was rather a shame and something of a waste but he was quite adamant about doing it and he invited me to go round to have a look because he felt that it wasn’t going to fit without any kind of severe modification so I agreed that I would go to have a look with him and see what I thought but I really wasn’t very happy with this idea of his of cutting up one of his strange vehicles.

That sounds like a couple of jobs that I’ve had in the past, after which I decided that office work is not really for me. But regular readers of this rubbish will recall that not pulling my weight at work, being close to retirement and planning to walk away was a regular theme during the night at one time.

The story about the guy with the vehicles also rings a bell – to such an extent that a couple of his bizarre vehicles have come his way via me. He features fairly regularly (or did for quite a while) in these pages too, but merely as a supporting actor to a main character. This world is far too small for my liking, or Byd Bach! as they say on the other side of the Severn-Dee valley.

Isabelle the Nurse came round to do her stuff, and she brought some good news with her. It seems that she had been round to the old High School that is being converted into offices (and which is where our radio studio is) and she had a quick peek into the building that is going to be the Granville Dialysis Centre.

She reckons that the transformation work in there is well advanced and wouldn’t be surprised to find it open ahead of schedule. That will save me at least one hour every day, not having to trudge my weary way three times per week down to Avranches.

After she left, I made breakfast and read some more of MY BOOK. We’ve breezed through Pickering Castle in North Yorkshire and have now arrived at Pontefract.

Pontefract is a major castle with a very long history, so I wonder how much of the book has been devoted to a discussion about it. After all, we’re about half-way through the book and if we aren’t careful, we’ll be running out castles before we reach the end.

After breakfast, I came back in here and had a few things to organise, a few letters and forms to scan, a few e-mails to send and when I’d done all of that, I made a start on my Woodstock magnum opus.

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that I don’t pay much attention to what happens to my body when I’m in hospital or at dialysis. I was hospitalised as a small baby and I reckon that it must have traumatised me because I can’t bear to talk about, think about, listen to or watch anything medical.

So I don’t know what is going on at all, but when my faithful cleaner rolled up my sleeve to fit my anaesthetic patches, she gasped. My upper arm is swollen like a balloon and it’s just one huge dark-blue bruise where one of the punctures from the dialysis had bled under the skin. No wonder it was so painful.

She fitted my patches nevertheless and for a change, the taxi was early for me. We were three passengers in total plus the driver, and we had a lovely drive in the sunshine down to the dialysis centre in Avranches.

Today, being early, I was third in and third to be coupled up. And the nurses gasped too when they saw the mess that was my upper arm. You cannot imagine how painful the coupling-up was either. I had to wear an ice blanket to numb the arm and deaden the pain. Even so, I had to endure it for three and a half hours, during which I made out my LeClerc shopping list, but it was far too painful to concentrate on anything else.

One of the first in, one of the first to be coupled up meant that I was one of the first to be uncoupled. But it took much longer than it ought – firstly because of the pain and secondly, because they had a young student stagière there and I offered to be the guinea pig on which she could try out her skills. After all, how else am I going to have some nice young female holding my hand for ten minutes?

Even so, I was back here by 18:25 which makes a really nice change. And there was more good news. That electrician who came the other day has sent me a quote which is not unadjacent to what I was expecting. Even better, the work qualifies at the lover rate of TVA by virtue of the age of the building and the age of the installation.

It’s nice to have some good news for a change. After all, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall, it’s been a long time since I’ve had any.

Tea tonight was a helping of lasagna out of the freezer. I need to start to think about making some space in there. I’m hoping that fairly soon, Rosemary will come back with her recommendation for a fridge-freezer and then I can organise myself (if ever that’s possible) and move some of the frozen food downstairs whenever the apartment is free. It’s strangely quiet down there.

But seeing as we’ve been talking about people holding hands … "well, one of us has" – ed … many years ago, I saw one of my friends wandering around Hanley hand-in-hand with his wife.
When I met him a few days later, I told him "you two looked so sweet wandering around Hanley like that, holding hands as if you were still teenagers"
"Ohh, it wasn’t like that at all" he said
"Why was that?" I asked.
"Didn’t you notice the sales?" he replied. "I was trying to stop her hand going after my wallet."

0

Wednesday 21st May 2025 – I HAVE HAD …

… someone visiting today who is obviously the brother of the electrician who came the other day, and presumably the brother too of that woman who came from that building agency previously.

And there’s no doubt about it – there aren’t half some unscrupulous people in the building trade who seem to make it a rule to prey upon the elderly and infirm. It’s enough to make anyone lose their faith in humanity, and I would certainly have lost mine by now, had it not been already lost a long, long time ago.

But anyway, more of that anon.

Last night was not as early as I would have liked it to have been. Tuesday is usually quite a good bet for an early night but for some reason it didn’t quite work out like that and I’m not sure why. It was after 23:30 when I finally crawled underneath the covers.

Once more, I was asleep quite quickly and I remember nothing whatsoever until … errr … 06:15 when I had one of these dramatic awakenings. That’s not as early as some mornings have been just recently, but it’s early enough.

When the alarm went off at 07:00 I was sorting out the medication in the kitchen, having already had a good scrub in the bathroom on the way past.

Back in here afterwards, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. When I awoke, I dreamed that I went to pick up the dictaphone. It was on the left-hand side of the bed rather than on the right in this dream. There was a large metal saucepan there and a few other things, and as I reached out for the dictaphone, I knocked off the saucepan and a couple of other things. I expected an enormous noise from this saucepan falling to the floor but I didn’t hear a thing. It all happened in perfect peace and quiet and there was no noise at all.

What I can say about that is that I certainly didn’t awaken. It’s true that the dictaphone should usually be on the top of the chest of drawers on the right-hand side of the bed and if it’s not there, then I’m completely lost. But it won’t ever be on the left-hand side of the bed because apart from an empty half of a bed, there’s a wall, with no room to put a table at all.

And then I was walking down Edleston Road when a white long-wheelbase Transit, S-registered but much older than that, came up the hill quite quickly. It suddenly shuddered to a halt right alongside me. A guy whom I knew, a guitarist from a rock group, leapt out. He asked me if the van had been going to him. I thought that it sounded OK. He replied “have a look underneath”. I had a look underneath and could see streams of gearbox oil pouring out of there. As he asked me “is there some kind of seal in the gearbox” I said “you’ve blown one of the seals in the gearbox”. I climbed into the van and it had a Borg Warner automatic gearbox but it was a completely different style to whatever I had seen before. It was hot and you could smell the oil, but it was quite obvious that he was going to go nowhere in that van. I didn’t have a spare gearbox for him. I spoke to my father and he didn’t know of any either. I thought that for these people, this is going to cost them an awful lot of money and make them late for a pile of concerts and they’d have to cancel a pile of concerts. It’s happening at a really inconvenient time for them.

The Transit was one of the very first Series One vans like the 1970 diesel Transit that I had when I was a rock star … "!" – ed … and ran for a while until a washer fell down the air intake, bent a valve and pushed the valve head through the crown of a piston. But an automatic van? That must be a nightmare to try to move when it’s fully-loaded

“Mettez-vous devant la fenêtre” someone shouted, so I had a look around to see if I could see anyone and began to think about moving my chair towards the window when I awoke. So I wonder who it was who shouted to me in French. There were quite a few people around the first of the month whom I knew and quite a few events that were happening where there could have been other people whom I knew who could have been involved I suppose, but I’ve no idea who shouted that out in the way.

So here I am, dreaming in French again. But I’ve no idea what was happening here, why someone should be shouting at me in French. And I can’t move my chair any closer to the window anyway because the aforementioned chest of drawers is in the way.

Finally, I was on my crutches at school organising the school wall transport and the car parking. Most of the students had turned up but there were still a couple who hadn’t come. I wondered when I might begin to expect them. Sure enough, a couple of minutes before 09:00 they appeared. One was a girl who was already on crutches and the other one was a girl who clearly having some kind of health issues herself. I made some kind of laugh and joke about it to them and they joined in. Their car was parked in a corner and it was really tough to access. They made a few remarks about that, mainly light-headed but you can never tell. I replied again. They asked for the keys. She said that she’d give them to me later. I replied “make sure that you do by tomorrow and no mistake” so she laughed. The two of them squeezed into this tiny car and reversed out of the car park, nearly hitting another car that was about to pull out. He just saw her at the last minute and stopped. Then they set off to drive out. I had a look round, and I was certain that every item of letters or parcels that needed to be delivered had been loaded into the correct vehicles and were all off and about on their way to deliver them.

Not that they would ever have let me organise the parking at school. Organisation is not my strong point, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall. And of all the people with whom I went to school, I can’t think of more than half a dozen or so whom I would be happy to see again, and I think that I’m seeing (or, at least, in contact with) all of those. I did not have a happy time at school. In fact, I did not have a happy childhood at all and a great deal of what happens in my dreams is not just about how my childhood was but occasionally how I would have liked it to have been. I ran away from home when I was 18 and, if the truth is known, I’m still running even now 50-odd years later.

Isabelle the Nurse was still in a rush this morning and didn’t have much time to hang around. She changed my plasters, dealt with my legs, fitted my compression socks and then cleared off to take more blood samples.

Once she’d left I could make breakfast and read some more of MY BOOK.

This morning we arrived at Pevensey Castle in Sussex. And here we go again. At the top of page 362 he tells us that "the history of the building, though aided by passages in the public records, is mainly to be established by the study of the material remains. Those of the Roman period have fallen under the searching and very accurate notice of Mr. Roach Smith ; the present paper deals mainly with the mediaeval additions both in earthworks and masonry."

Two lines further down, he tells us that "The Roman fortress is in plan a rounded oblong, 220 yards northeast and south-west by 115 yards, and contains from 8| acres to 9 acres. It is included within a wall strengthened by towers, and here, as at Lyme, the outline of the plan was evidently governed by that of the ground on which the castle stands, and which rises 8 feet to 10 feet above the sea level and that of the surrounding marsh or meadow…." and then proceeds to devote several pages to tell us about the Roman remains that have "fallen under the searching and very accurate notice of Mr. Roach Smith" and so should be excluded from "the present paper"

My breakfast this morning remained unfinished because I had an interruption. An electrician, complete with apprentice, turned up to talk about electricity. His discussion was much more straightforward and his pricing much more closely aligned with what I consider to be appropriate, and he didn’t want to change the fusebox which was what I suspected. We’ll see what he puts in writing.

Back in here I had a radio programme to prepare and by the time that I’d knocked off, I’d done everything except choose the final track, although I do have in mind what it is going to be. I’ll know more when the notes that I’ve written so far have been dictated and edited.

There were plenty of interruptions to my schedule today. Firstly, there were a couple of disgusting drinks breaks. Then the taxi came to pick me up for my dialysis that I don’t have today.

My cleaner came to do her stuff too, and then Rosemary telephoned me for another one of our marathon chats.

However, we also had the plumber. His first comment was "we’ll have to move the sink"
"Why’s that?" I asked
"there’s only 74cms between the wall and the sink. You can’t have a shower base less than 80 cms"
"Oh really?" I asked, knowing full well that the one that I fitted in the farm was 70cms AND IS STILL AVAILABLE. In any case, I don’t want a shower base – I want a flat, tiled surface, so it should be made to measure.

Apart from that, he told me that to fit a 80cm shower base (which I don’t want) we have to move the sink.
"Won’t that mean moving the pipework?"
"I can do that" he said
"But if you move it more than 5 cms you’ll cover up the electric plug" I replied
"I’ll move that too"

We than moved into the WC to talk about the cistern where I want a cistern with a small sink on top like you see in Japan.
"You’ll be better off with a new WC bowl too, to give you some more height"

So that was another workman firmly but politely shown the door. I think that I’ve about given up on finding a workman who wants to carry out my project. Instead, they all seem to want to do their own at my expense.

Tea tonight was a lovely leftover curry with enough left to go into the freezer for another meal. and no pudding tonight – I wasn’t all that hungry really.

Instead I’m going to go to bed and dream about workmen and renovation disasters. It’s becoming exhausting, all of this organisation, when in theory it should be so simple.

But seeing as we have been talking about kids driving cars to school … "well, one of us has" – ed … there was very, very little of that in our day. Our generation was lucky to have had pushbikes. Some peope didn’t even know what a pushbike was.
Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that the famous baseball player and coach Lawrence “Yogi” Berra is quoted quite often here. He came from a poor family of Italian immigrants but his wife, Carmen, came from a more comfortable background.
They had three sones and Carmen told Lawrence one day that the eldest, Dale Berra, needed an encyclopedia for school.
"Rubbish!" retorted “Yogi”. "He can walk there like I did".

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Tuesday 20th May 2025 – I HAVE HAD …

… a lovely afternoon out this afternoon. A nice drive out in the sun with a chatty, pleasant driver, all the way down to Avranches for a scan.

And then a nice drive home ditto, having been told that the scan had been cancelled by the doctor. What a shame that the doctor never thought to let the ambulance company and me know before we upset everyone.

It seems that my run of bad luck that I mentioned yesterday is continuing into today.

Last night I was thoroughly and completely exhausted after another gruelling dialysis session. It was a real struggle to finish my notes and to do everything else that I needed to do before going to bed, and I was out on my feet.

It was late when I ended up in bed too, not too far short of midnight despite all of my best efforts. And I don’t even remember going to sleep. I must have crashed out immediately.

And during the night, I remember nothing at all. It must have been one of the deepest, heaviest sleeps that I have had for quite some considerable time. Having said that though, nothing in the foregoing prevented me from being awake at … errr … 06:15, just to keep up the tradition of an early start.

When the alarm went off at 07:00, I was in the kitchen sorting out the medication, having already dealt with the bathroom situation. And it’s certainly true, what they say about these new calcium tablets. I have proof.

Back in here I had a listen to the dictaphone, and found that there was nothing on it at all. That left me with somewhat mixed feelings. Part of me was grateful for having had a really deep, undisturbed sleep for once, but the other part of me was disappointed. As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … the only excitement that I seem to have these days is what happens during the night – and that doesn’t sound quite right, does it?

Instead, I found a few things to do although my heart wasn’t really in it. I wasn’t feeling too well this morning for some reason.

Isabelle the Nurse breezed in to start her week on duty. And breezed out again just as promptly. "I can’t stop" she said. "There are people waiting for me down at the office".

Yes, it’s her first day back, so all of the people who have postponed their injections and blood tests over the last week are now clamouring to be caught up.

After she left, I made breakfast, not that I was feeling much like it, and read some more of MY BOOK.

Our whistle-stop tour is continuing and, after passing by a couple of somewhat minor piles, we’ve arrived at Penrith Castle. But there doesn’t seem to be much to see there either, so I suppose that we shan’t be there for long.

The history of many of these places is interesting, but that’s not why I’m reading the book. I’m here for the military architecture and in that I’m disappointed. It’s just becoming an endless, repetitive litany of mullions, corbels, pilasters and architraves.

After breakfast I checked over my Welsh homework and sent it off to be marked. It came back with a "excellent as usual" which took me quite by surprise. I often think that I wouldn’t mind a sip of whatever our tutor has in her water bottle.

The preparation for the lesson passed well enough and I was surprised by how much I – well, didn’t know, but could make a reasonably-accurate guess. Mind you, the subject this week is the story of Saint David and seeing as I have been spending an awful lot of time just recently reading about the Sixth Century, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall, I could probably have written the article myself.

As for the lesson itself, it passed really well and I was quite pleased with it. However, I learned something new today that had nothing to do with my lesson, and that is for all my talk about rubbing shoulders with rock stars when I used to drive my sound engineer around, one of my classmates is related to DJ “Spot On” John Morris and was chatting at his funeral to PJ Proby and also Uli John Roth of The Scorpions.

After the lesson was over I went and had a disgusting drink break and then prepared myself for my scan.

It’s a good job that I did too because the taxi was early. And we had a lovely, chatty drive down to Avranches and the hospital.

It was there that I was told that my appointment had been cancelled. And cancelled on the 8th of April too, the day after I walked out of the hospital after having discharged myself. So if this is someone’s idea of a joke or an act of petty revenge, then I am not impressed at all.

It’s not that I mind them cancelling my appointments, but more the fact that they don’t tell me and, even worse, don’t tell the taxi company. I can’t afford to be in their bad books. Still, it was a lovely drive out and a lovely drive back with pleasant company.

My cleaner was waiting for me and watched as I made my weary way upstairs. Not too long to go now before I plan on moving. I’ve decided that even if I can’t find a plumber and an electrician, then as long as I have the basic kitchen installed, I shall go with that and like it for now.

Tea tonight was a delicious taco roll, with loads of stuffing remaining for a leftover curry tomorrow. But I need to think about emptying the freezer at some point, although it won’t be long before that’s a thing of the past when I eventually have my new fridge-freezer. There will be tons of room in the new set-up, but I bet that it won’t take me too long to fill it.

But I can worry about that again because right now I’m going to have an early night, even though this is the least tired that I have felt at this time of night for quite a while. That good sleep last night really did do me some good.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about pointless journeys … "well, one of us has" – ed … it reminds me of the guy who went into the ticket office of Crewe Railway Station.
"I’d like a return ticket, please" he asked
"Certainly, sir" replied the clerk. "Where to?"
"Why, back here, of course."

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