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Friday 15th August 2025 – HOW LONG IS IT …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Friday 8th August 2025 – I HAD NOTHING ON …

… the dictaphone this morning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Saturday 12th July 2025 – HERE WE GO …

… again.

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

For once, we arrived quite early

For once, they were ready and waiting

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

0

Friday 11th July 2025 – REGULAR READERS OF …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anyway, I digress … "again" – ed …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

0

Monday 23rd June 2025 – I HAD A …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t stay very long after that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

0

Friday 20th June 2025 – WE NOW HAVE …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

0

Friday 13th June 2025 – IT HAS BEEN …

… a quiet day today.

It was quiet last night too. I didn’t stay up for all that long after finishing my notes. However, it was rather later than I anticipated when I went to bed. Everyone in the apartment had been asleep for quite a while by the time that I finally crawled in underneath the covers.

Once more, it took me a while to go off to sleep but once I was asleep, there I stayed until about 05:30. Not that I was up and about straight away though. It must have taken me another twenty minutes before I finally plucked up the courage to leave the bed.

With everyone still fast asleep, I began the morning by listening to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I’d been to hospital last night and I’d had some brain surgery carried out on my head. It had involved penetrating the skull. As a result I was lying there in bed with the extension cable wrapped around me and the plug on the end of that was resting on my stomach. At first I thought that it might have been the Hound of the Barnevilles … "he means ‘Baskervilles’" – ed … but that was still asleep on the floor by the fire so it can’t have been him so I wondered what animal of that nature was trying to crawl all over me while I was asleep.

The Hound of the Baskervilles was actually sleeping on the floor when I stuck my head in earlier. But dreaming about hospital again is pretty depressing. I want to forget all about that and relax during the night instead of ending up worrying just as much as I do during the day about my hospital visits.

Later on, I was with two people. We’d been on a very long trek from across some kind of territory. There was also a boy involved in this somehow. The woman was the mother of this child. I was with these two men, hiking away, walking through this rough land. We were having to climb up and down all kinds of obstacles and it seemed as if we were twenty years walking through this way. Eventually we came to a spot where we had to climb down a really, really long descent like off a clifftop. It was all muddy. We finally made it down to the bottom where we could say goodbye. Meanwhile, this woman and her son were somewhere about and I ended up doing something with this child, having a collection of possessions or something. This woman, I had this big silver or chrome ball, really heavy. I went up to her and said “I know what it is tomorrow” because I’d been told that it was her birthday. I was about to present her with this ball when she said “yes, it’s Grand Prix day tomorrow” which surprised me. But there was something in this dream about a tube of ointment but I can’t remember where it fitted in.

This dream reminded me very much of East Africa, not that I have ever been there of course, but how I would imagine it to be. However, it seems to have its basis in our Welsh lesson on Tuesday, when we were reading a book about a woman and her son who were the sole survivors of a cataclysm and they had to learn self-sufficiency and autonomy quite rapidly if they were going to survive.

Everyone seemed to come alive round about 07:00 so I went back into the living room to see how they were doing. My friend rustled up some coffee, I rustled up the orange juice and we had a very slow start to the day while I sorted out my medication.

The nurse burst into the apartment at about 08:30 and the reaction of the Hound of the Baskervilles will make sure that he won’t ever enter like that anywhere else ever again.

It had evidently put the wind up him because he was in and out of here in what must be a new World Record time, and we could set about making breakfast.

Later on, we came in here and spent quite a while talking about recording issues, fixing a few faults on a few recording machines and working out how to use an old digital mixing desk that has been lying around here for several years.

That was something that I’m glad we did, because we managed to make it work reasonably well, although the audio output is very low, even when the gain is set to maximum. One thing that we did find out though is that one of my microphones doesn’t work. No wonder that I’ve been having recording issues with it on one of the other machines that I have. All that it must have been picking up must have come from the external microphone.

While the Hound of the Baskervilles went for a walk, I sorted out my LeClerc order and sent it off ready for delivery later this afternoon.

We’re low on bread again so this afternoon I prepared some dough for a loaf and also for four bread rolls. We’re planning to have two tonight with burgers that I have ordered, and the other two will be for the broccoli stalk soup that I’m going to make on Sunday afternoon, seeing as I’ve ordered a broccoli head this afternoon.

When the order showed up I had one kilo of carrots and a broccoli head to wash, dice and blanch ready for freezing and that took longer than I would have liked. And while it was all preparing itself, I put away some of the things.

Not all of them, because I was feeling the strain this afternoon. I could only work in ten-minute spells and then I had to go to sit down for half an hour to recover. I was really feeling the strain and frustration this afternoon.

Tea was one of these nice burgers in a bread roll with baked potato and a vegan salad, followed by strawberries and cream (yes, we had a Leclerc order this afternoon). And it really was delicious too.

Tomorrow for tea we have aubergines so I might make an aubergine and kidney bean whatsit with pasta, followed by yet more strawberries.

However, that’s tomorrow. Tonight, I’m off to bed ready for dialysis tomorrow, I don’t think

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about brain surgery and the like … "well, one of us has" – ed … It reminds me of the time after one of my car accidents when I was sent to the hospital for a brain scan.
At first, I was rather worried but half an hour later the doctor did his best to reassure me.
"Don’t worry" he replied. "We’ve examined the x-rays and we’ve found nothing."

0

Saturday 7th June 2025 – I HAD NOTHING ON …

… the dictaphone again last night. That is, of course, extremely depressing from my point of view, but ss I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … if you don’t go to bed until 01:00 and you’re wide-awake again at 04:40, you haven’t really had all that much time to go anywhere.

It’s still quite disappointing though, because I enjoyed my nocturnal rambles, even if I did keep on falling over members of my family, and I wish that they would start up (the dreams, not the family) soon.

Last night I dillied and dallied through my notes and a few other things and, as I wasn’t feeling in the least bit tired, I found a few other things to do to waste some time. In the end, though, I called it a night – or a morning – and staggered off to bed.

As usual, I fell asleep quite quickly but as I said just now, it wasn’t for long. I checked the ‘phone when I awoke and it was 04:40 – far too early to raise myself from the Dead so I loitered around, trying to go back to sleep but in the end, gave it up as a bad job

The first thing that I did was, as I promised, to take advantage of the peace and quiet of the early morning and dictate the radio notes that I’d written the other day. That will save me some time on Saturday night

The bathroom was next. I had a good wash and scrub up, and even a shave in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant this afternoon, and then went into the kitchen to sort out the medication.

Back here, I sat down and in a mad fit of enthusiasm (and God alone knows where that came from) I began to edit the radio notes that I’d dictated earlier.

The sound on my recorder is back to being all over the place and it took an age to adjust the controls so that I had something passable without sounding as if I had been dictating with my head stuck inside a bucket.

Isabelle the Nurse came along as usual, and she noticed that I had another weeping oedema, and how I am fed up with all of this too. I really did think that I’d seen the back of all of these problems, but apparently not.

After she left, I made some breakfast and read some more of MY BOOK. Today, we’ve arrived at York where our author has spent several pages extolling poetically the virtues of the city and the area without mentioning once anything to do with medieval Military Architecture.

But that’s the story of this book, really. As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … it seems to be a guide book for the benefit of the more-informed tourist rather than, as I was hoping, a serious treatise and discussion on the important aspects of Medieval Military Architecture

Back in here, I carried on with the editing of the radio notes and by the time that my cleaner put her sooty foot in the door to sort out my anaesthetic patches, I’d just about finished them. Tomorrow, I’ll assemble the programme.

After my cleaner left, I didn’t have long to wait for the taxi, and even though we had another passenger to pick up, we arrived at the dialysis centre early.

The problem was though that so did everyone else, and they weren’t ready for us. And when they let us in I found that I’d been moved to the bed the farthest away from the entrance. As I’m slow when it comes to moving about, I was the last in bed and so the last to be coupled up.

When they came to deal with me, I told them about the oedemas and although the doctor didn’t come to see me, he recommended that they reduce my dry weight and increase the fluid extraction. I’ll go along with that until they start talking about this “four hours” and “four sessions” again. I’ve had quite enough of that kind of talk.

Today I was in a little room all on my own and no-one came to bother me. I should have been revising my Welsh but instead I drifted in and out of sleep for most of the afternoon. I really was feeling quite exhausted after my very short night’s sleep.

At the end of the session I had to wait for a while for the taxi to show up so we were just as late arriving back home as we would have been had we set out late for the outward trip.

At the building I went into the new apartment to do some more measuring of distances that I needed. One thing that I really did notice was how much easier it is to go into there rather than to struggle up all of these stairs. That’s one thing to which I shall really be looking forward when I finally do make it downstairs permanently – none of these 39 Steps or whatever they are to struggle up here.

However, that’s not for right now. I still had to struggle back up here and sort myself out.

Tea tonight was a vegan salad with baked potato and falafel, followed by ginger cake and soya dessert. The vegan salad was laced with some home-made vegan garlic mayonnaise that I made yesterday but forgot to mention. And it really is excellent.

So right now, I’m off to bed. I was planning on finishing off the radio programme but I’m still quite tired so a good night’s sleep will do me good. But if I can’t sleep or if I awaken early, I can always deal with the radio programme too.

Something else that I have to do tomorrow is to sort out my apartment – plan what I need and talk to the people who are involved in all of this. I need to push on rapidly.

But seeing as we have been talking about home-made mayonnaise… "well, one of us has" – ed … I was talking to someone about making my own mayonnaise.
"That’s supposed to be a rather religious experience isn’t it?" she asked
"Not that I know about it" I replied
"Someone wrote a hymn about it though, didn’t they?"
"I’m sure that they didn’t" I answered
"Yes they did" she insisted. "It goes something like ♬ ‘mayonnaise have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord’ ♬ "

0

Friday 6th June 2025 – I ACTUALLY HAD …

… a lie-in this morning, believe it or not.

Yes, there I was, lying stinking in my pit this morning as late as … errr … 05;50, and isn’t that a change from the last couple of days?

And not only that, I was in bed as early as 22:00 too. It really was a difficult night last night and I couldn’t keep on going any longer, having already fallen asleep twice while writing my notes. I dashed through everything as quickly as possible and crawled into bed, and that was that.

Nothing whatever awoke me until 05:50, as I said just now. I lay festering for a while and then decided to show a leg as there’s no point in just lying there doing nothing when there’s plenty to do.

The first thing that I did was to finish off writing the notes for the radio programme that I’d started on Wednesday. That’s now all ready for dictating on Saturday night, or maybe on Saturday morning if I have another dramatically early morning tomorrow.

The next thing was to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. Having told that charges would be likely to follow after this interview, Mr Blake requested leave to return home and organise some of his affairs and would return in due course. This was granted and he left the police station heading for home.

As is sometimes the case, I remember nothing whatever about this dream. It’s far from complete of course, and so I wonder what was involved in the rest of it As long as none of my favourite young ladies weren’t involved in it, it’s not important.

Later on, I was coming back from dialysis. It was my favourite taxi driver who was bringing me back. We were talking about my medical situation and the news that I’d had from Paris. She was extremely sympathetic about it but there was nothing that anyone else could do. We had quite a chat until we reached wherever it was that we were going. Then they had to use some kind of plane to skim down part of my body so that it would fit into a machine. They had to take me into a special room to do that and that was when I awoke.

And here we go again. As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … I have enough issues with dialysis during my waking hours. When I go to sleep, I’m supposed to be relaxing. I’m going nowhere fast if I’m going to be worrying about it during the night.

Isabelle the Nurse turned up as usual and wasn’t hanging around. But she noticed yet another oedema blowing up on my leg – the right one this time – and weeping. This is really too bad. I went through all of that a year or so ago, and for quite a while too, but I really did think that we’d seen the last of it when it all healed up last autumn.

So now, once again, I’m covered in plasters. I have two on my left forearm covering the dialysis punctures, one on my left shoulder where I had the vaccination the other day, and now one on each shin. If it carries on much more like this, I shall end up being wrapped up like an Egyptian mummy.

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

This whistle-stop tour is pushing on now at a hell of a rate. We’ve blitzed through half a dozen castles, including the magnificent pile at Whittington that I know so well, and we’ve arrived at Wigmore Castle where I don’t suppose that we’ll be spending too long.

But being sidetracked on several more occasions, I now have a copy of a book that summarises the sources from which, in the 12th-Century romancer Chrétien de Troyes wrote his legendary stories about King Arthur. The summariser tells us that the work has been translated into English before, but it needs a translation in the modern vernacular to bring it up-to-date.

However, seeing as the summariser was writing in 1840, I would love to see one of these earlier translations.

After breakfast I came in here as I had a couple of telephone calls to make and also to send to my cleaner my order from the shops for this weekend.

After that, I went downstairs to my new apartment where I had a video conference for ninety minutes with my architect friend, discussing my plans for the kitchen. It’s turning out to be much more complicated than I was hoping, but it’s one of these things that you can really only do once and I don’t want to do it again, so it needs to be correct.

It’s like most of these places. The more that you start to do, the more you start to find and the more that needs to be done. But when you buy an apartment in a building that was erected in 1668, what on earth did you expect? It’s not a Listed Historical Building, a National Treasure of France, for nothing.

My cleaner came to join me down there afterwards. We had another look around, checked the measurements and had another think.

For example, I came to the conclusion that there’s a pile of wasted space in the bathroom. For example, you could swim in the washbasin there and lounge about on the worktop at the side. I’ve decided that maybe that can be filed under CS and I’ll buy a smaller until with sink. Then I can have a larger shower instead of a cramped 70cms affair.

Back in here later, my cleaner supervised while I had a shower – the first for a couple of weeks now that the scar on my leg from the hospital has healed correctly. And I do have to say that I needed it. It’s been quite complicated this last while.

However, between about November 2023 and September 2024 I didn’t have a shower at all because I couldn’t climb into the bath, my cleaner’s insurance wouldn’t allow her to help me and I didn’t want to have a shower when there’s no-one around to supervise in case I have a fall. It was only when I was taken in charge by that Organisation that deals with autonomy that my cleaner’s insurance would authorise it.

The rest of the afternoon has been spent discussing kitchens, working out plans, thinking about designs and so on, and then discussing them with my architect and the guy who is (hopefully) going to do it all. We’re a long way off being in a position to do anything, but things should now move along quite rapidly seeing as we now all have the same plan.

Tea tonight consisted of air-fried chips, vegan salad and some of these vegan nuggets, followed by ginger cake and soya dessert – delicious as usual

So right now, I’m off to bed to see how I sleep tonight. You never know – I might one of these days manage to sleep until the alarm goes off. Wouldn’t that be nice?

But seeing as we have been talking about mummies … "well, one of us has" – ed … Nerina and I went to Egypt once, where some local offered me 50 camels in exchange for her.
After thinking for quite a few minutes, I had to decline his offer.
"That was very sweet of you" she said "but why did it take you so long to reply?"
"I had to think about how I might be able to take 50 camels back home on the aeroplane."

0

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

Friday 16th May 2025 – AS YOU MIGHT …

… have guessed already, it was rather more of the same again this morning. Yet another early start.

As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … it’s pointless going to bed early because all it seems to mean these days is that it’s a correspondingly early start the following morning.

The benefit is probably something to do with the fact that I’m usually so tired in the evening that going to sleep at that point is a good idea, but would I be so tired in the evening were I not to awaken so early in the morning? It’s one of those conundrums that ca go on forever.

So last night after tea, I put my back into everything and had finished all of my notes as early as 22:30. There was then the statistics and the backing-up to do and after the bathroom to prepare myself for bed, I was under the bedclothes by 22:50.

And that reminds me – seeing as we are talking about the statistics … "well, one of us is" – ed … the ones that I take here are a far cry from what I used to take down on the farm. I counted once and there were at that point no fewer than 22 readings to take, and quite a few of those involved a lengthy trip down the field to take readings of rainfall and of the temperature in the greenhouse, etc.

Those were the days, of course. I had a huge pile of notes that I was slowly entering into a spreadsheet ready to publish a report, but alas! I was overtaken by events, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall.

So once under the covers I wasn’t awake long. Not at all. And I can’t remember anything until I awoke.

It was vaguely becoming sort-of light outside so I looked at the ‘phone to find out the time. It was just about 05:29, far too early to leave the bed. I tried to go back to sleep again but I gave that up as a bad job and at 06:10 I was up and about.

After a good wash, I went into the kitchen for the medication and then came back in here to have a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. It was a friend’s birthday and he was going to have a big party round at his house. Unfortunately, for some reason, I couldn’t go so I was spending the weekend doing something else. I lent him my vehicle, a Triumph Herald estate, for a short while while he organised himself. While I was in my little apartment in Manchester on the edge of the city somewhere, I happened to look up and there on the flyover going past in the distance was my Triumph Herald Estate with this guy driving it and someone whom he’d picked up from the railway station. I thought “how surprising. That’s really a coincidence”. As it happened, seeing as this birthday party didn’t work out too well and I spoke to my friend later on, I asked him how it went. He said that the guy whom he’d picked up from Manchester was OK for a while but once we came round to the subject of birthdays and wrapping presents he had a meltdown. It didn’t go down very well at all. I told him that that was a shame. I asked him if he had been in Manchester on the Friday evening. He replied that he had. I told him what I had seen of this Triumph Herald estate and two people who looked like him and his colleague etc. He agreed that it could well have been his … fell asleep here … so that was the situation. He told me that it was in fact him – that it may well have been him who was coming back from Manchester on that Friday with that guy in that vehicle

This actually does remind me of a real event, except that it was a different friend whose party it was, I was the one who went to pick up the other friend, it wasn’t the railway station in Manchester either and it wasn’t my Triumph Herald. I did have a Triumph Herald estate once, in the days when I was going through about one car every week, recycling cars that were on their last legs before they eventually made their final trip to the scrapyard

He also explained that things didn’t go very well in general, that he had ended up with all of his possessions out all over the floor while he was trying to sort things out. His friend tried to help him a little with some architecture and some property renovation but to no success. He was perfectly glad that today was on the point of drawing to an end.

This is presumably related to the first dream, but the people are actually the wrong way round in it

That dream went on and I could also use my own plate and the car as something from under my netball work tournament that in the 258 cars and the 278 cars that could be pieced together and never go very much but he got away with this but was extending by whose place he was going to use for camouflage but he wanted to hand the car back to the previous owner to mark him right again

As for whatever this is about, I have absolutely no idea.

In the end I had my light blue Opel Ascona as a taxi. The area where I operated was round the South of Wales. The plate had gone back to its owner and I was making do with a fitted kitchen and the escort who looked very much like Marie Rhiwabon was looking at her charms saying that she wasn’t ready to come home for at least another hour which disappointed me because I was in a hurry to be home

This story has a great deal of actual significance, even down to the car, but it didn’t take place in South Wales.

The third and fourth dream are quite interesting. For the benefit of new readers, of whom there are more than just a few these days, although I’m asleep when I’m dictating these notes (and “falling asleep” means that I go silent and after a minute or so you can hear the heavy breathing as if I’m talking to some strange woman on the telephone) when I come to transcribe them, I usually have a slight recollection of the events coming back from the depths of my subconscious. However, for these latter two, there was absolutely nothing whatsoever.

The nurse turned up as usual and I told him about the quote that I received from his friend. "But you don’t understand how prices have rocketed since Covid and the war in Ukraine" he said. He really does talk the most extraordinary bulls … errr … nonsense.

After he left, I made breakfast and read some more of MY BOOK. We’ve now left Montgomery Castle and having passed by Morlais Castle (which is in that part of England known as “Glamorgan”) we’re now at Norham Castle in Northumberland.

Norham is an important castle situated on the English side of the River Tweed. It played an important rôle during the conflicts between the English and the Scots. The town itself is the site of a well-known Saxon Church in which are said to be the remains of the Saxon Bishop Saint Ceolwolf, translated there at some date in the first half of the Ninth Century,

A curious fact about the town of Norham. It was a personal possession of the Bishops of Durham so even though it is right at the far north of Northumberland, it was considered to be an enclave of the County of Durham until the passage of the Counties (Detached Parts) Act 1844.

So when will we begin to talk about the military architecture of the castle?

Back in here I sorted out a few things that needed my attention, and then for the rest of the day I’ve been Woodstocking. I’ve now finished all of Saturday and I’m well on the way to dealing with Sunday – the final day.

Saturday’s programme should be interesting though. For a one-hour programme, I’ve one hour, twenty-five minutes and six seconds so far and by the time that I will have finished reading it though again, it’s likely to expand even more. The big question is not “what to include” but “what to leave out?”. That was the story of my life when at University – word-counts were the bane of my life.

There were the usual interruptions too. My cleaner put her sooty foot in the apartment, there was lunch, there was a disgusting drink break or two too. But for a change, no-one bothered me on the ‘phone.

Tea tonight was falafel with chips and a vegan salad followed by chocolate cake and soya dessert. The chocolate cake is running low and I reckon that next weekend I shall have to make another cake. If I remember, next week I’ll ask my faithful cleaner to find some fresh ginger and I’ll make a fiery ginger cake.

But right now, I’m off to bed, to see if I can actually manage a nice, long sleep. It’s dialysis tomorrow so I’m likely to be pretty wasted afterwards.

But seeing as we have been talking about word counts … "well, one of us has" – ed … it reminds me of something that I heard a long time ago while I was at school.
"There was a young man from Japan
Who couldn’t make limericks scan
He said “my old bean
I know just what you mean
But I always do my best to fit as many words into the last line as I possibly can."

0

Friday 2nd May 2025 – AS I HAVE SAID …

… before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … there’s not much point in going to bed early because all it means is that I awaken correspondingly early.

So when the alarm went off this morning at 07:00, I was already in the kitchen sorting out the medication, having already done the necessary in the bathroom.

But retournons à nos moutons as they say around here.

Last night I really was feeling quite queasy and uneasy and after I finished my notes at 22:20 and it wasn’t very much later than that when I hit the sack.

Once I was in bed it took a few minutes to settle myself down and once I did, then that was that. I remember absolutely nothing else.

That was until 05:50 when I had another one of those dramatic awakenings that I have sometimes. I lay in bed tossing and turning and trying to go back to sleep, but when I heard the electric water heater switch off at 06:20 I gave up the ghost and arose from the Dead.

After the good scrub and the medication, I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone. Unfortunately, there was no Zero last night. However, there was a rock festival taking place. I was asked if I would deal with the sanitation issues so I tried several aspects of the toilets, several different designs, and in the end I simply went for the large pit with a big wooden board with holes over it. I had to supply all of the paper and everything like that, arrange to have the pits pumped out and it began to become extremely complicated. I began to wonder whether or not I’d bitten off more than I could chew with this. First of all, of course, I didn’t know how many people were going to attend – if it would be something like Woodstock with a 50,000 crowd limit but half a million people who appeared.

It’s a little-known fact that as part of my Degree in Environmental Technology, I have a Diploma in Environmental and Pollution Control so not only can I design a fantastic waste disposal site for you, I would be quite happy to design a sanitation system for a major festival. It’s clear though that I have my Woodstock Festival on the brain right now. I really ought to crack on and finish it instead of messing about so much.

And then I stepped back into that dream later. After we’d installed what we needed to do, a couple of other people and I, we went for a walk into town. We could see the crowds coming away from the festival behind us. They had obviously just installed their things. We thought that seeing as we were ahead of the queue coming up the hill, maybe we should go to the shops and buy some food because we had a suspicion that the food was not going to last anything like as long as the festival. We saw all kinds of things. We even saw them digging holes as if they were ready for graves. We entered a supermarket and began to look around and select things to put in a small basket. They had some of these iced buns with white icing crosses on them. They looked really nice so I said that I would have one. The girl with us put her hand inside and grabbed hold of one. She began to eat it. I thought “this is probably not the best advertisement for us that there could have been”. She was telling us that in the local paper that day there was a letter from a guy who had tried to come to the festival but couldn’t make it. He had written a huge, enormous letter of complaint to the shop that the shop had published in the newspaper.

One thing that you will find, if you listen to my radio programmes on Woodstock this coming August, is that food was a major issue at the festival. Many people gave no thought whatsoever to food, and the organisers had counted on 50,000 people, not 500,000 turning up.

The nurse didn’t have too much to say for himself this morning or, if he did, I paid no attention. And after he left, I made breakfast and carried on reading MY BOOK. We are, as I expected, still in the Tower of London and so far, there has been nothing controversial in what he has said. That is rather disappointing.

Back in here, there was plenty to do today. The first task was to finish off choosing the music for programme 260403. That took longer than it ought because I didn’t have half of what I needed and some of it took some finding.

While I was at it, I also took the opportunity to research for the programme for the following week, 260410. That should be an interesting programme and no mistake.

Once I’d assembled all of the music I went for a disgusting drink break and then my cleaner appeared to do her stuff. After I’d prepared for my shower and washed my clothes, she helped me into the bath to have the shower, and it was delicious.(the shower, I mean).

While I was under the shower the ‘phone rang. So after I was out and my cleaner had gone, I rang the number back.

It was the taxi company who had ‘phoned. Apparently my authorisation from the Social Security only lasts for one year and it had now expired. I needed some more paperwork from the hospital.

Not exactly sure of what I needed, I rang the hospital. It sounded so complicated to me that in the end I gave the hospital the taxi company’s ‘phone number and left them to fight it out between them.

Liz rang me after that and we had a Rosemaryesque chat of over an hour, split in two because the hospital ‘phoned me back midstream to tell me that they had sorted it out between them, the paperwork had been e-mailed and everything was to go ahead as normal. And so I could continue my discussion with Liz.

It’s been ages since we chatted but she’s been up to her eyes in grandchildren for the last while, what with one thing and another. We had a really good chat about lots of different things, which was nice.

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that the other day I was having “another think” about my apartment renovation. Liz and Terry have an “in” on a certain Social Network group so between us we worked out an advertisement that we could publish on there about the work that needs doing. And not only is it now published, it’s also had some response.

It’s just a shame though that they don’t live in this area otherwise I would have had them come and do it in a heartbeat. We all worked so well together as a team and in that really hard winter of 2010-2011 when it was too cold to work in the Auvergne, we went up to Brussels to my centrally-heated apartment and blitzed it from top to toe in just six weeks.

Liz has really good taste too and that helped a lot, to add some nice little touches to the place. And between the two of them, they managed to keep my feet firmly anchored to the floor instead of soaring off on some flight of fancy. It would be worth any price whatever to have them here doing the work, even if I had to hire a holiday let for them for a month on top of whatever they would want to do the job. However, you can’t turn the clock back and once people have retired, they want to enjoy themselves.

Having sorted out everything else I went one better than David Crosby, probably because last night I wasn’t feeling up to par. It increases my paranoia like looking at my mirror and seeing a police car. But I’m not giving in an inch to fear because I promised myself this year. I feel like I owe it to someone.

Finally I could sit down and edit, remix, pair off and segue the music for programme 260403, miles behind time as usual, but ask me if I care..

Tea tonight was air-fried chips, vegan salad (with more of my delicious home-made vegan mayonnaise) and some of the vegan nuggets that I’d bought from Noz the other day, followed by chocolate cake and soya dessert.

In between preparing and eating the food I made myself a very small 200-gramme loaf. I’m out of bread at the moment so until I have the time to make something on Sunday afternoon, that will keep me going. With the new water gauge, the loaf turned out to be spot-on. That was a good purchase.

So now I’m off to bed ready for dialysis tomorrow afternoon (I don’t think). However, it’s the Welsh Cup Final between TNS and Connah’s Quay Nomads.

The Nomads are desperate to win as it’s their only avenue into Europe but they are currently managerless after a very poor season by their standards so we shall see. There were three clubs in the Welsh Premier League, The Nomads, Y Drenewydd and Aberystwyth, who lost several of their bigger names in the last close season and their recruitment was simply just not good enough. They have all paid the price for that.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about me being able to build a decent waste disposal site … "well, one of us has" – ed … I mentioned that to Liz
"You’ll need to go out on the street and collect some rubbish then" she said.
"I refuse" I replied.

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Saturday 19th April 2025 – THAT WAS EXHAUSTING.

Four hours in dialysis with the machine going full-tilt. It’s enough to finish anyone off. But at least I’m down to my target weight so with a little luck I might only have to stay for three and a half hours on Monday. We shall see.

Things might have been different and I might have been less exhausted had I gone to bed earlier instead of hanging about until some stupid kind of time, but there we are … "or were" – ed ….

To make things worse, it was a miserable night and I don’t think that I had much sleep, waking up here and there every half hour or so. At one stage I was even planning on leaving the bed but I gave up that idea quite quickly.

When the alarm went off I was however fast asleep and it was, as you might expect, a desperate stagger to my feet to beat the second alarm. And in the bathroom I had a good wash ready for Emilie the Cute Consultant at dialysis, and I hand-washed my socks, undies and night attire.

After the medication I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone and to my surprise, I had actually been out and about on my travels during the night. A girl was being examined for some kind of issue with her legs. She’s on a kind-of operating table on her back with her legs in the air and they are examining them. The doctor tells her to put them into the neutral position which she tries. After a little manipulation … "PERSONipulation" – ed … the surgeon or doctor manages to put her legs into some kind of neutral position. He tells her “well, that’s much easier, isn’t it? Perhaps you should have done that at some kind of earlier point in the examination or even beforehand, but I’ll make a mark now to let them know where it’s all correct”.

It’s much easier for me – I simply press “CNTRL-Z” and that puts any selected 3-D object or character into a neutral pose. That dream did remind me somewhat of some of my 3D work when I was living down on the farm.

And then I was back in that dream … "which dream?" – ed … later on. Some thieves had stolen a train with the ammunition on it. They were heading off for wherever it was. They were taking their time, not in any rush, and had stopped to have a meal somewhere. In the meantime, a group of Indians had been removed from a town and were not happy. They found these men and explained to them what was happening and that there was a train on its way towards them. What they did was that they started up the train and set it to going back down the line with all aboard at the maximum permitted speed of seven mph. When they were just a few hundred yards away from a collision they leapt off the footplate and the trains ploughed into each other. Carriages were destroyed, carriages went everywhere. They were saying that over 200 people were killed, including 131 in one carriage. All the wagons ran loose and even sheltering behind the rocks was not saving them from the wagons rolling up on them. There was even a railway wagon that had come from Russia on board this train and it rolled to a stop right at the feet of one of these robbers.

That plot sounds just like a cross between the plot of THE WILD BUNCH and that of A FISTFUL OF DYNAMITE, two films that spend a lot of time on my playlist. As for the wagon though, whilst Russian wagons ring no bells with me, regular readers of this rubbish will recall that we once encountered a railway box-car with “Alaskan Agriculture” on it.

Now there’s an oxymoron if ever I saw one.

The nurse was chatting to me this morning, telling me what I should do about the situation in the apartment downstairs. When he finished, I told him that I had a letting agent who was doing all of that. "But still …" he said, and started again.

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

We’re still in Kenilworth Castle where, on page 147, this rather peculiar paragraph caught my eye. What do you make of this? "The character of the ground makes it probable that the Norman fortress had but one entrance. This could not have been on the east, west, or south fronts, as the ground was low and marshy ; nor on the north, where the ditch is wide and deep."

The next thing that caught my eye was on page 150 where he tells us "the succession of great events which led to the death of the earl, and the celebrated siege of Kenilworth, belong to the history of England rather than to that of Kenilworth, and form one of its most interesting and most valuable chapters. The subject has fallen under the pen of Mr. Green, and has found a place in the pages of the Archaeological Journal (vol. xxi. p. 277), where the course of the events is disentangled, and very clearly narrated, and their political significance and bearing upon the constitutional history of our country treated in a manner both brilliant and profound"

He then devotes several pages to telling us about the Siege of Kenilworth.

Back in here, I carried on with the remote repairing of Rosemary’s computer. She is now connected to the internet with the aid of an Ethernet cable (but not the Wi-Fi) and has an antivirus installed. She ran a scan of the computer which came up with nothing (which was a pity because I had hopes for that) and when my cleaner arrived to fit my patches and I had to go, she was performing a deep scan.

After the cleaner had fitted my patches I had to wait for my taxi and was packing my bags for my next Paris hospitalisation when it pulled up. It was the boss again and we had a chatty drive down to Avranches.

Late in meant late coupled up and with a four-hour session I could see that it was going to be late. The blood pressure is set to be tested every half-hour and every half hour the nurses had to come running because of the wailing machine, complaining about my unbelievably low blood pressure today

In the end they set the machine to every fifteen minutes, so they had to come twice as often.

While all of this was going on, I was trying to watch the football. Caernarfon were playing Cardiff Metro for the privilege of finishing fourth. There wasn’t as much skill as I would have expected but it was an exciting game that roared from one end to the other.

And if ever there was a game of two halves, this was it. The Met had most of the play in the first half and were leading 1-0, quite deservedly, at half-time. But whatever Richard Davies put in his team’s half-time cuppa, I could do with a swig of that myself. The Cofis came out of the blocks at an incredible rate, had most of the play in the second half and eventually won 2-1.

And I’ll have to be careful what I say at dialysis in the future. A nurse and I were talking about my diet and Emilie the Cute Consultant heard it from across the room and came to join in. I hope that she can’t hear me call her “Emilie the Cute Consultant” when I’m here and she’s there.

It was a very, very weary me who staggered to the car to come home and I was glad to be back. Coming up the stairs was a very long, hard trudge tonight.

So having had my tea of baked potato, salad and breaded quorn fillet followed by chocolate cake and soya dessert, I’ll dictate my radio notes and go to bed. I don’t think that I’ll be awake long tonight and I’ll be surprised if I awaken early, but dialysis is a funny thing.

But seeing as we have been talking about acute hearing … "well, one of us has" – ed … it reminds me of the snail, the tortoise and the sloth having a party when they run out of beer.
They draw lots and the tortoise loses, so they send him to buy more beer.
Three weeks later they begin to complain. "We should never have sent that tortoise" said the snail. "He’s so lazy and bone-idle"
"I know" said the sloth. "For all the good that he does, he may as well not be here"
Just then a voice from outside the door shouts "if you lot continue to bad-mouth me like this, I shan’t go for the beer at all!"

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Friday 18th April 2025 – I HAVE HAD …

… a visitor today

My tenant has finally decided to present herself to me this afternoon.
"What do you want to do about the kitchen in the apartment?" she asked.
"If you look behind you" I said "you’ll see some kitchen units in boxes. I ordered them, paid for them and had them delivered a long time ago. It’s rather late in the day to tell me about yours"

She then began a long complicated spiel about the difficulties she was having with the apartment for which she has signed.

However, I cut her rather short. "That’s not my problem" I interjected. Then I proceeded to tell her what my problem was. I explained my medical issues, in rather forthright terms and how she was contributing to them. I told her that I had proposed an exchange of apartment but she had refused.
"But I can’t walk upstairs. I have this bad back"
"Madam" I replied. "In case you haven’t noticed, you’ve just walked up 25 stairs this very minute to speak to me. Your medical problems are obviously nothing like as bad as mine and I have to do that at least three times per week on crutches"

We carried on with that kind of chat for a couple of minutes and then I interjected once more, saying "I have nothing more to add to the matter. If you have anything further to say, you must say it to the letting agent" and I escorted her to the door.

Now she can walk the 25 stairs back down again.

She’s obviously not received the letter that I sent to the letting agent this morning because I have now decided on a course of action.

Gotthold Lessing once famously said "better counsel comes overnight" and that’s certainly true, especially when you have had a lot of night in which to think.

Having dashed through everything last night, I was finally in bed by not many minutes after 23:00, which made a very pleasant change. Looking forward to a good night’s sleep, I curled up under the bedclothes and made myself comfortable

When the alarm went off at 07:00 I had been up for an hour and a half. So much for my idea of a good night’s sleep. Of course, it’s dialysis night but it’s usually Saturday night / Sunday morning when I have sleeping issues. So it must be my guilty conscience preying on me.

But when you are awake at 05:05 and don’t leave the bed until 05:28 you have plenty of time, all nice and peaceful, to think of a plan.

My plan was firstly to go into the bathroom and have a good scrub up. And then into the kitchen and have my medication.

Back in here, armed with a mug of instant coffee, I sat down and listened to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I came home from school and found my mother doing her usual things, talking, and then our father came in. He was talking about a couple of things that he was intending to do in the future. One of them was “we have to pack because we are moving”. This took everyone by surprise. He said “we’re moving to London – I have a job down there. I already have the house and it’s all ready for us to move”. “Oh God!”. My mother and I were completely taken by surprise because he’d never said anything to anyone. We hadn’t put our house up for sale and there were still lots of little tasks that needed doing. The first thought that went through my mother’s mind was “I bet he hasn’t bought a house. He’s probably rented a room somewhere for us and the next stop will be two rooms and a bathroom then some kind of council house”. My mother was very dispirited. So was I. I said “I don’t want to go”. She replied “that’s not like you. You’re always wanting to move on”. I replied “yes but I want to move on to my place on my terms, not go down to south-west London”. My mother replied “you aren’t obliged to go, are you?”. I replied “no, but I’ll have to find a job, all that kind of thing, leave school”. My mother was worried about all kinds of tasks that needed finishing off, like the garage floor, all of that, but it never seemed to change anything and we were just extremely unhappy and dispirited by it all.

That is in fact just like my family. They never ever planned anything for the future. It was always a question of carpe diem quam minimum credula postero as Horace would have said and “make it up as you go along”.
.
Another intriguing thought is “why did I say “South-West London” “? I actually lived in Wandsworth once for a couple of months, that’s true. I was so fed up listening to someone’s sad tale of “never finding work” and having an excuse for every suggestion that I made, that I took action.

What I did was to place an advert in one of these local papers in South-West London – mainly because it was the only area of London that I didn’t know very well – and within 48 hours I had a room lined up. I caught the train down and found my room, dumped my stuff and went for a walk.

Around the corner was a pizza restaurant advertising for casual kitchen staff and delivery drivers (evenings) and a few doors down was an Employment Agency with an advert in the window looking for bus drivers to drive schoolkids around mornings and evenings. So within 20 minutes of arriving at my digs I was effectively in full-time employment.

It really was that easy.

When my mother said that not wanting to go was not like me at all, she was perfectly correct. I was always the adventurous one. If I had had my way, our family would have immigrated to Australia under the “ten-pound Poms” scheme in the 1960s.

After I’d finished, I sat down and wrote out my letter to the letting agents, the one about which I talked earlier. I set out all of my medical issues and all the action that I had taken to date vis-à-vis my tenant.

And here’s the crunch. The lease will definitely finish on the due date. And if she wants to stay on afterwards, she can do so – but on hotel terms and conditions and at hotel rates too. I finished with “these terms are non-negotiable. It’s ‘take it or leave it’ and I want to hear no more of the matter. The discussion is finished”.

The way she came upstairs and went back down after having rejected my home exchange offer eighteen months ago “on health grounds” has only made me more determined.

The nurse came round to sort me out and I asked me if he knew anyone in the Mafia. He seems to know everyone else who might be disreputable. It might come down to asking “Luigi and a couple of the boys” to help me do a home removal, and we’re not talking about my apartment either.

Once he’d gone I could make breakfast and read more of MY BOOK. We’re still in Kenilworth Castle having a good wander around looking at the architecture. And nothing has happened that is controversial as yet.

But seeing as we have been talking about breakfast… "well, one of us has" – ed … my hot cross buns were absolutely exquisite. Just as they ought to be, in fact. This is a real success.

Back in here, there was more discussion. Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that I should have had a ‘phone call from the UK last week. However, due to a family emergency it never happened.

Today though, we had a very lengthy exchange of messages, discussing the finalisation of phase one of my project and the projected start of phase two. We’ve had an estimate of sorts for the work and we discussed other work that we could also include. All we need to do now is to save up some money

Next task was to finalise my LeClerc order and send it off. They had almost everything too, and acceptable substitutes for what was missing.

We haven’t finished yet either. My niece and a couple of my little great-nieces (or great little nieces) contacted me for a chat and we had a lovely time together. Amber has just finished her exams and is quite confident that she’ll graduate in May. It’s streamed live and so she’ll send me a link.

Her High School graduation was streamed live too and I enjoyed watching it. It’s really hard to believe that in December 2003 she was such a tiny baby and I was bouncing her up and down on my knee in a car in a howling snowstorm in the Appalachians of Maritime Canada.

My first disgusting drink break, late that it was, was interrupted by the arrival of my cleaner who set about her afternoon’s task

After she left I could make a start on my Saturday At Woodstock, but not for long because my LeClerc order arrived and I had stuff to put away. With the LeClerc order came the tenant, about whom I spoke earlier, so I had her to deal with too.

Finally, I had everything put away (well, almost) and so I sat down to restart my Saturday At Woodstock.

And no sooner had I started then Rosemary rang. Just a short ‘phone call today – one hour and thirty-eight minutes. I forgot to mention earlier that I’d been speaking via text messages to Rosemary throughout the day, helping her to fix her computer at a distance.

It’s hardly a mystery that she’s having so many problems. I finally managed to receive her “SysInfo”. Her OSbuild is 5371 and mine is … errr … 5737, 360 rebuilds later, and mine’s not new. And her operating system is dated Seventh August … errr … 2020.

What I suggested to Rosemary is that she comes to help me move (if I ever do) and brings her laptop with her. I’ll fit one of my spare 250GB SSD units in it and give it a clean install from new.

What with one thing and another (and once you start, you’d be surprised at how many other things there are) it was a very late tea of salad, air-fried chips and some of those vegan nuggets, followed by chocolate cake and soya dessert. All really nice, that’s for sure.

So horribly late, I’m going to bed. It’s dialysis day tomorrow. But what a day that was today. I’m glad that it was a Day of Rest. What would it have been like had I been busy? Just about everything happened today and that makes a change from the usual.

But seeing as we have been talking about Italian restaurants … "well, one of us has" – ed … a new Italian restaurant opened in Crewe and I went for a job as a delivery driver.
Nerina thought that I was crazy going for that job and that I’d never have it
However I did succeed in my application and when I saw her in the street later I gave her a wave as I drove pasta.

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