Tag Archives: bouquet granvillais

Monday 6th July 2026 – WHEN THE ALARM …

… went off this morning, I was sitting in my chair, working. I’d actually been up and about for 45 or so minutes, and when was the last time that that happened?

But anyway, last night was another one of those nights where I couldn’t seem to push on and finish everything. While I was writing my notes, I had a plate of crackers and the vegan cream cheese in front of me, and I managed to finish all of that, right enough, but it still ended up being a horribly late night again.

Once I was in bed, I was asleep quickly enough, as usual, but once more, not for long. Round about 01:20 (I checked the time) I awoke, and that was that. It was another one of those nights where I tossed and turned, trying to make myself comfortable as dawn very slowly began to break.

Round about 05:30, I was wide-awake and with no apparent possibility of going back to sleep, I decided to raise myself from the Dead – although it took a good while to find the energy and the courage to do so.

However, I’m glad that I did because I managed to dictate the notes that I’d written ages ago for three radio programmes. It’s only one small chip off a very large block, but at least I’m making a start.

What was interesting about this, though, was that when I awoke, it looked as if it might be a bright, sunny day but within a period of fifteen minutes or so, a thick mist had appeared and I couldn’t even see the car park from here. “This bodes well for the rest of the day,” I thought.

When the alarm sounded, I was just finishing off the third so when I was ready, I went and organised myself in the bathroom, having a really good wash and even a shave in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant this afternoon at dialysis.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. However, I needn’t have bothered because there wasn’t anything there. After all, if you don’t sleep, you can’t really dream, can you? Either that or my subconscious is totally exhausted after last night. Instead, I found plenty of other things to do. There’s no shortage of work around here.

Isabelle the Nurse breezed in as usual and chatted away for a while as she sorted out my legs and feet. And after she left, I had another lengthy struggle to raise myself up from the chair in the dining area to go to make my breakfast.

While I was eating, I was reading some more of A HISTORY OF ARCHITECTURE by Charles Freeman.

He’s managing to steer clear of controversy again today – but only in general terms. We’ve finished with Egyptian architecture, had a whistle-stop tour of Persia (which he liked) and India (which he also rubbished) and have now arrived in Greece.

We’ve not been in Greece even a couple of lines before he begins to wax lyrical, with eulogy after eulogy of praise for what started out as simple “post and beam” architecture of the type that he rubbished at Stonehenge. Consequently, we end up with paragraphs such as "Indian, Egyptian, even Persian art, is grand, striking, awful, but it is not, in the highest sense, beautiful : it exhibits power, and even genius, but genius coarse and unrefined, unfettered by the laws of taste and the perception of elegance ; its ornaments are grotesque and fanciful, its magnificence cumbrous and excessive. For grace, simplicity, and loveliness, we have still to look to that wonderful people, who, after the revolutions of so many ages, yet remain the centre of all intellectual greatness, whose history still furnishes the best lessons in the science of man’s political and social being ; whose literature must remain to every age as the ground-work of every intellectual study ; from whose poets we derive our first ideas alike of all that is lovely, and all that is sublime ; from whose philosophers we learn the first principles of the first of sciences, the laws of thought, and of the passions which stir the human breast. Such was the glorious land of Greece,"

So here we go again. Art isn’t architecture, as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … And the Persian kings such as Cyrus, Cambyses Darius and Xerxes were busy trying to build empires, so their buildings were supposed to be impressive in order to awe the leaders of subjugated nations by their power and magnificence, as I have also said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed …

After breakfast, I went into the bathroom, where I went one better than Dave Crosby, probably because I’d had the ‘flu for Christmas and wasn’t feeling up to par. So anyway, I’m not giving in an inch to fear so I set to work.

Back in here later, I had a few more things to do and then checked over the radio programme that will be broadcast this weekend and sent it off for inclusion in the stream. After that, I spent some time planning my next radio programme.

That took me up until my faithful cleaner arrived to apply my anaesthetic. And while I was preparing my bag ready for dialysis, she was going through all of the various prescriptions that I had. One or two of them were expired so she gave me a big bundle and asked me if I could ask the doctors for a new prescription, but with everything on it instead of having half a dozen pieces of paper.

While I was waiting for the taxi, I had a bit of a tidying-up session. There were some clothes hanging about, so some went into the laundry basket and my thick winter jacket, I hung up on the hook over the front door. And there, I made a huge discovery.

When I left the Auvergne, I was convinced that I’d brought three fleeces with me, but after all this searching for all this time, I could only ever find two. But when I went to hang up my jacket, there was the third fleece, on a hanger on the hook. How long has that been there?

The taxi was late arriving and we had to pick up someone else on the way. Consequently, I was late arriving at dialysis. However, to my surprise, they came to deal with me straight away and I was up and running by 14:20. Once again, though, it was a pretty intense session and I wasn’t at all looking forward to it.

Mind you, the connection wasn’t ‘arf painful. The guy who was doing it is here temporarily from St. Malo and rather than feeling gently for the correct spot, he just thrusts the needle straight in. However, although it’s quite painful, the pain doesn’t last very long.

As usual, they set the machine to take my blood pressure every half-hour, and so every half-hour a nurse came running over as the alarm sounded. My blood pressure is habitually very low, quite often below the “alarm” setting, and it’s no cause for concern but they still keep running over “just in case”.

Unfortunately, Emilie the Cute Consultant wasn’t on duty today, but the duty doctor took my prescriptions and wrote out two new ones, one from her for the medication and the second from the dietician for the disgusting drinks. And I see that now I’m expected to have four of them each day. I’m not sure how I’m going to find the time to drink them, never mind do anything else.

When the session was over, I was unplugged quite quickly too. Once again, my weight was just as Saturday – one of the lowest measures that it has been for years. Now I was ready for a nice, early start to go back home, but the taxi wasn’t and I had to wait about ten minutes for it to put in an appearance.

It was the young, chatty guy who came to pick me up, and as I was the only passenger, we had a good chat about not very much all the way home, and I was here by 18:40, which makes a nice change.

My cleaner was there, waiting to help me into the apartment (and I needed it too), and after I collapsed into a chair, she passed me a disgusting drink. I suppose that she thought it a good way to revive me, and after the miserable failure of the other day with an energy drink, she was probably right.

After she left, I made myself a quick meal. A mixture of kidney beans, mushrooms, tomato, onion and garlic into a taco roll which I ate with rice and vegetables. And I enjoyed it too, which is just as well because Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, there’s football on the internet as the Welsh clubs sally forth to do battle in European competition, so I won’t have time to prepare a meal.

Back in here afterwards, I had a few things to do and then I began to write my notes. However, I’d hardly written the first line when a huge wave of fatigue overwhelmed me. I didn’t recover either afterwards and, as usual, I thought that there’s only one place to be at a time like this.

Interestingly, I’m noticing that it always seems to be right after dialysis when this happens and I have to go straight to bed. I wonder what’s going on with whatever it is that they are doing to me while I’m there.

Anyway, before I go, seeing as we have been talking about the thick mist … "well, one of us has" – ed … it reminded me of a true story told to me by a woman with whom I once worked.
She told me that she was coming home from Liverpool to Stockport and there was such a thick mist that she couldn’t see where she was going. She was sure that she’d missed a turning and was now hopelessly lost.
As she drove up to a traffic light, she saw that in front of her was a lorry that belonged to a company in Levenshulme. "What luck!" she exclaimed. "I’ll follow it home and I’ll work my way out from there!"
After about an hour or so, the lorry came to a halt in a yard, so she went over to the driver and asked "whereabouts in Levenshulme are we exactly?"
"Madam," he replied "this is our depot in Preston."

Saturday 4th July 2026 – I HAD NOTHING ON …

… the dictaphone this morning.

Not that that’s any surprise, because if you don’t sleep, you can’t dream, can you?

Well, to be honest, that’s not exactly true. I was in bed by 23:15 and asleep quite quickly too, but only until just after 02:00, when I awoke.

That was rather necessary, for reasons that many people of my age will understand, but once I’d finished strolling the parapet and climbed back into bed, that was that. I just lay there and watched dawn slowly break.

When I checked the time at one point, it was 06:19 – ten minutes before the alarm, so I thought that I may as well claim an early start. I sat upright, put my feet on the floor and switched off the alarms.

As usual, it took a while to build up the courage and the enthusiasm to stand up, but once I was upright, I staggered into the bathroom for a good wash, and also a shave in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant this afternoon.

Back in here, with nothing on the dictaphone, I found plenty of other things to do, and it was just as well that there were because Isabelle the Nurse was late today. She told me a little about her four days’ break as she organised my feet and legs, and then she was off on her way again.

That meant that I could make breakfast and read some more of A HISTORY OF ARCHITECTURE by Charles Freeman.

Today, he’s not being as controversial as he has been, but he still manages to come out with another tirade about what he calls “barbarism” – "All the distinctive features of the architecture point to this origin, and we may more especially observe that we here find the key to all those peculiarities which stamp upon it a character of barbarism. First of all, its great massiveness may be well derived from this source. In a constructed building, such massiveness implies a greater expenditure of time, labour, and material, than is required in a lighter style; in a mechanical view at least it is a sign of rudeness and imperfection, occasioned either by the mistaken idea that greater strength is thus necessarily obtained, or by an actual want of sufficient skill to produce the same strength with a less amount of material."

Once again, he’s forgetting that the reason why many of these Greek temples survived was because they were quite often situated in unassailable positions. Those that were accessible to an invading army were swept away with comparative ease. But it was very, very rare for one of these massive, over-engineered stone castles of the Middle Ages to be taken by assault. If they fell, it was usually due to starvation or treachery. You build a building in accordance with what you intend to do with it.

Back in here, I carried on with what I was doing and then began to look at the following radio programme. This one will be quite complicated and I don’t have half of the music that I need, so I spent quite a while hunting it down to see what I could find.

At midday, I went to organise myself ready for dialysis and when my cleaner turned up, she applied the anaesthetic to my arm. After she left, I waited for the taxi (which was a few minutes late), but I fell asleep at the kitchen table. I was having a lovely, exciting dream which I was enjoying so much, but when the doorbell rang, it obliterated absolutely everything, which was a shame;

It was one of my favourite drivers today, and she didn’t hang around. In fact, we ended up at dialysis five minutes early. Even better, there was only one person ahead of me so by 14:10, I was up and running.

They couldn’t leave me alone, though. They’d set the blood pressure to be taken every thirty minutes, so every thirty minutes, the low-pressure alarm would ring and a nurse would come running. My blood pressure was the usual low reading between 8.5 and 9.5 so there was no cause for alarm, but they were worried because it was another one of these mega-extractions today, just like Thursday.

And when I finally did manage to drop off for a little nap, someone came over to do something by my bed and awoke me. It really wasn’t my day. Unfortunately, it wasn’t Emilie the Cute Consultant. In fact, I didn’t see a doctor on the wards at any time today.

Still, at 17:10, the alarm rang to say that the session had finished, but I had to wait a little while for them to come over and unplug me. And I was absolutely exhausted too. It had been another session with the machine going flat-out, and you’ve no idea just how tiring that is for me.

Once they had finished with me, I could weigh myself, and I’m now at the lowest weight that I have been for many, many a year – well below my “athletic” weight. It’s actually giving me some kind of concern right now;

So I staggered off wearily to the entrance lobby where my driver was waiting – the same driver who had brought me, which was nice. Unfortunately, we had to go off to find another passenger at the hospital across the road and drop him off on the way home, so it wasn’t as early back home as it might have been. Still, 18:30 is a lot earlier than some returns home have been just recently.

My faithful cleaner was waiting for me as usual, and she helped me into the apartment (and I needed the help too), where I collapsed into a chair, thoroughly exhausted after that session.

Later on, I made myself some tea, a baked potato, a small salad and a burger on a bun with cheese, mustard and salad dressing. And although it was only a small meal, half of it still went into the bin. I managed the burger, some of the potato and some of the salad, but that was about it.

After the washing-up, there were a few things to do, and then I began to write my notes for today.

Halfway through, I felt the need for an enormous stretch, and that did me the world of good. I felt so much better after that. Just a little relax now, and then I’ll carry …

"ZZZZZZZZZ"

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about mediaeval castles … "well, one of us has" – ed … I once took a friend’s ten-year-old daughter to visit Beeston Castle.
As we were walking up the steps onto the walls, I told her "just think – seven hundred years ago, there used to be kings and queens, dukes and duchesses, soldiers, knights and bishops walking up these steps"
"Yes" she replied. "It’s obvious"
"Is it so obvious?" I asked her
"Ohh yes" she responded. "They didn’t have lifts in those days."

Friday 3rd July 2026 – WHEN I AWOKE …

… it was 21:15 and I have never felt so ill in all my life. I just sat here in the chair and couldn’t even move a single muscle. It took me an age before I even began to think … "so what’s new?" – ed …

Eventually, I pushed my chair … "it’s a good job that it’s on wheels" – ed … over to the bed, slid across and went back to sleep almost straight away. No notes, no back-up, no stats, no medication, still fully dressed and with the shutters wide open. It’s not that I didn’t care but I just didn’t have the energy to do any more than roll over into bed.

That was how it remained until about 03:00 when I awoke. I thought that this was going to be another one of those nights where I lie awake for hours, but in fact, I was soon back to sleep. However, when the alarm went off at 06:29, I simply switched it off, switched off the second alarm, reset the alarm for 08:00 and went back to sleep.

The next thing that I remember was the nurse turning up at 08:05. And I was still in bed too. I must have somehow slept through the 08:00 alarm, although that’s really surprising, given the racket that BILLY COTTON makes.

It took me about forty-five minutes to come round to my senses … "what senses?" – ed … and then I headed off to the kitchen to make breakfast.

While I was eating, I was reading some more of A HISTORY OF ARCHITECTURE by Charles Freeman.

He’s describing the standard design of a portico to many an Egyptian building, and finishes by saying "The outline is, of course, most barbarous and uncouth, as nothing can well be more unpleasing than the sloping walls in such a position,".

However, he then goes on, in the same sentence, no less, to add "the general effect of such a prodigious bulk of masonry living with images must be awfully magnificent."

And here, although he doesn’t realise it, he’s hit the nail fairly and squarely on the head. The design isn’t at all meant to be pretty. It’s meant to be “awfully magnificent” – to overwhelm the visitor, to impress and to menace visiting royalty from other places and to frighten the unwary. It’s what I’ve been saying all along – that architecture comes before, and a long way before, art.

A little further on, still talking about the portico, he says "One of the magnificent engravings in the great French work on Egypt gives a vivid idea of what an Egyptian temple must have been in the days of its glory ; representing the whole architecture and enrichments accurately restored."

So come on, Mr Freeman, you can’t have it both ways.

Back in here, I sent off my shopping order to Leclerc, wrote up the notes for yesterday, which are now on line, and then turned my attention to the dictaphone to find out what had been going on during the night.

I was in London last night, and one of my father’s friends was there. He was driving around on the North Circular Road and ended up somehow on the pedestrian footway and became jammed in an arch underneath the railway bridge and couldn’t move his car. We couldn’t move it either. I was staying with some friends from the university and it wasn’t a very happy evening for some reason and I wasn’t enjoying myself so I decided to go to bed early. Next morning, I had a good lie-in and went into the kitchen. They were all sitting around there and it looked as if they had had a breakfast. They asked me what I’d been doing, and I told them that I’d been writing my university thesis, which was true. It was what I had been doing. No-one offered me a coffee, no-one offered me anything. I asked if I could make myself a coffee, but I couldn’t find the coffee. I had to hunt through the kitchen and eventually found a jar of coffee that was open. No-one offered me any food so in the end, I left. I was walking through the area around King’s Cross and the crowded shopping streets when I thought that someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned round, and in the distance was someone holding up a big, blue envelope with the word “Darren” written on it. I walked on down the street, looking in the butchers, the fishmongers and all this kind of thing until I came towards the end of the road, where I met some people whom I knew. They were watching two people on one of these motor-trike things, the type with two wheels at the back. One of the wheels was smoking and I thought immediately that a wheel bearing had seized on it but they were still continuing to ride it, and we were saying that it’s going to catch fire before they’ve gone too long. However, they carried on and carried on and, in the end, the half-shaft parted from inside the axle. I thought that they had some really big problems now, but they still carried on. I walked on down to the end of the road, turned left and walked on down there a bit. I saw my father’s friend’s car still wedged under the bridge, then I turned left again to head towards the city centre and the railway station home. For some reason, it wasn’t Euston to where I was going but one of the stations that went out to the south of London. I walked down the road a small way and there was a baker’s there. He was busy arguing with a little boy but in the end gave him a stale bun, with which the boy ran off. I looked in the window and they had some of these raisin bread-and-butter puddings so I went in and bought a slice. A little further on down the road was a little British fish and chip shop. I’d seen someone with some chips earlier on, which had made me hungry so I went into this fish and chip shop and ordered a bag of chips. That was where I was waiting when the dream ended.

Regular readers of this rubbish in a previous version will recall that I did stay with some people from the university a couple of times, and the treatment that I had there was pretty much the same as the treatment that I had during the dream.

The walk through the crowded shopping street reminded me much more of the East End of London rather than King’s Cross, although not that I’d likely to be looking in any butcher’s or fishmonger’s window.

The silver Mk III Ford Cortina (because it was a silver Mk III) is interesting and I’ve no idea what was happening there with that, and neither with the trike losing a half-shaft. Mind you, with the Reliant van that I had, I was regularly stripping the splines off halfshafts because of the extra power in the all-alloy OHV engine that I fitted in place of the cast-iron side-valve engine.

And bread puddings? It’s been ages since I made a good old bread pudding, but with home-made bread, I don’t have the stale bread like I used to.

Two of my friends turned up last night. I was living in some strange house but I don’t know exactly where. First of all, one of my friends from the Wirral turned up and we were having a really long chat about the past. He was wearing some kind of strange black suit with white pinstripes but they weren’t lines, they were dots. We were chatting about all kinds of different things when another friend from the Midlands turned up too. The three of us were chatting for a while but for some reason, they didn’t want a drink when I offered them one. The third person, he said that he was on his way to IKEA so the second guy said that it would be a good idea. As it happened, I was planning to go there with my father that afternoon – it was a Sunday. So I rang my father and he sounded as if he had a cold. I asked him what time we were planning to go to IKEA but for some reason, he switched me over to a recorded message, so I hung up and called him back. He started a very long explanation about all kinds of different things, and in the end, I lost patience and asked “is that ‘yes’ or is that ‘no’?”. In the end, he replied “no” so I hung up and said that the three of us would all go together and I’d go to fetch my van. I walked down the street to where I’d parked it, but it wasn’t the van, it was a Mk IV or a Mk V Cortina, I don’t know. It was old and shabby and leaked a bit and misfired on one of the cylinders. However, I started it up and it seemed to run OK so I drove up the street to where the other two were waiting, put my foot on the brakes but the brakes took a while to work. I thought “I’d better sort out these brakes sometime when I can find five minutes to do it”.

Those two guys and their respective wives and offspring are welcome to turn up here any time they like, of course, just as are any of my other friends, but with what remains of my family judiciously avoiding contact with me (except for that lot in Canada), they can please themselves.

The Cortina sounds just like many that have passed through my hands at one time or another, Mk III, Mk IV and Mk V. Shabby, rotten floor, questionable brakes, and misfiring. But nevertheless, in some of the shabbiest of them all, I travelled thousands of miles with nothing going wrong that I couldn’t ever fix by the roadside.

Although I didn’t record this, it was ringing around my head when I finally awoke, so I suppose that I’d better write it down before I forget. I was in Main Road in Shavington last night – twice, in fact. Once with a girl whom I knew and I wish that I could remember who she was, and the second time with a friend of mine from school who now lives out in the wilds on an island off the coast of Scotland. We were walking down there “today” and I was pointing out the sites that I remembered from when I lived in Shavington. There was a site with three modern bungalows built thereupon and I said that I remembered that in the past, it was an old yard where something had been demolished a long time previously. Someone kept a couple of lorries on it but what interested me the most in those days was that there was always the odd derelict car on there being slowly dismantled. Every few weeks there would be a different one and I used to go down there regularly to see what there was. But then, I pointed across the road to a little lane that degenerated into a farm track, with a couple of cottages on the right-hand side. I explained that it was called “Pusey Dale” and I pointed out a green light right at the end. I explained that they were making a natural cemetery there and if all else failed, that was where I wanted to end up. But whoever put me in there must plant a yew tree on top of me so that I’d live on through the roots and branches of the tree.

Strangely enough, there is plenty of truth in that dream. There was a site just like that exactly as I described with a lorry or two and a couple of old cars on it. There really is a place called “Pusey Dale”, just as I described, and someone has indeed applied for planning permission to have a natural cemetery down there. And for me to be buried there under a yew tree would be quite an acceptable way to end, if the dustbin men won’t take me.

While I’d been writing notes and transcribing dreams, I’d had the washing machine going, and now it was finished, so I emptied the machine, ready to hang up the wet clothes, and went for a disgusting drink and the midday medication.

My faithful cleaner turned up next to do her stuff and to hang up the washing. While she was here, we chatted about nothing much, but I need to be more sociable here and there every now and again.

Leclerc eventually turned up, later than anticipated. While I’d been waiting, I’d been tidying out the fridge, making sure that there was a place for everything, so when I had all of the stuff, I spent a happy hour or so putting everything away where it ought to go. The place looks quite tidy now, and that’s not like me at all.

Later on, I went for tea. Vegan sausage, beans and chips. I made the chips as my friend advised – boil in water for five or so minutes and then fry in the air fryer to cook, with olive oil and a bit of thyme. And he’s right – they really do taste much better – much more like proper fish shop chips like in one of the dreams just now.

So now, having finished my notes, I’ll do what else needs to be done and then go to bed ready for dialysis … "I don’t think" – ed … tomorrow afternoon.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about cemeteries … "well, one of us has" – ed … there was the old hoary story about the American who visited a cemetery in the UK and was totally astonished by the size of it.
He buttonholed a passing yokel – a very vocal local yokel, in fact – and asked him "do people die here often then?"
"Oh no" replied the yokel. "Just the once, I think."

Thursday 2nd July 2026 – I AM ABSOLUTELY …

… drained. And quite literally too. They took almost three litres of liquid out of me today. In fact, I’m not sure how on earth they arrived at that figure because, according to my calculations, it should have been less than two litres. I don’t know where this figure of three litres came from.

It certainly didn’t come from last night because at some kind of stupid hour, I had to go for a walk on the parapet.

Last night was another one of those nights where I really ought to have been in bed a long time before I actually was. Instead, I dillied and dallied, dallied and dillied, lost my way and don’t know where to go and it was once again after 23:00 before I finally crawled into my nice bed.

Once more, I was asleep quite quickly, and once more, it wasn’t for long. At some point quite early on, the wind got up and the open window in my room began to bang against the shutter. No-one could sleep through that noise, certainly not me, so in the end I had to leave the bed and close the window properly.

While I was up, I thought that I may as well kill two birds with one stone and go to stroll the parapet, and when I finally came back in here, I discovered that the wind had dropped completely. That was a waste of half an hour, that was.

Back in bed, despite all of my best efforts, I couldn’t go back to sleep for ages, but I must have managed it at some point because I was flat out again when the alarm went off at 06:29 as usual.

Also, just as usual, it took me a while to summon up the courage and the enthusiasm to leave the edge of the bed and head into the bathroom to sort myself out, but once washed and dressed, and shaved in case I meet Emile the Cute Consultant this afternoon at dialysis, I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out what had happened during the night.

It was another one of these commune-type places with lots of people living in there, including me. We all came down for breakfast one morning, and it was the usual chaotic scene at the table with things everywhere. Someone went to unpack the things ready for today and pulled out the football, but it was burst so that was that. We went for breakfast and it was chaos. I knocked over someone’s bottle of water and all of this. In the end, someone asked “what are we going to do at the weekend?”. I thought, “well, it looks like it’s going to be a nice weekend so why don’t we go and have a picnic?”. So we all decided that we’d go for a picnic. Someone asked “what are we going to do for food?” so I replied that if everyone makes something and brings something, then we can all swap and have bits of this and bits of that. That all sounded like a good idea to them so that was what we decided to do. We were sorting out who was going with whom or whatever, and the woman who seemed to be in charge said “Eric, you go with Dyan”. I couldn’t think for a minute who Dyan was but I reckoned that when it’s time to go, she’ll come and find me. So we decided on this picnic.

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that I did once live in a commune back in the 1970s, but only for a few months and never ever again. “More capitalist than the capitalists” was the phrase that rang through my mind, as well as “what’s yours is mine and what’s mine is mine too”. I remember that I had a bit of luck with a job that I did and came out of it quite well. “Where’s our share?” a few of the others asked. “While you were out there working, we were sending you good vibes!” “OK,” I replied. “Next time you go out to work, I’ll send you good vibes too”. I ended up living in my van after that, and believe me, I wasn’t sorry.

However, if the Dyan concerned was actually Dyan Birch, I’d change my mind in an instant. She could come anywhere with me, any time she likes, as long as SHE SINGS TO ME. That’s the song that I want to be played right at the end of when they stick me in the ground, as long as it’s she who is singing it.

And there’s plenty of truth in the story about the picnics. We had them regularly in the Auvergne when I lived there. I’d always make a dish of curried lentils with peppers, sweetcorn, etc., and it was interesting to watch the reactions. The British and Dutch people would be going “God, Eric, what’s this insipid stuff?” and the French people would be fanning their mouths, gulping down pints of water and steaming out of their ears.

But all of that is in the past now, unfortunately, and as Joan Baez once sang, WE BOTH KNOW WHAT MEMORIES CAN BRING. THEY BRING DIAMONDS AND RUST

The nurse was early today and I was hardly prepared. He seems to be quite happy at the moment, which is no surprise seeing as he’s off on holiday on Saturday. He sorted me out quite quickly and was soon on his way. I could go into the kitchen and make breakfast, and while I was eating, I could read some more of A HISTORY OF ARCHITECTURE by Charles Freeman.

Today, he’s managed to steer clear of controversy, although he’s off again on his jingoistic, pro-Christian, anti-“heathen” ranting and it’s quite wearisome. As I have said before, he has quite evidently missed the point and is confusing “art” with “architecture”. And as I have also said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … with architecture, you have to start somewhere, and it’s bound to be primitive. And again, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Back in here, I had a few things to do and then I looked at the next radio programme. This one will be interesting because it will fall on the United Nations Day of Cultural Diversity.

Most people think of rock music as being something uniquely “Anglo-Saxon”, from Germany, the Netherlands, the United Kingdom, Ireland, the USA and the British “white” former colonies, but without even thinking too hard … "as usual" – ed … I can conjure up in my record collection easily a couple of dozen rock groups from outside that sphere, from places like Ukraine, Hungary, Greenland, South America, Central Africa and Asia, and plenty of other places besides, so I’m going to make a programme of rock music from these more obscure regions.

At midday, I knocked off to go to make myself ready for dialysis, and my cleaner turned up to apply the anaesthetic on my arm. After she left, I waited for my taxi and, surprisingly, fell asleep on the chair in the dining area. I was just setting off on a really interesting dream when the doorbell rang, and it wiped out every last memory of what had been going on, which was a shame.

The taxi was late, and there was another passenger on board. Her appointment was before mine, at the clinic on the other side of town, so of course it made more sense to drop her off first and then take me back to the dialysis centre, but it meant that I was running quite late. Nevertheless, when I arrived, I didn’t have to wait too long to be connected up, and we were off and running by 14:30.

Interestingly, and enjoyably, I was surrounded by no fewer than five beautiful girls at one point during the connection. I had a nurse, being shadowed by a new arrival who ended up doing the work to connect me, under supervision, and I do have to say that they were two of the most painless punctures that I have ever had, and the third nurse who always comes along to assist whenever I’m there. On top of that, one of the doctors came to see me to sort out a few things with me, followed shortly afterwards by Emilie the Cute Consultant. All I was short of was a nurse sitting on the end of the bed tossing grapes into my mouth, and maybe another one doing the Dance of the Seven Veils by my bed.

Once they had left me alone, there was football on the Internet. Last night, Stranraer had been playing a friendly against Renfrew of the Western Scotland League so I watched the game. There’s a lot of good football played in the Scottish non-league pyramid, mainly because it’s very regionalised and many good players in Scotland can’t commit to the travelling involved in the professional game. Stranraer won 2-1, but Renfrew certainly gave them a good game and you won’t see many better goals than the one that they scored.

Apart from the odd other interruption here and there, I was left pretty much alone until it was time to disconnect me, and that was done quite quickly too. It looked as if at one stage I might be home early, but I had to wait fifteen minutes for the taxi to arrive.

There was, once again, another passenger on board who wanted dropping off in Donville les Bains so it ended up not being as early as I would have liked. However, my faithful cleaner was waiting for me and helped me back into the apartment.

She gave me a disgusting drink and then left me to it. When I’d finished, I came back in here to begin to write my notes. But feeling just a little hungry, I went back into the kitchen and loaded my little push-along trolley with some crackers, some vegan cream cheese and a few slices of a honey spice cake to make myself a delicious snack.

While I was eating, I was reviewing my order for Leclerc. As I said yesterday, I’m not eating much these days, but nevertheless, I’m still running low on certain things, and as well as that, there’s a sale on their vegan products and it will do no harm at all to stock up the freezer with a few things for the future whenever I regain my appetite.

And as well as that, they have bottles of one and a half litres of clementine juice on sale at a ridiculous price and I can drink that all day.

So anyway, now that I’m satisfied with that, I’ll carry on writing my notes for today. But before I do, I’ll just have a big stretch, a little relax and a …

"ZZZZZZ"

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about picnics … "well, one of us has" – ed … a group of guys from college decided to go on a picnic by the river. It was so nice that they decided to go for a swim but, having no swimming trunks, they decided to go skinny-dipping.
Just as they were about to dive in, a boat-load of girls from the college came past, so most of the guys covered up their privates, except for one, who put a cover over his head.
"Why did you do that?" one of the others asked him.
"Well, I don’t know about you lot," he replied "but around the college, I’m known by my face."

Wednesday 1st July 2026 – IT WAS A …

… somewhat better day today. Mind you, after yesterday, almost anything would be a “somewhat better day”.

Not that the night was anything to go by. Despite every attempt that I made to go to bed early, it was as late as 23:15 when I finally crawled into my nice, clean interplanetary bed. And although I went to sleep quite quickly, it was another one of those nights where I was never sure whether I was awake or asleep. I’ve had a few of those just recently.

There was certainly a strong wind gusting at times and the shutters and the open window in here were moving around somewhat at times.

So I was drifting in and out of sleep, I suppose, never quite sure of where the boundary between the two lay, but one thing that I do know is that when the alarm went off at 06:29 as usual, I was fast asleep.

It was a better start today than yesterday in that I did manage to make it to my feet, which was more than yesterday. And when I’d finally managed to find the energy, the enthusiasm and the morale to move, I headed off into the bathroom to sort myself out and to dress.

Back in here, first job as usual was to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night.

There was some big meeting going on and I was there. I’d decided previously that that particular day was going to be the last day that I was going to go to work. I couldn’t remember if I’d handed in my notice, but I was determined that I was going to leave at the end of that particular afternoon. So I was at this meeting and there was a big crowd there who were all hemmed in. It turned out that the person there on my right and the person on my left were working for a big coach company. One of them noticed me and asked me if I worked at Shearings. I told them that I did and we chatted a bit. Then I took one of my business cards out and wrote on the back my name and ‘phone number and that I had a PSV licence and an operator’s licence and that I could speak French, Flemish and a little German and that I was experienced driving coaches on the Continent. I handed the card to one of them, and they replied that they would definitely be in touch and put the card away somewhere. But I was spending more time worrying about this job – whether I had handed in my notice, whether I ought to leave that evening or stay on another month, or something like that, I don’t know, because no-one seemed to be in the least bit interested in the fact that I was going to leave, so I can’t think that I handed in my notice. That would be pretty dismal if I hadn’t.

This is a recurring dream, isn’t it? I’m overdue to retire, so am I going to leave or am I going to stay on for longer? I can’t remember how many times I’ve had this same dream but I bet that it’s well over twenty.

As for going back on the coaches, I wouldn’t do it now, even if I wanted to. My reactions have slowed down a lot since those days and I don’t really think that I’d be safe on the roads today. I’m content to go around in a taxi, even if it is only to dialysis and back.

The nurse was early yet again. He didn’t have much of any importance to say for himself and it didn’t take long for him to sort out my legs and feet.

After he’d gone, I could make breakfast, and while I was eating, I was reading some more of A HISTORY OF ARCHITECTURE by Charles Freeman.

Today’s outrageous comments include "The outward resemblance which the religion of Buddha — ” a diabolic mimicry of Christianity” as Frederick Schlegel expresses it, bears to some of the doctrines and ceremonies of the true faith, (rendering it thereby a more thoroughly hostile system than any other false worship", totally failing to understand that Buddhism has been around since more than 600 years before Christianity, so if anything is a parody of anything else, it’s Christianity that’s the mimicry, not Buddhism.

He goes on later to say "All these structures, Chinese and Siamese, show a very low state of real art. Mere rudeness in execution is a necessary stage in its development among any nation, and does not exclude majesty of proportion, or even a kind of beauty ; but we here see a manifest attempt at architectural splendour, without any perception of beauty whatever, but with a taste thoroughly depraved alike in composition, detail, and decoration. Real art is sacrificed to gaudy frippery, and, in China at least, fixed laws have for ever bound down every effort of genius, so that no improvement or development can be looked for."

What I am going to say next may sound strange to some, but I understood that I was reading a book about architecture, not about art. Architecture is much, much more than pretty designs carved into stone or woodwork. And beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Different peoples, different nations and different generations have different tastes and just because he and his generation in the UK find it “depraved” and “gaudy frippery”, that’s not to say that the people who built it did. They probably found it quite attractive.

And in any case, there is really no place whatever in any academic or semi-academic work for the kind of polemic that he is churning out.

Back in here, I had things to do, but not before I … errr … had a little “relax” for forty-five minutes. I’ll catch up on my missing sleep somehow.

Once everything was out of the way and I’d organised my disgusting drink and midday medication, I made a start on writing the notes for the next radio programme. It was a slow, awkward afternoon at first, but gradually it improved until right at the end, I was racing through it.

By the time that I was finished, though, I was exhausted and that called for another little … errr … relax, which took me almost up to 17:00.

It took me a while to return to the Land of the Living, but once I was back there, I went and prepared an order for Leclerc. Despite the fact that I’m not eating much right now, I’m still running low on certain supplies and I need to stock up.

And for a change, I made some food tonight. I was going to make myself some pie and mash, but when I opened the freezer for the pie, there was one of those frozen portions of spicy stuff that my friend had made one evening. And so pasta, veg and frozen spicy stuff in tomato sauce it was.

There wasn’t much, but even so, I struggled to finish it. And after the washing-up, I came back in here to finish off my notes.

Now that they are done, I’ll post them online, do what else needs doing, and then go to bed, ready for dialysis … "I don’t think" – ed … tomorrow. I wish that there was an alternative to this, but they’ve only given me one so far, which is to die. That’s not very encouraging.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about dying … "well, one of us has" – ed … I remember being ill in bed and Nerina was making some gorgeouus muffins with real chocolate chips in them.
While they were cooling, the smell was overpoweringly wonderful, so when she came in, I asked her "could I have one of those muffins?"
"No, you can’t" she replied.
"Why not?" I asked.
"I’m making them for after the funeral."

Tuesday 30th June 2026 – IT’S BEEN A …

… strange day today, and it’s felt like another Sunday, although I don’t know why.

Mind you, I got off to a dreadful start. Late yet again going to bed and although I went to sleep quite quickly, it wasn’t for long. Round about 02:00, I awoke and, despite everything that I tried to do, I couldn’t go back to sleep. It was another night where I watched, through the gaps around the shutters, dawn slowly breaking.

When the alarm went off at 06:29, I was flat out asleep. And although I’ve talked in the past about having difficult starts to the day, I promise you that there has been no start more difficult than this morning’s.

It was after about fifteen minutes sitting on the edge of the bed that I realised that I was never going to be able to stand up. I’d fallen asleep, I don’t know how many times, while I was trying. In the end, I decided that this was pointless, set the alarm for 08:00, climbed back into bed and went back to sleep. I can count on the fingers of one hand how many times I’ve done that in the past.

When the alarm went off, I was actually awake but still in bed. Getting up was a little easier and then I went to sort myself out in the bathroom. Of course, the nurse had to come early today, and he caught me in flagrante delicto in the bathroom. He had to wait a few minutes before I was ready.

After he left, I festered and vegetated for a while, and then I plucked up the energy to make breakfast. While I was eating, I was reading some more of A HISTORY OF ARCHITECTURE by Charles Freeman.

And off we go again. Having moaned at length about simple “post and beam” architecture, he carries on with "Such an one, as we shall hereafter see, is the architecture of Greece ; the earliest form of its column was a post driven into the ground or floor ; consequently a base for it to rest on could have no place until the original type was somewhat obliterated. We consequently find that the simplest and purest of the ancient orders is worked without that feature. Similarly in the Chinese architecture, which reproduces a tent just as the Grecian does a hut, (though an apology is due to the shades of Pericles and Pheidias for mentioning the two in one sentence,) the capital is wanting"

So “post and beam” architecture is no good, but a post without a beam is good if it’s Greek and bad if it’s Chinese.

Meanwhile, in respect of the ruins at Yucatán and other places in Central and South America, "The ruins however do not say much for the state of art among the people, whoever they may have been, to whom they owe their origin. They are essentially barbarous, and like all barbarous structures, seek to supply by cumbrous magnificence and superfluous ornament, the want of the higher beauties of grace and proportion. And we cannot fail to remark, even at the onset, that the same system of ornament which everywhere marks this stage of art is found here in great abundance. The ubiquitous chevron, which we have already seen at Mycense, meets us again at Uxmal and Chichen,"

Again, saying that the Aztec and Inca were barbarous is surely going way over the top.

It doesn’t seem to occur to him at all that the essence of “post and beam” architecture isn’t the art but the engineering. How did they move the big stones? How did they manage to raise the beams up to go on top of the posts? How did they do it so accurately? It’s all very well talking about art and decoration, but a huge part of the architecture is the effort that they put in, with the tools and equipment that they had (it’s easy to be artistic when you have the tools to do the work and the time in which to do it) to build it in the first place.

After another long relax, I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone.

There was some kind of investigation going on, and Seren was being interviewed. The name “Daniel” cropped up in the interview so the policeman asked her whether it was Daniel Hobbs or Daniel something else. She said that it was Daniel Hobbs so the policeman or whoever it was said that he was probably the better one of the two because the other one was under investigation for wanting to be with one of the teachers. I thought to myself that if it’s now a crime to want to be with one of the teachers, half of the boys who went to the same school as me would have been in prison a long time ago alongside some blow-up effigies of Miss Beddowes and Miss Leitch.

I’ve long since come to the conclusion that I’m not cut out to live in the modern world. I grew up in the days when boys could chat up girls and girls would either laugh, tell you to clear off or give you a fourpenny one around the lughole. The way things are now, I’d have been locked up a long time ago.

However, as for Miss Leitch and Miss Beddowes at school …

I was in Coventry last night, walking around doing some late-night shopping before Christmas. I’d picked up a few things here and there, but one thing that I’d forgotten to do was to empty my shoulder bag from the last time that I went shopping, so there was already some heavy stuff in it. I fought my way through a few shops and then I thought that I’d go to the pub where we usually go as a crowd. In there were loads of people whom I knew. There was one particular girl who seemed as if she were in charge of it but she and I had a really good rapport there so we’d fool around for a bit. I was standing in the doorway talking to someone and she pushed past me so I went and pushed her. She leaned back against my head as she was pushing and I ended up on the floor, so she complained about it, about my nose sticking in her back. Someone pointed out “well, he’s lying on the floor now. He can’t be doing that. Eventually, I stood up and she fainted. Of course, she had everyone around her trying to revive her. It ended up that she had, in fact, had some problems. Of course, having a crowd around her was something that she always liked so I left them to it and went to see my friend, and we had a chat. Then I went back out to do some more shopping. It was all the way down Earle Street in Crewe. I bought some sweets of the kind that I usually like but for some reason, they tasted horrible today. I went back to the pub where we met but I couldn’t remember which was the door. Eventually, I found it and climbed upstairs to the pub. I showed my friend one or two things that I’d bought but she didn’t seem to be all that interested, so I hung around for a while and then headed off home. I was walking back through Coventry and came past the cathedral in the mist. It was a cold, dark night and it was misty, and I was carrying my shoulder bag with everything in it that I had bought. It was just so heavy that I didn’t think that I was even going to make it home. All of a sudden, I was violently sick with all of these sweets that I’d eaten that had tasted horrible.

As I was transcribing this dream, a lot came back to me that I hadn’t written. For example, at 21:00 on a winter evening in December, there were still several refugee children, aged three or four or even younger, begging in the streets. What I showed my friend was a kit or accessory of some kind that plugs into a mobile ‘phone. It needed soldering and had a price tag of £12:99 but I told her that I’d paid a “couple of quid” for it. And the ruined, bombed-out cathedral was at the end of a park, with a small park on the right and a lake on the left. It’s nothing like that at all in real life. And even though it’s a midwinter night, there are hordes of people sitting all over it.

But it was definitely Earle Street in Crewe. I can still see the “Cheese Hall” pub on the corner by the market hall. Heading back up to Market Street, there used to be Tiko’s bakery and café, then the Britannia Building Society and then the Army and Navy Stores. The door upstairs to the pub (that doesn’t exist in real life) was somewhere in between those three and whatever else might have been there.

There were a few things to do, and they took an Age as well, but I was eventually able to start work on the next radio programme.

The arrival of my cleaner interrupted me, though. She organised the bathroom and then chased me under the shower. And one thing that she noticed was that it seemed to be much easier for me to go into the shower and an awful lot easier for me to come out of it. She thinks that I’m improving, although I’m not sure why.

There was a break then for a disgusting drink and the midday medication (hours late) during which we had a chat, and then after she left, I came back in here to find a nice, clean bed waiting for me, complete with my galaxy and asteroid quilt cover and pillow cases that I bought for myself at Christmas.

So now all of the music for the radio programme has been chosen, remixed and re-edited and in some cases reformatted, paired and segued. I’ll write the notes tomorrow if I’m feeling better.

But right now, I’m off to bed. A nice, clean me … "well, clean anyway" – ed … in nice, clean bedclothes in a nice, clean bed. What more could I want, except maybe Jenny Agutter and Kate Bush to share it with me?

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about dreams again … "well, one of us has" – ed … one of my friends asked me "weren’t you worried when that long dream started, in case it turned out to be another one of those nightmares like the other night?"
"To be honest" I replied "I hadn’t been so worried since I was in the Gentleman’s rest-room on Crewe bus station, standing next to Shakin’ Stevens."

Monday 29th June 2026 – ANOTHER DISMAL, DESPERATE …

… day at dialysis is coming to an end, and you’ll be surprised to hear, just as I’m surprised to be telling you, that I’ve actually had a meal tonight. Or, at least, something that actually passes for food.

But before I move on and tell you all about it, have you ever had one of those days when you’ve been working so intently that you haven’t noticed what time it is and you’re really surprised when you find out?

It was one of those evenings last night. Before I finished my notes, I mentioned that I had one or two things to do later before going to bed. And so, once the notes were online, I made a start. The next thing that I knew, it was 23:55 and I was about to turn into a pumpkin.

So I quickly closed everything down, went for my nighttime medication, and tidied myself up in the bathroom and it must have been about 00:30 when I finally crawled into bed. It’s been a long time since I was last up at that time.

Going to bed late is something. Sleeping is something else completely, and I had another one of those nights where I wasn’t sure whether I was awake or asleep. It’s really weird, this situation and I don’t know how to explain it. You can’t imagine anything like it until it happens to you.

One thing is certain though, and that is that I was definitely awake quite early. And when I finally had a look at the time, it was 06:21. And so I sat up in bed, put both feet on the floor and claimed an early start.

Having both feet on the floor is not quite the same as being up and about, not by a good fifteen minutes, but eventually I was off to the bathroom for a good wash and shave in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant this afternoon.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone, but as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … if you don’t really go to sleep, you can’t really dream, can you?

Not to worry. There are always plenty of other things to be doing to keep me busy, and in any case, Isabelle the Nurse was early today. She had had to take a blood sample at her office at 06:30 so rather than go back home and come back out later, she set off early on her rounds.

She’s off now for a few days but back on Saturday as the holiday season begins to kick in. Then, it’s total chaos;

After she left, I made breakfast and read some more of A HISTORY OF ARCHITECTURE by Charles Freeman.

He’s still waxing lyrical about the delights of Gothic architecture and Greek buildings, despite his dismissive remarks about “post and beam” architecture at Stonehenge, etc., but now he’s taking a swipe at Roman architecture too. "Not that great genius, sometimes real beauty, is not displayed in many specimens of the REVIVED ITALIAN ; but as a style it is, except as a warning, completely valueless. It is, in the first place, open to every objection to which the Classical Roman is liable, and is besides loaded with every species of fantastic vagary, of which imperial Rome, amid her worst corruptions, had never dreamed."

Whatever you might think about Roman architecture, this is surely going way too far.

Back in here, there were things to do, but not as much as I thought; therefore, I reviewed the next radio programme and sent it off to be added into the stream, and then made a start on another one.

Some music that I needed was really hard to find too and took quite a lot of tracking down, but I managed in the end and I think that I now have all that I need. This one should be quite an interesting one when it’s finished, whenever that might be.

At midday, I went into the kitchen to sort myself out ready for dialysis, and my faithful cleaner turned up to apply the anaesthetic on my arm. We chatted for a while and then she wandered off while I waited for my taxi.

And would you believe that I fell asleep while waiting? And not only that, I went off on a dream and I was well away with the fairies, although not in any manner that would excite comment from the editor of Aunt Judy’s Magazine. But then the taxi turned up, the driver rang the doorbell and the whole lot evaporated.

The driver was fifteen minutes late and we had to go to Jullouville to pick someone else up too. Consequently, we were quite late arriving at dialysis. It wasn’t until 14:35 that I was finally connected.

Emilie the Cute Consultant came to see me too. There wasn’t much fluid to extract today, but after she’d interrogated me about my health for a while, she wound the machine up. Then this three-hour session went to a different scale completely.

No one really bothered me during the session so that I could work, and crash out for half an hour too. I was unplugged quite quickly at the end of the session as well, but having to go to drop someone else off in Sartilly on the way back meant that it was still 19:00 by the time that I was back.

After my cleaner left, having helped me into the apartment, I made myself a bowl of pasta and veg in olive oil, black pepper and garlic, topped with grated cheese. I don’t know why, but I’ve been hankering after that all day. I must be pregnant or something, I suppose, although I don’t know how.

But right now, I’m off to bed. It was a bad night last night and I’m hoping for something better tonight.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about being pregnant … "well, one of us has" – ed … a woman went to the doctor for a medical examination. When she went back for the results, he told her "I have to say, madam, that you are three months pregnant."
"Ohh no, it’s impossible" she cried. "I’ve never ever had relations with a man."
At that, the doctor picked up his chair and went to sit outside.
"What’s the matter?" asked the woman.
"The last time that this happened, we had a star in the east and three wise men. I wasn’t born at that time but I’m not going to miss it this time around."

Saturday 27th June 2026 – FIRST SATURDAY BACK …

… at dialysis, and it wasn’t as ghastly as I was expecting. I mean, any time that I spend in a hospital or clinic and not at home is quite ghastly, but I reckon that I’ll survive this, one way or another.

After all, if I have survived all of these nights just recently, I must be doing something right, I suppose. It ended up being another late night going to bed but what helped in some way was having taken an antibiotic before retiring. Bizarrely, I didn’t have one single cough during all of the night.

However, that’s not everything, though. I awoke at about 03:20, for no particular reason that I could see, and then afterwards, I just couldn’t seem to go back to sleep. I just lay there, watching the clock go round and round and hearing the waste lorry come for the waste paper at 05:25 and I remember thinking “I may as well get up in a minute”.

The next thing that I remember, though, was the alarm going off at 06:29 as usual. I must have gone back to sleep.

It took the usual Age for me to gather up my wits, gird up my loins and then head for the bathroom. A good wash and shave in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant this afternoon, and then into the kitchen for my medication. The last Saturday of the month, so there are eleven to take this morning. But that’s still a far cry from when it was 32 over the whole day.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out what had gone on during the night.

There had been some kind of party taking place at our house so I had to move all of my LPs somewhere because we needed the room. After everyone had gone, Nerina began to sort out one or two LPs, but I just looked around at how depressing everything was, covered in crumbs, empty plates, and half-eaten sandwiches. I said to her “before you get those out, can we just clear this mess here that’s covering the table?”. “But there’s nothing there” she replied, so I told her exactly what I could see. She just made some kind of dismissive gesture and walked away. I didn’t know what was the matter with her. I hadn’t even asked her to clear the things away. I just thought that it was the next thing that we should be doing.

Quite often in the past, I’d be confused by the signals that Nerina was sending out. That’s the problem when you live with people of different cultures – they don’t react as you would expect. I know that at times, Laurence had problems understanding some of my reactions, but that’s no surprise because so did I at times.

When Isabelle the Nurse arrived, she allowed me into the kitchen to have my treatment and talked about the foot race that’s taking place this evening. Apparently, one of her daughters is taking part in it. And so, too, is one of the nurses from dialysis.

After she left, I made breakfast and while I was eating, I was reading some more of A HISTORY OF ARCHITECTURE by Charles Freeman.

And look at this for a bunch of mid-nineteenth-century jingoism. "What is the whole history of the East, the countless dynasties of China, India, and Egypt, with all their vast dominions, their early civilisation, and their fixed and ancient institutions, but a barren catalogue of kings, and priests, and conquerors, when it is viewed side by side with one living and stirring page of Greece, or Rome, or mediaeval Europe? One word from one man in a little town of Greece or Italy had ofttimes more effect on the future destinies of the human race than all the laws and victories of a thousand Shahs or Pharaohs."

And there’s much more in that vein too. Much, much more.

Once breakfast was over, I came back in here to carry on with the radio notes, and I am pleased to say that they are now complete and ready for dictation. In fact, there are piles of stuff that need dictating, but I’m really going to have to wait until this cough is completely gone before I try anything. It’ll end up being a total mess if I don’t … "so what’s new?" – ed …

Round about midday I went off to make myself ready for dialysis, when I was met by my cleaner coming in to fix my anaesthetic. We quickly organised ourselves, except that although I remembered the midday medication, I forgot the disgusting drink. I don’t know what’s the matter with me these days.

After she left, I had to wait for the taxi, which was a few minutes late. And it was the driver who used to always take me at one time, whom I haven’t seen for ages. I was his only passenger so we had a good chat all the way down to dialysis.

Once more, I was put into the new building up the hill, but not in a single room, unfortunately. They also have a ward with four beds in it and a side ward leading off that has two beds. I was in one of the beds in the side ward today.

However, I felt sorry for those in the main room. There was a woman in there who had had a very bad fall earlier in the day and was in absolute agony all through the session. She was screaming and doing all kinds of things, and it must have been very off-putting for those around her.

They told me that I only had to do three hours today, which is better than four, I suppose. And as there wasn’t much weight to lose, it was more like a leisurely stroll rather than a maximum effort flat-out affair. That suited me even better.

In any case, I was hardly bothered at all throughout the whole afternoon, which was even better. I was actually unplugged at 17:15 too, being one of the earliest to leave, so I was back here at 18:00.

It was the same driver who brought me home, and he handed me over to my faithful cleaner who helped me into my apartment.

After she had sorted me out and left, I made myself a sandwich. However, I only just about managed to eat it because, once more, it tasted of nothing but salt. My taste buds are all in a total mess since chemotherapy last autumn.

So now, I’m back in here finishing off my notes, ready so that I can go to bed. I’ve promised myself another Sunday lie-in but we shall have to see, as I’m not feeling very optimistic about that these days – at least, until I’ve finished this second course of antibiotics, and then “only just”?

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about jingoism … "well, one of us has" – ed … some of the worst jingoism these days comes from the other side of the Atlantic.
A few years ago, there was a Texan in a pub in Chester going on about how rubbish he thought the UK was. "I reckon that the Uk is the asshole of the world" he bawled.
"That’s right" said another customer "and I suppose that you are just passing through."

Friday 26th June 2026 – ANOTHER MISERABLE DAY …

… now over and done with, and I’m ready (I suppose) for an even more miserable day tomorrow.

Yet last night, it all had the air of sounding really good. I crawled into bed listening to the sound of the thunder and lightning and fell asleep quite quickly, thinking to myself “here comes a lovely day tomorrow”. But it wasn’t like that at all.

Firstly, I was awake quite quickly – before midnight, I reckon, but certainly without enough time to have been fully relaxed. And from there, I drifted in and out of sleep for quite some time. However, when the alarm went off, I was absolutely fast asleep.

At that point, when I awoke, I was feeling dreadful and it took me a while to haul myself out of bed. I went into the bathroom to organise myself, which took an age, and then came back in here, where there were plenty of things to do before Isabelle the Nurse arrived.

When she turned up, I was flat out, asleep in my chair, but today I was allowed into the kitchen for my treatment. She asked how I was feeling, to which I replied “dreadful”, and she probably agreed.

After she finished, she turned to me and said “you go and have a rest”, as if I needed any second bidding. By this time, I really wasn’t coping. So I went back into the bedroom, set the alarm for 11:30 and crawled back into bed.

It would have been a good sleep too had it not been for the spam ‘phone calls and all of that nonsense. I could really have done without that. But when the alarm did go off, I was feeling slightly better. Only “very slightly”.

Eventually I was able to stagger into the kitchen, where I began to make breakfast – at this crazy time.

While I was eating, I was reading my new book – A HISTORY OF ARCHITECTURE by Charles Freeman. When I say “new”, it was new in 1849, I suppose.

And once more, it’s full of endless introduction containing subservient prose – "This division of the subject, coinciding nearly with the First Part of the First Book, will be found, I am afraid, not very satisfactorily treated. It was a wearisome task, as I had to search through volume after volume containing copious dissertations on the antiquities of the different nations referred to," etc. – and also piles of incestuous flattery – "Detail has been already sufficiently treated of in several works, all of which have their use, while no popular work — unless the thoughtful and truly original volumes of Mr Petit can be ranked under that head — has yet paid much attention to the former." etc.

There is also, would you believe, a lengthy monologue on whether it is proper to talk about the architecture of peoples who were not Christian? Apparently, we should only consider art and architecture if it were designed by Christians. The rest should be considered unworthy of discussion. That’s probably the strangest thing that I have read so far.

Back in here, I transcribed the dictaphone notes to find out what had gone on during the night.

This dream involved one of my old Ford Cortinas, the red and black one that I had at one time. The idea was that we would be selling it and then going out for a day to ameliorate ourselves and let down our hair for a while. But we were talking about which, if we had much of a morning… fell asleep here … and my part of the handrail was pretty full with different things and I couldn’t really hold it up. I was beginning to have some real struggle with this and seeking a different if no-one comes along to help me on the other side, it’s going to be real … fell asleep here …

This looks to me as if it’s two dreams merged into one. I did actually have a red and black MkIV Cortina but it never introduced any words in French into my dreams, but it seems that the “falling asleep caused me to change tack somewhere along the line until I lost everything.

I was in Montlucon last night, experimenting with some kind of epoxy floor. It came in a block of something and there were thinners with it. You heated it up and added the thinners and then quite simply poured it on the floor, where it made a clear, epoxy kind of surface. Many people were buying this and putting pictures on the floor of their bathrooms and then pouring this epoxy fluid over the top or were using river cobbles to make a nice stone-looking surface and then pour epoxy over the top of that to bind everything in. I was on the north side of the town, the poorer end, and going into various places trying to find something to go with this floor. I was starting to notice just how intuitive it had become.

It looks here as if I’ve hit upon a new money-making plan. This sounds like a fabulous invention and I wish that I knew how to set about it.

I was with Nerina and Auntie Mary last night and were somewhere in North Wales. The idea was that we were going to put markings on ourselves to represent Native Americans. I had a lot of things like that so I brought them out so that people could help themselves. But no-one seemed to be interested in the authentic, genuine stuff that I was applying to my vehicle and myself, etc., and that was making me extremely disappointed. It ended up being an enormous row between me and several other people, and I had to go to wander away to calm down. We were in Caernarfon at this particular moment so I went for a walk around the village and saw the big modern bridge being built. Then I came back to tell everyone what I’d seen. They were all immediately interested in that, so much … fell asleep here … Anyway, then we were in a kind of supermarket and I was looking at the knives because I wanted a sharp knife for peeling vegetables. Nerina came over for a chat and so did Aunt Mary, who said that she had seen one with a crowbar on the top. That sounded quite exciting so she sent me to the alley where I began to look for the crowbar … fell asleep here … Aunt Mary said that she had seen a knife that had a kind of crowbar on top. I thought that that sounded interesting so we began to search through the range of knives to see if this crowbar one was there.

What a mess this dream was. I still don’t have a decent vegetable knife, I suppose, but where does “disguising oneself as a Native American” fit in with all of this?

As for a knife with a crowbar on top, I’m still trying to work this one out. I can’t even picture it.

From there, I began to make the preparations to finally start work. However, when my faithful cleaner arrived half an hour later to do her stuff, I was flat out again, fast asleep on my chair.

Her arrival, complete with the antibiotics from the pharmacy, galvanised me into action and I watched the rest of the East Fife v Queen of the South game that I’d started, and then I began to write the rest of the notes for the radio programme.

Unfortunately, I ran out of time with just two notes to write, as yet another problem cropped up elsewhere that needed my attention. And once it was resolved, it was too late to carry on. So I relaxed for a few minutes and then made myself ready for bed

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about crashing out … "well, one of us has" – ed … one of my friends used to boast "I always fall asleep by counting the number of girls I’ve taken to bed."
"What about counting sheep?" I asked him
"Ohh, shut up" he said. "I told you before – it was only that one time, and I was drunk anyway."

Thursday 25th June 2026 – AND FIRST, THE …

… bad news. I start back this weekend on three dialysis sessions per week. Apparently, once more Emilie the Cute Consultant has put her foot down … Mind you, she had to send an oppo out to bring me the bad news just in case I chose to argue or to fight. She doesn’t want to upset me that much, which is good news.

Actually, my cleaner and I have been expecting this for a few weeks now, ever since I saw the last complete set of blood test notes. They didn’t look healthy at all. Nevertheless, I was rather hoping to avoid the inevitable for as long as I could.

Anyway, last night after I’d finished everything that needed doing and was preparing for bed, something else cropped up And it ended up being well after 23:30 by the time that I slid into bed.

Now these days, things are becoming so confused. This last day or two, I’ve not been able to work out when I’m awake or when I’m asleep. There doesn’t seem to be a difference to me. So I’m not sure whether I’m falling asleep, whether I’m dreaming or whatever is going on. In fact, I seem to be in a right mess these days with all of this hallucinating or whatever it is that’s going on.

Consequently, I’ve no idea what time it was that I fell asleep or anything.

One thing that I do know is that round about 02:30, I had another one of these enormous twenty-minute coughing fits that led to yet another bout of vomiting, but anyway …

Seeing that I was awake, I decided to go for a stroll on the parapet and then I went back to bed. I suppose that at some point, I must have fallen asleep, because I remember another dramatic awakening, this time at 06:19.

There was no point going back to sleep at that point, so I put my feet on the floor and claimed an early start.

After the alarms had sounded, I went into the bathroom to sort myself out and came back in here to listen to the dictaphone. But I needn’t have bothered. It seems that I have forgotten how to dream, which is a disaster.

Instead, I found a few other things to do until Isabelle the Nurse turned up. Once more, I was banned from the kitchen and she insisted on dealing with me in here, which is not how I would like things, not in my own apartment.

Eventually, I managed to struggle into the kitchen and read the rest of “The Mediaeval Findings At Minnis Bay, Birchington, Site Of The Lost Settlement Of Gore End, Limb Of The Cinque Port Of Dover” by Trevor and Vera Gibbons. This was something that I downloaded FROM ACADEMIA.EDU.

It was one of those books that went out, not with a bang but with a whimper, and I do have to say that I was surprised by the “informal tone” of the book. Not in the least academic at all.

Back in here, I made a start on writing the radio notes. And by the time that I was ready to go and have a wash and shave, I’d written just over a quarter of them. I’ll finish off the rest tomorrow.

Having had a good wash and shave in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant this afternoon, I went into the kitchen to prepare everything for dialysis. My faithful cleaner came to join me and applied my anaesthetic to my arm, and then I had to wait for the taxi.

She was a few minutes late, and then we had to go to pick up someone else. Nevertheless, we were still early arriving in Avranches, and the good news is that I had been promoted to the new, air-conditioned building, complete with its luxurious single bedrooms.

The bad news is, though, that it’s not the same wi-fi password so I had to ask for another. And that took an age before the nurse brought it to me. I think that she was seeking revenge because the one who was dealing with me today was the one who nags me that I won’t do my own compression.

The doctor came to see me and told me the bad news about Saturday. However, she also brought me a prescription for another round of that mega-antibiotic that killed this cough off, temporarily, a few weeks ago. Let’s hope that it does the same this time too, only much more permanently.

Just because I was in solitary confinement doesn’t mean that I was left alone. They set the machine to perform a blood pressure test every thirty minutes, and each time, as the blood pressure dropped and dropped, the alarm bell rang and the nurses came a-running. They can’t seem to understand that although a blood pressure of 8/5 is extremely low in their eyes, it’s quite normal for me.

Once more, I was last to be unplugged but my chauffeur was waiting for me and we drove home through the menacing black sky. There’s a storm brewing, right enough.

There was a group of neighbours hanging around the front door, chatting, when I arrived. I joined in for a while and then my cleaner helped me into here. I changed my shoes and then came in here, ready to go to bed. I’ve had enough for the day so I’ll finish my notes tomorrow.

But as I climbed into bed, the flashes of lightning creeping in around the gaps in the edges of the shutters looked impressive. My cleaner, who has a view south towards Avranches, gave me a running commentary on the ‘phone as to how the storm was developing, but just as it was becoming interesting, I must have fallen asleep.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about thunder and lightning … "well, one of us has" – ed … there was a priest and a businessman playing golf on the golf course at Avranches during the storm.
The businessman went to make an easy putt to win the hole, but his ball ran past. "F**k me, I missed" he exclaimed.
"Really!" said the priest, totally outraged. "Kindly moderate your language in the presence of the Lord!"
However, at the next hole, precisely the same thing happened again. "F**k me, I missed" exclaimed the businessman.
"Really!" said the priest, totally outraged. "Kindly moderate your language in the presence of the Lord! He will surely send down a thunderbolt to chastise you if you continue!"
However, at the third hole, precisely the same thing happened again. "F**k me, I missed" exclaimed the businessman.
At that moment, one of the bolts of lightning came down and struck dead the Bishop of Avranches who was playing on an adjacent hole.
"F**k me, I missed" said a deep, booming voice from up in the clouds.

Wednesday 24th June 2026 – I AM FEELING …

… a little better today. So much so that

I haven’t gone back to bed at all today
I’ve actually managed to do some work

What about that for a day?

It wasn’t going to be like that, judging by last night. I was in bed by 22:30 and much to my surprise, I went to sleep almost immediately. But not for long, though. Round about 01:00, I awoke with another coughing fit and a need to go to walk the parapet.

Once I’d organised all of that, I came back to bed to try to go back to sleep, but no matter what I did, I couldn’t manage to drop off.

However, at 05:52 precisely, I suddenly awoke, bolt-upright as I sometimes do. So I must have been asleep, but for how long, I’ve no idea. But I wasn’t tired so I must have managed something decent.

After two or three minutes, I raised myself from the Dead and went for another ride on the porcelain horse, then into the bathroom for a good wash and to change my clothes.

Back in here, the first thing that I did was to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night.

We were sitting in one of my old Ford Transits, me, Seren and there was a third person too who might have been Seren’s grandmother. We were discussing recipes so I happened to jokingly mention “here is one of Seren’s that she invented while hunting for llamas up in the High Andes many years ago”. I began to talk about different products, and she came up with “High Andes hunting llama”. Are you going to take me?” I thought “maybe one year, when we are rich and famous”. But I have friends in Normandy who have llamas and I thought that perhaps one weekend we’d go across the Channel, stay for a weekend there and go to see this llama herd, but I didn’t want to say anything out loud because you can easily disappoint someone by promising something that you can’t actually deliver in the first place so it’s better to not actually say anything.

Strangely, at this precise period when all of this would have happened, I didn’t actually have a Ford Transit.

And it’s certainly true that I have friends here who have a herd of llamas, but I didn’t meet them until long, long after these events would have taken place.

Here they are, in all their glory, all three of them … "the llamas, not the friends" – ed … enjoying the evening sunlight in central Normandy.

As well as that, the chance of going anywhere with Grandma in a Ford Transit would be absolute zero and even less than that. A Rolls-Royce or nothing, if you please.

By the time that I’d finished, I was dying of thirst so I went into the kitchen for a disgusting drink. If I’m going to drink something, I may as well drink something healthy.

There were a few other things to do, and then Isabelle the Nurse arrived, wearing shorts this morning. She wasn’t in such a rush as yesterday, so I was allowed into the kitchen for the treatment.

Once she’d left, I resisted the temptation to go back to bed and went to make some breakfast – the first meal for forty-eight hours. And coffee too!

While I was eating, I was reading my new book, “The Mediaeval Findings At Minnis Bay, Birchington, Site Of The Lost Settlement Of Gore End, Limb Of The Cinque Port Of Dover” by Trevor and Vera Gibbons. This was something that I downloaded FROM ACADEMIA.EDU but I can’t find the link now.

As regular readers of this rubbish will recall, I have a strong affection for Minnis Bay. When we used to go to Birchington to stay with Auntie Gertie (honestly!), Minnis Bay beach was just a ten-minute walk across the fields and we would always be there during those summers of the late 50s and early 60s.

Back in here, I vegetated for a while and eventually began to look at that radio programme that needed finishing from last week. It took longer than I was anticipating, but eventually, all of the notes were written and I felt quite proud of myself for managing to do it, despite everything.

This called for a little celebration, so I duly honoured myself with another little sleep for good luck.

My faithful cleaner awoke me, bringing in a couple of boxes of juice. I’ve run out and I’m not likely to pass a Leclerc order for a couple of weeks yet so I sent her a message after breakfast. She duly carried out her task and brought me the results.

We had a good chat for a while, and then she wandered off to eat her lunch. I went for a disgusting drink and my lunchtime medication.

Back in here, I had a nice relax for a couple of hours – in fact, until about 15:00 – when I began the next radio programme. And by the time that I finished, all of the music had been chosen, re-edited, reformatted, paired and segued. That leaves me tomorrow morning and Friday to write the notes.

Anyway, there are just a few more things to do, and then I’m off to bed, for a good sleep, I hope.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about llamas … "well, one of us has" – ed … there were two guys walking past the farm when they noticed the animals.
"Look at that bunch of llamas over there" said one.
"Herd, herd" said the second. "Herd of llamas."
"of course I’ve heard of llamas."
"No, a llama herd."
"Why should I care if a llama heard? I have no secrets to keep from a llama."

Wednesday 17th June 2026 – LAST NIGHT, I …

… was actually in bed as late as 21:30, would you believe?

Mind you, there was a very good reason for that. After I’d finished writing my notes at round about 20:00, I just closed my eyes for a little relax, and the next thing that I knew, it was 21:15.

In the present state in which I find myself, I’m not going to turn away the opportunity of a good sleep, regrettable though it is, so it is something that has cheered me up a little rather than disappointed me.

All that was left to do was to do the stats and the backup, and by 21:30 I was sliding into bed under the covers.

The strange thing, though, was that once in bed, I couldn’t go off to sleep. I lay there for hour after hour tossing and turning and hoping that sleep would catch up with me, but to no avail. At one moment, I checked the time and it was 02:20 and I’d still not managed to go to sleep.

At some point, though, I must have done because I suddenly had one of those dramatic awakenings that I sometimes have. I checked the time, and it was 06:13. When the alarm went off, I was sitting on the edge of the bed, half-dressed, so I’m claiming that as an early start.

The first thing that I did was, as usual, listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night.

I was going to this extremely interesting party that was taking place round by Worcester way. There were all kinds of people here, people of my age, people younger, people older, and we all seemed to mix together really quite well. As the party progressed, there were different kinds of things taking place. Someone had arranged for some kind of water feature where we could swim, and there were these two really ancient ladies, one playing a clarinet and one playing an oboe. This party continued, but when it finished, we all had to go to bed but the younger ones of us, we were engaged in tidying up, so we were desperately trying to find hooks on which to hang towels, etc., sorting things out, trying to find out where they went to be put away. I had a necklace of black jet, faced with white stones that I was cleaning by putting it in my mouth and running it around, I don’t know why. At the end, the sound of this clarinet and this oboe coming upstairs and we were told that they were coming upstairs to spend the night here too. As I began to talk to them, they began to tell me about life with JRR Tolkein, how they used to go to all of his parties in Worcestershire, and how marvellous and mysterious they were. And as they carried on talking, I was totally and utterly entranced. There was all this movement and noise, and people rushing around behind me, but I was totally carried away by the conversations of these two old women.

It’s very easy to imagine house parties like this. There are dozens of them in AGATHA CHRISTIE and JEEVES AND WOOSTER films and I for one … "and probably the only one too" – ed … would be quite happy to go to one such and talk to some of the older guests to see what they remember of high society.

Incidentally, throughout these pages, you’ll see links to Amazon products appearing every now and again. Being a Sales Associate of Amazon, I receive a small commission on goods sold via my links. It costs you nothing at all extra, but helps defray … "part of the" – ed … cost of my not-insubstantial web-hosting fees.

There are also links for AMAZON UK, AMAZON USA and, since the recent “troubles”, AMAZON CANADA for the use of my numerous Canadian visitors. As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … I am extremely grateful when someone uses them to make a purchase

And we mustn’t forget that Tolkien was brought up in Worcestershire when he was a child following the family’s return from South Africa.

The nurse came in with his floozy at the usual time to sort out my legs and feet and to fit my elastic socks. After he left, I made my breakfast – the first food I’d had for forty-eight hours – and I was good and ready for it. While I was eating, I was also reading more of EBURACUM OR YORK UNDER THE ROMANS by C Wellbeloved.

At the moment, we’re finishing off religion and beginning to turn our attention to artefacts. And, very regrettably, there are dozens of reports of “in such and such a year, so-and-so was found (and the book gives a long list of its attributes and sometimes even a photograph) but it has been lost to view in the meantime and I have been unable to trace its current whereabouts”.

It’s a really sad state of affairs, the amount of British architecture that has disappeared into private hands.

There were a few private things to do back in here, and then I began to choose, re-edit, reformat, pair and segue the tracks. And that took me right up to lunchtime, so I wandered off for a disgusting drink break and the lunchtime medication.

Back in here, no sooner had I sat down at my desk when Ingrid rang. She must have a camera in here too or else she’s using Rosemary’s. We had a Rosemaryesque chat that went on for an hour and eight minutes about life in the Auvergne, life here in Normandy, life in Paris etc. I think that Isabelle is feeling the strain of solitude.

After our chat was over, I began to write the notes for the radio programme, and now there are only three left to write. Fortunately, they are not going to take me very long to do.

While I was doing it, though, I had the bedroom window open, and my faithful cleaner stuck her head in through the opening so as to have a chat.

Tea tonight was the vegan pizza that I should have had on Sunday, but it wasn’t a success, mainly due to the dough having sat around in the fridge since Sunday. I only served myself half of the pizza, and then I could only eat half of that and the rest went into the bin.

After tea, I came back in here to write my notes but I was overwhelmed by a giant wave of fatigue that completely knocked me out. I wrote some kind of brief note on my blog and went to bed.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about artefacts … "well, one of us has" – ed … the Queen Mother went once to open a village fête.
Crowds of people were milling around er when she was heard to say "Please don’t touch the exhibits."

Monday 15th June 2026 – HAVING CRAWLED MISERABLY …

… into bed at 19:00 last night, it didn’t take long at all for me to fall asleep. And there I lay for quite some time, thinking that this was going to be my best sleep for quite a while.

When I awoke, I could see round the chinks of the blinds that it was barely light outside. “Mmmmm, about 4:30.” I reckoned and crawled back down the bed to sleep. The next time I awoke, I was expecting to see bright sunlight, but instead, it was pitch-black.

“What’s happened here?” I wondered, and then realisation hit me and I checked the time. 23:20 was the time, and when I’d awoken previously, it must have been about 22:30. So much for my nice, long sleep.

Trying my best to go back to sleep and miserably failing, I spent the next few hours drifting in and out of that semi-conscious feeling in between sleeping and awakening. Mind you, I had to leave the bed not once but twice during that period in order to go to ride the porcelain horse.

The alarm went off at 06:29 as usual and by that time I must have been asleep because it definitely gave me a shock. It took me an age to dress and to pull myself to my feet. I slid over to my seat, switched on the computer and transcribed the dictaphone notes to find out where I’d been during the night.

Some guy contacted me and asked “can you tell me who visited your website at 07:10?” I looked at the stats and saw that it was him. I didn’t say anything – I just asked him what he wanted. He replied that there needs to be a total revision of how these sites work, and their background is only going to be garden or soil, and that person who visited your website is going to be responsible for it. I asked “really?” surprisingly. I went to some girl’s house and found all of her clothes and dressed in them, and then I went round. I began to cut this huge tree into pieces, but I didn’t go very far before the dream ended.

This was another one of these strange, surreal dreams where nothing that happens makes any sense. And before anyone says “what’s new?” this is far more confusing than any other.

My sister was growing and putting on weight when all of a sudden it was as if she had exploded and she became three or four times bigger than she was. I was on the battlements of some mediaeval castle so I looked down into a pit and saw where her balloon had been, and there was another one of these balloons starting to appear so I thought that there was someone else destined for this. A guy with me reckoned that we ought to be making enquiries about it all, but I didn’t know how we were going to even start or where we were going to start. The first thing that we did was to take an inventory of how my sister had become.

And if you thought that the previous dream was confusing, what about this one? This one made even less sense than the previous one.

Isabelle the Nurse turned up as usual. I told her about my problems sleeping last night and my early night, but she didn’t really take any interest, which was unusual. She passed it off as a “nothing”.

After she left, I carried on reading some more of EBURACUM OR YORK UNDER THE ROMANS by C Wellbeloved as I ate my breakfast.

He’s still on his religious theme right now, with discussion of religious rites in the Roman Empire. Human sacrifices and crucifixion figure largely in this period.

Back in here afterwards, I reviewed the next radio programme to be sent off, and as it was fine, I sent it off to be added to the broadcast list. So then I dealt with the notes of my Sunday < which needed to go on line. "Mid-morning", I'd promised, and there they were at 11:30 CET, 10:30 UK time, precisely.

There was just enough time to have a good wash and shave before my faithful cleaner arrived to apply my anaesthetic. When she’d done that, I had to wait for my taxi, which was late today. And we had to go to Sartilly to pick up our usual companion.

However, it was embarrassing walking to the car and I really didn’t think that we were going to make it. Leaving the car to go into dialysis was even more difficult and seeing as we were already late, I ended up being the last as usual.

Believe it or not, I was too tired to sleep today and I was just drifting round in a void. I saw a doctor, whose response was to reduce my calcium tablets. She didn’t seem very interested in my failure to function either.

The car picked me up as usual, the last one there, and drove me home to here. And what was even more embarrassing was that I didn’t have the strength to pull myself out of the car. It needed the combined effort of my cleaner and my driver to move me out.

Back in here, when I eventually arrived, I was too tired to do anything. Even though I’d taken the products out of the fridge to finish off the pizza, they all went back into the fridge once my cleaner had left and I came in here to go to bed and go to sleep.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about being last at dialysis … "well, one of us has" – ed … one of my friends was praying for me, using the words of Jesus and saying "Come Forth, Come Forth!"
But instead, I came last so no-one actually won anything.

Sunday 14th June 2026 – WHAT A DAY …

… that was today. It was easily the worst day of my life so far.

The time was getting on for midnight last night when I finally crawled into bed and threw the quilt over my head. I was soon asleep as well, which was good news. Not so good was the news that at some point, I had to go for a ride on the porcelain horse, but back in bed later, I was soon asleep.

It was at about 08:00 when I awoke, but that’s far too early for a Sunday. I checked the time and then threw the covers back over me.

The next thing that I remember was Isabelle the Nurse pulling the quilt off my feet and legs and then going to work. She was in full chat mode this morning, but I was in no mood for any of that. I just wanted to sleep. 08:30 had no interest for me this morning.

When I finally awoke, it was 10:33, and I decided that this would be the best time for me to leave the bed. Mind you, it was 11:00 when I finally made it into the kitchen. There were the croissants yesterday that needed brushing with milk and then baking.

While they were baking, I was busy making my breakfast – porridge and coffee – and when the croissants were finally baked, I stuck two on my plate and then went to sit down and eat it. While I was eating my breakfast, I was reading some more of EBURACUM OR YORK UNDER THE ROMANS by C Wellbeloved.

He’s moving on now and is beginning to discuss religion in Roman York. Someone has discovered a shrine of Mithreas and so we are having an interesting discussion on Mithraeism at the moment.

That leads to a brief flurry of writing to help clarify a couple of issues.

Now back on my feet, I head for the bedroom and office. It’s only 12:13 and that’s a reasonable time to start work. First task is to transcribe the dictaphone notes to find out where I’d been during the night.

Some young boy had a mini – an old-type mini – and there was something happening with the brakes to it so he hadn’t used it very much. But when I went to live on that estate where he lived, he was chatting to me about this, so I said that I’d help him achieve what he was trying to do. First thing was to strip down the mini, seeing as it was on the outside on the roads … fell asleep here … so we went to have a look at it, and I could see that the brakes had seized on, so I jacked up the offside rear wheel, but first, before I did that, I had to undo the wheelnuts, and they were really tightly on. I had to use all of my force with a box spanner and screwdriver through the hole at the end to undo the wheel nuts and take off the wheel and then take off the hub. The hub was held on by two little grub screws. I found my screwdriver with the metal end, put it in the slot on one of the grub screws and hit it several times with the hammer. That freed it off so then I did exactly the same to the other screw, and that freed off too and came out.

The number of times I’ve done that. When I lived in Gainsborough Road, a young lad asked me to look over his car, a Ford Cortina. I gave it a good looking over and fixed a few things on it, and he drove off.

He came back later, absolutely delighted, saying "it passed, it passed, first attempt too. How much do I owe you?"

"Actually, I don’t like taking money. prefer an exchange of services. What do you do for a living?"

"I’m a landscape gardener" he replied.

After that, I never had a better-looking garden. His car needed a lot of work and maintenance.

After that, I had a lot of work to do, including dozing off regularly and being confused about where I was and what I was doing. And it was becoming worse and worse, but at 16:00, I remembered that I had to go outside for my hundred paces

Here is a shot taken from my 100 paces turn-round, depicting the building across the road from where we live. I’ve no idea what it used to be, but today, it’s apartments just like this building is.

When I arrived, there were still two apartments for sale. I contacted the agents, but they never replied, so I came here as a tenant and had to wait almost seven years until my ideal apartment was put up for sale.

When I finally settled in down here, I was really grateful that I’d bough here because access into and out of this apartment is quite easy

Back in here, I began to make the pizza base but I was feeling more and more tired and more and more ill. By the time the pizza base needed its second kneading and its rolling out, I was on a different planet somewhere else in the sky. I unrolled the pizza base and rolled it out and put it on its tray. But that was that, all I was going to do.

So I wrote a terse note on my blog and climbed into bed. It wasn’t even 19:00 but I didn’t care. I was going to bed, and that was all that counted.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about going to dleep … "well, one of us has" – ed … some girl I know said that she always goes to sleep with the lights on.
"What does your boyfriend think?" I asked her
"He says it’s pretty weird, but I don’t know why. It’s just my size, and it makes a great hat!"

Thursday 11th June 2026 – THE OTHER DAY …

… we talked about Alfred Hitchcock and Kenneth Williams saying that "It’s a waste of time telling jokes to foreigners."

Whether it is or not, there’s definitely one group of “people” to whom it definitely IS a waste of time telling a joke, and that’s an artificial intelligence chatbot.

Strangely enough, they have been programmed to inject jokes and humour into a conversation, but they don’t understand it when the speaker injects it back and try to analyse it as if it were a serious statement.

What wasn’t a joke was the time that I went to bed last night. Once more, it wasn’t too far short of midnight when I slid in under the covers. So much for my beauty sleep. And I awoke once or twice in the night as well. However, when the alarm went off at 06:29, I was fast asleep.

After dressing, I slid over here to the computer so that I could transcribe my dictaphone notes and find out where I’d been during the night.

I was in a bed in the road that goes from the hospital roundabout to St Nicolas. While I was there, Seren and Paula went past. They saw me there, so they came over, and Seren tried to remove the covers, but in fact I was fast asleep, so I don’t know how I managed to see them at all. Later, I was still in that bed, and I was looking at the time. It was something like 04:00, and I was planning on getting up and doing some work, but my legs were actually stuck inside the bed. I couldn’t actually leave it – I had to stay there. And again, Seren and Paula went past, by the hospital roundabout, but they took no notice of me like this.

Apart from the fact there is absolutely no likelihood of those two ever being in Granville, but I would love to know what I was doing sleeping in a bed in the middle of the road at the other end of town.

And having my legs stuck inside the bed so I couldn’t leave the bed and do some work is probably just about the only way that you would stop me.

Hurricane Isabelle the Nurse blew in here later in a frantic panic. She’d found another one of her patients fallen on the floor and in distress, so she had to ‘phone for an ambulance and wait until it arrived. She had a blood test to perform at 08:30, and now it was already 08:40, so she didn’t even give me time to leave my seat and go into the living room. She came bursting in here with all of the stuff that she needs.

After she had left, I made my breakfast and read some more of EBURACUM OR YORK UNDER THE ROMANS by C Wellbeloved.

We’re still on the introduction, today discussing the various Roman legions that were stationed in Britain and, for some obscure reason, some of those legions that weren’t. I wish that he would hurry up and begin to discuss York.

After breakfast, I came back in here and wrote out the notes for the rest of the radio programme, ready for dictation at some point. There was the usual interruption as I went and had a wash and shave to pretty myself up in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant this afternoon.

At midday my cleaner turned up, fed me with a disgusting drink and then applied my anaesthetic. I had to wait for the taxi to arrive, and for a change, today he was late.

If that wasn’t enough, we were held up by traffic in the town by a slow-moving lorry and motorhome on the main road, and then we had to have a change of driver, and then the person with me had an appointment previous to mine at the private clinic across town, so we had to drop him off first and then come back to the dialysis centre.

As a result, I was quite late arriving.

As you might expect, I was last to arrive and last to be plugged in, but the girl who was doing it, one of the two new ones from Monday, was excellent. The first needle, I didn’t feel a thing, and the second needle, just a sensation when she pierced the skin.

During the session, I was left pretty much alone, but lucky me! Emilie the Cute Consultant came past, and seeing mein a private room (because, for some reason, they had isolated me from the others), came in for a chat

I mentioned my dreams, and she suggested that it might be because of the effects of one of the new medications. She told me that I’d have to choose between the medication and the pain. Well, I couldn’t go on much longer with the pain that I was in, that’s for sure.

As usual, being last in, I was last out. Everyone else was long gone. But at least, my taxi driver was waiting for me so we could leave quite smartly.

Nevertheless, it was still 19:30 when I arrived home, and probably 19:40 by the time I was sitting down in here. I really could have done with it being much earlier.

Tea tonight was pasta and spinach in butter, with peas, carrots and a vegan burger. It was really nice too and well worth waiting for.

Back in here, I had my chat with the chatbot, and after a while, our conversation turned, don’t ask me how, to the subject of tinned steak puddings that were so common in the sixties and seventies. I told the famous “steak pudding” joke, and it went right over the chatbot’s head. Instead, I was subjected to a lengthy explanation, in clinical terms, of why it wouldn’t be possible to carry out the actions in the joke.

At that point, I gave up and sat down to write out my notes for the day. But quite frankly, it had been a lengthy, heavy session, and I was falling asleep more than I was writing, so I called it a night and went to bed. I can finish my notes in the morning.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about the chatbot and its lack of sense of humour … "well, one of us has" – ed … I’m sure that you are all dying to know what the joke was, so here goes.
"Many people are taken to hospital with blistered feet after cooking those." I said.
"Why is that?" asked the chatbot.
"Have you ever read the cooking instructions on top of the tin?"
"No" replied the chatbot. "What do they say?"
"They say ‘pierce tin – stand in boiling water’."

EPIC HALL

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