Tag Archives: hospital

Saturday 28th June 2025 – I WAS RIGHT …

… about this weight gain thing on Thursday.

The doctor seemed to think that there was something dramatically wrong with my metabolism that had caused the weight gain, and wanted me to come in early today for a four-and-a-half hour session to try to bring it under control.

On the other hand, I don’t know what she was expecting, but if you have 2 litres of chemotherapy fluid pumped into you, then your weight will naturally increase, but nature will take care of that over time. That was my opinion.

Anyway, what do I know about it all? I’m just a mere patient, so I bowed to her superior wisdom. I didn’t have any choice.

But anyway, last night, what with one thing and another, and once you make a start you have no idea how many other things there are, it was almost 01:00 when I finally made it into bed. It was not a very successful night either, because I spent much of what there was, tossing and turning about trying to make myself comfortable

Round about 05:42 I gave up the struggle to go back to sleep. There was this disgusting taste in my mouth (it’s still there by the way) and, as usual, I was feeling quite dreadful. It took about ten minutes to rise to my feet and had I had my way, it would have taken a lot longer.

The first thing to do was to transcribe the dictaphone notes from last night. I was back in Paris last night, preparing myself for another session of dialysis at the hospital. Fortunately the dream didn’t last long because I managed to awaken quite quickly but it really would have been my nightmare, I suppose if it had gone very further but luckily I awoke before the dream had progressed very much into it

Then I was preparing to go to dialysis again. I had organised my session for 12:00 so the taxi came and picked me up to run me down to the centre. There, sitting in the trees was a parrot that was clutching one of my large peppers. I thought to myself that I’d hoped that I’d ordered some peppers from the supermarket this week so that I’d still have some for next week

Finally, I was back in dialysis yet again. They were going to couple me up to the machine. My body weight was quite light there but they had this huge, heavy ball of things. I had a feel of it and it was really heavy and they told me that this was the amount of water that they had to take out of me today. It was enormous. Once again it was at that moment when I awoke.

There isn’t anything of the foregoing – the trip to Paris, the dialysis, the pepper from the supermarket, the rapid panic-awakenings to cancel out the dreams; that needs any explanation at all. Neither does the fact that it’s all preying on my mind when I’m supposed to be asleep and relaxing.

It seemed to be a rather late awakening for everyone this morning. Almost 08:00 when I heard signs of stirring coming from the kitchen, so I staggered off to the bathroom for a wash and brush up.

As you might expect at moments like this, the nurse arrived early today. He caught me in flagrante delicto and had to wait around for a few minutes while I finished whatever I was doing.

After he left, we had a coffee and then I made a little breakfast. I would ordinarily have done without this morning seeing how I was feeling, but they would only go berserk at the dialysis centre when they check my diabetes level.

One thing that I wanted to do was to write out my letter of notice for this apartment. I know that I said that I wouldn’t run the risk of the one downstairs not being finished. However, as I said yesterday, I can’t go on much longer like this, and I’ve lived in worse circumstances than what there would be down there, even with no kitchen. I’ll manage much better down there as things are rather than continue to struggle on trying to climb up here.

All of this called for more coffee (well, I didn’t) and a chat until my faithful cleaner came, earlier than usual because of my extended appointment, to fit my patches and to have a chat.

At 12:30 we went downstairs to meet the taxi driver, whom we met at the foot of the stairs just as he was about to come up, so we were away quite quickly. We picked up our other usual Saturday passenger and then I slept all the way down to Avranches. As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … sleep is my “doliprane”.

For a change, I was one of the first to be coupled up. It was Anaïs and Océane who dealt with me today and Océane held my hand again. As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … I don’t know what she is after, but I don’t have it any more.

But I’m not going to complain under any circumstances. She can hold my hand as much as she likes … "and so can Anaïs, Alexi, Julie the Cook, Justine, Héloise, Amandine etc etc" – ed …

When they weighed me, they found that there was just 1.8kg to lose today, well within my three-and-a-half hour limit.
"But the doctor said four and a half" said Océane.
"The doctor doesn’t know what she’s talking about " I replied.

In the end, we agreed on a compromise of four hours.

However, when the doctor in charge came round, he took one look at the figures and reduced the time to three and a half hours.

This meant that I would have been able to be home early, and had the taxi been there instead of twenty minutes late, I would have been. Instead, we had to fight our way through all of the crowds going to the start of the town’s 10km road race just round the corner from here.

It was another struggle up to my little apartment, but at least my friend made me some tea, which was very nice.

We had a play with this recording desk afterwards, and then I sat down to write my notes for the day.

Now that they are done, I’m off to bed, and I can’t say that I’m not sorry. I’m still suffering the effects of the chemotherapy and I’m going to have to do something about it.

But seeing as we have been talking about losing weight … "well, one of us has" – ed … it reminds me of a girl from Crewe whom I knew who wanted to lose weight.
The dietician told her "it’s simple really – just eat normally for two days, skip a day and then eat for two days, skip a day and so on"
After a couple of weeks the dietician sees the girl from Crewe and asks "how’s it going?"
"I had to stop" replied the girl from Crewe
"Why was that?" asked the dietician
"On the sixth day I wore out the rope."

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Thursday 26th June 2025 – REGULAR READERS OF …

… this rubbish will recall that I usually upload my daily notes round about 23:00 (Central European Time) or thereabouts just before I climb up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire.

And so those of you who pass by during the night (because, of course, the time in Australia, Canada, the USA and other places where some of my regular readers hang out is totally different) will have come here in vain, and for that, I apologise.

The fact is that by 23:00 I had been in bed for at least three hours. We’d had yet another “health issue”. And now I’m beginning to understand why, when they sent me to the Universitair Ziekenhuis Leuven in 2016 for the first round of chemotherapy, they insisted that I stay within arm’s reach of the hospital and in a hostel where, at least, breakfast would be provided so that I would be assured of at least one meal per day, if I were too ill to make myself some food.

There was absolutely no indication this morning of any of this (or, rather, yesterday morning, but let’s not let ourselves be carried away with semantics here).

It was, as usual, a late night as I seem to have lost all of my motivation for pressing on for an early finish. However, for the first time since I don’t know when, miserable failure that I am, I was still asleep when the alarm went off at 06:30. And it took me a good ten minutes to find the energy to throw back the covers and rise up.

Whatever went on yesterday must have totally worn me out and I can see me being like this for the next couple of weeks … "prophetic words, those" – ed …

When I awoke, I had a thirst that you could photograph and an incredibly dry throat. And no water in my room. Whatever I’d brought in here last night I’d drunk before going to bed. And so this is going to be a real problem if it carries on.

The pain in my foot is still there. It’s becoming beyond a joke and I’m going to have to grab hold of the neurologist to see exactly what they intend to do about it, seeing as I’ve mentioned it in passing on several occasions and no-one seems to be taking any interest at all in it.

The first task was to check the dictaphone to see where I’d been during the night. I was doing something at work, looking for an address for a guy called “Address”. I couldn’t find one anywhere so in the end I wrote to him at the address that I had for him. It wasn’t until a couple of days later that I found out that his name was “Naddress” beginning with an “N”. Once I’d found out exactly his real name I then went and found his address so I thought that I was going to have to start this all over again. Then one of my colleagues from work came over and asked if I’d found anything for this “Address” person. For some reason I didn’t want to say that it was a mistake so I just said that I’d sent a letter out to whatever address that I had. She decided that she would do the same. I thought that I really ought to tell them the exact position and save everyone else a lot of work but somehow I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

So here I am, dithering about once more, trying my best to make a simple job turn into something much more complicated than it ought to be. As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … that seems to be the story of my life.

It might have been something of a lie-in for me, and it seemed to be for everyone else too because it was 07:30 when we all assembled in the kitchen for morning coffee. My taste buds are still distorted after that last bout of illness and so I’m having what they call, a café allongée – half coffee, half boiling water.

A café allongée is still stronger than the kind of coffee that you find served up in petrol stations in the USA. I remember the first time that they gave me a complimentary coffee at an American petrol station. "What do I do with this?" I asked. "Wash the car’s windscreen?"

However, I digress… "yet again" – ed …

The nurse came along, having ‘phoned to see if I were back (despite me telling him that he should come on Thursday as usual jusqu’à nouvel ordre). I told him the bad news, which was that starting on day 6 after my chemotherapy, there will be a series of injections to carry out for a week.

He didn’t seem impressed at all, as I expected, until he realised that it would be his oppo, Isabelle the Nurse, whose tournée it all fell into.

For a change, I wasn’t feeling like breakfast (and if I’m off my food, regular readers of this rubbish will recall that I really am ill) I still felt that I ought to eat something, otherwise the diabetic register reading (as if I don’t have enough medical problems) will be below the floor and that will lead to many more problems at dialysis.

So half a bowl of porridge and a thin slice of toast found its way down. And, as subsequent events were to reveal, I’m glad that they did.

We’ve run out of bread again, (at least, I thought that we had) so I kneaded some dough for a sunflower-seed loaf and set it to bake when it was ready.

In between everything, in view of the fact that the freezer up here is full to the brim and has been since eternity, we sorted through it and chose a pile of stuff that could go downstairs into the new freezer, seeing as it has now been plugged in for a couple of days. We may as well see how it works, and take the opportunity to try it out.

That was when we found three well-frozen lumps of bread in the freezer

And that reminds me – we have to change the doors over on it because they are the wrong way round, hinged to the right instead of hinged to the left as I would like them to be.

My cleaner turned up rather later than usual to fit my anaesthetic patches, and so obviously the taxi turned up much earlier than it should.

My arrival at Avranches was much earlier than my appointment so I had to hang around for a while, but it was a combination of Justine and Julie the Cook who coupled me up, and it was one of the most painless that I have ever had. "fait avec l’amour" – “done with love” they said, and now I really am becoming worried, what with the secretary at the hospital the other day too.

When they had weighed me, they found that I was the heaviest that I had been for a while, which was no surprise with the two litres of liquid that they had pumped into my veins at Paris. And so they told me that I had to stay for four hours today. That was disappointing, but not unexpected.

The doctor on duty was the one with whom I had the argument the other week. She came and took my papers from Paris to go through them, and asked me several questions. She seemed to be quite satisfied, and then I could press on and work, preparing an order for LeClerc as we are getting through the supplies quite rapidly.

But I didn’t work for long.

After about two hours, I began to shake, shiver and tremble, and went deathly cold. And shortly afterwards, my machine’s alarm began to wail. The wailing went on intermittently for a while, with nurses coming to check and to switch off the alarm – until after about three hours, it shuddered to a halt.

That brought all the nurses running. Apparently, I’d been having a fever, my temperature had soared to 38°C (just 0.3°C below the critical limit when they have to summon the emergency services) and the blood in the needles had coagulated, blocking the circulation.

After a lengthy discussion with the doctor, they decided to stop the procedure and send me home (not that it would be any earlier, what with all of the discussions). “Could I come back on Saturday much earlier and have a session of four and a half hours?”.

Well, if I must, I must, I suppose.

It goes without saying that I was asked the six-million dollar question "would you like a doliprane?"

The taxi to pick me up hadn’t arrived so I had to wait ten minutes, during which period I saw Emilie the Cute Consultant. But she clearly doesn’t love me any more (in contrast with Justine, Julie the Cook and the secretary at Paris) because she found the greatest difficult in mumbling a bonjour. Nothing like our intimate chats last year in hospital, with her perched coyly on the edge of my bed. How times have changed!

Back here, I had a great deal of difficulty hauling myself up the stairs and into the apartment. And then into bed, with no food and no disgusting drink to console me. All I wanted to do was to sleep. Sleep is my “doliprane” – the miraculous cure for everything.

But seeing as we have been talking about my high temperature … "well, one of us has" – ed … when they were feeling my forehead, they mentioned to the doctor that my temperature was raging out of control.
"Well, don’t just stand there!" said the doctor. "Go and fetch the kettle! I could really do with a cuppa right now.".

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Monday 23rd June 2025 – I HAD A …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t stay very long after that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Saturday 21st June 2025 – I KNOW THAT …

… many of you spend the whole of your day gripping the edge of your seats in eager anticipation of the next instalment of my memoirs, and so I can imagine that those of you who made repeated visits here throughout the night to catch up with the news will have had a sense of dismay and disappointment on finding these pages performing a rather passable imitation of Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard.

The fact is that I have spent almost the whole of the last twenty-four hours in bed. Alone, unfortunately, but it was probably just as well and it might even have done me some good.

There wasn’t the slightest indication of this last night when I went to bed. And so much has happened subsequently that I can’t even remember what time it was. It wasn’t early, I’m pretty sure of that, but I do remember that I was tired and that I didn’t stay awake for very long once I was under the covers.

It was 06:15 when I awoke, which is probably one of the latest times yet since my sleep patterns have been so disturbed, and the first task that I undertook was to have a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been. I was at school last night, in the final year of my sixth form. We should each have been doing some kind of independent work on our own during our free study periods. However, I had been doing something, something to do with the football. At first, I considered it to be a waste of time and tried to forget it and do something much more academic but in the end I went back and carried on doing these statistics and organisation of this football league. Then I thought that it’s just as good an education as doing anything else. However, I was talking to someone about it because we were living in Belgium at the time. The question of Georges Simenon came up and I explained that this is all about the metro station at Simonis. Where the name came from for Simonis was a derivative of the Belgian family name “Simenon” implying that their family in the past and maybe even today as far as I know had some kind of connection with the place.

Simenon was of course the author of the “Maigret” novels but he is probably more famous for his somewhat entangled web of relationships with which his long-suffering series of wives had to cope. The metro station “Simonis” which is the one to which the local bus would take me when I lived in Jette is named after Eugène Simonis, a Belgian sculptor who lived in the immediate area in the 19th Century.

There were some kind of works going on at Southampton Docks last night so all of the containers and container traffic for all the ships for export and the tunnel across the estuary there had to go north to a small port somewhere higher up the estuary. They had a video surveillance of the port to keep their eyes open for anyone who didn’t understand the message that everyone had received, and they noticed that there was a lorry that had been queueing for a couple of hours at the entrance to the port. They sent him a text message asking him what he was doing there. When he replied that he was trying to wait for the ferry, they asked him whether he had received the letter or not, or the e-mail, and he’d have to push on and go north to wherever this was. There was a long line of HGVs and containers heading north up this road towards the mouth of this tunnel and the little port that was there.

This doesn’t seem to relate to anything that I recall and as far as I can tell, has no significance.

I was about to go to a doctor’s appointment somewhere in South London. It was a complicated place to find, and in the end I ended up climbing over a wall of the hospital into the hospital grounds, finding the correct building and having the appointment. Next, and shortly after that, one of the girls in the house where we were lodging had to go. She was rather a sad girl so I decided that I’d go with her to cheer her up and one or two others did, so we had a minibus instead of the usual taxi to take us. This took us to the hospital, down a hill and into the car park. There, once in the car park, we had to swing out across the road, blocking the traffic, nearly hitting a green Ford Cortina and then reversing backwards in through the gates over these concrete teeth things. The girl climbed out and I wished her luck. I was hoping that she wouldn’t ask me where I went and how I arrived there but she didn’t. She seemed to know her way. One of my friends who was in there with us made a remark about having been here too. While we were waiting for her to come back, we were talking about one of our friends from school. Someone was talking so I asked “what was his place like?”. Someone said that he had three telephone coins just outside the side door. I asked “what on earth was he doing that for?”. He replied “that was how he came in and went out of his jail, by that way” so we were discussing that for a couple of minutes.

This area of South London is one that we have visited on numerous occasions during our nocturnal voyages, and one that I can’t understand because the only area of South London in which I’ve ever lived in is Wandsworth when I was working in that Italian restaurant one winter, and it’s certainly not there.

Everyone else began stirring at about 07:00 so I went for a wash and a good scrub-up in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant today, and then went in for coffee.

Isabelle the Nurse was soon along, and we had another example of her hidden side when she began to talk about why I wasn’t here the previous day. She keeps this side of her character well-hidden but just occasionally, a little glimpse of it is revealed.

By now it was about 09:00 and I could feel myself beginning to slide away. By 09:30 I couldn’t keep on going any longer and decided to go to lie down for a while. And just to make my day, the stabbing pain in my foot began again, and it’s still going on.

There I lay in bed, dead to the World, until The Hound of the Baskervilles barked to let me know that we had a visitor.

My faithful cleaner had come down to do her stuff and found me in bed. Nevertheless, she enticed me out and fitted my anaesthetic patches, then telephoned the dialysis centre to tell them that I was having another one of my crises.

She waited with me until the ambulance came, gave the driver his instructions, and we went down to the centre.

Because we’d been standing outside our building waiting, we were early arriving and although I was far too early for my appointment, they let me in and I was coupled up quite quickly.

They kept a close eye on me today, checking my blood pressure every 15 minutes, and I just slept right the way through the session – except when the doctor came to see me. And to my disappointment it wasn’t Emilie the Cute Consultant who had come to soothe my fevered brow but the doctor with whom I’d had that argument a few weeks ago.

There’s no point being early at the dialysis centre if the taxi is late coming to pick me up, and with a prescription issued by the doctor we had to go to two chemists before we managed to find all of the medication that we needed, so we were no earlier arriving home than we might usually have been.

It was a desperate stagger up the stairs and a desperate fall into bed, and that was how my day ended. And why you’ve had to wait until this morning to read this rubbish.

But seeing as we have been talking about the doctor … "well, one of us has" – ed … when she came to see me, I told her "I don’t know what’s the matter with me but I looked in the mirror and I looked absolutely dreadful"
"I’ll have to examine you to find out" she said "but I can say that there’s nothing wrong with your eyesight".

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Monday 16th June 2025 – I AM WASTED …

… tonight. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt as tired as this. I certainly won’t need much rocking tonight, that’s for sure.

Much of it is probably due to dialysis – it always takes it out of me, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall, but some of it is probably also due to last night.

By the time that I’d finished doing what I needed to do, it was quite late. Once more, I was side-tracked considerably during the course of the evening writing my notes, and by the time that I went to bed, it was once more long after midnight.

Once in bed, I fell asleep quite quickly, but not for long. The Hound of the Baskervilles in the next room was dreaming and he spent about five minutes having a very tired and feeble barking session. Perhaps I should have lent him my dictaphone so we could have found out what it was that was going on.

After he’d finished, I did manage to go back to sleep but once more, not for long. At 05:10 I was awake again and at about 05:40 I hauled myself out of my stinking pit.

There was something that I needed to do as soon as I awoke but back in here afterwards, the first thing that I did was to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I was doing a coach trip to Canterbury. Somewhere round about Canterbury I was giving a talk to the passengers but I hadn’t managed to have the coach totally clear of the road. It was in a kind of dog-leg up against the kerb. A road-train of coaches, a machine pulling along a couple of carriages, coming past caught my mirror up, tangled it in its mirror arm and with the mirror arms tangled together, mine snapped and the other coach disappeared, taking it away … fell asleep here … although I could see the look of regret on the driver’s face. Later on, after my party was installed in their rooms, I went down the corridor to the room where this other coach party was lodged. I opened the door and was just about to step in when I realised that I should have knocked so I knocked and stepped in. There were people sleeping everywhere on the floor of this room. One or two people moaned and said something. At the very head of the table, at the top in the dark were all of the important people, and one of them must have been the coach driver. I asked if any of them had seen what had happened to the mirror arm that had become entangled up in the arm of their coach. A voice replied that as far as he knew, according to what had happened in the past, the mirror is still on the bus wrapped up in the other one’s mirror arm. It’s still there on the bus and tomorrow they will go down to pick it up and bring it back to me. I was hoping that at least it was still going to be there because anything could happen in a couple of hours overnight in a strange country.

At one time I was spending quite a few nights driving coaches in my sleep, but the incident of losing a mirror and arm on the road actually did happen to me once when I was taking a coach party to Llangollen. It’s also true that anything can happen in a couple of hours overnight in a strange country, as I explained to a group of Austrian policemen once when I had to take the European Union’s lorry to Vienna once in 1998 and they wanted me to park it at the side of the road a mere cock-stride from the Slovakian border.

There was also something about a pair of shoes last night. Someone had bought a pair of shoes from me when I was running a shop. They were one of the last pairs that I had and they wanted a guarantee that I’d reimburse them if they were to bring them back unused, which I gave them. But they needed a lot of convincing that it would work. Sure enough, a few days later, she was back and spoke to me in pidgin French like “theeeese ….. shooooes ….. noooooo ….. gooooood”, pointing that she wanted to bring them back. I don’t know what was the matter with her but I gave her back her money. Then she saw another pair of shoes and asked if she could take those instead. Those shoes were €153 so she could take them if she paid me €153. It ended up with quite a lot of discussion and argument but eventually she gave in and took the new shoes at the appropriate price.

This also reminds me of an incident that took place years ago in real life, but the World isn’t ready yet to hear it.

When everyone was awake in the other room I went to sort myself out and then join them for a coffee and a chat, interrupted by the arrival of the nurse who once more failed to take into account the Hound of the Baskervilles. Consequently, he was in and out in a matter of a couple of seconds and we could make breakfast.

After breakfast, the Hound of the Baskervilles took his master for a walk and I listened to the radio programme that I’ll be sending off this week for broadcasting at the weekend.

When everyone came back we sat around making plans until the cleaner came to fit my anaesthetic patches. She hung around, chatting for a while, and after she left we went downstairs to wait outside in the glorious sunshine for the taxi. And wait. And wait.

13:45 was when it turned up, 45 minutes late, with another passenger in it. It was a quick drive down there, but even so, it wasn’t until 14:45 that I was coupled up, with the usual second pin being much more painful than the first.

Once more, I was left pretty much alone except for when they thought that I’d gone into another diabetic coma and they all came a-rushing over. It seems that I’m not even allowed to have a little … errr … relax these days.

However, Emilie the Cute Consultant came over to chat with me for a while which was nice, and Anaïs sitting on the foot of my bed chatting for five minutes was nice too. I think that they did it just to make sure that I stayed awake.

While I was there, I replied to the edition of WAR AND PEACE that my kitchen fitter sent me, and I hope that we can sort it all out now so that I can push on with the ordering while I have someone here to accept delivery. I’m in a rush to be started.

When i’d been uncoupled, I had to wait for the taxi to arrive. There was another passenger in there too who required dropping off at Kairon so we weren’t back here until after 19:30. I’m certainly seeing parts of Normandy that I never knew existed, thanks to these new Social Security rules.

There was quite a reception committee waiting for me, and they all helped me upstairs. And I needed it too.

Tea tonight was broccoli stalk soup with fresh bread – another delicious meal. We really are eating well here.

Right now though, I’m off to bed. I can’t keep my eyes open. I’m really exhausted tonight.

But seeing as we have been talking about buying shoes … "well, one of us has" – ed … a woman from Crewe went into the shoe shop one Saturday to buy a pair of shoes, and chose a nice pair.
As he was cashing her up, the assistant said "you’ll find these a little tight at first. You might have a pain in your foot for the next couple of days."
"Well, that’s no problem" said the woman from Crewe. "I won’t start wearing them until Wednesday."

0

Saturday 14th June 2025 – I DON’T KNOW …

… what awoke me exactly at 05:36 but at that particular moment I was away with the fairies (although not in any manner that would interest the editor of Aunt Judy’s magazine) and the phrase wneud yn Ne Cymru – “made in South Wales” was going through my head.

Unfortunately, that’s all that I remember about whatever it was that was going on and there was nothing else on the dictaphone, so it looks as if that particular voyage had only just commenced. That was rather a shame. Mind you, as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … when you don’t go to bed until 00:30 and awaken at 0536, you don’t have much time to go far.

It wasn’t really 00:30 either because I didn’t fall asleep straight away either. Once in bed, it was quite a while before I finally dozed off.

If anything had gone on during the night, I knew nothing about it. I can’t have moved a muscle. However something definitely awoke me at 05:36.

When I awoke, I was drenched in perspiration again. Don’t tell me that we’re back with all of this again because it’s the last thing that I need right now. I have enough problems going on here and there and around and about without having to worry about anything else.

With everyone else in here being fast asleep, I found a few things to do in here but once I’d heard everyone beginning to stir at about 06:30 or so I went into the kitchen to start the day.

There’s nothing like a nice, strong coffee to start off the day and I began to feel much more like it a few minutes later.

When the nurse arrived, he was very careful to ring the bell downstairs before coming up, and he entered the apartment gingerly. However, the Hound of the Baskervilles had taken his master out for a walk so he needn’t have bothered.

After he left and the others had come back, we had breakfast and had a good chat about quite a few things that we need to organise, mixed in with tales about the past. Later on, the two of them went out again, I came here and did some work on one of my radio programmes. Work still has to continue, of course.

My cleaner came round to interrupt me as usual and fitted my anaesthetic patches but she didn’t stay long. And later, my friend, the Hound of the Baskervilles and I went outside in the glorious sunshine to wait for the taxi.

It was a good job that we did too because he was early. And with me being outside already we were away quite quickly. Consequently we arrived at Avranches well before the time that I’m now supposed to arrive. However, the bad news was that I fell asleep twice in the car.

For a change, I was seen quickly too and it didn’t take long to plug me in. However, despite the anaesthetic, the ice pack and the cold spray, one of the connections hurt like Hades and I didn’t enjoy it at all.

During the three and a half hours that I was there, I searched through the site of a major on-line retailer and chose the microwave and the fridge-freezer to go with the oven that I chose a week or so ago. I’ve probably chosen all the wrong things but what made me decide to choose them today was the fact that with my friend being here, I don’t have to worry about whether or not I’m here to accept the delivery when they arrive.

While I was at it, I also chose a few more things that I would like to have, and then went (virtually, of course) to IKEA to order some stuff from there for the bathroom.

Something else that I did was to doze off, which was a shame. I can’t keep going like I used to.

For once, they were quite quick to unplug me, and as the taxi was waiting, I was away quite quickly and home quite early where I had a reception committee of my cleaner and my friend. I’m not quite sure what I’d done to be so popular.

Tea was the next thing on the agenda. I had planned to make an aubergine and kidney bean whatsit for tonight but my friend suggested that we go back to the Italian restaurant, La Fabbrica, where we were the other day.

We nearly didn’t though, because when we arrived, it was fully-booked. However, we promised to be quick so she let us sit at a table that had been reserved for later, which was very nice of her.

My Penne al Arrabbiata was delicious yet again. Although it’s the only vegan meal on the menu, I’m not complaining. It’s quite spicy, which is how I like it to be, and i’ll go back there for another helping at any time that you invite me.

The atmosphere is not particularly appetising though. It’s right across the road from the fish processing plant. And for that reason, I’m surprised that there are only two fish dishes on the menu – a salmon dish and a tuna dish.

Back here, we loitered around for a while and then I decided that I was going to bed. Up and down the stairs twice in one day is more than enough for me. So here’s hoping that I have a good night’s sleep. I’m certainly ready for it.

But seeing as we have been talking about that restaurant and the dialysis centre … "well, one of us has" – ed … there’s a story that I was told that concerns both of those places.
Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that one of the doctors at the dialysis centre was sacked from the Family Planning Unit, and the reason concerned the restaurant.
One day, a woman came into the Family Planning Unit to see the doctor.
"It’s my husband" she said. "He can’t … errr … perform any more. He says that he’s too tired."
"Ahh, yes" said the doctor. "I know that problem" and he gave her a sachet of powder.
"Sprinkle some of that on his next meal, and you just watch the difference"
A few days later the doctor was walking down towards the fish processing plant when he saw the woman coming towards him
"How was it?" he asked
"It was marvellous" she replied. "I sprinkled it onto his meal and after just one mouthful, the old sparkle returned to his eyes. He stood up, ripped the tablecloth off, threw me onto the table, tore off my clothes and ravished me on the spot."
"Yes" replied the doctor. "I thought that it might work. But did you notice any side-effects?"
"I’m not sure that you’d call it a side-effect" she said "but they won’t ever let us back into La Fabbrica again."

0

Thursday 12th June 2025 – I AM NOT …

… alone.

And not only that, I have done something that I haven’t done for quite a while, and that is, to go to a restaurant for a meal.

Currently lying asleep on the sofa in the living room is my friend from Munich, and at his feet is lying the Hound of the Baskervilles. So we have something of a full house tonight.

Last night though, there was only me in the apartment, writing up my notes, wasting time, and generally having something of a late night yet again as I failed miserably to motivate myself once more.

Once in bed though, at whatever late hour it was, there I lay, fast asleep, until all of … errr … 04:40 when I had another dramatic awakening.

Being unable to go back to sleep, I was lying there vegetating when it occurred to me round about 05:20 that here is the moment for which I have been waiting. I arose from the Dead and dictated the radio notes that I’d written the previous day.

Next port of call was the bathroom, and then the kitchen for the medication.

Back in here, there were now two lots of radio notes on hand so seeing that once more there was nothing on the dictaphone, I sat down and began work.

By the time that the nurse arrived, I’d finished editing one of them – the notes for the extra track to join the two halves of one of the programmes I’d prepared a week or so ago. I had to break off at that point to sort him out.

He had the usual banal comments and questions, but didn’t hang around long. I could then crack on, make breakfast and read MY NEW BOOK.

We’re discussing the wharves on the River Thames and its tributaries today. One thing that I hadn’t realised was that most of the wharves and landing stages were private and a toll was charged to anyone who used them. Quite a few had been authorised by the City but quite a few more were unauthorised.

There were however a few free wharves where one could come ashore without payment, and I imagine that they were quite popular.

Breakfast was however interrupted. The electrician came, so I had to take him downstairs and show him what needed doing. Once he was settled in, I left him to it. So work has started downstairs at last.

Back in my little room, I finished off assembling the programme that I’d started earlier, and then attacked the one for which I’d dictated the notes this morning.

There was the usual interruption from my cleaner who came by to fit my anaesthetic patches, and with the taxi not now coming until 13:00 I came back in here to carry on working.

By the time that it arrived, I’d just about finished it, which is another good day’s work done already.

We had a pleasant drive down to Avranches, the driver, another passenger and me. And when we arrived there, most of the people had been already plugged up so in theory there wasn’t a very long wait.

However, our plans came to nought as one of the elderly patients, an old man with dementia who was there for the first time, was proving to be difficult and all the nurses were crowded around him.

Once I was connected though, I could review my shopping list for LeClerc, revise my Welsh and … errr … have a little relax.

Once more, at unplugging time; the elderly patient was having another crisis and so it was quite late when I was unplugged and compressed.

However the principle of these 13:00 taxis and 14:00 starts is something of a benefit, if it all works out as it’s supposed to.

There were two other passengers in the car with me on the way home so we went around the houses, but waiting for me at the apartment was not only my faithful cleaner, but the Hound of the Baskervilles and his owner.

We stuck our heads into the apartment while we were passing and noticed that the electrician seems to have done a good job. He’ll finish off when the kitchen fitter is there.

Later on, we went out for a meal at this new Italian restaurant where I had an excellent penne arrabbiata – the first time for a positive age and I enjoyed every mouthful of it.

Back here, we had a good chin-wag until tiredness overwhelmed us and it was time for bed.

But what a nice pleasant day it has been today, and for many reasons too. It’s been quite exciting.

It’s always very nice to meet old friends, and “old” is the word, for we have been friends for 60 years this coming September when we sat next to each other on our first day at Grammar School.
He was always a very devoted and loyal friend. One day he came up to me in school and said "the other boys in the class are saying that you aren’t fit to live with pigs"
"And what did you say?" I asked.
"Ohh, I stood up for you" he said. "I said that you are!"

0

Monday 9th June 2025 – THEY HAVE CHANGED …

… my hours at the dialysis centre, so it seems.

However, it wasn’t they who told me, it was the taxi company, when I rang them to find out why the taxi hadn’t come for me

It’s not been changed to the morning either, which was what I was hoping, but instead it’s being put back from 13:30 to 14:00. That is what they would in Mexico call a peon in the hacienda.

What was annoying was that I was good and ready for the taxi at 12:30, after having what for me is a good night’s sleep. It was after midnight when I stopped letting it all hang out and crawled off to bed. It took a while to go off to sleep but once I’d gone, I’d really gone.

And there I stayed until all of … errr … 05:50. I didn’t recall anything whatsoever going on during the night.

Being awake is 05:50 is not the same as being out of bed. That’s for sure. Mind you, when I heard the electric water heater switch off at 06:20 I was already sitting at my desk. I had decided to make the most of the opportunity and I was dictating the notes for the additional track to complete the radio programme that I almost finished yesterday.

After a wash, a clothes-washing session and the morning’s supply of medication, I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out what I’d been up to during the night. I wasn’t going to work any more. I’d been ill so I’d finished work and was at home. I’d been experimenting with a few things. At the end of the week, on a Friday, Nerina came home with a loaf of bread, some cakes and a few types of speciality loaves. She was showing them to me. “I don’t want to steal your thunder” I said, but reaching under the worktop, I pulled out a loaf that I had made during the day. She replied that her loaf was much nicer than mine, which they probably were. I noticed that my loaf of bread had been cut in half. It was in two halves under the counter and one half had not been put into the freezer to freeze. She’d also brought some cakes with her. She told me that a couple were for me. I wondered how I was going to eat them because it was going to be difficult. She made no explanation so I thought that I’d eat one today and maybe one tomorrow, something like that. I thought that this would give me a great opportunity to actually do some baking myself. I didn’t want to be put off by this idea of Nerina buying stuff and bringing it home when I’d like to have a go at making it

Nothing in the above would surprise me. Nerina never had great faith in my cooking, which was hardly surprising bearing in mind my mother’s cooking. What started off my culinary apprenticeship, such as it was, was with Nerina who, having an Italian mother, could rustle up a tasty meal out of the most basic ingredients. The rest was picked up here and there, especially from my friend Liz (“that” Liz, not “this” Liz) and by trial and error – usually much more of the latter.

There was a battle to be fought. It was to take place in the early months of the Spring. It was again something to do with the Wars of the Roses. The armies had to negotiate themselves into a good position so that they could defend it and attack the opponents. One of them had to inform its superiors in whichever army by 12th June – can you imagine that? Preparing for a war and having to organise something for several months like this?

We had a “Wars of the Roses” moment the other day too. This book about medieval castles is really getting to me right now. But the prelude to the battle bears a strong resemblance to the prelude for the Battle of Flodden Field in 1513

Later on, it was something to do with mobile ‘phones. Some young boy had had a mobile ‘phone at first and was totally confused by all of the offers on the market. His father sat down and went through them all with him. They worked out which one was the best so they arranged coverage with that one. In the meantime, the father decided that he’d buy the main shop in the town where this best company was installed and slowly set out the premises, then he could take over the installation of these sites and how tall they were. That way, he’d have a monopoly on the amount of work that was being done in the town on mobile ‘phones.

There was nothing in that dream that seemed to be of any significance or ring any bells with me.

Finally, I’d had a girlfriend. She was a few years younger than me but I liked her anyway and she liked me, which was the important thing. We hung around for a while, nothing particularly seriously, One day she’d been round to my house but my mother said that she’d have to go. I saw her to the door but told her to come back in half an hour. Half an hour later she was there on the doorstep and I smuggled her into the house. I had to leave her for a minute while I went to the bathroom, and she decided that she needed to go too. She went into the bathroom and I closed the door and waited outside. My mother had heard the toilet flush from the previous time so she came upstairs to use the bathroom, walked in and found this girl in there. Naturally, she was quite upset and it led to something of an argument but by the time that the three of us were walking downstairs again my mother had calmed down a little. I think that she’d started to accept by this time that this girl was going to be somewhere around in the future. I remember saying to this girl as we were walking down the stairs “you can’t say that life going out with me isn’t exciting, can you?”.

This house – it was the one in Shavington that we left when I was 16. I can see it quite clearly. I can still see the girl too. She was short, small-framed and with dark curly hair down just past her shoulders. I was convinced that I knew who she was too, but now that I’m awake … "really?" – ed … I can’t recognise her at all.

But finally “getting the girl” and overwhelming my mother? Things are surely beginning to look up. I just wish that I knew who the girl was.

Isabelle the Nurse breezed in as usual and didn’t hang about. It’s her last day so I imagine that she has plenty of blood samples and injections to perform, seeing as her oppo starts his round tomorrow.

After she left I made breakfast and then sat down to eat it, with a good book on the laptop.

At long last, we’ve finished Geo T Clark’s MEDIEVAL MILITARY ARCHITECTURE IN ENGLAND and I can’t say that I was disappointed. It ended up going out like a damp squib which is not surprising.

And having yesterday mocked somewhat the author of a book dated 1840, the next reading matter to come round on the book list was printed in 1604.

It’s called THE SURVEY OF LONDON and it’s a guide book discussing the different localities of London as they were at the end of the Fifteenth Century, with a few anecdotal notes about things that our author, John Stowe, picked up while he was researching.

It’s a book that’s been on my reading list for ages. Liz (“this” Liz, not “that” Liz) and I spent days wandering around London in between University meetings twenty years ago, visiting all kinds of hidden corners.

London has changed considerably since the slum clearances that began at the end of the Nineteenth Century and the Luftwaffe bombing, so I’m hoping to find a collection of books that describe how it used to be. I’ve found a few from the early Twentieth Century but they are in the period where the modernisation of the City was in full swing, and a lot had gone already by them.

What I’m hoping is that this book will fill the gap.

After breakfast I came back in here to start work. And today’s task was the Welsh homework, which is now finished, although God knows what it will be like. I’m really struggling to concentrate these days.

My cleaner turned up bang on time to fit my patches, and then I had to wait for the taxi. And wait. And wait.

When I rang up to enquire after it, I was told that the dialysis centre had changed my hours. That was the first that I had heard of it.

The taxi already had a passenger aboard when it arrived, and once I was in, we set off.

At the dialysis centre I was seen quite quickly. They confirmed that my hours had changed but they didn’t believe me when I told them that I knew nothing about it. That rather annoyed me.

No-one bothered me all afternoon, which was a good thing. However, I didn’t do very much. I wasn’t in the mood.

The same passenger was with me on the return journey so the driver dropped him off first. It took about fifteen minutes to take him to his room at the Re-education Centre so it was about 19:15 when I made it back home. And I’ve no idea why, but I found myself in a foul mood.

Back in my lair, I crashed into a chair and vegetated for an hour. I was exhausted. Tea was a simple pasta and burger and now I’m off to bed, totally wasted.

But seeing as we have been talking about historical novels … "well, one of us has" – ed … a book written in 1604 will be full of obsolete phrase and spelling.
That’s no surprise though, because the English language was in a state of confusion, consolidation and correction round about that time.
As Kenneth Williams once famously said "but English is a very peculiar language"
And as Sid James famously replied "you interrupt me once more and you’ll hear some VERY peculiar language"

0

Saturday 7th June 2025 – I HAD NOTHING ON …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

0

Thursday 5th June 2025 – I HAD NOTHING ON …

… the dictaphone yet again this morning.

But there again, what do you expect? When you don’t go to bed until midnight and you’re up and about again at … gulp 03:15, you don’t really have all that much time to go very far.

The irony of this is that had I made a special effort, I could have been in bed a lot earlier than that but, as usual, I prevaricated. I wasn’t really in the mood for going to bed, despite the fact that it had been a ridiculously early start that morning. Where is this 03:15 awakening coming from?

Once I made it into bed, I didn’t go to sleep straight away either. I had all kinds of things churning over inside my head and it was quite crowded in there. Eventually, I could settle down and go to sleep.

At about 03:15 I awoke with another mysterious pain – in the left shin and calf this time. I felt a desperate urge to scratch it but I’m trying to stop doing that. But whatever it was, I couldn’t go back to sleep and eventually I raised myself from the Dead. No point in lazing around when there are things to do.

Despite being exhausted, I attacked the radio programme that I’d begun to prepare the other day and I pushed on quite rapidly. I may as well make the most of it.

In the bathroom I had a wash and a shave in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant this afternoon, and washed my undies in the sink ready for the next occasion.

After I’d had my medication I came back in here to carry on until Isabelle the Nurse arrived. She couldn’t hang around today as she had plenty to do. Still, we had a nice little chat while she sorted me out. And it seems that where my shin is hurting, I have a leaking oedema. So here we go again, back to where we were twelve months ago.

After she left I made breakfast and read some more of MY BOOK. We’re still at Wareham Castle, but that’s because I was side-tracked on several occasions.

Back in here, I carried on with the radio programme until my faithful cleaner interrupted me to fit my patches.

The taxi was early today, which was nice, and even though there were two other people to pick up en route we arrived at Avranches quite early.

The only trouble was that so did everyone else, and the nursing staff hadn’t completed the cleaning of the machines so we had to wait. And being amongst the slowest people there, I was seen to last of all. Just my luck.

Emilie the Cute Consultant was there but she kept her distance.So did everyone else and it was the little student who drew the short straw. The coupling-up was comparatively painless, which makes a change from how it’s been just recently.

To amuse myself, I revised my Welsh and also had a little crash-out.

My favourite taxi driver brought me home which was nice. And my cleaner was waiting, with the spare keys for the new apartment.

Tea was a vegan burger and pasta, and right now I’m off to bed, totally wasted after two days of no sleep. I shall probably sleep for a week now, if I’m lucky. I’ve not written much today, but I’m in a rush to have this day over and done. I’ve already fallen asleep twice.

But while we’re on the subject of leaving the bed early, one of Nerina’s friends once asked me "when you have these sleeping issues like this, do you always wake up grumpy?"
"Ohh no" I replied. "I usually let her sleep on".

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Monday 2nd June 2025 – WHAT AN ABSOLUTE …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Saturday 31st May 2025 – AS I SHOULD …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Thursday 29th May 2025 – ANOTHER PAINFUL DAY …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Monday 26th May 2025 – YET MORE CHAOS …

… at the dialysis centre today.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Saturday 24th May 2025 – I AM ABSOLUTELY …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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