Tag Archives: crash out

Monday 20th July 2026 – NOT ANOTHER MARATHON …

… session at the dialysis centre, surely. The maximum rate of extraction for me is 950 millilitres per hour and they had it running today at 934. This dialysis is beginning to look like an extreme sport.

Going to bed is becoming an extreme sport too these days. Try as I might, I can’t seem to go to bed at anything like a reasonable time. Even last night, it was still getting on for 23:30 when I finally went to bed.

That’s not all either. I had another turbulent night that ended at 02:30 when I awoke. From then on, it was another one of these “drifting in and out of sleep” nights;

When the alarm rang, we had the usual struggle to drag me to my feet but eventually I managed to drag myself into the bathroom to sort myself out, including a shave in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant this afternoon at dialysis.

Back in here afterwards, I turned my attention to the dictaphone to find out what had been going on during the night.

I was in bed when I dreamed that a girlfriend’s mother came by and started to give me food. But one of the pieces of food went down my windpipe instead of my throat, and I awoke with one of these incredible coughing fits that I haven’t had for a while as if I had something stuck in my throat.

This dream is self-explanatory, and it’s really sad news to see that this cough is slowly coming back to haunt me.

There is also “something” going on right now involving a former girlfriend’s mother, and who knows? You might get to hear about it if you’re patient, because it won’t be any time soon.

We were at a big university and there was a lot going on there. The first thing was that one of the girls whom we vaguely knew ended up being the girlfriend of a friend. He used to spend most of his time in her room so we went up once and had a crafty listen at the door. And we weren’t wrong! We noticed on the door was this girl’s name and her boyfriend’s name, with a couple of boyfriends’ names crossed out – they had obviously once been going out with her. My two friends wanted to creep away but I wanted to write “congratulations” on a piece of paper and push it under the door to surprise them. But in the end, I left, and we carried these spear things that we had. We carried them down the stairs with us. Then, there was a drought and things were struggling. We knew that the Japanese students were able to conjure up water so we thought that we’d capture a couple, so I went to try to capture one of these Japanese people, but in the end my friends talked me out of it. At the same time, someone decided that he was going to play a game. He was going to be let loose and roam around this tower block and everyone else would have to try to capture him. We were doing something like this with dice and counters in a game called “The Met”, like you have with the Metropolitan Police, but this was real life so we started off on the hunt. Eventually, I could tell roughly which room he was in, so we went again down the corridor and listened at the door until we were chased away by some Japanese soldiers. I had a plan then that they would be guarding that corridor and they’d be guarding the uphill approach to there, so I got into the lift and went to the floor above. There were different people waiting to get into the lift, and in the end, my two friends joined me, and we managed to keep everyone else out. So we walked down to the end of this corridor and climbed over the safety rail and walked down the fire escape until we were near the door which would lead into the hostel there on that floor. But there were two students standing guard on the window there to that room so we had to think of a way to break in because these students were thin and maybe malnourished. Anyway, we arrived there at this window, and there were two people sitting there on the window and they were pushing everyone away, including us, even though we’d come from a different direction. In the end, we had a maths challenge where the three of us were given a hundred questions and we had to see how many we could do and how many of them would be correct.

What a strange dream this was! It’s not the first time that I’ve invented a new game during my sleep. I ought to patent and market them. But for this game here, I can already imagine the entries on several squares –
1 – insult a colleague of ethnic minority
2 – kick a peaceful protester in the groin
3 – interview a witness so thoroughly that he has to spend the next five weeks in hospital

The two friends in this dream are unknown to me but the other guy and the girl involved are people whom I know and recognise from fifty-five years ago. The building, too, is also one that has featured quite regularly in my life during my waking hours thirty-five to forty years ago.

Apart from all of that, this is another dream that would be quite interesting to explore further, although not necessarily the maths test and the Japanese people. I’m not sure why they are there.

The nurse was really early again today but he didn’t stay long. He seemed to be in quite a hurry and didn’t have much to say. Once he’d left, I could make my breakfast and read some more of A HISTORY OF ARCHITECTURE by Charles Freeman.

We’ve left early mediaeval France and are now discussing “The Romanesque Of Northern France And England, Or Norman Style”.

We’re not even ten lines into the chapter when he comments that "it will be allowable to dwell with greater minuteness upon the architecture of so splendid a period, when if art had not reached the same zenith of perfection as in the palmy days of Gothic skill, yet the number, vastness, and magnificence of its works attest alike the bounty of founders and the genius of architects.".

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that only ten days ago, he was heaping abuse on Roman architecture "on the ground of mere vastness and magnificence" and lack of artistic effort.

However, the reasons for his dramatic change of opinion when it comes to the architecture of Northern France and England soon become clear. "Majestic and awful, rather than beautiful, no style is more truly religious, more imbued with the spirit and position of the Church in its own day, the day when St. Anselm braved spoliation and banishment, and St. Thomas sealed his witness with his blood."

Back in here, there was, as usual, plenty do but it ended up being more than that because, at about 10:15, I fell asleep and didn’t awaken until 11:10. That was a waste of an hour.

At 12:00 (I’ve set an alarm on dialysis day now so that I don’t oversleep), I headed off into the living room to prepare my things. My cleaner turned up ready to apply the anaesthetic but when she took the plasters off from Saturday, one of the punctures began to bleed, so that delayed us for a while.

While she was here, I also showed her how I had repaired the drawer yesterday. And while I was demonstrating, another one fell apart so we’ll fix that when I come back.

The taxi was ten minutes early today, which is good news. The earlier I arrive, the earlier I can depart. We had to go to Sartilly to pick up my usual travelling companion, but even so, it was just a handful of seconds after 13:30 when we arrived.

As I said earlier, there’s another mammoth load of water to remove from me today, as I discovered when I weighed myself, so I wasn’t looking forward to this session. I was in a small ward with just one other person today, but the nurse in charge was one who seems to have something of an attachment to me and she even stroked my arm several times.

She explained which of the blood pressure readings were important and which weren’t, so if the alarm rang for an unimportant reading, she showed me how to cancel it. That meant that I could pretty much be left in peace.

One of the doctors came round and asked me how things were, so I told him about the cough and the pain in my foot. “We’ll see how it develops” was his response. That’s helpful.

When I was unplugged, I had to wait for the taxi but even so, I was still back here for 18:20. My faithful cleaner was there to help me in, and then we set about repairing the drawer that had collapsed at lunchtime. This time, though, it wasn’t as easy as the others that I repaired, but once we resorted to the use of a hammer, it seemed to go together acceptably.

After my cleaner left, I made a quick tea – a plate of pasta and veg tossed in olive oil, freshly ground black pepper and grated vegan cheese. And it was just as delicious as always.

After I’d washed up, I came back in here to write up my notes, but no sooner had I started than a huge wave of fatigue overwhelmed me. To my extreme disappointment … "and to yours too, I imagine" – ed … there was no other solution but to go to bed, and my notes can take care of themselves in the morning.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about the police … "well, one of us has" – ed … one day a policeman turned up at our front door and spoke to Nerina.
He showed her a photo and asked her "is this your husband?"
"Yes it is" she replied.
The policeman continued "I’m afraid that it looks as if he’s been hit by a lorry"
"I know" she replied. "His personality is not up to much either."

Saturday 18th July 2026 – WHAT A DREADFUL …

… day this has been today. I really don’t know where to start.

Probably, I should start at the very beginning – a very good place to start. And the beginning was actually last night when I finally managed to crawl into bed. And that was at 23:17, much later than I’d intended. I really don’t know where the time goes in the evening.

Once in bed, I managed to go to sleep quite quickly, and there I stayed until all of … errr … 03:20 when I awoke. That’s about four hours of continuous sleep, and that’s the longest continuous sleep that I’ve had for a while. However, it’s still not long enough.

From then on, I was, as usual, drifting in and out of sleep until the alarm finally went off at 06:29 as usual. And then we had the habitual struggle to rise to my feet, which took much longer than it ought.

After I’d sorted myself out in the bathroom, including having a shave in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant this afternoon at dialysis, I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out what had happened during the night.

And the short answer was “nothing”. I needn’t have bothered. That was only one of the many disappointments today.

There were plenty of other things that needed doing so I sorted them out until the nurse came. He didn’t have much to say for himself today, so once he’d sorted out my legs and feet, he cleared off quite rapidly and I could make breakfast.

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

Today, we’ve finished the Anglo-Saxon architecture, and, having made a whistle-stop tour of early mediaeval Germany, we’re now looking at post-Roman France. This seems to be one of his favourite periods, waxing lyrical about how the Gauls, the Burgundians and the people in the Midi in the Holy Roman Empire managed to improve on what had gone before.

Mind you, he’s managed to avoid controversy so far, quite possibly because I happen to agree with him to a certain degree.

However, breakfast did not pass without incident. Yesterday evening, I’d dropped a glass jar and had shards of glass all over the kitchen. This morning, a bottle of water fell out of the fridge, and I also managed to knock my orange juice all over the kitchen worktop. Still, start as you mean to go on, I suppose.

Back in here, I had a few things to do and then I started work on the next radio programme. However, round about 10:30, I could feel a wave of fatigue coming all over me, and although I tried valiantly to fight it off, I eventually …

ZZZZZZZZ

The next thing that I remember was my faithful cleaner shaking me awake. It was 12:18 and I’d been in a really deep sleep forever. It took me a while to come to my senses, and then I went into the dining area to have my anaesthetic applied.

The sleep hadn’t been wasted, though.

While I was asleep during the morning, I was dreaming about a rock group. It had to cancel half of its performances for some reason or other, especially some in the United States. The discussion went on that anyone who had a ticket for one of the events that was cancelled could use that ticket to go into a concert that they were going to play later at Rochester in New York State, not too far from New York City.

This presumably relates to a famous Beatles tour back in the early days when Ringo Starr was hospitalised with tonsilitis and there was a huge dispute between the other three about whether to cancel the tour or to find a stand-in drummer. Eventually, they found a drummer called Jimmy Nicol who knew the Beatles’ repertoire, and he flew out with them to start the tour until Starr became available again.

The taxi was a couple of minutes late today so he didn’t catch me in flagrante delicto. Today, I was the only passenger so we actually arrived at the dialysis centre early. 13:41 was on my weight ticket.

So 13:41 I was weighed, and no-one was more disappointed than me to find that I had to wait until 14:43 to be connected and up and running. And once more, it was going to be another mammoth session with the machine running practically flat out.

Once I was off, I was left pretty much alone during the session – the blood pressure only dropped once into the “critical” range. I could work pretty much without interruption, except that Stranraer was running a replay of a match that they had played against Alloa Athletic a year ago that I had missed.

When it was time to unplug me, I had to wait fifteen minutes or so for them to start, but at least the driver was waiting to bring me home when I was finally ready.

The roads were much clearer than Saturday last week, so I was home by 18:50, where my cleaner was waiting to help me into the apartment. She settled me down in a chair in the kitchen and passed me a disgusting drink before leaving.

Once she’d gone, I could make tea. A burger on a bap with salad and a baked potato, followed by two slices of fruit bread; It was all delicious and I surprised myself by almost going to cut a third slice of bread. Is my appetite returning?

After I’d finished and done the washing-up, I staggered into the bedroom and sat down at the computer. However, I hadn’t even started my notes before I was hit with an impossible wave of fatigue.

An hour or so later, after I’d awoken, I just rolled over into bed and went to sleep. The notes can wait until tomorrow.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about dropping things … "well, one of us has" – ed … a drunk man staggered out of a pub to go home when suddenly he dropped his keys.
After half an hour, several other people leaving the pub joined in the search, but no-one had any luck.
Eventually, one of the searchers came over to him and asked "Are you sure that you dropped them around here?"
"Oh no" he replied. "It was over there but it’s too dark to see anything there."

Thursday 16th July 2026 – WHAT A BAD …

… day this has been!

It’s hard to think of anything that has actually gone right today and it’s really been getting on my wick.

Take last night, for example. I had every good intention of being in bed at some reasonable time but even though I tried, the torrential downpour that opened up meant that I had to walk around the apartment closing all of the windows. And you’ve no idea just how long it takes me to do something like that these days.

It was round about 23:15 when I was finally in bed, but the sound of the rain kept me awake for ages before I eventually slid into the arms of Morpheus.

And I wasn’t there for long, either. Round about 02:20 … "why is it always 02:20?" – ed … I awoke again. And awake I stayed for hours, thinking that I’d never go back to sleep at this rate. But at some point, I did, because I awoke again at 06:19 or something like that – just a few minutes before the alarm.

If I’d tried hard, I could have gone for an early start, but I decided not to bother. However, it was still a real struggle when the alarm finally did go off. I was sitting on the edge of the bed for a good ten minutes trying to wake up.

In the bathroom, I had a good wash and even a shave in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant this afternoon at dialysis, and then I came back in here to start work.

There was nothing on the dictaphone when I went for a listen. The short night had evidently curtailed all of that, but there was still plenty to do while I waited for the nurse.

He was early again too and it didn’t take him long to sort me out. While he was dealing with me, we were chatting about Montreal and how he wants to go there to visit. I told him where to go and mentioned THE CITY OF QUÉBEC too, which is beautiful.

Once he’d gone, I could make breakfast and read some more of A HISTORY OF ARCHITECTURE by Charles Freeman.

Today, we’ve finished Byzantium, had a whistle-stop tour of early mediaeval Germany and Ireland, and we’re now in Anglo-Saxon England. As yet, he’s been behaving himself and there’s nothing controversial in what he’s written. Here’s hoping that he keeps it up.

Back in here, I finished selecting all of the tracks that I wanted for this live concert and the sound track is assembled. One of the joints was pretty dreadful so I had to splice in some additional applause so that I had more room to fiddle about with everything. And now, it’s working fine and you can’t tell where any of the joints are.

Once that was up and running, I began to write the notes. However, round about 10:45 I crashed out dramatically, and there I was, fast asleep in my chair when my cleaner awoke me at 12:15 to apply my anaesthetic.

With her being late, it was late when she left, and the taxi arrived early, about two minutes after I’d gone for a ride on the porcelain horse. Definitely caught in flagrante delicto there, I was.

Not that I’m complaining, though. We arrived quite early and I was seen almost straight away, and by 14:06 I was up and running. It was another new nurse too who saw to me.

As usual, the blood pressure was set for every thirty minutes, and every thirty minutes the nurses came running when the low pressure alarm sounded, but it wasn’t low pressure at all to me – just normal.

The doctor came to see me too, but unfortunately it wasn’t Emilie the Cute Consultant today. I had to make do with an ordinary one. But he didn’t help me very much;

The dialysis machine was going full blast again so I was exhausted by the time that it finished. However, they dealt with me quickly yet again and by the time that I was unplugged, the driver was waiting for me to take me home.

Earlier this afternoon when I had set out, my walking was “gone” and I had a real struggle to move. I felt absolutely awful. But on leaving, I was walking much better, despite being exhausted by the dialysis process.

We were back here for 18:20, which made a really pleasant change, and my faithful cleaner had to rush back from shopping to help me back into the apartment.

She helped me sit down and gave me a disgusting drink, and after she left, I made tea – rice and veg with something with kidney beans, olives and tomato sauce. And I didn’t enjoy it. Once more, it tasted of nothing but salt.

So now, having finished my notes, I’m going to go to bed. And I hope that tonight is better than last night and I can have a decent sleep for once, not that it’s likely.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about walking, like around my apartment and how difficult it was to go to dialysis … "well, one of us has" – ed … when I was in Nova Scotia twenty-odd years ago talking to Anne Murray, she of SNOWBIRD fame, I asked her "why do birds fly south in winter?"
"I don’t know" she replied. "Why do birds fly south in winter?"
"Because it’s too far to walk."

Wednesday 15th July 2026 – IT HAS BEEN …

… a slightly better day today (I think) following the exertions of the last few days and I’ve been feeling a little more like it, which makes a change. Even though it’s only a little more, every sign of improvement is welcomed.

Not that you would have thought so last night. It was another late night when it should have been an early one, but as usual, I can’t seem to concentrate enough these days to push on without being side-tracked.

And as you might expect, with it being the quatorze juillet last night, there was an impressive, mammoth firework display down at the port. And it started up the minute that I climbed into bed.

That was guaranteed to cheer me up as I was desperately trying to go to sleep, as you can imagine.

These days, I’m in no fit state to walk to the edge of the cliffs on the other side of the headland to take photographs of the events, so I’ve posted a photo that I took in 2022 when I was still able to walk around.

Once the racket was over, I tried to go to sleep, but it seemed to take longer, longer than ever last night. And when I finally did, waking up at about 01:30 and again at 02:20 was certainly not part of the olan.

That second time, I had a great deal of difficulty going back to sleep, but somehow I managed it, only to wake up again at 06:15. At that point, I could have gone for an early start and slid my feet out of the bed onto the floor, but I decided against it and curled up in bed to make the most of what I could of these remaining fifteen minutes.

When the alarm went off, it was the usual struggle for me to rise to my feet – maybe fifteen minutes or so – and then I staggered off into the bathroom to sort myself out for the day.

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

I was dictating my notes on Canada during the night. It was one of Darren’s friends who turned up in a big Cadillac and wanted to have a chat with me. We went off for a chat and we were in some kind of schoolroom, and there was this old man there who was worrying everyone about his problems, and no-one else was allowed to have any problems unless they accepted his, all that kind of thing. People tried to sit him down and talk to him but he just refused, so I’d written out an invitation for him to come along and have a chat, but seeing as I thought that I wasn’t going to waste my time, I screwed it up and threw it in the bin. I put something on the notice board but I folded it over so that no-one else could see it, but if he wanted to, he could undo it and read the message. Then, the boss came down and said that he had committed suicide and wanted to know what we knew about it. We all repeated this story about what had happened, but he found my letter that I’d screwed up and thrown away in the waste bin, so he immediately began to connect me with all of this. He was interrogating me quite closely, but I was saying that I was just telling him what I saw and what happened, and not forming any opinions of my own at all. Then I had to write out my notes about my visit to Canada. I started off with a piece of A4 and a pen, but I thought that I may as well write it out first or last onto the computer. So I started the computer, but somehow I was back with these pieces of paper and a pen and I must have had five attempts with these papers and pen before I was able to sit down and start on the computer.

Darren in Canada actually does know someone very well who has a Cadillac, but it was certainly not him last night. Anyway, here’s a photo of the car in all its glory, just to liven up events.

The story of the old man relates to nothing that I can recall, but the piece of paper in the bin has some kind of relation to an event probably fifty years ago, and it’s strange that it should suddenly occur right now.

The idea of writing out by hand my dictaphone notes is strange too. Today, my first instinct when transcribing them would be to reach for a computer keyboard. Having five attempts with a paper and pen beforehand would be a very strange way for me to go about things these days.

But something else on here was that my elder sister and her husband put in some kind of appearance. They had come into a little bit of money so they were talking about buying a couple of cars to clean up and sell them. My sister asked her husband about prices for cars and he replied “what do I know? Where can I find out?”. I pointed them in the direction of the Auto Trader magazine and told them to take out a monthly subscription, but if they are going to do this on a regular basis, they may as well try to get hold of Glass’s Guide, which is something that values vehicles much more precisely than the Auto Trader stuff.

This is probably the most unlikely dream that I have ever had, I reckon. My elder sister and her husband would certainly not be interested in messing around with cars, not under any circumstances at all. So why I dreamt it, I have no idea.

I’d put some secondary double glazing in the windows of my apartment. I’d rescued them from an old solicitor’s office so they had something and “solicitor” written on them that people could see from outside, so I ended up having one or two enquiries about this kind of thing. Someone came along and asked me to try to find a girl who had gone missing, so I said that I’d see what I could do. I went round to see her family – it was an Italian father-type figure with a young blonde-haired wife. It turned out that this daughter was the daughter of his first wife who had died, and the girl was still in existence and still living, although she’s not lived at home for a few years. All in all, he quite satisfied me that what he was saying was correct. Then, he asked me to stay around because he might need my services at some point, so I stayed around and he chatted to me for a while. In the end, he wanted to begin to upset a couple of nurses’ homes in the area, finding ways to annoy them. I tried to find out what they had done to annoy him, but he wouldn’t say, but he went about it in his own way with no help from me. I noticed that he was becoming increasingly more bitter as the time went on. It was then that I found him standing in a doorway looking into the room, so I went to look into the room too. There was some kind of monster there … "the bit that goes here has been edited out" – ed … Eventually, he explained to me that that was his son by his first wife and was born terribly handicapped and deformed. That was the reason why he had killed his first wife, and this is the reason why he’s wanting to attack these nurses’ homes. His wife said in the end that all he seems to think about is his son. He doesn’t think anything at all about anything else.

As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … it’s not usually my habit to edit out parts of my dreams. If they are the disagreeable or violent ones, I usually don’t publish anything about them, but this one was so interesting, apart from the bit that you really don’t want to read and you’ll thank me for not publishing it, that it needs to be published as far as it’s appropriate to do so.

The apartment that I had was a modern one, not this one here, on the second floor of a building and the plot seemed to be something of a cross between FAREWELL MY LOVELY starring Robert Mitchum, and Michael Caine’s PULP, ironically two of my favourite films and how anyone can give “Pulp” a one-star rating is totally beyond my comprehension.

But I’m not quite sure of what to make of this dream. It was certainly disturbing, but on the other hand, it was certainly interesting and compelling. I just wish that I knew what its significance was because, apart from those two films, it relates to absolutely nothing that I can recall. Certainly nothing recently.

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

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

The nurse was early today. 08:09 when he put his sooty foot through my front door. We just chatted a little about the impending storm later on this afternoon and after he’d finished my legs and feet, he cleared off.

Once he was out of the door, I could make my breakfast. And while I was eating, I was reading some more of A HISTORY OF ARCHITECTURE by Charles Freeman

Today, he’s introduced the subject of bell towers (spire, steeples and all of that) into the discussion, and goes on to say that "the introduction of so striking and characteristic a feature in any form was a very great step. It is one which owes its origin to Christianity ; a campanile was never attached to an idol-temple, and is equally forbidden at this day to the proudest mosques of the false prophet. It is to Christian worship alone that the joyful sound of bells gathers the multitude of the faithful ; it is therefore to Christian temples only that the lofty towers are attached which rear them on high to convey their clear voice more distinctly and uninterruptedly."

This is on page 182, so there are another 375 pages of this kind of nonsense through which I have to wade.

There was some tidying up to do in the kitchen after breakfast, and then back in here afterwards, there were several things that needed doing on the computer. After that, I could start work.

Today’s task, as I mentioned yesterday, was to write out the remaining notes for the radio programme that I had been preparing. And that took longer than expected, due in part to me crashing out in the chair for forty-five minutes. I would probably still be crashed out in the chair right now too had it not been for a couple of spam calls and someone using a strimmer right outside my open window.

But I’m really fed up of these spam telephone calls, as you can imagine. It’s non-stop, one after the other after the other and it’s all the ‘phone calls that I seem to have these days.

Although it took longer than I was anticipating, I’d finished writing the notes by 15:00, and that’s not bad going considering how tired I was, my little doze in the armchair, my pause for a disgusting drink and probably a few other things too.

There was even time to make a good start on preparing a concert that will hopefully be broadcast the week after the one that I have just finished. And that reminds me that I must push on and finish dating this huge pile of concerts that I’ve inherited from several different sources. Once I do that, I’ll have a much better idea of who did what when and where and co-ordinate them into my “anniversaries” database. Over the past three or four years, it’s accumulated births and deaths, album release dates, rock concert and festival dates, United Nations international days and significant other dates too, and it’s ever-expanding.

Tea tonight was delicious. It was vegan pie with vegetables, mashed potato and gravy. Cooked to perfection, of course. There’s not much vegan pie left now, so I’ll have to start planning to make some more.

The promised storm didn’t turn up this afternoon. However, round about 18:00, there were a few rumbles of thunder in the distance. Right now, though, the sky has really gone black over Bill’s mother and I don’t reckon that it will be too long before it arrives. … "ten minutes later, it was pouring down with rain" – ed … After the fireworks last night, I could do with a quiet night in bed.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about the nurses home … "well, one of us has" – ed … I remember maybe about forty-five years ago when the nurses were lodged in what had been the old Memorial Hospital in Victoria Avenue in Crewe.
The building was due to be demolished but it had somehow kept going, but it was in a pretty dreadful state. The local Health Authority launched an appeal to raise some money to carry out the repairs.
The appeal had the slogan "PLEASE HELP OUR NURSES HOME".

Tuesday 14th July – HAPPY QUATORZE JUILLET …

… today’s the anniversary of the day when the French peasants stormed the Bastille, the notorious prison in Paris.

The Bastille was originally a fortress built during the Hundred Years War to protect the eastern approaches of Paris from attacks by the English but later on, it was used as a prison. It was also used as a military storehouse, with a large quantity of gunpowder and weapons kept there. The aim of the attackers was to capture these stores and also release the prisoners there.

In respect of the prisoners, they were somewhat disappointed, for they only found seven, and none of them were of any significance.

In contrast to that, very little of what happened during my night last night was lacking in significance. I’d gone to bed at round about 23:00, and I’d fallen asleep quite quickly. But not for long, though. I was wide awake at 00:20, again at 01:45 and a third time at 03:05.

That last time, I didn’t think that I’d ever go back to sleep afterwards, no matter how I tried, but I must have done at some point because when the alarm went off at 06:29, it rocked me to my foundations.

There was the usual struggle for me to rise to my feet, but eventually, I made it into the bathroom to sort myself out.

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

I dreamed that Seren had to go to dialysis, so she started, and when she arrived there, they asked her about her name and everything, and then they connected her up. After just over three hours, they found that it hadn’t made much difference because the weight still left to remove was almost as much as she started with. And she had a cough, which went right down to her chest, and it was the cough that awoke me, but she was still at dialysis being dialysed when she coughed.

Having to go to dialysis is not something that I would wish on anyone, especially when it fails so spectacularly as it did in the dream.

But the coughing fit is easy to explain. I had a couple of those during the night, although they weren’t as much of a problem as the usual coughing fits are, so I don’t think that they are related.

I went to turn on the desk light so that I could sit and work at the computer, but for some reason, the desk light didn’t come on. I tried by changing the plugs, etc., but it still didn’t work. Then, I noticed that a couple of other things weren’t working either. In the end, I switched on the main bedroom light and that worked so I carried on doing what I was doing. A little later, when there had been no resolution to any of this, I went into the living room. There was my little sister, curled up in a ball on the sofa reading a book. I noticed that her light was off too so I asked her about it. She said that it switched itself off about fifteen minutes ago and hasn’t come back on, so she was just sitting there waiting. I don’t know what happened after that because the dream ended.

It would be interesting to know why, in my room, the power sockets didn’t work but the computer was running and why, in the living room, it was the main lights that had gone out. Still, you don’t expect logic in my dreams, do you?

As for my sister, I’m not sure why she’s there. I’m trying to keep my family away from my subconscious mind.

There was some kind of café last night. The nurse who dealt with me yesterday, she was in charge of it. I was a customer there, but I noticed that the menu was extremely restricted because they were busy preparing all of the machines for the season. Then the place was formally opened by Doctor Amy Nelson, but the dream drifted away again here.

It seems that I’m not having much luck with my dreams – fading away like this. But who is Doctor Amy Nelson when she’s at home, if she ever is?

Isabelle the Nurse is now off on her break so it was her oppo who came round to see me today, telling me about his week’s break, down in Italy and on the Côte d’Azur. On his way back, he stayed in Clermont-Ferrand, and that made me quite jealous and I began to pine for the Auvergne.

After he left, I could make breakfast and read some more of A HISTORY OF ARCHITECTURE by Charles Freeman.

And having now left behind the “horrors” of Roman and Asian architecture in order to turn his attention to Byzantium, he’s now reverted to his original target of the “heathens”. "Unfortunately the great majority of those who investigate what is called ” classic ground ” devote their whole attention to the remains of heathen antiquity, to the utter exclusion of monuments which are of the highest importance in architectural history, and which may in many cases have been the actual seat of some of the most renowned fathers of the Church … The associations which bind us to the early Eastern Church, the names of her great Bishops and Doctors, seem to be held as nothing compared with the smallest fragment of worn-out heathendom. This exclusive care for what is pagan is at once a mark of an irreligious tendency, and of a forgetfulness of the real nature and value of art."

It’s rather sad to see this kind of polemic in a book like this. I know that it was written in the 1840s but nevertheless, I was expecting much better.

Back in the bedroom, I had a few things to do, but unfortunately, I crashed out and didn’t come round until about 11:15. And then, it took me a good while before I was ready to start work again.

So once the World had stopped spinning round, I turned my attention to the radio programme that I’d started yesterday. Now all of the music has been chosen, reformatted and re-edited, paired and segued, and I’ve even written the notes for some of it. I’ll push on and finish it tomorrow, if I don’t fall asleep for too long during the day.

There was the odd interruption or two during the afternoon, the most important of which was my faithful cleaner coming round to do her stuff. And while she was at it, she shooed me under the shower for a good scrub-up and hairwash, not that I have very much hair to wash these days.

And once again, not only did I go into the shower without any help, I managed to come out of it too, all alone. That’s definitely progress from my point of view and I shall have to keep on practising.

Tea tonight was a taco roll with the rest of the filling that I’d made last week. There wasn’t much of it, so I had to lengthen it, for which I used some mushrooms, tomato and onion. It was all on a plate with rice and vegetables and it tasted really nice. It’s definitely a meal to remember.

But now, I’m afraid that I’m off to bed, to try to have a decent night’s sleep. It’s cooled down somewhat, so you never know. I might be lucky.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about the Bastille … "well, one of us has" – ed … one of my friends asked me "Why did the French storm the Bastille on the fourteenth of July?"
"The answer to that is quite simple" I replied. "Seeing as it was a Bank Holiday and all the shops were likely to be closed, and before the days of football and television, they probably had nothing better to do."

Monday 13th July 2026 – JUST FOR A …

… change, we had some rain here this afternoon. And that was something that many people were pleased to see, bearing in mind the last few weeks of drought. And I do have to say that it did indeed make a welcome change.

Something else that made a welcome change was the fact that I actually had something of a decent night’s sleep. That certainly took me by surprise.

After I’d finished baking yesterday, I came back in here to write up my notes, totally oblivious to the fact that I hadn’t had anything to eat. I had completely forgotten about tea.

After my notes were finished and on line, I had a few things to do, and then I went to bed. It was round about 23:00, not as early as I was hoping, but then again, nothing is these days.

Strangely, it took me an age to go off to sleep. That’s the first time for quite a while that I’ve had a problem in this respect. But once asleep, there I stayed until all of … errr … 03:10.

At that time, I was awoken by someone shouting “hey”, and then something extremely important about the Welsh Premier League. I’ve no idea what it was now but it awoke me with a start yet again.

The bedroom window in here is slightly open, so I suppose that it could conceivably be someone outside shouting, but why would they be shouting something about the Welsh Premier League? In the end, I decided to treat it as a dream because I can’t think of what else it might have been.

The next thing that I remember was the alarm going off at 06:29. I don’t even remember going back to sleep after that earlier incident, so it really did take me by surprise. And once again, we had the usual struggle to rise to my feet and head off to the bathroom.

It’s a good wash and shave today, just in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant this afternoon. And then after that, I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. And as well as the previous dream, there was something else on there too.

It was ironic because earlier, I’d been dreaming about the Welsh Premier League. I had to make a series of radio broadcasts about the different leagues, different clubs and so on. They gave me a list of Premier Division clubs that I had to include somewhere or other in the programme and also made other suggestions about things that I should mention. By the time that I’d reached a thousand words, or something like that, I’d already written quite a few and it was moving quite nicely.

So here we go with the Welsh Premier League again. Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that I do spend a lot of my time one way or another with the Welsh Premier League, but it’s quite rare for me to dream about it. And judging by the opening comments, it’s in some way linked to the previous incident at 03:10.

Isabelle the Nurse turned up earlier than usual today – her last day for twelve days. She was looking all radiant in her summer gear, ready to go home and put the reclining seats on the patio and her feet up until a week on Sunday.

She told me about an accident that had taken place down the road during the night in which a car had gone out of control and collided with three parked vehicles. I’d heard nothing, of course.

After she’d left, I could make my breakfast and read some more of A HISTORY OF ARCHITECTURE by Charles Freeman.

We’ve finished Rome now and moved on to Byzantium, which pleases him much more, seeing as it’s Christian architecture and art.

Nevertheless, he still can’t resist firing a parting shot – "The division is purely horizontal ; a bay of a basilica is a thing which cannot be imagined. Size, splendour, even proportion, may make basilican architecture pleasing to the eye, and no other style has associations which can speak so powerfully to the heart ; but the living soul of art is wanting. It has freed itself from the absurdities and inconsistencies of heathen Rome,"

After breakfast, I cut in half the loaf that I made yesterday and put both halves into the freezer for another time. And the fruit loaf went into a tin. I’m determined to try it one of these nights.

Back in here, I had plenty of things to do. First of all, I reviewed the radio programme for this week and then sent it off. After that, despite my best intentions, I regrettably crashed out instead. And although I awoke later and made another start, I crashed out once more and it wasn’t until 11:45 that I awoke.

That gave me just enough time to choose the first record for the next radio programme before my faithful cleaner turned up to apply my anaesthetic.

She drew my attention to the sky outside. “That’s storm weather, if ever I have seen it,” I said to myself. “We’re going to be in for it quite soon”.

After she left, I waited for the taxi, and it was almost half an hour late. There was also someone else to pick up, so I was horribly late arriving at dialysis. Even so, I still had to wait, and it wasn’t until 14:45 that I was actually up and running.

Almost as soon as we had left my house, there was an enormous clap of thunder and flash of lightning, and it rained all the way to Sartilly.

During the whole session at the dialysis centre, which was another heavy one, by the way, the blood pressure alarm was going off every half-hour, bringing the nurses running. But there was nothing to worry about. It kept on interrupting my work and my attempts at some more beauty sleep, though.

The doctor came to see me too and told me the good news – that I don’t need another one of these cameras stuck up my nose. They are going to monitor my situation.

When it was time to unplug me, I had to wait fifteen minutes, which was annoying. The taxi driver was waiting for me, however, so we could push off quite quickly. The bad weather had gone and it was actually quite warm again.

There was another passenger in the car, whom I hadn’t noticed at first, so we had to go to Sartilly to drop her off. And it was 19:10 when I finally arrived home.

My cleaner helped me inside to sit down and recover, and after she left, I made some food – a bowl of pasta and vegetables, boiled and then fried in olive oil and black pepper, and covered with grated cheese. Another delicious meal.

So now that I’ve finished my notes, there are a few things left to do and then I’m off to bed, hoping for an even better sleep than last night. But as long as I don’t crash out during the day, I’ll be fine.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about churches and basilica … "well, one of us has" – ed … everyone was quietly praying one Sunday morning at the Basilica in Koekelberg in the north of Brussels when suddenly Satan appears.
Everyone immediately panics and runs for the exit except for one old man
"So, aren’t you afraid of me too?" asks Old Nick
"Not at all" replies the old man
"And why not?"
"Why should I be? After all, I’ve been married to your sister for nearly fifty years."

Sunday 12th July 2026 – SUNDAY IS A …

… Day Of Rest, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall. A day when I don’t do anything at all and spend much of my time in bed, even down to having the nurses deal with my legs and feet as I slumber on.

So consequently, last night, totally and utterly exhausted and having abandoned my blog notes for now, I went to bed at about 22:00 with an air of profound optimism, didn’t I?

And although it took a minute or two to go off to sleep, I ended up being well away with the fairies, although not in any manner that would excite comment from the editor of Aunt Judy’s Magazine. And there I stayed until all of … errr … 00:10.

That was when I awoke, and from then on for several hours, I was drifting in and out of sleep. And as seems to be the case these days, it was difficult to tell what period was which. Round about 06:00, I was definitely awake and there seemed to be no hope whatever of going back to sleep, so at 06:15 I was actually up and about.

After I’d sorted myself out in the bathroom, the first task was to listen to the dictaphone to find out what had happened during the night.

I was back in the Auvergne last night again and was standing for election to the town council. In the borough, in the part of the area where I lived, there was no opposition so I was “walked over” into the Houses of Parliament. And it was bricking really good as well and it looked quite an impressive thing to see, and I hoped that my descendants, or whoever completes the job, will have the same kind of senses to the colours … fell asleep here …

So this is the usual kind of incoherent nonsense … "you said it" – ed … that doesn’t make any sense at all and is totally meaningless. So much so that I can’t even remember dictating it. And it’s surely no surprise to anyone that I fell asleep in the middle of it all.

When Isabelle the Nurse turned up, she was amazed to find that I was out of bed and working. My reaction was that I was rather disappointed. I had hoped to have had a really decent sleep for once.

Anyway, after she finished with me, she wandered off on the rest of her rounds, still on foot. Everywhere was total chaos today with roads being closed up here for the brocante and down in the town too for the shopping morning.

Meanwhile, I was preparing my breakfast – porridge, coffee and home-made croissants – and while I was eating, I was reading some more of A HISTORY OF ARCHITECTURE by Charles Freeman.

He’s still going on with his anti-Roman tirade at first, but slowly, he’s gradually warming to some examples of Roman architecture. And the difference? "But it was not the old Rome of Pontiffs and Augurs, of Consuls and Emperors, that was to mould the arts of Teutonic Christendom. Before she could influence the race on whom the spirit of the Church was to take the firmest hold, she had herself to bend before the Cross. The greatness of Rome is indeed exclusively heathen …. its Christianity was but the precursor of its fall. It endured but to pass the torch of truth to a race springing into life with all the fervency of youthful vigour, whose greatness might be cradled in the lap of the Church, and during its historic being have known no other faith. This was the work of Christian Rome, to lay the foundation among another people of a truly Christian commonwealth; ;"

Back in here, I had a few things to do and to organise, but would you believe that I crashed out? It was 11:00 when I awoke so I reckoned that I’d been out for forty-five minutes, and I didn’t feel a thing.

Once I’d gathered up my wits, I continued with the notes for the blog, and they are now on line at long last. That meant that I could have a pause for a disgusting drink and the midday medication.

When I was back and ready, I carried on with the radio notes for the next programme, and it’s almost finished now. I just have to find a way of losing five seconds, but that shouldn’t be difficult.

There was time for a footfest afterwards. The first match was Stranraer, of the fourth tier, against Ayr United of the second. And Stranraer gave Ayr a good run for their money, twice taking the lead, but eventually going down 3-2. That was followed by Greenock Morton of the second tier v non-league Linlithgow Rose.

As for that game, I couldn’t believe what I was watching, and I ended up having to watch the streams from both clubs to make sense of it. I’ve seen Morton play some bad matches in the past, but never as bad as this. Morton lost the game 1-0 and they were lucky to get nil. Linlithgow hit the post with the keeper beaten three times during the game.

What I noticed particularly was how easily the Morton players were muscled off the ball. If a non-league side can do this to Morton, heaven help Morton when the league gets under way.

Later on, it was baking time, and as well as producing another nice home-made loaf, I made a fruit bread too, and that looks pretty good. However, the proof of the pudding is in the eating, so I’ll tell you in due course how they turn out.

Doing all that baking wore me out so I was glad to have a sit-down afterwards. And there was another bottle of alcohol-free beer in the fridge. That didn’t last long either.

Anyway, now that my notes are written, I’m off to bed. It’s dialysis tomorrow of course, and I don’t feel at all like going. But there’s nothing new there.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about bread … "well, one of us has" – ed … in Russia, a peasant went to the bakers to buy some bread.
"I’m sorry" said the baker "but I’ve run out."
"What a stupid country this is!" exclaimed the peasant. "And that stupid Vladimir Putin. He’s the worst of the lot. This is all his fault."
Just then a Russian soldier who had been listening came over, brandishing his rifle. "You want to watch yourself" he said to the peasant. "I would be perfectly justified in shooting you, so you clear off home and watch your mouth."
When he returned home, his wife noticed his empty hands. "Have they run out of bread again?" she asked
"They have indeed" he answered. "And I’ll tell you something else for nothing too."
"What’s that?"
"I reckon that they’ve run out of bullets too."

Friday 10th July 2026 – I MIGHT HAVE …

… known how today was going to turn out. It’s a day after dialysis, isn’t it?

So last night, having made myself ready for bed during a half-time interval, I was able to fall into bed at the final whistle of the Penybont – Santa Coloma game. I’ve no idea what time the match finished, but it was certainly quite late.

As far as I can remember, I was asleep even before my head touched the pillow and that was that until all of … errr … 01:20, when I awoke.

And that was that. Never mind how hard I tried, I was still unable to go back to sleep. So I lay there for ages, watching the dawn slowly lighten up the sky until the alarm went off as usual at 06:29.

You’ve no idea how difficult it was for me to leave the bed at that moment. And it took an absolute age for me to find the enthusiasm to stand up. At one point, I was seriously thinking about going back to bed, but I managed to fight off the temptation.

Eventually, I managed to stagger into the bathroom to sort myself out ready to face the day, and then I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out what had gone on in the hour or so that I’d been asleep.

I can’t remember what my friend and I were doing but it involved a lot of waiting around, during which we were doing some of these competitions in these old newspapers. As the dream progressed, it became more and more intense, and we were spending much more time on these competition things, and they were becoming much more complicated. I remember that I was on the receiving end of some extremely abusive language over something to do with one of these questions. I don’t know where it went after that because I’ve forgotten what was happening.

That’s not really very helpful, is it? Forgetting most of the dream.

The competitions don’t mean anything to me but being “on the receiving end of some extremely abusive language”, although not about “something to do with one of these questions” reminds me very much of an incident almost fifty years ago in Nantwich, when my response was simply “ohh for God’s sake! Grow Up!”

Isabelle the Nurse turned up, at a much more reasonable time today. She was again in quite a chatty mood and we talked about not very much. However, she did ask me how I was and I replied “dreadful”, so she told me to rest. It was a very tempting offer, but I decided to stay up, try to stay awake and fight it out.

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

And his gratuitous polemic is really beginning to get on my wick. Today we have "No architecture can, as mere art, be more thoroughly worthless than such a hopeless confusion as the Roman style henceforth presented. It is simply the exceeding excellence of the two elements — the perfect loveliness of Grecian detail, corrupted as it was by its Roman imitators, and the magnificent boldness of the genuine Roman construction — that saves any of its productions from absolute hideousness … I shall only briefly allude to some of the strange and often ludicrous ways in which the two principles are sought to be combined."

It’s becoming really tiresome.

Back in here, I had things to do, like write up the notes from yesterday, and they are now on line at long last.

After a disgusting drink break at lunchtime, I turned my attention to editing the rest of the radio notes that I’d started yesterday. And not only are they now all edited, I’ve even assembled the two halves of the programme, chosen the joining track and written the notes for it.

There were several interruptions this afternoon, though. My cleaner turned up to do her stuff but she was clearly unwell and after thirty minutes, abandoned and went back upstairs to sleep. Not that I can blame her – the temperature reached 39°C outside this afternoon and 27.5°C in my room. I’ve had the fan going full-tilt all day.

As well as that, I’ve been persistently falling asleep this afternoon and that’s wasted a lot of time. That’s probably also due to the heat – either that or the after-effects of dialysis. But later on this afternoon, I had one of those high-energy drinks and for a change, it actually had some effect and I felt much better.

One thing that came to light quite unexpectedly while I was doing some research into a shipwreck was a Korean guy. Going back three or so months ago, regular readers of this rubbish will recall that we had someone called Eddie Chan Fook Pong appearing in these pages. Today, it’s the turn of HUH YONG-BUM to make his debut.

Tonight’s tea was sausage chips and beans, the beans cooked with freshly ground black pepper, cheese and mushrooms. And having once again followed the recipe of my friend from Munich, the chips were absolutely delicious, as was everything else.

So now, back in here, I’m finishing off my notes and then there are a couple of other things to do, following which I’ll crawl into bed, and this time, I hope that I manage to sleep.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about foul and abusive language … "well, one of us has" – ed … an old spinster inherits a parrot that used to belong to her seafaring brother.
The only problem is that with having spent all his life at sea, his language was extremely deplorable. She consulted the vicar who suggested that she put the parrot in the freezer for an hour to cool him down.
So after about an hour, she takes the parrot out of the freezer and he’s shivering with cold.
"Jesus Christ!" he exclaims. "That was flaming cold, and I was only in there for an hour. But what I want to know is what the hell did that chicken and those two fish do?"

Monday 6th July 2026 – WHEN THE ALARM …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday 5th July 2026 – WHEN I AWOKE …

… this time, it was 22:25 exactly, and I was feeling almost as bad as I was yesterday. And just like yesterday, the only thing to do when I feel like this is to go to bed. And so, just as yesterday, I hauled myself over to the bed, fully clothed, and that was that. The only difference was that this time, I remembered to close the shutters.

It seems to me that I was definitely asleep even before my head touched the pillow, and there I lay until all of … errr … something like 03:00. Really, I’ve no idea of the exact time but it was after 02:30 because the streetlight on the car park had gone out.

From there, it was another night of drifting in and out of sleep, and which bit was which, I couldn’t really say. There were times when I felt like getting up and times when I was dead to the World.

The whole lot came to a shuddering halt, though, when Isabelle the Nurse arrived and she definitely awoke me. She sorted out my legs and feet and then went off on her travels.

By now, I was wide awake, but I still vegetated in bed for quite a while. Eventually, I went into the kitchen, where the time was showing as 09:28.

The first thing that I did was to bake the croissants. I switched on the oven and while it was warming up, I brushed the croissants with milk. When the oven was ready and warm, I stuck the baking tray with the croissants inside and set the timer to sixteen minutes.

While they were baking, I made my breakfast – porridge, hot black coffee and lovely grapefruit juice to wash down my medication.

When the croissants were done, I stuck two of them on a plate and sat down to eat my food.

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

Again, he managed to steer clear of controversy, but he’s now beginning to appreciate the Egyptian art that he denied existed at the very beginning. And so we have "And if any forms which might arise in such structures, any groupings of natural objects, or shapes given to artificial ones, appeared to the artist to be adapted for his purpose, they would be as unhesitatingly transferred to the excavated rock as flowers, fruit, and leaves, or representations of human and animal life."

Back in here, I began work on finishing off the notes from yesterday when I fell asleep, and now they are online, ready for your perusal.

After that, we had football, Greenock Morton v Stranraer in a friendly. And you could tell that this was Morton’s first game because they looked slow and lethargic. And as they tired, Stranraer came more and more into the game and gave them a few frights. Although Stranraer are two divisions lower than Morton, they looked much sharper. After all, this is their fourth friendly so far.

The final score was 0-0 and Stranraer definitely earned it.

Next was the dictaphone, and I was absolutely astonished by how far I’d travelled during the night.

I decided that I would go on a one-man campaign against the ridiculous amounts of overspending in Parliament, so I had to think of a way in which I was going to do this. By some kind of happy coincidence, the door into the Prime Minister’s office was open, so I just walked in to where he was sitting and told him about these stupid expenses that I’d discovered. I took his newspaper away from him to highlight some of the major problems. Anyway, I walked off with the newspaper and began to make a list from inside about what I could read of it that affected what I’m doing. When I’d finished, I went back into the office and down past all of the people to where he was sitting and took his next newspaper from him. This time, I stayed there and pointed out all of these expenses in this. We found maybe a dozen pages about the household pets in Buckingham Palace. He was horrified when he saw that one of the cats was actually receiving in food and treatment and all that kind of thing – more money than he was earning. I thought that this might shake him into doing something, but instead, he took the newspaper back and had me thrown out of his office.

This dream doesn’t seem to relate to anything that’s been going on anywhere, especially when I recognised the prime minister as David Cameron. I do, however, have to say that if ever I were in a position in Buckingham Palace, the first thing that I would do is to have some auditors in and let them go through the entire Royal Household accounts to trim out as much unnecessary spending as would be possible. Even without investigating and just looking at news articles, I can identify millions of Pounds of wasted money.

There was also something about me coming out of Wistaston Road, crossing over Edleston Road there at the traffic lights by Oak Street. There were a couple of other people there, young boys, who were teasing each other about the places where they worked.

This crossing is one that I know intimately, having crossed over here on numerous occasions. And with several of the offices that used to be down there in the good old days, I can understand why people would be teasing each other about their work.

My brother was trying to run a disco or something and wanted to know where he could get some loudspeakers from. He’d been looking through the newspaper, the Evening Sentinel, but couldn’t find anything. He didn’t think that there was anyone in the area. I told him about a company called “BOSS” that had an office in Hanley and sold hi-fi equipment, speakers and all that kind of thing, so off he went. He came back a little later with someone from the company, whom he showed around and downstairs and upstairs in his bedroom. Eventually, the guy from there sold him something, which we thought was rather crazy but my brother was determined on having them

BOSS is an American company so they aren’t likely to have a branch in Hanley, and opinions on their products are very varied. One thing is for sure, though, and that is that my brother could never afford anything that they are likely to sell.

Somewhere in this dream … "which dream?" – ed … was something about one of my garages and all the mess that was in it and the car spare parts, old cars and everything all over the place. It really did look a mess. I thought that one day, I’m going to have to get down and tidy this, or leave it for my heirs to sort out

This is another recurring dream – the old cars and spare parts stashed in lock-up garages. It used to be true, too, back in the old days before I came to live abroad. Not so much now, although my barn down on the farm could do with a good going-over one of these days.

We were staying somewhere in the country, in one of these big country houses where there was some kind of weekend organised. We were there on the Saturday night when two masked men burst in and held us all at gunpoint while they took all of the jewellery and valuables and everything like that. They put them into two sacks, one of which was a red sack. As they were leaving, my brother and I leaped out of the window outside and confronted the robbers. We managed to overpower one and put him on the ground. He was the one carrying the red sack but the other one got away.

The chances of my brother and I actively co-ordinating a joint plan would be about zero. Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that we don’t actually get on very well with each other and haven’t done for about thirty years, if not more.

Later on, Nerina and I were wandering around North London somewhere. We were on our way to the bank or the post office and had gone past the local cemetery and looked inside, which was magnificent. Then I suddenly remembered about these attackers. There was one person in our crowd who was one of these public school-types and I didn’t like him at all, so I said to Nerina that we ought to go round and have a chat with him to see what he could tell us. She said that he was ill and couldn’t be disturbed. I said “I bet you £500 that he’s the guy – the other guy for whom we’re looking”. We walked around on our way to the post office and came across this big place called “The Soho Curry Hut” with queues outside, so we went to have a look. It was selling a meal of curry for £2:50, a ladle of rice for £2:50, that kind of thing. I thought that this would be a lovely place to come for a meal one night, so we went to have a close look at it and a close look at the menu.

The cemetery reminded me of the big one in Montmartre, the Cimetière de Montmartre when Nerina and I were there very early one morning, looking around before the morning rush hour began. But the curry house sounds really interesting. I could do with a really good curry right now, I must admit.

As for the public school guy, and I can still see his house, a tidy cottage in the countryside, just like something out of an AGATHA CHRISTIE FILM. I’ve no idea why I fingered him as a likely suspect, but it would all seem to fit.

And how many times is that just recently that I’ve been in North London during the night?

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

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

Later on, I knocked off to go and make some bread. I was reminded of a chat that I had a few years ago with a friend about the crusts of bread on a loaf, and I had a little theory, so I decided to try it. Instead of going with 190°C for five minutes and then 180°C for thirty minutes, I went with 200°C for eight minutes and 180°C for thirty-five minutes. And sure enough, there’s a lovely thick dark crust on the finished product.

Back in here, I had a few things to do, but the next thing that I remembered was that it was 20:41. I’d crashed right out without even realising it. It’s a good job that I don’t drive any more, isn’t it?

So now that I’ve finished my notes, I’ll just do the stats and backing up and then go to bed, ready for dialysis tomorrow … "I don’t think" – ed …

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about bread … "well, one of us has" – ed … the local priest was out and about having a walk when he met a parishioner coming towards him, carrying a baguette in one hand. His other hand was slouched lazily in his pocket.
"Ahh" exclaimed the priest. "Here you are, coming towards me on this nice Sunday morning, with the staff of life in your hand."
"Well, yes, Father. "
"And pray, what is it that you have in your other hand?"
"A baguette, Father."

Saturday 4th July 2026 – I HAD NOTHING ON …

… the dictaphone this morning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"ZZZZZZZZZ"

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

Friday 3rd July 2026 – WHEN I AWOKE …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday 2nd July 2026 – I AM ABSOLUTELY …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"ZZZZZZ"

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

Wednesday 1st July 2026 – IT WAS A …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

EPIC HALL

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

Tag Archives: crash out

Monday 20th July 2026 – NOT ANOTHER MARATHON …

Saturday 18th July 2026 – WHAT A DREADFUL …

Thursday 16th July 2026 – WHAT A BAD …

Wednesday 15th July 2026 – IT HAS BEEN …

Tuesday 14th July – HAPPY QUATORZE JUILLET …

Monday 13th July 2026 – JUST FOR A …

Sunday 12th July 2026 – SUNDAY IS A …

Friday 10th July 2026 – I MIGHT HAVE …

Monday 6th July 2026 – WHEN THE ALARM …

Sunday 5th July 2026 – WHEN I AWOKE …

Saturday 4th July 2026 – I HAD NOTHING ON …

Friday 3rd July 2026 – WHEN I AWOKE …

Thursday 2nd July 2026 – I AM ABSOLUTELY …

Wednesday 1st July 2026 – IT WAS A …

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

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