… as good a day today as it was yesterday, unfortunately. Mind you, it’s been a better day than many a day that I’ve had just recently, not that that’s particularly difficult, all things considered.
Last night wasn’t any better, though. It was once more after midnight when I finished letting it all hang out and went to bed, looking forward to a nice long sleep.
Or so I thought, but 02:20 wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. But there I was, wide awake. However, from then on, it was me drifting slowly in and out of sleep, not knowing which was sleeping and which was waking. But I was definitely asleep when the alarm went off at 06:29, because I couldn’t remember where I’d put my telephone so that I can switch it off … "it’s on the bedside table in the alcove behind the head of the bed" – ed …
Once I’d remembered where the alarm was, I switched it off, and then we had the usual struggle for me to rise to my feet and go to sort myself out in the bathroom. It’s becoming ridiculous these days, the time it takes me to stand up.
Back in here after a good wash, the first thing was to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night.
The main theme to this dream does make some sense to me. A player who had played in the Premiership and Championship of the English pyramid but who had been sacked due to “issues unrelated to the football field” had been signed by a club in tier two of the Welsh pyramid. He was obviously in a class well above that at which he was playing, but it all ended pear-shaped when he left the field one day in a Black Maria. A player of the same name has just signed for a tier two side, and the club is refusing to tell me if it’s the same player.
The bedroom window was open all night, by the way, but the waking up with the alarm is also something that is happening everywhere these days, and I’m hoping that I’ll manage to avoid having a head-on collision at sea. But whatever made me add that in, I don’t know.
Falling asleep and dropping the dictaphone was a short route to a tragedy, and I wish that I knew how it ended. However, I’m glad that I slipped back into that dream later, even though I didn’t go very far.
Isabelle the Nurse came round as usual. As she was dealing with my feet and legs, she told me to take it easy today. Very little chance of that, I’m afraid. I have plenty to do.
Such as to make my breakfast, as I began to do as soon as she had left. And while I was eating, I was reading some more of A HISTORY OF ARCHITECTURE by Charles Freeman.
Once again, as he expounds away at his favourite Gothic period, explaining in minute detail the difference between Early Gothic, Fantasy Gothic and all of that, he’s managing to avoid real controversy. However, I don’t imagine that it will be too long before some creeps in somewhere.
Back in here afterwards, there were a few things to clear up and then I began to work on the notes for the next radio programme – a concert. And that wasn’t as easy as it was supposed to be. I had plenty of information about the group – they are one of my favourites, and they have been around and about on my radio broadcasts since the beginning. However, the venue is pretty much unknown so we were even poring over old maps to find some information.
Eventually, though, I managed to write enough, and so that programme is ready for dictating.
While I was at it, I came across another concert that had taken place a few weeks later at the same venue. I discovered a sound track for it in the big box of cassettes that I have, and although there are a few holes in it, I reckon that I can patch it up enough.
It’ll need some re-editing and some remixing too before it’s fit to be broadcast, but I have about three years to deal with that before the date of its broadcast falls on a Friday.
We had the usual interruptions, such as the break for the disgusting break and the midday medication, and I also crashed out for an hour or so too, which is no surprise given the night that I had had.
When everything was finished, round about 16:30, I went into the kitchen. Included in the order from Leclerc the other day was a broccoli, but so far, I’d done nothing with it. So I took off the flowering heads and blanched them while I diced up the stalks into tiny cubes.
The flowering heads were drained and the water was kept, and then I chopped a potato, a shallot and an onion into tiny cubes. The onions and shallots went into the saucepan first, and I fried them with some olive oil. And then the potatoes, and then the broccoli stalk cubes.
When I was satisfied that it was all mixed together, I poured the broccoli floret water onto the veg mix, added some coriander and a stock cube, and left it to simmer. And while it was simmering, I made the dough for two bread rolls.
Eventually, the veg was ready, so with the whizzer, I whizzed it all up, tipping a pot of plain soya yoghurt into the mix as I did so.
It made just about 1 litre of soup, so I sterilised an 800 gram jar in the microwave and put half a pint in it. That’s now in the fridge for another time.
When it was teatime, I had the other half-litre of broccoli stalk soup with those tiny pasta elbows and my two bread rolls. And it was delicious too, especially when followed by two slices of my home-made fruit bread for pudding.
Now back in here, I’m trying to type out my notes, but I keep on falling asleep. And while some of the notes that I’m typing make perfect sense, they bear no resemblance at all to anything that actually happened, so what’s going on?
In the end, I gave it up as a bad job, and I’ll continue with it tomorrow morning when, hopefully, I’ll be feeling much better and much less tired.
But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about football … "well, one of us has" – ed … a Catholic, a Québecker and a Mormon were at a football match when suddenly, the Catholic announces "Do you know, with one more child I’d have my own football team!"
"That’s nothing!" retorted the Québecker. "With one more child I’d have my own rugby team"
"That’s nothing!" said the Mormon. "I have seventeen wives, and with one more wife, I’d have my own golf course."
