Tag Archives: medieval military architecture

Friday 5th September 2025 – I HAVE HAD …

… a lovely afternoon this afternoon in the company of friends, and it’s not very often that I can say that. Or, at least, not often enough.

Back in 1970 when I was 16 I went on a student exchange and ended up in a small village in the Burgundy Hills at the back of Macon, and the poor boy went to stay with my family in the UK.

What with me living a very nomadic existence after that, we lost touch but A CASUAL ENCOUNTER WITH ONE OF HIS RELATIVES rekindled things and we’ve kept in touch ever since.

Anyway, the last few days, they’ve been camping in the area and today, in between all of my medical appointments, we managed to meet up and see each other for the first time for a couple of years.

While I was at dialysis yesterday, he and his wife sent me a photo of themselves outside the building here so they had found where I lived, and they arranged to call here today.

That gave me something to anticipate eagerly last night, because these days there’s not all that much in the way of eager anticipation. I could certainly do with more of it because, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall, it’s been a long time since I’ve had any.

Especially when I was feeling as ill as I was last night. Apart from the pain in my shoulder, I was feeling quite awful everywhere else and flat-out tired to boot.

Despite finishing my notes early last night, somehow the time evaporated afterwards and it was after 23:00 when I finally crawled into bed, tired out, in agony and totally fed up.

When I awoke, it was 03:30 and once more, I couldn’t go back to sleep no matter how hard I tried. I was all for leaving the bed after an hour or so of trying, but I thought that I’d give it five more minutes.

The next thing that I remember, it was 06:18, eleven minutes before the alarm. I had apparently gone back to sleep at some point. But seeing the time, I thought that I’d better leave the bed quite quickly and claim an “early start”.

After sorting myself out in the bathroom I went for my medication, and then afterwards I spent a very pleasant twenty minutes … "I don’t think" – ed … tidying some more of the kitchen.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I was with some friends again. We went to some kind of luxury hotel for breakfast one morning. The place was crowded and we had a struggle to find a seat. I ended up having to perch between the two seats of my two friends. I went to find some soya milk for my cereal. One of the waitresses said that they had some soya milk and it should be on the table at the back. I looked, but it wasn’t there so she replied that someone must have borrowed it. I walked around the table looking for the soya milk and saw a bottle on someone’s table, but as soon as I started to look at it to see if it was soya milk, the guy grabbed hold of it and put it on the floor between his legs. In the end, I went back to see one of the waitresses. She said that she would try to find me some more. There was no vegan butter either so I had to have my toast with jam on it. But by the time I finally returned to my seat, still without the soya milk, everyone else had been finished but I’d had no coffee, no cereal, no toast or anything. I was perched in between these two seats. I thought to myself that for a five-star hotel, this is absolutely awful. But while we were sitting there, some kind of Reverend or Vicar came up to talk to one of the girls with us. It turned out to be her brother. They were doing something with a car. The Priest or Vicar handed her the keys, saying that their mother had said to just leave it around somewhere and it will all be sorted out but it’ll need the keys for it.

In the past, I’ve stayed in five-star hotels where vegan alternatives don’t exist, and where I’ve met some of the most arrogant people on the planet. I’m much more comfortable and at my ease in steerage than I am up on the First-Class promenade.

Later on, I was talking to a former friend of mine from Stoke-upon-Trent. He was talking about my van, saying that someone had seen me and I was driving too fast, recklessly, all of this kind of thing. He gave some kind of fanciful description of a route that I was supposed to have driven around the town that this other guy had seen. I said that I don’t recognise that at all, and didn’t believe that it was me. He had a really good moan about the state of my van, about how when I first had it, I used to really look after it. I was by this time pretty much fed up because I didn’t recognise the journey that he was talking about, I didn’t recognise the state of the van etc. This kind of thing is really getting on my nerves now.

There’s a long story behind this former friend of mine. One of the nicest, most helpful people on the planet, his character totally changed with the medication that he was obliged to take after a serious motorcycle accident. There were several occasions when I ended up in some quite uncomfortable situations and in the end I had to stop going round there. I had enough of my own problems with which to deal without having to deal with the consequences of someone else’s.

Isabelle the Nurse breezed in, early for once. She was in chat mode once more and we spent a lively five minutes discussing this and that while she saw to my legs, and then she wandered off again, leaving me to make breakfast and to read some more of MIDDLESEX IN BRITISH, ROMAN AND SAXON TIMES.

In the past, I’ve often talked about the Local Government Act of 1888 that eliminated the hundreds, if not thousands of enclaves, counter-enclaves and even counter-counter enclaves of different Counties embedded within the borders of other Counties, speculating that the previous County boundaries an enclaves corresponded in many cases with ancient Bishoprics and Church lands.

Our author tells us that certainly in the case of Middlesex, the County boundary corresponded with the boundary of the Middle Saxons after the defeat of the West Saxons at the Battle of Fethanleah in AD584 but before the subsequent peace treaties in the Seventh Century. He goes on to quote from another author that the origins of these enclaves etc was during the reconversion of Britain to Christianity where "a lord had a parcel of land detached from the main of his estate, but not sufficient for a parish of itself, it was natural for him to endow his newly erected church with the tithe of those disjointed lands.".

This morning, I spent some time tidying up my office, rethreading cables etc, tidying boxes, putting things away and so on. But I’m really disappointed in how long it takes me to do even the simplest thing these days. It’s really depressing. Even picking up a box from the floor these days is almost beyond my capabilities.

After a disgusting drink break, my faithful cleaner appeared and set about today’s task of tidying up everything that I had not been able to do, but she was interrupted by the arrival of my friends.

They are Honda Goldwing owners and members of the Goldwing Owners’ Club. There’s a big annual reunion of the Goldwing Club up at Ouistreham near Caen, so they came from near Macon on the Goldwing to camp around here for a few days to see the area and to visit me before moving on to Ouistreham.

We had a good chat about all kinds of things, which was really nice. I don’t meet people anything like as often as I would like and I hardly talk to anyone these days. We ended up being here for hours drinking coffee and idly chatting.

After they left, I made tea – vegan nuggets, salad and air-fried chips.

Now it’s quite late, as usual, and I’m off to bed. Dialysis tomorrow afternoon, but I have washing to do in the morning which will be exciting. I’ve not had the washing machine going down here yet and I still don’t know where I’m going to put the clothes to dry. But as “It’s A Beautiful Day” once said, IT’LL ALL WORK OUT IN BOOMLAND

It better had, anyway.

But seeing as we have been talking about my student exchange visit, one of my sisters asked me afterwards "does their family say a prayer before they eat their meal like we do over here?"
"Ohh no" I replied. "His mother is a good cook."

Monday 9th June 2025 – THEY HAVE CHANGED …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday 8th June 2025 – THIS LITTLE PROJECT …

… of mine is turning out to be not so little.

But surprisingly, it all seems to be slowly coming together and we are making progress, although I shudder to think of what the cost might be by the time that we finish it all.

As I mentioned yesterday, you come across one problem, but the way to resolve it leads to the creation of two more problems. And to resolve them involves four more problems und so weiter. I’m beginning to wish that I’d found somewhere else.

However, finding somewhere else at the price that I paid for this place downstairs would have been impossible, and by the time that it’s finished (if it ever is) it will be exactly as I want it to be, so it had better be exactly what I want by the time that it’s finished, because it will be too late afterwards to do anything about it.

Meanwhile, back at the ran … errr … apartment, I had a relatively early night last night. It was only a few minutes after 23:00 when I finally fell into bed, although it took quite a while to go off to sleep, what with all of this turmoil swirling around inside my head

Once asleep though, I remember nothing at all until I awoke at … errr … 05:50. So much for my lie-in until 08:00. Whatever happened to the Sundays where sometimes I’d lie in bed until midday and sometimes long afterwards too? I realise that I can no longer do that, with the nurse coming round at 08:30, but a lie-in until 08:00 would be nice.

Not that I crawled out of bed straight away, though. I waited until I heard the electric water heater switch off at 06:20 and, having decided that I wasn’t going back to sleep, I bit the bullet and fell out of bed.

In the bathroom I had a good wash and then in the kitchen I sorted out the morning’s medication. There are fewer and fewer to take these days, which is good news. One day, we might reduce that figure down to none at all, but I don’t ever think that I could ever be that lucky.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I was in a house with Neil Young last night and he began to play LONG MAY YOU RUN. I was listening to it and I was tempted to go to find my bass guitar and have a play with it but I was too busy listening to him actually performing it. It was about 04:00 in the morning or something like that when he was playing.

These days I don’t have to go far to find a bass guitar. There are two of them at the foot of the bed and the third is in the living room. Mind you, the fourth one is in Canada right now so that would be a long way to go, but it’ll be back here soon when I organise myself downstairs.

But if only I could play my bass guitar again. With this thing that they did to my left arm for dialysis, bending my fingers round is really painful. And then there’s the fact that I can’t stand up to play, and playing while sitting down is next-to-impossible

As for what time it was, I really have no idea at all but the dream itself was probably because just before going to bed I was listening to a Neil Young acoustic concert.

There was also something about Peter and the Three Wars of the Roses but that was one that sounded confused to me and I wasn’t sure of where I was supposed to be in the middle of all of that but I was certainly being swept around in some form of thing and I don’t know any more.

The Wars of the Roses probably relates to all of this stuff that I’ve been reading just recently about medieval castles, but if I was confused during a dream, that’s really something because when I dictate them, they all seem to be quite logical, no matter how confusing they might be during the light of day.

There’s no doubt about it – since I’ve been having dialysis my sleeping patterns have changed dramatically. As for the “I wasn’t sure of where I was supposed to be” – that’s the story of my life, isn’t it?.

When Isabelle the Nurse came round, she whipped off the plaster on my right leg and saw that the oedema had swollen up into a blister, so she promptly burst it. But it really does seem that we are just going backwards. This is exactly how things were early last summer and which I thought that we had long-since left behind us. It looks as if I’m on a race against time to move into this apartment.

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

We’re still in York, and after about twenty pages of glorious exhilarating prose about the city, we’ve just about made it to the arrival of the Conqueror. We’ve still not begun to talk about Medieval Military Architecture. And when we eventually do, there’s another four Centuries to go at before we leave the medieval period and reach the Age of Enlightenment.

He’s still churning out the bewildering, flowery prose, and here’s another fine example –
"Considering the magnitude, population, and wealth of Roman York, and the number of public buildings which must necessarily have accumulated during the four hundred years which elapsed from the conquest by Claudian to the end of the Roman rule, and the presence of some of which is attested by inscriptions and foundations, it is remarked how very few monuments of the period remain above ground, or rather how completely the whole, with one or two exceptions, have disappeared."

Obviously, back in those days, there was no rationing of commas. And I shudder to think about what the flowery prose in this book of 1840 that we downloaded yesterday will be like.

Back here I finished off the radio programme and now that’s all ready to go when it’s ready. But it won’t be a while, that’s for sure. I’m well ahead now, which is just as well for the next few weeks I’m going to be occupied somewhat with my new abode.

And while we’re talking about our new abode … "well, one of us is" – ed … the rest of the day has been spent drafting a reply to the twenty questions that my kitchen fitter has asked me. I mentioned earlier that it all seems to be coming together and this series of e-mails that I had on Friday night and Saturday sound quite optimistic.

As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … it’s nice to find someone who wants to do my project rather than his own. I don’t mind advice – in fact, I’ll take all of the advice that I can get and use it too – but I do object to people who try to impose their own ideas for no purpose other than it’s their idea (and to rack up the bill too, of course).

While I was at it, I sent an e-mail to the electrician to say that the electric is back on, and I asked him to let me have some kind of idea as to when he might be coming by.

We’ve no pizza dough so for an hour or two this afternoon, I’ve been kneading. We now have three lumps of dough – well, two actually because I had the third for tea and it was another delicious pizza. But I’ve no idea what I’ll be doing in the future because I’ve heard on the grapevine that the company that makes this excellent vegan cheese is going out of business.

While I was in the kitchen I also made a new loaf of bread. I didn’t really need it as there is quite a stock in the freezer but it seemed like a good idea. Once more, we aren’t going to be short of food for a while, which is good news.

So having done all of that, I’m off to bed. Later than I would like, of course, but that’s how it seems to be. I have my Welsh homework to do in the morning and then dialysis in the afternoon. At some point I have to fit in another lengthy WAR AND PEACE e-mail about the work downstairs.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about decorating my new apartment … "well, one of us has" – ed .. a painter once told me that a woman wanted him to paint her in the nude.
"So did you do it?" I asked
"Not at first" he replied, "and even later, not exactly"
"How do you mean?" I asked
"I told her that I’d have to at least wear my socks, otherwise I’d have nowhere to stick my paintbrushes."

Saturday 7th June 2025 – I HAD NOTHING ON …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Friday 6th June 2025 – I ACTUALLY HAD …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday 5th June 2025 – I HAD NOTHING ON …

… the dictaphone yet again this morning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday 4th June 2025 – I HAVE FINALLY …

… put my sooty foot inside my apartment downstairs. I rang up the letting agents to ask them about the keys, and was told that they had them there as they weren’t sure what to do with them. As my faithful cleaner was in town, I sent her a message and a couple of hours later, she duly presented herself at my door with the aforementioned.

And I do have to say that the tenant has not been very kind to the place. I shall have to find a decorator now to give the place a coat of paint before I move in, at the very least.

But anyway, as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … it’s a total waste of time going to bed early, because all it means is that I awaken correspondingly early the following morning.

Being dog-tired and dead to the World last night, I dashed through what I needed to do and then crawled into bed at about 22:30, where I fell asleep even before my head touched the pillow.

And while I expected to be awake early, because that’s how things are when I try to have a lie-in, 03:20 is really rather ridiculous. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t go back to sleep and at 04:00 I was sitting at the computer working.

First task was to deal with the radio notes that I’d dictated a couple of days ago in another early start. They are now all edited, the programme has been assembled and it’s all ready to go – in about a year’s time. I’m that far ahead these days.

Next was to listen to the dictaphone to find out if I’d been anywhere during the night. And I was surprised to find that I had, despite how short the night had been. I had been working on a figure in 3D last night. The bottom part went really well but I was disappointed with the upper half. I tried working it with another basic figure and managed to make the top half fine but the bottom I didn’t like. In the end what I did was that I saved the bottom half of the first figure and the top half of the second figure and then merged them both together. It seemed to work very well. Then I thought that I’d better work on some texturing for it to make sure that it’s at least finished in some fashion. That was what I was doing when I awoke.

Except, of course, that I didn’t awaken. And, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall, I just don’t have the time these days to do as much with 3D that I did back in the farm where I seemed to have an enormous amount of free time in the evenings after I’d finished work. In fact, I don’t have the time to do very much of anything. Where does the time go?

And later on, I was working on the biography of the group “Soft Machine” of Robert Wyatt. I was having the same kind of difficulty there. I could make half of the biography go very well and the other half not. When I went to do it again I managed to do the reverse so I thought once more about splitting them into two and combining the two best halves. That was where I reached when I awoke.

This seems to be becoming an issue, this “doing things by halves”. As for Soft Machine’s biography, they haven’t featured in any of my programmes for over a year so I’m hardly likely to be working on their biography. I think that the radio stuff is getting to me too! And I didn’t awaken then either.

After I’d had a wash, a good scrub up and taken my medicine, I found plenty of other things to do until Isabelle the Nurse arrived. She didn’t have much to say for herself this morning. She was in something of a rush, I reckon, and was soon off on her travels.

Once she’d gone, I made breakfast and read some more of my book MY BOOK.

It seems that our author is as much in a rush to reach the final pages as I am. We’re dashing through castles at an incredible rate, including a whistle-stop tour of that well-known English castle, Urquhart Castle, situated in that very traditional “heart-of-England” county called … errr … Inverness shire.

We didn’t stay there long though. We’re now in Wareham Castle in Dorset, where I encountered this magnificent sentence –
"Wareham Corfe are the keys of Purbeck, or rather Corfe is the fortress and Wareham the bridge-head of that bold projection of the chalk of Dorset, the southern headland of which bears the name of the protomartyr of England, and of which the triple spurs of Durlston, Peverell, and Studland form the eastern points, each with its own bay, and the whole protecting from the prevalent west wind the great indentation of the coast between Purbeck and the Needles, in the bight of which opens the harbour of Poole, and, under Hengistbury Head, the mouth of the twin streams that once gave name to Christchurch, before either castle or priory rose upon the banks of the Avon."
That is probably the most flamboyant sentence that I have ever read

Back in here, I had to telephone the agents to ask about the keys, and then I sat down to plan the next radio programme, which will be broadcast on … errr … 19th June 2026, assuming that the World has not come to an end before then. Whoever would have thought that, in the 21st Century, we would be thinking like that?

However, retournons à nos moutons as they say around here, I didn’t have half of the music that I needed so I spent a lot of time hunting it all down. But by the time that my cleaner arrived, I’d chosen all of the music, obtained it all, remixed and edited it, paired it off and segued the pairs all ready to write the notes.

Armed with the keys, a tape measure, a notebook and a camera-phone, we went downstairs for a look around and to measure up.

The place doesn’t look as nice as it did in the photos from when it was sold in 2016. The walls have had some patching up done to them and where they have been painted, the paint colour doesn’t match. The interior of the fitted wardrobe needs painting too. I’s been done with cheap emulsion and looks quite awful.

There’s an awful smell coming out of the dishwasher drain and that’s going to have to be cleaned out and sealed off because I don’t use a dishwasher and there’s no other way of preventing the smell from rising.

All in all, it’s not as nice as it was made out to be, but seeing as it was only 67% of the price of the two others that are on sale right now in the building (and one of those is in a poor state) I’m not complaining at all.

When it’s finished, it will be something really exceptional, I hope, provided that I can afford to have it done. The days when I could do things like this (and would do too at the drop of a hat) are long-gone.

We came back upstairs and I went through all of the photos, sorted them, annotated them and send one batch off to the electrician for his attention, showing exactly what I want doing.

Afterwards, I began to go through them again to annotate them for the joiner who is doing the kitchen, but then I reckoned that I need to be finalising the plans for the kitchen. That’s not a job of five minutes, especially as IKEA’s opening statement on their kitchen planner is “which oven would you like?” and there’s no “none” option.

As usual I became quite bogged down in whatever I was doing and made very little headway before it was time to knock off for tea, having a little chat with my architect friend along the way..

A leftover curry again, with more curry left over because I wasn’t all that hungry, which was just as well, seeing that I’d forgotten to take some naan dough out of the freezer.

On that note I’m going to go to bed ready for dialysis tomorrow, I don’t think.

But seeing as we have been talking about our author and his long-winded way of expressing himself … "well, one of us has" – ed … I always remember two guys discussing various words in the English language.
One of them said "do you know what? I reckon that the word ‘marriage’ must be one of the longest words in the English language."
"Of course it isn’t." retorted his friend
"And why isn’t it?"
"Because it’s not even a word."
"What is it then?"
"Everyone knows the answer to that. ‘Marriage’ isn’t a word, it’s a sentence."

Monday 2nd June 2025 – WHAT AN ABSOLUTE …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday 1st June 2025 – JUST FOR A CHANGE …

… this morning, I had a later start than usual.

When I stuck my head out from under the quilt, it was all of 06:56, and bright sunlight too. That’s the latest sleep that I have had for quite some considerable time, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall.

Mind you, not only is it earlier than the habitual 07:00 alarm call, with it being a Sunday we have the alarm call at 08:00 and so it was definitely what we would call an “early start”.

Not that it was looking much like it last night though. Despite having made a good start on finalising everything that I needed to do, in the words of the old song
" I dillied and dallied, dallied and I dillied
Lost me way and don’t know where to roam.
And you can’t trust a Special like the old time Coppers.
When you can’t find your way ‘ome"
Consequently, by the time that I’d finished everything it was long after 23:00, and then I had the radio notes to dictate.

Whatever went wrong there, I really don’t know. It was almost as if I’d lost the ability to read because I was making mistake after mistake after mistake. And while the finished article didn’t end up being the longest that I’ve ever dictated, it wasn’t all that far off.

There will be a lot of editing to do with that tomorrow.

Once I was finally in bed, I was soon asleep, and there I lay without moving until 06:56 when I fell out of bed in surprise.

In the bathroom I sorted myself out and then went for the medication. Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone but;, to my disappointment, there was another night when there was nothing on it. It must have been one of the longest, deepest sleeps that I’ve had for quite some considerable time.

Anyway, that was what I wrote at the time. The following day, no-one was more surprised than me to see that there actually was something on there from this particular night. I had absolutely no recollection of this at all. It was back in the Middle Ages and I was something to do with whatever went on in the Courts. However, one afternoon during some kind of challenge a group of people and I began to sing “Carry On” by Steven Stills. It went down so well that we decided that we’d stay together and keep going. We had to teach the audience quite a lot about the stage behaviour – they mustn’t climb on the stage, they mustn’t handle the artists etc, but generally speaking, they were quite benign with their attention and applause, and I don’t think that anyone was in any danger of hurting or being hurt while the festival was proceeding.

No-one was more impressed than me by the fact that in a dream, of which I had no recollection at all, I could remember that it was Steven Stills who wrote “Carry On”. Incidentally, it was a casual occasion of three people spontaneously singing in harmony at a birthday party that led to the creation of Crosby, Stills and Nash.

But as for the dream itself, this must be relating to all of the stuff about Woodstock that I’ve been doing recently where, amongst the 500,000 attendees, there was not one single case of interpersonal violence recorded by the medical team and the only incident of any note in that respect was when Pete Townshend of The Who threw protester Abbie Hoffman off the stage.

When the nurse came round, we had the usual banal chat about pizzas that we have every Sunday – I could write down the script in my sleep these days and I wish that he’d find another subject to discuss, or, at least, say something different about it.

After he left, I made my breakfast and read some more of MY BOOK. We’ve left Skenfrith and, having passed by Southampton Castle, we’ve arrived at Tamworth.

In the early medieval period Tamworth was the de facto capital of King Offa’s Mercia until it was ravaged twice in quick succession by the Norse. There was a mint at Tamworth in those days and many silver coins minted there can now be found in museums in the Nordic countries, presumably loot from the sacking of Tamworth.

When breakfast was over, I made some dough for the bread roll for my lunchtime toasted cheese. I’m still allowing myself one or two little luxuries despite everything else. I’m not going to deprive myself completely, that’s for sure.

Back in here I had several things that I needed to do, and then I set about editing the radio notes that I had dictated last night before going to bed.

It was in quite a mess too and I was right too about it all needing a lot of editing. What with all of the various side-tracking, I was ages working on it but by the time that I’d knocked off, I’d assembled the two halves of the programme and chosen the eleventh track that links it all together and written the notes. Here’s hoping that I’ve calculated the times correctly this week.

As for all of the interruptions, there was a lunch break with my delicious cheese and tomato on a toasted fresh roll.

Then there was a disgusting drink break, after which I made a loaf of bread with sunflower seeds for next week. I’d also taken some frozen pizza dough out of the freezer and it had been defrosting throughout the afternoon, so I kneaded it and rolled it out and left it to fester on a pizza tray.

Later on I baked my bread and assembled my pizza. When the bread was ready I put the pizza in the oven to bake. I ended up with a really magnificent loaf and another candidate for one of the best pizzas ever. At least something that I’m doing these days seems to be working out very well.

So right now, I’m off to bed after another good day’s work. It’s dialysis tomorrow of course, and I shall be expressing my displeasure to whichever of the dialysis team has drawn the short straw and has to come to see me. I bet though that they’ll all run away when they see me coming.

But seeing as we have been talking about the Norse raids on Tamworth … "well, one of us has" – ed … I was picturing the scene as King Offa sat in his hill fort at Sutton Walls when a serf comes bursting in
"Sire! Sire! Terrible news!" cries the serf. "The Norse have sacked Tamworth"
"That is indeed terrible news" says King Offa. "Who will they have in the dug-out for the next game?"

Saturday 31st May 2025 – AS I SHOULD …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Friday 30th May 2025 – I HAVE HAD …

… another day when I seem to have accomplished a great deal, and I’m not sure why.

The biggest news of the day is that my magnum opus, the “Woodstock Weekend” is now finished to all intents and purposes.

The second news is that I now have a kitchen fitter lined up for next month. All I need now is a plumber and tiler, but heaven alone knows where I’m going to find one of those.

It’s all possibly something to do with the fact that I actually made it into bed last night at 22:45 – the first time (barring ill-health) that I’ve been in bed prior to 23:00 for quite some considerable time. And I was so tired that I needed it too. It was quite a difficult day yesterday.

Once in bed I was asleep almost immediately and that was how I remained until about 06:05 when I had another one of these dramatic awakenings, of which I seem to have been having quite a few just recently.

When I awoke I was doing some stage effects for Genesis. They were trying to make some kind of thing similar to dry ice but would actually foam up. It involved putting it into a cardboard box and leaving it to ferment for a minute or two, then watching the reaction. We made very little progress in that because they were still trying to work out what would be the best way to go about it. We were in the middle of a discussion like that when I awoke. There was one thing, and that was all the music on that particular album was credited to “Genesis, Peter Gabriel and Steve Hackett” which was strange.

Dry Ice used to be quite a thing with Genesis’s live performances back in the Peter Gabriel days, and I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if he had indeed been thinking about going one step beyond with an adaptation of his dry ice formula. It’s also interesting to see that Peter Gabriel and Steve Hackett were mentioned separately to the rest of Genesis. My opinion, for what it’s worth, is that when Gabriel left, it ripped the heart out of the group and when Hackett left, that was really the end. Mind you, anyone who has listened carefully to TRESPASS will realise that Anthony Phillips, one of Hackett’s predecessors, could do just as well.

When the alarm went off at 07:00 I was in the kitchen sorting out my medication, and then I came back in here to find out what was on the dictaphone from last night. The current incarnation of the needs of the group began. The first thing that they did was to round everyone up from their homes and bring them into little squares here and there. They then explained to everyone what they intended to do and cried out for the people to support them so that people would bow down and kneel and pray in homage for their town. This didn’t last very long though because they decided that everyone who was currently being injected would have to be pierced instead. This meant a lot of work and … fell asleep here … I was one of the people there and I was asked to kneel. I explained that I couldn’t but they didn’t accept the explanation and I was dragged off and told to prepare to go to a Gulag somewhere in the Soviet Union

That is another dream of which I have absolutely no recollection at all, which is no surprise seeing how incoherent it is … "not that it makes a difference" – ed … And as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … when I’m dictating these dreams, I actually am asleep. But when I say that I’ve fallen asleep, what happens is that the dictaphone goes quiet, and then you can begin to hear my heavy breathing. Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that I have mentioned that on many occasions in the past but I shall mention it once again for the benefit of new readers, of whom there are more than just a few these days.

And more than just a few too. Yesterday, according to the stats, we had 256 readers and we’ve not had that many since the halcyon days of the internet 20 or so years ago. Now if everyone who had visited had bought something using the Amazon links that litter these pages, I would receive a nice little commission that would set me up for the next few months. After all, I deserve it for all of this entertainment I’m providing.

There was time for me to go surfing through the internet to my Welsh Course provider and look for a Summer School or two. And now I’m fixed up with a Sunday School at the beginning of July and a week’s course in the middle of July. While I was looking through the short courses to see what was happening, I came across a WELSH FOR FOOTBALL SUPPORTERS from which many of you lot will benefit when you watch the highlights of the JD Cymru League games that I post regularly.

It’s the “other” nurse back on duty today until next Monday and as there were no blood tests or injections today, seeing as he won’t do them, he came early. And that meant that he left early too and I could crack on and make my breakfast.

While I was eating, I read some more of MY BOOK. We’ve now moved on from Old Sarum and have arrived at Scarborough Castle. And in a book that is supposed to be concerned with “The Medieval Military Architecture of England”, we’ve spent rather a lot of time discussing the arrival of the Saxons, which, in theory, may well be considered to be medieval, but almost nothing of their architecture is extant.

He tells us that in the years to 1189, the castle cost a total of £682/15/3d, which shows that they had accountants back in those days too.

We also have another one of these classic tongue-twisting sentences that he loves to impose upon us every now and again. He tells us that "Percy, however, did not long retain this manor, for Eudo of Champagne, kinsman, and by marriage nephew to the conqueror, on the departure of Drogo le Brevere, the reputed founder of the Norman works at Skipsea Castle, received from William the land of Holderness, and with it, probably, the adjacent manor of Falsgrave."

Back in here again, I made a start on my Woodstock programme and by the time that I knocked off, it was all finished – a marathon forty-six minutes of text to be dictated at some point. It won’t be done this weekend though because I’m going to spend a couple of days reading through it a couple of times. There will bound to be some amendments here and there as we go along, and I don’t expect the programmes to be assembled for a couple of weeks yet.

There were, as usual, several interruptions. There were two disgusting drinks breaks, my cleaner came along to do her thing (and came back later with some stuff from the chemist’s) and then there was a lengthy discussion with a joiner-type person who wants to fit my kitchen.

We’d had a lengthy chat 10 or so days ago and he’d been pricing things and working everything out. I had an idea in my head of what the likely price would be, and his estimate came in at about €15:00 over what I was expecting, so I wasn’t going to argue with that. When we’d spoken earlier, he’d come up with a few good suggestions so it seems as if he knows what he’s talking about.

All I need now is a tiler and a plumber, but I’ll worry about that in due course, I suppose.

Tea tonight was a vegan salad with air-fried potato cubes and some of those vegan nuggets, followed by ginger cake and soya dessert. As I’ve now run out of my breaded quorn fillets, I wonder what I’m going to have for tea tomorrow.

But that’s tomorrow. Tonight I’m off to bed, ready to Fight the Good Fight at the dialysis centre tomorrow.

But seeing as we have been talking about visitors … "well, one of us has" – ed … it reminds me of the talks that we used to give when we were up in Labrador as winter was approaching – remember that July and August are the only months of the year in Labrador in which snow is uncommon. There is never a month when there is no snow, and I’ve fought snowdrifts in September, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall.
We used to warn people that Labrador in late Autumn and early Spring is when they would be likely to encounter both brown bears and polar bears.
"When people are hiking in the interior, they usually wear small bells on their clothing and carry a pepper spray." I’d say. "They are useful if you ever encounter a brown bear. The bells will frighten it away but if they approach, the pepper spray will drive them off."
"What do you use to drive off a polar bear?" they would ask.
"There is no defence against a polar bear" I would reply.
"So how do you make yourself aware of which bears are about?"
"You need to be alert and examine the ground around you as you walk. Look out for bear droppings. Brown bear droppings will usually have seeds and leaves mixed in with them" I would say
"And polar bear droppings?"
"They usually have small bells and grains of pepper in them."

Thursday 29th May 2025 – ANOTHER PAINFUL DAY …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday 28th May 2025 – GUESS WHO …

… has been a busy boy today?

It’s been a long time since I’ve had quite such a burst of energy, and I wish that I would have similar bursts much more often. I would be able to accomplish so much more.

It didn’t look as if it was going to be like that last night. As seems to be the case just recently, from a position where I was on course to have an early finish, I managed once more to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory and ended up going to bed rather later than I anticipated.

Once in bed, I managed to go off to sleep quite quickly yet again and managed to sleep all the way through until … errr … 05:50 this morning. And with no prospect of going back to sleep afterwards, I was up and about, washed and cleaned up, and in the kitchen taking my medication when the alarm went off at 07:00.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. We were going somewhere on a trip. There was a coach and I noticed on the dashboard that there was a “Bedford” emblem so I asked the driver if it was a Bedford. He said “yes” so I asked about the engine that was in it. He replied that it was the O-600. I thought that that was an interesting combination. I pulled out a workshop manual and began to read a little about it. I was with a friend of mine, a young lady who may well have been Moonchild. I was trying to interest her in something but I noticed that she was asleep. One of the guys there said “why don’t you awaken her?”. I replied “I wouldn’t be very popular if I did but it’s nice to think that she can sleep and feel so comfortable like this so we may as well leave her to it”.

So hello again, Moonchild. It’s nice to know that at least one of my favourite young ladies hasn’t deserted me completely as the other three seem to have done. And it’s hardly surprising that I’d be interested in the bus having an O-600 engine. While a few Bedfords had the smaller O-400 engine, they were lightweight coaches usually with a Bedford lightweight lorry engine, rather than a big heavyweight Leyland O-600. We had a few Leyland coaches at Shearings and quite often when I was running up to Scotland I’d “rev out” at 70 mph in 5th gear, never mind sixth. When I worked for Salopia back in 1979 it was embarrassing struggling up Frankley Bank on the M5 in a modern Ford R1114 lightweight coach when an ancient Yelloway AEC Reliance O-600 would roar past me as if I were standing still.

But going back to Moonchild and being asleep, there’s a story behind that too but it’s another one that the World is not yet ready to here.

Isabelle the Nurse breezed in as usual, sorted out my legs and so on, and then breezed out again. She didn’t hang around long. I could then press on and make breakfast and sit down to read some more of MY BOOK.

Today, we’ve left Rochester Castle and its rude doorways and bold architraves, and have now arrived at Rockingham Castle. Our discussion on Medieval Military Architecture has turned to the interesting and very relevant subject of the trees and deer in the Royal Forest there, and the expropriation of the King’s land by various local people, including some people of a religious persuasion who clearly consider themselves exempt from the provisions of the Ten Commandments.

Back in here, I had a few tasks to finish off, and then I decided to have a look at the next radio programme, 260612. And by the time that I’d finished this afternoon, not only had I planned the programme, I’d chosen the music, remixed, edited, paired and segued it and written all of the notes.

As well as that, I’d edited the notes that I’d dictated the other morning for the two extra tracks for the two programmes that I’d prepared on Sunday and even assembled one of them too. I would have finished the other one too, except that Bane of Britain seems to have misread his timing run and chosen a track 2:32 long instead of 3:23 long.

So that’s now gone back onto the drawing board. I’ve chosen a new track, written the notes for it and I’ll dictate them at the next opportunity.

All of that was despite two disgusting drinks breaks and the appearance of my cleaner who came in to do her stuff this afternoon.

After she left I sorted out some naan dough from the freezer and left it to defrost ready for tea.

Tonight’s leftover curry was the best that I have ever made. I’m not sure what I did and I wish that I could remember because it really was excellent, just like a shop-bought one.

So that’s enough for tonight. I’m off to bed ready for tomorrow morning to attack my Woodstock programme and then prepare for dialysis, to which I am not looking forward at all.

But while we are continuing our discussions about medieval castles … "well, one of us is" – ed … the mystery of the rude doorway at Rochester is resolved.
When one of my friends came online earlier today I mentioned it to her.
"I know what’s the matter there" she said
"And what’s that?" I asked, bitterly regretting it ten seconds later
"Seeing as it’s a medieval castle" she said "it’s probably suffering from Turrets Syndrome"

Tuesday 27th May 2025 – MY CLEANER IS …

… a heroine.

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that I’ve been moaning … "surely not!" – ed … about the yeast available for bread-making – how I can no longer find any of the neutral yeast that I like and how all that seems to be available is the smelly stuff.

So there she was in Leclerc this morning browsing around, like you do … "like SOME people do" – ed … and she suddenly came across some packs of six of the small sachets of neutral yeast, put on the shelves totally out of order, miles away from where they were supposed to be.

There were six of the packs altogether, and it goes without saying that there are now none left on the shelves. So what with the coconut oil that she found for me and liberated, and the tahini that she found ditto, she is certainly keeping me going with all kinds of stuff, and that’s something that’s extremely useful. She’s a handy person to have around.

Meanwhile, back at the ran … errr … apartment, last night I tried my best to go to bed early but somehow, once again, despite being in a comfortable position at one time, I managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory and it was another night rather later than I liked before I finally crawled into bed.

Despite the pain in my foot, I was asleep quite rapidly, which was no surprise considering how tired I was, and I didn’t move at all until … errr … 05:50 when I had another one of these dramatic awakenings.

There was no possibility of going back to sleep after that and so I seized the opportunity and, in the peace and quiet of the moment, dictated the notes for the two additional tracks for the two programmes for which I had edited the rest of the notes on Sunday. I may as well take advantage of some of these early starts if I can.

When the alarm went off, I was already sitting in the dining area taking my medicine, following which I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. Nerina and I had been apart for a while now. When I met her, she was with someone else. She hadn’t known him long but they were planning to marry. She asked me if I would like to come to the wedding. I thought “why not?” but then I had to find someone else to come with me, and I didn’t think that that was going to be particularly easy. I could think of maybe one or two people who would but I wasn’t all that enthusiastic about inviting anyone

And that’s half the problem these days. I’m not really enthusiastic about anything any more. My idea of a good night is a comfy chair, a good film on the computer and a mug of really hot chocolate. And these days, I can manage the chair but I no longer have the time to watch a film and instead of the hot chocolate that I used to enjoy so much, I now have a disgusting drink break.

Then I had to go outside to fuel up the van. The fuel was in jerry-cans so I began to pour them out. One of them didn’t seem to be open. It seemed to be sealed so I thought “how did I manage to fuel this up?”. I cut a hole in the top and smelled it. It didn’t smell like anything particular so I poured it into the van anyway and it started, so I set out on a drive. I had someone with me but I can’t remember who it was. I was in the North of England and I was going down this narrow, narrow track between all these rocks. Then I came to where there was a dam that was being restored. That was what I had come to see. I stopped the van and took the camera to take a few photos, but the wind was getting up. The water was behind some kind of small retaining wall to my left. Every now and again a gust of wind would bring some water over the top. As I was standing there, the water was coming over the top of this retaining wall quicker and quicker. It was being very difficult to stand there and take photographs because I was being soaked in this water. The dam was a kind-of stepladder arrangement made of old stone and was being covered in earth presumably to reinforce it but the water behind this retaining wall was only – I dunno – twelve feet high and I thought that this doesn’t look right at all

Even now, I can still see the dam. It’s made of large sandstone blocks in the form of a series of steps, and there is a covering of red powdered sandstone being laid over the slope. For some reason though that is not obvious, the drive to the dam and its surroundings reminded me of when STRAWBERRY MOOSE, Strider and I went for a wander around THE OLD IRON MINE IN THE ABANDONED TOWN OF GAGNON in the peri-Arctic tundra of Upper Québec.

Isabelle the Nurse breezed in and didn’t stay for long, just long enough to change my dressing on my leg, deal with the usual treatment and fit the compression socks. She’s told me that she’ll try to be here by about 07:00 next Tuesday when I have to go to Paris.

After she left, I made breakfast and read some more of MY BOOK. We’re still exploring the (civilian) architecture of Rochester Castle, but we have yet to find any more rude doorways, although there are bold mouldings and architraves a-plenty. It must have been an exciting place in the Thirteenth Century.

Back in here I made a start on the Welsh homework that I had missed while I was in hospital and I’d managed to do most of it by the time that I knocked off for a disgusting drink break.

My cleaner breezed in shortly afterwards with my soya yoghurt and with six packs of neutral baking yeast. Now I’m set up for the next couple of months, which is good news. I’m not a big fan of this other yeast that I’ve been having to use.

This afternoon I’ve attacked my Woodstock programme. There are just two groups for whom I need to write notes, and then there’s the summary so it’s not going to take too long.

However, that’s the easy bit. The difficult bit is going to be to decide what to leave in and what to cut out. That will be a decision and a half, and no mistake. And whatever I include or leave out, it will always be the wrong choice. You can’t satisfy everyone all of the time.

There were a couple of ‘phone calls. Firstly, the hospital in Paris rang to see how I was doing. Secondly, a plumber called. He was interested in my project but his idea of a rapid start is in November, which is not much use to me.

Tea tonight was a taco roll followed by my ginger cake. And the cake is wonderful, really spicy just as it ought to be. But I shall be intrigued to see how all of this turns out when I have a real, decent oven to use. I can’t wait for that.

So I’m off to bed at last, tired and weary, and hoping for a better sleep that will last through until the alarm goes off

But seeing as we have been talking about castles … "well, one of us has" – ed … 20-odd years ago I took Roxanne with me to visit an old castle in Belgium
As we climbed the stairs, I said to her "just think. Hundreds and hundreds of years ago there would have been Kings and Queens and Lords and ladies climbing up these very stairs just like we are doing right now."
"Of course there would have been" she replied, shaking her head in bewilderment.
"Aren’t you surprised?" I asked her
"Of course not" she replied. "There would have to have been. They didn’t have lifts in those days."

Monday 26th May 2025 – YET MORE CHAOS …

… at the dialysis centre today.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

EPIC HALL

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

Tag Archives: medieval military architecture

Friday 5th September 2025 – I HAVE HAD …

Monday 9th June 2025 – THEY HAVE CHANGED …

Sunday 8th June 2025 – THIS LITTLE PROJECT …

Saturday 7th June 2025 – I HAD NOTHING ON …

Friday 6th June 2025 – I ACTUALLY HAD …

Thursday 5th June 2025 – I HAD NOTHING ON …

Wednesday 4th June 2025 – I HAVE FINALLY …

Monday 2nd June 2025 – WHAT AN ABSOLUTE …

Sunday 1st June 2025 – JUST FOR A CHANGE …

Saturday 31st May 2025 – AS I SHOULD …

Friday 30th May 2025 – I HAVE HAD …

Thursday 29th May 2025 – ANOTHER PAINFUL DAY …

Wednesday 28th May 2025 – GUESS WHO …

Tuesday 27th May 2025 – MY CLEANER IS …

Monday 26th May 2025 – YET MORE CHAOS …

Your reactions

Excellent

Useful

Interesting

Weird

Surprising

Boring