… horribly late again and totally exhausted. I’ve done all that I’m going to do and what isn’t done won’t be done now.
And “exhausted” is really the word too because I’ve been on the go since … errr … 03:55 this morning.
Last night, what with running really late again, it was about 23:30 by the time that I’d finished everything that needed finishing and crawled into bed. But once in bed, I didn’t have long to enjoy it. A little less than four and a half hours, in fact.
Once I was awake, I couldn’t go back to sleep no matter how hard I tried. In the end, round about 05:00, I gave up the idea and left the bed.
Yesterday, I said that I was determined to finish a radio programme today, come what may, and so I made a start. I’m not sure what happened, or from where all of this energy came, but from 05:00 until 06:29 when the alarm went off, I wrote the text for eight of the ten songs that will be included in the programme. I don’t think that I’ve ever worked as hard or as quickly as that in all the time that I’ve been preparing them.
When the alarm went off, I headed into the bathroom to have a good tidy-up and then into the kitchen.
It was one of the earliest that I’d ever been in the kitchen, so I took full advantage and had a leisurely start to the day with my medication and my hot ginger, honey and lemon drink. I wasn’t in any rush.
Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. We had a meeting of our little travel group here in Granville and everyone came to see me. It was about a week before I was due to move house so we’d been putting everything in boxes etc. They had all gone out for a meal or something and I was still at home. While they were away, someone else was here , a young girl. I don’t know who she was. She was talking about medical affairs and I was talking about my legs. She asked me if I would be better off with one of my legs amputated and an artificial leg fitted. I told her that that would be the last thing that I wanted. If that ever were to happen, I would probably want to commit suicide. She made a couple of statements assuming that God would intervene and I’d be defying God for this suicide. I replied that I don’t believe in God anyway. She was horrified that I was planning to do that. Meanwhile, while I’d been going through everything, I noticed that the following weekend, the 1st of March, was a holiday, the Monday. So when everyone came back, I tried to begin to talk about seeing what would happen if everyone could come down that following week and help me move. For some reason, I didn’t find a little gap in which to talk so I was sitting there with this pent-up statement in my mind and I wasn’t able to fit a word in edgeways as everyone else was in mid-chat. Somewhere along the line, I had been out and I’d met someone from my Welsh class. We had a chat in the middle of the street and that was how I’d learnt that the Monday was a bank holiday. Where I’d been was that I’d been to some kind of office for something or other. When i’d gone in and introduced myself, someone in the background made some kind of remark in a phoney English accent. I turned to her and quite angrily said “there’s no need to take the mickey”. I did what I wanted to do and said goodbye. As I was walking out of the building, the window at the side was open and I heard someone say “I thought that you had to have three ‘O’ Levels in the UK to be able to do that. I shouted through the window “as a matter of fact, I have eleven ‘O’ levels, three ‘A’ levels and a university degree. She replied “how rude it is to be listening at a window”, to which I said “with a voice like yours, it’s impossible not to”.
It’s certainly true about my legs. There is no way on this earth that anyone is going to amputate them, and if it’s the only solution, I shall head off to Switzerland or Belgium and “the needle”. The rest of the dream is quite meaningless. It doesn’t seem to fit in with anything that’s happened in my life, as far as I can remember.
Isabelle the Nurse breezed in as usual, but today, she was wearing her Christmas tree earrings. It’s nice to see someone else in the Christmas spirit. It’s lonely around here, with me being the only person to have coloured lights. It’s disappointing that no-one else has made an effort.
After she left, I made breakfast and read some more of A ROMAN FRONTIER POST AND ITS PEOPLE.
And here we go again! A few months ago I posted examples of a very Anglo-centric view of the United Kingdom and today, when discussing the size of the fort at Trimontium we have "In Scotland the only one of the excavated camps that compares with it in size is Inchtuthil, with its fifty-six acres. In England, Caerleon on Usk, fifty acres in extent, occupied by the Second Legion, corresponds" that is presumably a totally different Caerleon-on-Usk that is situated just a stone’s throw from Casnewydd and Cwmbran in Gwent.
It really is sad when you see postings like that scattered all through these books.
After breakfast, I sorted out the food that I’d made yesterday that needs to be put away. That involved sorting out and tidying the freezer in the bathroom (yes, folks, I have a freezer in the bathroom) and that took an age. And then the one in the kitchen (because I have one there too) needed tidying.
The job isn’t perfect by any means but I found that I could fit in everything that needed fitting and there’s still room for more, although I shall try to resist the temptation. But it was almost midday by the time that I’d finished and everything was put away quite nicely.
After the disgusting drink break, I came in here to play with the rest of the radio programme and it didn’t take long to finish. On the next early start day, I’ll dictate all of the notes and edit them.
Once I’d reached that point, I called it a day and began to catch up with the outstanding correspondence. I had no idea how much there was that needed attention. That couple of weeks while I’d been ill, I’d really let things slide away from me.
As far as I can see, I’ve dealt with all outstanding correspondence. If you are still awaiting a reply to something you have sent me, let me know.
The postie interrupted me yet again with a packet. I expressed my disappointment that she didn’t come down the chimney dressed as Santa Claus, and she made some kind of gesture in response.
However, there is still one parcel that has not arrived, and it would have to be the one with half of my cleaner’s Christmas present in it, wouldn’t it?. And then, I couldn’t find the Christmas wrapping paper for the parcel so I had to wrap up what I had of her present in a large Amazon envelope. Hardly festive, but you do what you can.
Back in here, I crashed out on the chair again. I was totally disorientated when I awoke, wondering if I should go for breakfast. What kind of state am I in?
Anyway, I invited my cleaner down to give her whatever I had for her and wished her a Merry Christmas. There was also another present for one of the people who had helped with the removal, and I popped that into his letterbox. The third one had gone directly by post a few days ago.
Tea tonight was mashed potato, veg and a strange lump of something filled with curry sauce. It looked totally bizarre but tasted quite nice. I wish that I’d bought some more now but I shan’t be going to that cheap shop again, which is a pity. In fact, I shan’t be going anywhere.
Pudding was fruitcake with vegan mango, quite nice as usual, but once Christmas is over, I’ll have a go at making some real vegan ice cream and see what happens.
But right now, I’m off to bed. When we all wake up in the morning it will be Christmas so I hope that Santa will be kind to you. Season’s greetings to everyone.
But seeing as we have been talking about the disrespect of Wales and the Welsh a hundred years ago … "well, one of us has" – ed … it’s those kinds of comments that go to create a lot of animosity that is felt in Wales towards the English colonists who have squashed the Welsh language and culture.
For example, a shepherd on an isolated hilltop saw a well-dressed hiker bend down to take a drink of water from a stream.
He shouted at him "peidiwch ag yfed y dwr. Mae’r defaid wedi bod yn glaf ynddo. Byddwch chi’n dal afiechyd." – don’t drink the water. The sheep have been sick in it. You’ll catch a disease.
"I’m sorry, my good man" said the stranger, in a perfect Received Pronunciation. "I don’t understand your language. What did you say?"
"I said ‘would you like to borrow my mug? You can drink much more with that’"
were due to appear. Instead of hanging around waiting for them, I went for a little wander around in the immediate vicinity and found another concert hall almost right next-door and this attracted my attention for a while. Then, returning to my venue, I could hear the music drifting upstairs so I dashed down, just in time to miss the last number! Drat! So I went to buy a beer (I haven’t had a beer in over 25 years, by the way) and there, sitting on a stool behind the counter as if he was supervising the place, was a boy who lived in the same village as me and who was on the same educational path and whom I haven’t seen for probably 40 years. But to buy a beer, you had to queue down a line of trestle tables until you reached the end, which was right up against the wall of the building, but the seats were so close to the trestle table that it as quite a squeeze to come back with your full beer glasses.
. All I need now are the car hire and the train. The ferries can take care of themselves as I encounter them. But one ferry issue is that one of the boats that I would be taking is away for a refit and so instead of starting the ferry crossing on 20th April, it’s now going to restart on 15th May – two weeks too late for me. I shall have to see about that.