Tag Archives: seren

… day I’ve had today!

Round about 10:30 this morning, the doorbell rang and there on the doorstep were Liz and Terry. They have come over to Normandy to catch up on friends and contacts, and I was one of the people whom they wished to see, which was really nice of them.

Actually, I could do with some cheering up today because it was another awful night last night. I was actually in bed by 22:30, which makes a change, and I was looking forward to a good eight hours’ sleep until the alarm went off at 06:29.

However, it was not to be. I awoke again at some early time in the morning – and it was early too because the lights were on in the car park so it must have been before 02:30. After that, I lay there for a while, tossing and turning and trying to go to sleep.

Eventually, I looked at the time and it was 05:52, so I reckoned that in five minutes, I’ll haul myself out of bed and claim another early start. The next thing that I remembered was the alarm going off. Why is it that I always fall asleep at the wrong moment? Why couldn’t I have fallen asleep an hour earlier?

It took the usual long, long period for me to find the courage and enthusiasm to haul myself out of bed, and the first thing that I did was to go and sort myself out in the bathroom.

Back in here, there were the dictaphone notes to transcribe, so I set to work on those.

This is another one of those dreams that evaporated when I was picking up the dictaphone. I was walking around Crewe with an old friend of mine. We were by the new parade of shops in Market Street. I happened to mention that I’d written a book and he said that he would love to be able to read it and maybe have a copy. But I told him that it was a bit of a children’s fairy tale more than anything else, but he still seemed to be interested in having a copy. That’s all that I remember of this.

Even if I can’t remember very much about this dream, I can still see where it took place. It was at the beginning of Market Street, where Lloyds Bank used to be in the olden days, and we went over Chester Bridge and down past the top of High Street towards the traffic lights by the “Duke of Bridgewater” pub where we intended to turn right into Wistaston Road.

The story about the children’s book is of course true. I’m still on chapter twelve at the moment, not having had the time to go any further with it just recently, and I’m still looking for a reader, but it has to be a child or someone who understands children, and that would rule my friend out immediately.

There was a bit more about that dream that I remembered later. I’d often go out in the morning for a walk and I’d always end up at the same bookshop at a couple of minutes after 09:00 when it opened. There would be people sitting at tables reading books, there would be lots of new books there, and there would be records and second-hand records. There was a hi-fi section at the back and I was looking at the hi-fi equipment, thinking that I’d had my hi-fi equipment since 1985 and it’s forty-one years old. I was looking around at all these things, but I ended up at the counter at the bakery. I’d buy some bread and some croissants and take most of them home. Then I’d go out again another day at the same time.

The shop in this dream reminded me of the old British Home Stores shop in Crewe, demolished when they knocked down the town centre a couple of years ago. And I’m impressed by the memory of when I bought the hi-fi and the maths of working out how long it is that I’ve owned it, while I was asleep.

The story in this dream about buying the bread and taking it home reminded me of when I had to go into work in Brussels early some Saturday mornings for a couple of hours, I’d always come home with couques (patisseries) for breakfast for Laurence, Roxanne and me. It’s a Belgian national habit of eating patisseries for breakfast on a Sunday morning, but we’d have them too for a Saturday morning breakfast if I was up and about.

Another thing about this dream is that I began it by saying “there’s a bit more about that dream,” referring to the first dream. However, I can’t see where the second part would fit into it.

Later on, there was something about baking. I’d been baking with whatever bits of equipment I happened to find. Either I’d bought or someone had given me a huge collection of baking accessories like moulds, whisks and things like that – there were all sorts – so my assistant and I began to make something for tea. I thought that it came out extremely well, so I discussed it with someone else. I remember saying that it always used to cook OK when I lived here, but of course it was twenty years ago and things could possibly have changed in that time.

This does sound very much like my own experience here – cooking with a make-do set of equipment accumulated one by one over the past thirty-four years. Yes, that’s how long it has been since I left the UK. I keep on meaning to upgrade the baking equipment with a proper kit, but up to now, I’ve yet to find what I need.

And it was actually twenty years ago back in April when I left the big apartment at the Avenue d’Exposition in Brussels and moved down to the farm. It was impressive remembering that too while I was asleep.

As for the kitchen assistant too, there’s a story behind that, but the World is not yet ready to hear it.

Halfway through transcribing the dictaphone notes, I suddenly remembered that I hadn’t unlocked the front door. I had to dash … "well, sort of" – ed … into the living room and unlock it before she arrived.

It didn’t take long for her to turn up either, so I was only just in time. She asked if I had any news about the Hound of the Baskervilles, so I explained that it was Oktoberfest time in Munich so I’ll be expecting garbled reports for the next couple of weeks until the festival closes down and everyone sobers up.

After she had dealt with my feet and legs, she cleared off on her rounds and I went to make my breakfast – porridge and toast with coffee and fruit juice to wash down my medication. While I was eating, I was reading some more of THE REPORT OF THE WOOLHOPE NATURALISTS CLUB 1870.

Not very much more of it because, whilst talking about Llangorse Lake, it was coming up with all kinds of interesting facts and curious stories, so I spent much of the time following up these leads and enlightening myself on old Breconshire myths and legends.

Back in here, there were the usual things to do, and I also reviewed the radio programme for this coming weekend and sent it off ready for adding into the stream for broadcasting.

And then, we had the famous knock on the door.

There’s an old Roman saying, originally by Virgil – "timeo Danaos et dona ferentes" meaning “beware of Greeks bringing gifts”, but anyone who comes to my house bringing six tins of baked beans for me is more than welcome. And not only that, it’s been a couple of years since I’ve seen them, so just like the Hound of the Baskervilles and his master, they are always welcome here whenever they pass by.

The first thing that I did was to make Liz a coffee, and then we sat down and brought each other up to date with the latest news – and there was a lot to say too. It was wonderful to catch up with old friends like this.

My faithful cleaner breezed in too. She’d been to the chemists and fetched my medication for the next month. And when she opened the medication drawer, Liz gasped. She hadn’t seen as much medication in one place outside a pharmacy before.

At lunchtime, we made a salad with lettuce, tomatoes, olives, cucumbers, kidney beans and potatoes and it really was nice too. There is some left over too so I might have that tomorrow night for tea if I’m hungry. But as I said last night, I don’t know what’s happened, but I seem to have my appetite coming slowly back. And Isabelle the Nurse seems to think that it may well be the perfusion that I had on Monday that has stimulated me as well as the red blood cells (I asked her this morning).

We carried on chatting until about 16:30 when Liz and Terry left. They are only here for a few days and they had other fish to fry, so I thanked them for their visit and I look forward to the next time.

After they had gone, I had a rather late disgusting drink and midday medication and then came in here to do some work, but instead, I crashed out for a while. That’s a disappointment because for the last couple of days, I’ve managed to keep going and I had hoped that this run would continue. I shall have to work harder.

Anyway, once I’ve backed up and done the stats, I shall be off to bed for … "he hopes" – ed … an early night.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about the chemists … "well, one of us has" – ed … my cleaner told me that she was there when another woman came in.
She went up to the chemist and asked him "do you have cotton wool balls, by any chance?"
The chemist replied "what do you think I am, madam? A teddy bear?"

LIVE: Saturday 19th September 2026 – I HAD TWO …

… phantom alarms during the night And I know that the first one of them was a phantom alarm because I was awake (at least, I think that I was) when it sounded. But it wasn’t the usual RAUCOUS RATTLE OF BILLY COTTON but more like a series of these wind bells ringing down in the bottom corner of the bedroom where the chest of drawers is.

The second one went off when I was asleep, and that WAS Billy Cotton. It went off at about 04:00 or so because, after I’d been tossing and turning around for quite a while, I saw that the time was 04:38.

So an 04:00 awakening this morning, which, considering that I didn’t go to bed until after 00:30 this morning, hasn’t let me have much sleep at all. It’s a good job that I’m in dialysis this afternoon so, if necessary, I can have a good sleep.

At some point much later on, I tucked myself up in the only position that seems to be able to make me go to sleep. It’s quite uncomfortable, and I usually wake up to find that I’m flat on my back again, but during the latter part of the night last night I didn’t move and was still there when the alarm went off.

This morning, it was more of a struggle than most mornings to rise to my feet, but the lure of Emilie the Cute Consultant was sufficient to attract me into the bathroom for a good wash and scrub up, and even a shave.

Back in here, I found that there was nothing on the dictaphone from last night, but when I had woken up earlier, there were a couple of things going on in my head as if I’d been awoken in the middle of a dream before I’d had time to record it. So, for what they are worth, I’ve written down what little I remember of them.

The first part seemed to relate to someone in this apartment looking for a teatowel. However, I awoke and noticed that they were all in here and I was covered in them, so there was definitely something strange going on.

And the second part took place round about now – towards the end of September (in my head I had the feeling that it was the 22nd of September) – here in France, and I was dressed in my winter jacket, gloves and woolly hat as if it were mid-winter, and other people were dressed for winter too.

There doesn’t seem to be anything at all to connect these two little bits with anything that has gone on in real life just recently. The closest connection that I can make is being up in the High Arctic in mid- to late September when I was certainly in winter clothing – as much of it as I could wear.

There were a few other things to do, and then the nurse arrived to interrupt me. He asked about the Hound of the Baskervilles, so I told him what I knew, and then he began to speak to me in German. My German isn’t as good as it ought to be, but I managed to answer him to a certain degree.

After he left, I made my breakfast, and while I was eating, I was reading some more of THE REPORT OF THE WOOLHOPE NATURALISTS CLUB 1870.

We’re still on meteorology, and while I was reading it, I came across this report – "1816 was a very wet, cold season. Wheat out at Christmas, and the head so bad “that it would stick if thrown against a wall.” The season said to be as bad as in 1698."

Strangely enough, that was the only entry for severe weather in 1816, and that surprised me, for in 1815, there was the volcanic eruption of Mount Tambora on the island of Sumbawa, these days part of Indonesia. It is said to be the largest eruption in recorded history and the fallout from the volcanic ash was such that 1816 was said to be “the year without a summer” and “an agricultural disaster” with food shortages, famine and starvation.

Why there aren’t any more entries relating to this period is a total mystery.

Back in here with just two hours to go before I need to make myself ready for dialysis, but I couldn’t think of what to do in that period. It’s not very often that I have a block like that. So on the basis of “if you don’t know what to do, just do something, or anything,” so I wrote chapter ten of my book.

This was going to be the last chapter, but I seem to have let my fingers run away with themselves on the keyboard just recently, so there are at least two chapters still to do, plus the preface and the conclusion. But this has always been a challenge for me – sticking within a word count. You give me a word limit and I’ll go beyond it, sometimes by a country mile too.

When the alarm went off, I took myself off into the kitchen to sort out my midday medication and my disgusting drink. My cleaner duly turned up to sort out my anaesthetic and a couple of other little tasks too, and once she’d left, I had to wait for the taxi.

Not that I was waiting long because it was here at 12:40. We had to go to Champeaux to pick up someone else, and we were at the dialysis centre at 13:30. By 14:10 I was up and running too.

There were no interruptions, apart from the nurses running to deal with the blood pressure alarm every half-hour. Not even a doctor came to see me, so I could watch the football in mostly peace and quiet in my little room.

Yesterday, I mentioned the game between Caernarfon and Cambrian United, so that was my choice. And it was as chaotic as the newsfeed report said it was.

There was Caernarfon’s goalkeeper running the ball out of play, which led to fisticuffs between him and a Cambrian forward that saw both of them sent off. Later on, another Cambrian player was sent off for “denying a goalscoring opportunity”.

Caernarfon’s ten men were far too good for Cambrian’s nine, and it became an embarrassment as the Caernarfon players cut through the Cambrian defence like a hot knife through butter. There were actually nine different goal scorers making up Caernarfon’s total, and if that’s not a record, I don’t know what is.

After it finished, I watched the first half of Hwlffordd v Trefynnon, but once more I ran out of time. I’ll tell you about it when I’ve finished watching it.

When the session was finished, I had to wait a few minutes to be unplugged, and after that, another fifteen minutes for my taxi. But at least, I was the only passenger so I was home by 18:30.

My cleaner was sitting on her mushroom waiting for me, and she helped me into the apartment, sticking a disgusting drink into my sweaty little mitt. After she left, I made some food, just a handful of pasta and vegetables with melted butter.

Back in here, there was yet more football – a Welsh Cup match between Denbigh of the second tier and Trearddur Bay of the third tier. And when you are 1-0 down in the seventy-ninth minute with two players already sent off, as Denbigh were, what would be the betting on a Denbigh win?

It was only then that Denbigh began to play. And how is it possible for Trearddur Bay, with a two-man advantage, to leave a Denbigh player unmarked at the far post? That was one goal back to equalise, and then with two minutes to go, they scored a second.

The game itself was quite agricultural, and even though it’s second tier v third tier, I was expecting far better football than this. But I’ve seen worse on my travels, I suppose.

But I won’t be seeing any more tonight, unless they appear in my dreams, because I’m off to bed. It’s way past my bedtime. But at least (in principle) I can have a lie-in tomorrow.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about agricultural disasters … "well, one of us has" – ed … an aeroplane crashed in a field and the local search and rescue brigade dashed to the scene.
They noticed two things – firstly that there was a farmer nearby wiping his hands, and the second was that the aeroplane was Air Force One.
"Oh my God! What a disaster!" exclaimed the brigade leader. Then he turns to the farmer and asks "where are the survivors?"
"There weren’t any" replies the farmer. "I just finished burying them"
"Even Donald Trump? Surely he must be alive at least!"
"Well, he told me that he was, but you know what a big liar he is."

LIVE: Friday 18th September 2026 – THIS IS THE …

… last day of my summer holidays today.

The other day, I know that I said that I would start work today, but falling asleep at my desk after breakfast and remaining like that until exactly 11:21 rather made up my mind for me.

It’s understandable though. Even though I crashed out last night by about 21:30 and was well-tucked up in bed, going to bed early just means that I wake up early, as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed …

The thing that startled me most was hearing the “click” from the immersion heater relay. “Surely it can’t be 06:38 already, it’s switching off and I’ve slept through the alarms?” No it wasn’t. It was 01:10 and the immersion heater was just switching on.

From then on, I just tossed and turned all night until I finally checked the time again – 05:52. That made up my mind so I leapt to my feet … "well, sort of" – ed … and went over to the computer to finish off last night’s notes, which are now on line.

There was time to do a few other things, including checking the stats, where I found that once more, an AI chatbot has visited my website and used ONE OF MY WEB PAGES as a reference. I forget how many times this is now.

When the nurse arrived, he was very disappointed to find me all alone. He’d grown quite fond of the Hound of the Baskervilles, and I’m sure that the feeling was mutual. But never mind. He sorted out my legs and feet and then cleared off on his travels.

After he left, I made breakfast and read some more of THE REPORT OF THE WOOLHOPE NATURALISTS CLUB 1870.

This report, written in 1871 or so, describes the field trips of the members and guests and includes verbatim copies of the “papers” that were read at their lectures. The one that we’ve been discussing today is meteorology, and, bearing in mind that this is 1871, this following quote is bound to be of interest to almost everyone and takes my “earliest mention of global warming” back yet another few years.

"it appears plain from this diagram that our climate has become warmer, the month of January particularly, say from 2 to 3 degrees. There is not so much difference in the summer months, or even of March; but the whole year is somewhat warmer on the average than at the close of the last century."

This is a fascinating quote from a group of committed and determined observers, and it’s a shame that it’s been missed by most modern means of mass communication. And it’s a good indication of the fact that global warming has been around longer than most people realise.

Back in here again, I had a few things to do but found myself fast asleep in my chair yet again, as I said earlier. How I wish that I could avoid it, especially when it takes a good twenty minutes at least to pull myself together afterwards. In fact, I don’t think that it was until I had my disgusting drink and midday medication (and midday plum) at about 12:40 that I was ready to go.

Back at my desk, the first thing was to transcribe the dictaphone notes from last night.

This is a dream that I can only remember bits of because it all evaporated when I reached for the dictaphone. I was with another younger boy from school, and there was something going on there that I can’t remember. And then I ended up in London again and I was driving away from the city centre and the North Circular Road in a sort-of North East direction through one set of housing after another after another after another, and it basically involved Liz, “that Liz”, not “this Liz” and me, and we were somewhere at some kind of fête and they called the tombola number winners, and it was a ticket that I had, and the prize was something like £113,000. Naturally, we were both delighted. We met someone who was obviously jealous because she began to ask us what we were all going to do with it and all of that. Liz seemed to think that splitting it in half was not the right kind of thing. I think she wanted her daughter to have a share too. She was annoyed when I was talking to this person about splitting it in half and stormed out. I stormed off after her but I couldn’t persuade her to come back in. In the end, she just disappeared. I went to find her daughter, and her daughter and I looked around for a while. Her daughter showed me her wedding photos, and I hadn’t realised that she’d married. That was when I had that bit about driving through London thousands of miles later while I looked to find her, and I remember the road that was dark and damp and all these terraced houses and old-type semis. I pulled up at a house at one point, and another Ford Granada pulled up behind me. I went in, and these two women asked me if I was their taxi, so I replied “no”. The other driver said that he was theirs, but he sounded completely drunk from my point of view.

“That Liz” appears quite often in my dreams, but this is the first appearance for many a long year of her daughter. Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that I TOOK HER TO CANADA IN 2010 after her mother died. And in any case, neither of them was the kind to make a fuss about money.

However, I’m back in London again, aren’t I? This is becoming quite a habit.

There was another dream about being back in Pionsat. Half of the football club was there waiting for the other half to go for a match. Eventually, they turned up and they went. There were plenty of players whom I knew from before, and not one of them said “hello” to me. They went off, but they came back a few hours later this Sunday morning, but they didn’t tell me how the game had gone.

This is possibly something to do with the merger nine years ago of Pionsat and Marcillat football clubs in an attempt to make a much stronger first XI. However, it didn’t work out that way, but that’s another story.

It’s interesting to see that they don’t notice me. Was I a ghost at that moment? That’s always an intriguing possibility.

When I was working in an office, there was a girl who was working there. She was married and had two children, or was it three children? But her husband was flirting around with one of her work colleagues. It turned out that they went swimming together and doing all sorts of other things together, leaving this girl pretty much on her own, so she used to come along to talk to me about it. I said “I know what advice I would give you, but it’s not my business. She had another friend who used to come along and talk to the two of us, and she made some kind of remark that I hadn’t noticed that I’d started to hold this girl’s hand. I felt “well! What’s happening here?”

I know this girl right enough, and she certainly didn’t have three children. The situation also related to her too, although I was never lucky enough to hold her hand, much as I would have liked to.

But being lucky in a dream is an unusual situation for me anyway. My family usually comes along and puts the spanner in the works long before we get to this point.

And then, of course, I was back in London again and was walking around the streets. I’d parked the van up somewhere on the edge of the city and I’d walked in. There had been some kind of confusion that Nerina and I had won all this money, but a solicitor just picked it up and walked off with it and refused to hand it back. I went to see my friendly solicitor at work, who happened to be there at the time, and had him write out the statement as to what he saw, because I was going to take it to the police. Then I had to walk back to my van through the streets of north-east London that I’ve walked through dozens of times in a dream. I started it up, and I was surprised that it started. I set out to drive away, but I realised that I hadn’t had anything to eat for ages, so I turned round and headed back. There was a bakery that I’d visited when I’d been walking around London in a dream, and with a chip shop next to it. So I parked up there and went off to buy some food.

This looks as if it might be connected to the first dream, although Nerina is there instead of “that Liz”. As for my friendly neighbourhood solicitor, I know him too, and he’s certainly not a solicitor, not by any means.

And back in London again, and in the same street as the bakery and the chip shop that I have visited on numerous occasions in recent dreams.

Having finished all of that, I began to write chapter nine of my story. This is an important chapter, the key in fact to the whole book and, if I’m lucky, the whole series. It’s where the heroine suddenly finds her feet in her new world after her tragedies in the earlier chapters, and it took quite a while to write. However, it’s turned out exactly as I would like it to.

All I need now, as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … is to find myself a target audience willing to read it to see what she thinks. So if you have a girl in your entourage aged, say, between nine and twelve who might like to read it, let me know.

Chapter ten will be next, but I’ve no idea when I’ll find the time to write it now. It won’t be tonight because there’s football on later – newly promoted Airbus UK Broughton v established Y Fflint, lingering third from bottom without a win.

This is a game that Y Fflint must be targeting if they are to close the gap that’s widening at the foot of the table, cutting off the bottom three.

My cleaner put her sooty foot into the apartment and did some cleaning in the middle of all of this, and, poor girl, she was here for almost three hours this afternoon. She’s still not convinced that she’s collected everything, even though this is the first ever time that I’ve seen her use a vacuum cleaner. At least, I think that the place is spotless now.

When chapter nine was finished, I fed it through the first of my two chatbot proofreaders, and he liked it very much, so I fed it through the second one. There were a couple of typing errors and missed punctuation that it found, but the continuity and the chronology are holding up really well.

Tea tonight was my usual Friday favourite – air-fried chips with vegan sausage and baked beans with cheese and black pepper. It was delicious beforehand, but since my friend advised me to boil the chips first in order to soften them before frying them in the air fryer, they have come out even better, so I really enjoyed my meal tonight.

Especially when it was followed by a mixture of tinned apricots and tinned fruit cocktail with some of that lovely vegan ice cream from Noz. It’s a shame that I don’t know anyone else who shops there, otherwise they would be getting a weekly order.

And having said all of that, I can’t believe that I’ve had a meal and enjoyed it. God knows what it’s done to my water retention issues, but ask me if I care.

Back in here, there was the football – Airbus UK Broughton v Y Fflint. As I said earlier, this was a match that Y Fflint needed to win to kickstart their season, and indeed they played some really nice football – in fact, they showed much more skill than Airbus did. So what I simply do not understand is why they lost the match 4-1. They were the much better team, I reckoned, and they had the Airbus defence under siege for some very long periods, even after they had had a player sent off.

Mind you, their goal was a cracker. A young lad – Levi Morrison, I think – had just come on as a substitute and was playing right-back. He played a magnificent ball right over the top of the Airbus defence into the path of an onrushing striker who had the simplest of jobs to lash it into the net.

And my “man of the match”? Lassana Mendes, Y Fflint’s Spanish midfielder, who ran the game better than anyone I have seen for a long time.

It has to be said, however, that playing football in a monsoon with hurricane-force winds and the distractions of aeroplanes taking off and landing in the background can’t have been easy.

And whatever happened at Caernarfon? Four players (three from Cambrian United) were sent off, eighteen minutes of stoppage time and a 9-1 victory for the home side. That has to be a game worth watching, and I shall be looking forward to it tomorrow at dialysis.

But right now, later than ever, I’m off to bed. I need my beauty sleep if I am going to look my best for whoever knows who comes along.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about winning at tombola … "well, one of us has" – ed … it reminds me of the time Nerina asked me what I would do if I won the lottery.
"Give you half and throw you out" I said.
"Good!" she said. "Here’s £6:00, half of my win last night. Now clear off!"

LIVE: Wednesday 16th September 2026 – THINGS HAVE BEEN …

… a little better today that yesterday, which was in itself an improvement from Monday. However, before I start getting up my hopes, I have dialysis tomorrow, and so I’m expecting to be down at Ground Zero again on Friday morning.

But carpe diem, hey! Let’s just talk about today, shall we?

And “today” is probably right because it was after midnight this morning – 00:15 to be exact – when I finally crawled into bed after such a hectic day yesterday. And despite the howling gale that was going on outside … "and is still going on right now even as we speak" – ed … I managed to go to sleep fairly quickly.

Once more, though, there was the dramatic awakening at about 02:00, just like yesterday and with no good reason either. I was tossing and turning for what seemed like hours, and I noticed that I was still awake at 02:53, but I must have gone to sleep at some point thereafter because at 06:29, the alarm awoke me from a very deep sleep.

Surprisingly, I was able quite easily to be sitting on the side of the bed. But changing from that position to being upright and moving about is not so easy. It took a good ten minutes, maybe even more, before I was sitting on my chair at the computer.

The first job was to spell-check the notes from yesterday and put them on line. And then there was a pile of little things that need doing, so I made a good start on them. But eventually, I heard the sound of distant coffee mugs being rattled, so I stopped what I was doing and went off to investigate.

Sure enough, coffee was on its way, so I nipped off for a quick ride on the porcelain horse and then into the bathroom to sort myself out. And I was finished and back in the kitchen just as the coffee finished percolating. How good was that timing?

While we were drinking our coffee, we were chatting about the overnight news and things like that, but we noticed that all of a sudden, the Hound of the Baskervilles stood bolt-upright, his ears erect and his tail wagging. And then he made for the door.

About thirty seconds later, the doorbell rang and in walked the nurse. The Hound of the Baskervilles darted towards him and insisted on having a good stroke and hug before he would let him in.

Eventually, the nurse could turn his attention to me, and he dealt with my legs and feet. However, on leaving, he was once again cornered by the Hound of the Baskervilles, who insisted on yet another good stroke.

After the nurse had left, the Hound of the Baskervilles dragged his master off for walkies. I made breakfast and read some more of THE REPORT OF THE WOOLHOPE NATURALISTS CLUB 1870.

Today, they were discussing the village of Kilpeck, the castle of which was the administrative centre of “Archenfield”, the part of the Welsh kingdom of Ergyng that was annexed by the Mercians towards the end of the Ninth Century.

Naturally, that led me off down another dead end, so I didn’t progress very far with the book. Never mind, though. There’s always tomorrow.

Back in here, I finished off what I’d been doing before coffee and then continued my summer holidays. After all, my visitors leave me tomorrow, so I’m back at work on Friday.

Perhaps the most important task was to proof-read the seven chapters of my book so far. I found several mistakes and made a few alterations here and there to clear up a few bits of confusion.

Having done that and had my disgusting drink and midday medication this afternoon, I programmed another artificial intelligence chatbot to be a proofreader and also to check for continuity (I don’t want my characters leaving home in red clothes and turning up two minutes later in green ones) and for chronological errors (none of my characters would be using a mobile telephone in 1987, for example).

Having done that, I ran my book through the chatbot, chapter at a time, and he pulled up a few errors that I had missed, as well as a couple of continuity errors. He also asked me if I would like a few suggestions as to how I should continue (I hadn’t asked him to do that, by the way), but I declined.

Having said that, though, when I’ve finished how I want this book to be, I’ll go back and ask him to make some suggestions, just to see, out of curiosity, where he would have taken this story from this point onwards.

At some point, though, I must have fallen asleep because I awoke rather suddenly at about 16:20. I’ve no idea when I fell asleep, and I certainly felt no indication whatsoever beforehand that I was about to drop off.

So I carried on until all of the proofreading was done and then I went back to check it over again, just to make sure.

By now, I could smell food coming from the kitchen. Tea was about to be served. My friend had made fried potato slices with onion and ratatouille. That was really nice, especially when followed by tinned apricots and vegan ice cream from Noz.

So back in here, I’ll finish off my notes, do the stats and the backup, etc., and then go to bed. And if the wind drops, I might even be able to go to sleep tonight.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about proof readers and artificial intelligence … "well, one of us has" – ed … I asked one chatbot once to come up with a witty advertisement for a firm offering specialised services to authors, etc.
The advert it came up with was "(xxx) and co., specialised services to authors. We do poofreading, speling and tpying."

LIVE: Monday 14th September 2026 – I HAD NOTHING ON …

… the dictaphone this morning.

Mind you, that’s not really any surprise, because if you don’t go to sleep, you can’t dream, can you?

Yes, last night was a proper nuit blanche, and it was a shame because, eschewing all luxuries, including food, I’d finished my notes at some kind of respectable time and was in bed fairly early, looking forward to a good night’s sleep.

Instead, I tourné en ronde – “tossed and turned” in my bed for hour after hour, at times in total despair, because I know what “no sleep last night” means for this afternoon at dialysis when I want to watch a football match, or tonight when I come home, or tomorrow morning when my new Welsh class begins – so if there are no notes for tonight when you log in to look, you’ll know why.

However, the time was not totally wasted. I began to plot the next few chapters of my book, and before I’d finished, I’d not only finished this book in my head but written the following two too. So no time is ever wasted.

As well as that, I’m going to claim an “early start” because when the alarm should have gone off at 06:29 (but it didn’t because I’d switched it off), I’d been at my desk working for a good fifteen minutes. It’s a shame that I’m still wheezing and coughing because I would otherwise have got up much earlier and dictated a pile of radio notes. If I’m going to be going to hospital for any length of time, I’ll need to be as up-to-date as possible because dictating in a hospital bed is totally impossible.

Eventually, I heard signs of life in the kitchen as if coffee was being made so I went in to join everyone and had a hot, strong coffee put into my sweaty little mitt. My friend and I chatted for a while, and eventually, Isabelle the Nurse turned up. the Hound of the Baskervilles hardly moved a muscle, but he wagged his tail and let Isabelle stroke him before she attended to me.

Then, before leaving, she made another fuss of him because she’s off tonight on her week off and she won’t see him for a few months.

Once she’d left, the Hound of the Baskervilles had his breakfast and dragged his master off for walkies. I had a good wash and scrub up, and also a shave in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant this afternoon at dialysis. Then I went to make my breakfast.

While I was eating, I was reading some more of THE REPORT OF THE WOOLHOPE NATURALISTS CLUB 1870. Yet again, the Club is managing to steer clear of controversy. Their criticism of another member’s viewpoint is usually expressed in a very good-natured way that doesn’t really cause offence. If I come across a good example, I’ll post it on here for you to see.

When I came back in here, I had the next radio programme to review before I sent it off to be added into the stream for the weekend. I can’t remember what I did after that, but there was still some time to watch a bit of the Colwyn Bay v Connah’s Quay Nomads match from Saturday in the JD Cymru League, played before yet another four-figure crowd, mostly from Colwyn Bay because the Nomads don’t even have their own ground (they share with Y Fflint), never mind any support.

It’s a fact that the crowds that watch two of Wales’s leading clubs (TNS and Connah’s Quay Nomads) have an appallingly low level of attendance at home, whereas even Trefynnon, hopelessly adrift at the foot of the table, have managed a gate of four figures this season.

My friend nipped out for his lunch at the local canteen while I looked after His Nibs. He whined for his master, but he soon stopped when his Auntie Cleaner came to fix my anaesthetic. She made a real fuss of him, which he enjoyed immensely.

When his master returned from dinner, my cleaner sorted my out arm and helped me pack. It was a beautiful afternoon too, so after she left, we all went outside to wait, the Hound of the Baskervilles hiding in the shade under a bush. He didn’t even want to lie in his favourite bus shelter in case any of his girlfriends from the local high school across the car park came past.

So we waited. And waited. And waited. Yes, people, this is when the whole day went off the rails.

Having been used this last few weeks when Mrs Dinosaur was here to be picked up twenty minutes early, today was the day when we all caught up and the taxi was half an hour late. The church clock in the walled town was striking 13:30 when she hove into view. It’s not anything that I ever complain about, though. Being terminally ill, I have a service that drives me to my medical appointments … "of which there are thousands" – ed … anywhere in the country and it’s free. I wouldn’t have service like this in any other country in the World.

So we shot off as if the Fear of God was upon us for … ohhh … all of a mile and a half before we came up behind a tractor with a full load of straw on it travelling at 25 kph if it was lucky.

We followed it for a couple of miles, and all the time, I was thinking “why is she going this way?”.

The tractor turned off eventually, and so my driver put her foot down, to run almost immediately to a road barricade.

"Ohh God, yes! They’ve closed the main road for roadworks!" she exclaimed. Well, I know they have, and it will be closed until at least the 31st of December too, which was why I was puzzled.

We ourselves had to take a quick diversion and in the end drove down the road to Champeaux and cut across to the main Avranches road a little further down. Despite all of the setbacks along the way, this was pretty good going. And as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … since I’ve been travelling with this company, I’m seeing parts of Normandy that I never knew existed.

It was 14:08 when we pulled up at the dialysis clinic – the old non-air-conditioned one – in this stifling heat. All of the nursing auxiliaries had gone off to lunch, so I had to stagger halfway around the building before I found the bed list. I was in bed n°12 today, the farthest single room in the farthest ward away from the front door. They couldn’t make me walk any farther if they tried.

After having to sort myself out on my own as best as I could, the nurses eventually came to plug me in, and it was 14:40 by the time that I was up and running. There wasn’t much to extract today, so I persuaded the nurse to wind it up by 300 grammes to give me a head start on Thursday.

And now, finally, I could now sit back and enjoy a couple of football matches.

At least, so I thought. First of all, the nurses came to do a check on my implant to make sure that it was functioning properly. But this was the day when the machine decided not to function properly, and I had three or four nurses around my bed trying to fix it – not that I was complaining, though.

When it was finally up and running, the test took about fifteen minutes, so there was a good half an hour of my day gone, just like that!

Then the doctor (not Emilie the Cute Consultant, unfortunately) came to see me. They were going to try something at the hôpital de jour – the “day clinic” – a series of drips, to see if it might work. Well, I’m game for trying almost anything, but I know how this will end, because I’ve been through this before, four or five years ago. It didn’t work then, so I bet it won’t work now, but if they think that it might, who am I to argue?

But I’m glad I saw the doctor because when Emilie the Cute Consultant told me on Saturday that my immune system had broken down, it rang a very vague bell in the back of my mind, so over the last day or two I’d been searching through my papers.

And sure enough, there it was. A vaccination card given to me in January 2016 when I’d had my spleen taken out. I remembered them saying that I’d require three vaccinations every five years for the rest of my life, and there were the 2016 injection stamps and the 2021 injection stamps, but nothing for 2026. It looks as if I had forgotten to have the injections in January.

She took the card, looked at it and said that she’d write a prescription, and when I have the injections, bring them down to dialysis and they would do them.

Once she left, I could watch the football, and the first game was Rhydaman v Cearnarfon. It was, unfortunately, men against boys, this match. Rhydaman never ever looked like doing anything at all, and I don’t believe that they put one single sooty foot inside Caernarfon’s penalty area during the entire match.

Some of their players played with guts and spirit, but you need much more than that in a match like this, and a 0-5 result in favour of the Cofis was not an exaggeration.

The next game was the rest of Colwyn Bay v Connah’s Quay Nomads. This turned out to be another candidate for one of the best football matches that I had ever seen and was another credit to the league. Both teams, intent on victory, went at each other right from the start.

They were still at it right at the end too, and the fans certainly had their money’s worth as the Seagulls clawed their way back from 1-0 down to beat the Nomads 2-1, with Jordan Davies scoring one of the best goals that I’d seen for a while too.

There was even time for part of a third match too – Trefelin v Penybont – but I ran out of time and began to pack away my things when the five-minute warning went off on my machine.

At that point, all hell let loose in the main room. One of the elderly patients had fallen into a coma, and all of the nurses in the building, and the doctor, crowded around to try to revive him.

What annoyed me about this, and I don’t want anyone to think that I am heartless at all, was that one of the nurses ran round and switched off everyone’s machines. I’d have been happy for mine to have gone on for another hour and given me an even better start for Thursday.

And it was indeed another hour, and more besides, until they were able to revive this guy and have him transferred across the road to hospital. And then they could sort the rest of us out.

It was my luck, wasn’t it, to have the nurse who goes around apologising for everything, rather like the maid in A ROCKET FULL OF PYE and it becomes overwhelming after five minutes.

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

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

Eventually they let me out to find that my poor chauffeur and another passenger had been sitting there for over an hour waiting for me. And it was still scorching hot out there too. I finally made it home for 19:25, and my comité d’acceuil – my welcoming committee – had long since, as Longfellow expressed it, "folded their tents, like the Arabs, and as silently steal away.". The taxi driver had to help me into the apartment.

My friend had been cooking, and I had a lovely mashed potato and broccoli bake, followed by fruit cocktail and the last of this batch of sorbet. That means that next time, I can attack my vegan ice cream from Noz with gusto, or with anyone else who happens to be around.

When I’d done the washing up, I came back in here to write up my notes, but I managed to do about a dozen or so lines until I fell asleep. When I awoke a little later, I just crawled into bed and that was that. My notes can wait until tomorrow.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about four-figure crowds at Welsh football … "well, one of us has" – ed … I remember speaking to the FAW’s competitions secretary about the first four-figure crowd – at Cwmbran Town v Inter-Cardiff.

"What was it, exactly?" I asked him.
"Three men and one sheep" he replied.

LIVE: Sunday 13th September 2026 – AFTER YESTERDAY’S SHENANIGANS …

… we returned to something rather resembling routine this morning.

Yesterday, I mentioned that I was up and about, writing my notes, at 04:01 this morning. and it didn’t take me too long to finish them either. I was back in bed for 05:10 and there I lay, dead to the World.

It was Isabelle the Nurse who awoke me when she came in at about 08:30. She sorted out my legs and feet and I told her my tale of woe from yesterday. She sympathised but didn’t offer any practical advice or solutions.

After she cleared off, my friend brought me a mug of coffee in bed, which was lovely, but I fell asleep again, and when I awoke, it was stone cold so I must have been asleep for a long time.

When I finally went into the kitchen, the place was as deserted as the Marie Celeste. I reckon that the Hound of the Baskervilles had dragged his master off for walkies again. So I made my breakfast and read some of THE REPORT OF THE WOOLHOPE NATURALISTS CLUB 1870.

This morning, we were reading a report on Goodrich Castle, so naturally, I was off on a research trip all of my own, just as I used to do in university.

Back in here later, I had a few things to do and then I began to transcribe the dictaphone notes.

It was a famous footballer’s birthday, like, I dunno, someone from the 1930s, and there was a huge party taking on. There were hundreds of footballers there and loads of spectators. Everyone was hunting around for this guy or for some sign of his life, like an old football strip in order to carry on the celebrations with him. I’d told his club, which was Stoke City, that I was intent on capturing him for his money value, but they couldn’t see where he was in that time. In the end, we just had this huge party all the way through the streets of Stoke on Trent, and everyone was totally plastered. I was in Crewe, but I joined the party in Crewe and we had to circulate home one by one on the bus. It was going to take absolutely hours for this, and people were asking us who we were and if we’d seen so-and-so. It seemed as if we were going to be there all night handling this other footballer’s dreams.

A famous footballer from Stoke City could only ever be that Manly Statues guy. Apart from him, the only other player who could ever approach anything near his fame would be Gordon Banks.

But it’s a strange dream, this one, because I have never before ever been interested in what the Clayheads have been doing.

Later on …

… Nerina and I were going to New York for a long weekend, and some of our family decided that they’d go too … indistinct … fell asleep here …

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that Nerina and I WENT TO NEW YORK A FEW DAYS AGO on a voyage, so this must be in the throes of becoming a regular occurrence.

And some of our family deciding to accompany us would be the kiss of death on a trip like this, too, so it’s just as well that I fell asleep again before it all went out-of-hand.

In fact, when I arose from the bed earlier, I’d found the dictaphone on the floor down by the bed, still switched on, still recording.

Interestingly, it contained not only me snoring and coughing, but also Isabelle the Nurse coming into the apartment, and the first thing that she said was "Bonjour, the Hound of the Baskervilles!" – nothing at all to my friend and me. And her last words were, inevitably, "au revoir, the Hound of the Baskervilles!"

After the dictaphone, there was football – the match in the Scottish fourth tier between Stranraer and Dumbarton. Stranraer went a goal down in the first half, and then an astonishing change of fortune enabled them to play like I have never seen them play before, and they scored a runaway three goals. Wouldn’t it be nice if Y Flint could ever have a change of fortune like that?

Once I’d finished all that, I went for a disgusting drink and the midday medication, and then I came back in here to begin to write the sixth chapter of my book.

However, by 14:00 I once more had a thirst that you could photograph, so in a wild break from the usual traditions, I had a beer – one of my “Kronenburg” alcohol-free ones – and it was delicious, straight out of the fridge, and I’ll buy some more of these next time, sales or no sales.

Back in here, I finished off Chapter Six, and at least, my chatbot likes it, which is good news. He’s currently my proofreader and keeps a check on spelling, punctuation and continuity. However, I really want a “real reader” to read it and to tell me if she likes the book and what she thinks, so that I know whether I’m on the right lines or whether I’m wasting my time.

It can’t be an adult, though, because adults won’t understand it and they’ll probably say that it’s boring and repetitive. It needs to be a girl of the same age bracket as our heroine – namely the 9-12 age group – and preferably brought up in a British environment. Volunteers (or their parents) please form a queue on the right. The story is effectively a modern-day fairy-tale.

Seriously, though, if anyone can conjure up such a person as part of their tribe, there’s a “contact me” button on the lower right of your screen.

Round about 16:15. I knocked off and went into the kitchen to do some baking, and by the time that I finished, I had a rather bizarre-shaped loaf and a really good pizza. I didn’t fancy the pizza myself but my friend tells me that it’s delicious.

So now, I’ll finish off my notes, do a few other things that need doing and then go to bed. If I can have an early night and a good sleep, I’ll be more than happy.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about fairy tales … "well, one of us has" – ed … there was an obvious story that I could tell, but this isn’t 1967 so it would go down today like a Led Zeppelin. Instead, I’ll tell the story that once upon a time, a little girl asked me if all fairy tales began with "Once upon a time".
"Of course not" I replied. "Most of them begin with ‘if I am elected, I promise’ … "

LIVE: Wednesday 9th September 2026 – THERE’S ONE THING …

… that I can tell you today, and that today has defied the usual progression of events just now.

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that whenever I’ve had a bad day, I’ve always had a better day the day after. Today, though, there really has been a change, but it’s not a change for the better. It’s a change for the worse.

It was quite late when I went to bed, after the football and finishing off the notes. But it doesn’t really matter because I never have the full amount of sleep anyway and sometimes, it’s pot luck whether I have any at all.

But this morning, when the alarm went off at 06:29 as usual, I was already awake and doing my “in-bed yoga”. I was convinced that I’d heard the alarm go off a little earlier. It was probably another one of these phantom alarms that I hear every now and again.

However, as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … being awake is one thing. Being up and about is something else. I reckon that it must have taken me ten minutes or more to slide across from my bed to the seat at the computer.

It beats me why I was in such a rush to come here because there was nothing on the dictaphone to transcribe or anything else that needed doing as a matter of urgency, So I took the overnight stats as I usually do, and then I curled up on the chair to have a quiet sleep for a while. As I said a little earlier, things were pretty bad here this morning from my point of view.

When I heard the crockery and cutlery being moved around, I guessed that there might be some coffee available in due course. I quickly nipped into the bathroom for a ride on the porcelain horse, not forgetting that I had to use the “orange container” all day today and tomorrow morning on waking up.

The dialysis people want to know my output, and for some reason, they don’t trust me (or anyone else, for that matter) to tell them the honest truth, so we have to take it and its contents with us next time we go.

The coffee that my friend makes is excellent. I don’t know what his secret is but as long as he can make coffee like this, he can stay for as long as he wants. I really enjoyed this morning’s mug and, as we drank our coffee, we chatted about a lot of things, none of which were important.

When Isabelle the Nurse rang the doorbell to announce her arrival, the Hound of the Baskervilles barked with excitement and dashed to the door, almost knocking her over in his enthusiasm. He wouldn’t let her pass to see to me without her making a big fuss of him.

She soon sorted out my legs and feet, and then His Nibs demanded another couple of minutes of cuddles before she was allowed to leave.

Once she’d finally managed to leave the premises, the Hound of the Baskervilles began to drag his master off for walkies and I began to make my breakfast – porridge, toast and orange juice were on the menu today, and how I would have fancied a second mug of coffee too, but that is Streng Verboten these days.

While I was eating, I was reading some of THE REPORT OF THE WOOLHOPE NATURALISTS CLUB 1870.

Right now, I can tell you all about the propagation of mistletoe because one of the participants on one of their excursions had noticed something at one time, and that had led him off on a quest of exploration. When we encountered a similar situation, he gave us all a lecture on what he had observed and learnt from that particular mistletoe and the many others that he saw.

Back in here, there were a few things to do but I crashed out in the middle of it all, and it wasn’t until about 12:40 that I awoke. I must have been out of it for hours. I went into the kitchen and found one of these high-energy drinks, but by the time that I’d finished it, I was no better. But I like these drinks because they are the only ones that come with added vitamins, such as Vitamin B12.

Once I was back in the Land of the Living, I had a little job given to me. My friend wanted to go to the restaurant in the Foyer des Jeunes Travailleurs for a meal for lunch, so would I babysit the Hound of the Baskervilles?

“It’s more likely that he’ll be babysitting me” I replied, but I agreed to do it.

After his master left, we began to have a series of those little pathetic whines as he wanted his daddy back, but he soon went quiet when his Auntie Cleaner came to drop off the next instalment of disgusting drinks. She made a great big fuss of him and that was all it needed.

When Auntie Cleaner made ready to leave, I began to wonder if we’d be having the little whines again. But as luck would have it, she collided with His Nibs’ master coming home. So the emergency is sorted out.

That meant that I could carry on with what I was doing, but round about 13:15, we stopped for my disgusting drink and midday medication, and I was good and ready for it – except for the disgusting anti-potassium powder. I managed to swallow that down without too much exclamation.

My friend has started to write another novel today. He has three on the run right now, several completed stories awaiting whatever he was holding them back, some stories already published and plenty of ideas for new stories.

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that I’ve also had a few ideas for stories, and so, with the encouragement of my friend, I made a start on one of them. By the time that I’d knocked off, I’d written two chapters, and my captive audience, namely, my faithful chatbot, liked what he had read. He made a couple of minor suggestions, and he had also spotted a couple of spelling mistakes, or more likely, typos, and I corrected those too.

Once again, I didn’t fancy any food tonight. My friend had sausage, bread and cheese while I just had an orange, a peach and a plum, and I felt much more like it afterwards, for all of five minutes before I crashed out again.

Once I awoke a few minutes later, I managed to struggle on to the end of the notes, late as it may be, and now I’m off to bed. However, this plastic bottle that I’m required to use is looking particularly empty and I’m sure that they aren’t going to like it.

Anyone of my age reading this who knows the film ALICE’S RESTAURANT will remember how Arlo Guthrie solved the problem at his army medical. I’m thinking of going down the same road but making use of the Hound of the Baskervilles. That will thoroughly confuse them at the medical laboratory.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about writing novels … "well, one of us has" – ed … somebody once asked me "how many novel writers does it take to screw in a lightbulb?"
"No idea" I replied.
"Two" replied my friend.
"Why?" I asked
"One to screw it up almost all the way, and the other one to give it a surprising twist at the end."

LIVE: Tuesday 8th September 2026 – WHAT A HORRIBLE …

… day I’ve had today! It’s been another contender for “the worst day in my life”.

Last night, as you might recall, I abandoned my blog at some strange hour and staggered off to bed. I was thoroughly exhausted after dialysis yet again.

The expectation was to have a good and refreshing sleep and a nice, comfortable wake-up so that I could carry on writing the notes with some sort of enthusiasm. Well, such was the plan. The reality was far, far different.

Firstly, I began to cough again, despite the menthol and eucalyptus sweet that I’d had on going to bed. Secondly, the Hound of the Baskervilles began to bark at about 00:50. I thought at first that he was having a nightmare, but according to his master, someone had come into the building and stood outside our door. His Nibs was simply reminding whoever it was outside that he was here and on guard.

After that, it was impossible to go back to sleep. I was coughing far too much, almost as much as when this cough was at its worst a few months ago, and I just couldn’t calm it down.

When the alarm went off, no one felt less like leaving the bed than I did, but I was soon in the chair by the computer. And the first thing that I did was to fall asleep.

About twenty minutes later, I awoke and dashed off the remainder of the notes before I crashed out again. It took me a good hour or so all the same to finish them.

Just as I was adding the finishing touches to my work, my friend came in and made a “coffee” gesture, so I quickly finished off that I had to do, posted it on line and then wandered off into the kitchen for a coffee and a chat, and also to give a stroke to the Hound of the Baskervilles.

It was quite a nice way to start the day, coffee and a chat about obsolete musical and studio equipment. It brings back many happy memories of our lives on the road.

One of our discussions was about the amps and speakers that we owned. I told him about the six-channel Marshall 200-watt PA amp and the 2 2×12 columns, the 200-watt bass amp and cabinet that I have down in the Auvergne, and the Fender bass combo and “Jaguar” bass that I have in Canada.

My friend said that they aren’t doing much good there. I replied that they wouldn’t be doing much good here either. There would be nowhere to put them. I already have my “stack” of the Genz Benz 200-watt bass combo, the 25-watt six-string combo and the 45-watt Carlsbro bass combo in the living room, along with the Gibson EB3 and the five-string fretless bass as well as the six-string electric guitar. In here, there’s the Roland cube bass amp and the little battery-operated one, and also the Ibanez six-string acoustic and the Ibanez four-string bass.

Isabelle the Nurse was late arriving today, and just as yesterday, the Hound of the Baskervilles rolled onto his back straight away for some tummy tickles. As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … he has far more luck with the ladies than I ever do.

Eventually, Isabelle the Nurse tore herself away from the Hound of the Baskervilles and came to deal with me. I told her about my foot, which is now hurting more than ever before, and told her to be careful.

After she left, we continued chatting for a while, and then I went to make my breakfast as the Hound of the Baskervilles dragged his master off for a walk. I didn’t envy them. There was a gale-force wind blowing outside, and it was lashing with rain.

While they were gone, I made my breakfast and sat down to read some more of my book, THE REPORT OF THE WOOLHOPE NATURALISTS CLUB 1870.

We’ve had nothing controversial this morning, but I was often away from the book researching some of the places that they visited and what the opinion is today of what they saw. And there’s nothing really that has changed, although the Eurypterus Brodici,, discovered by the Reverend Brodie, seems no longer recognised as an individual species

Back in here later, I finished off all of the notes from yesterday and they are now on line, but I knew that I wasn’t. Ever since I’d awoken this morning, I’d been good for nothing, so tired was I.

And this carried on too because once the notes were online, I crashed out again on my chair. And it was for just five minutes either.

When I eventually awoke, it was disgusting drink and midday medicine time, so I went into the kitchen to sort things out. I also had my first of the disgusting cement that’s supposed to be an anti-potassium drink. But as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … I think that before a doctor prescribes any medication, the doctor ought to take a month’s supply himself so as to see for himself what the patients might think of it.

One thing that I had forgotten was the dictaphone, so I sat down to transcribe whatever there was.

I was responsible for bringing up a young girl, and as a result, I’d been set several tasks which would account for being the new set of rules about different things and ways of expressing them in the 1980s. I’d managed to gope with them all and was quite successful, although I found it difficult to find the local names for one or two of these things. The next thing was a load of twenty of these kinds of rules suddenly appeared, and I was expected to deal with them all, not necessarily in alphabetical order. This was quite a task by the looks of things, but any of them looked fairly straightforward. I was sure that the girl involved would be able to help me with a few of the others, so it wouldn’t look all this difficult. Just as I was getting into it, the Hound of the Baskervilles had a nightmare and barked, waking both of us up in this apartment.

Earlier on, I’d mentioned the Hound of the Baskervilles awakening us, so it wasn’t just a dream. It really was the case.

But this story about the man bringing up the girl and the new set of rules would have been Ohh! So relevant in 1987. But never mind. It might yet be that Biggles Flies Again in much more modern times, although with the same characters as before. Who knows?

I started to work for London Transport last night as a conductor on the buses on my very first day. Even though I’d been to training school, I was feeling quite nervous. So I boarded this bus, which was crowded and had an old man as driver and a woman conductor who was in her forties. She wasn’t very happy to see me because she’d run these buses on her own for a long time but I was determined to help. However, I kept on making a mess of the most simple of things, and nothing seemed to be going right at all and I’m sure that she was extremely frustrated with me. Then, the driver happened to mention “have you fixed the clock?”. I replied “no”. “well we have to go to the clock on the bus to get it right”. So I had to go, and he took me up to the top deck, and there was a little doorway, so we squeezed in and went up. The clock was in a kind of tower. But when we arrived there, there was someone asleep in that little room. It turned out that he was a motor mechanic for one of the repair yards. Of course, they threw him off the bus and if he ever came here again, he’d regret it. We reset the time on the bus, and by the time that I went downstairs, there were only a dozen or so passengers. We began to collect the fares from them, but I couldn’t find my fare sheet. I’d left it somewhere while I was fixing this clock

The clock on each of these buses resembled a miniature “Big Ben” and took quite some maintenance, although people in this tower were never imagined to be sleeping in it.

And although we have the usual (or what used to be usual) panic attack, I can’t think of whatever I might be doing in a London bus.

Later on, the cleaner came round, and before she began to do her stuff, she chased me under the shower again. So there’s a nice clean boy … "well, clean, anyway" – ed … ready for tonight.

Once I’d calmed down, I began to write the notes for tonight. But as I implied just now, my head wasn’t in it. It wasn’t in fact until about 17:00 that I managed to pull myself together enough to put some coherent sentences onto paper.

There was no tea tonight – I really didn’t feel like anything – so I grabbed some toasts and cheese, a disgusting drink and an orange and came in here to watch the football.

We had Caernarfon v Y Fflint, and as I watched the match, I confirmed my assumption of what has been going wrong with Y Fflint, in second-last place in the JD Cymru League. They just aren’t having any luck.

Although Caernarfon won 3-0 as expected, Y Fflint were giving as good as they were getting. They hit the woodwork several times, they had balls kicked off the line a couple of times. Nothing is going right for them this season and it’s high time that they had a change of luck.

But right now, I’m off to bed, later than I anticipated, but it can’t be helped. We’ll see what tomorrow brings if I can survive the coughing and the pain in my foot.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about Biggles … "well, one of us has" – ed … one of my friends has told m that he was a big fan of Biggles and has all of the books – except one.
"Which one are you missing?" I asked.
"Biggles Flies Undone" he replied

Tuesday 18th August 2026 – WHAT A HORRIBLE …

… day this has been. If I were to think about it, I would say that this has been one of the worst days so far.

It started off badly yesterday evening when I fell asleep while trying to write up my notes and had to haul myself physically into bed. And during the night it didn’t get any better.

As usual, I was asleep fairly quickly too, but also, as usual, not for long. I was soon awake again thanks to yet another enormous coughing fit and I couldn’t go back to sleep. I kept on seeing a vision of a phantom hand creeping around the open door of the bedroom heading for my throat, and then realising that it was mine!

At some point, I must have gone off to sleep because I awoke with Seren’s alarm going off, and then all three of us had to stay marooned until we were rescued (this is what I mean about hallucinations and everything like that creeping into my dreams).

I was with another group of people, and it was near Christmas, so we had come away to a city for a city break for a few days. We’d had a good walk around and seen everything, but all down the side of one street, under a scaffolding, was a huge, long row of people, probably two thousand people, all queuing there for something. The queue began in the square at the bottom of the hill but went all the way back up. Some guy from Brittany Ferries had rung me, but I wasn’t there to answer it, so he left a message for me to call him again, which I forgot. He rang me eventually, and he wanted to know what we were going to do about this five-thousand-pound bill. I asked, “what five-thousand-pound bill?” It turned out that someone, whose name he gave me, had bought a ticket to go to the Isles of Scilly for five thousand pounds, and that just didn’t sound right at all. I thought that the Scilly Isles weren’t that far away – it’s not going to cost anything like that, so what’s the going on? The guy who came to see me, a nice young lad whose birthday was roughly the same as mine, told me that they don’t know but they want to deal with this matter urgently. So standing in the street leaning against the wall of a shop, we talked about it, and in the end, we all went down the hill to the centre and back up … fell asleep here … so we all went down into town but couldn’t find a Royal Bank of Scotland, so we came back up again and it was there on the left, so we went into it. A woman came to see the three of us, but just then, the alarm went off.

The alarm going off just there wiped our dream completely, and I was really disappointed in that.

There were a few other bits and pieces that I subsequently remembered, such as my chat with that guy taking place over the ‘phone at my place, but the volume on the turntable was such that no one could hear a word, so we met in town, and all those people were queuing, but there was absolutely no indication of what they were queuing for, not like in Poland when I was there with my coach in the days of the Communists and the long queues of people outside the shops.

After sorting myself out in the bathroom, I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone to see if there was anything else on it but there wasn’t. That one dream was it today.

While I was waiting for the nurse, I was sorting out a free kick in my mind, but further play was impossible once the Nurse turned up. He sorted out my legs and feet, and, at the same time, we discussed my spell at dialysis yesterday. He didn’t offer any useful suggestion about how to improve them, which is unfortunate, seeing as before being an itinerant nurse, he was a nurse in the dialysis centre of St Malo.

After he’d left, I turned to making my breakfast of porridge, toast and coffee. Well, it should have been toast, but I’d forgotten to take the bread out of the freezer so I have to toast some rye bread instead.

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

We should have been reading more of the book, but I was side-tracked once more by some interesting information that came out in one of his paragraphs, and I was off doing some research into the matter, that is, when I wasn’t falling asleep.

Back in here, there were the usual things to do and then I attacked the rest of the notes from yesterday. Being so tired didn’t help, as I was constantly falling asleep – at one point slamming my face really hard into the desk. A job of maybe forty-five minutes turned into one of well over two hours, and not even the midday disgusting drink and medication could improve matters.

My cleaner came round as usual to do her stuff and she chased me under the shower again. I managed to climb into the shower and climb out unaided too. At least I’m getting better in that respect.

After the shower, we concentrated on the medication, ready to make a new order. Last month’s supply is running out and I’ll be stuck if we don’t order any sometime soon.

When the cleaner left, I started on the next radio programme. This isn’t going to be a complicated one, but I made it so because of all of this tiredness where I was dropping off to sleep all the time. At some point, my wanderings took me to Sandbach and Middlewich before I could shake myself awake again.

Anyway, I’ve done as much as I want to today, even though it’s early. I’m not making myself any food tonight, just going to bed and hoping that I can sleep all of this off by tomorrow, although that’s going to be unlikely.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about sleeping … "well, one of us has" – ed … I remember talking to an old colleague of mine once.

"You know" he said. "There’s nothing nicer than falling asleep after a hard day’s work, and then waking up and kissing the lips of the gorgeous person next to you"
"And what happens when you do?" I enquired
"Well, I’m having to find a different way home now. They aren’t going to let me back on my bus again"

Wednesday 12th August 2026 – WE HAVE HAD …

… a partial solar eclipse here this evening.

Only a partial one, though. I reckon that the sun was about half-obscured by the moon, nothing like the total eclipse in 1999 that regular readers of this rubbish in an earlier version will recall that we went to see and photograph.

For many people, this eclipse today was a mind-blowing event, but to me and presumably everyone who was with us for those couple of days, it was a disappointment compared to 1999.

And seeing as we have been talking about disappointments … "well, one of us has" – ed … last night was something of a disappointment too. I was in bed later than I would have liked to have been, and it took a few minutes to go off to sleep while I sucked my menthol and eucalyptus sweet. And it wasn’t long before I awoke, although I have no idea of what time it was. I simply didn’t look.

What awoke me was another fit of coughing, and it carried on after I awoke. But then I remembered the second menthol and eucalyptus sweet, so I put that in my mouth. At that point, I began to cough, and, would you believe, I swallowed my sweet. That was a tragedy.

With nothing else better to do, I just lay there, trying my best to find a comfortable position, and that’s how I stayed until the alarm went off. It took me, as usual, a good few minutes to find the courage to stand up, but eventually I was in the bathroom sorting myself out.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out what had been going on during the night.

I was with Seren and we were on the high school playing fields, and Vivienne was there. The three of us were watching a hockey game that was taking place. We noticed that one of the girls—in fact, a couple of girls — was not really of the same standard as a few of the others. One of them was the left-wing attack. At half-time, the coach came over to us and asked Seren if she wanted to play for the second half. She went onto the field when they started again, and she really did make quite a difference to her side once she was on there. When they finished, we decided that we’d head for home and have something to eat.

This is another one of those dreams that has a story behind it, but it’s a story that, right now, the World is not ready to hear. It’s something that is quite concurrent.

I’ve no idea why, but I can still see the ground even now. And it wasn’t the playing field at Buchan Grove as I expected it to be and where I once went as our school’s observer to watch our Grammar School girls’ team in a hockey tournament in 1972, but the playing fields at Shavington County Primary School where I spent six years and I didn’t even get time off for good behaviour.

Isabelle the Nurse turned up as usual. She was preparing herself for an inspection of some kind of food hall somewhere, and she described some of the things that she needed to do. I decided that I’d let her get on with it, without involving me.

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

And here we go yet again. He tells us that "in Normandy, as we shall see presently, English ideas probably prevailed, as was but natural, to a considerable extent."

Much as I hate doing it, I shall have to remind him that in the period about which we are talking, the Norman Conquest of England was quite a recent event, and thus it would seem to me that it was the Normans who brought over the ideas to England, rather than the other way around.

When he’s talking about various French cathedrals, he tells us that "we cannot fail to consider them either as direct imitations of English structures or at least as the working of a common element in the Norman mind on both sides of the water."

After breakfast, I came back in here. Outside it was already twenty-four degrees, and it was pretty much that in here. I made sure that the windows in here and the living room were fully open before I started work.

There were several things that needed doing so I did them to get them out of the way, and then I started on the notes from yesterday. They took longer than they ought to have done too, basically because, once more, these waves of sleep washed over me several times. Although I managed to stay awake and avoid crashing head-first into the desk like yesterday, there certainly were periods where my concentration disappeared completely.

Having finally finished the notes and posted them online, I began to think about the radio programme. There were still three or four pieces of music that I needed to find, so I spent more than just a little while hunting them down. And when I had everything that I needed, I chose the songs, reformatted and re-edited them.

Once they were all ready, I paired them and segued them. There was even time to start to write the notes before I knocked off for tea. That was a busy afternoon, that was. But, at least, the menthol and eucalyptus sweets had some effect on the cough, and I shall try them again.

During tea, which was rice with veg and a taco roll followed by pineapple and ice cream, it was gradually going darker and darker, and the sky was full of this grey-green light. It didn’t go completely dark as it had in 1999, which was a shame, but you could see that something unusual was happening. When I was going back into my bedroom to carry on work, one of my neighbours was just outside my window with his camera, on his way to find a good spec.

We had a good chat for about ten minutes, and he asked me if I would like to come outside for a view of the eclipse. He offered to help me. However, I declined because my bedroom is pretty well orientated. I only have to stick my head out of the window and I can see the sun setting over the sea.

And that’s what I did. And it was really bright, so I only looked for a second or two. But squinting my eyes, I could see the moon half-obscuring the sun, not completely as in 1999. So having seen it, I could carry on working. As I said earlier, I’m not going to celebrate this eclipse like we did the one in 1999. That really was something special

Back in here, there were a few things to finish off, and then I started to write the notes for the day. However, I’m not quite sure what happened, but after about half an hour or so, I seemed to have ground to a halt, and the next thing that I knew, I was sitting in my chair with the work unfinished and it was 22:15. I must have crashed out for an hour at least.

Once I awoke, I was in no mood to carry on with my work. I was wasted. And so I went to take my medication, rescue a few more menthol and eucalyptus sweets for the night, brush my teeth and prepare myself for bed. I’m not doing anything else tonight.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about swallowing … "well, one of us has" – ed … the film CARRY ON COLUMBUS received a few stinking reviews when it was released.

Anyway, Carry on Columbus received some stinking reviews when it first came out, but, funnily enough, it’s actually one of my favourites.
One of the best exchanges in the film is when one of the young girls was leaning over the deck rails looking at the sharks in the water.
"I’d be careful there, miss" said one of the passing seamen. "They’ll eat you if you fall in that water."
"Would they swallow me whole?" she asks out of interest.
"I don’t think so" replied the man. "I believe that they spit that out."

Tuesday 4th August 2026 – I HAVE HAD …

… a much better day today than any other day in the very recent past. I’m not sure why, though, because it isn’t as if I’ve had any more sleep than usual.

Believe it or not, by the time that I made it into bed last night, it was after midnight. Long after midnight too. I mustn’t ‘arf ‘ave been letting it all hang out last night. But once in bed, I was asleep quite quickly, lying in the position that seems to ease my coughing.

However, round about 03:30, I was awoken yet again by one of these phantom alarm calls that I’ve been having just recently. And once more, it seemed so real that I almost climbed out of bed with it at that point. Although it was fairly cool in here, I was drenched in sweat for some reason. That’s not easily explained.

Once I’d realised that the alarm call was a phantom call and there was no alarm going off anywhere else … "and just who else would have a BILLY COTTON alarm call?" – ed … I tried to go back to sleep, but without much avail at first.

During the period in which I was awake, I checked the time a few times. I saw 05:20, and then the next thing that I remember was 05:50. Then 06:09 and I thought that I’d get up in a few seconds once I’d relaxed, but the alarm going off at 06:29 scuppered that idea.

As usual, it took me a few minutes to summon up the energy and the motivation to go into the bathroom … "but not as much as usual, surprisingly" – ed … but once I’d finished, I came back in here to find out where I’d been during the night.

Seren and I were doing something around the house when Nerina turned up. We decided to show her what we’d been doing, which was to build a game something like Snakes and Ladders where you advance down a street towards the town centre or you are derailed up side streets and sent backwards. We developed some kind of kiddies’ slide to slide the die down to tell us the number, but for some reason, I couldn’t fit underneath the bar so I had to stand and watch. Then, the coin or admission token didn’t work very well and we needed to give it quite a bit of force to make it move, and then the water in the watermill would come over and … fell asleep here …

Surprisingly, this would not be the first dice game that I invented. After Roxanne had been to see the film “Jumanji”, I invented a game called “Jumanji”. Our floor where we lived, throughout all the apartment, was tiled. We chose six of her favourite stuffed toys and numbered them from one to six. We put them at the start line by the French windows in the living room and we then threw a die. If the die came up with, say, a “four”, we’d move stuffed toy number four forward one tile, and so on. The first stuffed toy to reach the window in Roxane’s room was the winner.

Interestingly, the two cats played too. Each would have his or her turn “throwing” (or batting around the room) the die, and when we eventually found it, the number on the upper face would tell us which stuffed toy to move.

It was all totally anarchic.

As for the rest of the dream, it deteriorates into the usual nonsense.

Did I finish that dictation from the previous one about the die? It would slide down a kiddies’ slide thing and tell us the number but we’d made it a bit more complicated than it should be and the first two occasions that we tried it, the die shot off the end and disappeared off up the far end of the kitchen

“We’d made it a bit more complicated than it should be”… "nothing new there, then." – ed …

But it seems that at some point, I stepped back into that first dream and even managed to present us with a different ending.

Isabelle the Nurse came round as usual. I told her about Monday at dialysis and she told me to “take it easy” this morning. Chance would be a fine thing.

After she’d left, I made breakfast and while I was eating, I was reading some more of A HISTORY OF ARCHITECTURE by Charles Freeman.

Today, I’ve not really found any controversy in anything that he’s written. But that might be because I was side-tracked quite a few times. There were several occasions where I’d skipped into the situation of the church at Barthomley, Heighley Castle near Keele and the old racecourse at Woore.

And on a few other occasions, I was off with the Black Prince on his chevauchée around Western France during the opening days of the Hundred Years War.

Back in here, there were a few things to do, as usual, and then I made another start on the radio notes. They weren’t easy either because a lot of the artists and albums are new to my programmes so I have to prepare their notes right from the very beginning.

There were several interruptions too, such as the disgusting drink break and the arrival of my faithful cleaner to do her stuff. And while she was at it, she chased me under the shower and I was able to have a good scrub-up and make myself look pretty.

One more, I needed no help to go into the shower and none for helping out either, so I was in the bathroom all on my own. It meant that I could even go into the shower as nature intended.

Once all of the notes were completed … "as indeed they were" – ed … I could make a start on the next radio programme.

This one is going to be a concert so it’s much easier to work. But where editing the sounds and the tracks of the concerts might sometimes be difficult, I managed to do that before I knocked off for tea. So “press on boldly” tomorrow to write the notes.

Tea tonight was a taco roll with rice and veg, and I made a different filling tonight. Apart from the usual tomato, mushrooms, onions and garlic, we had lentils, spinach and bulgur. And it was totally delicious. It made a nice change, and there’s still some left for next week.

So now that everything is finished, I’ll be going to bed ready for a good day’s work tomorrow.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about mushrooms … "well, one of us has" – ed … A lady wanted to make steak and mushrooms for a dinner she was giving, but when she saw the price of mushrooms, she abandoned the idea.
Her husband told her "go and pick some in the field, from down by the river. I’ve seen all kinds of animals eating them so they must be okay"
She goes down to the river and picks a basketful and hands them to the cook to prepare the meal. When the cook thinks that the meal is ready, she gives some of it to Rover the Dog. Then she dishes up the food to the guests and the host and hostess.
Half an hour later she goes back into the dining room. "I’m afraid Rover the dog is dead, ma’am."
"Ohh God, no!" she exclaims. "Did he have any of that meal we ate?"
"Yes ma’am, he did."
So in a wild panic she calls the emergency services and a fleet of ambulances takes the guests to hospital to have their stomachs pumped.
A couple of hours later, still feeling weak and groggy, they go back to the host and hostess’s house. There, they are met by the cook.
"I was telling you about Rover when you all dashed off like that" she said. "And do you know what? The car that hit him never even stopped."

Tuesday 14th July – HAPPY QUATORZE JUILLET …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday 24th June 2026 – I AM FEELING …

… a little better today. So much so that

I haven’t gone back to bed at all today
I’ve actually managed to do some work

What about that for a day?

It wasn’t going to be like that, judging by last night. I was in bed by 22:30 and much to my surprise, I went to sleep almost immediately. But not for long, though. Round about 01:00, I awoke with another coughing fit and a need to go to walk the parapet.

Once I’d organised all of that, I came back to bed to try to go back to sleep, but no matter what I did, I couldn’t manage to drop off.

However, at 05:52 precisely, I suddenly awoke, bolt-upright as I sometimes do. So I must have been asleep, but for how long, I’ve no idea. But I wasn’t tired so I must have managed something decent.

After two or three minutes, I raised myself from the Dead and went for another ride on the porcelain horse, then into the bathroom for a good wash and to change my clothes.

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

We were sitting in one of my old Ford Transits, me, Seren and there was a third person too who might have been Seren’s grandmother. We were discussing recipes so I happened to jokingly mention “here is one of Seren’s that she invented while hunting for llamas up in the High Andes many years ago”. I began to talk about different products, and she came up with “High Andes hunting llama”. Are you going to take me?” I thought “maybe one year, when we are rich and famous”. But I have friends in Normandy who have llamas and I thought that perhaps one weekend we’d go across the Channel, stay for a weekend there and go to see this llama herd, but I didn’t want to say anything out loud because you can easily disappoint someone by promising something that you can’t actually deliver in the first place so it’s better to not actually say anything.

Strangely, at this precise period when all of this would have happened, I didn’t actually have a Ford Transit.

And it’s certainly true that I have friends here who have a herd of llamas, but I didn’t meet them until long, long after these events would have taken place.

Here they are, in all their glory, all three of them … "the llamas, not the friends" – ed … enjoying the evening sunlight in central Normandy.

As well as that, the chance of going anywhere with Grandma in a Ford Transit would be absolute zero and even less than that. A Rolls-Royce or nothing, if you please.

By the time that I’d finished, I was dying of thirst so I went into the kitchen for a disgusting drink. If I’m going to drink something, I may as well drink something healthy.

There were a few other things to do, and then Isabelle the Nurse arrived, wearing shorts this morning. She wasn’t in such a rush as yesterday, so I was allowed into the kitchen for the treatment.

Once she’d left, I resisted the temptation to go back to bed and went to make some breakfast – the first meal for forty-eight hours. And coffee too!

While I was eating, I was reading my new book, “The Mediaeval Findings At Minnis Bay, Birchington, Site Of The Lost Settlement Of Gore End, Limb Of The Cinque Port Of Dover” by Trevor and Vera Gibbons. This was something that I downloaded FROM ACADEMIA.EDU but I can’t find the link now.

As regular readers of this rubbish will recall, I have a strong affection for Minnis Bay. When we used to go to Birchington to stay with Auntie Gertie (honestly!), Minnis Bay beach was just a ten-minute walk across the fields and we would always be there during those summers of the late 50s and early 60s.

Back in here, I vegetated for a while and eventually began to look at that radio programme that needed finishing from last week. It took longer than I was anticipating, but eventually, all of the notes were written and I felt quite proud of myself for managing to do it, despite everything.

This called for a little celebration, so I duly honoured myself with another little sleep for good luck.

My faithful cleaner awoke me, bringing in a couple of boxes of juice. I’ve run out and I’m not likely to pass a Leclerc order for a couple of weeks yet so I sent her a message after breakfast. She duly carried out her task and brought me the results.

We had a good chat for a while, and then she wandered off to eat her lunch. I went for a disgusting drink and my lunchtime medication.

Back in here, I had a nice relax for a couple of hours – in fact, until about 15:00 – when I began the next radio programme. And by the time that I finished, all of the music had been chosen, re-edited, reformatted, paired and segued. That leaves me tomorrow morning and Friday to write the notes.

Anyway, there are just a few more things to do, and then I’m off to bed, for a good sleep, I hope.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about llamas … "well, one of us has" – ed … there were two guys walking past the farm when they noticed the animals.
"Look at that bunch of llamas over there" said one.
"Herd, herd" said the second. "Herd of llamas."
"of course I’ve heard of llamas."
"No, a llama herd."
"Why should I care if a llama heard? I have no secrets to keep from a llama."

EPIC HALL

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