Tag Archives: vegan burger

Wednesday 17th December 2025 – JUST LIKE YESTERDAY …

… we had another horrible night, when I was awake at some ridiculous hour.

Don’t ask me what time it was, because I didn’t dare look. I didn’t want to demoralise myself even more than I already am, but judging by how long I remained awake afterwards, it can’t have been any later than yesterday.

It’s difficult to understand why I’ve woken up so early just now. I’ve been really exhausted at the end of the last couple of previous evenings – last night, I crashed out for forty-five minutes as soon as I’d finished writing my notes – and so by rights, I ought to be flat-out until the alarm goes off, as on Sunday morning.

And so, what with my unexpected forty-five minutes away with the fairies, yesterday was another late night, much later than it should have been.

Although I was asleep quite quickly, it wasn’t for long and I was soon awake. And there I lay, just as on the previous morning, tossing and turning, trying to make myself comfortable so that I could go back to sleep again.

It must have worked to some degree because the alarm going off at 06:29 awoke me. I’ve no idea when I fell asleep, but it can’t have been very long beforehand.

As usual, it took a good few minutes to raise myself from the Dead, and then I staggered off into the bathroom for a good scrub up.

After the medication and the hot ginger, lemon and honey drink, I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone. I was at a football match somewhere in Scotland. When I saw the reports of the game afterwards, I saw that the number of points that each team had gained at that game was 224. I thought that it was a really unusual number so I wondered how they had managed it. I remembered bits about the game but not very much, but most of the action was on the terraces between the spectators, where there were some confrontations. I remember two opposing supporters being frogmarched up to the back of the stand by a group of the other supporters and pinned against the wall there. The thing that really caught my eye about this was, just outside the ground were some tenement flats, and a group of football supporters made a couple of kinds of these human pyramids up against the wall, as high as the fifth floor of these tenements. When someone had climbed up to the top, they could knock on the window and some other young kid living in that tenement could wrestle a window open because it was really tough and climb out, climb back down the human pyramid and go off with his friends. And it wasn’t just once that it happened – it was twice.

Football is another one of those subjects that seems to be recurring quite often in my dreams. The rest of it doesn’t seem to make much sense, but the story of the human pyramid reminded me of a real event in Crewe forty or more years ago when a new “singles disco” opened in the town. There were fifteen guys and just one girl who attended, so we all had visions of the men forming a human pyramid to dance with the girl.

I had a visit from Zero last night. There was a lot of tidying up that needed doing in the basement so I was down there moving all the books around. One box of books fell from the top shelf so I picked it up and threw it back. However, it didn’t land quite correctly – it fell down again. When I picked it up and went to throw it for the second time, I didn’t have the strength. My brother came down with another box of books. I told him to leave it here and I’d throw it onto the top. We began to talk about the work that I was doing down there, which was tidying up the clothes and tidying up the face image gallery. He wondered whether I ought to be doing something else, but I told him that this was what I had been told to do and this was what I was doing. So I was busy trying to sort out these boxes and everything else, and then I decided to spend ten minutes on the clothes. I began to sort them out and move them around and came across some of Roxanne’s dresses. I put them on hangers and hung them up in the cupboard. Just then, Zero came down in this beautiful, gorgeous peacock-blue dress, a kind of formal attire. While I was sorting out these other dresses, I handed a hanger to her to put her dress on. She told me that she wanted to keep on wearing it. I told her that it might be damaged if she’s playing about in it and it will be ruined. She’d be far better off hanging it up. She replied that she’d go to check with her mother. She left and then came back five minutes later while I was still sorting out these dresses and these faces and throwing these boxes of books onto the top and not being able to. She said that her mum had said that she can continue to wear it throughout the evening. In that case, I gave her a peck on the cheek and we carried on talking for a while.

So welcome back, Zero! It’s nice to see you again. I can still see the dress that she was wearing, and it really was lovely. Far too nice to wear as a casual dress. But we actually did find a few of Roxanne’s dresses – her confirmation dress, her bridesmaid’s dress and an evening dress with a jacket – here when we unpacked an old suitcase that had been lying around for ages since the Duysbergh days. There were a couple of her dolls too.

And as usual, someone from my family comes along to spike my guns just when things are becoming interesting.

The nurse turned up as usual this morning. I asked him if he knew of any chiropodists because I have a prescription for one to come here to sort out my feet. He said that there’s one with whom he co-operates, and he’ll put her in touch with me.

After he left, I made breakfast and read some more of Thomas Codrington’s ROMAN ROADS IN BRITAIN.

We’re at the Wansdyke in South-West England and he’s going against the prevailing trend at that period, suggesting that the dyke was built after the road, rather than before it, as most people back then thought.

As it happens, he’s probably right, because when part of the dyke was excavated in modern times, they found a couple of late-Roman coins on top of the level of the underlying ground underneath the dyke, indicating that the dyke was built on top of the coins.

He’s still struggling with his forts on one of the Itineraries – trying to locate them somewhere along the southern shore of the Severn whereas today, they have been pretty well identified with places in South Wales.

After breakfast, I came in here where I had things to do, and then I set about writing the notes for the radio programme for which I’d chosen the music the other day.

There were numerous interruptions, such as the disgusting drink break and a telephone call from the chiropodist. She’ll be coming round on 30th December at 10:00, which is good news.

When the notes were finished, I had a letter to write and an order to send off to an online retailer for some more supplies, including the handrails for the shower. I’m hoping to have those fitted in early January so that I can be much more autonomous in the shower. In fact, there are a few things around here that need doing, so I’ll need to contact the guy who installed the kitchen.

With the time that was left, I began to choose the music for another radio programme. I want to try to do two programmes a week now that I’m settled back in here and there’s no chemotherapy or Centre de Ré-education to worry me.

In the end, I only finished about half of that because, as you might expect, I fell asleep for forty minutes on my chair.

Tea tonight was a vegan burger with pasta and veg in a spicy tomato sauce. It should have been with ratatouille, but to my surprise, I found that I’d forgotten to order any tins just now. The fruitcake and soya dessert were nice too.

Right now though, I’m off to bed, ready for dialysis tomorrow … "I don’t think" – ed …. but before I go, seeing as we have been talking about my visit from Zero … "well, one of us has" – ed … I remember saying to her how much I missed her.
"I love you terribly" I said
"I know" she replied "but I’m sure that you’re doing your best."

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Tuesday 16th December 2025 – WHAT A HORRIBLE …

… night that was!

The last thing that you expect when you go to bed at 23:30 is to be wide awake again at 02:45, with no possibility whatsoever of going back to sleep.

It wasn’t as if I hadn’t been tired on Monday evening. I was in fact in something of a state when I was typing out my notes and I fell asleep three or four times—on one occasion almost falling off my chair. I was desperate to go to bed.

When I finally did make it into bed, I was asleep quite quickly, but not for long. What was even worse was that it wasn’t a drowsy me lying there in bed but a wide-awake, fully alert me … "within certain limits, of course" – ed … I was even contemplating leaving the bed, but much as I like having these early starts, 02:45 is something of an exaggeration.

So I lay there, watching the clock go round – 03:30, 04:00, 04:30, 05:00 – resolving that at 05:30 I would leave the bed and start to do some work. However, the next thing that I remember was the alarm going off at 06:29, so at some point between 05:00 and 05:30 I must have fallen asleep again.

You’ve no idea just how difficult it was to haul myself out of bed at that point. I would have given all that I own, and more besides, to have been able to crawl back in under the covers. But that’s not getting the baby bathed, so in the end I summoned up the strength …

… Or, at least I thought I had, but I couldn’t pull myself up off the bed into an upright position this morning. I mentioned the other day that I noticed yet another problem with my leg, and here we are again this morning. This is going to turn out to be something serious.

Eventually, I made it into the bathroom and had a good scrub and then into the kitchen for my medication and hot ginger, honey and lemon drink. But while I was taking the meds, I was thinking, which I know is dangerous. I’m going to keep a note of when I have these really bad nights and compare them with my dialysis sessions to see whether there is any connection.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night, not that there had been much time to go anywhere. We were in the USA last night at the house of some people. There was an American football game on, so we were watching it half-heartedly, although there was one of the classic comedy films on the other channel. I would have much rather watched that, but “when in Rome” and all that. The conversation began to become rather political and began to become somewhat extreme. After a couple of people had left, I said to one of the girls who was staying behind “I hope that those people aren’t going to get into trouble for what they have been saying. I don’t really want that to happen”. She said something like “things aren’t as bad as the media make out”. Then I was looking at some stuff from the university. It turned out that there had been a scandal about the production of some of the documents, so I actually tracked my way down into the university’s intranet system using my old identity and password to find out what was happening. The first thing that I’d noticed was that the system had changed dramatically. It was no longer the free-for-all that it used to be, but it was very closely structured, and there was very little on there that was not to do with studying. The one particular chat group on there was discussing this situation but very obliquely. No-one seemed to be getting down to the serious issues that had taken place, despite how hard I looked, so I posted one or two messages on there, but no-one seemed to respond. Eventually, I found out that it seemed to have been, in the view of one or two people, more of an administrative issue than a question of personal incompetence or something. But then we were deciding that those of us who were remaining were going to paint some furniture. I had a paintbrush in my hand to paint some kind of primer on the wood. When it had all been primed, I went to wash the paintbrush to put on the top coat, but the two sinks in the kitchen were full of dirty water and full of dirty crockery. In the end, I rinsed out the brush in the dirty water. One of the other girls came in. She looked at what I was doing and said “don’t go busting a gut, Eric, will you?”.

Leaving aside my current health situation, there are other reasons too why I won’t be going to the USA any time soon, so this dream is unlikely to repeat itself in real life. However, it’s usually quite true that the media quite often exaggerate and blow up out of all proportion many of the events that take place in the World, but nevertheless, there’s an undercurrent of suppression, oppression and unpleasantness currently unfolding in the Western World and I’m glad that I shan’t be around to see it unfold. I feel sorry for those people younger than me who will have to live through it when it reaches its climax.

As for the dirty sink, that’s just how my style of living used to be before I cleaned up my act – and cleaned up my kitchen.

Another thing that I’d discovered was that in my rush to go to bed last night, I’d forgotten to note the statistics.

The nurse turned up as usual, a big smile on his face. He certainly seems to be a lot happier since he went on his holidays back in the summer. He sorted out my legs, and then I could push on, make breakfast and read some more of Thomas Codrington’s ROMAN ROADS IN BRITAIN.

We’re poring over Devon at the moment, and he’s making a couple of assumptions about certain Roman forts that he believes to be there, namely Leucarum. and Moridunum, but modern thought is that these places are in South-West Wales, at Llwchwr and Caerfyrddin respectively.

Back in here, I revised my Welsh and then went to the lesson, once I’d remembered to plug in my webcam. We had an informal Christmas party today as we were doing some work, and the atmosphere was quite relaxed. In fact, it was another lesson in which I did very well and it goes to show the benefit of taking some time to revise. Now, if only what I had learned would succeed in staying in my head…

After the lesson, my cleaner put her sooty foot in the door and organised the shower for me. So while she was cleaning the apartment, I was stuck underneath the shower having a good hose down. But it’s certainly true that I’m not as well as I have been. I had one or two uncomfortable moments under there this afternoon.

After she left, I began to choose the music for the next radio programme. And now, that’s all chosen, remixed, edited, paired and segued. That took until about 17:30 or thereabouts, and at that point I couldn’t keep on going any longer. I decided to close my eyes and relax for five minutes.

The next thing that I recalled, it was 19:20. My new office chair is certainly comfortable, and I’m glad about that.

While I was asleep, I was on a coach trip. I’d ushered everyone on board and was looking for a friend of mine, but couldn’t see her. Instead, I found an empty seat so I asked if it would be OK if I were to sit there. It was a young blonde-haired girl and she said “yes”, so I sat down and we drove off. leter on, we came to some kind of halt where a couple of people alighted from the coach. I went round to look at a cylinder head that I was bringing with me, went in to fetch a can of oil, and then squirted some more oil onto the valve gear I then put the oil back. i was going to fetch a cup of coffee so I asked the girl, who was sitting in her seat, if she’d like a coffee. Se siad “yes”, and after much debate, she decided that she would like it with sugar but no milk, and in a large cup. I went and found the coffee, but the coffee was cold so I asked one of the guys behind the till whether there was any objection if I were to make a coffee because I’d missed the coffee from earlier. He asked me whether I could do it from an urn with a spout or would I like him to do it? I said that he could do it. In the meantime, I’d organised two large fibre cups and . One of them already had somehow some coffee in it, but it was cold. I explained that the coffee was cold because I was doing other things, so he went off to make some

Whatever this is all about, I really don’t know. It doesn’t seem to relate to anything at all.

Tea tonight was mashed potato, veg and one of these strange, spicy burgers that I bought a while ago, followed by fruitcake and soya dessert. It seems that I have no trouble eating mashed potato so I had a 5 kg sack delivered the other day. As long as I can eat that with plenty of vegan butter, I’ll be doing OK, I reckon.

But now, I’m off to bed, ready to recover after that wicked night last night. But we shall see how it works out. Things never seem to go to plan when I’m talking about sleeping.

But before we go, seeing as we have been talking about Welsh and that untidy kitchen … "well, one of us has" – ed … it reminds me of a friend of mine from Chester who married a Welsh girl.
He told her "the secret of a happy marriage and a happy home life is to have a happy husband. And what makes me happy is coming home to a kiss and a cuddle, my slippers waiting by the fireside, a hot mug of coffee and a nice tidy house instead of this mess in which we seem to be living right now."
For the first two days, he didn’t see any improvement. However, on the third day, things were a little different. The swelling began to go down and he could open his right eye a little.

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Saturday 13th December 2025 – I HAVE JUST …

… seen probably the most exciting game of football that I have seen for a long time.

It’s Welsh Cup today, the last sixteen, and with many of the big guns already eliminated, there’s a frantic race to the final when some unsuspecting and unprepared club will win and find themselves playing in European competition next season.

Consequently, it’s been “no holds barred” with a ream of sendings off, and in the game that I was watching, we had three yellow cards in the first fifteen minutes.

But meanwhile, back at the ran … err … apartment, last night was another late night. Not as late as some have been just recently, because I did actually put my foot down and dash along with the stuff as quickly as I could, but it was later than I would have liked.

And there I lay until all of … errr … 04:40, when I had another dramatic awakening. After that, I couldn’t go back to sleep and at about 05:37, I called it a night and left the bed.

Thinking that I may as well take advantage of an early start, I finished off the notes for the radio programme on which I’d been working, and then I dictated them so that they are ready for editing.

Once I’d finished, I went into the bathroom to sort myself out and then into the kitchen to make my hot ginger, honey and lemon drink to take with my medication. While I was there, and seeing as I wasn’t in a rush, I decided to fix a couple of the drawers that had fallen apart. These cheap and nasty IKEA drawers really are getting on my wick.

Isabelle the Nurse breezed in to sort out my feet and to give me my ‘flu injection. She had to sit with me for fifteen minutes afterwards to make sure that I had no after-effects, so we talked about nothing much in particular.

Then there was breakfast and some more of Thomas Codrington’s ROMAN ROADS IN BRITAIN. We’re now in Silchester, or Calleva Atrebatum as it used to be. It’s a well-known ruin, well-mapped by different archaeologists, so it holds no surprises for us

The shopping from LeClerc turned up, so I put most of it away, and then I had 2 kg of carrots to wash, dice and blanch. That took longer than it ought to have done.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. We were quite busy at home – well, at the place where I was living. It was like a big collective place with lots of different people living there. I was busy with a friend of mine. Early in the morning, we’d had a delivery of food from the supermarket. My friend brought it in and she put it down by the side of my desk. However, I wasn’t at the side of my desk for ages so it sat there for a while. As time drew on, I began to think about making tea so I went into the fridge, where I noticed that the carrots were all soft and inedible. I wished that I had some fresh ones. Then, I suddenly realised that I had because the order had come from the supermarket earlier. I dashed over to my desk but the bags had been moved again. Eventually, I found them, but of course there was the frozen food which was now all defrosted. I thought “never mind. It can’t be helped” and went to put it in the freezer. The freezer was, as usual, crowded out with stuff and there wasn’t really any room for it so I had to do my best to invent some room. Then, there were all of the other things too so I went to put them on the shelves. I was surprised at the number of sweets that I already had in boxes on the shelves, and I’d ordered some more, and I thought that this was never going to do because I was going to be here forever trying to sort out all of this. And the frozen food, having melted, just about put the tin hat on everything.

The part about the shopping presumably relates to this morning’s delivery. However, that passed OK, except that both the freezers are now full to overflowing and there’s no room to swing a cat in there

Later on, I decided that I’d go off on another trip to the Arctic so I contacted the people with whom I went last time and booked some kind of voyage with them that they were making up to some of the old Arctic exploration camps. I packed my suitcase and packed a smaller one and set off on my crutches to the bus station. When I arrived at the bus station, I had to look around for the buses that would take me to the airport and climbed on board a bus. The bus set off, and when I alighted at Manchester, I only had my small suitcase with me. I suddenly remembered that while I was looking at the bus timetables, I’d let go of my larger one and I must have forgotten it. I thought that there was no time now whatsoever to go back and pick it up and I was on a ‘plane to Montreal right now. At Montreal, I alighted, still with my small suitcase and walked round to my hotel. We were told that we were leaving in half an hour so that gave me half an hour to go around the shops to see if I could find some clothes, because I’d freeze to death in the Arctic like this. Of course, it was 08:30 and I found the big Army and Navy Stores where they would have most of what I’d need but it was still closed. It wouldn’t open until 09:00 and by then we’d be leaving. So with reluctance, I set off back to the hotel where we were meeting and came across an open-air market. I had a quick look around there but still couldn’t find anything so I set off back to the hotel. On the way back, I realised that I’d left my small suitcase at the market so I had to go back. Luckily, it was still there and I carried on back to the hotel. People were already congregating outside. A few people knew me and asked me how I was doing, so I made a grimace. One of them said “never mind, Eric. You’ll be great once you are on board the ship with us”. I thought to myself “if only they knew what kind of disaster this is going to turn out to be”.

It seems that I’m definitely yearning for Montréal and the High Arctic again, but of course there is a good reason why I’m not going. My health won’t stand it. However, being absent-minded and distracted away from my luggage is nothing new. As for the clothes in the Army and Navy store, back in the distant past, had I gone to the one in Crewe, I would have equipped myself with Arctic gear with no problems. What I should have done in this dream was to simply ask the organisers of the trip to postpone the departure until I’d kitted myself out. It would only have taken half an hour.

As for the open-air market, the one in Crewe closed down in 2016. That’s a really sad state of affairs. The whole town seems to be dying. It was bad enough when I lived there. It must be a hundred times worse these days.

The next task was to edit the radio notes that I’d dictated. And by the time that I’d knocked off in mid-afternoon, the notes had been edited and the two halves of the programme assembled. The final track has been chosen and the notes written, and they are awaiting dictation.

Back in the kitchen, I iced my Christmas cakes. And what a mess I made of that, especially when I was whisking the aquafaba and let go my hold on the bowl. We had aquafaba all over the kitchen, walls and worktop, the clean crockery and cutlery and also all over me. It’s a good job that I had some more in the freezer.

The icing sugar ended up being too runny and it ran down the side of the cakes, so I had to leave it to set a while before I could give it a second coat.

Not to worry, because we had Cardiff Metropolitan v Caernarfon in the Welsh Cup.

With only five Premier League teams left in the competition, and with two matches featuring games between four of them, there will be only three, or maybe even two in the next round if Greford Athletic of the Second Division knocks out Barry Town. So it’s anyone’s cup, and a cheap passport into European competition.

So the Met and the Cofis were going at it hammer and tongs, with the game swinging like a pendulum from one end to the other throughout the match. The Cofis scored first, but the Met equalised. The Met scored a second but the Cofis equalised almost straight from the restart.

With the game heading towards a penalty shootout, a moment of magic from the Cofis’ Portuguese midfielder led to a third goal, and with the Met throwing everything, including the kitchen sink, at the Cofis’ defence in the final seconds, they left themselves wide open to a rapid counter-attack, with the inevitable results. Hats off to Cofis manager Richard Davies for introducing a new, rapid pair of legs up front in the final minutes.

So what with Bangor City of the Third Division despatching Trefelin, second in Division Two, and Trearddur Bay of the Third Division hitting five past Newport, fourth in Division Two, we are going to have some interesting cup matches in the next round. And who knows? maybe a completely unexpected winner, especially as another one of the early favourites, Penybont, was bundled out by lowly Y Fflint this afternoon.

Tea tonight was baked potato, vegan burger and the rest of the baked beans. And then I had an enormous amount of cleaning to do in the kitchen to make the place look vaguely presentable. Hence I’m running incredibly late tonight. I hope that my lie-in works tomorrow morning.

But seeing as we have been talking about playing in European Competition … "well, one of us has" – ed … these European competitions have been around for millennia.
In fact, in 33 AD, a very important match was played just outside Jerusalem at a stadium called Golgotha. Someone called Jesus was actually playing in the defence, and when Billy Graham wrote his match report, he mentioned that at one stage, Jesus had joined in the attack.
He wrote "and Jesus went up for the cross".

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Tuesday 9th December 2025 – AS I HAVE …

… said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed …. It’s pointless rushing through everything in order to finish early, because all that it means is that I wake up correspondingly early the following morning.

You are probably fed up of hearing me say that, given the number of times that I’ve repeated it, but believe me – I’m totally fed up of breaking my neck to be in bed before 22:00, only to wake up the following morning at … errr … 02:35. It’s going beyond a joke.

And indeed I did break my neck trying to finish early. Tea – the other half of the pizza – was all cooked from Sunday and just needed warming in the oven so it didn’t take too long at all to prepare. And with there being no preparation, there wasn’t very much washing-up and tidying to do.

Back in here, struggling desperately (and failing every now and again) to stay awake, I dashed through my notes, which went online at 21:43 and it wasn’t long after that that I crawled under the covers, with the bedroom heater turned up so that I won’t freeze to death like the previous night.

However, the best-laid plans of mice and men and all of that. There I was, wide awake at 02:35. There was no chance of going back to sleep, no matter how I tried, and I couldn’t make myself comfortable. At one point I was seriously thinking of leaving the bed but instead, I just lay there in a kind of semi-conscious daze until the alarm went off.

As is usual these days, it took a good while for me to summon up the energy to head into the bathroom and sort myself out, and then I went into the kitchen to sort out the hot ginger, honey and lemon drink for my medication.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I had my old Ford Escort estate and I was in Northwest Scotland, wandering around the surfing paradises there. I had someone else with me. We were looking at everything that was going on and just walking along the beach. The beach was beautiful, but there was some kind of haze although it was cold, well, not cold but not that hot either. The islands offshore were all shimmering and glimmering in the haze. The guy with me pointed to the one nearest to us and said that he didn’t remember that being there. I said that as far as I was concerned, I remembered it from the previous times, but I thought that the one next to it was new. They were all chalky islands, like a chalky peninsula that had been sliced by the tide and the waves. We walked along this crowded beach, and for some reason, I slipped and fell down the beach. I managed to stay on my feet, but he came down to see how I was. I told him that it was one of those inexplicable things, but I was sure that I’d torn a ligament. I had to scramble as best as I could up to the previous level where we were walking. We’d been looking at those islands and they had all been painted white with lilac roofs, and he was looking at the statistics for them. He said something like there were one hundred and seventy-eight houses and one hundred and ninety-three people plus thirty temporary accommodations. I was thinking that it would be nice to have some kind of holiday or break in a small house on a little island like that somewhere.

In the mid-seventies, I often used to wander aimlessly around Scotland, but mainly in BILL BADGER, my old A60 van. And I did once go with a friend.

However, in this dream, I imagine that it’s the houses on the island that are painted white with lilac roofs, not the islands themselves.

Isabelle the Nurse breezed in on the wind and she was impressed with my Christmas tree and my Christmas lights. I’m glad about that, because I’m impressed with them too, almost as impressed as I was with my stainless steel dustbin.

She sorted out my legs as usual and then with a cheery wave, she carried on with her rounds. I made my breakfast and read some more of Thomas Codrington’s ROMAN ROADS IN BRITAIN.

Today, we didn’t go very far, because I was sidetracked down a blind alley. Something to do with an old railway station led me astray and I wandered off – I suppose you might say “down a branch line somewhere”.

After breakfast, I came in here to revise my Welsh and then go for the lesson. It passed quite well again today but I don’t know why. However, it’s all very well learning the stuff for the actual moment, but remembering it ten minutes later is what is causing me most of my problems.

After the lesson, my faithful cleaner came along and caught me by surprise. She’d bought my vegan butter from the supermarket and now she’d come to help me into the shower. And I needed it too – the help as well as the shower.

Although it takes a lot of motivation to force me into the shower, I always feel better afterwards and today was no exception. I wish that I could have a shower more than once per week but that’s not really possible

My cleaner and I had a nice, lengthy chat afterwards as we sorted out the medication, and I even played doctor for a few minutes while I was examining some of the boxes.

After she left, I came back in here and worked on one of my radio programmes. That’s now as complete as it can be, with the extra tracks chosen. All that is needed for it is the text for the extra tracks writing and dictating, which I can do tomorrow.

Tea tonight was a vegan burger with pasta and veg in tomato sauce, followed by the last of the coconut soya dessert with a couple of biscuits. I’ll bake another cake tomorrow, if only I knew what to make. I’ve run out of ideas.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about my appalling memory … "well, one of us has" – ed … I once mentioned it to Nerina, and she took the mickey by saying that I had a teflon brain.
"Teflon brain?" I asked.
"That’s right" she replied. "Nothing sticks to it."

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Wednesday 3rd December 2025 – ISN’T IT NICE …

… to have a day off without having to rush around to various medical appointments, physiotherapy and all of the like?

It was definitely what I would call a “relaxing day”.

Having said that, of course, it would have been nicer had I managed to have had an early night to go with it (regardless of whether I wake up early or not) but that was, unfortunately, rather too much to expect. By the time that I’d finished my notes, the statistics and the backing-up and been to the bathroom, it was as near as 23:30, which makes no difference

That’ll teach me to fall asleep when I’m writing my notes.

Once in bed, I fell asleep quite quickly, but I awoke on a couple of occasions at some crazy time of early morning. Although I managed to go back to sleep on a couple of occasions, the final time, at 05:40, I was not so fortunate.

After tossing and turning in bed for a while, at about 06:10 I called it a night and raised myself from the Dead. A stagger into the bathroom to clean myself up, and then another stagger into the kitchen to make my hot honey, ginger and lemon drink for my medication.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I was out walking again and came over the top of a hill and was walking down this cobbled road that took me into this medieval town. It was a steep hill down, and from the top, I could see right over this city. I slowly reached down to the bottom, where, lying on its side, was this absolutely enormous motorbike scooter type of thing that was being used as an advertisement but had fallen over. They had five or six motorbikes that were attached to it by a rope. What they did was to set off on the motorbikes and begin to pull this motorbike. It went upright and it pull-started the engine. When it pull-started the engine, someone climbed up onto it and they disconnected all the motorbikes. Someone was extremely angry because what had happened had wrecked his Honda Benly. When I looked, there were three or four Honda Benlys, two of them with police fairings on. I’d never seen that many Honda Benlys in one place at any one time. As I walked off further on, this scooter had now become a huge articulated American bus which was being transformed into a hot dog stand or something like that. There was a message painted on the side of it – “why don’t you Europeans realise that we Americans love ‘great’?” It was certainly huge, this thing.

This was a surreal dream, that’s for sure, this giant scooter or motorbike. You wouldn’t be likely to see a Honda Benly being used as a police bike, though. They were the first of the high-revving 125cc twins that Honda imported into the UK, back in the early 1960s. I had one even earlier than that, a grey import that came into the UK as a personal possession of a sailor. I wonder where it is now, though. A friend of mine was looking after it while I sorted myself out during an “accommodation crisis”, but we had a dispute over some matter or other and I haven’t seen him, or the bike, since.

I was with a group of people and we were pulling some horse-drawn waggons. We went up this really incredibly steep hill, these waggons struggling to move up, but when we reached the top, we could see that there was one of these small Mexican towns below us so we went down very carefully. The contents of our waggons excited some kind of attention but we were sufficiently armed to keep everything at bay. We noticed that there were a few white women down there being mistreated. They had obviously been caught during some kind of border raid etc by these bandits. At first, we ingratiated ourselves with the bandits, but somehow at night, we managed to slip out. By this time, we had an armoured column with a jeep, a few lorries, several tanks and a couple of support vehicles and we headed off towards Granville. I remember saying to someone that all this action is going to take place in an area that I know really well. We drove north, and there was some kind of incident at a cross-roads but whether that was before we climbed that hill or not, I don’t know. We carried on travelling north, and at a fuel station at the side of the road, we pulled in and refuelled all the vehicles. One thing that I noticed was that we fuelled the vehicles from our own supplies and not from the fuel in the fuel station. I thought that that was a strange decision to make. As we were about to rejoin the road again, we saw another column in the distance, so we waited. It was the column of an American general, so we waited until his column had passed and we slipped into the rear of it. In the meantime, these bandits had recovered and were absolutely furious that we’d managed to escape and taken their prisoners with us. So that set out on our tail. Being much more mobile than we were, they were very, very likely to catch us before we’d gone very far

When I was typing this out, I had a feeling of déjà vu and I’m surprised that I mentioned it in the dream. I know where this road junction is – I can see it now. It’s the one in between the hospital roundabout and the roundabout at the start of the ring road. And what I can see in my mind is a pile of dead bodies scattered about all over the place as if they have been caught in an ambush.

The bit about the waggons and the Mexican village seems to relate to the film THE WILD BUNCH, which, despite the negative rating given by many critics, is in my opinion one of the greatest Westerns ever made. Fleeing from the Mexicans in an armoured column means nothing to me, though.

The nurse turned up early and sorted out my legs for me. He didn’t have much to say for himself today and was soon gone, leaving me to make my breakfast and to read some more of Thomas Codrington’s ROMAN ROADS IN BRITAIN.

At the moment, we’re stuck up on the Yorkshire Moors, trying to decipher the story behind Wade’s Causeway. This is a metalled road that leads to precisely nowhere, as fas as anyone has ascertained. Geographically, its line seems to point towards an empty bay on the coast, which is in a straight line from the end of the known road. Codrington thinks that that’s bizarre because there was a known Roman signalling station at Whitby, just along the coast, so why didn’t the road point in that direction?

In fact, every historian has a different opinion about the road, and some don’t even think that it was a road but a collapsed border wall of the kind of Hadrian’s Wall. Others are not convinced that it’s Roman, and that it might even date back as far as Neolithic times

After he left, I came back in here.

While I was going through the football news, I came across A MOST AMAZING INCIDENT IN WELSH FOOTBALL. at Mochdre along the Welsh coast.

Like everyone else who has read the article, I am gripping the edge of my seat in eager anticipation of finding out just exactly what the referee did or was alleged to have done!

To celebrate my day off, there was a pile of soundbytes of quite some length that had accumulated over the last couple of weeks so I set about cutting them into individual soundbytes. That took an age and it wasn’t until about 17:00 and two disgusting drinks breaks that I’d actually finished.

Mind you, I could have finished earlier but unfortunately, round about 15:00, I’m afraid that I crashed out for an hour or so. I thought that with dialysis and having organised a less-active life for myself this last few days, I would have been over all of this, so that was a disappointment.

The rest of the afternoon was spent sorting out the music for the new radio programme, editing, remixing, pairing and then seguing the songs. Tomorrow, I’ll start to write the text and hope that I’ll have the time to finish it so that I can dictate it for the next early morning.

Tea tonight was a vegan burger with pasta followed by ginger cake and soya dessert, and now I’m off to bed.

Dialysis in the afternoon tomorrow, so I’d better be in good shape for it. I don’t want to go back to three times per week if I can possibly avoid it.

Anyway, before I go, seeing as we have been talking about motorbikes … "well, one of us has" – ed … I’ll tell you a true (and it really is true, too) story about a friend of mine on the Wirral who is a big biker-type of person.
He had been complaining for quite a while about how his wife didn’t understand him. But one day, things began to improve and he began to feel much better.
"What’s cheered you up?" I asked him.
"Well, our marriage has been on the rocks for a while because of her lack of interest in my hobbies, but things have changed" he replied. "I had a long talk with some friends, and I ended up getting a Harley-Davidson 883cc Sportster for her."
"Blimmin’ ‘eck" I replied. "That is just one hell of a good swap, that is!"

0

Wednesday 26th November 2025 – AND ONCE AGAIN …

… I crashed out in the chair in my office during the late afternoon.

That’s something that I really must stop because it’s really driving me insane, all of this. I’m not managing to complete anything that I set out to do.

Part of it is probably due to the late night that I had. I can’t keep these early nights going for any consistent length of time. By the time that I’d finished everything that I needed to do at the end of the evening and crawled into my nice, clean bed, it was well after 23:30.

Add to that, the fact that for a couple of hours, I was totally unable to go to sleep might also have had something to do with it. I lay there tossing and turning and trying to make myself comfortable, but to no avail.

Eventually though, I must have gone to sleep because I remember waking up. I lay there, half-awake, for a little while and then checked the time. It was 06:28, one minute before the alarm but not before it enough to be able to be sitting upright with my feet on the floor when the alarm went off and claim an early start.

Instead, I just lay there waiting.

Eventually, I managed to force myself out of bed and went off into the bathroom.

Next stop was the kitchen, where I made my hot lemon, honey and ginger drink to wash down my medication. And then back in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I was with TOTGA and her daughter, her son and her slightly older daughter. We’d all gone to the seaside. TOTGA was sitting there thinking that maybe she would like an ice-cream so daughter and I went for a walk. We had a chat, and it turned out that her elder sister had had some kind of accident a few months ago and it was something that was recurring. When I asked where she was, her sister replied that she was in hospital again and her mother was off doing something else, she didn’t quite know where. We walked along together down the seafront and it began to be cold and rainy somewhat. She pointed to an ice-cream stall halfway up a set of steps so we climbed up these steps and went into the ice cream stall. There were lots of people milling around and they all recognised the girl. Anyway, we bought three cornets. I noticed that mine didn’t have a flake in it and hers had two and her mother’s had one. Then we walked as if we were heading back home. We came to a place in the street where she wanted to cross the road so we had to worry. She went in and I found that it was a health food shop. She was wondering if they had any of these products – she wanted some breakfast nuts, something like that. We had a look around, still holding these ice-creams and she found what she thought might be fine. She explained that her brother was looking for these and had not been able to find them anywhere else. But at the ice-cream stall, everyone knew the girl and they were all talking about her, whether she was coming back to work there again. However, I was certain that she was far too young to be working in a place like that, even on a Saturday.

So welcome back, TOTGA, even if it was only for a short while. It’s been a while since you’ve featured on these pages. However, instead of two daughters and a son, it’s two sons and a daughter, but let’s not go letting the facts stand in the way of a good dream… "perish the thought" – ed …

The idea of walking around the town with melting ice-creams is a bizarre one, but the conjuring trick with the flakes is the kind of thing that Zero would be more likely to do, rather than TOTGA’s daughter.

Later on, Nerina and I had been driving taxis last night and it had been a slow, slow day. We’d done about three or four jobs, that’s all, and were sitting at the side of the road in a lay-by having a chat. Someone came over with a big parcel and we thought that this might be a fare but it wasn’t. It was just someone chatting to a neighbour. In the end, Nerina decided that she’d go back to the rank. Before she did, someone in a blue uniform came over. He said that he wanted to book a taxi for 04:00, but it was only a short trip. I said to Nerina “ladies first” so she began to note the details. However, she said “we already have this job” when she looked at the paperwork. “It’s down for 03:55”. The guy apologised and then needed some help to be pushed onto the bus that turned up, because the bus was crowded and there wasn’t very much room on there for anyone else.

Strangely enough, the subject of taxis has been something that has featured quite considerably elsewhere in very recent times. But things would help if I stopped trying to remember the things that I did forty years later and how I could improve on them if I were to do it all again, something that I have absolutely no intention of doing.

Isabelle the Nurse drifted in, dressed for an Arctic winter. Apparently, it was minus 2°C when she set out on her rounds this morning and she had to scrape the ice off her windscreen. “Winter is acumen in, lhude singe Rudolph” and all of that.

She gave me my injection, sorted out my feet and then drifted out again to brave the Arctic temperatures. I made breakfast and read some more of ROMAN ROADS IN BRITAIN.

In fact, I didn’t read all that much of it. I ended up being sidetracked into the Iter Britanniarum – the guidebook said to have been prepared for the Emperor Augustus although it’s suggested that it was the Emperor Caracalla who was its sponsor, seeing that it includes much that was not in existence in the time of Augustus.

It’s like the kind of thing that we had in the distant past, a kind of “RAC Handbook” listing Roman roads, wayside stations, inns and the like. I’ve been following Codrington’s book and using the Iter Britanniarum to plot where the wayside stations might be. If one considers that a Roman mile – a mille passum – was actually one thousand double paces, and is equivalent to about 0.92 of a modern mile, the distances given in the Iter Britanniarum are surprisingly accurate.

Back in here, I had things to do and then I began to edit the rest of the radio notes that I’d dictated the other day.

Later on, I knocked off in order to prepare for the Centre de Ré-education. The taxi was late coming to pick me up and I missed the first ten minutes of my session with the occupational therapist.

Not that I missed much, because despite spending a week searching, he couldn’t find anything more practical than the system that we were using. However, he did suggest a liberal usage of anti-slip tape. On the other hand, I prefer four good stainless steel screws myself.

My second session was with my physiotherapist and she worked me quite hard today, forcing my legs into all kinds of impossible positions. I was so exhausted after this session that I couldn’t lift myself up off the bench.

And that was all today. They had cancelled my next two sessions! But let’s not be carried away by this because there are stil four, and sometimes five sessions for the next couple of visits.

One of these visits though is to see my doctor, when I shall tell her how I’m feeling.

It was another desperate struggle to the taxi to bring me home, and another desperate struggle to come into the apartment. I really don’t know how I would manage if my faithful cleaner were not there to help me.

Back in the apartment, I collapsed into a chair for half an hour, trying to summon up the energy to move, and then I moved into the office where, regrettably, I fell asleep.

Once I’d awoken, I completed the radio programme but I’m a few seconds short. I shall have to re-dictate something to include a few more notes in order to make the commentary rather longer.

Tea tonight was rice with vegetables and a vegan burger, followed by ginger cake and a mandarine … "PERSONdarine" – ed … and lemon soya dessert. It really is nice too.

So now, I’m off to bed. I’ve done enough for today and I have the delights of dialysis tomorrow. Let’s see what my water retention is like, then I hope that they won’t want me to come in on Saturday.

But seeing as we have been talking about ice-cream … "well, one of us has" – ed … Crewe was very famous for its ice-cream vans, made by SC Cummins and Co. They were exported all around the World, but even so, there were always plenty plying the streets of the town.
One day, out at Queen’s Park, a girl from Crewe went up to an ice-cream van there and asked for a chocolate ice-cream cornet
"I’m sorry" replied the salesman. "I’m out of chocolate ice-cream"
"But I want chocolate" she insisted.
"I’m sorry" replied the salesman.
"But sorry is no good! I want chocolate!"
"Look" said the salesman, exasperated. "If you took the ‘s’ out of ‘strawberry’, what would you have?"
"trawberry" replied the girl
"And if you took the ‘p’ out of ‘pistachio’? "
"Istachio " she replied.
"And if you took the ‘f’ out of chocolate?"
"But there’s no ‘f’ in chocolate!"
"And isn’t that what I’ve been trying to tell you for the last ten minutes?"

0

Tuesday 18th November 2025 – PART TWO OF …

… my offensive against all of these medical appointments went onto the attack this morning.

It involved a flank attack on the Chemotherapy section of the Centre Hospitalière Universitaire de Rennes. It was unfortunate that my target this morning was a young intern called Jade, but you can only fight those whom they send out to fight you.

Anyway, it’s the turn of Elise the Dishy Doctor at the Centre de Ré-education to come under attack tomorrow afternoon.

So last night, feeling definitely not like it, I dashed through my notes and everything that went with it, and ended up in bed at 22:40 hoping for a good sleep. But, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall, it’s something of a forlorn hope these days. For all kinds of reasons, I had a very difficult time dropping off.

It wasn’t as if it was a good sleep either. I awoke a few times during the night, and I was up and about by 05:50 this morning.

In order to be ready for the nurse and the ambulance, I’d gone to sleep fully-clothed last night. It was a pointless exercise though because although the nurse told me that he’d be around at 06:30, it was 06:40 when he finally turned up and I’d already given up hope by then

Last night, when the driver dropped me off after dialysis, I joked that it will probably be him who will be coming to pick me up in the morning so I may as well sleep the night in his taxi. My faithful cleaner told him, on the other hand, just as jokingly, to make sure that he would bring the croissants round in the morning.

That was all said as light-hearted banter, and no-one seriously expected it to be him who would come to pick me up. But truth is stranger than fiction.

We made good time down to the edge of Rennes when a collision on the motorway produced a tail-back of about fifteen kilometres. We were consequently twenty minutes late arriving.

The intern was waiting and she grabbed me as I walked onto the ward, before I’d even had time to register.

She examined me and asked how things were. I told her that there had been a marked deterioration in my condition, and I repeated what I had said yesterday at dialysis.

Being young and impressionable, she was shocked to learn of my series of appointments – six days with no rest. I asked her why everyone was expecting me to recover from the treatment that I’m having when the sheer fact of travelling to and from it is killing me off.

Of course, she had no reply to make to that, but it gave her food for thought and she promised to discuss it with her superior and my consultant in Paris.

One thing that was confirmed at the interview, as I had known all along but it’s difficult to impress upon the minds of those at dialysis, is that the reason why my chemotherapy can’t be done locally in Granville or Avranches is that the use of one of the components of the chemotherapy can only be authorised and under the supervision of certain hospitals.

The local hospitals are not authorised to use it, so although it would be a good solution, there’s no point in the dialysis centre trying to promote it.

Anyway, the folder that I gave to the intern was missing the blood test, so they had to ‘phone up Avranches for it. And then it showed an anomaly … "one of many" – ed … in my blood so they had to contact Paris. Eventually, Paris authorised the chemotherapy and it began at 11:10, a far cry from the 08:30 appointment.

During most of the session, I was fast asleep. I was so totally exhausted that it was untrue. But even the sleep wasn’t enjoyable. Every few minutes, someone would come along and check something, which would awaken me

They brought me lunch as well, boiled potatoes with a vegan burger. When I’d had the burger before, I’d enjoyed it, but this time I didn’t like it at all. My taste buds are awful right now.

Eventually, though, the session was finished and by 15:30 I was in the taxi, along with another passenger.

Since I’ve been ill and have had to travel in a taxi, I’ve seen parts of Normandy that I didn’t realise existed. That was certainly the case today. And dropping off a passenger in the wilds well at the back of Avranches, we passed a garage with a few old cars, one of which was a Ford Cortina mkIV.

Those cars were responsible for the successes that I had with my taxis and I haven’t seen one for years. I’ve a couple of mkIIIs and mkVs down on the farm, but no mkIVs. How I was tempted to go back afterwards and spirit it away, but I can’t even walk to the van these days, never mind drive anywhere in it.

In any case, all of my towing tackle (the “A” frame, the towing dolly and the trailer) is still down on the farm, not up here.

Back here I crashed out in the chair in the kitchen for a while, having a good chat with my cleaner, when we were interrupted by a rather angry nurse. He wans’t happy that I hadn’t ‘phoned him as soon as I arrived, because he was in the area and it would have saved him a trip across town.

Well, it’s not my fault that the batteries were flat in my crystal ball, was it?

After he left, I transcribed the dictaphone notes. There was something going on about my brother and his wife buying a new house. When I was talking to my new boss at work, he told me that he had agreed that my brother could have two days off work in order to sort out all of the necessary paperwork. I asked about his wife as well, whether she would be entitled to a couple of days off because I reckoned, knowing them, that she’d be the one actually involved in doing most of the work with regard to the purchase of this property. He smiled and said that he probably agreed. Then, he asked about my brother’s complaint to the office, how he complained. I replied that he probably complained via AI up to the Cloud. The boss asked whether there would likely be any follow-up to that. I said that I thought that AI was supposed to be much more intelligent than any other form of computer contact, so it would seem very likely. But that’s all that I remember of that dream.

Artificial Intelligence is in the news quite a lot these days but, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall, it’s not infallible. I’ve managed to trip it up on a few occasions without trying too hard and I’m sure that the experts can make mincemeat of it much more efficiently than I can.

However, I do use it on occasion, even if I will admit that I much prefer Natural Stupidity.

Team was a nice, thick mushroom and tomato soup with pasta and I managed to eat all of it. My soup-making is improving, that’s for sure.

So now, later than I would like, I’m off to bed, ready … "I don’t think" – ed … for my early start in the morning. My driver is coming round at 06:50.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about going onto the offensive … "well, one of us has" – ed … I mentioned this to my cleaner this afternoon when I arrived.
"Offensive" she replied. "That’s certainly the correct word to use with anything that you do, Eric."

0

Monday 17th November 2025 – WE HAVE HAD …

… a showdown at dialysis this afternoon.

This outrageous fatigue is continuing to lay me flat out, so I decided to take the bull by the horns.

The chef de service was on duty today so I seized the opportunity. I explained my week to him – dialysis Monday, Chemotherapy Tuesday, Chemotherapy Wednesday, dialysis Thursday, Centre de Ré-education Friday and dialysis Saturday.

"When am I supposed to have any time for myself?" I asked. "As if I don’t have anything else to do." And so we had a lengthy discussion. Whether anything comes of it or not, I really don’t know. Probably not, because so far, I have the impression that I am talking to a wall.

It’s no wonder, with a programme like that, that I am thoroughly exhausted. If I could concentrate on my notes and finish them at a reasonable hour, that would be a start. But sometimes I’m too tired to concentrate.

Like last night, for example. It should have been an early night but what with one thing and another … "and until you make a start, you have no idea how many other things there are" – ed … by the time I’d done everything that I needed to do, it was 23:10 when I finally crawled into bed.

So much for my aim of being in bed by 22:30.

Once I’d managed to fall asleep, I was flat out until all of … errr … 04:10, and at one point I was seriously thinking of leaving the bed. However, I must have gone back to sleep because the next thing that I remember was the alarm going off at 06:29.

As seems to be the case these days, it took me an age to raise myself from the Dead and head into the bathroom. And then it was a very leisurely start to the day while I made my ginger, honey and lemon drink with which to take my medicine.

When I’d finished that, I cut the loaf into two and put one half in the freezer. And then I cut up the cake into squares and put them into an airtight container.

Isabelle the Nurse took me by surprise again, and I had to sit quietly … "if that’s possible" – ed … while she took my blood pressure.

Once she’d done that, she looked after my feet and legs, and then I made breakfast.

After breakfast, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. The Confederate Army had a kind of hospital where they put their. I was going there as part of the sick. One thing that I had noticed was that there seemed to be no sense of urgency in defending the fort, and no plan of what to do if the enemy were to attack. They didn’t seem to be in too much of a hurry to have everyone installed. The Union Army launched a campaign in that area and the hospital came under threat. However, it was the Union Army this time that prevaricated and seemed to waste every possible moment before launching an attack. Had it been a decisive attack quite quickly, it might have succeeded. The dream went on from there but unfortunately, I can’t remember it

What a shame that I can’t remember it. But it seems that I’m stuck in the American Civil War and I’ve no idea why. Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that WE VISITED SEVERAL CIVIL WAR BATTLEFIELDS and we’ve been reading bits here and there, but I don’t know why it’s become so imprinted in my subconscious mind.

Over the past couple of days, I’ve been reading AB-SA-RA-KA, LAND OF MASSACRE by Margaret Carrington, and at long last, after many years of searching, I’ve found that which I’ve been seeking.

In the back of the book is a large fold-out map of Wyoming and the Dakotas, with the various trails and campaigns marked out, along with the sites of the forts and the major battles.

It doesn’t fold out so well in a *.pdf but a series of judicious screen prints and a good graphics editing program has produced an impressive *.jpg image.

The book does not contain a list of all of the battles (she says that it would be far too long) which is a shame, and I’m sure that the map is not complete, but how I wish that I had had it with me on my various forays into “Indian Territory” over the past twenty-odd years.

Doing that took up most of the morning, and in the remaining time, I edited the radio notes that I’d dictated the other day.

When my faithful cleaner appeared, I went into the kitchen where she applied my anaesthetic. And then I waited for the taxi.

It was early today, so I was early arriving. I was connected up quite quickly, which is nice. However, I tried a couple of times to doze off to sleep, to catch up on the sleep that I’ve been missing, but everyone seemed to awaken me today. In the end, I gave it up.

Towards the end of the session, the chef de service came to see how I was. He gave me a brief explanation of what’s happening, and then he went to leave.

"That’s OK" I replied "if you don’t want to hear what I have to say."

That rather took him by surprise.

Now that I had his attention, I described my week to him. I also mentioned that despite having told the Centre de Ré-education that any more than three sessions per day is killing me, they gave me four last week, and there are four next Wednesday too.

What with the chemotherapy too, I feel as if I’m being kept alive simply for the purpose of being alive for the next medical appointment, and so on after that. There’s no quality of life any more, I have plenty of things that I would like to do that I cannot do because of all of this, and the way that my life is being run right now, I’ve become a slave to the medical system. It’s no surprise that, with all of this, I’m so tired.

His reply was "you are seriously ill and we are doing our best to keep you alive."

My reply was "but if this is the best that I can have, I simply don’t see the point. There’s no point in staying alive if all that they can promise me is another medical appointment the following day. We may as well call it a day, all of it."

Of course, he wasn’t happy. But then again, neither am I.

In the end, he put a note in my file to hand to the chemotherapy people tomorrow, and he says that he’ll send a message to the Centre de Ré-education. As for the dialysis clinic, he’ll chat with his colleagues and see if it might be possible to reduce my sessions to two per week.

Whether he does actually follow it up, and whether the hospital at Rennes and the Centre de Ré-education react remains to be seen, of course. But something needs to change because I can’t go much longer on like this.

And in case you think that I’m not being serious, I promise you that I am.

The taxi driver, the young chatty one, was waiting. He had another passenger with him and we had an interesting chat all the way home. We arrived early for once and after I’d gathered my wits … "with the amount of wits that he has left, I’m surprised that it takes him so long" – ed … I amended the running order of the tracks and re-paired and re-segued them, as I mentioned a week or so ago that I would…

Isabelle the Nurse came to take my blood pressure as usual. It was as high as 13.4 – that’s extreme hypertension for me and it shows just how worked up I’ve become over this affair. She had to wait ten minutes for me to calm down.

Tea tonight was mashed potatoes in butter with peans and a breaded spicy vegan burger followed by chocolate cake. And once more, I ate it all.

Now I’m off to bed, ready for chemotherapy tomorrow, I don’t think.

But seeing as we have been talking about the Wars in Indian Territory in the late Nineteenth Century … "well, one of us has" – ed … General Crook admitted to being impressed with the standard of horsemanship of the Lakota Sioux. He is on record, according to JG Bourke’s ON THE BORDER WITH CROOK as saying that they were "the finest light cavalry in the World"
When he finally met up with Chief Red Cloud, he asked him how they managed it.
"We’ve had plenty of practice riding horses over the last couple of Centuries."
"How come?" asked Crook.
"We had to" replied Red Cloud. "You try carrying a horse and see how far you can travel."

0

Monday 3rd November 2025 – NEVER HAVE I …

… felt less like leaving the bed than I did this morning. For two pins I would have switched off the alarm and curled up back under the covers, and had it not been for the impending arrival of Isabelle the Nurse, I would have done too!

Mind you, it was somewhat late last night when I went to bed. Being delayed because of the length of time that it took to bake my cake, it was much later than usual by the time that I’d finished tea, and there was plenty of washing up to do too.

By the time that I’d finished my notes, it was after 23:00 and what with everything else that needed doing, it was much closer to midnight by the time that I crawled under the covers. And what with the early start, I was well and truly ready for it.

Once in bed though, I was out like a light and remember absolutely nothing at all until the alarm went off at 06:29.

As I said just now, I didn’t want to leave the bed. It took me a good while to summon up the courage to leave the bed, and even longer to haul myself to my feet.

After the bathroom, where I had had a good wash and shave in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant later today, I went into the kitchen where I made another one of these hot lemon, ginger and honey drinks to take with my medicine.

And I needed it too, because I was coughing like nothing on earth.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. In this dream, I was back in Crewe again. I was working in an office somewhere, and part of the work involved dealing with different issues that arose from different situations, such as the question of certain meals. We made a series of cards by typing on a sheet of paper and then sealing it inside one of these laminated pocket things so that we had all of the instructions and the regularly-occurring companies, their desires and demands all done like that so that we could follow them up quickly. There was one where they were always asking for certain more information about a certain product. Another one was asking if there was an instruction book to go with the DVD that they had received. I was on my way home and was walking up the bottom of Edleston Road towards Market Street over the Chester Bridge. It was early evening but there was no-one about. There were very few cars at all. I’d probably counted two or three along the whole way. As I walked up Chester bridge, I went to cross over to the north side. There was a little baby, running around on her tricycle thing. It started to talk to me so I talked back to it. But her mother called her, so she ran to her mother, but she had left her doll behind so I had to call her back to pick up her doll. As I crossed the road, I noticed a car coming towards me from my left, quite a way back. Its headlights suddenly disappeared, and I put it down to the fact that it had gone down a slip road down to the road that now runs along the old railway line under Chester Bridge, so I thought that I’d meet it down there when I go down the pedestrian steps.

This idea of cards made of sheets of paper and laminated pouches is nothing at all new, and back on the farm I have a laminating machine for just that purpose.

But if I were going home, I certainly wouldn’t be going down Edleston Road, over Chester Bridge and into Market Street. I’d be going in the opposite direction.

As for the road that runs along the old course of the Chester line past the old General Offices, there is indeed a road these days, but it starts further along the line at Wistaston Road, not at Chester Bridge.

Isabelle the Nurse was bright and breezy and cheerful this morning. Not surprising, seeing as it’s her last day today for a week. We had a very chatty ten minutes while she fixed my feet, and then she disappeared on her rounds.

It was boring old toast with my breakfast today – the croissants have all gone for now, but I’m going to make another batch, don’t you worry. How could I not? But regardless, it was a very slow, leisurely breakfast that I enjoyed immensely.

Back in here, there were things to do which took some time, as usual. While I was doing them, I listened to the radio programme due to be broadcast this weekend to make sure that it was OK, and then I sent it off.

However, I was interrupted by the arrival of the plumber. He finally appeared, after all of his vicissitudes, to sort out the water leak.

It didn’t take him long either. It turns out that there was a faulty gasket in the U-bend for the waste pipe. There’s an inspection trap that can be undone so that the waste pipe can be cleaned, and the gasket was the wrong size. It was the work of ten minutes to change it.

While he was at it, he reset the hot water timer for me. It was a common error, so it seems, committed by many people, mainly because the instructions aren’t clear. You don’t just set the start time to “on” and the stop time to “off”, you have to set each half-hour segment individually to “on” or “off”.

After he left, I made a start on combining the radio programme on which I’d been working, but I didn’t do much before my cleaner came to apply the anaesthetic on my arm.

She stayed for a while for a chat, and then after she left, I awaited my taxi driver.

It was my favourite taxi driver too, and we had a lovely chat all the way to Avranches. We picked up another passenger en route but I’m not going to talk about him because one day, I might be like him too, although I desperately hope not. I’m not exactly the tidiest or cleanest of people but I do try to take some pride in my appearance when I’m out and about.

At the dialysis centre, I was on time for once and didn’t have long to wait before I was coupled up. And once I was coupled up, they left me pretty much alone throughout the session.

The boss turned up and had a little chat with me, but I suspect that it was more to show willing rather than anything else.

They unplugged me quite rapidly too, and I had a lovely chat with a very lovely driver all the way home. There are some benefits of this dialysis and I have to do my best to find them.

Being home early, I finished off the radio programme, chose the final track and wrote the notes ready for dictation. That should be out of the way the next early morning.

Tea was a vegan burger with rice, veg and gravy followed by cake and soya dessert. And the cake is as nice as it looks too.

As you can see, I’ve gone back to having puddings. The reason is that they are high calorie and high carbohydrates, so that if I can’t manage a main course meal very well, topping up with a pudding packed with these sorts of things will help me maintain some form of nutrition, even if it’s not all that healthy. Adding fats will at least give the muscles something on which to work.

So now I’m off to bed ready for my Welsh class tomorrow.

However, in other news … "he said, blowing his own trumpet" – ed … I have been informed today that I have been elected to fill a vacancy on the Cymru Leagues’ Supporters Panel.

It’s not actually the first time that I’ve held such a position. Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that I was on the panel in 2006 and was nominated by the supporters to attend a meeting at FAW Headquarters with the Competitions Secretary to present the supporters’ view of the proposed changes to the league structure.

But that was a long time ago and since then, there have been many changes, both to the league structure and to my life too. It’ll be interesting to see what comes out of the situation this time.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about the other passenger in the taxi … "well, one of us has" – ed … it reminds me of when I met a couple of friends in Brussels once, whom I hadn’t seen for quite some time.
"Epic!" one of them said. "We thought that you’d been dead for years!"
"Of course he isn’t" said the other one. "He just smells like it!"

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Monday 13th October 2025 – CHEMOTHERAPY IS …

… officially cancelled for tomorrow. Emilie the Cute Consultant seems to think that I’m far too ill to go and that chemotherapy will only make things worse.

Yes, lucky me! I’ve had Emilie the Cute Consultant soothing my fevered brow at dialysis this afternoon, and I reckon that I ought to be ill more often when she’s on duty.

But joking aside, after yesterday, I needed someone to take me in hand and sort me out. The day began awfully and as time advanced, it went from bad to worse. Those of you who saw the half-dozen notes that I posted last night will probably have gathered that I was in bed before 21:00, and it’s a long, long time since that has happened.

Once in bed, I was asleep straight away, which is no surprise. And I stayed asleep too until all of … errr … 00:30.

At that point, I was giving some light-hearted consideration to leaving the bed but in the end I decided against it, and spent several hours drifting in and out of sleep. Round about 05:30, I gave up trying and arose to my feet.

After the bathroom, I had another leisurely period of medication-taking, before coming back in here to restart writing my notes. But not for long, though. At about 07:00 I set the alarm for 08:05 and, something that I don’t recall doing for years, I went back to bed and slept for another hour or so. That’s the kind of state in which I found myself this morning.

Once the nurse had been and gone, I made breakfast and, once more, took my time while I ate it. I was in no real hurry, and I certainly wasn’t in any kind of mood to read my book.

Back in here afterwards, I finished off my notes from yesterday and then had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. We were in the American Civil War this time (not the Revolutionary War). We were trying to track down the enemy, or the enemy was trying to track us down. I was suffering from fever and having to use my toilet frame to walk around. It was becoming extremely complicated. At one point, I knocked some things off the kitchen worktop, and with my improvised walkframe, I positioned one of the feet on top of two of the spice jars that I have. I thought that it was a good job that I noticed this before I put my weight on it otherwise they would have broken. But I still don’t know what I’m going to do about my health and how I was going to deal with the issue of the enemy, of them looking for us or us looking for him.

If I’m dreaming about a war in the USA, it makes a change not dreaming about the Revolutionary War. But then again, as regular readers of this rubbish will recall, when I was in Eastern USA in 2005 for Rhys’s wedding, I VISITED SEVERAL SITES CONNECTED WITH THE CIVIL WAR.

Later on, there were three ships, the Ateb Harry, the Ateb something else and a third one. The Ateb Harry was coming back from the USA to Europe as a passenger liner, and was intercepted by the contraband patrol. The patrol found, underneath the coal, a pile of shells and ammunition. The captain tried to argue that it was for his own self-defence but they saw that it had been manufactured in Germany and was of a German calibre rater than an Imperial one so they decided that they would take the ship and intern it.

This relates to something else about which I’ve been reading recently – the British blockade of Germany in World War I. They set up plenty of barrages across the North Sea and intercepted as many of the vessels that they possibly could that were heading east, in an attempt to stop supplies reaching Germany. They were quite successful too and by the end of the war, there were shortages of every kind of imported goods over there.

At some point though, I had my Welsh lesson to do and I was parked in a car park. There was a lorry in front of me and its rear door was open. A policeman told me to close it so I closed it as best as I could and explained to the driver that there was only one of the two catches was working. He replied in a foreign accent “never mind” – to leave it with him and he’d sort it out. I went back to my van, which was a dark blue Sherpa long wheelbase towing an enclosed trailer that looked like the rear of a Sherpa. I climbed in, and could see on the laptop that my Welsh class had started. I took off all my excess clothes and found my sleeping bag. But my sleeping bag was inside-out so I had to turn it the other way, and then I could climb into the sleeping bag and begin to attend the lesson.

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that I had a Sherpa for a couple of years. It was quite nice when I bought it but it rotted quickly and ended up being unsafe. Furthermore, trying to find spare parts for it in Belgium was impossible in the end and it became a liability.

Next task was to finish off my Welsh homework and send it off, and the rest of the morning was spent revising.

At one point though, I could no longer stand the cold in here and so I switched on the heating for the first time. It’s not like me, and it shows just how ill I am right now.

My faithful cleaner turned up to apply my anaesthetic and then I had a long wait for the taxi. Not that I minded, because it was one of my favourite drivers. However, rather regrettably, I wasn’t in the mood for chatting.

Once again, we were late arriving, but for a change I was seen quite quickly. Because of my health, they put me into a private room and then spent half an hour examining me, including a Covid test (I was negative). I wasn’t too keen, but Emilie the Cute Consultant insisted on it being done, and I noticed that there seems to be no argument or discussion with her when she makes up her mind.

Having been wired up and plugged in, they left me alone pretty much. That was just as well because I slept through most of the session. All that I seem to be doing right now is sleeping.

At the end of the session, Emilie the Cute Consultant gave me another thorough going-over, and wanted me to spit into a container so that it can be analysed. She is of the opinion that I have a pulmonary infection. I can’t go to chemotherapy like that so she’s going to cancel it.

One thing that was nice though was that she patted my shoulder, and as I said earlier, I’m going to be ill again when she’s on duty if that’s the reward.

The poor taxi driver had to wait hours for me, and then we had to find a chemist’s that was open so that we could buy some medication that was prescribed. There was someone else to fetch too, so I ended up being the latest back here that I have ever been.

After my cleaner had sorted me out, I made tea. Burger with pasta and even though it was a small portion, some of it still ended up in the bin.

So I shall be at my Welsh lesson tomorrow then. In that case I’d better go to bed. It’s already later than I would like.

But seeing as we have been talking about spitting into a container … "well, one of us has" – ed … I remember taking my niece to see my premises in Canada, situated as they are with one border of my land being the international border with the USA.
"Blimey!" she said. "You could spit into the USA from here!"
"I know" I replied. "Now ask me how I know."

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Monday 6th October 2025 – I HAD NOTHING ON …

… the dictaphone this morning.

Mind you, that’s no surprise at all. The storm that had been raging for a couple of days had died down by the end of the evening and for once, it was as quiet as the grave outside.

Once I was in bed, I went to sleep quite quickly and with two days’ worth of sleep to recover, there I lay without moving, all through the night.

How I was looking forward to it too. Once more I rushed through the work that I needed to do before going to bed and by the time that I crawled in underneath the covers, it was 23:02 – past my ideal curfew time of 23:00 but I’m not complaining.

After that, I remember nothing whatever until I awoke with another one of these “sitting bolt-upright” awakenings at 06:20 precisely. It took a couple of minutes to summon up the courage to haul myself off into the bathroom, and then I went into the kitchen to take my medication.

With nothing on the dictaphone, I took the opportunity to do something that I’ve been meaning to do for quite a while, and that is to tidy up the freezer.

During the move, the freezer was filled in any kind of order and I had real difficulty finding anything that I needed. Now, though, a couple of the drawers are sorted out and there remains just one more to do. Everything that needs to be in there is in there, but it needs to be tidied.

Isabelle the Nurse turned up a little later. It’s her last day before her week’s break so she was quite naturally in a good mood. We had a good chat about her Breton grandmother and how sad she … "the nurse, not the grandmother" – ed … was that her grandmother hadn’t taught her to speak Breton.

That’s just how I felt too. My grandmother never taught my father to speak Welsh because it was considered to be shameful back in the 1930s. Consequently, I had to learn by other methods. My grandmother did say a few words in Welsh to us when we were very small but she never explained that it was Welsh. We thought that it was just meaningless speech.

After Isabelle left, I could make breakfast and read some more of BATTLES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION.

By now, it’s Spring 1781 and the British have all-but given up hope of retaking the United States. A few inconclusive battles have seen the British Army retreat, even when they have had the upper hand. I think that Cornwallis is retreating towards the coast in the hope that he’ll meet a British ship that will whisk him out of the mess that the politicians have created.

Back in here, I had the radio notes to check for this week’s programme and to carry out a little judicious editing. I was also chatting to my friend in Munich and my friend in Telford while I was at it.

With the time that was left, I spent doing my Welsh homework. It’s not finished yet but it won’t take very long. Then I can concentrate on the next unit.

My cleaner turned up as usual to apply my anaesthetic and then I had to await my taxi. Although he was on tie, there was someone else to pick up and for that, we had to wait around for a while. I had to sit in the back seat too, which was uncomfortable.

And so we were late arriving at dialysis and, as usual, even though I wasn’t the last to arrive, I was last to be plugged in.

For some reason that I don’t understand, my weight had ballooned since Saturday. The amount that needed to be removed was over the threshold for three and a half hours, so I expected to be there for four hours. However, the nurse failed to notice and I wasn’t going to say anything. The quicker that I’m out of there the better.

And jamais deux sans trois as they say around here. My niece’s second daughter contacted me for a chat while I was at dialysis.

Despite the fact that I was finished after three and a half hours today, I may as well have stayed because the taxi was late coming to fetch me. I didn’t complain because it was one of my favourite drivers so we had a good chat all the way home. With plenty of traffic on the roads, her driving was suitably restrained today.

Horribly late back home again, and totally exhausted because when the dialysis machine is going flat-out, it takes a lot out of me, I didn’t faal like eating anything. However, I can’t starve myself to death, so I made some pasta and veg with a vegan burger. That will do me for now.

Anyway, I’m going to bed, hoping to sleep for a week because I am so exhausted right now. I’m really beginning to worry about my health.

But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about my favourite taxi driver … "well, one of us has" – ed … she’s one of the “old school” of taxi drivers who has her own way of doing things that wouldn’t fit in with modern ideas.
The first time that she took me to Paris, I remember it vividly.
Being someone who is famous for his very low blood pressure, I was surprised when at the hospital there, they told me that my blood pressure had gone through the roof.
"Well, you go for a long drive through the Paris rush-hour with my driver" I retorted "and see what yours is like when you come back!"

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Saturday 4th October 2025 – WHAT A DREADFUL …

… twenty-four hours this has been.

Round about 02:30 this morning, the wind started to blow up. By about 04:00, we were having gusts of over 100 kph and it’s not let up since.

And seeing as I now live at the front of the building, I’m having the lot rattling against my windows, and I’d forgotten just how noisy a howling gale can be.

It was looking quite good though earlier in the evening. I’d finished my work a good while before 23:00 and I’d climbed into bed with an air of optimism … "makes a change from a hot water bottle" – ed … hoping to have a decent sleep for once.

Once in bed, I was asleep quite quickly, but it didn’t last. I awoke as the wind began to rise, and although I fell asleep again shortly afterwards, by about 04:00 I was awake and had given up all hope of going back to sleep.

Having said that, at one point I did actually go back to sleep but I was wide awake again at 06:00 and at that point, I arose from the Dead and headed off for a wash and shave in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant this afternoon.

After the medication, I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night and if I had been able to persuade one (or more) of my favourite young ladies to put in an appearance.

I was doing something with some kind of newspaper. There had been some issues with a couple of women over something, that were not connected to the newspaper at all. I’d actually witnessed something so I was ready to make a statement before the police, but this newspaper launched a big personal attack on me, basically to say that if I were to go before the police and make some kind of statement, then they had plenty of statements that they could make about me. I wasn’t sure what they meant, and in any case, that was a wicked thing to say. However, I decided that I’d publish in my newspaper these letters that I’d received, in the headlines, and that way, I could control them without any kind of problem. But the offence concerned related to offences against a certain man. They mentioned his name but I can’t remember it now.

The centre of France was rather lawless with people with objections making up the rules as they went along. I had four litres of milk on hand at Virlet but I was told by a troop, one of Barber’s troops, to empty it all away because somehow lying unattended on a battlefield could be extremely dangerous, so they extracted this promise from me. But it made life difficult because every time I was coming to the hoarder, and the hoarding was at the top of the list, I was stopped and thoroughly searched. But my ankle right at the time who was resigned was never searched, and neither was the bass guitarist woman who actually played together in the concert drive. It seemed to be that they were just targeting me and no-one else in this.

As I mentioned the other day, sometimes I have no recollection whatever of some of my dreams, and these two certainly fit in to that category. I can’t remember anything at all about them. But did you like the archaic use of the word “before” in the first dream?

We were in Crewe last night and we were planning on setting up some kind of radio post in a motel there. So we checked the equipment that we had. We had the radio, of course, and we had a suppressor to act as an aerial and a few other things like that. Someone else brought with him another receiver so that we could boost the power, and then we set off. We turned from Gresty Road into Davenport Avenue, and there were the two new houses on the corner. There was a third one in the far corner, a small detached house, with access into the garden of one of the houses next door. I explained that this was bought by the family to house one of their daughters who had grown up. She lived there but she had communication and shared facilities with her family. We walked past one of these signboards where the American President had several of his statements and his Truth Social account, and every time you wrote something in this book on this table, one of his Truth Social things sprung up. The one that I noticed was “only half the water on the earth is due to water”. We saw some of the comments and some of them were hilarious. We were thinking that we hope that this book will be available in a thousand years time to show the people just how stupid the current times were. Then we went to set up in our hotel but for some reason, every time the radio was plugged in, it kept on screeching. Changing the amplitude of the aerial didn’t seem to help. The person with us said that he couldn’t possibly couple up his radio to this network with this noise happening. We’d have to try to think of a way to overcome it but that was going to be complicated.

When our family moved from Shavington in 1970, we settled in Davenport Avenue in a house right on the corner with Gresty Road. I know the patch of land on which the new houses were built. Furthermore, I reckon that I know the girl referred to in the dream. She and her family lived in one of the houses in Gresty Road just before you turn in to Davenport Avenue.

As for the American President and the stupid current times, I try to keep politics off these pages but someone clinically insane in charge of the most powerful country in the World, another madman trying to turn the clock back to 1940, and another group of people committing a genocide of a magnitude that the World hasn’t seen for 1400 years, all of which while the rest of the World looks hopelessly and helplessly on, I’m glad that I shan’t be around to see how it all transpires.

Finally, I’d been doing some things around this stately home for some reason or another. I’d begun to chat to the daughter of the owners. She was in my opinion a very nice girl, not the kind of girl that you would normally meet when you are dealing with the aristocracy. We began to see each other on a very informal basis. One day, I was round at their house early one morning to take her to work but there was a commotion somewhere. I rushed to see what it was, and at first I thought that it was the Lord and his son who were being attacked. However, they were sitting there quite nonchalantly, not having heard anything. Then we heard some screams coming from across the lawn. In another wing of the house, the butler or whatever was trying to defend it from some burglars. The burglars came running out, we rushed over, and there was the mess. Once we’d tidied it up, I happened to notice that there was a film playing on the video recorder, one of the INSPECTOR HORNLEIGH FILMS so I stood and watched it for a few minutes; Then I thought that I had to take this girl to work, so I tried to stop the video recorder, but I couldn’t see the “stop” button or a “pause” button so after a few minutes, I ejected the cassette and then I went upstairs. The girl was waiting for me, and she was not very happy. She said that if we had gone as soon as I had turned up, which was what she wanted to do, she would have been at work for six minutes already. I could only apologise, but I felt that it wasn’t going to be enough. But one thing that I noticed was her perfume. She had on this lovely perfume and that’s something else that I can still smell it now, this perfume.

It beats me where this one has come from too. But the Inspector Hornleigh films, the vastly underrated Gordon Harker with his sidekick, a very young Alistair Sim, are amongst my all-time favourite black-and-white films.

And the perfume was gorgeous too.

Isabelle the Nurse blew in with the wind, sorted out my legs and then blew out again, so I could make breakfast and read some more of BATTLES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION.

The American Army is half-starved, unclothed, unpaid and near mutiny. But even so, the British still refuse to sally out of their camps to press home an advantage. It’s as if they have given up all hope and are waiting for a miracle. It makes very depressing reading.

Our author, Colonel Carrington, is however also hilarious. He has a complete and utter failure to recognise irony when he sees it. He tells us that General Greene detached General Morgan to, inter alia "collect provisions and forage, form magazines, prevent plundering, etc."

Maybe someone ought to explain to Colonel Carrington that the difference between "collect(ing) provisions and forage" and "plundering" is “who is doing it?”. When an army is plundering, it’s called "collecting provisions" but when a starving private soldier is collecting provisions, it’s called "plundering."

Back in here, I carried on with my notes for this radio programme and it’s now all finished, ready for dictating if I’m up early tomorrow. But I probably won’t be. I’m really exhausted after today and the bad night last night.

My faithful cleaner was late to come and apply the anaesthetic, and shortly after she left, there was a knock at the window. I thought that it was the taxi coming early but it was in fact the tenant of one of the holiday homes in the building who had locked himself out. I could have done without that.

The taxi was late again and in the howling gale, it took me ten minutes to walk to the car, hanging on grimly to my crutches and the driver. It was no fun at all.

There was someone else to pick up too, out in the back of beyond, so all in all we were horribly late arriving.

They put me in a different room today, but I had no peace. The low blood pressure alarm went off every half-hour and the nurses came a-running, poor things. Not that it did any good though.

For a change, I was reading about the battlefield clearances ofter World War I, the hunt for bodies and the consolidation of smaller cemeteries into larger ones. It made some quite gruesome reading and I’ll probably be having nightmares about it in the very near future.

Bodies are still being discovered in Flanders Field, on the Somme and elsewhere even today. As recently as eighteen years ago, a mass grave was discovered with about two hundred and fifty Australian soldiers in it.

As seems to be the case these days, I was left to be the last to be unplugged. Consequently, I was once more horribly late returning home.

My faithful cleaner and the driver had to help me to the apartment, in view of the wind, and I was glad to be back inside, even if it is cold right now.

Tea was a baked potato with a burger on a bun, and once more, even though I cooked a smaller portion, I left food on my plate. This is not very much fun at all. There’s definitely something wrong somewhere.

But that’s to worry about tomorrow. Right now, I’m off to bed. Sunday is a lie-in until 08:00 of course, but we’ll have to wait and see. If this wind keeps up, it will be most unlikely.

And seeing as we have been talking about the archaic use of the word "before" … "well, one of us has" – ed … it reminds me of once upon a time when I uttered an expletive in front of some rather posh lady.
A short while later, her husband came to see me. "how dare you swear before my wife?"
"I’m terribly sorry" I replied. "I had no idea that she wanted to go first."

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Thursday 25th September 2025 – I AM DEFINITELY …

… not feeling myself today, which is just as well because it’s a disgusting habit.

But what I mean is that although there was an improvement this morning in how I was feeling after yesterday evening, the improvement didn’t last long and now I’m back to where I was.

One was of dealing with how things were yesterday was to try to dash through my notes and hope for an early night, but if only I had been able to manage it. As usual, having dillied and dallied and been side-tracked all the way, it was just as late as usual when I finally managed to fall into bed.

And what a nice bed it was too! Lovely brand-new sheets, quilt cover and pillow cases. I felt really in my element in there, and although it took a few minutes to fall asleep, I enjoyed every minute that it took.

Something else that I noticed was that when I went to turn over, I had the force to move my right leg without having to heave it over with my hand. It’s been an absolute age since I’ve been able to get my leg over without having to use my hand. I hope that it’s a good sign for the future.

It was another morning when I was awoken by the sound of the alarm. I’d slept right through until 06:29, and that can only be good news. Mind you, it was not 06:29 when I finally crawled out from under the covers, but that’s quite another story.

After a good wash, shave and scrub up in case I meet Emilie the Cute Consultant this afternoon, and then went for the medication. It was rather a slow start in the dining area, and I was later back in here than I intended.

Once I’d settled down on my chair, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out if I’d been anywhere during the night. Surprisingly, I had, but I can’t remember anything about it. I was dreaming about Cheshire’s ace master-spy, a woman called Sue who was a dancer and was used frequently to infiltrate into the hearts and minds of the Germans of the people who were leading the French Revolution who had landed in Britain in an attempt to overwhelm it. According to one of the words that was sung, she saved England from subjugation, or saved Cheshire from subjugation. One of the dancers with her had a job controlling the movement of German Reparation officers. This led to quite a lot of conflict between the two.

This would seem to relate to the book that I read during the odd moments when I’m waiting around for the taxi to take me to dialysis – THE SECRET HISTORY OF MI6. There is plenty of talk about spies and secret agents in there, although not so much about the dirty tricks that they performed.

The nurse came round as usual and he was still in this typical good mood that has persisted since he came back from holiday. I can see myself wishing that he would go away more often.

After he left, I made my usual breakfast and, once more, had a very leisurely time over it. I just can’t seem to motivate myself at the moment and I don’t know why.

Back in here, I had a few things to do and then I spent the rest of the morning researching some stuff for the radio programme that I’m preparing. This is another thing that’s taking far longer than it ought.

My faithful cleaner turned up as usual to apply my anaesthetic, and then I had to await the taxi. He was early today but it counted for nothing, because with all of the roadworks that are covering the area at the moment, there were all kinds of diversions and hold-ups.

Today at dialysis, I persuaded them to increase the amount of extraction. We ended up with 700 grammes extra taken out, which is more like what I am hoping to see. It’s just as well, because even though it’s been three days since I’ve been dialysed, there was just officially 1500 grammes to remove.

There’s definitely something wrong with me just now with regard to my fluid and food intake. Over a three-day period, there’s usually twice that and more, so I’m glad that I managed to persuade them to extract 2200 grammes, to help me catch up with this new dry weight that they seem to be ignoring. But there’s still plenty more room to manoeuvre.

While I was being dialysed, one of the nurses came for a chat. They are all lovely and I love them all but the one who came to see me, if it had to pick one, would be my favourite, although that’s hardly fair on all the others.

She wanted to have a discussion about my implant, which is extremely difficult seeing that I don’t want to know about it, so it was rather a stilted conversation. We ended up talking about all kinds of other things, which was nice.

For a change, I didn’t have to wait all that long to be unplugged, and I was home at something of a more-reasonable time. I seemed to need less effort than usual to force myself over the hump that protects the building from rainwater running off the road, but that’s probably my imagination working overtime.

By now though, I was feeling the effects of everything and after my cleaner left, I crashed out on the chair for half an hour.

Tea was the left-over pasta from Tuesday, accompanied by a vegan burger, and now, feeling thoroughly lousy, I’m off to bed. I have the Centre de Réeducation tomorrow and I’m definitely not feeling at all like it.

So before I go to bed, seeing as we have been talking about the nurse, his holiday and my sentiments … "well, one of us has" – ed … regular readers of this rubbish will recall that I have vowed never to criticise anyone for their attempts to speak another language.
However, there are some occasions that are too good to miss.
In Brussels, all of the shops are doing their best to prepare adverts and publicity in English in order to woo the officials of the European Union and entice them into their establishments.
And so in a window of a Travel Agent’s in Jette where I used to live, was this lovely big sign that read, in huge bold characters, "WHY DON’T YOU GO AWAY?"

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Friday 19th September 2025 – I HAVE HAD …

… a really bad, horrible, awful 24 hours since I last published my notes.

In fact, I would go as far as to say that today has been the worst that I have felt for a considerable number of years. My faithful cleaner has told me that she has seen me "much worse than this" but I remain unconvinced.

It’s really reaching the limit right now and I’m not sure that I want to keep on like this. These days when I am totally unable to function, I thought that I’d put them well behind me, but apparently not.

Everything began to go all wrong last night. I’d finished my notes quite early … "for a change" – ed … and was looking forward to something of an early night, but while I was … errr … contemplating the state of the nation before going to bed, the stabbing pain that I have occasionally in my foot suddenly recommenced.

And recommenced in spades too.

After I finally managed to crawl into bed, in total agony, the stabbing pain continued. And continued throughout the night too. Every time I began to doze off, there was another stabbing pain that aroused me from my slumber, and so it went on. Round about 06:00 I finally managed to fall asleep, but what good is a sleep of twenty-nine minutes?

It took a good while (longer than it ought) for me to rise to my feet, and then I staggered – quite literally – into the bathroom. Once I’d washed, I went for the medication, which I really didn’t feel like taking, and then came back in here.

Had Isabelle the Nurse not been coming round, I would honestly have gone back to bed, stabbing pain in the foot notwithstanding, but as she would be arriving in half an hour, I had a listen to the dictaphone. And to my surprise, there was something on it from the night. I dreamed that my visitor for next week was here already. She turned up and we began to chat about old times. She was her usual exuberant self. It turned out that she had left her bags in the laboratory which was in the classroom next door so she wanted to go to fetch it. I set off on my crutches and she followed me, and we went into the classroom next door. What she was asking for was – I can’t remember now but it was a strange term that she used. I was puzzled as to what it was that she actually mentioned. Then she pointed to a white box, so I went over to the white box, and it was full of ammeters. That was what she was finding. I went to pick it up but of course I couldn’t. In any case I couldn’t hold it with having to hold my two crutches, so she picked it up and slung it over her shoulder and we went back into my apartment next door. Again, this is another dream where I was sure that there was more than this

And that’s something else that’s bothering me. She’ll be here in three days’ time, with a bit of luck, God’s help and a bobby, and if I’m not going to be in any kind of better shape by then, she will have had a long drive from Limoges to here, all for nothing.

When Isabelle the Nurse came round, she took one look at me and told me to go back to bed once she’d finished with my legs. She said that I looked awful, and that it must be the contre-coup following the chemotherapy.

However, I went to make some food. I’ve been having very little to eat just recently and it’s not doing me any good at all. I made a small bowl of porridge, and that was that. No coffee, no toast, no nothing else.

It took an age for me to summon up the energy to leave the table when I’d finished. I really was thinking about going back to bed but there are things that I wanted to do.

Firstly, I wanted to finish this important letter that I’d been writing. It’s now all finished and reviewed, but it took me all day to do it, given my current state of health etc. I’ll be reviewing it again before I send it off, though, which is likely to be Monday now.

Something else that I have done is to relearn (because it’s been so long since I last did it that I’ve forgotten) how to add layers to my images. I mean – I know how to add layers of course, but how to set the various sizes and configurations that I need to use.

It took several hours to figure it all out, but now it works even better than it did before, which is good news.

My faithful cleaner turned up to do her stuff. She had been intending to help me into the shower seeing as I didn’t shower on Wednesday, but one look at me was enough to convince her that it wasn’t going to be a good idea. I could hardly stand up straight. Instead, she packed me off in here to sit down. Apparently, I was swaying about all over the place.

Even though I didn’t feel like it, I managed to force down some food. Overboiled potatoes and veg with a vegan burger, and not very much of that either. But I’m really going to be very ill if I don’t eat anything at all.

It’s strange, though, what’s happening right now. Apart from the stabbing pain in my foot, I could be sitting down feeling quite normal, and then my head begins to spin round and I feel really faint.

All of a sudden, there’s a very short moment of a brilliant flashback of memory, although when I try to analyse it, I can’t actually place the flashback into anything that I recall having done. Nevertheless, it seems to be so incredibly real. It’s almost as if there’s some kind of chemical release in my brain that’s triggering some long-lost memory or some hidden part of my brain.

Whatever it is, it’s totally bizarre and I don’t understand it at all.

However, right now, I’m off to bed, hoping that this foot issue eases off so I can go to sleep. I’m thoroughly exhausted right now with having had so little sleep.

But seeing as we have been talking about stabbing pains … "well, one of us has" – ed … Nerina once rang me up and asked "do you ever suffer from these really stabbing pains, you know, the type as if someone is stabbing a voodoo doll image of you with a pin?"
"You know what?" I exclaimed. "That’s a really good way of describing what’s going on with my foot right now."
"Oh good!" she said. "It really does work!" and she hung up.

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Saturday 13th September 2025 – JUST BEFORE MIDNIGHT …

… last night, I suddenly awoke, with another one of these quite dramatic awakenings.

And about five seconds after I awoke, I received a message on the telephone. It really was an astonishing coincidence, almost as if awakening five seconds before the message was in anticipation of its arrival.

It wasn’t all that much beforehand that I’d actually come to bed, after another one of the slow, depressing evenings that I seem to be having these days. And I was so tired, yet again, that I must have gone off quite rapidly to sleep. It’s a shame that I couldn’t have remained asleep, though, but then that’s what usually happens.

It took an age to go back to sleep too, but once I’d slipped into the arms of Morpheus, there I stayed until the alarm sounded. And that woke me up quite dramatically too, I can tell you.

At that moment, we were back in World War I when the Germans were storming a trench full of Greek soldiers. They had launched a few shells into a few Greek pill-boxes and stormed the trenches. There were piles of dead people around, so they went through, identified the wounded and shot them on the spot. There was one person who was a British officer leading a Greek troop. They questioned him about a few different things but as he didn’t have the correct answers to what they wanted, they shot him too. But we were working somewhere behind the lines, watching a captive balloon or Zeppelin or something that had escaped from its moorings and was flying at a very low height around the edge of the cliffs. We were worried that it would collide with the church steeple, so we were trying to work out a way, if we could, of diverting it away because if we were to fire at it, it would explode and that would make more damage. In the meantime, we had been repairing a few watches and things like that. We actually had one working, but then we decided that we weren’t happy so we dismantled it to have another attempt. At this moment, the girls came along and looked at what we were doing. They couldn’t understand why we had decided to do it a second time. I was talking to one of the guys about new technology and how powerful it was. He was saying that how he wished that he had bought a new 2GB memory stick while their prices were low, because a new 2GB one these days would cost $64. I replied that a 64GB one would only cost $2, the way that technology is going these days.

There’s a bit of everything in there. The bit about colliding with the steeple relates to a discussion that I had the other day with one of the taxi drivers, when we were watching the Nazguls flying around near the spire of the Eglise Notre Dame de Lihou. As for the rest, it seems to relate to little snippets of conversation that I’ve had now and again with different people.

After the bathroom and the medication, I came back in here to transcribe the dictaphone notes, but as you have already read them, I needn’t have bothered mentioning it.

The nurse was next, still in his cheerful mood, and then it was breakfast and a new book.

While I was reading COLONEL CARRINGTON’S TESTIMONY, I noticed that he had written several others and so I began today to read his BATTLE MAPS AND CHARTS OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION.

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that IN 2013 and 2014 I roamed up and down the Hudson Valley in Upstate New York visiting the sites of the battles of the Revolutionary War and also of the Seven Years War of 1756-1763, including the site of Fort William Henry, the fort that featured prominently in Fenimore Cooper’s LAST OF THE MOHICANS

One of the places that I visited in 2013 was Fort Ticonderoga, and I noticed from Carrington’s description of the siege of the fort that "The Americans neglected to fortify Sugar Loaf Hill", a prominent eminence overlooking the fort, ⁣strong>"deeming it inaccessible.".

You probably noticed just now that STRAWBERRY MOOSE and I walked quite comfortably to the top, and so did several other people. And there’s still a British cannon up there that the British Army managed to drag up the hill.

After breakfast, I came in here to begin a new radio programme, and in fact I’m currently working on two of them right now because, halfway through choosing the music for one, I realised that I’d missed one. Still, variety is the spice of life.

When my faithful cleaner came down to apply my anaesthetic cream, she brought with her my electronic drum kit. That was a one-day wonder, that was. I bought it as a challenge, something to do during lockdown, but my legs gave out before I was able to master it.

It was the boss who came to fetch me today and we had quite a quick drive down to Avranches. I was connected up quite quickly too and then I could concentrate on Y Barri v Y Bala.

Y Bala had only conceded four goals all season up to date, but Y Barri doubled that total with comparative ease and could (and should) have had a bagful more except for the inspired performance of former Salford City goalkeeper Joel Torrance.

It was nevertheless an exciting game and you can see the highlights HERE if you are of such a mind.

Although I finished my dialysis earlier than usual, I had to wait to be unplugged, and then finally the boss brought me back in the most astonishing rainstorm that was engulfing Avranches.

Ironically, it wasn’t raining at Granville when I returned. It was a nice, leisurely walk back to my apartment in the howling gale, which has now been blowing for several days.

For a change, Tea tonight was a burger with baked potato – one of those luxury burgers that are really delicious. And now, I’m off to bed in the hope of a good lie-in tomorrow. I need one after all of this.

But I forgot to mention my ‘phone message from during the night. It reads "(we) will see you Friday November 7 for a few days fly back on November 11.". This visit from Canada looks as if it may well be happening.

But seeing as we have been talking about Ticonderoga and The Last of the Mohicans … "well, one of us has" – ed … it was at Ticonderoga where I told my famous story to one of the American tour guides.
Sent on a spying mission by Colonel Munro to find out about the French forces in Fort Ticonderoga, Hawkeye and Chingachgook approach the fort very carefully
"How many soldiers do you think there are in the fort?" asked Hawkeye.
Chingachgook lay down and put his ear to the ground. "About 300" he replied
"And how many cannon?"
Chingachgook lay down and put his ear to the ground again. "About 30"
"And how many horses?"
Chingachgook lay down and put his ear to the ground yet again. "About 60"
"And how many native allies?"
Chingachgook lay down and put his ear to the ground once more. "About 200"
"That’s incredible" said Hawkeye. "Can you tell all that by just lying down and listening to the ground?"
"Ohh no" replied Chingachgook. "If I lie down here like this and turn my head so that my ear is to the ground just like this, I can see right underneath the gates of the fort"
The response of the tour guide was "that’s incredible! I never knew that Hawkeye and Chingachgook came to Ticonderoga. I shall have to amend the tourist leaflets."
Which just goes to show, as Alfred Hitchcock and Kenneth Williams once famously said, "it’s a waste of time telling jokes to foreigners."

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