The other day I decided to walk to the shop. This is getting a bit boring now, seeing as I have to nearly every day, come rain or shine and I have no car. Anyway, I was about a third of the way there when I thought ‘Uh Oh’ because I could feel a hypo coming on.

Seeing as I have been a type 1 diabetic for over twenty years you would think that I would know better but, if anything, it has trained me to be worse because I can tolerate blood/glucose levels of about 1.0 without noticing. And then I fall over. When I did myself in in the kitchen it looked as if Quentin Tarantino had popped round for a cuppa.

Being wily, I carry about three tons of glucose about with me which I munched all the way to the shop and promptly forgot to buy some more. At the in-store caff I disenjoyed ‘El Breakfasto de la Disgustino’ and started to feel a bit better. I bought a cheapo DVDVDVD of ‘A beautiful mind’ which appears to be about a nutcase who likes doing hard sums. He wins the Dynamite Prize but there’s no moiders or anything. Pah!

HOT NEWS:
I have had a lot of trouble with my stupid oven. You know them oven trays? Well, they don’t fit. They are about 10mm too wide. I supposed (note past tense) that they were for even more stupid continental ovens or the ones that you see on the cookery progs. I thought about going round the factory estate and getting them ground down so that they would fit on the grille things in the oven without me going mental.

But.

The other day I made an amazing discovery. What you do, right, is take out the grille thing and the oven tray fits in perfick. Why the scummers who make these things don’t explain - IN ENGLISH - how they work defeats me.

MEDICAL NEWS:
At the shop today I chose William to ping my groceries. He is a cool black dude with a shaven head and I really like him. It’s a good job that I am nearly a doctor (note: must buy white coat, stethoscope and bow-tie) because he asked me how I was. I pointed at my sling and told him that I had broken my shoulder. Then he told me about HIS shoulder. My diagnosis was immediate. “William” I said as the queue built up, ” You have adhesive encapsulitis, otherwise known as a frozen shoulder". The queue started to tut but when you have a sling on they tut with shame. I gave him some exercises to do and bade him farewell.

I’m a bit of a twat, really.

There was a time when I had lovely handwriting. It was unusual because I am left-handed. People of the sinister persuasion have to learn things differently and I can generally spot the manuscript of a left-hander.

I watch out for them too. A lot of actors are lefties and a lot of interesting people. But I can’t write any more. Well, I can, but in teeny weeny capitals. I hope that this situation improves over the coming weeks because my handwriting was, at one time, quite beautiful in its way. I can’t paint and I write like a three-year old.

Buffs was good last night and I saw a certain person shudder all down when he spotted me. It could probably have been recorded on the Richter Scale.

My arm hurts so I’m going to go back to bed, take the eighth pill of the day, perchance to dream.

Have a good one yourselves.

H.

(They seem to have upped the speed on my compluter so I’m a bit happier)

A letter arrived. It’s a copy of a letter sent from the hospital of no public transport and much diarhhoea.

I have got a ‘left proximal humerus fracture’ and the icing on the cake is ‘a slight varus deformity’.

Apparently I was ‘encouraged’ to ‘commence pendulum excercises’ which I don’t remember at all but I have had two more falls since then so perhaps I have some brainial dementia thing as well.

Having read the kind comments I think I shall go to Buffs tonight. The cuff and sling will be worn with pride (what’s the difference ‘twixt ‘will’ and ’shall’?). My contribution to the raffle will be be a jar of ‘chicken tonight’ which is only vegetables so I can have that if nobody else wants it - I’m sick to death of bloody humbugs and cheap cakes.

Upon return I shall see if the telly streaming is working. A swap to Virgin seemed an idea but it’s a bit on the dear side.

On the way to Buffs I often treat myself to a crispy pancake roll or some chips. It gives me something to look forward to.

Decisions, decisions…

As my brother mentioned, the squirminess should be interesting. And, in case you are interested, a ‘varus deformity’ means that it hasn’t set right. Looks like my Olympic dreams are as knackered as the rest of me.

Love and luck,
H.

It’s Buffs tomorrow evening.
Should I stay or should I go now?

I think I’ll give it a whirl; after all, I have nothing to lose. It’s supposed to be a fraternity and it must be about five weeks since I broke shoulder. It still hurts like bloody hell and I still can’t write but at least I have learned how to tie my laces and put a jumper on.

Should I stay or should I go?

Yes. I’ll give it a spin and see what happens. There might be a massive cake with a nude bird jumping out of it. Or possibly not.

Ho Hum.
H.

The Torment Squad from the Snailway were here again tonight.
So was a great deal of rain.
The harder down that it buckets, the quieter it seems to get.

The temptation to snigger is almost overwhelming.

It seems to work. Don’t ask me how but it does.
Trouty has my proper message but you can always try mine. Bloody compluters; why are they always so rubbish?

AND, the Creeper had a Pisco last night starting at 01:00 and I had had to wear the headblockers what Omally gave me.

Let’s se if THIS works…

I’m on about router number six or something like that. Yesterday a new one arrived but I was too depressed to open the box but I had a bash today and fingers crossed…

I’ve still no idea how this things works but there is no smoke coming out of it it yet and maybe I’ll get used to it in the end. All the other ones dropped more often than a whore’s drawers so maybe this time I’ll be lucky.

As I unpacked this one I noticed that there was a plastic stick-on cover. ‘Funny’, I thought - there wasn’t one on the last one they sent. Surely they can’t have sent me a reboxed knackered one?

Talk about learning curve.

Have a great weekend!

Unless I have made a predictable cock-up I have a new email address.

henrythethirst@btinternet.com

Go on, give it a try and then I can stay up all night trying to mend it.

One of the good things about this time of year is that the water comes out of the tap really nice and chilled much like the water machine at the surgery.

But, my thought for the day is this:

Only drink water from the kitchen tap. Kitchen water comes from the mains but bathroom water comes from a tank in the loft - a bit like the water in your lavatory cistern. When did you last inspect your tank or trawl it?

Contrary to popular belief, I DO enjoy the occasional schooner of water but it has to be at the right temperature.

Cheers!

The first person who calls me ‘Bandit’ because I have only one arm should be reminded that I still have another one that works pretty well.

Having spent the day going nearly nuts I retired ‘twixt my silken sheets this afternoon.
But, at about 10pm on my way to the kitchen I noticed that my broadband light was shiny shiny.
I suspect that someone ‘pon the same line is downloading some prawngraphy and nicking the meagre amount of megs that I should have.

Good job that a man from BeeTee should be here tomorrow morning.

Fetch your Webley, Watson. The game is afoot.

I would like to thank you all for your kind messages and hey, Trouty, I found that scarf you keep banging on about. So that’s two then. Now all I have to do is check my lottery tickets unless the price of postage has gone down.

X

H.

What a delight. You know my neighbour what has a dog the size of a horse, well he hates me and I don’t know why. It could be be be becuse his dog barked at me a few times but now me and the Shetland Doggly get on on alright.

Tonight there was a rare old punch-up. Placing a glass to the wall to amplify the joyful sounds I heard quite a bit of it. Although it lacked in eff words it was was high in volume. Had I still been in the Job I would have kicked the door in and nicked at least one of them for breach of the peace.

On the way to the garage I saw Mani and he has new neighbours. They play loud music. He has got a boofer or woofer or whatever it’s called. As he works nights I advised him that the works of Richard Wagner might be a good idea..

Ooh, my arm hurts.

Nighty night.

AOL are pants - true fact.
I decided to switch to another group of pantophiles, BT.

This may explain why I haven’t enbloggified of late.

An extra reason is my smashed arm. Thursday’s visit to the Hospital of St Diarrhroea. The nice doctor showed me an X-Ray of my shoulder. I couldn’t have done it better with a hammer and chisel. The top of my humurus is cracked right across just below the ball-joint in my left shoulder. It is a little displaced but not worth operating on.

You try tying shoelaces with one hand or making a bed or putting on a jumper.

BT are utter pants.
Hello, is that Mumbai or New Delhi?
“I wish to speak to Customer Services”
“"That department is closed”
“Have you got a a pen and paper?”
“No, this is is a paperless office”
“Then send them an email”
“They have no email”

Don’t know about you, but this is when I start to lose my temper - I hate being lied to.

Hey Presto. Two calls later and my broadband suddenly worked.

I wish my arm did; I’m left-handed.

Love to you and yours.
H

I bet that if you could find a rented mule that was more stubborn than me, it would cost you more than ten bob.

This evening it took me half an hour to get dressed; I don’t think I’ll be going to Buffs tomorrow.

The thing with being stubborn is that it never goes away. Stubbornness never leaves you alone - like a party that nobody comes to.

To look at me, you might think that I am am happy and all that. But I am not.

However, I am stubborn so I can do things that other people can’t.

(caution: may contantain nuts)

My brother sharpened his pen and attended forthwith.

Let me explain; a broken arm is a broken arm. Hooray for me because I managed to get get dresssed.

Maybe tomorrow I shall sit in my OCD seat and wait until Doc Holiday sees me.

My other thanks go to Mani who did some laundry and, of course, Omally

yarroo!

this one really hurts i tell you.
my left arm is bust right at the neck. at the shoulder.

thanks to my brother he has kept me supplied. sometimes i feel like crying but that won’t do any good.

back to bed for me.

stay safe.

Seeing as how the Hornby Dublo trainset that exists around here can’t cope with a couple of inches of snow and, seeing as I was supposed to see Doc Holiday, I decided to hoof it.

It was quite a nice day but the black-ice was treacherous. I reached the surgery bang on time, had the chat and then went to the bank. Oh dear - I am a ton in the red.

I bought a little basket of stuff and made for the tills.

At the ‘baskets only’ thing there was a woman in front of me. Well, that’s alright because I’ve got all day anyway. So I stood and waited and then I heard the magic words:

“Oi, you.”

Then I got a prod in the back.

“There is a queue, you know.”

Well, to me, a queue is a line and not a load of morons bumbling about. The man who had prodded me was about my age (although I look much younger) and he was in a right strop. Now I don’t much like being ‘Oi youd’ and I certainly don’t like being prodded. I explained that I wasn’t aware of being a queue jumper and made my apologies and and retired to the rear of the milling crowd.

I started to converse with a nice lady. She said, “Look - till rage", and it was the same bloke going raving bonkers. All I had was an apple and some Aunt Bessie’s spuds (no chance of them thawing out) and then the fight nearly started. There was a woman paying for some stuff and matey started chiming in and then another bloke thought it would be a good idea to have a go. The row really started to kick off.

Scummer number one could have been decked with one good punch but I had decided to behave myself and so me and this lady just shook our heads. We talked about the weather. Then, the alert supermarket team sprang into action and fired-up all tills.

Outside, in the carpark, I nearly got killed by a man in a 4X4 who had decided to drive on the pedestrian walkway. Another woman said, “You just can’t believe it, can you?”

The trains were dead. One broken at Berrylands and so I started talking to a fellow and we had both lived in Berlin. He was ex-services but I never told him what I did there. He probably thinks I did ’secret’ things.

I drank my coffee and walked home.

I’m now friends with a neighbour and, hey, Omally might well be arriving soonish.

Don’t forget to hold hands when you cross the road.

H.

(my regards to, hmmm, Robert Heinlein, unless I am very much mistaken)

Ever seen me sorely vexed? What? Never? Happy-go-lucky old me? No answer required from Trouty but I bet the rest of you can hardly imagine it for a million pounds.

You should have seen me yesterday. It was the first time that I had actually cried for years. Barbie Henry cries real tears.

Half of it has stopped working so then I have to rewire everything to see the other half and so-on and so-forth.

The font on the lappytoppy is so small that even a leprechaun couldn’t read it and my speakers won’t plug into it and, and, and…

I hope that this message in a bottle finds its way into your safe hands.

Don’t take sweets from strangers, especially those who have found themselves in a strange land.

Love and kisses,
H.

Unless you want to drive yourself absolutely nutbags, never, ever get a a new compluter.
In my humble experience you will find that they don’t work the same and will destroy everything that you ever had before.
All I ever wanted was something that worked the same, something that I understood.
Now, everything is different.
I have to revert to the clockwork one just to blah, blah and, indeed, blah.

I’m SO depressed.

How does this new thing work? I dunno. How does the old one work? Search me.

The new router seems to work but I am too old for learning curves.

Why can’t it just be the same? I am very miserable.