What delightful day.
I had to get up early (for me) to make sure that I was as Doc Holiday’s on time. I was 35 minutes early.
I had only just sat down on one of the stained chairs when round popped his head. “Mr. Henry!”
I was pissed off and felt like shit. He had a nasty cold. Well, at least his daughter hasn’t told him to fuck off (shouldn’t so, he must be worth a fortune).

Then I went to the art shop and bought some oil paints and a brush.

Then I bought some parma ham off Rocco who is a very splendid chap.

After that I caught the train home. It was on time. When I got in I mixed myself a bandy shandy (I just made that up) and decided to have another T.I.A.

When I came to I was near the phone so I asked for an ambulance and got whizzed away to St Peter’s taking all my medicaments with me.

Would they let me take them? Of course not; they’d rather watch me die.

I eventually got home a half two in the bloody morning.

That’s two of these fuckers I’ve had and they are likely to be the precursor to THE BIG ONE.

I have a pain in my left mastoid process. The doctors dont believe me. How can a thickie layabout like me know a little bit more about me than they do?

London taxi drivers have to do the ‘knowledge’.
Apart from saying “I ain’t goin’ sarf of the river, mate” they have to know every road within 7 miles of where?

This is my latest, finished, picture.
Thanks to the fucking cunt, Kumar, who ruined my compluter it took me over an hour to find and post it.

He said that if I phoned him again he would call the police but I beat him to it. Being ex-job I’m not scared of the police being called so I called them myself. That was after I called Kumar and left a message on his answerphone. I said that I was going to have my compluter examined, that stopping the cheque had cost me 10 quids and that I would see him in court. Which I will.

If anyone would like to perform a forensic examination of my compluter and write a summary and be prepared to appear in court (if necessary) and show him up for the liar and fraud he is then please let me know. I would recommend a bill of 1500 quids. Plus a tenner for me plus expenses.

All I want is my compluter to work how it used to do. The fucking thing won’t even play dvdvdvvddvdvds like it used to.

Thanks to Simong I can now blog and post piccies although it took me over an hour to get this one on the move. Bastard thing is all different and he’s lost 3000 pictures.

Anyone up for a three monkey fee?

Oh, and the stupid twat has lost all my email addresses so please send yours to me - if you want- to henrythethirst at AOsmell dot com.

My best wishes,
H.

Trouty reminds me that I’ve mentioned this before, although I didn’t remember that I had.

On the 28th of February I had what I now know is called a Transient Ischaemic Attack (Gentlemen throw their bowlers and boaters in the air; ladies link arms, lift their skirts and dance around and around and dribbling employees of Notwork Rail sit on the office floor and bang saucepans with wooden spoons).

So, I’m sorry if I havent been myself of late. I probably won’t blog for a while (although I DO feel a bit better today).

A T.I.A. is like a very mini-stroke, But it can also be like the Roman Candle before the Super-Duper Rocket goes off.

Ashford Hospital’s ‘Rapid’ Access Clinic have made an appointment to see me a month after it happened. When I tell Doc Holiday, I don’t think he’ll be very pleased.

In the meantime, although it must sound most ungrateful, I would prefer no fuss, cards or visits.

I’ll just do some painting and wait for the appointments to come around.

Wishing you well.

H.

Yes, he really could play two saxophones at the same time. I’ve seen him do it.

Can you name the saxophonist or the band he was with in the olden days?

Yes, I did go out again tonight. Camera ready. 01:20

I really would urge you to get a camera with a video facility.

Tonight when I phoned 08457 11 41 41 I was lucky enough to speak with STEVE. He wouldn’t give me his name so refused to to give him mine. The reason I refused to give him mine is because the entire staff of Notwork Snail have been instructed to hang up on me as soon as I call. Poor little twat, he didn’t recognise me and I drew him into a ‘conversation’. Poor little STEVE.

Excuse me, I must go downstairs with my camera……

I went down. One of them hid his face. I wonder why? I think I got all the number plates but I haven’t watched the film yet. 03:30 in the morning, I ask you. I expect the old bill will be round in a while, just like last time. They hate me just like I hate them. It’s a Mexican standoff.

Now it sounds like there’s fight going on outside.

Lots of shouting, I expect they’re looking for me.

But I’ve got the door bolted.

Oh, now I hear the nine vans being driven away. Amazing what a camera can do.

Nighty night.

By the way, I asked STEVE who he was going to report my complaint to. Guess what. He didn’t know. Didn’t know? No, he had no idea. I asked for the name and phone number. He still didn’t know. There was some mumbled conversation and then, what a surprise, the line went dead. During our brief conversation I asked him several times if he was calling me a LIAR. Have Notwork Snail just been fined 14 million pounds? He didn’t know. Was the anonymous letter that I had been sent, dated 12th Dec, a pack of lies? He didn’t know.

la lah,I’ll watch my film now.

I’ve mucked about with the picture but not a great deal.
Who is this person?

I bet it gets solved within seconds just like every other quiz I set.

Good luck, anyway.

After that heated debate I thought I’d revert to a simple quizzle.

Who is this?

One of my many catchphrases is, “Oh, for God’s sake!”

I say this occasionally when listening to the radio but mostly when reading a newspaper or magazine.

Well, I said it today when I saw that some goverment loony has decided that crims who commit crimes, such as burglary, because they are drug addicts, shouldn’t go to prison.

WHAT?!

These people know when they are going to get sent down they pack their fannies and their ARSES with skag , dope and even mobile phones. How you get a mobile up your jacksie I’m not sure. Oh Lordy.

Now MY plan is to build at least 15 more gaols, bring back all the servicemen from Iraq and Afghanistan and let them manage and run them.

We are not allowed to do fanny and jacksie searches so new prisoners should be x-rayed. New prisoners should be given a month for non-prescription drugs to pass through and then the urine tests start…

If you provide a (closely supervised) urine test that proves positive you get one more chance on the same day just to make sure. Double positive and you get an extra year on your sentence.

My scheme would be called, ‘It’s your choice’ - keep taking drugs and we keep you in prison.

For ever, if necessary.

Anyway, quiz time:

How would you like one of these fellows sharing your bathwater?

What’s the name of this fish? Two answers are acceptable.

You know when you go into a public toilet, say at Tesco or at the hospital - whatever.

Often they have a bog-roll holder, about a foot across, that’s made of plastic. It has a little window so you can actually SEE that there is delicious bog-roll within.

Try finding the end of the roll.

Wind it backwards… Wind it forwards… the end of the bog-roll is ungraspable.

Round and round it goes but there is, seemingly, no end to the roll.

My technique is to use my fingernails (Now here’s a funny thing. I bit my nails for YEARS but now I’ve grown them really long. I do this on purpose so that next time I get attacked I can get plenty of DNA under my nails) to semi-destroy the roll so that eventually 15 bits fall out and I make sure that when I leave there is a dangling bit of bog-roll for the next happy user.

That’s because I’m really nice and thoughtful.

You might be glad that I’m feeling better, or not, depending upon whether you are one of the anonymous arseholes who wished me dead (yes, I strongly suspect who you were) or who piled a load of misspelt bollocks on my BoobToob entries.

Ashford’s rapid response clinic has yet to respond; let alone rapidly, yet I continue to live.

Today I varnished off another painting and have started another, much smaller one. It must be about time for me to have a show. I’ll get back the ones I have given away and put ’sold’ stickers on them. This IS South Weybridge you know and people with too much money will be gagging for one of my original oils. I expect. Maybe.

Enough of me.

Tonight’s question is:
Who on earth do this trio of twats think they are a ‘tribute’ band to?

No, they haven’t bloody phoned (Rapid Access Clinic - Ashford Hospital).

Best I just get on with my life.

First we’ll do the quiz, before I forget.
Who painted this in 1890? Easy peasy, so no points there.
Tonight’s question is….
Can you name the painting?

As regards the title of this post, well, that’s for others than my readers to work out. I had to go to see the doctor today. I was supposed to see him last week but I felt too ill to attend. This is not like me because I love nothing more than consulting medical professionals and tell them where they are going wrong. My latest great triumph was telling Dr. Fuk (nearly his real name) what agoraphobia meant and translating the Greek for him so he knew. He wasn’t best pleased.

I felt too ill to see Doc Holiday on the day and phoned up and said so. Then I went back to bed where I stayed all day. When Trouty tried to get me up my right side wouldn’t work and I couldn’t speak properly.

Even though I was obviously very ill I suspected a berry aneurysm. Why they don’t just qualify me I don’t know. Trouty came with me to see Doc Holiday today and, because my memory of the incident is a bit shady she told the horrid tale. My right side wasn’t working and when I tried to get out of bed I fell over. I crawled to the front room of my slum dwelling and wondered whether to call an ambulance. I’d taken all the skin off my knees. I could smile and grasp with both hands so I had some soup and went back to bed.

Doc Holiday wasn’t very pleased to hear about this but he said that as I had gone through the 7 day danger zone la, la, la.

He sent an immediate email to Ashford and, apparently, they will be coming to get me to give me scans and all that. Brill! I won’t even have to catch the bus.

So I might have had a minor stroke (probably caused by thinking up quiz questions) or I might not.

Whatever it was, I’m assured, was NOT caused by drinking or prescription drugs, but he seemed fairly worried.

If I live I’ll see him again in a fortnight. Guess what. Next week, Doc Holiday is on holiday.

At the moment I can walk and talk and paint rubbishy pictures so I’m a lot luckier than some.

They could phone at any time so I’ll see you when I see you.

Saw the psychiatrist on Monday but I didn’t give her the sack after all.
There were a couple of reasons: she said the eff word and I suspected she may be suffering from lesbosis.
This means that she is a real person and I love real people.

Doc Holiday tomorrow and wait till he hears about what might have been a minor stroke.

I have been blessed with remarkable powers of recovery. I can drink a bottle of whisky and you you probably wouldn’t know it. The next day I just act normal. But this weird stroke thing was something else. My right side wouldn’t work and and I couldn’t walk.

I’ve been more drunk than W.C. Fields but I’ve never had anything that like that happen before.

But I haven’t been drinking - to excess - and I’ve started painting again. Nothing special but the painting that I sold and the bluebells painting I did for my ma proves it to me.

Here’s a quick quiz for you…

Anyone with lots of money and a desire for original art can find out where to contact me.

Good luck! (as per usual),
H.

Do you know who painted this masterpiece?
I happen to know it’s for sale and bids over 350 quids may be considered. It’s signed, by the way.

Oh yes, the quiz……

Which famous polymath and sportsman (1872-1956) did this as a party trick…

“Well-known at Oxford for his party trick of standing with his back to a fireplace, then from a standing start, jumping backward up onto the mantelpiece (probably pipe in mouth)”

Clue: He had a very famous young relative.

Come on quizzers, you know you can do it. Watch your bonce on the fireplace, Simong.

Sometimes doctors give you pills.
They do it with with the best intent; they want you to get better and so forth and get out of their surgery. But they don’t read the leaflets, like I do, they don’t look things up on the internet like I do.
So it came to be that I was so ill that I wondered if I’d had a stroke. I couldn’t talk and I couldn’t walk. I still have the grazes and carpet burns.
I have been extremely ill.

Mortality is something we all must face. But we look away. You wait until you are being dragged under a bus or nothing works at all.

We make light of death because of its power and finality.

Make a will; it won’t kill you. Leave a letter ‘to whom it may concern’ and say what it is that you want. It’s not selfish.

I won’t say here what I want but you have a think about what YOU want. I nearly died the other day, thanks to the whatever, and it made me think.

I’ll leave a letter. What will you write in yours?

Here’s a quiz question for old-timers - who is it?

Plus, a treat…