Today, I will try and says zis onlee wunce!
Met Jimmy Robbo at the butcher’s on Saturday morning. He had part of his bowel removed and then had a temporary stoma followed by a reconnection. He was telling me that I will need to get the stoma in a suitable place – a friend of his has got one rather high up which is always leaking when he bends over. He says unless you tell the surgeons they will pick the easiest position.
On Saturday night the singer sings the Turtles song Eleanor which I start singing to Eleanor on Sunday – Eleanor, gee I think you’re swell and you really do me well – you’re my pride and joy etcetera. She is not impressed. “How can I be your bride, Grandpa? “ She asks, “You are my Grandpa!” I try and explain to no avail. It reminds of the time when she went home and told her mother “That Grandpa was going to stop being rude with her!” Bloody hell! that could have been a recipe for disaster. All that was about was I told her that it was SpongeBob Square Trousers in my house and she shouldn’t say pants!
The club was rather busy on Sunday night. Picko’s wife, Ged said that Picko had asked her to ask if I was alright because I hadn’t been on the blog. I asked where Picko was but she wouldn’t say. I think he was sorting out his knitting or dressmaking.
So it’s off to the GP on Monday for my diabetes review. She has some good news and bad news. The good news is that my blood pressure is OK. My blood sugar control is very good. BUT my cholesterol is rubbish. Some of this has come about because I have been eating boiled eggs instead of porridge because the collateral underclarts damage has been too great. I still managed a little deposit on Saturday without porridge. My bowels have become very irregular. I strain like mad because I know there is a deposit waiting and yet I can’t get the bugger out. And then Wham! Just as I am doing something that I can’t leave me clarts is full.
Anyway I have got a new statin tablet to replace the one I am taking. One of the side effects might be diahorrea. That’ll be a novelty.
I met one of the old stagers on his buggy when I came out of the doctor’s, “Divn’t gan in there, man,” he says “they mak ye bad. I wasnae ill till I went in there.” He then went on to tell me I was a scuffy bastard. “Get yersel’ a shave man.” I tell him I can’t wet shave and I can’t use an electric razor because they blunt too quickly on my beard. “EE you’ll tell me owt, lad – you can sharpen electric razors ye naw. Put them in a pyramid and they rejuvinate.” I wish him well and walk off shaking my head.
My computer is playing up – something is gobbling up the CPU runtime and its going flat out at nearly one hundred percent. Maybe it’s got chemo brain as well, in sympathy.
