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While I was waiting to see Simon on Wednesday, I got talking to Nicole the receptionist. We’d both found it easy to talk, having spoken on the phone several times. And, besides talking of my appreciation for Simon I had got talking about analyzing handwriting and, the duality of nature.



“What does that mean?” Nicole had asked.



“Well, in my case,” I’d explained, “I’m a carer by nature and, I’m a creator…”



That said, Simon had arrived and we’d gone to his office, to sort out a mess that had started days prior, when I’d got a letter from the DWP’s new provider, Maximus.



It’s seems, the medical I was to have last November has been rescheduled till May.



Now, Simon is already helping me with my PIP claim and, I’d been loath to ask for help, again – but, it had been needed.



So, on one of recent sunny blue-sky day’s Dad gave me a lift and the rest ensued.



It was later, much later, as I wrote my thoughts away, I found a description of my own, for myself that I’d like to be accurate – but it is not always so.



I’d like to say I was a stoic pragmatist: but, as I intimate, I’m not as I’d like. I’d like to adapt better than I do and, be able to accept help, better than I do.



Yet, the latter I do understand. For years I was the carer, the doer, the one who could aid someone else, as others could not or would not. Now, while I watch my Father of eighty seven, or eighty nine, doing as he does, from early morn to when I cook his tea, I do find myself just a tad envious: just a tad.



That said, other than the illness’s, it’d not been a bad week. I ot some of the new story done; saw Kael, who helped with m laptops, saw Mike, who I watched a good film with, then saw Lucie… Aye, with Simon’s help, it hadn’t been too bad a week…



Yet, tho the weathers been sunny, I’ve been bloated; still.

And just the damn complaints frustrate... some days.

But, I managed to get some writing done tho...





It's called ‘memory man’ and set in noo york, 1923 – ish.

I’m also making dvd's of my favourite films [shows] with backdrop [menu pic] and appropriate sound... thing's like the last half of the last series of defiance, for the look on Nolan's face, as he fulfills a childhood dream, of going into space... that sorta thing… an, Robin of Sherwood, for the seventies, with appropriate ethereal theme…



And in this the ninetieth year of the second queen Elizabeth, we’ve had some harsh times – losing icons of my youth.



First there was David Bowie, whose style and music touched many; then just the other day, Victoria Wood the comedienne and writer, who found fame of star in your eyes, then ‘that’s life’. She opened the doors with all she did, for oh-so many other women.



Then, just as I logged into a site, I read in a chatbox, Prince was dead – at 57. And, my friend died at fifty seven, with a screwy Pancreas. And, from my tone, it’s easy to tell who’s also fifty seven and, has problems with his pancreas and, has not been seen, by ‘the pancreas team’.



Anyway….



On the Saturday I’d got a letter ostensibly for my doctor, but with me copied into the reply. And, as soon as I’d seen that professor’s name through the window, my guts had gone into spasm, such is my feeling toward the fellow.



It seems my doctor’s superior had contacted him, with a view to requesting ‘the pill’ – the one I’ve been researching, since my last encounter with the fellow. Or perhaps should I say, since my local pharmacist reminded me that originally he’d prescribed the wrong one.



Needless to say, I over-stressed about the darn things, to the nth degree and, even ended up writing a letter explaining my point of view.



Well, come the afternoon I went to the doctor’s to see what it had all been about and, at the time it had seemed to be something and nothing. It was only later did I learn my doctor had sought contact with the fellow: which does irk me a tad.



I want a second opinion, not a miracle pill, intended for IBS…



Anyway… Back to Sunday…



I’d been sitting there on my in the evening, taping my shows, on two laptops and, darning then sewing, a glove, a sock and a shirt: and then, the next morning after housework with my Dad, I had picked up the glove I’d worked on the night before off the floor, where I shouldn’t have left it. Anyway… there inside… just inside where I’d darned… was a one pound coin.



And, I’ll swear down… I’ve got no idea how it had got there!



Having a Father with hearing problems, doesn't wear his hearing aid, because it amplifies his tinnitus, makes Life interesting...



Sunday and, a roast meal had been had and, afterward I gave him his chocolate for the evening as I went to rest.



"What's this?" He asked me.



"Chocolate..." I'd replied.



"Kittens?" He'd queried,; as that is what he'd heard, having filled in the gaps, as it were.



"Yes Dad," I'd sighed, "Its kittens, in garlic..."



*



I'd used a lot of garlic on the chicken.



**



And Now, what do I read in the Daily Mail? [A paper I rarely buy.]

Jonathan Cainer is dead, aged 58… a year older than me.



I read his forecasts in the Mirror and the Mail, although by inclination I’d not normally buy the Mail, that fellow had genuine insight and, his words were worth reading. He’ll be missed by many and me, assuredly.



And, on to more cheerful matters – For years I’ve tuned in televisions for people. The last person I’ve doe it for on a regular basis has been, of course, my Father. Now, for various reasons, he’s wanted the outside aerial off the chimney stack for ages, mainly being the damage done to the roof, by the pigeons that sit on it. Now, until recently, when you tuned a tv in you had to designate the area you were in beforehand. But, with a modern television you tell it what area you’re in at the end of the process, with a little help from the tv. Following what I’d learned through trial and error, I’d been able to rig up the tv to the indoor aerial: so the other day my Father was back on the roof, to take down the aerial, as he so wanted to do.



At least the weather had been good for him… before the rain had started.



I got a good copy of the new Captain America movie and, I spent an evening making a dvd of it and two marvel zombie fan fiction shorts, as I’d darned a sock.

I think the films by far the best of all the ‘Avengers’ films and, I can only put that down to the fact that the characters ad plotlines have been well drawn: so ten out of ten to Marvel for a darn good film, with their customary humour and continuity.

That said, I did like the tv show Supergirl and do like Legends of Tomorrow, Arrow and The Flash and just loved Lucifer – another one I’ve put to dvd, for someone.

But, they’re all dc shows, which does intimate, they can get series right, just – not the films… for them, they’ve got to look to Marvel, to see how to gettit right.



‘Hotter than Portugal,’ I heard said about our weather, the other day. Needless to say, my Dad took every opportunity to go out in the back and edge and trim and mow the lawns, prior to me eventually joining him, to cut the top of the Beech hedge at the end of the back garden.



As he stood at the sink later, he’d moaned; “I used to be able to work all day, then cycle home… I wouldn’t be able to do that now.” And, that had been after he’d been working throughout the day, doing more than most forty year-olds could, or would.



And, that is after I’d go my nets washed, before my Dad doing the same, just a day or so prior… ‘It’s the day for it,’ I’d been told. He’d been right, of course.



Speaking of Dad, he’s been taking the chance to get out, while the weathers fine – to go out in the car, which is ever so rare.



Least he rests asleep --- just doesn't sleep long!