The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Ringing a bell at a surgery to get the door open so i could access the taxi free-fone, was interesting.
And, that's what happened when I went to the pharmacy Dad uses; to pick-up the remainder of his prescription, left over from the previous day. I'd been feeling too tired to walk home, saw the sign, rang the bell, the door opened and a young receptionist came to the door in gown, mask and gloves. She had taken my temperature via a device that she pressed lightly to my forehead, as I'd reminded her, “It's hot outside I'm sweating.” “You're alright,” she assured me, let me in and I'd used the phone to get a taxi home.
I went a walk on a sunny day and, called in at the Co-Op, where a member of staff had kept back a lettuce for me, for me Dad's sandwiches. I went back, after tea... for a cauliflower and cream cheese that I'd noticed
I went to get the stamps for a letter to America [sounds better in my head than Canada, which is accurate] and the post office had been closed: [corona, I guess]
And stayin home, as I'm told, is all well and good 'at the time', but... erm, neil's need money: and tho the money houses hours are f**ked, as I was when I went; Gawd i have so much to adapt to shopping and, town is dead after one.
Any useful shops have their own stuff to adapt to and, was told while out that Boris Johnsons gottit.
I acquired stamps for my letter to Canada, tho i'd have to write 'airmail' onnit, as a fella got stropp behind me as i was chatting and, I didn't pick up an airmail sticker.
But, needless to say, i was polite as i left. After all, there's so much to adapt to.
I rose to Dad believing the hour had already gone forward. It had taken most of the day for me to convince him otherwise though.
Later I had to adapt again, to an Iceburg Lettuce. The other day one of the young staff at the Co-Op had put one aside, for my Father's sandwiches. It had been an Iceburg Lettuce, whereas my Father prefers Little-Gem on his sandwiches.
Anyway...
I went a walk, after we'd eaten our meal: brocolli and salmon potato cake and cauliflower, leek and cheese.
I'd got to the Co-Op, where a young member of staff had called my name, telling me he had something for me, which turned out to be a pack of Little-Gem lettuce.
Unfortunately that had left me with a large Iceburg Lettuce.
On my return home I'd opened the fridge and looked to the Lettuce, curious as to what to do next: A website called epicurious.com had provided the answer I'd sought... Lettuce soup.
And though I had few of the ingredients, I pride myself that I can adapt any recipe, to my needs... And so, within half an hour, there was more room in the fridge and, I had my soup for yet another day, or so... Furthermore, my Dad had his Little-Gem lettuce.
With encouragement, we're still adapting. Bins, shopping and housework. Early Monday morning, I got ready to goto Azda. It was far less chaotic then last time I went, for Dad's biscuits. The housework got done on the Tuesday and, I'm sure that as I 'recover' from eating a solid meal, of fishcakes and cauliflower cheese, I'll find time to change Dad's bed.
Other than that and a probable walk, as I write [31st March] I'm determined that I'll have a lazy day on Wednesday.
My friend Lucie was kind enough to call at ours after work, with the Coffee-mate and skimmed milk that I'd not been able to acquire over the last week or so; which I'd thought was most kind of her.
Come the evening, I'd slept the sleep of the cream-crackered, waking at quarter nine, feeling ready to get on with some writing for a few hours, before seeking the arms of Morpheus.
The weather had been blustery after a really rainy night, when I woke. After housework I looked to the doormat and found two letters there, one for Dad and one for me. The one for me had irked me goodstyle. It seems from the letter that as I've COPD I'm classed as in a vulnerable group and, from the number on it – 561 – it seems that my letter was in the first set of letters sent out.
After Dad had finished his end of the housework and had his lunch I went out a walk to enjoy the blustery day, avoiding people as I did so, practising social distancing, as is intended.
As I walked, I thought. The police now have the powers to arrest anyone, who they want. And... before too long, people like me may have to have mandatory testing: [I think].
private companies, like amazon have be called in to assist.
so third parties will make profit and, the taxpayers will pay for it.
And furthermore, I do wonder where the damn virus came from. In other words, I'm wondering what lab it came from? Porton Down in Wiltshire England, or maybe a CIA facility, not marked on a map – or, maybe it is. Either way, the damn virus could be man made, like so many others.
And why? Population control and extended powers of control of society. My ideas are very manic and conspiratorial perhaps; but also possible. My theory speaks of Capitalism, with a capital C.
My nutritionist says i need em and, other than blueberry's they're my fruit and fat - with elm lea. And so, a stretch as i avoided those i encountered as i walked after dad's tea, enabled me to get to the Co-Op, to get the banana's I need. And, some Elmlea.
The only demerit, is the local Co-Op doesn't do the biscuits dad eats.
Altho, i did get crumpets and, will have half with dad as i cook a meal for us both on Saturday. Yet, once home i sat, as quickly as possible: the bag had been as heavy with shopping as i want, to make me walk upright, albeit with a little effort.
I'd enjoyed my evening walk and, had not regretted it; even if every joint screamed for me to rest. Then I spent most of the day with the duvet round my knees, as I drunk coffee, smoked too much and drank too much coffee, listening to the first of the Poirot stories, not written by Agatha Christie. I'd enjoyed it.
I did not do a walk on Monday, although I did do the housework with dad and, the eating thing: and the birds sounded cool, outside my window, as i typed at twilight.
My friend Lucie had called round after tea, with our shopping. I'd sever-so disliked being shopped for and, being classed as extremely vulnerable. And yet, I accept and have to adapt; as things are as they are now...
Currently, as one walks the streets, to and from the shops, they're almost deserted. The joggers are darn annoying, as they don't seem to understand about social distancing and, nor do young families; although I did hear one child say 'thank you', as I had stood aside for his family.
Yet I was so disgusted by the lack of social distancing, displayed by many I'd encountered as I made on my walks, to buy what my Father might want. I I sought to distract myself from the stuff of the day, by listening to a trio of audio Doctor Who stories, relating to The Key Of Time. After listening to these, it was my intent to listen to a short story, relating to the same characters.
Now, awhile ago I had my dentists practice ring me, to effectively tell me that as I'm extremely vulnerable they couldn't see and, that my dentist was self-isolating because his daughter had contact with someone with the corona virus.
Then, come Saturday Dad cut the hedge, while I listened to Damon Runyon stories.
I rose eventually, made my Dad's bed, then needed the bathroom. As I washed I'd decided to remove my dental guard and brush my teeth properly. And, three quarters of my lower left tooth came out, all-at-once.
That left me with cabin fever and in need of a dentist again and, mine can't see me coz i am 'extremely vulnerable'. Then come tea-time, I rooted out the cassette player I'd found in a second hand shop and found myself rediscovering a tape from my the bit of my old tape collection, that still exists. It was almost adequate distraction for me, as I'd cooked our meal. Then heading for bed and carrying my coffee, I banged my right shin, hard. It was the same place I've done some a few times and within less than ten minutes, a painful lump had risen...
After three days of pain after a tooth cracked off and the gum became inflamed, I'd decided to use the number provided on the letter 0800 0288327 as there's no dental provision right now and, I need the root extracting. I could not get through, at all.
The computer system recognised me and a 'yes', then asked for an NHS number from the letter, that was not there. So I contacted my surgery.
I got the NHS number and tried again and, this time I was told it did not recognise it.
So, I tried again as suggested and, again it did not recognise the number and ended the call, again. I tried Wirral Borough Council, then mental health. No-one could offer the assistance that I need, an extraction.
So I have to ask, why send me the letter?
I went through the signs and symptoms of a panic attack as I made every effort to keep myself in check, as I want to continue being able to cook and make my Fathers bed as needed: he's 93.
And now... the xp machine in the back will not see my new printer dash scanner.
It leaves me frustrated on several counts. I use the scanner a lot and the printer even more and now, I can't use either. Considering all that's going on right now, the new machine doing as it is, is irritating beyond belief.
My favourite Dell laptop then died, a slow and laborious death. I'd worked at it for hours, but to no avail. Then, Karl called round late in the afternoon, with a Dell laptop loaner for me to use, with the suggestion: “Put on the software you need, alright.”
I had spent much of the evening working on the 'new' Dell machine, finally going to the backroom and bringing the all-in-one scanner printer to my room, to enable its functionality. After an hour or so, I'd had the success I wanted... and, had needed, to keep in contact with my penfriends.
So try having hayfever, sinusitis and copd; I'll swear down, on a warm sunny day I display all the signs of copd, bar the fever.
I'd explained this to Karen, the local postmaster, who always wears a black shirt and, his collar up, covering his neck, much as I do when I wear a jacket.
I'd got up early, so had to change my diet, to accommodate this, by having soup the previous day, instead of solids, such is my digestion, I just cannot do mornings, if I eat solids, the previous day.
“I got up early to get here, so had to change my diet,” I'd said to him and, he'd smiled and replied, “Good for you”, as he sometimes does, when he's bein nice to me.
“Radio times and stamps please?” I'd requested.
“They come in strips,” he had said, “so how many would you like?”
“Twelve,” I'd answered, “an I'm maybe I'm bein optimistic., hoping I'll last lone enough to use them and, that I know enough people to use them.” I'd been smiling and, Karen does seem to understand my slightly warped sense of humour: Nice fellow.