‘Person of Interest’18:25 Oct 30 2011
Times Read: 693
Friday morning I woke slowly, badly and with extreme lassitude. I know, ‘overkill’. But I was ever-so tired when I arose, as the previous night we’d fed forty odd, in about twenty-five minutes. We had another new volunteer ‘try-out’ and, the one who started ‘the other week’ can’t figure why I get so sarcastic, which I find amusing. See, he’s not an example of the volunteers I’m so scathing of, the one’s who talk a lot and, don’t do it; the one’s who get pompous, or pretentious; and the one’s who just don’t come back to the project a second time. Or, if they do, they don’t come a third time. He hasn’t done any of those things; in fact, he’s only the second or third guy in eleven years to come back a second time. Yet, I digress. I’d left the beds and, we’d gone shopping to the Asda where I turned the corner of an aisle and found myself face-to-face with the psycho-hose beast from hell again. I’d thought she had left. Frell, I’d hoped she had left. The flame-haired games-player that she is, she reminds me just too much of the last ex-fiancé. Oh, I don’t mean in looks of course, but man-oh-man, she’s the very epitome of my meaning of psycho-hose-beat and, like the lat ex-fiancée she should carry a government health warming: ‘This woman will do your head in’, or something like that. Anyway, once home, we’d unpacked and had a breakfast tea, or ‘black tea’ as Dad calls it, then I made the beds before going on the Internet a while, to see to emails. Then I had got ready to go travelling. But, I had done so slowly, trying to keep myself calm, as I had been off to Arrowe Park Hospital, which is Mum had died. And yes, I was ‘only’ going for an MRI but it was Arrowe Park. I mean, it’s a hospital, yes. But as you enter, it feels like a frellin shopping centre. And, they didn’t lift Mum as she’d needed, so she’d got pneumonia and yes, I can’t “let go”. My one consolation had been that the weather had been good for the journey. And, as it happens, I’d only had to wait a few minutes, before entering a cubicle with a ‘named member of staff’, who had done me the favour of dimming the bright lights in the scanner-room. And, at least she hadn’t told it wasn’t horrible, as I’ve had one of those things before and, I hated it. I’d had an MRI on the shoulder, so knew what to expect. I knew I’d have to remove the Ankh, so had taken a fresh thread with me and I had told ‘the named member of staff’, “no mask, or music please” as it was all of little use to me really, just acting a an distraction, from thought. As it was, I hadn’t been in the darn machine as long as I’d thought I would be at all. When I’d mentioned that, I’d been asked what I had done last time. When I’d told them ‘my shoulder’ I had been told ‘shoulders take longer’. Then as I came out of the hospital, I really missed my tine and the smokes inside I’d lost on the journey there; on the train I think. Either way, it had been my favourite tin, the black Yin-Yang tin, with ready-rolls inside.
Thankfully I have not needed to do the fresh install I’d expect, which is good, as I still cannot find a working copy of Office 2000, which I like to use on mmy machines.
I’d downloaded an episode of ‘Lost Girl’ which I like and two ‘Person of Interest’, which I heartily recommend, to anyone. It’s a kind of mix of ‘The Equalizer’ and ‘The Eschelon Conspiracy’. Damn good show indeed. I needed them, to complete the series I’ve had download, partly with me in mind.
And yes, I’d got hyper late-on, never a good thing when should be at rest, so I’d written, into the early hours of the morning, having ‘found’ the feel of the next chapter of the story I’ve been working on.
Needless to say, come Saturday morning, the bags beneath my eyes were more like black suitcases and, I really appreciated my new glasses, when I picked them up just before lunchtime. The funny thing was, I’d got distracted, as I walked the block of shops [[thoughts of fresh custard later,]] and, I’d walked past the opticians, which he’d found hilarious, when I finally entered, after realising my mistake. The whole day had been one of those interminable dank days that foreigners associate with Britain and, that I associate with Scotland and Manchester and when the rain did fall, it was just intermittent. I spent much of the day trying to get a letter written after a numpty annoying with a government speak letter, in response to a previous letter of mine, complaining about the proposed cuts to the BBC and specifically BBC Local Radio Merseyside. And although it had taken much of the afternoon to write, by the end of it I was more than satisfied with the results. Then I’d rested, awhile, knowing full well I still had quite a bit of writing to do later on.
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