Who dun it ….

*Disclaimer* This is a work of semi fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Monday 27th March 2017

I really am pissed off this morning, when you are given dates and times by companies for appointments and non of the fore mentioned traders stick to that ‘window’ I get really narked.

There is NO need for complacency or this attitude of when I feel like it or when people do not have a plan B.

Since Friday of last week, everything seems to have gone tits up, my neighbours heating has failed, the boiler has been churning away for twenty-five plus years and been plastered, stitched up with Gaffa-Tape and bump started far too many times to mention. This weekend has been freezing cold with easterly winds and now that the system has gone into lock out the house is not habitable, my friend who is not of 100% health and his land-lady has this “really couldn’t give a f**k” attitute gets my goat.

I have taken him in complete with his two dogs and we are bunking down in a small apartment, on the other hand the person in charge is probably still languishing in her mid morning bath and reading a who dun it, well, if nothing is done by Wednesday, there will be an actual who dun it, and the person who will have dun it will actually be me.

This morning my house was due to have scaffold erected around the whole building so as the painters and decorators could start forthwith. Yes, you guessed it …. NOTHING !

And tonight my landlady will contact me and ask, and I will have to be polite in my reply with a NO!

Two weeks later …..

The house is restrained and secure behind an installation of modern art, an erection of galvanised scaffold, single rung ladders are attached on different levels at precarious angles, safety gates on each staging and simple thick planks act as kickboards which, in my mind’s eye a good few of them have already been designated for my newly designed avant-garde rustic dining table.

A sophisticated plan which involves an after dark operation, the sylph like hunchback villain strikes with the clumsiness of a primate on diazepam, along with his imaginary bumbling partner in crime, the invisible Japanese rat,  Felix. Purloining the same said items, together they move with the clumsiness of a badly edited 8mm analogue movie. Of course, at sixty years old who would consider pointing a  finger of suspicion at me in normal circumstances. I proffer an answer wearing slippers and pyjamas adorned with breakfast stains when opening the door to the plank police the following morning. We discuss the mystery whilst sipping builders tea sat against a cloth-covered surface, in sight standing against the wall, is an old green table, now obsolete and superseded.

The last week has been overseen by one of the landlords, he with the rather lax attitude and sad pathetic grin stands with his hands behind his back and surveys the exterior of his half-share of the property with his pale and gaunt skin he looks like Charles Laughton, he of bell ringing fame, his red eyes circled grey from the latest cadaver range of funereal cosmetics, pale and gaunt  ….. Goodness knows what thoughts are rattling around in that spacious void balanced upon the crumbling building blocks which are clearly drawn and labelled C1 & C2 in The Lancet. A slow reacting device clogged up with cobwebs and many out dated memories, the only thing whirring today is the notion of him having to pay for these repairs. Deep harrowing rifts dredge deep into his concentration, departing with his earned cash isn’t going to be easy, accumulated from his other slowly rotting and decrepit properties which are dotted around the country like malignant tumours scattered upon an epidermis.

This week ….

The other landlord, who is in fact a lady, has taken shift duty, a canny lass from North of the border, an esteemed and eminent Professor of music, no sense of reality, just an outlook on her way of life in accordance to her own rule book and law alone. There is no meandering allowed off her path, it’s either black or white, there are NO grey areas where she is concerned, the DNA strands that make up a sense of humour were not activated upon conception, and at this time of life, at least three score years plus many more later,  it’s never ever likely to be.

All quiet at the front of house this afternoon. Golem the Glaswegian weasel and his bunch of merry dib-dabs are busy transforming my rear courtyard, the contents of a special size six litre kettle of wishwashwhite are being applied to the vertiginous boundary wall whilst a mysterious and eerie sound of a violin being tortured emanates from the apartment above. I consider sending myself outside to retune their over voluminous radio weilding my special all-purpose hammer and ranting, instead, I breathe in ….. and I breathe out!

All is well with the world, …. all I need now is ten chairs, they don’t even have to match.

Why? You ask,

Simply because, life isn’t about conformity, push your own boundaries once in a while, step on the grass a few times, throw away that bottle stopper and drive your car like you stole it on occasions.

Live life ……

BTW, I didn’t really nick the planks. <grins>

Ditsy is as ditsy does …

Thursday 23 March 2017

For the past few days I have been staying next door at my mates house, not feeling 100% he has been keeping an eye on me, and believe me, I have appreciated that very much indeed. However, today, I have an appointment at Torbay Hospital for a scan and I am worried sick.

Time now is 13:30, I have scuttled back around to mine for a freshen up, bath, bit of a tidy and clothes change. Upon entry the cold hits me, reason, for two days my heating has been switched to the off position, not on automatic like I thought I had located on the remote timer/thermostat. Instead, the internal ambient temperature has dropped way down below 15C, the East wind is blowing straight through my waterfall thin glass windows and the interior is like an industrial ice-box. My forgetfulness is becoming a little too often I might add.

Anyhoo, my bath has now been drawn, usual time run of eight minutes, producing the perfect depth for me to wallow about in which is less than half the time it takes to actually run, perhaps I should shower?  you ask, perhaps I should !  I reply!

My hair is now three weeks overdue for its cut, my stylist Chris will be wondering WTF, so unlike me, staring back at me from the mirror is an aged hippy,  I attempt to trim my now more salt than pepper beard growth with an electric clipper that hasnt a full charge, it now snags my face. Pulling the top of my head hair high through my fingers, rock and roll hippy is not a good look and courtesy of some expensive hair product I scrub my thinning locks up, I dont know why that name has been given, I suppose its more easier to sell a product named product than a can of grease called grease.

With a warm white fluffy bath towel wrapped around my wrinkled body I head to ward the computer to print off my medication list, trying not to get too confused with the file named weekly shopping, my goodness, more items on this than the mark off list for Lidl AND Sainsburys combined. There are so many items, infact, there goes the old adage, shake him and he will rattle like a pair of maracas …… Aye aye aye caramba !

So, ….. Im off now, speak to you a little later with either some good or not so good news.

Here is the news, it would appear its good news.

Life goes on …

17576-Life-Goes-OnMonday 20th March, First day of Spring 2017

Spring …. the ambient temperature has dropped to a low and mizzle confronts my vision across the bay, the property opposite me suffers yet more scaffolding, it never stops, for a new build, it really is piss poor quality.

I seem to have let my home get into a disorganised category recently, to be honest, I am disgusted with myself, this is so unlike me. I have been easily distracted and with so many other things going on in front of us it would appear that shit has happened underfoot and only now I can see just how much there is, this is NOT good.

My health has taken on a new spin, not for the good either, breathlessness, water retention, malaise and given every chance I could sleep on a knife-edge for days. My GP suggested specialist blood tests to check my engine is running correctly and there are no drops in pressure in any of my cylinders, diagnostics reveal that there is a problem. Hence my appointment on Thursday for an echocardiogram, basically a scan. Inherently I already have a condition called AF (Arterial fibrillation) where my heart misses a beat (often) and has a mind of its own, even though its full of love, it appears to be not pumping the love enough!

I always thought that swollen feet, ankles and legs only happened to old people, suddenly, I am one of those old people …. You tend to forget just how lucky we may have been not to have started failing earlier, many of my contemporaries and school friends have long passed by. Suddenly this old vehicle is showing severe signs of breaking down, a few auxiliaries have been repaired, a titanium brace inserted, the fuel that runs around my arteries gets a daily top up of additives and now the bodywork is showing severe signs of wear, the gearbox is still active, but sadly the engine is failing, and fast.

Beginning of this year, I set upon a ten-year plan, just like a business plan, I have every intentions of keeping the doors open during that period, there may be a few days where I have to close early but unless bankruptcy comes quick without warning, aim and purpose will be to keep on trading .

I have a duty to be here for my bestie whilst he takes his own rugged path of recovery and better health, as much as I would love to, sadly I cannot commit to a new puppy or a rescue dog to add to our small canine family at the moment, but, never say never, ever.

Anyway, I cannot sit here maudling anymore, I have housework and shit to sort out.

Summer is around the corner ….. bring it on !

Playing “The best of” by LeAnn Rimes this morning.

No rest for the wicked !

Heres a short resume of this mornings activities ….

With full grumpy mode I pull the duvet back over my head and start to play hide & seek with Willow and Jack, they are NOT going to give up, fed up with my nonsense they start getting narky, a brief peek at the clock, the little hand points to nine and the big hand at a position twenty-five past, both canines know that this is not acceptable, breakfast for them has normally been consumed by the time nine a.m. has struck.

No sign of life from the master bedroom, just a gentle snore emanating from between the solid pine block and the architrave of the door frame, I shout out “GOOD MORNING” as I start the day with a vengeance, If, im up, then so is everyone else, flicking on the display cabinet light and the table lamp in the hall with as much noise as possible.

There are still dishes on the drainer from last eve, surprising just how cathartic it can be by putting away dried cutlery, as I aim each precision hewn item into its designated slot in the draw tidy, a sleepy friend puts his head around the kitchen door and grunts …. “feck off” and laughs as he heads to ablution central situated at the far end of the South wing, yet another crazy day at Rockhaven has begun. Even though it’s the weekend, and a once often routine of being sat face to television by ten o’clock for a live edition of Saturday Kitchen does not happen anymore, not ever since the format has changed, instead, we endure another hour of “The Big Bang Theory” which gets us laughing within seconds, even though most episodes have been seen by us often more than once.

Three dogs are now protesting with invisible banners and chanting obscenities under the guise of dog breath, by the smell, it must be the full unabridged works of satan. Risking life and limb I lower the bowls of doggy deliciousness into an area of no return and within less than a countdown half-minute, two of them finish on the dot together albeit a nanosecond apart.

Two freshly brewed individual coffee drippers are steeping, each with a pinch of sea-salt and our own personal gram measurements stand behind the warming mugs for five minutes like guards either side of a gateway. The microwave clock displays 09:55, by my timing and poured refreshment, we have exactly 90 seconds to get our asses in our seats …. “where’s my croissants” I shout, HURRY UP!!

The Hungryhouse advert appears on the television screen, its Ten a.m. and with a swift move of my forefinger I press the ‘pause’ button on the remote ….. surely you dont think im that callous by watching it without my bestie? ….. shame on you !

 

Who put the cannabis in the font.

(a small composition I had tucked away for a rainy day)

Just exactly, who placed the cannabis leaves in the font?

For quite sometime there has been a sweet smell emanating from the area of the baptismal font, of course the majority of people associated in this environment had no idea or had even noticed that there was a pungency loitering.

Were we, as such fine connoisseurs on this matter being paranoid? I don’t think so, but it would always seem strange that when the flower ladies are en masses just how bright and cheerful this hardy team of florists seem to be when creating their designs.

Are they responsible for this action, is it a sign from the great above or are they finally having a coffee and just chilling out in good company? Mind you, the contract cleaners are here often on their own, normally early, perhaps it is they?

I have visions of adult Brownies and Guides sat in a circle, cross-legged and passing a joint around. Each one telling a story they have all wanted to share but had never dare in ages, tightly slip lipping in hard, the burning of the leaves almost blistering their windpipe. Not wishing to exhale until the last possible moment and then only with a stream of fine thin smoke with the ecstatic volume of relief. Almost an oral and brain orgasm. A slight choke, the yearn to catch the reefer when it travels back around, each pair of buzzed eyes yearning for the head rush and euphoria that would make their body shudder and slightly convulse.

Who dares to whisper the aged mantra? ….. “Holy shit, this shit is good shit”

Being such super sleuths and very busy and nosey parkers we did a bit of digging, and the only viable thing we could come up with, was that a few weeks previous we had a HUGE christening, with quite a few dubious characters attending. Perhaps “they” had pangs of guilt and the only option available apart from being struck by lightning was to dispose of the remnants.

I am not pointing any fingers ….. but !

 

Wilder Minds

Unknown

One of the main staples in my life is that of music, and as I have probably told you many times before, it will remain so. However, recently my listening spectrum has broadened and I now find myself enjoying a new genre.

Having never been into heavy rock music before, suddenly I am up to my neck in what is now known as Folk rock, Alternative rock, Art rock and Neofolk                                                 …. and guess what, I AM loving it.

I cannot wait until next month when we take delivery of our new car and able to blast out Mumford & Sons on the swanky upgraded sound system whilst I push “Brabinger” to his limits along a certain favoured stretch of the A38 near Plymouth. Goodness knows how im going to cope with an eight speed gearbox, all I can say is that I will be leaving that up to the mechanics of the beast whilst I keep my eyes peeled for the stray ecilops who patrol vigilantly like vermin along a sewer pipe.

Not being one to flount the law, but being honest, temptation is often only a fools decision away and in the perfunctory madness that I find myself being “ever so naughty”  I try to keep it brief. Infact it gives me great pleasure after an event to drop into a conversation when a certain someone else is driving …. “you will never guess what happened recently” OR “Parker was ever so naughty the other day”

A shifty, slightly miffed answer is replied, with implications of “Oh really, I wonder why that was”?

Not being one to ever kiss and tell I keep schtum!

Today is one of those days where I wish I had taken Parker and driven to the North coast to visit my specialist instead of relying on public transport. Why? you might ask!

I’m on the 9:12 to Exmouth, before my connection to Barnstaple, there are four carriages, it is not busy, my carriage was empty until a young lad boarded the train at Torre, he made a bee-line towards me and made a point of sitting directly in front, he was obviously up to no good and started to smoke dope.

Bit of a moral dilemma here me thinks, a) he really shouldn’t be smoking on board, b) he was obviously underage and c) he had that wild look which might invoke a situation. So, not wanting to be both Mr & Mrs Buzzkill at the same time and mention anything I decided to stay quiet, sit put and gently move away in a few minutes time.

I became so engrossed in the beauty of the landscape and the way the waves were crashing onto the shore that I became completely unaware how passive smoking can alter ones outlook on life on a grim day. …. 😝

Downside, trains are erratic and smell funny!   Upside, they are now using cannabis or something similar as air fresheners.

I may be home late!

Never forget ….

It feels almost like a lifetime since I last put my dearest ‘pen to paper’ as I was in mid-flight telling you about our holidays in Mallorca, way back in September. During my daily bulletins, somewhere written in the background, was a vignette, a short distract from the main event, so to speak.

However, this is a vignette to my life story, regrettably, this is true.

Returning from our break we were sadly dropped into a black hole, everything we were used to, including our three homes, our aging puppies and our daily routines were up-ended and to quote a well-known and often used phrase …. ‘all hell literally broke loose’

I guess we are both lucky to be where we are in life, as many of our dear contemporaries have already expired at an early age and we too are not that far off of our own sell by dates.

There is no doubting that the ‘elephant in the room’ cannot be ignored, its onslaught and mass destruction is never-ending, wondering how that person is going to wake up in the morning, be it as normal as once used to be, a frightened child after a nightmare or something angry and confused. Trying to reassure is as easy as not wanting to walk on ice or hot coals, and almost as bad as treading on egg shells or sticking ones head in the lions mouth without something kicking off. The terrible fact is that, this disorder is uncontrollable, no medication can halt or suppress its continued progress of destruction at this point, nor can it be cured, well, not yet at least.

This behaviour is not classified as a disease in medical terms, although not contagious, or even proved hereditary it wraps its invisible cloak like a spider does with its black web over all involved, taking away every scrap of dignity with it, removing all souvenirs just like an eraser whilst lacrimation continues to erode our cheeks like dried up rivers, draining all emotions, memories, words and senses with each tear as they fall into oblivion and beyond, never to be retrieved.

Every single part of us, every atom of life as once known, and all who are being consumed, unable to escape the gravity which this loathsome sink hole of life has become. It tags the carer and everyone else who supports within. This situation is volatile and busy, often in a way that we find very unpleasant, confusing and annoying, annoying to the point that we cannot do a damned thing about it …. One can only hope that during this rancid destruction, ones own soul has the sense to free itself before it’s too late.

We are asked to believe at an early age, and although belief and faith can be strong elements, recently I am seriously beginning to doubt, however I am not giving up.

Dementia, In one word  …. SUCKS.