I'm trying to find a different title for each blog post I write. I usually try with alliteration, as most of my readers will notice. Sunny Sunday sounds just downright corny. Well, it might be accurate. This morning, as I write this at 7 a.m., the sun isn't blazing, so it's inappropriate. I can hear the boringly repetitive cooing of a pigeon. Or is it more than one? There was one which seemed to spend a lot of time in our garden, looking, frankly, half-witted. Just do tell me, are there full-witted pigeons? I somehow doubt it. Anyway, we had a rather large water filled plastic plant pot near the shed and this stupid pigeon looked as if it was going to dive into this plant pot. It wandered about on the roof of the shed, as if it didn't have the faintest idea where on earth it was. Seemingly lost the plot. It attempted to perch on the bird feeding station and tried to get some of the food out of one of the hanging feeders, without success. The repetitive nature of pigeon noises, coo-coo-coo-coo, does rather get on your nerves. Can't they make a more interesting sound? Infact, pigeons generally, are not the most interesting of birds. The way they move, like some sort of wind up toy, the way their head keep nodding endlessly. Do they not get a headache from doing this sort of thing? I was driving into the hospital campus this morning and as i drove round the inner ring road on the way to the carpark, there was a group of around half-a-dozen pigeons idly standing in the road. They made no attempt to move out of the way. One, in particular, just stood where it was. I think I would have run the stupid bird over if I hadn't slowed down. How totally idiotic these birds are. As thick as a couple of planks of wood. Just were not going to budge.
Alfie more or less now asks for his early morning walk. He's now got into the routine with me, knowing that I'm as keen as him to get out. No sooner had I put on my shoes than he sets off barking and wanting me to collect his lead from the hook in the kitchen. Who says dogs can't talk? I don't mean using verbal language. He uses body language quite clearly. Although he barks, so I suppose that can be classed as verbal. If nothing else, it's good exercise for me. I had to use my G.T.N. spray because I got a sort of angina attack, not too bad though. I take the spray with me in my pocket because I was told that it's best to use it before any strenuous activity, not that a morning walk is exactly strenuous. Two of these circular walks of Eaglestone Park, one in the morning and one when I get back from the hospital.
It's turned out to be another hot and sticky day. Not bright sunshine, but nevertheless it's still hot. At night it's just as clammy and it's difficult to sleep. This heat is tiring, which doesn't make sense when I can't sleep. I'm spending time reading, the Dominic Sandbrook book 'State of Emergency.' I watched the first part of his history of the 1980's. I don't know whether he's writing a book on this decade, but I would imagine he would, based on the BBC series and following on from the next book I have called 'Seasons In The Sun' and taking the history up until the election in 1979 which brought Margaret Thatcher to power. The episode of the History of the 1980's seems be explain why things were the way they were in that decade, the rise of individualism, and the roots of what became Thatcherism. A period of strife with strikes, the Troubles in Northern Ireland, unemployment and one or two scandals. It's a period I remember very well, strikes, piles of black bin bags littering the street when there was a dustman's strike, the three-day week, power cuts and television having to close down at 10.30 p.m.
After church this morning, I drove straight to hospital. Carol feeling really bored silly with the hospital, and no wonder, she's been in there for four weeks, or at least it will by tomorrow. Her temperature is stabilised and no further problems with her blood sugar. I think she's realised how important to keep her diabetes under control.
Hospital food is really disgusting. Carol had ordered soup, which was stone cold, followed by what was supposed to be roast chicken. She was really looking forward to it, but she said what purported to be chicken didn't taste of anything. Followed up with ice-cream, rather like those ice creams you get when you go to the theatre, in a small tub. But it was defrosted. Carol said it was warmer than the soup. How on earth can you make such a mess-up of food? Can't be too difficult to produce something at least appetising. I know they have a minuscule budget but how difficult can it be to keep food warm until the patients get to eat it? Have mobile units which have hot water in them, which they use in most catering establishments. These then plugged into mains supply to keep food warm. Hospital food should help patients to recover. Most of the food is thrown away and never eaten, which is a waste.
It's turned out to be another hot and sticky day. Not bright sunshine, but nevertheless it's still hot. At night it's just as clammy and it's difficult to sleep. This heat is tiring, which doesn't make sense when I can't sleep. I'm spending time reading, the Dominic Sandbrook book 'State of Emergency.' I watched the first part of his history of the 1980's. I don't know whether he's writing a book on this decade, but I would imagine he would, based on the BBC series and following on from the next book I have called 'Seasons In The Sun' and taking the history up until the election in 1979 which brought Margaret Thatcher to power. The episode of the History of the 1980's seems be explain why things were the way they were in that decade, the rise of individualism, and the roots of what became Thatcherism. A period of strife with strikes, the Troubles in Northern Ireland, unemployment and one or two scandals. It's a period I remember very well, strikes, piles of black bin bags littering the street when there was a dustman's strike, the three-day week, power cuts and television having to close down at 10.30 p.m.
After church this morning, I drove straight to hospital. Carol feeling really bored silly with the hospital, and no wonder, she's been in there for four weeks, or at least it will by tomorrow. Her temperature is stabilised and no further problems with her blood sugar. I think she's realised how important to keep her diabetes under control.
Hospital food is really disgusting. Carol had ordered soup, which was stone cold, followed by what was supposed to be roast chicken. She was really looking forward to it, but she said what purported to be chicken didn't taste of anything. Followed up with ice-cream, rather like those ice creams you get when you go to the theatre, in a small tub. But it was defrosted. Carol said it was warmer than the soup. How on earth can you make such a mess-up of food? Can't be too difficult to produce something at least appetising. I know they have a minuscule budget but how difficult can it be to keep food warm until the patients get to eat it? Have mobile units which have hot water in them, which they use in most catering establishments. These then plugged into mains supply to keep food warm. Hospital food should help patients to recover. Most of the food is thrown away and never eaten, which is a waste.
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