You Couldn't Make It Up!

 Tuesday. 5.45 a.m. Up early, as usual, walking around Oldbrook Green with Alfie. A really dramatic cloud formation over Milton Keynes.

Yesterday, I think I got closer to upgrading my bathroom. Vashti (S.H.O. at Dexter House.) gave me a telephone number to ring, the Community Occupational Health department at Milton Keynes Council. I gave my details and that was the end of the conversation. I was surprised at how quickly I got through. Later that afternoon I got a call from a lady from Millbrook regarding having the bathroom refitted, although I couldn't understand why occupational health would be involved. Anyway, this lady made me an appointment in August to go for a bath test. No, I don't understand either, but if it meant I got the bathroom upgraded, with at least a decent shower, I can use it without stooping because the current arrangement isn't high enough for me. Crazy, but true. Continuing . . . She needed a photo of the bathroom and later, she texted me, so I sent a photo via text, which moved the thing further forward, with details of my height and weight, and she then told me I wouldn't need to visit, and that I could have a wet room rather than a bathroom, meaning I could have a shower unit, which I wanted in the first place, and it would need her manager's approval for the work to do ahead. Al this, running around in circles, when it needn't have to be so complicated. Considering what I have gone through to get this far with my bathroom, you certainly couldn't make it up!

1.30 p.m. I think the Voltarol is beginning to have a definite effect on my lower back pain. I haven't been to Camphill, because of this, but I do miss going, and I'm hoping things will have returned to near enough normal by next Tuesday, so I can go there again. Being stuck in this flat with covid was bad enough, but this new thing makes it even more difficult to put up with.

3.45 p.m. I have upgraded my details to be eligible to vote. I got a letter from the Democratic Service department of Milton Keynes Council and you can go online to a special website 'household response,' and enter two unique security codes and your postcode to make sure your name is on the database. I have done all this, and it's now amended.

Wednesday. 7.50 a.m. There was 'sort-of'' rain when I took Alfie out at around 5.15 this morning. What do I mean? Well, thin and wet dribbles, not a proper fall of rain. But as I write this, the sun is out, and it appears bright and rather pleasant.

The Voltarol is doing its work and I feel a good deal better. Considering what the pain was like only a few days ago, it is a relief to be able to bend, particularly when putting my clothes on, it is certainly better.

1.25 p.m. Around half an hour ago there was a tremendous rainstorm, which lasted all of two minutes. This delayed me taking out Alfie, but it appeared to be only a light rain.

6.35 p.m. I'm watching the BBC sitcom 'The Good Life' on Britbox. I have seen it before, and probably when it was originally broadcast in 1975. It seems to stand the test of time really well. We don't have this sort of show any more. It was produced when there were only three channels, BBC1, BBC2 and ITV.  It made a star of Richard Briars, Felicity Kendal, Penelope Keith and Paul Eddington. I must have seen Richard Briars in several Alan Ayckbourn plays, 'Absurd Person Singular' and Penelope Keith in one of 'The Norman Conquests' trilogy. Thinking about Ayckbourn's plays, I did the book for a production of 'Relatively Speaking' when I was A.S.M. at Liverpool Playhouse in the early 1970s. That play (although not that production.) would have been Ayckbourn's first major success, and in the West End, it starred a young Richard Briars. On a further note, I was working on some BBC show, as a walk-on, and one of the runners (or at least, one of the stage crew.) was one of Richard Briar's daughters, although she didn't want to admit to being his daughter.

Thursday. 5.35 a.m. Another relatively mild morning. The Voltarol is working well. The only side effect of using it is I think it's making me feel sick.

Unblocking Writing (and Other Matters)

Thursday. 2.15 p.m. I have just received an email from Camphill, informing me that I can return to working in the theatre workshop. Until my DBS goes through thoroughly, I can't work one-to-one with any group, but I can work 'under supervision.' I understand why this is, because they belong to a 'vulnerable group', under safeguarding. If I was to work there without them checking my DBS (Disclosure and Barring) and the CQC (Care Quality Commission) were to do an inspection and found I didn't have a disclosure certificate, Camphill would be in trouble, I can see why all this has taken so long.

Friday. 8.10 a.m. A bit of a rush to get Alfie out and then put my washing into the machine at around 7.45 a.m. I'm actually scheduled to load my laundry at 8 a.m., but I don't see why I have to wait ten minutes to do so. It's dark outside until at least 7.30, and it's quite difficult to see what you're doing, picking up after Alfie and then walking to the bin which is across Oldbrook Boulevard and on The Green. I don't know why they can't put a bin a bit closer but never mind.

Saturday. 8.05 a.m. I was under the impression that it was raining earlier. So, I was relieved to find, on taking Alfie out, that it wasn't raining. I think there was a distinct possibility that it had been raining overnight, as the leaves which are on the grass alongside Strudwick Drive were wet.

1.30 p.m. It's now bright sunshine outside (well, it's not inside) because if it was, there's probably be no roof over my flat. Oh, what an absurd thing to say! Never mind, it's the effect of being incarcerated in this place. 

Sunday. 7.15 a.m. The clocks have changed. I haven't had the fabled extra 'hour in bed' which is what we always get told everywhere, on television news, in papers and generally. Because it was relatively light (does that make sense? I don't know. What does it matter? I mean 'reasonably' light, enough to be able to see what I was doing.) I took Alfie out.

9.00 a.m. I suddenly got the urge to do some more writing. This often happens, I get a bout of creativity and manage to write several pages and then I get stuck (writer's block?) and then leave it for a while, and then I pick it up again and continue. This current sequence has been through several drafts, and this time I think I've got it how I want it. I have discovered if I write from a different angle, things are easier to write. Or else I have what they have 'reported speech', whereby some important event happens 'off-stage' and a character describes whatever it is. Shakespeare does this a lot, particularly when it's something like a battle, which is difficult to put on stage. It also means you can have 'off-stage' characters who don't actually appear 'centre stage' which rounds out the story without the need for extra characters. Alan Ayckbourn does this and quite often has characters 'off-stage.' This, in particular in one of his best plays 'Absurd Person Singular' is set in three kitchens over three successive Christmases, with parties going on 'off-stage' and never actually seen.

2.05 p.m. After church this afternoon, we had a church member's meeting. The budget for the year was approved and one or two other matters were raised. Just as the meeting was coming to a close, the heavens opened and it rained, quite a torrential downpour, which made driving back to Dexter House along Chaffron Way quite challenging, to say the least. Some drivers didn't have their lights on, which was somewhat foolhardy. I had Classic FM on the car radio as usual and Beethoven's 7th Symphony blaring out as I was driving and, with the torrential rain, the whole was made even more dramatic with such powerful orchestral music playing. I love Classic FM, but it has too many advertisements on it, probably because it has grown it's an audience and once that happens, then it's bound to attract more advertising.

6.05 p.m. Another creative spurt, although the sequence I'm writing isn't finished. I will transcribe it all into word processing. I'm more than happy with what I've written. That's not always the case. I write something and then leave it for a couple of weeks and then return to it and, on re-reading it, I find it's not working how I want it to go and end up completely rewriting it. In the end, it's the best way to write for me, because the various drafts can be altered as I go along.