Thursday, 23 March 2017

Breaking up is hard to do.

I was doing really well and then yesterday I just ran out of steam.

Monday I took the car in for it's service and MOT - it turns out that it's healthier than I am. I find that hard to believe - so did the mechanic.

Tuesday we went into Egham where I had various things to sort out - sorted them out and then went to a different supermarket and got catfood for our very fussy cat.

By the time we got home I was in a lot of pain and at night started having some serious and really painful muscle spasms in my back.

So the things I meant to do on Wednesday didn't happen.

After a day off, sat bolt upright in a chair trying not to move I wasn't really any better.

This morning I was in agony when I got up.

We need to do the shopping, I need to collect a prescription and then order and collect the meds and then I need to sort out my Tax Disc for my car.

It would be nice to just prioritise but it isn't that simple - it's a question of what I can do and that isn't always the most obvious choice.

I managed some of it - got my prescription, put it into the chemist at Tesco, got part of it then and ordered the rest, did the shopping and was fine until I got to the frozen food section when me, my back and everything just started to give in on me.

We got home and I got back into my chair, hoping to repair whatever damage I've done.

I still have to collect the meds when they come in and I need to sort out a Tax Disc for my car because even though as a disabled person I don't have to pay for it I still need to get to a main Post office with all my documents and get a receipt for £0-00p.

That will be fun.

But I haven't given up and, so far, I've managed to avoid taking the really serious opiates, which is quite an achievement when your back is breaking up.

Neil Harris
(a don't stop till you drop production)
Contact me:

Wednesday, 22 March 2017

Nobody loses all the time.

nobody loses all the time

i had an uncle named
Sol who was a born failure and
nearly everybody said he should have gone
into vaudeville perhaps because my Uncle Sol could
sing McCann He Was A Diver on Xmas Eve like Hell Itself which
may or may not account for the fact that my Uncle

Sol indulged in that possibly most inexcusable
of all to use a highfalootin phrase
luxuries that is or to
wit farming and be
it needlessly

my Uncle Sol’s farm
failed because the chickens
ate the vegetables so
my Uncle Sol had a
chicken farm till the
skunks ate the chickens when

my Uncle Sol
had a skunk farm but
the skunks caught cold and
died and so
my Uncle Sol imitated the
skunks in a subtle manner

or by drowning himself in the watertank
but somebody who’d given my Uncle Sol a Victor
Victrola and records while he lived presented to
him upon the auspicious occasion of his decease a
scruptious not to mention splendiferous funeral with
tall boys in black gloves and flowers and everything and
i remember we all cried like the Missouri
when my Uncle Sol’s coffin lurched because
somebody pressed a button
(and down went
my Uncle

and started a worm farm)


Neil Harris
(a don't stop till you drop production)
Contact me: