The visit to the infirmary was OK. Ah had to wear a mask which, under the present circumstances, is fine but ah find them awfy claustrophobic. They remind me of ma Heart attack when ah was gaspin’ for air that wasny there [ ah should be writing poems]. Ah remember a mask bein’ put over ma face and this wonderful feelin’ of cold fresh air rushin’ up ma nose that ah could hardly keep up with. A wee while before ah was gaspin’ and fightin’ for scraps that ah was runnin’oot of time findin, and here, noo, ah was like a Fuckin’ Dolphin on a feedin’ frenzy’. Anyway, apart fae the mask, it was all quite painless, though. Ah’ll get a letter within a Fortnight, tellin’ me what’s what. The big shock of the day was my weight. Aw the Shite started in 2015 and at one point ah was down to just under Eight and a Half Stone. That wid’ve been during the Chemo or the stem cell thing. Ah’m now looking out to play the Sydney Greenstreet character’s stunt Double in the next remake of the ‘Maltese Falcon’. If ye’ve got a spare couple of Hours dinny waste them on the remake of the Maltese Falcon. Complete and utter Pish. Eleven Stone – couldny believe it. Years ago ah remember weighin’ Eleven Sone, Three pounds. Playin’ for the Office Bar in Hawick soon got my weight down. That was in 1985 and from then on until ma mid Forties ah dodged between Ten and Ten and a half stone. Ma belly’s become like an unwanted visitor, who isny makin’ any effort tae leave soon. Ah’ve always been a wee skinny runt of a C–t, and, noo ah’ve got this big Belly. Ah dinny help masel wi’ ma diet, though. Callum got me a cup of Coffee and a Bacon Roll this Mornin’ at the Hospital and ah’ve no’ eaten since. Ah had crisps when ah woke up earlier. Ah was shattered when ah got back fae Hospital at aboot Eleven. Had a cup of Tea and went off tae ma bed at Midday and woke up at Nine. There was a bit of a commotion outside and a lot of shouting. Probably wid’ve been those noisy wee Bastards next door. The Polis are at them Two or Three times a week and it’s a fuckin nightmair, if ye’ll forgive the spellin’,.For any Hypothetical paranoid Dope smokers livin’ in that block, it must be a nightmare. Ah ken a guy who runs oot his door every time something kicks off next door and sprays the stairwell wi’ Air freshener. The wee Bastards are always at ma door askin’ for fag papers and Baccy or Fags. Ah hate no’ havin a fag or a joint and ah hate the thought of someone goin’ withoot but ah’m hopin the wee C–ts die of the Cancer before me. Ah was on aboot food and the little of it that ah seem to eat – if ah’ve got Bob Hope ah’ll no’ eat much, if ah’ve no’ got Bob Hope ah chain smoke.
The Covid Diaries
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