On behalf of the dim

The Counter-Enlightenment

Apparently Ukraine started the war. I don't know how, as Russia invaded it. 

But they did. Donald Trump said.

They're not allowed to negotiate the peace either. That can only take place between Russia and America. 

And Russia must be compensated by having all of its terms met BEFORE the negotiations take place. So it gets its territory (which historically was its, back in the bleh... century) and Ukraine can't join NATO.

That'll serve Ukraine right and teach it not to be a VICTIM again!

We stand with the strong men of the world! 

Trump's face will be carved into Mount Rushmore!

People loyal to THE PRESIDENT will replace those whose were merely loyal to the constitution!

Every podcast is out of date the moment it's broadcast as more and more insane shit is introduced by the US govt.

This is a deliberate tactic.

Trump is asked questions about his various secretaries of state and their actions, and doesn't even know what they've done or are doing.

That's not his job!

That's Elon's!

Trump's job is to play golf and to sign shit with his Sharpie.

This is democracy in action! 

All Hail the President!!

Is he going to be vulgar again, Deirdre? 

You know? Like last time...

Well to all the Deirdres out there, I do have Frontotemporal Dementia (Behavioural Variant) and this isn't the 1950s, but I will be more sensible and boring as I know the general public prefers it. 

And my key demographic is the middle-aged and intelligent, anodyne as that may be.

After all, in keeping with other dementia sufferers, one's accompanying blog about one's life as a demented must be wholesome and pure.

I'm supposed to talk about flowers, and spring (everyone forgets in the UK that the weather is shite until April) and birdsong, animals, walks in nature and beautiful loveliness.

And also my ever-loving care-partner, who I don't have. This bit only just occurred to me, as an autonomous dementia-bot - that I don't have a significant other.

Most other dementia bloggers tend to still be in relationships. I'm well-aware dementia puts a huge strain on relationships and many people split apart as the behaviour of the dementia sufferer goes un-diagnosed for years and can create antipathy and resentment.

Obviously I can get away without having a carer at the moment. 

My plan, when shit sucks, is to jump off a cliff.

It may never reach that point as one's lived experience in the present is 'well, I'm still okay', even when you've lost all your friends and are - at that moment - being arrested for trying to have sex with a large display of canned soups in a local Asda.

I imagine that the urge to remain alive is a strong one even when you're full on mad/demented.

I thought once I can no longer read, or run or play a D&D game anymore - with that being my raison d'être these days - what would be the point?

And I'll probably then say - ah, but I still appreciate music, ...and so on and so forth until I run out of interests and hobbies and all the other things that make me ME, until I'm reduced to basic bodily functions and wearing a nappy.. 

And the cliff thing - I'm a coward, so I probably won't do that.

Mind you, the world may not last that long the way things are going...

Balancing the booze

I managed to disgust myself sufficiently into stopping drinking or rather, cutting down to 4 beers a week. My stomach was that of the famous pregnant man from that early 70s advertisment.

Famous pregnant man advert

Self-disgust is an excellent in-built emergency brake and u-turn. A kill-switch if ever there was.

I looked at my once Apollonian frame in its naked glory in the mirror. Sagging everything, a retreated winkle too ashamed to show his once true majesty, Blackadder legs and a bloated potbelly. 

I look like some ancient toad. 

Me, naked. The other day.

It's puketastically bad. Bad enough for me to eschew the booze and walk a bit more, watch my diet and increase the vegetables.

I blame my parents who made me eat a ton of veg when I was a kid but now eat hardly any themselves. 

Okay, okay - I shall take charge of the cooking.

It will take 2-3 months and more exercise to get to my ideal weight / belt notch. It always does when I get to this stage. But I am fatter than I've ever been.

You need to see me in the flesh to see how revolting I truly am.

I already feel better since cutting down alcohol and walking more.

Full-frontal nudity here we come!

Who's demented now??

London comes to me...

Me old cor-blimey geezers came up from that London: Gerry and Allen. 7 hour round trip. They met the old folks who thought they were wonderful (they don’t know them like I do).

Dad brought his fishing flies in as Gerry is a keen fly-fisherman too. He also cornered Allen to talk about cars - Allen was driving some huge Mercedes SUV.

My Dad - 'The Chatty Welshman'!

When they first arrived I was slightly discombobulated seeing familiar faces in my home environment - does anyone else get that or is it just me? People in their contexts or out of their contexts? A bit like a wedding where all the people compartmentalised in different parts of your life come together. Like a rabbit in headlights - felt slightly unreal, dream-like.

We did the Lambeth Walk through Wells - saw the cathedral, Vicar’s Close and Bishop’s Palace. I think they liked Vicar’s Close best. 

'Mad' Allen Osborn and Gerry 'Chopper' Boyle

A couple of Chelsea Smilers later we had lunch at the S&P. It was great. Lots of good-natured swearing and laughter. And also comparing notes about living in the sticks and the wacko racist nutjobs who do little or certainly less, to disguise their bigotry.

Really nice to see them. Much appreciated. 

...and I go to London

Despite the lovely day, I slept very badly that night. I just couldn’t get to sleep with underlying stress about travelling to London and so forth, and then I woke up way too early. 

I used to feel like that when I was running masonry jobs, thinking everything would go wrong. Lost a lot of sleep over a number of years.

Fell asleep several times on the coach trip on the way up. Each time I jolted awake, thinking I was about to pee myself. Anyone else get that?

Oh, okay then...

Got to Hammersmith pretty much on time. The MC on the coach has thankfully stopped making that joke about Ebaying lost property. Got out and jumped on the tube, to go to Piccadilly Circus.

Nice afternoon - but I had a heavy bag in tow.

The fashions in London at the moment are completely underwhelming. Baggy faded jeans, earth-shatteringly horrendous baggy woollen cardigans, beards and dresses, and ultimately look like you can only afford to dress out of a jumble sale.

Zero-style.

Ugly, unflattering clothes.

I walked to The Ralph Lauren flagship store. I'd recommend anyone to go in there. It really is something else. Like an Ivy League university from the 1930s in London.

As with all things, they’ve stopped making the one thing I always bought. In this case I was after RL Sullivan jeans, Buitoni-fly and no stretch. They even had a cardigan I was tempted by - half-jacket half cardigan. It was in cotton silk. 

I know, I know. Too many buitoni but they’re not plastic and at least it’s not regular soft fluffy wool. More like a jacket really.

Yes, that's what I will tell myself. It's not a cardigan, it's a jacket! 

(Remembers being admonished by upper middle class family 25 years ago: "It's not a sauce Geraint! It's a jus!")

I know, I know. Only £549.

Great plastic-surgery disasters of Mayfair

Filler here, filler there; filler everywhere. The unfeasibly rich doing their utmost to reclaim their former beauty and paying the price for their vanity.

Narcissus with botox.

Some are so grotesque they look like they're wearing a plastic mask. Demonic.

Body dysmorphia - must be.

No, you look great. Honestly...

Wimbledonia

That evening I stayed with Sophie and her daughter Olivia who I hadn’t seen for years, and who is now a confident young woman. 

All the young adults I knew as kids now seem more mature than me.

We had a lovely evening. I slept for 2 hours when I got to Sophie’s as I was shattered.

We had an amazing Chinese meal from Good Earth - a London chain. Just astonishingly good quality.

I felt like sending it to the 2 Chinese takeaways in Wells to show them how it SHOULD be done, rather than the care-free slop they produce which they then puke into the plastic containers.

I heard Sophie leave around 7.30 am. I had a shower, Oscar the lovely 12 year old brown lab was unresponsive at the top of the stairs, then had a banana and a cup of tea and left. What a beautiful road - huge bay windows - and front gardens. A conservation area too. Must have been built in the 1910s. Mostly occupied by families it seemed.

I looked up the house prices on Zoopla. Wow. 

The National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery

Got into Russell Sq and did my usual of going to Pret for breakfast. Always a ton of foreign students around. Sat there and watched the world go by and do its thing.

Prof Warren said while I may or may NOT have dementia, the Semantic Variant diagnosis I originally had was incorrect.

I said I felt slightly fraudulent - so do I have dementia or not? My behaviour certainly changed and I got crazy angry until the Sertraline kicked in. And I do have problems with elision of words. My brain fog is as real as ever and despite my neuropsych tests it's increasingly opaque. 

He assured me it’s nothing to feel fraudulent about. The hospital is all about anomalous cases and they want to put me in a PET scan as the last MRI scans have shown the atrophy in my lobes has STABILISED!

There is something going on and they want to get to the bottom of it. 

A PET scan will show more the workings of my brain rather than just its volume, but is subsequently also prone to more of an interpretation - such is the complexity.

I did my yearly neuropsychology tests and was told it was pretty much the same as last year’s - it certainly felt harder. More brain fog, less cognisance that I’d got the right answers, and subsequently less confidence. 

I felt I was giving a best guess rather than knowing I'd got the right answer.

So who knows what I've got? 

And that was it for another year.

 

Holiday Dementia Special!!!!!

Reunion

Not the title of my difficult third album, but of a little group of some Blue Schoolers from a long time ago,  who gathered together in The Crown last night.

It was a smaller gathering than I expected and as usual with these things some people who said they were coming didn't, and others who said they might didn't. So there.

I had good chats with Ali, Pat, Sarah, Richard, Clare and Anna. It was amazing to all be in the same room. 

(Anna's dog wants to have sex with me. It's difficult. Tbf I probably led him on.)

Get yer coat luv: you've scored.

And today I met Shelley for coffee and took her to see Tanith on her last day at work ever. They hadn't seen each other in years. So that was good.

So many old school friends in 24 hours. It's really nice. And last night I phoned the wrong Claire, but it was really nice to speak to her again so I'm going to call her later for a catch up!

Slightly too much to drink last night but I think I got away with it, apart from the masturbation joke which Ali and Nerys recoiled from. 

Blame it on the FTD. I always do.

Body Dysmorphia

However, the photos of the event were a surprise to me. Instead of the Apollonian figure who looks back at me from the mirror every morning, was the body of a 12 stone weakling with a pot belly. I looked like I have spina bifida - Ian Dury Legs with Purple Ronnie's torso.

Couldn't be bothered to Photoshop my face onto it...

Bloody 'ell. I HAVE got Spina Bifida. Oh, there's always something...

"Gurt big head on 'ee!" "What an Elmer." I can hear you all saying. 

And you'd be right. 

I need to have a full head and body transplant. Maybe for next Xmas. 

Or I'll just have the money instead.

Words were no good anymore!

I've been going round saying odd words. Bungleflumps is at the top of the list. I don't know what it means. I say it a lot.

It just comes out now and again. I have yet to get to the stage of going up to random people and asking: "Do you know Bungleflumps?" "Can you direct me to Bungleflumps?" Or even to the stage of "Are you Bungleflumps? Are you? ARE YOU????"

So for the now, we will keep Bungleflumps at arm's length. I'm sure it will all become clear later.

Later.

Do you remember old Bungleflumps? 

Remember what he did to Dicky Price? 

Marvellous.

Eric Andre

My latest obsession is Eric Andre. He's a comedian - on the very fringes of theatre. He's a natural successor to Andy Kaufman, Chris Morris, Sacha Baron Coen and Johnny Knoxville. Watching lots of Eric Andre and being hungover has led to this crass bollocks that I am typing now but you are already  reading due to TIME.

His humour is gross-out, hits on the public, making his chat show guests feel very uncomfortable, and inexplicable, surreal stunts.

At the moment I'm trying to watch everything I can. It's a miracle the way he winds people up that he hasn't been seriously hurt by someone.

This is not for the faint-hearted and may truly offend: 

Well, I warned you.

RPG UPDATE!

Great gaming week. It got off to a bad start as Monday's was cancelled, but Larry has got the Temple of Elemental Evil up and running (it's a GAME, OK?!) having done a ton of work on it. We're playing it on Roll20 which is an incredible (and complicated) platform to use. But the maps and everything look fantastic. 

Wednesday afternoons are sorted for the foreseeable: thanks for all your hard work Larry!

And then on Thursday I ran Tomb of Annihilation for my Wells group. I really enjoyed it and so did they, which is the main thing.

Also, Patch 5 finally became available for Baldur's Gate 3 on Macs and the difference is awesome - you can now play it again instead of judder-judder-judder; give up.

Also my 20 mini 10-sided dice arrived. 

Xmas has arrived!!!

Hallelujah!

There you go. Have a nice one.

What's a demented to do?

Driving me nuts

Last week I drove with Dad to Ystradgynlais for a friend's funeral. It was the daughter of his violin teacher. We shared the driving as Dad is old but still drives well. I was very pleased with my driving although I was very tired by the end of it as it required a lot of concentrating, I'm not used to driving long distances, and I have FTD of course.

It was quite warm, but being in an air-conditioned car was blissful. I didn't go to the cremation itself but did go to the wake. Lots of people. I got stuck with 2 women who talked at length about how well their respective daughters were doing - a musician and a chemist I think. People always like to show off about their kids. Thing is, if you don't know them you don't care, unless they sound really, really interesting. You just nod politely feigning interest, or you might think it's your turn to talk about yours. 

I guess it's a child-off situation.

It was fine though - just an observation. People like to live vicariously through their child's achievements. I guess at best it's pride.

Reminds me of those Oxbridge types who within 10 minutes of meeting them drop "when I was at Balliol...."into the conversation. Quite an achievement to get to Oxbridge, until you meet some of the numbnuts who went there at the BBC in London.

And of course there are those who say Oxford when they mean the polytechnic, and are quite happy for you to think the grander option.

And for the record I don't give a toss where you went.

D.I.V.O.R.C.E.

So J and I are going to do this amicably. I'm obviously not going to go into details but we are still good friends. 

Everyone thinks I must be upset but I'm not. It just brings to an end an unhappy last few years of marriage. We've agreed terms too. 

Of course you start a marriage with the best of intentions - wanting the other person to feel fulfilled and as content as possible. I wanted J to feel fulfilled and when she left teaching and went back to being a management consultant it was like watching a dormant V8 roar into life. It was amazing. 

But we got married too soon.

I guess it's just 'get it done' now. 

I slept really well last night, so I'm thinking it must be the right thing.

So what of the future? I certainly don't want or crave another relationship. It's not fair on the other person to burden them with my illness, plus I don't think I can accommodate anyone with my current neurological issues, particularly my total tack of empathy and emotional numbness, the latter probably exacerbated by the Setraline. 

I've never been very good at relationships because I didn't particularly like myself for large parts of my adulthood, and you of course have to like yourself in order to like someone else. Or even love them.

But for now I'm quite content just being me on my lonesome.

I just had a chat with J. It's funny that the pressure seems to be off and now we seem much more vulnerable with each other. Which is nice.

(Insert daft comment)

'We do for cash'

I always remember that phrase in a heavily Greek accent from my time working in the office of a day spa in Kensington. 

Fact is I need some pocket money. Ideas:

1. Assembling flat-packed furniture for the Eloi
2. Mineral-based construction solutions (handyman who doesn't touch plumbing or electrics).
3. Er...

Any ideas please leave in the comments section.

Must get on with writing

I have to keep this blog going. You see I can waste days looking at YouTube - what has Donald Trump said now, ditto Marjory Taylor-Green (MTG), and the trashy Lauren Boebert getting thrown out of a Denver Theatre. Rugby League, Rugby Union, Mark Chopper Read, boxing, MMA...

Good just to listen to music and write. Perhaps this is the way forward.

Fat bollock

I am a fat bollock. I am. And it's all to do with beer - the only drug that tastes nice. Drinking way too much beer and every night. It's not good and I have the belly to prove it. It doesn't augur well for my 60s (should I get there, less some Soviet satellite fall on my head while gardening one day) so I should, nay MUST, cut down drastically. Just drink at pubs when in the company of others - not buy any and bring it home. 

I have a very indulgent personality...