So… Boris is ‘ a Christian’

Yesterday I found myself at a ( wait for it ) Catholic Miracle Healing day…. in North London.

After a conversation about what I’d do to not be paralysed, and how far ‘ out of the box’ id go, I agreed to go with Boris to this packed event.

Having only seen miracles in films, I was a touch curious. Boris seemed fairly confident that I’d walk back from Euston, having ditched my chair.

Not wanting to piss on his bonfire, I went with an open mind, tbh.

Boris bounced into my room at 8am, washed, dressed and with tea and breakfast. He enthused about our day ahead, speaking in sentences without long gaps, and …. SMILING!

I thought that given the prospect of just going had induced this miraculous transformation in him,  then surely merely rendering me not paralysed ought be a piece of cake…

Myself and HappySmiley went by train and road to Euston, and joined the other happy clappers. The joy in the room was indeed lovely.

Various speakers talked in ( rambling deliveries ) about the Big Man  in the room with us – for hours, and hours.

Cut to 7pm ( we got there at 10.45am ) and it was time to be cured. I readied myself for my jog home,  though wondered if I had the right trainers on and cursed myself for not thinking about wearing proper running shorts.

A total of 153 people in the room indicated that they had experienced incredible changes in their physical conditions over the next 3 hours, though neither myself or the other 2 paraplegics at the front noticed any differences. Boris was at a loss to explain it, having spent the previous 9 hours either laughing slightly manically, dancing and clapping, or weeping like a child, having totally abandoned his completely miserable insensitive bastard persona in front of the other disciples.

Dont worry! Today he’s recovered and is back to his old self – completely unhelpful, slightly hostile, and apathetic about anything that I need.

I was moved to ask him if he really considered himself a Christian, and whether Jesus would approve of his temperament and attitude.

Needless to say, communication and conversation reverted to solemnity and scowled responses.

I have to say, I’ve had enough of him, and am working on a replacement ASAP..

Live in Carer required.

Must be able to smile, drive a car, clean things, do  things without being asked to first ( have initiative ), have at least a small sense of humour, and ride a bicycle.

Please apply.

Russ

Well I’ve seen another side to Boris.

Who’d have thought that he could be charming, smiley, helpful, sensitive, garrulous and sociable..?

How I found that out will have to wait for another day.

It does beg the question as to why he’s been fairly objectionable for 9 days, though now I see why I’m not exactly his model of perfection, at least…..

Since a lot of people ask me about my children, on the absolutely fair assumption that I would be ‘in the know’ about them, I’m moved to say that actually I don’t know anything about them, other than what I hear third hand from other people who have some contact with them.

No, i haven’t heard from them since I moved back to Britain 9 days ago, other than a few words from my youngest in an email thanking me for gig tickets I had previously bought for her.

Despite the shun  I remain ‘ philosophical ‘ about them, I’d say, and am getting on with my life regardless.

Perhaps they found the body/ies???

Boris is definitely keeping his head down today, I’d say.

Good luck to Cherie who is in surgery in a few hours.. to put her leg back together.

This is Boris’s idea of a fully laden/ can’t get anything else on it … trolley..

I mean, seriously???

To put you in the picture, this is Boris, ahead of me, in Swansea on Saturday night.

I mean, who actually walks like that ?

And given there was no light, why are his eyes glowing ?

So I still live.

No thanks to my Carer, I’d say though.

Today we had to go and collect my ibot from Chiswick. Dan had been storing it whilst my main man Lester was repairing the plug and changing the ( almost useless ) batteries, both mahussive jobs.

I explained our task to Boris, in crisp and audible English, with full eye contact throughout.

What I said –

We’re going to Chiswick to collect my ibot wheelchair. It’s about 2 miles, and it’s about half a  mile further than our trip to the storage unit yesterday. In fact the storage unit is almost en route, we just keep going after it. Please stay behind me all the way, following my Triride. The traffic will be slow. Don’t overtake me! You will lose me.  If you really have to pass me then pull to one side of the road and wait for me, then catch me up again. We’re not actually picking anything up from the  storage unit.

What Boris heard :

‘Meet you at the storage unit’

Jesus, 20 Minutes after he’d sped past me and several phone calls later, I eventually found him near the storage place.

I said why are you here?

He said ‘ you specifically mentioned the storage unit, so here I am ‘

I said that I hadn’t said that and only that it was on the way to where we were going…

He said ( and wait for it ) …

’ vell it vood have been easy – you simply had to make me a sketch of ve route’

Of course … silly me, right …?

I was telling Boris about my grandad tonight. He’s ok when I ‘ talk seriously ‘ to him about things, so I told him about me canoeing in a race in Alaska that crossed Lake Laberge ( it’s a bloody long lake – 35 miles long  )

Whilst there I stopped and collected some stones from the banks to give to my Dad and my aunties in memory of their Dad. My Gramp used to recite this poem, off by heart. It was his party trick, you could say, and was always, and will always be special to those that heard him recite it.

It features the lake I mentioned.