mobility scooter

🎗️ This Blog is a space for honest conversations about my personal experiences with MS, mental health, and the weird paranormal, liminal, and everything in between. I’m not a doctor, therapist, or expert in the unexplained; I’m just someone sharing my story and offering solidarity. If you’re struggling, please reach out to a trusted friend, support group, or professional. And if the weird stuff sparks your curiosity, remember: stay open-minded, but always prioritise your well-being.🎗️

please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction, and use AI to proof read and help solve this issue so you can understand it

Oh, it's Thursday afternoon.

So, first of all, greetings and the warmest of welcomes to all you wonderful people who continue to read this blog. Quite frankly, I'm not entirely sure why you do, but I'm grateful nonetheless.

It has been quite a week since last Sunday, when I had my MRI scan at the hospital.

And by quite a week, I mean that I have only just started feeling vaguely human again.

The MRI scan absolutely wasted me.

It laid me down for days and days. Completely and utterly wiped me out.

Some people, apparently, have an MRI and simply carry on with their lives afterwards.

How lovely for them.

Unfortunately, I don't seem to belong to that particular branch of humanity.

For me, the MRI seems to upset all the magnetics in my body in ways that I really don't understand. My body decides that this is an excellent opportunity to go into complete rebellion, and having my head wedged into a machine when I already have a very bad neck isn't exactly my idea of an afternoon at the spa.

By the time the aftermath had finished with me, I was basically waiting for someone to put a DO NOT DISTURB — PATIENT CURRENTLY BEING HELD TOGETHER BY STRING sign on my front door.

But enough of the misery.

There have actually been some positives this week.

The Podcast Has Escaped

I managed to upload my first test podcast!

It's about fourteen minutes long and, if you can find it lurking somewhere on the website, congratulations you've discovered it.

It's very amateur.

Very.

I don't think I'm going to become the next global podcasting sensation overnight, mainly because I don't imagine there is a gigantic queue of people waiting desperately to hear me ramble about things that go bump in the night.

But you never know.

I'm going to be talking about things such as human intelligences, liminal shapes, strange experiences, weird things that have happened to me throughout my life, and all the other delightful material that makes perfectly sensible people slowly edge towards the door.

And that's actually the point.

I'm putting these experiences out there because they're part of my life.

They're a record.

Something for people to find.

And if just one person listens to something I've said and thinks:

"Bloody hell. I know exactly what he's talking about. This has happened to me too."

Then I've helped somebody.

And if that happens, it'll all have been worthwhile.

So, hopefully, My Living Hell will soon have podcasts appearing regularly.

God help us all.

And Apparently I'm Making Music Too

I've also decided I'm going to start putting some of my music up for people to listen to.

It's my own-produced lyric music, and I genuinely hope somebody might actually enjoy it.

A lot of it is connected to disability and my experiences of life, and hopefully some of it might give somebody a bit of power, strength or perhaps simply something to think about.

I've always thought songs can sometimes say things that spoken words struggle to express.

A few carefully chosen words, some music behind them, and suddenly something reaches places that a ten-minute explanation never could.

So there will be music coming as well.

And, thankfully, I don't have to throw everything onto YouTube or some other platform simply because that's apparently what you're supposed to do these days.

This will be staying with My Living Hell.

Myelin Maniacs Is Coming

I've also been busy with Stigsy on the Myelin Maniacs project.

And that should hopefully be going properly live within the next one to two weeks, all being well.

Stigsy is still working feverishly behind the scenes as I write this, getting everything running properly and trying to achieve that mythical state known as:

"A proper job, perfect, as they say."

We're getting there.

With Albertine's tremendous help, we've managed to get the first podcast uploaded, and we'll be getting the music uploaded as well on my living hell.

So things are actually moving.

Which is rather exciting.

Especially after spending half the week feeling like the MRI machine had eaten me and then thoughtfully spat me back out.

Tomorrow: Hospital Adventures, Because Apparently I Don't Have Enough Fun

Tomorrow is another day where I have to drive.

I've stopped taking my lunchtime medication today so that I'll be okay to drive tomorrow.

It's going to be a long drive to the hospital because Albertine has to see the plastic surgeon about her finger, to see how it's healing and all the usual medical adventures that apparently come with having a body.

I don't mind the actual driving.

It's the afterwards I don't particularly enjoy.

You get home, sit down, and then your body suddenly remembers that you've just spent hours using energy you didn't actually have.

That's when the bill arrives.

All the spoons have gone.

The tank is empty.

And the body essentially announces:

"Excellent. That's enough functioning for today. We're shutting down now."

And that's never particularly pleasant.

It doesn't really matter whether you're the driver or the passenger either.

The aftermath can still catch you.

Apparently, sitting in a moving vehicle for several hours is another one of life's thrilling hidden boss battles.

My Four-Wheeled Mobility Scooter of Dread

Meanwhile, my four-wheeled mobility scooter of dread is still stuck in the garage.

I'm finding it increasingly frustrating because I'm losing power going up even the slightest of hills.

We managed to get the major problem sorted out and discovered that the battery was the culprit.

Unfortunately, because life apparently believes that solving one problem should immediately unlock another, we've now got a different problem.

The bloody thing loses power going uphill.

When the guy from the company actually sat on it and took it out for a test, he said:

"What motor have you got in this?"

I immediately knew this wasn't going to be a compliment.

He thought the electric motor seemed seriously underpowered as well.

So we'll see what happens.

At this stage, I'm beginning to suspect my mobility scooter has simply developed an objection to the concept of mobility.

Perhaps it identifies as garden furniture.

Who knows.

Saturday: The Market!

On a much happier note, I'm really looking forward to Saturday because I want to go to the market.

And that would be absolutely brilliant.

Sometimes it's the simple things you look forward to most.

Getting out.

Having a wander around.

Seeing people.

Looking at things you don't need.

Possibly buying things you don't need.

The traditional human experience.

I also want to send my friend Viper peace, healing, love and light, and I really hope he gets over the illness that's currently giving him a good kicking.

I suspect he may have contracted the Deadly Lurgy of Death™.

I could, of course, be completely wrong.

But when Viper misses a show, you know something isn't quite right.

That's when the alarm bells start ringing.

So, Viper, wherever you are, get well soon, mate.

And Finally... Wash Your Bloody Hands

We really do need to be careful out there.

It's that time of year again when the bugs, coughs, colds and assorted microscopic bastards begin wandering around looking for somewhere to live.

So please remember the basics.

Wash your hands.

If you're using a petrol pump, consider wearing gloves.

Shopping trolleys, door handles, petrol pumps and all the other things that hundreds of people touch during the day can be rather delightful little delivery systems for whatever lurgy happens to be doing the rounds.

And nobody needs to spend their weekend becoming intimately acquainted with the toilet.

That's not the kind of weekend entertainment anybody ordered.

So wash your hands.

Use gloves where appropriate.

Be sensible.

It's amazing how much trouble a bit of soap can potentially save you from.

And yes, apparently we still need to remind people about this.

Humanity has reached the moon, developed artificial intelligence and built machines capable of putting magnets around your head...

...and we're still having to say:

"Please wash your bloody hands."

You couldn't make it up.

Until Next Time

Anyway, that's about it for this Thursday afternoon.

Hopefully the weekend will bring better things, including a trip to the market, some progress with the projects, and perhaps a little less time being completely flattened by medical machinery.

I'm wishing everyone out there peace, healing, love and light, no matter who you are, what you are, or where you may be from.

I hope you have a wonderful, exciting and happy weekend.

Take care of yourselves.

And remember:

Wash your hands.

Wear gloves when appropriate.

Avoid unnecessary lurgies.

And if you happen to encounter a mysterious liminal shape while doing your shopping...

Well...

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)
☣ This Is Not A Blog About MS This Is My Life With MS ☣

Tumblr is @livingwithmsblog twitter@livingwithms email warlock@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ This Blog is a space for honest conversations about my personal experiences with MS, mental health, and the weird paranormal, liminal, and everything in between. I’m not a doctor, therapist, or expert in the unexplained; I’m just someone sharing my story and offering solidarity. If you’re struggling, please reach out to a trusted friend, support group, or professional. And if the weird stuff sparks your curiosity, remember: stay open-minded, but always prioritise your well-being.⚠️

please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction, and use AI to proof read and help solve this issue so you can understand it

Well, It’s the Weekend. Apparently.

Well, it’s the weekend, apparently. So I hope everyone out there in Blog land or, more accurately, My Living Hell land is having an absolutely marvellous one.

Here it is dark, cold, wet and thoroughly miserable. Proper British weather: the sort that makes you wonder whether the sky has simply given up and started leaking.

No market for me this Saturday. I doubt I’ll even be going out. Autumn has arrived, winter is looming behind it like an unpaid bill, and it is time to start wrapping up again. Joy. Another season of layers, damp socks and pretending the weather is “quite fresh”.

This week has been fraught. Stress attacks, setbacks, pressure, crossed wires, people not listening properly the usual human circus, only with less popcorn and more exhaustion.

I think I am slowly crawling back towards a strange kind of non-normal normal. If you live with progressive MS, you may understand that one. “Normal” is often just the bit between one problem and the next problem arriving with a clipboard.

My head has not been in a good place. I have felt pressured and aggravated, mostly because people seem to hear words but not actually listen to what is being said. That creates misunderstandings, then more problems, then suddenly everybody is wandering around holding the wrong end of the stick and wondering why the room smells of smoke.

I have always done things off the cuff. I shoot from the hip. I do not enjoy being forced into scripts, boxes or somebody else’s carefully organised system for explaining who I am. I have been doing my own thing for years.

And yes, I use AI sometimes, like most people now. But I do not want every human conversation shoved through a machine and turned into a polished beige corporate paragraph. Sometimes that is exactly where the meaning gets lost. AI can tidy grammar, but it cannot always understand tone, history, frustration, humour, illness, personality or the thousand invisible things behind a sentence.

That is why the podcast will be as it happens.

No fake polish. No cutting out every cock-up. No pretending I am some perfect media-trained robot in a jumper. It will be real: a bloke with progressive MS, a camera, a microphone, a brain that does not always play by the rules, and probably several moments where technology behaves like it has joined the opposition.

Over winter, I hope to talk honestly about life with MS not just the symptoms people can see, but what it does to your thinking, memory, confidence, communication and sense of self. MS does not just mess with your legs. It can get into your head, your planning, your energy, your patience, and your ability to feel like the same person you once were.

I also want to talk about the stranger side of my life: the patterns I notice, the experiences I have had, spirituality, paranormal questions, UFOs, ghosts, consciousness and the things that do not fit neatly into a medical leaflet.

I am not here to force my beliefs onto anyone. I am sharing my experiences and asking questions, as I have done for decades. People are free to think I am eccentric, mistaken, fascinating, completely bonkers or all four before lunch. That is their right.

What I do know is that dismissing someone’s lived experience without listening is not good enough either. I am still asking questions. I am still looking for answers. And I am still very much here.

On Sunday, I have an MRI scan.

I hate MRI scans.

The noise, the enclosure, the waiting, the white-coat anxiety—the whole thing is a nightmare wrapped in hospital lighting. People say, “It’s only an MRI, don’t worry.” Brilliant. Thank you. I will now simply switch off decades of medical stress and trauma because someone said “don’t worry” in a reassuring voice.

Of course I know the staff are doing their jobs, and most are kind people. It is not about them personally. It is about what hospitals represent after years of appointments, explanations, tests, disbelief, stress and being made to feel as though you are somehow inconvenient for being ill.

The one possible advantage of an MRI on a Sunday is parking. In theory. At the main hospital, you need to leave about an hour and a half early just to stand a fighting chance of finding a space. When you are in a wheelchair and have to find the right department afterwards, it stops being a hospital visit and becomes a low-budget endurance challenge.

Meanwhile, the four-wheel scooter of death has been looked at.

The repair man said it feels badly underpowered and asked whether it really has the motor it is supposed to have. That was comforting. Nothing says confidence quite like the bloke fixing it looking mildly horrified.

There may also have been a battery connection issue from the start. Excellent. So perhaps I have bought a mobility scooter that has the pulling power of a damp lettuce.

This week, Albertine and I will test it properly. She will be on the three-wheel scooter of death, and I will be on the four-wheel scooter of no hope. If it is still performing like a reluctant shopping trolley, then we will have to push the company for proper answers. Their response time so far has been suspiciously slow. Funny how urgency evaporates once they have your money.

On the positive side, the podcast setup is ready. Microphone, camera, sound, studio—the lot. I will be recording the first episode in the next few days and hosting it myself.

So yes, soon you will be able to see me and hear me, which may be too much reality for some people. But there we are.

This is not just going to be a podcast about MS. It will be about everything that comes with it: the absurdity, the fear, the humour, the brain fog, the anger, the spiritual questions, the weirdness, the loneliness, the love, and the bloody determination to remain myself in the middle of it all.

Whatever you believe, wherever you are, and however strange your own corner of reality may feel today, I wish you peace, healing, love and light.

Have a decent weekend if you can.

And if you cannot, at least try not to buy a scooter with the acceleration of a dead snail.

Peace and love.

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)
☣ This Is Not A Blog About MS This Is My Life With MS ☣

Tumblr is @livingwithmsblog twitter@livingwithms 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ This blog shares my personal, sometimes painful experiences with MS and mental health. My intention is to speak honestly and offer solidarity—not to harm or replace professional advice. I’m not a doctor or therapist, just someone who gets how hard it can get. If you’re struggling, you’re not alone. Please reach out to a trusted friend, support group, or professional. You deserve help and hope.⚠️

please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction, and use AI to proof read and help solve this issue so you can understand it

Well hello, and a massive welcome to all my readers whether you’re humanoid, NHI, or otherwise.

The past few weeks have been nothing short of tumultuous! I have so much ground to cover, so let's break it down into smaller pieces.

Health & Wellness Updates: The Hard Stuff

First, an update on Albertine's finger is good news she doesn't need the finger removed after all! Apparently, the part that was sewn on was okay. While the total tip of her finger is gone for good (I suspect a hedgehog or some rodent claimed the rest in the bushes!), it’s been a very trying couple of weeks overall.

On my end, I’ve driven more over these last three weeks than I have in probably eight years! It proves that when I'm feeling good, I can still do it. But let me tell you about the contrast: when I got home after those drives, the brain fog and stress attacks were mind-boggling. How I long remember my old days of riding my motorcycle or trike through the Southwest of England! Those fun times and all the camaraderie shared with Albertine on our rides through Cornwall and Devon what an amazing time it was.

The Autonomic Dysfunction Puzzle

I recently received a letter from the hospital that dropped a major bomb: they suspect I might have autonomic dysfunction. Honestly, how many times have I gone to the doctor detailing these symptoms? And speaking of listening... it’s frustrating. It's only now, after ten years and much prompting, that the medical staff are looking into everything.

I feel completely unheard. Having put together evidence over a decade while being ignored and gaslit was exhausting. But here’s where the AI came in! Years ago, I used a medical AI to input all my symptoms, and it suggested: Autonomic dysfunction severe with a histamine issue. Since managing this diet has been tough, I've been committed to avoiding any food that can trigger a reaction.

It makes me feel pissed off like nobody listened for ten years! Why do we need constant scans and needles? All of it seems focused on mapping my progressive MS, but not helping the other symptoms that come along with it. Sometimes, you just want someone to say, "Leave him alone; let him rot."

However, I also get that the NHS is stretched incredibly thin right now. There are so many patients, and we desperately need more resources. But I do wonder why natural remedies aren't considered as a viable part of the treatment path?

💻 Tech Troubles & The Brain Fog

Between Albertine having her finger cut and me trying to reinstall Windows 11 and Zorin on two different machines, my computer issues have been massive! Peripheral hardware played havoc with us for days. I’m so tired that the brain fog and stress attacks are back in full force it's horrendous how quickly my body reacts to major stress.

Speaking of technology... I find myself using AI more and more, and it genuinely helps me navigate life right now. It makes me wonder why there isn't a specialised "disabled package" for things like this? For some of us, £20 a month is a huge expense. A few quid a month would make a massive difference!

🚲 Mobility Scooters & Unexpected Adventures

My journey with mobility scooters has been... eventful. I finally got my brand new four-wheeled model and took it out in town. Well, it started acting up immediately. It kept cutting out and nearly caused a horrific accident right in the middle of a roundabout! Because of this, it’s stuck in the garage for now. (No need to name the company; that would be unfair.) I've sent two emails and received absolutely nothing back.

For the moment, I am safely back on my trusty three-wheeled scooter of death. At least that seems functional! Fingers crossed I get a proper response from the four-wheel company by the end of the week, or it's heading straight back.

🌠 From Scooters to Space: And Other Updates

Finally, for the fun stuff! Last night, while watching the eclipse (around 7:20 PM UK time), I saw my first UFO and filmed it! It was a grey round ball. I can’t judge its size, but it hovered perfectly still in the sky for about twenty minutes—like a ghost passing by. What joy!

Sending peace, healing, love, and light to all of you. Please remember to hydrate today; my conservatory is over 110 degrees, and the house is at least 30+! Be safe and keep cool until next time!

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)
☣ This Is Not A Blog About MS This Is My Life With MS ☣

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk

⚠️ This blog shares my personal, sometimes painful experiences with MS and mental health. My intention is to speak honestly and offer solidarity—not to harm or replace professional advice. I’m not a doctor or therapist, just someone who gets how hard it can get. If you’re struggling, you’re not alone. Please reach out to a trusted friend, support group, or professional. You deserve help and hope.⚠️

please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction this may be a confusing read. AI help with written content

Good morning, fellow humanoids, NHI, accidental visitors and whatever else may be reading this blog from behind the veil.

It is Saturday morning, so I wish you all a happy weekend or at least a weekend involving fewer neurological catastrophes, unreliable taxis and near-death descents on mobility equipment than mine.

Yesterday was a Friday from hell.

Admittedly, it eventually developed into a rather pleasant Friday afternoon, but only after spending the morning enthusiastically dragging me through several circles of Dante’s accessible parking area.

The MS Curse Awakens

I woke at my usual time of six o’clock with the entire left-hand side of my body giving me its customary warm welcome.

By “warm welcome”, I mean terrible pain.

The sort of pain that makes opening your eyes feel like an administrative error.

My blood pressure had also decided to explore the lower levels of human survival. I felt dreadful before getting out of bed, and considerably worse once I attempted the ambitious medical procedure known as “standing up to get some food”.

I remember thinking:

Well, this is a promising start.

It was clearly going to be one of those days when my body cancelled all scheduled activities without consulting management.

I took my prescribed medical cannabis and THC/CBD oil. I also had vitamin D with K2, vitamin C and magnesium.

Gradually, things began to improve or at least retreat from “immediate exorcism required” to “possibly fit for limited public viewing”.

My head still felt as though it had been posted to another dimension and was being repeatedly struck with a cosmic mallet.

Then came the existential dread.

People often tell you to remain positive. This is excellent advice when your nervous system is not behaving like a condemned Victorian electrical installation.

Sometimes positivity is possible.

Sometimes your brain merely replies:

Absolutely not. Today we shall stare into the abyss.

I call it the MS Curse.

It is the strange natural law by which every carefully arranged plan is immediately attacked by pain, fatigue, dizziness, spasms, brain fog or some entirely new symptom released as part of the latest neurological update.

Taxi? Did Somebody Call a Taxi?

The previous day, Albertine had booked a taxi to collect us at 11:30 and take us to the tattoo studio for my midday appointment.

At 11:30, we were outside the bungalow waiting.

There was no taxi.

At 11:40, there was still no taxi.

By 11:45, the taxi had apparently entered the same mysterious dimension as my functioning nervous system.

Albertine telephoned the company and was told that the driver was still around half an hour away. They could not reach us for at least another twenty minutes.

My appointment was at twelve.

Marvelous.

This was especially inconvenient because Albertine had almost chopped the top of her finger off on Tuesday. It had been left hanging on by a small piece of skin, which is generally considered a poor condition in which to operate a motor vehicle.

She had already needed treatment from the plastic-surgery team and was therefore unable to drive.

I was feeling dreadful and could not safely drive either.

The taxi company, meanwhile, had apparently adopted the philosophical position that time is merely a social construct.

I became rather angry.

I had been trying to arrange this tattoo for a long time. I had finally found the right tattooist, and I did not want to waste her time or fail to turn up.

There was only one option left.

Unfortunately, it had three wheels.

My Saviour: The Three-Wheeled Trolley of Death

We went into the garage and unplugged the three-wheeled scooter of death from its charger.

I looked at it.

It looked back at me.

Possibly.

I had around ten minutes to reach the tattoo studio.

“Please,” I thought, “do not let me down today of all days.”

I climbed aboard, pulled the throttle back and unleashed the full, terrifying fury of approximately eight miles per hour.

Off I went.

Not so much roaring down the road as trundling towards destiny with a shopping basket.

I must have looked completely demented: a wobbly man hurtling through the streets on a three-wheeled mobility scooter, travelling at top speed while simultaneously going nowhere particularly quickly.

It was the slowest high-speed pursuit in British history.

Somehow, despite feeling dreadful, I reached the tattoo studio at around twelve o’clock.

The trolley of death had not missed a beat.

I parked it outside with a wry smile.

For once, a piece of equipment in my life had performed exactly as intended.

Naturally, I found this deeply suspicious.

At the Tattoo Studio

I climbed off the scooter and walked into the studio with the help of my stick.

I was extremely determined.

I was also extremely wobbly.

Each step carried the exciting possibility of an unscheduled meeting with the floor. Thankfully, it was only a short distance, although being knocked over outside the shop would have added a pleasingly dramatic final act to the morning.

The tattooist greeted me warmly and immediately put me at ease.

She was friendly, gentle and extremely knowledgeable. The entire experience was fantastic and one of the most pleasant things I have done in a long time.

The tattoo itself is amazing.

Honestly, it is perfect.

She was so gentle that I barely felt a thing. Of course, when you already have reduced sensation in your hand, getting tattooed becomes one of the few occasions when neurological numbness comes with a customer benefit.

It felt like little more than a faint pinch.

Things have changed considerably since my last tattoo. The equipment and techniques have moved forward, and I was surprised by how calm and comfortable the whole procedure was.

After a morning dominated by pain, low blood pressure and transport incompetence, sitting in a tattoo studio somehow became the restful part of the day.

Life is peculiar like that.

Going Home: Oh Dear God

I left the studio, climbed back onto the three-wheeled trolley of death and admired my new tattoo.

It looked absolutely awesome.

There was no pain. No trouble. Nothing.

For a brief and dangerous moment, I believed things were going well.

Then I attempted to go home.

The road from the tattoo studio leads down a fairly steep hill. Unfortunately, I took the wrong turning and became completely lost.

I spent around ten minutes riding in circles, wondering where the hell I was.

Everything looked the same.

Every building appeared to have been copied and pasted by a bored simulation designer.

I eventually went up a slight incline, believing it would lead to the main car park.

It did not.

Instead, it delivered me to the top of a narrow and extremely steep hill, barely wide enough for one car.

I asked a nearby woman for directions to the main car park.

She looked at the hill.

She looked at my scooter.

Then she looked at me with the unmistakable expression of someone preparing to become a witness.

She explained that the hill was extremely steep and seemed genuinely uncertain whether I would reach the bottom safely.

This was reassuring.

As regular readers may know, the brakes on the three-wheeled trolley of death are not its strongest feature.

They are less “precision braking system” and more “polite written request to reduce speed”.

Nevertheless, down I went.

Slowly.

Precariously.

Possibly accompanied by the distant laughter of Death, who had apparently taken the afternoon off but was still checking his emails.

Somehow, I reached the bottom without overturning, colliding with anything or becoming a local-news item.

From there, I found the car park and eventually made my way home.

A Friday of Two Halves

The day began with terrible pain, low blood pressure, neurological misery and the familiar feeling that MS had torn up my plans for its own amusement.

Then the taxi failed to appear.

Albertine could not drive because of her injured finger.

I was forced to race through town at eight miles per hour on a three-wheeled mobility scooter.

I got my tattoo.

I became lost.

I descended a hill on brakes apparently designed by someone who disliked disabled people.

And somehow, I got home safely.

All in all, it was quite an experience.

The morning came directly from hell.

The afternoon, unexpectedly, was rather lovely.

And the three-wheeled trolley of death?

It performed magnificently.

I may have to promote it to Three-Wheeled Trolley of Mildly Reckless Salvation.

But let us not get carried away.

It still has those brakes.

Survival Report Pain: ★★★★☆ Brain Fog: ★★★★★ Near-Death Experiences: 2 Taxi Reliability: -3/10 Scooter Heroics: Legendary Humour Level: Still Operational.

Today's Lesson: Never trust a taxi. Always trust the Three-Wheeled Trolley of Death. MS doesn't make appointments... it cancels them.

wishing everyone peace healing love and light no matter who you are

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction this may be a confusing read. no AI written content

What an absolutely glorious Saturday it is today. A very good morning to you all. Fellow humanoids NHI and whomever reads THIS. Well, it's been an exceptionally hot Saturday morning and Albertine and myself went out on the three-wheel-trolley of death. Yes, it was an absolute death-defying ride into the town and beyond. As usual, people were watching and smiling As we rode by on our three-wheeled scooters of death, . Quite a few people shouted hello and I pulled over and had conversations with many people this morning which was refreshing and really enjoyable I must say.

Where can I get one of those mobility scooters?

And of course the number one question was mobility scooters and wow they really liked mine! And I told them yes it is good but... I have a few issues going uphill with grip as it's a front wheel drive. But I have learnt to overcome this now. It's all to do with positioning and the amount of power that you lay down from the throttle to the motor. Going at slow increments is better than whacking back the throttle. So far, quite a few people have asked where I've got it from. Well, like I said, it's a cheap Chinese mobility scooter off the internet. And I gave them the name of the company and there we go. And I would imagine they're off to that website to say, "Hey, I want one of those." Because they really do look quite cool. And they are under £1000 as well. So that is even more mind blowing. And if you're disabled like me and you're that exempt for things to do with mobility, then you don't have to pay the VAT. So that's an even better and good reason for getting one. I can quite honestly say that it has changed my world. I can go practically anywhere and really does make a difference. The cost of running a car and van has gone completely out of control. What with the cost of fuel, insurance and everything else? So yeah. That's where we're at now. scooters rule okay.

maintenance the key to longevity of your mobility scooter

Remember maintenance will save you a lot of money in the long run if you buy one of these cheap mobility scooters make sure all the bearings are lubricated and that you have either solid tyres or carry one of those USB pumps along with one of those liquids you can put in the Tyre if you get a puncture. You know sensible things a bit of rope so if you're actually with somebody and their trolley goes down you can actually tow someone. That's a good thing to take with you and also take plenty of water for hydration as well and also take an old wibbly wobbly bike spanner because you never know when you're going to need a spanner. And also did you know if you break down and you're a member of one of the motoring services like the AA or RAC You are able to phone them up and get them to recover your mobility scooter I know it sounds insane but you can. My scooter is insured, taxed and also has a registration certificate So everything is completely legal and that really is the only way to go... Also remember to keep your scooter in a warm place as well, because cold is the biggest killer of Mobility Scooter batteries.

So if there is anybody out there who is looking to get themselves a scooter or a "let me see" a mobility trolley then go for it it will save you in the long run an awful lot of money, you get to go everywhere but it will be a little slower but who cares you can just put your headphones in your ears and just go along and enjoy the view It's like I said to somebody today. I wish that I wasn't on a mobility scooter, and they said why is that? And I said well if I didn't have one, that would mean I didn't have MS I think they understood what I was trying to say. .

Music, Aliens and other things.

Well, my music is going well. I have produced Brothers of Destruction number one two three and four and have had them played on Vipestorm Entertainment on Mixlr and I have also had Fran Sam Fran Sam the hit-man played on there as well, which is a adult themed comedy sort of thing and Also, I have got quite a few other Songs and it's all sort of quite crazy stuff. That's for sure So as for music, things go well. But trying to think sometimes of lyrics is absolutely mind bending and can cause me to have quite the brain fog.

The thing is I'm going to push myself and push myself and push myself I'm going to live every minute of the day like it was my last Because why wouldn't you I? Want to experience everything still I don't want to give up. Why would I I don't care about the pain I don't care about the discomfort. I don't care what people say about me. I just want to live a long Gish and a happy life. I don't care about the illness. I just want happiness That's the important thing happiness Love and understanding and friendship. That's all I want Yet people can't understand that I find that very strange But there we go.

loosing everyone

I think I have lost the art of making friends, nope its the ms when it came a knocking... Everybody fucked off. Everybody deserted me. It was like I had trod is smelly dog shit that was really extra smelly. Oh man, it was disaster how all my friends just disappeared. You have multiple sclerosis and you tell people And then that's it. Wow, your whole life goes down the toilet. But fuck them all, because as far as I'm concerned, I don't really care. I have Albertine and I have myself, I have my cats and I have my brother, and there we go. That's my brother from another mother, by the way as well. Because my brothers and my sisters don't speak to me, it's really crazy. But that's being adopted for you, when you find your real family and none of them want to speak to you, they just totally ignore you. It's like we're this toy that they pull out of the toy box and want to play with. It's so stupid really, but there we go. But then again, such is life, I was a cuckoo and I will continue to be a cuckoo. But I don't really care, it's their loss really.

Aliens

So we come to aliens, yes. Are we being told a load of old rubbish? I wonder. I find it funny, really, that we've had no concrete evidence or proof, yet we are being told disclosure is just around the corner. If extraterrestrials, aliens really exist, well why don't you just tell us and show us and treat us like adults, instead of going around the streets and houses, treating us like children, we do have a right to know you know. It's like everything. They never tell us the truth. They will always invert things. So I don't believe we're going to get full disclosure of UFOs, UAPs or aliens. I think it's just a nothing burger. Like everything pretty much is these days, a massive nothing burger, with extra side of nothing burger chips. But I would love to be proved wrong and n h-i exists. That would be excellent. Because personally I do believe in non-human intelligence, but I believe they're already here and have been living with us ever since the year dot. It's just they blend in so well we cannot tell the difference. And then I was hearing the YouTube Chanel and it said that Ancestry allegedly was looking for Alien DNA. I found that quite funny. So what they're trying to insinuate that some of us are actually hybrid aliens with Alien DNA in our bodies. How really interesting is that?

Still, that's about it for this day, as it's starting to cool out now. And I'm wishing everybody a fantastic happy weekend, sending everyone who reads this blog. Peace healing, love and lite, no matter who, what or where you are, or if you're an N. H.I. or whatever. Aha! lol

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction this may be a confusing read. no AI written content Good morning, good afternoon. Fellow humanoids and nhi out there.Storm clouds gather over Southwest England while daily life becomes a battle against malfunctioning pharmacy machines, failing vehicles, autonomic dysfunction and chronic illness. Alongside these earthly struggles comes reflection on UFO/UAP disclosure, paranormal research failures and the search for answers in a world growing increasingly strange.

head storms and rain clouds

Looking out the window at the moment there are nothing but miles and miles of dark clouds surrounding us. Absolutely everywhere! And well it hasn't rained but it's looking like it's going to blow a massive rainstorm down here in the southwest of England at some point today. Hopefully it's going to pass over so I can go out on the three-wheeled trolley of death as I need to go to the chemists. Yes, going to the chemists is like, well, a trip in itself.

chemists machine of much hope

I suppose I will be dealing with the machine at the chemists, the machine of death. It does not like me, no. You can guarantee I'm going to put my code in and it's going to break down and make some very strange weird stupid noises. As it is when I go in the chemists, they look at me strangely, as my prescription always seems to break their machine. Yes, it is a thankless task. Well, you can go in it before the chemists opens as it has an outside wall dispenser, and that machine is even worse. It has caused me much problems over the past few years, I can tell you, and has caused me many moments of swearing as well. Yes, when your medication gets stuck and you're in desperate need. Yes, it's always the same. You cannot beat the human touch and over the counter service when they have enough staff on. Yet that is another thing. As chemists these days, the more automated they become, the worse they get. Just employ more staff. It's that simple. Then you won't have queues. I've lost count how many other people's prescriptions I've also had as well mixed in with mine. Must be three or four over the past year alone. But we live in hope that things will get better and yes, things will be a happier time when we arrive there, that's if it's not raining of course on the other hand.

poor rusty one

Well, the sad news is the Van Rusty one is off the road. It looks as though we have a problem with a sensor. And that makes the vehicle run lumpy, I think it's the air management system sensor somewhere. And that really does piss me off, because we only just had a new starter motor fixed to it. And when it goes for its MOT, I think I'm looking at a bill of well over 500 to 600 to 700 pounds. But such is life when you live down here, the salt air really does tear through and make the old vehicle get very rusty.

poor d1

And then of course there is our other van, D1. This is the specially wheelchair adapted van and we have had to pay out loads of money on this as we've had two injectors go in the past year which was very unfortunate for us but there we go. This is my wheelchair transport vehicle that I bought over ten years ago. still going quite well but there we go. We have had to put that on trickle charge as when we needed to go to the vet the other day to get the cats there Injections so they can go into boarding kennels or even go outside. So it seems We found out that D1 had a, well, no battery. Yes, the battery was as flat as a pancake, so that's now on trickle charge. And also we have a flat tire as well. How exciting this is. This month is going to be spend spend spend ha ha

NHI ufos and uaps

I have been looking in the newspapers and I have been looking at a few stories and I see that UFO UAP disclosure is on the cards. Personally I think it is a big nothing burger as the Comet 3I Atlas also was, I know I never went into the fifth dimension or spiritually elevated or went into another place as it went past or gained any spiritual energy, or even saw anything strange in the skies. For me, sitting in my power chair, that's where I was sat. Nothing much happened, to be honest, and I think that's what's going to happen with UFO/UAP disclosure. I think we'll get a few films, a few reports, but nothing really too alarming to be fair. As I believe this is all a Project Blue Beam pSyop. Well, that's what everybody's saying everywhere, so that's what they say, and well, you never know what's going on these days, do you?

research issues and failures

I have tried to get in touch with certain researchers in the UAP UFO paranormal field to help me with my quest. But as of this day, it has, well, completely failed, I believe. I've written to several groups and researchers in the UK, and I've had no replies whatsoever. So I'm not expecting anything, so there we go. What do I do when the researchers won't even get back to you? You know, wow, that's unreal. But I have one ace up my sleeve, that is the old group from the southwest in the 80s and 90s, southwestern alien, abduction, strange phenomenon unit. and the founder Sam Potage. who I have spoken to at great length at what has happened to me. And he is very surprised and he tells me to carry on and someone will pick it up. He is of course retired and very elderly now. But he has put me on the right path of where I need to be. And I thank him greatly for that, as he hasn't done any research or anything apparently since the 2000s.

Autonomic dysfunction woes.

Well, the whole weekend was marred with my autonomic dysfunction. Yes, it was quite bad. If you have autonomic dysfunction and you have a histamine intolerance and multiple sclerosis progressive, you'll know what I'm on about or if you've just got a histamine intolerance. Yeah. I've been on the edge or weekend. The nerves in my stomach and all the way through all the way up are bad. It feels like I'm being completely strangled. It's unreal and my breathing is acting all kind of crazy. I am trying to work out what I must have eaten that has caused this trigger event. When my autonomic gets triggered, it goes from 0 to 100 miles an hour fucking quickly. And I have to start taking antihistamine tablets or LaRazaPan because they're the only two things that work at the moment because I'm still waiting to see a neurosurgeon or neurologist, whatever they call him, or an immunologist. As you recently found out on this blog, I have no neurologist. No, I haven't had one for over five years, my doctor has said, which has caused quite an outrage I must say. But there we go. Nobody ever fucking listens to me in what I say and look where we are at the moment. Yes, we're or as my father would say, God bless him, we're in the cactus.

Still wishing anyone who reads this blog piece, healing love and light. No matter who, what or where you are.

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction this may be a confusing read. no AI written content

Hello fellow humanoids So, a massive update. I have been looking on a certain website, and I have seen some four wheeled trolleys of death that will do eight miles an hour, which claim to have a total average speed of up to fifteen miles an hour (not in the uk ) only if you live in Europe, and can cover twenty to thirty miles on one charge. How amazing is that! And I can get credit, and that means I won't need to use an expensive van. And yes, saving money! Oh the joys.

So in my world with limited resources and money, it makes total sense. The three-wheeled trolley of death has nearly killed me quite a few times, being as it was very cheap, and my god, I had some near-death hair raising experiences on this accursed machine of three wheels. So I go forward looking to get myself a four-wheeled motor mobility scooter that will do the business, so I won't fall off or do something stupid. Look at all the places I can go to. Yes, the only thing is I don't like the colors they come in. Damn, that must be awful for me, mustn't it?

I like the idea of black. Uh but no, it's not going to be black. I don't like the idea of silver. No, silver's not me. Blue. I do not like the color blue, so it's gonna have to be satanic red, I think. Yes, I think it will look good satanic red. Yes, just imagine satanic red on the roads of the southwest, motoring along at eight miles an hour, with some satanic music playing out of the speakers as people watch the weirdo on his trolley. Oh what an amazing sight to see in the streets of the southwest of England on a Sunday afternoon...lol

It's all very well having a power chair or wheelchair that does four miles an hour, but they're not very good when you try and take them out. They're great for hospitals, doctors, even going to shopping centers. But you know, when you want a bit of independence and you just want to go out there and just get some well air, I would suppose to say the hair blowing in the wind experience would be if you weren't near a wind tunnel. But there we go. I must say that freedom allowed by this and the distance will be amazing. And if I put my tin foil hat on and think, well, if they have 15 minute cities, a mobility scooter would be perfect for a 15-minute city, wouldn't it? I think so. Oh, what a complete blast.

I can just imagine on some of my worst days when I have brain fog and and I'm spasms and in chronic fatiguing and being totally out there. I don't think I'm even capable of getting out of my own bed, yet alone getting into a power chair. So yeah, it's gonna be one of those things that I'll be getting probably on HP, but it's one of those things you have to think about for a long time because you know what it's like, you may think about it now, but it might take a year or two just to get it into motion, that is, because you know what it's like when you think of something and then you can forget about it, or things change in your life, and well, there we go.

Still it's now Monday evening and Dora Well Missy Dora has been yowling all day. I cannot wait until next week when she goes to the vet to be spayed. This is her first season, and my god, I have never heard anything like it. If I'd have realized she was practically Siamese, that would have made me think again, you know. But the other cat, Tiggy Gilbert, she's in season as well, and she's as quiet as can be. They are like, well, there we go. Still I suppose it's fun. Anyhow, there we go.

Still sending everybody peace, healing, love and light.no matter whom or whatever you are

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

The sky’s doing a pressure wash and my lawn looks like a pub carpet at closing brown, patchy, and ashamed. Hope springs eternal that the grass will forgive me. Hope also springs that the Weed-Wacker Man (breaker of worlds, destroyer of garden ornaments) will arrive in his legendary glory. He hasn’t broken anything recently, which is either character growth or a quiet before the smash.

We moved. We lost two decent mowers. The weed-wacker detonated itself across my shins like a budget claymore. The auction “bargain” mower was dead on arrival, staring at Albertine like it knew what it cost. Golden rule: test it at the auction we didn’t. Now we own a new second-hand mower and a new second-hand strimmer. Schrödinger’s tools: both working and about to die.

Meanwhile, tinnitus has decided to headline both ears right channel lead vocal, left channel harmony with the catchy single “Sustained High-Pitch Misery (Remix)”. Rush can’t drown it out. Switching to Jim Cornette because if I can’t silence the ringing, I can at least add shouting that makes sense. Kayfabe forever; reality can jog on.

My head’s cotton wool. Pressure left, pressure right, and a fluorescent whine drilling the centre. Headache rolling in like cheap weather. Agitation rising, spell-checker moaning in the corner. Next week promises the same thrilling itinerary: Nothing Happens, Then More Nothing. I’d scream into a field if the 3-wheeled Scooter of Death could survive the mud. It would not. It would explode, take a crow with it, and I’d be blamed in the parish notes.

Am I in reality? Unfortunately, yes. And it’s damp.

I write in ink and fury, in breath and broken bone.
Through storm and silence, I survive. That is the crime and the miracle.