Inchie Today: Wednesday, 26th August 2026

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THE LONGEST DAY
Not the most infuriating of days.
But possibly the most frustrating.
Errors, accidents & mistakes.
My self-esteem, well, what bit I have left, anyway, collapsed as I made cock-ups, errors, mistakes after mistake.
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Have to be a quickie. It is not Thursday, and I am only just starting this blog. Life is so hectic. My dream of peace & quiet in retirement has crumbled. So much to do yet;
1) Call oligarchal British Gas to tell them they have (supposedly) sent an engineer to check out the Gas meter five times, guaranteeing he would arrive, and not one has managed to get here in well over a year. They keep sending me emails demanding I supply them with a reading. Carer Ejaz has called them repeatedly, but he isn’t calling as often now. He sent them a photo of the meter. Which is out of date. They have increased my payments. What the &^)+#, can I do?
2) Both hearing aids are not working; I have to get someone to call the Audio Clinic, but make sure it does not clash with any other appointments.
3) The Dentist appointment needs arranging. Make sure it does not clash with any other appointments.
4) I’m still waiting for an appointment at the EENT to have the cataract laser treated.
5) Waiting for an appointment with Mental Health at Haywood House Hospital to get the results from the test and be referred to someone.
6) A neurology appointment to re-scan the TBI; is also on the waiting list.
7) Yesterday & this morning, the Doctor’s surgery phoned. Still wanting a Carer to call them re an appointment. I asked Carer Andrew three times yesterday. Said he could not get through the navigator AI waffle. Earlier this morning Thurs, I got Andrew again. Too early to even ask him to ring the Doctor. Then they sent a new Carer to join Andrew… and Andrew teaching someone what to do is a recipe for disaster. Looks like the new lad, Raj, will be calling now, so Ejaz and Mirza may call even less often. This is scary for me. They are both so supportive. Driving me to silly thoughts. I realised the futility of the situation while talking to the Doctor’s receptionist.
8) The bank needs to interview me again.
9) I’ve been told by two different sources that my chances of getting into a home are approximately zero.
10) The new instructions that I need to go to the QMC A&E told me that when the Catheter blocks, I must go by taxi, as this is a Medical Emergency.
The one time I went, once there and £24 out of pocket on the taxi there, it was for hours before a Doctor saw me. He could not replace the Catheter tube in three attempts. Then I was taken to another Doctor to try. He got it in on his second try. But the only instructions given were not to let the array pad holding the tubes in place come off. It fell off of its own accord the next morning. I phoned the hospital, got the department, and was told to see your district nurses. Even now, months later, I can’t figure out why I had to make sure the pad stayed in place.
11) Each of these appointment visits & arrangements will involve taxis and Carer costs.
Impossible to do without my hearing aids; Carers not ringing to make appointments when I asked them to (Only one, but that was the one who is hard work, and determined to do as little as possible and then as badly as possible). Such as laundry returned still wet, mopped the kitchen in only 5 minutes; I timed him and pointed out the dirt marks still on the floor between the floor cupboards. My future looks bleak, Care-wise.
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Through frustration, I over-waffled there. No time for a proper blog; I’ll just put the photos on.
It was all mayhem anyway. Three pages of notes made too; I’ll select and pick just a few.
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I’ve got too much to do for Thursday; no chance of doing a blog. I’ll try to put some old odes on WP.
Nurses’ visit, Social Lady, deliveries, doctors’ problems to sort, appointments to make…
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My Plans were destroyed again.
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This was tomorrow; I ended up in the hospital again. I’ll try to get something on the books for the 11-hour visit tomorrow. Writing this at 11:40hrs, when I got back from the QMC on Thursday. With the most painful & most uncomfortable, bloodied Catheter setup ever! Got to kiss tons off on this Wednesday one, and try to get something done on Friday about Thursday’s abysmal failures.
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The start of the rot, Catheter-wise.

Doctor rang again wanting to speak to Carer; said I’d ask them again, but not interested yet.

Misra helped with showering, very much appreciated.

Dettol & SD card delivered.
Care navigator rang again to speak with Carer, Huh!
No interest when I asked them again to ring him.
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Night shots
Distance
Close-up
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TTFNski, Each
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Inchie Today: Tuesday, 25th August 2026

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TUESDAY 25th AUGUST 2026
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06:35hrs: I stirred back into ersatz, pretend life. Wriggled and rolled a little to test out which ailments might be the most painful, in my effort to dismount the hospital bed and get my nocturnal Catheter pouch off. The outcome was rather less than expected. The new magic neck pain, the discomfort of the day Catheter tubing, and Anne Gyna were the only ones sensed. 
Colin Cramps and a few seizure aftertastes, which had been waking me up so often overnight, had dissipated altogether. Nice!
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I managed to get up, sort the pouches out, and do a safety check of the flat for taps left running and fridge/freezer doors open. Then got the kettle on. Doing these little tasks, I had to make three visits to the Porcelain Throne in 15 minutes. Constipation Conrad in total charge.
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Carer Andy arrived in a perky but reluctant mood. Medications were issued, but we could not find any codeine tablets. We both searched through the medical prescription and Over-the-counter medicine drawers. Andrew said he had informed his head office about them. I got the waste bins into one large bag. It’s still there now (2040hrs). 
Carer departed, and I had another dock-hard, Haemorrhoid-tearing visit to the Throne.
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The expected delivery from Morrisons arrived. I tell you now to get the embarrassment over quickly; Today, I made super-cock-ups with the food orders. Arithmophobia and my stupidity are what I put the blame on. Maybe Premorbid Cognitive Impairment, Inchie. I was utterly disgusted with myself. The idea of doing an order to cover three weeks seemed so clever at the time. All three came on the same day; Today! Understandably, people complain about my stupidity in doing the things I do. But I simply cannot help it; in a way, it is not me doing these and other daft & dangerous things. But I still do them. Now Morrison, then came Asda,  and finally the Iceland deliveries! It hurts, frustrates and annoys me doing them. No particular depression, just self-loathing.
I’d prefer to not mention them again, please. Thanks.
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The new Warfarin INR blood results came in the post; that was quick. New doses confirmed.
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Carer Mirza visited. Checked LV house content problem, and I called Complex Warden Deana and asked Mirza to talk with her about the lower cost of NCC insurance. Not sure what happened. Just had a seizure while writing this. Memory Mangling Malcolm? Mirza fitted a new Catheter on the right leg this time.
He then took the laundry down to the laundrette. Then he mopped the kitchen floor for me.
Then went down to put the clothes in the dryer. Did the safety checks and hoovered up. Checked the drawers to see if the missing Codeine tablets were there, but no.
Then he went down to collect the laundry.
While he was out, more food arrived, and I was having difficulty getting all the canned food on the top shelf of the double cupboard.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –I got the shakes while reaching up to put the cans on the top shelf and knocked about eight of them off onto the floor! Some bounced of the hard-top counter, but one of them, a can of new potatoes, took the more direct route, via hitting my right shin, then to the floor.
At this point the self-cursing started, as Carer Mirza returned with the washing.
He cleaned up a scrape wound and put some Germolene and a plaster over it. Saved the day again. Mirza did another grand job of caring for me today.
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How did I take this photo with no camera?
Well, as soon as Mirza departed, Amazon delivered the camera. I can’t photograph it, but I’ll ask a Carer later to take one on his mobile and email it to me. Like any other childlike 81-year-old with a new toy, I decided to set up and use the new camera. As recommended by Carer Ejaz: “It would be a good idea to get the same model as before; otherwise you’ll get in a pickle with the new contraptions and workings of a different one” Very good suggestion, mate; a wise idea. Thanks!
So, after setting it up but entering the wrong date and not remembering how I set it in the first place, I gave up and got on with taking some sky-cloud shots.
Here is my first effort…
Almost square shape?
Nice views though
The trees are begging to look greener!
Caught the balconies on this one.
Then back to try and set a wider
view for the snaps.
I attempted to read the instructions…
Writing was too small
So to change, on the fly…
Aha, I cracked it… 
Can you see the animal’s head?
General Degaul in this one?
The worms?
From the kitchen window, this one
A smug mode developed.
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I mentioned that I do some acts almost like a remote control, unthinkingly, and I told the Doctor at Haywood Hospital about this trait acquired months ago.
Well, me making this a great dollop come mound; this agglomeration, hodgepodge of a gigantic meal, is a perfect example of what can happen when something in my head tells me not to bother and to press on. Worrying.
It consisted of Mushroom pâté, chicken lumps, tomatoes, carrots, garden peas, soft cheese, curly fries, pork & pickle mini pies, cheese & onion bread, cooked beef, gherkins, and potatoes!
Needless to say, I could not eat it all, and must have binned two-thirds of it. I recall eating all of the mushroom pâté, the peas & carrots, the bread and the potatoes.
Then washed the dishes, etc., and moved on to an ice
cream cornet & lemon curd dessert?
Then put the TV on early to watch the Nottingham Forest match against Leeds Utd. (Sister Jane called to remind me it was on ITV). I stayed awake up to half-time, and the adverts came on. Zzz! Waking up in a seizure a couple of hours later, still TV on and the volume louder… Sorry, neighbours. I think going into a home might help me; I’m not coping well.
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Inchie Today: Monday, 24th August 2026

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06:20hrs: I was feeling the usual confusion, but no worse than it has been lately. That was a plus to start with. So no complaints about things yet. The arthritic neck, back and shoulder were all calm. A twinge or two from the toothache, but quite bearable, using the painkiller.
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I got out of bed and guessed at the colour of the product inside. Read the amount on the pouch label chart: a good dollop again. 1600ml. I’d had a lot of cramps overnight. Fingers, hands, and lower legs. Still alright now.
Emptied the pouch, bagged it in the yellow bin, cleaned my teeth and hobbled back to the living/bedroom, and turned on the computer. I had a brainwave from I know not where! I cleared things a bit around the bed, then made it! Yes, oh, yes. A snug mode was adopted; I took a photo of the table I’d moved temporarily onto the bed and took the photo here on the left. Another Mega-Smug Mode!
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As I dropped the table, I went over on the bed, catching my ribs on the frame.
The usual, but extended, session of cursing, swearing, and self-lambasting had its moments. I put the last of the bruise-ease ointment on the ribs.
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Carer arrived. Put some more cream on the chest. Issued the medications. Phorpained gel to both shoulders (the arthritis is spreading over to the left one now) and the oddly painful neck. The Doctor said it was arthritis, but I find the pain very different to the ankles, shoulders, back and knees affected. Sharper, and hurts when touched. Could it be something else? The gel has no relieving effect at all, and it stings when applied.
Not that it is too bad yet. Then I disturbed him on his mobile, asking him to make a mug of tea. He said, you didn’t ask! I said I just did. You know how we English love our tea and get bothered when we get a mug of light brown, unbrewed tea with a gallon of milk in it? Haha! I reminded him not to put too much milk in and to let it brew properly this time. Well, he made a darn good brew for me this morning, bless him. 
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After he’d shot off, I got the computer on; eventually, anyway. It took a while, but I got there by switching things on and off, hoping for the best. And openened CorelDraw. Which, after slowly opening, promptly crashed. Again, the usual: I closed everything, and pressed reload and waited. And waited, but it would only get so far in loading, and it froze again. Turned everything off, and left it that way for 15 minutes or so, and had another go. I got the death screen up. So, being me, did all I could think of: all off again for half an hour. A prayer, hope, and crossed my fingers, and yet again restarted. Convinced I would lose my beloved computer, no anger this time, I felt sort of condemned and hopeless. Was it something I did with caught keys when I got the shakes? 
It opened alright, but was I brave enough to open CorelDraw? Not at first, and it was gone by midday, with all the kerfuffling I’d done. Hours later, after using MS Word, WordPress, and Notepad’s word lists to make the Ode of the day, I needed to Doctor a graphic and put a photo in the Ode header. I was on a late-in-the-day roll now, and without thinking of what happened earlier, I opened CorelDraw. Dang, dang dang Dang! I realised what I’d done, and got ready for the Blue Screen of Death to appear! Positive that it would show up!
As of this moment in time (13:20hrs), I’ve not had a moment’s bother from CorelDraw! I’ll hold back from going into a Smug-Mode for now, though.
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Carer Andrew came. Carer Andrew left.
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I went to make a mug of tea, and Carer Mirza arrived. I was so glad to see him again; I’d almost forgotten what he looked like. (Sarcasm for them not sending him to serve me for so long) Not his fault. A Caring lad.
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Dropped the Kodak 1 camera. Now not working, broken, no longer usable! Heartbroken… again!
I decided to buy another one, which means using Amazon. I’m nervous about this. The number of times they have left parcels down in the main lobby, and someone has nicked them, puts fear in me. Cause I can’t get through to tell them. Complaints: click here. The list of options you can select from is not what you want, so you pick “My parcel has not been delivered. Then they show you a photo of it as it was delivered to the correct address. A snap of the parcel outside what was supposed to be my flat doorway, which had a different flat number on it. “
It took Carer Ejaz three weeks to get an acknowledgement, and a month to get me money back.
Now, I think, did I order it properly? Did I order the right one? I’ll check the site out later.
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The blood-taker arrived to take some haemoglobin for testing my Warfarin INR level.
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Deleted some things I put in Monday’s blog. It was pointed out that it was risky prosecution-wise.
I reckon I’m doing risky things when I’m in a deep depression. Or could it be the TBI and/or dementia being a part of it? Laura told me afterwards, after the assessment, that I struggled with many parts much worse than on the last assessment.
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I cleaned the narrow bits around the non-working cooker, using the thingamajig I got ages ago and could not find for ages. Sorted the bins into one bag. Then decided to have a wash & shave.
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ACCIFAUXPAS
I got into the wet room to find I’d left the hot tap running, yet again. Needless to say, but I will: . To make matters worse, I was on my way to the front door to go out and boost the power supply at the box when Carer Prem arrived. And I completely forgot about pressing the booster. Somehow, I felt I had done it. When Prem departed, tasks done, I went back to the wet room to get a wash and shave, teggies done, but no!
I realised I’d not boosted the British Gas meter. 
WOT-A-PLONKER! So, B.O. alert put in place. Hehe
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Inchie Today: Saturday, 22nd August 2025 – With Memory Photos

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Another chronically wasted day. No shower, no laundry done, no reply yet from email ot the Carer Company about the financial situation, and on top of that, I was all over the place, losing things, deleting things, making errors galore; and all with a confused outlook. Sorry about the little moan again, but that’s how it went.
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I deleted the photographs taken on the camera after downloading them to the computer. Then later, deleted them from the file, thinking I had already put them on the blog. I shan’t tell you of how angry I got! Especially when I broke and dropped and shattered the glass biscuit barrel. The language I came out with surprised even me. Boy, did I get Angina after this. It is likely that I lost, misplaced, or couldn’t find umpteen things: dates, letters, my mobile phone, the TV remote control, even the walking stick once! Losing patience with me, I got me so wound up.
So, a sad block. Or even blog!
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Afternoon skies.
Still saw the beauty in them
A little later, after the Carer
Got me on my feet. (A tumble)
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In the evening, still not having made a start on this blog, I tried to calm down and make a concerted effort to begin working on Friday’s blog. Got the computer on. I just kept switching things off, back on and crossing my fingers. 
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Yesterday…
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Not sure which year…
Dad & Brother Pete
Railway Houses, two up, two down
Brookfield Place, the Meadows
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Long time ago…
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Sister Jane, Hubby Pete 1974
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Jane & Inchie… 1950?
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Inchie: Friday Aug 21st: Nut Hospital Visit Two

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NUTHALL HOSPITAL MEMORY TEST
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Just getting ready made me unsteady,
Getting washed, shaved & dressed,
My body ended up well battered,
The Carer arrival was estimated,
I got the time wrong; self-aggravated,
The plans became a little affected,
Called Ejaz; said he was on his way…
Worried about taxis, & what I’ll need to pay,
Intercom rang, t’was district nurses…
To check on my Catheter contraptions,
Ejaz arrived a minute later, messy,
They’ll return next week, Thursday,
Ejaz got me ready quickly, urgently…
Checked my money, rang for a taxi,
I again forgot to take the Kodak with me,
The taxi, going £18, derision…
Got to pay, there’s no tergiversation,
Coming back it was over £20, derision!
Fear of the test? Will it go badly,
It will be what it will be, surely,
I explained my problems, auditory,
Waiting for cataract lasering, visual,
Cognitive tests, MoCA, or ACE-III,
They already knew my history,
Hope my score doesn’t go too badly,
Figures needed to be added, subtracted,
Remembered, substituted, and divided,
The reading of a little convoluted story,
Recalling detail did not go marvellously,
Naming objects, one I think I failed on,
I muttered ice, Iceland, they waddle…
Beautiful things, they’re so adorable,
Felt a fool when she said it was a penguin,
The bird, I could not name, embarrassing,
Put in order? My efforts were anachronical,
Questions about time, place, & date…
Think some of my answers found comical,
Well, I’ve got other worries on my plate…
Why did I find this section problematical?
Ah, that’ll be another glitch, arithmetical,
Seems my result was much lower: disjoinable,
Than when I was last tested at Nuthall,
But I was not at all discontentful,
Results, assessed by a geriatrician,
Or Community Service Neurologist,
Then another visit to Nuthall,
But I’m not bothered at all,
Scared of BG, TSB; all Oligarchal,
I’m aware I’ve lost my sparkle…
My brain’s enthused with flapdoodle,
Well known for temporising,
Failing, falling, inturbidating,
Dithering and hypothesising,
Gluttonising, and aborting,
And need my life sorting!
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Inchie: Thurs 20 Aug 2026 Gawd, I felt so low

/ Inchie / 2 Comments

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I woke up very late again; it was gone six o’clock. I could not recall waking up or Throne visits either. Probably had an unbroken 5 hours or more. I glanced at the nocturnal night pouch on the floor near the bed and got out of bed almost painlessly! Only my Coccyx and Anne Gyna were any bother. Good this!
I pottered about and saw an amazing sight through the balcony windows… Rain! It was only a few spots, a good sign. Cheered me a little, I think, as I recall. I decided to wash, shave, and clean the few teeth I have left; a bit of a job to find them nowadays. 
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But I didn’t get the cleaning and saving done, because I had to dash, hobblingly, mind you, to the wet room to utilise the Porcelain Throne. So, I did. I completed the one-link gigantic evacuated product, and with mt ears full of exploded wax, I thought I heard a knocking coming from somewhere. So, without even thinking (I was completely naked), I got into the hallway to find a rapid clunking on the door. Opened it to find the Asda delivery driver with my food order. He handled this with aplomb; the shock of seeing me like that would have scared most people, maybe gave them a heart attack, at minimum scared them nastily. Might have given them a laugh too. I grabbed a towel from the radiator and swiftly apologied. He was not bothered, apparently. And he carried the items in the bag and took them through to the kitchen for me. Not the eight bottles of spring water; I asked him to put them in the hallway for me. A jolly understanding chap wished me well as he departed. 
Then started the task of putting the things away. A lot of water & pop, and I’d stocked up on canned food while I could to avoid the bank blocking my card again. Did I tell you about that? Hehehe!
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The bottom cupboard was soon filled with various cheap cans of cheapo food. Potatoes, carrots, sweetcorn, mushrooms, Teryaki sauce, and a can of mackerel.
Carer arrived while doing this task. Rushed to stop me, telling me to come and get my medication; he’s a bit pushy and unwilling. Gave me the medications. He did put some Phorpain gel on my right shoulder when I asked. Then settled on his mobile. I asked him if he would help me with stocking the higher shelf. I asked him again; this time he heard me and came into the kitchen to join me.
He did help, then departed. 👍🏻
What a selection of pop bottles and spring water I  now have; in the nini hallway, three areas of the kitchen, all on the floor. Fruit cordials to flavour the spring water occasionally.
Around and underneath the four-wheeled trolley, in the kitchenette. Lime & Lemon. Grapefruit &  pineapple, Cream soda. Tropical fruit, Pink lemonade, Cloudy Lemonade. In the hallway, I’ve got JS spring water. A Buxton’s pack of six 1-litre fresh water. A JS pack of 8 500g spring water. 4 x 2-litre plain well water. And, near the not-working-but-I-can’t-afford-to-mend radiator; some soda water that I managed to get, and 12 cans of Tropical Crush. I mixed some and others not, putting them in the fridge, ready to cool. So, I will have no bother keeping the bladder and Catheter operational and not blocking up. I got all these before the Oligarchal, sarcastic, snotty, piss-taking, Card-Block-loving, insufferable, nauseous, dislikeable, unpleasant, discourteous, TSB get the pleasure of calling me in to be investigated again. 
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A GREAT VIEW!
A mudslide for the first time in months on the end car park on Chestnut Way at the end of the road. I hope I see more of them as it used to be.
I took this one through the window on the balcony.
I opened the window for the car park flood shot. Sorry, I did now. Trapped my finger closing the window.
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Jenny’s Frank called with a Swiss roll for me from Jenny. Frank was soaking wet through, bless him. Dried himself a little with some kitchen towelling I gave him. He told me that Jenny had improved a little, health-wise.
This is why I had a better day. Great News! 💗🌺
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After the last Carer call, I investigated what to have the potatoes cooking in the crock-pot for the daily meal later on. I’m going to have peas; I opened the can and added them to the potatoes, and then heat up a shortcrust vegetable pastry. These I like. The only problem is my right side’s shaking shoulder and fingers, which all but guarantee that I’ll have a mess to pick up hundreds of crumbs from the carpet, chairs and my body.
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FLAVOUR RATING: 9.20/10
I ATE THIS, SO, SLOWLY… WHY?
The main reason was the rotting, eroding teeth and Toothache-Tiffany. The next guilty, painful parties were Peripheral Neuropathy Pete and Shaking-Hands-Paul.
What a mess I made of eating this tray of fodder!
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Day Snaps
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Inchie: Wed 19th Aug 2026 Hopes go stagnant…

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– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –An even more terrible day.
Amongst the, oh, so many things that harassed me, and those that piffed me off so much, especially those I was understanding, digesting and interpreting wrongly.
Making me feel a far greater… as Del might have called me: Plonker, than I was… he’d have been right.
The damaged brain box was not compatible with common sense, at all. I don’t know why I bothered saying that: It’s been like this and getting worse every day for weeks, but at a more rapid rate. Going to the Nuthouse Hospital on Friday to finish the assessment we started last Wednesday. The Carer ran out of time, and the kind lady set up another one. This time it is going to prove a more costly visit. The Easy Link & L9 buses have stopped trading altogether. I anticipate that, instead of the £3 charge each way, the taxis will likely cost me £40.

Bit of a tip for the whippersnappers here:
Sort your pension out (if you are working) and underestimate how much you will need. If you are a non-worker, don’t worry. You’ll be looked after. Better of than someone who has worked all his life and is on the breadline. Free transport, free Carer costs, rent, no Council tax, etc. On and on, all sorts of help.
Cause I am currently spending nearly £1,721 a week on needed Carers. Been told I need one every time I go out, due to my having a seizure and walking in front of a bus on Mansfield Road. Our wonderful NHS has told me that in future, if I have any trouble with Catheter blockages, I have to get a Taxi (last time it cost me £24.50) to the hospital A&E because it is a medical emergency and will be quicker than waiting for an ambulance.
No one saw me medically for four hours, well, 5 hours, adding the time getting there and waiting to be seen for my medical emergency. and the pressure from the bladder forced urine out through my penile fungal lesions, and I was soaked through. If you happen to have a Catheter fitted and are forced to do the same, take a few rolls of kitchen towels and some bog roll with you, cause they had neither in the toilets. You may lose your place in the queue too. I did when I hobbled to the toilet to clean myself up, and even then I was dribbling urine on the floor when I went back to be told, “Your name’s been called; you missed it; you’ll have to take a seat and wait again.” Yes, you’ll feel embarrassed, frustrated, uncared for, humiliated, angry and ready to give up.
So, best to have some uppers with you. Benzodiazepines, cannabis or opioids. If you are lucky enough to have crippling arthritis, or a blocked Catheter, get your quack to give you some Oxycodone; keep a stock for when you go to hospital in your late years, when you’re about 80. They work for me when I remember to take them with me, which has yet to happen since the one time I did, and when a keen-eyed Doctor took them off me.
(Only joking about that). Hehehe! I think. Failing that, if you take a tube of glue with you, it’s cheaper than fags and real drugs.
If you have mental and/or physical problems and no pension, fret not. We workers, now suffering for doing so, are being refused help because of the private work pensions we paid for over 59 years. Wearing down our mental and physical health, can supply part of our taxes paid to make sure you want for nothing.
Forget what I said!
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Well, another thing that got to me in the morning.
Further proof, if needed, of my abilities and memories getting increasingly worse…
I’m not sure how I managed this, but since I got such a late start on this blog this morning, I thought I’d start by getting the photos on file.
 I started getting Thursday’s snaps on the file… and stupidly thought I’d already used Wednesday’s, and happily deleted them all!
Finding out when I got around to updating this one;
I could have dried,
Self-hatred intensified,
My few teeth gnarled,
My brain had glitched,
Calmness was not applied,
I even self-bepitied,
My self-respect box emptied,
Guilt, self-loathing emanated
Self-castigated, chastised,
I could have gladly died,
My little pride, attenuated!
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Not that this hasn’t happened before. It can happen when my memory stutters. I lose grip and drop things. I think of TSB Bank, British Gas, Virgin Media, FIFA, Putin, Trump, or any other Oligarch… fiddler, mugger, flimflammer, mountebank, chiseller, illywhacker, or terrorist. 
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Inchie: Tuesday 18th Aug 2026

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AN IOTA OF HUMOUR
Waking up, I felt a bit better, if not my best,
Jumped out of bed and thumped my chest.
Did some press-ups, 200 at least…
Back somersaults, a hundred squats,
To the balcony, for an hour’s hopscotch.
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Tue 18th Aug 2026
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To-dos for tomorrow. Tomorrow… the worst day of the year. Not sure if there will be a blog. Embarrassed!
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Cooler today
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Potatoes boiled with Soy sauce.
Rating: 8.2/10
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Inchie: Monday’s Bank-Begging Report. I lost

/ Inchie / 3 Comments

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A 2015 photo of when I could, & did, get out.
Reminded of when the UK got far too much rain.
Not now though, sad innit.
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MONDAY 15th AUGUST 2026
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THE BANK FARCE – Truncated
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I did not cope well. I am not coping well.
Lousy, Wank… no Bank meeting; not fully understood.
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With the L9 and Community Easy Link bus company closing down, taxis were my only option. The Carer Company had not confirmed if a Carer I cannot afford was coming with me. Phoned them. Yes.
Caught the bus in the City Centre with Carer Ejaz; we were going to catch the Clifton bus to avoid taxi fares. He said he’d found a TSB Bank in Victoria Centre on Google Maps. So we searched for the bank in Victoria Centre. I asked a Victoria staff member; it was at the far end of the complex. I walked to it, found it, and discovered it was seating and advertising. No bank. By then it was too late to catch a bus, so we went out and caught a taxi. The £18.50 outward trip ended with me hitting my head on the roof and all but falling off as I got out. Ejaz saved me. Bless him!
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Paid the fare, walked over to the TSB bank, and to the end sign-in table. I was glared at and looked down on by the young gentleman sitting there. No smile, a distinctly snotty talking style, and instant hatred brewed.
After 10 minutes, he said; We’ll have to put you in a room for further questioning. He waved from the counter with his left hand as he commanded we take a seat. As we turned, I saw ‘Orange.’ I turned back and asked him, “Were you trying to scare me then? Threatening me just then? It didn’t work. Do you want me to show you how to scare someone?” It’ll be my pleasure! No response.
A young snotbag came to take me in for our “Interview”; she instantly reminded me of pictures of Eva Braun.
After endless questioning, I was getting more and more
confused as to why they did not want, indeed, refused to transfer the money I wanted from one account to my other. Constantly calling a Führer higher up in the bank’s oligarchic ranks. We need positive ID to go any further. You only have a bus pass, not good enough.
They allowed me less than the minimum I needed.
I got less than a 1/3rd. And the trip home cost even more, £ 19 or £20-something. Did I mind? Better not say. Especially now (Tuesday), when WP informed us of a (mysterious) spike in viewing numbers.
The Police? The Bank? Fraud Squad?
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We got back. We had to cut things a smidge short, cause Ejaz had to get to his next client. Same as at the Hospital, and that is on for next Friday again. (I think) And it will not we £6 both ways like last week, more like £44 both ways; now the EasyLink disabled people’s bus service has been closed down. We were children; now 80-year-olds are losing out all the way. Cheap transport gone. Going into the City or QMC NHS hospitals is a nightmare. So scary, as the staff have had enough. Especially in the A&E and Geriatric wards.
Lost track again there, Tsk!
Ejaz got me back to the flat and had to rush off.
I couldn’t find the note with the details Eva Braun provided at the Oligarchic Bank on how to access the TSB site. I’ll have a good search around in the morning.
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Despite the pains and particularly the one from my head-butting it and my knee on the ledge getting out of the taxi, and the cost of it all and having now less than £1000 in my account, and not knowing or even being able to know, how to check to see if the pittance they granted to move for me… An unexpected, unreasoned small visit from High Horis, a short, but gloriously ‘Sod-em-all’ worry-free half-hour or so, of bliss.
Until I realised that I’d put far too much curry powder in the poor imitation curry I’d made. So another might of eating crisps followed by ice cream!
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It is now 2000hrs, on Tuesday. A very busy day again.
Here are the snaps I took
Begged the Carer to replace the day Catheter bag for days and days now. Blimey, he did it last night!
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That’s all there is. Tsk!
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Inchie Today Sunday16th August 2026

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I lay in my high-class oligarch’s bed for ages after recovering from the horrible night’s sleep. Or rather, lack of sleep. My mind was stewing over so many worries and tasks that I had to get done today & tomorrow. The fear of certain carers being due, and missing Ejaz and Mirza, accompanied by , ,  and the odd twangs of pain from Neck-Pain-Nigel and .
I was a shadow of myself. Gloomy, depressed, and frustrated. I knew I had to get up; it was still early in the day, and I was sure I would have to get up soon to visit the . As I gently twitched parts of my body to test, feeling out which ailment would be master over me today, I was amazed when I moved and caught sight of the nocturnal Catheter pouch on the floor. (It’s got a very long tube – it was Anne Gyna, by the way) I was more surprised than the other morning. How the pouch hadn’t split, I don’t know. 18,500ml! This helped me break the deep depressive thoughts I had.
I confirmed the reading on the bag, and the rear-end evacuation was coming on, so I hobbled to the wet room. It was a mass of long-winded farts for about two or three minutes. Constipation in control again, and just like the last two mornings, a good few splurts from Trotsky Terence as follow-up. Then a comical, the perfect word for it, too!
Not at the time, but later, I saw the humorous side of it. I seem to get these funny things happening to me at any time, but mostly within ten minutes of getting up?  
It wasn’t me having them; I think I might doubt the veracity of my own writing.
Popeye had his spinach, Schwarzenegger had his muscles, Elvis had his hips, Hitler had Europe, for a short while. What do I get? Whoopsiedangleplops, Accifauxpas, PN, Angina, Cataracts, a TBI, Scary Carers, a wank Bank (TSB) that will not let me move my own money around and talks down to me on the phone. Duodenal Ulcer, got shot twice, had a stroke, went partially deaf at 40 years old, Carers who do not turn up but I still get charged full whack, and seem determined not to communicate with me. They are very good at that. Arthritis, Cramps, and depression, like… well, very deep lately. But this has been written wittily to try and bring some smiles around.
Cause really, I’d be lost without the greatest supporter, Jenny. She is not very well at the moment. I try not to ring or email her while she is so poorly. My Angel, she is.
So I must tell you the tale; that is true. I am not moaning. Flipping heck, I’ve not said about the tumble in the toilet yet. So here it is, every aspect, honestly spoken… Well, written. Hehehe!
Please wish Jenny the best. 🤞🏻💗🫶🏻
I’d just cleaned up after the evacuation and flushed the loo. Decided to have a wash & shave. I reached for the toothpaste, and as I did, my famous right side wobbled- shoulder, leg and foot – and this time it had me over. I leant towards the porcelain to grab the WC, missed it, and my shaking right arm went in the WC’s water up to its elbow! I hit my chin and kneecap. The second Carer, the nice one, took this snap of it for me. It looked far worse than it was. On the plus side, at least I’d cleaned up the mess from Trotsky’s follow-through before I plunged my arm into the pan. Haha!
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Pleased to report that now the toenails have had £35 worth of cropping, I’ve been walking much less painfuller. I’ve clouted my chin and bruised the right knee, though. I mustn’t complain. I’m not sure why.
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BP was high. Carer looked at my chin, said nothing, and did nothing about it. Carer Prem washed it and put some ointment on it and a plaster. Phorpained my shoulder, back, Coccyx, and privates. He made three visits today. A nice, non-pushy Carer who listens.
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I found a source of solace in working on the computer today. Fair enough; it was a day of mistakes and faults, and a memory-mangling day, too. Without much doubt, I did have my thinking cap on. I thought that if I delved deeply into the record-keeping, blog, etc. I would not start panicking about the trip to the Titx TSB bank tomorrow. I’m sure it worked for a few hours. But it all came flooding back. Then I could not concentrate when I started updating the blog.
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I’ve got no idea if a lift has been arranged, and with the L9 bus and the Easy-Lift buses both stopping work, I’ll have to go by taxi. That is, if a Carer turns up to go with me. The bank insists that I take a Carer; if one doesn’t turn up, I’m in a mess. If one does turn up, the taxi fare will break me. And will so please the bank. It’s the aforementioned lack of communication that gets to me most. Now I’m a bag of nerves. Can’t get dressed on my own. Or the walker, sort the timings out, ordering taxis, Humph!
The kitchen really needs cleaning. The Catheter bag has not been changed for over a month. I need to phone the Post Office; I had an email saying they are delivering my parcel tomorrow! Can I stop them in time?
Lots more happened today, but I’m going to have to stop. I’ve got to phone British Gas about their non-arrival! Call the Social Lady about the money situation. I am a nervous wreck. Ball of anxiety. Frazzled, Anxious, jittery, edgy, tensed up, a worrywart, a hand-wringer, a basket case, disconcerted, emotional cripple, fretful, overwrought, distraught, self-conscious, in a discountenanced, in a dither, distracted, a neurotic, a fussbudget.
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LATE NIGHT NOSH
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