This morning, after he’d filed away the just delivered overdue Gas Bill red letter, took his medications and applied his antiseptic creams, he had another attack of bemusing mental meanderings, which came to him while he was picking his nose, having his breakfast, short dated B&M porridge, eight cups of strong tea. This is the outcome; I hope you can understand where the nitwit intended it to come from, and what he intended to imply and indicate, what his mental musings might have meant.
If so please us know. Please post your comments to Sheridan Chygrynsky SRN, C/O Nottingham’s Ex-Gaslamplighters Asylum Shed, Oil Leak Lane, Nottingham.
His breakfast musings…
I sat in my decaying hovel, tea and porridge for breakfast,
I thought of Politicians, and I felt so aghast,
They seem to have had their compassion genes bypassed,
They avoid punishment for fiddling like mental gymnasts,
They’ve become a superior, pampered, political caste,
Their pay, compared to my £120 weekly pension, what a contrast,
No wonder I sometimes get feeling somewhat downcast,
Their ability to lie and cheat continues to flabbergast,
So many pulling nepotistic strings, and not being unmasked,
They’ll continue to look after themselves first, I forecast,
Even new ones learn how to fiddle very fast,
How long can their cheating and lying last?,
Their greed, and ego, cannot be surpassed!
For the extraordinary phenomenal situation of one finding a Politician who does not have any of the following traits: Nepotism, Greed, Aloofness, Indifference, Covetousness, Insensitivity, or being Self-centred – Please offer him or her, your sympathy, for they must feel so very isolated and lonely in Parliament.
I was content living at the ex-offenders lodgings, but the cost eventually led me to move into a flat on Melton Road. It was far less than the full board that I was paying that had just gone up to £6 a week, at 17/- (35p), but of course meant I had to buy food and cleaners and stuff like that.
It was one room, with shared latrines and bathroom. But I felt more grown up somehow… for a while.
Within a week, the landlady’s rather buxom daughter arrived at my door holding a bottle of Walker’s Red Label whisky…
Things took place that I cannot fully remember but…
It seem I was legless when she returned back downstairs to her mater, and I thought it a good idea to cook some sausages…
The fire brigade officer woke from my alcohol induced sleep, and the landlady kindly threw me out.
From the flat, to another flat…
I was lucky, in quickly finding another flat on Ryeland Crescent.
Again, an attic room, with a woman and her, er… oh so scary daughters.
I had to avoid certain situations to be safe from them.
Then one Saturday night, they all went out, so I sneaked down and watched their TV. As I was watching Morecome and Wise on the set, a rather large built bloke burst in through the back door, demanding to see Christine (Scary daughter number two), and wanting to know if I was messing about with her. I indicated that I was not messing about with her, and she had gone with her family to the Odeon cinema.
“Oh, she don’t wanna go awt wi’ me though does she?” shouted the man, he seemed to be getting very het up. He blamed me for some reason, and started to trash the room – heroics called for here I thought (What a burke!) I tried to restrain him, and got the radio set over my head for me efforts, followed by a few well place thumps and a rather tear producing kick in the groin. We continued to struggle with one other for a while, until he suddenly stopped, broke down in tears, apologised and left?
I stopped the bleeding from my head, then spent the next couple of hours trying to sort the room out as much as I could, and rewired the plug onto the radio – still not really believing what had just taken place.
The family returned, I explained what happened, she did not believe me, went upstairs and packed my suit cases and I was thrown out again!
From the Flat to Digs off Huntingdon Street…
A mate from work took me in for couple of days, and I found lodgings with a family on Huntingdon Street. (Just off it actually, I can’t remember the name of the street though… mind you, I can remember the name of the landlady and her daughters!
Landlady Mavis, daughter one Audrey (night nurse at Rampton Mental Hospital very handy cause she could visit me during the day), and Veronica.
I was only there a few months, ’cause the landlady had designs on me, Veronica the younger daughter was unsure what she wanted, and Audrey… phew, she was rampant!
Moved to Carrington rented a small house…
The best thing about this place was Audrey would visit twice weekly, and left me feeling weakly… but oh so contented! (Ah memories)
It wasn’t me, any bloke would have done, and did regularly, but without doubt I learnt more from Audrey than any other gal. Plump heavy gal, massively hairy armpits etc, and what a personality. (Shudders with the thoughts, and regrets of no longer being acquainted with the sexpot)
Carrington to a flat at 30 Bingham Road, Sherwood…
Stayed here for many years, and was happy, oh so happy too. I think it was £9 a week.
Had the entire ground floor to myself, big front room, bedroom, cellar, bathroom/toilet, living room, kitchen and garden too!
Started me angling here, joined a local club, it was quiet and peaceful, I just loved it.
One night while I was in this flat is worth mentioning…
I’d been out to the local social club at lunch, but didn’t even get through my first pint, when I started to feel oh so poorly. So I returned to the flat,
Struggled into the front room, and plonked myself on the settee, around 1230 hrs. I remember waking around 1800 hrs and seeing the lamp lights through the window swaying, going back and forth, and thought I’d better have a look in the medical box see if I’ve got something to take.
I found a bottle of ‘Night Nurse’, and consumed a good swig of it, then laid down back on the settee.
I woke up in the morning (later found out if was 0700 hrs) naked and flat out on the garden lawn, with the landlady bent over me slapping me face.
A neighbour later told me I was dancing for hours in the garden, and trying to sing?
I’ve never tried ‘Night nurse’ medications again!
But the landlord sold out and the new one wanted to update the place, and charge £20 a week.
Part 16: Inchcock goes into the offenders relocation digs – unknowingly!
The ending of Part 15:
Mummy had done another bunk, and I could stay with her (the neighbours) house until I found somewhere to live!) This seemed to please her Security Guard husband’s Alsatian no end, as I able to supply the snarling, vicious, yet pampered beast with a choice of bone selections for him to chew on overnight, as I slept on the settee.
Continuing the Tale…
The next day, I went off to work at Tesco, and after while I got call at the store from dear mummy.
She quipped that she had got me somewhere to live. (Which I thought I’d already got before she stopped paying the rent, emptied the gas and electricity meters, flogged off some of the furniture, all my stuff, all Dad’s stuff, sold a neighbouring family a holiday in a none existent caravan, and did a runner!)
This place she had got for me to lodge at was at some digs in the Meadows, 49 Wilford Grove East, and I was assured it was nice and clean.
I went around that night to view these digs – and found the landlady to be firm but nice with it. Mary her name was.
The three storey house had 6 bedrooms, one a single, two doubles, two triple bedded, one with four beds, and the top one with nine beds in it.
The only shock was the prices of the board, £5.5.0. (5 guineas) a week board! I think I was only earning about £9 a week at that time – but needs must.
So I moved in, and soon settled in with the other 11 or so lads who were staying there.
The landlady, Mary Gavin came from Athlone in Ireland, was hard, fair, and a none-bull-shitter, what she said went.
Her husband Jack was a Nottingham man, big, and as soft of butter, I never knew him to lose his temper.
I soon palled up with other three the lads in my bedroom, and being the youngest, was soon introduced to the pleasures of regular intakes of Home Ales, how to play darts, and the perpetual tottie seeking activities that I was not very good at… keen, persistent, avid, but generally unsuccessful.
The only period of success I had, came after about a year in the digs, and I was doing well at work, had been promoted with a nice increase in pay, and one of lads, I think his name was Trevor, suggested we combine out finances and buy a car on sale just down the road from the digs.
I explained I could not drive, and for the next month one or the other of lads would take me for lessons every night.
I would drive the others round with the L plates on. The car, a Ford Consul Classic 4 door, Maroon with a cream roof, was still for sale, and the price had dropped to £90!
We purchased the vehicle, filled it with petrol, took it for a spin, and found it had many, many extras!
1) The steering column gear change was unmasterable to both of us, but at least when either of us went to pick someone up, they would be aware of our arrival beforehand by the tuneful grating noise that accompanied all gear changes.
2) The pleasant aroma of petrol fumes was, it appears standard on that model, and made many long drives intensely enjoyable and worry free!
3) As the head light casings regularly filled up with rainwater, we considered putting a goldfish in to customise the thing.
4) We were unsure who tied the front bumper on, but they used electrical cable, and made a custom job of it, leaving it at a pleasant 15% angle.
5) Air conditioning came through the whole in the drivers foot-well, and the cracks around the inverted rear window.
6) The steering was slack and flaccid to say the least it was rather disconcerting when travelling at speed (not that was very often believe me) as at times you was actually turning the massive very thin steering wheel to the left, as you and the vehicle refused to respond!
7) You had to try not to slam the driver’s doors too hard, as this had a custom of encouraging the side window to disappear with a painful grating noise at it fell.
The last, but most monumental extra I found – was that for some reason, maybe because it and twin headlights and looked American, it was the finest tottie puller in the Nottingham!
A trip to the Pally for a dance and crumpet, now bought success, unparalleled in my lifetime!
The girls were impressed with the car of course, not me!!!
Ah…. memories…. distant memories…. remembering the memories gets harder as I grow into the state of decrepitude and senility, as is the lot of all those who live long enough…
See what I mean, I nearly lost it there!
Anyway, overall it was a slow, noisy, smelly, unreliable, and expensive to run car: The Best Car I’ve Ever Had!
Any-road-up, it was about 8 months after I’d moved into the lodgings, that I found out it was half-way house for prison parolees!