Inchcock Today: Friday 5th December 2014

I awoke with a deep sense of apprehension at 0445hrs.

This is me scrawled scribble wot I found this morning

I’d had a long sleep for me, but apparently dream filled again.

Noticed a scribbled note from myself about dreams, that I could not remember writing?

WC’d

Stated laptop and went down put kettle on and went out and moved the bins ready for collection. Returned made a cuppa and back in the bathroom took me medications then consulted the mysterious notes.

Tried to make sense of them, some I could remember bits of and why I’d scrawled the word/s, others left me bamboozled as to why.

Written: Metal boat alone lost sinking?

Memory of: I seem to have been in a massive ship on a big river – think it was trying to dock somewhere but kept sinking? Searching for someone? Fear?

Written: Fencing,  Ice cream?

Memory of: Nothing at all.

Written: Underground bunker, soldiers, girl, bombs, hula- hoop?

Memory of: Very little… Many families huddled together, death, hidden, being chased? Children?

Written: Mazes, metal runways, no escape?

Memory of: Seem to remember running along pathways being chased and trying to protect someone?

Written: Shame, disgrace, frustration, tomato soup, writing, being laughed at, prodded by walking stick?

Memory of: This one I could relate too and remember bits of fairly well. I was at a desk in a submarine trying to write (with a quill I think) but I could not for some reason.

Then I was in a bath of tomato soup on the deck of an oil tanker that had thousands of illegal immigrants swimming in the oil in the holds, and none of the crew would listen to my pleas to get them out? I decided I’d write a letter to Lynton Cox (Cyber-friend) about it? By now I was using an old typewriter and the ink ran out, so I stood on top of the mast and did some semaphore signing with flags to tell the world of the problem… as I fell off the mast I found myself in a class-room sat alone with dozens of tutors/teachers coming in and prodding me with walking sticks and telling me I was… wait for it… ‘An obnoxious old coffin ready pillock’!

Later, I think it was part of the same dream, I was having an autopsy done on me and couldn’t speak to the tell the butcher in his blue and white apron that I was still alive… then a few people came in and started clapping?

Make some sense of that someone please diagnose this for me.

Written: Driving a bus, running over people, no ticket, shooting, loud kids?

Memory of: No memory of this at all.

Written: Fire, flames, smoke, Parliament?

Memory of: All I can remember is I had a gas mask on and was trying to eat a Cornish pasty inside it, and a feeling of jubilation when I fired my water pistol?

I worked on this Diary post before I forgot the things  could remember.

Even now, minutes after typing this in and reading it back the memory is fading fast.

Although I feel in good spirits emotionally today, I’m coughing and the angina is bad again. I am feeling the cold so bad too today.

Managed to sit on my headphones – another thing to get tomorrow, providing I’m up to going out physically.

Spent hours doing graphics, blogging and Facebooking today, but didn’t go out anywhere.

Took me medications at 1655hrs.

So tired and cold.

Hey-ho.

Inchcock Arrested at Benefits Office

A retired Nottingham pensioner and former unemployed independent Bra Fitter and adjuster Juan Inchcock attended an interview in his response to an application for an increase in his benefits at the Nottingham Social Services yesterday.

He arrived in plenty of time and had to wait for his interrogator Office Assistant Manager Mr Danny Soz to return from the local bar before the security guard led him into the office for the interview. He’d still got his pyjamas on, but no one seemed to notice this for a while, then they supplied him with some clothes from the local Salvation Army stores.

The meeting soon turned into a farce of mammoth dimensions with the first question and answer:

Mr Soz: “Sit down mate… ‘hic’ un tell me yer lies now!

Inchcock: “Lies! How do you know!”

Mr Soz, the rather unconventional Nottingham Benefits Assistant Manager

Mr Soz: “I’ve bin on yer blog site mate – and you communicate wi that Mike Steeden don’t yer? Bound to be wrong un you are if yer gob-it wi that alcoholic dim-witted maniac!”

He bent down and spewed up in the waste-paper bin, farted and slowly focussed his eyes and continued blinkingly:

Mr Soz: “How much Pension are ye gerrin?”

Inchcock: “Well you must know surley, it’s on the computer innit?”

Mr Soz: “Yer, burram doing a post fer me Soz Satire at the moment… Belch! don’t wanna lose it like do I!”

Inchcock: “Oh, I’m sorry. I get state pension that’s all Mr Soz.

Mr Soz: Lying git! Passes wind.

Inchcock: “No I’m not!”

Mr Soz: “Ain’t yer?

Inchcock: “No!”

Mr Soz: “Oh an’ yer can’t manage then?”

Inchcock: “Gerrin’ food is gerrin’ ‘arder like wiv the prices going up like!”

Mr Soz: “Poor git… just eat less then… any other problems like?”

Inchcock: “I can’t gerabout very well,as yer see wiv me walking stick and arthritic knees un ‘ands yer see?

Mr Soz: “Well I cun see yer walking stick, drop yer pants and show me yer arithmetic knees!”

Inchcock: “What?”

Mr Soz: “Go on, left have a look at em mate…” Belch.

Inchcock: “Oh… alright then urgh, argh… there they are, swollen misshaped multicoloured and bloody painful”

Mr Soz: “Hahaha… ‘ow cum yer walk on them then – yer gorhere alright on ’em didn’t yer?”

Inchcock: “Yer, wiv a struggle and a lot o’ pain like”

Mr Soz: “Why didn’t yer gerra a taxi here then?” Passes wind followed by “That’s berra awt thun in!”

Inchcock: “I can’t afford a taxi I don’t gerrenough benefits!”

Mr Soz: “Yer should ask em for more then you pillock!”

Inchcock: “That’s worrave come here to do innit?”

Mr Soz: “Wot?”

Inchcock: “Ask fer more benefits like”

Mr Soz: “Is it? I’ve got yer down as cummin’ in for a job interview like?”

Inchcock: “Wot?”

Mr Soz: “Only jokin’ cocker, I like to keep it light ‘earted like… hang on a sec…” He rolled up a Golden Virginia fag lit it and spat out some phlegm then got a bottle of Absinthe 179 Proof from his drawer and took a guzzle, then continued:

Mr Soz: “So, how many kids ‘ave yer got then?”

Inchcock: “None as far as I know.”

Mr Soz: “Ah… as far as yer know eh… I bet you’ve gorra few and don’t want to pay the Child Support Agency eh?”

Inchcock: “No actually I had cancer and they took away me chances of givin’ birth with the laser gun like”

Mr Soz: “So your armed! Should I call in the security guard then?”

Inchcock: “Why would yer do that?”

Mr Soz: “If yer are armed he likes a good tussle yer see and don’t get many usually nice lad he is, do yer know him?”

Inchcock: “No.”

Mr Soz: “Yer should get to know him, he’s a scream down the pub, has us all in stitches… and the few who don’t laugh at his jokes need stitches as well..hehe haha…” Belches

Gaz Hoadley the kind Security Guard at the Benefit’s Office

Inchcock: “Look Mr Soz, what the hell are you talking abarght like?”

Mr Soz: “Gaz Hoadley the security guard, grand chap he is!”

Inchcock: “Why?”

Mr Soz: “He’s witty, likes to help others, he’s got a massive elephant of a…”

Inchcock interrupts Mr Soz: “When I asked why… I meant why are you talking about the security guard in the first place, not why he’s a great chap!”

Mr Soz: “You’ve lost me now – what’s yer name agen?”

Inchcock: “Look ‘ere mush… if yer ain’t gonna gimmee any extra help just say so for Gawd’ ns sake!”

Mr Soz: “I’ll see worra can do then, hang on Inchy… oh I did remember your name.”

With this he left the office and returned an hour later and with a smile he put out his hand to shake hands with Inchcock and said:

Mr Soz: “Good mornin’ and what can I do fer you then?”

Inchcock: “Giz a monkey!”

Mr Soz: “We don’t gi animals away yer know!”

Inchcock: “Where the ‘eck ‘ave yer bin to?

Mr Soz: “Well last year me un Gilly the missus like, went to France for a week, then we ‘ad a fortnight in Hammersmith…”

Inchcock: “No no… I’ve ‘ad enuff, I’m off… sorry to have bovvered yer!”

Mr Soz: “No trouble mate I’m here to help…”

At this point Inchcock launched himself at Mr Soz, who managed to deflect him with a nifty left hook that crumpled Inchcock in a heap on the floor.

He pressed the panic alarm and in ran Gaz the security guard who threw the prostate body of Inchcock about the room a few times then lifted him up and bit into his neck while laughing maniacally.

The police followed and they tackled Inchcock, tasered him and dragged him out to the waiting black maria.

At least Gaz the security guard had a good day.