The End is Nigh!

As prophesied by Bagdemagus Chambers in his in 1866 diary wot he wrote in Nottingham back in 1898 like! 

AmorrisAngiBagdemagus, a Londoner from Abergavenny, who moved to Nottingham in 1844 at the age of 89 joined the Sewer Lane Monastery as an apprentice Monk.

He’s been invited by his old adversary and neighbour Duncaneth Robertson to join him in praising the Lord and doing his work.

Leaving his beloved family was hard for him. But he asked the local Parish harlot Wilhelmina Groatseeker Chambers to tend his rottweilers and goats while he was away. They haggled over the price of her doing this for Bagdemagus and settled on his paying a wheelbarrow-full of turnips and a promise to spread the word of her services throughout the land. She seemed happy with this, gave him freebie and accepted the payment.

Bagdemagus set off and three years later he arrived at the settlement of what was then called Snottingham.

When he arrived at the Felly Monastery, he was greeted by Brother Duncaneth.

Asda3Who wasted no time on informing Bagdemagus of all the fiddles cons and where the Monastic Wines was made and stored.

Fodder was given to him, a newly hewn uniform and he thought it remarkable that he had to pay no rent either!

After a while it was decided that Bagdemagus would be trained as the Monastery scribe.

Soon he was hard at work writing the history of the place, with the help of Duncaneth who’d thought it a good idea to copy this a avote03few times in the hope of educating the local population by selling them some copies at 2 groats a bash. He also got him to put down a few predictions for the future like, make em sell better that would he thought.

This kept Bagdemagus very busy.

However at weekends, when the bottling took place of the Holy Wines, they both found time to help out the other Monks with the arduous task of testing them.


Duncaneth on his Cello in the winery, Bagdemagus well and truly blotto! 

Duncaneth would play his Cello in the basement as they grafted away testing the wines.

One day, Bagdemagus was sent into the town to collect some more bottles for the wineries.

He stopped off at a hamlet with the name of Carrington, and called into the hostelry known as The Fawcett Inn. Where due to his intoxicated state, he left his diary with all it’s forecasts and premonitions in the cellar, when aa04alienhe fell through the rap door.

When he returned to the monastery and Duncaneth found out Bagdemagus had lost all his plans for profitisation from his copyright scheme, he became annoyed. He poured Bagdemagus a drink, and reached for the grape-crusher.  

aa03GzBagdemagus didn’t finish his meal.

Nothing more was recorded or heard of again of Bagdemagus.

That is until 136 years later – when one of the worlds most amazing coincidences took place.

A relative of Bagdemagus, who did’t know he had any, Inchcock he was named, was born to the Abergavenny harlot.

Inchcock was thrown out of the hovel-home at the age of 11. His writing skills was made use of as he sold crap poems and odes and raised enough money to get a train to Nottingham, hoping he could find out about his father Bagdemagus.

He couldn’t.

But through hard work he eventually found a dilapidated house in Carrington of all places to buy.

On his first trip down the cellar, low and behold he found his fathers diaries wrapped in a loincloth with his pipe and baccy.

He read the forecast as written by Bagdemagus all those years ago.

“There be horror and pestilence brought about by those claiming to be false Gods in the year of 2015.”

“The leaders of the country will be hard on the poor, and suckle up to the rich.”

“Twill be on the 5th of November that year that the human emotions brought on by the uncivilised attitude and unfair nature of the haves and the have-nots that suddenly the have-nots have nothing to fear about rising in riotous rebellion, for there will be far more of the have-nots, and they will raise hell in their desire for revenge upon the chosen few. Not caring for their own lives any-more, just seeking retribution on the greedy wealthy expense fiddling leadership, one with the odd name of Gideon – as welluth we all know, meaning The Feller, Hacker or Hewer in Hebrew”.

“There will be no Christian or other God to calm them, for Christianity will have been lost in the desire and greed for materialistic things!”

Well, thought Inchcock, I could inform the Daily Mail, but I want more than a dozen people to read about this, I know I’ll post it on WordPress & Facebook!

Thus Inchcock did so.

Wouldn’t it be surprising if Bagdemagus turns out right? Hehehe!

Inchcock Today Mon 2 Nov 15: Hospitalistic activities today

01topj0101aMonday 2nd November 2015

Didn’t wake until 0620hrs! What a kip that was – must have needed it?

WC’d – Little Inchy had not been bleeding so much. Angina still bothersome, but other ailments seemed content with not bothering me… yet. Hehe!

Put the hooks on the kitchen board edge and hung me oven glove and tea towel on it – this will probably be me sole effort at sorting today.

Got the GP for me Warfarin INR blood level test – then meeting Pete to go with him to the hospital and keep his pecker up – he don’t like em, hospitals yer know. Then the clinic to attend. Usually after they have been examining poking prodding and playing with ‘Little Inchy’ the P1020344soreness, pain and embarrassment cause me to want only sleep after treatment, certainly not any exercise or physical effort of the slightest degree! Humph!

Took a photo of the kitchen as it is now. Signs of organisation coming on nicely methinks. I’ve decided to keep the 3-tier wheeled trolley for use as and when needed?

Did some Facebooking and checked the emails.

Set out in the fog, well heavy mist and walked down Winchester Street – where I realised I had not got me hearing aids in Whoopsie1 – left them soaking in the pot on the side of the sink – Again, Tsk! along Mansfield Road to into Carrington and the 04hGP surgery just in time.

The nurse, a nice and jolly good girl had to come right up to me and touch me on the shoulder as I couldn’t hear her calling me name – it cheered me up just seeing her patient smile.

She even let me photograph her as she prepared to take e blood test, bless her. Had a natter while she was dealing with me. (Nice!)

I was soon out in the dank misty weather again. It was done so quickly I had time to have a walk back into Sherwood, wait for a bus up to the flats and collect me hearing aids.

Had a nice natter with two other residents of the flats while waiting.

Up to the flat and put me hearing-aids in, made a cuppa and WC’d.

Then back down and out to catch the bus into town to catch the bus out to the QMC Treatment Centre and meet Pete.

Another nice natter on the bus with another resident – he was telling me about how nice the newly modernised Flats were at Sneinton Dale and we were to get a similar upgrade, next on the list so to speak – but it would me a year or so at the earliest.

Caught the bus from town, and walked around the QMC compound to the Treatment Centre at the back. The mist was clearing and the sunshine tried to get through.


Pete outside the Treatment Centre

Got missen settled with me crossword book and waited Pete’s arrival, which was in ten minutes or so.

He was soon called in and was out in 15 minutes or so.

He still ha to go back for checks in 3 months, and they had found two new 01topj9cpossible spots of skin cancer on his face.

I took a photo of the suspect spots on Pete’s face.

I assumed these spots and those on his back that had been treated were created over the years that Pete was brick-laying and showing off his body to the local female population of wherever he was working. Hehe!

04h01We travelled back into Nottingham (Oh that free pensioners bus-pass is Sooo appreciated) and I left Pete at his bus stop outside the Train Station, and walked into town to catch a bus to the Clinic.

It was a bit dank now. They were starting to build the Christmas stalls on the Slab-Square. A sole Ice-cream van with the man inside leant up against his ie-cream maker dozing was a sad sight.

Whoopsie2 Made a right clot of missen here – the appointment was for tomorrow not today! Still, when I told the chap on the reception about the problems I was having, he told me to take a seat and he’s try tp get someone to have a look.

It was getting late and I felt bad bothering them as time shot by and it must have been close to their finishing time. But this did mean that when I did get to see someone they didn’t mess about like usual, and i was soon laid out on me back having Little Inchy probed and prodded by two, yes Two medical personnel! both embarrassingly looking at me privates through the electric lighted giant magnifying glass! No Clotrimazole, Daktacort or Betamethasone creams given me to use this time (Which I was hoping for), after they had a natter and consulted another person, they gave me an injection near me Little Inchy’s tackle.

Told me if the bleeding and or stinging pains have not eased or gone within 48 hours, I was to make an appointment using the code they had written down for me ASAP. They would send me a return appointment tomorrow for about five/seven days time. 

At that one of them escorted me to the exit as everyone else had gone home already and the scary miserable sod on the reception had, had to wait for me before he could lock-up. Oh dear… at least they treated me, they could have said come back tomorrow couldn’t they?

Dark now, as I painfully sat down on the bus to go back to Sherwood. Felt a bit light-headed. Checked I’d got the code in e pocket. Of course no buses running up to the flats this time of night, so had a walk through the park up to the flats, being careful on the wet leaves.

Straight to the WC ad made good use of the porcelain. (Phwer!)

Made a cuppa. No desire for food much, so had a pot noodle with black bean sauce.

Not feeling too good. Sat down and stayed there until I nodded off and on all night.