Apologies to anyone of education, poets, bloggers or intelligence

The usual selection of lost and misplaced items this week,

Glasses, bus-pass, hearing aids, pens, gloves, odd socks and flip-flops,

And his protection pads he wears, for unexpected leaks,

Also rather more than usual of his Whoopsiedangleplops.

*****

A meeting with his solicitor, during which made a comment in reply,

To the house buyers solicitor, who asked him to sign an affidavit,

Relating to the usage of a passageway, he knew not why?

The man offered him a pen, and he said “I don’t want to use your ink, save it!

 *****

The man looked puzzled and asked him why,

Retorted Inchcock, “It’s got Barclays written on it,

I wouldn’t want you to miss having your Barclays, Oh my!

The man missed Inchcock’s humour, I know it’s a little dry.

*****

He did his housework in the flat,

Next day he had agony in his right leg,

It hurt him so if he stood, walked or sat!

He limped to the surgery, feeling a right prat,

Doc said “A torn muscle”, and that was that.

*****

He left the hot water running once again,

Hit his head cleaning the window pane,

Little Inchy bleeding, Arthur Itis, angina, giving him pain,

The torn muscle driving him insane,

The reflux valve, it’s usual bane,

Now he’s suffering, with Thromboxane!

*****

INR blood levels all over the place,

The lifts were kaputt for over a day,

Climbed the stairs, 24 flights, at an ever slowing pace,

Twisted his back, tying up his shoelace,

He was well peeved and shattered I must say!

*****

Not dishearted, oh no, not our Inchcock,

Had a bath to recover, but taking off his sock…

He lost balance and hit his elbow, what a shock!

No!… don’t laugh or mock!

Tuesday he went to bed at nine o’clock,

Dreaming of some sleep proved poppycock!

*****

So he went to get the radio to listen to,

And had some good luck, now that is new!

Found his odd sock in the bathroom too,

In the draw with his cleaners and toilet Bloo!

*****

He thought his walking stick needed cleaning anew,

So he thought, wood-dye it, that’s what he’ll do,

Opening the can, with his arthritic fingers, and Ooh!

Spit the contents, all over his lamb stew!

Tsk, Huh and Humph!