Inchcock Today Mon 15 Feb 16: A nothing day – but I did manage to drop the milk again. Hehe!!

A lawyer was filling out a job application when he came to the question: “Have you ever been arrested?”

He answered no to the question.

The next question, intended for those who answered the preceding question with a yes, was “why?”

Nevertheless, the lawyer answered it:

“I Never got caught.”

He got the job!


Monday 15 February 2016

0300hrs: I sprang awake, urgently needing the porcelain, the right leg throbbing again, I hobbled to the bathroom. As I sat reading Kenneth William’s diaries, feelings of frustration and an alarming overpowering sensation that something awful is about to occur? A horrible expectancy of doom or disaster? Have you ever had this happen to you? Put me in a right ‘Worry Mode’ state of mind, have I any Tikvah!

However, the haemorrhoids and Little Inchy were not bleeding, only the reflux valve and angina were giving me any real grief.

I went into the kitchen and realised I’d left me dirty pots in the bowl last night. Naughty Inchcock! Washed them and put them away, kettle on and made a cup of English Breakfast tea, and took my medications while I thought about it.

I could recall some tiny details of the dreams I’d had. One little bit that was clear as glass, yet nothing about the rest of them? I was in a long narrow room at a desk with inkwells, Dickensian-looking, drab, dusty. People were coming in, and each one was selling me one of their shoes? I was paying them a penny farthing for each one. I even recall getting the farthings from a Bisto tin, just like the one I used to keep my paper round wages in years and years ago? A sensation that I’d had so much more escapades during my dreams was present, but no other recollections. Annoying innit?

Laptop on, diary for Sunday finished and posted.

Did some Facebooking and checked the emails.

Got in the bathroom and cleaned my wobbly body and medicated the areas that needed medicating.

IMG_0001When I eventually returned to the kitchen to make another brew, the light fall of snow we’d had outside looked beautiful.

Took this photograph.

Sorted out the paperwork for the Government Pensions contact numbers.

I called Sister Jane on her mobile. Enjoyed the natter we had.

Then got myself wrapped up, took the rubbish bag to the chute and got done the lift and out to the Winwood Community Shed to ask Dean or Julie if they would phone the pensions people for me, to inform them of my change of address for me.

I arrived and was lucky to catch them both in. They had four other complexes to visit today.

Boing! I’d left my paperwork back in the flat! Tsk!

Back to the flats and up the lift to retrieve the paperwork with the details on it. expectation

Back down and out to the hut again. Deana sorted it out for me. It took her ages, and the woman I had to speak to, to confirm details was incomprehensible to my ears.

I then asked them what flat the lady named Jean lived in. Her being the woman I had promised to take some DVDs to for her to view. Julie informed me it was number 48.

IMG_0002I grovelled and thanked them, then left to go back to the flat.

En route, I noticed someone had created some Nottingham Street art with their car, by driving on the pavement.

Nice of them, I thought.

The sun was shining, but it was bitter cold this morning.

I remembered the Morrison’s delivery was coming today twixt 12/1300hrs.

Hastened (Limped) back to the flat, when I got in I collected the DVDs for tenant Jean, and set off to find her flat to give them to her. After much going up and down on the lift, I found number 48 on the sixth floor. Knocked on the door, and finally got to pass over the films for her.

The right leg was less bothersome today, but still not good yet. I wonder how long it can take for a torn muscle to repair itself? I think it’s been about six days now?

Back to the flat and made a cuppa and got the laptop on to update this twaddle.

Feeling a bit weary again.

Facebooked some more and then made some fodder.

IMG_0027A simplistic nosh today.

Beetroots, sweet potato slices, one baked potato, halved and with cheese, and some cooked pork loin bread-thin sandwiches.

Rated this one 8.2/10.

Pottered about trying to find my walking stick ready for the morrow’s trip to the surgery. I knew I had it earlier IMG_0028when I got up?

When I did spot it in the kitchen, hanging on the curtain railing over the thermometer, I wondered how the heck I’d managed not to see it before?

Took my medications later than planned.

Made a cuppa, dropped the milk for the second time in the last few days.

Cleaned it up, swore some and then washed the pots up.

Nestled down to watch the TV, and that was the end of my interest in this particular Monday.


The symmetry of life


Thoughts on life from Inchcock

Mother wasn’t there for me to be breastfed,

She ran away from the police, she wasn’t dead,

The throne of Motherhood she abdicated,

Dad was my hero, it really must be said.

His honesty and tightfistedness were totally unbended,

Education was a farce, I was glad when it ended.


The symmetry of life is non-existent now,

Not that it ever was, of course,

The diaphragm of my brain is missing somehow,

My willpower and desires, no longer a potent force,

Logicality, Memory, my mind will no longer allow,

No pleasure time now, no social intercourse,

The cat Pippa, no longer around to meow.


My ululations now are from the pain and agony of life,

I’ve lost most things too, my health, hearing and the wife,

Am I, almost enraptured by the anxiety and strife?

It’s essential that I need to believe in some kind of afterlife,

Now that I’m nearing the end of my shelf life.


Another opportunity to get life right is what I need,

Forget the mess I made of this one, oh yes indeed!

I investigated myself and then we both agreed,

We’d like to have lived in Berwick-upon-Tweed,

Where yobboes didn’t roam, mugging for cash for their weed,

Still, I can now in old age, afford to drink and feed,

From pigritude, I managed to get myself freed,

But it’s returned, I really do overfeed,

And depression, nowadays is almost guaranteed.


My desperate longing to be freed of imperturbation,

Also, I’d like not to have my daily inoculation,

Or the many tablets, gels, creams and medications,

The ticker with its new valve can be a botheration,

 Angina, ulcers, arthritis etc that come with antiquation,

Must be endured, for they are part of life’s equation,

It is bad when I get a metamorphically inspired invasion,

Taking Warfarin now to help the blood circulation,

The escapes of anal wind, are likened to a nuclear detonation,

And these start the reflux valve sticking, more perturbation!

Now I’ve torn a leg muscle, pain is like a vocation,

I’m getting down more, misery is like a relation,

Enough is enough, why more of life’s continuation?

I’m getting to the point of desperation!

No, hold on… Morecombe and Wise are coming on the television.



I’ve got food in the cupboard and fridge galore,

Nibbles, biscuits, cakes and tea bags and more,

I’ll see the pretty lady later, who live next door,

The leg suddenly doesn’t feel so sore,

Abruptly, I don’t feel so depressed and poor,

My blessings are coming to the fore,

I hadn’t recognised these before!