Virgin Media Goes Down Again. An ode from the Nottingham Pensioner

The Virgin Internet has gone down again.

So, feeling a tad sad and depressed,

The Nottingham Pensioner wrote in rhyme about life. Oh yes!

Why has his Virgin Internet gone down he did bemoan?

His frustration and infuriation had now grown,

Inchcock thought he’d do a poetic verbal moan,

Why when born his mother wanted to him disown?

Why so ugly, and doesn’t he know the meaning of homophone?

Why at five into the canal he was intimidatingly thrown?

Why is he Whoopsiedangleplop and accident-prone?

Why Mummy ran away leaving him and Dad alone?

Why his brother went into the army, his sister went off to Rome?

Why his Dad always refused to buy him a gramophone?

Why is romance to him, almost unbeknown?

Why since 1970, has his hair never grown?

Why in later years he never tried methadone?

Why he didn’t know, what was a pheromone?

Why does his deafness make other folks tut and groan?

Why he likes the sound of the clarinet and saxophone?

Despite his musical ignorance he seemed to like the tone,

Why he never got fed food that was home grown?

Why he didn’t realise he’d no garden just grey stones?

Why his falling in love Cupid had to postpone?

Why he did he not understand what is the ozone?

Why didn’t he like tripe, cow-heel and any currant scone?

Why was it him that always grazed his shin bone?

Why does he look like a weasel and not Stallone?

Why others used him as a stepping stone?

Why is he short on testosterone?

Why for misery, he’d make a perfect cicerone?

Why he had no spare cash, pounds, dollars or krone?

Why for morbidity and depression he’d become best-known?

Why, how has he become the perfect boring drone?

Why he had become pathetic and he hadn’t known?

Why he’s no longer the girl-pulling cyclone?

Why is he in pain from knees, fingers, shoulders & hip bone?

Why could he not have realised and foreknown?

Why can he not resist a chunter and miserable groan?

Why doesn’t he swear like others instead he says, ‘I’ll be blown’?

Why self-survival skills the idiot couldn’t hone?

Why when deaf does he have an old basic mobile phone?

Why does he live a solitary zombie-like life alone?

Why has his maturity just never grown?

Why in an aeroplane has he never flown?

Why is he a wimp without any backbone?

Why does he think he’ll one day be well known?

Why, unlike Galileo, he will remain forever unknown,

Why he isn’t destined to fame or to sit on a throne,

Why has he never tried and tasted zabaglione?

Why his emissions of wind are so very well known?

Why for his past failures he cannot atone?

Why confidence and ability, he does not own?

Why he fears reincarnation or someone making him a clone?

Why he lacks social skills and has no backbone?

Why he seeks a social outlet microphone?

Why he wants someone to adopt him or take him on loan?

Why do they keep attaching him to an Osteophone?

Why cyclist on pavements he just cannot condone?

But, why he’s cheered up now is not known… Yes, it is!

Virgin Internet’s back working & he’s on his WordPress Zone!!!

Inchcock Today – Thursday 14th September 2017: Laundry room – photographicalisationing, Terrible Tenants Social Hour and The Virgin Internet and Phones Went Down!

Thursday 14th September 2017

0140hrs: I laid a while doing my best to recall a dereistic dream I was sure that had just finished seconds earlier, it had an old 1961 Co-op shop mixed with the last store I managed years later, car park altercation and that’s all I could recall? Most vexatious.

As I dismounted the £300 second-hand recliner, feeling quite good actually, apart from the feet and Hilda Hips, things felt okay. Off to the Porcelain Throne, and oh dear, where did Haemorrhoid Harold’s blood come from. Rich dark in colour and covered the toilet paper uniformly. Not like the usual scenario with Harold at all. Then, I remembered the call from the surgery yesterday. Being, about the INR blood level is too high. Which, meant the blood was far too thin. Perhaps this might be part of the cause?

Out of the wet room and noticed some mail had been delivered. I collected the letters up and perused them.

1: One from Nottingham City Homes: Inviting me to a Fun Day at Bulwell Academy for Saturday 16th September. Of course, on Saturdays here at the flats, only three buses running for us to get to town, then catch another bus or tram out to Bulwell for the Fun Day. And, by the time we arrive there, it would be too late to get back to town and catch another bus that leaves us with a long walk to get home (The L9 bus will be finished by then). On offer for us, was trying our hand at DIY skills, archery, live music, dance, a bouncy castle, balloon modelling, face painting and more! What? Hehe!

2: One from British Gas: Informing me of their increase in energy prices.

This should (They say) be approximately a £30 a month increase.


They also told me I could move to another supplier?

3: One from the Haematology DVT Anticoagulant Service: Now this was very interesting this one was.

The lady told me that the INR level was 5.8 when she phoned me yesterday?

A bit worrying this, getting the wrong info?


4: One from the Chief Constable of Nottingham: Re Pegasus.

I have been taken off the At-Risk Pegasus listing.

For failing to inform them of the personal changes. But I can reapply at a later date.

I did the Emails and some WordPress reading and thought I’d get the laundry room duties attended to now, while there was plenty of time before the Morrison delivery arrives. There was only three days worth of clobber to clean, but I decided best to get it done while I’m feeling okay and save a bigger load next time.

0330hrs: Down and got the washing going. Coming back up in the flickering light lift, I noticed that the alien-like blob that appeared dropped on the floor five or six days ago was still there.

Did it seem to have started a Mind Meld with the metal floor? Hehehe! It’s lost all of its colour now, too.

Updating work on the diaries, then back down to move the laundry from washer to the dryer. Cleaned the machine. The plastic powder and softener intake drawers were in a terrible gunky mess.

I popped outside to try and get a ‘Moody Photo’ of the flats.

Back up the elevator and carried on doing the updating of the diaries.

Made a mug of tea, had a wee-wee and made room in the airing cupboard for the cleaned clothes when I do get them retrieved later.

I took a photo out of the kitchen window, and realised something was missing in it?

Can you spot what it is? Yes, the workmen’s Portakabin thingamajig on the left of today’s picture. I wondered why.

0500hrs: Down with the cleaning stuff, to the laundry room.

On the way through, I spotted that someone had left two books and a DVD for anyone to take and use if they fancied such a thing. I bet they will be gone by the time I come back down to go to the Social Hour.


To the machines and removed and folded the things, and got them into the bag.

Cleaned the drum and the filters.

Then the sink and draining board and swept the floor.

I felt somewhat happy that the ailments were allowing me to do this, without any hassle. Well, apart from, as I said earlier, Hippy Hilda and the plates-of-meat.

As I left the room into the lobby, I saw something I had not recognised there before.

On the coffee table like thing. It looked like a whip used in certain establishments to me.


Got the clothes put away and pressed on with this diary updating, while for the Morrison delivery I was waiting. The Morrison man called on the landline when he arrived, seems he was trying to ring the internal thingamajig, but as I had failed to put my hearing aids in, I could not hear him. The kerfuffle caused him to miss a bag of food when he dropped the others off. The frozen food bag, chips, lollies and Lemon Curd ice-cream missing. I sent Morrison’s an email informing them. And advising them that the error might have been caused due to my not having the hearing aid in. The auto Email message afterwards told me they would be in touch shortly. How, I don’t know, Email or phone?

I shelled some garden peas and got them in the Crock-Pot.

Got the ablutions tended to. Checked the nibbles, raffle prizes were in the bag.

Set off on a walk to the Windwood Tenants Social Hour at the hut. Very few folk attended today. When I arrived, only fifteen including myself were there. A most muted session, with an air of misapprehension lingering. Handed in the raffle prizes, gave out the nibbles. So desperate for company, I got the crossword book out. Tsk! But at least Bill (William on Sundays) gave me a hand with some. I could not bear the lack of communications and discouraging silence, and left early, to get back and do WordPress and the idea I had for a funny poem.

Said my farewells and walked back to the block.

Got indoors, had a wee-wee, put the kettle on the boil and got the computer going. But, to no avail… The Virgin Internet and phone were down again! Most irritating and irksome indeed!

I got writing the notes and ideas for the poem, on Word so I could copy them later. The telephone still had no dialling tone, so I knew the internet would not be back on.

Then I thought I’d nip out and ask anyone I could find if they were on Virgin and were having the same problems as I was. Got as far as the lobby. Three tenants there, one said her neighbour had the problem yesterday.

I walked to the Tenant’s Hut and Wardens Deana and Julie were in their little office, busy! Deana, (Julie indicated to me in sign language) was on the phone to Virgin at the time. Then I overheard what she was saying. Around twenty tenants and Virgin users (That sounds naughty, Haha!) had complained to her about their having no telephone line or internet. Thus we had no Alarm Contact box, button or Wrist Alarm either, this system is linked to the phone lines. I hope nobody needs help until it is back on again!

Deana was obviously struggling to get through to someone to talk too, other the auto options. I waited ten minutes or so as she eventually got a human being to converse with. When she got off of the phone, I gave her and Julie a nibble bar.

Deana and I walked back to the flats, as she was going to see if a lady on the eleventh floor had got her line back on yet.

Some impressive Nottingham Street Art in the car park come verge?

I got in number 72 and my phone thus internet was still not working.

Did the Health Checks and medications were taken.

So I got the meal readied and cooking.

Tried the phone line, still nothing.

The clouds through the window, looked a bit like I felt. Flat and dark in patches, but with signs of blue!


Got the ready made meal out of the oven, maybe a twinge overcooked?

Added tomatoes and the fresh garden peas, with a drop of balsamic vinegar, poured over the tiny tomatoes.

A slice of flatbread and Lemon Curd yoghourt to follow, and it all went down very well indeed. Had to rate this one at a 9.5/10 score. The Rosti on top of the lamb underneath it was so crispy and tasty!

Had a read of the book. (There is no internet! Humph!)

Health Checks and medications were taken.

Tried to watch some TV, but struggled to stay awake, I soon gave up trying, turned off TV and got the head down.

I almost sprang awake, with bits of a dream floating about in my head, I wrote down some that I could recall. Got up and got the computer on (The Internet now working) and recorded and updated this diary.

It appears I was in what seemed to be, house made up of parts of all those and the flats and caravans I have resided at over the years. For most of the dream, Lynton Cox and Duncan Robertson and three other blokes were with me, but I cannot recall or even know if I recognised them during the dream.

I kept going out to meet a girl on the bridge, we were groping and snogging, every time this happened one or more of the men would appear and drag me back to the house, and lock me in a different room each time? This happened repeatedly. I think on one of my escapes, I ended up in Amsterdam, then on a coach and me and the same girl travelled to the Weiss Beer Festival, in a massive beer tent we started snogging and this time all of the men arrived to drag me back to the house? That, in conjunction with the notes made, is all I can recall for definite.

This when I realised it was only 2230hrs! I had only been asleep for twenty-minutes before I shot awake! Humph!