Inchcock Today – Monday 5th March 2018

Monday 5th March 2018

ਸੋਮਵਾਰ 5 ਮਾਰਚ 2018 Punjabi

0005hrs: I stirred in the £300 second-hand recliner, a cracking headache, Duodenal Donald letting me know he was unhappy. The main expergefactor being the need of the Porcelain Throne utilisation.

I put the kettle on and had a look outside to view the weather and possibility of getting out today. The snow had gone, the mist and fog had too. But it was still icy, and I assumed the freezing rain as forecast would arrive shortly.

At least the buses should be running.

I felt the visit to the wet room was going to present opportunities for adiaphorous medicationalisationing activities. I was right, I’m afraid. Things were a right-state down below. Fresh and congealed dried blood at the front (Little Inchies lesion) and, tender, burning, bleeding bloblets of pain from the rear-end (Harold’s Haemorrhoids). All accompanied by Duodenal Donald’s stabs and elongated seemingly angry pains. I did some temporary patching up and creaming, and dreaded having to do the job in full at a later stage when I get the ablutions tended to. Washed up and returned to the kitchen, not feeling so good, but things could have been worse… I keep telling myself. At least the Throne Session was not too bad, still messy, but far less than yesterday. Hehe!

I guzzled down some of the impotent antacid medicine, took the morning doses with an extra pain-killer and Omeprazole. Oh dear, the innards are beginning to rumble and grumble now. Tsk!

Got the Health Checks collated for last week and did this morning’s ones.

Odd how I seem to wake most mornings feeling like a different person, at times like an unwanted alien. Not sure why I said that.

Got on the computer and got this started and done up to here. Then, on to finishing the Sunday diary. Sent it off and did some WordPress commenting.

The stomach is churning again. Not heard any noise yet from Herbert above. Then still it is only 0330hrs, give him time. Haha!

Went to the WordPress Reader.

Made up another graphic to use later as a page header on the Inchcock Todays.

Ablutionisationing and medicalisationing tended to next. A painful job that medicating of specific areas.

All smelling nice and fresh, I went to make a brew. And tried to take a panorama shot of the skyline, as it was apparent to the eye, rain in some areas (Or snow?) and not in others, as with the sunshine breaking through.

Disappointed in the outcome of this effort, though. Twinklies spoilt it.

Sorted and took the waste bags to the refuse chute.

Got the things ready and set off to the Windwood Social Shed, to wait in there for the bus to arrive.

No one in the hut when I arrived. I sat down and got the crossword book out. I was joined later by several other tenants, and Welsh Bill sat beside me and he was in much better health this morning. He was back to almost his sarcastic best and looked much recovered and fitter. We had a chinwag, but the atmosphere inside the hut otherwise, was one of low spirits.

Out to the bus stop and the city-bound bus arrived first. Got on with Margaret from the 7th floor.

Got off at the terminus on Queen Street and made my way down to the Slab Square. Not many folks around and an aura that gave off a sense of demoralisation lingered, mixed with an overpowering depressive melancholiness. No smiling faces and an increase in Big issue Sellers and street beggars.

I made my way down Lister Gate to take a photograph from roughly the same place of one I’d found from around 1959. So I could display them both in comparison to each other.

Looked like a ghost town.

I went into the Broad Marsh Shopping Centre to have a look at its demise as they run it down ready for demolition in readiness for the new, not needed, unwanted suicidal multi-billion new development.

The place is 2/3rds of empty shops at the moment. Being used a cut through for pedestrians from the South.

The security guard leaning against the Customer (And there were precious few of those about) counter, gossiping with a Service Lady in desperate attempts to keep each other from falling asleep.

The plans for how it will end up looking were impressive.

But where sufficiently funded Nottinghamian customers are going to come from is problematical. But I am confident it will attract the shoplifting fraternity in significant numbers, beggars and street artists too.

Doomed before it is built!

The top floor is already devoid of shops.

The original shopping centre that was also not required needed, used-much and hated by many Nottinghamians for the destruction of so many old landmarks to make room for it, was opened in 1972.

I limped back into the City Centre and back through the Slab Square.

Gawed, it looked and felt so gloomy!

I went the Tesco and got some cobs and lemon flavoured cakes.

Ten to the bus stop on Queen Street.

The old Elite Building had finished being cleaned up. Sadly, they had removed the statues from their coves on top of the building. A danger to street sleepers and shoplifters I expect. Hehe!

Throughout my little trip around town, I did not see a single police Officer. Street beggars, Big Issue Sellers, Street Artists playing upturned plastic buckets, litterers, pavement cyclists and a shoplifter in action in Tesco… Yes! But, no Officers of the Law!

A few people on Clumber Street now, as I returned to the bus stop.

Caught the L9 back to Sherwood.

The atmosphere on the bus was one of confusion to me. Kids were screaming demanding something called ‘Princess?’, That apparently their parents had refused to buy them. Two people on their mobiles supplied a loud running commentary as they both shouted to whoever was on the other end.

Then, someone on the raised seating behind me dropped something down the back of my neck. I later found out it was bits of broken crisps. I had to chuckle!

Obergruppenfureress Warden Deana was knocking on a flat door as I got back. Hellos were exchanged.

Got in and tended to the preparing of the meal. Had a rinse and found the crushed crisps (Hehe!). Titivated the kitchen a bit.

Mail had been delivered. The DVT results from last Thursday and yet another Nottingham City Homes information letter. Cunningly arranging a meeting in the Obergruppenfurheress Wardens Hut for Thursday 15th March (Blood Test, GUM Clinic and Dentist appointment day, which negate my desires to attend the one and only Social Hour a week – But it doesn’t bother me!) Lie Mode Adopted. Details:

1. Answering questions about the sprinkler systems to be fitted
2. Answering questions about the new tannoy systems to be fitted
3. Answering questions about the tannoy systems to be fitted
4. Showing you how they work
5. Telling you when works are due to start
6. Telling you what the works involve
7. Testing the fire alarms in all the blocks

So, that just leaves, I think anyway: The above plus – The meeting about the heaters, the installation of the new windows and how to use them, the installation of the new balcony and how to use them… and eventually:  Hire a plasterer and floor layer to repair where  the work on heaters, wiring, alarms and  all the above are completed, paying someone to redecorate the flat and fill in the holes and lay four new carpets and curtains, oh, and a lampshade.

I’m going to need to find some Chutzpah to cope with all this lot! I, like many other of the old folk I imagine, don’t deal easily with upset and change. But, there I go, moaning again. Tsk! Naughty Inchcock!

Served up the meal.

For some reason, the lamb hotpot was of a different texture to the other one I ate two days ago. Same use-by date and brand, though?

I could not eat any of it. Tasteless and very greasy. A good job I added a Frikadellen and chips, they were excellent. I wondered why this happened? I must have done something wrong?

The innards started to rumble and grumble as I settled to watch the TV.

Fell asleep and proceeded to suffer a hell of a dream! Thankfully I scribbled some notes about them. Most unreadable, indecipherable, but still enough to get the theme of the thoughts:  Captured, held wearing nothing but a large pink towel wrapped around me – room, no furniture. Dog cat droppings. Broken window, being shot at. Wanted to jump out of frame using towel as a parachute? Realised I had no legs.  The scene moved to canal, nighttime – with me in wooden rowing boat wearing frogman’s suit. Jumped in and found me in cave underground, air-raid. Everyone had a jar of Marmite in their hand?

Beats me, too!

Sister Jane rang. Stopping the dream, bless her.

TTFN.