I had a thought, the other day,
It would not go away,
But here I am to write it down today,
Huh! I’ve forgotten what it was, Oh, lackaday!
I was caught laughing on Monday morning,
The Doctor was worried,
To the psychiatrist, I was hurried,
Now I’m no longer able-bodied,
I believe insanity is dawning!
I’ll have parsnip soup tonight, curried!
I worry a lot nowadays,
Through my mind’s confused haze,
Why am I not confident, there’s a trail to blaze?
I’m old, decrepit and stuck in my ways,
Life’s a pain, it’s been wretched in recent days,
Freeing yourself of worrying can be done; the Doctor says
Watch an old DVD of Dawson’s ‘Say’s Les’,
Act like Tommy Cooper, and wear a fez,
I worry a lot nowadays!
Doing the ablutions is not an easy task!
I’ll cut myself daily having a shave,
To ease the pain, I take my hip-flask,
Dizzy Dennis calls, and blood is flittered,
Shaking Shaun, makes me feel all forlorn,
The dropsies fall, sometimes landing on my corn,
Then I droppeth the showerhead,
Though sometimes, the Sock-Glide instead,
The Sock-Glide removes chunks from my finger,
But in the shower, I become a singer,
An older Elvis, I’m a dead-ringer,
Apart from being short and having no hair,
And I can’t sing, to be fair,
Life can be so cruel and unfair, so there!
But there’s help out there somewhere,
I just don’t know where. But do I care?
Nowadays, and I think it’s a real pity,
Life’s full of astucity, atrocity and a definite caducity,
It’s still easy enough, for me to be friendly and witty,
But sadly, only through a silly internet ditty,
Doing hoovering, hand-washing and other domesticity,
Brings pain, agony in all its ferocity,
Arthur Itis, Anne Gyna, neurotmesis axonotmesisity,
Duodenal Donald, Reflux Roger, with their tenacity,
All combine, to stop the housework,
Someone call saying; ‘Look at this filthy dust. You idle burke!’
But life’s always been depressing,
It started when I was born you know,
Worries were soon rampant, though,
But I had my health,
Even if, no wealth,
Britain had its Commonwealth,
I got through using cunning and stealth!
This post was formulated while Inchcock was waiting in the Mary Potter Treatment Centre for his ankle-ulcer, and bruised thigh from his falling off of the L9 bus to be treated. During which he had his Peripheral Neuropathy diagnosed.
Just thought I’d mention it, like.
Part of: The Nottingham Lads True Tales of Woe Series