I thought I’d look back, on my victories
Bear with me; these are hard to find…
At birth, I lived through Mother’s fag ash dropping on me,
I had Double-Pneumonia at the age of three,
Sister Jane was almost adopted, to Italy, she did flee,
Brother Pete, escaped, good for him, went in the army,
Mother running away, the police wanted her, you see,
Which left just poor old Dad and me,
Doing the cleaning, shopping, and two paper-rounds, that was Inchy!
I survived being thrown in the Nottingham Canal,
Clinging to a barge rope, without much hope,
I was rescued by Brain, a neighbour, and a real pal,
Hauled out, was taken home, full of hope,
Got a belting off of Dad, and scrubbed with carbolic soap!
Jane away in Italy still,
Life was for us both, a bitter pill,
We’d both had our sad times, but still,
I started work, bought a bike that would go uphill!
Duodenal ulcer, Anne Gyna I acquired easily enough,
Got shot at work, and a new heart fitted,
Fron flat to flat, I flitted,
Got made redundant, Cancer zapped, not fritted,
Job searching failed, hopes, attritted,
My desires, faith, and plans buffetted!
Then along came Peripheral Neuropathy ailment,
Jane, back from Australia, accompanied me,
To and from the hospital, she was heaven sent!
Then the stroke, I was a broken bloke,
Months in care, after the stroke,
Slowly, recovery began to cloak,
Bits of the old Inchcock, showed, bespoke,
And I knew something more would wroke!
Then the diabetes was found,
And things got worserer, all around,
When Saccades-Sandra, was also found!
But, my hopes and aspirations remain,
Although I am no longer sane,
I’m ready for the challenges again…
I just wish there was a little less pain!
I fang you!
6 thoughts on “I thought I’d look back, on my victories”
Merci Mon Ami
You are an intrepid soul and a survivor most stalwart, kind Sir! An excellent account well told and photographed. It is a privilege to share the birthyear 1947 with you, mon ami. We both arrived at this strange planet in the first half of the Twentieth Century, just like those personages born in the year 1900. Had we lived our lives backward in time, the calendar would read1874.
How the heck is it that *I* haven’t been shot yet?
Hurrah for 1947!
Merci beaucoup, Billumski,
Wir teilen wieder! (That migh me spelt wrongly, Sorry)
Being thrown in the canal and shot, what Whoopsidangleplops! Hahaha!
In 1874. Jesse James’ gang robbed a train at Gads Hill. Missouri.
Getting Shot: I reccommend that you don’t parttake in this activity, Sir Billumski. Oh, no!
Googlemail sending messages recieved all over the place at them moment, some don’t arrive, Tsk!
Be calm and patient Sir, which Lisa tells me you are. I send healing thoughts through the ether for Lisa and your good self.
Off to the Porvelan Throne now…
Wiederteilen ist korrekt , kind Sir!
We have the most guns per square foot in this, the likelihood of getting shot is high methinks.
I’ve never fired a gun.
Thank you for the kind words, the ether delivered them intact and we send healing thoughts via the etherways twixt here and Woodthorpe Place
TTFNski, our friend!