Believe it or not, Inchcock created this depiction of his Sock-Glide from memories of a nightmare, that the poor old fart suffered two nights ago. It’s so sad!
Inchcock Reveals His Current Fears!
Reading further may cause harm to your sanity!
Yes, he was young once… he still is, mentally!
Born, and got myself double-pneumonia,
Thrown in the canal, I nearly drowned in 1954,
I got rescued, only scared, wet and sore,
The medics said the boss is going to warn yer,
The Doctor said “You’ll never get brawnier”,
Next, I got shot, then the Duodenal Ulcer,
Top of the charts was ♫24hrs from Tulsa♫,
Then the hernia, and bladder cancer.
Had to have the ticker transplanted, years ago,
It doesn’t bother me now, though,
Then I went and got shot again,
I knew my bad luck had to end, but when?
I stopped working in the Security industry, then!
I came off my motor-bike in the fog,
Out of hospital, had some police dialogue,
They fined me £20, speeding, I was agog!
Got a job driving a delivery van,
And became quite a Casanovan,
Got made redundant three times, lucky man!
Retired, well it was enforced of course,
But I had little remorse,
Got a part-time job, selling pickles and sauce,
When I reached 70, we had a discourse,
Then the Peripheral Neuropathy was diagnosed,
Got the tablets mixed-up, and overdosed,
They said stay indoor, well, I wasn’t opposed!
Then along came the stroke, of the ischaemic type,
Saccades, as well, of dear, this medical hype,
But I wasn’t one to moan and gripe,
I recovered, but physically, I’m a load of tripe,
They discovered I had diabetes,
Life became full of abstrusities,
My ailments seem to grow complexities.
Next, I’m using a walking stick,
Unbalanced, falling-over, it made me sick,
No choices then, at home I have to stick,
I fell, and gave my neck a crick,
I’m no longer the witty, clever-dick,
But I somehow cope, and that was fantastic.
Then along came to visit us,
The Corona Virus,
Isolation, no going out walking or on a bus,
Every day new instructions, what a fuss,
But at least I got rid of furuncle’s puss!
Until disabilities meant I couldn’t bend down,
And the worst, that really gets me down…
It’s bad enough doing your own syringes,
Is the bloody Sock-Glide, frame,
I gave it a go, I was really game,
But it keeps taking lumps out of my fingers,
And I don’t like these whinges,
Using the Sock-Glide means many cringes,
It’s not just the pain – mentally you’ll find it unhinges!
This claptrap was ritrote, written by Inchcock, with dedication and stupidity in support of the Peterborough & District Failed Philharmonic Orchestra Players, collection fund for the Bankers & Investors Roadkill Hospice Advocacy Society.
Indo-Aryan language is spoken in the Indian state of Odisha. It is the official language in Odisha (formerly known as Orissa) where native speakers make up 82% of the population, also spoken in parts of West Bengal, Jharkhand, Chhattisgarh, and Andhra Pradesh.
04:10hrs: Well, what a waking up it was this merry morning! I was in a depressive state of clinomania, on a right-downer. Sensing that this phenomenon was due to a dream I’d been having, but not certain. The Thought-Storms began, and this only confused me more than ever. By the time I’d jumped to another worry, I’d forgotten the previous fear or concern that I had been battling with… a soupçon of sadness, too – but what at? Blurblecrubs!
I should be feeling great, after all, I’d had about five hours of sleep and a dream that I think was a nice one. For a minute or two, I was reconnoitring within the brain-box trying to find some understanding, then it dawned on me, ‘It didn’t matter one iota’. I sneezed heavily, and instantly felt the need for an urgent wee-wee! But the brain was still not too interested. But the bladder forced things along. I grumpily, labourously made my way to the wet room, having to increase my hobbling-pace as I felt the ominous PMD Pre-Micturition-Dribble) leaking.
I got there before the main show, and after the pathetic tinkling wee-wee, I washed and had to divert from putting on the new PP’s, and get sat down for a Porcelain Throne session. But things were as solid as a rock, the movement nudged and stuck, but the pain continued, yet again. Lucky Sod Me!
I was sat sitting there on the Throne for about fifteen minutes. Just too painful for me to try and rush things along, so I got the crossword book out. Do you know, I got more answers in that sat-there time than I have for weeks! Amidst the agony of each innards-controlled edging things along, I found myself singing ♫ ‘Bring me sunshine, in your smile, Bring me laughter, all the while, In this world where we live, There should be more happiness, So much joy you can give, To each brand new bright tomorrow ♫ (Can’t remember any other words, Hehe!)
The last long agonising evacuation was even more painful, but that did not stop me singing to myself, and even trying to whistle while I washed, medicated the rear end, and got new PPs on. In about half an hour or so, I’d gone from miserable to merrily soliloquising, and now, even a little light-hearted? (Worra change!)
I actually had some breakfast this morning! (Oh, Yes! – Smug-Mode-Engaged!) Fair enough, not the healthiest, but still. A pot noodle and a banana to follow!
Then I got the computer on. In between many PWWWs (Pathetically-Weak-Wee-Wees), and Nicodemus’s Neurotransmitters failures, I finally got it finished, many hours later. With no mugs of tea, but many a wee-wee! Hehehe!
As I pondered on whether to make a brew or not, I did fancy a Glengettie, I felt like a tasty treat… Then it dawned on me, I have not taken any medications or done the Health Checks! (I thought I was doing well, Humph!)
I limped rather steadily to the kitchenette, and put the kettle on and then got the stick thermometer to take my temperature with. Using the Kodak camera. I did the usual and took a photo of the reading. No, I can’t read it either. Grumph!
Got the medical hemadynamometer, or is it called a sphygmomanometer, I ain’t sure, but anyroad, the results for the Sys was back up high again. Dia and Pulse look to be okayish to me?
Made the first brew of the day, belatedly, mind, and back to the computerisationing. I Pinterested a few snaps, went on the WordPress Reader section, Emailed the link, and answered all of the comments, well, the comment. Poor old devil!
Time to get the ablutions done now. A quick PWWW first.
Then, I launched a little too enthusiastically into doing the teeth. Toothache-Trevor got very annoyed with me and showed his displeasure in the usual way. Argh!
Also dropped the mouth ash bottle, but yet again, it didn’t break!
Nasal Hygiene Spray: Got the dropsies with it this, as it hit the floor, the sprayer at the end of the can, snapped off! I hope to be able to find it when I get around to cleaning the wet room sometime.Tsk!
Shaving: Ah, some good news here, only two razor dropsies, and one wee nick under the chin!
Stand-Up Wash: Pretty good, and I think that the old ankle ulcer, is getting paler again, but still spreading out as if it wants Lebensraum! Haha” Not pleased with this new camera! Of course, it will most likely be something I’m doing wrong, Humph!
Towelling off: With not having got the shower wet, it was easier to avoid knocking anything over on the floor cabinets!
The Sock-Glide was not fought, or fraught again this morning. No socks on got to wait in for the big-letter landline phone being delivered, by Amazon. Nothing to do with my being, nervous or scared of using it, naturally. Oh, no!
Medicationalisationing: I put some Savlon cream on the ankle ulcer. Germoloid (It’s good stuff, really calming!) on Harold’s Haemorrhoids. I think there is only on furuncle left that is big enough to give me any bother, creamed that as well. Phorpain gelled the knees, wrists and the wear & tear induced Osteoarthritis in the finger knuckles. I even managed to get some Phorpain on the back, cause Back-Pain-Brenda is starting to kick-off again.
Although I didn’t go over when getting the fresh PPs on, it was a close call. Dizzy Dennis to blame.
Of course, I was proud of my sheer guts, abilities, dexterity and bravery in avoiding going over! Mind you, I did hit my shoulder against the door frame, setting off SSS Shuddering-Shoulder-Shirley! By the time I got out, SSS and BBB were joined by Reflux Roger in making me a little uncomfortable. Criggleblogsworthisms!
Got dressed (No socks of course), and sorted some black waste bags and a big recycling sack to take down to the bins. Got them on the three-wheeled-walker, and added some treats for Jenny that I forgot to take yesterday.
I nipped back inside, to make a nervous check to ensure I had not left the heater on, lights, stove (apart from the slow cooker), or anything else missed.
All looked good, and I made my way to the door again. I found another hand-delivered letter reminding us all on the 12th, and 13th floors, that the screeding (Screeding a floor is a simple act of applying a well-blended mixture of Ordinary Portland Cement with graded aggregates and water to a floor base, in order to form a sturdy sub-floor that is capable of taking on the final floor finish or act as a final wearing surface) was being done on Tuesday next, the 15th September.
I got to the waste chute room and deposited the small black bags down the shaft, problem-free. (Smug-Mode-Adopted) Got the lift down to the ground floor, and had the pleasure of having a little mini-chinwag with Frank and Doris.
Then out and put the big bag near the bin. By gum, it was windy out there, not cold with it, mind you. I limped with the trolley-guide along Chestnut Walk to the Winnwood Court main entrance and made my way inside. Said my hellos to Wardens Julie and the new gal. (I think Deana is on holiday)
Departed and noticed that the tub flowers outside the door on Woodthorpe Court were getting a battering in the wind. No bodies were around as I got inside the lobby. I caught the elevator up to the 9th floor, and put the bag near Jenny’s door, rang her bell, and departed back to the lifts. Up to the 12th floor and back in my apartment. All without seeing a soul on the way back.
As I opened the door to manipulate the trolley guide in, and yet another Hand-posted letter had been delivered. This one was about giving each tenant a chance to vote for one of three flooring options that we fancy A B or C. Box to post back, in the ground floor lobby.
Herbert was keeping company with the odd tap-tapping, while I updated this blog.
Getting late now, the weariness is setting in. And the landline phone burst into life ringing and flashing, it made me jump a bit. Hehehe! I answered it, and it was a lady from some NHS medical department, but I didn’t catch the proper name of it.
I had been referred to them by Caroline of the falls team. After a lot of her trying to find me a place that is open at the moment, the Sherwood one is still closed, and her efforts found me an appointment for me to have a bladder and bowel scan done. The only place available was St Anne’s Health Centre, and she got me an appointment for 10:15hrs, on October 15th. (I think). She will send me a letter, with a lengthy questionnaire (she warned me) in it, for me to fill in, and a leaflet about the procedures I’m to go through. Gulp!
I updated this diary again for an hour or so, then thought about getting something prepped for eating.
The door-chimes rang out their Dusty Springfield’s tune of ♫ I only want to be with you ♫. I got some clothes on as quickly as I could and meandered swiftly to the front door. It was the Amazon delivery of the new big-button old second-hand landline phone. It had been left on the floor outside the door.
I bought it in and left it near the radiator. And returned to the front room to save the computer work, then get the meal sorted out.
The door-chimes rang out their Dusty Springfield’s tune of ♫ I only want to be with you ♫ again. Aha, thought I, the driver, might have forgotten something. Back to the door, and there on the floor, something I adore, a bag of yellow tomatoes and a note, from Jenny, bless her. These fruits will become part of tonight’s nosh now! Thanks, Jenny!
I started to get the fodder for the night sorted out, and guess what, The door-chimes rang out their Dusty Springfield’s tune of ♫ I only want to be with you ♫ for the third time!
Well, blow me down with a feather duster!
This time, I was at the door within a minute or so, only to find nothing? The motion-lights in the lobby had not even been activated? A Ghost perhaps?
(Aye, the mysterious wonders of Woodthorpe Court: The Ghosts, Hobgoblins, Boll-Weevils, Aliens, Gremlins, Karakia-cursing entities, Hallucinations. Materialisations, Poltergeist, Lemures, Wairuas, Kehuas, Manifestations that permeate, pass through the pores and interstices of space, through the time-continuum. Usually, without rupture or displacement within the building. To cause havoc, fear and frustration, as they dislodge time itself, in their aspirations and skulduggery, to complete their given by Satan mission; ‘To annoy and scare the bejesus, out of the old Inchcock’).
Back sorting out the meal again. For once, I remembered to take the before-eating medications, leaving the after-meals ones for later. I’ve not done this for ages, I must make more effort on this in future!
The yellow tomatoes were tasted grand, the potato farls fine, everything else passable—a flavour-rating of 7/10. (Must do a Sainsbury order for next week in the morning! – a self-reminder this is really)
The pots were washed, and I settled down to watch the A-team on the telly. Fell asleep and woke up to the ending credit rolls. Tsk!
Shuddering-Shoulder-Shirley ensured that I could not get to sleep again, for ages. Humph!