Inchcock’s Wednesday Witterings: 2nd March 2020

Welcome to my banal, funny, heartbreaking…
Pathetic, uneducated, dementia-driven rambling,
Inchcock Today… or Waffling Wednesdays Wittering,
After reading, you’ll sleep; no need for chloroforming…
In fact, you’ll be asleep before the end, I’m assuming…
This blog might be popular, by the end of global warming,
I’ve lost one of my three readers; he was from Wyoming…
It’s only my ailments and self that I can be blaming,
I make so many mistakes, some of them alarming!
I just want to make folks smile, do no harming…
But Vascular Dementia Doreen mucks me up… Charming!

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I woke up and checked on the time, 0:400hrs. I wondered whether I needed the Porcelain thrown or not, mild rumblings from the innards: and nodded off again.

I didn’t wake until almost 07:00hrs. Panic Stations! At least the Carer had not arrived unless it’s one of those who do not press the chimer? The Thought-Storms rages as I fumbled and bumbled my way free of the £300, second-hand bought, c1968, nauseously beige-coloured, not-working, rusty, rickety, crumb-holder of a recliner.

I got to the wet room, despite Cartilage Cathy’s determination to have me over, and plonked my bottom on the plastic seat. Although this session was not so hard to force out, it started in slow-motion but kept on all the way through today. But I swear it was more painful than the last two days’ dolloping’s. On the bright side, it was over a lot quicker, and only a few specs of Haemorrhoid Harolds’ blood were lost.

While cleaning up and sorting things out, it came to me; it’s Richard this morning, so there is no need to panic and rush. Bless his cotton socks! He now comes to me last each morning or night, so we can have a natter.

I made up some waste bags and noticed how hazy and misty it looked outside. I thought, ‘I know, I’ll take three photos, left, centre and right, and try to get them in line on CorelDraw to make a header. Which I did, not too bad an effort, considering Shuddering Shoulder  Shirley and Peripheral Neuropathy Pete were giving me the jerks so regularly. Tsk!

I got on the computer, and this is the result: I used these to make todays’ header out of.

Carer Richard arrived as I threw away the mug of tea I had made earlier and left it in the kitchen. So, I made us both a fresh brew. Poor Richard looked well-drained. I tried to cheer him up; he was tired out and ready for bed (his!). But he still stayed a while, and we had a natter and laugh, an essential part of retaining ones’ sanity… if it’s not too late. Hehehe!

After Richard had gone, I went onto the balcony to take this photo of the end car park. The fog turned to mist later, but it stayed all day. Damned Pucking Putin! I bet the poor Ukrainians would like to have this as their morning worry.

As turned to go back into the flatlet, Oh, dear! I spotted the state of the ceiling near the doorway. It seemed to be a smidgeon more damaged than it was last week? Well, more holes!

Today, I used the other BP machine, the Chinese (Hong Kong), made by Shenzhen Relee Electronic & Technology Co. Ltd™, contactless thermometer. Just look at the near-perfect results! Above the deadline of 35°c for the first time for ages and yonks! The body temperature was the highest it’s been for weeks. Physically, fair. But mentally, and memory, well, not so good!

The hearing is a lot worse today. I think the earholes are blocked with wax again. I keep using the olive oil, to no avail. I even tried syringing them, no better.

I got on the computer again. Peripheral Pete’s neurotransmitters were frequently failing, and I had a few involuntary Hitler salutes, and Cathy Cartilage’s knee has been, is, and did give my hassle all day and night. But I mustn’t moan, it could be worse, and I might have been a Ukrainian, poor devils.

Cleaner Esther came in, spoke all the time she was going from room to room, brought the mop and bucket she’s bought for me, and as she left I caught something she said; Byeee! The ears really are bad now. Even the hearing aids make very little difference. She returned to mop the kitchenette for me. After she’d done that, she told me not to go into the kitchen until the floor had dried, so I didn’t.

I worked on the computer, it was so slow. I’m going to have to stop, I think. I keep saying that, but ith the eyes getting worse, now the ears, and Peripheral Neuropathy Pete giving me scares, losing the plot thanks to Dementia Doreen and the stroke. Can’t walk properly, think properly, memory blanks, Bladder and bowel problems, and mobility handicaps… But so you know? I’m not bothered; I’m more worried about the computer difficulties than my physical and mental ones!

Are the Hemp tablets I’m taking to get more sleep and are working fine; are they affecting me in other ways? Deep their from me? Haha!.

The contemptuous, hoity-toity, holier-than-thou, snobbish, haughty, condescending, disdainful Gentleman in the flat above has been at it with the banging, rattling and tap-tapping, on and off all day, into the night. And I can still hear him with no hearing aids and the lug-holes full of wax. But I’ll say owt, cause the management love him, he’s rich and has relatives working for… No, never mind.

Of course, all the above is written in jest, fun-loving, a leg-pulling, playful way that means no harm. The sort of thing that friends do to each other to keep up their spirits, and have a two-way game of verbal tik-tac between their associates, colleagues, relatives and all humorous, quick-witted, lovers of being friendly, and avoiding being a superior snotbag, and hating the less well off. Like someone we know!

Got the blog done for yesterday and went o Facebooking, WP reader and comments. I’ve got many ‘notes’ come reminders on my notepad here – that I cannot read. That is galling!

I thought it was getting a little chilly. Decided to make a brew and off to the kitchen. I soon realised why I thought it was getting a little nippy; Esther had left the windows open, presumably to help the floor dry. Hahaha!

She’s done an excellent job cleaning the floor for me; bless her.

I advanced hobblingly into the kitchenette, and you’ll never guess what I found! Herbert wouldn’t; he’d just offer one of his usual sneers in my direction! I’d better explain so you can appreciate the fun side of this incident.

Three days ago, I realised somehow or other that one of my three mugs had done a runner. Or, as is more likely, I’d misplaced it, like my keys, mobile phone, TV remote, my glasses or hearing aids.

There in and on the sink, were now three mugs back together again? What?

And this, after Julie, Richard and Cheeky Charley (I think), had helped me search for the mug. Not crucial, I realise, but so annoying not knowing what I’d done with it. Of course, I still don’t know? After putting on my Sherlock Holmesian head, I decided the logical (Me? Logical? Hahaha!) thing is that I’d dropped it between the stove or fridge and the fitted cupboards? And Esther had found it while doing the moping up! Or not?

I started to do the graphics for this blog, and I was going along nicely under the circumstances…


Peripheral Pete sent the arm right across the keyboard! Which was knocked onto the floor. But not before; key combinations must have been hit at random as the hand travelled involuntarily in an easterly direction.

I have to admit to swearing and nearly crying! The computer screen and all fonts icons were massive! I think about ¼ of the CorelDraw screen was showing, the cursor covered almost all of it, what I could make of it, four letters filled the entire screen. All the menus and choice icons had disappeared. There were no minimise, reduce or close options on screen!

I spent about three hours trying to sort it out. No idea what I’d done or how to correct it! I still couldn’t access the window buttons or the close program squares… my heart and spirits sank. In amongst the Thought-Storms; “With Hitlers’ arm shooting out, the hospital told me nothing could be done about it (Peripheral; Neuropathy), no one can repair nerve-ends! “This is bound, or odds on, to happen again…Is this the time to give in?”

I had to unplug the computer and hope for the best out of desperation. As I reached for the plugs in the socket, the screen momentarily flashed… this frit me, and hastened my lunge, and I pulled out the plug. I felt it was like committing Hari-Kari!

I gave it a few mind-torturing minutes, then replugged the computer in. It started in its usual manner… Now for the scary bit, opening the internet… Everything was fine! Back to normal with the sizing? Opened CorelDraw, the iconic on there had gone back to the small ones, but all else worked? The relief was phenomenal!

Moments later, Evening Carer Valerie arrived. It was guessing time at what she said; her voice is known for its quietness. Valerie got the medications done in record time told the story of the three mugs becoming two and then three again… I got a look of credulousness; I think maybe poor Valerie was not hearing me either. She left with her drinkie and nibbles happily enough, bless her, taking the waste bag with her to the chute for me. ♥

Worra Day! I’d had enough shocks and scares for the time being. Going to get a meal and some kip…

Carer Valerie arrived. I could only get permission to photo her from the rear. She’s probably nervous about having her photo taken; the police might have a warrant out for her? Hahaha!

Well gone midnight again when I got down, but Sweet Morpheus greeted me quickly enough, and only one jumping awake!

11 thoughts on “Inchcock’s Wednesday Witterings: 2nd March 2020

  1. 04:00 hours is an early one — an opine brought to you by Billum
    The parking spaces were aplenty, is it a result of Pucking Futin? Just a wondering and a considering.
    A day of many Carers yesterday, it were. Esther’s advices are plenty, but she does a good job of polishing the floor that is often the most difficult to maintain. Leaving the window open was a good idea, though taken merely a bit too far it seems.
    The tale of the neurothopical salutes, is there a Putin equivalent of the Hitler variety? I do not keep up much with Putin, except for worrying about him during waking hours. Being a Ukrainian is ein hartes Brot, and no mistake there. He is capable of anything and he does it all in complete and total isolation. I bet he never has a thought storm, yet he causes many. I wish he would call me for advice, that might help. Chinwag Diplomacy, that’s is wot!
    My red spots are following the Great Thought Storm of Jupiter, slowly getting smaller. The tubed medication prescribed for all areas other than the head does not work, so we are using the 454 gram tub of stuffs on ‘tother parts of the red-spotted anatomy. So far, it seems to be making progress, particularly on the back where they are most prevalent. I wonders if Putin might want some red spots? I am generous that way. Haha!

    • Pucking Futin? I like it!
      Ah, yes, after reading your ponderisations on Futin, I reckon you idea is awonderful one.
      We don’t hear much from POTUS Joe over hear. Has he emailed you about things and asked for any advice? If not, I’ll never vote for him again! (Oh, I didn’t, did I?)
      Oh, I do hope the red-spots decline Sir. Mayhaps an email offering the Red papules, in return for stopping the war, may work? Communistic colour red, he might go for it… No, never mind.
      I feel a smidge guilty saying this, but, since waking up (I do that a lot you know!), natrually apart from niw being totally deaf, and Cataracts causing sight problems, the usual stand-by ailments, SSShirley, BPB, Arthur Itis, Duodenal Donald, etc. are really being kind to me. Apart from Cartilige Cathy, she’s enjoying herself at my expense this morning, so things are good! How long this will last, is perhaps something Professor Billumski can work out for me?

      Please keepeth up the lesers spottier trend, and pass-on my bestest wishes for all! I Fank-You!

      • Putin is a rare, bare-chested bird. Shooting firefighters at work fighting a desperate danger at the largest nuclear-power plant in Europe is game for him to play on that 20-foot table.
        Putin Spots, that is what I suffer. Might be that the frequent bad news on Putin’s devastations has caused my immune system, or my lack of an immune system, to precipitate in angry red spots.
        We do have enough ailments between us to produce a large medical society. Inchy Billumitis?
        I fank you from the heart for each kind condolence, most-kind Gentleman!

      • Oh, how I wish as a war game, mate. Scary!
        Ah, the The Billum-Inchie ‘Ailments Motnhly Magazine’ mayhaps, Sire? Hehehe!
        And also, as well as, besides… I fanketh HRH and the Lesser-Red-Spotted Professor Billumski, for being who you are! ♥

      • Petrol prices are increasing at a warrish rate, mate. The global supply chain has already been slammed with that god-forsaken Covid and is now suffering from the totally unnecessary and childish war game and strategies of a despot who wants to morph into a Peter the Great, in Putingrad perhaps. Computer did not recognize Putingrad, a slow computer mayhaps.
        Ailments Monthly sounds like a winner (or its opposite) to present company.
        No matter how we be battered, we also fanketh you for being yer. ♥

      • Puking, cannot be stopped. He’s proven that.
        Not perhaps until some clever aliens launch an attack on Putin-Planet in the future.
        I doned my SHerlocl Holmesian hat, and found that: Arkhangelsk should be renamed Putingrad, says former mayor. “Nobody’s going to screw up a town with that name,” argues Aleksandr Donskoi!
        We could produce a baffling to some monthly revealement of ailments names? Hehe!
        Cheers, Sire Billum, love to the intrepid Angel HRH, and the youung man who helps out when required… oh, the furries and monsters as well. ♥

      • Vomitmir Puketin is one foul fellow, are he not? Our need for clever aliens is overdue and muchly needed. We are a peculiar bunch of semi-sentients — excepting a couple on Crowell and a lad in N’ham.
        Pukingrad then.
        Baffling ailment names is what the world needs most urgently, Sire. Much general weakness and a slow recovery from the ailments of the day. Just visited the Porcelain Throne and a bit sore, Sir.
        The Intrepid Angel has caught up a bit on the Morphean sleep level and is now also trying to recover from the outrages of the day.
        Our young helper, all furries, and the occasional monster wish your kind self well.
        reporteth Billum

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