LIBERTY-GLOBAL VIRGIN MEDIA IS DOWN YET AGAIN
8 times up to now – For a total of four hours
Jealous? Me? The Rich Turd
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Sunday, 8th May 2022
Waking up this morning, it was almost staggering,
No cramps in the hands or legs, free of any hurting,
I rose from the recliner; the sunshine was twinkling,
Then, I felt my stomach suddenly itching…
And found some new patches of bruising,
What, where, why or how was just bemusing…
No time to ponder on these, as I got an inkling…
At the same time, my innards started rumbling…
Get to the Porcelain Throne before there’s any leaking…
From Inchies fungal lesion, the blood was trickling!
I thought things were going so well; this it’s sickening!
To the wet room, shaving and medicating…
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Came out of the wet room to start prepping Josie’s beef & veg chilli. To add to the meat and beans later, I got two saucepans filled, one with the chill and seasoned it, the other with the fresh leeks and mushrooms cooking. Merged them later, tasted and added a bit of chilli to them.
The timing for the need for Porcelain Throne was a good one this time; I’d just finished the prepping. No pain, no bleeding and no liquids flowing out. No pain, no bleeding and no fluids flowing out. No pain, no bleeding and no juices flowing out. What a sensational (I don’t mean to get excited, but this was relatively rare for me).Almost a pleasure! Cleared the kitchen mess I’d made doing the prepping and took the waste bags to the doorway.
08:20hrs, a little later than usual… Oh, no, it’s the weekend, always odd hours at the weekend); the Carer, Chloe, I think, arrived. A nice gal. Did the medications, and I insisted she take some nibbles in thanks. ♥
I tested Josies’ fodder, and it tasted and looked good.
I lowered the heat to a keep-warm level and remembered to stir it regularly (mostly).
Got the computer on, and to my utter amazement, the card reader worked straight away. So I got the photo’s uploaded into CorelDraw before the connection was lost. I was not getting too hopeful that some miracle had happened and thought the SD reader had repaired itself and would work properly again. Because it hasn’t done so for many months now. But that’s a good start, having two things so greatly improved… the card reader (It failed again next time) and the Porcelain Throne Session being virtually pain and bleeding-free! Am I waffling?
Here are the photos rescued, with a bit of guessing as to when and why they were. (Dementia Doreen!)
A blood pressure reading that had gone up a bit.
Not sure what day these were taken, of course… possibly Friday or Saturday? Maybe?
Obviously, a morning check this one was. Dark without my using the flash, it seems.
See? Hehe! I can have these moments of inspiration… sometimes.
I wish I could remember which day this captured an infrequent miracle of our beloved bad parking expert, the Red-Van-Man, using a proper parking slot!
Mind you, someone had nicked his usual spot on the yellow keep-clear chevrons near the grey and white, whatever it is. Hehehe!
Don’t worry; he reclaimed it the next day!
A simple, quick meal for Inchcock here? Potatoes, tomatoes and a veggie burger, with dessert to follow. It must have been one of his staying up late nights; he’s had a lot of them recently with computer and internet problems suffering.
Aha, my Amazon delivery. Now which day was that, Friday, mayhaps?
This is of products thus delivered.
I tried one of the potato-mash pots last night, I think, and was very impressed with their taste.
Ah, the jolly Winwood Heights Red-Van-Man reclaiming his illegal, naughty parking spot.
Below: A view of the car park on Chestnut Way in front of the flats.
I’m assuming I took this photo due to the novelty of seeing a scooter parked up, all very neat and precisely done. Well done!
Ah, I’m almost sure this was Saturday night’s, nosh. Of course, my being certain is equal to an average person’s ‘I’m guessing. Hehehe! I do remember the taste of this one. Ding on mushroom pate is a treat for me, and a taste rating of 8.5/10 was granted. The only thing that was not up to scratch for me were the potatoes, which were not cooked enough! Me… getting baked potatoes wrong! I am ashamed!
I found an interesting bit on the remember notepad when I got here. As my Cataracted eyes read it… it said: “Worill conf/st bg hag” I did not have the foggiest of what it meant. Can anyone help me?
Beginning to get to me now. Pretty persistent with the clumping, banging and scratching-like noises. Any more, and I will have to retaliate with a good clouting of the overhead pipework with Metal-Micky… No, no, no, that’ll make me as ignorant and uncaring as the contemptuous, hoity-toity, sullen, toploftical Herbert is. I must not sink to his naughty-haughty ways.
I got Josies Sunday meal sorted and delivered to her door. I used one of the new porcelain bowls. A strawberry cheesecake for dessert, the usual treats for her to keep her going, and an extra dollop of chilli in another container so she can microwave it for later on whenever she fancies it.
I took her a different can of plonk today. A Woo-Woo, which is popular with the Carers. Hahaha! I don’t think she was impressed with it, so back to the G&T next week. The chilli tasted good to me as I tested it.
I went back to the flat and cleaned up the mess from the cooking. Then onto the computer and got the blog for Fri-Sat done and posted off. Facebooked, Pinterested, then WP Reader, then Comments tackled. I made a start on this blog’s layout.
This time it went down for ages. After half an hour, I gave up and got myself a quick nosh made up.
I cooked two veggie burgers and added a part-baked baguette later. Cut the bread into four pieces, halved the burgers and inserted each in a baguette slice. Took this snap of it.
Then, I added the last banana, the last strawberry cheesecake, and some pickled gherkins and took this photograph. Went into the main room, settled with the tray on my knee, put the goggle box on…
Realised I’d not put the tomatoes on the plate! I got up carefully, not wanting to drop the tray of food, which I avoided.
Went to the kitchenette fridge to get some tomatoes… Boy, what a toe-stubbing I gave myself on the wheel of the server trolley!
Then, the neurotransmitters failed, and I dropped the pack of tomatoes on the floor! Argh!
The Evening Carer arrived just after I’d done the washing up from the meal. I think it was the lovely Chloe again? But Doreen’s Dementia does play tricks with me constantly. Grumph!
But no! I’m amazed I can still do this blog. It takes a long time, though, a lot too long. With the Peripheral Neuropathy, Arthur Itis, Colin Cramps, Dizzy Dennis etc. I was well tired out by now, washed, changed, and got down in the c1968 recliner, intending to watch something or other on the telly…
But, a good thing: it was the much-needed, well overdue precious Sweet Morpheous who took quickly took control. Zzzz!
🙏 May the Spirit of Agathology Flourish 🙏
23 thoughts on “Inchcock Today: Sunday 8th May 2022: Odes & Diary”
Good reports directly from Josie, the only point of controversy revolved around the acceptability of the accompanying drink with the beef and veg chilli. Woo-Woo did not cut the mustard, so a return to quality in the guise of G&T would have brought a potential rating as stratospheric as 9.17.
These results were quickly followed by a return of the Carer who piques the interest of Sir Inch: Chloe, to be specific. Unfortunately for our hero however: a difference in age amounting to approximately 3 score. Could it therefore be that Chloe is on the order of 60 years older than Sir Inch? Billum knows not because he does not have access to the birth certificates of Chloe and Inch. Who can know without proof?
A surprise bit of parkage on the part of a lousy parker who does not recognize the meaning of chevrons; of course, the man in the van of red was to return to parking on those charming chevrons.
Nosh rating of 8.2 indicates just how well the Sire in 72 constructs a meal. The arrangement was truly flawless, solid texture and striking colors. A winner clear.
Another Sunday survived honorably!
Nicely worded comments there to open with, Sir! Deferably going back to G&T this coming Sunday.
Broughteth a smile about the volumtuous Chloe, if fear I may have to continue to withold any aspirations in that department. Hahaha!
I hope never to meet the RVM driver… if I did, could I resist saying anything? They tell me is nasty piece of work, young compared to us, in his early fifties, and overdoes the drinking. How the lady who told me all this knew… I don’t know.
Sometimes, not always of course, I consider laying out a meal to be a work of art. Har-har!
I hopeth we both got through Samstag. No, Sonntag?
I am glad that Josie lets you know when something is not to her liking. That is much better than second guessing, are it not? So G&T is something you can depend on then. Enough guessing, time to celebrate.
When you reach an age of 3/4 of a century, most aspiration in “that department” are many decades at odds with present reality. The price of not dying young.
What an ominous thought: meeting the RVM driver. Hoping it never happens. I *will* let you know if he shows up in any of the parking lots that I frequent. Not much of a chance of that happening, which is why I mention it, a Twilight Zone sort of though. Wish your chances of meeting were also remote. Nasty pieces of work are scaresome. Twenty years too young for the likes of us. Some people know everything about people, I am not such a person. Enough difficulty understanding myself, that’s where I shall leave it.
I think that laying out a meal is a kind of Zen practice, living in the moment and taking the time to patiently fashion such things. Foodstuffs be the media chosen by you as the artist. You even include words among the alphabetic pasta parts, innit so? Of course, it is.
I think we survived Sonntag and will visit Samstag in a few days. At least according to the calendar on the wall, just to the right and behind the desk lamp.
Oh, yes, she’s good that way, suffice to send me back to the G&Ts for her.
Tickled the RVD quote, well, it had me in tucks!
Words on a plate… Hehe! Why notski? Though some folks here think I am bonkers for doing it. I explained ‘It’d sll a bit of fun’, to the furrowed brows. Fun, that confused them! I wouldn’t dare use the term to Herbert, though!
Just a thopught, have you looked behind the desk lamp for you rule, Billum?
Keep em coming! Thanks!
G&T it is. No sense taking a chance on something like that.
I hope not to encounter RVD, not much of a chance of that happening, but I can imagine him showing up in a nightmare. Nightmares are not constrained by geographical distance, so Herbert might also appear in such a nether zone. Or not. 🙂
One never knows how many great writers got their start with alphabetic pasta pieces. It is yet another one of those things that they never teach in schools. I doubt that Herbert has ever fashioned words on a plate, but I can imagine hime dropping a pound of nails on the floor.
I should place the rule behind the desk lamp, where it could find enlightenment.
RVD and Herbert are both seeable in the ether of sleep. But I hope they don’t pester you.
Oddlimodtly, one of bangings sounded just like a box of nails tumbling to the deack, yesterday? How do you do it?
I fear it could be more serious that what you think with escapee slide-rule… he might have been reading out communicaitons, and got jealous of the fresh peas that escape my clutches and cause pain when I tread on them after they have popped out of hiding? Or, not.
I keep a can of bear spray handy in the event t hat either RVD or Herbert or both disturb my sleep.
A certain prescience regarding prediction of certain metallic soundages is one of my skills. I envisaged a 12″ x 12″ box of 16-penny nails suddenly and decisively poured onto a bare surface of floorage. Better than a 12″ x 12″ box of 16-penny nails *slowly* poured onto a bare surface of floorage, innit?
Slide rules are very perceptive things that can calculate the exact location of given things that escape the clutches and cause pain when tread upon. Better than treading upon a large number of 16-penny nails is my guess. Or, not.
Bear spray… a damned good idea, Sir!
Just had more scrapping sound from above… gone quiet now? I shall try to assess the next session he bursts into, listening for the sound of coinage falling, and assess their ratage.
Perhaps you could use one of those spray-can nozzle extenders and shoot some bear spray under Herbert’s door or keyhole. That would be worth a high rateage, nicht wahr?
Had me laughing there, Billum. That sounds a good idea to me, mate. Not sure there will be a lot of bear-spray in Nottingham shops – I’ll look on the web. Hehehe!
Alan brings a can of bear spray with him when visiting a state park to the south of Fort Thomas. Bears actually frequent the campgrounds as they look for noshes to bite, such as the campers.
In the event of a bear attack, the spray proves to be invaluable.
Wishing you the best of luck in finding bear spray on the web, Sir!
I’m only doing it for Herbert, snf Fried. Hahaha! Sensible practice by Alan!
A can should be enough methinks.
Sensible practice by Alan, indeed. Being mauled by a bear just one time is too many times. You also need to know where the bear spray can is before a bear arrives.
Worst case scenario: the bear shows up at your campsite with your can of bear spray in its paws.
Argh! The thought of it scares me, Billum.
It’s not at the same level of irksomeness as getting a phone call from a spammer, is it?
Oh, no. Hehe!
Bear attacks are relatively rare in N’ham, as I understand.
I can’t say there’s been above one in my life here in Nottingham, about 1952 I think it was, Billum, so can’t remember much about it. However, in 1958, and 1959 we did have a horse attack and an elephant attack! Hw commeth you ask? I’ll tells yer, mate: Where we lived next to therailway viaduct on Brrokfield Place, in the oddly to us, name Meadows area (not much in the way of greenery)… Underneath the viaduct, was Georges stables, he oiwned a riding school, and fishing pond in Wilford. His stables were under the viaduct, used then mostly for foaling, I saw a good number of them, George would come and get me if it wasn’t in the night, and take me to watch the birth (Oh, the stink! Hehe!) When the Billy Smart’s Circus came tp town, they paid George to use his stables to keep animals in. I can only recall seeing one giraffe, goat-like animal, elephants every year, the occasional lion or tiger whatever, and some thise that spit at you. Two years on the trot, an elephant, the poor things must have been scared to death being locked under the railway, and the trains going overhead all night long. The two escapes I can remember clearly, one was a baby elephant poor thing. I was in bed and heard this wild almost whining sound – opened the window and stuck my head out to waht was going on, and I was about 3-foot from the elephants head! I withdrew hastily! The poor calf, went to the end of the terrace and knocked down the end wall, putin Mrs Wrights window and door – (possibly due to Ropver barkoing inside?) and the circus watchman was fetched from the pub! The next escape was fully grown elephant, boy did he do some damage! The also went down to the wall and sestroyed it. I assume to get himself out, cause he would not know where he was, poor thing. But beyond the wall, it was back passage that no not big enough for him to get through. He demolished some outside toilets, and wailed as he returned to Brookfield place, and started up the cobbled street to Derwnet street. He ‘trunked’ Mrs Dukes window, then Mrs Wings main door… out onto Derwent Street, tossed over a Morgan sports car and somehow bent it around a lampost, then went tothe local illegal bookies house, and headed his way right through the window and wall, and got himself stuck in the brickwork. Oh, the noise the poor thing was making. The police arrived with Mr Widdowson; He had worked with Elephants in India during the war, and they alwayus getced him when such events hap[pened for his advice. Mr Widdowson later told me what was said, and I remember it cleary today, cause it make a mark on me, I was so sad about it. Mr W (Club foot) had a closer look, a p[liceman with a 303 rifle accompanied him. Mr W told them there was nothing he could do, because it was an African elephant, he also asked where the ‘Keeper’ was (Pub again, and too drunk to help! Mr Widdowson said it was going to b e hard work shooting the animal dead with a 303 from the rear, and did not want the beastie to suffer any longer than necessary. The police and Farmer George arrived, Geoge had a 303 with him, and they went down the alleyway between the houses, and into the bookies house, and shot it from inside. The policeman and George used all five round in the clip, and had no more ammunition with them, and that animal lived for another two hours before a vet arrived… A story to tell, but a horrible one. I heard the poor animal from my bedroom. Mankinds cruelty amazed me even as a youngster. I knew it ahd to be done, but it could have been far less scary and painful if they had thought about the animal in the first place. The git who was not looking after them was from Billy Smarts, and to my utter amazement, he was back the next year at the stables! I cried myself to sleep that night.
What an astonishingly vivid memoir, experiences fully described in the detail that only deep personal feelings can evoke. Also an account from the earliest times of direct memory of the 1950’s. I can hear the near constant rattlings of the train along the viaduct and the stables directly below where the foaling took place, where the senses know the smell of such circumstance.
Then to compound the experience with the arrival of a circus that mixed with an exotic flavor and became stored away in your mind. I can almost taste the air of captured and imprisoned animals wrested from normal life in the natural environment of a distant home.
There is something splendid about majestic elephants, beings with complex emotional lives unmatched and truly unique in their personal and collective ways. Wrested from the millennia of their culture in Africa and presented to a crowed for the mere price of admission. Yet, you bring us stark tales that go far far deeper than the casual visitor to Billy Smart’s Circus would remember.
You report a connection with a youthful elephant in the same critical development stages that you both shared, differently captured. In an attempt to escape you are mere feet away from that elephant. Then the bold escape of the mother elephant who charges with wild abandon, without direction and massive enough to cause immense physical damage to whatever stands in his way. I can nearly hear the sound made by an elephant’s trunk against Mrs. Duke’s wooden door. Then to become stuck in the bricks that he would not have know in Africa, foreign structures that capture one who would rather escape.
Yes, there were those adults in the 1950’s who had experience in the Raj, those who knew how to fell and elephant. I recommend George Orwell’s short story “Shooting an Elephant” for a vivid feel of what that portends. It is available online:
I shall now always associate the number 303 with the tragic death of that mistreated fellow mammal. And I shall also keep this tale in my heart in honor of the lad who cried himself to sleep that night.
Darned decent of you Billum, thanks.
I despise big game hunting and hunters. And some have the gaul to call them a danger… well if they left them alone they wouldn’t be!
Keep safe all at the Manor Laboratories. ♥♥♥
Decency is rapidly becoming an endangered way of thought. The word “game” implies that the odds are at least fair, an elephant is not going to fare well in a battle that pits a 303 elephant gun against an elephant’s tusks. And the ivory market even claims those for their market value. Leaving them alone is exactly what the entire planet needs. Hiding behind the word “danger” is the recourse of a coward.
The Manor Labs thank you for your concern and for your notable writs.