I try to recall, days when I was sensual,
Indulged in things rampantly sexual,
Although things were rather unequal,
I managed a few times, it was often bestial,
But with Grizelda, the pleasure was mutual,
Always an absolute delight, as usual,
Not once, did we tergiversate, it was lovely, mate!
I try to recall, days when I was sensual, Indulged in things rampantly sexual, Although things were rather unequal, I managed a few times, it was often delightfully bestial, But with Grizelda, the pleasure was mutual, Always an absolute delight, as usual. Not once, did we tergiversate, it was lovely, mate!
Yes, some memories are unshakeable, But the memories can become unreliable, Some memories remain clearly visible… Even bad ones, that were loathsome and derisible… Some get distorted, it’s sadly undeniable, The better ones, that are so delightful… Can, mournfully get mixed too, and that is awful!
Often things seem to be unfathomable, unlocatable,
Sometimes I can find this almost laughable…
Mostly frustration and self-loathing become forceful,
I find that vascular dementia tastes disgraceful,
I’ll sit and stew, pass wind – rather odourful…
Moping, moody, penitently, depressed and remorseful!
Suddenly, I get determined and resourceful…
I’ll write notes on the computer, paper, and get hopeful!
But forget I’ve done it, or to check; it’s pitiful…
Then I sink back to depression, and being slothful!
I seem to be stuck, with being permanently doubtful,
Worrying, fretting, failing, it makes me so miserable!
It’s difficult, wearying; not capable of being hopeful!
I don’t think I am really sour or unthoughtful…
But my plans always turn out unsuccessful,
Things happen, Accifauxpas, errors, by the shedful…
They are made by others as well, it makes me fearful,
I can’t put them right, and that is awfully stressful,
The hearing, sight, memory, stuttering are dreadful,
They stop me sorting things out, making me regretful,
Life goes on, getting more and more strifeful,
No chance of my ever regaining logic or being successful!
My fears, frustration, handicaps, are plentiful…
Always having to try to be overcareful,
This ode is turning into tattle and waffle…
Today, I’m down, and not being very subtle…
Trying to write, is a Peripheral Neuropathy caused a kerfuffle!
I suppose I could just put on the kettle?
Make a brew of Glengettie, and have a tipple?
Hello, the door chime did tinkle…
The Morrison order arrived, a cheering up signal!
I’ve got some new drinks in for Carers now, wonderful!
Suddenly, I don’t feel such a numbskull…
Ordered three beef pasties, only got one – but I’m thankful,
At least the treats for the Carers are plentiful!
I’m humming to myself now; a sign of becoming convivial?
Suddenly my problems appear more trivial!
Food and chinwags are what are essential…
Part of Inchcock’s Make Them Laugh – In Ode Series
Covid-19 and Sars-CoV-2, why they came, is what I’m thinking?
Government confused findings, need reabsorbing…
Pandemic and HMG hold a party, hobnobbing?
Annoyed me, so this Ode I’m now scribing…
Yet, to their rules, I’ve been acquiescing,
Two years now, since any Doctor interfacing,
Definites, the Government are sidestepping?
I feel like I’m permanently convalescing,
Anti-maskers are not exactly applauding…
Anti-vaccers protests showing no signs of concluding,
Jab or mask-wearing? Some are not deciding…
I follow the guidelines, but it can be confusing,
Doing what you can to protect others is frustrating,
Between the Do’s and the Don’ts, there’s bile offloading,
No give or understanding of others, compassion is subsiding,
Sarcasticness abounds, even where I am residing!
Coronavirus arrives, HMG problems beginning,
Changes meant more hassle, problems teething,
Proletariats, needing hopes strengthening,
Some vague chance of things improving…
New strains, deaths, started the mudslinging…
Ordinary voters started teeth-gnashing,
Anti-vaxxers and maskers began badmouthing,
But some uncaring folks just started shrugging,
Accusing HMG of ignorance and gross mismanaging,
The businesses set out to gain more profit – I’m seething!
Indeed, we should be encouraging, not rubbishing?
Official figures are baffling and misleading,
Dyscalculia makes it difficult in reading…
Have the Governments been Shanghaiing?
In favour of financing, from businesses and banking?
Are their advisors’ advising wrongly and failing?
Does their arriere-pensee to us need rethinking?
How do they stop the money-men from sabotaging?
The bankers, investors from profit-pocketing?
Indeed it’s impossible to stop them interfering and scavenging?
And, whatever’s happened to the political duelling?
No calls from Labour, as Kinnock would have been lambasting?
Lib-Dems are still about, are they? I’m just asking!
I think I worked it out; why is the silence blasting?
They both think, thank heavens, we are not ruling…
All this confusion, entangling… they’ve no idea of detangling,
So give Boris no bother, or at the subsequent voting…
The masses may vote for us, and we win… nonplussing!
The thought of us dealing with things is blood-curdling!
Labour in power, cause enough for frightful caterwauling!
Well, that’s enough of my HMG & Covid caterwauling,
Not such a good Ode, this one, it left me… Tsking!
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
WHY AM I SO UNLUCKY?
I’ll start with one event, the heart thing,
That was not unlucky; it did not leave me whining!
This operation saved my life… Else I’d have been missing…
The Hernia, Peripheral Neuropathy and Colin Cramping,
Cancer of the bladder, and stroke, and a lot of bemoaning. Hehe!
Being an unlucky sod can be so time-consuming,
Leaving very little time left for resting and vacuuming,
A Whoopsiedangleplop, maybe the Thought Storms brewing…
A memory loss, missed bus, lost keys or painful burping…
From near-deadly to a tap left running or finger burning,
Ailments, senility and old age means the end of by beep-bopping,
The worst is Vascular Dementia, the brain transitioning…
My diabetes and oedema cause much bother urinating,
Each morning, the feet will be either bloated or very thin,
It’s not so bad since I stopped doing my trampolining,
The tumbling or fallings is constantly threatening… Neuropathy and Shaking Shoulder Shirley are disquietening!
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
I regularly get subconjunctival haemorrhaging,
Saccades and the new eye problems are definitely worrying,
Floaters, cataracts and glaucoma, almost frightening!
Everything taking longer to do, from the ablutioning…
Painful bending to retrieve dropped items can sting!
Oh, and evacuations on the Throne, and Wee-weeing!
I nearly always cut myself shaving,
Sometimes taking many minutes peeing…
Occasionally, taking only seconds at urine freeing!
The Porcelain Throne, often with evacuation misfunctioning.
Porcelain Throne options for me are; water-like spurting…
Which can be over like lighting!
Or resistant, rock-hard, and bloody,
Either or both are constantly hurting and agony!
Cleaning, me or the flat internally, is so burdening,
Seems nowadays to take an eternity, and much groaning,
Hardly any time for my beloved Word Pressing,
My confidence is egringolering…
My hearing is worsening…
Every task’s success is gimping!
The leaking blood through the plaster was bubbling!
But it was not at all troubling…
Cause actually, it made me do some laughing…
Which I found rather refreshing!
Future Sports, Covidity, and Politics, unsung,
Including Boris, Cummings, even Cameron,
I threw myself into creating these, then the phone rung…
Told me the Bank is closing its branch… that’ll be fun!
A bill from the Council, Carers Fees, that stung!
Two weeks ago, Meridian arranged a direct debit…
About as reliable as Norman Tebbit!
I woke around 04:20hrs: With some memories of the dream still prattling about in the brain. I lunged to get the notepad and pencil from the Ottoman; and realised they were lying between my legs, and well scribbled on, too! (Somnambulistic activity?) So I added the new bits to it and left the pages to be used later in my reminiscing of the ultra-weird dream.
Off into the kitchen, no taps, stove or lights had been left on. More amazingly, Shaking Shaun was not affecting the legs again! That’s been around eighteen hours of relief, now!
I took a photo of the clear dark morning sky. And decided not to make a brew of Glengettie, 99, or even the usual refreshing Thompsons Punjana tea; this bothered me!
Something was out of sync here this morning… most likely me! Summat up here! No shaking legs, no toothache, no desire for a mug of tea, not wanting a wee-wee…
However, I maintained my earlier om waking, almost gung-ho, hey-ho outlook, and just pressed on with updating the Facebook, catching up a bit with it anyway. I was humming the door chimes’ tune to myself, not in need of a cuppa, and as I thought I was also not in need of a wee-wee… the flow started. And continued approximately every fifteen minutes and was only taking the occasional swift swig of the spring water?
As I indicated earlier, things seem discrepant, incompatible, and incongruous today. Yet I am not put out by this… at the moment.
Working on Facebook, I came across last nights photograph of my meal. This brought back to me how tasty it was for once. Fresh garden raw peas from Nicaragua, tomatoes from Holland, sausages from Poland, chips from England, and part-baked oven cobs from Ireland. American BBQ sauce. An international feast! That I gave a Taste-Rating of 8.2/10!
I went on the WordPress reader, had a wee-wee, answered some comments, took a pee, readied this blog, had a slash, and the door chime chimed out its ♫Oh, Susana…♫ tune. It was the morning Carer came to sort out my medications. No messing with this gal, all done nada off in eight minutes, kindly taking the waste bags to the chute for me as she departed.
Minutes later, the ♫Oh, Susana…♫ tune chirped up again. This was the Sainsbury’s order arriving. Boy, had I ordered a lot or what? I’d got some cheapo eggs in. Ten for £1.10.
After taking in the items, I managed to get the chuckles into the fridge; first, there was only enough room, and I had to do a bit of jiggling around to get them into the fridge door.
They were mixed in sizes from diddly to small. Hehe! Not that it mattered to me. They were all a lovely deep brown colour.
I knew there was not much room in the freezer, so I only ordered some McCain flavour maker fries. Although I somehow managed to buy three packets of them… £9 spent there!
The first load of fresh stuff into the fridge were, Fresh peas and a milk roll loaf. Humph! Another cock up made, I’d obviously ordered three bags of potatoes, all of a different type.
Ready meal foods next. Five of the prepared meals; four Sausage in onion grainy and sweet potato mash, and one chilli and chips, all watchers, WW! Three packets of cooked bacon. (Guilty!)
Then the costly, naughty, wicked, and guilt-ridden things were put away. Oh, dearie me, yes! Three Lemon Cheesecakes. Mandarin pieces in orange jelly and two fresh cream eclairs… no, that should be doughnuts. Ahem! A substituted for lemon yoghourts. Lemon & Lime Possets. (Ahem!) I’ve never heard of these before, but on reading the ingredients: Double cream, whipping cream, lemon juice, lime juice, sugar, lemon zest, thickener, agar and cornflour – I realised how bad it was, and decided not to eat it, naturally.
I took the rubbish bags accrued by storing the fodder away to the rubbish chute room. Then it happened… The shaking and wobbling started again en route with the bags. Luckily I’d taken the stick with me; thus, I avoided having an Accifauxpa and tumble!
I can’t say the same thing for inside the chute room. Tsk! Nowt too lousy mind, just a trapped finger and back-Pain Brenda kicked off after I knocked the stick over and bent down to retrieve it. I’ve had a lot worse.
I got back in the flat and decided that if things were getting back to normal with the ailments, I’d take an extra painkiller now, have another wee-wee, and get the kitchen floor cleaned while I was still capable. So, I did!
BPB was not too happy with me, but she could have been a lot worse. Arthur Itis was almost nonexistent as I treadmilled mop bucket spinner. I did manage a toe-stubbing in the process, but only a mild effort, so I pressed on with the job, even humming a tune to myself?
Until I emptied the bucket down the lavatory; I gave myself a really good toe-stubbing then! It made me wince a little, and I just may have used a naughty word or two… perhaps, maybe.
That was bad enough, but then I dropped the bucket and got covered in the sweet smell of lemon disinfectanted but dirty water! I hit my knee with the mop stay and generally sank down from my previously almost cheerful state to a genuinely pissed-off with myself semi-depressed!
I was even angry with myself! I may well have growled and questioned my parentage! I’d gone from being practically flippant and almost uncaring, not concerned, to a deep depression instantly! My world had been turned on its head. I knew it had to happen! Back to the lucky bugger I am, that things being almost semi-content, just couldn’t last, and I knew it. Thinking this actually helped me to perk back up a smidgeon.
Go me and the place cleaned up, had a wee-wee, and got on the computer to start this blog. After five minutes, I was back at the NWWB (Nocturnal-Wee-Wee-Bucket) with a lot of PMAD (Post-Micturition-After Dribbling). That needed shaking and wiping – and…
The door chime chimed again; I had to pack things away swiftly, as I saw a shadow had let itself in along the corridor, and I did not want to make whoever it was to laugh by displaying Little Inchy.
Esther, the cleaning lady, came in. Unfortunately, in my rush and haste to get Little Inchy undercover, his Fungal Lesion started bleeding! I couldn’t just leave her and get it medicated, but I don’t think she noticed anything she shouldn’t have. So, I had to grin and bear it.
The gal got straight on with gathering and taking the laundry for me. Esther returned after I’d cleaned and medicated Little Inchies problem. Now I had a little more pain to put up with!
But I coped well enough, back to the usual style of semi-coping and mild agony. Haha!
When Esther returned, I got the new ironing board unwrapped, and the gal got using it quickly. I was amazed at how fast she was doing the ironing for the first time on the new board.
She hung up the clothes in the hallway for me; bless her! After that, I got the chair covers back on and started to feel more my usual self.
Laundry down for me; bless her. A lot of what she said, a little too fast for me, and when I asked her what she said, the volume was too high, and her speed was the same. I hope I’ve not missed anything that was important? I thanked her, and she shot off. She’s a kind thing. ♥
So, I decided to get a mug of tea at last; as I stood up, shoeless, I trod on something hard, sharp and tiny. Can you believe it… I can, Hehehe! It was yet another escaped, dried like granite garden pea! How the heck do I not see or find them earlier? I’ve hoovered the carpet near the computer several times last and once this, and still, it gets missed! It must have been fled weeks ago, to be that hard? Ah, well!
It’s getting dark earlier than ever today. Took a snap of the end car park.
Then back to working on this blog. In between going for a leak, of course. Then fatigue dawned on me, so I stopped to get some nosh sorted.
As I was prepping the fodder, surprisingly, suddenly everything seemed to light up. The sun was having one last attempt at coming through, and I got the camera to snap it. Not a good effort, but still.
Sausages with a drop of onion gravy, carrot and leek potatoes, coiled potatoes finished off in the oven, fresh Nicaraguan garden peas, and a Lemon & Lime posset pot. Not as good as last night’s, but a score of 7/10 for flavour was given.
Washed the pots and back to the chair to eat the posset… Zzzz! Off into a deep sleep, I trundled and had the dream, as I had mentioned earlier…
.
I was in a shopping centre or big market. As I went along, it dawned on me that the three-wheel walker was behind me, and I was pushing a shopping cart ahead; I turned to look for a supermarket where I assumed I had taken the shopping trolley; from… Then noticed that the three-wheeler was following behind, under its own steam? Then as we came to an escalator, I hesitated, and other shoppers were getting annoyed, asking me what the problem was.
I said I can’t get on the escalator with two trolleys… and I got the oddest of looks, and people laughed at me. One woman asked if I’d escaped from somewhere?
“What’s its name?”
“Who’s?”
“The trolley you pillock!” “Tsk! are you poorly or what?”
“I call it my walker?” With which she snapped her fingers and commanded, “Walker… Fly! I thought, even in the dream, something’s not right here? But the three-wheeler raised up like a Darlek in Dr Who and flew gently down to the bottom of the escalator!!! Wait for me at the bottom!”
When I followed the others down, I realised that there were no moving steps, just a controlled cushion of air, that we were using?
And I could see down on the floor below, trolleys of all sorts waiting for their owners and running to their side when they got down. And mine did the same? seeing other folks sending the trolleys to get things from the shops, I tried it… “Walker, Boots, get a large tube of Germolene!” And of he waddled off to the Boots store…
A ganglet of young ladies surrounded me, asking for my signature, and would I sing them a song? Like pricking a bubble, instantly they were all gone?
I sat on a bench, trying to make sense of all this…
I was woken up by Carer Lisa. I didn’t mention the dream.
Lisa did the medications, and she shot off; she was busy tonight.
Don’t forget, when it’s wet, Aspro keeps you dry,
A saying from my youth, putting this in, you may think why?
Sorry, I’ve not got the foggiest, I’m losing it, I cannot lie!
So, the police take it seriously if it’s been reported?
A passing policeman saw it; would he be uninterested?
Oh, my sarcasm is at its peskiest!
By the time I’d read this, I’d a headache from my arithmophobia!
The NHS workers are well above being mediocre…
The pressure they’ve been under must have been a live-changer,
Can’t we do something, so they can have a recharger?
To give them a decent pay rise – reading this, Boris, you minger!
I don’t mean to be a rumourmonger or scandalmonger, scaremonger, But I’ll hold my hands up to being a gossipmonger!
But why does a Tory like what Boris used to be… Nae, not really!
Pay big raises to some, and others are not so feely-feely?
Boris is not a low-lifer… more like a copy of Lucifer?
Whatever your view; I think it’s the type of politics you prefer
Are politicians, each one a philanderer, or pilferer,
Are they better than a postman or scaffolder?
A lot of them get caught, exposing their doojigger…
Expense fiddlers, tax-dodger, or some a doppelganger!
They all seem to quickly point their forefinger…
They’ll make one if there isn’t a political cliffhanger,
Some MPs are better than others at propaganda…
I think of them when I’m using my guzunder!
Cause they take the piss, lie, cheat and plunder…
Cunningly increasing prices, they invest with a Luxemburger…
Still, bless ’em, they have a lot of money to launder!.
The grey cells seem to have got a bit mixed up here, doing this little ode below. The plot sort of evaporated. I ended up having a go at the politicians. Nothing new, I know, but usually, I can control these urges. Getting it back online, in a fashion, took me ages. Sorry!
Figures and numbers again, what an ache,
They can be manipulated, for the politicians’ sake!
For the politicians and wealthy, caviar at Le Gavroche,
Where a dinner cost around $590 per person, Ouch!
Still, I’m content with my cheesy potatoes and a fishcake,
Too much and rich food gives me the tummyache…
Anything rich, like roast quails, venison or cheesecake,
My finances are tight, my bank interest is opaque,
I’ll stick with the base food brought over by Francis Drake?
Potatoes, chips, mash, roast or raw… I always want more,
It’s the prol’ in me, I’m used to struggling, always been poor,
I’m at ease with plebs; they try to nick off of you, I assure…
But by my having nowt they haven’t got, I’m safe for sure
I need nowt else, no desire for haute couture!
Yep, in all things and areas, I am, at best, demure…
Just as well that I’m no epicure…
I’ve lost track of what I typing about – a mental rupture?
Intelligence, education, long ago I did disinure!
I’m not doing a lot for Nottingham’s tourist industry here!
When I see such figures, confident, I’m not!
Then again, who am I, intelligent, clever… You what!
I had faggots and potatoes for lunch… but it matters not!
How are these numbers arrived at and begot?
Are they accurate, true, to be trusted, or am I a clot?
I think they are part of a political plot…
Believing them leaves my brain in a knot,
Is truth doctorable, like a camera shot?
Have they been got at by a Judas Iscariot?
Are they genuine? Or fiddled, and tommyrot?
Or, am I a thicker than I thought fusspot?
Murderers, murderers who tell people they are going to kill someone an hour before they do, and the pathetic namby-pamby, out of touch with reality, criminal fancying, Arf-arf, judge tells him he believes you didn’t intend to kill him. Humph! No, you bewigged Pratt! The drugs made him do it, which are supposed to be illegal! No wonder crime is rising, with pillocks like this giving laughable sentences for murderers, and he can’t remember the evidence!
But it doesn’t bother me, oh, no!
Reminds me of a humorous happening that occurred when I was recovering from the heart op in the City Hospital. I was to be allowed visitors that day and had an appointment with the DVT Clinic in the morning. They collected me, and the chatting merrily nurses that took me to the clinic stopped in the main corridor and asked if they left me there for a couple of minutes, would I mind?
No problem, I replied. (I got the crossword book and pen snuck under the blanket on the trolley). I fell asleep, though… I was woken by a very concerned and harassed looking and sounding nurse.
I’d been there apparently, for over two hours, and no one had missed me. (It’s with me being so popular, Haha!) Sister Jane and Pete had come to visit me to find an empty bed – Poor Jane was genuinely concerned (I owed her a tenner – Haha, only joking!)
Up and onwards, near the end now…
So, if anyone fancies a lovely peaceful break over Easter, Covid restriction permitting; Why not visit Nottingham. They have a few cafe’s that have not gone bankrupt during the lockdown. If you fancy staying, there are many retail units available for sale or rent on the half-mile stretch of Mansfield Road available… You might even consider moving to Nottingham? No? I don’t blame yer!
Part of The Inchcock Make Em Laugh with Odes Series
At first, I thought I’d have a hamburger or fishburger,
Noe in: So I had chips & sausages and a shandy lager…
As meals go, this was a fair pallet-pleasing humdinger!
After three on the trot, each a taste-bud slaughterer!
Good heavens, the end car park showing activity!
Vehicles moving, I think I can see three,
Of course, there’s the red van parked clumsily,
Well, goodness, gracious me!
Another car coming in, do you see?
Much more of this, they may make a fee,
But it’s nice to be able to park for free!
I took more snaps, first one up the hill to the park,
Going up there once, I saw a woodlark!
Can’t get up the hill now, I have to remark…
Facts like this you have to get used to – although stark!
Later I took the one above, of the skies so azure.
It’s nice to live in sight of such nature,
And images, still be able to capture…
Natural beauty almost sends me into rapture!.
The later sunsets, beautiful!
17:00hrs: Sunset from the kitchen window.
17:12hrs: Sunset from the balcony.
17:20hrs: Sunset from the balcony.
Inchcock – Beyond help now? Hehe!
Amazingly quick changes, that I did see, Nature always seems to impress me… From the skies, animals and how often I have to wee! Sometimes from humanity… I wish somehow I could flee… Then someone’s so kind to me… I’m very confused, I think you’ll agree?
I’m leaving it up to Alto-Ego and Inchie ID to do the blog today. I may add something afterwards, but I’m suffering the dreaded, loathed DD (Dracula Depression) this morning. As annoying as this is, trying to find out why is equally disconcerting. As far as I can tell, nothings changed from last night? Humph!
You’ve actually got an advantage over me with this problem, Pugface!
Oh, go on then barbed-wire tongue…. let’s hear it, more sarcasm or criticism, is it?
No, no, no. I’ll explain, mate…
Mate! You just called me, mate!
Are you going to answer me or what? Just cause you’re a thick knob-end of an Ego, doesn’t mean we can’t still be pals. Let’s face it, the more we learn, the more we can pester the life out of Inchcock, innit? So we should help each other learn even more things that will irritate our host… Yes?
Go on then, your taking my Inchcock aggravating time away…
No, I’ve just popped into his pathetic brain; he’ll not be up to or responsive to any joshing, bewildering, bamboozling, or distracting this morning…
Just a cotton-picking minute ID, that’s the things we love to do…
I know, but there are some things even more potent than wot we are, and he’s…
He’s got to live a few more years, at all costs, cause if he snuffs it too soon, or even if Inchcock finds some contentment… the IDAEC (Alto-Ego-Consortium) Guidelines, Rules and Cautionary Advice 112,145,23 will come into force. I’ll end up back in the Soul Bank Vaults, for God knows how many years again! So I…
Well, that’s your advantage. I was going to talk about it mush!
Yer, wot?
If you cock-it-up, a couple of hundred years in the Soul Bank Vaults, is nothing – If I gerrit wrong, that’s it, end of this Id, altogether. We don’t get transferred to another human-host yer know! Oh, no, it’s a harsh existence for us Ids.
So? Worrya saying like? I could be in there for thousands of years. You are aware that the only hosts there are cockroaches, ants and rats, are yer?
So what’s wrong with that, then?
I won’t be as easy as host Inchcock; the cockroaches are cleverer than he is!
Hahaha! I just listened to him, you know, a while ago. He was talking to his pets! No, honestly! He really was; I’m not jesting Alto, I even think he heard them answering him, too!
No harm… he loves them, it’s a human trait yer know, or do yer? He does that every morning… Unless he’s had trouble in the Porcelain Throne, that is. There’s no problem with that…
Hogglebogwash! How long can he be in the toilet, for heaven sake?
Well, if his evacuation is one of his rock-solid ones, up to about an hour, on occasions, he’s taken longer. When his fungal lesion bleeds, yer see, he has a grossly painful job on, stopping and medicating things…
Gangleboggleisations! Get yersen in the bog; you can pester him while he’s struggling. Give him hell! Bloody heck, a perfect opportunity for giving out some pilgarlic, pooh-pooing, heckling, vilification and raillery. Hahaha! He won’t be able to concentrate on his Porcelain Throne duties at all – Hehehe! Why we could…
Come off it, you know nothing about my host, does yer? You’ve been in this monstrous wobbly-bellied, old idiot for a week now, but yer not learning owt are yer?
Oh, you are, I suppose, yer gerrin’ as thick and decrepit as Inchcock is, pal… yer on the wane, mentally…
You thick swine, on the wane mentally? What else does yer expect? You might have noticed that neither of us is human. We are ethereal, diaphanous beings, or are you not aware of this?
Watch it pug-face, or I’ll report you to the IDAEC (ID-Alto-Ego-Consortium). You know full well what I meant! I was speaking figuratively, interpretatively, metaphorically, As you are fully aware of; Thunderglobberisations! I thought we’d agreed to be social wiv each other?
Who did? Not me! I’ve not got over you lying to me last week yet… You promised if I signed the IDAEC Guidelines & Cautionary Advice Procedure Adherence 112,145,23, you’d leave this host forever… but no, you are a snotty-nosed ID, aren’t you, so superior… But you being a defrauding, backstabbing, double-crossing, untrustworthy Id that you are, should be reported, not me! Git!
I think you’ve been with this host, Inchcock, for far too long, my old fruitcake! You should just report yourself to the IDAEC as a failure. You’re catching a human beings ailments, such as dementia… No, let me continue…Testicles! If I could, I’d like to tear your head off!.
We’ve already agreed that we are both emblematical, selectively apparitional beings. So tearing my head of would be pointless, don’t you think?
I’m not so sure, Meathead, having never tried to kill anyone before, and as far as I know, no other Id before me has. Perhaps some form of transubstantiating has taken place over the years, and we have acquired the ability to tear off an Alto-Ego’s head? Hehehe!
The same goes for tearing off the head of an Id, indeed?
Ah, I see what you mean. We could, in fact, make history, be the first Id and Alto-Ego to kill each other? Or at least give it a go?
There you go again; you’ve got no morals, have you? What about your Id Oath what you took in training, eh?
Erm, I can’t remember that; it was over three thousand years ago, Dumbo!
Ha! A whippersnapper! Well, for your information, I started off as an Id…
Oh, did you, my friend?
Shut-it! I took the Id oath myself over 5,000 years ago. I seem to remember it went something like, “I shall occupy the given human body as instructed, with the intent of making the host into a big-headed, greedy, parasitic personage within the given period as prescribed by the IDAECC (ID-Alto-Ego-Consortium-College) Trainer on this day (dated). Convincing the host mentioned above that England will win the world cup again, all Politicians will become trustworthy, and America will land a human-crewed rocket with 5000 paying passengers on board on Mars, at the cost of $3.” You remember that bit, Inchie-Id?
No, and I didn’t miss any lectures or training sessions.
Anyway, it’s time I checked on Inhchcock…
No problem, I can hear him talking to his Carers.
Anyway, what was this question you had for me then? Id my old flower?
Oh, yes… I was a little concerned about why the human hosts always get drunk, stabbing or running over other hosts in their tinned transport, each New Year? And why do they welcome getting older so merrily and fire off flaming fireworks into the sky?
Ah, well, it wasn’t always like that, you know…
Tell me what used to happen in the old days Inchie, I’m confused.
Well, in days of yore, the human hosts always get drunk on mead, stab someone, and run over other hosts with the horses and stagecoaches transport, each New Year? And why do they welcome getting older so merrily and fire flaming fireworks into the sky? Then they welcomed in the new year merrily and fire flaming fireworks into the sky?
Well, I never knew that!.
Hello… Inchcocks took a tumble in the shower…
Bags, I get to annoy him first!
Rollock’s!
Me first, being the youngest, Crab-Nose!
You got that arse-about-faced as well! The old ones should get priority!
Arse-about-faced… I like it!
We’ll go together, but I get first scoffing, sneering at, chastising Inchcock?
That’s fair enough, mate, as long as you leave the laughing at and humiliating comments in?.
Done, cocker!
Great mate!
The now two best pals floated through the wall into the wet room with this. But…
Oh, Sod-It! A lot of blood; I think he might be dead?
After all that planning, and arguing too!
Take a close look, see if he’s breathing…
How does yer do that then? I’ve never tried to help a host before?
I’m not sure… erm…
It’s your fault, all that being obstreperous with me!
Clackers!
Bog-Knobs!
Well, one of us must wait around until someone finds the body…
Why?
We’ve got to report it to the IDAEC (ID-Alto-Ego) Records Dep’t…
Why are they going to make a song about it?
Someone might make a song and dance about it, but me? I’ll be back in the IDAEC (ID-Alto-Ego-Consortium) Soul Bank Vaults.
Ain’t these human hosts heartless, dying just like that!
Pigs!
Baskets!
Does yer think the Carers will find him int morning then?
I suppose so… hang on, where’s he keep the cans of plonk for the Carers?
Oh, yes, what does yer fancy mate, Vodka and lime. G & T, Pimms, Mojito, Tequila beer, Strongbow, or Rum & Coke, Id?.
Inchcock’s computer was doing odd things again,
Inchie knows it is doomed; he feels the pain,
Still, he’s got his other worries, Morphine and Lidocaine,
Everything nowadays confuses him; facts are so hard to retain!
His efforts to improve his memory have all been in vain,
But Inchies determination to survive remains unslain,
Then he stubbed his toe, lost his key, then a tumble again!
He set about making an imitation dinner…
Perseverant, dedicated to making this one tastier!
After a few meal failures lately, he’s getting jitterier…
Confidence gone, he tried, but this meal was crappier…
His language, as he turned into a self-hater…
He should have stuck with sausage and mashed potato!
Boy did he swear, spit, as his self-loathing went nuclear!
A good job that no one else was in the area!
Then pains from Duodenal Donald did appear…
The old codger is not having much luck, I fear!.
Depressed with himself now, he got his camera,
His mind wandered… thinking of his meal… beefburger?
“I fell asleep and missed the fireworks, silly bugger!”
As he saw the sky, he thought of being an astrologer,
Realising his eyesight, with so many a disorder…
Cataract Katey, Glaucoma Gloria, and Saccades Sandra,
He’ll see nowt, and the telescope he couldn’t manoeuvre…
His pre-2022 brain and thoughts were even unclearer…
Inchcock got into his overwhelmingly sickeningly…
Beige, second-hand, £300, c1968, uncomfortable, recliner,
Nodded off, woke up in the kitchen – how? Somnambulistically,
Dropped off again, woke at 00:10hrs, not very jocularly…
He’s missed photoing the fireworks – he blames his dementia!
But he still got his camera, and onto the balcony, he did venture…
2022 Had Arrived!
He whipped back the cover where he was reclined,
And mottled legs, and glowing ulcer he did find!
But, no time for medicating now; his leg he disentwined…
Got his fully charged camera, all realigned…
Took two photographs, not too badly defined!
Kettle on, and off he went to the Porcelain Throne,
After half an hour, I had to check on him (Alto-Ego) all alone…
I heard no screams, not even a moan!
I floated into the Porcelain Throne…
He sat there glum-faced, scratching his thigh bone…,
Into his crosswording… He said, “Nowts moved, Alto”,
“Rock solid, burrit won’t move, though!
“Have yer given the Diapharm capsules a go?”
“One yesterday, one today! No, it was two today!”
As I laughed and left, I thought I heard him pray!
Inchcock Leaves The Wet Room!
Forty minutes after going into the Porcelain Throne,
He came out wearily, in pain, and took a Ziprasidone,
He seemed fed-up, looking drawn and on his own…
His usual contentment seems to have been blown…
He started rubbing on his cheekbone…
Oh, dearie, he’s got toothache; but he doesn’t moan,
Just stands there, fascinated, looking out at a drone!
Health Checks Time
Well, the BP SYS is a little high,
As is the Pulse, he wonders why?
Temperature is at 34.2°centigrade, not too high,
He’s unconcerned, and I think I know why…
He’s been in the fridge, reading instructions on his beef pie!
Then checked the cooking times on his chips… Oh, my!
Then went on CorelDraw, to make a graph, that’s why!
I heard him talking from the other room; he was going at it,
He does a lot of chinwagging to himself…
But I’m not worried about his mental health a bit,
Although his finances are losing wealth…
He was happily talking to his pet, Rabbit Rupert…
All the others as well, he did look a little hurt…
When I called his brown bear, Burt…
He grabbed me by the shirt…
Even though he’s only a little squirt…
And I always thought he was an introvert?
I soon discovered why he was being so short with me,
His favourite nurse did not arrive…
I laughed; he threatened to kick me in the knee!
But Arthur Itis and Dizzy Dennis made him fall over, you see,
I’ve never seen him so active…
Till he tumbled over, now he’s definitely inactive…
But he did get back up; it took him a long time to rise…
I laughed at him again. He was very reactive…
To the point of being so argumentative…
I told him, I’m not real, you do realise?
That’s why kicking me was very unwise!.
Inchie sulked a while, took some more painkillers, and skulked off to prepare a meal. I’m worried about him…
