Inchie: Sunday 1st March 2026

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Whoopsiedangleplops, Accifauxpas, Errors, Dark, Dank Depression Darius, Tumbles,  Frustrationes, Mistakes, Embarrassments, Humiliations, Explosion, etc.
Each of the daily emotionally challenging visitors above seems to be an embedded, permanent aspect of Inchie’s daily life. (Well, I say life, life, that may be an extended pretence for his existence & struggles as he continues to survive, wondering what for & why.) Inchie can’t recollect the word he was going to use at this precise moment. Today’s main offenders were:
Whoopsiedangleplops, Accifauxpas, and 
Depression Darius. Much of the day’s events will be missing or brief due to the inordinately long time it took to implement countermeasures after the explosion. I used the word explosion here to catch your attention. Hehe! 
Not to mention the pain caused to Bad-Back-Brenda, Fractured Knee Frank, and a new head injury incurred when sorting out the after-effects of the calamity.
Hope that got you wanting to know more with bated breath? The clean-up operation took me over three hours! With another hour & a half worth of help from the Carer on three of his calls. The entire flat has a sweet, pungent whiff floating about this morning, seventeen hours after the incident was cleaned up.
The volatile liquid covered the whole kitchen floor… more later, in between the usual boring stuff I pen.
Have I whetted your appetite for the story?
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A lousy night’s sleep, broken waking, worrying, nodding off, waking, worrying, farting, nodding off, waking, belching, Shaking Shoulder Shirley belting away, nodded off, woken up this time by Twitching Neck Ted, fell asleep…. Enough of that.

Ejaz arrived, medications given, a full-body check, Phorpain gelled, toes and ankles creamed and medicated. Fresh socks put back on. 

Care Mizra called. Pouch checked & emptied. Painkillers and Peptac given. I mentioned the NCC email needing clarification at a council link. He got it up and led me through filling it in. Which was great. Had he not been helping, there were times, if I’d tried to do it on my own, I’d have made errors. Saved the day, got it done. Thanks, Mizra!

Although I didn’t realise it at the time, had I done so, hours and hours of painful, Accifauxpa-inducing cleaning up the mess could have been avoided.
Which verifies my rotten luck, I’m always getting up to investigate noises; was it the tao overflowing, the water alarm, had something fallen over, etc. and always (but not this time, Oh, no! I could spit) check!

NOW, THE HAPPENINGS BEGIN!
As Mizra departed, I thought I heard a noise, similar to when someone doesn’t fully shut the door, and as they opened the foyer door to the lift area, the flat door slammed shut in the draft. It was just like that sound, so I didn’t even give it much thought. I was getting back into doing the Ode for the blog. 
A mistake that cost me so much angst, pain, and took me hours to clean up… As I stood up, about an hour later, to make a brew, I could smell something but not identify it. To the kitchenette door and stopped so suddenly, I dropped the walking stick. All I could see in the kitchen was what I thought was water covering 80% of the floor! A panic came… I started shuddering and shaking, but knew that I needed to turn off the tap, which meant walking into the deep water. So I did. Walking stickless in my haste. One step into the kitchen, I saw that the tap was not running. I looked up at the ceiling for signs of incoming water, but there were none. Then the smell hit me, and I felt giddy. I realised then that it was bleach. I looked at where I’d left the 5-litre container of thick bleach, seeing it on the floor, burst open. I thought casually as I recalled then, ‘Well, that’s me in the shit – Again!’
Damned good job that I had so many rolls of kitchen towels at hand. I threw them into the water as best I could to help soak up the bleach. Then foolishly stepped forward to get the paper to go all the way into the kitchen, and all but slipped over on the thick bleach. I used about five kitchen rolls’ worth of paper and intended to give it a few minutes, then see if it was safe to add more paper. Then realised that my Kagoule and dressing gown had made contact with the bleach! They were rotting away as I looked at them. I strangely thought this could make a horror movie that people would believe, Hehe!
BUT IT GOT WORSE!
I withdrew from the battleground into the wet room, tore off my dressing gown and Khagoule, and placed them in plastic bags for the rubbish chute.
Had a rinse, and got another dressing gown on, as I did, there must have been some bleach dripped onto the floor, which my foot found and Whoopsiedangleplop, down I went, oddly enough, catching and activating my alarm wristlet as I crumpled onto the shower chair. Struggling up onto my feet again, I heard the NCC monitor controller speaking. Went to the room and said I just had a tumble setting the alarm off at the same time. But, no. I explained about the bleach, and she asked ARE YOU INJURED – No! “We can do nothing about your water. Wait until a Carer comes. When is one due?” About 2-hours. If it is a leak, call our maintenance or repairs.
Thank you, kindly, [Tut], I rang off.
Back to the kitchen and spread some more paper towels to help soak up some of the bleach, left it for a few minutes, then went back to gather what I could into waste bags.
Have another go with fresh towelling, and then I began the slow, painful job of mopping and rinsing out the mop often. This involved rinsing the mop in the sink with cold water, then using the wetroom tap to part-fill the bucket for another pass over the floor. Naturally, the bucket needed to be rinsed after each use. Using a small jug to get the water from the sink to the bucket. The smell got to me again, and I kept feeling a bit giddy. I did this six times in all. I had opened the windows. This snap on the right was how it looked on the fifth attempt. I was in a lot of pain by then. Back, shoulder and a new bruise on my head. As I collected the last of what I could, I had to leave the areas between the cupboards, the stove, and the fridge; it was just too painful to get down that far. I filled three more big bags with the bleached, covered towels, bringing the current total of eight bags taken to the refuse chute. I pressed on with mopping the kitchen, but that bleach wouldn’t come out at all, without a fight.

On the bright side, it cleaned up my fingernails nicely. Even if it did ruin my new dressing gown, slippers and Khagoule, all waste-shutting with a few words RIP style proffered as I sent them 12 stories down in the chute, to the big bins below.
I only bought you both a month ago,
It’s so sad to see you have to go,
Hope it doesn’t hurt you, though,
When you land twelve floors below!

Carer Ejaz finally arrived, and I told him of how my blog-writing time had been further deprived. Showed him these photos and told him of what I’d been through, the time lost, the pain, and the frustration. Yet, amazingly, nae astoundingly, nae, mind-bogglingly, a miracle… had not dawned or visited me, yet! Yes, I was angry, a smidgeon sorry for myself, maybe. There was certainly an inkling of self-sympathy lurking in my mind.
But when the air had cleared, the blood had bled, the pains subsided, and Ejaz stuck into helping, and the kitchen was beginning to look clearer and safer, I had a short, curt visit from,

When I sat down after Ejaz had departed, I anticipated falling into the wonderfully welcoming arms of Sweet Morpheus. But, No! Fractured Knee Frank, Back-Ache Brenda, & Shuddering -Shoulder Shirley, kicked off at the same time. It was like someone turning a pain switch on, instant agony. I thought it was bad enough while doing the bending, but now it is worse than ever, as Victor Meldrew’s catch phrase went. I Do Not Believe It! When Ejaz returned for his last call, he had planned to tidy the kitchen, but didn’t. Why?
He recognised the state I was in purely pain-wise.
Ejaz took a snap of the little bruise on my head for his records at ICC. Then he made some instant mash, cheese with ketchup and sausage for my meal. Not wanting me to get up from the c1966, £300 Oxfam charity shop-bought, wincingly grotty, beige-coloured, crumb-covered from my nocturnal nibblings, itch-making, uncomfortable, positively unhealthy, and dangerous, no longer operational, virus-breeding, easy-to-fall-out-of, Catheter-tube-trapping recliner. He even suggested I don’t move into the bed, rather stay where I am, the effort of climbing into bed he feared would set off the other ailments.
Also snapped shots of the view from the kitchen window for me, since he knows I like to take them for the blog. The Carers have been a treasure for me today. And how, why, did Deep Dark Depression Darius stay away? He did get one fleeting visit in, but was it worth his efforts? I think not. But I pray tomorrow that he keeps away.
Perhaps I was so busy, and in so much pain, he didn’t feel the need to get at me as much? Nae!

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