Inchcock: Confusions In Ode

I woke up; well, I got that bit right; here’s a tidbit…
No leaks from Little Inchy, nor bleeding too…
I actually thought waking up deserved a plaudit,
Checked the overly stomached body, legs two…
Shaking-Shoulder-Shirley twitching at my body audit,
The bruise on the knee had turned from red to blue,
Down the Protection Pants; crumbs from a biscuit!
Nocturnal nibbling guilt did ensue…
Then working out what day, month and what time is it?
The innards erupted, wind escaped from the rear. Ooh!
A massive dump I was about to inherit…
Probably due to last nights far-to-large bowl of chilli stew?
A visit to the Porcelain Throne was urgently due…
It was agony, messy, bloody, and massive, I can tell you!!

The Social Worker asked if I’d like to take up embroidery?
Is she serious, or is this tomfoolery?
Last month when she called to see me dress,
It was like a shockumentary!
She saw me struggling to dress and making a mess…
Getting my socks on buffoonery!
Putting the trousers on was full of stress,
I fell over; that did not impress!
Then saw my arm shaking as I shaved; it was bloody!
Viewed the sock-glide battle, which always causes me distress…
Now she thinks I can thread a needle?
Good God, I struggle to get Little Inchy out for a piddle!

I try to avoid getting the reputation as a badass,
Like I did when I was drinking from a beer glass,
I’ve a new reputation now, well two, one as a tight ass…
The other, rather unfairly as a wiseass!
I just get myself down on my palliasse,
Pass involuntary wind from my flatulent ass…
Sorry about sounding a bit crass…
And wonder what the hell I’ve done with my bus pass?

The last time I went to town it went all askew!
I got soaked waiting at the wrong bus stop, for a No22
Not been out for weeks, a hobble is long overdue,
Finding the bus pass might be an issue…
And remembering where the bus goes to…
What times it runs, get on the right one, first go the loo!
Walking: more painful now than doing jujitsu,
Get some food, veg, fruit… a melon, honeydew?
For the toilet, disinfectant and a Brobat blue,
The bank, my cards ready for a renew…
Oh, Inchcock, you silly old Moo!
Going out today you can’t do…
DWP will be calling to give me an interview…
That’ll be a confusing hullabaloo!

A few close shaves, but no disgruntled attitude,
Made beefburger, broke my tooth when I chewed,
Then dropped the mug when I brewed…
Onward I pressed and continued…
Time for the Porcelain Throne to be used…
I didn’t make it in time, now I’m really screwed!

Talk about being embarrassed – more disgruntlement,
Cleaned, washed, refreshed, out to the apartment…
A letter here, there’s an increase in rent!
Time to get lively, a shake-it-out session to augment…
Or just go deeper, into unhingement?

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Produced in Support of Protection Pants Makers

Ode To Maintaining Ones Sanity – Part Four

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Good Morningeth!

I hope this guide and advice to Sanity is anecdotic,
Making it humorous, truthful and not dogmatic…
I reckon that the secret and trick,
Throw in some limited, sporadic slapstick,
Trying to make it read what it is, authentic,
Allowing bits to stray off subject, get frenetic,
Getting it to rhyme can ruin the grammatics,
All a part of my unfortunate written gymnastics!

Getting hopeful of success is something you must never do!
Accepting failure, that is really the way forward for you,
You must never think that victory is possible, or due,
You’ll be disappointed and start feeling blue…
When Whoopsiedangleplops and Accifauxpas accrue,
Expect the worst at all times; hopes must discontinue!
Or depression will ensure your dreams are slue!

When disablements arrive, and the mind wanders off, too,
You’ll never again be capable of using a corkscrew!
Toileting involves bleeding, and will it or not pass?
Even multiple distress will affect you having a slash…
Accept it; good luck is not bound for you!
Accommodate failure from pain and hassle; there’s no rescue!
You’ll feel much better when you do!

I know doing as I suggest may seem uncanny, silly,
I tell you because I think it is my duty…
To pass on my failures and inform you see…
From old age and ailments, there’s no bouncebackability,
So I use the written word and my verbosity,
To help the ankle snappers later in life, from getting panicky…

It’s normal for aged proletariats to wear a toupee atop,
You girls may turn out to look like Hetty Wainthroppe?

Which suits me; she gets my remaining desires on the hop!
You’ll be less likely to manage a mutton chop,
But may get someone to nip down to the wineshop
Of course, your needs for fun don’t just stop…
However, reviving certain areas will be a dead flop!
Which may well bring forth the odd teardrop,
Sadly, you have to give up the old Bebop!
As did your Dad and Grandpop!
And, the Lads will have to give up being a fop!

One thing you’ll get better at is the bellyflop…as such,
Falling into bed, and with any luck…
No injuries, so you don’t look a schnook!
No loose bladder movements to blot your copybook?
To hope you sleep better, by hook or by crook…
Best to have Guinness or gin midduck!

To me, Arthur Itis, Anne Gyna, Reflux Roger are small fry!
Peripheral Neuropathy, on my right side, to undignify!
And Saccades in my right eye…
Often they may cause a tear and outcry…
Not often, though, only when they intensify…
While I’m trying to get some shuteye!
Press on we must, do or die…
That sounded dour? Writing that… but did I?
Slipped in by my Alto Ego? I’ll give him a black eye!

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A Bit Of Fun

I came across the name of a mountain.

Does anyone care to guess or tell me where it is in the world?

Of course, I knew straight away. No, I didn’t look it up on the web either… Okay, I did!

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Inchcock’s Weekly Bath – In Ode

Inchock’s Memories Series

Ah, Good evening!

I’d love to tell of my one bath a week, even if it’s not too poetic,
It’s just for fun; nothing meant didactic…
Dad would decide when the bath was needed, I was like a lunatic,
Got the pans and kettles on the fire, all rushing and frantic!

Worra Life It Wor!

It wasn’t easy getting it from the backyard wall,
I struggled with only being 3ft something tall,
Then clean it with a leather ball…
Dragging it in through the back hall…
Filling it with hot water, there wasn’t much at all…

Carbolic soap, Dad’d get in, having a soak,
He could not be rushed; he was that sort of bloke,
I refilled the pots and kettles, back on the boil,
Gawd, it was an arduous task, all sweat and toil!

I used to hope that the Dad would rush his frolic,
But no chance, once he smelt the carbolic!
He’d lay back and sing, drink something alcoholic,
I had to be patient and wait, be stoic!

Just Thinking Back… Hehe!

He’d call for more hot water; I dare not offer rhetoric…
I’d top up the water, boy, was I young and omnific!
He’d sing another song and say something prophetic,
I’m late with hot water top-up; he calls me a schmendrick!
He’d clip me round the ear hole; at that, he was slick!
Well over an hour, he’d soak, giving me the odd backhanded flick,

“Get me clothes!” At last… I don’t want to be a critic…
The water was dirty and cold, but my being a workaholic,
Got his togs while he cut his cowlick…
At long last, it was time for a cold bath for me!

He’ll get out eventually and go into the kitchen to shave,
Reminding me not to make a mess and behave…
He’d splashed dirty water all over, another job he gave…
“Clean the bath properly, the carpet, and the fireplace you!”
So after my five minutes, I was so cold and blue!
Emptying the bath, then to get it outside too!
Embarrassingly, my skinny body still smelt mephitic!

But Dad had an urgent job to do,
“So no hot water added for you!”
He was off for a pint at the Barley Moo!

The bath back on the wall outside,
Both rooms were all cleaned and dried,
His meal next, no proper cooking, only summat fried…
Bacon and eggs, some beans, and his Mothers Pride…
That was his favourite bread,
It was a penny cheaper, that being said…

♫ Happiness, happiness ♫

When will he return, six o’clock or ten?
The long wait to be suffered then…
His return was usually undramatic,
Drunk, he’d often fall over – he was pretty acrobatic!

Sozzled suited me cause he couldn’t taste the food,
And was generally in a decent mood,
If he’d done well at Snooker, a good attitude!
If he’d guzzled Guinness or a more potent brew!
Me keeping out of the way is what I’d do!
Still, thanks for reading, kind of you!

Inchcocks Keeping Active Routine

In Excruciatingly Bad Ode

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TIPS and ADVICE

It is essential, from your every waking moment, daily,
To assess the ailments, for any possibly acting bolshy,
That gets the brain going, fretting, and panicking too!
On the physical side; don’t expect things with spectacularity,
More concentrate, on dogged hopes and sustainability,
At all times, anticipate and expect, constant impeachability!

No doubt the wee-wees will start then, with tenacity,
Sometimes persistent, more usually of aperiodically,
The first slash you take will be with a certain trepidity!
They’ll be blood, orange urine, this’ll confirm your panic ability!
Apply the Daktacort Hydrocortisone, you’ll scream!
To ease the agony, just think of it, as being a dream!
And count slowly to yourself, up to a thousand and thirteen!

You’ll get letters, forms, threats and emails from authorities,
Along with phone calls, texts, these are not abnormalities,
How much pension and total cash are in your bank?
They raised the total allowed, in reply I was frank!
An hour a week for shopping, laundry, will cost me £280 a week!
It’s best at this time, not to freak!

Nottingham Revenue and Benefits called me on the phone…
The 2½hr form-filling left me in an ether world zone!
My concentration had departed, off it had flown…
I thanked him, with a verbal groan!

He said he’d sent the paperwork to sign & return,
Of course, no help was given, I soon did learn,
Result in today, on a downer now, scowled and had a gurn!
Excuse me, off to for a wee-wee, I must adjourn…

Ah, I’ve made beef stew for later, my hunger does grow…
Hello, it’s already made… Carer due, Doctors tomorrow,
I’m still angry with myself, there is a self-pitying sorrow,
Life at the moment, is annoying, no zest… hollow!
It’s me that is annoying me… that what I’ll have to forego…
The secret costs of the carers costs rise… Oh, blow!

At times like this, try not to get neurotic,
You’ll only get worse if you get all frenetic!
Change your mood to romantic or quixotic,
Think of happy times, when life was sybaritic!

Of course, I write mostly conceptualistic,
You might try changing your mood to eucharistic?
Or change to using heliotrope coloured lipstick?
Cause it won’t help, people’ll think you’re a dipstick!
But a different set of worries, even anti-humanistic…
Maybe enough to stop your brain from going ballistic?

There’ll be daily Whoopsies, Accifauxpas and many a quarrel,
Several times daily, to be insulted, and get a bombshell,
At times these may overpower your one brain cell…
Not to worry, you’ll have forgotten your previous natter,
Diagnosed last week, I’m aneurysmatic, but it doesn’t matter,
You’ll have enough ailments in the body, no hopes to shatter!

Your hero may be Hawking, Newton, mine is Albert Einstein,
Whichever, it matters not, for you must worry not,
Peoples choices whatever they are, are fine…
Cause you’ll only forget tomorrow, and feel a clot!

Usual things to get Arthur Itis, and become annuhilistic,
And your Willy will shrink, change its colour to pink,
You need do nothing about these, they are automatic,
Oh, and you’ll leave the hot water tap running in the sink!
Of the young, you’ll become an inpatient critic!
Your loss of memory will make you forget to think!
You’ll lose your egoisticness, no longer be artistic,
You’ll find yourself on depressions very brink…
I’m only trying to help – just giving you the wink!

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There are times when one realizes that one had not got it right, forgotten something, missed something, lost something…

This is Perfectly Normal – Don’t Fret!

Inchcock Ode – Welcome to my world

Welcome To My World

Upon waking, Inchcock will often do a sensual check on any ailment attacks or changes. Sometimes, a discussion will occur twixt Inchcock and a specific ailment, typically one that has been giving him a little extra pain and, or hassle. When these occur, the silly old goat usually makes an Ode and graphic about his demented, dreamt up, nonsensical clap-trapping, as below from an old one.

For some unknown reason, the idiot asked me to show this graphic, as he puts it: ‘Wot I Made!’ cause he’s seems to think it is one of his rare, almost non-existent successes?

As his Alto-Ego, I will now let the uneducated, lonely old fool take over the writing of this rubbish. TTFN.

Once the physical activity starts in the morning, I often wait for the mental conditioning to begin; it usually catches up within a few minutes. It can take hours, but not often.

They were tackled then.

Sphygmomanometer showed Sys and Dia, readings high,
The Wee-Wee chart: I need to drink more! Gin & Dry?
Would it help if I go to a detoxify?
On this mind of mine, I cannot rely!

A quick look for any new damage, I don’t want to oversimplify,
Another bruise was found on the top of my left thigh…
An unknown round welt, right arm, that I can’t quantify,
The torso seems to have started to transmogrify?
Heart Op Scars raised, itching again, certainly uglify!
The broken Terence Tooth hit the pain-boards bullseye!
Shuddering, Shoulder Shirley’s eased off, but why?
Hit my head on the stove but didn’t get a black eye!.

The following tasks were ablutionary,
Not worn any socks since about July,
Cold, Brr! should I dare to use Sock-Glide Georgina?
I’ve no medical aids that are any meaner!
One Sock-Glide injury needed micro-surgery!
Hickeys, bruises, cuts, and a bleeding periphery,
Stubbed toes, damaged knees, I felt all fluttery…
Should I put my socks on? I recalled the imagery,
Of the last time, I fought Georgina, bitterly!
I chickened out of wearing socks; what a mockery!.

Anytime in the next three hours, cometh Meridian,
An incredible variety of Carers, one who is Balearian,
Unless I misheard her, and she is Algerian?
Not that it matters, none of them shows me derision,
An American gal, English, British, and an Assyrian,
All make a positive impression!

Porcelain Throne Sessions

Ah, every visit is a different evacuation, indeed.
Some days it can be half an hour, then I’ve only peed!
Rock-solid torpedoes, agony, things bleed!

Next time, liquid, 30 seconds, messy but what speed!

Housework Tended To

Took the chance to clean the fridge up, ready for the delivery to arrive shortly – well, I hope so.

Iceland Delivery Arriveth!

Then, on with Prepping Josie’s Meal

Got it delivered almost on time for her.

I was so proud of how Josie liked the look and smell,
The beef arrived two hours later, took in the dish for the gal.
Water chestnuts, potatoes, tomatoes, beef chunks as well,
Leeks and onions, chilli, three beans, the lovely smell!
Seasoned with liquid smoke, paprika, beef flavour gel,
Said she loved the cream Pretzel,
Even called me an old Angel!
I mentioned the extra lidded pot for the Damsel,
To have later, quantity double,
Too long at her door, I did not dwell,
I sensed she was hungry… Oh, yes, I can tell!

End Car Park

End car park area busy today.

Evening Views

I shall have to go now. Most likely the evening Carer will crave my body, mind and bank account… Ahem!

Inchcock’s Ode: Talking with my ailments – Part Two

Talking with my ailments

Introduction:

Part Two – Shaking Shoulder Shirley

After Inchcock was diagnosed with Peripheral Neuropathy, he then got told he was a diabetic. Then had a stroke. (He’s a lucky lad… Not!) Next, a Subconjuntival Haemorrhage in his right eye.

Then while recovering in an NCH (Nottingham City Homes) Care Home, Shaking-Shoulder-Shirley introduced herself. He presumes this is due to the (Nicodemus’s) Nerve ends dying. But the occasional Neuropathy Pete’s shuddering, shaking and jerking of the right side of his body and limbs rarely last for more than a few minutes at max. Usually, Shirley is a lot more violent for some unknown reason and can wear the old man down when she’s persistent. Shaking and lashing about. Her efforts recently have increased somewhat, time-wise, and Inchcock says, “After a long hour or so session, I’m convinced she is trying to wrench my humeral head bone free of the socket” Oh, and Inchcock also needed three stitches in a shaving cut!

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The Nocturnal Natter with Shirley

A mixture of awake, half-asleep, and dreamt discussions, wrote from notes and during the actual multiple chin-waggings…

Inchcock: I’m not sure why or how you came about… Shirley: Ha!, now you talk to me; I’m not as important as Bloody Boris bladder then, what’s that about?
Inchcock: Whaddya mean about?
Shirley: Yo started this ‘ere Talking to yer ailments series of blogs off wiv him… not me, who is far more painful indeed… innit, no doubt?
Inchcock: Well… it depends which ailment is worst at the time… giving me the severest clot…
Shirley: Argh, shurrup! You’ll know now why I’ve been giving the jerks and aches then? Cause yer doesn’t rate me was mean enough… yer, I’ll put yer in more pain than gout!
Inchcock: I wouldn’t and don’t doubt your pain-giving qualities at all; I’m already in pain, tired and worn-out!
Shirley: I suppose Bartholomew give it more to you?
Inchcock: Well, he has been lasered and still works,
Shirley: Cum on mush, look how yers treated me, bad or not!
Inchcock: I massage you twice a day with Phorpain gel
Shirley: Not like you, an old fart that still drinks bottled stout! Yer just an ungrateful old trout!
Inchcock: I…
Shirley: And another thing, I’ve never let the shoulder joint fall out!
Inchcock: Well, I doubt…
Shirley: I’ll tell yer to wot you done to me int past, Inured me you have, I remember the Colwick security stakeout!
Inchcock: Go one then, tell me all about it… it won’t make me freak out!
Shirley: Now yer makin’ me want to puke and pout!
Inchcock: Pout? Why? What about?
Shirley: Oh! Yer not bovvered about me puking then, yer an emotional wash-out!
Inchcock: I remember now, Shirley, Colwick, when we did an overnight lookout…
Shirley: Ah, year, that’s wot it was about!
Inchcock: When I was using the night goggles, from the back of the van… and from it, I fell out, giving you a good clout?
Shirley, you landed in a field, and blood did spout…
Inchcock: Blood? Who’s? No, surely not?
Shirley: It was me, and you bleeding.. have you no memory left or what?
Inchcock: Erm…
Shirley: The burglars arrived? You felt around in the dark for the R.T., went out of the van to take a nighttime photo, missed the step.., and fell on me! What an idiot!
Inchcock: Ah, yes… I fell on a broken tin pot…
Shirley: And it cut me! And you still never got the I.D. shot!

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Notes made for later use…

In the afternoon, Inchcock: Fell asleep…

Shirley: Oi, you Inchie! Are you ready to have anuvver talk wiv me?
Inchcock: Well, I’d like for me…
Shirley: Don’t tell me, you’re back on the Drambuie?
Inchcock: No, no, no, I don’t drink anymore…
Shirley: Sounds like an oxymoron, yer fibbing, you see…
Inchcock: No, I’m not, you’ve been hanging around for over seventy-odd years, must have noticed, so you must indeed acquiesce, concede, and agree?
Shirley: Oh, trying to get clever with words, I see?
Inchcock: Why are you so nasty and sarkie?
Shirley: Me? I’ll tell yer why, dumbo! In left Shoulder Lilly, never, always me, that’s what causes my incongruity! Why is it always me the doctors stick the hypos in?
Inchcock: Now look, we’ve grown old together, Shirley…
Shirley: Yea!
Inchcock: We’ve been through some tough times, we all suffer, Duodenal Donald, Anne Gyna, Reflux Roger, Deaf Darren, Hemorrhoidal Harold, Saccades Sandra all of them, oh, and Toothache Tiffany…
Shirley: Enough of this claptrap mush! But I do wish you well with this little ditty!
Inchcock: She suddenly returned into the ether; what a pity!

Time To Get An Iceland Order Done, methinks

A bit bare, innit?

Do we, Don’t We Get a TV?

The Tale Of TV Debate!

Mother wanted a TV set, I wanted a TV set, but Dad was content with the radio

Dear Mother as a domineering, bullying and intimidating woman, who usually got her way, via, violence, superbly applied intimidation, and if all else failed, would turn on the waterworks. But on the issue of us buying a TV, and I believe it is the only time, Dad stood his ground, and refused to buy or rent one!

Dad was content with his ‘Archers’,  ‘Billy Cotton Band Show’, ‘Take it from here,’ ‘Many Bindings In The Marsh’ and the ‘Navy Lark’. I tried to listen to the ‘Journey Into Space’ serial whenever I could, which fascinated me. But Dad wasn’t having, ‘Such rubbish to listen to, a man in space, Humph!’ Of course, it was almost comical if you listen to it today. Good news, though, for anyone interested; Occasionally, Radio Four Extra broadcast some episodes! ♥

Cast for The World in Peril & Operation Luna episodes

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Days Of Debates (Fights)

After days of arguments, fights, bad language, threats and utter pandemonium, we were no nearer to convincing Dad. Mother, not a Royalist in any sense, even tried to tempt Dad by telling him the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth 11 was being shown in two days time… He did hesitate for a moment, and inquired as to how much a TV would cost to buy or rent? Mum got the local paper with the adverts on it: A Ferguson TV, she told Dad, would only cost us £39, Wigfall’s rental is 6/11d (35p) a week. Then we need a license, that’ll be £5… Dad was speechless, started gagging, and refused point-blank to us having a TV in the house! That was the end of that, for want of a better word, discussion!

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A Stroke Of Good Luck!

That day, we had new next-door neighbours arrive, the Hartleys. Mother (Name unknown), Father Leslie, and son Jack. I soon took to liking Jack, a little younger than I by a year or so. A tall lad, cheeky and cheerful most of the time, e had some great times as pair of vagabonds roaming the streets. Haha! They had just arrived from Kingston.

But, the highlight of the day was that they had to unload things and I gave them a hand, and I and spotted in the back of the van… A TV SET! And, Jack said it had both channels, BBC and ITV on it! Yes! By the time things were all in, I was given a condensed cream sandwich and mug of coffee for my helping. Then we watched some telly. The set was a combined one they had just bought last week, with a radio in it.

I thought, well this could be something to tell Dad about, then we might get a TV of our own… But when Leslie told me how much it cost them, I then realised there was not even a cat-in-hells chance of Dad spending £95 on a set! I was often invited by Jack, to go watch the TV when something was on that he thought I might enjoy. I vaguely recall seeing The Quatermass Experiment, which started my passion for the series. The daily screening time was very limited as I recall back then; 16:00 to 22:30hrs or thereabout. So little choice on the BBC.

One programme on the BBC Jack and I liked, was The Magic Circle. A magicians show, Magicians: George Grimmond, David Nixon and Col-Ling Soo on it as regulars. ITV on the other hand had a more varied choice by 1955. Including Lassie, Colonel March of Scotland Yard, and Hopalong Cassidy.

Not the actual Hartleys TV, but similar.

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As I mentioned earlier, the Quatermass series was the top for me on TV! Here are some photos found that stirred my memory box. So much so, that I’ve just sillily ordered some DVD’s from Amazon, three episodes of TV series and two films! Ah, well, hope I live long enough to view them! Hahaha!

The earlier versions of Quatermass film and TV series were not a disappointment, at all. They were very close to how I imagined it to be when I read the books!

Quatermass Photos, TV and Films DVD

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1953 Coronation On Someone’s TV

We moved from that unhappy home, after Mother had been on the run from the police for a couple of years, and after Brother Pete left to join the army, Dad & I moved to Sneinton Dale. Which turned out to be an even more horrendous place to live; Mother was caught and came home.

However, we did get a TV at last. Mother got it from Wigfalls,  they intention was that Wiggies call to empty the box, and anything over the 3/10p rental, is returned tohe client, in this case Mother! Whch meant a load of foreign coins and suitably-sized washers were in the box!

Anyway, she scarpered again, after another bout of conning people out of their cash, this time it was for three years before they got caught up with her, six months, into court. Ah well!

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That’s it folks!

More Later! Alligator.

Ode to Maintaining One’s Sanity – Part Four or summat

In an odd mood this morning, folks, sorry, The early morning perkiness indicates me; Has done a bunk, I fear! Grugglebogness! Worries over the increase in carer fees, but my stepdaughter Jill (not really, but she ought to adopt me!), is helping me out again and investigating why I have been told I will be paying it from last Monday, but no one has told me how much it will be? I fret so easily nowadays. Hehe!

There was a time long ago, I w fascinated by Dennis Wheatley,
His character, Gregory Sallust, I thought was top quality,
Cunning, dedicated, loyal, brave with great chivalry,
I’d get back from the local hostelry,
After drinking and revelry…
Fall up or down the stairs accidentally,
Badly affected, alcoholically.

Working and drinking made my entire constellation,
For years, there was no guilt, and no contrition,
Boozing gave me a social connection…
I enjoyed it, beer and me had a cohabitation,
My taxes paid, drinking gave me no consternation!

Then one day, suddenly I decided out of the blue,
To stop my drinking ale, swearing never again to do!
The hardest thing I’d ever done, I can tell you!
I’ll not go into my suffering hullabaloo,
Never since have I drank plonk or used a corkscrew!

Now, so many years later, life is barren…
Of so-called friends, all abandoned me again,
Now I am an aged, sickly doyen…
Miserable, grumpy, but clean-shaven,
Clean-shaven? Why was that written?
I always wanted to be a Tibicen,
A flutist, but that’s probably not relevant,
I’m wandering here a bit, having a vent,

Not a vent… Erm… having a mental orbit!
Feeling a bit of a twit,
Misspellings lost words, things miswriting…
I’m losing it again, Gawdamit!

My confidence is getting titchier,
My mood is definitely schmaltzier,
My trips to the Throne frequenter
My Gawd, that’s four times this morning…
What is happening?
Each visit gets messier!
Stomach aching and is paunchier!
The passing of wind is getting noisier,
Evacuated product is meatier!
Every frequent wee-wee grows oozier!
It’s a good job that I’m no longer boozier!

It’s the memory that confuses me most,
I try, and I’ve not yet given up the ghost,
The brain nowadays is a far outpost…
Gives me access once or twice daily, at most!
But still, I remain chatty and verbose…
Seeking peace and inner glasnost,
And the ability to do my blogpost!

The Carers come twice a day; most are congenial,
Show patience, as I get confused, me being demential,
Some take my rubbish to the bin, others are contractual,
The good ones outweigh the not so good; it’s factual!
I usually get the shakes and a wobble…
Some chinwag, they go to that trouble,
This leaves me in a contentment bubble!

I like to think that I am still trainable,
But memory loss is always unavoidable,
Although, day to day it can be changeable,
That’s when I can get feeling unamiable…
And, I believe there is only me blameable,
Guilt can make contentment unavailable,
Thinking at times that I should be throttleable,
Then a kind act is given, and I get the unattainable,
And life is temporarily less circumscriptible,
Then no longer think I’m gullible or sulliable!

Some mornings I seem to transmogrify…
One leg fluid-filled, ‘tother thin, don’t know why?
Then there is Saccade Sandra, in my right eye,
My spectacles, the optician has to rectify,
He’s a snotty bloke, but at least I know why…
Last time I visited their pig-sty,
I warned the Lady of Peripheral Neuropathy, why?
Cause I’d had it bad, arm and leg shaking, me oh my!
The arm shot out, making her test lenses fly…
Her stare said she wanted me to painfully die!
The ladies hatred, I could not nullify!
So, going there again could make me cry!

This mornings carer, not ringing the bell, an oversight?
No, she never does; I didn’t hear her, her voice is light,
Crept up behind me, didn’t half give me a flipping fright!
Did she say good morning? Well, she well might…
But I didn’t hear her in the dark light.

“Sit down!” she suddenly boomed out,
Sticking her finger out towards the chair,
I took the medications, with trepidation about…
But I didn’t sit in the chair, to be fair…
I thought she wanted to give me a clout!
I chatted about it being so dark,
She was not ready for chin-waggings remarks,
Yet departed, happy as a lark?

Depression began to activate…
I found it hard to concentrate,
The Porcelain Throne was again much used,
Messy, tacky, splashes and floused…
The Throne today is much overused!
At last, it was done and cleaned. I did vacate…
Leaving the hot tap running, I did not appreciate!
No chance of a shave and shower now, mate!
I was disoriented, irritable, not focused,
In a massive fed-upperdness, I was circumfused,
I need to get myself refocused
Sod-it! Back to the Porcelain Throne, I had to navigate!

This below is the wet room, which contains the much overused Porcelain Throne. Today, I discovered that it includes 242 wall tiles, 54 cracks in the floor, and 78 on the ceiling. Which also has 14 lumps and a damp patch. The cross wording did not go well; two clues were solved in a total time on the book of three hours.

The most used room of the day!

Part of the Inchcock’s Make ‘Em Laugh Series

Inchcock’s Local Pictorial News Report

Created in the furtherance of Inchcock’s desire to entertain and amuse others, with his rather ultracrepidarian style of reportage. Nottingham Local News Snippets gleaned from his ‘YourArea’ Emagazine. He couldn’t resist adding a few comments himself… in his desire to test out his non-existent newslettering, editing skills.

Why do they use this photo? Defeats me?

Scumballs!

Well, they seem happy enough here?

So sad that this is happening!

Oh, dearie me!

Ex-Street-sleeper chap. Now a disc jockey. His ideas are reasonable, it seems to me… but not in the middle of the road on a traffic island, not safe that. Still, if it gets him some publicity, it won’t do any harm to him. No fine ensued.

It read that he was also done for Blackmailing.

Poor old chap. I’m so glad they have found him and sorted him out. But why was he allowed to get this bad? Cheery news that he’s getting assistance.

Not too good!


The Nottingham Lads Local News Snippet Series

Memories of Nottingham Slab Square

Above is how the Slab Square looked, even before my time.

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I’d like to offer this ‘different’ blog topic today. Most of the following photos, all connected to the Slab Square, chronologically (I hope), they show the changes made since 1929, when they started pulling down the old Exchange Building, to be replaced by the new look concrete Lions, and the Little John bell, that booms out every quarter of an hour. Sometimes when I’m in Sherwood, even I can hear it, and that’s two miles away! With the hearing aids in, naturally.

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I wonder if they would let folks on the roof nowadays? Hehe!

Nottingham City Council House was officially opened by the Prince of Wales on 22nd May 1929. My Dad was there, as he frequently told me; stuck in traffic, held up by the police to let the Princes cars through, trying to deliver his load of British Railway Parcels to a shop on South Parade.

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♫ Memories Are Made of This… ♫

I wasn’t there, Dad wouldn’t let me go. (Hahaha!)

I was only an ankle snapper then.

I remember this fair. I was working at Tesco at the time, and had to from the Radford Road store to the Maid Marion Way one to take some cash… or it might be the other way around? Either way, I got a jolley good rollicking of manager Derek Down when I got back late on the motorbike, due to someone opening the fair and the roads being blocked off, as I recall. Humph!

Ah, my romantic period, this was. Not that I had a lot of success!

Look at those taxis on the right, South Parade. All Morris Oxfords or Austin Cambridges, very rarely any other model of car. The fair showing on the meter would start at 6d (2½p). Happy times, although the shared physical jerks were at a premium around this time! Bit of a blue period.

Got arrested at the football match at the City Ground. Thrown in a gigantic black maria, and let out at the end of the match.

Doing a bit better with gals now… Hehehe! Met Grizelda and had four weeks of rampant, beautiful, gorgeous, constant… I nearly got carried away there!

First time I’ve been late for work in my life. Not surprising!

Tsk! Young, middle-aged, mature ladies, lying around with hardly any clothes on! Showing things that old men like wot I am shouldn’t be looking at… Oh dearie me! I was so embarrassed… And my missing the bus home three times meant I was forced to sit there in ogling mode, for four hours! Ahem!

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So, there it is then.

If you want old buildings, a punch-up, be mugged, get arrested, or a face-full of cheap imitation Russian-supplied Parva-spray, the best place to visit, is Nottingham!

Bit, I must warn you, public toilets are thin on the ground here.

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Robin Hood, Robin with his band of men…