Ode to this blogger, he’s a harmless old bugger, With an awareness of life that gets floppier, A self-hatred that grows and gets klutzier, And a body, getting ever fleshier and wobblier! A memory that is no longer a memory… A brain that adopts ideas much loonier!
A cancerous bladder, getting ever leakier! A sex drive that gets measlier and measlier… Dead as a dodo, really; even his memories are foggier! Bending downs is not easy; now he’s got paunchier, He could do with a hearing-aids amplifier… Today, his many wee-wees were a lot splashier?
His sanity and logic are much less secure… His cataract and glaucoma eyes, his to endure, No signs yet of any operations, that’s for sure! He doesn’t believe he’ll live long enough for a cure… He’s searched to find someone he can nouriture… But he’s given up now; why? He’s not sure…
Mind you, he’s not looking to arrive at his cloture… That’ll have to wait a bit, his final sepulture! For a while, at least, though, life gets squalider… Inchcock’s never been tops or an orchestrator… Although he was once a bus conductor… There’s one thing that would give him pleasure!
This’s important to him… before his foreclosure, He doesn’t want to be richer or shrewder… But summat, that goes against his very being & culture… Not experienced before, it will put him in rapture! To get something right, just once – before his departure!
Vascular Dementia Doreen and the Thought-Storming,
Memory-loss, mind blanks, can be mentally disturbing,
At times depressing, troubling, often gruelling…
Alto-Ego and Inchies brain, arguing, duelling…
Sometimes the mind needs a rest for refuelling,
Here are some of the traits revealed, comedic and appalling!
Arguing with Alto-Inchy…
Conflict often starts when in the wet room, ablutioning, I’ve only one mirror; I use it for shaving in the morning… Or with mind-blanks, sometimes, it will be in the evening, I hate him; he’s superior, nasty and criticising! This Alto Inchie… the other me… can be baffling…
Mayhaps I need a neurologist or Psychologist visiting? I hear sounds from the past, traffic, songs, bugling… Although usually, we are deep in mental brawling… Me, the one who ends up depressed and caterwauling… Yet occasionally, Alto-Ego, becomes less insulting?
I suppose I need some form of help, some counselling? Yet I don’t believe anything can stop my mind from crumbling! Physically Peripheral Neuropathy Pete can be disabling, The Stroke ensured I shall forever be struggling… The Cataracts, Glaucoma and ears are much more worrying…
Yet some days, incredibly, I seem to be coping? I find that I am actually optimistic and hoping, I can sort out bits of concern by disentangling… The feeling guilty for my self-pity, by realising, Others are worse off and alone too… Humbling!
Stop and Ponder…
The Thought storms may suddenly go into mothballing…
I stop in the front room – it needs cleaning and sorting…
The brain tells me I require mollycoddling…
My fears and depressions certainly need muzzling!
Priorities need arranging and some actioning!
But it’s not easy for me, detail classifying, pigeonholing, Forgetting, misplacing, quarrelling amidst the schemozzling… Fears, worries, flash into mind… like anchovies shoaling, I feel my sanity at times is stumbling on its way to failing, Do you think the NHS will do mind-surveilling?
Mentally Distorted
I see the view via photographing,
What do you see? Well, according to me…
Somewhere out there; Some folk will be contradicting,
Or a poor sod in the middle of a bankrupting…
A family, communally banqueting?
A Monopoly player cheating?
Someone undoubtedly shoplifting…
A lamb in a field might be bleating?
Or emergency workers, fire-fighting,
Drug gangs, selling, abusing…bloodletting?
A politician… bloviating!
A news reporter, reporting?
An illegal immigrant deporting?
A lucky sod having sex… luxuriating!
Someone up an alleyway, urinating?
First-time home-owners, decorating,
An old age pensioner… constipating!
A Dour Sunsetting
A hard-up family, regretting Brexiting?
A hustler, planning, hornswoggling!
A fiddling bank manager… calculating?
A mugged pensioner, capitulating…
A murderer being freed to kill again – Sickening!
A baby going through the pain of castrating?
A young couple learning about cavorting!
Another freed murderer, celebrating?
A Hari Krishna member chanting,
A water worker, chlorinating?
A Nottingham pick-pocket circulating,
A Politician: World war circumventing?
A pair of gents, cockfighting,
A Policeman, machete and gun confiscating?
Jews and Arabs coexisting?
Ah! Now I’m getting into the land of dreaming…
Bad Parking!
.The Red Van Man – lousy parking…
Parking properly, he’s not contemplating…
Maybe he has not got the ability?
If so, parking without conformity…
Blocking fire engines in an emergency?
He should get a cautioning?
Ah, now I’m remembering…
Private land! So no legal prosecuting…
I’m not surprised; at the laws failing…
They free murderers to do more killing!
Dangerous!
Look at these perfect results above, contrasting…
To yesterday, when the SYS was rising…
Oh, dearie me!
The temperature was ever more declining…
34.1°c, but I’m only witwantoning!
Angel Julia
.American Carer Julia, her kindness is unremitting,
She had another call to do, so not much nattering…
Whenever Julia calls, I find it thrilling…
When Julia leaves, it is somewhat saddening…
For she cheers me so, she’s pleasant, patient and Caring ♥
Lip Smackingly Good!
Do you like the look of the meal above, my dining?
No meat as such, but fish-sticks, without fish in?
The taste of them was breathtaking…
Not too sweet, oven chips, no frying…
And I’m not lying, the most satisfying…
Truly tasty, there’s no denying…
A treat to the taste buds… gobsmacking!
Harry Ramsdens Chip Shop style, well-worth trying!
I find things today are moral-contaminating,
Not that I’ve done much in the improving things contributing!
I’ve drifted along, weak-willed and no consolidating…
Done my bestest to be kind and temper-moderating… Welcomed, greeted folks, by my bridge building… Do no harm, I did to help for others, aid-orchestrating…
Now disabilities, old age, vascular dementia I’m getting… I keep falling over, but not fainting, Struggle with my ablutioning, Tried not for others to be abnegating… The eyes and ears problems get no alleviating, Let alone actually obtain any treating!
I’m aware of Dementia Doreen; I need sanity-auditing, My thoughts and intentions… are not completing… Use of the brain is nowadays complicating, My decisions, fears, desires are self-conflicting… I do little to deserve any respect or congratulating, The Thought-Storms are ever congregating…
The mind seems to be mentally contorting, The physical side doesn’t stand reporting… Even taking a wee-wee needs coercing! From logicalness, I think I’m distancing… Any paperwork is confusing and inconveniencing!
Memory, or lack of, mind blanks, have me cursing… I need help, mayhaps a little nursing?… No, perhaps some rejoicing, romancing? I may get by with some reminiscing? The brain has little left for downloading!
The highlight of the day. At long last, after several months, I took a risky chance and made some cheesy baked potatoes! I’d missed these for so long, I risked it. The last two days, the nerve-end failures had much fewer. Glad I did now, and I got away with it! Aware of the dangers that Peripheral Neuropathy Pete may impose on me…
Awakening, after the fifth horrible nights’ sleep, the urge for a mug of Glengettie was irresistible. I hobbled into the kitchenette with Metal Mickey and got the kettle on; the dim view had beauty to it, so I fetched the ‘on-its-last-legs’ Canon camera. Took a shot…
I’m lucky to have such a panoramic view,
Most times, the outcoming photo will do,
Today the Peripheral Neuropathy was on cue,
I got a decent photo, of the sky, with a purple-blue hue,
I was feeling in reasonably good knick, too!
Made the tea, good enough for me,
Later, the ablutions, well I needed a pee,
Little Inchies fungal lesion was bleeding free…
So I did the ablutioning, shaving carefully…
Amount if cuts none, although tiny nicks, three,
Nasal spray, eye drops, cleaned the lesion… yucky!
Medicated, dressed, it was a bit of a malarkey…
Finished the jobs, sanitarily…
Along came the Iceland delivery!
I soon got them in and into the kitchenette. The potatoes they had delivered actually looked fresh. So, I selected three large ones to use for the cheesy potatoes.
Put the three spuds in the oven…
Got the rest of the food put away…
Again, they had no Leicester Cheese, shame, but they substituted some imitation extra-strong cheddar, so at least I could make the cheesy pots up in a while.
The door chime rang out its ♫ Oh, Susana ♫ tune. It was Josie to tell me she’d just had a call from her Niece, who is going to take her out for a meal today. Bit of a disappointment…
I’d just added the mushrooms, tomatoes and chestnuts to Josie’s stew on the stove hob as well! Humph! Never mind, I said she could have it tomorrow. She seemed happy enough with that.
The Carer arrived, the same gal as yesterday. So no humour or nattering. She took the waste bag with her, though. A tablet short in the pot she provided. A Beta Blocker or Codeine. I assumed I’d dropped it; she got another one.
I carried on with prepping the fodder. I got on with getting Josie’s chilli ready in between.
Got the pots out of the oven and the cheese, sauces, BBQ seasoning, vinegar, BBQ sea salt, and bin nearby. Ready to scrape out the flesh from the tubers into the basin to bash the hell out of them with the seasonings added…
Which went amazingly well, no shakes, nerve-end didn’t go off, and only one tiny nick on the finger. No dropping of anything at all… oh, yes, I did drop the BBQ seasoning pot; don’t know I forgot that, cause it landed on my left foot and rolled to the end of the kitchen. I took a snap of it below.
I set the timer, took it to the computer, and worked on the ‘Why’ blog. I soon needed the Porcelain Throne, so off I trundled to the wet room. All went well. Washed and out to check on the spuds in the kitchenette oven (That’s where they were, Hahaha!).
The peas were ready, so I got them on the plate with the sliced yellow tomatoes.
Sister Jane rang, and we had a chinwagging session.
Got the spuds out; I must say they looked good to me. Then, as the plate and tray layout progressed, I was impressed with my culinary performance today… Smug-Mode-Adopted!
I spent many hours on the odeing for the blog. Visited Facebook WordPress Reader and had t nip to the wet room again, for the low point of the day – Little Inchies fungal lesion had been bleeding yet again. I’d not noticed earlier with the excitement of getting a cheesy potatoes meal made without any severe hassle, finding it tasted so good and talking with Jane, that the blood had congealed with the Protection Pants. (A memory, something I had to do or something like that just fluttered into my head, then left?
So I was in the wet room for an awfully long time, cleaning and medicating. And this is the most painful of all of the ailments to medicate. I’d like to shout ‘Argh!’ But I won’t, I did a bit of that at the time. Hahaha! But today was still a better than usual one, and a Sunday too; usually not a lucky day. Although, I reserve the right to change my mind if it starts bleeding again. Hehe!
I was feeling a bit tired now, so I sat down with a water bottle and turned on the TV. Fell asleep for a couple of hours and was woken by the evening Carer coming early (Not that it matters). On to the Computerisationing again.
WHOOPSIEDANGLEPLOP: HERBERT
22:20hrs: Sounds like a vacuum, droning noises from above. (Not from Herbert, too distant-sounding) If I can hear it sufficiently to keep me awake, I feel sorry for anyone with decent hearing trying to get off to sleep! I think it got to Herbert above me because he started tapping and banging then. Kept it up on and off until nearly midnight!
If you don’t mind, a few words being spoken to you? My mind wandered a little then, fretting and with Deja Vous… Because getting to sleep, I just couldn’t do… The droning noise’s sound got louder, persistent they grew!
The Thought Storms kicked off, as they tend to… The eyes, the left knees arthritis, appointments overdue, Silly thoughts, like should I give my testicles a shampoo? Sleep was unavailable, so do I have a shower. or catch the flu… Turn the TV on? Get something to eat? That sounded neat, Yes, I was going a smidgeon barmy, yes, it must be true… I nodded off, and after an hour of kip… I woke in a mind-stew! I waddled to the Porcelain Throne, messy job, Oh, the phoo!
Then Carer Richard arrived, the medications to sort and do… Brought me two postage packets; I said thanks, bless you! Issued the medications, and before he said his Depardieu… We had a little natter, or a few… I told Richard of last nights noisy hullabaloo…
That ensured me no sleep, and hitherto…
It must have been loud; I heard it too…
In seconds, Richard had worked it through…
Gale force winds had all night long blew…
As it happens, they are still blowing now, too!
I thanked him for settling the mystery issue…
Slipped him some treats, as he said his adieu!
♫ Why does the sun go on shining,
Why does the sea rush to shore,
Don’t they know it’s the end of the world,
‘Cause, she doesn’t love me anymore, Yes…
Why do the birds go on singing,
Why do the stars glow above,
Don’t they know it’s the end of the world?
It ended when I lost your love…
I wake up in the mornin’, and I ponder,
Why sod all is the same as it was…
I can’t understand; no, I can’t understand
How life goes as crappy as it does…
Why does my mechanical heart go on beating?
Why are these eyes of mine fading,
Don’t they know it’s the end of the world,
It ended when you said, “Sod-off, goodbye!”
I often wonder, apart from Little Inchie, why? ♫
Why Am I So Soft & Gullible?
Even as a young man, I was presentable… But, I’ve always been jealous and resentful, Gals thought I was a standby rather than a desirable… But my wallet was in demand… and easily emptiable! My heartstrings were unendingly detachable! Why these failures? It is seemingly not diagnoseable.
My hopes and dreams were terribly squashable, I’ve always been a soft touch and deceivable… Looking back, I find it hardly believable… I’ve gone from cute and cuddlable, To a failure, always, who’s always defeatable!
Thus, it must have been in my past life… I must have lived a terrible life… Not like this one full of strife… Bet I was cruel, took many a wife… I should come back a newt or other pondlife!
Why Are Liars, Usually Politicians?
Well, that’s obvious! To keep themselves out of trouble!
To save them from bursting their own financial bubble?
They overclaim all expenses by at least a tankful…
They welcome Covid cause there’s no time to be able…
For anyone to inspect their expenses table!
Why Have Aliens Not Landed Yet?
Oh, bejabbers, they may well have already; it’s verifiable!
They beam down airily…
So no spaceships to see,
So their landings are not watchable…
They interbred with the powerful, starting with Blair…
This may sound to you ununderstandable…
Their original plan was to make us all vilifiable!
Intending to use mind control, somnambulistically! Naturally, they all mind-melt and speak multilingually, They soon spotted how humans communicate clumsily… Using missiles, tanks, napalm, and mercenary armies… Killing ourselves off with starving… very silly! We are killing ourselves off, although it will be bloody!
We tell our people not to smoke or use a narghilly… Not to eat fatty or sweet food, willy-nilly… We do have variability but very little tranquillity… We intercommunicate bolshy, cruelly, not friendly? We lie, mislead, cheat, mostly circumlocutorily, Many aliens planet folks have visited Earth, spookily, It’d be a lot more, counting the imaginary!
Why Are More People Going Potty?
Answer: Alto-Egos, Id’s and Chakras
Alto-Ego-Inchy: No doubt about the answer to this question… But it’s a long one, which calls for honesty and a confession… I’ve studied this query for years; it became an obsession, Since the Roman invasion to England’s 1867–1869 recession I was in the body of a chap called Adrian… Wall builder, I think, a stonemason…
The effect of Alto-Egos, Id’s and Chakras, combined, Control our allotted specimen, usually a human, Occasionally a half and half, unknown, with a warped mind, But we can handle and master humans, aliens of any kind. I am the truth, reality… I rarely speak what’s on my mind…
We Alto Egos go on for years, the insane is our possession,
When the human snuff it, we move on to Sherlock Holmesian…
To torment another losing it, sad foccinaucinihilipilification,
Alto-Egos, Id’s, and Chakras rule we’re not Antichristian,
We are not Czechian, Australian, Midlothian or Arizonian!
We roam the Universe to torment the deserving, Deserving meaning one demented, their mind flailing, Fair enough, we do some deducing, defacing and coercing… But only of the brain, physical problems are not out kind… Like with Inchcock, no wonder he’s going out of his mind! I’m actually getting to feel sorry for him, I find… But don’t tell anyone, it’s a bit embarrassing…
We Three unknown, misunderstood missionaries, are King… Humans will never understand us unless they are tripping, Our tasks, as laid out for us, to stop anyone helping… Give pain, frustration, depression with maintaining… If noise bothers Inchcock, we make sure it is piercing! If he leaves the tap running… this is called interfacing… We keep him busy with something else; I can’t help laughing! Then the hot water will be cold, so no showering… Little things like this make out job so satisfying!
I fang You!
Part of the Inchies: Make Them Laugh, In Ode Series.
This week the News Snippets are reported, recorded and commented on, by The Nottingham Pensioner Lad, Inchcock (89).
Alto-Ego Inchy: I apologise for the Odeing included in the comments. But the lad has had minimal education. Now, with him contracting Vascular Dementia, as well as various other ailments; Hearing aids, mechanical ticker fitted, Glaucoma, Saccades, Cataracts, Stroke, Peripheral Neuropathy. His tendency to either waffle on, lose the plot or regularly forgets what he was doing, where he is, or where he was going; does not make for readable poetry. But there’s no stopping him. He only sulks when I point out these and other failings to him. Sorry.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Well, this looks good,
Be happy surely we should?
Read the next one and chew the cud!
Your interpretation will go down with a thud!
I’m aware of how they feel, every patient,
I’m waiting on may a medical appointment,
Dentist, Chiropodist, Doctors yearly check…
That’s been a wait of three years, by, heck!
Audio, DVT and Cardiac…
Then the operation on the cataracts,
Glaucoma and Saccades and the Diabetes in fact…
Will I live long enough to get my treatments?
Sozzled, drugged up, and a man with a violent bent,
But will there be a return to prison requirement?
Easier for him to get drugs in there for his sustainment?
Maybe they’ll offer him some mental treatment?
Tell him sorry if this is inconvenient…
Give him some cocaine and pay his rent?
Run of the mill stuff, for the Nottingham creed,
I understand that he was a gynaecologist,
Nothing suspicious, the chap wasn’t a druggist…
Police won’t look too far into this…
With nine officers attacked and on the sick list!
The Police and I…
Have no idea why,
So sorry the lad had to die…
RIP son… It makes you cry!
No matter why – Animals!
All this violence, drugs, gangs, I comprehend?
Slave importers, youths will re-offend…
No deterrent do the courts send…
Viciousness threatens, it’s today trend…
And I think it will only worsen!
A judge was I thought the only person…
Who could, these crimes amend…
But no, so I’m scared and disheartened!.
Self-Centred Scum!
Well, this is interesting news for Sherwood…
A 48% increase in crime figures, should…
make my blood boil, make me angry and rude!
I’m not surprised, I’ve not seen a policeman since May!
Didn’t even see one on Tuesday…
Plenty of yobboes lurking…
Don’t suppose they are working?
I just pray they don’t mug me today!.
Raliegh, John Players, Debenhams, Topshop, Oasis, WH Smith, Burton & Dorothy Perkins, River Island, Banks closing down, Virgin Media sold to Liberty Global and has been ruined by them, Macintoshes, Rowntrees, Frys, Cadburys all sold to Nestles…
But fret not, we have 14 new takeaway shops opened… even though 12 went bankrupt in the last year?
Well, looking at my arm that’s encouraging.
So, basically, she’s got 25 days, what an hour a session? Going to some Community Centre; probably gets a free meal, and she can do some drug trading at the same time. I assume that courts will be providing her with a taxi both ways?
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!
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…
He went into Photographicalistical mode straight away. Well…
And after the traditional painful, challenging wee-wee, He got his Canon camera and dropped it, accidentally, Well, he’s getting senile now and rather elderly… His thoughts and actions are slow, performed dottily, He hurt his back, bending to retrieve it; he needed another pee! Yet it still worked, so he took his first photo, jauntily…
He took it from the balcony,
The red van parked, again, illegally…
Yesterday, the lights shone brightly…
This photo came out fairish – a periodicity!
Clear morning, t’was no longer foggy…
The following two shots were taken in duplexity…
Top one to the north-east,
Second to the south-east,
Not so good these, my apology!.
He took an extra snap, using technology…
He’d zoomed in, to him that’s using gadgetry,
He went into a smug mode, as he did one correctly!
He even charged up the battery…
For him, that’s technological activity!
But the twerp couldn’t get the card to work The computer was confusing the burke! Card reader not recognised, he went berserk! From his efforts, he did not shirk… And by some miraculous quirk… He got it to work, the jerk!
After making a brew of Thompsons Punjana tea, stubbing his toe, and dropping the milk bottle, he cleaned the mess up. Took his CBD.
The formula was frivolously formulated for phrasemaking while Inchcock was busy cutting himself shaving. He can’t recall what it was exactly but decided that as he continued with his ablutions and medicationalisationing, he might get inspiration or a vague idea for a new plot. But, by the time he stopped the chin bleeding and utilised the Porcelain Throne, the earlier plan of his blog’s theme had plodded off into the ether, lost forever…
Teeth cleaning, nasal decongesting, and into the shower. Inchie banged his shoulder against the power-box (Dizzy Dennis to blame). Swore violently. Took his shower, then set about doing his medicationalisationings.
These went reasonably well (Did I say that?) The most painful bit of agonistically applying the stinging Betamethasone cream really was nowhere near the pain it usually was? This was a good start.
Treating Arthur Itis, Colin Cramps, Shaking-Shoulder-Shirley, Ankle-Ulcer-Herbert. Harold’s Haemorrhoids, Saccades Sandra, Duodenal Donald, Back-Pain-Brenda, Little Inchies, Fungal Lesion were all medicated. The none Carer and prescription items were applied to many parts of the body.
Saccades eye drops. He was gobsmacked at getting some of the liquid into the eye, for once. Of course, he managed to get some in his nose and mouth as per usual.
A second hobbling speedily attended visit to the Porcelain Throne was followed by taking two Dioctyl® capsules. To counter Trotsky Terence’s return! Messy, very much so! Took ages to clean things up afterwards.
Carer Richard arrived. Soon got the medications sorted, and he made sure I took them and didn’t drop any, bless him.
It was his last call, so he spent a little while having a chinwagging session with me. The lad’s gone through many similar procedures as I have, but poor Richard got them a lot earlier in his life. Which I appreciated.
He’s coped amazingly well with things. A caring bloke, too.
He seemed to be cheery,
And, off Richard did flee,
I had another pee…
Colour chart for the wee,
Was on number three,
Now six, it smelt musty!
Oh, back to the lavatory,
Oh, what a malady!
Well Into The Afternoon…
But no one had told Inchcock, the chatterbox…
Chattering to himself, sipping dandelion & burdock!
Thinking he may just wash his socks…
A message comes through on his voicebox…
Unsolicited mail, through his letterbox…
He forgets the socks: arrears in his Carer fees shocks!
Over £400 – Oh, Hollyhocks!
That’s not what he said, but it also rhymes with Bullocks!
He plans to get it paid by the following equinox!
Supplementary Information
A change of nosh style, I’m watching the size of my hips!
Vegetarian sausages, peas, swede and lentil potatoes…
Chilli sauce, onion gravy, a banana, oranges…Oh, and chips!
I forgot to take from the fridge the tomatoes…
And now my rear quarters blows and blows!
The Nottingham Lads True Tales of Woe In Rhyme Series
