Inchy Cartoon

Inchie: Tuesday 5th May 2026

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Carer Mizra called the chemist to cancel the COVID-19 inoculation. Then he called the Audio Centre and made a pro tem appointment for me. I’ll have to pay for the lost hearing aids, naturally. They were only ever on loan from the NHS in the first place (1982). Hoping that it’s not going to be too expensive. Mizra speed-mopped the kitchen for me. Thank you. The INR gal vampire came for the Warfarin & Renal blood taking.

COMPUTER PROBLEMS
I tried twice to get it to load, but nope! Sulked a while and made a brew of tea, and went back to try again. And it got this far…
Thought I’d wait a little longer.
Drank the n made another brew. Emptied and sorted the waste bin bags. Went to the toilet, a long, messy job. Then, I returned to see this screen appear.
Nothing changed, and after half an hour, I started looking for the computer man’s number. I could not find it, but Mizra has it, I’m sure. Turned everything off and got a text message from the bank about an important email they had sent.
Had to try once again to get the computer on.
Luv-a-ducks! It came on!?!?
I got into the email, but could not find any email from the bank, only old ones. The text had a link… part of a scam, mayhaps? I went on the text on the phone to read it again… Mystery! It was not there. Either I had deleted it… or it was a self-destruct con-job? Haha!
Do you remember the TV series?
“This tape will self-destruct in five (ten) seconds.
Good luck, [Dan/Jim].”
I wish they would show them again; they were the epitome of corny, but I liked them.
Love it when the good guys win.
Morning shot.
As the right leg gets better,
the left leg gets worse.
Morning snaps.
Meal. 7¼/10
Evening dawns.
FOOD ADVICE
For anyone purchasing Morrison’s ‘Sweet Vine-ripened Tomatoes’ in May. As long as you appreciate the utter tastelessness and lack of juice, they’re fine.
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Inchie: 16th February, 2016
George Street in Nottingham City Centre. He used to walk to here from his flat in Sherwood and back again after shopping. Of course, you have to remember that back then, he was still alive. Hehehe! He loved a long walk, and hobbled through his beloved Tree Copse on route there and back to his cell (flat).
The persistent rain kept so many others indoors. Now, it is Inchie that is stuck indoors. This year he has left his flat a good many times; Shopping with Carer (2), Computer shop for help with Carer (2), QMC hospital (6), City Hospital (1), Highbury (2) with Carer, Dentist with Carer (2), Opticians with Carer (1), Diabetes Program Meeting (2) 1 (alone), 1 with Carer, Audio (Hearing aid) Centre, with Carer (2), and the Neurologist (1) alone, the Carer nor lift were not available. He was lifted there, for only £9, but no lift available to get back. That was the day of disasters, if you recall. He had a seizure as he left the building, got lost and had to ask the way to the tram station. The tram had people squished like in a can of sardines when it arrived. It was getting dark. He got on the tram with his three-wheeled walker, condensed as far as he could. As the tram pulled away, he lost his balance and fell over.
Luckily, there was not enough room for him to fall flat on the floor. People around him helped him to his feet, and a passenger stood and offered him her seat. That was so kind and will always be remembered.
Got off in the City Centre, and was threatened jbed and tormented by a gang of youths, yobboes, when he asked them to let him through… and they would not, so he had to walk on the tram lines to get over the road.
Up Queen Street to the bus stop, and had another mini-seizure. He was confused to see that 40x buses were all that was on the timetable. Thinking, well, the same number, they must go to the flats. He got on and took a seat. All is going well now. He recalled working out a possible problem that may present itself as the bus turns down to Winchester Street; he could see nothing out of the windows, too dark. So thought as he felt the bus turning right, that would be the vehicle turning into where the flats are. Sure enough, he sensed the right turn motion and pressed the next stop bell.
It was another surprise to the lad when he realised that the bus had not stopped at his flats and had dropped him off in Sherwood, on Mansfield Road.
He crossed over the road with plans to catch another 40x bus up to near the flats and hobble down to them.
But this is Inchie we are talking about. Nothing ever goes right for him since 1966.
He realised he had no money for the bus trip right up the second-steepest hill in Nottingham, to get home.
No option left, he had to walk all the way up, which he did. Stopping at least a dozen times to let the Anne Gyna pains calm down and catch his breath.
Then, as he neared the top of the steep bit, his mobile chirrupped into life. No lights on this stretch of the road, cracked pavements, bits of branches, twigs, browned and green leaves, dog-poo, and even a used Durex. He knows this because it is where he dropped his mobile and had to dig into the ground to find it! Eventually finding it, still ringing. It was Carer Ejaz who was in his flat waiting for him.
This Tale Of Woe is Authentic.
Since moving into the flats, his life has taken a turn for the worse. A selection of new ailments since arriving includes Glaucoma, another cataract, Renal problems not yet clarified. Fractured Knee Frank, Heart Failure Felicity, Sandra’s Seizures, Little Inchies Fungal lesion bleeding, Earache Erasmus Lymphorrea Leslie, Premorbid Cognitive Impairment, Bladder Infection Iris, and Shoulder-Shuddering-Shirely
On the bright side… erm… er…
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Inchie Today: Monday 4th May 2026

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TTFNski!
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Inchie: Sunday 3rd May 2026

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Truth funnelled, forwarded, trajected,
Honesty, metamorphosed, transubstantiated,
Wars… innocents bombed, killed, tribulated,
Innocent victims, civilians mutilated,
Violence, greed, jealousy, all unaborted…
Hatred: unabrogated, but gets repeated,
East, West, Euro… egos inflated,
Untouchable Oligarchs – unintimidated,
Our planet is now less oxygenated,
Dead dying Proletriats go unnoticed,
UK NHS, crumbling, unorchestrated,
Many Middle East canals unnavigated,
Fears mount, Solutions unlocated,
Crooked Politicians, uninvestigated,
Promises are all unimplemented,
No HMG copy books unblotted…
It seems peace is now unpermitted?
Hope? untranslated, untransmitted,
Hope? It’s totally unmerited…
Warmongers go uncensored,
Their killing goes on unobstructed,
Doing what they want, unaborted,
Hopes for peace? Still ungerminated.
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Short one, sorry.

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Inchie Today: Fri/Sat 1st-2nd May 2026

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Woke up feeling fairly good, and got the kitchen floor mopped. Straight after finishing this, I got a stand-up wash, shave, teeth, and medicalised where I could reach. Then into the front room to sort the bins into one bag…
DARNED TROTSKY TORRENTS DIAHORREA
For the whole day & most of the night!
First Call: The torrent came as I was standing up to go to the Porcelain Throne. Mess number one.
Second Call: Five minutes after getting back to the room and taking an antidiarrhea pill. 
Mess number Two: At least I didn’t have to hand-wash my clothes this time, but the floor, porcelain legs, foot and lid needed attention.
Third Call, at least I made it in time. More liquid than ever. I thought things might be getting calmer.
Fourth Call: As Carer was here. No spillages, but the stomach started to rumble and grumble, and I faded.
I decided to just sit down and not do anything else, but I did not want to fall asleep in case of another splurge came while in the land of nod. Also, I had a food order on the way. that I did not put the time of on the calendar.
The Nurse arrived to rebandage the leg. Seconds after she left, off to the Porcelain Throne again.
Fifth Call: Un-Rotton-believable! I cannot understand or know why this particular orgy of foul-smelling, all-but-liquid excrement lasted so long. How was all that still in by innards after four lengthy evacuations? No wonder I had suffered from stomachache permanently. How is this possible?
I wouldn’t say I felt actually poorly, as such.
Tired out, with aches and pains, and, to make things that little bit more uncomfortable, I had to put on the large protection pants to help catch any early escapes from the rear end. Thus, hurting Little Inchy as the pants trapped the tube in the Catheter, and the fugal lesion started bleeding.
Sixth Call: I was convinced things were beginning to ease off this time. Same liquid structure, but just one spurt, and it was all over.
Seventh Call: Obviously, I was wrong. This noon visit was yet another Trotsky Terence Torrent.

Each of the first 12 or so visits to the Porcelain Throne meant pain, cleaning up the wet room, and painful medicationings. I was growing weaker as the day dragged on. I gave up counting them here.
At a guess, 10 more followed up to 17:30 hours, and heavenly peace prevailed!
But I was incapable of concentrating, all I wanted to do was stay awake for the food delivery, sort it, and get myself some sleep… Please!
I began to think that I may not have ordered one after all. Yes, hard to believe I could forget something, I know. (Sarcasm Crept In?)

The food arrived at 19:30hrs,


Got it stored away, and realised that in all the time taken, I’d not had a call to the Porcelain Throne!

The dream of sleeping became a reality.
At least a possibility,
But it became a futility…
I got in bed, feeling so sleepy…
Off to the Porcelain Throne for me,
Diahorrea; will I ever be free?

Yet another visit, I made it in time. Still, I dare not get back in bed, so set myself down in 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. Where I had to get up from another half-dozen times in the night.

Not one of my best days.
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Slightly eerie morning?
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Through the balcony windows
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Straight ahead from the kitchen window. With the sun coming up from the rear left.
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To the left, a little bit of sunshine on the right.
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Slightly to the right. My much-missed daily walking through the tree copse. New pathway up the hill to the right of the battered but beautiful trees. coppice. Ah, so sad.
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To the left again. I was trying to snap the police helicopter, but by the time I was ready, it had gone or landed in pursuit of some low-life.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – Moody view taken later on by Carer Ejaz, of the front car park on Citrus Way.
While I was busy on the Porcelain Throne.
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Memory Photographs
Taken from my flat window in 2018 during the modernisation of Winwood Heights. Consisting of Winchester Court, Winwood Court, & my Woodthorpe Prison… Court.
Taken in 2009.
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Due to my getting Carer Ejaz & Carer Mizra calling on me. They were sorely missed.
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Inchie Today: Wed 29th April 2026

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Another sleepless night. Fretting over the computer not starting, as I explained yesterday, I think.
Today was another day full of angst.
Any new or altered technology is above my head. As if I’m in a deep mine, and facts & figures, understanding, solutions, and graspabilities are floating out of reach in the outer hemisphere. Today was like this, logic, unstandableness, out of reach, unattainable…
With the Carers’ help, snaps were taken. launching hassles, wobbles, shakes & dizzies… at will.
His most successful attempt to be the most bothersome ailment of the day, in months.
held that status, with a close second.
The mysteries of the computer were the most persistent, but somehow or other, I seemed to find a way of keeping going without the foggiest idea how or what I was doing, but I did.
I am currently further behind with blogging, reading & comments on WordPress; I shall have to cut things short to at least catch up a little. 
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The carefully made bed. Hehe!
The thinnest curtains in the land,
Partly held up by an elastic band,
A hole you can put through your hand,
To buy new ones, I’ll need a wand…
The kitchen’s night view is grand.

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Pretty good in the daytime, too.
Took these over an hour
of the changing sky.
Another cracking meal made.
Sandwiches with no-butter
butter, with sliced tomatoes,
salted, and sliced roast meat.
Carer Ejaz sliced them for me.
I was in a bit of a state, with
, and
giving me a  
bit of a battering tonight.
It’s been a week or so since
they had a go at me. I thought
they had departed. It’s been
such a long time.

Not a good day. Mizra, bless him, rang the chemist to book an appointment for the Covid jab.
The computer, CorelDraw. With me managing to arrange two appointments for the same time. Covid Jab at the chemist, and the Doctor’s appointment to see the plebotomist, along with visits from SS & DD; it was a chaotic and confusing day.
Then, on Thursday, I got a call from the surgery, telling me they had arranged a home visit for me that same Wednesday! Luckily for me, they changed the day to the following Thursday. Now I must remember to ring the chemist tomorrow to cancel and apologise. They are closed on a Saturday, so I must remember.
Naturally, I forgot all about doing it.

My mind is permanently bemused,
It feels as if it’s being abused,
No rest, no logic… aggressed,
Think its being self-anatomised,
Plans, tasks, only being theorised,
Action thought of, not actualised,
Changes; my brain’s unmodernised 
Wants, hopes & needs, dematerialised…
I should really give up, I realised,
Problems get too big-sized,
For years on WordPress, I’ve diarised,
Now two days behind; I cried…
More medical dates, as I aged,
Without Carers, I once managed,
Seems it has to be acknowledged,
My mind struggles; it gets befogged,
Pain, aches, once just twinged,
Catheter agony; I was almost unhinged,
My current state remains undivulged,
Depressed, at best, rather laboured,
Be nice to get my batteries recharged!

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Sorry about how I feel, it may
be a while before I’m back.
So many things to do, catch
up with. Computer, blog, WP
reader, comments, Health
issues, medical appointment.
I think I’m losing it. I mean
my willpower. Hehehe!
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Inchie: Tuesday 28th April 2026 = Computer Assessed, Not Good!

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Worra Night!
After eating the meal of the day and really enjoying it, washing the pots and visiting the Porcelain Throne, I unfortunately suffered an Accifauxpa and didn’t get there in time. But it could have been worse; it has been many times this year, and it only took me about 15 minutes to clean things up.
I decided sleep was next in line for my attention. I seemed to have fallen asleep quickly… I felt I had when waking at 02:00hrs, again in desperate need of the Porcelain Throne. Not wanting to risk another accident, I fumbled my way out of the bed and hobbled-hastily to the wet room.
A darned close call, I only just made it. Where all the evacuating little, short dollops kept coming from, I don’t know. I cast my mind back as the plop-plops kept coming. I only ate my favourite nosh, cheesy baked potato. I can’t recall such a reaction to these before. To be on the safe side, I got down in the £300 second-hand shop bought, c1966. moth-eaten, bedraggled, grotty, cringingly beige-coloured, much-dilapidated, crumb-containing from my nocturnal nibblings, Catheter tube trapping, bug-ridden, itch-inspiring, not working recliner. To enable a swifter reply in case I need to go again. 
0315:hrs, and I was off again to the Porcelain Throne. I got there more swiftly this time. No accidents.
When I got back to the recliner, I almost felt another follow-through trying to make its way down. I could not get to sleep again now. I sort of just waited for the next evacuation warning to arrive. It came at 06:00hrs. A lot less passed this time. Thankfully, I got there in plenty of time. I pondered, I do that sometimes, you know. Was the cheese in the baked potatoes out of date?
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The day brought forth some challenges, not of the rear-end evacuation type. Attilla the Carer, Rachid did the first two calls, so my low mood was set. The feet and toes seem to adapt much more easily at first. Three toe-stubbings in the first hour put an end to that bit of pleasure. I partially opened the balcony curtains, and when the sun comes out, I have to close them. Bright sun doesn’t suit Cataract Katie or Glaucoma Gladys. This snap came out as it looked. A medical delivery arrived. Concentration was bad when I got on the computer. But I reckon it was less bothersome than yesterday morning. 
I did my best to get the Monday blog finished before the computer man arrives. I pressed on, making mistake after mistake, and I don’t know how long it took, but I got it sent off. Fearing that many cock-ups will be in the finished blog.

I took another shot through the balcony windows, dead excited about this blog, innit? Hahaha!

Carer Rashid did the next call. Nothing much happened; if he can ignore me, I can ignore him. Haha!
After he’d not too soon for me, gone, I got the kettle on.
And the intercom sounded. I was overjoyed!

The Computer Man Cameth
Less than a minute later, Carer Mizra came in behind the computer genius Andy. Who spent a long time asking questions and assessing the state of the computer for me. Mirza conducted the communications. After much effort from Andy, trying to install the two-terabyte external hard drive in the computer. At least I think it was a two-terabyte-sized one. The old computer would not let him transfer anything from the other drive to save space,
Mizra ran out of time, so no time for me to have an assisted shower or to get the laundry done again.

Andy ended up asking if I wanted to use this machine as it is, with slightly more memory, but not a lot, or do you want me to source a suitable used one with Asif, that will cope with CorelDraw, which has very little space left to do much. I said I’d go with his recommendation. The goal was to get a new computer. Fair enough for me. So, be it. Bank Balance considerations, of course. Andy will report the needs back to Asif. Closed the computer down.

As Andy left, I realised that the Catheter pouch was overdue for emptying. So, I emptied it. Haha!

I’m feeling a smidge more hopeful now that Andy’s been and sorted this computer out, and I agree with his decision that a new (second-hand, refurbished) machine would be the best option for me.

The legs, feet, and toes were all looking better when Ejaz took these snaps, which I put together, but not very well. Looks like a mangle of limbs, the way I did this, manipulating. Hehe!

Frank arrived with some treats that Jenny, my angel, had sent for me. I gave him a small box of stuff for the Charity or handing out. Had a little outing with Frank, a lovely couple of neighbours who I am very proud to have as Guardians & friends. Bless them both. So understanding and helpful. X I’d made a meal earlier, I’ll not eat all of it, after the feast from Jenny.


The computer went down, died!
The landline stopped working!
The TV stopped working!
My heart and interest in living went into hold mode. My first actions, apart from panicking, were to try to think about what I was doing or did wrong that caused the catastrophe in the first place. Or had Andy missed something earlier? The chances were that it was my error, a mistake, or that I accidentally caught a dangerous, fatal combination of keys. As I have one in the past. Causing all sorts of problems due to the dying neurotransmitters.
They warned me there was no treatment, saying they cannot mend damaged nerve ends, and it will slowly get worse. They were right.
I thought I’d give it some time before trying to restart the computer, in case it was doing something all technical in the background.
I picked up the landline thingy, put it down, and it made a tone. The mystery deepened.
I had no idea for certain of what I did with the TV to get it back on. Turned it on a few times, and it turned itself off. Got it to stay on, displaying a No. Connected sign. Then pressed the TV button on the remote control, and the TV closed down again. I pointed the remote at the scary, threatening Virgin box, and the red light turned yellow. Then tried again to start the TV, and dropped the control thingy. Got the picker-upper and retrieved it, to see that the TV had come on?
I prayed that getting the computer back would be as easy as that. (It wasn’t and didn’t!) 
In the past, when launching the computer, I’d get a ‘DoS’ message telling me to press ESC for details. This would bring up a dreaded blue screen. Press Enter for options. Another blue screen says to press F1 to start the computer. This has happened each time I’ve opened it for about 3 years or more now. 
But not now… The black screen opens, but pressing ESC does nothing. Also, I could not turn off the computer at the button, had to switch the power off. I kept repeating this pattern, so many times and for so long. Not knowing what else I could try. Each go was met with failure.

No sleep tonight. Mind on the verge of exploding. self-pity, futility, anger… Mostly, the sour, blood-draining effects of Deep, Dark, Dank, Depression Darius.
And to think, I had gone up into a high a few hours ago when the computer was sorted…
That didn’t last long, did it?

Heartlessly, I put the meal in the microwave. It looked okay, smelled okay, but after feartily enjoying Jenny’s treats, combined with the Computer problems, I just couldn’t eat more than a few spoonfuls. I couldn’t get to sleep either. I scribbled down the times I got up to try to restart the computer. 

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Inchie Today: Monday 27th April 2026

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0625hrs: I leapt out of the bed, somersaulted over the aged, grotty-looking, c1966-made, charity-shop-bought, horribly beige-coloured, £300, Harold’s Haemorrhoid-testing, non-operational, acne-giving, virus-breeding, rickety, easy-to-fall-out-of recliner. Landing and started doing some shadow boxing. A 100 press-ups, and got the weights out, 150 double curls, and burst into song, ‘I’ve got the Whole World in My Hands…’ Into the balcony, threw open the windows and burst forth with a few minutes of Tarzan wailing. I suppose you have doubts about the validity & truth of the above? Very wise!
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I took off the Catheter night bag and hobbled into the kitchen to do the pots and safety checks. Then the bins, and off to the wetroom initially for a poop. Trotsky is in charge this time. Messy! I decided to get a stand-up wash, teggies, shave, etc., while I was there. It all went fairly well, just one bad cut shaving.
Got the kettle on and opened the window to take this shot of the morning sky. Realising how much easier the swollen right leg & foot were today. Nice! I brewed the tea and got on the computer. Slowly, my earlier feeling of being overall in a better place faded. When the Carer called, it was Rachid.
I had another of those long active seizures after I’d got rid of the Carer. Don’t really know how long or what I had been up to. But I noticed the Hoover had been moved, and the mug of cold tea had been knocked or dropped onto the floor. It took me an age to recover from this seizure. I felt almost groggy.

The INR agency worker came to take the blood for the DVT Warfarin clinic testing. The result came back at about 17:50 hours: Mon 2, every other day, 1½.

I had long periods of feeling out-of-it, almost like being drunk. Confusion lasted all day.
And as the late afternoon, tea-time came, I honestly was an utter mental wreck.  
The following might be out of sync again, because in the morning, when I read my memory notes, well, it looked nothing like my handwriting, and my memory was only prompted by some of the photographs I’d taken.
I can remember this one. I had two giant potatoes left and fancied my hand at making some of my beloved cheesy potatoes. I couldn’t decide which of the spuds to use, as they both came well battered about.
At least I could tell when I took this snap, of the battery calendar clock.
These shots of the clouds were a pareidolia’s delight.

The INR blood was taken.

I got a phone call that I could not hear any of the words. The Carer was here, so I asked him to take the call. He did, but said not a word to me; he just started looking around the Carer’s desk and on the floor. Then shot off out of the flat.
Returning to sit down and get back on his mobile. 
I never found who or why they called me. Despite asking the Carer. Mysteriousnesses?

I got the potato into the oven and got on with the blogging. It was hard work, as per usual, with snaffles and Concentration Konrad not helping in the slightest. Carer style.
Taking this photo of the sky was when the ultra-drunken feeling and sensation deepened, along with genuine confusion.

The joy of seeing Caring Carer Ejaz make his only call of the day really perked me up. I felt much more like myself. Someone who cares, speaks, doesn’t grunt and ignores me when I say or ask for anything to be done or whatever. He did a full-body check, asked how the legs felt, and asked if I wanted a brew and some bikkies. Phorpain Gelled my painful Shaling Shoulder Shirely, rubbing it in until it was fully absorbed. Much better reaction when they spend a minute rubbing the gel in. 👍🏻
The hard work chap called. Still no body checking, not that I needed it after Ejaz had done it for me. I put the oven on to cook the large spud.

I hastened to fetch the camera from the junk room to take this amazing shot of the evening sky. Another pareidolia’s delight.

I got the spud out of the oven and got so annoyed when I had a feast of dropping stuff, spilling things, and losing my grip on things. Plus, difficulty in using the implements needed to make the meal. Unbelievable problem! What a mess I’d made in the kitchen. It was bad enough before, with no Carer cleaning it for three or four weeks now. Ejaz was the last one to do it. I’ll try to remember the sequence of droppages & spillages, etc. Oddly, I could recall these with ease. I think this is because I was all het up and angry at myself for repeatedly making such a mess that it stuck with me… maybe.
I took the monster potato out of the oven; the husk disintegrated on the outside, with flakes of skin all over the counter, tray, cooker, and floor… Grrr!
Belatedly, I got the chopping board out and used that to slice the spud in half. It took a long time to clean up, but it didn’t matter that the veg was cooling, as I was going to scoop it into a basin for mixing, then put it back in the oven to brown off.
I got the no-butter butter from the fridge to mix in, and picked up the large mixing bowl, this is where interfered again. I dropped the bowl, & no-butter butter. The bowl, hitting a large stack of Tupperware washed earlier and left to drain, with several different-sized bowls, fell to the floor, rolled around, and surrounded the No-butter butter! A bit of luck this time, the long picker-upper meant no bending and less pain and dizziness!
Still determined to have my favourite meal, I pressed on after a few minutes of recuperation.
I cut the mammoth potato in half lengthwise and began scooping the flesh into the mixing bowl. It was here, that kicked off.
I stood looking down the bowl at some of the potatoes on the floor. I’ll not say what I called myself.
But it was a smidge defamatory.
No choice, I could not avoid bending down, if I was going to clean this up with the little bits on the floor.
I’ve asked every Carer to find out where I can get a long-handled brush & dustpan set. And how! Being as I am now flat-bound again!
Irritation brewed in my mind, not self-pity this time, more like a semi-anger.
Back to cooking. I scooped the flesh into the bowl, added the last of the Leicester-grated cheese, and some No-butter butter and sea salt. Bashed it up for as long as I could, into t semi-smooth state, refilled the two halves of the husk, ran a fork over the top of each to ensure crispiness when cooked, and went for a sit-down without doing any clearing up, and fell asleep.
Not for long, but I could smell the potatoes when I woke up. So, off into the kitchen and they were just how I like ’em, well done. And they were red hot when I extracted them from the oven. So while they cooled a bit, I cleared and washed things up.

Then at last, and with great physical and emotional pains, I got the meals served up… After adding Chilli & Lemon Potato Curls. Great!
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Worth All The Hassle? You Decide! Hehehe!
Despite it all, it was lovely,
But I have to say, costly,
Pricewise, Physically & Mentally,
I say this enthusiastically,
I fare with life intolerantly,
But, voided living in xerophagy,
I need help neuropsychiatrically,
I can feel high, but hesitantly…
With the crap-luck that haunts me!
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Inchie Today: Sunday 26th April 2026

/ Inchie / 7 Comments

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Food Shortages On The Way
Carbonated Drinks/Beer: CO2 is crucial for carbonation, and shortages can affect production.
Meat Products: Chicken and pork, which require CO2 for packaging and processing, are deemed highly vulnerable.
Salad/Packaged Foods: Shortages in carbon dioxide affect the shelf life and packaging of fresh, prepared fish, fruit and salad items.
Baked Goods: As with salads, some vegetable packaging may be affected.
CO2 Shortages: A major UK plant’s potential issues, coupled with high natural gas costs, have constrained the supply of fertiliser and CO2, a by-product of the process.
Geopolitical Instability: Threats to supply chains and rising energy costs, with warnings of shortages within weeks. Flight Cancellations: Airlines are reducing flights due to a jet fuel shortage, leading to many cancellations of orders.
Fresh Produce: Tomatoes, cucumbers, and peppers may face shortages or significant price hikes due to rising, war-driven energy costs for greenhouses.
What To Stock
Tinned Meats & Fish: Tuna, sardines, salmon, corned beef, spam, corn, and stewed steak.
Tinned Meals/Veg: Baked beans, chickpeas, kidney beans, soup, and tinned potatoes.
Carbs: Pasta, rice, noodles (like Super Noodles), dried soya, and oats.
Long-life Dairy & Alternatives: UHT milk, powdered milk, and canned custard.
Nutrient-Dense & Pantry Items: Peanut butter, nuts, dried fruit, honey, and cooking oils (ghee).
Comfort Foods: Chocolate, biscuits, crisps, some sauces and sweets.
Recommendations
Stockpiling Advice: Experts suggest maintaining a basic inventory of non-perishable items, including tinned foods, rice, and pasta.
STARMER
The UK government is planning for potential summer 2026 food shortages: chicken, pork, and products requiring carbon dioxide, such as packaged meats and fizzy drinks, due to disruptions in the Strait of Hormuz. While not currently critical, this “worst-case scenario” could lead to reduced variety in supermarkets and higher food inflation, currently forecast to increase by 10-15%.
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After yesterday’s unbelievable series of happenings, Frustrations, Accifauxpas, Whoopsiedangleplops, and Mini-Catastrophies, that followed a similar pattern to the three days before, I felt surely today, the Lord’s Day, would bring a less-pressured, less-hassled, mayhap even calmer, smoother day. 
06:35hrs, I stirred, feeling that the swollen legs were a little less painful. Until I tried to stand up.
Sorry, but today has been so busy again.

BP on Hyper Level.
Iceland order.
Not a lot.
Plenty of bog rolls and spring water,
just in case of shortages coming,
Need it for the Catheter.
State of retained water feet.
Carbonated drinks.
Afternoon views.
Tree Copse, how I miss visiting it.
Sky snap.
After the 2nd nurse’s visit.
CorelDraw froze, again!
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Not much detail, so far behind again.
Just too busy, Humph!
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Ejaz did all but the last call today, a grand lad, conscientious and caring. 👌🏼
Another good um, Mizra did last call.

Jenny, bless her, rang me and commiserated.
👼🏻 My Guardian Angel. 👼🏻

Got some food made up, Mizra had kindly prepped for me earlier. Just got to get the spuds and peas out of the slow-cooker, if they are ready.

They were…
Imitation crabsticks, pickled mushrooms,
Extra-Strong Stilton cheese, garden peas heated in soy sauce, chopped green tomato, and all the remaining small potatoes with a splash of Hoisin sauce on the spuds. Gorgeous Taste!

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Inchie: Saturday 25th April 2026

/ Inchie / 5 Comments

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WHAT AN ODD NIGHT
It started when I settled in 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, rusty, flea-bitten catheter-tube-trapping recliner, to eat my creative evening meal. Whatever made me try this mixture, I’m not sure. I found a long-life ready meal fallen at the back of the cupboard. Sweet & Sour Vegetables. I tipped that into a microwave dish earlier in the day, and got some peas and a potato cooking in the slow cooker to add to it later. I got the idea to add some Bombay potatoes to it. Mixed it in and left it all to marinate for a few hours. It was delicious! 
Spilling it on my dressing gown was not in the plan! Got cleaned up; the swollen feet were giving me some grief. Got back to finish the feast, and took the tray & dishes to the kitchen to soak overnight. 
Turned the lights out when I put the TV on and started watching some recorded episodes of Heartbeat. Perfectly naturally for me, I fell asleep and realised the volume was a little high… Could I find the remote control? No! Well, it took me ages. Got up, searched for the torch, and hunted around. On the verge of deciding I’d have to turn the TV off at the power switch, I found it wrapped in the dressing gown I had to take off that I’d dirtied.
Turned down the sound and turned on a Boon recording. Perfectly naturally for me, I fell asleep.
Could I find the remote control to change the channel? This time, I was certain it had dissolved into the ether. I was on the arm of the £300 second-hand shop purchase in 1966, which was a well-causing, uncomfortable, not-working, itch-inspiring, and crumb-containing recliner. Now the batteries had gone flat on the torch. I went into the kitchen to get the solar-powered battery, but that had gone AWOL. Back to the main room, for another search, no luck. Then I decided to get the pots washed. During which I knocked a bottle of washing-up liquid off the drainer, it was more lethal than ice skating! An hour later, I’d cleaned up the floor, in a fashion.
Put the light on in the front room for another hunt for the remote control. I found it! I’d put it on the Carers table, that’s within arm’s reach.
TV back on, to see a recorded Heartbeat episode.
Perfectly naturally for me, I fell asleep. Woke with the intentions of switching off the TV… a problem; I could not find the remote control! Never have yet. Turned the TV off at the plug. I realised what time it was in the morning, with all my faffling about. I did a safety check of the flat, taps, lights, stove, cookers, etc., and got my head down.

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Heavenly sleep, I can’t recall waking up at all. But, at 06:25hrs, I burst awake and instantly knew I had to hobble hastily to the Porcelain Throne. As you can see, a bad start to the day. Not the first time, nor, I expect, will it be the last occasion. Humph!

I had a stand-up wash and shave, and did the teggies, then checked on the wetroom cleaning had been done safely.
I got my fresh Kagoule and dressing gown on. Then I Hoovered the hallway. I could wear neither socks, shoes, nor slippers again. This is due to the swollen feet. This also prevented me from going with the Carer to do some shopping. I was looking forward to that, I really was. Tsk!

I got the computer on and found the missing shades and TV remote. Both partway under the £300 second-hand shop-bought, c1966, moth-eaten, bedraggled, grotty, cringingly beige-coloured, much-dilapidated, crumb-containing from my nocturnal nibblings, bug-ridden, itch-inspiring, not-working recliner. Got them out using the long picker-upperer. But, it set off Back-Pain-Brenda.

I was so pleased to see Carer Elaz arrive, an excellent Carer whom I trust, as with Mizra. 
Ejaz gave me the medications, reminded me to take the K & B Vitamins, and carried out a full body check on me. No one has done that since the last time Ejaz did, Monday, I think. It helped me, having just cleared and washed the infected areas. He checked meticulously and barrier-creamed Phorpain Gelled Back-Pain-Brenda, Swollen-Feet-Francis, Factured-Knee-Frank, Lymphorrhea-Leslies-Legs, Swollen-Toes-Titianna, Shoulder-Shaking-Shirley, and all those in need. Made me a mug of tea, and brought me a few bikkies to dunk. Thanks, Ejaz.

I took two photographs from the kitchenette window. The sunshine was getting hotter and brighter as I pictured these scenes.

I got on the computer, and CorelDraw caused some… er… unknown, unexplained faults for me. Had to save, close, and reopen it. Then it wouldn’t let me delete photographs. And Asif’s man has missed the last three times he said he’d call.
He must just be extremely busy, I suppose.

Ejaz returned for the longer shopping call. I felt horrible not being able to go with him and pick out what I fancy from the shops. Huh!
I blame the medical people. Not really! But they knew I had to drink tons, gallons of water to ease the pain from the Catheter flowback, for four days. Now I have water retention in both legs, feet, and all toes!
The agony was getting too much. Then, fortunately, the lesion in my penis started squirting out urine all over me, the carpet and even the computer!
I had to sit here as the urine suddenly flowed, the bag ever filling up, and the squirty leak from the finger lesion spraying everything, with a large mixing bowl between my legs to try to catch little Inchy’s contribution, for hours until a nurse arrived to save the day. Bless her Cotton-Socks. 💟 I know I may have said all this earlier, but what a thing to go through! Gawd knows how I got through it.
Self-Pity now… Sorry. I went off track there, sorry again, back to blessed Ejaz. Painkillers issued. And gave him the shopping list that I wanted him to get for me, handed him some money & off he shot.

Back on the computer and started the Ode of the day. This time, I think I must have hit the wrong keys. I got up a graph of choices to make, each with a warning that this or that will not work if you accept/take this action. Or, you will not be able to edit after taking this option… Not the foggiest idea what it all meant, but there was no close option on the window. Baffled again. I clicked close on the big window and gave it a minute or two, then opened it again. Phew! Back to normal. This prompted thoughts of the Oligarchs to go on the Ode.

Blimus, it’s getting hot here now. Back into the kitchen to take more sky shots.
When I’m sitting down, there is no pain from the swollen feet whatsoever. The moment I move to stand up, or hobble about, they work overtime on their pain onslaught. Hehe!

Ejaz returned with the shopping. The lad was wringing with sweat. 

He had taken the following snaps while out.
To show me what I’d missed. Haha!

Front of Woodthorpe Flats, end of the car park.
On is way out.
Not sure when; Windwood & Winchestrt Courts.
Centre Winwood Court.
Winchester Street Hill.
Up the hill.
Cutting through to the car park, Sherwood.
Mansfield Road
Mansfield Road the other way.
Forists near the Ozan store.
Outside Ozans.
Back at the flats.
Traffic island on Chestnut Way.
Where I am imprisoned,
Voodthorpe Court.
Towards the end of the car park.
The new footpath up the hill.
Wasn’t that kind of him, Ejaz?
Ejaz came up and gave me the nosh he’s bought for me. Three bottles of Soda water, Schweppes.
A classy, grand, costly brand, for me.
Lemon wafers, green tomatoes,
& gigantic potatoes. Hehe!

As Ejaz was ready to go, I felt a sharp pain in my right foot from water retention swelling.
Ejaz had a look and took a photo.
Doesn’t look good at all now.
Not been as painful as this
all day. Mmm?

I got the meal prepped and ready to serve with some beef later tonight.

Carer Ejaz did the late call. Phorpained the right Shuddering-Shoulder-Shirley, issued medications, and issued a mug of tea and bikkies for me. 👍🏻

A First-Time Long, Active Seizure.
I had a second seizure, that I know of; the first was a mini seizure, the second I believe was a very rare Long Active one. When I came out-of-it to the usual upflux of acid into the throat, mouth, and nose, I was in the £300 second-hand shop-bought, c1966, moth-eaten, bedraggled, grotty, cringingly beige-coloured, much-dilapidated, crumb-containing from my nocturnal nibblings, bug-ridden, itch-inspiring, not-working recliner. My last memory before coming out-of-it was of swearing at CorelDraw as it froze on me… Then, I find myself half-in, half-out of the recliner. I’d taken the bottle of springwater from under the computer with me, and after waiting for my senses to return and getting up on my feet, I spotted that I’d closed down the computer. Why? Had I solved the problem? Had I given up? It really was a blank. I tried to keep calm and even considered calling for help. But it was already too late, gone 22:00 hours. I’d lost two hrs, I reckon.  
Then my swollen feet felt the wet on the carpet!
I tried to recall things, water. But I got no help from Memory Mangling Malcolm in response. I felt that we were both puzzled, bemused. I didn’t panic, but a determination arose witin me to find out what I’d been doing. Apart from hobbling around and spilling water everywhere. 
I got to the computer chair, to find I’d not only torn the last page from the memory pad, but torn it into tiny pieces and thrown them into the waste bin! Next, I saw that the landline phone was out of its cradle, and the ear drops and diabetes pep drink had been knocked over on the desk. 
I then went into the kitchen and found the cold water tap running. Then the bladder backflow hit me from the Catheter tube. Arrgh! seems the most suitable word to use. I guzzled a litre of spring water and part of a litre of soda water straight away. Desperate to avoid the super-agony that I had gone through for the previous days.
Luckily, the pain eased within a minute of drinking the liquids, and the pouch filled rapidly.
Despite still having worries about what else I might have been doing during the seizure. I just had to get back on the computer and check if I’d done something silly, or even fatal, on the machine. Everything was working, but I had not closed down properly. Lost some work on WordPress, but could find nowt else terribly wrong. I closed the computer down, stripped and climbed carefully into bed.


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Inchie: Thursday 23rd April 2026

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So many events, incidents, mistakes, frustrations, deteriorations, irritations, and depressions, brought about by a variety of circumstances, took place this Thursday. But they were rescinded, almost obliterated in memory, by a six-hour-long, absolute pain-ridden farce with the bladder & Catheter. I was so far behind on the blogs that I’ll be lucky to get this blog done within a day, relying on a break in catastrophes. Life for Inchie, in old age, which the fool thought would be quiet and peaceful – he was obviously wide of the mark on that assumption.  Especially the last four years or so. He wishes that he had had these twenty years ago, when the NHS was efficient and reliable. It is more like a torture establishment than a hospital nowadays. 
But it shadows his own life’s decline. Neither the NHS nor Gerry’s are improvements
To give myself a slight chance of catching up, I’m going to try to relate only the Catheter Farce. But that will take ages, cause I do waffle on about these things, don’t I? Ahem!
I’m just sad that so much will have to be left out, so I can pretend to be catching up on my blogging.
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Having had nearly two weeks of atrociously painful flowbacks from the Catheter, and over the week having eleven District Nurses tend to me (I like them all) to try and start the stopped flow of urine, and each time wriggling the tube, and it started again.
This went on for several days. I was embarrassed each time I called them. Feeling that they did not believe me about the incapacitating pains I was getting when the flowback started. Usually, bless them, they are with me in about 3 hours, and this was much appreciated. On every call they made, I was told to keep drinking water or to drink more water. So I did. I bought a load of it. After a couple of days of agony, the agony from the flowback continued, but then I got water retention in my feet, and a different pain joined in the melee and mysteries of life at Woodthorpe Court. The hobgoblins, spectres, gnomai, phantasms, grotesque succubae, ectoplasms, forgetfulness,  Whoopsiedangleplops, taps left running, stove left on,  spirits, Accifauxpas, slow-cooker left on – my record to date is for 18 hours, fridge-feezers doors left open, light bulbs bursting, catheter-failures, and now the legs and feet are bowing up with water retention…
And the Doctor has given me Finasteride, or is that Finasteride, to reduce the size of my prostate to help the flow of urine. Either way, how can she not know that I’ve been on both for four years now?
I can’t have much, if any, prostate left. Hehehe!
Sorry about that. Back to the plot…
I woke up in the morning with no Catheter pains, and it stayed that way for well into the afternoon. Bliss!
Then they kicked off again, violently, as bad, if not worse than ever. So, I did the only thing I thought would eventually ease the pain, and guzzled and guzzled Spring and Soda water.
This time, it did nothing to ease the agony. In fact, it got worse. So, I guzzled another few litres of water. Then, as I sat there at the computer desk, I thought I felt water dripping on my ankle. I checked, expecting it to come from the Catheter tube, as it had started sprouting out again. I put a large bowl between my legs to catch the drips, then gulped yet another litre of water. Then felt the urine coming up into the tube, and covered the tube tightly with paper towels…
Nothing came out of the tube, but…
The urine burst out through the hole in Little Inchy’s fungal lesion, Arrgh! I’m not joking, even if this sounds impossible, it happened…
A forceful, fine sprinkling of urine shot out.
My Kagoule, dressing gown, legs, and feet all got their quota of wetting! The jug between my legs fell onto the floor, giving the carpet an extra soaking!
As I was struggling to free myself of my clothing…
A second surge was suffered, I could not understand why all of a sudden, the wee flowed unexpectedly. A short burst this time. But the two combined were enough to fill the urine jug, 2000ml.  
I spread several kitchen rolls over the floor, with extra ones near where I sat. Got the togs off, and with the bowl between my knees and two walking sticks (not a pretty sight), I somehow made it to the wet room to empty the jug and bowl… As I was doing so, a third wave arrived! Leaving the two walls, the ceiling and anything in between, pebble-dashed with yellow spots. I got back to the computer and mess I’d sprayed like a mail cat, and called the District Nurses for help. I was told some would be along to see me.  
In the three hours I waited, I had several more bursts from the penis lesion. But in between, I’d gathered kitchen rolls, found a way of hold the bowl in place, and reduced the spraying. Amidst the panic, I felt a Smug-Mode coming on. Fatal that was!
One last blast was coming on, I got the floor covered, no clothes on to limit the damage… but this last spurt was the strongest of them all. As I started t clean up, after waiting for ten minutes in case another follow-up arrived. None did. Great! As I was trying to freshen the carpet, not easy using a picker-upperer, I glanced at the computer screen… it was covered in tiny splashes of urine! Disgusted, I was! Then saw that the keyboard had also been a victim! cleaned things as well as I could. Then I considered crying out loud.

I heard the door open, and the nurse came in.
I told her about the events as she got ready to remove and insert a new Catheter Contraption. But not in as much detail as I have here. She or anyone else would not have believed me if I did.
I showed my concern that the penis cut may still leak. But she didn’t think so, but to call her if it did.
Thank heavens it hasn’t… yet.

Progressing…
New set-up

🖖🏻 Keep well 🖖🏻
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