Inchcock Today: Wednesday 21st September 2022

WEDNESDAY’s POLITICAL CARTOON

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03:40hrs: Another shooting awake, the arms jounced, and slowly the brain woke up as well. The only thing it was interested in was my hastening to the Porcelain Throne. So, I did!
No injuries or Accifauxpas en route; I got settled in the regulation position, and the evacuation began. I should think it was 80% putrid air and 20% of watery kaki-coloured liquid, with a few bloblets of the expected stuff mixed in.
Not too messy it didn’t spurt out. No bleeding.
Again, I thought, well, I’m in here now; I’ll get the ablutions tended to. most another bit of the left back double molar again… I don’t know how it hasn’t all gone by now; the number of times I lose a chunk of it?
I took extra care with the shaving this time. A couple of tin nicks, no bother.
Ah, there were some difficulties here. The Germoloiding of Harrolds Haemorrhoids went perfectly smoothly, with minimum pain of any sort. Then, the Phorpain gelling was more or less in the same style. Then, for some reason, the applicationing of the
Daktacort can only be described as horrendously painful. I stopped as soon as I felt that much pain in such a delicate area. And went to fetch the magnifying glass to see if I could find a use-by date in the tube or box. Nope, couldn’t see one anyway. I went to the medical drawer in the kitchenette and ferreted about for another tube. None left! I must ask Richard or Deana to order some for me.
A smothering of Germolene in place was tried. Totally-ineffective. I dare not use what bit of Daktacort that was left in the tube, so threw it away.
Then, the Danger of the Day, so far, had to be faced. 

Of course, I wasn’t worried at all; a heroic man with so many ailments is not going to let a plastic-coated finger-crunching, blood-letting thing like metal Sock Glide intimidate me. Well, more than suspected!
I got through it and got the socks on. A plaster on the trapped bleeding finger was all I needed this time. Freshened up my wobbly short-overweight body with antiperspirant spray and aftershave. Got dressed and tackled the next job, the .
Back down again! SYS 137. DIA 72, Pulse 78 bpm, and body temperature a good return at 34.3°f.
Back in the High-Norm amber area. I suppose a being shown is okay?
The second lowest rating I’ve ever recorded! Now I shall be looking to get in the green soon… Hehehe!

Was banging about above early again, around 06:00hrs. He must be making things for Christmas pressies early, mayhaps? Come think of it, I reckon he was noisy late at night and early mornings this time last year? I may be wrong, of course. ♫ It’s not unusual for Inchcock to be wrong… ♫

I got the computer on, and many comments on my blogs were received. It was from Bill, so I answered him. Off to make a mug of Thompson’s Punjana, and I took this morning shot of the view from the kitchen window. Not exactly awe-inspiring, is it?

I went back to the computer and checked the Emails.

Morrison and J Sainsbury’s had set a list of their substitutions and not available goods in today’s orders to be delivered.
Not good, is it? Still, I can give away the Tikka substitute; Deana might like them. The tomatoes should be okay. It’s funny how they always send dearer than the original substitutions.
JS had done even worse than Morrisons; that takes some doing. Same thing, dearer substitutes.
But they failed to tell me that the cheaper chilli cans I’d ordered were going to be substituted with a lot dearer ones! Humph! Anyway, I started to get things stored away. The Imperfect Tasty Strawberries were one for Deana and one for Francis, who I hope she’s back from the hospital by now and feeling better. I’ll ask Deana later.
Ah, my treats to myself here! Vegetarian shepherd’s pie, roast potatoes, veggie pasta, and sliced potatoes (well, it cuts back on chopped fingers!). Seasoned fresh cut chips as well… Oh, and a new one to me, Silky Butternut Squash Risotto; no idea what it will taste like, but without trying it, I’ll never know. Did you see that? Words of Wisdom… from me! Hehehe! Beefburgers and pot noodles for Carer Richard. Some individually portioned sticky rice pots and substituted No Chicken Tikka Masala with rice. I tried the one I ordered cause I knew I was okay with sweet & sour sauce. But I’ve tried Tikka before and did not like it. Are J Sainsbury staff told to select lousy substitutions on purpose? Is not sweet & Sour Chinese? And Tikka Indian?

At least they didn’t send me a pot of brown shoe polish this time. I’m not joking; I ordered potato cakes once and got a shoe polish pad!
Still, the owner has just lost a family member, the Queen. So, say no more. At least Morrison’s managed to deliver my favourite ready meal of all time. Roast Vegetable Risotto. It’s cracking tasty! I always put just a drop of BBQ sauce with it. And the packet of mushroom risotto I had yesterday, I think it was, was grand.
This is a loaf got the Wardens, cause it keeps fresher longer… someone told me.
I got some brown cobs for me from Lord Sainsbury: J Sainsbury plc is the parent company of Sainsbury’s Supermarkets Ltd, the third largest chain of supermarkets in the UK, with a 16.4% share of the market.
As of 2021, the largest overall shareholder is the sovereign wealth fund of Qatar Royal Family Investment Authority, which holds 14.99% of the company. It is listed on the London Stock Exchange and is a constituent of the FTSE 100 Index. The chain’s annual report shows that chief executive Simon Roberts picked up £2.8 million in bonuses for the year to March 5, on top of his £878,000 a year salary and other benefits. His mammoth pay deal includes a £1.7 million annual bonus and £1.1 million in long-term incentive scheme shares. Shame no one there knows the difference between a Chinese meal and an Indian one. Just thought I’d mention it! Not that I have anything against the Indians, they have my greatest respect and admiration. It’s just that their food does not sit well with me. Where was I?

Oh, yes… These were some of the giveaway items. I bought a few trays of fluffy rice. I just thought Deana might like one to try. Hope she likes Tikka.
She did call later after I’d got everything put away… Ah, something else I forgot to mention… A pack of six 1 litre Spring Water was delivered today; luckily, it was the first thing I moved into the kitchen from the blocked by food doorway. I felt the leaking water running down my leg onto the carpet; I then dropped the bottles when I got into the kitchen. What a mess I got into, and cleaning it up was no fun!
I lost the plot there… Sorry.
I put the flowers on the trolley, ready for when Deana or Julie, or both, came to see me about the lift for Friday.
Richard told me Deana would be calling today to see me. Which she did.

She told me she’s arranged for the lift on Friday to be for 10:00hrs So, hopefully, I can get to the B&M store to get some of the canned drinks that the Carers took to. I got some last week… no, a fortnight ago. But they all went first, but  I just cannot remember what they were called. When I see the cans, I’ll know, He says… Hehehe!
Onto the computer to make a start on this blog at long last.

♫ Oh, Susana… ♫ Hello, who’s that? It was Esther, after her six-week break visiting her family in South Africa for two weeks, that turned out to for four more. Can’t blame her! She’s calling tomorrow to do the laundry. She asked for a pen so she could write a note to another customer and post it through his door – I made sure I got the pen back this time! Hehe! 

I believe the sudden fatigue is coming back again now. 14:00hrs?
I’ll get a vegetable risotto in the microwave and add one bay-sized fluffy rice after three minutes, so they are ready at the same time. A drop of BBQ sauce will be added after cooking. This week I shall try harder to avoid any burnt fingers or dropped items when struggling to get the lid off of the trays.
The foods were both nearly ready. I made up a pot of Idaho instant mash with bubble & squeak, adding some extra-strong grated cheese and a quirt of my made-up to the bottle of liquid salt & distilled vinegar to the pot. Added a mini-pot of lemon mousse to the tray and got into the recliner to feast!


I had a cough and thought I saw some specs of blood in the tissue, well, the paper towel I used.
The meal was cooling as I checked the nose and mouth. Nowt to fret over, but puzzlingly all the ulcers in the gums seem to have erupted at the same time. I didn’t realise I’d got so many pustules in the gums. As for why this happened, I remain, as ever nowadays, confused.
Finally, I began the feast, ’cause that’s what it was, and even though I’ll let it cool more than I meant to, it was delicious! A Taste-Rating of 9.3/10!

I put the tray on the Carers desk next to the £300, second-hand, c1968, charity shop-bought, eyesorely-horrendously grungy coloured, Harold Haemorrhoid-testing, easily-falloutable from, unfit-for-use, not working, recliner. And drifted of with a satisfied stomach into a wonderful – but short-lived, dream-filled sleep.
♫ Oh, Susana… ♫ chimed out and brought me rudely to a state of semi-wakefulness. Blow it; I can’t remember her name now. Humph! She apologised for being late and mentioned how rushed she was. She soon got the medications sorted; and, with what seemed a reluctance, ask if there was anything else. There was, but she seemed so pressed I didn’t mention anything. A nice gal, I told her to pick a treat on her way out.
I think I was about to nod off again when I remembered I’d not locked the door. So, I locked it


Turning back from locking the door, I thought I’d have a look through the spy hole – which proved near fatal. Hehe! I twisted my back as I turned again, setting off poor and, at almost the same time, stubbed my toe on the three-wheel walker guide wheel… but I’d not finished yet. Oh, no!
Cursing my bad luck under my breath, and went into the wet room for a wee-wee and apply some Phorpain gel to Shirley. And walked into the doorframe, hit the shoulder, stopped, and automatically pee’d in my PPs, and I felt like crying. But I resisted it, after all being the heroic, stoic, brave, strong young man that I am…
At least Bladder-Belinda’s sudden leak came when I was in the wet room.
I evacuated the remaining few drops of urine from Bladder-Belinda. Stripped off and had a good clean-up. Germoloided Harold’s Haemorrhoids,
And got the crap, not very effective  MedPhorpainPhorpain gel, rubbed into my back as best that I could get at. Surprisingly, the toe stinging started to ease off?
Got some fresh PPs on, the Depend brand that had coped admirably well with Bladder-Belinda’s earlier escaping mini-torrent. was left until last. Because the shoulder charge on the wet room doorframe had set her off shuddering away, but now she had calmed down.
It took me so long to sort things out that by the time I was leaving the wet room, the and , were of little bother now.
Of course, now I had to rely on to get me through the doorway without any . Easy-peasy! I think that when I go going into the room and the light blaring at my eyes is why there are more walk-intos than when leaving the wet room?

A momentary Sherlock Holmesian conclusion there?Haha!

I got settled into the c1968 recliner seat…
Tired out, with Thought STorms to compete,
My mood was just a tad downbeat,
Thought of the Risotto… that was a treat!
Cramps now, in the fingers, legs and feet!
I must be getting closer to the scrapheap,
Losing my battle for peace and sleep…
My life seems full of things grossièreté!
Don’t know when, but I got nodded off alreet…
Dreamt I was on holiday; it looked like Crete?
2:55hrs, I sprang wide awake. Did I oversleep?
Asleep only five minutes, I could weep!

MORNING ALL!

Fings I read, that triggered the memory!

Wednesday 8th December 2021

Fings I read, sometimes those I view…
Glaringly show a change in my milieu,
Viciousness, cruelty and lack of virtue,
Growing greed, drugs, alcohol, always in need,
I do some little Odes to go with each preview,
I’ll have to set myself a curfew…

For I’ve a lot of things, I have to do…
I don’t want to run late, causing a hullabaloo!
Shortly to the dentist, I’ll have to go…
I’m not scared or nervous, oh, no. No…
No sweat or nervousness from me does flow…
I shall keep calm, steady as I go…
Any falling of tears, I’ll stop; I know,
Ah, now I’ll have to stop in mid-flow…
For wandering off the topic, I did go!
I sense brewing up within me, a foggy mind fiasco!

Spotted on BBC Site!

Where they got the forty times from, I know not,
It was now more than a dozen, but that’s enough, what?
After clarificationing, the women officers were rather hot…
I thought, on one occasion, a taser would be shot!
Each raid increased my usage of the chamber pot,
But they did give me a food parcel, quite a lot,
Gin, biscuits, steak, turkey, crisps and whatnot,
For my not being a moaning fusspot?

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Sense of Humours Demise!

This brought back into my damaged mind…
A time when folks were more pleasant and kind,
Jokes at others expense… but no one gained?
Our sense of humour still remained…
Now the PC brigade is unrestrained…
The worlds do righters; are they all unsained?
It’s easier in this world to be scatterbrained,
As the compassion and empathy are slowly drained!

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Opticians

Like Doctors and dentists alike,
They now wish patients would take a hike!
Coronavirus, now Omicron with its recent spike…
People out without masks on, buying up the Nike,
Christmas contact, so virus spreading – Crikey

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NHS Maintain Some Humour!

The standard or garden employees of the NHS,
Well, I thank them all, Heaven thank them, and bless!
Mistreated, the Politician pay them a rise, a pittance!
These expense-fiddlers live in several houses, all chandeliered!
Well, it’s time that the righteous mutineered…
Then strikers would be genuinely feared…
But the NHS staff will not – though their hopes are withered…
Will the MPS stop fiddling if they are ever sobered?
Will Nurses etc., continue to get backstabbed?
Will the NHS staff stop getting clobbered?
Will MP’s ever stop getting bribed?
Do they still get free drinks, thus get imbibed?
The Virus … Has anyone checked…
With whom the MPs are necking!
No Expense Form Claim checking!

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The Law

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Laughter!

The old folk, most of them have still got the oomph!
To laugh at themselves and be a little pottymouth,
Edinborough, Manchester and Portsmouth…
To Weymouth, Nottingham and Yarmouth…
Political Correctness? They’ve had enough!
Try telling them what to do – they’re pretty tough!.

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Nottingham!

Not a lot of folk in Nottingham are aristocratic,
They are famed for being somewhat autocratic!
Shoplifters, druggies, muggers, old uns arthritic…
ATM con artists, a few have jobs, some even autistic…
Alcoholics, Methodists, Atheists, and Catholic,
Muslims aplenty, we house them after taking them in…
But no complaints from me, for me it’s a win-win!
Apart from the Escooterers, they are a danger and chaotic,
Students from afar, all corners of the globe, some are Balearic!
Without them, life would be quiet, not hectic,

I’ll stop now; I’ve got to take my diuretic,
Got carers coming to dose me? It’s pathetic!
But, that’s me, the human Guinea pig, innit?
Then I have to shower, change of clothes, be contortionistic,
Frustrating, but I don’t get apoplectic or dramatic…
If I shave without cutting myself, I think that’s cosmic,
Lousy Ode today… the whole this is diabolic…
I’m off then, radio, later on, the Barnsley philharmonic.

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Well, I got that wrong, but happily so,
It was Brass Band music, great, kiddo!
Blidworth Welfare Brass Band, too,
They were good, credit where it’s due…
They played absolutely excellent. Yahoo!

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Life’s Essentials I’ve failed to grasp!

So often, I’ve been beggared, challenged and confounded by these beautiful, cannot live without, creatures.

My first awareness of their desires, demands and wily ways came early in life for me. I’ll explain what happened to get my message across correctly and unsmuttily.

I think I was around five or six years old at the time. Mother dear had just conned Dad to take her back in after the police chased her down.  She’d been on the run from the police again. Of course, I was not au faux with the situation at the time. I’d been told she had gone to look after Auntie Betty while she was ill. Never had an Auntie Betty before? A few unknown Aunties were visiting me in later years. But none had the attraction of the next Auntie I was to be introduced to, Auntie Kerry!

Mummykins had been back for several weeks. She was on probation). Out of the blue one weekend, I was told that I would have to stay with Auntie Kerry for a few days, and she would collect me in her car and drop me back after a week or so. I just took it that Mummy would have been going to court or prison for this time. All matter of factly, I was used to it by then.

Sure enough, this largish, plumpish ‘Auntie Kerry arrived in the afternoon, a Player’s full Strength in her lips, deep red lipstick, make-up caked on her face, but she did smell nice. She introduced herself and made a bit of fuss over me, asking what foods I like – I’d never been asked that before by anyone! She was not impressed with the clothes Mother handed to her for me to wear but was pleasant enough about it. “We’ll set of early then Francis; I’m going to get him some new clothes from Fords on the way home, my treat!”

This was all baffling to me? What had I done to deserve this? Sure enough, we left and drove into town, parking her Austin A40 in the ice stadium car park, and we walked over to the Fords shop.

I liked how she kept handling me now and then while driving there. As if to put me at ease. (Little did I realise her intentions then, but I soon learnt and appreciated them that night!) She spent a fortune (to me anyway) on clothes and asked me if I liked this or that one before buying – Had I died and gone to heaven?

We took the clothes back to the car, and Auntie Kerry told me it was roast pork, green beans, and baked potatoes for the meal. I was Gobsmacked! Indeed, this put Mothers usual bacon rinds and tinned tomatoes to shame!

We got to her massive gardened house, somewhere (I now know to have been in the Rutland Road area, in West Bridgford) carried the goodies and food into the mansion. Auntie’ said, “Firstly, we’ll give a bath and get you in the new pyjamas” A bath… an indoors bath, with running hot water, no dragging the tin bath indoors, it was warm in there… I think I checked to see that I wasn’t gone to heaven again.

Boy, was I looked after! Bubble bath, proper soap (although I did and still crave the no longer available carbolic soap) and the sole attention of Auntie Kelly, especially in the area below the belly! Of course, I was in my eye-holes. I just knew that I was lapping it up!! I had no idea what was going on. After the extraordinarily long time in the bath, being pampered, massaged and excited, I was taken downstairs and fed like a King!

Blimey! She had a TV too, central heating, curtains, tablecloths instead of the Nottingham Evening Newspaper… luxury this was!

She turned on the TV set and sat me on her knee, well, knee to start with… I lost any interest in watching whatever was on the goggle-box.

“Another bath then?” declared Kerry. Who was I to disagree! Gawd, it was good – I innocently went along with every idea, suggestion or manoeuvrings my mysterious Aunt came up with. Physical jerks of a sort, I still didn’t know what we were doing or why… other than on my behalf, it gave me such great pleasure! And, there was plenty to enjoy.

But, I can assure you that what time we had left together was not wasted. Even in the car driving me home, we pulled up on Meadow Lane, and we re-entangled ourselves, sadly, sickenly for the last time.

No, that’s not true, actually. A couple of years or so later, while Mother was off on the run again, Auntie Kerry turned up at the house many times, and she made sure it was on a Saturday – my bath night, so all was not lost. Just not the same in a tin bath in front of the fire.

I was disgusted (but happily worn-out) four days later, reinvigorated with the kindness and indulgent pampering when she told me I had to return home!

I realise it is now safe to tell this tale, for the mysterious, inestimable, plump, aged Auntie Kerry (whoever she was) will by now be in heaven – awaiting my arrival, I hope!

A heartfelt Thank-You to Auntie Kerry! ♥

The Stroke Ward then Care Home

First, I’d like to explain that as bad as I thought my Stroke was at the time, after being taken to the Queens Medical Centre, diagnosed with having had an Embolic stroke, I thought I’d been lucky. Then I was transferred to the Newell Stroke Ward at the Nottingham City Hospital; I soon realised it was not bad at all!

The event took place while I was in the land of nod. I woke to find myself all disoriented, dizzy, and confused. I was sprawled half-in, half-out of the £300, second-hand, c1968, eyesorely-horrendously grungy coloured, haemorrhoid-testing, unfit-for-use, recliner. Unable to sit up at all, I was lolling to my right. Actually, I thought I might be dreaming at the time and sort of waiting for the fog to clear – of course, it didn’t. The most embarrassing thing in my life (Bar one, but I’ll not mention that!)…

Mass Bodily Fluids Flood – The deluge!
Miss this first section if you are queasy!

(A lifesaver, thanks to Nottingham City Homes!)  And the deluge came! Trying to work out what was happening and pondered on whether to press the Medical Alarm Wristlet button…

Every part of my body that could leak leaked! This was without any warning and so rapid, even the tears that eructed out and I think missed the face cheeks it was so violent. The nose ran, sweat poured from all over, I dribbled from the mouth – but the worst two of all – the bowel evacuation almost shot out, and the wee-weeing too! (at The QMC later, the Doctor said that my ear wax turned to liquid?)

Even pressing the alert button was hard work; I was swaying about and fell out of the chair onto the floor as I got to the control and pushed it. Then found out I could not talk to the controller who answered the alarm!

QMC – Then City Hospital Stroke Ward

Yet I was aware of the mess I was in and ashamed! But I was talking again, but so aware of how I must have looked and smelt! A blank spell from then on until I was being pushed into the scan room at the Queens Medical Centre.

Memory went until I was in an ambulance on the way to the City Hospital stroke ward, The Newell Ward. They kept taking me for e-rays and scans for the day, but I can now recall little of the processes.

Sister Jane and Pete turned up later. Having been to the flat and cleaned up the mess I had made – Bless Them!  So many of the patients were in a much worse condition than I was, which made me realise how lucky I had been. Walking again needed some therapy, and since then, I have started stuttering. With Peripheral Neuropathy diagnoses two weeks earlier, walking ever since is a challenge nowadays. But it could have been so much worse!

One morning, a new patient arrived. He looked like the spitting image of Tyson Fury. They had to move some beds to make room for him, which he was wheeled in on.

Then The Wailing Nights Began!

For about ten hours every single night – for fifteen of them, the poor chap would start calling out for his Mummy! No one else got any sleep! But it was not his fault, naturally. The insults being thrown out to him from other patients desperately needing sleep obviously made no difference.

After the first two or three nights, Tyson (I never knew his name, I can’t remember it if I did), who had been placed near the door, opposite the rota board, realised he could see the names of the other patients, and he would go through everyone… ‘Bill, Bill, help me!’ ‘Malcolm, I need help, fetch my Mum, please!’ ‘Dennis, call for my Mum, I beg you!’ And so forth… then start again repeatedly for hours longer!

The insults and lousy language slowly got worse as the frustrations grew in the other occupants. “F’ing shut your F’ing Gob!” and “Oi… shitting nob-rot, shut the F’s up” are two that come to mind, of the many. Although I had sympathy and empathy with Tyson’s plight and had resisted joining in the angry banter… on the last the 15th night, I very nearly did, but I didn’t.

Unfortunately, they gave me Clopidogrel to help prevent any more blood clots. Then found out I had an allergy to them. Hence the ankle ulcer and extra bloated feet and legs.

Move Me To A Nursing Home

I was so relieved when a doctor told me that they were desperate for beds for new stroke victims. Relieved? Ha! Had I known what was to come, I would have refused to go! They would be moving me later in the day into a Nottingham City Homes care home for a couple of months.

The single room, with adjoining WC with a shower, was nice and snug. There were no shortages of residents to come in and have a look around and help themselves to anything they fancied. Amongst the things that went missing were one hearing aid, pens, biscuits and a pair of socks. I later saw a bloke wearing the easily identifiable diabetic bamboo socks. My Get Better Teddy Bear from TFZer Pattie in Canada disappeared, but I found it in the TV room?

The routine went like this:

  • A carer would come in to help me get the ankle strap on each morning. They all got it wrong, nearly crippled me! Hehe! The door would open (no locks), and a mystery voice would yell out, ‘Breakfast in ten!’ Then give me the medications. I missed many breakfasts.
  • Occasionally a cleaner would come in to ‘do’ the toilet and moan if I’d left any shaving foam in the sink or floor.
  • The midday food summoning would be something like “Tea!”, “Food!” or “Nosh” followed by the estimated time I have to be down for. I missed a few meals.
  • Evenings, medications and taking the ankle strap off.

Inchcock with his retrieved Teddy Bear! ♥

I was told not to leave the site at any time. During the nine weeks, I was there, my laundry was only returned to me three times. Sister Jane and Pete kept me supplied with socks and shirts from the flat. They asked me to make a statement for the police when a bloke attacked a woman with a knife.

If nothing else, this experience has made me all the more determined to avoid going into a care home.

In a Repeated Dream

For several weeks after leaving the Car Home, and Jane and Pete returning me to the flats, I had a repeating dream… I would be leaving the hospital… with the Grim Reaper calling me back to the Stroke Ward. I don’t think it got to me badly, but I was glad when they stooped! (Watch it now, the bloody thing will start again!) Haha!

Part of the Inchcock True Tales of Woe & Make E’m Laugh Series!

Inchcock’s Escape from Lock-down, No.7, to town. Pictographically

Nervously, I departed, my beloved Woodthorpe Court,

Wondering, if I really ought,

But off I poddled, my expectancies at nought,

Taking my quandaries, feeling relatively taut,

My nerves on edge and tension straught!

The bus-ride was painful and tense, oh, golly!

Feet under the wheels as brakes,

As I sat holding the trolley,

Then I got the nervous shakes,

Sure I would overspend my lolly!

Got to town, and nearly got ran over,

Cold, I wished I’d put on an extra pullover,

A van nearly hit me, moreover,

I swore at the man to show I was no pushover!

I made my way to the Poundsaver store,

Searching for milk tubs, Frazzles and more,

The knee gave way, and I ended up on the floor,

Some ladies, got me up, Gawd I was sore,

They had milk, but I got Frazzles & more,

Paid and left, with a bank balance more, poor!

I had a walk around the City Centre,

Limping now, I felt even ancienter,

The coffee shops looked full, but I’m not a frequenter,

Then one of the Pavement cyclist’s flew by,

If I could, I’d have given him a smack in the eye!

I never saw a policeman. I wonder why?

It looked like rain in the sky,

So I went inside, to keep myself dry!

The Exchange arcade, it was barren of folk,

So many retailers, closed-down, a pig-in-a poke,

Rent £78,000 per annum, it’s no joke,

Service Charge £17,144, what lady or bloke,

Who can afford this? No wonder they’ve gone broke!

The drizzle hadn’t come, so out I went,

Some time in Slab Square, I spent,

Street sleepers, yobboes, arguing, but no police sent,

My frustrations I wanted to vent,

The knee hurting, my money spent,

Getting home to Codeines was my intent!

To the Queen Street bus-stop,

Struggling with my purchases from the shop,

On to the L9 bus I did hop,

Well, struggled, and into the seat did flop,

I was so glad when we got to the Winwood Heights stop!

I alighted the bus, well, fell off of it,

I did feel a right twit!

No injuries, I felt tired, but quite fit,

Off to Woodthorpe Court, I did flit!

Not a soul in sight, for a talk,

So I struggled along Chestnut Walk,

No much thinking en route, the brain had lost its torque!

Into the decorative, welcoming lobby, I did walk!

I tooketh a photo, getting into the lift,

Can’t be accused today, of being a spendthrift!

I’d bought some pressies and a Christmas gift,

I was feeling proud, not peeved or tift,

For once, my thoughts were not all adrift,

There weren’t any at all if you get my drift?

I’d seen folk arguing, and one shoplift,

And yet, I didn’t feel in the slightest miffed!

Frazzled, I’m glad to say – Yes! Hehehe!

Inchcock’s Tales (Confessions) of Hounds Gate – Part of ‘The Nottingham Lads True Tales of Woe’!

Inchcock’s Tales (Confessions) of Hounds Gate

Part of ‘The Nottingham Lads True Tales of Woe’!

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Hounds Gate, Nottingham; The early name for the street was Hungate, and it was referred to as such in 1326 and appeared in this form on John Speed’s map of Nottingham of 1610. It is thought it received this name from being where part of the kennels for Nottingham Castle 100 attack hounds were situated.

We could do with bringing them back! Hehehe!

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I hobbled up it this morning with the camera, and the brain in nostalgia-Mode! It is a sad sight nowadays. Abandoned retailers, and a muggers and druggies paradise. I have found out that 1098 crimes in May 2019 were reported within and half a mile. Big Issue Sellers, and Ice Cream vans, and muggers today. Rumour has it that two Nottingham policemen were spotted patrolling on foot in Hounds Gate in 2018, but we cannot confirm this overdramatic, ridiculously sensationalised claim.

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This morning, there were few Nottinghaman’s about, being early in the day. Thus less chance of being mugged, sold some weed or a street beggar begging and his dog snapping at my feet! Hehehe!.

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It is interesting to remember that the first town steward, John Collishaw, who was appointed in 1787 lived in Houndsgate and he only died so recently as 1809. The spectacular Bridge of Sighs, which connects the two portions of a great soft-goods warehouse and which spans Hounds Gate in really a charming manner, was erected in 1923. My father used to collect and deliver to it as late as 1959. He always called to see if they had any returns, when he was on the Nottingham run. I suspect that this might have been prompted by the threepence 3d, he was paid for each one he collected. I used to go with Dad on school holidays, and the slightly pleasantly built meaty, muscular young lady who managed the warehouse and office, was always a cheerful soul as I recall! Haha! 

Another memory, was of a twenty-year lad, legless, totally drunk, and getting arrested, on a Wednesday night, in about 1966. Yes, it was me! Shame-Mode-Adopted! 

Sister Jane swore she saw two customers in that Sub-Way store last month! Huh!

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Towards the top of the road, I came across a self-advertised Cargo-Bike. I looked back and took this picture while the chap was busy organising his load. He really ought to fit an alarm to it, you know!

Hounds Gate 01fCloser to the top of Hounds Gate, was Ye Olde Salutation Inn. Claimed to be the second oldest pub in England along with theRoyal Children pub on Castle Gate nearby.

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I mention this, because I am not a born-again recovering holier than thou alcoholic, and remember visiting both pubs many times in my drinking days. And by gum, they sold some great beer, and the atmosphere was great!

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I exited Hounds Gate, up the paved path. On to what was called Granby Street in 1963 when it was built. This was a Whoopsiedangleplop moment for me. The three-wheeled trolley guide then toppled over, the toe was mercilessly stubbed again in the process, and a few well-chosen words were spoken. Well, no that’s a fib – they were not well-chosen at all, the just burst out!

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The memories flooded back at the same time, though.

Finally, a photo from c1920 of Hounds Gate.

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Not much changed aesthetically I think.

I’ll let you know when I look up what aesthetically means.

T.T.F.N. Folks!

Inchcock’s 2019 Nottingham Wheel Photos

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Monday 18th February 2019

Getting onto and into the cage was done with great pain, difficulty and a little swearing and muttering under his breath. Getting out and off the cage, was done with a lot of pain, difficulty, swearing and muttering under his breath!

But the old fool got nervous, as the wind blasted through the cage and it to swing to-and-fro, thus, rocking the boat as if to put it!

He did not like the dirty smeared plexiglass windows.

But loved taking the photographicalisations, using his old Sony camera.

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I’m not sure I will be capable of taking these view shots next year.

It was hard work climbing up and getting into the cage this year.

Mind you, getting back out and down was just as bad, no worse! Hehe!

A least the cost hadn’t gone up, still £6 for us pensioners.

Shame about the rocking in the wind and dirty plexiglass.

TTFN

It’s Been a Funny Old Life Part 3 – Prosed ponderously by Inchcock

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As an ankle-snapper I had a skinny physique,

In fact they knicknamed me ‘The Pipsqeak’,

When Mam was at home, times were bleak,

She and Dad shouted and fought, they didn’t speak,

She rarley stayed home for more than a week,

To the outside loo, if one wanted a leak,

Getting the tin bath off the yard wall every week,

Demanded a certain safety-first technique.

Drag it into the front room in front of the fire,

Clean it up with bleach and a pad of wire,

Heating up water in kettles & pans was dire,

The use of the fire and stove I’d aquire,

To keep the bath topped up as Dad did require.

After several top-ups Dad would retire,

Then t’was my turn in the cold water in front of the fire!

Dry missen off with the wet towel Dad had used,

Bath back on’t wall ready fer it to be reused,

Out to the coal-house while Dad snoozed,

Chopped wood brought in coal, getting bruised,

Laid the fire for the morning – felt abused!

Life was how it was, so why feel sad or blue?

No hot running water, fridge or TV it’s true,

Tableclothes? The Evening newspaper would do,

Lighting the gas-lamps was risky too,

When Pennies in the meters were due…

Mam had some arcade coins, one or two!

No toilet paper for our out-side loo,

Cut-up newspaper for wiping: the memories ooh!…

Nottingham Then and Now Part 3: How some buildings have changed over the Years

Areas of Nottingham City Centre – and how they have changed!

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Long Row – shoppers passing what was Griffin & Spalding, then Debenhams department store.

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A flight of steps leading up from Weekday Cross. Under these steps, or their predecessors, was at one time kept a stock of whale-oil, which was used for the illumination of the town, which must have rendered the neighbourhood somewhat unsavoury. It is recorded that upon one occasion a frost occurred of such intensity as to freeze this stock of whale-oil.

Weekday Cross itself stood in the north-west corner of the area, in front of the more modern entrance to the hall. The first actual mention of it occurs in 1549, but a cross probably existed there much earlier. It was pulled down in 1804, and pictures which remain of it show it to have been an ordinary pillar cross upon steps. The arms had disappeared, and it was crowned by a great stone globe. From the steps surrounding it Royal and municipal proclamations were made, and it was really just an ordinary normal market cross.

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People wept openly in Long Row when the wrecking ball started smashing away one of Nottingham’s favourite old buildings.

These were the final, desperate moments for the Black Boy Hotel, the eccentric Watson Fothergill-designed Victorian edifice which, over the years, had welcomed stars of show business and sport through its doors.

It was the end of the Sixties, a time when functionalism was the trend, when an act of municipal vandalism swept away the splendid old hotel to replace it with a bland and ugly concrete monolith.

But more than 40 years later, people refuse to let the Black Boy’s glory fade. The name crops up whenever the subject of Nottingham’s lost architectural history is aired.

And tomorrow it will be given a permanent memorial when a plaque commissioned by Nottingham Civic Society is officially unveiled on the site – now occupied by Primark – by the Lord Mayor Coun Brian Grocock.

Hilary Silvester, chairman of the Nottingham Civic Society, said: “The plaque will be a tribute to Mr Fothergill’s work.

“Fothergill went in for fantastic designs with timbering and gabling and turrets. The Black Boy Hotel was his masterpiece where he incorporated all of these bits of different design.”

The Black Boy Hotel began life in the 17th century on land owned by the Brunts family of East Bridgford, and by 1700 the inn was an established staging post with coaches departing to all parts of the country.

In 1711 Samuel Brunts founded the charity which still bears his name. Among the foundations he created were almshouses and schools in Mansfield, funded by income from various properties, including the Black Boy.

The Turner family became tenants of the Black Boy in the mid-19th century – a connection which was to last for more than 100 years.

In 1878 architect Fothergill Watson, as he was then known, extended the hotel and thereby began his involvement in the redesign of the building.

Nine years later he completely rebuilt the Long Row frontage, retaining its fashionable colonnade.

The Bavarian design had all Fothergill’s characteristic ornamentation.

In 1897 – by which time the architect had switched his name to the grander Watson Fothergill – a central tower was created with stone lions at its base, and a statue of Samuel Brunts was mounted over the front entrance of the hotel.

During renovations of the Black Boy in 1928, the well-known local artist Denholm Davis was commissioned to paint two murals in the Haddon Room, depicting views of Haddon Hall.

Sadly, the effect of tobacco smoke was such that the murals were eventually covered by oak panelling.

During the years immediately before and after the Second World War, when the Black Boy Hotel was at the height of its fame, many well-known celebrities stayed there including Gracie Fields, George Formby, Gregory Peck and Laurence Olivier.

The Australian cricketers were regular visitors and a story is told of their efforts to have Little John – the bell of the Council House clock – silenced at night. The English team were a safe distance away in the Victoria Station Hotel!

The reception rooms of the Black Boy were impressive with four of the main rooms named after local country houses… Thoresby, Rufford, Haddon and Chatsworth.

The hotel also boasted an American bar, a gentlemen’s-only bar, a writing room and a hairdressing salon.

The remainder of the hotel was, however, short of modern facilities, with bathrooms at a premium, and the upper floors resembling a warren. Perhaps the need for modernisation was the reason the lease was offered for sale by the trustees of the Brunts Charity in 1960.

The following year, Littlewoods acquired the site for the next 99 years at a starting price of £46,000 a year.

The opinion was expressed by the auctioneer, W R Brackett, that the site offered an opportunity for a large and imaginative development. Although protests were voiced at the prospect of the Black Boy closing, the hotel finally shut its doors on March 8, 1969.

Everything was sold at the auction which followed the closure of the hotel. A set of George III dining chairs went for £750 and an oil painting of Watson Fothergill and his family fetched £575.

Forty waste paper baskets and four fire buckets also went under the hammer.

The four stone lions which guarded the central tower were bought by the corporation and can now be found in the grounds of Nottingham Castle.

The statue of Samuel Brunts, which graced the façade of the hotel, was given to the Brunts School, Mansfield, where it remains – although with its left hand missing.

The small statue of a black boy, which was in the foyer of the hotel, was also saved, but a similar statue of a black girl appears to have been lost, along with the Davis mural.

In the early 1970s the utilitarian Littlewood store was built on the site, opposite the windows of the Council House, providing a permanent reminder of the city planners’ short-sighted, criminal folly..

Ken Brand, a Watson Fothergill expert, said it was a travesty the Black Boy was no longer standing.

“Its demolition was considered by most to be the worst example of architectural vandalism of that era in Nottingham… or anywhere” he said.

Well Inchcock agrees with him 100%!

Nottingham Then and Now: Part 2: The Elite Cinema, Upper Pariament Street

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Memories of The Elite Cinema, Upper Pariament Street, Nottingham

The Elite was one of the first in a new breed of ‘super-cinema’ to be built in Nottingham. Designed by the London architectural firm of Adamson & Kinns, the facade and exterior side walls were treated in an expensive white glazed tiling and contained statues along the upper portion of the building. Internally the decoration was carried out by interior designer Fred A. Foster who created a stunning interior with the auditorium walls lined with wood panels and a great deal of decorative plaster. Seating was provided in stalls and circle levels.

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It opened on 22nd August 1921 with Mary Pickford in “Pollyanna”. There was a grand concert organ by the firm of Willis-Lewis which had 78 stops, plus a full orchestra. The facilities within the building also included a a restaurant, a Georgian Tea Room, a French Cafe in Louis XVI style and a large ballroom located on the top floor.

In the reception was a gigantic ornate open coal-fired fire-place.

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The first ‘talkie’ in Nottingham was shown at the Elite Picture Theatre, George Jessel in “Lucky Boy” and after its screening, the cinema was closed for several weeks in July 1929 for a refurbishment.

A new Compton 2Manual/6Ranks organ was installed which was opened by Cyril Birmingham.

24 June 1929: The talking picture show had been introduced two years earlier in America with Al Jolson’s The Jazz Singer.

002Elite6The first full-length ‘talkie’ film in Nottingham were shown at the Elite Cinema.

Organist Jack Helyer, in his white coat and tails, entertained audiences with their favourite tunes.

Peoples best memories was of the open fire in the foyer, especially when they arrived at he cinema and it was cold and icy outside!

Next in the Nottingham Then and Now Series:

A selction of Nottingham area photographs of specific Buildings

Then and Now – See the changes that has taken place.