A selection of mini-odes, created while Inchcock awaited the arrival of the Meridian Carer that did not arrive to issue him with his medications. Regrettably not up to his usual standard of humour content, due to the agony he as in, with Duodenal Donald complaining about not getting his morning dose of Omeprazole capsules; by way of giving the old man severe stabbing pains!
That’s five times in two months Meridian have let him down; They tell him this is to be expected, and Meridian are better than many Carer Companies. The gullible old sausage!
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Reverend Salmon once told me I was adiaphoristic, But, not wanting to sound autistic, Nor admit to my being ungrammatic, I said I was sorry for being troglodytic, And shot off home, feeling pretty thick…
I looked up adiaphoristic, not in the dictionary it would seem, So off to the library, search books that were encyclodepian, No computers then, not a laptop or touch screen, I found what the meaning twas, summat to with the bible book, It baffled me; I couldn’t understand the explanation, Tsk! I had to look up answers in another book… I’d have been at the time about thirteen, Back to the Chapel, a visiting Dean, More problems unforeseen…
I mistook him for Reverend Salmon, it would seem, I said to him, there is no such word as adiaphoristic… With teeth that did gleam, he called me a silly Virgoian, And clouted me around the head, that wasn’t very Christian!
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
I bought it, taxed and insured it, and took it for a spin,
Bodywork? I could not detect a single dent,
Mechanically, engine-wise, a deep throaty, din,
Summat did spoil my enjoyment…
The rust was already settling in!
It gave me a certain feeling of empowerment!
It easily fitted Grizelda and me in…
The cheque bounced for my downpayment…
I was soon back to walking the pavement!
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
SISTER JANE
I thought I’d just do a Sister Jane Ode
Now she, too, is getting old…
But she doesn’t look it! ♥
With him, you’ll not be able to communicate… At any time disaster, Accifauxpas, you have to wait… He’ll hit you anytime or where your life he can decimate! His murderous, clever skills, I’d like to cremate… But he’s not real, so he’ll carry on brutally, as usual, mate!
He’ll get at you if you feeling on a high, or unwell, He ignores it when you scream, beg and yell! What will he bring you next? You can never tell… Coronavirus, measles, arthritis? You cannot foretell, In making you cringe and frightened, he can excel! If you’re a victim, you can expect the death knell, It’s better than this painful life in ‘Mr Unfair’s’ hell! —————————————————————————
‘Odds & Sods…’
One moment I’d be thinking of 1966, at Wembley,
Where did I put my book Contraband, by Dennis Wheatley?
Ogle out of the window, a kid’s playing with a frisbee,
Rushing like to be on time to take a wee-wee…
Grumps! A clean-up, Little Inchy leaked rather untimely!
What was important to remember… Ah, today Sainsbury’s!
Carer Richard arrived late, in a rush, but we had some repartee!
Crap on the gogglebox, nothing for me…
I was slightly tempted to watch Old Mother Riley,
Until I was reminded what rubbish it was in 1953!
Mind you, in those days, Inchcock had a coal fire and settee,
He gorrit from Wigfalls, 2/6d a week, and deposit 12/3d,
Ah, the time when Inchie swore at a football referee…
His first time in a Black Maria, after ‘match, he was set free!
He never dreamed of having loadsamoney…
Just as well, life ain’t been all milk and honey,
But he still tries to be witty and funny…
He gets it all wrong, of course, lucks has been his biggest absentee!
Still, he’s stopped smoking and drinking, Yessiree!
Now no one talks to him nowadays, you see!
—————————————————————————
Grizelda
Inchcock’s had to cope with many a grievance, Well, injustices, wrongdoings, and many disagreements, He learnt boxing so as to boost his confidence, 100% record, he lost every bout, but kept his effervescence!
He’d try to make people laugh, so’s not to upset them, But this only caused further thumping and mayhem… They could be brutal, but not very often, Then a day came when he was smitten! Grizelda a German gal, big solid; but with Inchie, a kitten… 6ft – 4in, with biceps like tungsten! Inchcock’s passions she did enliven… He was so glad he enlightened… Never again, was Inchcock frightened!
Part Of The Inchcock Make Them Laugh, In Ode Series
To make the bestest ever chilli bean con-carne for Josie!
I awoke, full of youthful spring, on a high!
Jumped out of the recliner, nice and spry,
I moved so quickly, my body sinewy…
Then I wondered, why? Why why?
It was cause I was dreaming… So that was a lie!
Woke up proper, and the feet were aglow,
Red they were, great; I sang a divertimento…
No pains or pot-marks on foot or toe…
No bloating at all, although…
I’ll not get excited; I’ll see how it does go!.
The moon still just glowing, up in the sky,
I tried to take a good photo, I did try…
But they didn’t come put well, Sigh!
I was not disappointed enough to cry!
Washed and got on the computer to work,
Got to start this blog; I will not shirk…
Even if I get it wrong, and feel a burke!
But it took me seven hours to do, what a twerk!.
Can you see no lousy parking in the end car park?
First time for over a week now,
Spying on neighbours… innit a lark?
But I enjoy doing it somehow!
Started to prep Josies’ meal, with assiduousness,
How it will come out, tinged with capriciousness,
My determination was keen, even veracious!
I pressed on, for once not losing my focus,
Took my time conscientiously, no rush…
Sister Jane rang me, thus the distractedness,
But lovely to chinwag, even with partial deafness,
Tasted the progressing food with curiousness…
Oh, to my tastebuds, a lovely flavour did gush!.
Gave it some tweaks…
Beef, beans, Tomatoes, peppers, and leeks,
Best I’ve made for weeks…
Added some sliced steaks…
And, no cuts on the knife, for heavens sakes!
Saying that, as one of my renowned mistakes!.
Stabbed missen with the skewer, what a clot!
But it didn’t bleed a lot,
Then burnt my finger, the pan was hot!
Then dropped a shallot…
Also forgot to put in the carrot!
Oh, that was three things on the trot!
Still, I dun well don’t yer think…What?
All ready to dish up anytime now, success!
Oh, I hope it shows taste and deliciousness,
I got it served on the tray with daintiness…
Nothing too much bother for Josie’s,
Determination today was dauntless!
My search for perfection was ceaseless!.
Got it delivered, without any clumsiness,
She liked the look of the food, and thus…
Had a little chat, and Josie took in in a rush!.
I was contented with my actions taken thus,
Onto the computer, and I got an afflatus…
I’ll do the blog before cooking my potatoes,
But there came a sudden hiatus!
Rushed to the Throne, but twas not calamitous,
Twas a long, challenging evacuation, somewhat circuitous,
The crossword book nearby, that was fortuitous,
Pain, messy, the Germoloid was medicamentous,
All done, left feeling I’d done summat momentous…
And found another bill from the dentist had been sent to us!
Bungleackers!
Just took a tumble going to start my meal prepping.
I got cooking this wrong, no idea why!
I forgot the mushroom, chestnut fungi,
It looked fine. I used the usual formulae,
The meat tasted awfully dry,
Tasteless spuds, my culinary skills died?
Thank heavens Josies tasted good; that, I can verify!
Arrivua… Ariverderc... Arf Weider… Cheers!
Part of the Nottingham Lads True Tales Of True Woe Series
Time for a proper chinwag with Alto-Ego Inchie. Who I consider as much a mental ailment like all the other medical ones. I am determined to free myself of his persistent, nagging interference in my thoughts. His mission it seems to me is to make me feel guilty, inadequate, inconsequential, ineffective, and insignificant.
Which he has in fact already successfully achieved.
Although, possible beyond the understanding of anyone normal mortal, and maybe anyone who does not have a cruel, Alto-Ego, nagging away, analysing, mocking and criticising your every decision, and choice, one makes or decides on.
This natter took place last night as I lay in bed, with the notepad near to hand, and took place in several episodes! Sleep was certainly not an option for me…
Inchcock Opens The Chinwag Session:
Inchcock: I can sense your sneering and contempt Inchie, and I have to say you are a bane!
Inchie: Huh! Do yer fink I like being stuck in your brain!
Inchcock: Then go away, stop giving me mental pain!
Inchie: What the hell do think it’s like in here? In your dithering, feckless, vacillant thought-filled indecisive brain?
Inchcock: That’s it, go on, put me down, mock again…
Inchie: From human contact, you should refrain…
Inchcock: You said that when we last spoke, now again?
Inchie: Oh, a comeback from Inchcock, I’ve heard better insults from solid lepidomelane!
Inchcock: Erm… lepidomelane? Wot’s that then? Explain!
Inchie: When you read fings, facts you should retain!
Inchcock: Did I read about lepidomelane?
Inchie: Yer! In 1963, yer pea brain!
Inchcock: I’ve got Vascular Dementia, mental pain…
Inchie: Oh shurrup! Abarght time yer took yer Novocain?
Inchcock: You’ve changed the topic, confused me, yer know that makes me go brain-lame!
Inchie: Course I do, you pillock, I’ve had enough of this game…
Inchcock: What games that’s then, are you on cocaine?
Inchie: Yer coming owt with the insults tonight Inchcock! Enough! This topic’s getting too urbane… Alright, I’ll piss off then!
Inchcock almost nodded off, when Inchie Returned!
Inchie: Hey-up, I’m calling back in defiance!
Inchcock: Why? Have no cognisance!
Inchie: Thought I might catch you on the loo, by chance…
Inchcock: You ‘horrible scumball! You no allegiance?
Inchie: Allegiance? Any idea wot that means?
Inchcock: I learnt that when in my teens!
Inchie: Huh! Gonna give me more gibberish?
Inchcock: Well, thanks for your pertinent attendance…
Inchie: Eh? Playing tricks? Do you mean good riddance?
Inchcock: Well, yes, I do, I’ve had enough of your cruel words!
Inchie: Wot, me? You’re the one spouting insulting words…
Inchcock: Am I? I was just making some lemon curds…
Inchie: What out off… Turds?
Inchcock ignored the Alta-Ego – With Difficulty Mind
He mellowed a little, and went deep in thought, until Inchie returned, and was ready to mislead the interloper…
Inchie: Wotsup, dogbreath? Pissed-off again, blockhead?
Inchcock: Oddly I thought that is what would be said…
Inchie: What’s yer game, that was said well mannered?
Inchcock: It’s up to us both, kill this mutual arguing, time to get together, and start apologising… not endangered!
Inchie: What? Am I being outmanoeuvred?
Inchcock: No mate! My wish is for you to get scunnered!
Inchie: You mean like, we get together and schnockered?
Inchcock: That’s it, we can have our relationship bettered!
Inchie: Summat wrong ‘ere… you and me, get stonkered?
Inchcock: Yea… let our animosity be withered!
Inchie: Why? you dare not… your lily-livered!
Inchcock: Hahaha! Such a poetic turn of phrase!
Inchie: Well, I’m not used to giving praise…
Inchcock: Oh, it’s easy, ns so many ways…
Inchie: Worra yer mean?
Inchcock: We could take time out, play the Steinways…
Inchie: Yer…
Inchcock: Go on holiday, as stowaways?
Inchie: Oh…
Inchcock: Have a drink, see where our hands stray…
Inchie: Hang on, are you after me body?
Inchcock: No, you haven’t got one, although you can have some control over mine, anyway ♥,
Inchie: Not ‘aving that… but then I couldn’t… could I?
Inchcock: not sure, but I’d risk it if you will. I’m free on Wednesday?
Inchie: Erm… I’m not used to this, who’s gonna pay?
Inchcock: You pay in enjoyment, we both can on the day?
Inchie: Hey, hey, hey… Could we just stop arguing, and have a laze?
Inchcock: Certainly, and we could have a few hoorays?
Inchie: I feel my emotions coming ablaze…
Inchcock: I could bring some bottles… Chardonnays?
Inchie: Surely it can’t be done? No ways!
Inchcock: You Pratt! You’re only in my mind! Best then if we return to our mental, non-verbal affrays!
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Inchcock was arrested and rushed to the Psychiatric Hospital by paramedics, after being caught making rigorous love to his non-existent Alto Ego Inchie, in the balcony of his flat this evening.
The Doctor told the Inchcock Today reporter: “We managed to stop his weeing with excitement, and finally convinced him was not having sex for the first time in his life. He is currently being treated for Psychotic Manic Depression.
Luckily the Doctor on duty had treated Mr Inchcock several times before over the years and had a straight jacket to hand.
Inchcock is expected to be released in a few years, providing he doesn’t kick the bucket earlier! (He’s getting on a bit)
I woke up; well, I got that bit right; here’s a tidbit…
No leaks from Little Inchy, nor bleeding too…
I actually thought waking up deserved a plaudit,
Checked the overly stomached body, legs two…
Shaking-Shoulder-Shirley twitching at my body audit,
The bruise on the knee had turned from red to blue,
Down the Protection Pants; crumbs from a biscuit!
Nocturnal nibbling guilt did ensue…
Then working out what day, month and what time is it?
The innards erupted, wind escaped from the rear. Ooh!
A massive dump I was about to inherit…
Probably due to last nights far-to-large bowl of chilli stew?
A visit to the Porcelain Throne was urgently due…
It was agony, messy, bloody, and massive, I can tell you!!
The Social Worker asked if I’d like to take up embroidery?
Is she serious, or is this tomfoolery?
Last month when she called to see me dress,
It was like a shockumentary!
She saw me struggling to dress and making a mess…
Getting my socks on buffoonery!
Putting the trousers on was full of stress,
I fell over; that did not impress!
Then saw my arm shaking as I shaved; it was bloody!
Viewed the sock-glide battle, which always causes me distress…
Now she thinks I can thread a needle?
Good God, I struggle to get Little Inchy out for a piddle!
I try to avoid getting the reputation as a badass,
Like I did when I was drinking from a beer glass,
I’ve a new reputation now, well two, one as a tight ass…
The other, rather unfairly as a wiseass!
I just get myself down on my palliasse,
Pass involuntary wind from my flatulent ass…
Sorry about sounding a bit crass…
And wonder what the hell I’ve done with my bus pass?
The last time I went to town it went all askew!
I got soaked waiting at the wrong bus stop, for a No22
Not been out for weeks, a hobble is long overdue,
Finding the bus pass might be an issue…
And remembering where the bus goes to…
What times it runs, get on the right one, first go the loo!
Walking: more painful now than doing jujitsu,
Get some food, veg, fruit… a melon, honeydew?
For the toilet, disinfectant and a Brobat blue,
The bank, my cards ready for a renew…
Oh, Inchcock, you silly old Moo!
Going out today you can’t do…
DWP will be calling to give me an interview…
That’ll be a confusing hullabaloo!
A few close shaves, but no disgruntled attitude,
Made beefburger, broke my tooth when I chewed,
Then dropped the mug when I brewed…
Onward I pressed and continued…
Time for the Porcelain Throne to be used…
I didn’t make it in time, now I’m really screwed!
Talk about being embarrassed – more disgruntlement,
Cleaned, washed, refreshed, out to the apartment…
A letter here, there’s an increase in rent!
Time to get lively, a shake-it-out session to augment…
Or just go deeper, into unhingement?
I hope this guide and advice to Sanity is anecdotic,
Making it humorous, truthful and not dogmatic…
I reckon that the secret and trick,
Throw in some limited, sporadic slapstick,
Trying to make it read what it is, authentic,
Allowing bits to stray off subject, get frenetic,
Getting it to rhyme can ruin the grammatics,
All a part of my unfortunate written gymnastics!
Getting hopeful of success is something you must never do! Accepting failure, that is really the way forward for you, You must never think that victory is possible, or due, You’ll be disappointed and start feeling blue… When Whoopsiedangleplops and Accifauxpas accrue, Expect the worst at all times; hopes must discontinue! Or depression will ensure your dreams are slue!
When disablements arrive, and the mind wanders off, too,
You’ll never again be capable of using a corkscrew!
Toileting involves bleeding, and will it or not pass?
Even multiple distress will affect you having a slash…
Accept it; good luck is not bound for you!
Accommodate failure from pain and hassle; there’s no rescue!
You’ll feel much better when you do!
I know doing as I suggest may seem uncanny, silly, I tell you because I think it is my duty… To pass on my failures and inform you see… From old age and ailments, there’s no bouncebackability, So I use the written word and my verbosity, To help the ankle snappers later in life, from getting panicky…
It’s normal for aged proletariats to wear a toupee atop, You girls may turn out to look like Hetty Wainthroppe?
Which suits me; she gets my remaining desires on the hop! You’ll be less likely to manage a mutton chop, But may get someone to nip down to the wineshop Of course, your needs for fun don’t just stop… However, reviving certain areas will be a dead flop! Which may well bring forth the odd teardrop, Sadly, you have to give up the old Bebop! As did your Dad and Grandpop! And, the Lads will have to give up being a fop!
One thing you’ll get better at is the bellyflop…as such, Falling into bed, and with any luck… No injuries, so you don’t look a schnook! No loose bladder movements to blot your copybook? To hope you sleep better, by hook or by crook… Best to have Guinness or gin midduck!
To me, Arthur Itis, Anne Gyna, Reflux Roger are small fry! Peripheral Neuropathy, on my right side, to undignify! And Saccades in my right eye… Often they may cause a tear and outcry… Not often, though, only when they intensify… While I’m trying to get some shuteye! Press on we must, do or die… That sounded dour? Writing that… but did I? Slipped in by my Alto Ego? I’ll give him a black eye!
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
A Bit Of Fun
I came across the name of a mountain.
Does anyone care to guess or tell me where it is in the world?
Of course, I knew straight away. No, I didn’t look it up on the web either… Okay, I did!
I’d love to tell of my one bath a week, even if it’s not too poetic, It’s just for fun; nothing meant didactic… Dad would decide when the bath was needed, I was like a lunatic, Got the pans and kettles on the fire, all rushing and frantic!
Worra Life It Wor!
It wasn’t easy getting it from the backyard wall, I struggled with only being 3ft something tall, Then clean it with a leather ball… Dragging it in through the back hall… Filling it with hot water, there wasn’t much at all…
Carbolic soap, Dad’d get in, having a soak, He could not be rushed; he was that sort of bloke, I refilled the pots and kettles, back on the boil, Gawd, it was an arduous task, all sweat and toil!
I used to hope that the Dad would rush his frolic, But no chance, once he smelt the carbolic! He’d lay back and sing, drink something alcoholic, I had to be patient and wait, be stoic!
Just Thinking Back… Hehe!
He’d call for more hot water; I dare not offer rhetoric… I’d top up the water, boy, was I young and omnific! He’d sing another song and say something prophetic, I’m late with hot water top-up; he calls me a schmendrick! He’d clip me round the ear hole; at that, he was slick! Well over an hour, he’d soak, giving me the odd backhanded flick,
“Get me clothes!” At last… I don’t want to be a critic… The water was dirty and cold, but my being a workaholic, Got his togs while he cut his cowlick… At long last, it was time for a cold bath for me!
He’ll get out eventually and go into the kitchen to shave, Reminding me not to make a mess and behave… He’d splashed dirty water all over, another job he gave… “Clean the bath properly, the carpet, and the fireplace you!” So after my five minutes, I was so cold and blue! Emptying the bath, then to get it outside too! Embarrassingly, my skinny body still smelt mephitic!
But Dad had an urgent job to do, “So no hot water added for you!” He was off for a pint at the Barley Moo!
The bath back on the wall outside, Both rooms were all cleaned and dried, His meal next, no proper cooking, only summat fried… Bacon and eggs, some beans, and his Mothers Pride… That was his favourite bread, It was a penny cheaper, that being said…
♫ Happiness, happiness ♫
When will he return, six o’clock or ten? The long wait to be suffered then… His return was usually undramatic, Drunk, he’d often fall over – he was pretty acrobatic!
Sozzled suited me cause he couldn’t taste the food, And was generally in a decent mood, If he’d done well at Snooker, a good attitude! If he’d guzzled Guinness or a more potent brew! Me keeping out of the way is what I’d do! Still, thanks for reading, kind of you!
It is essential, from your every waking moment, daily, To assess the ailments, for any possibly acting bolshy, That gets the brain going, fretting, and panicking too! On the physical side; don’t expect things with spectacularity, More concentrate, on dogged hopes and sustainability, At all times, anticipate and expect, constant impeachability!
No doubt the wee-wees will start then, with tenacity, Sometimes persistent, more usually of aperiodically, The first slash you take will be with a certain trepidity! They’ll be blood, orange urine, this’ll confirm your panic ability! Apply the Daktacort Hydrocortisone, you’ll scream! To ease the agony, just think of it, as being a dream! And count slowly to yourself, up to a thousand and thirteen!
You’ll get letters, forms, threats and emails from authorities, Along with phone calls, texts, these are not abnormalities, How much pension and total cash are in your bank? They raised the total allowed, in reply I was frank! An hour a week for shopping, laundry, will cost me £280 a week! It’s best at this time, not to freak!
Nottingham Revenue and Benefits called me on the phone… The 2½hr form-filling left me in an ether world zone! My concentration had departed, off it had flown… I thanked him, with a verbal groan!
He said he’d sent the paperwork to sign & return, Of course, no help was given, I soon did learn, Result in today, on a downer now, scowled and had a gurn! Excuse me, off to for a wee-wee, I must adjourn…
Ah, I’ve made beef stew for later, my hunger does grow… Hello, it’s already made… Carer due, Doctors tomorrow, I’m still angry with myself, there is a self-pitying sorrow, Life at the moment, is annoying, no zest… hollow! It’s me that is annoying me… that what I’ll have to forego… The secret costs of the carers costs rise… Oh, blow!
At times like this, try not to get neurotic, You’ll only get worse if you get all frenetic! Change your mood to romantic or quixotic, Think of happy times, when life was sybaritic!
Of course, I write mostly conceptualistic, You might try changing your mood to eucharistic? Or change to using heliotrope coloured lipstick? Cause it won’t help, people’ll think you’re a dipstick! But a different set of worries, even anti-humanistic… Maybe enough to stop your brain from going ballistic?
There’ll be daily Whoopsies, Accifauxpas and many a quarrel, Several times daily, to be insulted, and get a bombshell, At times these may overpower your one brain cell… Not to worry, you’ll have forgotten your previous natter, Diagnosed last week, I’m aneurysmatic, but it doesn’t matter, You’ll have enough ailments in the body, no hopes to shatter!
Your hero may be Hawking, Newton, mine is Albert Einstein, Whichever, it matters not, for you must worry not, Peoples choices whatever they are, are fine… Cause you’ll only forget tomorrow, and feel a clot!
Usual things to get Arthur Itis, and become annuhilistic, And your Willy will shrink, change its colour to pink, You need do nothing about these, they are automatic, Oh, and you’ll leave the hot water tap running in the sink! Of the young, you’ll become an inpatient critic! Your loss of memory will make you forget to think! You’ll lose your egoisticness, no longer be artistic, You’ll find yourself on depressions very brink… I’m only trying to help – just giving you the wink!
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
There are times when one realizes that one had not got it right, forgotten something, missed something, lost something…
Upon waking, Inchcock will often do a sensual check on any ailment attacks or changes. Sometimes, a discussion will occur twixt Inchcock and a specific ailment, typically one that has been giving him a little extra pain and, or hassle. When these occur, the silly old goat usually makes an Ode and graphic about his demented, dreamt up, nonsensical clap-trapping, as below from an old one.
For some unknown reason, the idiot asked me to show this graphic, as he puts it: ‘Wot I Made!’ cause he’s seems to think it is one of his rare, almost non-existent successes?
As his Alto-Ego, I will now let the uneducated, lonely old fool take over the writing of this rubbish. TTFN.
Once the physical activity starts in the morning, I often wait for the mental conditioning to begin; it usually catches up within a few minutes. It can take hours, but not often.
They were tackled then.
Sphygmomanometer showed Sys and Dia, readings high,
The Wee-Wee chart: I need to drink more! Gin & Dry?
Would it help if I go to a detoxify?
On this mind of mine, I cannot rely!
A quick look for any new damage, I don’t want to oversimplify,
Another bruise was found on the top of my left thigh…
An unknown round welt, right arm, that I can’t quantify,
The torso seems to have started to transmogrify?
Heart Op Scars raised, itching again, certainly uglify!
The broken Terence Tooth hit the pain-boards bullseye!
Shuddering, Shoulder Shirley’s eased off, but why?
Hit my head on the stove but didn’t get a black eye!.
The following tasks were ablutionary,
Not worn any socks since about July,
Cold, Brr! should I dare to use Sock-Glide Georgina?
I’ve no medical aids that are any meaner!
One Sock-Glide injury needed micro-surgery!
Hickeys, bruises, cuts, and a bleeding periphery,
Stubbed toes, damaged knees, I felt all fluttery…
Should I put my socks on? I recalled the imagery,
Of the last time, I fought Georgina, bitterly!
I chickened out of wearing socks; what a mockery!.
Anytime in the next three hours, cometh Meridian,
An incredible variety of Carers, one who is Balearian,
Unless I misheard her, and she is Algerian?
Not that it matters, none of them shows me derision,
An American gal, English, British, and an Assyrian,
All make a positive impression!
Porcelain Throne Sessions
Ah, every visit is a different evacuation, indeed.
Some days it can be half an hour, then I’ve only peed!
Rock-solid torpedoes, agony, things bleed! Next time, liquid, 30 seconds, messy but what speed!
Housework Tended To
Took the chance to clean the fridge up, ready for the delivery to arrive shortly – well, I hope so.
Iceland Delivery Arriveth!
Then, on with Prepping Josie’s Meal
Got it delivered almost on time for her.
I was so proud of how Josie liked the look and smell,
The beef arrived two hours later, took in the dish for the gal.
Water chestnuts, potatoes, tomatoes, beef chunks as well,
Leeks and onions, chilli, three beans, the lovely smell!
Seasoned with liquid smoke, paprika, beef flavour gel,
Said she loved the cream Pretzel,
Even called me an old Angel!
I mentioned the extra lidded pot for the Damsel,
To have later, quantity double,
Too long at her door, I did not dwell,
I sensed she was hungry… Oh, yes, I can tell!
End Car Park
End car park area busy today.
Evening Views
I shall have to go now. Most likely the evening Carer will crave my body, mind and bank account… Ahem!
After Inchcock was diagnosed with Peripheral Neuropathy, he then got told he was a diabetic. Then had a stroke. (He’s a lucky lad… Not!) Next, a Subconjuntival Haemorrhage in his right eye.
Then while recovering in an NCH (Nottingham City Homes) Care Home, Shaking-Shoulder-Shirley introduced herself. He presumes this is due to the (Nicodemus’s) Nerve ends dying. But the occasional Neuropathy Pete’s shuddering, shaking and jerking of the right side of his body and limbs rarely last for more than a few minutes at max. Usually, Shirley is a lot more violent for some unknown reason and can wear the old man down when she’s persistent. Shaking and lashing about. Her efforts recently have increased somewhat, time-wise, and Inchcock says, “After a long hour or so session, I’m convinced she is trying to wrench my humeral head bone free of the socket” Oh, and Inchcock also needed three stitches in a shaving cut!
A mixture of awake, half-asleep, and dreamt discussions, wrote from notes and during the actual multiple chin-waggings…
Inchcock: I’m not sure why or how you came about… Shirley: Ha!, now you talk to me; I’m not as important as Bloody Boris bladder then, what’s that about? Inchcock: Whaddya mean about? Shirley: Yo started this ‘ere Talking to yer ailments series of blogs off wiv him… not me, who is far more painful indeed… innit, no doubt? Inchcock: Well… it depends which ailment is worst at the time… giving me the severest clot… Shirley: Argh, shurrup! You’ll know now why I’ve been giving the jerks and aches then? Cause yer doesn’t rate me was mean enough… yer, I’ll put yer in more pain than gout! Inchcock: I wouldn’t and don’t doubt your pain-giving qualities at all; I’m already in pain, tired and worn-out! Shirley: I suppose Bartholomew give it more to you? Inchcock: Well, he has been lasered and still works, Shirley: Cum on mush, look how yers treated me, bad or not! Inchcock: I massage you twice a day with Phorpain gel Shirley: Not like you, an old fart that still drinks bottled stout! Yer just an ungrateful old trout! Inchcock: I… Shirley: And another thing, I’ve never let the shoulder joint fall out! Inchcock: Well, I doubt… Shirley: I’ll tell yer to wot you done to me int past, Inured me you have, I remember the Colwick security stakeout! Inchcock: Go one then, tell me all about it… it won’t make me freak out! Shirley: Now yer makin’ me want to puke and pout! Inchcock: Pout? Why? What about? Shirley: Oh! Yer not bovvered about me puking then, yer an emotional wash-out! Inchcock: I remember now, Shirley, Colwick, when we did an overnight lookout… Shirley: Ah, year, that’s wot it was about! Inchcock: When I was using the night goggles, from the back of the van… and from it, I fell out, giving you a good clout? Shirley, you landed in a field, and blood did spout… Inchcock: Blood? Who’s? No, surely not? Shirley: It was me, and you bleeding.. have you no memory left or what? Inchcock: Erm… Shirley: The burglars arrived? You felt around in the dark for the R.T., went out of the van to take a nighttime photo, missed the step.., and fell on me! What an idiot! Inchcock: Ah, yes… I fell on a broken tin pot… Shirley: And it cut me! And you still never got the I.D. shot!
Shirley: Oi, you Inchie! Are you ready to have anuvver talk wiv me? Inchcock: Well, I’d like for me… Shirley: Don’t tell me, you’re back on the Drambuie? Inchcock: No, no, no, I don’t drink anymore… Shirley: Sounds like an oxymoron, yer fibbing, you see… Inchcock: No, I’m not, you’ve been hanging around for over seventy-odd years, must have noticed, so you must indeed acquiesce, concede, and agree? Shirley: Oh, trying to get clever with words, I see? Inchcock: Why are you so nasty and sarkie? Shirley: Me? I’ll tell yer why, dumbo! In left Shoulder Lilly, never, always me, that’s what causes my incongruity! Why is it always me the doctors stick the hypos in? Inchcock: Now look, we’ve grown old together, Shirley… Shirley: Yea! Inchcock: We’ve been through some tough times, we all suffer, Duodenal Donald, Anne Gyna, Reflux Roger, Deaf Darren, Hemorrhoidal Harold, Saccades Sandra all of them, oh, and Toothache Tiffany… Shirley: Enough of this claptrap mush! But I do wish you well with this little ditty! Inchcock: She suddenly returned into the ether; what a pity!
