Impugner-Inchy, Sunday 7th March 2021 Dairy – Argh! Sundays!

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Sunday 7th March 2021

Greek: Κυριακή 7 Μαρτίου 2021

00:00hrs: I stirred after sleeping for five-hours, but they were broken ones, disturbed by repeated wakings up, silly thoughts and nodding off again! Tsk! And a feeling of doom and gloom lingered in my tortured brain! Likely due to the series of dreams I’d been having!

I  boldly heaved and puffed away, freeing my abdominous over-bellied aching body from the grotty, £300, second-hand, c1968, unsteady, not-working, incommodious, sickeningly beige-coloured, haemorrhoid-testing recliner, and rose up on my feet, to catch my balance. Argh! Both knees gave me pain; the right one, with Cathy Cartilage, was really keen and sharp! My hobbling was so slow and so carefully done after this. I realised and remembered then, the Morrison order delivered yesterday by the Amazon shopper! Me hobbling down to help him carry the stuff up to the flat. And the git just leaving all the bags in the front lobby of the building. The agony of all that walking and carrying brought thoughts of malice, hatred and revenge-seeking! Which soon dissipated, as I realised this is not my style! No matter how the chap treated me, hurt me, and caused me such discomfort, I must not lower myself to his and Amazon’s standards.

I was now feeling calmer in myself, although in pain still, thanks to the ignorant moron. (Whoops!) My mind was distracted (it does that a lot nowadays!), as the need for the Porcelain Throne arrived… and a gaseous one too, judging by the escaping bubbles of air (I hope!) from the rear-end. So, I made my way to the wet room with all available haste!

I’m so glad I didn’t hesitate; no sooner had the PP’s come down, the action started! Trotsky Terence’s revenge! Short, smelly, sticky, gooey… but no bleeding from anywhere at least! And just two flushes needed to free the bowl of the evacuated product! Mind you, I was amused to see after the second pull, bubbles continued to come back up from underneath the water in the porcelain for a few minutes. I took this photo of them, but they do not show up much on it. I swear I could hear a sort of gurgling noise as they came to the surface?

The cleaning up needed and medicating took me along time. Harold’s Haemorrhoids were very sore. A dollop of Phorpain gel was rubbed into the knees. And I realised that I had been sleeping, wearing the bamboo diabetic socks on last night! A ‘No-No’ that is! I pulled them down to see if the muscles in the leg had gone soft, and they really had! Naughty, Inchcock, stupid, Inchcock! I’m not going to bother to take them off now, though; I’ll do it later when I handwash them with the shirt. I do feel a fool – I’ve never done that before? I must have an advice notice somewhere about what to do if you do sleep in the hosiery. I recall getting one from the neurologist at the Mary Potter clinic? I may have to get help in searching for it, Hehe!

I went through to put the kettle on and a wash-up… Unglefrogwogglings & Thunderbogworthyness Idiot! I’d left the hot water tap running again! Stone cold! I’ll miss doing this when I snuff it! Hehehe! But I was so angry with myself!

Instant Ode assembled: I made a brew to drink and stew, but what can I do? Doomed, I will be! Deaf, can’t hear running water and cannot wee-wee! In pain and pissed-off with me! I’m a social outcast, an old logicality-abortee! Not a good rhyme, but it flowed out easily enough at the time!

I nipped out on the balcony to take a shot of the view. But the Canon camera does no do night shots very well, as you can see with the results of my photographicalisationing!

I’m not sure what I changed on the camera or how I did it if I did. But the ratio came out different to the usual wide mode? As I checked on the selector on the camera, SSS (Shuddering-Shoulder-Shirley) had a go at me, and I turned the dial, so I could not identify which option I’d selected. Not that many of them mean anything to me.

I returned to make the brew of Glengettie tea, passed wind, considered if I needed to return to the Throne, decided not, and got the Health Checks done. At least these photos came out in the proper ratio-shape?

The body temperature was 36.4°c – 97.5°f, but I cannot access the Excel log record because Microsoft was updating again and wouldn’t give me access!

I think it was better than yesterday, anyway.

The Boots Sphygmomanometer, manufactured by ZDEAC (Zhongshan Daguan Electrical Appliance Company Ltd) in Guangdong, China, worked for the first time today. Revealing a high SYS of 170, SIA at 80, and the Pulse down to 85.

I got on with updating the Saturday Diary, not that much needed doing. I soon had it all finished.

I went to the NHS BP site and input my figures. Oh, dearie me! Way-up in the red today!

Today my BP was well in the red!

Perhaps, I might be dead?

I wish someone had said! Hehehe!

Hopefully, a nurse should be calling on Monday to take my Warfarin blood test; I can point it out to her if she’s not too busy.

No chance of getting through to the Doctor… well, I might, but I only get recorded messages about Covid. Then, the ringing tone, followed by another recorded message telling me they are getting an extraordinarily high volume of calls, please ring back later!

I know, I’ll ask them to bury me with a printout of the HP figures, providing Microsoft will allow them access, then they can read them too late to save my life, the high numbers involved? Good idea? Oh, damn! I’m being cremated, ain’t I! Hahaha! It’s such a warm, comforting feeling, knowing one is so cared for in one’s dotage and psychoneurosis years, innit?

Then, I emailed the link for the diary off. Pinterested some photos and went on Facebooking catching-up. I started sneezing repeatedly, and a few shivers went through me. Hello, what’s going on here? 

Then, I visited the WordPress Reader Section. This post was incredible; here is the link:

https://offcenternoteven.com/2021/03/06/ghost-mousies-in-the-sky/

An excellent parody song on this one. And a link to an older one, too; cleverly performed! You should like both of these, for the tune and Spunk, the pussy cat antics with a mouse!

https://photos.tandlphotos.com/blog/2017/9/spunk-fought-the-mouse-and-the-mouse-won. 

I went on the WP comments reading and answering.

Soon be time for the Ablutions to be done, I’ll have a mug of Glengettie tea and a nibble, methinks.’

Ablutions: A remarkably calm, almost injury-free session. Fewer dropsies than usual! Nasal, teeth cleaning, even the shaving was cut-free! The showering smooth and safe. The medicating went just as well. However, getting dressed proved painful! Only two accifauxpas (but they felt like dozens!) Hehe!

Getting the socks on, I actually felt proud of not using Sock-Glide-Glenda. But wish that I had afterwards! Two tumbles, one for each sock! Stopping the bleeding from the hip where I hit on my way down took a while and much medicating. The left-leg fiasco had me going backwards and sliding slowly down the door! Harold’s Haemorrhoids were not pleased in the least! Ah, well! Oh, the sleeping in the bamboo socks had left me with some new blotches. The old ankle-ulcer wound was itching like mad! So, I put 100% cotton socks on today. Cathy Cartilage looked a bit temperamental, too! No wonder she’s giving me such jip!

I made a start on prepping Josie’s meal. Tomatoes, cheesy mashed potatoes as she likes them with plenty of Leicester cheese, well-buttered. And some Scottish Kippers with butter. A blotch of her favourite cheese, unopened so she can eat it anytime. A limoncello and strawberry dessert, and delivered it to her door. I wobbled a bit with the tray as I sneezed and spilt some butter from the kippers onto the tray as the gal opened the door. She was not impressed with me. Also, when I got back, I’d forgotten to photograph the meal! Ah, well, you can’t win em all!

I got in and sorted the eight black and blue bin bags. Then, I got them on the box with the others on the walker-trolley and off to the waste room. It was a deathly-quiet Sunday routine. But to perk things up a little, I trapped a finger in the cast-iron chute lid. I swore mildly and then returned to the apartment.

I got the handwashing done, only two pairs of long bamboo socks, and hung them above the kitchen sink to drip dry.

I moved the leek and potatoes from the crock-pot into a saucepan on the hob. They smelt good! Then got a ring-pull can of Stewed Steak, but as usual, things don’t go right for me very often! The ring-pull came away from the can! On the label, do not open this can with a can opener, hand or automatic – Use the ring-pull for access! Well, that advice was crap, then! I tried it nervously on the auto-opener, of course, but it didn’t work; the ridge was far too high for the blade. Now, what do I do?

I tried again at an angle; and was not sure if I’d drop the can, machine or both, but it worked somehow. This was mainly due to the respite from SSS (Shuddering Shoulder Shirley) and NN (Nicodemus’s Neurotransmitters). I went into a bit of Smug-Mode! Then poured the contents into the saucepan and added Best Bisto Gravy granules and an Oxo cube to the mix. Gave it jolly good stirring, and after a while, I had a taste… Not bad at all!

I gave Sister Jane, well, husband Pete, a ring. I felt sure it was this week that he had to go back to the hospital for a conference meeting with the doctor. Thought I’d cheer him up a bit first. But no, I was wrong again. It was Sister Jane’s turn this week! So I had a chinwag with her, but it was a farcical effort; we both seem to have hearing problems now. Hehe! Wished her well for the Doctors visit and chatted about nothing that mattered. But I enjoyed it, all the same.

Then I tried to get a slot with Sainsbury’s for next Thursday or Friday. But they only some free on Wednesday 10th March. I got an early one, 7>8am. Made the order and decided to start sorting my own meal out.

All the time and effort was well worth it. Although I spent a long time cleaning the pans first, it was still hot enough when it came to eating them. All it was, was a well season pot of canned stewed steak, potatoes and leeks. A flavour-rating of 8.8/10!

I put the pots and tray in the sink to soak overnight and settled to watch something on the TV. Ah, I remember now, it was ‘Kitchen Nightmares’.

The sleep soon came, but it was a sad night again; I was forever seeming to wake up, with dim memories of a terrible dream, but could recall nothing, other than the sensation that I was young again during the nightmares. I think they may have been repeating ones? Maybe not, though.

Inchcocks Terrible Ode (I did it cause I’ve got to stay awake for a food delivery) Sorry!

Morning Thoughts

I lay there, passing wind in the dawnlight,

And fell out of the chair, t’was a terrible sight,

Bruised and bloodied, getting back up was a fight,

Reached for wind-up torchlight,

Cathy Cartilage was stinging a mite,

The patella painful and tight,

I struggled up on my feet, alright.

Bet I’ll still be in pain, tonight,

My face and skin looked ghostly white,

Go on WordPress, well I might!

Make some Chilli-Con-Carnie? Today’s highlight?

I must be careful of the Kryptonite,

Not get excited, too keen or uptight,

Ah, the eye haemorrhaging, is a blight,

I’ll soak the knee in the bowl, it’s bakelite,

I’ve got food arriving, this Thursday night,

Glengettie tea, onions,  and Marmite,

Morrison’s might substitute things with dynamite,

Protection Pants, olive oil, well, they might?

This ode, I know is crap, and I feel contrite,

I’ll get summat to eat… Ah, I’ll have deviled eggs and Vegemite?

 

Nemo Mortalium Omnibus Horis Sapit

Irritating Inchie, Saturday 16th January 2021 – Diary

TFZers Planning their Shopping Expedition after lockdown?

Inchcock’s Tips & Advice on gerrin’ o’der, fer Whippersnappers

Saturday 16th January 2021

Finnish: Lauantaina 16 Tammikuuta 2021

01:35hrs: I slowly stirred back into life, of sorts. A sudden, almost panic began, from somewhere I thought that something was wrong in the kitchen! No smells, I don’t think. I struggled out of the c1968 recliner, and I limped to the kitchenette but found nothing untoward, and I had a good look around, windows shut, taps not running… was it a dream?

I was not properly balanced, so I took my time and returned to the main junk room. Thought were coming pretty fast into the brain, but leaving at the same rate of knots.

I got my Myanmar, (Burmese) made zip-up jacket on. Changed into the reading glasses, had a weak wee-wee, washed my hands, and started the Health Checks. The Chinese made Harpin Xian Di contactless thermometer reading was fine, at 36.6°c.

♫ I really can’t stay, Baby it’s cold outside, I gotta go away, Baby it’s cold outside, This evening has been, Been hoping that you’d dropped in, So very nice, I’ll hold your hands they’re just like ice ♫… Sorry about that, I got carried away!

Pleasingly, the Chinese manufactured Boot’s Sphygmomanometer SYS was not too high compared to earlier readings, at 156. And, the pulse was steady at 85.

I nipped back into the kitchen to get a made-up bottle of spring water and lime cordial.

I opened the window, Gawd it was cold out there… (♫ I really can’t stay, Baby it’s cold outside, I gotta go away, Baby it’s cold outside, This evening has been, Been hoping that you’d dropped in, So very nice, I’ll hold your hands they’re just like ice ♫…) Sorry about that, I got carried away!☺

I snapped this photograph of Chestnut Way’s car park in front of the building, below. Back to the computer, taking another weak-wee-wee en route, and back on the computer.

I determinedly pressed on with the updating of the Friday Diary. Got it finished, although it took me longer than usual with interruptions to Nicodemus’s Neurotransmitters, on and off repeatedly for periods of a few seconds, up to a full minute. But I resisted going into a Smug-Mode, after yesterday’s experiences.

All done at long last Hurrah!), then I posted it off to WordPress, emailed the link. Had a weak wee-wee, washed, returned and Pinterested some bits, and went on the Facebooking updating on the TFZ site, then the Woodthorpe Heights. Spent a good while on there, and went on the WordPress-Reader section. Had a weak-wee-wee. Washed my hands and went on the WP commenting.

Belatedly, I made a start on this post. Stopped to make a brew, have a weak-wee-wee, wash my hands, and took the morning medications (It was grand to be able to take an extra pain-killer, thanks to the unknown, kind donor, who posted some through my door yesterday, thanks again!)

I got an inspiration to write the Advice funny at the top of this page, well, second graphic down. I made it up and did it with a graphic. It’s nowhere near my best work, but for some reason, I found it so zanily humorous, so kept it in. I hope people like it and get a laugh. If anyone does, I’ll offer it to the Tate Gallery for a modest fee. Hahaha!

I lost a lot of time already with my getting sidetracked, but did it again, and went on a hunt for Alt codes to use. I found a few and put them on the Notepad for later.

Hello, some more comments have come in, I’ll have a decker. Just the two, replied to them and went to make another mug of tea, and had another weak-wee-wee! I reckon I’ve missed a Furesomide in the medicational muddle?

I then went on CorelDraw to get some template graphics done, I’m well behind with them. Crockledimdogs! Another visit to the wet room, Blimus!

Back to CorelDrawing, and within a minute into working, and the door chimes rang out.

It was the postman, bringing the Amazon sold razors. A box of 200 razors in packs of five. Outstanding value, too.

Back to the CorelDrawing.

: Having done only one graphic, CorelDraw Problems, or rather, I created CorelDraw problems! Or, maybe a more accurately, Nicodemus Neurotransmitters caused me CorelDraw problems! I lost the document palette! The nerve ends died as I was trying to move the palette, and I lost it altogether. I was getting more and more frustrated, I could not remember how to move palettes with the mouse, spent hours trying this and that in the options and customisation sections, getting nowhere with it.

Sister Jane

Then the landline burst forth flashing. Sister Jane, calling. I took this photo a couple of years ago of her, in the Nottingham Slab Square.

We had a long chinwag, ashamedly I could not concentrate properly with worrying about the CorelDraw problems. I learnt what I was doing wrong, as is natural when she calls me, Big Sister, you see. (Hahaha!) I

was eating the wrong foods, going to bed too early, and other things I can’t remember, 

In the morning, I added this photo of her and Pete’s visitors in their garden. A family of Squirrels that have taken up residence nearby. They call twice every day for their treats on monkey nuts.

Back to the nightmare with the computer. I went on the web asking for help, and it took me three hours of differently formulated questions, to find a DVD that helped with the problem. Another hour of farting about getting it wrong, and suddenly I got the palette back, but it was empty!

I lost more time trying to sort this out and gave up. I was frustrated, and so wee’d off! And the weariness was coming on.

I gave up on computing, my hopes and plans destroyed! Ah, well, I turned off the computer and got some nosh sorted out. As I got the Ghilli-Con-Carne, red peppers and tomatoes in the saucepan, oh dearie me…

All of the Peripheral Neuropathy related ailments all kicked-in, well not all of them. No leg dancing, loss of balance but SSS (Shuddering-Shoulder-Shirley), Shaking Shaun, and Cathy Cartilage gave me what for!

A nasty bout, this one, but thank goodness it was a short one. I was growing more tired than ever now. But I pressed on and got the meal served up. I overdid the quantity a bit, and couldn’t eat all of the rolls, but destroyed the CCC and potatoes. A taste-rating was a worthy 8/10.

Washed and got the jammie-bottoms on, and down in the £300, second-hand, decrepit, c1968, rickety recliner, and turned on the TV, I can’t remember what it was I was going to watch, but I failed to anyway – blissfully! Off into the land of Sweet Morpheus, I drifted in no time at all. Zzzz!

An hour or so later, I sprang wide-awake, as if I’d just had an electric shock! The realisation that the Prescriptions were being delivered today bounding about in my head! Sheer alarm and panic gripped my and hastened by the bulbous wobbly body from the recliner, with the intentions of getting to the front door post-haste to see if they had been put through the door for me, as it was well past the normal delivery time.

Unfortunately, as I got in the hallway, I instead hastened down on my knees to the floor, and the right leg knee, (Cartilage Cathy’s) gave way. There was no time for self-pitying, I hauled my enormous girth back up onto my feet…

And I crumpled down again! This time, I crawled into the wet room and dolloped a load of Phorpain gel all around the patella. Then used the shower chair to get my bulk back up on my feet again. All the time, worrying about the prescriptions milling about in my head.

I got to the flat’s door, there was not anything outside or inside medicine wise. Had he or she been and left? Will they be coming later? I put the facemask on, in case anyone did come, and thought I’d check the mobile and email to see if the chemist had been and had sent a message… Panicking a bit here, but still found time to fit a spot of nervousness in about the CorelDraw problem! Come one worry – Come all! Hehe!

Moments later, the intercom rang out, it was Carrington Pharmacy owner, Deepak BSc Pharm Hons, delivering my prescriptions for me. For once, thank heavens he was late, else I might have been asleep otherwise, Phew! He dropped the prescription pack in a box, on the floor for me, and I thanked him. Nice to be told I was not looking very well. Hehehe! Bless him.

Once I took them to the kitchen to sort out, I realised that Cathy Cartilage was really giving me some stick, although it was my own fault for falling on her twice! Flibbledonkackles!

Ah, well, life may not be exactly suant, and I may be in pain, CorelDraw is worrying me, but after a quick Silver-Lining Search: Things could be much worse. I got the prescriptions delivered, Cathy Cartilage is already getting less painful, I had a marvellous CCC for dinner, Duodenal Donald and Anne Gyna have both been kind to me today. Yep, things are good! Who am I kidding!

Back down in the recliner, it took a while, but sleep did return.

Inchock’s 4th Escape from the lockdown – to town! Pictorially presented!

Inchock’s 4th Escape from the lockdown – to town!

This woz rote by Inchy’s alter ego – Hehehe!

The following, pictorials and odes, were created in support of the Depressed Nottinghamian At-Risk High-Rise Flat-Dwelling Prisoners Support Group. Donations gladly accepted.

Having made his escape bid plans again. He clandestinely crept to the lifts, falling over his three-wheeked walker-Guide, waited for the regulation Winwood Heights twenty minutes for a lift, and got down in time to miss the bus.

He waited patiently, for the next bus, but this proved something of a benefit for the old git. Not many folks about, but he still managed to corner one poor chap, and hastened to bore him to death verbally! The man wisely moved away.

And Inchcock, being instantly bored himself now, went into one his Sherlock Holmesian modes. Someone had been blowing their nose in the bus shelter, and stuffing the tissue under the seating?

He caught the bus and got out his crossword puzzles, but the driver, obviously a stock-car racing fan, nearly had Inchy out if his seat a few times en route to Nottingham City centre. Trying to hold onto his three wheeler, took some effort.

The old chap went itn the Pondland shop on Lower Parliament Street, and despite his painful and feet, enjoyed his hobble around the store, coming out with many items he didn’t need or want, Tsk!

He got to the checkout, and got himself in a right pickle and state of embarrassment at the self-serve checkout! The lady monitoring the tills, was greatly unimpressed with his continual dropping of things and farting about trying to retrieve them.

But did not offer to help, although she shared some sneerings, of hate, derision, scornfulness and causticness with him. He came out redfaced and £20 lighter. And took these three shots of the Milton Street junction.

Where he went into the Bargain Shop. A terrible experience! No one talking, empty shelves etc. But, he still spent over £21, mostly on Christmas treats for his family of friend in Woodthorpe Court.

He was struggling now, the three-wheeler trolley-bag full, and three carrier bags hanging on the handles, would make progress awkward for him. At least he remembered to but sone of the dar clothing cleaner. He set off on a limp towards the Slab Square.

On his hobble along Milton Street to Upper Parliament Street, he noticed the Nottionghamian pedestrians crossing the road against the lights again, but this is a usual, regular occurrence. He adjusted thos spectacles.

Which was a mistake, as he turned onto Upper Parliament Street, the old fart of a fool unthinkingly took the spectacles off to clean them.

They got caught in the facemask!

He crossed over the road, and down King Street. Near the bus stops, a chap dressed like the Beatles used to, with plaited hair hanging below his shoulders, stopped him and asked for ‘a couple of quid for a coffee’. As he eyed up the bags!

Inchy just said, ‘No!’ and carried in hobbling down the hill, turning to keep an aye on the youth as he did, to make sure he wasn’t following. Getting to the Slab Square, Inchy gor out his camera for a snapping away session.

He saw the little crowd and paparazzi outside the Council House steps, he went back into Sherlock Holmesian mode, and took a close up[ phot of whoever was on the steps. This person came by. Inchy got a decent shot of his/her head.

Inch repositioned himelf a bit closer, and waited for the right moment to get a view of what was going on. Nice zoomed-in photo for once. Asssumed to be the Sheriffess or Mayoress of Nottingham? Again, not single Policeman in sight today.

The tatterdemalion, dour, malagrugrous, weary, tellurian, dangerous populace of Nottingham, were showing a bit of itnerest, at least. Not many of them had face-masks on, but it isn’t law yet to wear them outsdoors yet, methinks.

The lad poddled his way wit hdifficulty up Queen Street to get to his bus stop, and caught a number 40 back home, to his never-restfull, beloved, always something to worry about, four years being upgraded and not finished yet, Winwood Heights.

He was the only passenger when the bus moved off from the terminus. Pondering on should he get out the crossword or not; one look at the mass of bags on the trolley, and the book being at the bottom, he decided against it!

The first passenger to get on the bus, was Face-Maskless.

The second one, had his mask under his chin.

A lady got on, and she had no mask on!

As the chin-mask wearing man got up tp get off, he gave Inchy a cautionary scowl, that was a bit threatening. As the bus progressed along St Anns Well Road, it passed the Health Centre where Inchy has to go for his bladder-scan.

This is St. Anns Valley Centre, 2 Livingstone Road, Nottingham NG3 3GG.

Events over his last two visits there, do not proffer the least bit of encouragement or confidence in Inchy.

The record, as Inchy explains:

  • February: Went to get the feet done, and they said come back later, we’ll have to lool at your health record.
  • March: They refused to do my feet, cause the Warfarin level was too high..
  • July: They refused to tend to my feet, because I’d just had the stroke.
  • August: Refused again, cause of my having been diagnosed with diabetes.
  • September: The did cut my nails, but said they will not be able to so in future. I have to go private in future.

Poor old sod!

He arrived back at his Woodthorpe Court, along with the mysterious wonders of, the Ghosts, Hobgoblins, Boll-Weevils, Aliens, Gremlins, Karakia-cursing entities, Hallucinations and Kehuas. Materialisations, Poltergeist, Lemures, Wairuas, Manifestations that permeate, pass through the pores and interstices of space, through the time-continuum. Usually, without rupture or displacement within the building. To cause havoc, fear and frustration, as they dislodge time itself, in their aspirations and skulduggery, to complete their given by Satan mission; ‘To annoy and scare the bejesus out of, and the pants off of the old energumenist, Inchcock’.

Thank you.

The tale in bad rhyme, of Inchies Escape from isolation, to Nottingham City Centre!

Monday, 7th September 2020, Inchcock escapes from captivity and cunningly flees his Woodthorpe Court. To investigate the Coronavirus affects in the City Centre, buy stuff he doesn’t need, cripple his poor feet, and a failed search for a chinwag!

Plans were laid,

For his escapade,

The Escape bid was made,

He was feeling fraught and afraid!

Arriving on Upper Parliament Street,

Alighted the bus, hobbles to Poundland,

Already pains from Relux Roger and his feet,

He spent on superfluous stuff, like crabmeat,

Then to the Bargain shop, wishing he could find a seat!

He bought three things, none of them needed,

His enthusiasm for his escape, now, receeded,

Little Inchies fungal lesion bleeding, succeeded,

His finances, he had further bleeded!

He hobbled along Milton Street then,

Down Clumber Street, he was saddened, when,

He saw the closed shop, there were over ten,

Including his camera shop, he nearly cried then!

Sadly, he made his way to the end,

Feeling lonely and down a bit,

What Coronavirus has created, can we mend?

Oh, dear, a penny he needed to spend!

The urge he had to suspend!

To the corner of Long Row, he did wend!

A photo of Pelham Street he did take,

Then one a shot backwards up Clinton he did make,

Long Row, too, where he took some more,

Off towards his bus stop in the Slab Square,

Paramedics, Security Guards, were there,

The people looked so full of despair!

The rain came down, he took shelter from it,

Under the shop eaves, but it didn’t last long,

He took this photo, he quite liked the resulting effect,

His bladder was full, to the bus stop direct!

En route, Slab Square was photographed,

He tripped on the wheeled trolley walker,

He even managed a little laughter,

When he passed wind and hiccoughed! 

He caught the bus back, a painful drive home,

Got off on Chestnut Walk, glad he finished his roam,

Damn it, he’d forgot to get his shaving foam!

He sheltered from the sudden rain,

Under the cover, and gloom was falling again,

He belched, it smelt like aminomethane,

He hobbled toward home; it was a strain!

He got in his flat,

He untangled his hearing aids from his mask,

It was a fiddley, difficult task!

Made himself a meal that,

Was too big, but not too much fat,

He fell asleep, and that was that!

Not a very good ode this time, uncertainty and confusion were visiting me. Sorry.

I thought I’d look back, on my victories

I thought I’d look back, on my victories

Bear with me; these are hard to find…

At birth, I lived through Mother’s fag ash dropping on me,

I had Double-Pneumonia at the age of three,

Sister Jane was almost adopted, to Italy, she did flee,

Brother Pete, escaped, good for him, went in the army,

Mother running away, the police wanted her, you see,

Which left just poor old Dad and me,

Doing the cleaning, shopping, and two paper-rounds, that was Inchy!

I survived being thrown in the Nottingham Canal,

Clinging to a barge rope, without much hope,

I was rescued by Brain, a neighbour, and a real pal,

Hauled out, was taken home, full of hope,

Got a belting off of Dad, and scrubbed with carbolic soap!

GC Young

Jane away in Italy still,

Life was for us both, a bitter pill,

We’d both had our sad times, but still,

I started work, bought a bike that would go uphill!

Duodenal ulcer, Anne Gyna I acquired easily enough,

Got shot at work, and a new heart fitted,

Fron flat to flat, I flitted,

Got made redundant, Cancer zapped, not fritted,

Job searching failed, hopes, attritted,

My desires, faith, and plans buffetted!

GC stick

Then along came Peripheral Neuropathy ailment,

 Jane, back from Australia, accompanied me,

To and from the hospital, she was heaven sent!

Then the stroke, I was a broken bloke,

Months in care, after the stroke,

Slowly, recovery began to cloak,

Bits of the old Inchcock, showed, bespoke,

And I knew something more would wroke!

Then the diabetes was found,

And things got worserer, all around,

When Saccades-Sandra, was also found!

But, my hopes and aspirations remain,

Although I am no longer sane,

I’m ready for the challenges again…

I just wish there was a little less pain!

I fang you!

 

I’m Determined to destroy Depression!

I’m Determined to destroy Depression!

2Tue08a

I decided, in a dream, I had yesternight,
Depression, I’ll resist, beat and outfight,
I must be strong, determined, not contrite,
I’ll be honest with myself, not like a Blairite,
My approach, will-power, must be definite!
I’ll have courage, like a brave medieval Knight,
And continue to show my vigour and fight,
Although my confidence may be finite,
This misery, I will surely try to expedite,
I must give this depression, no respite,
Ridding myself of this soul-destroying plight,
Who knows if I can, I just possibly might?
Then hopefully, I’ll get some sleep tonight,
And for supper, I can have some toasted Marmite!

Created during an aberrant spell of semi-confidence.

No Brexiteers were harmed during the production of this waffle!

Coronavirus Calypso

A spur of the moment, impulse, load of drivel, created, as Inchcock woke up. He asked me to pass on his apologies, as he was temporarily in Defcon 2 mode, mentally.

5Fri007c

Remember These? Of course, the hoarders will!

Coronavirus Calypso

Going into self-isolation,
As is most of the nation,
To get the toilet rolls in?
The chances? None to thin,
Coronavirus, payment for our sin?

Tellurians, you must not bump into,
Tatterdemalion or the well-to-do,
Urges to touch, you must subdue,
Cut your hair in a basin cut hair-do,
Having sex is still under review!
But pigeons can still bill and coo?

No food in the shops,
Bread, milk, you might find a few,
You’ll have to fight and argue,
Battle with the determined queue,
Then blood and insults will spew,
The language was very blue!

You might try home delivery for food,
To sustain you and your brood,
If you do try home delivery food!
To the delivery man, do not be rude,

Self-isolation; is wrong, some folk argue,
But I’ll not be involved over this, thank-you,
HMG responses seem so impromptu,
Certainly going to cost us revenue,

Self-isolation, so many folk rue,
A bit of good news is overdue,
Confusion over what we must do,
We mustn’t shake hands too!
Is mankind’s end really in view?

Stuck at home, what do we do?
Clean shelves and dust that statue,
Pen some extra veins to your tattoo,
No food in, so no chocolate to chew,
Can’t get out to buy, so no making stew,
Your plans and orientation, gone askew!

Sit, read a book, perhaps of Fu Manchu,
Back of the fridge, mouldy Danish blue?
You’re starving now, crumbs for tea, that’ll do!
Dig around the sofa, for crisp-crumbs residue!
The nurse’s visit cancelled too,
Mind froze, stagnated, what will ensue?

Where is the spirit of World War Two?
Is it the end, will you ever again hear a cuckoo?
Is it to be, that you’ll not see another cup of tea?
Farewell, to your beloved tasty Glengettie brew?
Your mind gets depressed, whatever can you do?
Finally, you get a plan made and worked through!

Escape! Find food, and hopefully, a toilet roll too!
Your plan to go shopping, sanctioned by the Tenant’s escape crew,
How to get out though, whatever can you do?
They don you with a wig, to hide your bald head from view,
You know you may not return, but offer your neighbours, a thank-you,
Creep out, staying in the shadows, your walking stick oiled too,
Arrive at the store, but what a sight greets you…

Header7

But it’s the future, your deja vu, hitherto!

Empty shelves, fighting, greed, at Sainsbury’s too!
Little fresh food, no toilet rolls, not even a tissue!
This is now a serious issue,
You give an Achoo – but ominously, nobody blesses you!

WDP 003a

Published in Support of the Outer Peruvian Pregnant Kangaroo Appreciation Society