Inchcock v Alto – The Suicide Discussion

“Oi, pay attention, Inchcock; it’s your devoted, friendly, happy-go-lucky Alto-Ego here. Bringing you news and a…

Eh, erum… Oh, Sod-Off!

That’s nice, innit! I’ve come to warn you of the explosions in the gut, and all yer do is get antisocial wiv me?

Well, that’s cause I’m sitting here on the Porcelain Throne for the ninth time today, coping with the eruptions mentioned above in my stomach! You’re a little late in telling me…

Don’t get nasty turd-face, no need for insults! Anyway, if you want to nit-pick, I said explosion, not eruption, so there! Haha! I got here as fast as I could…

For an Alto who claims to have been in existence for thousands of years, you are very childish at times, mate… What were you doing in the guts anyway?

Obvious innit?

No!

Why do they keep sending me to thicko-idiots to threaten and get depressed? If yer must know, I was checking yer body for any new signs of ailment, injuries or the likes…

What for… No, no, don’t tell me… It’s so you can worry, annoy and depress me, innit?

Oh, yes, clever clogs! An’ I did it too! See? Your Blood Pressure has shot up, spittle is building in yer throat, and you’re in agony with trots… I bet Haemorrhoid Harold is bleeding as well?

Yea, putting it that way, you’re nearly right...

Owd on… nearly right? How am I not spot-on then, freckle-balls?

It proved yer lied when you first disturbed me.

You coffin-seeker! Lied, ruggish! Everyfing I say is John-Bull and Cosher!…

Yer? Like, “It’s your devoted, friendly, happy-go-lucky Alto-Ego here? Devoted, friendly, you? You are an unwanted blight on me mentality!

Well, thank you very much; I appreciate that. It proves that I’m doing my job successfully and adequately: “Assure at all times that your client is DFF; Depressed, Frustrated, in Pain. For extra Alto points, you human having suicidal tendencies a minimum of once a day…” “Achieving an 80% success rate is required” – Now that’s in the Alto-Ego job description!

So?

I proved I have the credentials for promotion…

How can you get a promotion when I’m yours, and you are mine? What did you call it? Client or human? You’ve already said you’re stuck with me, so what kind of promotion can you get clever clogs?

Gawd, you’re thick as a pancake with hebetude! When you kick the bucket, snuff it, I might be moved on to a politician, bank director or even Putin. Then…

Putin?

Yer that’d be cushty. We had a bit of a drawback with Putin, never been known before, but his Alto-Ego went mad. He’s had to be delisted. No doubt he’ll be moved to some war immigrant in another country. Putin with me by his side could rule the planet… not that it’s got much time left, mind you…

 Has it not? I expected as much...

Crap! You’re too thick to work owt out, Inchcock; you’ve been reading Billum’s blog, ain’t yer…

Well, yes, and he’s dead right...

You’ll be the dead one, Fungle-Knob: although I’ve not worked out the best way to nobble yer yet. I’ve thought about getting into Putin’s brain; just think of it…

Hang on, I’m getting confused here…

Nothing new there, dog-breath…

Can we start again?

Oh, so now yer want to converse with me? You want to make your feeble, befuddled mini-mind up! Dumbo!

You said you can’t hurt your human?

Oh yer, right, but only physically, now mentally, is another matter. And being as you are already halfway to being bonkers, discussions like these will soon tip you over the edge, and hey-presto, you’ll be dead, and I can put my bid in to be sent to Mr Putin, see… easy!

How are you planning to top me then?

I’m glad yer asked me brain-dead. I see there are three possible options.

One: You’ll get a heart attack from hearing the truth from me…

Two: You’ll do the decent thing and swig a litre of chlorinated bleach and drink it with ten Beta-blockers, Warfarins, and a good swig of liquid Codeine. I know they are regulated, but if you can time it for when you just get the prescriptions delivered, I advise you to take the whole packet of Morphine sulfate to be safe. Then stick all the remaining Enoxaparin Injections into your belly. (Not that it will matter where now). Then open the balcony window, make sure no one is below… No, no! Better not dive out of the window; with your eyesight, there may be someone on the pavement to crush when you land, and that’s not fair. Just stick with the bleach, medications and injections; they should do the job efficiently.

Three: you will have one of your tumbles when the neurotransmitter nerve-ends fail, and you fall forwards, trip over yer walking stick on the way down, and crack yer head a good belt on the sharp corner of the end counter… you’ll basically bleed to death, and be found the following day by a Carer, who after clearing out any valuables, will call the paramedics, but you be declared dead in your kitchenette floor, probably around 08:33hrs tomorrow. Oddly enough, your prescription delivery day, Hehehe! Well, you asked, you gormless dunderhead, Hahaha!

Thanks, I did ask, didn’t I? Well, that’s honest enough, Alto. Although I’m a little concerned at your going into great detail on option two? Suicide. It sounds to me like this is your favoured route to my demise?

Well, it’s the least bother for me, and I can shoot off and go Putin-hunting straight away. I’ll make my report first, of course. Should you plump for committing Hari-Kari, I promise I’ll make a good praising report of you and your actions to the Alto-Ego Controller. They don’t get many of those; I think Florence Nightingale was the last human to get one. You could live in fame in your death, mate!

I could live in fame in my death?’ Somehow, that doesn’t sound very attractive to me at the moment…

Ah, that’s cause you are temporarily not frustrated or depressed. That’s thanks to me, see. Bringing good news and advice to you again… Giving you thoughts that grabbed your attention and shooed away destructive emotions. I really hope you go for the choice to autodarwinate. It makes the most sense all around…

 Maybe for you, but not for me…

Whyever not, Numbskull? I’m sure you are going to say that Altos can’t die, so have no idea what it’s like?

  No, but that’s a good point; what’s your answer to your own question then?

Oh, dearie me, my ugly duckling. Is it not so obvious what I was referring to? I shall miss you your ignorance, unknowingness, innocence, duality, absent-mindedness, scepticism, ambivalence, and lack of sophistication when I’ve moved on… thankfully!

No!

Oh, you dense creature! What power I have given you…

Wot power ‘ave you given me?

How many people have the knowledge of when they are going to die?

How do I know? You’re bamboozling me again…

No, Knuckle-Mouth! I’m empowering you. You can pick your timing to take the suicide route, lock the door to prevent any interruptions, and just resign yourself to the nothingness that will follow, a certainty within minutes… minutes of pain, yes. Still, you will be well prepared for that, having led a pain-ridden emotional and physical life, so what does a couple of minutes of further pain mean to you? Nothing! No ailments, no food orders to get wrong, substituted items, nothing to forget or learn, no crime, no emotional topsy-turvy; a state of utter bliss is death! Which is where you will be going, mate – into nothingness – no noisy neighbour above you, no rent, tax or fuel prices rising to fret over.

Inchcock & Alto-Ego, launch into Q&A Odeing Mode…

  You keep harking back to suicide.

That is for you, my Button-Willy, to decide!

But will life never be indemnified?

Not until your death is verified!

Suicide? All my hopes will be pulverised,

Which is better than being lobotomised!

My friends will miss me, far and wide…

Friends, you? Now your telling porky-pies!

This conversation is like Morecome and Wise!

Death can be a pleasure, do you realise?

I’m not so sure… it’s a sacrifice?

In death, there’ll be no one who vilifies?

My ailment, all gone, pain defies…

Freedom, nothing left to visualise!

So, Covid has gone; no need to immunise?

You must get your thoughts strategised!

The thought of nothing does tantalise…

Alto sensed Inchcocks resistance to suicide weakening…

That’s the spirit, Inchcock, my old fruit…

Hold a minute, just wait...

Indeed, my old cocker, you take your time…

Take me time? What in or at?

Choosing which way to die…

I’m not sure how we got into discussing suicide?

Well, you wanted to know the best way to do it.

I did?

Yes, plan B you went for…

Plan B?

Yes, you decided you’ll do the decent thing and swig a litre of chlorinated bleach and drink it with ten Beta-blockers, Warfarins, and a good swig of liquid Codeine. (I know they are regulated, but if you can time it for when you just get the prescriptions delivered, you to take the whole packet of Morphine sulfate to be safe.) Then stick all the remaining Enoxaparin Injections into your belly.

Are you sure I chose this way and agreed?

Course you did Snot-Head, and it makes common sense, my friend! And once you’ve succeeded in suiciding, there’ll be no more painful battles with Trotsky Terence or Constipation Konrad! Now, this must be worth topping yourself for?

You really thought I was going to do it, didn’t you?

Well, yes! Are you not going to?

Too bloody true I ain’t going to.

Gragnangles! But I’ll be back!

Inchcock on the Throne realised Alto had truly flit…
He finished his evacuation, messy, but just a bit,
Pondered over suicide, blaming Alt-Inchie, the shit!
Putting it into my mind, a disgusting gambit!

All a part of Alto & Inchies’ mutual brinksmanship…
A strange sort of unwanted mental partnership,
Full of insults, bullying and unsportsmanship,
Alto’s getting nasty, pretending to be a prophet?

If he expects Gerry to top himself, there’s a blip…
Even suggesting it shows Alto’s unsportsmanship,
Suicide? No, he’d instead favour the opposite,
Even living with ailments and a financial deficit!

More critical now, Harold’s Haemorrhoids do bleed,
He cleans things, ointmentates, & takes some hempseed,
It’ll be painful; he mustn’t hesitate and proceed…
Agonisingly he did, then he wee-wee’d…

He turned his attention to what to self-feed,
From his fridge and freezer, he took a swede…
Leeks, mushrooms, tomatoes and bread, just a snead,
Prepped and got them cooking; it smelt good indeed.

Off to the wet room. where he passed wind and pee’d,
Settled in his recliner, he nodded off; he was so pleased,
Woke two hours later, surprised yet frustrated…
At the smell of burnt food, he recognised!

All his vegetables had been pureed!
Burnt potatoes, uneatable, he had to concede…
A Whoopsiedangleplop, he just didn’t need…
He cleaned the mess to the bucket he pee’d!

The meal he ate for dinner was not one of his best…
A can of peas, an out-of-date vegetarian duck breast,
The whole meal went in the bin, top join the rest…
Which annoyed him, and he began to get stressed!

Thought-Storms stopped him from getting to sleep…
His life, he began to despise and threap…
Suicide? Not a failure living, even in this muckheap…
His life is not good, but living he wants to keep,

Though he passes evacuations, the liquid then concrete…
Has cataracts, is deaf, tumbles over, and has terrible feet…
There are times when he finds life semi-sweet,
Screw Alto; his life is not yet over or complete!

He vows to ignore Alto-Ego, on his next visit…
Alto’s intrusions, he’ll try his best to prohibit…
He belched; the extruding wind tasted like horseshit,
Inchcock pondered, is it me or Alto, that’s the eejit?

Dizzy Dennis called; his head felt as if it was in orbit…
Thoughts coming so fast, he can’t cope, dagnabit!
He thinks this is becoming a nightly habit…
And he had Alto to return, the nasty dipshit!

But this time, Inchcock was determined, not frit…
He decided to keep up his flagging spirit…
Amidst words like Grongletits and Gawdammit!
He got up and this Ode he writ…
Hoping Alto stays in his pit!

Part of Inchcocks Make Them Laugh Series

Inchcocks Photographicalisations, Ode & Diary

Photographicalisations & Diary

♫Fings ain’t wot they used to be…♫

Little did I know the above-written ode would turn out!
I’m worried now; I think I had a memory blank or blackout?
Mistakes n everything I tried to create… a mental wipe-out!
It took me all day to get the blog done, a mind whirlabout…
Problems lasted hours… in fact all day, or thereabout?
Couldn’t get to grips with the day, time, everything, a doubt?
I had to keep stopping when the brain went on a gadabout…

Cataracts and glaucoma made things worse…
The noisy, clang-banging Herbert above made me curse…
Went to the Porcelain Throne; the evacuation was vicious,
Rock-solid: it took me half an hour; this is not fictitious!
It felt about the same size as a trolleybus!
One aspect was not painful or scary; quite the reverse…
Painful, yes, but no bleeding from the rear end, thus…
Washed and did the Germoloid creaming. Oh, that soothes!

From Grammarly, mistakes of all sorts, I was being told,
But I pressed on, which I thought was rather bold…
Dizzy Dennis joined me; Herberts’ noises could still be heard,
Why do I feel so bad could still not be answered,

So what I’m waffling on about…
I did my best, but without any doubt…
Faults mistakes you’ll quickly pick out…
Dates and times mostly, serious and nowt…
From start to finish, throughout…
I suppose this Ode is a criticism redoubt!

I can’t really put a date as such,
The photos, taken over 2½ days,
It may be mixed up datewise in a rush…
To get this blog done… with my mind in a haze,
I dun me bestest, please don’t underpraise…

I’m depressed and in pain, in many ways,
I really have had much betterer days and praise…
The coming of tomorrow and better days,
I’m hoping the confusion doesn’t overstay…
And depression finally breaks away!

Forgive any duplicated photos put in,
With wrong dates & times, I know it’s a sin!
The ailments are bothering me out and within,
My hopes for improvement are relatively thin…
Good job that I don’t drink, or I’d have a gin!.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Photographs & minimal Memories

By Jimminee, and jolly good heavens above, what an absolute improvement on yesterday’s sphygmomanometerisationing for the level of blood pressure! Comparing it to Thursdays, nerve-wracking 285 Sys!

It tumbled down to 148, and very welcome it was to see it!

The pulse had dropped as well.

 

Another good result from the thermometer.

It was a dead-on target at 35°c.

I think I was; I had a losing battle against Sock-Glide Glenda again in the wet room. SGG 3 – Inchie 0! It all happened so quickly. Having completed getting the socks on, I was, with only one tiny bruise on the foot, and as I stepped over the frame to grip Glenda to remove her… And seconds later, I was on the deck, entangled in her framework! With a bruise that anyone would be proud of on my shoulder. But then…

Getting up back to my feet (bear in mind I had not got any glasses on at the time). I lunged at the grab-rail to assist my getting up… and missed it entirely! I then had a new bruise to add to the shoulder and wrist ones on my flabby belly as I went back down again and made a painful connection with Sock-Glide-Glenda… again! A few scratches as well, but they are pretty. The Carer said so when she came. She was well impressed with the shoulder bruise. But her favourite was the blotch come bruise on my left man-breast nipple; she was very keen on the pinkness and swelling. Hahaha!

The Iceland food arrived. I’m sure I’ve put all these on before, but it won’t hurt for anyone who may order beef chunks from Iceland to see the photographs of the three packs I bought again. They were all within the sell-by date, too!

On Special offer, I just looked at this close up of the red and khaki coloured lumps they’d sent! It was the same or similar colouring? It reminded me of the only time I’ve seen horsemeat served.

The JS Sainsbury delivery. In the centre of this picture, on the right, you’ll see three tiny sourdough cobs that cost more than the milk roll bread. Talk about hard! Gawd, blimey, they were 80% crust. Did my teeth no good. But I ate what I could salvage from the concrete balls of sourdough later on? 

The ‘Best’ potatoes all had growths of bruises on them.

Can’t recall what night I made this meal. But I can remember enjoying it pretty well. The fishcakes with peas in them were tasty enough, the potato waffles were terrible, as were the fish fingers, all vegetarian. The tomatoes tasted excellent, cake and banana, but the vegan cakes cost more money. The potatoes and peas were disappointing. Taste Rating: 6.5/10.

I think I’ve shown this photo, but I am not sure. Sourdough bread, the Polish style one, mushroom pate and tomatoes, a soft imitation cheese portion, were almost as bad as the cakes. But that bread and pate. Was gorgeous.

.

Mike Fries: A good looking, Mafia-type, $23 million wage earner – no, I’ll take that back, he is not an earner to me.
But, I admire his cunningness in convincing his paymasters at Liberty-Global, to pay out $15 billion to buy out Mr Branson’s Virgin Media. Then instructing the UK telecom call-centre team, never to mention Liberty-Global to any customers? Thus, Mike Fries cannot get his $15b internet service to run for a day without going down several times – and Richard Branson gets all the name-calling and abuse. (He’s clever, you know!)

I imagine that if any proletariat call-centre person was caught mentioning the name Liberty-Global to any poor Virgin Media customers… The least they would come away with would be getting knee-capped & sacked?

He’s a Smoke & Mirrors expert. A figure-conjurer of the highest order. The bosses at the top get the complete treatment from his financial sleight of hand and legerdemain skills. They likely actually are being convinced by Fries of the competency of Virgin Media? Which, of course, does not exist.

There’ll be some financial hocus-pocus going on that convinces the top dogs of his profit-making for them, even if only on paper, so’s to speak. It’ll be out of my league!

I believe his flimflam, hanky-panky, and double-dealings will never be caught. So effective are his smoke & mirrors techniques.

This is a shame because despite wishing him a slow, excruciatingly painful death for his cheating ways and knackering me up every day with his Virgin internet repeatedly failing.

I like his style.

I’m jealous probably. Hahaha!

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Evening Carer’s just called. Another new gal, pleasant enough with me. I insisted she had some treats, a nibble and a drinkie for putting up with my constant moaning about life. Hehehe!

It’s late now; I’m ready for summat to eat and a kip. I’ve got some spuds baking, pod plead in the saucepan, and a veggie pastie to add to the potatoes if I don’t fall to sleep first. I’ll try to get this finished in the morning.

I’d like to stay awake long enough to get some sunset shots. If Colin Cramps visits again when I get down, I should at least get the sunset photo’d if no sleep. Har-Har!

As I was going to have a check on the fodder cooking, I heard a clattering noise from the room I’d just left. I went back to investigate…

The new giant faux-fur brown throw had somehow or other, slid off of the £300, c1968, second-hand, decrepit, rickety recliner, taking to the floor with it: my Wood-Waking-Stick-Walter, Picker-Upperer-Percival, Shoe-Horn-Horis,  a towel, two pairs of trousers, a pot of Cheeselets, two bottles of spring water, and two cushions! Harrumph!

I got things sorted things out again. And then went back to the kitchen to get the meal prepped and served up. No sunset as such, but the view was eerily misty, enough for me to take a snap.

photographicalisation. Served up the fodder. Two veggie pasties, two potatoes baked, halved and plant butter added. fresh garden peas and tomatoes. A banana and pot of dessert. Taste Rating: 7.8/10.

I got sorted and down to try and stay awake long enough to watch my first episode of Grimm. It started at 22:00hrs, which is too late for me normally. I remember checking the schedule, and it was 15 minutes before Grimm started on the same channel… and thinking at last I’ll get to watch it… Of course, Sweet Morpheus got me, and off to kip, I went before seeing the program start!

I woke a few hours later, a selling channel was on then. I rose for a wee-wee and needed the Porcelain Throne as I was on my way to the wet room.

Rock-solid again! A good hour I was in there, going through pain and having to make it worse by giving my best supportive efforts to constantly edge the concrete torpedo out from the rear end. Gawd it felt good afterwards, though!

Nemo Mortalium Omnibus Horis Sapit

Advice For Whippersnappers – Part 26⅙th

Advice For Whippersnappers

Part 26⅙th

Oddities whippersnappers may encounter, like leprosy,
An honest politician (Joking!), or water on the knee,
Have ten children; some are yours, at most three!
Go to Scotland for the whisky and to find Nessie…
Soon realise your sanity is becoming an absentee!

Cuddle up to and grope a gal, all nice and cosey…
Sweet words are shared, things getting lovey-dovey!
Then find out her name is Arthur and not Rosie…
No need to feel embarrassed, daft, or dozy…
Fake an excuse, rush off, and send him a posey!

One day you may become an abductee!
The kidnapper demanding lots of money…
Before he’ll think of setting you free…
But no one will pay; you’re not famous, yer see?
He’ll likely keep you as an adoptee!

You’ll eat strange foods, & plain foods, like onion bhaji,
Liqueurs, cannabis cheesecake, and beetroot coffee?
Pickled walnuts, fingernails, and chocolate garibaldi…
Even if financially up a gumtree…
Try anything, as long as it’s free!

Will you be an owner, manager, or employee?
Mayhaps a hippy with long hair and a goatee?
Drugged up to eyeballs, living in a fantasy?
Marching against bombs and nuclear energy…
Just like your Mam and Dad did in 1953!

No need to use a snickersnee or machete…
Wounding or killing is plain bizarrerie…
It could be you’ll need a necropsy?
All through greed and your bellicosity,
Finish now, with hatred and animosity!

Keeping on the straight and narrow takes fortuity…
To hide your weaknesses and frangibility…
We’ve only one life each, not an eternity
Staying honest and non-aggressive shows dignity!
At St Peter’s gate, of wrongs, you’ll need deniability,
It’ll be no good pleading for mercy, circumstantially!

When it comes to things financially,
You must avoid showing credulity!
Moneylenders, Bank managers, show crudity…
But do it to start with using misleading civility!
Muggers and robbers take your cash with audacity!

As you get older, you’ll go much more often for a wee-wee!
With little warning, you’ll rush to the WC…
But, you won’t make it in time very often you see…
I know, cause every day this is happening to me!
It’ll dribble or torrent, with no controllability…

The protection pants offer little comfort to me…
But less protection, as I increase my bellies adiposity…
Struggling, Little Inchie gets stuck in the zip… agony!
I wet myself; wetter than if on a water-skiers jetty!
It bleeds, I cry… this is ageing – it’s not very pretty!

Inchcocks tries to Make Them Laugh in Odes Series

Inchcock Today: Friday & Saturday

Frustrating Friday & Super Saturday

Ode wot I wrote on Saturday

What bits I can remember,
Are we still in December?
I’m feeling slow and dumber…
Indeed, the body is getting plumper…

I’m out of my comfort zone…
Yet, to joyfulness, I’m prone?
Nowt’s changed, still home alone?
Gone deaf, can’t hear the phone!
Eyesight bad, moan, moan, moan!
Can it be due to my testosterone?
The computer is like a battle zone!
And I can’t find my mobile phone!

I still feel unbothered, most macabre?
Constantly talking to myself, jibber-jabber!
Had no drink, I should be sober!
Memory Maureen failing… whencever,
Is it the Hemp, Simvastatin, whatever?

I spent 8+ hours on the snippet blog new,
Endless mistakes, all needing a review…
The night Carer arrived, she had the blues…
I’d not planned food… sausage or a stew?
Still upbeat… I asked her for a pas de deux!
She replied: ‘You know what you can do!”

I finished the new blog; it was mostly crime…
Then again, Nottingham’s news is all the time!
Got a meal late, morning time, but that’s fine!
Got around to doing this blog’s design…
The notepad… I just couldn’t find!

Saturday
I can only blame Dementia Doreen…
Cocking things up, behind the scene…
The computers got a wobbly screen!
Cartilage Cathies pain… I want to scream…
Yet things are going like a dream?
Well, no! So many cock-ups, unforeseen,
Dropped and broke, my little green tureen!
New pains arrive around the spleen…
Laundry returned, more creased than it’s ever been!
Yet I’m singing to myself? It’s almost obscene!
Cataracts! I can hardly see the flatscreen!
I’m losing it… is life just a smokescreen?
I was unbothered, almost contented, serene?
I’m as lackadaisical as a circumforanean…
I’m clinging onto semi-sanity, it would seem?
I blame Dementia Doreen, I deem!

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Friday

What Bits I Can Recall

Well, I’ve found page one of the reminder notes. I’m so unbothered at the moment, still don’t know why I feel this way or how long it will be before the Dracula Depression returns. What’s going on here? Have I been given a ‘Happy Pill’ or something? It seems yesterdays ‘Couldn’t-care-less’ scenario is still with me?

The ghosts, wraiths, spectres, apparitions, and other grotesqueries haunt the hallways and lobbies. Worry and confuse me! Searching for Inchcock, to create ambiguities, abstrucities, perplexities, misfortunes and botherations, to scare… No, it’ll be down to Doreen’s Dementia! I can only put it down to the mysteries of Winwood Heights.

Luckily, I’d been taking many photographs, and even luckier, I managed after a frustrating battle with the computer’s SD card reader and got them loaded to use here. Although some of them I can’t remember taking.

That’s another thing, why am I not bothered about this! Surely I should be?

This is not, or is it, from Friday cause I seem to recall that the red van-man was parked back in his favourite illegal position on the chevrons? A good start, that is! Hey-Ho! I vaguely remember going onto the balcony to take this photograph, obviously using the Fuji camera, because of its shape, of the end car park… but no, on second thoughts, another cock-up I’ve made.

Not sure as to why I took this shot of the computer desk in the dark. I know I was having troubles uploading the photos, and the icons had all changed size of their own accord? Harrumphs!

Annoyingly and frustratingly, I’d mentioned much in the notes I found to trigger any memories. Tsk! Total blank, but I’m sure it was Helen! I think it was Carer Helen who called in the morning.

I think I got the icons back up, but not to what size they were; they are mentioned in the notes. As if the farce with trying to get the photos loaded from the card, and my giving up on the job. (I tried again in the morning and got the on! Yee-Haa! There was a lot of scribble concerning me making tea and dropping the mug, but catching it before it hit the floor and getting my fingers scolded a little. Hehe! I wondered why they hurt a smidgeon this morning; now I know.

I took a shot of the morning skyline, and, according to the notes, I thought it was beautiful despite the gag colouring?

The more exciting thing was as I was closing the window’s door, I inadvertently caught the button on the Fuji camera and took a shot through the bottom glass. Hahaha! It came out better than any photo taken.

A mention of kicking off early with the clattering and tap-tapping was read. How I could have heard it with the state of my era-holes is surprising. It must have been loud?

SYS 158, DIA 69, Pulse 95 and the body temperature was 34.5°c.

Made an order for J Sainsbury’s for next weekend. And ordered some t-shirts and something else… I’ll have a look to see what it was… Ah, pyjama bottoms.

Out of memory notes now. Good job too. I took some photos. I definitely can remember making up the Local News Snippets block; a scribble on the bottom of the one-sheet left indicated 8 hours, but carried onto the missing sheets; I think that is how long I was doing them!

I found another mystery photo I cannot recall taking, let alone why? However, the computer is not on. (See that? How quick I was to notice that? Hahaha!) It looks like it’s teatime ish, cause the lights going. It might have been when I gave up on blogging. Or not, maybe, perhaps, possibly…

I can recall a little later taking some pictures of the early sunsetting. Boy, did these take some sorting in the morning to get on here. However, just about worth the effort, although not brilliant at all. I think I took them over ten minutes while cooking the belated nosh.

Then eventually, I got the meal served up. It doesn’t look much appearance-wise, but I did enjoy this vegetarian effort for a change. Baked potatoes with butter, a leek onion and something else, I forget what it was now… ah, potato pie. Tomatoes and fresh garden peas. I can remember them cause I left them in the pan when I was about to start eating the meal. So went back and salvaged them. Put them on the plate and took this snap. Flavour Rating: 7.2/10, methinks.

As I went into the kitchenette to wash up, I was greeted by the now really beautiful sunsetting!

I hastened to get the Canon camera, and I returned to take these pictures of it.

Glad I caught this.

I washed the pots and stove and settled into the £300, second-hand, c1968, second-hand, c1968, Charity shop-bought, eyesorely-horrendously grungy coloured, haemorrhoid-testing, unfit-for-use, not working, recliner.

The Thought-Storm thundered into action as soon as I got my feet up. Yet whatever it was that was making so content and unannoyable today were still at it. And I just put the TV on to watch a murder documentary, and at first, no, the second set of averts… Zzz!

Saturday

Ode To The Saturday Blues

Enough of this mad scriptitation…
Nobody reads it much in the entire nation…
It’s turning me to zombification…
Though, I feel it is my vocation…
My mind’s losing its location…
Sometimes, it’s a mental violation,
Turning my brains into vegetation!
I’m going bonkers… I need no verification…
My sanity needs another health evaluation,
Mayhaps, a cannabis vaccination?
Or, a trip to the seaside, on vacation?
I really need a cataracts diagnostician…
Psychiatrist, urologist and an acoustician,
I’m in desperate need of a mortician,
Or someone to explain; mankind’s declension?
Oh! I need the Porcelain Thrones’ attention…

I woke with a double whammy of ailments; I think that’s what woke me up. Still, it made a nice change from being woken up by Arthur Itis, Cathy Cartilage, Anne Gyna or Duodenal Donald. And plus as well, they both claimed down within a few minutes! Oh, I forgot to tell what they were, Tsk!

I’d got the camera nearby, so I took a one-handed snap of it – Clever stuff! Well, alright, it wasn’t clever then! Hehehe! I’d got Colin Cramps distorting my right-hand something wicked.

Oh, Dearie me! The Blood Pressure was well up this morning. The body temperature was still low. SYS 169, Dia 73 and Pulse at 90. But was I bovvered? Nope! This feeling that lingering… it must be what it feels like when on dope? Har-Har!

I had three goes at stringing the ear-holes again today. But still used the olive oil in between. I fear it’s not helped an iota with the hearing, Tsk! Still, in the odd uncaring mood I’ve been in lately, it didn’t get to me?

He was on form today. Considering that there will have been many noises I didn’t hear, there were dozens of times I did hear him due to my wax build-up. He’s consistent; I’ll give him that. He’s also an

Carer Helen Did the morning call. Ah! I remember she’d brought the washed laundry back for me. I found it all screwed up again, crammed into the bag! I think I might as well ask cleaner Esther to do the washing; she folds the clothes for me, saves ironing, and uses the freshener and softener supplied. I’m not blaming Helen at all, whoever it was that took the washing out of the dryer, should be spoken to nicely, and asked if she could fold the clothes for me, in future, please. This still irritated me even in the odd uncaring mood I’ve been in lately.

I worked on this blog between wee-wees (Hahaha!)  I checked on the Amazon tracker to see if the hats and jammie-bottoms would be coming tomorrow, as it said on the site when I ordered them.

Bobble hats coming tomorrow, T-Shirts on the 9th or 20th, and the much-needed jammie-bottoms on Monday (the 7th, I think). Still, in the odd uncaring mood I’ve been in lately, it didn’t irk me?

Got some photos to upload, but many of them were not recognised by the card reader? Still, in the odd uncaring mood I’ve been in lately, it didn’t irk me?

Off to the Porcelain Throne. The past three days of rock-hard torpedoes have changed overnight to rock-hard peanuts in a melange of running liquid and mucus based discharge. Unbelievable! And it still hurt to pass that? Still, in the odd uncaring mood I’ve been in lately, it didn’t bother me.

My tea-belly had returned! Got the ‘Snippets’ blog finished off and posted it. Then worked on this double-diary blog for many hours; I just pressed on with it, continuing to make errors, mistakes and forever making a brew of Glengettie, Thompsons Punjana and Sainsbury’s Extra-Strong tea in that order throughout the rest of the day.

As it got nearer to 18:00hrs, I kept the curtains open so that in case the sunset was pretty again, I would get some photographs of it, again. Which I did! Hehe! And boy, was it gorgeous tonight!

Sunset

I took these pictures over about 15 minutes from the kitchenette window. Gorgeous!

I nipped into the wet room to get some more bleach for when I’d made a mess cooking the meal later…

Boy, did I clout Cathy Cartilages’ knee on the doorframe, coming out… Yes, I did! It hurt! A suitable synonym would be ‘ARGH! I thought I’d seek some sympathy from the ladies out there, so I took a photo of the offending knee cap, intending to inspire compassion from the ladies, but it came out wrong. I expected the picture to show how painful, swollen and bruised the knee looked… But, No! Despite the agony, I can’t see any damage to it at all? Another plan foiled… Haha! Still, in the odd uncaring mood I’ve been in lately, it didn’t agitate me?

I’d forgotten about the evening Carers’ visit. Whatta-plonka! Time to get the fodder sorted, I thought.

♫ The Oh, Susan ♫ tune chimed out, and in walked my evening Carer. It was Chloe. I knew what her name was, the very moment she answered me when I asked her what it was. Ahem! I meant to ask her if I could take her picture to use on the blog, but puddle-brain here forgot to! She was a pleasant gal, not pushy, and after sorting the medications out, she gave me a minute or two natterings. Treats were chosen, and off Chloe went, taking the waste bag with her to the chute; I thank you! A Sociable Carer like Chloe is always welcomed. Bless her.

Worked on the blog, then got the nosh sorted out. Cut up a selection of orange, yellow and black Natoora tomatoes and got some of the Squid (anchovy) vinegar on them; I wasn’t sparing!

End up with this meal served up. Potato cakes (Seasoned), fresh garden peas, tomatoes and a beef pastie. I got tucked into it but did not enjoy it as I should have. I may have been a little too tired?

Gone midnight again before I got my head down, and the jumping awakes were back with me. Grumph!

Good Evening!

Inchcock

Inchcock: Ode to Old Nottingham Memories

Inchcock Loses the plot in this ode to Old Nottingham Memories

But he does his bestest, honest!

Nottingham has many virtues, good, bad and chronic…
Its history, of being Saxonic,
It’s people grand, pleb’s, murderers, some moronic,
Nowadays, we’ve bred more that are demonic…
Muggers, gangsters, shop lifter, a lot, schizophrenic…
A few have car insurance, and not many have a driving licence…
Younger Nottinghamians music is cacophonic…
Thousands of students, so some scientific…
We’ve had many arrested for being terroristic.

Many of them you’d think were telluric,
The job-shy, call having a cold being sick!
Many old uns like me, who remember Sputnik…
Using lard to make their spotted dick!
We’re snided out with those sarcastic…
Even more of them are vandalistic!
Gone are the days of the workaholic…
But also gone, getting polio, scabies and colic!
Hopes for our citizenry? Like a trip on the Titanic!

The tin bath dragged inside from the wall, metallic…
No bath salts, we made do with soap, carbolic!
Hot water, Ha! Boil it on the stove or fire; unhygienic!
The toilet outside at the end of the yard is unproblematic!
Mind you, in winter, I was a smidgeon unenthusiastic…
Coal-house out there, fetching wood could be traumatic,
In the dark, you could kill a rat or cat hidden – tragic!
But lazing in front of the coal fire was magic!
Until the burning ashes shot out, and the carpet got lit!

Anything to be written was in pencil or pen and ink!
We knew nowt about an uplink, hard-drive or weblink,
Mobile, cell phone, wristwatch, dentist or permalink,?
Our pleasures limited, Monopoly, maybe tiddlywink…
Swearing was minimal then, ratfink, burke or gink!
Getting the belt for devilry made us wince and squint!
I got a few lashes once, a day out…for not looking perjink!
I recall once, the lads writing on my leg splint…
Not a lot of it was spelt right; they put sinnt for sent…
But thickness and ignorance permeated wherever I went!

I tried to join a club once, ended up getting a blackballing!
My education, manners, and appearance were appalling!
My approach to girls, looking back… was bloodcurdling!
9 times out of 10, her admirers would end up brawling!
With me, the littlest, the one that kept falling & failing!
On this embarrassing subject, I’ll stop burbling!

Amongst the unknown to us was Methamphetamine,
Mind you, we’d a neighbour who’d supply whisky and gin…
I got IPA, Mackeson, Guinness, thus started drinking…
My intake, for many years, there was no curtailing…
But my love of beer was never really disabling,
Until cancer arrived, there was only one way of controlling…
I singularly went from a happy drinker to totally abstaining!
It was hard, so hard to do, I still find it appealing…
But without any help, encouragement or counselling,
I turned tea-total… smug-mode developing!

I became a keen lover of food and masticator,
My weight ballooned, and furthermore…
Got myself a duodenal ulcer…
Cancer of the bladder…
Then diabetes and nasty hernia…
Peripheral neuropathy, oh, bother!
A stroke, which left me a confused procrastinator…
Disabled, what next? Cataracts, Saccades and Glaucoma!
I was already going deaf, then bother with an incisor!

And to think, I used to be a blood-doner..,
Also, now, I do tend to stutter…
Still struggle with the wee-weeing bother,
Then I was confirmed to have Vascular Dementia…
This life has been terrible… yet also an adventure!
Oh, and the back’s developing a curvature…
I think its best to try and stay demure,
About there is no chance of a cure,
The failing eyesight is worrying me more…

Did I deserve all these ailments? That’s up for conjecture,
Is that the right word? I’ll check… Yes, no error!
Things seemed better in the days of yore, thereinbefore,
The Carers’ cost a lot, that’s for sure…
A little good luck, I could do with some more?
Dementia Doreen’s in control, I’m sure, that I can assure…
Yet at times, she rests, releases the memory-core…
If she returns and comes back to the fore,
She’s my ever-present concentration annihilator!

Sorry, I see my starting thoughts got juxtaposed…
Did my thought waves get overdiagnosed?
Is Dementia Doreen no longer comatose,
Or my incredulous logic, become indisposed?
Have I been overeating glucose,
I’ve just eaten a banana, and I’m adipose!
Would it be alright to have Marmite on toast?
The plot’s gone again – what a terrible host!.

Inchcock’s Abysmal Odeing – For Fun

Inchcock Today: Diary with Ode

LAST NIGHT’s CATCH-UP

I decided to get some Cheesy Potatoes done for Carer Richard when he comes tonight.

I soon turned into an uglier imitation but albeit me a smaller one, a younger one, less fodder-wise, shorter, and an older one, of Gordon Ramsay. Hehe!

I even donned my Toque. I thought it would be an unexpected treat for Richard, and all my remaining concentration went into getting it prepared properly. I intended to make it the best I could, and luckily Peripheral Neuropathy Pete was helping by not playing up too much. This is good! I thought, so I pressed on conscientiously and even felt a bit proud of my efforts. Smug-Mode-Assumed. I got the last potatoes in the oven, and they were done in no time. I got them out on the chopping board added all the seasonings you can see in the photo above. Then bashed the living daylight out of potato flesh and mature, strong cheddar, adding Squid sauce (liquid salt), BBQ seasoning, spirit vinegar, Worcester sauce and a dirty great-chunk of butter! It took ages to get it all to mix together, I don’t know how long it took me, but I was all weary-armed by the time I got the shells back in the oven to brown off. Haha!

I was feeling even smugger when they came out almost perfect! Well, as I would have liked them too. I was planning on four for Richard, two for me… I ate mine straight away!

The door chime played its Oh, Susanna tune, and I anticipated Richard coming down the hallway, but whoever was buzzing did not come in. I realised why when I got to the door – “I’d left it locked form when I took my shower!” What a plonk!

Opened the door to see Carer Valerie. I’d made yet another cock-up! I thought Richard said he was coming tonight, but Valerie told Richard is coming in the morning. So, I gave Valerie the cheesy potatoes. I packed them in foil and put them in a bag for her, and she seemed to like the look of them, which made me content cause Valerie is a good gal to me. Wished her farewell, and she took the waste bags to the chute with her, for me.

Before I turned off the computer, I had a look at my Google Calendar for the next few days. And son realised I had not put some things down… although I really was confident that I had done? So, I added them!

Checked on my plates and legs; they were a lot better looking than yesterday. As I was just about to start getting smug again…

I felt the wet warm sensation of gushing blood within the protection pants. I hastened to the wet room to find, with maximum embarrassment, it was not blood but urine! The recent bouts of smugness were abandoned and replaced with a dollop of shame and ignominy! Depression threatening!

I started on the Health Checking in a slightly lower state of joy and contentment. The body temperature seemed fair enough. Got everything cleaned and medicated and changed into the night attire.

The sphygmomanometerisationing showed the Blood Pressure was up a smidge, at Sys 148, Dia okay at 68, and the temperature read 86. Nowt much to worry about; I’ve had a lot higher at times.

I was well tired when I got changed and medicated. The eye drops ought really to be called nose or mouth drops, in my case… Humph! Despite Shaking Shaun kicking off, I must have been tired, for I was off to sleep in a flash.

I was soon woken up by Herbert bashing about. At this time of night, it might not be late for some, but it is me, 22:00hrs gone! The ungregarious, unamiable, unloquacious, haughty, pompous, git! Still, he soon stopped. This may have had something to do with hitting the roof with my walking stick…

Which serves me right, cause I stubbed my toe getting back in the £300, second-hand, c1968, cringingly-beige-coloured, not-working, rickety, incommodious, grotty recliner. Tsk!

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Thursday 3rd February 2022

I woke up (I do that sometimes you know), and a renewed inspiration took place. I intend to get the cheesy potatoes ready for when Richard calls; he will not be done out of his treat. I laid there and pondered on the logistics of my desire with the cheesy spud making:

  1. I only have a few small potatoes left to use
  2. This will mean I cannot refill the skins for him…
  3. I’ll heat the potatoes, then give them a good mix and bash with the cheese (plenty in the fridge) and seasonings.
  4. Put them in an oven dish.
  5. Timing will be critical, though. Richards ETA, 06:30 to 07:30hrs… Mmm!…
  6. Fingers crossed, I’ll make a start then…

The pots were put in the oven cooking, and I did some blogging. Then got the tubers out and sliced them. I’d got the cheese in the basin all ready with the seasonings already in it. I then took the flesh out to mix in the bowl…

Got the cheesy spuds in the tray and back into the oven. They were soon all looking good and browned off pretty well.

I removed the tray, burning my fingertips as I did so. Then tidied up the appearance, and I wrapped it all in tin foil and awaited Richards arrival.4

I dropped the small husks back in the oven and nibbled them a few minutes later. Nice! I’m afraid I’ve got the taste back for cheesy potatoes. I ordered Iceland to get their baking potatoes and some wine for someone or other. Not saying in case they read this. As I was starting the order, today’s Iceland order arrived.

I’d forgotten I’d already ordered some wine, which was delivered today with the other stuff. I can tell you now, it was for Sister Jane and hubby Pete. I’ll ring them later to say to them they can collect them.

I’m not so sure about the Iceland new Fruit & Salad desserts. In fact, I don’t recall ordering them? But, there you go.

Minutes later, Richard arrived. The lad seemed a little tensed up for some reason to me. He didn’t seem exactly jumping with joy at the meal I’d made for him. But kind enough to take it anyway. Methinks Richard is having some bother of some sort. I hope whatever it is turns out right for him. I hobbled him to the door and wished him well as he departed, taking the waste bags with him. Bless him!

Back to the blogging. Got a call from Sister Jane and told her about the wine awaiting her pleasure. Then the Haematology Nurse, Hristina, arrived. She was in a rush again but chatted while she took the blood. Gave her an Easter egg, but I had to almost force her to take it. Hahaha!

Sudden Dizzy Dennis visit, joined shortly with shaking Shaun. Not too good this.

Mind-Wanderings and pointless Mental Memorabilia

A gal once asked me, I think her name was Gloria?
Have you ever experienced utter euphoria?
We then got grips and a bit overfamiliar…
She asked again; I said no, and we ate a veggie burger.

Christine later said, she thought me peculiar,
So I didn’t see her again and chased after Julia…
I liked her, although she was older and ganglier,
But she didn’t take to me, she was always wiser…

Then a gal who was brawnier, my beloved Grizelda!
Encounters of passion, she wore no brassier…
Her body was all firm and desirably muscular,
While it lasted, I did find utter euphoria…
She was visiting the UK, from Mülheim an der Ruhr,
Grizelda went home, leaving me feeling sadder!

Then came Fern, for me, she was classier…
Sex-mad, but grumpy, niggly and crotcherier…
And it has to be said, she was much clumsier,
She’d greet me with not a smile, but leer…
Proving her to a smidge superior…
With pleasurable connections, she couldn’t be freer!

I’m writing this rubbish cause I’m having a Thought Storm,
My wording and writings, not precisely in the artform,
What can you expect from someone so lowborn?
Musical, me? I did try to learn the fluegelhorn…
Also the piano, private lessons from a Capricorn…
One lesson and he said ‘You shouldn’t bother’: with scorn!

My bank balance is getting nearer to being overdrawn…
So, I’ll not be going holidaying to climb the Matterhorn,
Or my dream, of going on a boat around Cornwalls Zawn,
Hello, I just had an attack from Shaking Shaun,
Better stop now, clear up my on the floor sandwich of brawn!

Part of The Nottingham Lads True Tales of Woe

Hehehe!

Good Heavens! Good Luck!

A Tale In Ode; of Inchcock Having Good Luck!

I was sitting, doing the blog, Inchcock Today,
Got it nearly done, sorting out the scintillae…
When, crunch… much to my utter dismay…
The right patella plopped out of its socket!
Well, it shot out like a rocket!
Did it hurt, was I worried… Oh, nay!
Just don’t believe all I say, Hahaha!

After the shock, I tried to get it back in…
Too tender to do any banging…
After much-failed faffing…
I thought this needed help and medicating,
I had a bash at knee cap relocating,
To ease things and stop it stinging,
I could hobble, but Gawd, it was stinging!

The lady on 111 was very obliging,
Go to the hospital, she was saying…
So I did, bravely… I’m not bragging…
Finished the blog and was not cringing!
Set of to the QMC, without whinging.

By the time I got down to the ground floor,
Bearing in mind, I’m a bit of a procrastinator,
Should I be busing it there? Is this an error?
A taxi will be costly but will save some furore…
I’ll phone for one, but again a failure!
I’d left the mobile behind; what an adventure!

I shuffled painfully back into the elevator,
Up to the apartment, entered, and for sure…
Knocked my knee on the door furniture!
The pain turned to agony at the conjuncture…
I had a close look at the knee. Is it a fracture?

But luck, as you may know, is a fickle creature…
With swelling down to the fibula and tibia,
Gobsmackingly within minutes, the discomfiture…
The pain was showing signs of divestiture!
But the agony was still nowhere near miniature!

Now, amazingly, I was going far less squirming…
The knee cap to the socket I saw returning!
Which I thought was very easing and welcoming,
I hobbled far easier, for some more wee-weeing!

Of course, the thought ‘would it pop-out again?’…
I wasn’t too bothered if the bad luck came back again,
It’s bound to, assuredly, guaranteed, for certain…
But this knee-cap returning I can’t explain?

Good Luck? A stranger to my scatterbrain,
But I like getting it and hope to again…
Ayup! I walked into the doorframe…
Now I’ve got a new bruise and back pain!
That’s better, much more like my scene!
Was this whole escapade transpadane?

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Colophon, by Alto-Ego Inchie

Inchcock is still not capable of kneeling or genuflection,
He’s not a technician… more a poor theoretician!
Inchcock leans towards visualisation rather than realisation…
He’s used to existence with trepidation and tribulations,
Throwing his poor hearing and sight into the equation…
The fool accepts all his failures, hassles and aggravations!
Yet throughout, the old fool has shown great determination…
Patiently waiting for some good lucks germination…

Well, he got some yesterday…
His knee returned to the socket, of its own orchestration,
And what does Inchcock have to say?
“It burst out like a fulmination…”
“I failed to get it back in by manipulation!”
“Going to the hospital, realised I left my communication…”
“Back to flat for the phone, due to my vacillation…”
“Clouted me knee, which caused me much confusing elision…”
“So, Vascular Dementia Doreen proved to be my salvation…”
“I’d have missed this miracle cure without memory erasion.”

Hence: Ailments mental and physical can cause depression…
Hypertension, apprehension, confusion, even tintinnabulation!
Procrastination; and indeed, physical and mental putrefaction
Infection, infestation, digression, marginalisation…
Occasionally like yesterday, it can cause jubilation!
Well, that’s my impression!
Time for some self-inebriation?

Part of the Inchies True Make Them Laugh Ode Series

Inchcock: Local News Snippets in Ode

This week the News Snippets are reported, recorded and commented on, by The Nottingham Pensioner Lad, Inchcock (89).

Alto-Ego Inchy: I apologise for the Odeing included in the comments. But the lad has had minimal education. Now, with him contracting Vascular Dementia, as well as various other ailments; Hearing aids, mechanical ticker fitted, Glaucoma, Saccades, Cataracts, Stroke, Peripheral Neuropathy. His tendency to either waffle on, lose the plot or regularly forgets what he was doing, where he is, or where he was going; does not make for readable poetry. But there’s no stopping him. He only sulks when I point out these and other failings to him. Sorry.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Well, this looks good,
Be happy surely we should?
Read the next one and chew the cud!
Your interpretation will go down with a thud!

I’m aware of how they feel, every patient,
I’m waiting on may a medical appointment,
Dentist, Chiropodist, Doctors yearly check…
That’s been a wait of three years, by, heck!
Audio, DVT and Cardiac…
Then the operation on the cataracts,
Glaucoma and Saccades and the Diabetes in fact…
Will I live long enough to get my treatments?

Sozzled, drugged up, and a man with a violent bent,
But will there be a return to prison requirement?
Easier for him to get drugs in there for his sustainment?
Maybe they’ll offer him some mental treatment?
Tell him sorry if this is inconvenient…
Give him some cocaine and pay his rent?

Run of the mill stuff, for the Nottingham creed,
I understand that he was a gynaecologist,
Nothing suspicious, the chap wasn’t a druggist…
Police won’t look too far into this…
With nine officers attacked and on the sick list!

The Police and I…
Have no idea why,
So sorry the lad had to die…
RIP son… It makes you cry!

No matter why – Animals!

All this violence, drugs, gangs, I comprehend?
Slave importers, youths will re-offend…
No deterrent do the courts send…
Viciousness threatens, it’s today trend…
And I think it will only worsen!
A judge was I thought the only person…
Who could, these crimes amend…
But no, so I’m scared and disheartened!.

Self-Centred Scum!

Well, this is interesting news for Sherwood…
A 48% increase in crime figures, should…
make my blood boil, make me angry and rude!
I’m not surprised, I’ve not seen a policeman since May!
Didn’t even see one on Tuesday…
Plenty of yobboes lurking…
Don’t suppose they are working?
I just pray they don’t mug me today!.


Raliegh, John Players, Debenhams, Topshop, Oasis, WH Smith, Burton & Dorothy Perkins, River Island, Banks closing down, Virgin Media sold to Liberty Global and has been ruined by them, Macintoshes, Rowntrees, Frys, Cadburys all sold to Nestles…

But fret not, we have 14 new takeaway shops opened… even though 12 went bankrupt in the last year?

Well, looking at my arm that’s encouraging.

So, basically, she’s got 25 days, what an hour a session? Going to some Community Centre; probably gets a free meal, and she can do some drug trading at the same time. I assume that courts will be providing her with a taxi both ways?

Inchcock’s Local News Snippets in Ode

Inchcocks Wednesday of Whoopsiedangleploppery

I’ll start at the beginning, (Sounds logical to me? – Hehe!) Perhaps I might learn to spell as well… tomorrow…Tsk!

I woke around 03:00hrs and rose gingerly to my feet,
But the knees and legs bothered me most, mate…
Just look at ’em on the left here… What a state!
Still had Arthur Itis giving pain and the flat feet…
Without pains, a life I would think would be incomplete?

The regular fluid retention that usually sinks into the feet seemed now stuck in the top of the legs. My patellas are all knobbly?  But I’m not complaining (then anyway).

I began to think through the needs and actions of the potentially hectic mornings requirement. Which, as I noted, were:

  • Get the ablutions done early, like straight away…
  • Make sure I do not use the shower as early as this in the morning, so I’ll have a stand-up session at the sink.
  • Get the teeth done first.
  • De-coke the nasals.
  • Saccades eye drops in. (Try to get some of the medication into the eye this time!)
  • Before shaving, don’t forget to say your little prayer to the Peripheral Neuropathy God. And make sure the aftershave is handy to stop any bleeding.
  • Do take care medicationalisationing. I can tell already that Little Inchies final lesion has been bleeding cause as soon as I moved, the dried blood cracked as the P.P.’s were adjusted… So be prepared for agony, and brave it out, mate!
  • Now cometh something that will be as much hassle and pain as anything…
  • Yes, the sock-glide has to be used for the first time in months! Sorry, but it’s just too cold to go out to the Dentist, barefooted in my shoes this time!
  • I wish you all the best of luck with carrying out this fearful, scare-making task! But, it’s got to be done!
  • Things went relatively well as it happened.
  • As expected. The worst by far was the tender application of the dreaded, feared, always tear bringing…
  • Tender in the extreme and extra painful cause one has to get to things in the first place… 😢
  • The Sock-Glide won the ‘Most Hated’, The Most Feared’ awards. But the fungal lesioning retained its status as ‘King of the Excruciating Medicalisationings!’
  • I was so glad that I got these done and out of the way early on… I even Smug-Moded about it for a while!

I made my first brew of tea, finished off yesterday’s blog, and got it posted off. The Carer came nice and early, so that was nice… her seeing the photo of my legs on the computer screen was a bit harrowing for the gal, though. Hahaha! Me too!

I thanked the girl and offered some nibbles or drinkies in thanks, but she wouldn’t have any. I fang-you! Off she went taking my waste bags to the chute with her.

The computer turned off, and I got down to getting things ready in earnest. Let’s have a think now…

Bus pass to get back home with, yes! Camera, check. Cash card… okay. Keys, Alert bands, Warfarin I.D., yes… Somethings missing, methinks? Aha, shopping list and cash card, Gorrit!  By the time I was all ready to go, it was about 08:15hrs as I set out. I got into the lift and down to the ground floor…

Then went back up to the 12th-floor and the flat and got a face mask adorned. Nearly made another cock-up there!

THE JOURNEY…

Down and outside, over the road, Accifauxpas, nought!
I turned around, to the view of Winwood Court,
I took a photo of it… well, I thought I aught!
But the gravel hill up into the park made me fraught…

Made it up the hill in one go – but I was heavily breathing,
A dog came from nowhere, barking at me; I was seething!
Nearly ended up mucking my underclothing!
The dog owner arrived, she was chunky, fortysomething…
I fell in love again… the mouth was frothing…

I limped my way through the twitchel no one was about,
I was a little nervy, so I still kept a lookout,
Had a look around as I came out…
That twitchel has an ominous aura, there’s no doubt!.

Down the hill, as far as Elmswood Gardens, then right…
And alongst it. I plodded towards the traffic light…
Mansfield Road road, the spending did start!

Too early for the Dentist, I called into the Wilko store,
Laundry booster, Zoflora and Trots tablets… Yes, some more!
The tablets were easy to get, four feet from the floor…
The booster too high, out of reach, to my displeasure!
I ask a lady for help, at her leisure…
The Zoflora, bottom shelf, I ended up on the floor!
But the ladies laughed and helped me up some more!

Out just in time to get to the Dentist,
They treated me well, although they were pressed…
A new gal training on the reception desk…
I was soon fetched to see the Dentist Oola Bogusz,
As she leant over me, I could sense her firm left bust…
She smiled at me a lot, was I going mad or what?
She and the nurse actually joked with me???
Toothpaste prescription, Something amiss here, just you see!
In no time, I was treated and set free!

I had a funny turn while paying my dues…
Well, I had it when I first joined the queues
These were also patient with me… another ruse?
I have to work this out at home, have a muse…
Why the change? They all usually have a short fuse!

Not many folks about? Most of them had not got facemasks on. Even in the Dentist and Wilko. What’s the matter with them?

Down to the Co-op, to get some cans of their delightful own brand chilli-con-carne… why the tastebuds were salivating at the thought of getting some more cans… But No! The assistant asked the manager for me, and I found that they had stopped stocking this product, Grrr! Gnatwrangles! Damn them! Curses! Flibblegonkackles! Gits! Slobs! Flibblegonkackles! May they go bankrupt! And may whoever it was who decided to stop stocking my beloved cans of Chilli; Get festering, fungal-lesions bursting out slowly all over their body, for at least a full year, before they finally rot away; in absolute agony!  Not that it overly bothers me, mind!

Then up to the top of the road to Lloyds Chemist,
Oh, Pharmacy nowadays, sorry, how remiss!
I got the prescription toothpaste from Alice,
Leaving, I trapped my finger in the door…
My Saccades vision is now feeble & poor…
And the left index finger is bloody sore!

Humph!

I got to the bus stop and met Esther, we had a natter, as she was on her way to the flats to do someones cleaning. Nice to see her. We walked through the link passages together – they can’t touch me for that! Hahaha! (Can they?)

Home Sweet Home!

Well, things didn’t go too bad, well, maybe… erm… either way, I did enjoy the getting out of the flat bit. Although it cost me a lot of dosh, a little blood, frustration and had moments of utter confusion… that’s life, you see… Well, it is for me!

My Route Taken

Yellow on foot – Purple on the bus.

I unloaded the bits of stuff purchased. Of course, there would have been more; had the lousy, stinking, crap-ridden, overcharging, dog-breath,  Klunglefrazzled Co-op had some their ‘Honest Value’ Chili-Con Carnie to sell me. But never mind. Shit!

I soon settled into a routine that matched the rest of the day,
Drinking spring water, tea and a pee; what a thirst I’d got on me,
I may not have been contented, but not depressed, exactly,
I started the mammoth task of doing this blog artistically!
In between blogging, I even had two callers, socially!
A lovely carer to drop off a Christmas card, nice & early.

Even got a phone call from the Doctors surgery,
Wanting to arrange a booster shot for me…
I explained I’m having it done at the chemist this Saturday,
Adding, I’ll see you tomorrow anyway…
Why is that? she did say, ‘For medical, the yearly…’
No, you’re not booked in, evidently?
I’ll check, hang on, she said wearily…
I’ve got it on my calendar, my dearie?
Have I got it wrong again? Am I illusory?
Nothing on our records, she added hastily…
Oh, a free day for me then, that’s satisfactory…
Maybe I can have a hassle-free day?
Yes, well, I’ll see, you may be hearing again from me?

The feet, after not wearing socks for months, continuous…
Felt okay, but the legs were feeling somewhat lethiferous,
So, I wound up the trouser legs, oh, the fuss…

What a change to earlier ones, more flush,
Still swollen, at the top, but fatter lower down?
Will the fluid flow with a gush?
Will things spurt in a rush?
Will the legs turn to a sodden mush?
Will the world, these limbs discuss?
Will the cause be revealed, as dracunculus?

Look what I found in the middle of the kitchen floor!
A rock hard escapee garden pea, what is more…
The miracle is, how I hadn’t noticed it before?
Has my eyesight, really got that poor?
Am I going potty? I’m not sure…

Camera Out – Balcony Utilised!

To take some snaps of the wonderful view.
The amazing sky, shown in the first two…

In a couple of shots of Chestnut walk, you won’t see any queue,
The place is sparse of people. what can I do?
Are they all inside, eating sausages, fish or making a fondue?
Mayhap some are trying on their Christmas tutu?
Or on holiday in Bulwell, Cardiff or Timbuktu?
Perhaps absent, gone off on a romantic rendezvous?
It’s possible a few could be feeling sozzled or blue?
Out buying food, but the panic buyers are in the queue?
Or in town, with their free bus passes to renew?
I’d speculate more; if only I knew…
Where they have all gone, what are they up to?
Ah, gorrit! Christmas! They’ll be making their homebrew!

Well, I’d better get some food – salad or a stew?
No, vegetarian sausages and root potatoes… that’ll do,
I’ll take a photo of it later, just for you to have a peekaboo!

Worra Nosh!

Vegetarian! Royal grown potatoes, root vegetable mash, tomatoes, Nigerian podded peas, Veggie sausages, cheese and bean pastie, with orange jelly and spray cream for dessert!

Taste Rating: 7.9/10 – Delicious!

Part of ‘The Nottingham Lads True Tales of Woe In Rhyme’

To all my thousands of fans throughout the world, I wish you all good fortune, fun, festivities, euphoria and future financial prosperity! (To both of you!)

TTFN!

Ode: Inchcock’s First Dance Hall Visit

After trying out ballroom dancing at the Youth Social Centre and being told by one well built, highly desirable busty young lady: “Your dancing reminded me of a pregnant rhinoceros that, with three legs, suffered from an overindulgence of alcohol!” I stopped.

Then, off to the Youth Club, and tried my hand at Jiving. When! More my style, although I was a total failure and spent far too much time picking myself up from the floor and getting an elbow or fist in the face, I also had to give that up. After I was banned from the Youth Club for accidentally putting Sandra’s shoulder out.

Then, it arrived – The Twist!

The current girlfriend was not a fan of the twist at all. And became an un-girlfriend. Sob! But being a romantic, look-at-me-go type of young lad, I’d already had my eye on Margaret, a locally-bred gal, and love of the twist brought us together. She was a couple of years older than I, and the Locarno Dance Hall was the first to be holding a dedicated Twist only night. So we arranged to visit.

Expensive mind you; 2/6d (12½d) to get in. But, I was determined to show off my ‘Twisting skills’, So enthusiastically practised and honed, to what I thought was perfection, in my bedroom for many an hour into the night. This was my chance to impress!

Queuing Up To Get In

We whippersnappers queued early on in the night,
The mood was good; nobody wanted to fight,
No talking back then, of gigabyte, megabyte, or terabyte,
No mobile phones or headphones were in sight…
Time for the doors to be opened, I was uptight;
Margaret hadn’t turned up… still, my chance for the limelight?

Searching Out A Partner!

I got in, and was cool, as they played ‘Twist and Shout’,
Time to have a decker around and pick a girl out…
I found one; she was over six feet and rather stout…
But I went over to try my best lines out…
Her breath smelt of Vodka and brussels sprout,
But her bosom swelled as I got my wallet out…
We were soon on the dancefloor for a workout!

I was enjoying that…

The gal and I did jive, had a jolly good shakeout,
The bouncer came over, and said ‘It’s Twist night!’
I said, well, it doesn’t matter nowt!
He hit me and threw me out!

I was a bit disappointed…

I felt a proper fool; the gal stayed behind, sacre bleu!
I legged it home miserable and made a brew…
Had some leftover rabbit stew…
Two bottles of Guinness too…
Then I had to spew…
That was the end of Twisting debut…

Part of the Inchcock Memories in Ode Series