Do you know… are you listening?
There were times today; I’m not kidding…
When I almost knew what I was doing!
Twelve goes at the Catheter irrigating,
There must be summat else, it’s irritating…
So much I keep on forgetting,
Doreen Dementia’s inquinating…
My memory, she’s masticating…
The Doctor’s ready for cognoscing,
My concentration is cadencing,
I await good luck commencing,
My brain is beyond assubjugating.
I suppose all this should be heartbreaking?
But a chance of some little ameliorating…
I’ve got cheesy potatoes in the oven baking!
I can smell the cheese as it’s melting…
I bet this is going to taste belting!
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
20:15hrs now. Another day flashes by. What I’ve done and why. Who’s been to see me? Can’t remember, can’t decree… Been a sad muddled day for me! So, some photos you can see, Feeling so confused, I could cry!
First Pouch emptying…
Before the mist descended.
Food order. Some treats for the Carers.
One of the afternoon pouch emptying. Amazing colour, healthy looking!
Nice parking today!
Mug of Glengettie, note-less notepad, and a nose bleed.
Blimus! This one filled up quickly.
Late Carer Josef called. Only needed some painkillers to ease the mild agony from the Catheter bag tube in Little Inchy. Argh!
The plan was to show a photo of the served-up nosh here. However: The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry!
No matter how carefully a project is planned, something may still go wrong with it. The saying is adapted from a line in “To a Mouse” by Robert Burns: “The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men / Gang aft a-gley.” Yes, Inchie forgot to put the SD card back in the camera again! So the evening shot and shot of the TV on, also, as Rabbi Burns said… “Gang aft a-gley “.
When I emptied night pouch, I did remember to put the car in first. Tsk!
Not a good colour.
When I was nodding off, I needed to utilise the. again. The visit took me half an hour or so overall. Sticky, gooey, messy. The actual evacuation maybe lasted a minute. The cleaning up & medicating… ages! Costly business nowadays. Last year the above cost me £2.19 – Now… £4.99! But it does a good job of easing .
On that rather sordid note, I’ll leave you now. (Fri Morning) And get this blog checked. (I’m bound to miss some mistakes, of course, I’m getting good at that recently) and sent off to WordPress.
05:00hrs: When I stirred, I struggled with , for control of my brain. For I was aware (for once) of the need to rise and get lots of things that needed to be done; so as not to let down the Link bus driver by being late at the collection point. I was determined not to get myself into a pickle and keep calm, not get all agitated like yesterday afternoon when things went apeshit again. I really wanted to keep calm today, with an eye on my Blood Pressure to help me on my mission. (Had I known what lay ahead, I’d not have bothered! I rose with little difficulty and, at that time, was rather pleased with myself. Indeed, I was close to having a . As soon as I got into the kitchen the I’d left the hot water tap running in the sink! Cold water again – just on a morning I need to get a good shower and shave for the visit it the Doctor! Already the self-despising and anger were brewing! I cursed and swore for ages and had to take the decision to have stand-up wash teeth and shaving sessions, using water from the kettle and two saucepans. Carrying them into the wet room, back before the water got cold, to refill and get them on the stove and back again to the wet room several times was decidedly risky. I paid the price. Blistered finger, scolded foot, and clouted my elbow on the corner of the cooker, dropping the luckily empty pan on the floor! My anger and frustrations were getting shameful now!. I got through with the task pretty quickly; then again, I was still determined to. A few more little nicks when shaving, but the hands were like blurs as shaved away at warp speed! Got medicated where needed, dressed, and out of the wet room to check on the pots and pans I’d used in the kitchen. I’d made a bit of a mess, but no time now to worry about that. I hoped whichever Carer came was early. Then I could ask for help with things… well, why not? I had to return to the wet room. This typifies my rotten luck – things have been fone in the evacuation department. But just because I needed to rush… Four rock-solid giant H-Bomb-shaped escapees! One at a time! Each one was more painful and took me longer to force out. The last one was a battle and a half! Bled so much, poor things. Even more, time was lost in cleaning and . I wasn’t sorry that was over!
0735hrs: ♫ Oh, Susan ♫ chimed up. At last, the Carer had arrived! Of course, Meridian Management had not sent her a message about coming earlier! Told me had she been advised, she could have gotten here earlier. Shame! Lovely Carer Sinead, it was today. She set to give me the medications first. Then help me with the cash for the bus fare. Even closed the tabs on the shoes for me when I asked. I insisted she take a drinkie and nibble of her choice in thanks when she left. I avoided the problems for once, being in such a rush to get down in time for the lift.. I arrived with three minutes to spare in the ground floor lobby. And began a mega-long ait for the arrival of the Link bus. I was questioning if I’d got something wrong about the appointment after all? Nothing showed up… well, a squirrel did. Haha!
I waited for about an hour, then gave up and returned to the flat. I got the magnifying glass and found the telephone number on the Link leaflet and gave them a call. No one is available at weekends, call back on Monday after 11:00hrs. Well, another problem without a solution? Now there may be an email from the foot lady about their appointment today. At least I can get there this time. I set the alarm on my mobile phone for an hour later. Just in case I don’t hear the text when it comes in.Then finished the Friday blog and posted it off. Noise from the flat above that did not settle; it went on for hours and hours. Clunks and bangs! Later there were a few breaks from the noise of the impolite, insensitive, disrespectful, snobbish, haughty, pompous Herbert. But he was back again within minutes each time. Huh, just typed that, and he’s gone all quiet?
The alarm went off on the mobile. I got ready and trotted… well, limped down with the three-wheeler walker trolley in the lift to the ground floor. I meandered gently along the link corridor to the end and the hair & foot salon on my left.
Aha, locked up and empty of people! I moved on to the end of the corridor and took a photo of the ILC (Independent Living Coordinators), who are Oberstgrüppenführeress, Primo Ballerina, Warden, Deana, and Generaloberstess, Junior Ice-skating champion Julie. I could see no souls about anywhere on all my wanders.
I turned, somehow I was not surprised they had closed down, let’s face it, it’s just my luck, innit? I took a close-up photo of the sign.
So we could read it. Bodes not well for the business, closing down for holidays?
I then had a thought – I do that sometimes, you know… have a thought! I nails growing so fast, I’m going to find it harder and harder to walk? Just a thought!
I’ve been into this blogging, and the times have flashed by. The will be here soon. Better get some quick nosh sorted, methinks. Back in a bit… or the morning. (The Morning updating):
Got the meal prepared, down in the £300, second-hand, decrepit, Haemorrhoid Harold-testing, sleep deterring, nauseatingly beige-coloured, not-working recliner. Feet up on a swivel chair. Not ideal when one is trying to eat peas and cope with the Peripheral Neuropathy Pete’s twitches and palpitations. Spent a lot of time retrieving odd peas from my body, the carpet, one in the slipper, two in the dressing gown pocket (No ideas how they got there], some made their way into the waste bin near the recliner, and about four are still on the floor underneath the Hopewell’s G-Plan, 1966 made cabinet, but at the back, I’ll ask Richard on Monday if he can retrieve them for me. Where was I? Oh, yes, the meal! Flavour-Rating 6.5/10. Ate it all, apart from the errant peas, of course.
Chloe arrived in a rush, as is usual. But we did have a laugh while it lasted. Treats and off she went, taking the waste bag with her.
I went to wash up the pots and things, and I could not resist trying to get some decent shots of the evening sky through the kitchen window. I took the first one in Auto-Mode on the Lumix camera. Crossing my fingers that the SD card will get them this time. Then tried a zoomed-in a bit, effort using the SCH-Evening mode on the camera dial. As I was taking this one, an instant demand came to a wee-wee – No messing about, I grabbed Metal Micky and shot off to the wet room. Fearing that the Comfort Protection Pants might be about to be tested here! But, No! I whipped out Little Inchie and had to wait for ages for the trickle to start, and it only lasted for a few seconds; this confused me somewhat? Washed and went back to the kitchenette. Where I took this picture of the changed view on offer from Mother nature. Amazing how quickly the evening skies change. And back to the wet room. This time for Porcelain Throne duties, during which; the wee-weeing flooded out? A comfortable, aperient evacuation was taken. But I had to wait for Little Inchie to stop leaking for blooming ages. The fungal lesion was bleeding again. I assume through my stupidity of whipping down the pants so roughly on my first visit for a wee, Tsk! I tried the new ointment this time, in hopes that for some reason it would be less painful than the Daktacort was. It wasn’t! I went back to the computer and took the nightly capsule of Hemp. I pondered on whether to risk an extra Codeine 30g. No doubt the lesion will sting for a while yet, and sleep, I would like to have some. But resisted and took a tablet of the less effective but much better than Paracetamol, Co-Codamol.
I settled down in the £300, second-hand, c1968, charity shop-bought, eyesorely-horrendously grungy coloured, Harold Haemorrhoid-testing, easily-falloutable from, unfit-for-use, not working, recliner, in search of Sweet Morpheus. But every time I nodded off, the pants would catch on the lesion as a shuffled about in search of a comfortable position, and sharp pain would bring me back out of any sleep mode I was in. I did consider changing into one of the larger pants. Maybe thinking about it now, I should have, I think! Cause I lost count of how many times I was unceremoniously and painfully woken up!
Yet amazingly, when I shot awake again around 05:00hrs, there was no pain from Little Inchies fungal lesion whatsoever?
07:30hrs: Woke wanting a wee-wee. I thought it would never come; it must have been 15hrs without one. It was hardly worth it, a painful sprinkle or two. At least the bladder is working again, so fingers crossed!
I set, too, giving myself a medical MOT. And taking ‘As needed’ non-prescription medications. There is no need for ointmentating this morning, No Little Inchies fungal lesion or Harold’s Haemorrhoids bleeding whatsoever! Excellent results on the blood pressure machine, best for ages!
The only thing not so good was the body temperature. That was way down low again. Been under the NHS’s recommended 35°c for a few days now. I don’t feel poorly; I am a lot chirpier in myself this morning. Although I felt so cold when it obviously isn’t?
I took some under-tongue CBS oil. And a Hemp capsule too.
Got the ears well saturated with the Olive oil. Let it sink in, and then I filled up the canals with more. This never seems to help, but I’ve got into the habit of doing it each morning now.
Then took a Dioctyl to help skid up the darned Porcelain Throne evacuations. Messy. Gooey, watery! Eurgh!
I got a few Warfarin tablets ready, so the carers will have some available for the evening doses.
Then, had a bash at syringing both ears. Not only a total waste of time; I failed to remove any wax at all, but I made such a mess I had
to clean up the water that had sprayed out off or missed the ears! Hehe!
Got the kettle on and sorted the laundry, not forgetting that talk-a-lot Esther would give me some hassle if it wasn’t ready and sorted when she arrived later this morning! Not that she scares me an anything like that, of course. Ahem!
I took this snap of the lovely morning sky with its ever-changing hues. Mother Nature, again shows us her beauty! The beauty we have been destroying for years.
Got the computer on and started on the WordPress reader and commenting, and the ♫ Oh, Susana ♫ chime brought forth Carer Richard. I thought the lad was late coming; he’s had extra calls on again and was in a rush because he had a four-hour training session later when he finishes work with the Diabetes team to get through. No time for any good natterings today again. I think he felt guilty about it, so I tried to cheer him up, wished him all the best, and gave him a bag of treats. Then, I walked (well, hobbled) with Richard to the lift lobby and wished him well for the meeting.
Took this photo of the car park in front of Woodthorpe Court from the kitchenette window. Made a brew of Glengettie tea and was about to return to the computer with the nug of tea – but circumstances changed…
As usual with Neuropathy Pete, his timing caused the optimum amount of pain and hassle. An involuntary right-leg Neuropathic Schuhplattler drop-something and flail-about dance made me drop the cup as I grabbed Metal-Micky and the side of the sink to keep from going over. Once more, it was over in seconds, but I still managed to clout my knee on the edge of a floor cupboard. Which awakened Cartilage Cathy in agony! Humph!
Sorted myself out and took an extra Codeine. And fond this photo of a meal from which I can’t work out? It was not a good photo in any way, shape or form, so it might be one that I meant to delete from the file?
Started on the Snippets blog, and the Iceland delivery arrived. I let him in through the intercom box in the hallway, and I cleared a path to put the bags into.
The driver took the bags through to the kitchen for me. Gave him a choice of plonk cans in thanks. He opted, I noticed, for the Rum and coke. Hehe! Good for him; I hope it cheered him up a smidge.
They sent the Rustlers for Richard, sugar snap peas, mushrooms and some new Pork & Pickle Bites. Three for a fiver, so they must be good. One for Josie, one for Richard and one for Esther. I got some small apples that, hopefully, my lesser-teethed mouth can manage to eat. Har-har! They had no small vine tomatoes in stock but have sent me a pack of large tomatoes, Dutch, that had a sell-by date for today. No charge!
The best thing they had sent was the No-Moo ice creams and No-Bull burgers. The best of any burgers I have tried! The ice cream is by far superior in taste to what one might call natural ice cream. Grrreat Flavour both! I’d have ordered more, but I dared not with Iceland’s record of crap unrelated substitutions!
I had another go at getting the Snippet Ode done. (I did get it finished, but not until I’d been grafting on it, on & off, for another nine hours!) Esther arrived and came talkingly into the room. She still wasn’t near enough for me to hear her, and I feared that she may have something vital as she went into the hall, front, and living rooms.
It’s not so bad when she’s face to face and not shouting at me rather than talking to me. Esther, bless her, has a habit of talking and carrying on. Esther keeps talking to me from the rear of my ear lobes as she turns away… the peace and quiet are nice. But there is always danger in this… She has a great memory and thinks because she’s told me something, I must have heard it and will remember it. (Both are impossible in my condition, Haha!)
Then, a week later, I get an ear-bashing from about 4 inches distance and am informed that “I told you that last week!” telling offs. Luckily I can rest assured that Esther will nip off into the other room to have a nosey around my boxes and occasionally iron a shirt… but talking to me all the time from the other room… still, I knew what to expect. Hehe! Obviously, I had forgotten something or not heard it. I’m glad I got the pork & pickle thingamabobs for her now. Giving her then assuaged her aggression. I joke, of course… Erm? She’s an angel, really.
I got the ready meal into the oven and had roughly 40 minutes before it was cooked. I must not fall asleep!
Back to doing the blog, I trudged. ♫ Oh, Susana ♫ rang out, and I wearily (Mentally) went to the door. It was Josie, returning the tray and things for me from the Sunday meal. Bless her cotton socks; she enthused over the taste of this Sunday’s chilli stew! That cheered me up a bit! She even asked if I used to be a chef? Oh dearie me! My EQ was nervous at this. Naturally, I had no idea why at the time. A feeling of foreboding matured…
I got on with the Snippet blogging again! So deep in concentration… still making errors after cock-ups, though. Then it dawned on me that the food was in the oven!!!
Grade A: It looked like this after I’d burnt my fingers getting the tray out of the oven post haste! Not good, is it? But I was so tired and weary that I still used it and made a meal of sorts out of it.
I added some BBQ sauce to the tray. Got some slices of Milk Roll bread, tomatoes and sugar snap peas onto the tray.
I was part mad at myself, well darned annoyed with myself, and so tired and drained, I didn’t get too agitated. Yet I still laughed at myself as I tried to dismantle the encrusted burnt meal to get at some edible bits of food. It helped in having some bread and sauce to soak some resuscitated bits to eat.
By the time I’d finished burnt food mining, which was tasty, believe it or not, bits of burnt food had been scattered far and wide on my stomach folds, down the pants, on the tray, and on the floor and recliner cushion. The carpet took on a new design; there were many black, ash-like bits of residue on it. I faced a long task in getting things sorted… and the kitchen and oven needed cleaning attention as well.
I was all in by the time I got things semi-put right. I made a brew of Thompson’s Punjana tea and ate a huge bowl full of veggie ice cream! I finished it and lay there as I dropped off to sleep – it was so good that I think I dreamed of sleeping…
♫Oh, Susana♫ Chimed out, and Carer Valerie came in. I’d been up and about for around 12 hours by then, and waking up after five minutes of sleeping was not what I wanted… Hehehe! I remembered to give Valerie her Pork & Pickle whatsits, though.
I felt awful but could not resist the urge to finish the blog. The internet went down… now I was getting annoyed!
I pressed on and got the Snippets blog finished at long last. It stayed that way; it was now gone midnight! I realised then that I had not done the ablutions today!
ODE TO PUTIN
Is it true that hopes and expectancies are always there?
Putin’s are conspicuous, World Domination, I fear…
He’s somewhat of a Worldwide parcel courier?
Soon, bigger, dirtier packages will be sent, and nuclear…
Where will the scumball strike next? Europe and Asia, it’s unclear… Anywhere, somewhere, possibly a country that’s weaker?
Is it true that he wears a lemon and pink brassier? Shags Igor Sechin, his First Deputy Prime Minister? He laughs at citizens dead or gathered for warmth around a brazier, The man could not be any more selfish and crazier!
I insult the shithead cause there’s nothing else I can do… But I would, if I could, send him a can of poisoned Irish stew, I wonder if he likes it from his minions in his rear? He’d like to make his competition dead or disappear? What competition? He’s got more weapons & forces than we do… He’s more soldiers in Moscow’s Red Square!
We cannot afford to send troops there…
We’ve not got enough, nor has anyone else, to be fair…
I wish we could send him Tony Blair…
Notice he’s not volunteered to do any damage repair?
Putin offers and hopes only for death and despair…
To the rest of the world, we can only die or forebear…
Unless you bribe him if you’re a financier?
Then he just might take a fancy to yer?
How many more people are the Government and Parole Boards going to get murdered? Why are the namby-pamby, battling for prisoners-rights, pathetic parole board members getting it wrong and freeing so many killers? Why do killers have so many rights? Other than to get to use the gallows, they should have none!
On March 9, 1950, a young Welshman living in London was sentenced to death for one of the worst crimes imaginable – the brutal murder of his wife and young child. After a whistle-stop trial lasting just three days, Timothy Evans was convicted and subsequently executed for the murder of his wife Beryl and 14-month-od daughter Geraldine. So, again, who was to blame?
And they do – REPEATEDLY!
Following the unmasking of Christie, a campaign led by many prominent journalists and newspapers sought to highlight what they said was a miscarriage of justice. Still, two official inquiries ordered by the Home Office found nothing wrong. The first, led by John Scott Henderson QC, upheld Evans’ conviction, concluding that Christie’s confession of murdering Beryl Evans was unreliable because it was made to support his defence that he was insane. The second, chaired by High Court judge Sir Daniel Brabin, found it was “more probable than not” that Evans murdered his wife and that he did not murder his daughter – contrary to the prosecution case in the original trial. Yet still, they get things wrong! Jailed ‘for life’ (Hahaha!), but freed to kill again: Shocking new data reveals that 149 criminals have joined the ranks of ‘double-lifers’ over the last ten years to kill again! Our legal systems gang of rich misfits are guilty themselves yet once more.
No wonder freed killers don’t target judges, lawyers or parole officers!
I wonder what would happen if they catch the scumball? His lawyer will claim he’s going demential? He took a pain pill once, and now he’s hooked on Ketamine Special? His ten past convictions have only been financial? He’s a Covid doctor and must keep his job; it’s essential? An Auntie touched his knee; his emotions were conflictual? He got raped by a male cat; unsure if he’s homosexual? His teachers forced him to play football? All he wanted was to be an intellectual? Hit his head, twixt right and wrong are not recognisable?
Conning the judge? Easy, malleable, manageable, and manipulable! The barrister tells him his clients’ past crimes are nullifiable… He admits to this charge, for it is not deniable… Really my client is the one who is pitiable… He’s not stabbed or raped anyone for weeks; surely that’s praisable? His motives were not malignant or questionable… Although his actions he now finds regrettable… Would a case of Glenfiddich 1937 be acceptable?
A potential trial in September?
Nothing about our legal system is certain,
Then October, maybe even November?
The judge has to break for tea and a frangipane,
Or not at all, unless the judge can keep sober…
And how long before this pair of shits is free again?
By the look of them, their dink must be high-octane…
They don’t look respectable or humane…
They ought to be stuck on top of a weathervane…
I’d sentence them both to an overdose of lidocaine…
I bet the soft judge sentencing, he’ll maintain…
While locked up, they cannot to innocents give pain…
They’ll be out, molesting, hurting and raping again!
An eighteen-year-old attacks five… Holy shit!
Hands and arms of officers and guards he bit?
Well, you can’t say he has no drive and spirit?
Every officer took some form of a kick or hit…
One guard thinks the lad broke a digit?
It took five of them to get him in the car, then the git…
Another officer got kicked on the chin; Gawdamit!
I hope the police carried a haematocrit!
Good heavens, what next! The Black Death?
A fifteen-year sentence? With an 8-year extended licence? Eh! What’s all this nonsense? Chicanery or maybe ambivalence? Hope it’s not the judges’ munificence? I looked it up; it proves this judge has sentience! The additional term in the nick… With I hope, quiescence! To keep people safe from his concupiscence! Fancy a judge showing some prospicience!
Looks decent to me?
Well, dang my eye, a conflicting report?
The changing figures seem a little distort…
One set gives fears, the other one comfort?
Still, I’m going to get myself all fraught…
I’ll chew on my bar of strawberry noughat!
What a dodgy looking set of villains!
Elizabeth Dodds, prosecuting, said the steroids, a class C drug, were worth between £90 and £120 on the outside, but in jail, the value increased tenfold up to £1,200. When questioned, Kirkland – who has 139 offences to her name, mainly for shoplifting – announced: “It was just tobacco.” Hahaha!
Alternative accommodation to be found?
Somewhere mayhaps snowbound or icebound?
Somewhere suitable six-foot underground?
Where food has to be begged for or scrounged?
Where freedom again will never be tasted or found!
Well, I’m back to my usual on the find three-houses competition,
Not that this encourages any mardiness or derision!
I never expected to win, although that would be a sensation!
If I was to win anything, I’d lose my identification…
As the unluckiest person in the world, in any Nation…
I’ve not won owt for donkey years; I’ve lost the motivation!
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
13 and 12 months. Do they look like they’re bothered? No wonder I have no faith in the future. There will be more and more violence – and fewer and fewer deterrents.
It had to come, he was welcomed unappreciatively, By his Park Drive smoking mummy… She dropped her fag ash all over Inchies tummy… Sneered and told the Midwife, Emily… “Don’t want it; throw it in the Trent straight away!”
Not the most pleasant welcoming lambing… Midwife Emily, years later, fact confirming! I asked Mother if it were true, her replying… “Yea, but for a less than 3lb lump birthing…” “You caused me a lot of hurting!”… Then she started absconding… the police pursuing!
The worst of all up then his schooling, Him being so thick, no real educationing, Each school day is dedicated to just surviving… Avoiding teachers’ attention advancing, Avoiding his touching and clutching… And the gangs beating and bashings!
Working For a Living
Dad got him a job, morning newspaper delivering… Then more rounds, Sundays and evenings… Now he was more confused, earning a living, At fourteen, he began his first proper working… He did his best, never any shirking!
He wishes he’d been clever enough for apprenticing… But he wasn’t, and this is no bullshitting… 16 now, interest grew in his ding-a-ling… Joan, her name, a pretty little thing… Who claimed she was about to be birthing… At first, Inchcock thought of bragging…
He discovered that Joan did female wrestling… While he wrote crap poems, wordsmithing… T’was found that Joan had been lying… She was not about to be multiplying! For Inchy, there’ll be no betrothing!
Memories of his failure, he keeps unearthing, It’s himself his is mentally badmouthing, He realised he was unlucky when around forty… He’s grown old early, was getting more portly… Depression grew worse shortly…
He needed mental stimulus strengthening… He’s still not had any at seventysomething… He’d hoped for better luck but didn’t win a farthing! Did the lottery for many years, never won anything… Won the pools one week, though, amazing!
Not a lot, hardly enough for bequeathing,
2/6d – (12½p) winnings he would be receiving,
His pools plan cost him 75p (15/-d), always losing!
And wrong choices and options choosing!
His life is forever error and mistakes replenishing!
Now, he sees that his life is like thirst-quenching,
Sanity-saving drinks have never been emerging!
Only his Thought-Storms will get any turbocharging…
His ever further ageing ailments, always twinging…
His mental stability… well, that’s beyond salvaging,
Sadly, due to his own misjudging and mismanaging!
Of course, he wished Dementia Doreen would go away…
But most clearly, she is with him every single day…
No matter Inchie, may hope, plead and may pray!
He’s bald nowadays, so worries not about going grey…
His memory and brain working more absentmindedly!
Cataract Kathleen is his ailment most vexing…
The earholes are second, the wax is grid-locking,
The diminishing hearing is quite shocking!
Neuropathy Pete has his leg and handshaking!
Inchie still hits doors when through them he’s walking!
Things Wot Inchie Can No Longer do…
Here, he lists the things he’s never been found doing… At least for a few years, there’s been no canoodling! Surprisingly he misses doing his cobbling, Resting, relaxing, unwinding, or chilling! He can’t even manage to do the kettle descaling!
Incapable now, of drooling, duelling, hoping, driving… Coping with problems or their abnegating… Ballooning, javelining, footballing, But: he’s excellent at frowning and bumfuzzling! And bad odeing, and body-fattening! And he’s the perfect mind & body for malfunctioning!
Inchies Forecast for the World!
Ah, the future, to Inchie, it’s not very enticing… For him, just the usual mistake-making and doddering! More Thought-Storms, memorise of failings, so agonising, He’d like to undergo a brain reinstalling… Impossible, of course, that’s Dementia Doreen lurking?
After a life of ever belittling, Now he’s ever bungling… Tripping, stumbling or falling… On a bad day, you’ll find him burbling… A good day, he might be yodelling!
But good rays are rare… Hardly ever, to be fair… Maybe a decent minute or two here and there? You can see why the old man’s in despair? For company, he even welcomes the dentists’ chair!
He’s always on a downer; at least he’s consistent? Yet a good chinwag and laugh, he is not resistant? But he feels so sorry for those whose lives are distant… The whippersnapping youngsters, not the convalescent… What does the future hold for them? No contentment? Wars, violent crime, people becoming intolerant… Gangsters, politicians, getting more fiscally corpulent… Fracking, rainforest destruction, morals corrodent! Worries, price rises give fears, making folk crapulent, Which uses up their funds quicker; it’s totipotent! Putin may yet change God’s design, the rodent! Proving the turd is untouchable, cunctipotent!
Why does Putin attack with impunity?
Proving to the world his inhumanity?
If also, his degree of egocentricity?
If we interfere, we’ll lose our power, electricity?
Proving our powerlessness and ignominy!
He does not look it; he’s showing serenity? He claims to have compassion and benignity… Or is that look, snottiness and solemnity? Indeed no caring, just in hatred in the vicinity! As he kills without care and utter impunity!
The West’s response shows no dignity… Scared to death, showing nothing, of authenticity, But what can we do with a man of such insanity? His inhumanity is of outstanding durability… Stop him? We do not have the ability!
From being attacked himself, he has autoimmunity… Cause the West doesn’t have the guts or edacity… We have our own failings, our own disunity… This war has no opportunity of curability… And that brings out amongst many detestability!
What a man, President and Ukrainian!
Once Putin wins, it will be more challenging than he thinks,
May the West challenge him to a game of tiddleywinks?
Volodymyr Zekenskyy, the man who doesn’t shrink!
Who compared to Pucking Putin, the far better man, I think!
To keep the upbeat tone: Here are some scumbags that have been taken to court. To collect the amusing, non-deterrent, laughable sentences from Magistrates and Judges
Hassan Ali, 25, Criminal Damage. £120 fine, £200 compensation and a £34 victim surcharge. Nicolette Attenborough, 33, was fined £120 and was ordered to pay £85 costs and a £34 victim surcharge for assault. Dylan Jackson, 26, was ordered to pay £85 costs, a £34 victim surcharge and was disqualified from driving for 16 months for drink-driving and for driving without insurance or a valid licence in Darren Snowdon, 37, was jailed for 12 weeks and was ordered to pay a £125 victim surcharge for assault and criminal damage. Dennis Nolan, 61, was jailed for eight weeks, suspended for a year and was ordered to pay £150 compensation for criminal damage of a glass windowpane and door. Herroll Smith, 46, was jailed for 26 weeks and was ordered to pay £150 compensation for entering M Cuts & Shave Barbers, in Uttoxeter Old Road, Derby, with intent to steal a Stanley knife. Tommy Maughan, 37, was fined £40 and was ordered to pay £20.60 compensation, £85 costs and a £34 victim surcharge for stealing £20.60 of items from Tesco. Lee Goddard, 31, was jailed for 4 months and was ordered to pay a £128 victim surcharge for two counts of breaching a restraining order in Nottingham on November 8 and 23, 2021. The offences saw him breach a suspended sentence imposed on October 21, 2021, for five counts of breaching a restraining order. Antony Bilson, 32, was fined £40 and was ordered to pay £85 costs and a £34 victim surcharge for breaching a criminal behaviour order. Blaze White, 30, was fined £120 and was ordered to pay £85 costs, a £34 victim surcharge and was disqualified from driving for two years for driving without insurance or a valid licence. Jordan Fearn, 22, was jailed for 12 weeks and was disqualified from driving for three years and was ordered to pay a £128 victim surcharge for driving while disqualified and without insurance. Andrew Selwood, 55, was fined £40 and was ordered to pay £110 costs, a £34 victim surcharge and was disqualified from driving for six months and had his licence endorsed with nine penalty points for eleven counts of speeding. Chloe Smallwood, 29, was fined £40 and was ordered to pay a £34 victim surcharge and had her licence endorsed with three penalty points for speeding at 36mph in a 30mph limit. Tayyab Hussain, 24: Fined £91 and was ordered to pay £110 costs, a £34 victim surcharge and was disqualified from driving for six months, due to repeat offending, for speeding at 43mph in a 30mph. James Rawson, 48, was fined £440 and was ordered to pay £110 costs, a £44 victim surcharge, a driving ban for six months, James Bannister, 37, was jailed for 12 weeks, suspended for a year and was ordered to pay £85 costs and a £128 victim surcharge for stealing trainers and a swatch. Michael Karim, 36, of Standard Hill, in Nottingham city centre, received the sentence as part of a group jailed for a combined total of 167 years for the role they played in a cocaine gang. Which equals an average of 6 years! Orvil Brown was locked up for five years after he was linked to an international drugs ring that posted large and valuable amounts of cannabis and cocaine to flood the streets of Nottingham. Reuben Woolley was jailed for three-and-a-half years after setting fire to his flat and hitting an emergency worker with a metal bar. Kelly Williamson, 57, was jailed for five years and three months after being found guilty of conspiracy to supply cocaine. Orvil Brown was linked to an international drugs ring that posted large and valuable amounts of cannabis and cocaine to flood the streets of Nottingham. He was jailed for five years. Joanne Duke coaxed her way into an 81-year-old’s home before threatening him with a knife. She was jailed for seven years. Robert Davies, 32, was sentenced to 26 months in prison and must sign the sex offenders’ register, be subject to a 10-year restraining order and a sexual harm prevention order.
We, I can assure Sam, that he couldn’t have been looking, When I worked in Aspley, the criminals had me weakening! I had difficulty finding anyone honest… folks were wrangling… Mind you, the locals were all on an excellent nattering… But they might pick yer pocket, then give yer a battering!
My shop was broken into, the Police didn’t seem to be bothering, Gave me a crime number and didn’t bother returning… The chap in the flat above got a bottling… But cheap sex was always offering, You’d get it free if you’d got any Methamphetamine!
Fights every night outside chip shop – bloodcurdling! The Police would always attend… but not until the morning! Ten-year-olds raided the chemist for Dextromethorphan… That’s Night Nurse® or cough syrup, Triaminic™, or Coricidin™, We had shopkeepers some get-together, meeting… That usually ended up with us all pissed-off and drinking!
Two eighty-nine year-olds!
Sickening! I pray they can catch the culprits. This has got to me, I’ll not bother doing any more odes, not in the mood. Cheers.
Political farces, what a worrying thought, Criminals abound, but not so many are getting caught! But always motorists, cannabis users, end up in court? Easier for the police… whose number is getting short… Trying to understand why; I get bestaught!
The court’s sentencing seems unfair, unequal… I thought judges were intellectual, but there’re ineffectual! One lad had cannabis 2 ounces, got six months jail, And armed robber, got tagged, no jail, another fail? A shoplifter… charged 28 times, no jail; makes you wail!
If a citizen is violent, acts antisocially… Or shoplifts, pickpockets occasionally… Very few of them are dealt with properly, But park in the City Centre, illegally… Judges, magistrates, come over all schoolmasterly, Massive fines, driving bans, even prison, arbitrarily!
With sentences for criminals, magistrates are miserly, Youth beats up an 88-year-old, the youth could not get a job, Magistrate ‘feels for him’ slaps his wrist, supposedly wisely… Sent him home; on the way, he hit a woman in her gob! The Magistrate should retire, obviously…
A Judge-parole-boarder, who frees murderers to kill again, Are guilty of the crime repeated, for certain! Their career in law should be slain, I wouldn’t complain… If they were locked up until Jesus returns again!
Prisoners get the same healthcare and treatment as anyone outside of prison. Bollocks!I can’t get to see my Doctor. Would a prisoner have to wait for weeks to get a Dentist appointment? Just asking!
Prisoners can get Specialist support:
If they have drug or alcohol problems, Coronavirus, HIV or Aids. Are disabled or have a learning difficulty. I get no help with my disabilities; I have to pay for Carers. Where’s my help with hearing, eyesight, Peripheral Neuropathy, Shaking Shaun, Duodenal Donald, Reflux Roger, Arthur Itis, Shuddering Shoulder Shirley, Back-Pain-Brenda, Walking, Vascular Dementia, Haemorrhoid Harold etc.? No!
Future Sports, Covidity, and Politics, unsung,
Including Boris, Cummings, even Cameron,
I threw myself into creating these, then the phone rung…
Told me the Bank is closing its branch… that’ll be fun!
A bill from the Council, Carers Fees, that stung!
Two weeks ago, Meridian arranged a direct debit…
About as reliable as Norman Tebbit!
With Inchies comments in Ode. Crap Ode, fair enough!
Here we go…
Inchy: I wrote upon this news, a comment what I thought,
Needed saying, about my views on this report,
About dangerous bike riders and Escooterists,
If I was young enough, I’d give them some fist!
Not that I’m a spoilsport…
Pavements are not there for their sport…
They should use the road, was my retort!
This will be perfect planning for those who snort,
Muggers, pickpockets shoplifters, should go to court!
But they rarely, some never get caught…
That’s the end of this verbal jaunt!
Not looking good, these figures, are they tommyrot?
I don’t know, but I do think not…
The anti-maskers, I disagree with this lot…
Being careful is best in the longshot…
Maybe each one of them is a barnpot?
They show aggression, wanting to form a protest riot?
Hah… I’ll just get me dinner made, chips and a carrot!
Well, the above new, will give normality a jerk though,, Coronavirus has limited the number of people at work, Working from home is back, I see, Not that that is relative to me… At last, from that pressure, I’m free… I don’t miss it to any degree!
It’s the few who have to go to work, get my simpatico! I know words can’t really help them; they seem shallow… But in a few years, they will feel a warm glow… Yes, retirement… it may be a shock, though? There’ll be little rest; they should know… So, I give advising a little go…
Things You May Find When Retired: Of course, it depends if you’ve retired or been sacked… Made redundant, nowadays that’s more of a fact, 70% of over 60’s get heart attacks… 80% will get cataracts, Brittle limbs get broken or cracked, If you did work, did you check your pension contract? An area in which I sadly lacked… The Government wants to know your finances; use tact… People over 65 more often get hacked… HM taxation will rarely use the word subtract… It’ll help to see the Doctor, to get Prozacked… Dementia, memory loss will ensure you get sidetracked… HM Inspector of taxes checks, you are honest, in fact… Oh, 90% of passengers were killed when getting highjacked… Still, we’ll leave off that fact…
The truth is, you won’t be fit or rich enough to own a car, Thus avoiding the floods, stay home using your camera… Snap the poor devils, sell them photos later, from afar… Then get ready for Arthur Itis, ulcers, and likely, oedema!
If they did ban them all, one day, to my amazement,
There’d be so many more unlicensed drivers prevalent!
Untaxed too, so what can we do?
What other form of punishment, a thumbscrew?
Too expensive to consider imprisonment,
The problem’s likely, beyond reconcilement!
I’ll tell yers while, Mr Magistrate,
He’s got you weighed up, straight!
Send him to prison, and you capitulate,
His laundry is done, free food, he can sleep in late,
No rent to pay, free medical care, to appreciate…
From the next peter, he’ll get his barbiturate…
Have time to read, watch telly, and cogitate,
To hand, will be a different way to cohabitate?
He can buy a knocked off phone to confabulate…
Oh, yes, he’s got it worked out, mate!.
A life sentence? Huh!, Rubbish! No time for Odeing on this one… Kenneth McDuff: killed three teenagers, a life sentence, released after 11 years. Three days after his release, he killed again! David Edward Maust: While stationed in Germany, Maust killed a boy and was ultimately convicted of manslaughter. After being released, Maust stabbed a friend in his sleep, drowned a 15-year-old in a quarry, and slew three teens and attempted to bury them under his home. Steven Pratt: Two days after being released from prison for shooting and killing his next-door neighbour in 1984, Steven Pratt beat his mother to death during an argument. Arthur J. Bomar Jr: is a repeat offender who was in and out of the justice system multiple times. After being paroled from a Nevada prison in 1990, following a second-degree murder conviction, he may have been involved in three murders in Pennsylvania. Then, a few years later, he used a fake police badge to stop a female college athlete on the interstate and brutally murdered her. After he was finally caught in 1997, Bomar was charged with first-degree murder, kidnappings, aggravated assault, rape and abuse of corpses, and he was formally sentenced to death by legal injection. Hurrah! In the UK: Andrew Dawson, George Johnson, Ernest Wright, David Cook and Desmond Lee were all allowed out on licence despite getting life sentences; All killed again!
00:30hrs: The demand for a wee-wee welcomed me as I woke up. I bravely forced my unfortunately ever-heavier stomached body from the comfort of the £300, second-hand bought, c1968, sickeningly-beige-coloured, rickety, uncomfortable, recliner. Up on to my feet. I caught my balance, visited the NWWB (Nocturnal-Wee-Wee Bucket). I had an LPPP (Long-Powerful-Persistent-Peeing) session), followed by a period of CMD (Cessational Micturition Dribbling), that surprisingly, lasting for minutes!
I made a brew and washed the pots from last night that I’d left to soak.
Took a photo of the morning view, not a good one, now the Nikon camera has conked-out, I have to use the Canon camera, which doesn’t take night shots well. And then started updating the Monday blog.
And got it completed in record time, I think. NN (Nicodemus’s Neurotransmitters) and SSS (Shuddering-Shoulder-Shirley), were the only ailments that gave me any problems, they were both only intermittent, and I coped amazingly well. To start with, thus, my Smug-Mode was engaged for a while. I do hope they still behave when I have to take the shave!
The six wee-wees taken during the updating were of the WUNT (Weak-Unwilling-Negligible-Trickling) style, and the CMD (Cessational Micturition Dribbling), but only a few drops and much weaker than the first one.
All done, I posted off the diary. Sent the Email links. Pinterested a couple of snaps. And delved into Facebook updating…
This was when the Smug-Mode died. NN, SSS and even Neuropthy Pete gave me a sat-down right leg dance! With the c1962 cabinet where I was seated on the computer, which still has some heavy wooden doors. I involuntarily tested their sturditity with my shin, ankle and knee a few times. Which set of CCP (Cathy’s Cartilage Protella) hurting somewhat. That bit of good luck didn’t last long! But at least I got the updating done with relative ease, so, I’m not moaning… much, anyway! Hehehe!
After the Facebooking was done, I went on the WP comments, then over to the WordPress Reader section.
Each of the four wee-wees taken during the Facebooking updating was of the WUNT (Weak-Unwilling-Negligible-Trickling) style again, but the CMD (Cessational Micturition Dribbling) was far less.
Ah, the joys and mysteries of an ageing bladder! Hehe!
The morning summoning to the Porcelain Throne arrived, and I poddled to the wet-room. It was almost an exact repeat of yesterdays messy evacuation, but this time, with a decent amount of pain as the bale of straw looking torpedo gained its freedom. (It felt about the same size too!) Several manual refills of the tank were needed to clear the product, and some BPB (Back-Pain-Brenda) annoying bending to clean things up. After cleaning up the room and myself, I generously stayed a lot of air freshener in the wet room, before leaving. The silver-lining search: At least I didn’t walk into the door frame going in or out. No, Dizzy Dennis, Balance-Loss-Brian, or tumble visits. It could have a worse session!
I was now nothing like I was when I got up this morning! The ailments were gathering, giving me grief, and I decided to take an extra pain-killer, with the morning medications, and make a brew of Glengettie. Which, I did.
After taking the medications, I carried out the Health Checks. Starting with the BP on the Chinese manufactured Boot’s Sphygmomanometer. The SYS had come down from 184 to 170, and the Pulse from Sundays high of 91, yesterdays 66, now 75.
The Amazon bought, (for a very reasonable cost of £29), Chinese made Harpin Xian Di contactless thermometer reading was of 36.9°c. It was up a smidge, but it is still in the green on the reading, so nae bother there to fret about at all.
I tried to get a graphic or two done on CorelDraw before it was time for the ablutioning to be done.
As I went into the hallway en route to the wet-room, some idiot had left the mop and bucket in the hallway. Ahem! There followed a toe-stubbing right on the metal clasp of the wringer-outerer, at the bottom! It was a singularly painful one! Of course, I didn’t swear, or anything like that, or call myself ‘a stupid, thick ♫%£+ing idiot, either! Ahuh! I had a little talking to and admonishing myself, and swore to be more careful in future. Don’t know why I bothered really!
I got on with the shaving, pretty pleased with timing for once. ‘The Goon Show’ was about to start, on Radio Four-Extra, Grrreat!
As I was getting the shaving tackle off of the trolley, I… wait for it… stubbed my toe against the wheel! Silver-lining: it was a different toe, and not so keen as the first one! My language was all calm, not self-depreciative, I did not spit, and there was none-cursing. Ahem! I just plodded on.
The shaving had only a few dropsies, and just the one, I say, One, tiny nick. I did a decent job with the new Bic razors, too. , then I thought it best to abandon it, with things seeming to be on a run of bad luck.
Moved into the shower, after cleaning another of the multitude of black spots off of the floor. (I do a little patch each time I shower, Gawd I’m a good lad, I am at times!) I had a super-shower, a good scrub-up, used the brush and loofah! No banging into the grab bars, Dizzy Dennis’s, Loss of Balance Bernards!
The pins, hooves and tootsies looked in fine form. I dried off and got the medicationing done. Olive-oiled the ear holes. Next, I creamed the furuncle and carefully Germoloided Harold’s Haemorrhoids. They did sting bit! Then Phorpain gelled Arthur Itis’s and Cathy Cartilage’s knees. Put the eye drops in. Nasal hygiene sprayed the nostrils. Cleaned the spectacles, decoked the hearing aids and checked the batteries… It’s a job and a half every day! There is another dollop of advice for the whippersnappers. About what they might expect when they are growing old! Hahaha!
I got the PP’s on and exited the wet room. To go and get some clothes on. As I was struggling into the trouser, I realised I had not done my teeth cleaning!
I returned to the wet room, giving myself a third toe-stubbing on the mop bucket, that I had failed to move on the first stubbing! Somehow, this had a relaxing effect on me. The third stubbing of the day, surely that’ll be it, they say things happen in threes?
Got the teeth cleaned without too much bother. Then I got some waste bags made up and, and along with the masses of recycling bags and carton, I filled up the trolley and box.
This could be dodgy, I thought, getting the trolley to the chute and then down the lift to the caretakers’ bins, with any spillage, dropsies or other calamities!
I had a bit of bother getting the badly-balanced three-wheeler trolley out of the door into the lift’s lobby, and even more, bother getting it through into the lift lobby.
But being the confident, young, strong, capable stalwart that I am, I pressed on and got to the waste chute-room without the slightest bit of bother Ahem! Alright then, I got in trapped a finger in the iron chute lid, dropped three bags, clouted my head against the wall, when going down to pick one of the bags up. And coming back out, the left-hand knuckle got a bash against the door frame.
I got in a lift, and as I exited on the ground floor, the route to the main lobby door was blocked by signed and cones from the workmen who were doing the upgrading work. Nae bother for me, I used the fire exit out to the bin area. Robert, the caretaker, was not there, he can’t always be, he’s other jobs all over the flats. I dropped the box’s and bags where the bins usually are, but not today.
I hobbled along Chestnut Way in the drizzle, to the ILC’s (Independent Living Coordinators) Interrogation and holding cell office.
As I got into the Winwood Court foyer, a sharp dizzy-spell nearly had me over! It left me a little confused and worried afterwards. It only lasted about 30 seconds, but I had to wait a while before moving on. What next! Took this snap of inside Winwood Court.
No lights were seen in the office, so I retreated, back out in the light drizzle, and made my way back towards Woodthorpe Court. I heard a voice, and I turned around, it was ILC, Desk Top Dancer, Warden Deana calling me from the Holding Cells window. I returned to the office. She asked if I knocked on the door, but I could not remember the dizzy coming on. We had a distanced natter, Deana, Warden and Ice-skating champion Warden Julie, and I.
I departed, and the drizzle had stopped as I limped along.
Welsh William passed on his way to the bus stop. Not seen him for about three months now, but I don’t go out on the bus nowadays, of course. Jealous? Me? Yes!
I got back inside the building via the caretaker fire door.
Not a soul in sight, I reckon the working lads must have been on their tea-break.
I got through the passage and into the lift lobby.
The way is still blocked off, no access to the front door. The chaps seem to be making some headway in the upgrading. No rush, we’ve had it for four years now, I think… definitely three. Finding a protected Pipistrelle bat, then the holidays, then the Coronavirus, it must have been a nightmare for Nottingham City Homes. Well, some of the residents ain’t too happy about it. But it can’t be helped. Hehe!
As I got up to the floor, I met Robert, the caretaker, with few words.
Got in the flat, I put the trolley away, and finished washing the Manufactured in Pakistan, long-sleeved shirt, all done, wrung and hung to dry.
I got the photos sorted and used then to update this blog. It dawned on me then, I haven’t had a wee-wee for over two hours? Confusing!
I was getting in a pickle with the food deliveries, and I made an order for next Monday from Iceland. 06:00 > 08:00hrs.
Then had a look at the latest Coronavirus figures I could find, for Nottingham. Which showed a slight bit of optimism at least, a drop in numbers I thought. Then I came across this report, about where I live in Sherwood. This was not good! Yet still, people go out every day on the buses.
I’d love to go out shopping, but it wouldn’t be fair to others.
I pressed on with the updating of this diary. It is hard work with Nicodemus and SSS, both giving me jerks and making me make so many errors repeatedly.
I made a brew… still no more wee-wees?
The rain had stopped all together now, but the view when I took these photographs, from the thick-framed, hard to get at to clean, light and view-blocking kitchen window, was looking decidedly somewhat threatening.
I was getting so tired now, and I thought about what to have for a nosh. Making my mind up can sometimes be an impossibility, so quisquous. I’ll check the use-by dates, then have the shortest, methinks.
The cooked smokey bacon had the shortest date on it. So I got a carton of chopped tomatoes, with some added basil oregano and sea salt. Warmed up the fruit and juice, and added the bacon. I think I may have put a little too much basil in, but I still enjoyed it—a flavour-rating of 7½/10. I had the last of the bread with it, but I hope some more will be delivered in the morning from Iceland.
I found some scribbled notes on the pad I was using to recall thing to put on here in the morning. But at this moment in writing, I’m blown if I can decipher it. Maybe, perchance a Doctor might read this, and can help me out? Hehehe!
I got the TV on and found a Sherlock Holmes episode showing. Ah, that’ll do me! I thought.