– – As is life for Inchie Hehe! – –
I would have used CorelDraw to cut out my face and add it to the old graphic above. But as CorelDraw has corrupted on the new £ 850 computer, which is not working properly.
Another hint at Inchies lousy luck! Grrr!
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ODE TO MEMORIES OF A BETTER TIME
Inchies’ very first EPIPHANY!
Hints of naughtiness, from his initial dip into promiscuity,
The 13-year-olds’ introduction, flirtatiously!
A neighbour who was obviously older and wiser…
In the ways of coupling, indulgency & intimacy,
Inchie recognised her instant pulchritudity,
Her first move had him surprised, but smiling,
He’d never enjoyed such passionate groping,
Then hairy-breast fondling, desire for more growing,
On which she was soon educating,
Guiding what was firmly expanding…
Sex on his first date… Amazing!
He sensed an inner central heating,
They carried on fondling and amalgamating,
It turned into a thrice-weekly practice…
One that Inchy would never miss,
The settee, bed or on the Axminsters,
She showed how to use some appliances,
One overheated session, they needed bandages,
I’ll leave you to guess the reasons…
And Inchy has still got the lesions!
He never again built plastic aeroplanes!
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5 years before his Epiphany!
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-The giving way on me, right leg-
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Winwood Heights
Inchie Today: Wednesday 17th June 2026 – Teriible start ot the day!
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MUST BE THE WORST DAY EVER – UP TO NOW
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LOUSY NIGHT – CRUEL MORNING
Managed a few moments of sleep, kept waking up in a right peed off mood. Just needed sleep, but the demons and evilf-fieindly bad-luck-bringing thoughts of my own concoction seemed unbeatable today.
Rising from the bed and hobbling my way to the nocturnal Catheter pouch on the floor near the recliner, my right leg gave way, and once again, as yesterday, I was fortunate enough to lean towards the chair to land semi-softly and injury-free.
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I was still sitting in it, and trying to nod off again, as the intercom chined out its “Oh, Susana” tune. The knee gave way as soon as I stood up, and by the time I’d got to the panel to admit the Carer, it had closed down. I waited a few minutes to see if they had been admitted or would ring back, then returned to the recliner, expecting the Carer to come in. “Oh, Susana”, rang out again. This time, I got to the box a bit quicker and in time to let them in.
Carer Mizra appeared, did a body check, and creamed or gelled the areas in need. Shoulder, back and genitals. Then Mizra got the medications issued.
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I was pleased with how the new computer was working. When first opened, both external drives were accessible! But, of course, within a few minutes, they had disappeared. Back to normal, then. The hour-and-a-half Carer visit didn’t happen, the same as yesterday.
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1) The computer, specifically CorelDraw, froze as I clicked export for the Cartoon to go to the file to use here.
2) I could not close down by the regular route. So had no choice but to turn off at the power sockets.
3) But I could not get the computer to reboot.
Nothing but trouble since paying £850 plus fitting to get this computer, and I could not find his telephone number!
But knew that Mizra had it, as he liaises for me.
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4) Carer Andrew made the short midday call. I asked him to ring Mizra and ask him to call the engineer. No reply, so I don’t know if he did.
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5) While he was here, I tried a couple of times to get the computer back on, but both attempts failed.
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6) I found the Carer lying in the hallway on his mobile.
I thought he’d gone. I asked him again to contact Mizra for me. No response.
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7) I did get the loading to go as far as the opening label screen, but this one usually comes up first… so it was not a surprise when the ‘Working Circle’ appeared and the mouse arrow showed on the screen. It stayed like this for over an hour! Demoralising!
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8) I turned everything off at the power again and lost the TV signal in doing so, and heard a series of Beeps coming from the hard drive.
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9) All off again. TV was not affected this time.
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10) This had to be my last try. I was so downhearted.
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11) Then, I got a telephone call from a something navigator, from the Doctors Surgery. She mentioned a meeting with advisers I’d been invited to via email. There was a vague memory, but nothing certain. The lady explained it was about sorting people’s needs out, and the best way to do so. I jumped at the chance. I think she said someone would be calling to arrange a meeting.
Linda, I think her name was. I mentioned my wish, if possible, to go into a home. In hopes of relieving the tensions from getting nothing sorted, with problems being added almost daily, which challenges my sanity, health, and my ability to cope.
12) Today is a good example. The early tumbles. The computer is playing up yet again. No hot water. 4 weeks since my last shower or shopping assistance. Adding to the Banking, British Gas, Virgin Media, the new Catheter’s lack of information or instructions. No help was given with managing procedurally.
13) Do I carry on with a weekly day-bag change? Is it safe to use with a nocturnal pouch fitted?
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14) Not that I could put photos on the blog, anyway, both camers are broken!
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14) Now, my prime love/hatred, the new computer, cannot access CorelDraw or Excel. So, there are no graphics or photographs that can be used. Other than any already in the WordPress gallery.
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15) I rang the District nurses for help on how to manage the new Catheter, who told me to contact the QMC. I went on a little about the situation I am in.
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I then rang Jenny, who rang back. But I was not really with it t the time, in fact, I had a nasty seizure after making the call, mind blank. Extra confusion.
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16) I received a call back from the nurses while still a little out-of-it. I was asked if I am really interested in going into a home. I think I took this opportunity to get my thoughts out, and they will ask Matron Jackie to see if she can get the ball rolling. Brilliant. Cause things are getting worse here now. Problems increasing, solutions decreasing.
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Movements from the rear end started again today, all in Constipation Conrad mode. A bit of blood each time from the haemorrhoids. At least no accidental evacuations with Conrad.
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I’ll have to do only the Ode. Oh, it’s been such a busy, annoying day; I’ve not done it yet.
I suspect this blog holds ampullosity?
Changing moods bring ambivalency,
Spent most of the day crestfallenly,
Spent many sessions self-critically,
Problems showing no curability,
Concentration, showing a deficiency,
Hopes, needs, logic, all seem to disagree,
Depression increases, diurnally…
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Is life, like a politician, an effigy?
Not realistic, no ecclesiology?
What happened to youth’s excitability?
80, first time owing for your electricity?
Into the mist, goes you equilibrity,
No more mental or physical euphony…
I used to hope for an epiphany…
But life now proves more euphuistically,
I also dreamt of finding eudaemony…
I got this depressing ennui!
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It was once suggested by Dr Neurology,
To help me electroencephalographically,
But that was in September, 2003,
Then a stroke, TBI, and Cancer hit me,
Dr Neurolgy again saw me in 2023,
Sometimes I can think with clarity…
I hasten to add, this happens rarely,
Then my mind goes wanderingly,
Mind blanks can hit anytime, lastingly…
or for a few moments, mysteriously,
Moments too, of great falability,
Frequent occasions of mental obliquity,
With unstoppable times of neurotomy,
Hoyrly changes to me nimiety,
Dementia turned me flibbertigibbety,
Duodenal ulcer, hernia, verbal nugacity,
But can I face the nitty-gritty?
The crux of the problematic matter?
Slowly but surely going détraquée!
I’m now an ace at dontopedalogy,
Few teeth left, crinkled skin, pilgarlicky…
Had enough of life’s woes & mallarky,
Being as I don’t want to sound sarky…
To avoid moaning and negativity,
I blame it on my pfropfschizophrenie!
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Lack of control, of happenings & events,
My ever-changing consciousness,
From unawareness to utter cluelessness.
People I talk to will see/hear a difference…
No in-between, Depression or High Horace,
Decisions to be made, I’m on the fence,
Knowing danger, what’s my response?
Forget; as it dies in my memory disperses,
Involuntarily, to my memory burners,
Lack of control, of happenings & events.
Make life a struggle, that’s so intense…
Worries, problems, Catheter, fears…
Self-hatred, incapable, many mental fratches,
Solutionless, can’t batten down any hatches,
I hate my changing moods & responses,
Often say things I find erroneous,
Mostly to myself, & of course Darius,
Important dates, numbers, emails…
Texts, etc., that no one can solve,
Fade away, making me feel injudicious,
I used to think that life was so precious,
Now it’s approaching worthless,
New computer, camera, faith, & hopes,
All kaput, I feel so inefficacious,
Really, my outlook is hopeless…
I hate my changing moods & responses.
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I’m Struggling!
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TTFN
Inchie: Tuesday 16th June 2026
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Today’s farcicalness, combined with my rare, so precious moments of ‘Sod-It-All’ moments…
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oozed a warning to me. Not a precise indication of things to come, as they would have been from the voice in the head. Vague in details, other than I will not like of cope very well with problems, whatever they may be. But positive that things will take a turn for the worse in the morning, certain of the timing.
I think that my absolute, assured definiteness that they will arrive as the occupant of my cerebrum (Premorbid Cognitive Impairment Inchy), as revealed and kept reminding me throughout the day, grounded the possibility that whatever these events might actually be, they will happen. Thus encouraging short, frequent visitations from 
. Which were great, though it was confusing why I should appreciate the change in outlook and, somehow, guilt-making.
Which may have prompted me to do nothing else for the day, other than updating and renewing from scratch Word-Lists that this new computer keeps finding impossible to reach to use! Then, minutes later, it finds them, then, as another of the multiple Virgin Internet failures, they are unfindable again.
I realised after hours of catching up on them, I’d saved them to the same location, ARRGH!
At the very moment I recognised this and swore and cursed a few times, the virgin Internet connection failed for what must have been the 20th time… and I had to start all over again. By the time I’d got 20% of one ending completed, early evening, it had stopped visiting me altogether.
Adding the fact that the hot water tap had stopped heating around 17:00hrs, when it should have started to heat. I had to use the kettle and the slow cooker for hot water. again. I decided not to bother shaving, too risky for spilt or fropped hot water – But I found that the cooker had not been checked, and when I moved it to clean it, I burnt my finger ends. No problem, I had plenty of cold water to use, which prevented blisters from coming up.
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By then, I was not interested in making a meal, as I was more concerned about what 
or 
I would be expected to face in the morning.
I’ll feel like a fool if nothing happens. Hehe!
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I mustered up a rather sad meal. Pickled vegetable salad from a jar, three bags of crisps, and a one-day-out-of-use-by-date chicken pieces. Threw them in a dish and added some Teriyaki sauce. Fell asleep, woke up with the television still on, and the dish on the floor with scattered bits on me, the chair and the carpet. When I got up to clear and clean things, the right leg gave way, and I tumbled back into the c1966, £300 Oxfam charity shop-bought, wincingly grotty, beige-coloured, crumb-covered from my nocturnal nibblings, itch-making, uncomfortable, positively unhealthy, and dangerous, no longer operational, virus-breeding, easy-to-fall-out-of, Catheter-tube-trapping recliner. I gave up and stayed there.
Surrounded by vegetables and the smell of the pickle, squashing the spilt food from earlier on the cushions, arms, and picking bits off of the dressing gown.
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Zzzz!
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Ideas mused over, of what to tell the Doctor about.
Seek knowledge of the new bent-end Catheter. District Nurses can’t touch it. I was told to get a taxi to the A&E at the QMC. No other advice.
But how often are they to be changed? Been having flowback &/or blockage every two weeks of two months now. I dread it happening again, especially given that I need £30 each time to travel to the A&E and back. Incidentally, on this visit, the ring road was blocked and not moving; the Fare Clock kept ticking, though. So paid not £15 for this trip, but £25.40, leaving me short of cash to get a taxi back. Thankfully, a lift home was provided.
Treated badly at the A&E when the spraying shot out of the penis down legs and on clothes – had to ask for the WC to try and stop the flood and clean myself up. I was sent through the passageways back to the WC at the door that I’d come in from hours earlier. No toilet paper or towels available ans it was flooded. Luckily, I had taken a roll of kitchen towels with me in the walker trolley.
Got back to the unit eventually, feeling a bit better. But had missed my turn. So, another wet-wait. Finally, a Doctor called my name; it was getting late, and he looked very tired. He went to get the new Catheter tube in twice, and rang someone, whom he then took me to see as he was getting his coat on to go home. I don’t think he was too happy to see me.
He looked agog when he saw the state of the bloodied and unclean on the PPs and clothes. He hastened to insert the tube but failed. A low growl escaped him, and on his second try, he gave it some stick, which went in. He spoke coherently for the first time, telling me not to touch the holding patch on the containment array that was stuck on my thigh, very important, he said. No reason given why, but still.
I sat in the corridor, wondering how I was going to get home. Thankfully, a lady came and told me to stay where I was, and someone would collect me and drive me home. The highlight of the day.
Naturally, I was the last one to be dropped off.
Desperate for a wash and clean-up, I found that the hot water tap was running cold water!
At 03:00hrs, I got the computer on (on the fifth attempt), and the pain from the Catheter tube got seriously painful. The appointment with the Doctor took ages. Today, being 16th June, the earliest appointment I could get was for 10th July. Not sure I can last that long with how things are going, or rather, not going, and getting done; and new problems keep introducing themselves.
And, I’ve been told I have to supply a taxi both ways if I want a Carer to go with me. So, that’s £30 worth of taxi every two weeks, whatever it costs to do the shopping, and Escort Carers, whom the NHS insist I take with me. Especially since this seizure and my straying into Mansfield Road in front of a bus. Now the new coudé tipped Catheter fears. The financial, British Gas, Virgin Media signing in, and the Bank problems. On and on they arrive, unsolved.
I can’t carry on like this.
I shall beg to go into a home. Where positive, knowledgeable help might be available.
Cause it ain’t getting none here. Bar, the great advice, help and understanding from Jen. 💗
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Found it impossible to get back to sleep.
Feeling niggly, I got up, knee still dodgy, and painfully tried to clean up the mess.
Didn’t do a good job.
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1951.
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TTFNski, Each!
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Inchies Monday Ode – 15th June 2026
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Bad day, not much recorded. Anne Gyna, Cathetr and Shaking-Shoulder-Shirley each a bother, and took most of my attention. I might have put on an old Ode by mistake as well. Late on, Dizzy-Dennis paid me an unwanted visit.
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Inchies Ode: Sunday 14th June 2026
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The ailment with the most pain today was undoubtedly 
. When I had a seizure, as usual, Shirley started shuddering, and the pain brought me back into a world of confusion, with a refusal to grasp anything brain-related. This time, the out-of-itness lasted for well over an hour. Most off-putting.
Also, the balance was all over the place, as if someone had shaken me out of the seizure. Well, I suppose that did do that.
I know it happened again after a late seizure, and I took a tumble of the delicate kind, aiming for and landing in the c1966, £300, second-hand charity-shop bought, crumb-containing, odour-retaining, Harold’s Haemorrhoid-testing, nauseatingly beige coloured, non-working, virus-breeding recliner. Dislodging the alcohol to remove the patch on my leg, which holds/keeps the assembly, array of connecting tubes together… but now it dangles loosely. And I cannot ask the District Nurses for help. Should I activate the instructions given to me? “Get a Taxi to the QMC, A&E department”, as I had to do the other day? Well, I can’t, I do not have enough cash to pay for a taxi. What alternatives have I got?
Option One: I could wait until a Carer arrives in two hours, ask them to get me dressed and the walker trolley out, and tell them I will not be in for my next two medication calls. Then catch a bus to Sherwood, one to Nottingham, then a tram to the hospital. Which will mean missing the Warfarin, Beta-Blockers and other doses. I’ll likely spend hours waiting; the fungal lesion will spurt blood and urine again. And another day lost. But looking back at my last bus and tram trips to and from the QMC is like a horror story. I got lost. Took a tumble on the tram. Had yobboes bother in the way back in the City Centre. Then I missed the bus stop, and had to walk up the mountainous Wincester Street hill to get to the flat. The Carer called me en route, from my flat, but did not come to assist me, as I struggled with obstinate Anne Gyna and breathing. Option One was not attractive.
Option Two: As option one, but take a bus to Sherwood, see if I have any money and try to get it out of the ATM. Then get a taxi to the hospital, by which time I may have been poisoned by the backflow into the kidneys, before even being seen. Mmm? Not good!
Option Three: Commit Suicide.
In the end, I stuck some cellotape over the crumpled holding patch and hoped for the best.
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She was at her most venomous. I couldn’t do anything with the arm or shoulder without it hurting. I’d cross my fingers if it wasn’t for 
twisting my fingers. Tsk!
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Inchie Today: Up to Friday12th June 2026. A revealing Ode…
During my absence from my beloved blogging, I’ve had another stay in hospital and two visits to A&E. I’ll not mention the Catheter Contraption farce here, or the unbelievable changes made to the medical, or the list of reactionary procedures implemented on the last occasion. In the event of the Catheter bag blocking again. (Five times this week! Classed as a Medical Emergency – You’ll love what I’ve been told to do when it blocks again and each time following.) The Ode I hope to write later will, well, might reveal it all.
Might reveal it all? Why the might? I’ll tell yers…
The engineer returned to look at the non-working, brand-new computer he sold me and performed whatever steps were necessary. Assured me that the comp-F’ing-uter can now access all three of the hard drives, and CorelDraw is working again. Knowing the past record of visits, I did not allow a flutter of belief or even possible joy.
How right I was not to!
The next morning, it took me four tries to start the computer. This told me that access to the required files could not be made. Have they been moved? Deleted? Make sure that (this was all computer jargon from here on; all I knew was that it was in the same crippled state as before the visit). Also, CorelDraw had blacked out all the options again; Save, Import, Export, and could not access the hard drives anyway.
As I mentioned in my last blog, ages ago, both cameras are kaput, so even the pleasure of taking sky shots with them means nothing; I couldn’t get them on the computer anyway. Over my enforced holiday break (Huh!), apart from the Catheter agonies and time spent failing to get the tube back in, I reckon that, counting the hospital ones, I must have had various medics grabbing, bruising, making the lesions bleed, 19 failed attempts to get the Catheter tube back in! The agony needs a stronger word.
At least I’ve managed by asking the Carers, emailing the Doctor and phoning the Community Nurses, to get some more of the precious-to-me Oxycodone painkillers. I only take them when needed; they are very strong with so many risky side effects, page after page.
Now, computer permitting, I shall open my own-made rhyming word on a notebook, and start this rare Ode…
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Each time I woke…
I took him to bed with me,
Now he’s part of the family,
I write this Friday, at 03:33,
Who needs help, domestically?
Who needs help, physically?
Who needs help, mentally?
A man who frustratedly…
It happens to be me…
Who had a thought, suicidally,
Will I act? Determined, bravely?
Eyes that get worse visually,
An occupied mind, that distressingly…
slowly denying me accessibility,
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ODE TO MY LAST HOSPITAL VISIT
I awoke to find myself with new pains in the right knee,
Walking into things regularly, so absentmindedly,
Mind confused, my body unsteady, & wobbly
Care Ejaz came, my Catheter was empty…
I guzzled water, too much admittedly,
Soon, the pain turned into absolute agony,
I took an Oxycodone & Codeine, medically
I rang the District Nurses immediately,
An Angel came to change the Catheter…
3 tries at inserting the tube, all a failure,
I felt I needed another Beta-Blocker,
Nurse left, another came hither…
3-failures to get the tube in my tallywhacker,
Get a taxi to the QMC, go to the A&E,
I got the number from my Angel Jenny,
Jenny rang, it’ll be here shortly,,,
Difficult to get hurriedly ready,
No Carer to help me, do you see?
No shoes, no socks, I remembered the money,
£15 each way, should cope adequately,
Took kitchen towels and remembered the key,
Carer came, took me down for the taxi,
Nice car, legs not squashed, from DG,
I augured a problem was coming to me…
A young, pleasant man, the driver…
To the ring-road – where we met the bother!
Road repairs, traffic unmoving, frustrating,
The ring-road was full, nothing was moving…
Traffic lights were out, and I was fuming,
And the Fare costs were increasing!
Still, we had time for chat & blather,
I just hoped I’d not burst my bladder,
Eventually, we arrived at the hospital,
Cost £25.40, No cash left for a taxi returning!
Through the doors, the scene was awful,
The smell of booze, bad language… dispicable,
Usually I try to be amiable and amicable,
Some patients, gloomy-looking and scowling,
Others muttering, spitting and swearing,
Low spirits & morosness were almost illuminating,
To the reception, answered the questioning,
Told to sit down, so I started waiting…
Someone will call my name, hopefully…
The scene oozed thoughts apocalyptically,
Flapdoodle is being spoken, almost angrily,
Someone shouted Gerald Chambers. Ah, that’s me!
I had trouble getting there, cause of my knee,
The lady who called acted patiently…
Took my vitals, told me to sit to wait to be taken away,
I hoped the bladder & Inchy didn’t get leaky,
Hoping no seizures came, or bleeding from my pinkie,
Prayed I’d not fall asleep, for me that’s customary,
A man came for me, so many corridors, bafflingly,
That waiting room was packed, almost fully…
One seat free, near a door, it was very draughty,
Folks going in and out, returning with a takeaway…
Bottles in brown bags, then whodunwrongitry…
Two people arrived from the constabulary…
Arresting two yobboes, & took them away,
Then, disaster overtook and harassed me!
Urine flowed violently & freely,
For the lesions on Little Inchy,
Embarrassed and getting panicky…
I ask a medic, “Where’s the nearest WC?”
Near the door, where you came into the A&E!
Finding my way went tentatively, nervously,
Through the corridors, any which way?
The flow was getting greater on my way,
No one was in the bog, I’m glad to say…
What I found in the WC caused great dismay,
No bog rolls, towels, my kitchen roll, thankfully,
Was with me in my walker trolley…
The floor was awash, & very stinky
I used it all up, trying to clean body & Inchy,
But felt I must stink. Self-loathing angrily,
My state & condition were full of adversity
Catastrophe, contretemps, then another difficulty,
Ending it all came into mind as an appetency,
Still soaking PP’s, back to the room I did flee,
Unfortunately, getting lost on my way…
Got my bearing, got back, annoyingly…
The desk lady snorted out to me…
You’ve missed your call!
The world around me went into amorphy,
“You’ve been moved to the bottom of the listing”
This pain & frustration were not self-inflicting,
I felt like I was sort of intruding…
I wished I’d bought a bottle of Ivermectin,
This medical horror, I’d not been expecting,
Did I deserve this suffering and vilifying?
As night came on, I was almost shivering…
Damp, cold, and waiting, still waiting…
A blocked Catheter is classed as a medical emergency,
Staff seemed to adopt being unconcernedly?
I was here, involuntarily, & unblamedly?
Much later, a Doctor took me, none too soon…
Into his little treatment room,
Asking me, “What’s your problem?”
Not seeming to want my custom…
Mind you, he was very handsome,
I told him my story, so gruesome,
He inspected things, at first casually,
Then noticed the lesions bleeding away,
These need treatment immediately!
See your Doctor to get a referral quickly,
Then he tried to insert a tube into Little Inchy,
He was determined to get it in forcefully,
Could he get it in? No way!
He made a phone call, then he said…
A specialist is needed, come this way…
Then led through corridors, to see a Mr Day,
Sat me on a chair, more waiting,
At least this time, there was no queuing…
Mr D, I told him the leaking was unrelenting,
Scarily, he said surgery needs doing…
on the penis lesions. Which was nerve-gnawing,
I prayed he was hypothesising,
I hope it’ll all be part of the guarishing?
Tube insertion failed on the first try, worrying!
His 2nd try, and by gum, it went in!
No advice or referral made, & I was listening,
The BP lady arrived, with good news – Amazing!
I’d got a lift home arranged, very pleasing!
Put me on a corrodor chair, again, waiting…
I and my clothes must have been stinking!
I fell asleep, and believe I was dreaming…
Of playing in a World Cup final, & winning!
Woken up by the ambulance men for lifting,
Put in the vehicle, of patients needed fetching,
By then, I was experienced at waiting,
I mused over recent & today’s abhorrencies.
Wild thoughts flowed in abundances,
The ambulance, filled up, we started homewards,
Who got home last? Naturally, it was Chambers,
They took me up to the flat, rang NCC control,
To say I had returned, which seemed subjectable,
I thanked them, my thoughts were now scattered,
My clothes needed throwing, I needed showering…
Body scrubbing, disinfecting, and shaving…
But no, the tap’s hot water was almost freezing!
Used the kettle for hot water, for washing,
Anne Gyna was really hurting,
And the right knee again had me wobbling,
So painful walking, hobbling & genuflecting,
Of course, I’d missed my medicationing…
I called NCC repairs in the morning,
Chap came out for repairing,
The tap was cold again by evening,
I started this blog-Ode, as a Carer was visiting…
He did my bit of shopping,
No blog for so long, I stayed home Odeing,
I really should have gone shopping with him,
Roast smoked pork on the list, I got blended bacon,
Which ended up in the waste bin,
I couldn’t blame Ejaz; I knew what would happen,
Phoned the District nurses, & got information…
They’ll no longer service my Catheter Contraption,
It’s a different one, much more complicated,
Dangerous, Nurses cannot be implicated…
They are barred from attending, I’m worried,
So, as blockages happen fortnightly…
I was instructed to take a taxi to the QMC,
Specifically to the A&E,
If it happens at night, no Carer with Inchie?
Whose to get my shoes and clothes on for me?
What if I have no money for the taxi?
Am I not asking too tendentiously?
The thought of going through the futility,
Embarrassment, pain, and agony,
Filthied, fetid, bloodied, and self-dirtied,
Threatened by yobboes, taxi overcharged,
Waiting here and there, get home so tired…
Angry, a day wasted, feeling withered,
Time for my wild thought to be reactivated?
I’ve never felt so frustrated,
That says a lot! I could have wept…
I just wondered…
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All day, every try until this one, I could not access any files or folders. Suddenly, I could, so I got the BP graphic on.
I have no hopes of it being available again later.
It was not available ten minutes ago, I’ll try again…
HUH!
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I could spit!
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What next, I thought…
I just found out that the hot water is cold again!
Walked into the door frame.
Dropped my mug of Glengettie.
Trying to mop it up, using the stick at the same time, my right knee gave way, and I clouted it and banged my head on the edge of the worktop as I grabbed to stop myself from going all the way down.
Breaking an arm off of my damned spectacles.
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One couldn’t write fiction any scarier!
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I want to make myself free…
of failure, fear, living fretfully,
nervously, and lessen the mental
and physical pains & confusion.
Just thought I’d mention it.
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OLD CARTOON
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Inchie Today: Wed/Thurs 3/4th June 2026 Regular Cock-Ups-Return!
The computer came on this morning – Thurs, 3rd try.
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Heartbreaking
A broken Inchie.
Warden did not come back to try to get me into the banking site. Have I got owt left in there or not?
The new computer has scattered more icons and messages than it was intended, which has added confusion for me; I didn’t understand most of them. On the opening screen… I say opening screen; yesterday, I couldn’t even open it. So late at night, when it decided to let me get in, in sleep mode.
The computer man hasn’t returned despite phone calls; one call was answered, but then went dead. Repeated texts & calls from Carer Mizra, we have heard nothing from…
The One Stop COMPUTER SHOP. Sherwood
CorelDraw not working – Urgent Help Needed. The new computer keeps giving warning bleeps. Unknown Icons have appeared on the desktop. Why should the shop or computer-man come back to try and make sure it works? They have the money. Of course, they could just be too busy. I took this photo when I went to see about getting this not-working-properly computer, which cannot access any of the previously saved work I’d done on almost everything I use. Often refuses to start, but usually manages within six tries. Cuts out so often. Now does not recognise my USB reader or external drives. ARRGH!
I wonder if they are on TrustPilot? No, fancy that.
On Facebook, though, I can’t access that!
Likely all part of a master-con, on Congniscent Impairment and handicapped, going senile old me.
Gullible me, too! I expect the Computerman is overloaded after his holiday. He took nearly two months to get to look at the old computer.
So, time and hope yet.
A physical and mental wreck. Not knowing drives you mad. In desperation, I phoned the NCC Procurement Sustainment Chief Officer for help. He rang Warden, she rang me, and came later in the week on Friday, 3rd June, to try and sort out why I could not get into the bank site. Did a grand job in sorting it out. But ran out of time as she found that my mobile was wrong. Yet, they send threats and problems to me on it?
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Am I moaning? YES!
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Apart from the fungal lesion on Little Incjie bleeding worse, Frustration Frank being Rampant,
holding me in a deep devouring, stinking, mind-crunching, grinding away at me in a deep well. And not a wink of sleep last night, due to the tormenting, trying, treacherous
having a complete, & full
night of mind-hassling, bringing worries to the fore.
Colin Cramps, Kidney Ken, 
& 
. 
, 
… too much! But, the 
is now getting blocked every two weeks with back matter in the tube from the bladder; causing horrendous pain from the flowback in the guts and kidneys, is the worst physical ailment by far. The three Emails I need help with and understanding. No communication or help about the bank problems. No response, let alone help, over the computer farce. What is going on?
Carers have no time to ring the dentist for my special toothpaste. I’ve let the hot tap run cold for two days.
I’m getting much more confused each day. Although confused is not the word. Nearly out of fresh food, including bread. I have tons of tinned stuff in the cupboards. I’ll manage.
I’m in the right state, mentally.
Help? What’s That Then?
I need it now, please.
My premorbid cogniscence impairment is, I know, getting worse each day. Even at night, when all the problems presented themselves and kept recurring, I’m now certain they will never be resolved.
You should do this, or that. Advice is all I get. No help with formulating and doing it. A year ago, I think I may have coped. As the brain gets more affected, depression deepens when I realise I can’t go on like this… but have no choice. I have, and am ashamed of thinking of it. I’ve never before. Things are getting too complicated.
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I intend, when, or rather if the computer ever works properly, to just do an Ode, cartoon, and the BP results.
This must be the end of my moaning, cause whining and grumbling have left me getting nowhere. Tsk!
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Grim: Aye-up Inchie, still got pains abdominal?
Inch: Here & there, I’m feeling abysmal…
Grim: You’re bad physical and mental…
I could take yer soul today, I’m able!
Inch: Ave yer gorrowt for me arsenical?
Grim: Good God, are yer feeling suicidal?
Inch: Just once last night, worries were torrential,
Grim: I can take yer soul astrological, to make it botanical,
The Angels do it, it’s all done alchemically,
Inch: I never knew that! Do you do MY life’s appraisal?
Grim: Nae, that’s up to God & the devil,
Inch: That sounds a smidgeon apocryphal?
Grim: If yer kill yersen, death’ll be anachronical!
Inch: You said I’d die as Earth goes all apocalyptical?
Grim: Ah, I said that to confuse yer, a ferhoodle!
Inch: No wonder my brains are in such a muddle…
Grim: I like a giggle, talking fissilingual,
The gaffer made me wise, and gnosticle…
Inch: Well, he made me spend ages in the hospital,
Grim: He gave you a guide interacerebral!
So you can glean things psychological,
Inch: Oh, the voice in my head, Abdul?
Grim: We call him Dementia Michael.
You won’t be welcome if you go suicidal,
Inch: Well, I think I might be too idle…
Grim: You might be made a reaper, it’s possible,
He can make a reaper of one dejected, immitigable,
Inch: Will I need to be meritorious, laudable?
If I do top missen, is being a reaper liable?
Grim: Yeah, but for politicians, it’s Nowheresville!
Inch: Me bad un missing teeth and pustule?
Grim: Good! make you look like a puckle…
This death lark, no need to get all frenetical!.
Inch: To be honest I feel pretty apathetical…
Grim: You’ll gerra new soul & body, ultimately,
Inch: Is this why my life’s been lived so miserably?
Mental and physical complications, much agony?
IGrim: You’ll snuff it while yer thinking, psychologically,
Inch: Is that good, would it go beneficially?
Grim: Well, it’s best you wait and see.
I’ll collect yer soul and guide you, Inchie,
Inch: Bless yer, that’s good enough for me!
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Inchie Today: Sat-Sun 30-31st May 2026
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Graphicless – Boring – No Photos – Inchie Today
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Saturday
It took me eight tries to open the computer,
and it was bleep-bleeping all day.
More areas are inaccessible for use.
Old photos & graphics are used, as I cannot get access to put new ones on. Is this due to CorelDraw: Blacking out about 22 screen options, and three toolbars are warped. Can’t Import, Export, Save, Save-as,
I can’t access all the work I did on Friday. Can’t use Notepad to open or save to. All the many hours of work, it (244kb) seems to have absconded? unnatainable. Did a desperate search on the whole computer for anything .txt. They found a few old ones on OneDrive.
One-page able ending, had only 112mb (last one has 320mb) on it, then I realised why: it was from 2018!
Midnight, and things got worse, Much Worse.
I was already a few notches up in the
stakes; it got deeper!
And oh, far more frustrating & more painful than ever.
The Catheter blocked again. I tried the usual gulping down gallons (it felt like it) of water to force whatever the black matter is that causes this horrendous pain, but it didn’t work. (Of course). And I had to call the District Nurses at this time in the morning. (00:15hrs). Including this one, that is now four calls for help I’ve done, averaging one every two weeks. Every one of them on a Saturday or Sunday, the day of rest… Ha! Having been battered about so often with all the tube extractions and insertions (14 failed ones last time, I think, t might have been more). Little Inchies’ Fungal Lesion has now gained the Award as one of of “Inchies Prime Pain Pesteration!” More later. Tonight, I found that sitting down was just too painful, and I felt a little dizzy from the increased severity of the surges. of pain. I decided to stand up the whole time, using two sticks, as I waited of the nurses to arrive.
The innards had few areas that were not painful, the kidneys, the back, and Anne Gyna even joined in when I went to the Porcelain Throne. I sat on the plastic seat, and Little Inchy spouted urine out of his teeny-weeny fungal lesion, and the extra pain kicked o
ff again from the recently mauled-over testicles. But as for whether it was a Trotsky Terence or Constipation Conrad, Trotsky was well out of the running, which was what I’d anticipated the evacuation would be. Nothing but wind and little liquid occasionally. And each time I tried to force the movement along, a new, even lower backache kicked in. I decided to take a risk with one of the powerful tablets. Have to take care with this one; I looked it up on Mr Google last week, he said: Oxycodone is a highly potent opioid painkiller carrying severe risks, including fatal respiratory depression, dependence and Addiction. Accidental overdose. Because it is roughly 1.5 times more potent than oral morphine, it requires strict medical supervision. Conitive & Physical Impairment (Which I already have). It can cause extreme drowsiness, confusion, and dizziness. The UK’s National Health Service (NHS) warns that it can impair your driving ability and warns against operating heavy machinery.
Do not consume alcohol or other sedatives (such as benzodiazepines) while on Oxycodone, as this drastically increases your risk of a fatal overdose. But I took one.
The Doctor’s receptionist warned me about these risks when she phoned me to tell me not to use them unless needed. Fair enough. They are needed, but only for two ailments, if that is the word for the first one? When the Catheter blocks up, and the flowback affects the kidneys, bladder, and lower back, & Little Inchy, the pain is so bad that I have to take them until the Catheter has been changed & refitted. And Little Inchie’s Fungal Lesion is going on the list today; he’s never been more painful. (I’m not surprised, though. Over the last six weeks, I must have had at least 40, if not more, failed reinsertions.)
Little Inchie & his lesion, the worst affected. No wonder the poor little miniature thing hurts so much.
🤔(Little hint for sympathy and help?)🤔Hahaha!
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I wandered off track there, sorry.
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So, there I was in the wet room. The moment I realised only wind was going to escape, I got on my feet to ease the pain a smidgeon. I did, too, but I was getting 
visitations, what the heck, I thought, I can cope with pain! This statement just may contain a degree of falsity
As I was leaving the wet room, to my surprise, pleasure, and hope-boosting, I heard the nurses coming in the door. Very quick timing this morning, I’d guess about half an hour after my phoning in. Bless them!
We walked into the room with the bed, and guess what?
The light bulb died! Do I need any more proof of my bad luck? But on Sunday, I had a few more Whoopsies. Well, that goes without saying, really. Haha!
The two nurses had both been before, the lady four weeks ago, and the chap last week. The no-light problem hadn’t fazed them in the slightest; one held the torch on their mobile, while the other, the lady, had her first go at inserting the tube into battered and bruised Little Inchy. It hurt, but not the tube insertion; that was so smooth and painless. It was from Little Inchies fungal lesion.
The Nurse Got The Tube In, On Her First Try!
Fantastic! I asked her if she would put on the Catheter bag with the press release, rather than the butterfly one. “Yes!” Bless her. She even found my torch for me, and she helped me off of the bed before she left. We all bade our farewells, and I had the pleasure of sitting down again. 👍🏻👩🏻⚕️🧑🏻⚕️
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I made up two bottles of water, got the morning meal cooked, and got down in the c1966, £300 Oxfam charity shop-bought, wincingly grotty, beige-coloured, crumb-covered from my nocturnal nibblings, itch-making, uncomfortable, positively unhealthy, and dangerous, no longer operational, virus-breeding, easy-to-fall-out-of, Catheter-tube-trapping recliner.
I got my feet up on the Carer’s chair and put the TV on, not to watch it, but to lighten the room so I had a chance of seeing what was on my spoon or fork as I ate. I hobbled to the kitchenette to wash the pots, and back into the aged, grotty-looking, c1966-made, charity-shop-bought, horribly beige-coloured, £300, chronically uncomfortable, non-operational, acne-giving, bruise-encouraging, spills-stained, recliner.
I remember settling down, and turning of the TV… and blissfully drifting in a dream. As per, it was things from the past, mostly Gtizeld. At the peak of our mutual man & woman handling, I shot awake – Humph”. But was so back asleep, but no more dreaming. I think I had several nocturnal seizures. Each time I woke, an unpleasant, acidic taste lingered in my mouth, throat, and nose.
I think, well, I must have been doing some shaking about during the seizures, never done that before, but I bruised my arms, right ribs, and both of my knees were actually painful.
I’d not got long left to sleep, and the next time I woke, I was determined to get up…
Late morning SUNDAY wake-up, & get up
I sensed and felt the wet and smell of the urine, which had leaked down my legs, Khagoule, feet, to the floor!
I discovered the Catheter put on had a butterfly closure. I blame this on the physical seizure, along with my Cogniscent Impairment. I must have caught the flimsy, not-asked-for butterfly clasp while in motion during a seizure.
It was something special when I remembered to ask for a push-through Catheter to be fitted. Naturally, I thought it had been. Now I know differently.
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Spent ages cleaning up the mess. Aggravating Little Inchies Fungal Lesion, Dizzy Dennis, Fractured-Knee-Frank, The Kidney-Kid, Lose-Balance-Brigette, & Bad-Back-Brenda.
Then the stomach started to play up, and I was in a bad way when Carer Ejaz arrived.
He was a treasure this morning. Didn’t do body checks, but will on his next call. Made a mug of tea, cornflakes brekkie and reminded me to do my teeth, bless him. A nice lad.
When he was near leaving, I got the feeling 
that I needed the Porcelain Throne, sure it was going to be a Trotsky Terence event. I got to the toilet and had another wind-only evacuation.
I thought I might take a Senna. Ejaz said no, they are only taken at night if needed. I asked him to call 111 to see if any other type can be used in the morning. But this meant he was so late and behind. I felt a little guilty asking him.
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Ah, the days of old are so missed…
Pleasures, women, always pissed,
A social magnet, never dissed…
But these faded off into the mist,
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Things got worse; that’s incontestible,
Before retirement, made redundant,
Had to work in Security, terrible…
Shot twice, I wasn’t capable…
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Ailments came, life got more acerbated,
Had a mechanical Aorta fitted,
Deaf, bad eyesight, knee gets fractured,
Penal lesions, seizures, stomach ulcered.
Cancer, had to have a Catheter fitted,
Heart failure, a stent that bifurcated,
Enough of this, it’s too complicated!
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Why do I find life so incomprehensible?
Luckily, my depression is not transmittible,
Can be lessened if you’re knowledgeable,
How does one achieve this miracle?
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10 Warfarin, Morphine & Oxycodone,
No one to con you, by email or cellphone,
No need for drink, or methadone…
No pains, frustrations, you’re on your own,
No need for you to moan and groan,
But where will you find your soul thrown?
GodZone, DevilZone or GoogleZone?
Of course, all this tosh, I just propone,
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Inchie Today: Thursday 28th May 2026
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Most of the day went well, reasonably.
Hearing aids to use, painkillers, thankfully.
But turned in Whoopsiedangleploppery,
Frustration, worry, fear, panic, anxiety…
The bulk of these worries were financially,
Last 3 months, bank statements, texted to me,
Each time £1,000 less than the month previously,
I’ll ring, beg for help, but who can help Inchie?
The Tenancy Sustainment Officer, at N.C.C?
Warden Deana was engaged; she’s so busy,
Rang to Security, Safety, Health and Tenancy,
I struggled to speak, being so panicky,
Wrong words spouted, did I sound barmy?
I was losing; no, I lost my longanimity,
Help, from a wizard, or a vodoo-doctor,
A God, a scientist, maybe a soothsayer?
Without help, I do not have a prayer,
Can’t get through my banksite security layer,
They’ve my ten-year-old mobile number,
To which they sent my one-time number,
Yet they send texts to my new number?
As my bank account continues to wither,
AI security installed, it’s no communicator!
Select this or that, what’s needed is not listed!
Independent living scheme Warden Deana,
Responded, she came to the flat, Bless Her…
Two hours trying to log in, then, however,
Due to our utter and complete failure…
To log in, sign in, communicate or register,
And, their AI, or the bank’s customer vilifier,
It came to hometime for dear Deana,
Who did her best, with pleasant demeanour,
I hope I don’t develop toxicomania,
A possibility, if I get any toeier.
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TWO
I discovered how bad my arithmaphobia is getting this morning. I checked the email from Mr Kervic. I’d worked it out that the refund was due by the end of April. So I was concerned about not being able to get into my bank page to check it, hence yesterday’s grand effort by Deana to get me signed in, ans she said she would return after discovering they were sending one-use codes to the wrong mobile. Yet they send me the monthly grand total on the correct number? It’s still important that I get this sorted ASAP. At least I can see why, I think, the balance has dwindled so much. Maybe, perhaps.
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It is now well into Friday afternoon.
Not much of a blog, but I’ve done my best.
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Morning misty clouds.
Right Leg Nigel. Battered right leg, Nigel.
Bloated and or shrunk in many areas,
damaged due to Loss-Balance-Belinda.
Same Misty Cloud a little later.
A spot of rain now.
Now the failed banking hassle hours.
At least Deana worked out what the problem
was. I’m hopeful she will return today after
another bash at sorting things out for me.
I rang Sister Jane late on. She has been diagnosed as having… Wait for it, A Baker’s Cyst. She told me to look it up on Google, and I did. asked me,
They can get nasty, it seems. I took a snip (below)
Two differing types of them are being removed,
I hope Jane does not have to have hers done!
I’ll have to ask her what the Doctor’s plans are.
CorelDraw gone warped. No graphics.
Could be the end.
Inchie Today: Wednesday 27th May 2026 – Miracles!
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Much better start, Smug Mode Adopted!
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A Wednesday of Miracles… TWO!
First, the new hearing aids were delivered!
Working fine, and they sent some batteries too!
Carer Mizra had to cut one of the tubes and refit it for me. Did a grand job. I wish I could have him more often; he really is such a help. He guides rather than bullies. The same with Carer Ejaz, who helps so much as well.
The second one was when the Carer Arrived… with a box of Oxicodone painkillers with him! Grrreat!
I assume the three missed calls and voice message that followed were from the Doctor or receptionist. But the voice message didn’t record, so it was less of a surprise when it showed up at long last. I’d been emailing asking for some of the good painkillers; 3 times last week, after running out, and no Codiene was left either. A dear friend gave me some of the chemist-bought Cocodamol that helped me cope. Bless-Her-Caring-Cotton-Socks ❤️.
That pulled me through until this morning.
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Arose this morning to see a creamy goo stuck in different places of the night, in the Catheter tubing. And not getting through to the nocturnal bag? This did scare me a bit. The thought of urine backflow entering the bladder and kidneys was enough to set off a semi-panic. Especially if the pains kicked off, and I had no painkillers but the donated ones. The mere memory of the agony I had to go through the last three times almost forced me to ring the district nurses there and then.
But I managed to calm down and concentrate on the problem. I hobbled to the wet room and took off the bag. Made a note of the colour and amount for the Health Check record, and opened the release tap over the WC.
I was impassive about things, mainly because the pain had not begun, so there was still hope. The contents in clumps in the tube reminded me of long ago, when I could… but I’ll not go into that any further. But I did remember dreaming of Griselda last night; I often do this when I sleep in bed and do not fall asleep on the couch. A 1966, £300 Oxfam charity shop-bought, wincingly grotty, beige-coloured, crumb-covered from my nocturnal nibblings, itch-making, uncomfortable, positively unhealthy, and dangerous, no longer operational, virus-breeding, easy-to-fall-out-of, catheter-tube-trapping recliner.
The BP was fairish. A bit high. The Oximeter reveals Heart Rate, mine is a little high, and blood oxygen, which was okay. The thermometer reading has been rising 
steadily; this must be due to warmer weather. Not that I can sense it, I’ve got problems with the cold, not heat.
Some beautiful but sparse clouds this morning.
And the shadows cast as I took this shot from the balcony enhanced an already wonderful photograph. Showing the must-missed Tree Copse I used to walk through, every day at one time. But no longer, now the brain and body are on the wane. Sa
d!
The Carer took this shot with a Kodak Tim Two camera. Showing injuries, too deep coloured urine in the Catheter bag.
The difference in the shapes and sizes of my legs. The right foot has warping toes and different amounts of swelling on each foot. Not to mention the different shapes and degrees of colouring of the 
patterns.
A later snap, taken from the kitchenette window. A rare moment of the sun going in.
AS I was closing the window,
“Oh, Susanna rang out from the door, I poodled to open it.
The aforementioned delivery via Royal Post. Yes, it was the arrival of the new hearing aids. A different sort of plastic from the old ones.
They also added several packs of suitable batteries, for free! Now you see one of the miracle parts of the day. Something got sorted – done!
On Carer Ejaz’s evening call, I took one of the precious Shortec Oxycodone painkilling capsules that I’d been begging the Doctor for for over a week when I ran out of them. And had a Catheter Flowback agony, and a sore Little Inchie after so many failed attempts to get the tube back in the poor little thing. Hehe!
Are things looking up for the disabled, bald, partially blind, fractured left knee, Arthritic, Cramp-suffering, Trotsky Terence suffering, TBI-suffering, cataract & glaucoma attention waiting, Seizures & Peripheral Neuropathy bearing, Diabetic Kidney Disease, Lymphorrhoea, Unguis Incarnates toenails, Blocked-Catheter-Agony, Tumble-taking tumbles, Premorbid Cognitive Impairment, mangled memories, Fungal Lesions suffering, Inchie?
I think there is a minute possibility that his luck may be changing… or mahap getting less severe?
Now, how was that, a near positive response!.
Then I gave up on the blog. I went to my NHS site to order some Anusol and more 
Oxycodone, and there I saw I had a new message in my inbox. So I manoeuvred by way of finding the list of messages, and this is the new message I’d got waiting for my attention. I tried to find my Hospitalisationings on the site, but went around in circles, ending up back where I started in the first place. I gave up. Even Carer Ejaz has trouble finding things on here.
On one of Carer Mizra’s calls, he emptied the fridge and gave it a good clean up, which was appreciated.
He also had to remove some products because they were out of date.
He also packed the meals in order, longest date at the top, very helpful that was. He also read the cooking times on the potatoes and veg, and I planned a complicated meal to get cooked at the same time, ot two types of potatoes, 2 types of mushrooms, carrots, water chestnuts, & and planned, then prepped my meal, with help from Carer Mizra. Back on the computer, I got carried away and made many mistakes, which I corrected when updating on Thursday late morning. (I think) 🤔
Of to the kitchen and managed to concentrate, it was that or fall asleep, Haha, and somehow managed to cope with using the hotplate, slow cooker with mushrooms & carrots in, and the potatoes done in the oven. The Spanish ones are in for 15 minutes, then I added the sliced battered spuds for another 15 minutes. Got tomatoes out for slicing when the meal is cooked. Carer Mizra wrote down the timing on the pack sleeve three hours ago. I added a few drops of Teriyaki sauce to most of the ingredients, and it turned out good! (Did I say that?) While doing the washing up, I realised why I’d 
used the wrong sauce: I didn’t have any Teriyaki left. Taking the edge off of my enjoyment. I’ll do an Iceland order for next week, and get some in.
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GREAT DAY for Horis & Me!
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FRIDAY TEATIME
New Computer Gone Apeshit!
I cannot save anything to the external drives at all, which is where everything is, of course.
With the bother with the bank, and Deana unable to come back to see if she can manage to. I seem to be able to do emails, but none are coming in, so I don’t know.
I’ve done some graphics, but I cannot access them.
I think I’ve had enough!
Just updated this blog, but can’t do a new one.
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