Juan Inchcock’s Confessions

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PenningWe thought it was time to explain the reasons behind the lack of  literacy skills, social skills, and demented views of WordPress’s Juan Inchcock Chambers. He’s Thick! He originally realised what rubbish this sad effort was and intended not to post it.

We convinced him to. (Easy how the bribe of promising to send him an email each day for a week so he can imagine he has some friends, can soon influence his mind.)

This ode is now produced with the full permission of the bald headed nincompoop.

 

Explanations to my Friends (Both of them)

Life once seemed party-like, a happy celebration,

Then came the moral decline of our once great Nation,

Greed, jealousy, hatred, spite, bullying and manipulation,

Joined by lying politicians and their de-industrialisation,

Malpractice, unfairness, cheating and deprivation,

Along with narcissism, and spiritual motivation,

Talking down to us moron’s with great obnubilation.

Politicians with no truth, trust, compassion or clarification,

Offering no genuine prospects, only vilification,

They draw from me no praise, just condemnation,

For their treatment of subjects, and their dehumanisation,

Fiddling, to our MP’s is their right and intoxication,

Offering we scum no thought, concern or remediation,

Then I started to suffer from deeper demoralisation.

Like others, I did nothing about it in my pauperisation,

My options remained in the minimisation,

No opportunities arose for revitalisation,

No hopes of any reinvigoration,

My sanity came under confusing disorientation,

My confidence suffered from a mammoth devaluation,

Then I started on the non-prescription medication.

I lost my job, and it’s no exaggeration,

I suffered many a testing trying tribulation,

I Searched for a job, and with underestimation,

Thought getting a job would be in the equation,

Not getting a job through my own ignoration,

Then realised it meant further spiritual annihilation.

Then the medical problems required more tranquillisation,

Now I Suffer from underutilisation,

Now I Suffer from misclassification,

Now I Suffer from criminalisation,

Now I Suffer from oversimplification,

Now I Suffer from proletarianisation,

Now I Suffer from transmogrification,

Now I Suffer from capitalisation,

Now I Suffer from institutionalisation,

Now I Suffer from retardation,

Now I Suffer from trepidation,

Now I Suffer from brutalisation,

Now I Suffer from contamination,

Now I Suffer from suffocation,

Now I Suffer from desperation,

Now I Suffer from many an hallucination,

Now I Suffer from age discrimination,

Now I Suffer from victimisation,

Now I Suffer from pressurisation,

Now I Suffer from verbalisation,

Now I Suffer from lack of materialisation,

Now I’m too sick to consider an occupation!

Doing me blog helps, if I can avoid any aggravation!

Part 14: A Nottingham Lad’s True Tales of Woe – Inchy’s Sporting Highlights

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Woes13 01

My only Football Match for Meadows Old Boys

Woes13 03I actually managed to get into the Meadows Old Boys Junior football team for one match, a cup match against Corpus Christie at Wilford.

Okay, it was during a mass epidemic of Asian flu and there were not enough ‘proper’ players to make up a team, but I got there, and took part in a record breaking match in more than one way too!

Firstly, it was my first ever time to get a match – come think of it, it was the only time I ever got a match!

The 13-0 score line was the biggest in the Thursday League up until that time!

It was their biggest ever win, and Meadows Old Boy’s biggest ever defeat!

 My only Football Match for my School House team

Woes13 02A few weeks later, (the flu epidemic was still rampant) I got into the school house team for a match on our Green Street pitch behind the pavilion.

Determined not to let myself or the house down, I ran out proudly with the number 3 on my back, my boots up to my kneecaps, shirt sleeves hanging around my ankles, and the studs digging through the boots into my feet. (Yes you’ve guessed it, they didn’t supply any tackle like the club did).

Nothing was to get passed me, I was resolved! Anyway, after they scored their fifth goal, three of them from their nippy winger who I just could not touch – I came up with a plan!

I would get him sent off!

I waited until play stopped for a throw in, stood next to him, bearing in mind I was a good 12″ shorter than he was, noticing the ref was behind him, I clutched my face, and went on a self-imposed crumble to the ground.

It worked a treat, and the lad was sent off! I was a hero… me!

They didn’t score again, fair enough we didn’t either, but the lads in my team actually spoke to me as we left the pitch!

After showering, I walked around the back of the dressing room, and as I turned the corner to go past where the coke for the boiler was stored – suddenly nothing!

I woke up in the ambulance, hurt and muddled, as I realised my right eye was painful and closed, and blood was coming out of my nose and cut bottom lip.

It transpires that the nippy winger was not best pleased with my play acting, and was waiting near the coke pile with a shovel as I turned the corner, he whacked in the face with it!

Looking back, I cannot blame him, and I decided I’d never cheated again.

My Boxing Début: Ahead on points…

Woes13 03aAnother chance for me to prove my sporting prowess came in the boxing competition.

I’m not sure how they graded the competitors, but I (all 4ft 2in and 4 stone soaking wet of me) was matched against a 5′ 8′ 10 stone dude! The school Gym master in his corner, and the caretaker in mine?

The bell (whistle) sounded, and I prayed I wouldn’t burst into tears if he actually hit me.

To my own amazement, he rarely made contact with his roundhouse swings, and I found myself well ahead on points with my jabs and occasional upper cuts (Not that they hurt or bothered him at all).

At the end of the third round, Bob (The caretaker and teller of fibs) told me to go for his stomach as he thought that was a weak area – so I did, managing to despatch my best ever punch, and I recall thinking how much it hurt my hand – the next thing I recalled was waking up in the showers.

Apparently it was such a good blow, that it made the dude so angry, and I never saw his punch coming.

So, it was off to the Children’s Hospital for an x-ray on my hand, and broken nose.

I was plonked on a trolley to await my turn in the queue, as I was a little dizzy still. I’m not sure how long I waited, but I fell asleep I think, or must have moved, and fell off the trolley onto the marble floor.

So they x-rayed my ankle at the same time as the hand and nose, which was just bruised, but the ankle was badly sprained.

Now this naturally worried both mummy and daddy – mummy wanted to know if I could still go nub-ending for her, and daddy showed anxious concern that I could still do my double paper-rounds! Dad said “Surely you can still ride yer bike?”

I explained that dear mummy sold my bike two weeks earlier. (Dad had always been observant).

Determined that I should continue with my duties to the household, he went out to his cobbling bench, got some wood out of the coal-house, and supplied me with a knobbly home-made walking stick! (Which was more than the hospital did)

When I returned to the Children’s Hospital to have the wadding removed, (Mummy would have come with me but it was double money winnings at the bingo club that day) they decided I had to have another tetanus jab, and believe me, in those days the needle was more like a sword! It seemed to me that it was about a foot long, anyway after the nurse said “What a brave little boy, even if you have got holes in your socks and shoes, you didn’t even cry at all!”

Well, it’s hard to cry when you’re as frozen with fear as I was!

I put my sporting career on hold after that… come think of it, it’s still on hold. Hehehe!

Part 13: A Nottingham Lad’s True Tales of Woe

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Yes you’ve guessed it; dear mummy did yet another bunk.

Work GroveWork PCdogImmediately after she absconded, the usual callers seeking her whereabouts were received: Loan sharks, bookies, neighbours, solicitors, the police and various others. We even had a Nun call? Never did get to the bottom of that one. Why the policeman would arrive looking for Mother with a dog I’m not sure; maybe the dog was new and he wanted to tests its bravery if she was there? The usual note was found left on the table. They usually went something like: ‘Gone to Matilda’s to look after her for a few days ‘cause she’s poorly’. Why she did not just tell the truth ‘Coppers after me, must go on the run’ I just don’t know? Perhaps, her being an excellent con artist, she thought if she showed herself in a good light in the note she left, it might soften the resolve of the authorities and people she owed money to pursue the debts?

However, the resulting events this time were of a more interesting nature.

The night after she left, dad and me were sitting by the fire, when the door was knocked upon, Dad (a rarity when I was available) answered the door himself to find two bullish men who were representing ‘Brental’s Hire Purchase Furniture Shop’, on Carrington Street, asking to talk to a James Timothy Gerald Archibald Percival Chambers (eight year old me?) about a hire-purchase agreement on a three piece suite that has not been paid. (We have never had a new three piece suite; one would not have fitted into the house anyway!)

Dad tried to explain to them that J T G A P Chambers was eight years old, and started to open the door so they could see me, when one of the bullish types made the mistake of trying to push past daddy to get into the house.

When the ambulances left the scene, the local bobby said: “Not to worry Harry, those two had it coming to ‘um, any further trouble give me a call, any time mate.”

The only time I recall my Dad knocking hell of anyone but me.

The Part-Time Jobs wot Dad got fer me…

Dad soon started to organise me unwilling search for employment.

Nearby where we lived (did I say lived?) was a hardware store on Kirk Wight Street, Heason’s was the name.

Daddy very kindly got me a Saturday job with them, to help supplement my double paper round jobs funds.

I think I got paid 2/3d for a full nine hour day (11p). But it didn’t last too long. Among my duties, was burning the weeks rubbish in the back yard, and delivering small items bought in the shop to customers on an ‘errand boy’s bike’.

On about the fourth weekend, I set fire to the shed, then the bike ended up under a trolleybus on Arkwright Street, when I came off on the icy road, and the table lamp that was in the basket got broke… well crushed under the trolleybus wheels actually!

I was not injured in either incident, not that anyone asked.

Mr Heason was very good about it, and let me work for another two Saturdays and kept my wages in payment for the lamp, and damage repairs to the bike before sacking me.

Daddy was not pleased, and sent me immediately to the Grove cinema, to apply for the job advertised as a gas-lamp lighter, and snuffer in the evenings and weekend.

Work Grove

Amazingly they took me on straight away, and paid well too, about 7/6d a week. And! – I got to see the pictures, even the X-rated for free! It things a bit hectic cause on the lighting shift, I had to dash back home and wait for Dad to return whenever, and light the fire and get his nosh for him. The Snuffing-out shift was okay, and I got to search through the rows of seats for anything that had been dropped or left behind by the clientele.

Amongst my ‘odder’ finds were; A Parade magazine, contraceptives, a walking stick, umbrella, a hobbing iron, shoes, cigarettes, a prosthetic leg, coins, and one day; A ten shilling Note! These were amongst many other items.

Work finds

Of course I still had to fit in school, chopping wood for the fire, clearing and cleaning out the fire grate, laying it in readiness for Dad’s return from work (remembering not to light it until he actually arrived home, Dad thought lighting it for one was a little financially  extravagant).

The housework, the shopping, (when I could extract any money from Dad), cooking etc.

Of course mother returned later, Dad paid off her debts again – and we started hiding out valuables again. Tsk!

Cost of UK Living Price Forecast for 2080

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PricesInchPenny01The Inchcock Gazette Financial Correspondent, Penny Banks, has been looking at the cost of living in the UK. Working in harmony with Juan Inchcock, they have finally finished editing the piece, that Compares the actual cost of products in 1951 compared to 2011, and then assessing the difference % between those years, she forecasts what these items will cost (if still available at all) in 2080.

With some scary results – especially for the ankle-snappers of today.

Let’s face it, would the now older generation ever have believed in 1966 what things would cost in 2000 if anyone had told them?

No, we’d have laughed at the thought of a loaf of bread costing over 10p (2/- Two shillings).

I recall the utter disbelieve from my father when he found out that we had to pay 3d (1.5p) for a bag of chips, up from 2d (1d)

It was even worse when he got the shock of of his bottle of IPA (Indian Pale Ale) from the corner beer-off, went up from 9d (4.5p) to 11d!

When petrol went up to 2/3d (10.3p) a gallon, well, you would not want to know what Dad said about that price increase!

For simplicity she has converted all old £ s d prices to the new currency.

They are all average costs, not calculated using regional prices.

PricesDaz Daz Soap Powder

1951: 3p

2011: £2.48

2080: £204.84

12 Eggs

1951: 10p

2011: £1.00

2080: £13.00

800g Loaf of White bread

1951: 1d

2011: £1.25

2080: £125.34

Pint of Milk

1951: 1p

2011: 65p

2080: £42.25

Pricessugar2lb Granulated Sugar

1951: 5p

2011: 90p

2080: £16.23

Butter

1951: 4p

2011: £1.25

2080: £27.50

Semi Detached House

1951: £280

2011: £223,121

2080: £2,499,432

PricesSmithsSmiths Crisps

1951: ¾p

2011: 25p

2080: $16.04

MPs Earnings (with unfiddled expenses & running costs paid) per week

1951: £8,489

2011: £86,788

2080: £424,488

Highest Priced Penthouse in London

1951: £624,000

2011: £135,000,000

2080: £29160,000

PricesCiggies20 Cigarettes

1951: 5p

2011: £5.30

2080: £567.00

Average weekly Pay

1951: £10.52

2011: £311.34

2080: £11608.61

Average Single Persons Unemployment Benefits with less than the saving limit in the bank.

1951: £2.43

2011: £119.34

2080: £4,214.05

Cost of Petrol per litre

1951: 17p (Rationed)

2011: £5.77

2080: £196.18

PricesChipsBag of Chips

1951: 4p

2011: 69p

2080: £20.22

A Nottingham Lad’s True Tale of Woe – Part 12 – Billy Smart’s Escaped Effalent!

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Woes12 01 Woes12 02

Inchcocks, True Tales of Woe. Of utter failure, depression, frustration, and abject poverty. This episode relates a rather more frightening episode of his early experiences than the usual. He tells me he can still smell the aroma the emitted from the elephant when he opened his bedroom window, stuck out his head to find out what all noise and kerfuffle was, and found his head about five foot away from the elephants! This is no bull, records at the Evening Post will prove this, and Georges Stables were also used for the storing animals in advance of the Billy Smarts Circus coming to Nottingham

Now Inchcock will now take over, and tell his tale…

George’s horse stables were underneath the railway viaduct that supported Arkwright St Station, were at the end of our terrace of houses.

Under the arches, was where the big cats were quartered, and the actual stables were used to my knowledge over the years to pen, elephants, rhinos, horses, snakes, ponies and zebras.

As I lay in bed that fateful night, I was aroused by an indescribable noise, as I struggled to find the matches to light the candle, Dad came rushing into the room, and dragged me out, nearly knocking me out as he bashed my head against doorframe, rushed downstairs, stuffed me under the sink and shouted “Stay under there until I tell yer to move!”

He disappeared, and I knew something was amiss (I’ve always been sensitive to these things you know).

But curiosity got the better of me, and I sneaked back upstairs, and stuck my head out of the window in an effort to find out what all the commotion was… and found my head about 5ft away from an elephants head that was coming towards me!

Within about 15 seconds I was back under the sink! I can still remember the smell of that elephant!

Anyway, it transpires that the elephant was a young one that was missing his mater, so he bashed down the stable doors, walked up and down our terrace, then up Brookfield place, on the way head butting in Mrs Wing’s front door, then overturning a blokes Morgan sports car on Derwent Street, then bending a lamppost, then walked up to the Willoughby Street bridge and lifted a man up and put him on the bridge (severely injuring him in the process), turned back into Derwent Street, and charged into mothers illegal bookies house front window, wedging himself firmly in that position! Whaling noises, and crumbling bricks indicated he was not happy being stuck where he was. Boy did he kick up a verbal commotion!

Woes12 03

The Cricketers Rest – Where the night-watchman was well sozzled!

Billy Smart’s watchman who was supposed to be looking after the animals in the stables, was apparently in the Cricketers Rest, well sozzled!

The police fetched Mr Widdowson a man who lived on Kirkewhite Street to the scene. Mr Widdowson had worked with elephants during the war in India. Apparently he had been used before to help the police with escaped elephants, but I can only recall this one such event personally.

At this time, I had sneaked out from under the sink to have a proper look, and saw Mr Widdowson with the armed police officers.

Mr Widdowson took a quick look at it, and he said loudly over the nose of the beast; “Shoot it, it’s African” So he went with the marksmen, down the alley to the back of the house, and they broke in and he told them where to shoot it for optimum results.

Then the occupants of the house appeared from upstairs, totally oblivious of what had happened until the gun shots awoke them! (Talk about heavy sleepers?)

It seems that a neighbour saw me at the window earlier, so I got a further taste of the belt buckle and leather for disobeying daddy again by leaving the relative safety of under the sink!

Ah well…!

A Nottingham Lad’s True Tales of Woe – Part 11

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Woes11 police

Locked up in the Police Station Cells for the day

Dad thought it was a treat to take me on marathon walks occasionally. We’d take no food, just a bottle of tap water. We’d walk for miles and miles, always eventually stopping near an orchard in, Bingham, Plumtree, Ruddington, or Bunny, that sort of village-like place. Then him picking an apple or pear, then getting out his penknife and slowly, very slowly cutting off the skin, (which I got to eat) he’d slice up the apple, and I’d get my one slice… enough for a little un he’d say. Then on the way back, he’d call in the pub, bring me out a bag of crisps (with a little sachet of salt, always Smiths), open the bottle of tap water for me, then disappear back inside the pub for about three days… well it seemed like that to me. But at least he never forgot I was with him like Mother used to do. And; he always took me home – well someone had to do the housework! This trip out I went with me mate Jack – but it didn’t turn out how we’d planned it!

On one of the rare occasions that I was able to sneak out and have some fun (as I thought at the time), I joined a mate, and we walked out to Ruddington, to an orchard I’d spotted while out on one of Dad’s marathon walks earlier in the month – with the mischievous intention of scrumping some apples for ourselves.

I was up a tree, dropping the illicit apples down to Jack… when the owner appeared from nowhere…

Woes11 wallJack legged it through a small gate, but that escape route was then barred to me by the owners body by the time I’d got out and down from the tree – so I ran and jumped over a low wall of about 2ft in height, little thinking that the other side might be a drop of about 12ft into the deep mud of a field!

By the time the owner, and newly arrived police officer got down to me, the pain was slowly easing, and the bruising coming out on my face head, and shoulder.

I was unceremoniously handed up to the policeman – who told me I was to walk at the side of his push-bike back to Nottingham’s Queens Drive Police Station!

Telling me this he managed to skilfully and adeptly clip me around the head and ear-holes several times with his leather gloves, whilst pushing the bike with his other hand.

We arrived at the police station, and I was recorded by the desk sergeant, and unceremoniously placed in a bare wall station cell, with bars and door in the shape of a dome, with only concrete/brick slabs to sit on.

It reminded me of the Sheriff’s office cells in the Wells Fargo, Roy Rogers, and John Wayne cowboy films I’d seen at the flea-pit (The Grove Cinema).

But it still scared the hell out of me.

Eventually, some six hours or so later, a constable came in and removed me from the cell, telling me I was to go with Constable Merriman (and merry he certainly was not), to be taken home to Dad!

It seems somehow they knew when Dad would be arriving home.

Out of the station, then along Kirkwright Street. Again at the side of a constable and his push-bike. (A different constable this time) Who had the same excellently honed capability and skills of catching ones ankle with his pedals, clipping your ear-hole, and giving your chin a hefty accidental regular belt with the torch that hung on his tunic belt, painful, but I had to admire his skills even then as he drew blood.

As we got nearer to home, the crowds gathered as the officer took the route there via the middle of the road, down the cobbles into Brookfield Place, by then we had a group of about 12 spectators following us, then of course he (the officer) had to shine his torch in all the house windows as he passed them, and even tried out his whistle – thus the neighbours added to this spectator sport of ‘ogling the downfall of young Inchcock! ‘

He then proceeded to knock hell out of the front door, (this commotion ensured neighbours from over the end wall would not miss any of the total embarrassment of young Inchcock and also join in the ever increasing number of spectators), the door was opened by an already irate Father, because his young un had not been there to get his meal ready and light the fire when he got home, changing his face colour from normal colour, to red, blue, and back to red, as the Constable loudly explained to him: ” I’ve bought ‘this’ home ‘arry, (twisting my ear-lobe as he pushed me toward my irate looking father), caught it scrumping at William’s orchard – will you deal with it Harry?”

Dear father had got his belt off and in his hand before he’d finished replying to the Constable: “Oh eye, yer can rest assured on that one Bert!”

Three days later, I could just about manage sit down again without too much pain from my rumps losing battle with Dads infamous belt and buckle battering!

That was my first and last attempt at scrumping.

Parliament: Where will we find…

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Ode1 01

Parliament: Where You Will find…

This Ode was created by Inchcock as he was making a cup of tea to take his multiple medications, apply his Permethrin cream and change his bandages.

Where will we find people so very temperamental?

Those who consider fiddling as fundamental?

Nasty self bias people: cruel, vile and a little mental?

Scheming people being unscrupulous and instrumental?

Slippery, deceitful, cheating, and lying elemental?

Folk who seem inhuman, arrogant and ornamental?

Where will we find them, along with nothing sentimental?

Members who find lying, and criminality just incidental?

Where will we find dangerous people, who to us are detrimental?

Those who cheat and get off scot-free, being so inscrutable,

Scum who find self interest and nepotism so ingestible,

The cream of the vain, narcissistic and pure egotistical

We’ll find them all in anything that’s Governmental!

A Nottingham Lad’s True Tales of Woe – Part 10

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Woes10 001Includes Dad’s designs on saving dental costs!

Dad insisted that I came home from school, cleaned out the fire grate, chopped some wood, and laid the fire in readiness for his arrival home from work.

He considered it a waste of money if I lit the fire before he got in. Also I was to ready a meal for him – getting the money out of him was harder than climbing Mount Everest with two broken legs, being blind, and using a camel as a guide-dog!

Yes, I spent many an hour at the doorstep awaiting his arrival home, looking down the row of terraced houses past the open sewers that time had forgotten about.

It could be anything from 1800hrs to 2230hrs when he would round the corner, ambling in his unrushed manner, sometimes after stopping off at the pub on the way home.

So if he’d eaten in the bar or chippie, and did not want his dinner – no, I couldn’t eat it, it had to be saved until the next night – and believe me, even in summer, and bear in mind we had no luxuries like a fridge (actually we had no luxuries at all that I can recall), he did always eat it on the next night!

A Penny for the Pain

Dad, being Dad, he spent nothing if it could be avoided, he even used to pull my teeth with his cobbling pliers. Lifting me above the sink to catch the blood, gritting his teeth, taking a mega-firm grip, and yanking out the offending tooth (and often the wrong one), he’d rinse out my mouth, and… and for anyone who knew him might find this hard to believe, he’d give me a ‘penny for the pain’.

Woes10 01Mother Returns, I do a Bunk!

When dear mater returned to the fold this time, the gloom returned, and I was most despondent and sorrowful. So much so, that on the first night she returned, I decided to run away!

Not exactly the best planned escape you’ve will have ever heard of.

I took a bag of crisps and a bottle of Redgate’s ‘pop’ in a Marsden’s carrier bag, and legged it out of the back door while Mother and Father were in the front room arguing as usual.

The time being around 2030hrs, I had no idea where I was going, but seem to remember having set out with great determination that I was never going to return to the violence and anger at home again.

I ended up walking down Wilford Road to Castle Boulevard from Trent Bridge, and turned onto Abbey Bridge, which was where the fear and realisation of my situation suddenly gripped me, that I was not sure why or where I was!

I Return

I changed my mind about absconding, and started to walk back to No. 4 Brookfield Place (my home), as I turned into Wilford Street, and it began to get dark, I started to panic, and began running.

That was when a black Triumph Standard car pulled up beside me, and a man shouted something I couldn’t hear properly, and I got the energy through fright, to run even faster… I turned down Traffic Street, and could hear the car following as it revved and suddenly the brakes squealed!

I shot up an entry, only to find it was a dead end, as I realised this, I felt myself being lifted into the air by a chap, and carried back out of the entry, then being slapped up against the wall by the very tall man… who said in a dominating, intimidating gruff voice, “Furse’s had been robbed earlier tonight, what have you got in that carrier bag!”

It gleaned as another man joined him from the car, that they were CID Police Officers.

I came clean, and told them I’d run away from home, but had got scared and was on my way back home, told him my address, and (as was the case in them days) he said he knew Harry (my Dad), and would take me home to prove if I was lying or not.

By now it must have been getting on for midnight.

They threw me in the back of the car, and we drove home, to find the neighbours curtains twitched, and lights coming on in the Terrace.

One police officer rattled on the door, it took a while to wake mummy and daddy up, but it seemed the rest of the occupants of the Terrace had turned out to find out what was happening!

The door opened, before anyone appeared I knew it was mother, as I saw the cigarette smoke curling around the doorframe… it appears that no one had missed me anyway!

Mummy in her own caring way belted me around the head with her slipper for getting the police involved, and then it was upstairs where I found Daddy peeling his belt from around his trousers on the chair… a couple of good clouts around the legs, preceded a good four more on the bottom.

That night I went to bed in pain and even more confused than before!

Mother Does another Bunk

The next day Mummy dear disappeared again. It seemed the policemen calling had unnerved her usual steely resolve.

Social Services – Nottingham Lad needs Adopting -Can You Help?

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Foster Parents needed for Nottingham Boy, can you help?

Advertised in the Nottingham Evening Post, this surely explains why we need to apply ourselves and provide the resources to cater for our young children?

Nottingham Council’s Adoption Agency

Nottinghamshire Council provides a range of services to look after children and aims to provide quality foster care placements to meet each child’s individual needs in respect of race, culture, religion, disability and language.

Can you offer a home to this young person?

Adopt01

Details:

Name: Juan Inchcock.

D.O.B.: 27 August 1947

Nationality: White, British. (We think)

Currently Being cared for by: Local muggers, and the NHS.

History:

* Survived double pneumonia at the age of 3

* Brought up by his father. Very little education received. No etiquette, decorum, deportment, or finesse installed.

* Mother on the run from the police 1950-51 – 1954-1955 – 1956-62

* Loved sports, but was totally useless at them.

* Went bald at 23 years of age.

* Worked for 50 years, in the Retail, Military, Security, and Gas lamp lighting trades – made redundant four times through no fault of his own.

* Broke eleven bones, crushed his right thumb, had a hernia repaired, cancer of the bladder lasered, duodenal ulcer, went deaf, needs three levels of spectacles, contracted Angina, Aorta heart valve replacement, Arthritis in knees and hands, his Reflux valve sticking, Kidney infection and chronically depressed .

* After his cardiac procedures were carried out, he started writing for the Spoof Website, and started his own blog site. Unfortunately, he gets confused at times, and started posting to the wrong site in mistake for the other.

* Then he contracted Arthritis, and Impetigo, currently being treated.

Medical care required:

He will have to attend a blood test, and await dosage recommendations for the Warfarin tablets he is on weekly if not daily according to results. He has a bus-pass, so you will not need to run him about; he is capable of hobbling to and from the medical appointment as necessary. The other 16 daily medications he is on, will require you to make sure he takes them in order and to the correct dosage:

* Codeine Phosphate as required

* Furosemide 40mg – one each morning

* Lactulose – three x 5ml spoonsful three times a day

* Bisoprolol (Beta Blockers) 25mg – one each morning

* Omeprazole 20mg – one each morning

* Iboprofen Gel – to be applied to the arthritic knees and hands when required.

* Ramipril 5mg – One in AM, one in PM

* Zocor 15mg – One in the evening

* Simvastin 40mg – One in the evening

* Otomise Spray – apply in ears three times a day

* Vitamin B Complex – one a day

* Glyceryl Trinitrate – 600mcg as required not more than two at a time though.

Plus of course, the specified dose of Warfarin for the day, at night.

In the event of the rare dizzy spells attacking Juan, leave him on the floor until he feels he can get up again.

Personal Traits:

Potty Training:

Originally fully potty trained, but Juan’s memory is getting worse, and this can cause the occasional problem. (Especially now he is on Water Tablets)

Eating:

Juan will eat anything not too rich. He has become accustomed since being made redundant, then retiring to living on Asda Smartprice, and Pound Shop products, and you will find these good value… crap!… but good value, and they will suffice for Juan.

Emissions of wind from his anus:

Possibly a by-product of his medications, be warned that after he had laser treatment, he is unaware of any build-up of gases, and they tend to burst out painfully, for him, and anyone in his vicinity.

His Nature:

He is an easy going boy, who likes to feed the pigeons and ducks.

It is essential that you supply an internet connection for him, so he can continue to present crap like this on blog website, as he is thoroughly addicted.

Do you feel you can help?

Anyone who feels they can take on Juan as foster parents, or adopt him, please send your application in to us, along with a Doctor’s, or Psychologist’s Sanity letter with confirmation of your mental condition.