Ode: Life used to be…

Warning: Bubonic plague may seem like a part of the past, but it still exists today in the world and in rural areas of the U.S. and in Asia. The best way to prevent getting plague is to avoid fleas on rodents such as rats, mice, and squirrels.

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ODE: Life used to be…

Full of the dying from the Black Death, Bubonic!
Cause in those days people were thick but stoic,
This Ode will not be in sequence, or chronologic,
Cause I’ve got arithmophobia, to me, they’re acrostic,
I imagine in times prehistoric,
Cave dwellers were less prone to be phobic?

The caveman club was used automatic,
To fight with others, they say… and things domestic…


When a bloke wanted him and her to get at it?
Nowadays, it’s a counsellor? It’s not so dramatic!

In my young days, romance for me was minimalistic,
As were and still are, my tools used only periodic,
I think this Ode is getting confused, semantic?
Cause I think I’m becoming a smidgen autistic?

You know, I used to be somewhat nomadic,
Walking, then on my bike, a Raleigh classic,
Then the motorbikes, I was very enthusiastic,
Bought a three-wheeler – a Robin made of plastic!
Several four-wheelers, then a 4×4, fantastic!
Now no more, I’ve moved on up to a walkingstick,
Heart replacement, Cancers, Stroke, I’ve been sick!

A new walker guide, I’ve named it Dominic!
Deaf-as-a-post, I can’t hear it, the traffic!

Nowadays, so many folk Islamophobic some Israelophilic,
A reading of 168 this morning for the systolic,
A low reading of 54 for the diastolic?
No longer fit enough to be peripatetic,
In fact, life can at times feel rather pathetic!.

Seeing old photos of me can be ironic,
Even if I felt at the time supersonic!
The losses can make one feel threnetic,
This is Susan, she was warm and athletic!

Things so changed, using so much antiseptic,
My hair has gone, the mind too, and I’m feeling asthmatic,
Shaking all over, deaf, diagnosed a diabetic!
There’s little left of my body that’s authentic!
The nurses who call are sweet and charismatic!.

The carers visit, although it’s not automatic…
A few of them are disinterested and apathetic,
Most of them are kind, one even erotic!.
At times have a natter, albeit we can act idiotic!

Next week, I’m going for treatment, electrotherapeutics,
Not sure what it means, but it sounds futuristic,
It worryingly also sounds sadomasochistic,
For my Peripheral Neuropathy, I like the therapeutic,
I hope I get a mug of tea and a biscuit?

I’m a bit concerned about this! Hahaha!

Part of the Inchcock Make ‘Em Laugh-In Rhyme Series

Inchcock’s Weekly Bath – In Ode

Inchock’s Memories Series

Ah, Good evening!

I’d love to tell of my one bath a week, even if it’s not too poetic,
It’s just for fun; nothing meant didactic…
Dad would decide when the bath was needed, I was like a lunatic,
Got the pans and kettles on the fire, all rushing and frantic!

Worra Life It Wor!

It wasn’t easy getting it from the backyard wall,
I struggled with only being 3ft something tall,
Then clean it with a leather ball…
Dragging it in through the back hall…
Filling it with hot water, there wasn’t much at all…

Carbolic soap, Dad’d get in, having a soak,
He could not be rushed; he was that sort of bloke,
I refilled the pots and kettles, back on the boil,
Gawd, it was an arduous task, all sweat and toil!

I used to hope that the Dad would rush his frolic,
But no chance, once he smelt the carbolic!
He’d lay back and sing, drink something alcoholic,
I had to be patient and wait, be stoic!

Just Thinking Back… Hehe!

He’d call for more hot water; I dare not offer rhetoric…
I’d top up the water, boy, was I young and omnific!
He’d sing another song and say something prophetic,
I’m late with hot water top-up; he calls me a schmendrick!
He’d clip me round the ear hole; at that, he was slick!
Well over an hour, he’d soak, giving me the odd backhanded flick,

“Get me clothes!” At last… I don’t want to be a critic…
The water was dirty and cold, but my being a workaholic,
Got his togs while he cut his cowlick…
At long last, it was time for a cold bath for me!

He’ll get out eventually and go into the kitchen to shave,
Reminding me not to make a mess and behave…
He’d splashed dirty water all over, another job he gave…
“Clean the bath properly, the carpet, and the fireplace you!”
So after my five minutes, I was so cold and blue!
Emptying the bath, then to get it outside too!
Embarrassingly, my skinny body still smelt mephitic!

But Dad had an urgent job to do,
“So no hot water added for you!”
He was off for a pint at the Barley Moo!

The bath back on the wall outside,
Both rooms were all cleaned and dried,
His meal next, no proper cooking, only summat fried…
Bacon and eggs, some beans, and his Mothers Pride…
That was his favourite bread,
It was a penny cheaper, that being said…

♫ Happiness, happiness ♫

When will he return, six o’clock or ten?
The long wait to be suffered then…
His return was usually undramatic,
Drunk, he’d often fall over – he was pretty acrobatic!

Sozzled suited me cause he couldn’t taste the food,
And was generally in a decent mood,
If he’d done well at Snooker, a good attitude!
If he’d guzzled Guinness or a more potent brew!
Me keeping out of the way is what I’d do!
Still, thanks for reading, kind of you!

Inchcock’s Ode: Talking with my ailments – Part Two

Talking with my ailments

Introduction:

Part Two – Shaking Shoulder Shirley

After Inchcock was diagnosed with Peripheral Neuropathy, he then got told he was a diabetic. Then had a stroke. (He’s a lucky lad… Not!) Next, a Subconjuntival Haemorrhage in his right eye.

Then while recovering in an NCH (Nottingham City Homes) Care Home, Shaking-Shoulder-Shirley introduced herself. He presumes this is due to the (Nicodemus’s) Nerve ends dying. But the occasional Neuropathy Pete’s shuddering, shaking and jerking of the right side of his body and limbs rarely last for more than a few minutes at max. Usually, Shirley is a lot more violent for some unknown reason and can wear the old man down when she’s persistent. Shaking and lashing about. Her efforts recently have increased somewhat, time-wise, and Inchcock says, “After a long hour or so session, I’m convinced she is trying to wrench my humeral head bone free of the socket” Oh, and Inchcock also needed three stitches in a shaving cut!

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

The Nocturnal Natter with Shirley

A mixture of awake, half-asleep, and dreamt discussions, wrote from notes and during the actual multiple chin-waggings…

Inchcock: I’m not sure why or how you came about… Shirley: Ha!, now you talk to me; I’m not as important as Bloody Boris bladder then, what’s that about?
Inchcock: Whaddya mean about?
Shirley: Yo started this ‘ere Talking to yer ailments series of blogs off wiv him… not me, who is far more painful indeed… innit, no doubt?
Inchcock: Well… it depends which ailment is worst at the time… giving me the severest clot…
Shirley: Argh, shurrup! You’ll know now why I’ve been giving the jerks and aches then? Cause yer doesn’t rate me was mean enough… yer, I’ll put yer in more pain than gout!
Inchcock: I wouldn’t and don’t doubt your pain-giving qualities at all; I’m already in pain, tired and worn-out!
Shirley: I suppose Bartholomew give it more to you?
Inchcock: Well, he has been lasered and still works,
Shirley: Cum on mush, look how yers treated me, bad or not!
Inchcock: I massage you twice a day with Phorpain gel
Shirley: Not like you, an old fart that still drinks bottled stout! Yer just an ungrateful old trout!
Inchcock: I…
Shirley: And another thing, I’ve never let the shoulder joint fall out!
Inchcock: Well, I doubt…
Shirley: I’ll tell yer to wot you done to me int past, Inured me you have, I remember the Colwick security stakeout!
Inchcock: Go one then, tell me all about it… it won’t make me freak out!
Shirley: Now yer makin’ me want to puke and pout!
Inchcock: Pout? Why? What about?
Shirley: Oh! Yer not bovvered about me puking then, yer an emotional wash-out!
Inchcock: I remember now, Shirley, Colwick, when we did an overnight lookout…
Shirley: Ah, year, that’s wot it was about!
Inchcock: When I was using the night goggles, from the back of the van… and from it, I fell out, giving you a good clout?
Shirley, you landed in a field, and blood did spout…
Inchcock: Blood? Who’s? No, surely not?
Shirley: It was me, and you bleeding.. have you no memory left or what?
Inchcock: Erm…
Shirley: The burglars arrived? You felt around in the dark for the R.T., went out of the van to take a nighttime photo, missed the step.., and fell on me! What an idiot!
Inchcock: Ah, yes… I fell on a broken tin pot…
Shirley: And it cut me! And you still never got the I.D. shot!

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

Notes made for later use…

In the afternoon, Inchcock: Fell asleep…

Shirley: Oi, you Inchie! Are you ready to have anuvver talk wiv me?
Inchcock: Well, I’d like for me…
Shirley: Don’t tell me, you’re back on the Drambuie?
Inchcock: No, no, no, I don’t drink anymore…
Shirley: Sounds like an oxymoron, yer fibbing, you see…
Inchcock: No, I’m not, you’ve been hanging around for over seventy-odd years, must have noticed, so you must indeed acquiesce, concede, and agree?
Shirley: Oh, trying to get clever with words, I see?
Inchcock: Why are you so nasty and sarkie?
Shirley: Me? I’ll tell yer why, dumbo! In left Shoulder Lilly, never, always me, that’s what causes my incongruity! Why is it always me the doctors stick the hypos in?
Inchcock: Now look, we’ve grown old together, Shirley…
Shirley: Yea!
Inchcock: We’ve been through some tough times, we all suffer, Duodenal Donald, Anne Gyna, Reflux Roger, Deaf Darren, Hemorrhoidal Harold, Saccades Sandra all of them, oh, and Toothache Tiffany…
Shirley: Enough of this claptrap mush! But I do wish you well with this little ditty!
Inchcock: She suddenly returned into the ether; what a pity!

Time To Get An Iceland Order Done, methinks

A bit bare, innit?

Ode to Maintaining One’s Sanity – Part Four or summat

In an odd mood this morning, folks, sorry, The early morning perkiness indicates me; Has done a bunk, I fear! Grugglebogness! Worries over the increase in carer fees, but my stepdaughter Jill (not really, but she ought to adopt me!), is helping me out again and investigating why I have been told I will be paying it from last Monday, but no one has told me how much it will be? I fret so easily nowadays. Hehe!

There was a time long ago, I w fascinated by Dennis Wheatley,
His character, Gregory Sallust, I thought was top quality,
Cunning, dedicated, loyal, brave with great chivalry,
I’d get back from the local hostelry,
After drinking and revelry…
Fall up or down the stairs accidentally,
Badly affected, alcoholically.

Working and drinking made my entire constellation,
For years, there was no guilt, and no contrition,
Boozing gave me a social connection…
I enjoyed it, beer and me had a cohabitation,
My taxes paid, drinking gave me no consternation!

Then one day, suddenly I decided out of the blue,
To stop my drinking ale, swearing never again to do!
The hardest thing I’d ever done, I can tell you!
I’ll not go into my suffering hullabaloo,
Never since have I drank plonk or used a corkscrew!

Now, so many years later, life is barren…
Of so-called friends, all abandoned me again,
Now I am an aged, sickly doyen…
Miserable, grumpy, but clean-shaven,
Clean-shaven? Why was that written?
I always wanted to be a Tibicen,
A flutist, but that’s probably not relevant,
I’m wandering here a bit, having a vent,

Not a vent… Erm… having a mental orbit!
Feeling a bit of a twit,
Misspellings lost words, things miswriting…
I’m losing it again, Gawdamit!

My confidence is getting titchier,
My mood is definitely schmaltzier,
My trips to the Throne frequenter
My Gawd, that’s four times this morning…
What is happening?
Each visit gets messier!
Stomach aching and is paunchier!
The passing of wind is getting noisier,
Evacuated product is meatier!
Every frequent wee-wee grows oozier!
It’s a good job that I’m no longer boozier!

It’s the memory that confuses me most,
I try, and I’ve not yet given up the ghost,
The brain nowadays is a far outpost…
Gives me access once or twice daily, at most!
But still, I remain chatty and verbose…
Seeking peace and inner glasnost,
And the ability to do my blogpost!

The Carers come twice a day; most are congenial,
Show patience, as I get confused, me being demential,
Some take my rubbish to the bin, others are contractual,
The good ones outweigh the not so good; it’s factual!
I usually get the shakes and a wobble…
Some chinwag, they go to that trouble,
This leaves me in a contentment bubble!

I like to think that I am still trainable,
But memory loss is always unavoidable,
Although, day to day it can be changeable,
That’s when I can get feeling unamiable…
And, I believe there is only me blameable,
Guilt can make contentment unavailable,
Thinking at times that I should be throttleable,
Then a kind act is given, and I get the unattainable,
And life is temporarily less circumscriptible,
Then no longer think I’m gullible or sulliable!

Some mornings I seem to transmogrify…
One leg fluid-filled, ‘tother thin, don’t know why?
Then there is Saccade Sandra, in my right eye,
My spectacles, the optician has to rectify,
He’s a snotty bloke, but at least I know why…
Last time I visited their pig-sty,
I warned the Lady of Peripheral Neuropathy, why?
Cause I’d had it bad, arm and leg shaking, me oh my!
The arm shot out, making her test lenses fly…
Her stare said she wanted me to painfully die!
The ladies hatred, I could not nullify!
So, going there again could make me cry!

This mornings carer, not ringing the bell, an oversight?
No, she never does; I didn’t hear her, her voice is light,
Crept up behind me, didn’t half give me a flipping fright!
Did she say good morning? Well, she well might…
But I didn’t hear her in the dark light.

“Sit down!” she suddenly boomed out,
Sticking her finger out towards the chair,
I took the medications, with trepidation about…
But I didn’t sit in the chair, to be fair…
I thought she wanted to give me a clout!
I chatted about it being so dark,
She was not ready for chin-waggings remarks,
Yet departed, happy as a lark?

Depression began to activate…
I found it hard to concentrate,
The Porcelain Throne was again much used,
Messy, tacky, splashes and floused…
The Throne today is much overused!
At last, it was done and cleaned. I did vacate…
Leaving the hot tap running, I did not appreciate!
No chance of a shave and shower now, mate!
I was disoriented, irritable, not focused,
In a massive fed-upperdness, I was circumfused,
I need to get myself refocused
Sod-it! Back to the Porcelain Throne, I had to navigate!

This below is the wet room, which contains the much overused Porcelain Throne. Today, I discovered that it includes 242 wall tiles, 54 cracks in the floor, and 78 on the ceiling. Which also has 14 lumps and a damp patch. The cross wording did not go well; two clues were solved in a total time on the book of three hours.

The most used room of the day!

Part of the Inchcock’s Make ‘Em Laugh Series

Inchcock’s Ode: Talking with my ailments

Inchcock’s Ode: Talking with my ailments

Number One – The Bladder

I begin with Little Inchies Bladder; I think I used all my luck up for the rest of my life around 1989. I got a hernia from lifting the bins at Hero Drinks at Kegworth, went in to have the Hernia Repaired, which they did immediately, putting me in the Men’s Surgery in Ward 19.

When I woke up, and they told me how lucky I had been! And they were right! When they went in with the laser and camera (Yes, I know… how the heck did get all that down Little Inchy you were going to ask, weren’t you? Well, I don’t know, I was blissfully asleep all the way through the operations!) The Consultant carried on; they found cancer in the bladder, which showed up on the mini laser camera, and being as they had all the same tools needed for the hernia, they burnt it out straight away! But my bladder capacity is reduced by 50%. Fair enough, I thought, thank you!

That brought a smile to my face! But the man wouldn’t let me kiss him. Hahaha!

He added that they would remove the catheter and bag from Little Inchy for me in a short while.

An Auxhilary nurse on her own arrived to do it. The poor gal was a bag of nerves and started to pull it out without bleeding it enough first. I asked her to stop and bleed it a bit more… the gal was shaking, bless her.

Above my ward was Prince Charles come in to have his tennis elbow looked at. The staff earlier were disgusted; the hospital had emptied the ward above me. I could hear them moaning about patients being put into a corridor!!! And set two nurses and a Sister on duty, 24/7 for the duration of the Prince’s visit.

Back to the beside:

A sudden, unbelievably loud screech/scream burst out from a nurse. I think, “Look, look, it’s Princess Di coming in!” At this, everyone who could move did so over to the window to look down at Di and her (they told me later) the armed protection officers, as they got her in through a fire door to avoid the press waiting, with cameras at the main front door!

Most unfortunately for me, the young nurse was amongst the Royalists who stampeded to get a view of Lady Di – and pulled the catheter out, catching it with her foot, I assume, as she rushed for her Royal treat!

So, I was with blood spraying up like a fountain, and covering me the bed, clothes and floor… Which the nurse spotted a minute or two later, and she came to me in a panic and crying at what she’d done! Sobbing her heart out, she was! Other staff arrived, the poor young lass couldn’t stop crying, and eventually, things got sorted.

A ranking nurse joined us and started to tear a strip off of the Axhilary nurse; I don’t know why, (Well, I do, I felt terrible for her), but I said; “No, it wasn’t her fault, I turned to see what the fuss was and pulled it out…” I’m sorry I said that now, cause for the next two days, my name was mud with nurses!

The first wee I took with the catheter out, shot forth as if from a fireman’s hose, bounced back from the walls – and I kid you not, left an imprint of my body on the back wall, with blood around it!

I’ve wandered off the plot here, haven’t I?

Sorry, back to the chinwag with the bladder fun…

Inchcock Gerry: Why do you have days when you don’t want to wee-wee, then go bad at it, mate?

Bladder Inchock: Why? It’s obvious, innit? Anyway, I don’t want to confabulate!

Inchcock Gerry: But for two days, you’ve flowed freely, been considerate?

Bladder Inchock: Humph!

Inchcock Gerry: What’s up? I’ve been taking in the extra fluid. Now it must be gallons you hydrate?

Bladder Inchock: That bloody surgeon lasered me; no wonder I can’t concentrate and urinate!

Inchcock Gerry: You should be glad, freed of death! A bit of pain, indeed you can tolerate?

Bladder Inchock: Listen clever-clogs, weeing for me, is variable, strangulate, freeflow, then it may stagnate!

Inchcock Gerry: What? I make sure water does circulate…

Bladder Inchock: I have pain too, do you appreciate?

Inchcock Gerry: Well, I can only speculate!

Bladder Inchock: I send you messages beforehand, admittedly just a few seconds at times, but you also had cancer on my prostate!

Inchcock Gerry: Oh, that’s my fault too, is it? I did ruminate.

Bladder Inchock: I hate talking to a thicko like you – why didn’t you become a graduate?

Inchcock Gerry: Well, I was uneducated and got a job cleaning the sluicegate…

Bladder Inchock: Sod off! You were chasing girls on yer one rollerskate!

Inchcock Gerry: Times were bad back then…

Bladder Inchock: Other people Inchy, have a toilet inside, not going out into the backyard, and having to wait…

Inchcock Gerry: Trust you to be irritable as you postulate…

Bladder Inchock: Ha! So now you accuse me of having irritable bowel syndrome as you orate?

Inchcock Gerry: I’ve no idea what I’m doing talking to a bladder?

Bladder Inchock: You’d better shut up then cause you’re making me madder!

Inchcock’s Hillarious Dream, In Ode!

With an old girlfriend, Ivy, we were necking in a twin-kayak,

In the University grounds pond, and Ivy gave me a whack!

Being a Gentleman, I didn’t hit her back,

I asked her, why the heck did you attack?

Did you put this in my pocket? (It was a stickleback),

I said, let’s heat it up and have a snack?

Ivy shouted, ‘No, put it back!’

This spaceship came down, as I was tickling a pollack,

Next moment I was in a prison cell? Oh, Gack!

To reality, I could not get back,

Befriended a rat, I called him Mack,

No one about, no food, what’s the crack?

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

A voice from nowhere, “Do not get exacerbated!”

You will be investigated and accommodated,

We mean no harm, but stupidity must be eradicated.

With that, my brain was confuscated!

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

Back to the cell and Mack, for a little while,

I was not sad, but I’d forgotten how to smile!

An alien brought me a cup of tea, camomile,

One said in perfect English, “You seem very vibratile?”

I thought to myself, does he mean versatile?

He called me names, and got very scurrile,

He walloped me and threw me on the shagpile,

The other said I was infantile and unfertile…

We’ll do an autopsy on you in a while!

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

“He’s got damage in here that’s been repaired?”

“His vision and hearing are impaired…”

“Yet, he doesn’t seem in the slightest bit scared?”

“Scarred, yes. Just grabbed his todger, and he’s not angered?”

“His brain functions, and thoughts seem so scattered?”

“See the stomach? It seems blocked and matted?”

“He lies there as if it, nothing mattered?”

“Well, I’m really bewildered…”

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

Best take him back, put him in the vestibule…

“Gawd!” “Just look at his minuscule mating tool”!

“His brain tells me he’s missed a lot of school…”

“I wouldn’t bother mate”, I screamed, “it’s a dream, you fool!

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

Part Of Inchcock’s Make ‘Em Laugh Series

Inchcock: His First Sporting Triumph – Well, I say triumphs…

Inchcock: His First Sporting Triumph

Well, not exactly

I dreamt of playing for the school at football,
I couldn’t dribble or kick a ball, but that didn’t matter at all,
The pneumonia epidemic had stuck in the fall,
Not many players are well enough and available at all,
Then, from desperation, the coach did call!
You’re in the team, cup match, we need a win, vital,
Having to ask me, I knew he felt contemptible.

I dare not let them down, or I’d suffer a keelhaul,
Matchday, I arrived first, at my 4’3″ tall,
Regarding the rules, my knowledge was minimal,
Cold, raining, and then the fog began to fall…
Players, neither team had the wherewithal.

An eight-a-side to play agreement was made
We took to the field, the rain began to squall,
“You’re in goal Chambers!” Any position I’ll be ineffectual,
I jumped but couldn’t reach the crossbar at all,
What an introduction to school football!

The fog got heavier, and the coaches got conflictual,
We were down 13-0, the coach said it was only 12!
A fight ensued, but injuries were only minimal,
They decided to go into the gym, to play football,
When we got inside, and we’d lost some footfall…
Lads from both sides absconded, no longer visual,
Anyway, someone had nicked the ball!

Part Of The Nottingham Lads Tales Of Woe – In bad Rhyme Series

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

Morning Thoughts

I lay there, passing wind in the dawnlight,

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

Bruised and bloodied, getting back up was a fight,

Reached for wind-up torchlight,

Cathy Cartilage was stinging a mite,

The patella painful and tight,

I struggled up on my feet, alright.

Bet I’ll still be in pain, tonight,

My face and skin looked ghostly white,

Go on WordPress, well I might!

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

I must be careful of the Kryptonite,

Not get excited, too keen or uptight,

Ah, the eye haemorrhaging, is a blight,

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

I’ve got food arriving, this Thursday night,

Glengettie tea, onions,  and Marmite,

Morrison’s might substitute things with dynamite,

Protection Pants, olive oil, well, they might?

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

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

 

Nemo Mortalium Omnibus Horis Sapit

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They got caught in the facemask!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The second one, had his mask under his chin.

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

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

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

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

The record, as Inchy explains:

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

Poor old sod!

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

Thank you.

A simple bus ride to fetch my Spectacles – Not on your life, talk about things going wrong. Humph!

A simple bus ride to fetch my Spectacles

Not on your life, talk about things going wrong!

The things you will read on this so-called true-funny blog of mine,

Really are true, and challenge my sanity  and mind,

Please persist reading, and you will find,

Why I have logicality, hopelessness and despondencies entwined!

Off to Sherwood to collect my glasses,

I’ll call on Jenny and Doris, such lovely lasses,

I’ll leave them a treat, containing molasses,

Might get a chinwag with whoever passes?

 ———————————————

Caught the lift down with no problem at all,

Left the bag, hope they have a ball,

Returned to lift lobby hall,

Catching the elevator, not easy at all,

I was so frustrated and appalled,

25 minutes later, the lift responded to my call!

 ———————————————

Rushing out to Chestnut Walk, slipped and broke my shoe,

Clouted it on the walker’s wheel, surely there is some good luck due?

But what made me saddest, was the bus had departed, early too!

So, all het-up now, I legged-it, passed-wind, and feared wanting a poo!

 ———————————————

On Winchester Street, The walker ran away from me,

I chased it, and is facticity,

I wedged it against a box for electricity,

To take this phot, but not with enough adequacy,

I stopped it again but with inefficacity,

No doubt about it, this was going to be a trip of paucity!

———————————————

I got down the hill, energy’s what I did lack,

I must get the bus up the hill going back,

I called on two shops to get cleaner and a snack,

Off to the optician’s, the one drawback,

I was wearing a sort of anorak,

I was so hot, but didn’t hold back,

Got in the shop, and took the receptionist flak,

I was late, it seems was her crack!

———————————————

I had a long wait to be seen,

Not that I was all that keen,

£300 to pay, never again to be seen,

Crosswording while I waited,

The receptionist called me to be seen,

The lady dealt with me, glasses were fitted,

I got quite jolly-fully contented and witted,

Until it came time to pay, the nI was fritted!

I’d forgotten my pin number again,

I think the lady thought of me; “What a Pain!”

From crying out loud, I did refrain,

She got the money through, this seemed diaphane,

How I don’t know, so I asked her, it felt germane,

I didn’t understand her, and felt a right dumb-brain,

Thanked her, pretending to understand, I did mislain,

Still, she didn’t moan or complain!

Then out and up the hill, to catch the bus again!

———————————————

I had to doge another Pavement Cyclist, he gave me a fright, 

I was too tired to comment or get into a fight,

I’d run out of the Kryptonite! 

Would I make the walk home up the fearsome hill? I might! 

Down to the traffic light corner,

And the bus passed by, I was too late!

I checked the next ones time and date, 

40 minutes, too long to stand and wait,

So I set off, limping, with an unsteady gait!

The hill looked a fearsome sight, 

The prospect of climbing it, made me feel uptight,

Sorry that I didn’t wait for the bus, I felt contrite!

Anyone seeing me struggle up the road must have seen a sickening sight,

I was sure the gradient was gaining height?

The hobble home seemed infinite

At the top of Winchester, the parkers made things tight,

For breakfast, I should have had some Marmite,

The time went by slowly, and things went quite,

Somehow, up the last part of the hill, I did expedite, 

To see a harrowing sight,

The 40 bus arriving, some tenants did alight,

 My energy was drained completely now, flat!

Didn’t have the energy for eating my cervelat,

Must not fall asleep, I’ll have to do summat,

I got back to the apartment, Zzzz; that was that!


After this abysmal, Whoopsiedangle-ridden trip, the poor old twit, did have fleeting thoughts of a suicidal nature. but he did not act on them – He fell asleep! Haha!