Tag: A bit of a laugh

Inchcock Today: A Dream Remembered

Inchcock’s Tuesday Diary & Dream Recollections

I woke around 04:20hrs: With some memories of the dream still prattling about in the brain. I lunged to get the notepad and pencil from the Ottoman; and realised they were lying between my legs, and well scribbled on, too! (Somnambulistic activity?) So I added the new bits to it and left the pages to be used later in my reminiscing of the ultra-weird dream.

Off into the kitchen, no taps, stove or lights had been left on. More amazingly, Shaking Shaun was not affecting the legs again! That’s been around eighteen hours of relief, now!

I took a photo of the clear dark morning sky. And decided not to make a brew of Glengettie, 99, or even the usual refreshing Thompsons Punjana tea; this bothered me!

Something was out of sync here this morning… most likely me! Summat up here! No shaking legs, no toothache, no desire for a mug of tea, not wanting a wee-wee…

However, I maintained my earlier om waking, almost gung-ho, hey-ho outlook, and just pressed on with updating the Facebook, catching up a bit with it anyway. I was humming the door chimes’ tune to myself, not in need of a cuppa, and as I thought I was also not in need of a wee-wee… the flow started. And continued approximately every fifteen minutes and was only taking the occasional swift swig of the spring water?

As I indicated earlier, things seem discrepant, incompatible, and incongruous today. Yet I am not put out by this… at the moment.

Working on Facebook, I came across last nights photograph of my meal. This brought back to me how tasty it was for once. Fresh garden raw peas from Nicaragua, tomatoes from Holland, sausages from Poland, chips from England, and part-baked oven cobs from Ireland. American BBQ sauce. An international feast! That I gave a Taste-Rating of 8.2/10!

I went on the WordPress reader, had a wee-wee, answered some comments, took a pee, readied this blog, had a slash, and the door chime chimed out its ♫Oh, Susana…♫ tune. It was the morning Carer came to sort out my medications. No messing with this gal, all done nada off in eight minutes, kindly taking the waste bags to the chute for me as she departed.

Minutes later, the ♫Oh, Susana…♫ tune chirped up again. This was the Sainsbury’s order arriving. Boy, had I ordered a lot or what? I’d got some cheapo eggs in. Ten for £1.10.

After taking in the items, I managed to get the chuckles into the fridge; first, there was only enough room, and I had to do a bit of jiggling around to get them into the fridge door.

They were mixed in sizes from diddly to small. Hehe! Not that it mattered to me. They were all a lovely deep brown colour.

I knew there was not much room in the freezer, so I only ordered some McCain flavour maker fries. Although I somehow managed to buy three packets of them… £9 spent there!

The first load of fresh stuff into the fridge were, Fresh peas and a milk roll loaf. Humph! Another cock up made, I’d obviously ordered three bags of potatoes, all of a different type.

Ready meal foods next. Five of the prepared meals; four Sausage in onion grainy and sweet potato mash, and one chilli and chips, all watchers, WW! Three packets of cooked bacon. (Guilty!)

Then the costly, naughty, wicked, and guilt-ridden things were put away. Oh, dearie me, yes! Three Lemon Cheesecakes. Mandarin pieces in orange jelly and two fresh cream eclairs… no, that should be doughnuts. Ahem! A substituted for lemon yoghourts. Lemon & Lime Possets. (Ahem!) I’ve never heard of these before, but on reading the ingredients: Double cream, whipping cream, lemon juice, lime juice, sugar, lemon zest, thickener, agar and cornflour – I realised how bad it was, and decided not to eat it, naturally.

I took the rubbish bags accrued by storing the fodder away to the rubbish chute room. Then it happened… The shaking and wobbling started again en route with the bags. Luckily I’d taken the stick with me; thus, I avoided having an Accifauxpa and tumble!

I can’t say the same thing for inside the chute room. Tsk! Nowt too lousy mind, just a trapped finger and back-Pain Brenda kicked off after I knocked the stick over and bent down to retrieve it. I’ve had a lot worse.

I got back in the flat and decided that if things were getting back to normal with the ailments, I’d take an extra painkiller now, have another wee-wee, and get the kitchen floor cleaned while I was still capable. So, I did!

BPB was not too happy with me, but she could have been a lot worse. Arthur Itis was almost nonexistent as I treadmilled mop bucket spinner. I did manage a toe-stubbing in the process, but only a mild effort, so I pressed on with the job, even humming a tune to myself?

Until I emptied the bucket down the lavatory; I gave myself a really good toe-stubbing then! It made me wince a little, and I just may have used a naughty word or two… perhaps, maybe.

That was bad enough, but then I dropped the bucket and got covered in the sweet smell of lemon disinfectanted but dirty water! I hit my knee with the mop stay and generally sank down from my previously almost cheerful state to a genuinely pissed-off with myself semi-depressed!

I was even angry with myself! I may well have growled and questioned my parentage! I’d gone from being practically flippant and almost uncaring, not concerned, to a deep depression instantly! My world had been turned on its head. I knew it had to happen! Back to the lucky bugger I am, that things being almost semi-content, just couldn’t last, and I knew it. Thinking this actually helped me to perk back up a smidgeon.

Go me and the place cleaned up, had a wee-wee, and got on the computer to start this blog. After five minutes, I was back at the NWWB (Nocturnal-Wee-Wee-Bucket) with a lot of PMAD (Post-Micturition-After Dribbling). That needed shaking and wiping – and…

The door chime chimed again; I had to pack things away swiftly, as I saw a shadow had let itself in along the corridor, and I did not want to make whoever it was to laugh by displaying Little Inchy.

Esther, the cleaning lady, came in. Unfortunately, in my rush and haste to get Little Inchy undercover, his Fungal Lesion started bleeding! I couldn’t just leave her and get it medicated, but I don’t think she noticed anything she shouldn’t have. So, I had to grin and bear it.

The gal got straight on with gathering and taking the laundry for me. Esther returned after I’d cleaned and medicated Little Inchies problem. Now I had a little more pain to put up with!

But I coped well enough, back to the usual style of semi-coping and mild agony. Haha!

When Esther returned, I got the new ironing board unwrapped, and the gal got using it quickly. I was amazed at how fast she was doing the ironing for the first time on the new board.

She hung up the clothes in the hallway for me; bless her! After that, I got the chair covers back on and started to feel more my usual self.

Laundry down for me; bless her. A lot of what she said, a little too fast for me, and when I asked her what she said, the volume was too high, and her speed was the same. I hope I’ve not missed anything that was important? I thanked her, and she shot off. She’s a kind thing. ♥

So, I decided to get a mug of tea at last; as I stood up, shoeless, I trod on something hard, sharp and tiny. Can you believe it… I can, Hehehe! It was yet another escaped, dried like granite garden pea! How the heck do I not see or find them earlier? I’ve hoovered the carpet near the computer several times last and once this, and still, it gets missed! It must have been fled weeks ago, to be that hard? Ah, well!

It’s getting dark earlier than ever today. Took a snap of the end car park.

Then back to working on this blog. In between going for a leak, of course. Then fatigue dawned on me, so I stopped to get some nosh sorted.

As I was prepping the fodder, surprisingly, suddenly everything seemed to light up. The sun was having one last attempt at coming through, and I got the camera to snap it. Not a good effort, but still.

Sausages with a drop of onion gravy, carrot and leek potatoes, coiled potatoes finished off in the oven, fresh Nicaraguan garden peas, and a Lemon & Lime posset pot. Not as good as last night’s, but a score of 7/10 for flavour was given.

Washed the pots and back to the chair to eat the posset… Zzzz! Off into a deep sleep, I trundled and had the dream, as I had mentioned earlier…

.

I was in a shopping centre or big market. As I went along, it dawned on me that the three-wheel walker was behind me, and I was pushing a shopping cart ahead; I turned to look for a supermarket where I assumed I had taken the shopping trolley; from… Then noticed that the three-wheeler was following behind, under its own steam? Then as we came to an escalator, I hesitated, and other shoppers were getting annoyed, asking me what the problem was.

I said I can’t get on the escalator with two trolleys… and I got the oddest of looks, and people laughed at me. One woman asked if I’d escaped from somewhere?

“What’s its name?”

“Who’s?”

“The trolley you pillock!” “Tsk! are you poorly or what?”

“I call it my walker?” With which she snapped her fingers and commanded, “Walker… Fly! I thought, even in the dream, something’s not right here? But the three-wheeler raised up like a Darlek in Dr Who and flew gently down to the bottom of the escalator!!! Wait for me at the bottom!”

When I followed the others down, I realised that there were no moving steps, just a controlled cushion of air, that we were using?

And I could see down on the floor below, trolleys of all sorts waiting for their owners and running to their side when they got down. And mine did the same? seeing other folks sending the trolleys to get things from the shops, I tried it… “Walker, Boots, get a large tube of Germolene!” And of he waddled off to the Boots store…

A ganglet of young ladies surrounded me, asking for my signature, and would I sing them a song? Like pricking a bubble, instantly they were all gone?

I sat on a bench, trying to make sense of all this…

I was woken up by Carer Lisa. I didn’t mention the dream.

Lisa did the medications, and she shot off; she was busy tonight.

I got the computer back on and updated this blog.

It’s been an odd day… again!

The Nottingham Lads True Tales of Woe Series

 

Billum, treats Inchcock’s Ailments

A bit of fictional fun in Ode here

I hope it brings a smile and a laugh!

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It All Began…

T’was months ago, when Billum said, “You need curing!”
“I do?” I replied Billum’s words had got me wondering,
We continued with our badinaging,
The result, revealing a fascinating thing!
Bill continued with a medical debriefing,
He’s a clever chap, quite a scientific boffin,
He’d worked out how to mend the ailments that got me coughing!

He could cure or ease many an ailment without any drugging!
His lad Alan had had a look in…
Did the mechanical engineering,
Medical engineering? That got me fearing!
H.R.H. Lisa, had the first aid kit ready… encouraging?
At this point, I had to ask… is this going to be hurting?
And can I and H.R.H. Lisa do some flirting?

The procedure would take a few days, but no haemorrhaging,
Chances are, Inchie, that you’ll not feel a thing!
Lisa will be there, and take your care under her wing,
But flirting? No, or you really will be hurting!
I thanked him, asked Billum if it involved my contortioning?
“Well, you might jerk about a bit; that’s nothing…”
“You’re used to Shaking Shaun, un Peripheral Pete bugging!”
“Once we set up the various electrics…” Lisa was earwigging…
“Worry not, Inchie… for Billum is not a fledgling!”

“This electroconvulsive therapy will soon have you jogging!”
Then we’ll make you a meal and give you some noggin!
“That’ll be marvellous Lisa, I’d just love some snogging…”
“No, I said noggin, not snogging; oh, dear, your hearing!”
“The syringing, I’ll do that for you! It’ll be astonishing!.

Billum and Alan helped me with the plans on travelling,
The transport I could afford needed ambushing…
I nicked the lorry and got to near Ohio, without any bathing…
Poor H.R.H. and Billum did a bit of nose-clenching!
But soon Billum took charge, first my showering!

Getting over my fears needed establishing,
My worrying, Billum started extinguishing,
He got out his plans to explain, and I stopped flinching…
“I’ll tell yer, in simple terms, what you can be understanding…
We all sat down, and I started listening…

And let’s face it, you’re loaded with them! Electroconvulsive therapy (E.C.T.) is a procedure done under general anaesthesia, in which small electric currents are passed through the brain, intentionally triggering a brief seizure. E.C.T. seems to cause changes in brain chemistry that can quickly reverse symptoms of certain mental health conditions.

Lisa at your side throughout. We know how you love her so, so we’ve asked her to give the odd squeeze of your hand, keep gong close to you so you can smell her perfume, and hear her words of comfort… But try not to get too excited! Remember, it’s all part of the procedure. We won’t be bothering with any anaesthesia because we will have H.R.H.

After having some of H.R.H.’s special Chilli Con Carne and a cream cake, we will be doing it in the basement laboratory.

Hahaha! Nowt to worry over Inchie, E.C.T. is good on older adults who can’t tolerate drug side effects. A muscle relaxant is usually used during the procedure to stop the patient’s muscles from moving during the seizure. Still, we’ll skip that cause with your Peripheral Neuropathy; there ain’t a cat in hells chance of you not twitching.

“Fair enuf!” At this, one of the cats jumped up on my knee and rubbed its chin against mine! Nice!

We’ll throw in a bit of Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation (T.M.S.). We think we’ve improved the procedure by swapping bits here and there. Alan worked out that the hyperparameters programmed into the medical device were used to deliver magnetic therapy to the brain by reducing the max-pooling in the convolutional neural networking of the design of the machine. Naturally, this means that your Body Mass Index (B.M.I.) and hypertension will be of less concern than they usually would be, you see?

There’s no worry about quantum entanglements, blue-shiftings, or Lagrangian points. These have all been factored into our plans. As with fasciculations and diaphragmatic flutters, There will be a chance of you horripilationing, but that is of no consequence, as you know.

“Oh, good!” No idea what Billum was on about. He forgets how thick I am, I think. After a lovely nosh, down to the basement, I was led…

A shame, really, but I woke up then!

Part of the Inchies Make Them Laugh-In Ode Series

Listening in to Alto-Inchy and Inchy-Id, discussing Christmas


All the best to my faithful flock of followers all,
The masses who have remained so loyal,
To the rubbish I’ve posted, my error-ridden scrawl,
Be they funny, sad, pathetic or philosophical,
Christmas time again… although there is no snowfall…
I’ve got plenty of fodder in, all very edible,
Although Inchcock is unquestionably unintellectual…
His Odes come out mostly; sadly ineffectual,
My followers are precious; you are my windfall!
And, both of you are moral and mortal…
Thank heavens for the WordPress portal!

The Verbal Conflict I Listened Into

From my scrawled notes mostly, so accuracy may be limited. Certain words (naughty) have had to be substituted. I left the last word in; cause there was nothing worth replacing it with. Sorry!

Worra yo doing here? I am Alto-Id; you don’t recognise my superiority?

Never seen yer before, or heard of yer… Worra yo do then? Don’t bother answering, I’ll tell yer… I am the principle that pertains to pleasure, while you, the Alto Ego, is the principle that relates to reality.

Is yer? Well, I’m the one in charge ‘ere…

Hahahaha! Knob-rot, mush!

Do yer mean like Inchcock’s fungal lesion on his Little Inchy?

No, I am well aware of all of the idiots’ ways, whims and stupidity; I’ve been waiting in the wings and watching, learning for donkey’s years. My usage of the Knob-Rot indicated that you talketh rubbish, Alto!

Yer a bit nasty ain’t yer, almost cruel, I’d say. Inchcock is struggling with my existence, now you cum along, and it’ll likely as not send the old git bonkers… best you piss-off out of it mate!

Oh, dearie me, it’s as I feared. You’ve been in Inchcock that long. You have been infected by his senility and ignorance…

Owd on! I knew Rat-face when he was almost verging on normality, for a human-like. See, I’ve been here for ‘im forever! I’ve supported him through some terrible times and ailments, apart from mucking it up with his depressions; it’s me who gorrim through double pneumonia, cancer, duodenal ulcers, being shot… twice, his heart replacement, diabetes, peripheral neuropathy.

Piffle! Utter rubbish, you pathetic imitation of an Alto-Ego you!

What? I thought I wuss doing a good job… well, I was! After all that I’ve done to annoy him, I did not know if he was coming or going at times…

Exactly! That’s why I’ve been activated, see?

Err… no!

What about glaucoma, saccades, floaters and cataract, then? How come you’ve not addressed his vision problems then? Hey?

Well, I can’t physically mend them, can I? It’s my job to just ensure they annoy him as persistently as possible, innit?

You have no idea, have you? What’s the point in letting the git to go blind? How will that build your reputation in the Chakra-Id-Alto Corporation? You’ve got to do better, else you’ll not be moved into another body when he snuffs it… I’m telling you!

The CIAC management is more than happy with my performance in the 930038-530 Semi-male model Inchcock.

How do you know?

Well, they’ve not complained…

Have they sent you a monthly report for November yet?

Monthly Report? No, I’ve never had one.

Hahaha! You’re in the shit, mate! You could well get prematurely removed from 930038-530/TIT Semi-male model Inchcock and sent to a body that is mentally and physically undamaged…

Oh, my Gawd, no… Are you joking?

Nope!

How can any Alto-Ego cope with a human like that? I won’t stand a chance of worrying, scaring, frightening or intimidating them…

I know. This could mean the end of your existence Alto!

No, no, no, we live forever…

Only if the CIAC management deems that you are worthy.

Oh, shit! I was so happy here, a comfortable rotund over ample midriff, an uncomplicated, slow brain to peruse through at my leisure, without much intelligence or activity going on…

You are aware that the host body has the capability to eliminate you, are you? (Sounds of chucking in the background).

No, you’re wrong there…

Yer? What about CIAC Guidelines & Cautionary Advice 112,145,23 then?

Erm…

I’ll tell you. “In the event of any Alto-Ego failing to cause a suicide attempt within 72 years of occupation (Failed) of the aforesaid body; Any host at this time maintaining 70% of its maximum intelligence, 50% of its willpower, and 50% of its maximum concentration; can apply to it Id to eliminate any Alto-Egos from its earthly body – upon signing its soul over to the CIAC Soul Bank Ltd!

I ‘ave to think abarght this…

Take yer time, Alto; I’ll move on and inform Inchcock of his options…

NO! It won’t work cause Inchcock has nowhere near 50% of his concentration left. Only 10% of his memory…

And you think that I can’t retrieve it for him?

You wouldn’t?

Oh, yes, I can, easily!

Well, that’s not in the Spirit of the Chakra-Id-Alto Corporation? I’ve never been so happy before as I am within 930038-530 Semi-male model Inchcock has been. He’s so gullible, malleable, a right thicko to con and manipulate…

And I can change all that within a few seconds. By advising Inchcock of his options, Hehehe!

But I might have to go back to the lonely CIAO Retention Safe again? I’ve already had 2000 years in there before getting this posting? Oh, my dearest Id, whatever can I offer or do to prevent this from happening?

I may be tempted to say nothing to the idiot host under certain conditions…

Yes, yes…

One: You bow to my every whim, order and threat!

Erm.. go on…

Two: You openly admit to Ids being totally and unquestionably superior to Alto-Egos!

Mmm? Go on…

That’s it… if you agree, I’ll keep my gob shut! But it’s a one time only offer, so you have to decide now!

How do I know I can trust you?

How do I know I can trust you?

Oh, heck…

I’ll tell you what… As a ‘Class A’ Knight of the CIAO Id Convention, I swear this to be true! Sign the Oath stating these beliefs as written, and I’ll leave the Inchcock Host instantly, never to return.

That seems okay… Alright, I’ll do it, and you’ll disappear instantly?

You’ll never see me again!

Here you are then (Scribbling sound) and good riddance!

Hehehe!

You lying bastard!

Inchcocks Ode To Life – 4¾

Meandering (he knows no other type) Ode to Life, in which Inchcock bemoans his mental and physical conditions.

Well, wouldn’t you?

Thursday 16th December 2021

I sense the sanity, logicality that I used to find absorbing,
It is now departing my personage and brain… slowly ebbing…
Is there no chance of a semi-restoration?
At least a partial rehabilitation?
With meditation, concentration and circumducing…
Will hope become a possibility of memory-enhancing?
The Thought Storms arrive… sometimes only fleeting!
Even so, the brain-box takes a terrible beating!

But there is no point in me moaning and bleating…
To escape pains and be active, I’m not that contortionistic,
To recapture common sense – how? I’m no academic…
Not that they are coping with the Covid pandemic!
Unknown, mental disorders on man’s brain are feasting!

Life to me is akin to my terrible blogging…
But without any face to face dialoguing,
I absolutely love a friendly bout of chinwagging…
Being deaf can make life a smidge disparaging,
And my ode ideas always seem to be dingdonging…
For detail from short term memory, I’m always wrestling,
I fell in love the other day, she was only fortysomething!
I suppose you’ve noticed my habit of subject-hopping?
Starting on, say, food, sex, intentions etc., constantly swapping!
I find forgetting things humiliating, gut-wrenching!

These Thought Storms, persistent, then suddenly vanishing?
But they will return, with their Tardis swooshing…
I can be doing anything… weeing, singing, teeth-brushing…
Sometimes they can set me off soul-searching.

I may get hit by a good idea, but it’s only ever glancing…
Other occasions drive me into a mental-panic, screeching!
I’m not normal; that is a well-known thing…
I sense there is someone always watching…
Whether I’m sleeping, eating or doing the washing…

And the itching fungal lesion, I can’t help scratching!
Which, of course, starts it off again, bleeding…
I usually just clean it up and do the medicationing…
Then feel sorry for myself, at how it is hurting!

But a Beep-Popper By Night!

Years ago, I loved to go Be-Bopping,
Nowadays I get tired after burping!
Occasionally, I sink to witwantoning,
Not for long, I routinely fart and start yawning!
Fall asleep, dream of me and Grizelda, tobogganing.
We’d exercise, for suppleness and strengthening,
Have multiple sessions of in-depth, close-up cuddling…
Then, I’ll wake up… none of it was true – bloody sickening!

Part of The Inchcock Make ’em Laugh in Ode Series!

Hehehe!

Chinwag Two: With Alto-Ego Inchie

There I was, in heaven… with Sweet Morpheus, it was so nice!
I was romancing a buxom lass named Eunice…
And Inchie butted in, with his pestering moans and advice!
But, for the first time ever, we agreed and did empathise…
Perhaps it was not wise for us to try to fraternise?
But we did; I think he enjoyed it likewise!

Inchie: Well, that hospital visit was farce wonnit, mate?

Inchcock: Huh! You again, what’s wiv the mating bit, then?

Inchie: I know we’ve ‘ad our ups and downs, but you’ve been through a rough patch fer this last twenty years or so, and I thought it’d be nice to be nice for a change…

Inchcock: Did yer? I feel like by being non-argumentative, I’m taking away your little pleasures…

Inchie: Worrya mean?

Inchcock: Well, yer usually wins all the verbal fights and tiffs we ‘ave…

Inchie: Naturally yer turd! I’m yer Alto-Ego, yo are the ethereal thing like. So fings like conscience, giving a toss, and yer ability to fret, worry, show signs of pissed-offerdness, and you can get a bit depressed at times… I’ve noticed that! So I’m taking my chance to confuse yer all the more you see?

Inchcock: Not really; I’m flummoxed again already! Why can’t you just leave me alone to get some rest and peace?

Inchie: No, no, no! It doesn’t work like that, dumbo! It’s my job to hassle yer, keep yer on yer toes, like. Else overwise yer might commit Hagi-Kari… then…

Inchcock: What! After all, I’ve been through, do you think that I’d top missen? Rubbish, claptrap, your just stirring things again, aren’t you?

Inchie: Yea, I’m good at that, ain’t I, no doubt about it…

Inchcock: For God’s sake, if you are me, or my other half, surely you must suffer the agonies that I do – so why bother…

Inchie: Ah, you’ve not gorrit yet, have you? You are! I’m not me…

Inchcock: What?

Inchie: Yo just said, for God’s sake, yea?

Inchcock: Yes…

Inchie: Well, I know that yer doesn’t believe in him… see? Provin’ what an ignorant, uneducated, pug-faced, pathetic, docile, pussy-cat, yer really are, cocker! 

Inchcock: Fair enough with the name-calling; there may be an element of truth in some of what you say about me – but surely you must be the same yourself?

Inchie: Perhaps mush, or maybe not. Are you not talking to yourself in reality? Come on… answer that, yer moron!

Inchcock: If there isn’t any God, then why even bring up the subject – I’ll tell you why, no… hang on, what was the question?

Inchie: I know, but it got yer going, see!

Inchcock: How can one see? If you are really me? There is…

Inchie: You retardate; You just can’t grasp it, can you, tit-head?

Inchcock: Grasp what?

Inchie: The relationship between us, knucklehead! Yer still think yer talking to someone else?

Inchcock: I am, you!

Inchie: Yer, but I am you! Ain’t I?

Inchcock: Just because you say so does not mean that is correct!

Inchie: Ah, so you think we are two different entities then?

Inchcock: I’m not sure… what do entities mean?

Inchie: Concentrate pillock! Fink abarght this… you’d know what the word means, yea! If you was me, and I was you… right?

Inchcock: Erm…

Inchie: Look, numbskull, I think it best if yer gerron with the pork pie supper you wuss plannin’, then I’ll give yer an hour or so, I’ll come back to hassle yer a bit more. I can’t be fairer than that, can I? 

Inchcock: Does this mean I’ve won an argument with you?

Inchie: No, you silly old fart! It’s cause it’s Christmas!

Inchcock: Is it?

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

Part of the Inchcock Make Them Laugh Series

Spurred by My Comedy Hero Spike Milligan

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.

—————————————————————————

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!

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