Inchcock Reveals His Current Fears! – In Rhyme (Of sorts)

Believe it or not, Inchcock created this depiction of his Sock-Glide from memories of a nightmare, that the poor old fart suffered two nights ago. It’s so sad!

Inchcock Reveals His Current Fears!

Reading further may cause harm to your sanity!

Yes, he was young once… he still is, mentally!

Born, and got myself double-pneumonia,
Thrown in the canal, I nearly drowned in 1954,
I got rescued, only scared, wet and sore,
The medics said the boss is going to warn yer,
The Doctor said “You’ll never get brawnier”,
Next, I got shot, then the Duodenal Ulcer,
Top of the charts was ♫24hrs from Tulsa♫,
Then the hernia, and bladder cancer.
Had to have the ticker transplanted, years ago,
It doesn’t bother me now, though, 
Then I went and got shot again,
I knew my bad luck had to end, but when?
I stopped working in the Security industry, then!
I came off my motor-bike in the fog,
Out of hospital, had some police dialogue,
They fined me £20, speeding, I was agog!
Got a job driving a delivery van,
And became quite a Casanovan,
Got made redundant three times, lucky man!
Retired, well it was enforced of course,
But I had little remorse,
Got a part-time job, selling pickles and sauce,
When I reached 70, we had a discourse,
Then the Peripheral Neuropathy was diagnosed,
Got the tablets mixed-up, and overdosed,
They said stay indoor, well, I wasn’t opposed!

Then along came the stroke, of the ischaemic type,
Saccades, as well, of dear, this medical hype,
But I wasn’t one to moan and gripe,
I recovered, but physically, I’m a load of tripe,
They discovered I had diabetes,
Life became full of abstrusities,
My ailments seem to grow complexities.

Next, I’m using a walking stick,
Unbalanced, falling-over, it made me sick,
No choices then, at home I have to stick,
I fell, and gave my neck a crick,
I’m no longer the witty, clever-dick,
But I somehow cope, and that was fantastic.

Then along came to visit us,
The Corona Virus,
Isolation, no going out walking or on a bus,
Every day new instructions, what a fuss,
But at least I got rid of furuncle’s puss!
Until disabilities meant I couldn’t bend down,
And the worst, that really gets me down…
It’s bad enough doing your own syringes,
Is the bloody Sock-Glide, frame,
I gave it a go, I was really game,
But it keeps taking lumps out of my fingers,
And I don’t like these whinges,
Using the Sock-Glide means many cringes,
It’s not just the pain – mentally you’ll find it unhinges!

This claptrap was rit rote, written by Inchcock, with dedication and stupidity in support of the Peterborough & District Failed Philharmonic Orchestra Players, collection fund for the Bankers & Investors Roadkill Hospice Advocacy Society.

The tale in bad rhyme, of Inchies Escape from isolation, to Nottingham City Centre!

Monday, 7th September 2020, Inchcock escapes from captivity and cunningly flees his Woodthorpe Court. To investigate the Coronavirus affects in the City Centre, buy stuff he doesn’t need, cripple his poor feet, and a failed search for a chinwag!

Plans were laid,

For his escapade,

The Escape bid was made,

He was feeling fraught and afraid!

Arriving on Upper Parliament Street,

Alighted the bus, hobbles to Poundland,

Already pains from Relux Roger and his feet,

He spent on superfluous stuff, like crabmeat,

Then to the Bargain shop, wishing he could find a seat!

He bought three things, none of them needed,

His enthusiasm for his escape, now, receeded,

Little Inchies fungal lesion bleeding, succeeded,

His finances, he had further bleeded!

He hobbled along Milton Street then,

Down Clumber Street, he was saddened, when,

He saw the closed shop, there were over ten,

Including his camera shop, he nearly cried then!

Sadly, he made his way to the end,

Feeling lonely and down a bit,

What Coronavirus has created, can we mend?

Oh, dear, a penny he needed to spend!

The urge he had to suspend!

To the corner of Long Row, he did wend!

A photo of Pelham Street he did take,

Then one a shot backwards up Clinton he did make,

Long Row, too, where he took some more,

Off towards his bus stop in the Slab Square,

Paramedics, Security Guards, were there,

The people looked so full of despair!

The rain came down, he took shelter from it,

Under the shop eaves, but it didn’t last long,

He took this photo, he quite liked the resulting effect,

His bladder was full, to the bus stop direct!

En route, Slab Square was photographed,

He tripped on the wheeled trolley walker,

He even managed a little laughter,

When he passed wind and hiccoughed! 

He caught the bus back, a painful drive home,

Got off on Chestnut Walk, glad he finished his roam,

Damn it, he’d forgot to get his shaving foam!

He sheltered from the sudden rain,

Under the cover, and gloom was falling again,

He belched, it smelt like aminomethane,

He hobbled toward home; it was a strain!

He got in his flat,

He untangled his hearing aids from his mask,

It was a fiddley, difficult task!

Made himself a meal that,

Was too big, but not too much fat,

He fell asleep, and that was that!

Not a very good ode this time, uncertainty and confusion were visiting me. Sorry.

I thought I’d look back, on my victories

I thought I’d look back, on my victories

Bear with me; these are hard to find…

At birth, I lived through Mother’s fag ash dropping on me,

I had Double-Pneumonia at the age of three,

Sister Jane was almost adopted, to Italy, she did flee,

Brother Pete, escaped, good for him, went in the army,

Mother running away, the police wanted her, you see,

Which left just poor old Dad and me,

Doing the cleaning, shopping, and two paper-rounds, that was Inchy!

I survived being thrown in the Nottingham Canal,

Clinging to a barge rope, without much hope,

I was rescued by Brain, a neighbour, and a real pal,

Hauled out, was taken home, full of hope,

Got a belting off of Dad, and scrubbed with carbolic soap!

GC Young

Jane away in Italy still,

Life was for us both, a bitter pill,

We’d both had our sad times, but still,

I started work, bought a bike that would go uphill!

Duodenal ulcer, Anne Gyna I acquired easily enough,

Got shot at work, and a new heart fitted,

Fron flat to flat, I flitted,

Got made redundant, Cancer zapped, not fritted,

Job searching failed, hopes, attritted,

My desires, faith, and plans buffetted!

GC stick

Then along came Peripheral Neuropathy ailment,

 Jane, back from Australia, accompanied me,

To and from the hospital, she was heaven sent!

Then the stroke, I was a broken bloke,

Months in care, after the stroke,

Slowly, recovery began to cloak,

Bits of the old Inchcock, showed, bespoke,

And I knew something more would wroke!

Then the diabetes was found,

And things got worserer, all around,

When Saccades-Sandra, was also found!

But, my hopes and aspirations remain,

Although I am no longer sane,

I’m ready for the challenges again…

I just wish there was a little less pain!

I fang you!

 

Inchies Ode to Inchcock

The effervescent, bubbly, good-natured Nottinghamian, 25-year-old, super-fit, Educator, Mountaineer, Professor of Neurotransmitterisational failure, and lover of oven-baked Leicester cheese potatoes; presents his latest dollop of poetical rubbish, for you!

Here we go…

I may be getting on for eighty,
But I retain some childish juvenility,
It’s one thing, in which I have the ability,
I don’t need any guilt or justifiability,
I’ve no confidence left, just vulnerability!

My ailments give me pain and irascibility,
I’ve long lost interest in egocentricity,
My body’s lost strength and elasticity,
The legs have lost their endurability,
The brain’s, now devoid of logicality!

Possibly, perhaps, partly old age, you see,
Could be lack of fun, loneliness and frivolity,
That’s made me somewhat grumpity,
The Porcelain Throne? It’s solid or liquidity,
No chance now, of any multi-functionality!

My once sharp mind, now full of banality,
I catch the wrong bus into the City,
I stutter now, so it’s hard to be witty,
I feel I’ve become a nugacity, a nonentity,
For falling asleep, I have a propensity!

No fighting spirit, and no ignitability
I’m morose, sad, no shockability,
For black periods, I’ve a susceptibility,
Life no longer offers me any tangibility,
But a big flabby-stomach, and gibbosity!

One thing that’s grown, is my gullibility,
And my stomach, that’s an undeniability
My hopes have gone, died, ostensibility,
Now life has very little enjoyability,
I sometimes wallow in self-pity,
That’s when I’ll write, a silly ditty!

Donations please: To me ASAP. Thank you.

Coping with Old Age – Inchcock Style

Coping with Old Age – Inchcock Style

Wrote in SuPport of the fethaurus Users league

Like Corona Virus and wee-weeing, it comes to us all,

Like dizziness, madness and having many a fall,

You can’t prevent it, like a rainy squall,

It’ll come, Summer, Winter, Spring or Fall,

You might be having rumpy-pumpy, or playing beachball?

Football, tennis, baseball, trying to throw a curveball,

Or you could be summoned to the guildhall,

Nowt will stop ageing, for eternity, you may trawl,

But as I say, it doesn’t matter at all,

Ailments, disabilities, agony to recall,

Life is just a struggle and a brawl,

Unfairness, those who seem to have it all,

Money, good looks, who lives are a ball,

Even for them, live will stall,

Death is perfectly natural,

Mind you, them who live at Balmoral,

Though, lacking in some moral,

Live longer, that’s connatural,

It’s us commoner’s, with no collateral,

Who was accepting our being visceral,

But death, well, it’s gone viral,

For the underprivileged, hopes, are not transferable,

Though, commitment is not endurable,

Life is not so cheery, easy, or affable,

Things can get so bad, death is advisable,

But still, you must admit, it can be laughable!

I wish that humour was bequeathable,

And seeing the future was browsable,

Wouldn’t it nice, if death was cancellable!

Just a thought! – I had one in 1958 as well!

Inchcock’s Doze, Prompted this Little Prose

Inchcock’s Doze, Prompted this Little Prose

Old Inchie fell asleep,

His nocturnal dreaming was so deep,

He managed as least, an hour of sleep,

He woke up, a quivering mental heap!

Here are the few bits, his memory managed to keep.

I was being pursued, by a mob, so violent and profligate,

Through corridors, offices all in an abandoned state,

They fired guns at me, I wondered what is my fate?

Then came across, a securely locked gate!

“Hello,” I thought, “You’ve had yer lot, mate!”

They caught me up, one with a tattoo on his forehead,

“Death to Inchcock, He must be bled”, it said,

Other’s followed on, I was surrounded,

But it was them, that became dumbfounded!

They removed their helmets, and put spectacles on,

One said: Ayup, he’s a right odd one!

I revealed and flashed my furuncles at them,

I squeezed the biggest boil, the pus you couldn’t stem!

 The purulence peppered into their faces,

Couldn’t have done a better job, if it was faeces,

They all ran off and were gone!

But the gang may come back, so to be sure,

I thought I’ll batter my way through this door,

I used my chin to batter my way through, why, I’m not sure,

But I remember, it was bloody sore!

I got outside, I was so elated,

Success? Surely this for me isn’t’ fated?

Victory for me? I was addlepated!

Out I climbed, and fell off of the roof!

Off to the hospital, to get medicated.

To the operating theatre, I was taken,

The anaesthetist smiled as he grabbed me by the neck,

As I saw the writing on his hat

And, I thought “Oh, flipping ‘eck!

And that was the end of that!


Inchcock was under the influence of liquid codeine, morphine sulfate, several pints of Strongbow cider, a swig of Dettol, and a bottle of Domestos lemon bleach.

But his suicide effort failed, so he wrote this ditty instead.

Hahaha!

Merci Mon Amis!

Advice on Hospitalisationing, for my Xyrophobia suffering, over amour propred Brother-in-law Pete. Hehehe!

Pondering over the experiences of my Hospitalisations

With the hopes of giving my Bother-in-law Pete, a lift and laugh, while he’s in the Cty Nottingham Hospital, being spoilt by the specialists and pretty nurses!

My Medical Memories recalled and relived:

At the age of five, I got my thumb end chopped off and was taken by ambulance to the Nottingham Children’s Hospital. Put on a trolley, and got told-off for falling off of it! Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

When I got shot (Working in Security in those days), they left me on a trolley in a passage and forgot about me for four-hours! General Hospital. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

When I had my ulcer done, they forgot to give me the chrystals, and I spent six hours on the Throne when I got home, in agony! City Hospital. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

When I got the hernia and was rushed into the QMC, Jane helped out my bringing things for me. Then, while repairing the hernia (Genuine bit of good luck here!), they found cancer in the bladder! Fortunately, they already had the laser and camera down my penis to deal with the rupture, so they set to and lasered the prostate cancer, at the same time! Serendipitous indeed! Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

On a new-years Eve, I collapsed with high or low BP, can’t remember which now. Paramedics took me in, I fell off of the gurney going in, and lay there on the concrete floor for several minutes. QMC Hospital. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

I was told I could not be sent home with my BP so high or low, and the Warfarin level so low. I was placed in a corridor, with many other patients on trolleys, to await a bed coming free! QMC Hospital. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

Where, three hours later, I was told there is no chance of a bed, and I will have to go home! This being 00:30hrs on New Year’s day, so no buses! QMC Hospital. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

I had to walk, well hobble, all the way home in the early hours of the morning. No money for a bus or taxi, not that it mattered, I saw neither on my marathon walk back to the flats. QMC Hospital. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

When I was having the angiogram, before the heart operation, they said it would be a three-day job. Then, a day later in the morning at about 04:00hrs, they woke me to tell me the bed was needed urgently, and I will have to go home! City Hospital. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

Mind you; it was Pete who saved the day, at this ungodly hour, they rang Pete, who had to come and collect me! City Hospital. As we were leaving, they handed Pete a leaflet on what happens during an angiogram, which I’d had days ago? Has this ever happen to Pete? No! 

In the Morris Ward for the aorta valve replacement. A seven-day job with recovery they said (Huh!) By the fourth day, they were calling Brother-in-Law Pete to collect me again! City Hospital. Saved the day again!

Peripheral Neuropathy diagnosed. I was summoned to the hospital. A struggle in getting there, but I made it in time. I waited for three hours after the appointment time, then got in to see the Specialist. Who said, “There is nothing we can do, your neurotransmitters are dying on your right side. We cannot repair nerve ends.” Then gave me four-A4 sheets that listed the problems I could expect. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

Then the most embarrassing event of my life, the Stroke. Everything in the body and I do mean everything that could leak, leaked, and I crumpled to the floor, puzzled, confused, and expecting the end had come. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

Pressed the Alert Alarm, no idea what the lady said at the Nottingham City Control Room, or what I said to her. Or if I was speaking or thinking? While waiting for help, she rang back, insisting I unlock the front door to allow the Paramedics to gain entry. I had to crawl on all fours, no chance of me standing up, even while crawling, I kept falling over to my right side. There I was, in a right smelly mess, covered in front and rear releases, tears flowing, the nose running, the right ear bleeding and blood pouring from the fungal lesion, the Paramedics were shouting something through the door, and eventually I got to open the door, then collapsed again! These details were told me later. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

To the QMC Hospital, parked on the trolley in a dark room for hours. (Or so it seemed to me anyway). Up to a treatment room. I lay on the trolley in a bay for hours and started to come round a bit. A chap came to me later, told me I’d had a stroke, and said they would be transferring me to the Stroke Ward at the City Hospital. QMC Hospital. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

An hour or so later, I was collected and taken to the City Hospital. The journey was exciting, as I learned a lot about the two ambulance women who were taking me and other patients crammed in the ambulance. Their eating habits, one preferred Morrison’s the other Tesco. About their child birthing experiences. Coronation Street, and Neighbours were spoken of, and one of them was having Chilli-con-carne for dinner. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

Got into the Newall Stroke Ward. Jane and Pete visited a few days later. I got a window bed, but no camera to use. So Pete took this photo on his visit a few days later. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

I was in for fourteen days, started the therapy three times a day. Then it happened again! I was told they needed the bed for an urgent admission, and I would be moved to a Residential Home (The Acorn)! Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

The ambulance ladies who collected me left much of my possessions behind and took some that belonged to the patient in the next bed! I learned on the journey, gruesome details of one of the ambulance lady’s Cesarian operation, and that the other was going in for a breast reduction that months end! Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

During my weeks there, I had my eyes opened. I had to make a police witness report and went for two days without being given an evening meal. But I loved it there. Has this ever happen to Pete? No! But he did take this photo when he visited me to check on my finances.

The photo shows a bottle of pop and a book that had yet to be returned to the rightful owner, taken there by the ambulance drivers in their rush to get me out of the hospital. They also failed to take my underwear, socks and Crossword books! Has this ever happen to Pete? No! 

Then, the room was needed urgently, so for the third time, I was moved. Again they called on Jane & Pete to lift me home. Has this ever happen to Pete? No! Hehehe! I’d have been lost without him and Jane, though! They listed and took all of my valuables while I was away for safe-keeping, Bless him. I’ll get them back one day!

Sister Jane came to sort out my medications that were in a right state after months away. A good job too! Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

I was given a carer to help me dress and put on the ankle strap, which was greatly appreciated I can tell yers!

But they were cancelled as the head-honcho woman, decided I could do it myself. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

The After-Stroke nurses came regularly, and again were very much a boon to me! They stopped coming when they arranged months of one a week two-hour physio training for me. It nearly crippled me! Haha!

Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

The now dreaded Sock-Gide was delivered, and the blood-blisters and bruised flourished. Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

Now, I cannot put any bamboo or other type of socks on at all, because of the uncut toenails and failure to bleed the ankle ulcer. It’s too painful to use the deadly vicious Sock-Glide at all! Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

I’m waiting for the medical departments etc. to reopen again after the appalling Coronavirus interlude. I will need, the Dentist (badly), the podiatrist (Desperately), The audio clinic for hearing aid batteries, and Opticians to get some glasses I can see through! Also, the delayed appointment with the cardiac team, to have a check on the metal ticker! Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

Now I’ve been diagnosed as diabetic! Has this ever happen to Pete? No!

Pete knows the reason for this post.

To keep his spirits up with a laugh!

All the best, mate! 

I hope Jane’s coping too!

Cheers!

Rainbow inspired photographicalised ode

1Mon04

5Fri05

On the computer, picking at my cold sore,
I drew the curtains, above is what I saw,
For beauty, one couldn’t ask for more,
I was gobsmacked, as I looked in awe!
Life wasn’t so complicated or obscure,
There was hope yet, I was sure,
I forgot all about my credit score!

5Fri007c

My zoochosis meant nothing, against this delight,
Magnificent colours and bending light,
Some pale, transparent, others being superbright,
I took in the gorgeousness, as well I might,
I forgot the hassle of Monday and yesternight.
I wanted to steal this inspiration, get the copyright!

5Fri12

How did the phenomenon occur, I lacked the insight,
It even beats the heavenly blue moonlight,
A plane flew by, lucky devils on that flight!
Not that I don’t love the days twilight,
What an incomparable, wonderful sight,
It’s even more desirable than toasted Marmite!

5Fri11

Rainbow, that’s an excellent euonym,
My self-control wandered, I felt grim,
Mind facts were substituted with skrim,
Dizzy Dennis was afoot, a thought-storm brewed!
For moments the brain froze, and logic stewed,
My head cleared, after a prayer and a hymn.

5Fri019

I no longer drink, or use tobacco,
Don’t play any instrument, no piano,
I do overeat and love a fresh tomato,
Eventually, semi logic I did re-bestow,
Thus ended this thought-storm fiasco!

5Fri03

No peace, no rest, from the unbalanced mind,
Sometimes from life’s hassle, I wish I could resign,
Oh, to find an existence that is gentle and kind,
Peacefulness, tranquillity, are so hard to find,
Even around here, with its lanes, tree-lined,
Why is life, so complicatedly designed?
Have I any right, to moan and whine?
The body and brain are both on the decline,
Red Dwarf’s on the box later, so never mind!

1Mon04a

I’m Determined to destroy Depression!

I’m Determined to destroy Depression!

2Tue08a

I decided, in a dream, I had yesternight,
Depression, I’ll resist, beat and outfight,
I must be strong, determined, not contrite,
I’ll be honest with myself, not like a Blairite,
My approach, will-power, must be definite!
I’ll have courage, like a brave medieval Knight,
And continue to show my vigour and fight,
Although my confidence may be finite,
This misery, I will surely try to expedite,
I must give this depression, no respite,
Ridding myself of this soul-destroying plight,
Who knows if I can, I just possibly might?
Then hopefully, I’ll get some sleep tonight,
And for supper, I can have some toasted Marmite!

Created during an aberrant spell of semi-confidence.

No Brexiteers were harmed during the production of this waffle!