Inchcock’s Little Odes

A selection of mini-odes, created while Inchcock awaited the arrival of the Meridian Carer that did not arrive to issue him with his medications. Regrettably not up to his usual standard of humour content, due to the agony he as in, with Duodenal Donald complaining about not getting his morning dose of Omeprazole capsules; by way of giving the old man severe stabbing pains!

That’s five times in two months Meridian have let him down; They tell him this is to be expected, and Meridian are better than many Carer Companies. The gullible old sausage!

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

Reverend Salmon once told me I was adiaphoristic,
But, not wanting to sound autistic,
Nor admit to my being ungrammatic,
I said I was sorry for being troglodytic,
And shot off home, feeling pretty thick…

I looked up adiaphoristic, not in the dictionary it would seem,
So off to the library, search books that were encyclodepian,
No computers then, not a laptop or touch screen,
I found what the meaning twas, summat to with the bible book,
It baffled me; I couldn’t understand the explanation, Tsk!
I had to look up answers in another book…
I’d have been at the time about thirteen,
Back to the Chapel, a visiting Dean,
More problems unforeseen…

I mistook him for Reverend Salmon, it would seem,
I said to him, there is no such word as adiaphoristic…
With teeth that did gleam, he called me a silly Virgoian,
And clouted me around the head, that wasn’t very Christian!

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

I bought it, taxed and insured it, and took it for a spin,
Bodywork? I could not detect a single dent,
Mechanically, engine-wise, a deep throaty, din,
Summat did spoil my enjoyment…
The rust was already settling in!
It gave me a certain feeling of empowerment!
It easily fitted Grizelda and me in…
The cheque bounced for my downpayment…
I was soon back to walking the pavement!

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

SISTER JANE

I thought I’d just do a Sister Jane Ode
Now she, too, is getting old…
But she doesn’t look it! ♥

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

Ode To Maintaining Ones Sanity – Part Four

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

Good Morningeth!

I hope this guide and advice to Sanity is anecdotic,
Making it humorous, truthful and not dogmatic…
I reckon that the secret and trick,
Throw in some limited, sporadic slapstick,
Trying to make it read what it is, authentic,
Allowing bits to stray off subject, get frenetic,
Getting it to rhyme can ruin the grammatics,
All a part of my unfortunate written gymnastics!

Getting hopeful of success is something you must never do!
Accepting failure, that is really the way forward for you,
You must never think that victory is possible, or due,
You’ll be disappointed and start feeling blue…
When Whoopsiedangleplops and Accifauxpas accrue,
Expect the worst at all times; hopes must discontinue!
Or depression will ensure your dreams are slue!

When disablements arrive, and the mind wanders off, too,
You’ll never again be capable of using a corkscrew!
Toileting involves bleeding, and will it or not pass?
Even multiple distress will affect you having a slash…
Accept it; good luck is not bound for you!
Accommodate failure from pain and hassle; there’s no rescue!
You’ll feel much better when you do!

I know doing as I suggest may seem uncanny, silly,
I tell you because I think it is my duty…
To pass on my failures and inform you see…
From old age and ailments, there’s no bouncebackability,
So I use the written word and my verbosity,
To help the ankle snappers later in life, from getting panicky…

It’s normal for aged proletariats to wear a toupee atop,
You girls may turn out to look like Hetty Wainthroppe?

Which suits me; she gets my remaining desires on the hop!
You’ll be less likely to manage a mutton chop,
But may get someone to nip down to the wineshop
Of course, your needs for fun don’t just stop…
However, reviving certain areas will be a dead flop!
Which may well bring forth the odd teardrop,
Sadly, you have to give up the old Bebop!
As did your Dad and Grandpop!
And, the Lads will have to give up being a fop!

One thing you’ll get better at is the bellyflop…as such,
Falling into bed, and with any luck…
No injuries, so you don’t look a schnook!
No loose bladder movements to blot your copybook?
To hope you sleep better, by hook or by crook…
Best to have Guinness or gin midduck!

To me, Arthur Itis, Anne Gyna, Reflux Roger are small fry!
Peripheral Neuropathy, on my right side, to undignify!
And Saccades in my right eye…
Often they may cause a tear and outcry…
Not often, though, only when they intensify…
While I’m trying to get some shuteye!
Press on we must, do or die…
That sounded dour? Writing that… but did I?
Slipped in by my Alto Ego? I’ll give him a black eye!

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

A Bit Of Fun

I came across the name of a mountain.

Does anyone care to guess or tell me where it is in the world?

Of course, I knew straight away. No, I didn’t look it up on the web either… Okay, I did!

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

Inchcock Ode – Welcome to my world

Welcome To My World

Upon waking, Inchcock will often do a sensual check on any ailment attacks or changes. Sometimes, a discussion will occur twixt Inchcock and a specific ailment, typically one that has been giving him a little extra pain and, or hassle. When these occur, the silly old goat usually makes an Ode and graphic about his demented, dreamt up, nonsensical clap-trapping, as below from an old one.

For some unknown reason, the idiot asked me to show this graphic, as he puts it: ‘Wot I Made!’ cause he’s seems to think it is one of his rare, almost non-existent successes?

As his Alto-Ego, I will now let the uneducated, lonely old fool take over the writing of this rubbish. TTFN.

Once the physical activity starts in the morning, I often wait for the mental conditioning to begin; it usually catches up within a few minutes. It can take hours, but not often.

They were tackled then.

Sphygmomanometer showed Sys and Dia, readings high,
The Wee-Wee chart: I need to drink more! Gin & Dry?
Would it help if I go to a detoxify?
On this mind of mine, I cannot rely!

A quick look for any new damage, I don’t want to oversimplify,
Another bruise was found on the top of my left thigh…
An unknown round welt, right arm, that I can’t quantify,
The torso seems to have started to transmogrify?
Heart Op Scars raised, itching again, certainly uglify!
The broken Terence Tooth hit the pain-boards bullseye!
Shuddering, Shoulder Shirley’s eased off, but why?
Hit my head on the stove but didn’t get a black eye!.

The following tasks were ablutionary,
Not worn any socks since about July,
Cold, Brr! should I dare to use Sock-Glide Georgina?
I’ve no medical aids that are any meaner!
One Sock-Glide injury needed micro-surgery!
Hickeys, bruises, cuts, and a bleeding periphery,
Stubbed toes, damaged knees, I felt all fluttery…
Should I put my socks on? I recalled the imagery,
Of the last time, I fought Georgina, bitterly!
I chickened out of wearing socks; what a mockery!.

Anytime in the next three hours, cometh Meridian,
An incredible variety of Carers, one who is Balearian,
Unless I misheard her, and she is Algerian?
Not that it matters, none of them shows me derision,
An American gal, English, British, and an Assyrian,
All make a positive impression!

Porcelain Throne Sessions

Ah, every visit is a different evacuation, indeed.
Some days it can be half an hour, then I’ve only peed!
Rock-solid torpedoes, agony, things bleed!

Next time, liquid, 30 seconds, messy but what speed!

Housework Tended To

Took the chance to clean the fridge up, ready for the delivery to arrive shortly – well, I hope so.

Iceland Delivery Arriveth!

Then, on with Prepping Josie’s Meal

Got it delivered almost on time for her.

I was so proud of how Josie liked the look and smell,
The beef arrived two hours later, took in the dish for the gal.
Water chestnuts, potatoes, tomatoes, beef chunks as well,
Leeks and onions, chilli, three beans, the lovely smell!
Seasoned with liquid smoke, paprika, beef flavour gel,
Said she loved the cream Pretzel,
Even called me an old Angel!
I mentioned the extra lidded pot for the Damsel,
To have later, quantity double,
Too long at her door, I did not dwell,
I sensed she was hungry… Oh, yes, I can tell!

End Car Park

End car park area busy today.

Evening Views

I shall have to go now. Most likely the evening Carer will crave my body, mind and bank account… Ahem!

Inchcock: Currently Up For Adoption

Inchcock: CURRENTLY UP FOR ADOPTION

Would You Adopt Someone Who Listens To Music by Ivor Novello?

A slightly sub-standard, bald, 75-year-old, born in a bordello,
A life-long Nottinghamian, with an IQ of barely above zero,
A recovering alcoholic, stroke and cardiac victim, and dipso,
A short chubby, well-bellied little thing has his own yo-yo,
Hoping that someone can show him how to use it, you know!
Inchcock has a thing for Marilyn Monroe, although…
His doing anything about this have long gone, thus his yo-yo!
He can cook, drop things, walk into them, oh, and he’s a Virgo!

He Falls over frequently, but with help, gets up, giving it another go,
In many ways, he plods on with his ailments; he’s a bit of a hero!
At least the last time we spoke at the hospital, he told me so,
He’ll tell you of when he climbed to the top of Kilimanjaro,
But in reality, it was a steep hill in Ludlow,
And, he drove up the mountain, in his Triumph Toledo!
Vascula Dementia confuses him; I think he still has some gusto…
For the ladies, but sadly, his desires have long been fallow,
But he does like a pot or slice of cake or a limoncello.

His momentary spells of reality sadden him; he feels low,
What’s happening to him in old age, he doesn’t want to know,
Back into his deep mental haze, he’s a semi-contented fellow,
Talk to him gently, and he’ll get the message, Roger-Wilko,
Owt you want him to do will usually follow,
Even if his words seem bewildering and hollow,
There will be times when he seems bright and tally-ho!
Don’t miss his medications whatever you do, though!

Ablutioning-wise, especially shaving, the blood will flow…
Neuropathy diagnosed, amazingly he can be a cheery bloke,
Occasionally, he thinks he’s Clint Eastwood or El Zorro,
His neuropathy has shaken his right side since the stroke,
He tries to stay calm and can start the day being mellow!

He still cooks, using black bean sauce and BBQ, even Tabasco,
Now he knows the firemen by name, Colin, Brian and Joe,
Please, don’t let him run-free in Aldi, Sainsbury’s or Tesco,
He’ll panic if he can’t find you and may freeze, ipso facto!
Please forgive any of his mishaps or unintended peccadillo.
If you do misplace him, just call the police or a medico.
But operating the TV remote control, he’s messy & ultraslow,

His confidence is getting low; of course, it will not regrow,
Like certain body parts that hang below…
At least he’s stopped wearing his bra and using eye shadow,
His new Protection Pants have saved many a fiasco!
He uses his picker-upper to retrieve things dropped below,
And is contented to on DVD, his 1960’s TV shows!

He’s harmless to anyone else, this I can guarantee,
Making others happy and smile is his forte,
He shows no signs of toxicity and has congeniality,
He can’t help forever going for a wee-wee…
And he would like someone to adopt him, desperately,
He realises this would not come for free…
But has a limited amount of money,
Which he doesn’t find very funny,
He is totally free of hate and is never sarkie!
So, if possible, can you help and make him your adoptee?
He makes a great mug of Glengettie tea!

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

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 First Accident On His Bike!

It’s A Funny Old World

Working out at Worksop,
At the Nottingham Co-op,
I nibbled chips and a rollmop,
Wanted to get home at the gallop,
To watch Hettie Winthrop,
Fog so thick, I couldn’t see the bus stop,
Avoided it on my bike, and I was off,
Traffic bad kept coming to a stop…
At the bend near the tuckshop,
Things were at a dead stop…
Kerbed it, bike went over the treetop,
Me down the hill,  in a mangled flop,
Later being found by a traffic cop,
Bloodied, shaking, all of a quop,
Officer took me to the cop shop,
I don’t want to name drop…
Yootha Joyce was there, drunk as a sop,
And this is not a codswallop!
She hiccuped and did a bellyflop!
To me, she was the cream of the crop!

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

This is the actual bike before the Accifauxpas… Hehehe!

TTFNski!

Words Of Non-Wisdom from Inchcock

 Words of Non-Wisdom from Inchie

Life is no longer too healthful,

I rely on Carers being helpful,

I try not to be disrespectful,

Try to cope, be resourceful,

My daily struggles are continual,

Keeping aware and wakeful,

But it’s hard keeping to a schedule,

No point in moaning; I must be tactful,

Take medications to keep wakeful,

I’m overweight and not very graceful,

I’m common as muck; folk find this distasteful,

Teeth left? Not exactly a mouthful!

All the ailments should make me fearful,

But there’s no time to be tearful,

In fact, this morning, I felt cheerful!

The pretty Carers make me drool,

I know, I’m a romantic old fool,

Now past romancing, that is cruel,

If one adopts this grandad, that’d be cool!

Vascular dementia makes me so forgetful,

What day, time is it. I am very grateful…

When I get summat right, I’m joyful!

The medicationalisationing ritual,

Drives me out of my skull,

I feel I’ve had a belly-full!

Still, I’m practised in things medical,

Life can appear abstract, conceptual!

Occasionally, I feel almost useful,

 But that’s not often or usual,

But the thought of this is valuable,

It helps keep my depression tenable,

Although, now I’m much more abusable,

With PN then stroke, things are more droppable,

I tend to find myself dislikeable?

My ailments and faults are semi-camouflageable,

Most of them are incurable,

I’m growing ever more confusable,

Occasionally, I do something applaudable,

To some, this will sound contradictable,

Hard to be believable,

But the lost skills and abilities,

Are truly not retrievable,

Just press on, I find advisable,

Sometimes the unexpected is achievable,

Then again, I’m very deludable,

Some accifauxpas are just unavoidable,

Like as I type this, sadly horrible…

Virgin Internet down again, unforgivable!

Anger-making, sickening and arousable,

Liberty-Global – so hated and detestable!

What I think of L-G’s CEO Fries is unwritable!

Just noticed that this Ode is so Gawdawful?

I’ll stop now; Huh, it’s pitiful!

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

Inchcocks 6th Lockdown Escape – To the Pharmacy

Offlymuch I went, I did,
To fetch my Fenbid-40 & MacroBid,
And a tube of Fenbid,
Although it cost me my health and a few quid!

The road was blocked by traffic parked on the pavement,
But I didn’t relent,
A passing car missed me,
To the floor, I nearly went!
Down Winchester Street,
It was a brave feat,
The brakes don’t work…
I carried on, my mission to complete!
More trouble on Hood Street,
Blocked pavement again,
But I an not to be beat!
Went on the road again, such a pain!
Got on Mansfield Road near Rhodes,
But where were the folks?
No muggers, bikers or Schaghticokes,
I think I’ll buy some Artichokes!
I stopped to look down Hadyn Road for a while,
Little traffic, few people that made me smile,
I moved on after a while,
Realised I’d forgot to take my mobile!
Started up the hills,
To fetch my pills,
To cure my ills,
Up ahead, the cottages and vills!
Aha, a Pavement Cyclist was seen!
He scowled at me, he didn’t seem too keen,
On my putting him in my camera screen,
His face looked a little adamantean!
Over down the hill to Carrington,
A place of muggings, violent action,
Blimey, my poetry is terribly bad…
What’s your reaction?
Got near the Chemist shop, a little late,
The retailer shops looking in a bad state,
I wonder, what is their fate,
Bankruptcy, for you mate!
I entered the Chemist shop straight away,
No welcoming smile, did they display,
I wished I was far away,
I tried to look happy, appear to be gay,
My emotions were in disarray,
Got the tablets, and I was away!
I called at Lidle, to get some food, spend my brass,
Noticed, the yobboes had smashed the window glass,
Coronavirus, made the yobboes mad and crass?
Did someone think the glass, a canvas?
Was it done by some drunken dumbass?
Done by a gang of anti-maskers, out to kickass?
Good job the window was made of plexiglass!

I must apologise for the patheticness of this rhyme,

But writing it, I was unwell at the time,

Anne Gyna, stopped me feeling sublime,

My future as a poet is not worth a dime,

But I’ll try to get it better next time!

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.