Inchies Local New Snippets with Odes- Part Two

Inchies Local New Snippets Part Two

Here are some terrible crimes being committed,
That will never be lessened or ameliorated,
While issuing laughable, pathetic sentences…
And obviously guilty scum, even get acquitted!
Judges and Parole officers aren’t assassinated.

Prisons are losing many an inmate…
Out on the run, not waiting for their release date…
They’d be freed by the Parolees and only had to wait…
Judges give them ten years… you’ll have to do two, mate…
A policy of being kind, as they kill… I can’t explicate!

Part Two of Nottingham’s Animalistic Crime Snippets
Plus, a rare bit of good news – I hope

I nearly got caught by these scamming swine!
At 03:40hrs the other morning, I was drinking wine…
The mobile phone tune flashed, did opine,
A text message tune. Had someone forgotten the timeline?

To me, this looked all genuine and fine,
With the NHS website on a lower line…
I got back to my alcohol-free wine,
No need to take any ranitidine!

But I fretted over it, oh, this worrying of mine…
Dithering, vacillation and my mental decline…
Carer Richard, fast becoming a mate of mine,
Investigated, found the telephone number online,
Do not use it! It was a Scammers mobile line!
Richard’d saved me from another dwine!

Whoever took this photo is a braver person than me,
Eight men fighting in front of your home are, ayee!
I’d hide behind the curtain, likely needing a wee-wee,
Full marks to the photographer, heroic of thee…

What going on with violence in this country?
I suppose it’s similar in Liverpool and Coventry?
Italy, France, Ireland, America or Germany?
Gangs, some worse than were the Mafia family!.

No peace for the lad’s family. Indeed, there will be no justice in the sentencing if they are found guilty.

Oh, the poor unfortunate little chickadee,
Sentenced to six years in prison… he’ll soon be free…
The Parole Board won’t let him serve more than three,
These overpaid do-gooders really wrangle me!

So are so many paedophiles walking free,
But we can’t cure them, you see?
Why are they let off so easily?
Bent judges? Or full of sympathy?
Do judges and parollers suffer from epicaricacy?

Don’t approach him; he’s dangerous?
Life imprisonment; in an open jail, Jesus!
Why, with such dangerous scum, be generous?
With his record, he’s not likely to be abstemious!
He wants, he takes, violently, certainly not adiaphorous!
He’s cleverer than they thought and stays anonymous…
Till he went on telly, sticking his finger up at us


A letter just arrived from the Doctor,
I know, it was a bit of a shocker…
I thought she’d died; bless her,
It’s been so long since I saw her… November?
I hope she’s not got any sneerier…
I’ve got to make an appointment without failure…

For a Severe Frailty Revue… what can I do?
Cataract ops that’ll make me blind are due?
One on the 15th, then the 18th, not one, but two,
Then the dentists are due around then too…
Dementia Doreen keeps putting me in a screw…
Neuropathy Pete, sending me in a mental stew,
Plans, thoughts, ideas, and intentions are all askew,
Ask for help, they tell me, and that I’d do…
Sounds logical, but to where and who?

——————————————–

Drunken rages; the man needs help, assistance… but he’s, had support before, but he gets more violent, his partner is in desperate need of help, but shows impressive residence and loyalty… why? I don’t know. Likely because she is so scared of the slob? So it’s heartwarming seeing the caring about the victim judge telling him, after issuing the pathetic sentencing, that he will only serve half of the prison term before being released?

Justice is all we want to see?
Something to make the victim worry-free!
I agree that there is no guarantee…
But slaps on the wrist are fiddle de dee…
The justice system has gone all namby-pamby!

——————————————–

The Sun Glasses arrived through the door,
Squashed through the letterbox, Cor!
But unbroken, what is more,
The price tag on them read £15.54!
But I paid £4.94, a bargain for sure…
Plastic tag keeping them closed, or…
I’d try them on, but I can’t open them anymore…
Kathleen’s Cataracts, eyesight so poor,
Now, even so cheap, they’ve lost their allure!

——————————————–

Sad as they come…

——————————————–

Ha, Ha, Ha!

I’m confused?

Well, that’s no surprise!

I’m not saying I was not a bit of a tearaway,
But, I see more crumbling of morals day by day,
Manners, politeness, honesty… all in decay…
Empathy, caring, and understanding float away…

Uneducated, unemployable youths today…
Join gangs for self-protection, they say?
Can’t get a job, to violence they stray…
Yet they’re experts on scamming and eBay?

To a degree, it was the same back in my day?
But we knew when to give way, not like today…
Instead of a one-on-one fistfight, now it’s a machete…
Gun, knife, anything to harm and kill nowadays!

If I asked to tell them to be kinder and pray…
Then I would end up as one of their prey!
They rely on drugs and their illegal distillery,
As they age, those not yet killed move on to spivvery,
Get too old for burglary and robbery…
To become au faux with blackmail and bribery…
Some will start wearing ladies’ hosiery…
And, if there’s any justice, catch leprosy!

NEMO MORTALIUM OMNIBUS HORIS SAPIT

Inchcock Today: Ode & Diary – Saturday 15 May 2022

Approached creating this ode quite guiltily…
My ideas for it were whimsical, bonkers, delusionary…
I pressed on all the same, but involuntarily…
For Alto-Inchy was taking the piss at me,
If it comes out passable, I’ll have to be lucky…
So, I hope to avoid getting any vilipendency!
Will it get boos? Or be received gladly?
Here I go… I’ll have to wait and see…

Last night’s Porcelain Throne visit showed sanguinolency,
I had to clean things quickly, with no time to dilly-dally.
Cleaned, medicated the fungal lesion, piles, cuts, that’s three…
Pain, medicating the lesion send me cranky,
And Harold’s Haemorrhoids too, it took me a while,
Good job that I’ve got many a mans-nappie!

It’s Alto Inchie writing this verse; Inchcock did insist!
But, things got nasty for Inchy, the lyricist…
Stubbed his toe and started to update his word list…
He spent many hours on it, needed a wee, but had to desist…
Went to hit the save icon, and I missed…
Lost the file, and he sank to his saddest…
He almost cried; it must have been hard to resist…
Then he sank further and got depressed!

I lost six hours trying to get back my lost writing…
Couldn’t find it; I was confused, lost and dithering,
My previous determination started withering…
Duodenal Donald kicked off; it was appalling,
The whole incident was depressing and galling!
I believe that I was so low, beyond consoling…
I wondered, what’s the next thing that’ll need bungling?

Alto Again: It was sad to see Inchy being nigglier,
His computer works are getting much messier…
He didn’t look well. He seemed to me pastier…
The outlook for him to finish this ode is murkier,
And even he’s not usually a shirker, but a worker…
I can see in his eyes that he’s getting lower…
No point in talking to him until he feels betterer,
Hello, his door chimes rang out, in came a Carer…
He turned sourly around to see who it was, looking peakier,
His face lit up, his smile radiated, for it was Carer Sarah!
I could tell that he’d immediately got feeling friskier!

It was Carer Sarah who came to do me today,
This cheered me up, I have to say…
I lost all signs of acting acidulously…
Lovely gal, pretty and chatty,
I began to feel once again, altruistically,
I hope she comes again on Sunday!

Alto: Inchie knackered his computer and got in a shaking panic,
The idiot’s actions and bungled repairs were catastrophic,
He had trouble concentrating and was mnemic…
His moods all day were somewhat chameleonic.
Inchcock’s plans and thoughts were all semantic…
Yet he seemed to be taking it all phlegmatic…
In fact, he ended up feeling somewhat apathetic?
Then he found his legs had gone all phlebitic!
This is why some folks, quite rightly, consider him pilgarlic!.

Diary Saturday 14th May 2022

05:00hrs: I woke up with my bum half off of the £300, second-hand bought, c1968, nauseously beige-coloured, not-working, rusty, rickety, difficile, crumb-covered tatty recliner. The right leg on the floor, the left one on the arm of the recliner? A position that I could not physically get into on my own, even if someone offered me a million pounds to do it? Painfully I got my bum back up on the cushion, then tackled the left leg retrieval task! Have you seen that programme on the telly Truck Hell, where they have to retrieve HGVs after a crash? That’s like the task I had on.

I got it freed and the foot down on terra firma. Hehehe! It took me half an hour to achieve it.

Then, I noticed the right leg only had suffered a vein explosion. The first photo is of the front of the leg. I had a good look at it. There were no pains from the veins. Then I wondered about the back of the right leg. Got the Canon camera again and took a blind picture.

Aha, more veins showing through? On a closer look at the photograph, later on, it looked to me that last time, the surgeon who did them had left his name tattooed on the leg? Hehe! I’ll put this one on more prominent than usual to see what you think. It’s on the top right of the picture. Wonder what it is?

Ah, well, better get up; the Carer may be calling soon… and…

As I stood up to catch my balance, I knocked the camera off of the ottoman. I went into the bathroom to ready things for the ablutioning later on, and took this snap of the new marks on the face, this time! Then tried to take another snapshot of the morning view, but the camera didn’t have it. Sob!

It seemed to take the photo, but nothing was getting put on the SD card to view, other than this one and the legs? Miffed off, now! Another blog without many pictures, Humph!

I made up some waste bags, mashed a brew and got on the computer. And the morning carer appeared without ringing the buzzer and made me jump. Haha! Carer Sara was a pretty young thing, and she was sociable. ♥

On with the blog. I finished the update two hours later and posted it on Facebook. Went on Facebooking. Then the WP Reader, and comment reading and replying to.

The usual for the weekend. An increase in Herbert’s noise level. On and off all day, at times, I thought he must have hurt himself with the clanging and banging. At times, I could hurt him myself!

Got on with the Ode template for Saturday’s blog. But a disaster befell me…

I used two pages of saved words on Notepad and got on with selected suitable or better options. And the Peripheral Pete’s Neurotransmitters failed, as Shuddering Shoulder Shirley kicked in simultaneously. There was controlling my movements at all.

The arm shot across the keyboard with the left clicker pressed firmly down, hitting various keys as it went to my left, knocked the SD reader flying as the connector broke off, and it was all over in seconds, but it did a lot of damage, and worst of all, I lost all my words in the two files!

I then spent the following hours of the day trying to understand what the warning messages that came up meant and trying everything within my limited knowledge to find the missing files. No such luck! Photos not going on again.

Made a large meal and ate it all. Wee-wee. Carer Valerie called. Head down, but foolishly tried to watch a Dirty Harry film on the box… I did, in a way, but in about 25 episodes, I watched one each time I woke up and nodded off again!

Cheers!

Inchcock v Alto – The Suicide Discussion

“Oi, pay attention, Inchcock; it’s your devoted, friendly, happy-go-lucky Alto-Ego here. Bringing you news and a…

Eh, erum… Oh, Sod-Off!

That’s nice, innit! I’ve come to warn you of the explosions in the gut, and all yer do is get antisocial wiv me?

Well, that’s cause I’m sitting here on the Porcelain Throne for the ninth time today, coping with the eruptions mentioned above in my stomach! You’re a little late in telling me…

Don’t get nasty turd-face, no need for insults! Anyway, if you want to nit-pick, I said explosion, not eruption, so there! Haha! I got here as fast as I could…

For an Alto who claims to have been in existence for thousands of years, you are very childish at times, mate… What were you doing in the guts anyway?

Obvious innit?

No!

Why do they keep sending me to thicko-idiots to threaten and get depressed? If yer must know, I was checking yer body for any new signs of ailment, injuries or the likes…

What for… No, no, don’t tell me… It’s so you can worry, annoy and depress me, innit?

Oh, yes, clever clogs! An’ I did it too! See? Your Blood Pressure has shot up, spittle is building in yer throat, and you’re in agony with trots… I bet Haemorrhoid Harold is bleeding as well?

Yea, putting it that way, you’re nearly right...

Owd on… nearly right? How am I not spot-on then, freckle-balls?

It proved yer lied when you first disturbed me.

You coffin-seeker! Lied, ruggish! Everyfing I say is John-Bull and Cosher!…

Yer? Like, “It’s your devoted, friendly, happy-go-lucky Alto-Ego here? Devoted, friendly, you? You are an unwanted blight on me mentality!

Well, thank you very much; I appreciate that. It proves that I’m doing my job successfully and adequately: “Assure at all times that your client is DFF; Depressed, Frustrated, in Pain. For extra Alto points, you human having suicidal tendencies a minimum of once a day…” “Achieving an 80% success rate is required” – Now that’s in the Alto-Ego job description!

So?

I proved I have the credentials for promotion…

How can you get a promotion when I’m yours, and you are mine? What did you call it? Client or human? You’ve already said you’re stuck with me, so what kind of promotion can you get clever clogs?

Gawd, you’re thick as a pancake with hebetude! When you kick the bucket, snuff it, I might be moved on to a politician, bank director or even Putin. Then…

Putin?

Yer that’d be cushty. We had a bit of a drawback with Putin, never been known before, but his Alto-Ego went mad. He’s had to be delisted. No doubt he’ll be moved to some war immigrant in another country. Putin with me by his side could rule the planet… not that it’s got much time left, mind you…

 Has it not? I expected as much...

Crap! You’re too thick to work owt out, Inchcock; you’ve been reading Billum’s blog, ain’t yer…

Well, yes, and he’s dead right...

You’ll be the dead one, Fungle-Knob: although I’ve not worked out the best way to nobble yer yet. I’ve thought about getting into Putin’s brain; just think of it…

Hang on, I’m getting confused here…

Nothing new there, dog-breath…

Can we start again?

Oh, so now yer want to converse with me? You want to make your feeble, befuddled mini-mind up! Dumbo!

You said you can’t hurt your human?

Oh yer, right, but only physically, now mentally, is another matter. And being as you are already halfway to being bonkers, discussions like these will soon tip you over the edge, and hey-presto, you’ll be dead, and I can put my bid in to be sent to Mr Putin, see… easy!

How are you planning to top me then?

I’m glad yer asked me brain-dead. I see there are three possible options.

One: You’ll get a heart attack from hearing the truth from me…

Two: You’ll do the decent thing and swig a litre of chlorinated bleach and drink it with ten Beta-blockers, Warfarins, and a good swig of liquid Codeine. I know they are regulated, but if you can time it for when you just get the prescriptions delivered, I advise you to take the whole packet of Morphine sulfate to be safe. Then stick all the remaining Enoxaparin Injections into your belly. (Not that it will matter where now). Then open the balcony window, make sure no one is below… No, no! Better not dive out of the window; with your eyesight, there may be someone on the pavement to crush when you land, and that’s not fair. Just stick with the bleach, medications and injections; they should do the job efficiently.

Three: you will have one of your tumbles when the neurotransmitter nerve-ends fail, and you fall forwards, trip over yer walking stick on the way down, and crack yer head a good belt on the sharp corner of the end counter… you’ll basically bleed to death, and be found the following day by a Carer, who after clearing out any valuables, will call the paramedics, but you be declared dead in your kitchenette floor, probably around 08:33hrs tomorrow. Oddly enough, your prescription delivery day, Hehehe! Well, you asked, you gormless dunderhead, Hahaha!

Thanks, I did ask, didn’t I? Well, that’s honest enough, Alto. Although I’m a little concerned at your going into great detail on option two? Suicide. It sounds to me like this is your favoured route to my demise?

Well, it’s the least bother for me, and I can shoot off and go Putin-hunting straight away. I’ll make my report first, of course. Should you plump for committing Hari-Kari, I promise I’ll make a good praising report of you and your actions to the Alto-Ego Controller. They don’t get many of those; I think Florence Nightingale was the last human to get one. You could live in fame in your death, mate!

I could live in fame in my death?’ Somehow, that doesn’t sound very attractive to me at the moment…

Ah, that’s cause you are temporarily not frustrated or depressed. That’s thanks to me, see. Bringing good news and advice to you again… Giving you thoughts that grabbed your attention and shooed away destructive emotions. I really hope you go for the choice to autodarwinate. It makes the most sense all around…

 Maybe for you, but not for me…

Whyever not, Numbskull? I’m sure you are going to say that Altos can’t die, so have no idea what it’s like?

  No, but that’s a good point; what’s your answer to your own question then?

Oh, dearie me, my ugly duckling. Is it not so obvious what I was referring to? I shall miss you your ignorance, unknowingness, innocence, duality, absent-mindedness, scepticism, ambivalence, and lack of sophistication when I’ve moved on… thankfully!

No!

Oh, you dense creature! What power I have given you…

Wot power ‘ave you given me?

How many people have the knowledge of when they are going to die?

How do I know? You’re bamboozling me again…

No, Knuckle-Mouth! I’m empowering you. You can pick your timing to take the suicide route, lock the door to prevent any interruptions, and just resign yourself to the nothingness that will follow, a certainty within minutes… minutes of pain, yes. Still, you will be well prepared for that, having led a pain-ridden emotional and physical life, so what does a couple of minutes of further pain mean to you? Nothing! No ailments, no food orders to get wrong, substituted items, nothing to forget or learn, no crime, no emotional topsy-turvy; a state of utter bliss is death! Which is where you will be going, mate – into nothingness – no noisy neighbour above you, no rent, tax or fuel prices rising to fret over.

Inchcock & Alto-Ego, launch into Q&A Odeing Mode…

  You keep harking back to suicide.

That is for you, my Button-Willy, to decide!

But will life never be indemnified?

Not until your death is verified!

Suicide? All my hopes will be pulverised,

Which is better than being lobotomised!

My friends will miss me, far and wide…

Friends, you? Now your telling porky-pies!

This conversation is like Morecome and Wise!

Death can be a pleasure, do you realise?

I’m not so sure… it’s a sacrifice?

In death, there’ll be no one who vilifies?

My ailment, all gone, pain defies…

Freedom, nothing left to visualise!

So, Covid has gone; no need to immunise?

You must get your thoughts strategised!

The thought of nothing does tantalise…

Alto sensed Inchcocks resistance to suicide weakening…

That’s the spirit, Inchcock, my old fruit…

Hold a minute, just wait...

Indeed, my old cocker, you take your time…

Take me time? What in or at?

Choosing which way to die…

I’m not sure how we got into discussing suicide?

Well, you wanted to know the best way to do it.

I did?

Yes, plan B you went for…

Plan B?

Yes, you decided you’ll do the decent thing and swig a litre of chlorinated bleach and drink it with ten Beta-blockers, Warfarins, and a good swig of liquid Codeine. (I know they are regulated, but if you can time it for when you just get the prescriptions delivered, you to take the whole packet of Morphine sulfate to be safe.) Then stick all the remaining Enoxaparin Injections into your belly.

Are you sure I chose this way and agreed?

Course you did Snot-Head, and it makes common sense, my friend! And once you’ve succeeded in suiciding, there’ll be no more painful battles with Trotsky Terence or Constipation Konrad! Now, this must be worth topping yourself for?

You really thought I was going to do it, didn’t you?

Well, yes! Are you not going to?

Too bloody true I ain’t going to.

Gragnangles! But I’ll be back!

Inchcock on the Throne realised Alto had truly flit…
He finished his evacuation, messy, but just a bit,
Pondered over suicide, blaming Alt-Inchie, the shit!
Putting it into my mind, a disgusting gambit!

All a part of Alto & Inchies’ mutual brinksmanship…
A strange sort of unwanted mental partnership,
Full of insults, bullying and unsportsmanship,
Alto’s getting nasty, pretending to be a prophet?

If he expects Gerry to top himself, there’s a blip…
Even suggesting it shows Alto’s unsportsmanship,
Suicide? No, he’d instead favour the opposite,
Even living with ailments and a financial deficit!

More critical now, Harold’s Haemorrhoids do bleed,
He cleans things, ointmentates, & takes some hempseed,
It’ll be painful; he mustn’t hesitate and proceed…
Agonisingly he did, then he wee-wee’d…

He turned his attention to what to self-feed,
From his fridge and freezer, he took a swede…
Leeks, mushrooms, tomatoes and bread, just a snead,
Prepped and got them cooking; it smelt good indeed.

Off to the wet room. where he passed wind and pee’d,
Settled in his recliner, he nodded off; he was so pleased,
Woke two hours later, surprised yet frustrated…
At the smell of burnt food, he recognised!

All his vegetables had been pureed!
Burnt potatoes, uneatable, he had to concede…
A Whoopsiedangleplop, he just didn’t need…
He cleaned the mess to the bucket he pee’d!

The meal he ate for dinner was not one of his best…
A can of peas, an out-of-date vegetarian duck breast,
The whole meal went in the bin, top join the rest…
Which annoyed him, and he began to get stressed!

Thought-Storms stopped him from getting to sleep…
His life, he began to despise and threap…
Suicide? Not a failure living, even in this muckheap…
His life is not good, but living he wants to keep,

Though he passes evacuations, the liquid then concrete…
Has cataracts, is deaf, tumbles over, and has terrible feet…
There are times when he finds life semi-sweet,
Screw Alto; his life is not yet over or complete!

He vows to ignore Alto-Ego, on his next visit…
Alto’s intrusions, he’ll try his best to prohibit…
He belched; the extruding wind tasted like horseshit,
Inchcock pondered, is it me or Alto, that’s the eejit?

Dizzy Dennis called; his head felt as if it was in orbit…
Thoughts coming so fast, he can’t cope, dagnabit!
He thinks this is becoming a nightly habit…
And he had Alto to return, the nasty dipshit!

But this time, Inchcock was determined, not frit…
He decided to keep up his flagging spirit…
Amidst words like Grongletits and Gawdammit!
He got up and this Ode he writ…
Hoping Alto stays in his pit!

Part of Inchcocks Make Them Laugh Series

Inchcocks Photographicalisations, Ode & Diary

Photographicalisations & Diary

♫Fings ain’t wot they used to be…♫

Little did I know the above-written ode would turn out!
I’m worried now; I think I had a memory blank or blackout?
Mistakes n everything I tried to create… a mental wipe-out!
It took me all day to get the blog done, a mind whirlabout…
Problems lasted hours… in fact all day, or thereabout?
Couldn’t get to grips with the day, time, everything, a doubt?
I had to keep stopping when the brain went on a gadabout…

Cataracts and glaucoma made things worse…
The noisy, clang-banging Herbert above made me curse…
Went to the Porcelain Throne; the evacuation was vicious,
Rock-solid: it took me half an hour; this is not fictitious!
It felt about the same size as a trolleybus!
One aspect was not painful or scary; quite the reverse…
Painful, yes, but no bleeding from the rear end, thus…
Washed and did the Germoloid creaming. Oh, that soothes!

From Grammarly, mistakes of all sorts, I was being told,
But I pressed on, which I thought was rather bold…
Dizzy Dennis joined me; Herberts’ noises could still be heard,
Why do I feel so bad could still not be answered,

So what I’m waffling on about…
I did my best, but without any doubt…
Faults mistakes you’ll quickly pick out…
Dates and times mostly, serious and nowt…
From start to finish, throughout…
I suppose this Ode is a criticism redoubt!

I can’t really put a date as such,
The photos, taken over 2½ days,
It may be mixed up datewise in a rush…
To get this blog done… with my mind in a haze,
I dun me bestest, please don’t underpraise…

I’m depressed and in pain, in many ways,
I really have had much betterer days and praise…
The coming of tomorrow and better days,
I’m hoping the confusion doesn’t overstay…
And depression finally breaks away!

Forgive any duplicated photos put in,
With wrong dates & times, I know it’s a sin!
The ailments are bothering me out and within,
My hopes for improvement are relatively thin…
Good job that I don’t drink, or I’d have a gin!.

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

Photographs & minimal Memories

By Jimminee, and jolly good heavens above, what an absolute improvement on yesterday’s sphygmomanometerisationing for the level of blood pressure! Comparing it to Thursdays, nerve-wracking 285 Sys!

It tumbled down to 148, and very welcome it was to see it!

The pulse had dropped as well.

 

Another good result from the thermometer.

It was a dead-on target at 35°c.

I think I was; I had a losing battle against Sock-Glide Glenda again in the wet room. SGG 3 – Inchie 0! It all happened so quickly. Having completed getting the socks on, I was, with only one tiny bruise on the foot, and as I stepped over the frame to grip Glenda to remove her… And seconds later, I was on the deck, entangled in her framework! With a bruise that anyone would be proud of on my shoulder. But then…

Getting up back to my feet (bear in mind I had not got any glasses on at the time). I lunged at the grab-rail to assist my getting up… and missed it entirely! I then had a new bruise to add to the shoulder and wrist ones on my flabby belly as I went back down again and made a painful connection with Sock-Glide-Glenda… again! A few scratches as well, but they are pretty. The Carer said so when she came. She was well impressed with the shoulder bruise. But her favourite was the blotch come bruise on my left man-breast nipple; she was very keen on the pinkness and swelling. Hahaha!

The Iceland food arrived. I’m sure I’ve put all these on before, but it won’t hurt for anyone who may order beef chunks from Iceland to see the photographs of the three packs I bought again. They were all within the sell-by date, too!

On Special offer, I just looked at this close up of the red and khaki coloured lumps they’d sent! It was the same or similar colouring? It reminded me of the only time I’ve seen horsemeat served.

The JS Sainsbury delivery. In the centre of this picture, on the right, you’ll see three tiny sourdough cobs that cost more than the milk roll bread. Talk about hard! Gawd, blimey, they were 80% crust. Did my teeth no good. But I ate what I could salvage from the concrete balls of sourdough later on? 

The ‘Best’ potatoes all had growths of bruises on them.

Can’t recall what night I made this meal. But I can remember enjoying it pretty well. The fishcakes with peas in them were tasty enough, the potato waffles were terrible, as were the fish fingers, all vegetarian. The tomatoes tasted excellent, cake and banana, but the vegan cakes cost more money. The potatoes and peas were disappointing. Taste Rating: 6.5/10.

I think I’ve shown this photo, but I am not sure. Sourdough bread, the Polish style one, mushroom pate and tomatoes, a soft imitation cheese portion, were almost as bad as the cakes. But that bread and pate. Was gorgeous.

.

Mike Fries: A good looking, Mafia-type, $23 million wage earner – no, I’ll take that back, he is not an earner to me.
But, I admire his cunningness in convincing his paymasters at Liberty-Global, to pay out $15 billion to buy out Mr Branson’s Virgin Media. Then instructing the UK telecom call-centre team, never to mention Liberty-Global to any customers? Thus, Mike Fries cannot get his $15b internet service to run for a day without going down several times – and Richard Branson gets all the name-calling and abuse. (He’s clever, you know!)

I imagine that if any proletariat call-centre person was caught mentioning the name Liberty-Global to any poor Virgin Media customers… The least they would come away with would be getting knee-capped & sacked?

He’s a Smoke & Mirrors expert. A figure-conjurer of the highest order. The bosses at the top get the complete treatment from his financial sleight of hand and legerdemain skills. They likely actually are being convinced by Fries of the competency of Virgin Media? Which, of course, does not exist.

There’ll be some financial hocus-pocus going on that convinces the top dogs of his profit-making for them, even if only on paper, so’s to speak. It’ll be out of my league!

I believe his flimflam, hanky-panky, and double-dealings will never be caught. So effective are his smoke & mirrors techniques.

This is a shame because despite wishing him a slow, excruciatingly painful death for his cheating ways and knackering me up every day with his Virgin internet repeatedly failing.

I like his style.

I’m jealous probably. Hahaha!

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

Evening Carer’s just called. Another new gal, pleasant enough with me. I insisted she had some treats, a nibble and a drinkie for putting up with my constant moaning about life. Hehehe!

It’s late now; I’m ready for summat to eat and a kip. I’ve got some spuds baking, pod plead in the saucepan, and a veggie pastie to add to the potatoes if I don’t fall to sleep first. I’ll try to get this finished in the morning.

I’d like to stay awake long enough to get some sunset shots. If Colin Cramps visits again when I get down, I should at least get the sunset photo’d if no sleep. Har-Har!

As I was going to have a check on the fodder cooking, I heard a clattering noise from the room I’d just left. I went back to investigate…

The new giant faux-fur brown throw had somehow or other, slid off of the £300, c1968, second-hand, decrepit, rickety recliner, taking to the floor with it: my Wood-Waking-Stick-Walter, Picker-Upperer-Percival, Shoe-Horn-Horis,  a towel, two pairs of trousers, a pot of Cheeselets, two bottles of spring water, and two cushions! Harrumph!

I got things sorted things out again. And then went back to the kitchen to get the meal prepped and served up. No sunset as such, but the view was eerily misty, enough for me to take a snap.

photographicalisation. Served up the fodder. Two veggie pasties, two potatoes baked, halved and plant butter added. fresh garden peas and tomatoes. A banana and pot of dessert. Taste Rating: 7.8/10.

I got sorted and down to try and stay awake long enough to watch my first episode of Grimm. It started at 22:00hrs, which is too late for me normally. I remember checking the schedule, and it was 15 minutes before Grimm started on the same channel… and thinking at last I’ll get to watch it… Of course, Sweet Morpheus got me, and off to kip, I went before seeing the program start!

I woke a few hours later, a selling channel was on then. I rose for a wee-wee and needed the Porcelain Throne as I was on my way to the wet room.

Rock-solid again! A good hour I was in there, going through pain and having to make it worse by giving my best supportive efforts to constantly edge the concrete torpedo out from the rear end. Gawd it felt good afterwards, though!

Nemo Mortalium Omnibus Horis Sapit

Inchcocks Selected Whoopsiedangleplops of the day

ONE

SOCK GLIDE-GLENDA

Absolutely!

This morning, I used Sock-Glide-Glenda, rather unwisely,
I felt confident and assured that I could use it injury-free!
I wanted to prove I’ve no need to be nervy…
Sure, that I had the ability, guts, and dexterity!
I thought this task to be just a formality…
Where I got this idea from also confused me!

It was going along pretty well, almost easy peasy!
But my confidence in my abilities turned into nihility…
Stepping out of frame, I lost my feelings of sensitivity,
And tumbled onto Glenda… tempting moribundity!
Scratches, bruises, welts… such a pity…
I soon lost my earlier orotundity!
I really am a liability!


Although the welt is morphing into putrefaction…
Add the bruised on the head for precision,
I came out in fair nick from this Accifauxpas action…
I’ve had no severe reaction…
It just spoils my good looks and beautification!

TWO

The Iceland Food Cometh!

No unavailable substitutes, things looked good,
The driver took the bags to the kitchen…
Thanked him, can of pop given, as I should…
The stomach wounds show no signs of blood…
I’d ordered some beef chunks, priced very good,
Went to get the fodder away as I would…
Then I saw the beef; some pieces looked like wood!
The rest were coloured red, as they should!

Above is the photo I took of one of the packs of need. Some pieces looked like cannabis colours blocks; the others looked fine. Opening up the pack, still in date, the texture of the CBD Hemp looking ones (about 30% of the contents!); was of an entirely different texture to the others? Things got me a little hot under the collar; when I checked the other two trays, they all had the Cannabis coloured chunks in them. I visited the Iceland site, and I checked the email that Iceland had sent…

I tried through the internet and found a page where they said I could email them… Fine, I thought, I’ll do that then… I’d got the details needed and went through a mammoth set of questions to finally get down to the email Iceland section at the bottom… But No! There was a list of reasons for the email, and one had to be selected. Otherwise, it didn’t let me get to the email page. Grumph!

So, I had to try the landline.

Dialled the number, and it was answered quickly… I waited… By a recorded message telling me they were experiencing a large number of calls and spent a few minutes telling me how I could contact them on the web, even recommending that I do that.

But not for long; the recorded message chappie interrupted the kip-the-sods-waiting music, which seemed like every minute. “If you want to know where your delivery is, phone…” Then next time something like – it was hard to hear him) “If you wish to question any charges… ring” – Followed by “A list on all new products re available at ……… .com” I had about ten of these interruptions.

Eventually, I got a real person to talk to. But hearing what she was saying was a nightmare! I answered all the details asked of me. I didn’t know how many pimples I had on my bottom, so I couldn’t answer that one… Hahaha! Only joking!

After only 20 minutes of the call being answered, I thanked her for her help. I’ve no idea why. I hadn’t got the foggiest notion of what was going to happen. But did catch ’email mentioned a minute before she rang off? So anticipate getting one (email) about a refund… or not, if I’ve got it wrong again…

I got this Email shortly after laundry and ironer Esther had gone. She kindly brought me the numbers to ring Amazon about the misleading information about my deliveries. Bless her.

And here we go…

Three

Amazing Amazon Cock Up

They told me as below on the tracker thingamajig. That the Galpharm Capsules would arrive on 20th – 21st April. They were delivered last Thursday 14th April). More of concern, they told me the Throw had been delivered last Saturday? I have not arrived yet! And was originally due on the 23rd of April. Confusion reigns?

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

Four

Things started well; I oiled the ears to make them less waxy,
But they were still solid; the oiling failed dismally,
I syringed in water, which worked satisfactorily…
I waited for anything happening, cynically…
The noises from the canals became sort of crackly,
I viewed the treatment as failed – somewhat sceptically!

Nasal clearing, Germoloiding, Germolening… carefully…
All going okay; I Pain Gelled my knees and ankles easily…
Got the eye drops in… well, practically… but woefully…
Some got into the eyes, but with Shaking Shaun’s ability…
I got most of it down my cheek into my mouth, literally!

Then came the Blood Pressure taking…

Then onto the sphygmomanometerisationing,
In other words, the blood pressure taking…
The results lately have been astounding…
The last eight tests, all within a high rating…
But only just, nothing worth worrying about…

Flibbledonkackles! & Spurgledamnations!

Great Balls Of Fire!

Bloody Nora, what a shock!
This made me clench my buttock!
And my bladder wanted to unlock!
Hehehe!
I’ll have to ponder and take stock?
I checked the NHS site, like a shot!

Computer on, I entered details in the NHS, BP chart…
My result was off the scale; I passed an unintentional fart,
But I felt well pretty well, as best I could tell…
Leave it; check again later? Is that smart?
Listen to some music, perhaps some musical art?
Joannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus Mozart,
He was only 39 when from this earth he did depart!
I’ll go on the NHS helpline, well, it’s a start…

This message came on the screen after I pressed the ‘Go’ button to see the graph. Automatic response, mayhaps?

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

A typical day for an old one like me… ruminations…
Frustrations, Whoopsiedangleplops, abominations,
Lack of socialisation and communications…
Accifauxpas, injury collecting, misread intonations,
The mind’s acute lack of clarity and precision!

Deafness, warping conversations,
Confirmation of hypertension…
Worries about the yobbo’s flat intrusion,
The brain is confused between reality and illusion…
A nasty, Thought-Storm invasion,

But odd things that baffled yet pleased me?
A movement in my loins, the first since 2003!
A yearning to have back my 4×4 Panda Sisley?
I wanted a pan of streaky smoked bacon, crispy…
Needing the dentist to repair my cavity…

Hate: Dementia Doreen, for causing such deficiency,
Denying my once held abilities, from logicality…
Ensuring my confidence less, and other disabilities…
My memories fade, but old ones remain: A malady?
Not knowing what time & day it is, is not an abnormality!

Failed & deferred appointments, like with the audiologist,
A Doctor who I’ve forgotten what she looks like?
The Ophthalmologist, no appointments were missed…
That’s cause I haven’t had one yet, about which I’m pissed!
Three cancellations from the phlebotomist…
Just the one from the immunopathologist,
Four from the Gerontologist, Two for the dentist…
The DVT clinic, four from the neuropathologist…
Could I get help from a psychiatrist or hypnotherapist?
A couple more to put on the cancelled list!
I must stop moaning… I must desist!

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

.

Inchcocks Thoughts – In Odes Issue 13⅓rd

In Odes, not good ones… but Odes!

The number of humans on this earth is 7.87 billion at this time…
On the global internet, the users add up to 4,321,740 and 9!
So your chance of your blog going viral is fine…
But don’t expect it, as I did, then found a steady decline!
I hope you do much betterer with thine!
My last one got two likes and comments; one was mine!

It’s Doreen Dementia and Liberty-Global I blame,
It’s fun to me, but it’s all money… a shame!
Their service is as much off as on, and it’s a game…
Farcically, ownership Liberty-Global disclaim!
Telling the call agents not to ever mention their name!

Liberty-Global owns Virgin; the boss should resign!
For Mr Fries knows not what he is doing…
Or though maybe he does, he makes money fine?
It’s overpaying mugs like me that he’s screwing…
His bosses think that everything is fine…
With Fries shadowy, manipulative money moving,
All on paper, mist and mirrors… this profit maker-divine!

A gorgeous gal wanted me in the early hours of this morning…
Of course, I knew that I was probably dreaming,
This very fact, I found a little perturbing…
She insisted on closer, passionate probing,
To my delight, she was acquiescing…
We were soon manipulating and bouncing,
She was ready and asked for another trouncing,
No problem for me, and I began eagerly disrobing,
But my performance, I think, was unconvincing…
Surely she should have been rejoicing?
And as her knickers, she was replacing…
I attempted some more romantic seducing…
I found it embarrassing what she was saying…
“I’ll not call again; there was no pain – Where’s this leading?
I’m just glad I was only dreaming!

I thought the visit before was on the wet side…
But this evacuation was even more undignified
I failed to get there on time, my aim was wide…
I cleaned things up, taking it all in my stride,
In doing this, I felt an iota of pride!

Cleaned, refreshed, but I went from Jekyll to Hyde,
As I started to get things all antisepticised…
I dropped the Germoloid after it had been applied…
And trod on it, swore, and boy, how I did self deride!
The contents squirted all over, and my frustration intensified!

But this Throne visit had yet another downside to it…
Leaving the wet room, I misjudged the width a little bit,
Missed hitting into the frame; I gave myself a little merit!
Stubbed my toe on the airer; fell, hitting under my armpit!
All this cause I urgently needed a flipping sh__!

Thought Storms Erupted

The Thought-Storms erupted, irking, they attacked,
Insults, fears, and failures were lurking and squirted…
Self-loathing, diffidence, vacillation were not appreciated
New worries, old ones, insecureness… amalgamated!
It’s Thought-Storms like this that are most hated!

The cause of the forebodings could not be authenticated,
For reasons, causes, I waited and waited, breath abated…
Nothing was solved, understood or elucidated…
The logic-testing thoughts, endlessly circumlocuted,
My mind was failing, nervous and bloviated!

My resistance was worn down, crumbling, it wilted…
My own thoughts could not be filtered…
However, slowly the tormenting mind vegetated,
Which was good; the brain needed to be rested…
Along came a new wave of dichotomies to be wherrited!

Inchcock Thought Storms – In Ode

Inchcock’s Diary & Retrieved Photographs

Inchcock’s Diary & Retrieved Photographs

Four days without being able to upload any pictures, again,
Frustrating, annoying and a bit of a pain!
I tried this morning once again…
Some of them loaded; how transpadane!
I hope the uploading thingumajig working does remain…
Or I’ll go out of my tiny dementia-ridden brain!

Still, here they are, with details that I can remember,
Dates, days and times; may be subject to conjecturer…
But I’ve done my bestest; I can’t be any fairer…
The memory is not so good and tends to flounder…
Thanks to the stroke, then Doreen Dementia!

Overnight I had youths intruding into the flat,
Not just once, but twice, not very nice!
That got me worried, I can tell yer that!
Youths, two to four of them, to be unprecise!

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

Photo’s Rescued

Evening (well, I think these three are?), photographicalisations are. All three were taken within a few minutes, if I recall right, from the kitchenette window, on a patchy dark cloud-covered sky. What day ut was, I’m not sure.

A beautiful view, even if the wind was a bit nippy as I opened the window and shuddered a little. Hehe!

I managed to take a closer shot that didn’t come out too bad when you consider the weather, clouds and my shaking right hand & arm.

I think these were taken on Wednesday. I can recall being impressed. But not with my photography, but with Mother Nature producing such amazing sights for us all.

I think I took this second shot because I’d got a small red spot blotch on the first one?

Then I took the third one, with more of the land view shown.

I’ve just noticed that I got an even bigger res spot on this one at the bottom of the frame. Tsk! I got pains in cataracts taking this last one; I can member that bit! It was half an hour or so before they eased off. Humph!

One of the evening meals here. I tried to recall if I liked or enjoyed it… But no! I can’t even remember eating it or taking a photograph either. It looked decent enough. I think I liked it?

Ah, this was Thursday… or was it? I ordered this food from Morrisons via Amazon. I’ve just looked it up on the email; it was on Saturday, the delivery.  Amazing how Dementia Doreen can convince me of facts that are so wrong.

Battered haddock, fishcakes, imitation fish sticks, Leicester grated cheese, mushroom pate, and pots of lemon cheesecake. With, commoners treat like from years ago, jelly and custard. I like ’em! Common and I go together!

Tomatoes, tomato puree with basil, Milk roll bread, Hovis white crusty bread, cakes, and cleaners.

I do not intend to hide my shame at all those cakes. But it didn’t last for long! Guilt flows freely in the brain, and intentions to start slimming crept into the equation…

After the Carer called and I collected the washing, I pondered on what to have to eat. And decided that I’d press on with the blogging and eat later on. The awful idea I had, was to have two slices of the Hovis bread, each with half of the mushroom pate, buttered and the slice of bread folded over the pate. With some tomatoes and nothing else. We’ll see about that…

I went into the kitchen to make sure I had some butter in the fridge to use, and the view caught all of my attention! Buy, was it a fantastic view, or what?

Wonderful! I stood looking at it for ages, as it quickly turned into darkness as the sun disappeared. 

I came across this ‘Gannet-sized’ picture of an earlier in the week meal I’d devoured. I reckon on Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday?

Sundays nosh. I believe.

I soon gave up on computing and got down in the £300, second-hand bought, c1968, nauseously beige-coloured, not-working, rusty, rickety, crumb-holder of a tatty recliner, in search of sleep.

A close-up photograph of the Chestnut Walk’s end car parking antics and positioning. Why do they spend all that money on chevrons and signage if they are enforceable by law? There are consistent; you have to give that to them.

Inchcock’s family early morning get together and chinwagging session. Koala Katie, Teddy Bear & Lil the Lamb were in a talkative mood. You think I’m joking, don’t you? Haha!

 The clunk-clunking started from above. Even Duodenal Donald started to give me some gip! And he’s been as good as gold for weeks!

Within an hour, I’d taken Peptac, used Germoloid, Germolene and taken an extra Codeine Phosphate. What next, I thought? I soon found out!.

I felt the wet warm glow from Little Inchies Lesion bleeding! Got back up to clean and medicate things, then back into the pretend recliner… still in search of some time with Sweet Morpheus! As I tried to get settled, comfortable enough to get into the land of nod…

I nodded off soon enough, waking up two uninterrupted hours of rest later, and felt a lot betterer! So much so, I freed my scarily overweight body from the chair and went to make the planned earlier meal!

Taste Rating: 9.15/10!

Sat I think: I took this photo before tucking into the feast! The thick slices of bread were soft, the crusts crusty. The tomatoes were delicious for once. Wunderbar! And the meal was so easy to prepare!

Back to the present: Unfortunately, getting back to sleep was impossible. The Thought-Storms raged! Guilt, shame and frustrations flowed!

 I was soon back up, needing the Porcelain Throne! But it went well. not messy, and no bleeding from anywhere!

I stayed up and made a start on this blog. Then had a meal

The highlight of this Saturday is that Jillie is calling to see me, I hope. 💜 Which she did! Lovely to see her, hug her, kiss her and have a mammoth chinwagging session!

Jillie brought me some Polish cooked meats. Bless her cotton socks! She checked on the dates and timings for the hospital visit for me. And offered help with cancelling the Meridian laundry service. I’m better off with Esther doing it, she irons anything that needs it when it gets back, and the clothes are properly dry and folded for me. This week Carer Valerie did the washing, returned it the same day (sometimes it is three days before it gets back from Meridian), and all was well dried and folded, but this is not the normal state of affairs. Thanks, Valerie.

Getting to sleep was impossible! The excitement of seeing Jillie, I believe, may have had some effect?

The door buzzer woke me up; in a half-daze and unsure of what time it was, I got to the door… After many hours of trying, I did nod off.

Josie told me her sister was taking her out for a meal tomorrow, so she would not need a meal cooking this Sunday. Good of her to let me know, Bless her.

I gave myself a toe-stubbing against the stand-up airer radiator hobbling back. Oh, dearie me! 

Mage some of the small milk roll bread, buttered sarnies with the bacon that Jillie had bought me. It was delicious! A hint of garlic and herbs, Bootiful! Not as beautiful a Jillie, though, naturally. ♥

Alphabetti potatoes, tomatoes, a small lemon cheesecake, and lemon curd tart for afters. I think I’m cutting back on my food intake, and am going to start the bi-daily exercise as we did in the after-stroke recovery programme… well, all being well. I’ve just got to have a word or two with Dementia Doreen, Cataracts Kathleen, Arthur Itis, Peripheral Neuropathy Pete, Little Inchies Fungal Lesion and Duodenal Donald, t see if they will allow me to do so, uninjured. Hahaha!

I’m a little apprehensive and twitchy now, about the yobs. I bet they’ll be back again tonight… Clapthunder! If they do come, I’ll press my wristlet alert alarm. Even if I can’t make out what they are saying, they should hear me.

As I lay there fretting, I passed wind and made a mess in the Protection Pants to make things worse! Good job that I’ve got plenty in stock. Cause this happened again later! Trotsky Terence was in charge.

The evacuation started and ended before I got down onto the plastic seat! Virtually liquid. What few shreds of solids were a khaki colour, with yellow liquid. The stomach ached and was rumbling throughout. What had I eaten that could have caused this?

I washed, shaved, the teeth were done, olive oiled the ears, Germoloided Harold’s Haemorrhoids, and put the eye drops in (some of the drops actually getting into the eyes!). New PP’s adorned. Changed into the day clothes, and I put the kettle on. Took a Galpharm capsule and a Co-codamol for the tummy pains.

Later on Sunday, I worked on this blog; then, the Morning Carer arrived and sorted the medications for me.

I tried to find the number to report the incidents to Nottingham City Homes, but the number was only for Mon to Friday. I mentioned this worry, on the Winwood Heights Facebook page, hoping there may be another number to use. No answer, but it’s only 10:30hrs yet.

Winwood Heights Facebook Comments: Tenant Hugh tried to find the number for me. Later in the day, Warden Deana wrote, suggesting I press the alarm-alert button and told them of the situation. But, of course, I could not understand what anyone at the other end of the call was saying. Folks forget about my cataracts, deafness and dementia. Even when I mentioned the incident to my Carer, it was suggested that I may have dreamed it? But I didn’t… did I?

I was still unsure of whether to lock the door or not. Leave it unlocked, and the gang of yobs could get in again, cause harm and damage, and steal summat… Lock it, have a stroke, and the ambulance men can’t get in, and I’m dead… I don’t think anyone understands my indecision and fears. I chose to lock it. An hour later, I thought better of it and unlocked it. Two hours later, I locked the door again, which is how it is at writing this now.

Evening Ode to the day

The ganglet of yobs invaded my recluse…
In the early hours of the morning…
Got me rattled and aroused!
They arrived without any warning…
In they came, I put the light on, cunning?
No wonder I was confused…
They suddenly started running?
Else I may have got battered and bruised?
Will they return tonight?
Ready for a one-sided fight?
Will I get thrashed?
Or end up bucktoothed?
I’m not worried… well, not quite…

Evening All!

Inchies Tips & Advice for Whippersnappers, Ablutionalisationings & Medicalisationings

ADVICE & TIPS ON FUTURE AILMENTS TO COME

I’ve given myself a challenge here… Where do I start?
Well, I don’t want to sound like a worrywart…
But you may like to put this guide on a wall chart,
Get prepared, to wee-wee, bleed a lot, and fart?
To the wet room, with ablutionalisationing, we’ll start…

Well, getting your clothes on and off, will be a work of art!
The socks removal will hurt in every leg part!
Pants and PPs, shirt and hat off, you’ll be knackered,
By the time you start teeth cleaning, paddy-whacked!
Then the toothpaste to extract…
Peripheral Pete causing shaking hands, distances inexact…
Toothpaste on your chin belly and feet… it’s a fact!

Nasal clearing, avoid catching the new pustulation…
And shaking hands, need careful manipulation…
Stabbing up the nose can cause a concussion!
Due to the dying nerve-ends neurotransmission!

Then the eyedrops, they miss each time, despite my best attention,
Evolve drips anywhere but the eyes; to the mouth, via obambulation,
Oh, while I think about it, you’ll have to have a fundoplication!
Shaving’s the next job, which always causes apprehension!

You’ll cut yourself several times, no need for overreaction…
The Brut aftershave serves as a blood stopper medication!
Mind you, it stings, you’ll swear in protestation,
It’s just another necessary daily ritualisation!

Then comes, the dangerous part, of showering!
It’s no good fearing, and cowering…
It must be done, like an everyday thing!
Dizzy Dennis arrives, you stop the soaping…
Then drop the loofah, bend in retrieving…
Hit your bonce on the powerbox, your heads now reeling…
Loss of balance sometimes, a usual old folk feeling…
Then you often find yourself falling…
But getting back up is more appalling and galling,
Usually, you’ll drop things again…
But, to avoid any more pain,
You’ll kick it away, then you may start talcing?
Till you stub your toe, then start cursing!
But there are more things yet, that will be paining!

No mirrors in the wet room, I mention tactfully,
For fear, you’ll see your flabby midriff’s rotundity,
Which will bring on the depression, for a certainty,
You’ll find spotting your reflection, rather dismally,

Little Inchies Fungal Lesion will need ointmenting,
Especially if it’s been leaking and bleeding!
The certainty of agony needs acknowledging…
Some think this procedure, is bestiality, brutality…
I can tell yer, I don’t think about affectionately!
And I don’t tackle the job exactly bravely!

Arthur Itis knees to be Phorpained, to lessen rheumatically,
An easy enough task, although the limbs can get greasy…
It’s the Phorpain Gel, the box says it’s liable to flammability?
Still, a good massage and rubbing in seems to work easily.

MedPhorpain

The Germoloiding of Harold’s Haemorrhoids is a pleasure,
Always effective, instant relief, this ointment is a treasure!
But you can’t buy it when on a Special Offer…
Full price, cause the makers, want to fill their coffer…

You’ll be able to get a cream on the NHS, Anusol, but it’s crap,
And you’ll need to wear sunglasses and a hat…
Use walking aids, hearing aids, spectacles, blind as a bat!
Cataracts, Glaucoma and Saccades will be begat!
I’m getting mixed up here, where was I at?

I named Accifauxpas, to such incidents as the above,
Having digits etc. bruised, and cut, you may not approve,
But incident rates will never improve…
As you grow decrepit and old, it’s the truth!
There is no way to make things accident-proof…

I named Accifauxpas, to such incidents as the above,
Having digits etc. bruised, and cut, you may not approve,
But incident rates will never improve…
There is no to make things foolproof…

But there is a way, to ease them and help make them better!
You don’t believe me? I can hear you mutter!
But clean the wound, Give it a Germolene smother…
As antiseptics go, there is none betterer…
It soothes and cools wounds with no palaver…
Keep a tube in the first aid box, it’s a good manoeuvre!

You’ll lose any skill you had at handcraftsmanship,
Sewing, darning, woodwork, sculpting, or need a replacement hip,
A new knee or two, a mechanical ticker, ready for the crypt…
So when things start to fail and collapse, don’t lose your grip!.

Don’t look back at the days when you were nonhandicapped!
Or even when you could risk being back slapped,
Or when you were capable of being able and schlepped…
It’s important for you to be able to adapt!

You’ll only compare things, with now and then,
Your mental and bodily decline, remembering girls like Gretchen?
Your confidence, comparative memories, do not enrichen!
In fact, they have been known to bring on depression!
Recalling the romances, victories, how many were they, ten?
Your first fumbling grope – can you remember who and when?
The Auntie who always bathed you… you were happy then!
But such days will never return again…
Have you still got love letters, written with a pen?
The name of your very first kitten?
Or the first dog by which you were bitten?

When your life was considered to be sublime, Utopian…
Some details will be embedded in your brain, unforgotten…
But many of them inspire things you think were rotten!
Actions and decisions that were taken by you; were you forgiven?
Or like me; having Thought Storms of guilt and derision?

There is an ailment that can free you from making many a decision…
Vascular Dementia Doreen, she’s good at memory suppression,
Also, she jumbles up numbers and dates, like a statistician…
Or mayhaps, more like a politician?
That reminds me, the Dentist and Optician…
Appointments to cancel, that’ll cause derision,
Is it a pediatrican or maybe a metaphysician?
I might be better off with a dietician or magician?

Cataract Surgery is my latest thing worrying,
Two Phacoemulsification operations or something,
Then Glaucoma operations in both eyes…
Then there’s Saccades procedure right eye,
But worrying about it is not very wise
Seeing an assessor on 3rd May waited five months, irking,

So by the time you Whippersnappers get to my age,
The NHS will be a memory, but you should manage…
Unless there is a world war again, violence is savage!
The private owners of the hospital will add a surcharge…
£200 for a bandage, £30 to be unbandaged, if you haemorrhage…
£50 a pint lost, and for cleaning up there’ll be an added charge…
An entrance fee if you have to use the triage…
Visitors will be charged, £35 an hour on average…
£40 a cup of tea, £60 for coffee, £40, for other beverages…
Medications, an Aspirin at £35, according to dosage…
Visitors can have a variable-priced massage…
Grizelda £45, William too, either-way Brenda, £200 with frottage!

I think I got carried away there, sorry!

Inchcocks Bungee-Jump – Where, How and Why?

Inchcocks Bungee-Jump

There was a damsel I wanted to impress,
She was chunky, and I’d heard, easy to undress…
She loved a laugh and smiled at my stupidness…
But she admired men who showed fearlessness…
What could this whimp do with his faintheartedness?

I pondered, deciding on using fictitiousness!
Told her I was going bungee jumping, most unchivalrous,
Where? she asked – ‘Darley Dale on the bus…’
I’ll come to see you, she said. Oh, excessiveness!
Now to face my acrophobia… but not be loveless?

,

I got the motorbike mended, off to Darley Dale,
Picking up en route, the bonny lass, called Abigail,
I arrived at the festival and put on a swagger, to no avail…
From inside, my stomach churned; I must’ve looked pale…
I was putting myself through hell for a desirable female!

Nervous? Me? Yes, I could hardly breathe or inhale!
Searching for an excuse, I was feeling foolish and frail…
Yet I was laughing along with my beloved Abigail,
I looked up at the cherrypicker platform I’ve to scale,
Fear of heights and cowardice… will I die at Darley Dale?

I found a resolution by fearing being mocked should I fail…
Idea! Thump a Policeman, then they’d take me to jail?
But no, I must do this heroic act to impress Abigail!
If I live through this, fall in love, I’d tell the tale…
Or should I run away and search for the Holy Grail?

They booked my jump for about 1400hrs…
I sneaked away to the Pretty Flowers…
A quaint pub on the road to Alton Towers…
I drank three ciders and four pints of Guinness!
Enough surely to get me out of this?
I’ll never get up the ladder, being so pissed!

Walking back to the fair, when I was getting near…
The fresh air must have taken away my fear…
But it may have been something to do with the beer?
I started whistling and greeted the gang; I was feeling queer!
I cheerfully got into the bungee-jump helmet and gear!

.In the jumpers tent, all the others, some in over-leathers…
Nervously talking and bragging, being sick the others!
“Who’s first up?” most of them dithering and nervous!
I called, “Me first, captain!” The others finished their reefers…
Momentarily I thought, Did I take my beta-blockers?

Too late now, and I felt like a performer in a circus!
Abigail cheered me as I ascended,
I slipped on the ladder, hit my midriff and got winded,
Not enough for my bungee jump to be rescinded!
No stopping me now that I’d ascended…

I pressed on out to the platform… was this all a dwale?
Got out to the edge… shirt off, like a Chippendale…
Everyone from below could see I was a male!
The wind… suddenly blew a gale!
Down onto the ice-cream pole, my body did impale!

A Red Cross man arrived first. “Here, take this aspirin, cock!”
The whole thing was a shock and schlock!
And, I’d laddered my new knee-length bamboo right sock!
Why worry about that… it’s poppycock?
Mayhaps I’d gone into PTSD or shellshock?
The police arrived and arrested me for TWOC!

Inchcocks Make Folk Laugh in Ode Series 77⅘th

Advice For Whippersnappers – Part 26⅙th

Advice For Whippersnappers

Part 26⅙th

Oddities whippersnappers may encounter, like leprosy,
An honest politician (Joking!), or water on the knee,
Have ten children; some are yours, at most three!
Go to Scotland for the whisky and to find Nessie…
Soon realise your sanity is becoming an absentee!

Cuddle up to and grope a gal, all nice and cosey…
Sweet words are shared, things getting lovey-dovey!
Then find out her name is Arthur and not Rosie…
No need to feel embarrassed, daft, or dozy…
Fake an excuse, rush off, and send him a posey!

One day you may become an abductee!
The kidnapper demanding lots of money…
Before he’ll think of setting you free…
But no one will pay; you’re not famous, yer see?
He’ll likely keep you as an adoptee!

You’ll eat strange foods, & plain foods, like onion bhaji,
Liqueurs, cannabis cheesecake, and beetroot coffee?
Pickled walnuts, fingernails, and chocolate garibaldi…
Even if financially up a gumtree…
Try anything, as long as it’s free!

Will you be an owner, manager, or employee?
Mayhaps a hippy with long hair and a goatee?
Drugged up to eyeballs, living in a fantasy?
Marching against bombs and nuclear energy…
Just like your Mam and Dad did in 1953!

No need to use a snickersnee or machete…
Wounding or killing is plain bizarrerie…
It could be you’ll need a necropsy?
All through greed and your bellicosity,
Finish now, with hatred and animosity!

Keeping on the straight and narrow takes fortuity…
To hide your weaknesses and frangibility…
We’ve only one life each, not an eternity
Staying honest and non-aggressive shows dignity!
At St Peter’s gate, of wrongs, you’ll need deniability,
It’ll be no good pleading for mercy, circumstantially!

When it comes to things financially,
You must avoid showing credulity!
Moneylenders, Bank managers, show crudity…
But do it to start with using misleading civility!
Muggers and robbers take your cash with audacity!

As you get older, you’ll go much more often for a wee-wee!
With little warning, you’ll rush to the WC…
But, you won’t make it in time very often you see…
I know, cause every day this is happening to me!
It’ll dribble or torrent, with no controllability…

The protection pants offer little comfort to me…
But less protection, as I increase my bellies adiposity…
Struggling, Little Inchie gets stuck in the zip… agony!
I wet myself; wetter than if on a water-skiers jetty!
It bleeds, I cry… this is ageing – it’s not very pretty!

Inchcocks tries to Make Them Laugh in Odes Series