The Stroke Ward then Care Home

First, I’d like to explain that as bad as I thought my Stroke was at the time, after being taken to the Queens Medical Centre, diagnosed with having had an Embolic stroke, I thought I’d been lucky. Then I was transferred to the Newell Stroke Ward at the Nottingham City Hospital; I soon realised it was not bad at all!

The event took place while I was in the land of nod. I woke to find myself all disoriented, dizzy, and confused. I was sprawled half-in, half-out of the £300, second-hand, c1968, eyesorely-horrendously grungy coloured, haemorrhoid-testing, unfit-for-use, recliner. Unable to sit up at all, I was lolling to my right. Actually, I thought I might be dreaming at the time and sort of waiting for the fog to clear – of course, it didn’t. The most embarrassing thing in my life (Bar one, but I’ll not mention that!)…

Mass Bodily Fluids Flood – The deluge!
Miss this first section if you are queasy!

(A lifesaver, thanks to Nottingham City Homes!)  And the deluge came! Trying to work out what was happening and pondered on whether to press the Medical Alarm Wristlet button…

Every part of my body that could leak leaked! This was without any warning and so rapid, even the tears that eructed out and I think missed the face cheeks it was so violent. The nose ran, sweat poured from all over, I dribbled from the mouth – but the worst two of all – the bowel evacuation almost shot out, and the wee-weeing too! (at The QMC later, the Doctor said that my ear wax turned to liquid?)

Even pressing the alert button was hard work; I was swaying about and fell out of the chair onto the floor as I got to the control and pushed it. Then found out I could not talk to the controller who answered the alarm!

QMC – Then City Hospital Stroke Ward

Yet I was aware of the mess I was in and ashamed! But I was talking again, but so aware of how I must have looked and smelt! A blank spell from then on until I was being pushed into the scan room at the Queens Medical Centre.

Memory went until I was in an ambulance on the way to the City Hospital stroke ward, The Newell Ward. They kept taking me for e-rays and scans for the day, but I can now recall little of the processes.

Sister Jane and Pete turned up later. Having been to the flat and cleaned up the mess I had made – Bless Them!  So many of the patients were in a much worse condition than I was, which made me realise how lucky I had been. Walking again needed some therapy, and since then, I have started stuttering. With Peripheral Neuropathy diagnoses two weeks earlier, walking ever since is a challenge nowadays. But it could have been so much worse!

One morning, a new patient arrived. He looked like the spitting image of Tyson Fury. They had to move some beds to make room for him, which he was wheeled in on.

Then The Wailing Nights Began!

For about ten hours every single night – for fifteen of them, the poor chap would start calling out for his Mummy! No one else got any sleep! But it was not his fault, naturally. The insults being thrown out to him from other patients desperately needing sleep obviously made no difference.

After the first two or three nights, Tyson (I never knew his name, I can’t remember it if I did), who had been placed near the door, opposite the rota board, realised he could see the names of the other patients, and he would go through everyone… ‘Bill, Bill, help me!’ ‘Malcolm, I need help, fetch my Mum, please!’ ‘Dennis, call for my Mum, I beg you!’ And so forth… then start again repeatedly for hours longer!

The insults and lousy language slowly got worse as the frustrations grew in the other occupants. “F’ing shut your F’ing Gob!” and “Oi… shitting nob-rot, shut the F’s up” are two that come to mind, of the many. Although I had sympathy and empathy with Tyson’s plight and had resisted joining in the angry banter… on the last the 15th night, I very nearly did, but I didn’t.

Unfortunately, they gave me Clopidogrel to help prevent any more blood clots. Then found out I had an allergy to them. Hence the ankle ulcer and extra bloated feet and legs.

Move Me To A Nursing Home

I was so relieved when a doctor told me that they were desperate for beds for new stroke victims. Relieved? Ha! Had I known what was to come, I would have refused to go! They would be moving me later in the day into a Nottingham City Homes care home for a couple of months.

The single room, with adjoining WC with a shower, was nice and snug. There were no shortages of residents to come in and have a look around and help themselves to anything they fancied. Amongst the things that went missing were one hearing aid, pens, biscuits and a pair of socks. I later saw a bloke wearing the easily identifiable diabetic bamboo socks. My Get Better Teddy Bear from TFZer Pattie in Canada disappeared, but I found it in the TV room?

The routine went like this:

  • A carer would come in to help me get the ankle strap on each morning. They all got it wrong, nearly crippled me! Hehe! The door would open (no locks), and a mystery voice would yell out, ‘Breakfast in ten!’ Then give me the medications. I missed many breakfasts.
  • Occasionally a cleaner would come in to ‘do’ the toilet and moan if I’d left any shaving foam in the sink or floor.
  • The midday food summoning would be something like “Tea!”, “Food!” or “Nosh” followed by the estimated time I have to be down for. I missed a few meals.
  • Evenings, medications and taking the ankle strap off.

Inchcock with his retrieved Teddy Bear! ♥

I was told not to leave the site at any time. During the nine weeks, I was there, my laundry was only returned to me three times. Sister Jane and Pete kept me supplied with socks and shirts from the flat. They asked me to make a statement for the police when a bloke attacked a woman with a knife.

If nothing else, this experience has made me all the more determined to avoid going into a care home.

In a Repeated Dream

For several weeks after leaving the Car Home, and Jane and Pete returning me to the flats, I had a repeating dream… I would be leaving the hospital… with the Grim Reaper calling me back to the Stroke Ward. I don’t think it got to me badly, but I was glad when they stooped! (Watch it now, the bloody thing will start again!) Haha!

Part of the Inchcock True Tales of Woe & Make E’m Laugh Series!

Chinwag With Alto-Ego Inchie!

Confounding Confusionableitis!

Time for a proper chinwag with Alto-Ego Inchie. Who I consider as much a mental ailment like all the other medical ones. I am determined to free myself of his persistent, nagging interference in my thoughts. His mission it seems to me is to make me feel guilty, inadequate, inconsequential, ineffective, and insignificant.

Which he has in fact already successfully achieved.

Although, possible beyond the understanding of anyone normal mortal, and maybe anyone who does not have a cruel, Alto-Ego, nagging away, analysing, mocking and criticising your every decision, and choice, one makes or decides on.

This natter took place last night as I lay in bed, with the notepad near to hand, and took place in several episodes! Sleep was certainly not an option for me…

Inchcock Opens The Chinwag Session:

Inchcock: I can sense your sneering and contempt Inchie, and I have to say you are a bane!
Inchie: Huh! Do yer fink I like being stuck in your brain!

Inchcock: Then go away, stop giving me mental pain!
Inchie: What the hell do think it’s like in here? In your dithering, feckless, vacillant thought-filled indecisive brain?

Inchcock: That’s it, go on, put me down, mock again…
Inchie: From human contact, you should refrain…

Inchcock: You said that when we last spoke, now again?
Inchie: Oh, a comeback from Inchcock, I’ve heard better insults from solid lepidomelane!

Inchcock: Erm… lepidomelane? Wot’s that then? Explain!
Inchie: When you read fings, facts you should retain!
Inchcock: Did I read about lepidomelane?
Inchie: Yer! In 1963, yer pea brain!
Inchcock: I’ve got Vascular Dementia, mental pain…
Inchie: Oh shurrup! Abarght time yer took yer Novocain?
Inchcock: You’ve changed the topic, confused me, yer know that makes me go brain-lame!
Inchie: Course I do, you pillock, I’ve had enough of this game…
Inchcock: What games that’s then, are you on cocaine?
Inchie: Yer coming owt with the insults tonight Inchcock! Enough! This topic’s getting too urbane…
Alright, I’ll piss off then!

Inchcock almost nodded off, when Inchie Returned!

Inchie: Hey-up, I’m calling back in defiance!
Inchcock: Why? Have no cognisance!
Inchie: Thought I might catch you on the loo, by chance…
Inchcock: You ‘horrible scumball! You no allegiance?
Inchie: Allegiance? Any idea wot that means?
Inchcock: I learnt that when in my teens!
Inchie: Huh! Gonna give me more gibberish?
Inchcock: Well, thanks for your pertinent attendance…
Inchie: Eh? Playing tricks? Do you mean good riddance?
Inchcock: Well, yes, I do, I’ve had enough of your cruel words!
Inchie: Wot, me? You’re the one spouting insulting words…
Inchcock: Am I? I was just making some lemon curds…
Inchie: What out off… Turds?

Inchcock ignored the Alta-Ego – With Difficulty Mind

He mellowed a little, and went deep in thought, until Inchie returned, and was ready to mislead the interloper…

Inchie: Wotsup, dogbreath? Pissed-off again, blockhead?
Inchcock: Oddly I thought that is what would be said…
Inchie: What’s yer game, that was said well mannered?
Inchcock: It’s up to us both, kill this mutual arguing, time to get together, and start apologising… not endangered!
Inchie: What? Am I being outmanoeuvred?
Inchcock: No mate! My wish is for you to get scunnered!
Inchie: You mean like, we get together and schnockered?
Inchcock: That’s it, we can have our relationship bettered!
Inchie: Summat wrong ‘ere… you and me, get stonkered?
Inchcock: Yea… let our animosity be withered!
Inchie: Why? you dare not… your lily-livered!

Inchcock: Hahaha! Such a poetic turn of phrase!
Inchie: Well, I’m not used to giving praise…
Inchcock: Oh, it’s easy, ns so many ways…
Inchie: Worra yer mean?
Inchcock: We could take time out, play the Steinways…
Inchie: Yer…
Inchcock: Go on holiday, as stowaways?
Inchie: Oh…
Inchcock: Have a drink, see where our hands stray…
Inchie: Hang on, are you after me body?
Inchcock: No, you haven’t got one, although you can have some control over mine, anyway ♥,
Inchie: Not ‘aving that… but then I couldn’t… could I?
Inchcock: not sure, but I’d risk it if you will. I’m free on Wednesday?
Inchie: Erm… I’m not used to this, who’s gonna pay?
Inchcock: You pay in enjoyment, we both can on the day?
Inchie: Hey, hey, hey… Could we just stop arguing, and have a laze?
Inchcock: Certainly, and we could have a few hoorays?
Inchie: I feel my emotions coming ablaze…
Inchcock: I could bring some bottles… Chardonnays?
Inchie: Surely it can’t be done? No ways!
Inchcock: You Pratt! You’re only in my mind! Best then if we return to our mental, non-verbal affrays!

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

Inchcock was arrested and rushed to the Psychiatric Hospital by paramedics, after being caught making rigorous love to his non-existent Alto Ego Inchie, in the balcony of his flat this evening.

The Doctor told the Inchcock Today reporter: “We managed to stop his weeing with excitement, and finally convinced him was not having sex for the first time in his life. He is currently being treated for Psychotic Manic Depression.

Luckily the Doctor on duty had treated Mr Inchcock several times before over the years and had a straight jacket to hand.

Inchcock is expected to be released in a few years, providing he doesn’t kick the bucket earlier! (He’s getting on a bit)

Part of the Inchcock Make ‘Em Laugh Series

Inchcock’s Tips & Advice – In Ode

They incarcerate the wealthy youngsters here now, aged only 50, a pity,
Cause with my handicaps, now I’m not so nifty,
Then there’s my ticker, neuropathy, deafness and cecity,
But I’m not jealous, bothered or show any causticity,
I have Whoopsidangleplops, Accifauxpas and await the next atrocity,
To survive in here, you must not show any mordacity,
Indeed, you must forget to display any animosity!

Anyone arriving wishing to survive will find the tips and advice in ode below, of some value, I hope… Good Luck!

WHAT TO EXPECT, DO AND SURVIVE

Put to the back of your mind, hopes, plans or anything ambitious,
With leaking windows… it helps to know about being amphibious,
If you are old or ill, some of the Carers are delicious!
Get in with them for any chance of being auspicious!
Resist doing anything whatever that could be audacious!
Make sure you cannot be considered cretaceous,
For depressions in here are somewhat enormous,

No matter what you do or say, it’ll be classed as contentious,
Don’t ever mention the balcony’s winds being blusterous,
Or not being able to hear the fire alarm being hazardous,
Cause they’ll fit you a pillow shaker alarm, it’s not desirous,
It runs on Wi-fi, the false alarms are regular and continuous,

Advice for the intercom and heaters are both contradictious,
Understanding them, you need to be intelligent and perspicacious,
Act a thicko with thick skin, should certainly be advantageous,
One benefit, mind, if you are ill enough, the nurses are curvacious!
You’ll be too old, so no opportunities to try to get amorous!

Contemptuousness and sarcasm seem to be contagious,
Another thing, silence can prove somewhat meritious,
Forget about being doing right and being conscientious,
Best to concentrate, on just staying alive and conscious,

Faux pas and Whoopsiedangleplops, try to keep uncomplicitous
Tending towards being garrulous can be jeopardous,
To anyone not wanting to be sneered at by those sequacious,
Never show signs of being boisterous,
Best to stay looking bored and innocuous,
They like it that way, and when you get on the wrong bus!

No need to worry if you are regularly flatuous,
I assure you that affliction affects 90% of us!
If the nurse calls cause your bottom’s furunculous,
Grit your teeth, and try to look hebetudinous!
Try not to overdo the acting humorous,
Never gossip about anything calumnious!
Or you may find yourself considered complicitous!

Part Of Inchcock’s Make Em Laugh-In-Ode Series

Plans For My Next Failed Escape Bid!

Last evening, my beautiful Caring Carer, Julia and I made a plan to enable my escape from this lockdown in the flat, and get outside, and have a hobble into Sherwood! Thus I can avoid the Obergruppenfhüreress’s and Lap-Top Dancers, Deana and Julie, on my way out!

After Julia had tended to my medicationalisationing, she asked me the questions about what meds I’d taken other the those on the list, filled in her report (That’s the one that no one has ever read yet!). Checked on the supply of drugs in the kitchenette drawer, she explained her plan for my escape from the lockdown. Julie departed, taking the waste bags with her, to the rubbish chute for me. Bless her cotton socks! And leaving an elderly dithering tenant, feeling sad at her departure. (I always think this way when a good, kind carer goes me, Tsk!) I decided to write down the scheme for Wednesdays Great Escape to Sherwood! I had a sense, a feeling, that Julia’s ideas were going to be so doable and workable.

Unfortunately, within seconds of the Carers’ departure, I had an unwelcome ‘Haze-Over’ attack. Not sure how long it lasted, but I seem to have lost possibly a couple of hours of memory. (Although they did partly return in the morning, which is not a rarity) Later on, I found myself sitting in the recliner with the TV on. With crumbs over my large blobby-like belly (bits of Twiglets in the folds? As I woke and returned to life, of sorts, I was feeling great! Almost clear-headed. And I soon worked out that I still had time to catch the bus down to Sherwood… But, no!

Closing down the computer to get things ready for my breakout, I saw several emails coming in. One from Amazon, concerning two deliveries, the one in the photo was the tracking of the Morrison delivery, which I was confident that I’d made it for next week… It was apparently just a few minutes away from being delivered. The other regarding deliveries that are due tomorrow… This put the kybosh on my escaping today and now tomorrow as well! Obviously, another Whoopsiedangleplop on my behalf!

Hello, the delivery is here now… I’ll be back…

Hehehe! I’m back! A young lady delivered the four parcels of fodder, putting them through the doorway for me. I fell in love with her straight away, had it not been that I am about 60 years older than what she looked, six inches shorter, wore PPs, was bald, sight-impaired, deaf, and nearly as attractive to women as Lillie Savage… I momentarily thought about asking her if she fancied a cuddle, massage or petting… but I thought better of it no point in risking prison at my time of life.

I thanked her, and off she shot. I took the bags through to the kitchenette, and I popped into the wet room for a wee-wee.

And this one was one of the worst I’ve suffered for flipping weeks, or even longer!

I tore at my clothing to get at Little Inchie, dropped the trees on the floor, and prepared for the torrent to come…

But it didn’t! I could feel the urine building up increasingly more painful pressure… all I could do was wait for it to do its own thing – any pushing from me was just unbearably hurtful, so I waited…

And waited a little longer. Sang a song, whistled, prayed… Eventually, it felt like a couple of days later, the tsunami evacuated!  Agony! Whoosh! Splashback like never before, I had to take a shower to clean up my anaemic looking flabby body and then get the wet room disinfected.  I now seriously fear the next wee-wee session! But the relief when it had finally passed almost sent me dizzy, if that’s the word.

Now, having spent an hour or so weeing and sorting things out, I realised that the frozen food in with the other groceries will not be frozen any longer! I hastened to get at it as quickly as I could to get in the freezer.

I gave the big toe a bashing against the server trolley wheel – Now I’m getting annoyed with things! 

However, I continued to get the purchases away, starting with the now unfrozen frozen foods. Luckily, there were only two frozen items, well, previously frozen items to go in the freezer.  The now liquid in the bag Twister lollies, and a box of beef in gravy, I poured them into the freezer… A joke there, did you see that? Despite such a bad morning, I’m intent on keeping up my pecker! Although, I am not too confident of my chances after the next wee-wee arrives. Ahem!

The sight of the ready-made meals brought a warm glow to my stomach. WW Chillie and wedges, Roast Vegetable Risotto, and the Chicken dinner substituted with Beef & Black beans, Shepherd’s pie, and Creamy Chicken & Leek. Even though they had not got any of those, I ordered, and they were all substituted. Morrison Cottage pie, by Kirsty’s red potato Cottage Pie (might be nice that?).

Not that I seemed bothered this time, the memory of the disastrous tsunami-wee-out now! Imagine that happening when I was out and about! The thought of it makes me shudder!

Haha! The fridge stocks are looking healthier now, anyway. Milk, bread in the freezer, I’ll certainly not starve for a bit.

Took this shot of the end car park through the balcony window. It was far too windy for me to open the window.

Oh, oh, I want another pee! With apprehension, I took it. Well, well well, what a difference that was! Heavy flow, but nothing oke as vicious as the last one was! I was delighted with the improvement and almost total lack of any pain. Shame about the lengthy PMAD (Post-Micturition-After Dribbling).

Views From The Kitchenette Window

I viewed the colourful evening skies,

Somehow they appeared to be wise,

And I observed clouds like eyes,

Winter’s coming; I’ll need to acclimatise!

The photo above, lips and two eyes, large in size,

Those clouds make me want to enigmatise?

I find myself also wanting to somatise,

Natures beauty makes me realise…

Mankind knows nothing, weather forecasts-wise,

I see amazing skies, from this flat in the highrise,

These views make me want to prioritise…

To stop, look, dream, and rhapsodise!

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

Hunger Pangs Satisfied

Made some cheesy instant mash potato and two beef pasties and plated them. Dolloped some Hickory Smoked BBQ sauce and a few slices of bread. A pot of custard & jelly (Classy, innit?), and another pot of lemon mousse. Nowt fanciful on that plate, but I ate the lot. Taste Rating 7.2/10.

Part Of The Nottingham Lads True Tales Of Woe Series

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 Gets Cosmetical & Medical Upgrade!

Billum from near Ohio said he could help me,
Said that he’d create medicines to make me feel pain-free!
And operate, to make me look less ugly & scary,
Of course, this could not be done for free,
There would be a discounted $150,000 fee!
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

The Consultation

Nothing to worry about at all, he told me,
It’ll be painful, but very luckily,
You’re used to agony and have tolerability,
You’ve paid now, so no revocability!
Owt goes wrong, and I reject any accountability!
It may take a while, so first, you must take a wee-wee,
Operating, I don’t want to get sprayed with pee,
HRH Lisa will be assisting me!

They gave me an Aspirin and a shot of Drambuie,
They started; I prayed there would be no Whoopsies…
Or that I’d come out looking like a chimpanzee,
I wasn’t worried, not to any degree,
I could soon be pain-free and good looking? Yipee!
As I drifted off, I could see HRH Lisa, looking at me,
They told me I came around the following Tuesday!
But no mirrors could I see?
Billum said you look fine, you should write a ditty,
And gave me a mug of Glengettie!
No time for chinwag or causerie,
“I must fly, another patient waiting to see me”,
With that, off he did flee!
I joined Lisa on the settee,
She was very kind to me,
Gave me a mirror, I saw the reality…
Still, yer don’t like to complain, do yer?

Stuck In The Lift Ode

LIFT WOOPSIEDANGLEPLOP

THINGS GOT WORSERER!

Made redundant, for another job I applied,
I’ve done Nationwide deliveries before, I lied,
Naughty of me, not at all justified!
I fancied getting out and about Nationwide,
Room on the 12th-floor, Which would be wise?
Up by the stairs? No, the lift I did decide,
Into the cage all alone, nervous, not petrified…

The elevator shuddered to a halt, was it alright?
The panel gave a beep-beep, and flashing red light,
An hour later, I was in a pickle and plight,
Interview time had passed, but last night…
I made some sarnies, tomato and Marmite,
Tucked into them, and pondered as I might,
On the missed opportunity for the job…
That made me want to sob.

For desperate for a wee-wee was I ever so!
Another hour before they rescued me, though,
I needed that wee-wee first; I had to go!
Found a toilet, boy did the urine flow!
Searched for DHP offices high & low,

Aha, gorrit, and in I did go, with agusto,
Then found I had another problemo…
‘You’ve come to the wrong place, don’t you know!’
Smethwick you want, east of here you must go,
She tried to ring them, they were incommunicado,
‘They’ve likely all gone home,’ leaving me in limbo!

Trying to look dignified, back to my Triumph Toledo,
To look at the map… but oh, no no no!
A security guard saw it driven out by a fellow,
I called him a useless so and so!
There was this man, me, a saddo fatso…
Crying and screaming like a soprano… although,

I got another interview for the job, you know…
I didn’t get the job, of course, which is no curio!

Memories of Woes

Inchie’s Lockdown Escape Advice (To four holiday locations in a day) Oh, Yes!

Can one cope with the lockdown, and still get vacationing done?

The piccies and odes below, show how Inchcock managed this fete, feet, feat!

I started my wondering, my holiday,

The junk room I was in, so I did stay,

Watched video, although no BluRay,

I viewed episodes, of Red Dwarf and Stingray,

Had nibble of yoghourt, strawberry,

By gum it was nice, to escape as they say!

My next vacation, to the kitchen, it was untidy,

Washed my socks and blue beret,

I was content, not uptight or snidey,

In fact, I was moving well, not torpidly,

I was relaxed, my mind working unhurriedly,

So I left the messy scullery,

Then went on a tour of the balcony!

The windows let in the ice-like rain,

Leaving me wet, cold and  unhappy again,

Although stubbing my toe was a pain,

But this trip out wasn’t mundane,

The bleeding left me with a bloodstain,

My slippers’ll have to be cleaned again,

But my sense of humour I did retain,

Porcelain Throne, needed, that I must not retain,

I hope it passes easily and is not a painful strain!

My most used and popular room of them all,

A place where I’ve had many a fall,

Accifaupas, Whoopsiedangleplops I have in there,

Well above my fair-share,

The wet room, always something to hurt, scare or enthral

Good stuff too, to be fair,

Sometimes on the Throne, I see passings in freefall,

Others, with blockages, nothing moves, at all,

Yes, the seat seems to get heavy wear,

At times in there, there’s little fresh air,

Bleach & disinfectant I do share,

It’s a losing battle, but do I care?

Sometimes, I think I must be bilingual,

Frustrated, my language can be, erm… individual,

Naughty words used, I do declare,

When the flush doesn’t work, despair!

No wonder I’ve got no hair!

Then there’s the Sock-Glide in there,

Gives me many a nightmare,

It nips, pinches finger-ends, traps your finger hair,

Blood flows using it’s unfair,

It drives me, nearly nuclear…

””””””””””””

I had planned to visit the ground floor,

But the situation down there was desperate for sure,

Trying to find a way out, I stubbed my toe,

Perhaps later, I’ll give it another go?

Still, I mustn’t complain, though!

Written on the spur of the moment, I apologise!

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’s Third Escape from the Lock-Down, to Nottingham. Photographically recorded!

Inchcock’s Third brave but stupid, Escape from the Lock-Down

We understand, that the Nottingham City Council Security, the Police, and the newly-formed Boy Scouts Woggle-Anti-Lock-Down-Escapers-Retrieval-Team are after him, again!

He arrived at Upper Parliament Street, where he spied and ogled some Nottinghamian ladies, on his way into the Poundland Store, had a Dizzy Dennis visit, and came out with more unwanted goods, such as Zoflora disinfectants, Carnation milk pots, Cooked beef misshapes, and 3×8 bags of his destroyers-to his diet, Frazzles!

He paid the lady, who helped him when he had his funny-turn and dropped his money on the floor, thanked her and made his way to the Bargain Shop on Milton Street. Observing a pair of fine legs-displaying young Nottinghamiam lady, crossing the road against the cross-walk lights. He forgave her we understand.

He patiently waited for some fine bottom-shaped, Nottinghamian Mothers to get there ankle-snappers locked securely in the pushchair, then entered the store. Hoping they would have some of the Pakistani made potato cakes, and lemon air-spray in stock. They didn’t. But the old fool felt so guilty at the thought of not buying anything, he bought a pack of four-mini oven trays, for £1.99, and left to walk through Trinity Square, up the incline, so as to take some pictures of Trinity Walk, but got yet another visit from Dizzy Dennis, and hobbled down to Upper Parliament Street.

The first of the Pavement Cyclist he saw on the short hobble, all-but ran into him. He claims to have called out, “You silly boy!” and waved at him.

Investigations are underway to find out what he actually shouted!

He limped down Queen Street to Nottingham’s Slab Square.

His near-miss at being run into again by another Nottingham Pavement Cyclist, (he says) drew a slightly more forceful response. The old grumpy claimed he said “Tsk! You rascal!”

He walked across to South Parade, where he took a shot of the side of the Council House. Not many folks there, so he turned back and took one of the Square.

He hobbled down Arcade Walk. Amused at how the Nottinghamians were totally ignoring the signs written on the paving stone, to keep to the left.

St Peter’s Square; and the silence was overbearing.

He says he felt like a disaster was about to take place, as he avoided another of the many Nottinghamian Pavement Cyclists.

He told our reporter, that he wanted after over a year and a half, to go into the M&S Foodhall, to get some treats from there ready-made meal section for himself. Shame that. He could not gain entry with his walker to any door but one, all the others have stairs or step that needed tackling to get in. So, after a long painful hobble around he found the doorway, and for his bother, got walked into by two rather large ladies coming out. He could not tell what they said to him, but the words were accompanied by some well-used, superior class sneers and curled lips.

Then he had to walk for what seemed miles, to get to the lift down to the Food Hall. Luckily, there was no one wanting to use the lift, which pleased him, but felt odd, the place used to be very busy all of the day? When he got down, it was a very sad sight! The Coronavirus has had a shocking impact, for M&S. Fridges were curtained off and not in use at all! The usually well-stocked shelves looked bare, by comparison now. 

The fool paid £2 for a tiny bag of small potatoes, £1 for a mini tray of basic mushrooms, £2 for small-box of Frites, and £2.50 for four minuscule potato-rostis!

He got to the checkout and had another Dennis Dizzy visit, and Stuttering Stephanie hit him. He claims he was overcharged, but who knows, in the state he was in, owt could have happened.

The poor old senile nincompoop struggled to get up the lift and out of the one door he could use, and onto Lister Gate again.

Back wearily up Exchange Walk, with his famously-reliable EQ, telling him that hassle of some sort was on the way. Which didn’t take long to arrive!

He took a zoomed-in shot with his little Canon camera towards King Street, as a Pavement Cyclist zoomed by his, and he felt the draught the speeding idiot made!

Another Pavement Cyclist came into view.

Then another one, too!

This one came close to hitting the old codge, he came from the rear. Inchcok refused to tell me what actual words he shouted at this Pavement Cyclist.

This particular Pavement Cyclist gave our Nottinghamian pensioner a few looks!

The old scrote carried on his way up to the bus stop, and a final Pavement Cyclist belted by him. He claims he was tired, pee’d off and Dizzy Dennis was visiting him again at this stage. There might be something in what he says cause he can’t remember the bus ride back to Winwood Court!

He says he didn’t see a single policeman all day!

The can recall getting off of the bus though, he cracked his ulcered ankle on the trolley-walkers right-hand back wheel!

This was written and potomagraphed, under great stress. Just thought I’d mention it!