Nottingham’s Street Art with badly rhyming daft comments

1Mon16

Coffee Storage Area Queen Street, Nottingham

Nottingham’s Street Art

With chronically badly rhyming, daft comments

 

1Mon23

Swann’s Yard, off Long Row,

Has it been cleaned, if so, long ago,

The rats were running, to and fro,

The smell meant I soon had to go!

 

1Mon22

Queen Street, near the L9 bus stop,

Rubbish, waste, decaying food,

Wrappers from Bird’s cake shop,

Not really art, dirty and so crude!

Use it as a ‘Don’t Litter sign’ backdrop?

 

1Mon21

Ah, low windows on which to rest your weary bum?

Street-sleepers can watch the diners eat and suck a thumb?

Artistically, it has little worth,

It’s not worth a lot, but down to earth,

The Tate might buy it, they show other scum!

 

1Mon20

The famous rock hardened Nottingham chewing gum on show,

The Council can’t get it off of the floor you know,

People are still dropping it, though!

It won’t come off, I’ve had a go!

Petrol, bleach, I even tried a Brillo,

1Mon19

Chewing gum and a proper fork too!

Likely stolen from a restaurant,

Perhaps the Foo Man Choo?

They’ll take anything they want,

These Nottingham Street Artists do!

 

1Mon18b

This is a waste bin on the pavement edge,

Around on the floor, a pastie, nub-ends, and a potato wedge,

A bit of onion, and some phlegm and spit,

I don’t like this one a little bit,

I suppose it’s been done by kids at the college?

 

1Mon18a

The entrance to a Long Row store,

The artwork here is pretty poor,

I see there is no chewing gum on the floor?

But below, you’ll see some more!

1Mon18

Roll-up nubs, chewing gum and escaping fluid,

Simple, neat, by a King Street Druid?

Or a drunken phone addicted kid?

Columbidae Columbiformes Columbimorphae Aves, made?

Pigeons, it’s not, though their phoo is the same shade!

1Mon17

1Mon16a

Back to Queen Street, where there’s real Street Art again,

My enthusiasm is beginning to wain,

Cleaning this up is such a pain,

The culprits should be slain!

Mind you, Brexit is a bigger problem and stain!

‘Bonkersness’ An everyday pleasure for old folk!’

2019 April 17

It’s a shock, when you wake up, not feeling unwell,
Take your medications, and rub in the Pain-Gel,
The heart monitor might well need a new Duracell,
You wonder around without clothes on, au naturel,
But you don’t realise, till someone does tell.

You and youngsters are on a different parallel,
You worry about your leaks, do they really smell?
Will someone be waiting for you, down in hell?
Sticks to your dentures do marzipan and caramel!

You’ve a shoebox flat to live in now and dwell.
But you call it an apartment, so your pride can swell!
Retentativeness goes away, you’ll forget how to spell,
Your short term memory will never again excel!
Steps, climbing, will make you fear any stairwell.

Doctors, dentist, you’ll be part of their clientele,
Podiatrists, Opticians, analyst, maybe the as well?
Audiologist too, you’ll not hear your phone or doorbell,
Psychoanalyst, avoid talking about your death-knell,
Well, they have a profit to protect, and service to sell.

We’ll lose our logicality, patience and sense of smell,
And when the time comes for to heaven to travel,
Here’s the really-surprising bombshell,
We can’t take clothes with us, even if they’re brocatelle,
No knick-knacks of gold, silver or tortoiseshell,
But I ain’t got none, anyway – so farewell!
I wonder if I’ll see Dad, Mam, or maybe a pterodactyl?

 

2019 Aug 01

Why Inchcock’s Confidence is at an all-time low. An Ode, laugh and a truth”

1Mon06

Thoughts that Inchcock considers as vital information to pass-on to the younger generation, in a bid to help them decide when to top themselves.

Knowing what is coming to them in old age.

Here starteth the THOUGHTS of WOE

My confidence is at an all-time low,
Things I need, disappear, memories don’t flow,
What’s right, wrong or real, where to go,
Sometimes frustrated, I’ve a wee-wee overflow,
I can’t play an instrument, trumpet or piano!

I fall asleep anytime, anywhere, stunts my workflow,
A bag-of-nerves, no confidence, I’m going loco,
Will I ever regain my sanity? I just don’t know,
Losing my mobility capabilities is a severe blow!

Just some of the programmes I miss watching, though,
Red Dwarf, The A-Team, Heartbeat, Boon & Columbo,
All on Freeview now, but I can’t watch them though,
I can’t stay awake long enough to watch a TV show!

I eat foods from Idaho, Sesotho, Mexico, Morocco,
Montenegro, and Puerto Rico, as my stomach, does grow!
I can’t see my feet when stood up, you know!
Lost Faith in Muslim, Christianity, Gnosticism & Shinto!
In Tellurians, politicians, banks, and Boll-Weevils, too!

Getting up in a morning is a pitiful, painful fiasco,
As are bending, stretching and lifting things is also,
But the mental side, the brain burst into a crescendo,
But no ideas, aims, plans, designs or manifesto,
Always, I use the feeble excuse, “I’ll get it done tomorrow!”

In depression, moroseness I will often wallow,
Meekly go along with others, revealing no bravado,
The only solution is a brain transplant to undergo,
Then I can take lessons, in Judo and Aikido,
Become a Champion, a success, make lots of dough!

Go on TV with Richard Attenborough,
Defeat my enemies, crush my foe!
Become admired, a local hero!
Get a job in Santa’s Grotto!
Or should I just get blotto?

Just a few of the daily ailments below that you can expect.

I didn’t put the Kidney stones, blood poisoning or Mental Decay on the list for fear of making it sound a tad too bleak for the ankle-snappers!

1Mon07

Lament to the end of the Weevil War – or is it?

Lament in Ryme

To the End of the Weevil War – Or is it?

Willmott Dixon started to upgrade my minuscule flat,
New windows were installed, that started the waring combat,
EIBWBBBs (Evil Ironclad Boll-Weevil black biting beetles) and a bat,
All came in and immigrated, hibernated, and that was that!
T’was eighteen months ago; and a long time is that,
They ate the food, and I was often bitten at!

Aug18p06b

It cost me hundreds of pounds,
Bug killers and traps did abound,
My coughing was the loudest sound,
But the poisoning of my lungs was allowed,
No help came, although I protested very loud,
I got the blame, NCH responsibility they disavowed!

4thur03a

I found the battle, very fascinating,
But no signs for months of their abating,
They found my apartment very accommodating,
And with the little Weevils, I started acquainting,
Although mixed in with some aberrating,
At least their bites had no sting!

4thur03a2

Spraying Rentokill three times a day became a realisation,
Their cunning skills at survival caught my appreciation,
The Rentokil put me more than them, into aestheticisation,
The numbers grew rapidly of their aggrupation,
If I was ever to win this war, this losing altercation,
I needed more help, stronger ammunition!

2017d

My health suffered from this losing situation,
My battle plans were in need of analysation,
I planned to use bleach, and soda as acidification,
But they just swam in it, I was losing with ambiguation.

aug18e

Of victory, I had no hopes nor anticipation, furthermore…
The effects of the spray left me with a cough and snore!
My further pleas for help, others did ignore,
Until another flat got the Weevils, they got help from me for sure!
Slowly the Weevil numbers faded, not so many anymore…
But occasionally, they’d return, these nasty, Weevil detrivore,
Last week, they came onto the keyboard while I used CorelDraw!
But yesterday was the first day when I saw them no more!

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Oh, sod-it! I just went to make a mug of tea and spotted this. Tsk!

5fri001b
Oh, Woe is me!

Inchcock’s Ode to his beloved EIBWBBBs!

Just a few thoughts and recollections about Inchies EIBWBBBs

(Evil Ironclad Boll-Weevil black biting beetles)

Dec 24 2018

Having got acquainted with my beloved EIBWBBBs, who arrived when the new windows were being fitted in the apartment, I think I would miss them now if they were to move on to another flat. We’ve had many happy times together:

Oh, how they loved the new Spare Room Window, with its holes in the filler and plaster and the cracks to hide and play in!

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Of course, the new balcony being built brought them out in their hundreds, only to be slaughtered as their Guardian, Inchcock, spent hundreds of pounds of the last eight months of their sojourn in flat 72!

AA01

Above and below, the EIBWBBBs favourite hideout, the Wet Room. With its holes in the wall where could escape into the kitchen to the walk-in cupboard, climb in the wash basin for a swim, on the curtains so they could play at dive-bombing Inchcock when he has a shower… best of all, they had the escape route down the drain on the floor!

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When the balcony door was installed, they had a wonderful time coming in through the cracks in the plaster and holes in the sealant.

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The Kitchen was popular with the little mites.

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Not Classified but interesting!

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Before arriving here, as inmate 72 at Woodthorpe Court, I’d never seen a Weevil before in real life.

I have now!

Hehehe!

Bless ’em!

Inchcock’s Thoughts of the Week – In abysmal imitation rhyme.

Despite, the old hero’s Diarhorrea Trotsky attack, his Accifauxpas, tumbles, toe-stubbings, Haemorrhoid Harold’s Return, his Bleeding Fungal lesion, visits from Dizzy Dennis, Shaking Shaun and Shivering Sandra, his leaving the hot tap running again, and falling asleep in his computer chair (Him, mot the tap!), and his depressed state of mind: He is proud to present this week’s Thoughts in even more pathetic rhyme than last time!

Dec 23 2018

quip