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 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?

Moody Moon Machinationings

THOUGHT STORMS RAGE

After taking my regular waking up wee-wee,
I made a brew of Thompsons Punjana tea,
The clouds broke, and the moon I could see,
This cheered me, sort of kept me company,
The Thought Storms started, with verbosity!

Many a guilty, fearsome, scary, memory,
Happy events too, but not too many,
Like the first time I ever drank Drambiuie,
Four years old, and already drinking, I got tipsy,
Knowing no better, I sang, and got ditsy!
That was the extent of youth being glitzy!

No schooling, so for me, no university,
Then the guilt, thin as a rake, I tell thee…
Until I was about forty, then adiposity,
I drank and ate with great generosity,
Dieting became needed, and a necessity,
But I ignored this, with great pomposity,
I grew fatter, wobblier with sumptuosity,
So ashamed of my vast voluminosity!
Went bald in my twenty’s, but no toupee,

Seeking girls, I thought was my duty,
To get snogging them on the settee,
Kitchen, coal house, anywhere would do me,
Plump, skinny, brown-haired or a blondie,
I recall much pleasure and congeniality,
Often spoilt by my addiction to alcoholicity,
Sometimes I was lucky, finding edacity,
I recall Grizelda, big gal, great voracity,
We shared a perfect simultaneity!

Thoughts were rattling, am I going loopy?
They eased off, as I needed another pee,
One thing though, I can guarantee…
They’ll be back again, to torment me!

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

Part Of The Nottingham Lads True Tales of Woe In Rhyme

Inchcock’s Porcelain Throne Marathon – Nothing witheld (Hahaha!)

Tuesday 19th October 2021

My Porcelain Throne Marathon

Double-Barreled

Agony would best describe this session!

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

Sat sitting, utilising the WordPress Blogosphere,

Facebook played up, it went a bit queer,
Problems were slowly driving me crazier,
Then things started to get somewhat peskier,
I got distracted, and this much was clear,
The innards churned and rumbled, Oh, dear!
To the Porcelain Throne, in a rush and full of fear!

Rock-solid Torpedo, stuck halfway; what a plight!
I struggled to free it, pain to expedite,
Harold’s Haemorrhoids I did excite!
They stung and bled, more than a mite,
The crossword, 6-letter word, trite?
The evacuating product was just too tight!
After a long painful, harrowing fight…
Suddenly, it came out alright!

Cleaned, and medicated with agility,
And a certain joyous alacrity,
But this was not the end of the activity…
Life often shows endless alterability…
A case for me, of banal carnosity!

Oh, what, an annoying bother and pain!
The evacuation had started again,
Soft as mush this time, almost liquid?
I’d no control over what it did,
Had to clean up the splatted semi-fluid,
Sessions like this are inhumane!
It was particularly stinky and horrid,
Sensations from burning pain to torrid…
The first one, reluctant, gigantic, immane!
The follow up virtually liquid, it’s insane!

A daily task, that brought me exhaustibility,
Can I claim uniqueness or exclusivity?
Or being a  fool, for Odeing with such clarity?
I think the fool bit is right, actually!

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

Oded in Support of Nottingham Branch of the Bulgarian Pregnant Koala Appreciation Society

Donations Accepted. Billum somewhere near Utah.

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!

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