Sunday 18th September 2022

POLITICAL CARTOON OF THE DAY
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Sad, it really is. Hehehe!


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

These sunsetting photos were missed from yesterday’s blog. Naturally, this was the combined faults of Dementia Doreen and Cataract Katie. Also, as well as, and besides them; Anne Gyna for giving me grief as I was checking the blog on completion, and Sock Glide Gladys for moving from where I left her after using her in the morning, behind the trolley, so that I stubbed my toe against her sold metal constructed frame. Life’s a game!

Gorgeous!
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Hayley Mills

CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? Hehehe!

I woke around midnight, in urgent need of a weewee. Which was another visit that turned into the visit. After this and a couple of others, there was no chance of more sleep for me.
So, I got, for the first time in my life, a can of Pepsi Cola to drink, And I can now state that I liked Pepsi better than Coke. Haha! Haha! If Pepsi Co. would like a written commendation, my fees will not be excessive.
I spent four hours getting the Saturday blog updated and sent off, unbroken, even for a weewee or mug of tea.

Did you ask how the hell can the old pillock take so long? Easy-peasy! I struggled with my eyesight and made many mistakes, some that Grammarly missed; these amendments cost me a lot of time. When I finally (I thought) got it ready for the final run-through, read and check. I found many of the amendments I’d made to be wrong as well. It was as if someone else was in charge of my fingers? I got fed up with finding faults and sent it off as it was… frustrated and annoyed at myself.

I took a break to make the first brew of the morning, Thompson’s Punjana. While making it, I checked that everything was in the fridge for making Josie’s Sunday lunch. It’s getting harder now to cut up the small vegetables so Josie can cope with them, but I do get something out of doing it for her… satisfaction and almost pride!

I decided to prep the veg then and there. I got mushrooms, potatoes, carrots and gungo beans ready and in the pan. Sliced some yellow peppers and tomatoes up small. The green beans, I’ll cut later; they will be overdone if they go in too early.
A can of mixed vegetables, liquid salt, vegan Oxo, BBQ, and basil seasonings. Stirring all the time to start with. After half an hour, I left them to settle and marinate and added the no-bacon-bacon bits. A little short on potatoes this week; I hope she doesn’t notice cause she’ll tell me if she does. Cubing them can be risky.
I was cooking the mushrooms separately. There is a design as to why. Sometimes the gravy can dry up, so I leave the vegetable seasoned water from cooking the mushrooms in the pan, then I can use it later as a tasty addition to the stew, come chilli, to loosen the food for her.
I returned to the computer for a while and started on the Ode and graphic making on CorelDraw.

Back to check on the fodder… As I anticipated, the stew was getting a little too thick for Josie’s tastes, so I went to get the saucepan with the mushroom water… Twas then that I realised I had turned on the wrong hob! The back of the right-hand middle finger coped for it, but that is better than the left. The nerve ends on the Peripheral Neuropathy side, and I hardly felt any pain. Of course, once the eyes saw it, the pain instantly developed; Haha!
I poured some of the mushroom juice into the saucepan and gave it a good stir!
Then went to put some Germolene cream on the finger. The right knee was really giving me so jip now as well.

I returned to the kitchen, added the sliced earlier green beans to the mix, and stirred again.

Had a taste of it and felt it was just about right for Josie’s taste buds to be tickled.

Back to the CorelDraw tasks, and got the Ode written and graphics for the blog. This was a mammoth undertaking with all the errors I was making.

♫ Oh, Susana ♫ rang out from the door chime. Blimey, I’d forgotten all about the Carer not calling! It was about 08:00hrs. Weekend again, so nothing unusual. Jozeph came in, and we had a natter after he’d done the medications. Not for too long, he had another call to make. Offered him a treat of his choice and asked him to take the waste bag with him, which he did.

Now I got serious about CorelDrawing.

Did the health checks and made up this graph with a photo of the thermometer, sphygmomanometerisationing, and all the results.

I half expected the blood pressure to fall today; cause it’s been excessively high for a few days now.

However, even though I didn’t anticipate it being as low as it was, I was so nearly in the red Zone for the first time ever! , Ahem!

I have no views or ideas of what the readings will reveal or what it will be like tomorrow. A wild guess? Erm… nothing coming through to me from my EQ… stab in the dark, mayhap…
SYS 138, DIA 64, Pulse, that will still be high methinks, 92bpm? Body temperature… er… 32.4¸f,
And overall, mayhaps, just in the Pre-High bracket?
It will be interesting to see now that I’ve had a guess. Of course, it could go up further, and I’ll kick the bucket; that would ruin the guessing game. I wonder if Billum at Manor Labs will have a guess? A clever bloke is that lad.

Oh… Josie’s nosh… back in a bit…

I only just made it in time for the allotted 12:00hrs delivery of the meal for Josie. I hurried that much; I forgot all about taking a photo of it, mind you, had I grabbed one, the delivery would have been late for the first time ever… well, over the last three or four years.

Back in the flat after being told off for giving her too big a nosh, that would make her like Betty Bunter. Hahaha! And made a brew of Glengettie tea.

I made a Morrison order. Initially, to get some of their roasted vegetable ready meals (No one else sells them), the best-prepared meal I’ve ever bought – Bootiful! Coming next Wednesday twixt 8-9:00hrs. Sister Jane would like these methinks.

Went on the WordPress Reader, and WP let me in today.

Food time now; I’ll go and see what’s available. Not a lot.
The ‘slimmers’ chips certainly look tatty and have thick skins on every one of the chips. Yet they still tasted so nice – different to any other chips. A significant variance in size too. From 4 inches to ¼ inch in length. Taste Rating: 6.2/10.

Of course, having these chips is all a part of my ‘Get Inchies Belly Slimmer campaign’. I’m determined and have a new tenacity to get lighter! Nothing is going to stop me.

I made an order from Morrisons. I didn’t realise that I had made it for the same day as the Sainsbury one!
I got on the computer to change it, but no other day was available. So I managed to get it for later in the day, so they should not arrive at the same time. In’t it a struggle to change an order’s delivery time?

Went to the kitchenette to find I’d left the oven on and the hot tap running! I hate Dementia Doreen!

I turned the oven off and tap… too late for the faucet; the water was stone cold! I’ll have to do the ablutions in the morning. Turned to grab Metal Micky, and somehow I missed him altogether! Not really surprising; the cataracted eyes get a lot worse as I grow more tired. Then, as I bent down to retrieve the walking stick, I got a visit from Dizzy Dennis. I went down on one knee… Thud!

 

I went to the wet room, and  I put some of the Phorpain Gel on the knee. But it has little effect.
So I grabbed a packet of Co-codamol and took one. ‘That should ease things, I thought to myself.
Ha! What a twit!
I realised I’d not taken a Co-codamol, but a Galpharm capsule! Now, these are effective medications! But for blocking up the torpedo’s escape route! I’m not looking forward to my next visit to the !

Finally, I did manage to take a Co-codamol. After checking the taps, I got Metal-Micky and left the wet room…
CLUNK! I felt a depression with a trickling of self-pity coming on. Hehe! Walked straight into the doorframe!
Back in the wet room, Phorpained the shoulder, as an irritable, annoyed was getting revenge on me for clouting her again.

And feeling a little down, I sat myself down in the £300, used, bought eight years ago from the second-hand shop, Harold Haemorrhoid testing, repugnantly beige-coloured, crumb containing, virus-breeding, acne-giving, rickety, none-working recliner, and the Thought Storms began.
I decided it has to be the tiredness and Cataract deterioration causing many of these evenings, Accifauxpas and Whoopsiedangleplops. I can do nothing about this situation and try to be patient while waiting for the cornea operation. Here is the farce so far… The First appointment:

How things developed:

① When the optician told me I had cataracts in both eyes, she informed the Doctor that I would need to have the situation appraised at the EENT department. The Doctor will arrange this for you.
② Eight months later, I got an appointment for the first assessment. Which was for three months later!
③ They kindly put a lift for me to the meeting. On going in with the driver, he was walking so fast, I lost him! Eventually, I found the wrong reception, and the patients waiting helped me find out where I should be with the receptionist with a squeaky voice that I could not hear.
④ I assent to two other locations and had tests of different natures in each one. Then told to go to the reception and book a lift for the following assessment.
⑤ Could I find the proper reception? No! But, a nurse helped me as she passed, and I found it. The following evaluation was for 2 months. The receptionist pointed her finger at the corner of the large waiting room, where I should wait to be collected from.
⑥ I sat down, and within 2 hours, the lift home ambulance arrived.

THE SECOND ASSESSMENT
① On this trip, they dropped me outside the EENT, and I proudly made my way to the reception needed.
② Two completely different examinations in two separate rooms, the lady in the first was pleasant and liked a laugh between the machines I was put on. ③ Then she escorted me to the subsequent office/surgery that was a way off the first. ④ The Doctor in this one did everything silently, forcing himself to speak when he had to.
⑤   I found the proper reception all on my own, and this time, had to wait three hours for a lift home/

THE THIRD ASSESSMENT

① Arrived at the EENT, and the driver kindly escorted me through at a nice slow pace to the reception  From where I was sent to yet another different waiting area  No reception in that one.
② Only a couple of minutes later, I was fetched into a cramped little office with various weird-looking (to me) optical machines in it.
③ The lady explained that if this test finds things to be out-of-shape, then the operation will not be able to go ahead, and she did the in-depth examination, which took about an hour  A smile came over her face when she declared that things as far as this test was concerned are okay for the op  She wished me good luck.
④ Told me to return to where I was sat when she collected me, and someone will fetch me for the final checking with the optometrist, who will make the final decision on recommending me to an ophthalmologist for surgery. If it is safe enough, Bless her!
Ah, this was obviously a decision-making lady. No humour, serious throughout. Knew her job, and seemed good at it as far as I could appreciate
⑥ She had an assistant, a young Asian lad, who did some more tests on a different machine. Testing the reactions of the eye to bouncing colours this one. 
⑦ The two of them discussed the findings for ten or fifteen minutes; I could not hear what was said, of course. The lady seemed to be teaching the young man and declared he should do the test again.
⑧ Back to the machine at the man’s desk. I sensed a little tension in the lad, so I gave him a smile and got one back in return, and he seemed to cheer up a smidgeon. As the test was completed, he showed his crossed fingers, which I took as a hopeful sign.
⑧ He sent the details of this test via his computer to the lady’s monitor, and I waited whilst they discussed the new test results.
⑨ Fifteen minutes later, she turned to me and told me that I had a deformed cornea, which was going to be challenging to reproduce in plastic, but she was willing to try, as the chances of success were within official limits. That’s all, she added…
I thanked her and the gentleman and made my way to the first reception to ask for a lift. I got lost en route, but I recovered when advised by someone I asked for guidance.
The wait for the lift home was only about an hour, but the tests had taken so much longer this visit. When I got home, it was turning dark.

Blimey, I waffled on there, sorry!

Inchcock Today: Blog with Odes

.
———————————–

Saturday 16th July 2022

04:45hrs: I rose from a terrible night’s sleep, again full of jumping awakes, yet felt calm and unconcerned? I rose with relative ease from the c1968, £300, second-hand, decrepit, Haemorrhoid Harold-testing, sleep-deterring, nauseatingly beige-coloured, not-operational recliner. Almost on auto-pilot, I hobbled into the kitchen, put the kettle on, then took a strained, painful wee-wee, washed and made a mug of Glengettie Gold tea.
At this stage, the farcicality of yesterday’s hospital visit came back to my mind. Suddenly doing anything whatsoever lost its appeal.

I got the computer on and went to the WordPress comments sections. I had the usual mass of communications on my latest blog to read and reply to. I did them both straight away. Then visited the WP Reader section. I did enjoy that. Checked the emails I saw the promised Email from the Diabetes team confirming my joining the weekly sessions on a face-to-face basis; at first, remembering, this put me on a semi-high. Until I got to the location.

I didn’t realise that it was not at the Sherwood Social Centre. Where I was assured, it would be last year. Oh, no, (I should be so lucky!), it’s four miles away, in Bulwell! So, now I had to work out what buses I could get, hoping one would take me all the way from the flats. So, I set to searching Mr Google to find what was and wasn’t available. I’m afraid it wasn’t good news.

Due to Covid and lack of drivers, the service stops at Top Valley, not Bulwell! I looked at other options, but Dementia Doreen was not helping. I could get a bus down into Sherwood, then another to Bulwell, and return in the same route, but I’d have to remember the bus times, not be late etc., and that would test Doreen and me too much. I looked at the Email sent me again and sent a message. Explaining why I can’t get there and asking if there was any chance of the Sherwood Diabetes sessions opening. I had explained this to the Sherwood people, I can get there walking if necessary, getting back up the hill, it’d have to be a bus, but I reckon I would cope with that. Awaiting a reply from the gentleman.
I’m getting all uptight again now! This investigation into the buses has cost me three hours! Why can’t I get through just one day without something going wrong?

Carer Joe came late on, and it was off to the Porcelain Throne as soon as the lad left with his cold drinkie from the fridge.
Back to the Emails. Petal-Lisa had sent me a marathon. That took me over an hour to absorb and reply to. But it was a pleasure, and she had a little sleep recently, which cheered me up no end. Bless her! A treasure she be! ♥♥♥

Got back to sort more emails out, and Sister Jane rang me. We had a decent long chinwag, and a few smiles erupted. I had to cut it short, though; the Porcelain Throne activity needed tending to. Stinky, messy and painful. Humph!

Made a brew of Thompson’s Punjana.

And took some photos of the front views, starting with my much-missed visiting Tree-Copse in the bottom field.
Boy, I do miss visiting it. Sob!
Taking this picture of the front car parking on Chestnut Way, and spotted an ambulance below, at the front doors of my beloved Woodthorpe Court.
I wondered if it might be Francis coming back from the hospital? I certainly hope so. I’ll get a move on with this blog, interruptions permitting, and go down to see if she’s in.
I took a photo of the muggers-delight area to the left of the flats. Not many people around today?
Cracked on with the top graphics and ode for this blog. I must get the ablutions done as well. A jolly good shave, shower and sh…, well never mind that. Hehehe! Back in a while, smelling all nice, hopefully uninjured, not bleeding, and in a happier frame of mind. TTFN!
I’m back. Wait for this… Shaving…All good on the scrubbing up stakes! Not a single cut or nick! Ankle ulcer all calm, DVT veins have dived like submarines from the sea’s surface. The legs and feet did look a smidge like they were off of a cadaver, mind you.
I started for a change in the body temperature. Which was more than decent at 34.3°c. It seems to be doing a lot better recently. For weeks it was so low, not now, though. I suppose the hot weather may have some effect on it? Or not.
The Blood Pressure, as I believed I forecast yesterday, took a tumble. I think it was 166 on Friday night. Tonight a comfortable SYS 132. DIA 66, and Pulse a smidgeon low at 67bpm.
I put the figures in the NHS check site and found I was out of the red altogether, down in the amber. This has never been as low for years! Should I adopt a Smug-Mode?
I got the meal cooking and nipped into the wet room for a wee-wee.
I hastened hobblingly to the kitchen to see if I’d left the hot water tap running. But no, I hadn’t? Came to wash my hands, and the hot water was cold? Well, it’s about 17:20, so it should be heating up now. Another mystery?
I grabbed the Fuji camera to take a picture of the just served up on the tray evening nosh. I somehow managed tsk top take this rather natty photo of the balcony as I picked the camera up? Yet another mystery?.
The last of the garden peas, the mushroom pattie and bread! But I did an order for Morrisons via Amazon for tomorrow. No good me having it on Monday, as I’ll be at the hospital, will I not? The Baxters, no, no, sorry, Heinz beetroot from Iceland was farcically hard! I bent the knife cutting into it. Then gave up cause it was too hard on the teeth.

Iceland has let me down a bit this week; apart from the beetroot, the squashed bruised bananas,  No Vegan Icecream, No Vegan beefburgers, and the mushrooms that had a sell use-by-date for the day delivered. Oh, and the crushed bread!

Valerie arrived. Told her about the water being cold, and she rang NCH Repairs for me, bless her.

Ten minutes or so after Val left, I started regurgitating the food. Not good! Better get this posted while I can. TTFN.

.

Inchcock Diary & Ode to Putin, Tuesday 7th June 2022

Tuesday 7th June 2022

07:30hrs: Woke wanting a wee-wee. I thought it would never come; it must have been 15hrs without one. It was hardly worth it, a painful sprinkle or two. At least the bladder is working again, so fingers crossed!

I set, too, giving myself a medical MOT. And taking ‘As needed’ non-prescription medications. There is no need for ointmentating this morning, No Little Inchies fungal lesion or Harold’s Haemorrhoids bleeding whatsoever! Excellent results on the blood pressure machine, best for ages!

The only thing not so good was the body temperature. That was way down low again. Been under the NHS’s recommended 35°c for a few days now. I don’t feel poorly; I am a lot chirpier in myself this morning. Although I felt so cold when it obviously isn’t?

I took some under-tongue CBS oil. And a Hemp capsule too.

Got the ears well saturated with the Olive oil. Let it sink in, and then I filled up the canals with more. This never seems to help, but I’ve got into the habit of doing it each morning now.

Then took a Dioctyl to help skid up the darned Porcelain Throne evacuations. Messy. Gooey, watery! Eurgh!

I got a few Warfarin tablets ready, so the carers will have some available for the evening doses.

Then, had a bash at syringing both ears. Not only a total waste of time; I failed to remove any wax at all, but I made such a mess I had

to clean up the water that had sprayed out off or missed the ears! Hehe!

Got the kettle on and sorted the laundry, not forgetting that talk-a-lot Esther would give me some hassle if it wasn’t ready and sorted when she arrived later this morning! Not that she scares me an anything like that, of course. Ahem!

I took this snap of the lovely morning sky with its ever-changing hues. Mother Nature, again shows us her beauty! The beauty we have been destroying for years.

Got the computer on and started on the WordPress reader and commenting, and the ♫ Oh, Susana ♫ chime brought forth Carer Richard. I thought the lad was late coming; he’s had extra calls on again and was in a rush because he had a four-hour training session later when he finishes work with the Diabetes team to get through. No time for any good natterings today again. I think he felt guilty about it, so I tried to cheer him up, wished him all the best, and gave him a bag of treats. Then, I walked (well, hobbled) with Richard to the lift lobby and wished him well for the meeting.

Took this photo of the car park in front of Woodthorpe Court from the kitchenette window. Made a brew of Glengettie tea and was about to return to the computer with the nug of tea – but circumstances changed…

As usual with Neuropathy Pete, his timing caused the optimum amount of pain and hassle. An involuntary right-leg Neuropathic Schuhplattler drop-something and flail-about dance made me drop the cup as I grabbed Metal-Micky and the side of the sink to keep from going over. Once more, it was over in seconds, but I still managed to clout my knee on the edge of a floor cupboard. Which awakened Cartilage Cathy in agony! Humph!

Sorted myself out and took an extra Codeine. And fond this photo of a meal from which I can’t work out? It was not a good photo in any way, shape or form, so it might be one that I meant to delete from the file?

Started on the Snippets blog, and the Iceland delivery arrived. I let him in through the intercom box in the hallway, and I cleared a path to put the bags into.

The driver took the bags through to the kitchen for me. Gave him a choice of plonk cans in thanks. He opted, I noticed, for the Rum and coke. Hehe! Good for him; I hope it cheered him up a smidge.

They sent the Rustlers for Richard, sugar snap peas, mushrooms and some new Pork & Pickle Bites. Three for a fiver, so they must be good. One for Josie, one for Richard and one for Esther. I got some small apples that, hopefully, my lesser-teethed mouth can manage to eat. Har-har! They had no small vine tomatoes in stock but have sent me a pack of large tomatoes, Dutch, that had a sell-by date for today. No charge!

The best thing they had sent was the No-Moo ice creams and No-Bull burgers. The best of any burgers I have tried! The ice cream is by far superior in taste to what one might call natural ice cream. Grrreat Flavour both! I’d have ordered more, but I dared not with Iceland’s record of crap unrelated substitutions!

I had another go at getting the Snippet Ode done. (I did get it finished, but not until I’d been grafting on it, on & off, for another nine hours!) Esther arrived and came talkingly into the room. She still wasn’t near enough for me to hear her, and I feared that she may have something vital as she went into the hall, front, and living rooms.

It’s not so bad when she’s face to face and not shouting at me rather than talking to me. Esther, bless her, has a habit of talking and carrying on. Esther keeps talking to me from the rear of my ear lobes as she turns away… the peace and quiet are nice. But there is always danger in this… She has a great memory and thinks because she’s told me something, I must have heard it and will remember it. (Both are impossible in my condition, Haha!)

Then, a week later, I get an ear-bashing from about 4 inches distance and am informed that “I told you that last week!” telling offs. Luckily I can rest assured that Esther will nip off into the other room to have a nosey around my boxes and occasionally iron a shirt… but talking to me all the time from the other room… still, I knew what to expect. Hehe! Obviously, I had forgotten something or not heard it. I’m glad I got the pork & pickle thingamabobs for her now. Giving her then assuaged her aggression. I joke, of course… Erm? She’s an angel, really.

I got the ready meal into the oven and had roughly 40 minutes before it was cooked. I must not fall asleep!

Back to doing the blog, I trudged. ♫ Oh, Susana ♫ rang out, and I wearily (Mentally) went to the door. It was Josie, returning the tray and things for me from the Sunday meal. Bless her cotton socks; she enthused over the taste of this Sunday’s chilli stew! That cheered me up a bit! She even asked if I used to be a chef? Oh dearie me! My EQ was nervous at this. Naturally, I had no idea why at the time. A feeling of foreboding matured…

I got on with the Snippet blogging again! So deep in concentration… still making errors after cock-ups, though. Then it dawned on me that the food was in the oven!!!

Grade A: It looked like this after I’d burnt my fingers getting the tray out of the oven post haste! Not good, is it? But I was so tired and weary that I still used it and made a meal of sorts out of it.

I added some BBQ sauce to the tray. Got some slices of Milk Roll bread, tomatoes and sugar snap peas onto the tray.

I was part mad at myself, well darned annoyed with myself, and so tired and drained, I didn’t get too agitated. Yet I still laughed at myself as I tried to dismantle the encrusted burnt meal to get at some edible bits of food. It helped in having some bread and sauce to soak some resuscitated bits to eat.

By the time I’d finished burnt food mining, which was tasty, believe it or not, bits of burnt food had been scattered far and wide on my stomach folds, down the pants, on the tray, and on the floor and recliner cushion. The carpet took on a new design; there were many black, ash-like bits of residue on it. I faced a long task in getting things sorted… and the kitchen and oven needed cleaning attention as well.

I was all in by the time I got things semi-put right. I made a brew of Thompson’s Punjana tea and ate a huge bowl full of veggie ice cream! I finished it and lay there as I dropped off to sleep – it was so good that I think I dreamed of sleeping…

♫Oh, Susana♫ Chimed out, and Carer Valerie came in. I’d been up and about for around 12 hours by then, and waking up after five minutes of sleeping was not what I wanted… Hehehe! I remembered to give Valerie her Pork & Pickle whatsits, though.

I felt awful but could not resist the urge to finish the blog. The internet went down… now I was getting annoyed!

I pressed on and got the Snippets blog finished at long last. It stayed that way; it was now gone midnight! I realised then that I had not done the ablutions today!

Humph!

ODE TO PUTIN

Is it true that hopes and expectancies are always there?
Putin’s are conspicuous, World Domination, I fear…
He’s somewhat of a Worldwide parcel courier?
Soon, bigger, dirtier packages will be sent, and nuclear…
Where will the scumball strike next? Europe and Asia, it’s unclear…
Anywhere, somewhere, possibly a country that’s weaker?

Is it true that he wears a lemon and pink brassier?
Shags Igor Sechin, his First Deputy Prime Minister?
He laughs at citizens dead or gathered for warmth around a brazier,
The man could not be any more selfish and crazier!

I insult the shithead cause there’s nothing else I can do…
But I would, if I could, send him a can of poisoned Irish stew,
I wonder if he likes it from his minions in his rear?
He’d like to make his competition dead or disappear?
What competition? He’s got more weapons & forces than we do…
He’s more soldiers in Moscow’s Red Square!

We cannot afford to send troops there…
We’ve not got enough, nor has anyone else, to be fair…
I wish we could send him Tony Blair…
Notice he’s not volunteered to do any damage repair?
Putin offers and hopes only for death and despair…
To the rest of the world, we can only die or forebear…
Unless you bribe him if you’re a financier?
Then he just might take a fancy to yer?

Nemo Mortalium Omnibus Horis Sapit

Sunset Thoughts In Odes

“Oy, Inchie…

“Wot?”

“Wot yer doin’ then?”

“Watchin’ the sunset!”

“Wot for? It ‘appens every night, yer burke?”

“I know it does, yer grumpy git! I photograph it most nights yer know…”

“I know that I am a part of yer ain’t I?”

“Then why ask me wot I’m doing then? You drive me to my homebrew, Ooh!”

“I dunno, just to piss you off, I suppose!”

“Sarcasm from you always flows…”

“Do you know, we’re talking in prose?”

“Go on then, let’s keep it up, see how it goes?

“The Carer will be here soon, let’s see who loses the odeing, you know?

“Just look at how the dying sun still glows..”

“I bet you’d get a better pattern as a Filipino?”

“I hear out there, they drink cappuccino?”.

“Do you like Pizzas from Domino?”

“What’s that got to do with the Ode, dumbo?

“Sod-all, you’ll soon be back on the Vino…”

“You’re in a barmy-mood? Why don’t you just go?

Cause I also want to see the sun’s dying glow!”

“I’m not having that; you a naturist? No, no, no!”

“That’s not nice, do yer want your blood to flow?”

“Ah, but you can’t hurt me physically, though!”

“Not my style, but I can send you loco!”

“Ha! I’m already bonkers; you’re too slow!”

“You are a saddo, fatso, and have no gusto!”

“Go on knob-end, tell me summat I didn’t know!”

“Well, the sun’s beginning to go…!

“I wish you would go; you damage my ego!”

“Why do you have to live on the 12th-floor in Council flats? Can’t you afford a bungalow?”

“Leave me alone. You’re always digging at me; you’re making my anger grow…”

“In the flat, it must be like the Alamo! Waiting for death, in agony, another coffin-seeking Bozo!”

“The Alamo? Well, my life seems to be connected like an imbroglio…”

That much, I understand and know…

“I don’t get out much, so?”

“With your luck, if you did, someone would stab you with a stiletto…”

“Or you stay-in, and old father time will soon say, time for you to go, cheerio!…”

“You being a defeatist would mumble, Righteo!”

“You may even ask him, is there time for one last bacon sarnie, with sourdough?”

“Have yer done? Taking the piss and having your fun?

“Aha! Pillock that didn’t rhyme. I’ve won again, I’ve won!

“Rollocks!”

Part of the Inchies Make Them Laugh-In Ode, Series

Inchcock Today – Saturday 29th January 2022

Saturday 29th January 2022

After another ‘orrible night of ever waking up, and Thought-Storm attacks, with a few nocturnal hobbles to the NWWB (Nocturnal-Wee-Wee-Bucket), for painful, partly uncontrollable urinating; And having to clean and freshen up from the effects of the PMD (Pre-Micturition Dribbles), and CMD (Cessational Micturition Dribbling and splashes), all of varying nature.

One is like a torrent, belting out with no control over it and suffering from the splashback. The next, so painful and barely a trickle that somehow still managed to spray over my pyknic, wobbly, midriff more than found its way into the NWWB! Then I had to clean up, freshen up, and back down in the £300, second-hand, c1968, eyesorely-horrendously grungy beige coloured, haemorrhoid-testing, unfit-for-use, recliner.

I seemed to nod off again quickly enough each time, but sleep never lasted more than a few minutes – then it was shooting awake again, and back to the mess-making, to be cleaned up again, wee-weeing.

Around 04:10hrs, I gave up trying to prompt Sweet Morpheus. And decided to get the kettle on, take some photo’s of the dim view of the sky and end car park. I got the kettle on and required yet another wee-wee?

I took a photo with the Canon camera. It’s getting old and wrong now, just like me. (Hehe!) The spring on the SD card has gone, and Canon sometimes doesn’t recognise the card in the camera!

The shot I took of the end car park was far too dark to see much at all. So, I had to go on CorelDraw and adjust shadow, brightness, contrast and intensity to turn it into how it looks here on the right. Smug-Mode-Engaged!

This is the first time a car has not been parked on the yellow no parking zone! Well, while I’ve been taking the photos anyway.

It looks a little eerie if that’s the word I’m looking for. Nightmarish enough to be used as a ghost-themed book cover?

I couldn’t do enough work on the second shot of the view from the kitchen window. Sulk-Mode-Engaged

I made a belated brew of Glengettie, and I remembered that the Health Checks were supposed to be done again. So, I took a Cocodomal and Poo-Hardener, (Gooey last night, and messy! And tended to the Health Checks. I have the maximum SYS, Dia and Pulse figure safely put away; if they exceed them, I’ve got to call the paramedics. I put them safely away seems to have been lost to Vascular Dementia, Doris. Tsk! I started of with the checking. Took the BP and got these results, which I am confident, are well below the danger zones the nurse gave me.

All three readings were nuanced! It’s been a while since I was told I could stop doing the regular sphygmomanometerisationing. Since I started again, I’ve missed doing a few of them.

Then the temperature was taken. 34.9° c; I felt this was fine, but I checked on Dr Google anyway: “Mild +hypothermia (32–35 °C body temperature) is usually easy to treat. However, the risk of death increases as the core body temperature drops below 32 °c. Nae, bother methinks.

I made another brew and destroyed a banana. Made an Iceland order, then I took a stand-up shower at the sink.

A little early to use the noisy shower yet.

And it went jolly well… no, amazingly well! Fantastic, in fact! Here are a few things that pleased me greatly: Little Inchies fungal lesion had hardly bled at all! Shaving, one, I say ONE tiny nick only! Only two dropsies in the whole session! I had to use the Porcelain Throne while doing the ablutions… and it was smooth, bloodless, and not in the slightest bit messy or gooey! Double Smug-Mode Utilised! Only one walking into anything, the door as I left the wet room.

I had just one naughty that bothered me. A bad one; due to my hitting my ankle on the metal tray as I pulled my foot away. I stubbed my toe on the bucket that just had been cleaned and disinfected.

The state of the veins in the ankles and feet was not a pretty sight, but overall… Yippy!

I had a closer look at the vasculitis and venous thromboembolism veins on show. I think these are what the cancelled appointment at the QMC Anticoagulation and Deep Vein Thrombosis (DVT) was about? However, at 3.5 last time, the Warfarin level was spot on!

The Carer arrived after I’d dressed and gone on the computer. The Carer was in a rush, missed checking my swallowing the tablets, and forgot to take the waste bag to the chute for me (again). But she was obviously in a hurry, bless her. Not an easy job for the gals to do, with different people having differing, altering needs.

I now find myself in a position to give you an updated taste report on the £3 mini box of the Marks & Spencers Marmite Dinky Cheese Pinwheels I got from Ocado. Tasteless, Crap! Having eaten some of them.

Made a start on this blog creating. During which, the wee-weeing has grown less frequent – Phew!

I came across last nights sunset photographs. Both from the kitchenette window. I’m not sure why I took two that were of the same area, basically? I should imagine that Peripheral Neuropathy Pete would be to blame, and the finger must have stuck unfeelingly to the button?

I went on the WordPress Reader to see what folk have posted. Then answered some WordPress comments. Then did some TFZer Facebooking until…

Time to get the fodder sorted out – Oh yea!

Got the Cornish Pastie into the fridge; set the times. Potatoes were already in the slow cooker, and peas were on a low light in the saucepan.

A sort of fumble-thud took place in the obese stomach area, making the flab wobble! A little belching and a few stabbing pains. On my way to the wet room, the rumbling began again. I tore off the trews and PP’s and unceremoniously plonked me botty on the Throne… the action started immediately!

All seemingly over and done, I had the sensation that it wasn’t yet. So, I had a go at the easy crossword puzzle book. And very nearly got four clues answered but made do with three. (Hehehe!)

After ten minutes or so, the backup evacuation came. I was so glad I stayed in situ for its possible arrival.

Then, having washed and cleaned things, I realised I could smell something like burning… I dropped the nail brush…

Panic, flap, heartbeat racing, I rushed out to get to the kitchenette to see what I’d done. Casually shoulder-charging the door frame again on my way – now having to contend with Shuddering-Shoulder-Shirley, I lunged my way into the kitchen, nose twitching and looking for signs of smoke from the oven… I did feel a dirty great Grade A, class one fool! It was the peas that had been burnt, as for the Cornish Pastie in the oven… I’d not even turned the thing on! So, Vascular Dementia Doris had got me bleeding, bruised, bashed about and going barmy. Left me with a right load of cleaning and sorting out; Trowing away the burnt peas, scrubbing the saucepan, getting some more on the boil, wet room to clean, PPs needed changing. I got the oven on again and reset the timer.

Then, as I was getting the tray and things out, I had another thud in the stomach – no, not the bowels or bladder this time – a sudden fear that I’d left the tap running in the wet room! I grabbed Metal Mickey and went with all haste to check. I believe I might have said something like, “You stupid fart of an old ♠ 6† f=ing idi⅛¬” Something along those lines! I could have cried with joy when I first found everything okay in the room… then I was coming out, I stubbed my toe against the stand-up drier radiator!

If There Is A Lord…

I’d like to ask him/her some questions; this’ll be awkward…
If there is a God, un he finds I don’t believe, I could be buggered?
Here goes: Why did you make me earthbound…
With the minuscule willie wot I found?
Girl or Boy problem? I’ll be bound!

My young life was cruel, but I was only semi-hard…
Mam and Dad fighting, she left… I ate bread and lard!
Or on the weekend sometimes an Oxo cube or a pilchard,
Fast forward, why take Suzie from me? It made me hard!
Memories, whatever you do, I’ll not discard!

My hair fell out at 20; others at 80 have plenty, tit!
I tried to be a good man, my hearing went, have you heard?
Then you stopped my heart, a mechanical one replaced it…
Ulcer, being shot, hernias, life was haphazard…
Even my already mini-willy further withered!

I pressed on, expecting things to improve, with disregard…
Got shot again, and you sent me Stroke… Flashforward…
Made me redundant at 62; you are a wizard!
I survived that; Vascular Dementia to me, you catapulted!
Rotten teeth, poverty causes that and being demented…
The hearing gets worse, things are going downward…
Now both eyes Cataract, Saccades and they’re Glaucoma’d…

The money is getting low,
But of course, you’ll know…
I’ll have to rob an apple orchard,
Keeping tabs on your scoreboard?
Now, black depressions on me, you bestow!
The ailments make me fat when I should be like a scarecrow!

Oh, and why, with all the other crap, did you give me hammertoe?
I really have tried to be a decent fellow…
But bad luck seems to constantly flow…
To the little-willied idiot that you know…
The one with ever-increasing ailments, now it’s lumbago!
And, from the fungal lesion, blood continues to flow,
You even teased me last year with impetigo!

The funeral’s all paid for when I have to go…
Sorry I cannot muster any faith or belief, though…
I don’t believe in Christmas or Mistletoe…
I’ll be leaving behind a few friends, but many more foe,
Slowly I’m getting ready, feeling more mellow…
I’d love to leave behind me an afterglow…
Reincarnation? Oh, no, no, no!
Is it yet time for me to go?
Please let me know…

………………………………………………

Finally got the meal sorted out, served up and feasted upon with great relish and satisfaction.

It took me no time at all to entirely consume this nosh.

The black tomatoes were as perfect as one can get, most beautiful tasting! Sob! Shame it’s the last of them.

Only the Cornish Pastie was below par, but not by a lot. The plate and tray were scrapped of crumbs as well, into my mouth! Hehe! A Flavour Rating of 8.4/10.

As I was doing the washing up, I took three snaps of the dying sunset in the darkness.

The first one was taken straight ahead from the kitchenette window.

The next one was taken to the left. Amazing sky colouring again, I thought.

As I was getting ready to take a shot of the car park on Chestnut Way…

I knocked over the kitchen towel holder, which took the clock, a tub of Citric Acid and my mirror with it, on the way down to the floor! Thundergrongles!

They made a clattering noise as they met with the floor. Which I didn’t mind, cause Herbert in the flat above has been banging away all day, on and off. I hope he heard it, but I felt bad for the folks below my flat. Fantastically, no breakages from the mirror; the acid did not break open either! Wondered if my prayer in ode above had worked? Hehehe!

I got the car park photo taken. Then I got the cleaning up sorted out from the Accifauxpa.

Carer Valerie arrived, which was nice and cheered me up. A Carer who cares is a Carer you want to manage for you. There are a few. Well, many, but one bad apple can upset the apple cart and start the depressions. Hahaha!

The Nottingham Lads Diary – with Odeing

Inchcock Today – Just a graphic wot I made

Billum treats Inchcocks Ailments!

Bill & HRH

Lobotomy Sorted Out The Problems

HRH Lisa, Problem Sorter Outer, Ether-Carer to Inchcock, Electrician & Nurse (and a cracking looker) was at hand throughout the operation. First Aid box at the ready. Backing up professor Billum all the way.
The electrics and life monitorings were handled by Alan.

Billum prepared for the removal of the brain. Amazingly, Inchcock felt not a single pain! He was put at rest, by HRH covering his head area in Phorpain, and giving him an iced lolly.
The kindness showed by Billum, was gobsmacking. (They actually had to smack his gob to bring him round later, when refitting the brain and reattaching his head; but that’s for part two to come later.) Billum had thought of everything beforehand, he’d been planning this procedure for over two days, in his glasshouse laboratory.
He explained that when the brain comes out, Inchcock may not notice any difference, but not to worry.

Because a false moustache, spectacles, hearing aids, a missing many teeth plastic mouth, and a BO spray would be adorned on the brain straight away; so that it would feel at home without Inchcocks mass of blubber and accoutrements surrounding it.
He even supplied mini-walking sticks, crutches, and had the foresight to keep giving the brain a clout now and then, so, as he named him, Brian the Brain would not miss Inchcocks pains from tumbles, walking into things ad the desperate pain from the overactive bladder, Brilliant!

I’m afraid this will have to be caught up with later, because Inchcock’s eyes are too bad to continue, sorry. He may have to skip a blog or two, or just put a few words on. The poor old git is not too good at the moment. The eyes and bladder are the two main reasons.

Professor Billum started with Inchcock’s worst affected area, naturally the brain, but Billum had to take it out first.

Cheers, each.

Computer Problems

Computer Problems

I’m getting most frustrated. The picture uploaded is not being recognised, so getting taken photos in is difficult. This morning on starting the computer, it worked, once only – and went back into hide-mode! So, again I’ve got photographs that I cannot use.

At least it did allow me to get some in from yesterday; before it died a death. But it will not recognise them from today. Screen windows keep changing size. CorelDraw going off of its own accord…

Here are the ablution ones rescued from Sunday.

I took another photo this morning, but I can’t get it onto the computer – Humph! The left ankle appears to be erupting with an ankle ulcer building in prospect, as the right ankle ulcer seemed to be fading at last? The concentrated marks have all but gone, but blood’s fuzzy dark blue vein spots have increased? Possibly something to do with the DVT (Deep Vein Thrombosis?), but I don’t really know… I do a lot of that… not knowing!

Feet before getting in the shower.

After drying off from the shower

Sock-Glide-Glenda

Using Glenda, prompted Back-Pain-Brenda, Bleeding Blair, Arthur Itis, and then Toe-Stubbing Thomas to kick-off! Anne Gyna joined in later, as did Shaking Shaun.

I had to use the dreaded Sock-Glide-Glenda

Yes, I had to use the dreaded Sock-Glide-Glenda,
Getting the socks on was a right painful bugger…
I was bruised, bleeding and felt like I’d been on a bender!
Both feet and legs felt like they’d been in a blender!

I wouldn’t call my Sock-Gliding operation artistic…
At times things went somewhat troublingly ballistic,
Sometimes it was unintentionally aerobatic…
Occasionally convincing me I’m becoming autistic,
On one occasion, the bleeding was near fatalistic,
However, through the agony, I resisted getting too frantic!

Since becoming a resistant, nervous Sock-Glide operator,
Using it scares me, my nerves are shattered – well, poor,
I always end up bruised, bleeding, and feeling sore!
Split fingernails, trapped fingers, stubbed toes, bruises and more…
Before tackling it, I force myself into being perfervour…
Why? I don’t know, well I think I might, but I’m not sure!

Can I get any help with this? Mayhaps psychiatric?
Medicationalistical? Uppers, or something anabolic?
Bearing in mind, I’m uneducated, almost analphabetic…
Especially difficult, I’m sure that I suffer dyscalculic,
Which is nothing to do with Sock-Glide-Glenda…
It seems I have, as happens ad infinitum, lost track…
This occurs sometimes, but I might get it back?

At last, I got the bamboo diabetic socks on. Haha!
But I have to wear the socks again on Tuesday…
Tomorrow… to go to the bank, Oh, criminy!
It may send me over the top – Potty!
But these fears I must delay…
I wish they’d invent socks you can put on with a spray!

But help is coming, in the beautiful form of Jillie ♥,
The very thought of seeing her sends me giddy,
Big problems sink when I see her, to scintillae…
The opticians in the morning that’ll be jolly…
And cost a lot off lolly – needles in the eyes, Ho-ho!
Glaucoma and cataracts mean the iris’s are too narrow…
After that, they can see the degree of the problem, I hope so…
Then decide on treatment; it’s got to be done, though!

TTFNski

Listening in to Alto-Inchy and Inchy-Id, discussing Christmas


All the best to my faithful flock of followers all,
The masses who have remained so loyal,
To the rubbish I’ve posted, my error-ridden scrawl,
Be they funny, sad, pathetic or philosophical,
Christmas time again… although there is no snowfall…
I’ve got plenty of fodder in, all very edible,
Although Inchcock is unquestionably unintellectual…
His Odes come out mostly; sadly ineffectual,
My followers are precious; you are my windfall!
And, both of you are moral and mortal…
Thank heavens for the WordPress portal!

The Verbal Conflict I Listened Into

From my scrawled notes mostly, so accuracy may be limited. Certain words (naughty) have had to be substituted. I left the last word in; cause there was nothing worth replacing it with. Sorry!

Worra yo doing here? I am Alto-Id; you don’t recognise my superiority?

Never seen yer before, or heard of yer… Worra yo do then? Don’t bother answering, I’ll tell yer… I am the principle that pertains to pleasure, while you, the Alto Ego, is the principle that relates to reality.

Is yer? Well, I’m the one in charge ‘ere…

Hahahaha! Knob-rot, mush!

Do yer mean like Inchcock’s fungal lesion on his Little Inchy?

No, I am well aware of all of the idiots’ ways, whims and stupidity; I’ve been waiting in the wings and watching, learning for donkey’s years. My usage of the Knob-Rot indicated that you talketh rubbish, Alto!

Yer a bit nasty ain’t yer, almost cruel, I’d say. Inchcock is struggling with my existence, now you cum along, and it’ll likely as not send the old git bonkers… best you piss-off out of it mate!

Oh, dearie me, it’s as I feared. You’ve been in Inchcock that long. You have been infected by his senility and ignorance…

Owd on! I knew Rat-face when he was almost verging on normality, for a human-like. See, I’ve been here for ‘im forever! I’ve supported him through some terrible times and ailments, apart from mucking it up with his depressions; it’s me who gorrim through double pneumonia, cancer, duodenal ulcers, being shot… twice, his heart replacement, diabetes, peripheral neuropathy.

Piffle! Utter rubbish, you pathetic imitation of an Alto-Ego you!

What? I thought I wuss doing a good job… well, I was! After all that I’ve done to annoy him, I did not know if he was coming or going at times…

Exactly! That’s why I’ve been activated, see?

Err… no!

What about glaucoma, saccades, floaters and cataract, then? How come you’ve not addressed his vision problems then? Hey?

Well, I can’t physically mend them, can I? It’s my job to just ensure they annoy him as persistently as possible, innit?

You have no idea, have you? What’s the point in letting the git to go blind? How will that build your reputation in the Chakra-Id-Alto Corporation? You’ve got to do better, else you’ll not be moved into another body when he snuffs it… I’m telling you!

The CIAC management is more than happy with my performance in the 930038-530 Semi-male model Inchcock.

How do you know?

Well, they’ve not complained…

Have they sent you a monthly report for November yet?

Monthly Report? No, I’ve never had one.

Hahaha! You’re in the shit, mate! You could well get prematurely removed from 930038-530/TIT Semi-male model Inchcock and sent to a body that is mentally and physically undamaged…

Oh, my Gawd, no… Are you joking?

Nope!

How can any Alto-Ego cope with a human like that? I won’t stand a chance of worrying, scaring, frightening or intimidating them…

I know. This could mean the end of your existence Alto!

No, no, no, we live forever…

Only if the CIAC management deems that you are worthy.

Oh, shit! I was so happy here, a comfortable rotund over ample midriff, an uncomplicated, slow brain to peruse through at my leisure, without much intelligence or activity going on…

You are aware that the host body has the capability to eliminate you, are you? (Sounds of chucking in the background).

No, you’re wrong there…

Yer? What about CIAC Guidelines & Cautionary Advice 112,145,23 then?

Erm…

I’ll tell you. “In the event of any Alto-Ego failing to cause a suicide attempt within 72 years of occupation (Failed) of the aforesaid body; Any host at this time maintaining 70% of its maximum intelligence, 50% of its willpower, and 50% of its maximum concentration; can apply to it Id to eliminate any Alto-Egos from its earthly body – upon signing its soul over to the CIAC Soul Bank Ltd!

I ‘ave to think abarght this…

Take yer time, Alto; I’ll move on and inform Inchcock of his options…

NO! It won’t work cause Inchcock has nowhere near 50% of his concentration left. Only 10% of his memory…

And you think that I can’t retrieve it for him?

You wouldn’t?

Oh, yes, I can, easily!

Well, that’s not in the Spirit of the Chakra-Id-Alto Corporation? I’ve never been so happy before as I am within 930038-530 Semi-male model Inchcock has been. He’s so gullible, malleable, a right thicko to con and manipulate…

And I can change all that within a few seconds. By advising Inchcock of his options, Hehehe!

But I might have to go back to the lonely CIAO Retention Safe again? I’ve already had 2000 years in there before getting this posting? Oh, my dearest Id, whatever can I offer or do to prevent this from happening?

I may be tempted to say nothing to the idiot host under certain conditions…

Yes, yes…

One: You bow to my every whim, order and threat!

Erm.. go on…

Two: You openly admit to Ids being totally and unquestionably superior to Alto-Egos!

Mmm? Go on…

That’s it… if you agree, I’ll keep my gob shut! But it’s a one time only offer, so you have to decide now!

How do I know I can trust you?

How do I know I can trust you?

Oh, heck…

I’ll tell you what… As a ‘Class A’ Knight of the CIAO Id Convention, I swear this to be true! Sign the Oath stating these beliefs as written, and I’ll leave the Inchcock Host instantly, never to return.

That seems okay… Alright, I’ll do it, and you’ll disappear instantly?

You’ll never see me again!

Here you are then (Scribbling sound) and good riddance!

Hehehe!

You lying bastard!

Inchcocks Ode To Life – 4¾

Meandering (he knows no other type) Ode to Life, in which Inchcock bemoans his mental and physical conditions.

Well, wouldn’t you?

Thursday 16th December 2021

I sense the sanity, logicality that I used to find absorbing,
It is now departing my personage and brain… slowly ebbing…
Is there no chance of a semi-restoration?
At least a partial rehabilitation?
With meditation, concentration and circumducing…
Will hope become a possibility of memory-enhancing?
The Thought Storms arrive… sometimes only fleeting!
Even so, the brain-box takes a terrible beating!

But there is no point in me moaning and bleating…
To escape pains and be active, I’m not that contortionistic,
To recapture common sense – how? I’m no academic…
Not that they are coping with the Covid pandemic!
Unknown, mental disorders on man’s brain are feasting!

Life to me is akin to my terrible blogging…
But without any face to face dialoguing,
I absolutely love a friendly bout of chinwagging…
Being deaf can make life a smidge disparaging,
And my ode ideas always seem to be dingdonging…
For detail from short term memory, I’m always wrestling,
I fell in love the other day, she was only fortysomething!
I suppose you’ve noticed my habit of subject-hopping?
Starting on, say, food, sex, intentions etc., constantly swapping!
I find forgetting things humiliating, gut-wrenching!

These Thought Storms, persistent, then suddenly vanishing?
But they will return, with their Tardis swooshing…
I can be doing anything… weeing, singing, teeth-brushing…
Sometimes they can set me off soul-searching.

I may get hit by a good idea, but it’s only ever glancing…
Other occasions drive me into a mental-panic, screeching!
I’m not normal; that is a well-known thing…
I sense there is someone always watching…
Whether I’m sleeping, eating or doing the washing…

And the itching fungal lesion, I can’t help scratching!
Which, of course, starts it off again, bleeding…
I usually just clean it up and do the medicationing…
Then feel sorry for myself, at how it is hurting!

But a Beep-Popper By Night!

Years ago, I loved to go Be-Bopping,
Nowadays I get tired after burping!
Occasionally, I sink to witwantoning,
Not for long, I routinely fart and start yawning!
Fall asleep, dream of me and Grizelda, tobogganing.
We’d exercise, for suppleness and strengthening,
Have multiple sessions of in-depth, close-up cuddling…
Then, I’ll wake up… none of it was true – bloody sickening!

Part of The Inchcock Make ’em Laugh in Ode Series!

Hehehe!

Inchcock’s Ode: Talking with my ailments – Part Two

Talking with my ailments

Introduction:

Part Two – Shaking Shoulder Shirley

After Inchcock was diagnosed with Peripheral Neuropathy, he then got told he was a diabetic. Then had a stroke. (He’s a lucky lad… Not!) Next, a Subconjuntival Haemorrhage in his right eye.

Then while recovering in an NCH (Nottingham City Homes) Care Home, Shaking-Shoulder-Shirley introduced herself. He presumes this is due to the (Nicodemus’s) Nerve ends dying. But the occasional Neuropathy Pete’s shuddering, shaking and jerking of the right side of his body and limbs rarely last for more than a few minutes at max. Usually, Shirley is a lot more violent for some unknown reason and can wear the old man down when she’s persistent. Shaking and lashing about. Her efforts recently have increased somewhat, time-wise, and Inchcock says, “After a long hour or so session, I’m convinced she is trying to wrench my humeral head bone free of the socket” Oh, and Inchcock also needed three stitches in a shaving cut!

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

The Nocturnal Natter with Shirley

A mixture of awake, half-asleep, and dreamt discussions, wrote from notes and during the actual multiple chin-waggings…

Inchcock: I’m not sure why or how you came about… Shirley: Ha!, now you talk to me; I’m not as important as Bloody Boris bladder then, what’s that about?
Inchcock: Whaddya mean about?
Shirley: Yo started this ‘ere Talking to yer ailments series of blogs off wiv him… not me, who is far more painful indeed… innit, no doubt?
Inchcock: Well… it depends which ailment is worst at the time… giving me the severest clot…
Shirley: Argh, shurrup! You’ll know now why I’ve been giving the jerks and aches then? Cause yer doesn’t rate me was mean enough… yer, I’ll put yer in more pain than gout!
Inchcock: I wouldn’t and don’t doubt your pain-giving qualities at all; I’m already in pain, tired and worn-out!
Shirley: I suppose Bartholomew give it more to you?
Inchcock: Well, he has been lasered and still works,
Shirley: Cum on mush, look how yers treated me, bad or not!
Inchcock: I massage you twice a day with Phorpain gel
Shirley: Not like you, an old fart that still drinks bottled stout! Yer just an ungrateful old trout!
Inchcock: I…
Shirley: And another thing, I’ve never let the shoulder joint fall out!
Inchcock: Well, I doubt…
Shirley: I’ll tell yer to wot you done to me int past, Inured me you have, I remember the Colwick security stakeout!
Inchcock: Go one then, tell me all about it… it won’t make me freak out!
Shirley: Now yer makin’ me want to puke and pout!
Inchcock: Pout? Why? What about?
Shirley: Oh! Yer not bovvered about me puking then, yer an emotional wash-out!
Inchcock: I remember now, Shirley, Colwick, when we did an overnight lookout…
Shirley: Ah, year, that’s wot it was about!
Inchcock: When I was using the night goggles, from the back of the van… and from it, I fell out, giving you a good clout?
Shirley, you landed in a field, and blood did spout…
Inchcock: Blood? Who’s? No, surely not?
Shirley: It was me, and you bleeding.. have you no memory left or what?
Inchcock: Erm…
Shirley: The burglars arrived? You felt around in the dark for the R.T., went out of the van to take a nighttime photo, missed the step.., and fell on me! What an idiot!
Inchcock: Ah, yes… I fell on a broken tin pot…
Shirley: And it cut me! And you still never got the I.D. shot!

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

Notes made for later use…

In the afternoon, Inchcock: Fell asleep…

Shirley: Oi, you Inchie! Are you ready to have anuvver talk wiv me?
Inchcock: Well, I’d like for me…
Shirley: Don’t tell me, you’re back on the Drambuie?
Inchcock: No, no, no, I don’t drink anymore…
Shirley: Sounds like an oxymoron, yer fibbing, you see…
Inchcock: No, I’m not, you’ve been hanging around for over seventy-odd years, must have noticed, so you must indeed acquiesce, concede, and agree?
Shirley: Oh, trying to get clever with words, I see?
Inchcock: Why are you so nasty and sarkie?
Shirley: Me? I’ll tell yer why, dumbo! In left Shoulder Lilly, never, always me, that’s what causes my incongruity! Why is it always me the doctors stick the hypos in?
Inchcock: Now look, we’ve grown old together, Shirley…
Shirley: Yea!
Inchcock: We’ve been through some tough times, we all suffer, Duodenal Donald, Anne Gyna, Reflux Roger, Deaf Darren, Hemorrhoidal Harold, Saccades Sandra all of them, oh, and Toothache Tiffany…
Shirley: Enough of this claptrap mush! But I do wish you well with this little ditty!
Inchcock: She suddenly returned into the ether; what a pity!

Time To Get An Iceland Order Done, methinks

A bit bare, innit?