Inchcock Today

Inchcock Today

Fings ain’t too good. But I’m absolutely fed up with hearing myself moan and waffle on about things. So, I won’t!

Photos from yesterday and today…

Carer… erm… Sorry, I’ve forgotten her name.

Intercom screen (Yes, it worked!)

Today

Got up late today. Then, remembered that the Iceland delivery came yesterday! Thought the Iceland delivery was due, so took this snap of the bitterly cold mornings view and shot (Hehe!), well hobbled into the wet room to ready the things for the ablutioning.

Back into the kitchen to make a brew of Glengettie. Took another snap of the moon I spotted. I sometimes notice these things!

Ten minutes or so later, I spotted that I had not turned on the kettle at the power socket. Various words of self-derision were spouted.

Waiting for the kettle again, I took this snap of the City Hospital in the morning mist. I made the brew and took it with me into the wet room to save time. As the Carer is due shortly. So I still had to rush the session a  bit. But it didn’t help; in fact, it took me longer than it usually does. The task of stopping the bleeding from one particular shaving cut took yonks. Then, I needed the Porcelain Throne.

Harold’s Haemorrhoids had been bleeding so much I cracked the dried blood as I took off the Protection Pants! But they did a great job of holding things in. Good job. I hadn’t put the Morrison ones on; I think they would not have coped with this flood. Of course, another half-hour lost sorting, medicating and cleaning up! Hey-Ho

Waiting for the somewhat late Carer to arrive, I went on CorelDraw to make some graphics up. Gawd, I spent hours on it. Everything took even longer than usual, and I made a couple of cock-ups by shaking in my right hand. And they were sorted out with pure luck. I’d frozen CorelDraw altogether! Not the foggiest idea how I did so; just blessedly relieved that I managed to.

A landline call came in. I thought it might be Sister Jane. But no! It was Meridian Care’s top office. The Carer would be late coming. Nay bothers, I pressed on with the graphicationalisationing and Accifauxpas making. But did manage to do a couple of graphics done in advance. Before two, I say two carers arrived. Never been done so quickly. Treated the gals, and off they shot off, taking my waste bags to the chute with them. I thank you!

Already late in the day now, I pressed on with another graphic. I don’t want to show them directly, or it just might spoil the enjoyment of my multitudinous host of followers. Sometimes they both visit my site on the same day.

WHOOPSIEDANGLEPLOP – ACCIFAUXPAS!

As I proceeded in a Westerly direction, to my dismay…
Towards the front room with the food on the tray…
Do I really need to say?
Shaking Shaun arrived, and my grip on the tray gave way…
I dropped the lot, ruining hopes for this horrible Saturday!
I don’t think I reacted ballistically…
But, my self-annoyance rose dramatically!
Fetched the cleaning stuff from the wet room quickly…
Where I saw my undrunk cold mug of Glengettie!
I got the cleaning up done, very carefully,
The job was painful, annoying, and most stressfully…
I didn’t get Humpty, only with myself, quite rightly…
But things changed to almost getting tearfully…

I stubbed my toe getting back up off of the floor!
Hit my elbow in doing so; now that was also sore!
The Dark Depression took over, to my discomfiture!
I was testing my own mental infrastructure…
Am I mad, I thought… everything I do, withers, for sure!
Silly thoughts reigned… about my constant failure…
The rest of the day, the depression was wearing and dour!
Huh! I suddenly realised I’d not taken a shower!

Moments ago, went in to make another brew, indeed…
So, now I’ve got to sort myself out with another feed…
My energy, concentration limits I exceed…
First, there is another job to do, a regular need…
Even if my logicality and thought power do recede…
Got to finish and post this Ode, I must heed,
I hope that shortly, sanity will intercede?
Whoops, it’s time that I wee’d!

The Nottingham Lads True Tales of Woe

Inchcock Today: Cock-Ups, Confusion and Comedy!

The retrieved photographs

Sunset shots, no idea when from, sometime in the last three days I’ve been without the capability to upload.

Tuesday, mayhaps.

Yesterday morning (Maybe?) Colin Cramps was paining me,
All night long, eight hours, no sleep, scarily,
But still, in wealth, health, finances and pecuniarily…
I have no worries… I am totally hassle-free…
I’m lying here, to a certain degree…
I can’t walk properly…
It’s harder than ever to see…
Arthur Itis murdering the knee…
Constantly I need a painful wee-wee,
Lost the remote control for the TV!
Using the Porcelain Throne leaves things increasingly phooey!
And to varying degrees, it’s always bloody!
So many medications, I’m becoming a druggie,
Of pains, aches, worries, fears… I’m never free!
Diabetes stops me from eating chocolate and toffee…
Always some other medical examinee…
Vascular dementia has taken my minds synchronicity,
More operations are due, but that’s just a technicality,
I’m coping well, really, but with a vulnerability…
Too occasional depressions and pathetic self-pity,
Yet, I’ve a gift of physical, not mental, survivability,
Sometimes, I have an outlook of determination and doability…
Often prevented from actioning by my docility…
Yet, I press on, causing more damage, such is my senility…
Why did the Lord give me life, but not the ability?
Fair enough, he gave me more than a fair share of verbosity,
And great bonus, in a massive bouncebackability,
But far too much instability and aperiodicity?
Not to mention my fretting, worrying and trepidity,
Oh, I said them – that’ll be the memories absentia!
Psychasthenia, I’ve avoided, I’m glad to say it’s not obligatory,
Thank Gawd, for my beloved Lisa, Jenny and Jillie 🧡

Made up some Polish pork sarnies, so good they tasted!
Planned it for them to be ready,
To eat it watching the telly…
Heartbeat was on… but I soon capitulated!

I’ll turn on the telly a fine-looking nosh, and I waited…
Again, my plans had been incapacitated…
The TV remote had absquatulated!
Spend so much time searching, going wud!
The meal went stone-cold; it could not be ameliorated!
No TV, eyesight too bad to read; aggravated!
Hearing no good to listen to the radio…
The remote control was not appropriated!
After a lengthy search, of finding it, there was no likelihood,
I was self-annoyed; I could have spat blood!
At least the sandwiches tasted really good!
A Dark Depression accumulated…
As the next Whoopsiedangleplop, I awaited…

GCo01a

The following day I woke, and photo’d the feet,
The limbs looked okay, felt alreet,
Colin Cramps was easier last night, his pains petite,
Then, as I moved, the action was only slight…
Arthur Itis attacked – in the right knee, with all his might!
Hearing myself whimper made me uptight,
I struggled to move and was not very sprite…
Then, went to Phorpain it… What a sight!

My disjointed but prettily coloured patella.

The sort of knee one may find on a troglodyte?
No sunshine for them either, very little light,
But I was more concerned with the failing eyesight,
I make myself a sarnie, using Vegemite…
Just two little slices, more weight I will not incite,

It was cold, misty and windy tonight,
Got the camera, the end car park to highlight…
Will the computer let me import? Well, it might…
Good heavens, it did! Much to my delight!

The red van on the no-parking zone is like a benchmark,
It’s never been known to park up properly, I remark…
The van reminds me vaguely of the Bismarck?

Sod it! The knee cap’s come out, off to the hospital!

What next? Humph!

The Nottingham Lads True Tales of Woe

Alto-Inchie, on Inchcock Thoughts in Ode – Part 11⅔rds

Now, there’s no comparison twixt the above two,
Albert is dead; Inchcock is in the queue…
Both smoked a pipe, Erinmore honeydew,
Violence, they both tried to eschew,
Albert was very clever, too…
Inchie also had thoughts, but very few…
He can’t get them to do what he wants them to,
He still struggles with his toilet tissue issue!

Alto-Inchie on Inchcocks Waking & Rising

Once woken, he works out what time and day is dawning,
A wee-wee will be needed, while he’s still yawning,
Check what ailments are most perturbing…
If any clothes are on, he’ll start disrobing…
The fungal lesion will be bleeding or throbbing,
Arthur Itis, Reflux Roger and Ann Gyna may be stinging…
With doing the ablutions, he’ll start grappling,
Little Inchie, embarrassingly like a watercress sapling,
The constant wee-wees, flowing then ebbing…
Porcelain Throne time, so he starts the divebombing,

Having cleaned as best, he can,
Medicationalisationings is his plan,
He does so sometimes painfully, others with elan,
Gets his medications from off of the Ottoman…
Sprays, drops, creams, ointments, some vegetarian!


Stops any bleeding with Brute aftershave, and then began…
Little Inchies Fungal lesion cleaning, a delicate organ!
Tea made, he awaits his carer whichever, Julia or Megan,
Falls asleep and dreams of a two-headed Martian!

Alto-Inchie Observes

This morning’s ablutions got Inchcock to his bolshiest…
The Porcelain Throne did not clear; this did not please!
Five times the water in the tank was replaced…
Struggling to get the lid back on, his lesion began to bleed,
Eventually, the evacuated product blockage was freed,
But he banged his knee, and this he didn’t need!
And for some reason, he peed and peed and peed!

Alto-Inchie on Inchcocks Activities

Inchcock grabbed his Canon, camera,
Into the balcony, he did manoeuvre…

To his amazement… the rusty red van had parked almost between the lines in the proper place, and not on his beloved yellow chevrons! On closer inspection, Inchcock realised some else had parked in his illegal corner on the hatched area, forcing him to try and park his van in the car park – which he very nearly managed between the white guidelines. Haha!,

Mayhaps this time, he returned being sober?
Although he did park correctly last October!

Alto-Inchie: Inchcock Cooks!

Inchcock prepped the meal for Josie, and takes a wee,
Get the ingredient together properly,
Then he fell over majestically…
Well, at least acrobatically…
Now he has a freshly swollen knee…
Arthur Itis hurting, which is obligatory…
He got the chilli-stew cooking, not hassle-free!
Then his Sister rang he…
Then he fell over majestically…
Well, at least acrobatically…
Now he has a freshly swollen knee…
Arthur Itis hurting, which is obligatory…
He got the chilli-stew cooking, not hasslefree!.

Sister Jane and Inchcock, nattered away free…
Until he smelt something burning, to the kitchen he did flee…
Spilt over stew, it was as if the 1812 overture by Tchaikovsky,
Had entered his head, as he panicked, profusely!
He cleaned things up, started again; and felt glee…
He even swore at me!

Alto-Inchie: Handouts in Thanks

He sorted his freebies out, updated, some new,
Including the Mojito ones, he read as Cocktail,
Then found they were non-alcoholic… Wail!
He was fooled by the microscopic printing, that said Mocktail
Still, some of the Nurses and Carers don’t like ale…

Alto-Inchie:

He got Josie’s nosh done and tasted, luck did prevail,
An Accifauxpas delivery route did entail…
He stubbed his toe against the heater rail…
He arrived at Josie’s door feeling frail…
As it opened, he saw she looked hearty and hale!
So with a smile and some banter, he did regale…
Glad she looked so well, chattering he had to curtail…
Cheerily wished all the best, to his nightingale,
Off for another wee-wee he did bail!

Alto-Inchie: Inchcock Broods For A While – Then Brews

A memory shot into his brain, he was mortified,
The thought of The Meadows where he lived…
He supposes the old houses had to be sacrificed,
They were decrepit, with rats, fleas and mice…
Must seem bad to folks; he thought they were nice…
As having alopecia, chickenpox, pneumonia, polio and lice?
We were all poor, sickly, but not at all mystified,
When yet another child got ill and died…
We helped each other, we were unified…
A family of thousands, with fear, denied!

Brew

Inchcock made a Glengettie brew,
Feeling better now, well he would do…
Tea can be good for you…

Alto-Inchie: Inchcock’s Ablutionings

WHOOPSIEDANGLEPLOP!

Computer playing up – I think the end is nigh!

I’ll try to post this.

An Alto Ego & Inchies Id Argument

I’m leaving it up to Alto-Ego and Inchie ID to do the blog today. I may add something afterwards, but I’m suffering the dreaded, loathed DD (Dracula Depression) this morning. As annoying as this is, trying to find out why is equally disconcerting. As far as I can tell, nothings changed from last night? Humph!

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

Well, ID, can you explain summat to me?

What? I thought you were Mr Perfect?

You’ve actually got an advantage over me with this problem, Pugface!

Oh, go on then barbed-wire tongue…. let’s hear it, more sarcasm or criticism, is it?

No, no, no. I’ll explain, mate…

Mate! You just called me, mate!

Are you going to answer me or what? Just cause you’re a thick knob-end of an Ego, doesn’t mean we can’t still be pals. Let’s face it, the more we learn, the more we can pester the life out of Inchcock, innit? So we should help each other learn even more things that will irritate our host… Yes?

Go on then, your taking my Inchcock aggravating time away…

No, I’ve just popped into his pathetic brain; he’ll not be up to or responsive to any joshing, bewildering, bamboozling, or distracting this morning…

Just a cotton-picking minute ID, that’s the things we love to do…

I know, but there are some things even more potent than wot we are, and he’s…

He’s got to live a few more years, at all costs, cause if he snuffs it too soon, or even if Inchcock finds some contentment… the IDAEC (Alto-Ego-Consortium) Guidelines, Rules and Cautionary Advice 112,145,23 will come into force. I’ll end up back in the Soul Bank Vaults, for God knows how many years again! So I…

Well, that’s your advantage. I was going to talk about it mush!

Yer, wot?

If you cock-it-up, a couple of hundred years in the Soul Bank Vaults, is nothing – If I gerrit wrong, that’s it, end of this Id, altogether. We don’t get transferred to another human-host yer know! Oh, no, it’s a harsh existence for us Ids.

So? Worrya saying like? I could be in there for thousands of years. You are aware that the only hosts there are cockroaches, ants and rats, are yer?

So what’s wrong with that, then?

I won’t be as easy as host Inchcock; the cockroaches are cleverer than he is!

Hahaha! I just listened to him, you know, a while ago. He was talking to his pets! No, honestly! He really was; I’m not jesting Alto, I even think he heard them answering him, too!

No harm… he loves them, it’s a human trait yer know, or do yer? He does that every morning… Unless he’s had trouble in the Porcelain Throne, that is. There’s no problem with that…

Hogglebogwash! How long can he be in the toilet, for heaven sake?

Well, if his evacuation is one of his rock-solid ones, up to about an hour, on occasions, he’s taken longer. When his fungal lesion bleeds, yer see, he has a grossly painful job on, stopping and medicating things…

Gangleboggleisations! Get yersen in the bog; you can pester him while he’s struggling. Give him hell! Bloody heck, a perfect opportunity for giving out some pilgarlic, pooh-pooing, heckling, vilification and raillery. Hahaha! He won’t be able to concentrate on his Porcelain Throne duties at all – Hehehe! Why we could…

Come off it, you know nothing about my host, does yer? You’ve been in this monstrous wobbly-bellied, old idiot for a week now, but yer not learning owt are yer?

Oh, you are, I suppose, yer gerrin’ as thick and decrepit as Inchcock is, pal… yer on the wane, mentally…

You thick swine, on the wane mentally? What else does yer expect? You might have noticed that neither of us is human. We are ethereal, diaphanous beings, or are you not aware of this?

Watch it pug-face, or I’ll report you to the IDAEC (ID-Alto-Ego-Consortium). You know full well what I meant! I was speaking figuratively, interpretatively, metaphorically, As you are fully aware of; Thunderglobberisations! I thought we’d agreed to be social wiv each other?

Who did? Not me! I’ve not got over you lying to me last week yet… You promised if I signed the IDAEC Guidelines & Cautionary Advice Procedure Adherence 112,145,23, you’d leave this host forever… but no, you are a snotty-nosed ID, aren’t you, so superior… But you being a defrauding, backstabbing, double-crossing, untrustworthy Id that you are, should be reported, not me! Git!

I think you’ve been with this host, Inchcock, for far too long, my old fruitcake! You should just report yourself to the IDAEC as a failure. You’re catching a human beings ailments, such as dementia… No, let me continue…Testicles! If I could, I’d like to tear your head off!.

We’ve already agreed that we are both emblematical, selectively apparitional beings. So tearing my head of would be pointless, don’t you think?

I’m not so sure, Meathead, having never tried to kill anyone before, and as far as I know, no other Id before me has. Perhaps some form of transubstantiating has taken place over the years, and we have acquired the ability to tear off an Alto-Ego’s head? Hehehe!

The same goes for tearing off the head of an Id, indeed?

Ah, I see what you mean. We could, in fact, make history, be the first Id and Alto-Ego to kill each other? Or at least give it a go?

There you go again; you’ve got no morals, have you? What about your Id Oath what you took in training, eh?

Erm, I can’t remember that; it was over three thousand years ago, Dumbo!

Ha! A whippersnapper! Well, for your information, I started off as an Id…

Oh, did you, my friend?

Shut-it! I took the Id oath myself over 5,000 years ago. I seem to remember it went something like, “I shall occupy the given human body as instructed, with the intent of making the host into a big-headed, greedy, parasitic personage within the given period as prescribed by the IDAECC (ID-Alto-Ego-Consortium-College) Trainer on this day (dated). Convincing the host mentioned above that England will win the world cup again, all Politicians will become trustworthy, and America will land a human-crewed rocket with 5000 paying passengers on board on Mars, at the cost of $3.” You remember that bit, Inchie-Id?

No, and I didn’t miss any lectures or training sessions.

Anyway, it’s time I checked on Inhchcock…

No problem, I can hear him talking to his Carers.

Anyway, what was this question you had for me then? Id my old flower?

Oh, yes… I was a little concerned about why the human hosts always get drunk, stabbing or running over other hosts in their tinned transport, each New Year? And why do they welcome getting older so merrily and fire off flaming fireworks into the sky?

Ah, well, it wasn’t always like that, you know…

Tell me what used to happen in the old days Inchie, I’m confused.

Well, in days of yore, the human hosts always get drunk on mead, stab someone, and run over other hosts with the horses and stagecoaches transport, each New Year? And why do they welcome getting older so merrily and fire flaming fireworks into the sky? Then they welcomed in the new year merrily and fire flaming fireworks into the sky?

Well, I never knew that!.

Hello… Inchcocks took a tumble in the shower…

Bags, I get to annoy him first!

Rollock’s!

Me first, being the youngest, Crab-Nose!

You got that arse-about-faced as well! The old ones should get priority!

Arse-about-faced… I like it!

We’ll go together, but I get first scoffing, sneering at, chastising Inchcock?

That’s fair enough, mate, as long as you leave the laughing at and humiliating comments in?.

Done, cocker!

Great mate!

The now two best pals floated through the wall into the wet room with this. But…

Oh, Sod-It! A lot of blood; I think he might be dead?

After all that planning, and arguing too!

Take a close look, see if he’s breathing…

How does yer do that then? I’ve never tried to help a host before?

I’m not sure… erm…

It’s your fault, all that being obstreperous with me!

Clackers!

Bog-Knobs!

Well, one of us must wait around until someone finds the body…

Why?

We’ve got to report it to the IDAEC (ID-Alto-Ego) Records Dep’t…

Why are they going to make a song about it?

Someone might make a song and dance about it, but me? I’ll be back in the IDAEC (ID-Alto-Ego-Consortium) Soul Bank Vaults.

Ain’t these human hosts heartless, dying just like that!

Pigs!

Baskets!

Does yer think the Carers will find him int morning then?

I suppose so… hang on, where’s he keep the cans of plonk for the Carers?

Oh, yes, what does yer fancy mate, Vodka and lime. G & T, Pimms, Mojito, Tequila beer, Strongbow, or Rum & Coke, Id?.

Yea!

Inchies Make Them Laugh Series

TTFN

Saturday & Sunday Morning

Saturday Evening

I got back to the flat from the Covis-19 booster. With the delicious, kind, beautiful, highly-most desirable, tantalising, titillating, sex-pot, Gillian. Who still refuses to adopt me as a granddad. Tsk! Gillie put the things away in the kitchen, and I insisted she take some bottles of plonk and cans of spirits, in thanks, for her help.

Just look at thou that the gal had made for me…

She’s cooked six sausages for me. I can warm them in the microwave. I made some BBQ sliced potatoes and garden peas and added BBQ sauce. Gorgeous! Bless her cotton socks!

Getting off to sleep was a Challenge.

The Thought Storms raged a fair bit quixotically,
.Alto-Ego Inchie pestered me telepathically,
Terrible pains from Haemorrhoids Harold, posteriorly,
Wing, coughing all things somnambulistically…
Which came on after a marvellous Gillie day, sadly!
Of course, my angel had now gone away…
Still, no nodding off, and bled when I had a cough…

But it got worse when I moved to get comfortable,
When Little Inchie burst into a blood bubble!
Now, stopping that caused me pain and trouble…
The agony from medicating things was indescribable!
Later Sweet Morpheus arrived, highly satisfiable!

Sunday

I woke, with the Booster Jab Arm in agony, too!
Saccades Sandra and me dizzy, it’s nothing new…
I planned this weekend, what am I to do?
Tomorrow Sainsbury’s food delivery, only a few…
Co-op order Monday, I’ve ordered some beef stew…

I woke, with the Booster Jab Arm in agony, too!
Saccades Sandra and me dizzy, it’s nothing new…
I planned this weekend, what am I to do?
Tomorrow Sainsbury’s food delivery, only a few…
Co-op order Monday, I’ve ordered some beef stew…

I took some photos of the foggy morning

Just misty, there was no storming…

Hello, is it thickening?

Clearer, on Chestnut Way, down below,
I’ll try a wide shot or two; I’ll give it go…
Didn’t come out very good, though!.

No deliveries today…
Ah, onto Facebooking to play, okay?
Mustn’t forget Josie’s nosh, with the chardonnay…
I think it beats any takeaway…
Then my plans had to be cast away…
Sainsbury delivery came today. What can I say!
No deliveries today?

No deliveries today?

I ordered five little bananas, but I got ten…
I’m not sure if they’ll all get eaten,
Asked for 100ml, got a 400ml… It suits this glutton!
Ordered two 60 spuds, got two 500’s, dumbstricken!

Back to Facebooking, but I extemporise…
Facebook went down; I tell no lies…
My plans did once again evaporise…
My spirits sank; they did wantonise!
Then…
I realised the Amazon Co-op food had arrived!
I think I ought to be sectionalised…
I’m losing it seriously; I don’t want to sensationalise,
Maybe going in an old folks home might yet be wise?
Cause my brain is refusing to synchronise!.

Got the Amazon bags into the kitchenette,
Did you notice the Metal Mickey stick?
I know it was there; it’s picturistic…
This is really quite worrying, and dramatic,
I think the word is mayhap pedagogic?
But I haven’t seen Mickey since? It defies logic!
I fear I have become recognised as pilgarlic?
Then as had to hobble for a wee-wee, nucleonic!…

I walked into the wet room door frame,
Only myself to flipping blame…
Oh, boy, the agony and pain…
I hit the booster shot arm again!
My emotions and hopes became disharmonic…
The uncomfortable pee made me feel apathetic,
When I got back into the kitchen, I couldn’t find the stick!

I got the Co-op crap put away, then…
My stupidity; it must remain unspoken…
More nosh in the fridge, crammed in and swollen,
The freezer’s the same; I feel crestfallen…
Getting dates and figures wrong, stupidity is my song…
In life, I just can’t seem to get along?

And now the pain from Booster arm,
It’d possibly be as bad as napalm. Not really,
I’m shaking more than ever, I must keep calm,
But in constant pain from the flipping arm…
It’s swollen too, and I’ve had moments of dwalm!
Still, I mustn’t set off the wristlet panic alarm!

Gotten Himmel, Josie’s  Meal to Do!

Gotten Himmel, Josie’s meal to do…
Fingers crossed, I’m making a sort of chilli stew,
With chestnuts, mushrooms, beans and leeks too!
Getting it made was a bit of a hullabaloo…
Cut the end off of my finger. It’s what knives do!
Looking decent, to her door, I took it to…

I made an extra meal for her on Monday,
Oh, I added some chips into it; I hope its okay,
Sweeties, Limoncello, Vodka… Hey Hoe!

Blogging Again

Got on with the blogging again,
Despite the terrible pain…
The slightest movement of the arm…
Only not moving it at all, was it calm…
I got a feeling of sheer self-disdain!

Unbelievably – Door Chime Again!

The door chime rang out once again, so…
I ventured up the hallway, it was the postman, Johnno,
Bills, forms to fill in, upwards the rent must go?
Marvellous news this time, at last something nice did flow,

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

A parcel from HRH Lisa and Billum, in the Americas. Something that Lisa has sent me for Christmas. Bless her, she is so caring and sweet! Tempted as I was, I did not open it… yet! I will enjoy doing that when I have my Christmas morning pork pie and open the cards.

HRH Lisa, Billum & Inchcock

Bless you, HRH Lisa. You’ve given me something to look forward to, on Christmas Day now, my petal. ♥♥♥

The arm is still swollen, and I am disgusted with myself for making the Whoopsiedangleplops over the delivery dates of the food.

I’ll get better, I hope. Hehehe!

TTFNski all and each!

Ode to Maintaining One’s Sanity – Part Four or summat

In an odd mood this morning, folks, sorry, The early morning perkiness indicates me; Has done a bunk, I fear! Grugglebogness! Worries over the increase in carer fees, but my stepdaughter Jill (not really, but she ought to adopt me!), is helping me out again and investigating why I have been told I will be paying it from last Monday, but no one has told me how much it will be? I fret so easily nowadays. Hehe!

There was a time long ago, I w fascinated by Dennis Wheatley,
His character, Gregory Sallust, I thought was top quality,
Cunning, dedicated, loyal, brave with great chivalry,
I’d get back from the local hostelry,
After drinking and revelry…
Fall up or down the stairs accidentally,
Badly affected, alcoholically.

Working and drinking made my entire constellation,
For years, there was no guilt, and no contrition,
Boozing gave me a social connection…
I enjoyed it, beer and me had a cohabitation,
My taxes paid, drinking gave me no consternation!

Then one day, suddenly I decided out of the blue,
To stop my drinking ale, swearing never again to do!
The hardest thing I’d ever done, I can tell you!
I’ll not go into my suffering hullabaloo,
Never since have I drank plonk or used a corkscrew!

Now, so many years later, life is barren…
Of so-called friends, all abandoned me again,
Now I am an aged, sickly doyen…
Miserable, grumpy, but clean-shaven,
Clean-shaven? Why was that written?
I always wanted to be a Tibicen,
A flutist, but that’s probably not relevant,
I’m wandering here a bit, having a vent,

Not a vent… Erm… having a mental orbit!
Feeling a bit of a twit,
Misspellings lost words, things miswriting…
I’m losing it again, Gawdamit!

My confidence is getting titchier,
My mood is definitely schmaltzier,
My trips to the Throne frequenter
My Gawd, that’s four times this morning…
What is happening?
Each visit gets messier!
Stomach aching and is paunchier!
The passing of wind is getting noisier,
Evacuated product is meatier!
Every frequent wee-wee grows oozier!
It’s a good job that I’m no longer boozier!

It’s the memory that confuses me most,
I try, and I’ve not yet given up the ghost,
The brain nowadays is a far outpost…
Gives me access once or twice daily, at most!
But still, I remain chatty and verbose…
Seeking peace and inner glasnost,
And the ability to do my blogpost!

The Carers come twice a day; most are congenial,
Show patience, as I get confused, me being demential,
Some take my rubbish to the bin, others are contractual,
The good ones outweigh the not so good; it’s factual!
I usually get the shakes and a wobble…
Some chinwag, they go to that trouble,
This leaves me in a contentment bubble!

I like to think that I am still trainable,
But memory loss is always unavoidable,
Although, day to day it can be changeable,
That’s when I can get feeling unamiable…
And, I believe there is only me blameable,
Guilt can make contentment unavailable,
Thinking at times that I should be throttleable,
Then a kind act is given, and I get the unattainable,
And life is temporarily less circumscriptible,
Then no longer think I’m gullible or sulliable!

Some mornings I seem to transmogrify…
One leg fluid-filled, ‘tother thin, don’t know why?
Then there is Saccade Sandra, in my right eye,
My spectacles, the optician has to rectify,
He’s a snotty bloke, but at least I know why…
Last time I visited their pig-sty,
I warned the Lady of Peripheral Neuropathy, why?
Cause I’d had it bad, arm and leg shaking, me oh my!
The arm shot out, making her test lenses fly…
Her stare said she wanted me to painfully die!
The ladies hatred, I could not nullify!
So, going there again could make me cry!

This mornings carer, not ringing the bell, an oversight?
No, she never does; I didn’t hear her, her voice is light,
Crept up behind me, didn’t half give me a flipping fright!
Did she say good morning? Well, she well might…
But I didn’t hear her in the dark light.

“Sit down!” she suddenly boomed out,
Sticking her finger out towards the chair,
I took the medications, with trepidation about…
But I didn’t sit in the chair, to be fair…
I thought she wanted to give me a clout!
I chatted about it being so dark,
She was not ready for chin-waggings remarks,
Yet departed, happy as a lark?

Depression began to activate…
I found it hard to concentrate,
The Porcelain Throne was again much used,
Messy, tacky, splashes and floused…
The Throne today is much overused!
At last, it was done and cleaned. I did vacate…
Leaving the hot tap running, I did not appreciate!
No chance of a shave and shower now, mate!
I was disoriented, irritable, not focused,
In a massive fed-upperdness, I was circumfused,
I need to get myself refocused
Sod-it! Back to the Porcelain Throne, I had to navigate!

This below is the wet room, which contains the much overused Porcelain Throne. Today, I discovered that it includes 242 wall tiles, 54 cracks in the floor, and 78 on the ceiling. Which also has 14 lumps and a damp patch. The cross wording did not go well; two clues were solved in a total time on the book of three hours.

The most used room of the day!

Part of the Inchcock’s Make ‘Em Laugh Series

Impavid Inchy – Friday 12th March 2021 – Diary

Classy TFZer Gentlemen!

“A pessimist is a person who has had to listen to too many optimists.”


INCHCOCK TODAY

Friday 12th March 2021

ITALIANO: Venerdì 12 Marzo 2021

23:25hrs: Horrible ever waking sleep last night. I was in the recliner for about five hours, though, but most of it spent waking up, thoughtless and vague-minded, and waiting to nod-off again! Grubblebleackers!

I got freed from the recliner, caught my balance quickly (Cartilage Cathy was so kind to me this morning, Yee-Ya!) By gum, it was cold in the flat. I wobbled into the kitchen and got the kettle on. Washed last night’s dishes and things and made a brew of Glengettie tea.

Then did the Health Checks. Pleased to see the SYS at 147, DIA 67 and PULSE down nicely to 83bpm. I didn’t adopt any Smug-Mode yet, mind.

I got the contactless thermometer out and was also satisfied with the resulting figure that it produced. 36.6°c – 97.88°f.

I took last night’s missed dosages of medications. (Fool!)

Got the computer on, and much to my surprise, Microsoft allowed me access to Excel and the HC logs to update. (Weich they denied me for all day yesterday – well, each time I tried, it was updating!

I’d let the tea go cold, so I made a Thompsons Punjana and then checked out the wall heaters that were not producing any heat at all! It was bloody cold in the flat, I can tell yers! Methinks I have problems with them!

I started to update the Thursday Diary. Got it finished, despite SSS Shuddering-Shoulder-Shirley doing her best to have the right arm torn-off at the glenohumeral joint! Hehehe! Vicious she was, for about an hour solid. That’s never happened before. Not for that long a period. Still, she eased off later. Painfully and persistently, I completed the task, and I posted some snaps to Pinterest.

Then, sent the Diary off to WordPress, emailed the link, and went on Facebooking catch-up. I discovered it was another lovely, loveable TFZer ladies Birthday, so I made a graphic and sent it off to her. Note I’ve lost so much weight… Hehehe! ♥

Made some comments on WordPress. I visited the WP Reader section, then the call to the Porcelain Throne arrived. Off to the wet-room, I hobbled. (Not so bad actually, Cartilage Cathy is still pleased with me and being gentle too!)

What a mess! Loose, yet gooey with it, short-lived, not a lot of it evacuated, and yet the gluey semi-liquid dollop just would not go away! Several refills of the tank by hand from the sink where needed, and five or six flushes! A jolly good job I had toilet paper spares, well that’s what they were, now more will be required, judging by the whole roll needed to clean things up.  Flibblegonkackles!

Apart from so many dropsies thanks to SSS, the stand-up session was only worthy of one mention with a difference. That was after nasal cleaning, teeth cleaning, shaving, bathing, and medicating…

Getting the socks on! It was even funny at the time! I forced the right leg up a little, wedged my bum on the door corner, got the sock part way on, and lost my grip (I do a lot of that!). The cotton sock shot off, hit the back of the closet box, and plonked down into the WC water! I tried to replicate what I would have been doing and made a photo of it afterwards. Another pair of socks were utilised. The legs seem to be retaining fluid again?

The Iceland Foods delivery is due twixt 06:00 > 08:00hrs, but I’d got the ablutions sorted early enough to do the hand-washing in the kitchen sink sorted. All done, wrung, and hung above the sink on hangers. The Lily and Yang Yang scent in the Surf soap powder has a delightful smell.

I took a Canan camera photo of the morning view as I put the kettle on and made a mug of Glengettie brew.

I checked the heater in the kitchen, and it was warm now; I turned it up somewhat, as the weather forecast is so gloomy for the next 24-hours.

I took a shot of Chestnut Walk and the car park on it.

Time getting close now for the food to arrive. After it does and I get it stored away, I’ll see how supplies look and if another Sainsbury order might be a good idea, depends on what slots are available. Sometimes it’s a long wait to get one.

I did some updating on this post and then made another brew, Thompsons Punjana, this time. No time to drink it, the intercom rangeth and flashed, it was the Iceland Food delivery arriving, I pressed the entry button and awaited his arrival.

The Iceland man dropped the begs… begs? Yet another cock-up wiv me grammar, Tsk!), bags I meant, through the doorway for me. Slipped him a choice of cans of plonk, and off he trotted on his mission to feed the nation!

I took the carriers through to the kitchen and went on the internet to see if anything was short delivered or substituted.

Does yer know, there wasn’t a single substitution, and nothing short delivered… Even more surprising, there was nothing found to be short-dated either, as well, besides! Iceland outdid themselves with this delivery, a definite, very welcome first!

I was well pleased, but of course, I’d not checked for any damaged, crushed or leaking goods yet, so I resisted going into a Smug-Mode for the time being.

I set about putting the frozen stuff away first. As you can see in the photograph here on the right, it was all healthy living stuff. Well, I forgot to get the chips. Hahaha! Still a kid at heart, I am!

Next, I put away the fridge items, far better foodstuffs. Topside beef slices, pork & Pickle mini pork pies, sweet chilli chicken, chicken thighs, potato salad, egg-mayonnaise, and some strawberry and whipped cream desserts. Now I’ve put the spell checker on; the previous sentence had eight mistakes on it! Ahem! Got the other stuff in the bathroom and cupboards.

The YourArea magazine arrived, so I investigated. The lottery winner had been sentenced for his appallingly dangerous driving in which he killed a 75-year-old lady in the car he’d drifted across the road, and his BMW then crashed head-on into an oncoming Ford Fiesta.

I say sentenced; he got away with a 16-week suspended sentence and a one-year driving ban! For a £45 million lottery winner, that’s really going to bother him, innit! And the poor husband has lost his wife through Topham’s ignorance of the law and lack of concentration in driving, and I believe still in the hospital.

The now 31-year old Topham said in court: “I honestly don’t believe I thought about what I was about to do,” he said. “If I could take it back, I would, but I can’t.” (Me, me, me!) Huh! Generalfeldmarschall Friedrich Paulus said that after Stalingrad, will have to find money from his £45m for taxies? Some sodding deterrent that was! Was the jury back-handed? Just asking! I bet he the had best expensive lawyers!

At least I found some goodish news on the Covid-19 figures locally.

I decided to get some late brekkers.

I called Warden Deana on the phone, got a recorded message.

Phone the Doctors Surgery, got a recorded message.

I went to make a brew of Glengettie, and I took a tumble as I bent down to check the heat not coming from the radiator. Clouted the head on the ledge on the way down, and SSS started to play up as I struggled back up onto my feet with the help of the stove.

Made the tea and had a sit-down. I’m not sure what happened then, but I assume I fell asleep cause it was hours later when I seemed to wake-up, head pounding. I took a Codeine 60g. I didn’t feel poorly, just confused.

Did some updating of this post, but concentration was not coming to me easily. 

It’s still a bit of a blur. No notes on the pad had been added, so I assume I’d nodded off again cause I woke up in the recliner. Feeling peckish, I made a meal of sorts made up. Didn’t enjoy it much, but I’ve had worse, though. A taste rating of 6/10 was given.

I had a surreal few hours then.

In the morning, I found these photographs of the TV screen on the SD card?

Yes, it beats me why, as well!

After perusing the pictures, I assumed that I’d been watching, or falling asleep to and waking, Law & Order, Tales of the unexpected, many adverts and commercials, and possibly even a Nightmare Kitchen episode?

All I can remember for definite is that I was having difficulty in getting to sleep. I did keep nodding off, I think, but the nods only lasted a few seconds each time?

I noticed it was 19:00hrs on the clock, then went into a Thought Storming period.

A bad one, guilt, despair, mistakes, isolation, depression and fear all played a part. These went on for ages, with some emotional events from the past repeating!

I was fighting with my memory for some unknown reason, and I became self-loathing in the process.

I was pointless concerning myself with banal questions and seeking positive answers; Had I been to the Porcelain Throne today? What to do about the ear-ache? I must get a Sainsbury order done tomorrow, etc., on and on the silliness of life came at me, sadly, along with the regular guilt, shame and embarrassment. I really did feel so; what’s the word I’m looking for… lambasting and self-chastising. Oh, that’s two words!

I did eventually nod-off, and when I woke up, I wondered if my memory had been warped as I recalled how I’d felt, but the sense of doom and gloom was no longer lingering?

Isn’t life funny at times?

Ill Inchcy – Sunday 28th February 2021 Diary

TFZer to the rescue!


INCHCOCK TODAY

Sunday 28th February 2021

Latin: MMXXI die 28 Mensis Februarii

01:40hrs: I stirred into imitation life, realised that I was not coughing or bringing up anywhere near so much phlegm. And it felt good, indeed, at last, the symptoms from the lethal to me Convid-19 AstraZeneca vaccine was weakening, after a full week! I spent a few moments fearing the second one coming up…

The innards bubbled, I adopted the Porcelain Throne – Defcon Two-Mode. And I fumbled my way out of the grotty, £300, second-hand, c1968, unsteady, not-working, incommodious, sickeningly beige-coloured, haemorrhoid-testing recliner, caught my balance of sorts and hastened to the wet room.

No sooner was I seated, and with Trotsky Terence in complete control, the vagariously doloriferous evacuation began. The discomfort and pain were soon over, but it was an Oh, so messy affair! The regular black and dark red mini-torpedoes funked like never before! 50% liquid! Bits of blood could be seen as I rose to assess the results of the dump.

The entire toilet roll plus was needed to clear things at the rear end! Gallons of water was used from the sink to remove the gooey pipework, funking, multi-coloured evacuated product! Many flushes later, things seemed to have been cleared.

The reliable, made in Hong Kong, the contactless thermometer showed a lower reading this morning, of 37.0°c-98.6°f. But this was still a smidge high, methinks?

The usually dependable, trustworthy, Chinese manufactured Boot’s Sphygmomanometer failed on the first two tries to come up with a reading.

On the third attempt, it worked, but the SYS was high at 180, DIA at 75, and the PULSE was 89bpm.

I updated the Excel file with the new figures.

Then took the missed evening medications and making up the moring one to leave in view so that I didn’t forget that one later, as well. Humph!

I made a start on updating the Saturday Diary. SSS Shuddering-Shoulder-Shirley and PP, Peripheral Pete, were giving me their ackamarackus tricks, which slowed me down with my progress.

As I was going to make a brew of Glengettie, the rumbling innards kicked-off again – which worked out well as it happens.  I was only feet away from the wet room door at the time and was soon in and sat on the raised plastic seat…

Oh, dearie me! This session was worse than the first one and more Accifauxpa-ridden, too!

  • The content was just the same style, but there seemed a lot more of it!
  • Not so much blood escaped.
  • I had to restock with toilet rolls and kitchen towels. Ultra-messy, and so much of it, gooey, gelatinous, gunky and semi-liquid at the same time!
  • Foul-smelling, evil-mephitic and noxious!
  • The clearing of the evacuated product took far longer this time. Several refillings of the tank, and many flushes, eventually did the trick!
  • Then, when I thought everything had been cleaned and freshened, I spotted a clump that had, I assumed, ejected itself as I position myself on the seat.

Embarrassment, shame, disgust and the futility of my hopes all lingered for a moment or two, teasing, humiliating me. I got things cleaned up.

Then I returned to the kitchen.

I took this photographicalisation through the kitchen window, it didn’t come out well, did it? Humph!

I got the updating finished and posted off to WordPress. Pinterested, a couple of yesterday’s pictures, then went on Facebook catch-up.

I made another brew. Then read and replied to some comments. Had a read of the Health Unlocked Peripheral Neuropathy site letters. And made a start on this post.

Well, time to get the ablutions sorted out, then. Off to the wet room, I trotted.

Well, just look at those legs, will you? Spider and iliac veins hardly noticeable! Clopidogrel almost gone! And the weals, lumps, myasthenia gravis, with no signs of any Idiopathic Polyneuropathy.  Admittedly the socks cover the ankle ulcer, but it was very faint.

I wonder if the Tate Gallery might be interested in buying a picture of my amazingly improving legs and knees? My pins photo would cost a lot less to the idiots who run the Tate Gallery, and if I may say so, are more artistic than Mr Andre’s ‘Pile of Bricks!’

Arthur Payne, Gallery Assistant, quoted in the Evening Standard, n.f.d. 1976: “These bricks have really brought the public in. They can’t make head or tail of them. Nothing has attracted as much attention as they have!”

Inchcock response: “It’s a shame something that is nothing to do with art should be bought by the desperate for fame, fools at the Tate Gallery!”

Of course, it doesn’t bother me! Oh, no!

Ablutions all done, I set to getting the walker-guide box filled with waste-bags and got them ready to rake to the waste chute.

I found another letter had arrived.

Worryingly it was from British Gas, an assured sign of price rises or confusing changes of tariffs! Sure enough, on opening the lying, two-faced, cheating, conning, unreliable, ignorant, mercantile, profit-seeking, undependable, unpredictable, untrustworthy, capricious, expensive, over-charging, anti-customer orientated, costly, compassionless, and pachydermatous British Gas envelope; I found an increase in payments! But it didn’t bother me!

I spat a little, cursed, sent a death wish through the ether, to Centrica boss-man, (who own British Gas,) Ian Conn, and the four bosses who raked in £2m bonuses as the customers were hit; with price-hikes! But it didn’t bother me! The profit-oriented gits are not going to get to me! Although, if I hear of any of them being cast-down and snuffing it excruciatingly painfully from Covid-19, it may cheer me up a little and bring a warm smile to my face.

I got out and into the lift lobby, with the rather well-filled box of waste-bags on the Trolley-guide and down to the tiny rubbish-chute at the far end.

I got in alright and even put the bags into the chute without any knocks or injuries down the tube. Getting back out was not so easily managed. There is not enough room to turn the walker-Guide around in the waste-room, so a spot of reversing is needed. I caught the trousers in the wheels coming out. Later I found a tear in the cloth and a spec of bleeding. It made me think of British Gas! I felt sick!

Out along the lift lobby in the opposite direction. The only art-deco end wall, I’ve not seen this on any other floor, seemed more attractive to me again. (Especially so with the bile being encouraged by British Gas!) I wonder if any other floors have this art-deco paint job on their wall?

I got back to the apartment, and I set about getting Josie’s nosh cooked and prepped. I was extra careful in the presentation of the extra cheesy, buttered and sea salted potatoes. They tasted good when I tried some; I hope Josie enjoys them. The strain-free tuna, mini-tomatoes, Surami sticks, roast onions, and today for a change, fresh garden peas and leeks added. A disc of the cheese she likes was left unopen, in case she fancied it later on. A can of Sainsbury’s Rum and coke added. I delivered it just before midday. I could her Josie talking to her sister on the phone as I rang the bells. Handed her the tray and explained about the peas and leeks and new drink. Again she asked why I buy the drink when I don’t drink it; also, I told her, ‘So you can drink it!’ today. She can’t understand it.

I washed the cooking utensils from her meal making, and I had a look to see if I could get in a slot with Iceland. I got one alright for next Tuesday. I hope they have the bread available this week.

I made just one more graphic on CorelDraw and made up my meal of the day. Potatoes with the rest of the garden peas and leeks, a few crispy onions, tomatoes and some horrible tasting cooked turkey pieces. But I did eat it all. The early weariness dawned.

I got the pots washed again and became rather insipid, and the tiredness came on rather quickly for some reason. I think I put the TV on and turned it off after a few minutes to search for Sweet Morpheus. But sadly, success was denied to me!

It was many hours before I nodded off. Yet I felt so weary and couldn’t understand why I wasn’t already snoring away? I do remember the door chimes going – that would have been Josie returning the food tray, I assume. But I just could not get up. The gal knows that if I am in, the door is never locked; she can open the door and place the tray and cutlery though the door. But the poor thing has a memory about as good as mine is, Hahaha!

Frustration was growing the longer I went without nodding off. It was as if something was determined that I would not get to sleep?

I lay there, started to plan the World Economic recovery from Covid, worked out that aliens would be seen openly next August 28th, and realised I had not had a wee for many, many hours.

Finally, I must have nodded-off, cause I woke up, in need of a wee-wee…

.

Incorrigible-Inchcocks Saturday 13th February 2021 Diary


Saturday 13th February 2021

Croatian: Subota, 13 Veljače 2021

07:30hrs: Better late than never, Hehehe! How I heard the mobile chirping amazed me! Also, Colin Cramps was absent! Yee-Haa!

I woke to the sounds of an incoming message on my Samsung Galaxy S21 mobile phone. My version might look like a Nokia 105, that’s because it is. It was from the Covid-19 Home Testing Programme. I didn’t feel confident in my doing the test really!

I worked out that despite the mess of not getting to sleep last night, I still managed four-hours worth, which is not bad at all. And signs of the flu bug, that had all well-receded this morning.

I got a pleasant surprise when I did the Health Checks. SYS 159, DIA 83, and the Pulse down to 86, all good stuff!

The Chinese (Hong Kong) made by Shenzhen Relee Electronic & Technology Co. Ltd, contactless thermometer, was another pleasing result, back in the green again, showing 36.8°c, down nicely thank you muchly! I took these photographs with the Kodak that to my utter amazement was working fine and dandy? Mayhaps the flu bug had affected the camera as well as me? Hahaha!

Off to the kitchenette, and got the kettle on to make a brew. (Another sign of improvement in the sore throat and taste buds!)

I used the Kodak, again on these shots of the late morning view. I’ll try again when it gets lighter to see how the camera copes. These pictures were just not the same quality of the old, now deceased Nikon, but still. The camera takes an extra shot of each photo taken, and it goes on the SD card? But these Kodak extras, are not recognised by CorelDraw (.th)? I have to keep deleting them. Hey-ho! Annoying, but I cannot find out how to change the settings, not that I’d understand the gobble-di-gook anyway.

The battery light started flashing, so I put the Kodak on charging. But within a few minutes, it had turned green? Why the red flashing? I made a brew of Glengettie, it not as tasty as usual, but much better than it has been lately.

AS I swaying about a bit getting the trousers on, for I’d realised how late it was, and with the Covid-kit possibly be arriving soon, I thought it better to answer the door with proper trousers on as opposed to the jammies. As I began to take the camera off of charge, I heard it clicking, and found out why later, when I uploaded the snaps. Another random picture was taken, it was all shaky like – I’m pretty good at handling these! Hahaha!

Got the updating done, sent off. Emailed link, Facebooking, WP reader and read the WP comments.

Jenny phoned to see how I was, that was nice of her ♥ We chatted a while.

Cleaned up little in the kitchen.

Well, I did sort the top of the fridge-freezer out a tiny bit!

Not too much, like.

I got the potatoes, onions and leeks chopped and into the crock-pot.

I got in a pickle of a mess when I was cleaning the chopping board and knife.

The Peripheral Neuropathy right arm started to jump, twitch and flail about something awful.

No injuries of any sort, but the pot went flying over and hit the window, causing me a lot of time and pain to clean up!

I trod on a tiny bit of sliced parsnip, you would not believe how it made me jump!

Then I got in a panic when I saw the time, so pressed on with starting this blog.

I went to check if the Covid kit had arrived, it was gone 14:00hrs already! It was in the letterbox. I opened the bag and took another one out of it. You should see what they expect me to to get the test done. Can you imagine if the arm, hand or leg kicks off while I’m sticking the swab up my nose or in my throat? No, I refuse to do it!

I can’t even grasp all of the instructions, not that that is important anymore. Cause I’ve got to find the nearest Priority Postbox and the web, and… register myself and the kit before doing the test! It’s weekend, so even if could do it, it would not be before Monday at the earliest!

Then, I’ve got to pack the things in a box, after I’ve made it up. A simple job for someone with cramps, Arthritis, Peripheral Neuropathy, not long had a stroke, now a diabetic, is it!

Then assuming I could manage all this, I’m to send the kit back when done. Which involves making up a cardboard box, packing everything in order as demanded, and means my going out to wherever the Priority post box is located! No! 

When I woke up this morning, feeling so much better, then Jenny cheering me up – now all I fester away thinking is; Why do they not know about my limitations. How can they expect me to carry out this test? Others have had a nurse do it for them in their flats? I am now tired, but I have to stay up for the food delivery late tonight.

I feel mistreated, all the cancellations, the offer of someone to visit me do the test, was withdrawn. Then they phoned me to ask when the nurse is calling to do it?

A reet Covid-19 cock-up!

Now I am depressed, sorry for myself, and carrying a… what the word is? Erm, bitterness, with me all the time. Should I snuff it, I’m sure they will then send someone out to help. The medics know about my falls and tumbles, banging into things, my difficulty in walking without the trolley, but not how the lack of attention, recognition, and help, is driving me potty as well! Hehehe! Do they care? Oh, who was that comedian with the catchphrase, ‘Do I look bovvered?‘ or ‘Am I bovvered?’ I liked her comedy. I could do with some humour now—bloody weekends when you can’t speak to your Doctor. If you call 111, everything seems to get more confused.

I got the nosh sorted out and moved ‘snips, carrots, potatoes and onions, from the crock-pot to the saucepan. I added half-a-jar of passata, I and a can of Hubbards Chilli-con-carne. It looks like it might be right, and I feel the taste-buds tingling at the thought of feasting in it!

I washed the crock-pot in soapy water and a non-abrasive (A little like me. Hehehe!) scouring pad. Some spots of gravy had made there way out and under the pot? After about fifteen minutes, I realised the marks were in fact screws in the pot bottom. Har-har!

I put the Made in Myanmar (Burmese), blue zip-up jacket to soak in the sink bowl, and off to get ablutions done. And what a session! A total of only five dropsies! No, I say zero, nada shaving cuts!

The showering had just one clout on the arm against the grab bar, albeit a decent one, the bruised are beginning to look artistic now. Hahaha! No probs with medicating things. And getting dressed was one of the luckiest I’ve ever had for years…

I lost balance that many times getting the lounge-pants and slippers on, it must have happened eight times at least, and not one tumble or fall. I must have had an Angel, looking after me! Yee-Haa!.

Finished off washing and rinsing the Burmese jacket, and got it hung above the sink to drip-dry. Did a little better job if it this time, if I say so myself, which I do. Haha!

A text from Amazon received, about the Amazon-Morrison order being on the way, just one item missing. That Angel of mine is with me tonight! ♥ I think the Angel, I should name her really… has been very anxiolytic to me this past hour or so, as my tension levels seem to be easing, at last.

I got the Chinese made Boot’s £33 sphygmomanometer, and the made in Hong Kong, Chinese Harpin Xian Di contactless thermometer, and carried out the second Health Checks. SYS was sneaking up a smidge, but the temperature was fine.

Did some work on this blog while I waited for the Amazon shopper to arrive.Not far away now.

The chap arrived, and he put the bags through the door for me.

I got the things put away. I was only half-with it by this stage, though being overtired methinks.

I got the things put away, and pleasant feeling that I need no shopping again for a while.

I got the meal served up. I only served a bit of it, I didn’t really feel hungry, after the turmoil of the Covid-19 test had thoroughly upset the apple-cart, mind-wise. Decent enough tasting nosh, Flavour rating 7.5/l0 given.

Washed, and got settled in the recliner in search of Sweet Morpheus. Switched on the TV as a sleep-aid.

But within seconds, Colin Cramps kicked off like last night, but he stayed a lot longer. Starting with the hands and fingers, later joined by horrendously painful, muscle-twisting agony, in both lower legs! The useless Phorpain gel was applied. After this first session, that lasted for about two hours, I was so sorry for myself, but did nod off at last.

There followed an even more painful cramp-session, and several times I was woken, in discomfort again, and again! I must mention this to the Matron when she calls. It was the worst night Cramp-Wise ever!

Incentiviseless Inchies, Saturday 2nd January 2021 Diary

TFZer & Alcoholic Keith, has redesigned his new flat.

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

Saturday 2nd January 2021

Sethoso: Moqebelo Oa La 2 Pherekhong 2021

022:10hrs: After a grand four-hours kip, I stirred back into a mock, ersatz, imitation life, in need of a wee-wee.

I started to sing ♫Oh, what a beautiful morning♫, bounded up sprightly springing out of the recliner, and hastened skippingly to the NWWB (Nocturnal-Wee-Wee Bucket). I passed a healthy, powerful, light coloured wee-wee…

Oh, alright then; I struggled out of the £300, rusty second-hand, c1968, cringingly-beige-coloured, not-working, rickety, incommodious, grotty recliner, and somehow manipulated my horrendously flabby, overly-stomached wobbling body up on its feet. Caught my balance, and limped to the bucket, and spent a few minutes waiting for the wee-wee to start, and few more waiting for it to stop.

Washed my hands, and started the Health Checks, then took the medications.

Disconcertingly, the Boot’s made in China Sphygmomanometer, gave a higher reading for the SYS, up again!

The previous two readings, Thursday; 178, Friday; 184, and this morning, it had climbed to 189! Not good, this?

However, the Chinese’s body temperature made Harpin Xian Di contactless thermometer, was back down and in the green. I’m not doing very well here, am I? Tsk”, Spurgledamnations! and Hogglebogwash!

I made a start on the updating of yesterday’s post. Got it finished and posted off to WordPress. During which, I only needed two wee-wees, and the taste of last nights Marmite feast kept coming back up. I liked it! Hehehehe! Went on the WordPress reader. Then the blog comments.

Emailed the link. Did the Facebooking catch-up. A better than average, for me, TFZer graphic (top of this page) was created, it is TFZer Keith, who has just got home from a week or more in the hospital, with the bloody Coronavirus! Hope it cheers him up a tad. Good luck, mate!

A summons to the Throne arrived, and it felt imperative that I got to the Throne in time… Oh, dear! But I managed it.

It was yet another mammoth content affair, it needed a fair bit of input from me to get things moving, and rid the innards of it, too! Which went against the earlier believe that things were going to be under the control of Trotsky Terence. Constipation Konrad was back in charge. The crossword book had a good bashing in between the starting and stopping of the torpedo’s evacuation. Hehe

Washed the hands and as I was doing so, a noise like yesterday morning was heard. Much like heavy machinery starting up, followed a minutes later, the sound of it dying down again. I wonder if anyone else heard it? Ah, well, as I am in lockdown, the chances of seeing anyone, to ask them is minimal.

I nipped to the kitchenette to make another brew of Glengettie, and crack my ankle knuckle on the door frame edge. Naturally, I merely laughed at the pain, smiled and carried on to make the brew… but the innards rumbled, and a second summoning to the Porcelain Throne arrived, off to the wet room I hobbled.

Well, this visit was totally different than the one that was taken only a few minutes ago?

Trotsky Terence easily won the ESB (Evacuation-Stakes-Battle) Constipation Konrad was defeated this time!

How come, the change? Why? What’s going on here? The blood pressure is going ape-shit! The Porcelain Throne visits are different every time! The wee-wees are, too! Shit is going. The skin varies from pale to almost transparent! The balance is so variable, but why? And another thing is why it is always holiday times when people are not available to get help from, that these things happen? Hey-Ho! Rant over!

As I was washing after the evacuation, I spotted a new burst of veins coming through on the right leg. And, a new spot developing and growing quickly, well several of them. Ah, well, back to the computerisationing.

The sounding much-like heavy machinery starting up, followed minutes later with the sound of it dying down again, just repeated itself once more. I’ve started shivering for some reason, feeling so cold. I checked the heater, its warm, but only just? Looked at the thermometer-humidity thingy, then checked it against the wall thermometer. One indicates it is 38°c, the other 23°c? Was it something to do with the heating, the noise I mean?

The temperature on the wall thermometer puzzled me a bit. So I picked it up to investigate further, in my Sherlock Holmesian, style. Guess what? It shattered to pieces in my hand! The mysteries of Qoodthorpe Court, returning? Humph!

I got breakfast made up. I really did feel hungry and made a decent plateful. Once I settled to eat it, I could manage even a quarter of it. Everything tasted different than I expected? Horrible! Even the mini pork and pickle pie and MArmite cheese were tasteless. The majority of it ended up in the bin. What a shame!

Back to CorelDraw to do some graphicalisationing for later on. A couple of hours later, the weariness dawned, I continued to update the blog for another hour or so, and oddly the hunger returned? What’s going on here? Beats me! I went to get the main meal sorted out. I got the meatballs in the oven cooking, and the CCC (Chilli-Con-Carne) in the saucepan (canned today). I must order some more minced beef.

As I took a wide shot of the view out the window, I noticed what looked like another fire. I took a zoomed-in shot of what looked like the Basford area,.

Then got the meal served-up and in the dish. It looked good, I’d got the milk roll bread to soak up the liquids, and started the feasting… Oh, sod-it! The taste goblets were still flat. I’m sure I cooked the meatballs right, this should have been a right treat to gustatory cells. But again, half of it was thrown away. Tsk!

I put the things in the kitchen, turned off the computer, and sat down, to have a ponder over things. I think I fell asleep straight away…

I woke at 23:00hrs, feeling uncomfortable in mind and body.

.

.