Humour

Inchie: Thursday 25th December 2025

/ Inchie / 7 Comments

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– – – GOOD MORNICUS! – – –
BG, I had a decent sleep, no waking ups, no seizures, as far as I could tell.
Stirred at 05:20hrs, fell asleep at 05:23hrs. Woke 06:00hrs, fell asleep at approx 0610hrs. Woke at 07:00hrs and forced myself to get up.

The Carer arrived, sorted my medications, and Porpain-gelled my left and right arthritic knees. After hoovering around, he had to go. I bade him farewell and thanked him, and as he shut the door behind him, I went into a seizure that caused me more bother than usual. Humph! I came out of it with the typical acidity upflux, and waiting until things cleared in the head, then went to get a drink of soda water from the fridge, a cold drink sometimes helps in recovering.
Oh, dear, I’d left the hot water tap running! I turned it off and needed to visit the. Boy, was that another Trotsky Terence messy, gooey, yet sticky affair. Yes, it was.
When, providing I can find Kodak Tim 2, I can take some snaps… I’ve taken a look around without any luck so far. I’ll try again later. If one of the two good Carers calls, I’ll ask them to have a look. Cataract Katie is giving me some wobbly, blurry objects, moving moments. Then eases off into an opaqueness and blur, and back to the floaters.

Started blogging again, but it was not easy, and so annoying. CorelDraw was playing up, getting on a bit swifter now. Going to get as much done as I can before the eye fades.
Bigmouth me – CorelDraw is sticking and occasionally unresponsive again. Grrr!

Ejaz did the midday call. Painkillers, Phorpain-Gel on the tight knee, and put some cream on the ingrowing toenail. He’s a nice, helpful lad.

Pressed on with the blogging and got to doing the Ode at last. Slow work, Cataract Katie, Skahing Shaun and even Twitching-Neck-Nickolas joined in.

Mt friends, Jenny & Frank, brought up a wonderful-looking ‘all-the-works’ Christmas Day meal for me. 🤎
I got settled to dine, and soon realised that I’d underpraised the meal earlier. 
I have enjoyed a meal so much in my life.
Not being able to find Kodak Tim-2 really annoyed me. I wanted so much to take a photo of it, to show you all the festive feast that was the best present anyone could hope for. Jenny even brought up a mug with extra gravy in case I wanted any more. Marvellous!
I washed the plate and rang Jenny to thank her. Frank even came up to collect the plates and mug. I’d been over-spoilt, and I appreciated and loved it.
Thank you both so much!

I was so well-satiated, all I could do was sit on the c1966, £300 Oxfam charity shop-bought, wincingly grotty, beige-coloured, crumb-covered from my nocturnal nibblings, itch-making, uncomfortable, positively unhealthy, and dangerous, no longer operational, virus-breeding, easy-to-fall-out-of, Catheter-tube-trapping recliner, and fall asleep. It was such a delightful filling banquet.
No nibbling tonight needed!

I was woken after an hour or so as the Carer arrived. He issued the medications in his usual efficient way. And, I rhapsodised over the meal. Del Boy may have said ‘Lovely-Jubbly’. Spike Milligan might have said ‘Fanbloodytastic’. I think it was ‘Heaven-Sent’.

When I got up from the £300 second-hand shop purchased in 1966, a welt-causing, uncomfortable, not working, itch-inspirational, and crumb-containing recliner, and a rarely appearing ailment, shot up my right leg, but no bother, because of the anticipated and welcome arrival of . Off to the kitchen to get a cool bottle of soda water from the fridge… and
. There on the window ledge resting atop a bottle of mushroom ketchup was none other than my !
And returned Kodak-Tim to his usual resting place on the computer desk, next to the hearing aid box and Earache Erasmus’s olive oil dispensers. Returning to take a snap of the evening sun on its way down from the open window. Just about in time, cause it had disappeared two minutes later over the horison,

Thanks to Jenny & Frank.

Well, cometh the new year, to ring in,
Time for merriment & yodelling?
For renewed dreams and hoping?
To find a better way of coping?
With politicians, blatant lying?
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TTFN
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Inchy’s Alphabet Ode

/ Inchie / 6 Comments

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Forgive the references to Starmer.
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ALPHABETICAL A
There was a time that I was awesomer,
Although in some traits, I was awlfuller,
Friday’s dances, the girls at the Astoria…
To them, I was an acroparesthesia,
That was before I got apraxia.

Famous for my ability to talk bilgewater,
A bumbling-babbling, foolish blooter,
Searching for something boshter,
But always something of a boondoggler,
Then came a new ailment, bradykinesia!

I had a mini-todger, questionable cisgender,
I’ve still got it attached to a catheter…
Bald, so no worries over my coiffure,
Accepted as a bypasser or circumventor.
Never a winner, a 3rd place I’d chanticleer!

I’ve become an expert, frequent dégringoler,
Never was a fraud, cheat or deceiver,
Now, I suffer from dementia & dysphoria,
Unlike Starmer, I’m no denunciator,
The wrong word to describe me? Debbonaire!

Coffin-waiting, yet things can still enrapture,
A natter, laugh with a friendly talker…
CBD, magic mushrooms with elderflower,
Of course, I no longer use the chest expander,
Finances dwindling; I must curb expenditure!

I’ve led my life candidly, honestly, foursquare,
Getting annoyed at things that are not fair,
Like Starmer, PM, who lied to win, fibber!
Who loves a backhander, the freeloader,
Guaranteed to cheat, lie & work a flanker!

I’ve never been a dynamo, hero or go-getter,
I got cataracts then and still have glaucoma,
My failing brain & body is getting me grumpier,
I’ve avoided being a grammaticaster…
Now I’ve become a graphomania!

I’m an expert on my haemodynamometer,
But the stomach & body is getting heavier,
Mentally, I anticipate getting habromania,
There’s not much in my brain for it to hinder…
Only dementia, my brain’s house-sitter!

We’ve Starmer, every day getting iffier,
Putin, who’s several countries inferior,
Hamas, Israel, peace inviting…
Amhara, Yemen, with Houthi insurgency,
Ethiopia, Myanma, Paraguay… insanity!

No wonder the world is getting jitterier,
Proletariats just want life to be joyfuller,
Leaders going for the citizens’ jugular,
Janitor, junior, juror, or justificator?
We have Starmer, the lying junketeer!

I find myself becoming more klutzier,
And unfortunately, more knaggier,
And maybe a snip more kludgier,
My ageing body, positively knurlier,
If only Starmer would act kindlier!

Can Starmer’s reign get any lousier?,
Can I get any more loonier?
If things go right, will I live any longer?
Do I want to? Can I get livelier?
Can I rid myself of this lacklustre?

Will Keir get even more of a miser?
£160,976 a year for Nottingham’s Mayor,
She is Councillor Carole McCulloch,
Why does the East Midlands have a Mayor?
Clare Ward, £93,000 a year, did I mishear?
A deputy Mayor on £46,500, Holy Mother!,

The end of the World is drawing near…
Maybe not caused by anything nuclear,
Possibly by a Green Peace neglecter,
Oligarchs, wars, or my Auntie Nora?
God, Allah or Jesus from Nigeria?

The end of the World is now less obscure!
Humankind will be the orchestrator,
A World leader on an overnighter…
To prove they are more affluent occulter?
The most efficient proletariat ostraciser?

I now get more confused with my photocopier,
Camera, computer, & getting to Jupiter,
Anything mechanical, & phantasmagoria,
Also, of course, my own psychasthenia,
Not to mention my bladder’s parasitemia!

My right testicle went all quadrangular,
Had I a disease, a bug, a queller?
This concerned my partner & querida,
She said I’ve seen things queerer!
She’s such a quick quipster!

Life may yet get rosier,
Contentment can reappear,
The logicality of this may not register…
Old Father-Time may be the reawaker?
I once tried to be a ropedancer!

My happiest job? A gas streetlight snuffer,
There was not much joy to share…
My contentment did scatter,
I tried to become a sketch-writer,
But had a life of being an own-goal scorer!

Keir is an addicted taxation tchotchke,
Pensioners Farmers, has he got theophobia?
He’s given the trichotillomania,
Although an excellent thimblerigger…
I’d love to be his gravedigger tomorrow!

I feel like a foreigner an uitlander,
I’d like to be a uranographer,
Last week, I had urinemia,
Sorry, we said adieu,
To the EU,

Starmer? I’d willingly do his vivisepulture!
He’s an untrustworthy liar & morals-violater,
To Labour promises he’s a vilifier,
They may be lies, but he’s a good verbalist,
Out only for selfprofit, a viveurist!

I was once fun, a wassailer,
Not like Starmer, the waghalter,
The profitmonger, liar, wiseacre,
He should go to hell or heaven, whichever…
My hatred for him will never wither!

Years ago, I’d kowtower, I was a yeasayer,
But now well aged, I’m not so yellow,
I admit to being a peace-loving yawper,
Unashamed of loving a good yatter,

Proud to be compassionate, a zoolater,
My ability to spot a zeitgeber,
I love clothes blue, purple and zaffre,
I love food, especially zakuska,
I’d love to shoot Keir with a police zapper!

It’s rubbish, I know, but a bit of fun?
Cheers, Each!
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Interfationing Inchy: Wed 27th Mar 24

/ Inchie / 5 Comments

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4:00hrs: I woke feeling oddly a little sprightly (for me). As I tried to rise from the c1968, tatty, scruffy, unkempt, virus, microorganism, bug, bacterium, bacillus, germ, parasite producing, uncomfortable, incommodious, unwelcoming and disease-fermenting second-hand, eyesorely-horrendously grungy beige-coloured, £300, charity shop bought, crumb-retaining, moth-eaten, non-working, itch-encouraging, Haemorrhoid Harold testing, catheter tube yanking, recliner. As I did so, gave way on me. The bum bounced down into the recliner, and I got an instant comment from Harold’s Haemorrhoids as they burst, bled and stung. Bad enough, you may think?  This is where comedy came into the morning’s equation! I’d fallen on the TV remote, and there I was in the middle of cursing and verging on self-pity as the TV came on. That momentarily confused me, realised what had happened and got some kitchen roll in the Protection Pants, as I now had , in front, along with bleeding at the back! I lost the first hour of the day cleaning up and medicating. I Got the nocturnal catheter pouch off.

Then a   dawned. As I was metamorphosed into an old, miserable, grouchy, depressed, frustrated, bleeding, in pain, downhearted, depressed, melancholy, forlorn, glum, demoralised, fed up, down in the dumps, in the doldrums, unnerved, chagrined, miffed, sour, sulky, sullen, surly, saddened, subdued, almost sepulchral Inchy.
But within minutes, a stroke of good luck eased my misery by taking my mind off of it. As I was leaving the wet room, I clouted my head, this time on the door frame! 99% of the time, it will be the right shoulder. Blame can be attached to: ,  ,  ,   or any of the ailments really. On this occasion, the culprits were, I think, and or . The eyes are worse than ever now, and I’m sure I’ll have kicked the bucket before my turn comes for the operation. But, sorting youngsters out early is more vital. They have the prospect of living many years with their sight adjusted. We long in the tooth old things, must accept this.

This morning, the sky was a glorious blue hue again. My confusion was worse than usual for the next hour or two. I got out of the wet room, put some Dettol Cream on my head, and got on with the waste bag sorting. A wet, warm sensation from the lower regions. I went back to the wet room to investigate.
There was a smidgen more bleeding from Little Inchy, but it’s not worth mentioning compared to the tsunami that was released yesterday.
Throughout the day, the bleeding was far, even less than it is usually. Had a wash & shave.
Then checked the state of the ankles. No doubt that my was getting better bit by bit.

The areas where the are coming from remain a little rough and red. No pain when the shocks don’t come, and when they do hit, it wakes you if you’re sleeping every time! But the pain lasts for about two seconds, if that. is to blame.
Getting lighter now, I took another Kodak Tim picture from the kitchen window again. The streetlights were off now.
As per usual, the end car parking turnaround area had its regular little bit of a mudslide in it again.

Carer Shaquille arrived. I made an order the J Sainsbury’s for next week. Blogging.
Amending, blogging, correcting, blogging-getting more things wrong, blogging… well, you get the message. Tsk!
Carer Kara arrived. She sorted out the banking problem and said she would try to get in touch with Norton about the three times the bill was taken from the debits another time. She ran out of time today. Care Victor, did the last two calls.
I took these photos later. 
Then went into what I believe was a non-apolectic seizure. Not a mind-block. Because it was like blinking, and an hour had gone, but nothing was done whatsoever when I came around back to this miserable existence.
After the , I’d discover I’d been doing the blog, mopping the kitchen floor, or started cooking something while out of it. A procedure Hehe! Nothing gets done as if I’d fallen asleep, but I know it wasn’t that. I think.  might play a part in this ailment.
At times, I come back to the reality of stinging pains in the lower regions from the catheter bag being too full, and I have to get it emptied swiftly, ASAP.
The sunset was about over by the time I regained a modicum of brain control, rejoined the menagerie of life on offer, and got back to the reality and struggle of living.

I DIDN’T

I gave up on the blogging.

Made myself a meal.
It tasted delicious, too! I could feel my burnt finger on the oven rack and the pain of dropping the hot oven tray onto my foot. Landing on my toe nail.
But the meal was worth the hassle. 

Wrote by Inchie c1953

Search for the meaning of truth,
Look until you’re long in the tooth,
You may find it, Gawd’s strewth,
Facts will have to be dealth…
With those who demand wealth,
Humans want for themselves,
Oligarchs will believe in elves!

See you later, take care of yourselves!

Inchy with Little Inchie Bleeding: Tue 26 Mar 24

/ Inchie / 21 Comments

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Today, felt like it had lasted for three days or more!
Yet I was so swamped, which usually makes the time pass quicker? The worrying early morning , the Asda delivery farce, Little Inchy, and the catheter tube painfully in disagreement all day long, and so many episodes meant this was not anywhere near a good day for Inchy! I’m sure I had one while Carer Kara was with me today. Because I was not getting what she was saying about the text, I was left more befuddled than before I asked for help.
My blogging exploits are taking so much longer, with a first-time success rate of infinitesimally low.
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Very early morning view.

Porcelain Throne evacuation failure. Not only no release but no answers to the crossword. Tsk!

I gave up, but within a minute of leaving the wet room, I hobbled hastily back, just in time. The delayed motion shot out as my bum hit the seat!

I got on with the blog catch-up. At about 06:00hrs, I thought I’d make myself a mug of tea.

WHOOPSIEDANGLEPLOP
As I pottered about from the sink to the kettle back to the counter, I got the kettle on, went to the cupboard for the tea bag, took that and the mug to the kettle counter, and went to the fridge for the milk… I really thought my bad eyesight was fooling me at first when I dropped the spoon and looked down for it; there were trials of dripped blood all over the kitchen, some trodden on and smeared by my slippers. A closer inspection of the Little area revealed that blood was pouring out from near the catheter tube inserted, as it has been for over a year now in . I used many kitchen towel sheets over the next hour; yes, it took that long. It was steadily bleeding, started heavily, slowly getting less, until it seemed to stop of its own accord. All I did was go into a semi-panic and wipe it off with paper towels. I took a photo of the last few towels used. The first few were more red than white, so you can see how much it lessened to a trickle, running down the inside of my leg, onto the now, for some reason, between my leg and the swollen right testicle. No, the left one.
I had considered pressing the alarm wristlet. But when I saw the blood getting less and less, I didn’t bother. I’ll ask the Carer to ring the community nurse’s place for me when she or he arrives.
I cleaned up the kitchen and my body parts as best I could. Next, I was going to get a fresh pair of PPs Protection Pants) on. But what had happened in the kitchen that may have caused the problem dawned on me. I was taking the emptied catheter pouch with me as I went in and dropped it; I bent down to retrieve it rather sharpishly. That may have cracked the dried blood and allowed a follow-through? Hehe!

The Asda Delivery Arrived
The delivery driver saw my predicament and took the food to the kitchen. Some were put on the floor near the sink…
Some on the kettle shelf…
The PPs on the cooker.
Bags on the floor.
Daffodils for the Carers on the draining board.
These are from a carrier I placed for photographing. I got things sorted and put away, but I could only see one of the two ordered packs of PPs and no kitchen towel. I kept looking around, searching. The email said they had been sent. An hour and four look-arounds later, I found them. They were in the hallway near the door, on the floor behind Wally. I took one of these out, asking the Carer to help me get into them later. I wanted to avoid bending.

I took this snap of the later morning view. Carer Marie arrived, medicated me, and helped me with the PPs and diabetic socks. Bless her!

Hours were spent on this blog preparation, but it was slow going again. Grammarly, Accifauxpa-ridden.

Cara Kara arrived
She called the District Nurses for me, and they will call today or tomorrow. She checked the catheter bags for me. Medications were given. She looked at the texts and emails. No action is needed. She will ring someone about something later in the week, but I can’t recall who or what it was about now. 

Blogging.

The Landline Rang
District nurse. I told her the bleeding had almost stopped and the pain, although still hurting, was far less than yesterday. They will not be calling on me now. If pain or bleeding gets worse, I’ve to phone them.

Started to make an early meal
The usual tiredness and weariness fell on me extra early this Tuesday.

One of my betterer, more tasty efforts this one was.
Lipsmackingly tasty!.
A drop of Heinz tomato ketchup with pickle decorated the top of the folder. I do like this sauce!

Getting down in the c1966, £300 charity shop bought, second-hand, wincingly grotty, beige-coloured, not working, crumb-covered from the nocturnal nibbling, itch-making, uncomfortable, virus-breeding, easy-to-fall-out-of recliner, in search of Sweet Morpheus, initially failed. I tried the trick of putting the TV on to watch my favourite TV programme, ‘Heartbeat’. And it worked, and I went into bliss… Carer Chris arrived to wake me up, reluctantly, he said, with a big grin on his face. Hehe! 
Medication issues, nibbles and drinkies given, socks taken off. And off trotted Chris. Nice lad!

I had to get up to empty the .
I took this view of the early evening sky as I did.
Amazing cloud formation!

I made the last call of the day. I was so out of it with the blessed, deep, comforting sleep. I can see now why the lad removed the diabetic socks earlier: to let me sleep on without getting up. Good on him! He sprayed the eye spray on me, making sure I had to close my eyes first. Drinkie, nibble, and off.

I was soon back in the land of nod. I’m not sure I entirely left it anyway. Hehe! My next conscious moment, deep in slumber and dreaming of physically entwining with long-gone Lady Grizelda, Was when the began bursting out.
There was no chance of any more sleep now, but I was well-pleased when I realised the time. I’d just had nine hours of sleep! Brilliant!

TTFNski, each!

Inchcock: Wednesday’s Diary & Ode

/ Inchie / 4 Comments

The moon landing was expensive in terms of costs and men dying…
But had to be done cause of Uri Gagarin…
Space race? The Russians were now leading,
First to the moon, the USA not conceding…
Conspiracists said the films were misleading,
Shadows in the wrong place, the flag was waving…
The trip took 109 hours, 42 minutes, launch to landing,
About the time it took me to get to see Dr Sanding…
Then she wasn’t there, more complex than a moon landing!.
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Inchcocks Diary

Approx 05:30 hours, I stirred back into life and promptly tumbled out of the £300, second-hand, decrepit, Haemorrhoid Harold-testing, sleep-deterring, nauseatingly beige-coloured, not working recliner. There I was, on my bum, with one leg on the swivel chair and the other bent awkwardly but somehow under the chair. And in a bit of a predicament! I stunned myself for a smidgeon. (Obvious to me that I’d been doing some tossing and turning and edged towards the front of the chair? Can’t recall any dreaming.)
I could sense the wet warm flow of blood in the Protection pants, which would be either Little Inchies Fungal Lesion, or Harold’s Haemorrhoids, whichever or both, the need to get up and investigate, clean and medicate things was causing a bit of a panic in me. (I panic so well!) There was an urgency to my need to somehow get back up and onto my feet…
In my sad, messy manoeuvring painfully, first back on the chair, then onto my feet, I stubbed my same, the same one twice, which with the swollen feet and toes was worse than usual. I slipped my arm off the side of the recliner, getting up. Hitting my chin on the corner arm. No time to mess about, though, and I got Metal Micky, and we hobbled to the wet room. Bit of good fortune here. It was only Harold’s Haemorrhoids that were bleeding. Thus it was far less painful to medicate than the lesion would have been. The toes and chin were enough to keep my attention.
I did notice the vast improvement in the ankle ulcer, though, compared to Tuesday evening’s photo, this morning was much calmer and swollen looking. It must have been around an hour after waking that I started to think the day’s needs through. Food order to do, ask Meridian if they have sorted anything out with the Diabetes session. Get Richards’s treats sorted out. Got to… No, I’d better have a wee-wee first. And what a leak that was! Galore, and one of the longest wee-wees that I’ve ever taken! And they kept coming throughout the day!

The Blood Pressure sphygmomanometerisationing was yet another great set of results: SYS 44, DIA 62 and the Pulse, a smidgeon up, at 91 bpm!   
The body temperature had risen to an almost perfect figure, at 35.1°f.
Interruption: The landline burst forth; it was a very hard-to-hear and understand lady (I think?), from the dentist’s surgery, on Mansfield Road. Reminding me of my appointment next. Plenty of time for me to forget it, though.
I input the BP numbers into the NHS Work-it-out site. (Left graphic wot I sun) It came out the same as yesterday! Don’t know why I made a sad face on it?
I got the computer on to finalise yesterday’s blog and found the SD car was reading again? I swiftly got the few, well, three photos from yesterday that I could not get on done. Then titivated the blog and felt a smidge smug, but what with my luck in waking up and thudding to the floor, I thought it best not to get too confident.

The lad was worn out, and I was his last call. Richard arrived, and I thanked him for getting me some help yesterday, and I flashed him my much better-looking ankles… Hehehe! He warned me that thunderstorms were forecast for this afternoon. I thought it was a lot cooler today. We had a little natter, too and froing, and a laugh or two. This is good then; when he’s not too tired, he can spend a little longer with me, chinwagging. Gave him some treats in thanks, and off he trotted, in much need of his bed.

I am walking much better this morning after the initial waking-up boo-boo! Not having to walk on the heels today shows how the swelling has gone down in the legs and feet.

Although the toes still look like baby ones. Hehe! And, the bruise under the chin has not given me any bother at all! Even Arthur Itis in the knees has calmed done.

♫ Oh, Susana ♫ chimed out from the door chime. It was neighbour Josie, returning Sunday’s crumb-covered tray and dishes from her meal. I’m not sure which of us is the worst, Hahaha! The poor gal didn’t look too well. I pointed the walking stick at my feet and said they were much better. Josie replied, “Yes, very good; I’ll try to…” Smiled and wandered back into her flat. I’m not sure who is the worst with Dementia and our lousy hearing. Hahaha! I tried to work out what she thought I had said but without success. Bless her ♥

Noise merchant Herbert from the flat above kicked off with his tap-tapping, the odd thud, and scuffing noises thrown in. He kept it u[ for hours on and off. He must have a special job lined up? Hello, I think he just dropped a box of tools. Ah, the drilling and grating noises have started now; he must be getting on with it, bless him. Back to the tap-tapping again…

I finally got the blog finished and posted off to WordPress. Went on the comments page. I had tons come in. But got them both answered. Then nipped on the WP Reader. Now it is time to get the ablutionalisationing tended to; and check Harolds Haemorrhoids, amongst other ailments. Hehehe! Back soon. Well, I hope to be back shortly.
I’m back. And what a good session that was! Only one teeny-weeny cut shaving on the chin where I ‘Chin-Butted’ the arm of the chair first thing this morning getting back up from the floor after my tumble out of the chair. No toe-stubbing, no Dizzies, I walked into nothing either. I have a mini involuntary right-leg Neuropathic Schuhplattler drop-something and flail-about dance while I was shaving, hence, the little nick.
Had a wee-wee (it must have been number twelve of the day at least) and remembered what Carer Richard said when he was checking the use-by dates for me; “I’ve never seen yer with so little in yer fridge!”. So, I investigated and made an order for Iceland. They have no bottled water in stock either. So I ordered some low-cal lemonade. I must keep up with the drinking in this hot weather while the legs and feet retain so much fluid. Coming in the morning twixt 06:00 > 08:00hrs.
As I started prepping the meal, I remembered the last Iceland delivery I’d had last week. The squashed bananas, the leaking bottle of liquid soap, short-dated yoghourt… and of course, there not having any of my beloved No Bull burgers or bread I ordered in stock. And the crap substitutions… I may have made a mistake here…

Had a tin of curried beans that I seasoned with the usual squid vinegar, malt vinegar and Vegan BBQ sauce. Put a part-baked loaf in the oven halfway through cooking. The beans and bread were excellent, but the veggie burgers were terrible; the crispy crumbs were not crisp. How clearly now, after making the order, one remembers one’s self-promise never to trust or use Iceland again! Being low on choices with the low stocks in the fridge, I decided to use up the crap and substituted it with Iceland bean burgers in crispy breadcrumbs.
As instructed, I got my feet up on a chair and sat watching TV. I soon nodded off, but could I stay asleep? Not a chance!

When I gave up on sleep, I took a photograph of the ankle ulcer and feet, and they looked so much improved from how Tuesdays were. The toes remain a bit pudgy. The retained fluid, giving me rock-hard legs, was also reduced.
.
The ♫Oh, Susana♫ tune chimed out, and in walked Valerie. She was a little happier tonight. Got the medications sorted, and I gave her a can of cold orange Fanta from the fridge; she liked that. Val took the waste bags with her on her way out.

I settled down to watch the England Ladies Game v Spain. I’ve never been more proud of an England team since 1966! I wish could have been France we beat, though. That would have been the icing on the cake. We will have to play against Sweden or Belgium, if we get through, France will have to be conquered!

ODE TO SELF-IRRISION & DERISION

I no longer have inspiration and very little gumption,
Life for me is sinking into declension…
Dementia means I’ve little recent memory retention,
Yet sometimes recall things, to my stupefaction…
I’m waiting on the EENT to have an operation,
For my cataracts, called Phacoemulsification,
I persistently wee-wee; and have hypertension.
I’m almost deaf, yet have tintinnabulation?

Arthur Itis, Ankle ulcer, and fluid-filled legs, with many a contusion,
Peripheral Neuropathy, a mechanical ticker, destitution…
I think St Peter should give me restitution!
Should I have been born? Am I a substitution?
Was I meant to be a boy or girl? That’s the question…
Parents named Inchcock, during gestation…
With a man-tool the same size, did my prospect worsen?
Unfortunately, I can’t make past miseries unhappen.

At birth, Mother said, ‘I don’t want it; I was crestfallen…
No wonder, as a youngster, I was so sullen!
Slowly my resistance began to weaken…
I lived on lard sarnies and Iprobrufen…
I asked every adult I met for an adoption,
I ran away from home, I had no option…
I went for shelter from Auntie Gretchen,
She just threw me out of the kitchen!

The next day, I hobbled back home, downfallen…
I got in and spoke, hoping they would listen.
No one knew I’d gone; my life never started to glisten?
My developing years were misery and rotten…
Then Mother was freed from jail; she’d been forgotten…
Laughing and being happy was then verboten…
I left school at 14 and got a job baling cotton!.

Depressed, I considered becoming an anthropophaginian,
There was a week when my life seemed ambrosian!
Matilda was her name, an arithmetician,
Randy? No need to ask her for her permission!.
But she turned out to be a Pinoccohian,
Not only that but an absinthian,
I returned to Nottingham, working as a beautician.
———————————–

.

 

Inchcock’s Thought Storms

/ Inchie / 4 Comments

Introduction

His odes, in many ways, are like a zit…

An unwanted ailment, you have to squash it…

Full of pus, staph bacteria, that hurts a bit,

Lost words, replaced with whatchamacallits,

Rhyming is so bad that it can ruin friendships,

Dementia Doreen causing so many errors and blips,

Inchy’s not educated, so he struggles at penmanship…

Now lost his logicality, of which he once had a firm grip!

He dreams of his brain being men mended, maybe, reequipped.

Mental power, dreams, and memory have to the ether slipped…

He tries to battle against Doreen, for long he has schlepped…

But is losing the battle; thus, he is about ready for his crypt.

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

His odes, in many ways, are like a zit; yes, I meant zit,

An unwanted ailment, you have to squash it…

Full of pus, staph bacteria, that hurts a bit,

Lost words, replaced with whatchamacallits,

Rhyming is so bad that it can ruin friendships,

Dementia Doreen causing so many errors and blips,

He’s not educated, so he struggles at penmanship…

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

Now lost his logicality, of which he once had a firm grip!

He dreams of his brain being men mended, maybe, reequipped.

Mental power, dreams, and memory have into the ether slipped…

He tries to battle against Doreen, for long he has schlepped…

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

But is losing the battle, thus ready for his crypt

But the business went bust,

And I started to lust…

For a gal with a big bust…

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

I’m prepared, but not too keen, on my upcoming sepulchre,

To be honest, I don’t see it fits into human culture…

Well, I used to be sociable, in fact, I was a campanologer,

Waking folks up Sunday morning… was my main pleasure,

Which I took my time with because it was a pleasure!

 The locals warned me off, bellringing, with a fervour,

So, to avoid a pasting, my bell rang no more…

Anyway, it hurt my arms, then I got a shoulder fracture…

So, I bought a barrow, and became a costermonger,

Giving me so much time watching the sky and pareidolia!?

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

Mood Update:

While struggling to get the preceding crap ode done, I got increasingly confused. I may have just posted bits of a Snippet ode wot I did in between today’s efforts. I have to write this stuff on Word, and then I get a spell checker. Then cut and paste into Blogger, where the colour and font size usually changes, and I have to go through it all again, ever correcting! I got a little depressed with things, life etc… I gave up and transferred it to WordPress. It’s a true-life farcicalness with Doreen Dementia!

However, I had a bit of good fortune in taking a tumble while making a brew of Thompson Punjana tea. Cracking my left knee on a cabinet corner as I went down. Everything seemed to change then, outlook and contentment-wise.

 I suddenly gleaned a previously unthought series of thoughts:

① Why am I worrying? The end is nigh, and whatever I do, the Doctor will not accept Doreen Dementia’s existence, so there is no chance in hell of getting any help. ‘Fact!’

② As much as I miss my daily hobbles, walking to the shops, and in the tree copse. I no longer have the ability to take them. ‘Fact’ – You’ll just have to accept the inevitable, Chambers!

③ Walking into things may get less after I’ve had the eyes done. No point in fretting over it, the right eye cataract will take time to work, but there is a good chance I will again be able to do crosswords (not that I was any good at them, Hehe!), Not fret over the other eye being done afterwards. It’ll take a long time ‘Fact’.

④ Should I snuff it before they are done well? Would it matter? Apart from an unknown to me, a battle to get at my valuables from sudden relatives who care… I shall not be around to see it, and I can’t take them with me, (Or, can I?). So, good luck to them. ‘Fact!’

⑤ I tried thinking about happier times… that was not easy. Hehe! But Suzanne Jean Percival came to mind first and foremost, and they really were genuine happy memories. ‘Fact!’

⑥ That made me feel worse when I realised my current position… So quiet here today, even the noisy standoffish, antisocial, smarmy, reticent, toploftical git in the flat above was not making any noise! Loneliness is something that rarely affects me, but it did then. No one visiting. No phone calls, text messages… a sense of isolation. ‘Fact!’

⑦ After I’d cleared up the mess in the kitchen and Phorpain gelled the knee, I made another brew, of Glengettie tea this time, the mood rose… without any reason, nothing had changed, yet suddenly I was ashamed of myself – and self-loathing at my pathetic self-pitying took over.‘ Fact!’

⑧ There are so many others in a worse state than I am. Somehow, although it didn’t cheer me up, my acceptance of things grew. 

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

So I got on with this blog’s making.

Nemo Mortalium Omnibus Horis Sapit

LATE THOUGHT-STORMS!

As a young man, I thought I was a brainiac…
But that was sixty-odd years ago, way back,
I’ve been through periods of wine and Prozac,
Lived in a tent, then moved up to a wooden shack…
Cost of livings to high got to cut back!

I used to believe in Old Moore’s Almanac!
Bought a Robin Reliant, but I wanted a Cadillac…
That had to go because I got the sack,
Others had briefcases, me? A haversack!
I’ve never won the lottery, Monopoly, or blackjack…
Amazon, Facebook, eBay my computer track,
Maybe it’s because I’m a senile maniac?

TTFNski!

Inchcock Today: Crowell Manor Laboratory

/ Inchie / 18 Comments

Inchcock Today

I apologise for the change in content and style. This is due to ailments, and many computer problems.

I am glad I got this graphic finished in time. Precious HRH Petal Lisa & Professor Billum, (And Nibbles, the gorgeous pussy) in one of their laboratories at Crowell Manor. Wonderful people!

I hope they and you enjoy it for a laugh.

I am due to go to the hospital on Tuesday for the first consultation about cataracts, glaucoma and saccades in the eyes. So, if I don’t get posts done, you’ll understand why. Thanks!

I hate to disappoint my lovely, kind, swarming hoards of followers. And apologise again to both of you. Hehe!

TTFN

Hahaha!

The Fort Thomas Mystery?

/ Inchie / 12 Comments

THE FORT THOMAS MYSTERY

And, why is the Inchcock News Snippets reporter there?

Who is Billum? He is the once unspotted, then much-spotted, lesser-spotted, and now spot-free, Humira-taking, emeritus professor of algebraic, arithmetical, numerical, and statistics.

He, and his assistant, the lovely Petal Lisa, are referred to as HRH (Her Royal Highness) locally, around Crowell Manor, their home. She is always there, and always ready to support Billum, on his inventioning-habit. Billum is a clever lad. In fact, at the interviews I’ve had with him, I gleaned little – I was spending so much time on the Thesaurus and Dictionary.

After my last interview, I picked my way through the unwritten, intelligently and clandestinely formulated sagacious words in his replies. This is still a job in progress!

The Short Interview: Scientist, Lecturer, PhD, Astrophysics Master-Technician was working in his cellar basement laboratory, a sort of manufacturing complex, with a nuclear fall-out shelter, DVDs of the entire Grimm series, and enough supplies of cat food for 6-months was working on a new invention at the time.

I inquired what it was he was working on:

Billum: After explaining to me about his work, everything bar what it was he was inventing, said; That mutually inconsistent theory must not be ignored completely. Unless you want to… but if you do, you may miss a vital link that could prove that spaghettification is a natural phenomenon that we will meet. Thus, accepting that this is part of the process needed to be understood bBill andHRHefore the creation of any viable, workable model can be achieved, naturally…

Thankfully, Angel Lisa arrived as Billum got on with something in the other lab room (by gum, he must be working on two inventions simultaneously? Clever chap, you know!), and I was given a mug of Glengettie tea.

When he returned, I had a wee-wee, washed and returned. The interview resumed: I tried to think of a way, without sounding too stupid or upsetting Mr Billum, that he had not yet told me what the invention was yet… I mumbled and hesitated a bit; you would when talking to a genius!

Inchcock: Would you mind mentioning what your project is, Sir?

Billum: Not at all, transtemporal travel.

Inchcock: Sorry?

Billum: No need to be sorry, my lad… A way is bound to be discovered; I intend to be the man to do it… I’m close now; the lad Alan and HRH are getting excited at the prospect…

Inchcock: Erm, I’m not sorry you are doing it, Sir; I’m just sorry I didn’t understand what transtemporal travel means.

Billum: Well, what do you think it might be?

Inchcock: Er…, transport, maybe a cheaper way to power trains or aeroplanes? No, perhaps an unpunctureable air balloon… or…

Billum: No, no, no… Time-Travel! It’s taken me two weeks to get this far, but I’m sure I shall have it cracked by the end of today!

Inchcock: Er, So, you think it will work and be controllable, Billum?

Billum: Right now, at the particular place you are sitting, at the time when you are sitting there, one of two things is true: Either there is a closed timelike curve passing through that point in spacetime, or there is not. And that situation will never change — no matter what clever engineers may do in the future if they create closed timelike curves, they cannot pass through events in spacetime through which closed timelike curves did not pass. Simple!

Inchcock: Er… Is it?

Billum: Oh, aye! A time-travel paradox is a paradox, an apparent contradiction, or a logical contradiction associated with the idea of time and time travel. Time travel is one of the most popular and most exciting topics in science fiction. In psychology, mental time travel is the capacity to mentally reconstruct personal events from the past. We all do that. The motivation for a character to travel in time, provided that it is intentional, is either to rectify events in the past or to explore the past or future. However, there seems to be a danger of causing a paradox in the timeline, especially when going to the past. The best-known dilemma occurs if the time traveller goes back something like 70 years to the past and inadvertently kills his grandfather before grandpa has met grandma. He is extinguishing his own existence at the very exact moment. If he will never exist in the future, there is no one to go back to the past to cause the change in the timeline in the first place. As a result, the timeline is ambiguous since that time was in the past, and the person exists and does not exist at the same time from a logical viewpoint, at least in one possible interpretation.

Inchcock: Er…,

Billum: Oh, yes, easy-peasy! Time travel via speed, or the reverse… This is the easiest and most practical way to time travel into the far future – go really fast. According to Einstein’s theory of special relativity, when you travel at speeds approaching the speed of light, time slows down for you relative to the outside world…

Inchcock: So you’ve made an actual time machine then, Billum?

Billum: Of sorts, yes. The stronger the gravity you feel, the slower time moves. So my time bubble is super magnetic and will move at the slowest pace ever, so time travelling backwards is so easy! Which us what we will be doing.

Inchcock: Is it? Err, We?

Billum: Yes! Of course, it has to be large enough to carry food, water etc., for a good few years. And I was looking for someone who is not entirely with it. Preferably bald, so he’ll have no haircutting to worry about, will be needed; to be my first man to time travel in my bubble-magnet… Have another mug of Glengettie, mate…

Lock the doors, Alan!

Ode To The Outcome…

I enjoyed the tutoring for my journey…
By HRH, a joyous beauty,
You’ll have to see and agree…
But facts and numbers only confuse me…
Still, we had a cuddle and mug of Glengettie!

Time to go, lacking fear, and HRH was kissed…
I went slowly into the ether, the space mist…
I wrote of the nothing I saw and all I missed…
In time, I became a pretty fair anecdotalist,
Throughout, I kept at a level of my cheerfullest…

At no time did I become worried or distressed…
With Bill’s magnet-time-machine, I was impressed,
It was cold, and I was glad I wore my woolly vest…
Although, with my pencil breaking, I was stressed…
I’d a spare pencil stuck with a plaster on my chest.
Inchcock at his cunning best!

I saw Spike Mulligan, Aneurin Bevan, Yes, Siree!
I looked around to see if I could see Suzie…
Then I sensed starting, a Thought Storm, spree…
And then it all became vividly clear to me…

Huh, it was all a dream, Alto Ego laughed heartily…
At his mocking, I did disagree,
We had a verbal argy-bargy…
I started the battle off with “Pardon me?”,
We ended up drinking mugs of Glengettie tea…

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Part of Inchcocks Make Them Laugh Series

Inchcock Today: Inchcock Today Diary – Tuesday 29th March 2022

/ Inchie / 12 Comments

Inchcock Today: Diary Tuesday 29th March

05:35hrs: Woke to pea-souper fog.

I dragged my not-slept-much body from the clutches of the second-hand, overwhelmingly-sickeningly beige coloured, £300, c1968,  tatty, uncomfortable, wobbly-recliner. Then went to make a brew of J Sainsbury Extra Strong tea and drank it pretty quickly cause the need for the Porcelain Throne arrived.

So, off to the wet room come WC I went. And the evacuation operation was positively under the influence of Constipation Conrad!

So, out came the crossword book. As I awaited some movement from the rear end, I studied the clues, determined to do better than yesterday’s solution-finding of only two! There was no rush, so I looked at the options for a good ten minutes. Then the activity started… and stopped a minute later – solidly refusing to recommence again! Which gave me another ten minutes or so of puzzle-solving. Well, that’s not strictly true… I didn’t get one answer! But I persevered, with an unnatural desire to succeed.

As you can see in the second photo, I made no, zilch progress. Which was annoying. Haha!

I went back to the kitchen and sorted out the spring water bottles. Opened the fridge door to find that I’d already done them last night. Dementia Doreen again!

The wee-weeing started and was pretty persistent again throughout the day. I made a brew and got the computer to update Monday’s blog.

Carer Richard arrived. He was looking a little better than yesterday; bless him. We had a good nattering session; things of old we had in common were the theme. I could see he was ready for his bed and appreciated the chinwag but cut it short to let him get home to his medicines and, above all, bed. Bade him farewell, and he took the waste bags to the chute for me. Hope he’s not coming down with anything. He’s got enough already.

By the time I got around to doing this post, I could see clearly the writing on the reminder pad – Consip victory! I’ve not got the foggiest of what it meant! Sad, innit? Hahaha!

I got on the computer again, finished updating, and sent the blog to WordPress.

This morning, jolly good figures from the sphygmomanometer, even though it was nearly midday by now. Gosh, the day is flashing by! Even the body temperature had risen again… bot by a lot, but that’s two days on the up. Things might be getting better? No, I am a fool!

I spent the next four hours on the computer, making mayhaps my biggest cock-up of the year!

I’d started doing a Local News Snippets one for tomorrow! Pillock! And had not finished and posted the Monday one yet!

Then, after updating and sending off the Monday post to WordPress…

Instead of starting this blog, I began doing an Ode blog!!! Gawd or Mighty, I’m Going Potty!

The mind was so puddled. I stopped and went to make a brew of Glengettie tea.

Filled the kettle but did not turn on the heat!!! Argh!

I took these two photographs of the evening sky. There is no sunsetting to speak of, but I still found them beautiful, Mother Nature at her finest. I appreciate There’s something special about the skies, not as much as a good natter. Hehe!

I’d made a start on two blogs now! Neither one finished. And had to get this one started then! Dumbo!

I had a call from Meridian saying the evening carer would be late. They already were. I told them no bother, not to worry. Which was true!

I put some potatoes in the oven and added a pastie later, peas in the pan.

I got on with starting this blog. The evening carer arrived later, apologising. But there was no need; I appreciated that she was in a rush but still found time for a bit of chinwag. 💙

I made some progress with this blog, but it was so late, and tiredness overcame me and my hunger.

I’ll have to finish this in the morning. I’ll get the jammies on and nosh served up now. TTFN.

Wednesday morning update:

I was up until gone midnight again.

Made a well-overcooked meal. But it went down nicely, all the same, despite fighting to keep awake while eating it. Tsk!

The darned Thought-Storms raged again when I washed the pots and got into the c1968 second-hand, E-plan recliner.

Gragnangles!

Ode: Inchcock’s First Dance Hall Visit

/ Inchie / 5 Comments

After trying out ballroom dancing at the Youth Social Centre and being told by one well built, highly desirable busty young lady: “Your dancing reminded me of a pregnant rhinoceros that, with three legs, suffered from an overindulgence of alcohol!” I stopped.

Then, off to the Youth Club, and tried my hand at Jiving. When! More my style, although I was a total failure and spent far too much time picking myself up from the floor and getting an elbow or fist in the face, I also had to give that up. After I was banned from the Youth Club for accidentally putting Sandra’s shoulder out.

Then, it arrived – The Twist!

The current girlfriend was not a fan of the twist at all. And became an un-girlfriend. Sob! But being a romantic, look-at-me-go type of young lad, I’d already had my eye on Margaret, a locally-bred gal, and love of the twist brought us together. She was a couple of years older than I, and the Locarno Dance Hall was the first to be holding a dedicated Twist only night. So we arranged to visit.

Expensive mind you; 2/6d (12½d) to get in. But, I was determined to show off my ‘Twisting skills’, So enthusiastically practised and honed, to what I thought was perfection, in my bedroom for many an hour into the night. This was my chance to impress!

Queuing Up To Get In

We whippersnappers queued early on in the night,
The mood was good; nobody wanted to fight,
No talking back then, of gigabyte, megabyte, or terabyte,
No mobile phones or headphones were in sight…
Time for the doors to be opened, I was uptight;
Margaret hadn’t turned up… still, my chance for the limelight?

Searching Out A Partner!

I got in, and was cool, as they played ‘Twist and Shout’,
Time to have a decker around and pick a girl out…
I found one; she was over six feet and rather stout…
But I went over to try my best lines out…
Her breath smelt of Vodka and brussels sprout,
But her bosom swelled as I got my wallet out…
We were soon on the dancefloor for a workout!

I was enjoying that…

The gal and I did jive, had a jolly good shakeout,
The bouncer came over, and said ‘It’s Twist night!’
I said, well, it doesn’t matter nowt!
He hit me and threw me out!

I was a bit disappointed…

I felt a proper fool; the gal stayed behind, sacre bleu!
I legged it home miserable and made a brew…
Had some leftover rabbit stew…
Two bottles of Guinness too…
Then I had to spew…
That was the end of Twisting debut…

Part of the Inchcock Memories in Ode Series