Upon reading this crap, I felt a little hypnagogia,
I felt dizzy; mayhap it’s habromania?
Or even worse, a mental cacodemonomania…
You can work this out between yers…
Cause sure as hell, this ode will bring you longueur!
Things are so bad, I’ve got apeirophobia…
I’ve just had a bout of acrophobia!
I’m growing ever tubbier and heavier…
As I age, my ailments get nastier, uglier,
I’m losing my grip; it’s not just a rumour!
With such limited brain power…
The thought of teaching did hover…
I couldn’t get my head around wind power.
I was going to apply for the job of executioner…
It involved a lot of hanging around, so I didn’t bother.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – –
I wondered, will Putin’s war remain non-nuclear?
We’re running out of space for more folks coming here…
But victims should be welcomed, it’s clear…
The world is different to yesteryear…
Putin’s warring is not over yet, I fear!
The cost of living is rising, and life is becoming austere!
There’s hope, says Boris, but from where?
The Tory Council, guilty of Grenfell, did I hear…
were at Boris’s party, no masks, but whisky and beer?
Oh, to meet the Kensington & Chelsea London Borough Council leader at the time. The murdering scum, who got off scot-free, the lucky Bleeder!
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
The chief executive of Kensington and Chelsea council has resigned amid criticism over the borough’s response to the Grenfell Tower fire.
Nicholas Holgate said Local Government Secretary Sajid Javid asked for him to go – the government denied this. Mr Holgate said the fire in North Kensington, where at least 79 people died, was “heart-breaking”, but his presence would be a “distraction”.
Perhaps if his Council had not ignored the Tenants Association Meetings warnings that were recorded; Telling them that a disastrous fire: The chief executive of Grenfell Tower’s landlord body told colleagues to ignore a resident who warned eight months before the fire that:
“Only a catastrophic event will expose the ineptitude and incompetence of our landlord!”
He might not have had to resign?
Why has the legal system not used these in a prosecution?
Tomorrow, Thursday, May 5, might be Election Day, but for some also thinking about RBKC, it will also be when Nicholas “Naughty Nick” Holgate appears at the Grenfell Inquiry: People in and around the Grenfell community might remember Nicholas Holgate. He was the Town Clerk of RBKC (Barry Quirk’s predecessor) until shortly after the Grenfell Tower fire when 72 innocent members of our community lost their lives. He resigned from the Council around a week after the disaster, saying he would be a “distraction” But when asked by journalists if the then Secretary of State for Housing, Communities and Local Government, Sajid Javid, authorised this. MHCLG did not deny this and just issued a statement saying, “The appointment of chief executives is entirely the responsibility of the local authority,” some time afterwards. For anyone who happens to think Holgate was just some innocent “fall guy” director simply doing his job and simply just took the rap from the decisions of Nick Paget-Brown, “Jailhouse”, Rock Feilding-Mellen and co, we’ll just post a link to his statements and evidence so far”:
Holgate might be highly intelligent and like to think he can cover his terms with official speak and an air of detachment, but reading what he says and contrasting that with the goings-on at the time tells quite another story – and that story is that he was a collaborator. We recommend interested readers have a look through the Grenfell Action Group archive to decide for themselves:
Holgate is back in teaching! Not so long ago, friends of a Grenfell survivor were horrified to find out that their daughter’s maths teacher at Godolphin and Latymer School was Holgate. This school is also reasonably nearby and is only 2 miles from Grenfell.
We’ll remind Holgate that 18 of the victims of the Grenfell Tower fire were children, who he now has power over again!
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
INCHIES ODE TO POLITICIANS
It’s fear of those in charge that gets to me…
They claim to rule pretty academically,
But do so with idiosyncrasy and alcoholically,
Like PMs of old, they are full of Godwottery…
They should retire and take up making pottery…
Their expense-fiddles covered… need not the salary,
ODE TO THE THOUGHT-STORMS Inspired while Inchy was waiting for the action to start at his mornings’ Porcelain Throne visitation. It took a while!
The Thought-Storms on the Throne are getting nastier! No respite, the evacuation stopped halfway, I got edgier… The questions came at me; it couldn’t be crappier… It’ll be a while before the pain stops, and I feel any happier!
Any logic in the Thoughts couldn’t have been scantier… From the fear of loneliness, Putin, and questioning Santa! Should I have a mug of tea or a can of Fanta? The Thoughts mingled became silly and schleppier…
Hopes, then worries, self-pity, to pathetic fear! Strangely, after so many years, I fancied a beer! The brain was making me feel dizzy, oddly queer… The nose began to run, and it got even leakier!
My confidence in coping died, I became even qualmier… The Thought-Storm was driving me balmier… I noticed that my stomach looked lardier… And Little Inchies fungal lesion got itchier?
The Thought-Storms had me by the jugular… I tried to fool them and acted jauntier… Talking to myself, battling the brain, I couldn’t move because of the evacuation pain! The whole situation became worse again… When Neuropathic Pete got me shaking, jitterier!
I knew that later on, things would calm down, likelier… Suddenly the room felt cold, much parkier… I even began to shake and shiver? Gawd, things were getting nigglier! I felt I was going even loonier!
The evacuation flowed again, which made me panickier, Should I give a push, or leave it, which would be riskier? Then the Thought Storms got even bolshier… And the room felt like a fridge; it got so much chillier? Was I still in the recliner dreaming? Or going crazier?
Then for once, I got luckier… I stood up, feeling pluckier… The evacuation ended alright, As I pushed with all my might, It had been a struggle and fight, I’d won, no bleeding, I felt leerier…
For the Thought Storms stopped then… As stubbed my toe on the tungsten… I don’t usually appreciate the pain often… But the Thought-Storms stopping was a gem!
Part of the Inchies True Make Them Laugh In Ode Series
There I was, in heaven… with Sweet Morpheus, it was so nice!
I was romancing a buxom lass named Eunice…
And Inchie butted in, with his pestering moans and advice!
But, for the first time ever, we agreed and did empathise…
Perhaps it was not wise for us to try to fraternise?
But we did; I think he enjoyed it likewise!
Inchie: Well, that hospital visit was farce wonnit, mate?
Inchcock: Huh! You again, what’s wiv the mating bit, then?
Inchie: I know we’ve ‘ad our ups and downs, but you’ve been through a rough patch fer this last twenty years or so, and I thought it’d be nice to be nice for a change…
Inchcock: Did yer? I feel like by being non-argumentative, I’m taking away your little pleasures…
Inchie: Worrya mean?
Inchcock: Well, yer usually wins all the verbal fights and tiffs we ‘ave…
Inchie: Naturally yer turd! I’m yer Alto-Ego, yo are the ethereal thing like. So fings like conscience, giving a toss, and yer ability to fret, worry, show signs of pissed-offerdness, and you can get a bit depressed at times… I’ve noticed that! So I’m taking my chance to confuse yer all the more you see?
Inchcock: Not really; I’m flummoxed again already! Why can’t you just leave me alone to get some rest and peace?
Inchie: No, no, no! It doesn’t work like that, dumbo! It’s my job to hassle yer, keep yer on yer toes, like. Else overwise yer might commit Hagi-Kari… then…
Inchcock: What! After all, I’ve been through, do you think that I’d top missen? Rubbish, claptrap, your just stirring things again, aren’t you?
Inchie: Yea, I’m good at that, ain’t I, no doubt about it…
Inchcock: For God’s sake, if you are me, or my other half, surely you must suffer the agonies that I do – so why bother…
Inchie: Ah, you’ve not gorrit yet, have you? You are! I’m not me…
Inchie: Yo just said, for God’s sake, yea?
Inchie: Well, I know that yer doesn’t believe in him… see? Provin’ what an ignorant, uneducated, pug-faced, pathetic, docile, pussy-cat, yer really are, cocker!
Inchcock: Fair enough with the name-calling; there may be an element of truth in some of what you say about me – but surely you must be the same yourself?
Inchie: Perhaps mush, or maybe not. Are you not talking to yourself in reality? Come on… answer that, yer moron!
Inchcock: If there isn’t any God, then why even bring up the subject – I’ll tell you why, no… hang on, what was the question?
Inchie: I know, but it got yer going, see!
Inchcock: How can one see? If you are really me? There is…
Inchie: You retardate; You just can’t grasp it, can you, tit-head?
Inchcock: Grasp what?
Inchie: The relationship between us, knucklehead! Yer still think yer talking to someone else?
Inchcock: I am, you!
Inchie: Yer, but I am you! Ain’t I?
Inchcock: Just because you say so does not mean that is correct!
Inchie: Ah, so you think we are two different entities then?
Inchcock: I’m not sure… what do entities mean?
Inchie: Concentrate pillock! Fink abarght this… you’d know what the word means, yea! If you was me, and I was you… right?
Inchie: Look, numbskull, I think it best if yer gerron with the pork pie supper you wuss plannin’, then I’ll give yer an hour or so, I’ll come back to hassle yer a bit more. I can’t be fairer than that, can I?
Inchcock: Does this mean I’ve won an argument with you?
Inchie: No, you silly old fart! It’s cause it’s Christmas!
Sometimes, one would like apanthropinisation,
The world is going crazy, every single nation!
I no longer have any paid occupation…
Of course, this does mean less oppression,
I’m coping with the still rampant tellurians aggression,
Muslim, Christians, Catholics, Jews and Caucasians!
Black Death, now the fearful Coronavirus infection…
My neighbours tell me it was sent by the Martians?
NASA say on Mars, there is not even any vegetation,
Can we please have some verification?
Why do not Scooters & Cyclists show no care or empathy?
With pedestrians who are disabled, wobbly and elderly?
I’ve had three of them, two scooters and a cyclist, run into me!
Leaving me shaken up. Once with bleeding arthritic knee!
All just carried on, after looking at me all bolshie!
Now, when I can get out, I’m worried and do it nervously!
Cars parked on pavements, I have to hobble into the road, you see…
Passing drivers shake their first, and get all honky!
The language they use is curse worded defamatorily!
Doctors to visit, booster too, I hope it’s not snowy and windy!
The state I get into, just taking a wee, bladder in contortion!
It either slowly builds up pressure, as if it wants an ovation?
Giving out pain is the bladders main occupation,
A trickle, sharp stabbing, then give Little Inchie some vilification,
Other times, things burst out, all at the bladders own volition!
Then, maybe it’ll start and die off, come again, utter vacillation,
The only thing guaranteed, is that I pee with great trepidation!
Ode Verse 4 – Hoping Sanity Returns
I make excuses for feeling depressed, like, I’m poorly & sick,
Too many ailments to cope with, that characteristic,
I may have a toothache, or feel a smidge asthmatic?
Always present, are the ailments that are arthritic,
And when Peripheral Neuropathy Pete goes ballistic,
Always a danger of a tumble, of them my fear is authentic,
When the memory goes, or things diabetic…
They are accepted easier, somehow not so dramatic?
Duodenal Donald, they tell me can be fatalistic,
What can’t? I’m going to stop being so idiotic…
Acting like a deranged lunatic… well I am, also nihilistic!
I’m not over-energetic, overenthusiastic, or over-optimistic,
Perhaps, I’m psychokinetic, psychoneurotic, even phlegmatic?
But I don’t know what they mean, me being simplistic…
Although the moments of semi-contentment are spasmodic,
So, being a foodaholic, into the fridge I’ll have a frolic!
Time for a proper chinwag with Alto-Ego Inchie. Who I consider as much a mental ailment like all the other medical ones. I am determined to free myself of his persistent, nagging interference in my thoughts. His mission it seems to me is to make me feel guilty, inadequate, inconsequential, ineffective, and insignificant.
Which he has in fact already successfully achieved.
Although, possible beyond the understanding of anyone normal mortal, and maybe anyone who does not have a cruel, Alto-Ego, nagging away, analysing, mocking and criticising your every decision, and choice, one makes or decides on.
This natter took place last night as I lay in bed, with the notepad near to hand, and took place in several episodes! Sleep was certainly not an option for me…
Inchcock Opens The Chinwag Session:
Inchcock: I can sense your sneering and contempt Inchie, and I have to say you are a bane!
Inchie: Huh! Do yer fink I like being stuck in your brain!
Inchcock: Then go away, stop giving me mental pain!
Inchie: What the hell do think it’s like in here? In your dithering, feckless, vacillant thought-filled indecisive brain?
Inchcock: That’s it, go on, put me down, mock again…
Inchie: From human contact, you should refrain…
Inchcock: You said that when we last spoke, now again?
Inchie: Oh, a comeback from Inchcock, I’ve heard better insults from solid lepidomelane!
Inchcock: Erm… lepidomelane? Wot’s that then? Explain!
Inchie: When you read fings, facts you should retain!
Inchcock: Did I read about lepidomelane?
Inchie: Yer! In 1963, yer pea brain!
Inchcock: I’ve got Vascular Dementia, mental pain…
Inchie: Oh shurrup! Abarght time yer took yer Novocain?
Inchcock: You’ve changed the topic, confused me, yer know that makes me go brain-lame!
Inchie: Course I do, you pillock, I’ve had enough of this game…
Inchcock: What games that’s then, are you on cocaine?
Inchie: Yer coming owt with the insults tonight Inchcock! Enough! This topic’s getting too urbane… Alright, I’ll piss off then!
Inchcock almost nodded off, when Inchie Returned!
Inchie: Hey-up, I’m calling back in defiance!
Inchcock: Why? Have no cognisance!
Inchie: Thought I might catch you on the loo, by chance…
Inchcock: You ‘horrible scumball! You no allegiance?
Inchie: Allegiance? Any idea wot that means?
Inchcock: I learnt that when in my teens!
Inchie: Huh! Gonna give me more gibberish?
Inchcock: Well, thanks for your pertinent attendance…
Inchie: Eh? Playing tricks? Do you mean good riddance?
Inchcock: Well, yes, I do, I’ve had enough of your cruel words!
Inchie: Wot, me? You’re the one spouting insulting words…
Inchcock: Am I? I was just making some lemon curds…
Inchie: What out off… Turds?
Inchcock ignored the Alta-Ego – With Difficulty Mind
He mellowed a little, and went deep in thought, until Inchie returned, and was ready to mislead the interloper…
Inchie: Wotsup, dogbreath? Pissed-off again, blockhead?
Inchcock: Oddly I thought that is what would be said…
Inchie: What’s yer game, that was said well mannered?
Inchcock: It’s up to us both, kill this mutual arguing, time to get together, and start apologising… not endangered!
Inchie: What? Am I being outmanoeuvred?
Inchcock: No mate! My wish is for you to get scunnered!
Inchie: You mean like, we get together and schnockered?
Inchcock: That’s it, we can have our relationship bettered!
Inchie: Summat wrong ‘ere… you and me, get stonkered?
Inchcock: Yea… let our animosity be withered!
Inchie: Why? you dare not… your lily-livered!
Inchcock: Hahaha! Such a poetic turn of phrase!
Inchie: Well, I’m not used to giving praise…
Inchcock: Oh, it’s easy, ns so many ways…
Inchie: Worra yer mean?
Inchcock: We could take time out, play the Steinways…
Inchcock: Go on holiday, as stowaways?
Inchcock: Have a drink, see where our hands stray…
Inchie: Hang on, are you after me body?
Inchcock: No, you haven’t got one, although you can have some control over mine, anyway ♥,
Inchie: Not ‘aving that… but then I couldn’t… could I?
Inchcock: not sure, but I’d risk it if you will. I’m free on Wednesday?
Inchie: Erm… I’m not used to this, who’s gonna pay?
Inchcock: You pay in enjoyment, we both can on the day?
Inchie: Hey, hey, hey… Could we just stop arguing, and have a laze?
Inchcock: Certainly, and we could have a few hoorays?
Inchie: I feel my emotions coming ablaze…
Inchcock: I could bring some bottles… Chardonnays?
Inchie: Surely it can’t be done? No ways!
Inchcock: You Pratt! You’re only in my mind! Best then if we return to our mental, non-verbal affrays!
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Inchcock was arrested and rushed to the Psychiatric Hospital by paramedics, after being caught making rigorous love to his non-existent Alto Ego Inchie, in the balcony of his flat this evening.
The Doctor told the Inchcock Today reporter: “We managed to stop his weeing with excitement, and finally convinced him was not having sex for the first time in his life. He is currently being treated for Psychotic Manic Depression.
Luckily the Doctor on duty had treated Mr Inchcock several times before over the years and had a straight jacket to hand.
Inchcock is expected to be released in a few years, providing he doesn’t kick the bucket earlier! (He’s getting on a bit)
After Inchcock was diagnosed with Peripheral Neuropathy, he then got told he was a diabetic. Then had a stroke. (He’s a lucky lad… Not!) Next, a Subconjuntival Haemorrhage in his right eye.
Then while recovering in an NCH (Nottingham City Homes) Care Home, Shaking-Shoulder-Shirley introduced herself. He presumes this is due to the (Nicodemus’s) Nerve ends dying. But the occasional Neuropathy Pete’s shuddering, shaking and jerking of the right side of his body and limbs rarely last for more than a few minutes at max. Usually, Shirley is a lot more violent for some unknown reason and can wear the old man down when she’s persistent. Shaking and lashing about. Her efforts recently have increased somewhat, time-wise, and Inchcock says, “After a long hour or so session, I’m convinced she is trying to wrench my humeral head bone free of the socket” Oh, and Inchcock also needed three stitches in a shaving cut!
A mixture of awake, half-asleep, and dreamt discussions, wrote from notes and during the actual multiple chin-waggings…
Inchcock: I’m not sure why or how you came about… Shirley: Ha!, now you talk to me; I’m not as important as Bloody Boris bladder then, what’s that about? Inchcock: Whaddya mean about? Shirley: Yo started this ‘ere Talking to yer ailments series of blogs off wiv him… not me, who is far more painful indeed… innit, no doubt? Inchcock: Well… it depends which ailment is worst at the time… giving me the severest clot… Shirley: Argh, shurrup! You’ll know now why I’ve been giving the jerks and aches then? Cause yer doesn’t rate me was mean enough… yer, I’ll put yer in more pain than gout! Inchcock: I wouldn’t and don’t doubt your pain-giving qualities at all; I’m already in pain, tired and worn-out! Shirley: I suppose Bartholomew give it more to you? Inchcock: Well, he has been lasered and still works, Shirley: Cum on mush, look how yers treated me, bad or not! Inchcock: I massage you twice a day with Phorpain gel Shirley: Not like you, an old fart that still drinks bottled stout! Yer just an ungrateful old trout! Inchcock: I… Shirley: And another thing, I’ve never let the shoulder joint fall out! Inchcock: Well, I doubt… Shirley: I’ll tell yer to wot you done to me int past, Inured me you have, I remember the Colwick security stakeout! Inchcock: Go one then, tell me all about it… it won’t make me freak out! Shirley: Now yer makin’ me want to puke and pout! Inchcock: Pout? Why? What about? Shirley: Oh! Yer not bovvered about me puking then, yer an emotional wash-out! Inchcock: I remember now, Shirley, Colwick, when we did an overnight lookout… Shirley: Ah, year, that’s wot it was about! Inchcock: When I was using the night goggles, from the back of the van… and from it, I fell out, giving you a good clout? Shirley, you landed in a field, and blood did spout… Inchcock: Blood? Who’s? No, surely not? Shirley: It was me, and you bleeding.. have you no memory left or what? Inchcock: Erm… Shirley: The burglars arrived? You felt around in the dark for the R.T., went out of the van to take a nighttime photo, missed the step.., and fell on me! What an idiot! Inchcock: Ah, yes… I fell on a broken tin pot… Shirley: And it cut me! And you still never got the I.D. shot!
Shirley: Oi, you Inchie! Are you ready to have anuvver talk wiv me? Inchcock: Well, I’d like for me… Shirley: Don’t tell me, you’re back on the Drambuie? Inchcock: No, no, no, I don’t drink anymore… Shirley: Sounds like an oxymoron, yer fibbing, you see… Inchcock: No, I’m not, you’ve been hanging around for over seventy-odd years, must have noticed, so you must indeed acquiesce, concede, and agree? Shirley: Oh, trying to get clever with words, I see? Inchcock: Why are you so nasty and sarkie? Shirley: Me? I’ll tell yer why, dumbo! In left Shoulder Lilly, never, always me, that’s what causes my incongruity! Why is it always me the doctors stick the hypos in? Inchcock: Now look, we’ve grown old together, Shirley… Shirley: Yea! Inchcock: We’ve been through some tough times, we all suffer, Duodenal Donald, Anne Gyna, Reflux Roger, Deaf Darren, Hemorrhoidal Harold, Saccades Sandra all of them, oh, and Toothache Tiffany… Shirley: Enough of this claptrap mush! But I do wish you well with this little ditty! Inchcock: She suddenly returned into the ether; what a pity!
I begin with Little Inchies Bladder; I think I used all my luck up for the rest of my life around 1989. I got a hernia from lifting the bins at Hero Drinks at Kegworth, went in to have the Hernia Repaired, which they did immediately, putting me in the Men’s Surgery in Ward 19.
When I woke up, and they told me how lucky I had been! And they were right! When they went in with the laser and camera (Yes, I know… how the heck did get all that down Little Inchy you were going to ask, weren’t you? Well, I don’t know, I was blissfully asleep all the way through the operations!) The Consultant carried on; they found cancer in the bladder, which showed up on the mini laser camera, and being as they had all the same tools needed for the hernia, they burnt it out straight away! But my bladder capacity is reduced by 50%. Fair enough, I thought, thank you!
That brought a smile to my face! But the man wouldn’t let me kiss him. Hahaha!
He added that they would remove the catheter and bag from Little Inchy for me in a short while.
An Auxhilary nurse on her own arrived to do it. The poor gal was a bag of nerves and started to pull it out without bleeding it enough first. I asked her to stop and bleed it a bit more… the gal was shaking, bless her.
Above my ward was Prince Charles come in to have his tennis elbow looked at. The staff earlier were disgusted; the hospital had emptied the ward above me. I could hear them moaning about patients being put into a corridor!!! And set two nurses and a Sister on duty, 24/7 for the duration of the Prince’s visit.
Back to the beside:
A sudden, unbelievably loud screech/scream burst out from a nurse. I think, “Look, look, it’s Princess Di coming in!” At this, everyone who could move did so over to the window to look down at Di and her (they told me later) the armed protection officers, as they got her in through a fire door to avoid the press waiting, with cameras at the main front door!
Most unfortunately for me, the young nurse was amongst the Royalists who stampeded to get a view of Lady Di – and pulled the catheter out, catching it with her foot, I assume, as she rushed for her Royal treat!
So, I was with blood spraying up like a fountain, and covering me the bed, clothes and floor… Which the nurse spotted a minute or two later, and she came to me in a panic and crying at what she’d done! Sobbing her heart out, she was! Other staff arrived, the poor young lass couldn’t stop crying, and eventually, things got sorted.
A ranking nurse joined us and started to tear a strip off of the Axhilary nurse; I don’t know why, (Well, I do, I felt terrible for her), but I said; “No, it wasn’t her fault, I turned to see what the fuss was and pulled it out…” I’m sorry I said that now, cause for the next two days, my name was mud with nurses!
The first wee I took with the catheter out, shot forth as if from a fireman’s hose, bounced back from the walls – and I kid you not, left an imprint of my body on the back wall, with blood around it!
I’ve wandered off the plot here, haven’t I?
Sorry, back to the chinwag with the bladder fun…
Inchcock Gerry: Why do you have days when you don’t want to wee-wee, then go bad at it, mate?
Bladder Inchock: Why? It’s obvious, innit? Anyway, I don’t want to confabulate!
Inchcock Gerry: But for two days, you’ve flowed freely, been considerate?
Bladder Inchock: Humph!
Inchcock Gerry: What’s up? I’ve been taking in the extra fluid. Now it must be gallons you hydrate?
Bladder Inchock: That bloody surgeon lasered me; no wonder I can’t concentrate and urinate!
Inchcock Gerry: You should be glad, freed of death! A bit of pain, indeed you can tolerate?
Bladder Inchock: Listen clever-clogs, weeing for me, is variable, strangulate, freeflow, then it may stagnate!
Inchcock Gerry: What? I make sure water does circulate…
Bladder Inchock: I have pain too, do you appreciate?
Inchcock Gerry: Well, I can only speculate!
Bladder Inchock: I send you messages beforehand, admittedly just a few seconds at times, but you also had cancer on my prostate!
Inchcock Gerry: Oh, that’s my fault too, is it? I did ruminate.
Bladder Inchock: I hate talking to a thicko like you – why didn’t you become a graduate?
Inchcock Gerry: Well, I was uneducated and got a job cleaning the sluicegate…
Bladder Inchock: Sod off! You were chasing girls on yer one rollerskate!
Inchcock Gerry: Times were bad back then…
Bladder Inchock: Other people Inchy, have a toilet inside, not going out into the backyard, and having to wait…
Inchcock Gerry: Trust you to be irritable as you postulate…
Bladder Inchock: Ha! So now you accuse me of having irritable bowel syndrome as you orate?
Inchcock Gerry: I’ve no idea what I’m doing talking to a bladder?
Bladder Inchock: You’d better shut up then cause you’re making me madder!
00:00hrs: I’d just got the Saturday blog done and posted off when midnight arrived.
Sleep has been unavailable, none-existent all night. But now, after setting up this template, I will try again, I need some rest. Why I could not get off earlier is a mystery. Maybe the sudden hot weather, or the day I had yesterday? Everything that happened reminded me of my bad fortunes and luck. I was grumpy with myself and got annoyed and irritable most of the time. Carping in the brain, moaning, cantankerously belly-aching, whining on, and wingeing and ended up boring myself!
Well, at least I got things shut down, and settled my corpulent, boing-boinging bellied body into the second-hand, £300, c1968, puckeringly-beige-coloured recliner, without any injuries.
I’d half-hoped to get off to kip sharpishly, but no. I turned the TV on, that often helps me fall asleep. Especially if some programme comes on, that I want to watch. But insomnia prevailed. I just lay there trying to stop the thought-storming, for ages, hours!
05:15hrs: I bestirred, the main expergefactor being the need for a wee-wee. Out of the recliner, and to the GPEB (Grey-Plastic-Emergency-Bucket) SWOT (Sprinkly-Weak-Orange-Tinged), mode. Took the container with me to be cleaned and sanitised. An out-of-the-blue need for the Porcelain Throne was tended to, and a flipping good job I was in the wetroom at the time. Else I never would have made it in time to the Throne! Phew!
Not messy, or gooey, but keenly-painful (they all are nowadays!)
Disappointingly, as I opened the kitchen window, I realised by the wonderful petrichor, I’d missed the rain. The ground outside was not soaking wet, so it must have been a short shower of sorts. But it left a beautiful whiff in the air! A bit colder this morning too.
Made a brew, medications taken, and after another quick wee-wee, the sphygmomanometerisationing commenced. Sys was back up a smidge, and the thermometer read 32.9°c (91.2°f) which is, I think, healthier than it’s been for a while. That is if I remembered the way to convert from Celsius to Fahrenheit. Ended up using Google) My arithmophobia doesn’t help. Nor the discovered too late to counter it, dyscalculia. Sad, innit? But, I had to laugh when they told me about it, it brought to mind Dracula! Hehehe!
For some unknown reason, typing this, reminded of the Dr in the cardiac unit, in the City Hospital. I know I had been given some pre-transplant drugs, but it seems soundly entrenched in my memory – I hope it’s true and not a dream I’d had. A Mr someone or other was going to observe the procedure.
The surgeon came to the bed and told me about this Consultant who was on his way to see me. “We are holding back your other pre-op meds, in case he wishes to speak with you!” “I’ll be back with him later, Mr Chaplin”. I mentioned my name was Chambers. Minutes later, Dr Khandowa introduce me to the Consultant as Mr Chamberlain! I recall thinking: “Gawd-blimey, and he’ll be replacing my ticker in an hour!” Hahaha! He did a good job though.
The assistant who put the metal strips through the ribcage to reseal it afterwards, whoever he was, had put them in, as the nurses said when they came to take them out days later ‘Tighter than we have ever seen them done before! I had never had pain like it before, even when I got shot. The nurse was sat on my legs heaving and puffing to pull the metal strips out. One nurse kept spraying liquid Morphine in my mouth throughout the job. Through it all, I have a distinct, pleasurable occasion though… But of course, once the metal tubing was removed, the nurse had to get off of me and the bed! Shame!
I waffled there again, I beg your pardon.
Then, after one more wee-wee, of a different calibre this one. A SWAT, (Sprinkly-Weak-Apricot-Tinged) configuration. I then made a brew of Thompsons Punjabi, and went on CorelDraw and Paint to make up some urgently–needed graphics for later use.
But plans were again cocked-up. No doubt prompted by the mysterious wonders of Woodthorpe Court: The ghosts, hobgoblins, boll-weevils, aliens, gremlins, karakia-cursing entities, hallucinations. Materialisations, poltergeist, lemures, wairuas, kehuas, manifestations that permeate, pass through the pores and interstices of space, through the time-continuum. Usually, without rupture or displacement within the building. To cause havoc, fear and frustration, as they dislodge time itself, in their aspirations and skulduggery, to complete their given by Satan, ‘Let’s Piss-off Inchcock’ mission?
At least this time, it only lasted for a few minutes, then came back on of its own accord.
Started again on the graphicalisationing. Three hours later, I was feeling real-weary, and not got o very well with the graphic making. For one, not from the ailments, just from the tired worn-outness. I must get some sleep in, this lack of sleeping is getting farcical. Just to point out one problem its causing; as I wrote ‘farcical’, I thought of a more suitable word, then cleared farcical from the blog, and forgot what the word was I was going to replace it with! So, I put ‘Farcical back in. I down know whether to laugh or cry! Yes, I do! Hahaha!
I rang Sister Hane to ask about Pete, and blow me he was back at home again! He’s to go back in for the biopsy tomorrow. The chap in the ward with him is having chemo and told Pete of the problems with it. I lost the signal while talking. I rang back on the landline, but it doesn’t-half cost to call mobiles on it. Despite all the Up-in-the-Airness of things with the hospital, Pete sounded okay and accepting of things until he gets the job done, and analysis later. His spirits seem reasonably high. Good for him. I’ll have a look at the City Hospital with the binoculars tomorrow, see if I can see him. Hehe! Jane and Pete told me I could go out from tomorrow. But I won’t go without a mask. I’ll check the Government statement later.
A few minutes late, the door chimes rang out the ♫ I only want to be with you! ♫ tune. It was Josie, to let me know she was going out with her Nephew, to celebrate his birthday. I wished her all the bestest, but I felt a little concerned she was going out, so soon.
The Nikon camera battery was flat, so I got the Canon to take a photo of the Puff-Puff clouds, and that was flat, in fact, it was dead! I cunningly got out the old Lumix, thinking it might have enough power left in its battery. I didn’t. So, I’ve now got all three on charging. And if I want to watch telly later, the computer will have to come off. I’m such a lucky-bugger. Hair-brained, too!
I got the nosh prepared. I hope I can stay awake long enough to enjoy it. With virtually no sleep for such a long time, I feel confident of dropping off. But, hopefully, not before I want to. Worra life, innit! Into the kitchen to take the meds and prepare the meal.
I remembered about looking at the latest can-do again things Jane mention. So I got the computer back on for a look:
Vulnerable people in England and Wales advised to stay home since the coronavirus lockdown began will be able to go outdoors again from Monday. This change means people will be able to go out with members of their household. Those living alone can meet with someone from another household while maintaining social distancing. Support for shielders, such as food and medicine deliveries, will continue.
Those shielding should not go out to work, to shop or visit friends in their homes. Around 2.5 million UK people were advised to stay at home as lockdown began because they were identified as being at particularly high risk of needing hospital treatment for coronavirus symptoms. Most were notified by their GP. Thelist of people who should be shielding includes, Clinically extremely vulnerable people may include the people listed below, though disease severity, history or treatment levels will also affect who is in this group.
Solid organ transplant recipients. (Ah, I’m in here!)
People with specific cancers:
people with cancer who are undergoing active chemotherapy. (Nope not me!)
people with lung cancer who are undergoing radical radiotherapy. (Nope not me!)
people with cancers of the blood or bone marrow such as leukaemia, lymphoma or myeloma who are at any stage of treatment. (Nope not me!)
people having immunotherapy or other continuing antibody treatments for cancer. (Nope not me!)
people having other targeted cancer treatments which can affect the immune system, such as protein kinase inhibitors or PARP inhibitors (Nope not me!)
people who have had bone marrow or stem cell transplants in the last 6 months, or who are still taking immunosuppression drugs (Nope not me!)
People with severe respiratory conditions including all cystic fibrosis, severe asthma and severe chronic obstructive pulmonary (COPD). (Ah, I’m in here!)
People with rare diseases that significantly increase the risk of infections (such as severe combined immunodeficiency (SCID), homozygous sickle cell). (Nope not me!)
People on immunosuppression therapies sufficient to significantly increase the risk of infection. (No idea what this means!)
Women who are pregnant with significant heart disease, congenital or acquired. (Nope not me!)
People in this group should have been contacted to tell them they are clinically extremely vulnerable.
Some scientists have expressed concerns about England’s easing of lockdown rules while infection rates remain at around 8,000 per day according to the Office for National Statistics. “Many of us would prefer to see the incidence down to lower levels before we relax measures,” said Professor John Edmunds, from the London School of Tropical Hygiene and Medicine and one of the government’s top advisors. “Covid-19 is still spreading too fast to lift lockdown in England,” tweeted Jeremy Farrar, director of the Wellcome Trust.
It’s all confusing to me!
Back to gerrin’ some nosh prepared and eaten. The five-beans in vinegarette were pretty tasteless and bland, despite my adding Hickory and Balsamic vinegar while heating them up. Most disappointing, because it said they were in vinegar, I felt certain they would be delicious and bought four cans! Huh! Three to get rid off.
As for the other stuff, they were all okay. The seedless grapes, this time from Egypt, were a lot less sweet than the Indian ones, but this was alright with me. The sourdough muffins were well Marmited and went well with everything else. I soon satiated my hunger, cleaned the pots, thought about having a shave, but felt so tired I rejected the idea. (Which will probably mean more bleeding when I have to shave so much stubble off in the morning, Tsk!)
I got down in the £300, second-hand, c1968 recliner, and events seemed to have been lost into the ether. I can remember nothing else, until waking in the morning? And, I got about 6½ hours kip in!
I decided, in a dream, I had yesternight, Depression, I’ll resist, beat and outfight, I must be strong, determined, not contrite, I’ll be honest with myself, not like a Blairite, My approach, will-power, must be definite! I’ll have courage, like a brave medieval Knight, And continue to show my vigour and fight, Although my confidence may be finite, This misery, I will surely try to expedite, I must give this depression, no respite, Ridding myself of this soul-destroying plight, Who knows if I can, I just possibly might? Then hopefully, I’ll get some sleep tonight, And for supper, I can have some toasted Marmite!
Created during an aberrant spell of semi-confidence.
No Brexiteers were harmed during the production of this waffle!