Inchcock Today: Visited by Sister Jane & Hubby Pete

The spelling mistake in the header was made on purpose  – just to test you. Ahem!

Inchcock Today: Visited by Sister Jane & Hubby Pete

Gotten Himmel! Great balls of Fire! Blow me down with a feather duster! I had slept straight through, no NWWB (Nocturnal-Wee-Wee-Bucket) visits: For over six hours! The longest night with Sweet Morpheus for months – No waking up with any ailment pains… Bloody Fantastic!

Mind you, the brain was not too interested in waking up. However, it did join me later on. The Peripheral Neuropathy shakes began. The moment I got out of the £300, second-hand, c1968, eyesorely-horrendously, grungy coloured, haemorrhoid-testing, unfit-for-use, recliner, and started to hobble about. So Metal Mickey went everywhere with me as a precaution.

In the first instance, which was to the wet room to utilise the Porcelain Throne. The evacuation was the reverse of those of the last few days. Trotsky Terence had regained his advantage over the  Constipation Conrad.

Messy, gooey, and in need of cleaning up after the event. Whatever caused the red blotches under both arms is no worse, but I’ve got new growths underneath both man-breasts? Did I mention that all the underarm and chest hairs had fallen out? Well, they have!

Has anyone reading this had owt like this before? If so, a word or two of information in the comment section would be most appreciated. Being the lucky bugger, I am, I’ve spent the last three Christmases or New Year in the hospital for various reasons. I was hoping to avoid this happening this year.

But, with all the sleep I’d had, I was not too bothered. Indeed, after sorting out the mess, I did the nasal clearing, the teeth and had a shave. And that produced only two tiny nicks, despite the jerks and shakes. Though I was wary of being over-confident, I left Metal Micky close to had throughout.

I didn’t do the medicating, other than Harold’s Haemorrhoids… Oh, and another thing to cheer about – Little Inchies Fungal Lesion had not been bleeding. I found out shortly after thinking this when I stubbed my toe against the sock-glide on leaving the wet room. Argh! Is this real, or am I still asleep dreaming?

Now, time for a brew of Thomson Punjana tea. in one of the new, second-hand Bone-China mugs. No question to my mind, tea does taste so much better drinking from a Bone China mug!

I took some morning shots of the pretty clear nights, well, mornings views from the kitchenette window. Amazingly, ten minutes or so afterwards, as I was on the computer, the mist, the fog actually had fallen! But I’d beaten it today and got three decentish snaps taken. The first is a close up of the front of a house on Elmswood Gardens. (Above) It looks like part of a nativity play to me? They’ve done an excellent job of it, I reckon. The second was taken to the right of the window, the third to the left. Both are wider shots, as you can see. All have the first close-up one in them.

I pressed on with prepping for this blog. And making repeated mugs of tea, 99, Glengettie, and Thompsons Punjana. Then Saccades got a lot more blurred, and my progress was slowed down a lot.

Aha, I had just got back from taking a wee-wee, the door chime chimed, and in walked Jane and Pete!

Much was discussed, memories that I now find I can’t recall. And that is body-blow, I can tell yers. Because I always believed my long term memory was as good as ever. And that just the recent and newer stuff was getting beyond my mental capacity. But no, that is apparently no longer the situation. Worrying innit? But it came out that they had a photo of Grandma Harriet. Who, apparently had fifteen children, but she died at 59. I never knew any Grandma or Grandads; they all passed away before I was born

They even had a photo of her. Pete sent me a copy (here on the left) of the picture to my email.

You understand we were never a close-knit family. But this was a disappointment to me, that no one had ever told me her name… well, I can’t remember it happening anyway.

Jane and Pete had been to ‘Auntie’ Bobbie’s house, now mine, and will see Mary Rawson next. Another stunner, this brought back the memory of Mary’s husband, who happened to have the same operation, as I did, a week earlier than I. In the same hospital and wards in the City Hospital. But a week later, I was told by Jane that he had passed away. Such a good genuine family man, as decent as one can find… and yet do nothing me, was not taken? It made much worse when I heard he’d been taken to the Doctors, who refused to deal with him and told them to go to the hospital. He passed away en route! I’m still bitter about that.

I showed off the box of hand-made cuddlies that HRH Lisa and Billum had sent me.

The pair had a nosey look at them and sent their thanks to HRH Lisa for the loving gesture.

Hahaha! I think that Pete took a shine to ‘Crazy Fuzzy Goat’, as Christened by Lisa. I reckon Jane’s favourite was the ‘Pink Fuzzy Monster’.

Pete took a shine to my ‘Long Eared Rabbit’, so I took temptation away from him and had a chat with LE Rabbit myself. Jane was not surprised; she knew me and understood. Hahahaha!

During the hard to follow machinations and chin-wagging, I soon discovered I was overweight. Hahaha!

They got ready to leave and took the three boxes and two carrier bags of wines and pressies with them. They nearly forgot the two over jackets for Pete. I bought them two years ago, not seen them since. How Pete got them down to the car, I don’t know. I safely put my single 8oz pressie away from both of them. Pete also returned items he’s been storing for me; bless him.

Looking good our Jane, and she’s nearly a year older than I am! It must have been those early years in Sicily and those in Australia that did her good. Petes looking good too, but don’t tell him I said so.

Carer due anytime now, meal to prep, and this blog to finish and post, so I’ll be offski folks.

TTFN.

Wot Me Worried?

Wot, Me? Worried?

I recall that my school imitational educating…
It was, well, a survival course; it was nerve-wracking!
A beating up, or a teacher’s desires, ever-lurking…
The fear, anxiety, never perpetuating, eradicating…
Not allowed, any anti-gang nitpicking or narking,
Always got caught doing wrong and got a rollicking!
There was very little joy or merrymaking!

I tried to avoid the gangs and did no twocking,
But Mum found things to go in my Christmas stocking,
Mostly it was shop-lifted, stolen or Godforsaken,
I would have liked to have gone backpacking…
But the police kept bringing Mother back in,
Thank heavens she was not into stockbroking!
Police bought me food at Christmas – Gobsmacking!

My youth? Complicated; Mam, if at home and Dad fighting,
No pennies to put in the meter for lighting…
When Mam ran away, with the police pursuing,
I made the breakfast and evening meal, no fricasseeing…
Nor fondueing! A frying pan or saucepan was all I was using!
No baking cakes or meat stew, but I was good at brewing!
Any desserts were a jelly, soft, no fridge, or a can of rice pudding,
The washing and cleaning, getting the bath sorted, I was doing.

No complaints from me felt I was wanted, that was rewarding,
Proud I was; I thought that bit was worth recording,
No time for rollerskating, trolley-boarding, or reading!
And no point in my moping, moaning or memory eroding,
Brush and dustpan, no machine, so no vacuuming!
I just pressed on, no time to worry about anything…
That came later; looking back, my good luck was very thin!
But at the time, it had to be done, so I took it on the chin…
Dad had a decent left hook when he’d been on the gin!
If guzzling Shipstone Strong, it could be a bullwhipping!

I did later get to go with the Army Cadets, out camping…
For three days, the weather was wet and worsening…
I enjoyed it, it was great mate… I lie; I was witwantoning!
Everyone was was pissed-off and whining…
I got back, soaked, weary and had food poisoning!
Dad: About time, get the cleaning up done, then luncheoning!

Wrote fur the Inchcocks True Tales of Woe Series

Inchcock’s Sad Ode to his Youth

Derwent Street on the right. The railway line going behind the houses, was where I existed as an ankle-snapper

This Ode was written, in memory of the bad times. The start of my life-long Whoopsiedangleplops, Accifauxpas and Failures. Also, the two good things that happened while living here; but, they were my last two good things, and I can’t remember them clearly.

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Inchcock’s Sad Ode to his Youth

In Inchies youth, some kids could be vandalistic,
Most were foul-mouthed verbalistic…
With tempers, through ignorance, volcanic!
Nobody learnt how to use a chopstick,
Most uneducated, we had rickets and hair-nits,
Food options and choices were limited; we couldn’t cherrypick,
No vacuums, all had a dustpan and broomstick!

The teachers didn’t care; they were unspecific…
Volatile youths, spitting, swearing and unhygienic,
Educating in our school? Best learn survival… so tragic!
There always seemed to be some sort of epidemic…
Most whippersnappers got measles, worms or were tularaemic,
School life was about surviving bullies, all unsymmetric!

Threats were rife; each street had a gang, all misanthropic!
Most homes were two-up-two down, bare and mephitic,
But believe me, I’m not intending to be a critic…
Life was what we were born into, not to us, pyrrhic…
We made the best of what we didn’t have. Life was quixotic,
Poverty drove some of us to do things mildly despotic!

To survive each day, we had to be chameleonic…
Keep alert for gangs, any contact, you must be phlegmatic…
You’d still stand a chance of this proving pyrrhic …
You’d still get name called, and a wallop, many a skrik,
Fear turned many of us into being schizophrenic!

Inchcocks Memories

Do we, Don’t We Get a TV?

The Tale Of TV Debate!

Mother wanted a TV set, I wanted a TV set, but Dad was content with the radio

Dear Mother as a domineering, bullying and intimidating woman, who usually got her way, via, violence, superbly applied intimidation, and if all else failed, would turn on the waterworks. But on the issue of us buying a TV, and I believe it is the only time, Dad stood his ground, and refused to buy or rent one!

Dad was content with his ‘Archers’,  ‘Billy Cotton Band Show’, ‘Take it from here,’ ‘Many Bindings In The Marsh’ and the ‘Navy Lark’. I tried to listen to the ‘Journey Into Space’ serial whenever I could, which fascinated me. But Dad wasn’t having, ‘Such rubbish to listen to, a man in space, Humph!’ Of course, it was almost comical if you listen to it today. Good news, though, for anyone interested; Occasionally, Radio Four Extra broadcast some episodes! ♥

Cast for The World in Peril & Operation Luna episodes

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Days Of Debates (Fights)

After days of arguments, fights, bad language, threats and utter pandemonium, we were no nearer to convincing Dad. Mother, not a Royalist in any sense, even tried to tempt Dad by telling him the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth 11 was being shown in two days time… He did hesitate for a moment, and inquired as to how much a TV would cost to buy or rent? Mum got the local paper with the adverts on it: A Ferguson TV, she told Dad, would only cost us £39, Wigfall’s rental is 6/11d (35p) a week. Then we need a license, that’ll be £5… Dad was speechless, started gagging, and refused point-blank to us having a TV in the house! That was the end of that, for want of a better word, discussion!

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A Stroke Of Good Luck!

That day, we had new next-door neighbours arrive, the Hartleys. Mother (Name unknown), Father Leslie, and son Jack. I soon took to liking Jack, a little younger than I by a year or so. A tall lad, cheeky and cheerful most of the time, e had some great times as pair of vagabonds roaming the streets. Haha! They had just arrived from Kingston.

But, the highlight of the day was that they had to unload things and I gave them a hand, and I and spotted in the back of the van… A TV SET! And, Jack said it had both channels, BBC and ITV on it! Yes! By the time things were all in, I was given a condensed cream sandwich and mug of coffee for my helping. Then we watched some telly. The set was a combined one they had just bought last week, with a radio in it.

I thought, well this could be something to tell Dad about, then we might get a TV of our own… But when Leslie told me how much it cost them, I then realised there was not even a cat-in-hells chance of Dad spending £95 on a set! I was often invited by Jack, to go watch the TV when something was on that he thought I might enjoy. I vaguely recall seeing The Quatermass Experiment, which started my passion for the series. The daily screening time was very limited as I recall back then; 16:00 to 22:30hrs or thereabout. So little choice on the BBC.

One programme on the BBC Jack and I liked, was The Magic Circle. A magicians show, Magicians: George Grimmond, David Nixon and Col-Ling Soo on it as regulars. ITV on the other hand had a more varied choice by 1955. Including Lassie, Colonel March of Scotland Yard, and Hopalong Cassidy.

Not the actual Hartleys TV, but similar.

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As I mentioned earlier, the Quatermass series was the top for me on TV! Here are some photos found that stirred my memory box. So much so, that I’ve just sillily ordered some DVD’s from Amazon, three episodes of TV series and two films! Ah, well, hope I live long enough to view them! Hahaha!

The earlier versions of Quatermass film and TV series were not a disappointment, at all. They were very close to how I imagined it to be when I read the books!

Quatermass Photos, TV and Films DVD

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1953 Coronation On Someone’s TV

We moved from that unhappy home, after Mother had been on the run from the police for a couple of years, and after Brother Pete left to join the army, Dad & I moved to Sneinton Dale. Which turned out to be an even more horrendous place to live; Mother was caught and came home.

However, we did get a TV at last. Mother got it from Wigfalls,  they intention was that Wiggies call to empty the box, and anything over the 3/10p rental, is returned tohe client, in this case Mother! Whch meant a load of foreign coins and suitably-sized washers were in the box!

Anyway, she scarpered again, after another bout of conning people out of their cash, this time it was for three years before they got caught up with her, six months, into court. Ah well!

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That’s it folks!

More Later! Alligator.

Moody Moon Machinationings

THOUGHT STORMS RAGE

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

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

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

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

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

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Part Of The Nottingham Lads True Tales of Woe In Rhyme

Inchcocks First Accident On His Bike!

It’s A Funny Old World

Working out at Worksop,
At the Nottingham Co-op,
I nibbled chips and a rollmop,
Wanted to get home at the gallop,
To watch Hettie Winthrop,
Fog so thick, I couldn’t see the bus stop,
Avoided it on my bike, and I was off,
Traffic bad kept coming to a stop…
At the bend near the tuckshop,
Things were at a dead stop…
Kerbed it, bike went over the treetop,
Me down the hill,  in a mangled flop,
Later being found by a traffic cop,
Bloodied, shaking, all of a quop,
Officer took me to the cop shop,
I don’t want to name drop…
Yootha Joyce was there, drunk as a sop,
And this is not a codswallop!
She hiccuped and did a bellyflop!
To me, she was the cream of the crop!

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This is the actual bike before the Accifauxpas… Hehehe!

TTFNski!

Inchcock – Thurs 19 Nov 20: Soylent Green Memories Prompted!

TFZer discrete meeting? Hahaha! ♥

Thursday 19th November 2020

Danish: Torsdag den 19 November 2020

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00:40hrs: It all happened in a sort of slow-motion, to start with. I semi-woke up and lay there pondering the upcoming opportunities this dedicated ‘Toilet Day’, of 12th November, had to offer.

What Accifauxpas, Whoopsiedangleplops, Disasters, Failures, Stalemates, Mental-implosions, Frustrations, Defeats, Katzenjammers, Nonachievements, Babalaases, Pitfalls, Disappointments, Mysterious wonders of Woodthorpe Court: The Ghosts, Hobgoblins, Boll-Weevils, Aliens, Gremlins, Karakia-cursing entities, Hallucinations. Materialisations, Poltergeist, Lemures, Spectres, Spirits, Spooks, Eidolons, Wairuas, Kehuas, Manifestations that permeate, pass through the pores and interstices of space, through the time-continuum, to torment and frighten the bejesus out of me; that might present themselves this Thursday.

Oddly enough, as I was thinking of this ‘Dedicated Toilet Day’, as I was removing my potbellied, portly, wobbling, paunched-bellied body from the c1968 recliner, a borborygmic mini-explosion from the innards, signalled the expergefactorial need for the Porcelain Throne. I thought it would be a good idea, if I didn’t delay, and got to the Porcelain Throne with all haste! So, I did!

Not only did I get to the wet room without any bother, (Well, there was a short loss of balance, but that was my own fault for not catching it as I grabbed Metal Micky), and that only lasted a few seconds without any detrimental damage or injury.

What followed was most encouraging. This session was the even less painful, no enteralgia, no bleeding!

And comfortably evacuated; This is first-time that this has happened in many a month! Yee-Haa! But I knew this could not last for long. But I  enjoyed it while it lasted.

Mind you, the poo colour was a sort of green. Still, it made a change: super-easy passage, and a pretty new colour for me to photograph for the gastroenterologist’s Neurogenic bladder and bowel management record.

I was tickled-pink, started singing to myself! (The Young Ones – Cliff Richard) As I was getting up to sort the cleaning up, I spotted the gunk-cleaner on the shower floor, that I’d left to soak in last night – and had forgotten all about doing! Oh, dear!

I went out to the hallway and turned on the shower-power at the box. Back in and as carefully as I could, got the shower on and I sprayed the cleaner away…

But it looked far worse than it did before my orgulous bright-spark of an idea was used.

Humph and Knackwrangles!

And then, of course, to completely demolish the memory of the successful Throne session and semi-contentment of the marvellous evacuation; The moment I moved the showerhead into the right hand so I could turn off the water, and Nicodemus’s neurotransmitters failed, and the showerhead flailed all over the place. This resulted in my attempt to retrieve the moving water-jetting, hose-pipe like head, I had a tumble to the floor and got an early morning closed up shower, and soaked the jammy bottoms and me, and I got a few knocks new and bangs, in the process! Tsk!

The struggle to get back up, the cleaning and sorting out, were done in a silent, stewing mood, ruminating and chewing the cud; determined not to get in a sulky frame of mind at the return of my devil’s own luck, and eventually affirmed it as just a tribulation. I was pleased with myself then, at how I’d talked myself into just accepting things, knowing these incidents will only get worse as the neurotransmitters slowly die anyway. Confusingly, sometimes it’s like this, others, I get all het-up, cursing my fate, and start Duodenal Donald and Anne Gyna off, but not on this occasion? I sort of habituated, adapted to the situation. I’ve no idea why this is so, but I’m pretty content and stilled about things now.

I made a brew of Glengettie tea and realised than yet again, I’d not taken the evening medications! What an Ahntoisht, Shilmazel! So I took the evenings doses, and hope that I remember in size hours or so, to take the morning ones. Putz!

I carried out the Health Checks. The sphygmomanometerisationing first. But I didn’t fret over this reading, no doubt the falling over altercation had effected the reading, I’m sure.

The new thermometer did not work first try. Do I turned it off and back on again, and got this disappointingly low reading, again though, this is probably due to the fracas in the wet-room?

I got on the computer and started to update the Wednesday blog. Which was done in a reasonable time for once, the ailments seem to be feeling sorry for my tumble, and are being kind to me perhaps? (I might be losing it again here!)

I poddled to the wet-room, for another wee-wee, and when I got back, I noticed the veins in the left arm were almost luminescent? And, odd;y they looked a little greener than usual?  When I took this photo, I used the flash, and it came out looking more strange than it really looked, but I WordPressed it anyway, cause it looked so odd. A camera glitch? Anyway, it made me think of Soylent Green. Hahaha!

Of course, it might just be one of the resident Woodthorpe Court mysterious Eidolons, Goblins, or Aliens, that are checking out my innards. The Chilli-Meatballs last night might have confused them? Chortle! Cackle! Guffaw!

I got the updating finished and sent off. Then emailed the link.

Pinterested some snaps, the got the ablutions sorted out. Well, I started to anyway. But I remembered the morning dosages needed to be taken, so returned and tool them, then back to the wet-room.

I noticed as I stripped off (a horrible, harrowing thought for you, I’m sorry. Hehe!), that I must have picked up in the tumble. Pretty scratch, though! Hahaha!

The teeth cleaning went fine.

The shaving surprisingly, only brought about two tiny weeny nicks, not worthy of mention really, but it’s too late now, I have written it. Simper!

I found one of the miniature wounds from the Accifauxpas on the right-hand knuckle. I seem to have picked up some nicks and bruises, ain’t I? However, the showering, which was something I was a smidge concerned about with the balance not yet back to normal, went great! No Dizzy Dennis’s, there was not a single clout or banging into anything, I was well pleased again.

The medicating was as smooth as could be expected! No bleeding from Harold’s Haemorrhoids or Little Inchies fungal lesion! The dressing was only bothered temporarily by a dodgy-wobble getting the trousers on, but I remained on my feet, Oh. Yes! This is a better day, up to now! Perhaps, my prayer and a few words to Mr G the other day had got through? Or, not! Snortle!

I was in good form after the ablutions, and set about moving the hand-washed togs about, to nearer the heater, now they had stopped dripping.

That reminds me of when I was a whipper-snapper! Every Saturday morning, come rain or shine; after I’d set and laid the fire, and done my paper rounds, I had to go to Sanderson’s Tripe & Cow Heel shop, on Arkwright Street, and wait (sometimes for hours), to claim the ham bone, once enough had been sliced and sold, 3d (Threepence it was)  And heaven help me if I couldn’t get it! Dad would not be happy with me at all!

This look like the original shop, I could find a photo of when they were open. Gawd the place smelt gorgeous! Once a fortnight I had to some tripe as well. Every week, the jellied pork dripping they sold, 9p a pound (weight) was bought as well. Oh, the memories are flooding back now! Of course, when Dad was working on a Saturday, meant I had a few hours of waiting for him to arrive home. Which, in the rare event that one of the three items was unavailable; meant I had to wait for the clips around the earhole longer.

Happy days, rough, hard work. Mater kept disappearing to avoid the police, so muggins had set the fire every morning! Do the paper rounds so kindly got for me by Dad, the cooking and cleaning too. But I did feel needed, wanted, and the odd belting!

But I was content, I knew no other life! There were plenty of lads worse off than I was… I’m waffling again, Sorry about that. It’s a bad habit of mine, wandering off, on some unrelated topic. Still, I do enjoy getting these memory-prompting meanderings.

I got the black bags gathered and onto the three-wheeler-guide trolley, and had a job to do it, but got it out of the door, along,  the lift lobby, and into the waste room, and deposited all the small bags down the chute.

It was deathly quiet, and no signs of any tellurians. Even the ‘Hum’ was quieter today.

Even Herbert has only been heard on two occasions up until now. I’m beginning to worry about this. He’s not one for persiflage, more your sort of taciturn, reserved, reticent, antisocial type.

The walk back to the flat along the newly, highly-attractive, ornamentally decorated and floored lift lobby.

It felt so. Haha! 

Getting into the three flat’s lobby was easy enough this time, and at that moment, I was feeling better than I have for a few days, getting tired, but that’s to be expected.

But, when it came to getting into the front door, that’s the maroon one, that the workers laying the floor for us all, decorated with some gunk for me, and left it there, and I have no intention of cleaning up – Swine!, I felt the weariness take a strong grip on me, and the missing so far today, Dizzy Dennis kicked into gear.

But I was not mentally tired, only bodily. Does that make sense? I went out on the balcony to take a couple of photos of the busy scene down below on Chestnut Walk.

Blimey, we had a traffic jam! Hahaha!

I spotted some crows in the distance and snapped them, but it was not a good shot. Shame. I wanted to post them to the TFZ site, Lona might have appreciated them.

Doing some updating on this blog, and I thought I heard a clunk, it may be the belated INR WArfarin results and new dosages. It was, and the dosages had changed. Meaning, because no one from the Clinic, Anticoagulation or Deep Vein Thrombosis had informed me from the Monday test, I have been taking too few Warfarins tablets since then. This Coronvirus is most likely killing a few people without the virus!

The landline chirped and flashed. It was some woman on a recorded message again, telling e they had taken £75 something from my account for ‘Prime’, if I want to cancel this press One, so I did. Waffling on a woman with either a Chinese or Indian/Pakistani accent – I couldn’t tell if it was recorded or real voice, she was going that fat, and without a cat in ells chance of understanding anything she was saying. I rang off.

Dizzy was joined by Anne Gyna, and I gave up on the computer and got the nosh prepped.

I had a good sniff at the out of date potato cakes, and luckily, they passed the sniffing nasal-assessment, so went in the oven, and were added to the tray.

The Chilli-Con-Carne, with the added tomatoes, mild chilli seasoning, Squid vinegar, garden peas and gravy, tasted jolly good!

There was so much of it though, you can see here that I couldn’t eat it all.  Titter! Seriously, it was a worthy 9.3/10 for a Flavour rating!

I was doing the washing up when Dizzy Dennis and BLB (Balance-Loss-Brian) allied to attack me. From here onwards, memory, of the night was enveloped it a vague mistiness.

When I woke up later – there was no scribbling on the notepad. I had a criminally, painful backache, and the shoulder was so painful. Signs of an Accifauxpa? But no memory. I’d not taken the evening medications, and was wearing the reading glasses?

Another mystery of life in Woodthorpe Court. Hey-Ho! 

Gawd the lower back hurts?

Inchcock – Mon 5 Oct 2020: Brilliant news about Sister Jane – busy day – cataclysmic end!

♫Doo – do-do-do, doo doo doo doo…♫ TFZers Clint!

Monday 5th October 2020

Haitian Creole: Lendi 5 Oktòb 2020

: 01:40hrs: I didn’t need to wake-up, I’d not managed to get to sleep. I was so worried about Sister Jane and Pete, and not knowing. Duodenal Donald was ever-present in differing degrees of pain-giving. Tsk!

I passed wind and wanted a wee-wee. Escaped the £300, second-hand, not-operational recliner, and without even trying to check my balance.

I took a wee-wee, an LDSSM (Long-Dribbling-Spraying-Splashing-Marathon) one. Trotted off, taking the well-used EOGPB (Essential-Overnight-Grey-Plastic-Bucket) with me to be emptied cleaned and sanitised, to the wet room.

: Midway through disinfecting the bucket, and I need a second wee-wee! The AMD (After-Micturition-Dribble) was more like a river, Tsk! (Later on, inspired by the wee-weeing flood, I changed the original thought-graphic above. and made this new one up. I thought it was funny enough and topical to the Inchies Tale of Woe? Hehehe!

Had a clean-up, and changed the PP’s. Then off to the kitchen. The lights seemed to be twinkling a lot more this morning, a little like Sister Jane’s when she laughs and smiles, which brought back the fretting and hopes that she is alright. She and Pete have gone through the medical grindstone lately. ♥

The Health-Checks were done. Duodenal Donald was hacking away at me again, most uncomfortable.

I reckon the worrying about our Jane and Pete is the reason behind the pain. They do not deserve such bad luck.

The SYS was still high, but down on yesterday.

The pulse was up a lot, though? I’ll check ion a while to see what it should be, on Google.

The stick-thermometer showed a decent rise of body temperature, at 35.3°c. When I got the check done on the pulse, this is a screen-shot of what it should be. But it only confused me more than before. Why two columns of figures? Anyroad, I reckon the pulse is a bit high. Hang on, though, Resting Heart Rate? Conrad Confusion, reigns?

I did some waste bag making and sorting out. Having to make tiny bags is a bind, but necessary all the same, otherwise, using bigger bags, means they cannot go down the narrow, tiny, wrought-iron waste-chute openings. Hence, I now have about nine bags to deposit down the shaft later on, far too early to use it now, it’d wake folks up on its way down.

This photo on the right is from last Monday. When Diarrhorea Donald, had taken over control of the innards, from Constipation Konrad was blocking movements, and I had to dose myself with capsules. 

Well, two days later, and Constipation Konrad was back with a vengeance, and has been ever since. So today, it was Senna, and Macrogol needed to try and counter Konrad. And many gulps of the inutile, ineffective Peptac will be of little use, as it is typically, against the horrors of the Duodenal Donald attacks. The ulcers are getting to me today, they just plod on peppering me with stabbing pains that are worse than on previous occasions! Mind you, maybe Anne Gyna is a part of the problem as well? All I know is, something must be done if they don’t ease-off soon, it’s fogging the brain’s thoughts and intentions. I’ve got enough worries about with Jane and Pete.

During this short spell that I’ve been up and hobbling about, I’ve needed four wee-wees, and am now going for another! Crumbleckskins! At least I’m getting a variety of modes, that one was of the LPT (Long-Persistent-Type).

I got on the computer and found this mystery photo on the right, in the SD card.

It was apparently taken yesterday morning? Perhaps it could be a target for the Tate Gallery, do you think? Haha!

The updating of the Sunday post was a drawn-out affair. I carried on working on it, getting more and more frustrated with my lack of concentration. Notwithstanding the three varied wee-wees taken. Weeeee! Got the link emailed, and posted the diary off to WordPress. Did some Facebooking, then onto the WordPress Reader, some great stuff on today.

When I around to consulting the notepad to start today’s diary going, I came across what looked to me like; Por or Par, 86 or 81 (10.15), written, or rather scribbled. I wonder what the heck it means. It’s really irking me, it must mean something or I wouldn’t have written it, surely? Grumph!

I’m getting tired now, not surprisingly, with getting no sleep at all last night.

I tried to make a Morrison online order for later in the week, but no slots were available. So I had to use the Sainsburys service. This may cost me more, well, it will, and the risk of short-dated items is almost as bad as Morrisons are. Phlump! Still, I hope to get some canned Chill-Con-Carne from them, as advised by Tim Price in New Mexico, as an Anti-Constipation Colin! Hehe! (I’m not going to get too hopeful though, most stores seem to be running out of stuff lately. Panic buying, I suppose. I’ve an Iceland order coming in the morning. I hope they have the ready-made Gino D’Acampo Cannelloni Ragù meals in stock, I really enjoyed that!

My super G5 modern mobile phone rang out, well, it might not be that new, Ahem!

It was Pete, my Brother-in-Law. I was overcome with joy when I asked about Jane, and Pete said she was at the side of him and was okay.

I shed a few silent tears of happiness.

He explained what had happened yesterday with Jane; They rang the NHS 111 number and told them of the Cluster-Headaches the gal was suffering with, and her losing the sight of her left eye (I think it was the left one). They were advised to go to the QMC hospital straight away, and this they did.

The Bratton’s duly arrived at about 15:00hrs – and got seen at 22:15hrs. Blimus!

A rarity said Pete: But they let him go into the treatment room with Jane, which I thought was brilliant. We chatted, and Jane came on the line, and we had a three-way natter of sorts, but much of what we said was not sinking in, My gratification, delight, ecstaticness and euphoria at hearing that Jane was okay, was blocking out some of what we discussed.

I know that Jane has to go back again today to the hospital. I reminded them of the link to the NHS Cluster-Headache pages on the web that I’d emailed them. I think Jane will get some encouragement when she reads the treatments listed that are available to treat the painful problem.

I recall Jane saying the nurse told her what she could expect on today’s visit, anarchy! She told them that Mondays are pandemonium at the QMC (Queens Medical Centre). I hope she can get seen sooner rather than later. ♥

After ringing off, I was over the moon, never been so contented for years. I was making notes on the pad to use here later, and the landline burst into life.

It was my heroin, Jenny ♥. Explaining that Asda delivery drivers do not come into the flats. So she has been going down to fetch the stuff for various elderly and disabled tenants and asked if I had wheeler, they could use. I got the spare three-wheeler out of the balcony and shuffled it somehow to the front door. Where Jenny appeared in a few minutes – but it was no use to her, the bag wasn’t big enough. The poor gal came all the way up to.

Herbert was model-making again. Tap-Tap-Clunk-Tap. Hehehe! But it didn’t bother me today, with my finding out that Jane was alright.

I had a look at the latest Nottingham and regional Coronavirus figures. A little concerning, I’m afraid.

The intercom rang, and flashed. It was the Amazon delivery of shoes arriving. I didn’t see the delivery person at all, but they left the box outside of the front door for me.

I got the box inside and on the flat airer.

Opened the container, and had a look at the footwear contained therein.

Crap, but I only expected them to be at the silly-cheap price they were asking for them. They were the same price as the Shoe Zone.

I then took my ninth wee-wee of the day. Hogglebogwash! They are now coming out as SWOP (Sprinkly-Weak-Orange-Painless) modes.

I got on with doing some more waste bags up. The cardboard from the Amazon deliveries was flattened and got in with the other waste. As you can see, there are rather a lot of them now. Hehehe! I’ll have to make an effort and get them to the waste room I suppose, it may take more than one journey, methinks.

Hello,  the Dusty Springfield tune, ♫I only want to be with you♫ has burst forth from the front door. I bet it’s Josie returning the dinner things from yesterday. It was, bless her. She told me that she enjoyed the brown potatoes, which cheered me up a little further! I got the Nikon camera on the charge, and I have to say, struggled to get the bags to the waste room. A bit of a balancing act with the trolley full to overflowing.

I got the Tower of Pisa-like imitation ( Piazza del Duomo, 56126 Pisa PI, Italy) like three-wheeled trolley through the front door, and by then had three bags of refuse dislodged and down onto the floor. Tsk! 

Retrieved them and restacked them on the trolley, and went the few feet to the lobby door and out into the lift area. More black and white bags escaped and had to be retrieved, not without a degree of, well, silently muttered naughty curse words had been used and got to the waste room door.

  I got the trolley and contents into the chute area, and thought as I took this photograph, ‘This is going to be another on that the Tate Gallery miss, and lose out on’. Hehehe! On the very first bag to be deposited down the shaft, I caught the edge of the iron grating chute, and now have a reasonable sized new bruise to show off.

Backing the trolley out of the room after unloading the bags down the shaft, I accrued another injury on my left buttock, as I walked into the door frame with a jolt. That’d be because I’m a dolt!

With a newly acquired style of limp, thanks to my bum-banging-blimp, I made my way back to my apartmentette and got the dinner prepared and served up ready for consuming.  

A ‘reet-treat’. Taste-Rating 7/10, got the pots and me cleaned up, and stripped and settled in the £300, second-hand, c1968, rickety recliner. I wrapped the thin green quilt around me, got all comfy and warm, snug as a bug, and so contented and smiling inwardly, at the good news about Sister Jane! Then…

Then as I went to turn on the TV, I realised I had not turned the set’s power on yet. Grumbleklunk!

The quilt was taken off, I dismounted the warmth of the c1968 chair, and hobbled over to turn on the power socket. Accruing a stubbed toe en route on the Ottoman! Whincingtime!

Wrapped the thin green quilt around me, got all comfy and warm again in the recliner…

Then I realised that the TV remote control had dropped between the chairs as I got up to put the plug into the TV! (I’d taken it out earlier, to use the socket, for the camera charger). Argh!

I tried to retrieve the remote with the long picker-upperer – but only succeeded in moving it out of sight, under the recliner!

I was just-short of suicidal feelings; only dejected depressed, despondent, and disconsolate,  dispirited, downcast, dismayed, and down-in-the-dumps with my sudden return to a world of Whoopsiedangleploppery! Not really, but I was irritated a smidge! Hahaha!

The quilt was taken off, I dismounted the warmth of the rickety recliner again, and got down on all fours, got the torch (handily kept on the recliner at all times when not in use), located the remote, and with the long picker-upperer, managed to slide it out from the furniture, then toward myself, and at last, reclaimed it. I put it in the Ottoman with the torch, and then planned to get back on my feet… somehow!

I did eventually get back up, via the Ottoman.

Falling off of the Ottoman (more bruises on the thigh), and banging the left foot. Then tried clinging onto the recliner…

But the cushion slipped off as I grabbed the chair, and ended up back on the floor where I started. I moved the cushion out of the way and tried again…

Next try, I utilised the swivel chair and Recliner as leverage, and success! I was back upright…

I knocked off the bottle of Springwater when I turned to get the quilt back on the chair…

I distinctly remember as I sat down to try and settle again, knocking the spectacles off of the recliner, Argh! But they were the old pair that I keep nearby if needed during the night, and I just left them there, as I’d got varifocals on anyway, to watch the Frost TV programme that I wanted to see.

I got back resettled, yer again, in the c1968 recliner, and wrapped the thin green quilt around me, got all comfy and warm, and…

Naturally, just as the heart started to calm down, I needed a wee-wee! Flagtoggles! Gragnangles! Granglesbognessbuggerit!

I got up, all the rigmarole, and farting about had to be gone through again. Got to the bucket and the darned mode of wee-wee was of the FFFONEC (Forceful-Furious-Fast-Orange-Never-Ending-Cloudy) variety. I had to endure one of the longest PMADs (Post-Micturition After Dribbles) ever! Humph!

Getting silly this is! I wrapped the thin green quilt around me, got all comfy and warm again in the recliner (Deja vu?). Oy-oy-oy!

Got the TV turned on and had a swig of the spring water/orange cordial. Then, I turned the TV to channel ten and realised the two-hour episode of Frost, had only fifteen minutes left to run, so there was no point in watching really now! Tsk! 

However, I can report that all these Whoopsiedangleplop, Accifauxpas and botherations; that usually would have got me all hot-under-collar (Not easy when you’ve not got any clothes on, Hehehe!) Honestly, they merely irked me a tad – and I can thank Jane for that, learning of her being okay, and chinwagging with her and Pete for a few moments, got me through this injury-ridden load of frustrations, and I felt in good form, with a definite sensation on contentedness!

I switched the TV to Radio three, and found some jazz music to listen to, and settled down. The Thought-Storms, were for the first time ever, unprecedentedly, idiosyncratic, enriching and pleasingly palatable.

I nodded of and woke an hour or so later, to hear the end of Nina Simone’s 1958, ‘My Baby Just Cares for Me!’ through the headphones. (Very memory prompting!) The quilt had come off of my feet, and the left one was stinging a bit, and seemed, well it was, swollen? Presumably, this happened when the limb collided with the corner of the Ottoman. Ay-yay-yay! 

Sweep Morpheous soon returned, as my mind happily mused over Sister Jane feeling better. I just had to put this picture of Jane (left) Me, and Christine Wright. We were young, frisky and having fun in our back yard. It was taken a few years ago… Hahaha!

Notice Inchcock had hair in those days? What we were doing with the hose pipe, well, maybe Janet will see this and remember, then she can tell me. Over to you, Jane and Chrissie!

I removed the headphones, passed wind, and drifted blissfully, smiling inside, off into the wonderful land of Nod!

I thought I’d look back, on my victories

I thought I’d look back, on my victories

Bear with me; these are hard to find…

At birth, I lived through Mother’s fag ash dropping on me,

I had Double-Pneumonia at the age of three,

Sister Jane was almost adopted, to Italy, she did flee,

Brother Pete, escaped, good for him, went in the army,

Mother running away, the police wanted her, you see,

Which left just poor old Dad and me,

Doing the cleaning, shopping, and two paper-rounds, that was Inchy!

I survived being thrown in the Nottingham Canal,

Clinging to a barge rope, without much hope,

I was rescued by Brain, a neighbour, and a real pal,

Hauled out, was taken home, full of hope,

Got a belting off of Dad, and scrubbed with carbolic soap!

Jane away in Italy still,

Life was for us both, a bitter pill,

We’d both had our sad times, but still,

I started work, bought a bike that would go uphill!

Duodenal ulcer, Anne Gyna I acquired easily enough,

Got shot at work, and a new heart fitted,

Fron flat to flat, I flitted,

Got made redundant, Cancer zapped, not fritted,

Job searching failed, hopes, attritted,

My desires, faith, and plans buffetted!

Then along came Peripheral Neuropathy ailment,

 Jane, back from Australia, accompanied me,

To and from the hospital, she was heaven sent!

Then the stroke, I was a broken bloke,

Months in care, after the stroke,

Slowly, recovery began to cloak,

Bits of the old Inchcock, showed, bespoke,

And I knew something more would wroke!

Then the diabetes was found,

And things got worserer, all around,

When Saccades-Sandra, was also found!

But, my hopes and aspirations remain,

Although I am no longer sane,

I’m ready for the challenges again…

I just wish there was a little less pain!

I fang you!

 

It’s Been a Funny Old Life Part Five – Starting school year…

I was born in 1947, an accident for sure,

Mother now long gone, to void being arrested,

This fact I was content to inure,

By Auntie Gail then, I was molested,

I loved it, thought she was a treasure,

Then going to school, this is where my sanity was tested!

*****

Avoiding being beaten up several times each day,

Keeping the bully boys at bay,

Being called a Nancy for wanting to learn,

Having three other jobs, for spending money to earn,

Paper rounds, Saturday job & wood bundling; jobs I couldn’t spurn

For Dad said, I had to Pay-As-You-Earn!

*****

I had to earn enough cash for the school meals daily to eat,

I’d have agreed to being adopted in a heartbeat,

But Aunt Gail didn’t ask, and we never again did meet,

Oh, how I did cry and wailed, I was so downbeat!

*****

I continued working, bundling the fire-wood,

Grafting away every hour that I could.

Doing extra night shifts, when they asked, I would.

The long tiring hours stood me well later in adulthood,

Then the boss showed me how to saw the wood,

He left me to carry on, there was so much blood!

*****

When the plank shot up off the bench, it caused a conflagration,

Then landed on he head, causing a nasty indentation,

The emergency services arrived, quite an accumulation,

Firemen, ambulancemen, police, a right altercation,

The ambulancemen gave me a perambulation,

To the Children Hospital, where they gave me an investigation,

I was sent home within the hour, Dad offered words of caution:

If my dinner isn’t ready when I get home again, they’ll be an argumentation!

Ah, memories…