Integrative Inchy Thurs, 18th March 2021 Photos and Rhymes – Lockdown Escape!

INCHCOCK TODAY

Thursday 18th March 2021

Mayanmar (Burmese): ကြာသပတေးနေ့ 18 မတ်လ 2021

Health Checks

4Thu08

Escape From Lockdown

4Thu09.

Out through the lobby, on the ground floor,

Decorations? it could do with some more,

It’s not exactly, haute couture,

Off I went, in search of a natter for sure,

I suppose I’ll spend a lot, and come back poorer?

Get some food, that’s epicure!

Visited the Warden Julie, then I caught the bus,

Gossip at the bus stop, that gave me a rush,

To town and into Wilko, the staff were peed-off and deamur.

4Thu19c

Getting out was wearying, but grand!

But I forgot to buy a new toothbrush!

On to Poundland, a barren shelves, empty place,

I took my time searching, it was not a race,

Wandered around limping at a steady pace,

Many items I could not trace,

The basket filled up at a worrying pace!

I was glad to get out of the place!

4Thu11.

I limped to the Bargain Buys store,

To buy even more,

Saw my first Escooters, Cor!

Later on I see many more, as many as a score!

I went in the shop, empty shelves were less,

But items were dearer in there, I must stress!

Lovely lady on the till; I paid my bill!

4Thu12

Out to Trinity Square,

Even less tellurians around there!

Starving pigeons, came down,

All I could do was apologise and frown,

Poor things, it isn’t fair!

4Thu13

Down Kings Walk, nobody there,

To chat with, on my way to the Slab Square,

And happened, I have to share…

4Thu14

My first Pavement Cyclist, of the day,

He came from behind me,

I shouted out; ‘Hey!’

He just went on his way,

His approach I did not see,

The Git!

4Thu20

On King Street, more Escooters I did see,

I5 mph they can do, so they say,

But they park them anywhere, in the way!

Faster than disabled scooters, how I pray…

The disabled don’t get in their way!

I saw them on pavements and carriageway,

Footpaths, even in a shop doorway,

Still it’s summat that adults and kids can play!

4Thu15.

I hobbled, struggling with the overloaded trolley,

To Queen Street, having spent too much lolly,

getting everything on the bus, was a melee,

Cartilage Cathy, was getting painful, I must say!

4Thu16.

 I had to hold onto the trolly, every inch of the way,

Knowing Colin Cramps would later make me pay!

Later in the day,

I limped back to the block and flat, with bravery!

Cathy Cartilage and Colin Cramps bad, and feeling bladdery!

4Thu17.

Sorted out the purchases from the painful shopping spree,

The Wilko bag first, toothpaste, cleaners for me,

Oh, and anti-diahorrea capsule I see,

I got one them straight away!

4Thu18

Then the fortune spent at the Poundland store,

I couldn’t have carried any more!

Medications, to make me feel less sore,

Gonna use the Chilli & Salt tonight for sure,

Baked beans as well, I saw!

4Thu19

Then the Bargain shop bag was sorted,

Nothing exciting to be reported,

As I did this, Cathy Cartilage became detorted,

And twinges from Colin Cramps contorted!

IMG_6811

The baked beans and chilli seasoning went down very well.

The innards rumbled, oh, hell!

Trotsky Terence might be building as well?

Washed stripped, and as to can tell,

Into the recliner, I fell,

IMG_6816

One fat leg, one thin, one hard the other soft and weak,

Colin Cramps kicked off, Phorpained, enough for a week!

Repeated this several times, I felt overmeek,

Colin continued his hassle,

The chances of sleep, were rather bleak,

To our saviour, I did speak,

His reply to me, was all Greek,

Colin Cramps continued, painfully he did wreak,

For painlessness I did beseech, and seek,

When I moved, the cartilage did squeak,

I was aching tired and weak,

WDP A01c

Yet contented, so to speak!

I passed involuntary wind, and had a keek!

Impugner-Inchy, Sunday 7th March 2021 Dairy – Argh! Sundays!

♥ The TFZer Garden of Love ♥

Care Home Sports – Hehehe!

INCHCOCK TODAY

Sunday 7th March 2021

Greek: Κυριακή 7 Μαρτίου 2021

00:00hrs: I stirred after sleeping for five-hours, but they were broken ones, disturbed by repeated wakings up, silly thoughts and nodding off again! Tsk! And a feeling of doom and gloom lingered in my tortured brain! Likely due to the series of dreams I’d been having!

I  boldly heaved and puffed away, freeing my abdominous over-bellied aching body from the grotty, £300, second-hand, c1968, unsteady, not-working, incommodious, sickeningly beige-coloured, haemorrhoid-testing recliner, and rose up on my feet, to catch my balance. Argh! Both knees gave me pain; the right one, with Cathy Cartilage, was really keen and sharp! My hobbling was so slow and so carefully done after this. I realised and remembered then, the Morrison order delivered yesterday by the Amazon shopper! Me hobbling down to help him carry the stuff up to the flat. And the git just leaving all the bags in the front lobby of the building. The agony of all that walking and carrying brought thoughts of malice, hatred and revenge-seeking! Which soon dissipated, as I realised this is not my style! No matter how the chap treated me, hurt me, and caused me such discomfort, I must not lower myself to his and Amazon’s standards.

I was now feeling calmer in myself, although in pain still, thanks to the ignorant moron. (Whoops!) My mind was distracted (it does that a lot nowadays!), as the need for the Porcelain Throne arrived… and a gaseous one too, judging by the escaping bubbles of air (I hope!) from the rear-end. So, I made my way to the wet room with all available haste!

I’m so glad I didn’t hesitate; no sooner had the PP’s come down, the action started! Trotsky Terence’s revenge! Short, smelly, sticky, gooey… but no bleeding from anywhere at least! And just two flushes needed to free the bowl of the evacuated product! Mind you, I was amused to see after the second pull, bubbles continued to come back up from underneath the water in the porcelain for a few minutes. I took this photo of them, but they do not show up much on it. I swear I could hear a sort of gurgling noise as they came to the surface?

The cleaning up needed and medicating took me along time. Harold’s Haemorrhoids were very sore. A dollop of Phorpain gel was rubbed into the knees. And I realised that I had been sleeping, wearing the bamboo diabetic socks on last night! A ‘No-No’ that is! I pulled them down to see if the muscles in the leg had gone soft, and they really had! Naughty, Inchcock, stupid, Inchcock! I’m not going to bother to take them off now, though; I’ll do it later when I handwash them with the shirt. I do feel a fool – I’ve never done that before? I must have an advice notice somewhere about what to do if you do sleep in the hosiery. I recall getting one from the neurologist at the Mary Potter clinic? I may have to get help in searching for it, Hehe!

I went through to put the kettle on and a wash-up… Unglefrogwogglings & Thunderbogworthyness Idiot! I’d left the hot water tap running again! Stone cold! I’ll miss doing this when I snuff it! Hehehe! But I was so angry with myself!

Instant Ode assembled: I made a brew to drink and stew, but what can I do? Doomed, I will be! Deaf, can’t hear running water and cannot wee-wee! In pain and pissed-off with me! I’m a social outcast, an old logicality-abortee! Not a good rhyme, but it flowed out easily enough at the time!

I nipped out on the balcony to take a shot of the view. But the Canon camera does no do night shots very well, as you can see with the results of my photographicalisationing!

I’m not sure what I changed on the camera or how I did it if I did. But the ratio came out different to the usual wide mode? As I checked on the selector on the camera, SSS (Shuddering-Shoulder-Shirley) had a go at me, and I turned the dial, so I could not identify which option I’d selected. Not that many of them mean anything to me.

I returned to make the brew of Glengettie tea, passed wind, considered if I needed to return to the Throne, decided not, and got the Health Checks done. At least these photos came out in the proper ratio-shape?

The body temperature was 36.4°c – 97.5°f, but I cannot access the Excel log record because Microsoft was updating again and wouldn’t give me access!

I think it was better than yesterday, anyway.

The Boots Sphygmomanometer, manufactured by ZDEAC (Zhongshan Daguan Electrical Appliance Company Ltd) in Guangdong, China, worked for the first time today. Revealing a high SYS of 170, SIA at 80, and the Pulse down to 85.

I got on with updating the Saturday Diary, not that much needed doing. I soon had it all finished.

I went to the NHS BP site and input my figures. Oh, dearie me! Way-up in the red today!

Today my BP was well in the red!

Perhaps, I might be dead?

I wish someone had said! Hehehe!

Hopefully, a nurse should be calling on Monday to take my Warfarin blood test; I can point it out to her if she’s not too busy.

No chance of getting through to the Doctor… well, I might, but I only get recorded messages about Covid. Then, the ringing tone, followed by another recorded message telling me they are getting an extraordinarily high volume of calls, please ring back later!

I know, I’ll ask them to bury me with a printout of the HP figures, providing Microsoft will allow them access, then they can read them too late to save my life, the high numbers involved? Good idea? Oh, damn! I’m being cremated, ain’t I! Hahaha! It’s such a warm, comforting feeling, knowing one is so cared for in one’s dotage and psychoneurosis years, innit?

Then, I emailed the link for the diary off. Pinterested some photos and went on Facebooking catching-up. I started sneezing repeatedly, and a few shivers went through me. Hello, what’s going on here? 

Then, I visited the WordPress Reader Section. This post was incredible; here is the link:

https://offcenternoteven.com/2021/03/06/ghost-mousies-in-the-sky/

An excellent parody song on this one. And a link to an older one, too; cleverly performed! You should like both of these, for the tune and Spunk, the pussy cat antics with a mouse!

https://photos.tandlphotos.com/blog/2017/9/spunk-fought-the-mouse-and-the-mouse-won. 

I went on the WP comments reading and answering.

Soon be time for the Ablutions to be done, I’ll have a mug of Glengettie tea and a nibble, methinks.’

Ablutions: A remarkably calm, almost injury-free session. Fewer dropsies than usual! Nasal, teeth cleaning, even the shaving was cut-free! The showering smooth and safe. The medicating went just as well. However, getting dressed proved painful! Only two accifauxpas (but they felt like dozens!) Hehe!

Getting the socks on, I actually felt proud of not using Sock-Glide-Glenda. But wish that I had afterwards! Two tumbles, one for each sock! Stopping the bleeding from the hip where I hit on my way down took a while and much medicating. The left-leg fiasco had me going backwards and sliding slowly down the door! Harold’s Haemorrhoids were not pleased in the least! Ah, well! Oh, the sleeping in the bamboo socks had left me with some new blotches. The old ankle-ulcer wound was itching like mad! So, I put 100% cotton socks on today. Cathy Cartilage looked a bit temperamental, too! No wonder she’s giving me such jip!

I made a start on prepping Josie’s meal. Tomatoes, cheesy mashed potatoes as she likes them with plenty of Leicester cheese, well-buttered. And some Scottish Kippers with butter. A blotch of her favourite cheese, unopened so she can eat it anytime. A limoncello and strawberry dessert, and delivered it to her door. I wobbled a bit with the tray as I sneezed and spilt some butter from the kippers onto the tray as the gal opened the door. She was not impressed with me. Also, when I got back, I’d forgotten to photograph the meal! Ah, well, you can’t win em all!

I got in and sorted the eight black and blue bin bags. Then, I got them on the box with the others on the walker-trolley and off to the waste room. It was a deathly-quiet Sunday routine. But to perk things up a little, I trapped a finger in the cast-iron chute lid. I swore mildly and then returned to the apartment.

I got the handwashing done, only two pairs of long bamboo socks, and hung them above the kitchen sink to drip dry.

I moved the leek and potatoes from the crock-pot into a saucepan on the hob. They smelt good! Then got a ring-pull can of Stewed Steak, but as usual, things don’t go right for me very often! The ring-pull came away from the can! On the label, do not open this can with a can opener, hand or automatic – Use the ring-pull for access! Well, that advice was crap, then! I tried it nervously on the auto-opener, of course, but it didn’t work; the ridge was far too high for the blade. Now, what do I do?

I tried again at an angle; and was not sure if I’d drop the can, machine or both, but it worked somehow. This was mainly due to the respite from SSS (Shuddering Shoulder Shirley) and NN (Nicodemus’s Neurotransmitters). I went into a bit of Smug-Mode! Then poured the contents into the saucepan and added Best Bisto Gravy granules and an Oxo cube to the mix. Gave it jolly good stirring, and after a while, I had a taste… Not bad at all!

I gave Sister Jane, well, husband Pete, a ring. I felt sure it was this week that he had to go back to the hospital for a conference meeting with the doctor. Thought I’d cheer him up a bit first. But no, I was wrong again. It was Sister Jane’s turn this week! So I had a chinwag with her, but it was a farcical effort; we both seem to have hearing problems now. Hehe! Wished her well for the Doctors visit and chatted about nothing that mattered. But I enjoyed it, all the same.

Then I tried to get a slot with Sainsbury’s for next Thursday or Friday. But they only some free on Wednesday 10th March. I got an early one, 7>8am. Made the order and decided to start sorting my own meal out.

All the time and effort was well worth it. Although I spent a long time cleaning the pans first, it was still hot enough when it came to eating them. All it was, was a well season pot of canned stewed steak, potatoes and leeks. A flavour-rating of 8.8/10!

I put the pots and tray in the sink to soak overnight and settled to watch something on the TV. Ah, I remember now, it was ‘Kitchen Nightmares’.

The sleep soon came, but it was a sad night again; I was forever seeming to wake up, with dim memories of a terrible dream, but could recall nothing, other than the sensation that I was young again during the nightmares. I think they may have been repeating ones? Maybe not, though.

Irritating Inchie, Saturday 16th January 2021 – Diary

TFZers Planning their Shopping Expedition after lockdown?

Inchcock’s Tips & Advice on gerrin’ o’der, fer Whippersnappers

Saturday 16th January 2021

Finnish: Lauantaina 16 Tammikuuta 2021

01:35hrs: I slowly stirred back into life, of sorts. A sudden, almost panic began, from somewhere I thought that something was wrong in the kitchen! No smells, I don’t think. I struggled out of the c1968 recliner, and I limped to the kitchenette but found nothing untoward, and I had a good look around, windows shut, taps not running… was it a dream?

I was not properly balanced, so I took my time and returned to the main junk room. Thought were coming pretty fast into the brain, but leaving at the same rate of knots.

I got my Myanmar, (Burmese) made zip-up jacket on. Changed into the reading glasses, had a weak wee-wee, washed my hands, and started the Health Checks. The Chinese made Harpin Xian Di contactless thermometer reading was fine, at 36.6°c.

♫ I really can’t stay, Baby it’s cold outside, I gotta go away, Baby it’s cold outside, This evening has been, Been hoping that you’d dropped in, So very nice, I’ll hold your hands they’re just like ice ♫… Sorry about that, I got carried away!

Pleasingly, the Chinese manufactured Boot’s Sphygmomanometer SYS was not too high compared to earlier readings, at 156. And, the pulse was steady at 85.

I nipped back into the kitchen to get a made-up bottle of spring water and lime cordial.

I opened the window, Gawd it was cold out there… (♫ I really can’t stay, Baby it’s cold outside, I gotta go away, Baby it’s cold outside, This evening has been, Been hoping that you’d dropped in, So very nice, I’ll hold your hands they’re just like ice ♫…) Sorry about that, I got carried away!☺

I snapped this photograph of Chestnut Way’s car park in front of the building, below. Back to the computer, taking another weak-wee-wee en route, and back on the computer.

I determinedly pressed on with the updating of the Friday Diary. Got it finished, although it took me longer than usual with interruptions to Nicodemus’s Neurotransmitters, on and off repeatedly for periods of a few seconds, up to a full minute. But I resisted going into a Smug-Mode, after yesterday’s experiences.

All done at long last Hurrah!), then I posted it off to WordPress, emailed the link. Had a weak wee-wee, washed, returned and Pinterested some bits, and went on the Facebooking updating on the TFZ site, then the Woodthorpe Heights. Spent a good while on there, and went on the WordPress-Reader section. Had a weak-wee-wee. Washed my hands and went on the WP commenting.

Belatedly, I made a start on this post. Stopped to make a brew, have a weak-wee-wee, wash my hands, and took the morning medications (It was grand to be able to take an extra pain-killer, thanks to the unknown, kind donor, who posted some through my door yesterday, thanks again!)

I got an inspiration to write the Advice funny at the top of this page, well, second graphic down. I made it up and did it with a graphic. It’s nowhere near my best work, but for some reason, I found it so zanily humorous, so kept it in. I hope people like it and get a laugh. If anyone does, I’ll offer it to the Tate Gallery for a modest fee. Hahaha!

I lost a lot of time already with my getting sidetracked, but did it again, and went on a hunt for Alt codes to use. I found a few and put them on the Notepad for later.

Hello, some more comments have come in, I’ll have a decker. Just the two, replied to them and went to make another mug of tea, and had another weak-wee-wee! I reckon I’ve missed a Furesomide in the medicational muddle?

I then went on CorelDraw to get some template graphics done, I’m well behind with them. Crockledimdogs! Another visit to the wet room, Blimus!

Back to CorelDrawing, and within a minute into working, and the door chimes rang out.

It was the postman, bringing the Amazon sold razors. A box of 200 razors in packs of five. Outstanding value, too.

Back to the CorelDrawing.

: Having done only one graphic, CorelDraw Problems, or rather, I created CorelDraw problems! Or, maybe a more accurately, Nicodemus Neurotransmitters caused me CorelDraw problems! I lost the document palette! The nerve ends died as I was trying to move the palette, and I lost it altogether. I was getting more and more frustrated, I could not remember how to move palettes with the mouse, spent hours trying this and that in the options and customisation sections, getting nowhere with it.

Sister Jane

Then the landline burst forth flashing. Sister Jane, calling. I took this photo a couple of years ago of her, in the Nottingham Slab Square.

We had a long chinwag, ashamedly I could not concentrate properly with worrying about the CorelDraw problems. I learnt what I was doing wrong, as is natural when she calls me, Big Sister, you see. (Hahaha!) I

was eating the wrong foods, going to bed too early, and other things I can’t remember, 

In the morning, I added this photo of her and Pete’s visitors in their garden. A family of Squirrels that have taken up residence nearby. They call twice every day for their treats on monkey nuts.

Back to the nightmare with the computer. I went on the web asking for help, and it took me three hours of differently formulated questions, to find a DVD that helped with the problem. Another hour of farting about getting it wrong, and suddenly I got the palette back, but it was empty!

I lost more time trying to sort this out and gave up. I was frustrated, and so wee’d off! And the weariness was coming on.

I gave up on computing, my hopes and plans destroyed! Ah, well, I turned off the computer and got some nosh sorted out. As I got the Ghilli-Con-Carne, red peppers and tomatoes in the saucepan, oh dearie me…

All of the Peripheral Neuropathy related ailments all kicked-in, well not all of them. No leg dancing, loss of balance but SSS (Shuddering-Shoulder-Shirley), Shaking Shaun, and Cathy Cartilage gave me what for!

A nasty bout, this one, but thank goodness it was a short one. I was growing more tired than ever now. But I pressed on and got the meal served up. I overdid the quantity a bit, and couldn’t eat all of the rolls, but destroyed the CCC and potatoes. A taste-rating was a worthy 8/10.

Washed and got the jammie-bottoms on, and down in the £300, second-hand, decrepit, c1968, rickety recliner, and turned on the TV, I can’t remember what it was I was going to watch, but I failed to anyway – blissfully! Off into the land of Sweet Morpheus, I drifted in no time at all. Zzzz!

An hour or so later, I sprang wide-awake, as if I’d just had an electric shock! The realisation that the Prescriptions were being delivered today bounding about in my head! Sheer alarm and panic gripped my and hastened by the bulbous wobbly body from the recliner, with the intentions of getting to the front door post-haste to see if they had been put through the door for me, as it was well past the normal delivery time.

Unfortunately, as I got in the hallway, I instead hastened down on my knees to the floor, and the right leg knee, (Cartilage Cathy’s) gave way. There was no time for self-pitying, I hauled my enormous girth back up onto my feet…

And I crumpled down again! This time, I crawled into the wet room and dolloped a load of Phorpain gel all around the patella. Then used the shower chair to get my bulk back up on my feet again. All the time, worrying about the prescriptions milling about in my head.

I got to the flat’s door, there was not anything outside or inside medicine wise. Had he or she been and left? Will they be coming later? I put the facemask on, in case anyone did come, and thought I’d check the mobile and email to see if the chemist had been and had sent a message… Panicking a bit here, but still found time to fit a spot of nervousness in about the CorelDraw problem! Come one worry – Come all! Hehe!

Moments later, the intercom rang out, it was Carrington Pharmacy owner, Deepak BSc Pharm Hons, delivering my prescriptions for me. For once, thank heavens he was late, else I might have been asleep otherwise, Phew! He dropped the prescription pack in a box, on the floor for me, and I thanked him. Nice to be told I was not looking very well. Hehehe! Bless him.

Once I took them to the kitchen to sort out, I realised that Cathy Cartilage was really giving me some stick, although it was my own fault for falling on her twice! Flibbledonkackles!

Ah, well, life may not be exactly suant, and I may be in pain, CorelDraw is worrying me, but after a quick Silver-Lining Search: Things could be much worse. I got the prescriptions delivered, Cathy Cartilage is already getting less painful, I had a marvellous CCC for dinner, Duodenal Donald and Anne Gyna have both been kind to me today. Yep, things are good! Who am I kidding!

Back down in the recliner, it took a while, but sleep did return.

Inchcock’s Escape from Lock-down, No.7, to town. Pictographically

Nervously, I departed, my beloved Woodthorpe Court,

Wondering, if I really ought,

But off I poddled, my expectancies at nought,

Taking my quandaries, feeling relatively taut,

My nerves on edge and tension straught!

The bus-ride was painful and tense, oh, golly!

Feet under the wheels as brakes,

As I sat holding the trolley,

Then I got the nervous shakes,

Sure I would overspend my lolly!

Got to town, and nearly got ran over,

Cold, I wished I’d put on an extra pullover,

A van nearly hit me, moreover,

I swore at the man to show I was no pushover!

I made my way to the Poundsaver store,

Searching for milk tubs, Frazzles and more,

The knee gave way, and I ended up on the floor,

Some ladies, got me up, Gawd I was sore,

They had milk, but I got Frazzles & more,

Paid and left, with a bank balance more, poor!

I had a walk around the City Centre,

Limping now, I felt even ancienter,

The coffee shops looked full, but I’m not a frequenter,

Then one of the Pavement cyclist’s flew by,

If I could, I’d have given him a smack in the eye!

I never saw a policeman. I wonder why?

It looked like rain in the sky,

So I went inside, to keep myself dry!

The Exchange arcade, it was barren of folk,

So many retailers, closed-down, a pig-in-a poke,

Rent £78,000 per annum, it’s no joke,

Service Charge £17,144, what lady or bloke,

Who can afford this? No wonder they’ve gone broke!

The drizzle hadn’t come, so out I went,

Some time in Slab Square, I spent,

Street sleepers, yobboes, arguing, but no police sent,

My frustrations I wanted to vent,

The knee hurting, my money spent,

Getting home to Codeines was my intent!

To the Queen Street bus-stop,

Struggling with my purchases from the shop,

On to the L9 bus I did hop,

Well, struggled, and into the seat did flop,

I was so glad when we got to the Winwood Heights stop!

I alighted the bus, well, fell off of it,

I did feel a right twit!

No injuries, I felt tired, but quite fit,

Off to Woodthorpe Court, I did flit!

Not a soul in sight, for a talk,

So I struggled along Chestnut Walk,

No much thinking en route, the brain had lost its torque!

Into the decorative, welcoming lobby, I did walk!

I tooketh a photo, getting into the lift,

Can’t be accused today, of being a spendthrift!

I’d bought some pressies and a Christmas gift,

I was feeling proud, not peeved or tift,

For once, my thoughts were not all adrift,

There weren’t any at all if you get my drift?

I’d seen folk arguing, and one shoplift,

And yet, I didn’t feel in the slightest miffed!

Frazzled, I’m glad to say – Yes! Hehehe!

Inchcocks 6th Lockdown Escape – To the Pharmacy

Offlymuch I went, I did,
To fetch my Fenbid-40 & MacroBid,
And a tube of Fenbid,
Although it cost me my health and a few quid!

The road was blocked by traffic parked on the pavement,
But I didn’t relent,
A passing car missed me,
To the floor, I nearly went!
Down Winchester Street,
It was a brave feat,
The brakes don’t work…
I carried on, my mission to complete!
More trouble on Hood Street,
Blocked pavement again,
But I an not to be beat!
Went on the road again, such a pain!
Got on Mansfield Road near Rhodes,
But where were the folks?
No muggers, bikers or Schaghticokes,
I think I’ll buy some Artichokes!
I stopped to look down Hadyn Road for a while,
Little traffic, few people that made me smile,
I moved on after a while,
Realised I’d forgot to take my mobile!
Started up the hills,
To fetch my pills,
To cure my ills,
Up ahead, the cottages and vills!
Aha, a Pavement Cyclist was seen!
He scowled at me, he didn’t seem too keen,
On my putting him in my camera screen,
His face looked a little adamantean!
Over down the hill to Carrington,
A place of muggings, violent action,
Blimey, my poetry is terribly bad…
What’s your reaction?
Got near the Chemist shop, a little late,
The retailer shops looking in a bad state,
I wonder, what is their fate,
Bankruptcy, for you mate!
I entered the Chemist shop straight away,
No welcoming smile, did they display,
I wished I was far away,
I tried to look happy, appear to be gay,
My emotions were in disarray,
Got the tablets, and I was away!
I called at Lidle, to get some food, spend my brass,
Noticed, the yobboes had smashed the window glass,
Coronavirus, made the yobboes mad and crass?
Did someone think the glass, a canvas?
Was it done by some drunken dumbass?
Done by a gang of anti-maskers, out to kickass?
Good job the window was made of plexiglass!

I must apologise for the patheticness of this rhyme,

But writing it, I was unwell at the time,

Anne Gyna, stopped me feeling sublime,

My future as a poet is not worth a dime,

But I’ll try to get it better next time!

A simple bus ride to fetch my Spectacles – Not on your life, talk about things going wrong. Humph!

A simple bus ride to fetch my Spectacles

Not on your life, talk about things going wrong!

The things you will read on this so-called true-funny blog of mine,

Really are true, and challenge my sanity  and mind,

Please persist reading, and you will find,

Why I have logicality, hopelessness and despondencies entwined!

Off to Sherwood to collect my glasses,

I’ll call on Jenny and Doris, such lovely lasses,

I’ll leave them a treat, containing molasses,

Might get a chinwag with whoever passes?

 ———————————————

Caught the lift down with no problem at all,

Left the bag, hope they have a ball,

Returned to lift lobby hall,

Catching the elevator, not easy at all,

I was so frustrated and appalled,

25 minutes later, the lift responded to my call!

 ———————————————

Rushing out to Chestnut Walk, slipped and broke my shoe,

Clouted it on the walker’s wheel, surely there is some good luck due?

But what made me saddest, was the bus had departed, early too!

So, all het-up now, I legged-it, passed-wind, and feared wanting a poo!

 ———————————————

On Winchester Street, The walker ran away from me,

I chased it, and is facticity,

I wedged it against a box for electricity,

To take this phot, but not with enough adequacy,

I stopped it again but with inefficacity,

No doubt about it, this was going to be a trip of paucity!

———————————————

I got down the hill, energy’s what I did lack,

I must get the bus up the hill going back,

I called on two shops to get cleaner and a snack,

Off to the optician’s, the one drawback,

I was wearing a sort of anorak,

I was so hot, but didn’t hold back,

Got in the shop, and took the receptionist flak,

I was late, it seems was her crack!

———————————————

I had a long wait to be seen,

Not that I was all that keen,

£300 to pay, never again to be seen,

Crosswording while I waited,

The receptionist called me to be seen,

The lady dealt with me, glasses were fitted,

I got quite jolly-fully contented and witted,

Until it came time to pay, the nI was fritted!

I’d forgotten my pin number again,

I think the lady thought of me; “What a Pain!”

From crying out loud, I did refrain,

She got the money through, this seemed diaphane,

How I don’t know, so I asked her, it felt germane,

I didn’t understand her, and felt a right dumb-brain,

Thanked her, pretending to understand, I did mislain,

Still, she didn’t moan or complain!

Then out and up the hill, to catch the bus again!

———————————————

I had to doge another Pavement Cyclist, he gave me a fright, 

I was too tired to comment or get into a fight,

I’d run out of the Kryptonite! 

Would I make the walk home up the fearsome hill? I might! 

Down to the traffic light corner,

And the bus passed by, I was too late!

I checked the next ones time and date, 

40 minutes, too long to stand and wait,

So I set off, limping, with an unsteady gait!

The hill looked a fearsome sight, 

The prospect of climbing it, made me feel uptight,

Sorry that I didn’t wait for the bus, I felt contrite!

Anyone seeing me struggle up the road must have seen a sickening sight,

I was sure the gradient was gaining height?

The hobble home seemed infinite

At the top of Winchester, the parkers made things tight,

For breakfast, I should have had some Marmite,

The time went by slowly, and things went quite,

Somehow, up the last part of the hill, I did expedite, 

To see a harrowing sight,

The 40 bus arriving, some tenants did alight,

 My energy was drained completely now, flat!

Didn’t have the energy for eating my cervelat,

Must not fall asleep, I’ll have to do summat,

I got back to the apartment, Zzzz; that was that!


After this abysmal, Whoopsiedangle-ridden trip, the poor old twit, did have fleeting thoughts of a suicidal nature. but he did not act on them – He fell asleep! Haha!

The tale in bad rhyme, of Inchies Escape from isolation, to Nottingham City Centre!

Monday, 7th September 2020, Inchcock escapes from captivity and cunningly flees his Woodthorpe Court. To investigate the Coronavirus affects in the City Centre, buy stuff he doesn’t need, cripple his poor feet, and a failed search for a chinwag!

Plans were laid,

For his escapade,

The Escape bid was made,

He was feeling fraught and afraid!

Arriving on Upper Parliament Street,

Alighted the bus, hobbles to Poundland,

Already pains from Relux Roger and his feet,

He spent on superfluous stuff, like crabmeat,

Then to the Bargain shop, wishing he could find a seat!

He bought three things, none of them needed,

His enthusiasm for his escape, now, receeded,

Little Inchies fungal lesion bleeding, succeeded,

His finances, he had further bleeded!

He hobbled along Milton Street then,

Down Clumber Street, he was saddened, when,

He saw the closed shop, there were over ten,

Including his camera shop, he nearly cried then!

Sadly, he made his way to the end,

Feeling lonely and down a bit,

What Coronavirus has created, can we mend?

Oh, dear, a penny he needed to spend!

The urge he had to suspend!

To the corner of Long Row, he did wend!

A photo of Pelham Street he did take,

Then one a shot backwards up Clinton he did make,

Long Row, too, where he took some more,

Off towards his bus stop in the Slab Square,

Paramedics, Security Guards, were there,

The people looked so full of despair!

The rain came down, he took shelter from it,

Under the shop eaves, but it didn’t last long,

He took this photo, he quite liked the resulting effect,

His bladder was full, to the bus stop direct!

En route, Slab Square was photographed,

He tripped on the wheeled trolley walker,

He even managed a little laughter,

When he passed wind and hiccoughed! 

He caught the bus back, a painful drive home,

Got off on Chestnut Walk, glad he finished his roam,

Damn it, he’d forgot to get his shaving foam!

He sheltered from the sudden rain,

Under the cover, and gloom was falling again,

He belched, it smelt like aminomethane,

He hobbled toward home; it was a strain!

He got in his flat,

He untangled his hearing aids from his mask,

It was a fiddley, difficult task!

Made himself a meal that,

Was too big, but not too much fat,

He fell asleep, and that was that!

Not a very good ode this time, uncertainty and confusion were visiting me. Sorry.

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!

GC Young

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!

GC stick

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!

 

Inchies Ode to Inchcock

The effervescent, bubbly, good-natured Nottinghamian, 25-year-old, super-fit, Educator, Mountaineer, Professor of Neurotransmitterisational failure, and lover of oven-baked Leicester cheese potatoes; presents his latest dollop of poetical rubbish, for you!

Here we go…

I may be getting on for eighty,
But I retain some childish juvenility,
It’s one thing, in which I have the ability,
I don’t need any guilt or justifiability,
I’ve no confidence left, just vulnerability!

My ailments give me pain and irascibility,
I’ve long lost interest in egocentricity,
My body’s lost strength and elasticity,
The legs have lost their endurability,
The brain’s, now devoid of logicality!

Possibly, perhaps, partly old age, you see,
Could be lack of fun, loneliness and frivolity,
That’s made me somewhat grumpity,
The Porcelain Throne? It’s solid or liquidity,
No chance now, of any multi-functionality!

My once sharp mind, now full of banality,
I catch the wrong bus into the City,
I stutter now, so it’s hard to be witty,
I feel I’ve become a nugacity, a nonentity,
For falling asleep, I have a propensity!

No fighting spirit, and no ignitability
I’m morose, sad, no shockability,
For black periods, I’ve a susceptibility,
Life no longer offers me any tangibility,
But a big flabby-stomach, and gibbosity!

One thing that’s grown, is my gullibility,
And my stomach, that’s an undeniability
My hopes have gone, died, ostensibility,
Now life has very little enjoyability,
I sometimes wallow in self-pity,
That’s when I’ll write, a silly ditty!

Donations please: To me ASAP. Thank you.

Coping with Old Age – Inchcock Style

Coping with Old Age – Inchcock Style

Wrote in SuPport of the fethaurus Users league

Like Corona Virus and wee-weeing, it comes to us all,

Like dizziness, madness and having many a fall,

You can’t prevent it, like a rainy squall,

It’ll come, Summer, Winter, Spring or Fall,

You might be having rumpy-pumpy, or playing beachball?

Football, tennis, baseball, trying to throw a curveball,

Or you could be summoned to the guildhall,

Nowt will stop ageing, for eternity, you may trawl,

But as I say, it doesn’t matter at all,

Ailments, disabilities, agony to recall,

Life is just a struggle and a brawl,

Unfairness, those who seem to have it all,

Money, good looks, who lives are a ball,

Even for them, live will stall,

Death is perfectly natural,

Mind you, them who live at Balmoral,

Though, lacking in some moral,

Live longer, that’s connatural,

It’s us commoner’s, with no collateral,

Who was accepting our being visceral,

But death, well, it’s gone viral,

For the underprivileged, hopes, are not transferable,

Though, commitment is not endurable,

Life is not so cheery, easy, or affable,

Things can get so bad, death is advisable,

But still, you must admit, it can be laughable!

I wish that humour was bequeathable,

And seeing the future was browsable,

Wouldn’t it nice, if death was cancellable!

Just a thought! – I had one in 1958 as well!