Inchcock Saturday 6th Aug 2020: Diary

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05:00hrs: I woke, feeling drained before I’d even moved. Checked the time and went through a Thought-Storming session for ages. Jumping from one subject to another, fretting, fearing, blaming and self-condemning. There were decisions, plans, and ideas; the thoughts cleared, amazingly, and I dropped off back into sleep…
This was the same as yesterday! Each and every one of the following wee-wees had after-leakage that, at times, was more than the original wee was! 06:05hrs: I stirred again, in need of a wee-wee.
I hope I will not need to see Dr Nallamothu, Urinary Tract Infections, again. I recall how unlistening and snotty she was with me on my last visit. This is why I’m hanging on, hoping this infection will clear on its own. The NWWB (Nocturnal-Wee-Wee Bucket) was filled within four trips, well, not filled, but it had too much in it to use it safely. I’m getting experienced in emptying and sanitising things nowadays. I wonder if the NHS just might have a job for a qualified Guzunder emptier at the hospital? Hehe!

This Canon photograph is of the morning’s great sky.
They used to stay, ‘Red Sky in the morning, Shepherd’s Warning’. Of rain… but there is nothing on the weather forecast about rain. According to the local news, the reservoirs have been at the lowest since records began. This is not good! Which we could do well with having.

Time to let the sphygmomanometerisationing flow. So I did. The body temperature at 34.1°f was pleasing again. Much better than last month.
The Blood Pressure readings, I thought, were excellent. But not the NHS recording site?
The attachment today was as written beneath the picture on the left here.
Which surprised me. The ‘it should be below 120/80 was a bit hopeful. I’ve never had a reading as low as SYS 120 in donkey’s years. This one was in the amber, as well?

Off to the Throne room, taking the crossword book with me, as I anticipated another session like yesterday morning, of solid resistance. But Constipation Konrad had lost control of the innards to Trotsky Terence now? How can things change in such a short time?

I made a brew of Thompson’s Punjana and raided the packet of pod peas for a nibble.

♫ Oh, Susana ♫ chimed loudly from the doorbell. It was Samantha. Got the medications sorted, listened to my waffling, picked her thank-you treats and was off like a shot. Taking the waste bag with her to the rubbish chute on her way for me.

At long last, I made a start on updating the Friday blog. Not a lot to do on it, but finding so many mistakes and correcting them, took me at least two hours. Humph!

Both kicked off together as I moved on to get this template started. This put a temporary end to the keyboard activity.

I decided to get the ablutions done while incapacitated from typing. Miss was a mistake! Of course, I know this now! As I approached the door, just for devilment, I’m sure, but an involuntary kicked off, and I felt myself going backwards… But I knew the door behind me was pulled to; I always close it behind me, you see, then in the event of a fall or tumble, I can slide down the softer than the floor door! Clever stuff, eh?

But, unbeknownst to me, the door was wide open, and I ended up flat on my back, clouting the back of my head a decent wallop on the way down! So much for making plans!
I got back into the main room on my hands and knees; that wasn’t easy with SSS shaking me about. I used the c1968 recliner to get myself back up on my feet. I was a little shook up but by no means incapacitated or proper poorly.
Found a couple of minor scratches on my arm, the back and head aching, but not severely. SSS gave me rest; at last, Anne Gyna was still stabbing across my chest, which was the worst of the ailments and injuries. Hehehe! I think my feeling a fool was embarrassing too.

I sat for a while to recover, a bit of shock, knowing you would hit the door and don’t, but instead, the floor! Thinking it through, I reckon Esther had left the door open when showing the lady who’s covering for her holiday where things were. No blame whatsoever; it’s my fault for not noticing the door was open… Ah, I’ll settle for blaming Cataract Cathy, then! Hehe! Oh, Back-Pain-Brenda has started now! It could have been a lot worse; I think they would call this ‘Good-Luck?’

Sister Jane rang, and we had a good long natter and gossip.

She’s struggling with her Doctor as well, and her eyes have not been looked at again yet.

Gave me a concert of clattering, but it was a small one. It could have been the 1812 overture! Hahaha!

I will get my feet up to eat the meal and hopefully fall asleep. Well, I hope so, at least. Got the potatoes in the oven and chilli in the pan.

Not very good; I got the subjects cut off. Still shaking a bit from the tumble.
I may take an extra Codeine to help counter Back-Pain-Brenda. Even so, I’ve got away lightly in that Accifauxpa!.
I got an email from Sainsbury’s. So it looks like the code through the post was genuine… at least I hope it was.

Took the Codeine, so I take it while eating, which might be more effective.
Sliced p[otatoes and veg-chilli out of a can this time. But still tasty; in fact, the chilli was a little hot for my tastes, but the more I ate of it, the less hot it seemed to get? Flavour rating: 6.5/10.
Arrived, she was chirpier this evening. Hard to fear what she was saying cause she has a habit, like Esther, of talking to me and facing in the opposite direction. But Val does not do it from another room. Hehe!
I got on the computer, and although hard work, mistakes, and correcting-ridden, I pressed on with this blog.

I went to make a brew of Thompsons Punjana, and the sunset was worth photographing.
I got the meal on my knee on the tray, then put the TV on, not that there was anything worth watching. I’ve got about 150 channels on complimentary view and not a sausage worth viewing that I could find. Noticed the lighting had changed as it came through the thin moth-eaten curtains! And went back to the kitchen window to take another shot, the bottom one of the two. Bootiful!. I think there were only ten minutes between the snaps being taken.
Then I got the blog finished and posted it to WordPress. Gone midnight now! No rest for the wicked! But I want to make a start on the following Snippets blog…

Local News Snippets – Issue 43¾


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The future for Nottingham is not bright…
Youths today want to drink, have drugs, have sex and fight…
Talking to them nicely, saying, ‘This is not right’…
‘You can go out mugging, but be home for midnight,
Drugs, coke, reefers, opioids, cannabis, or scrike…
Better to stay at home, and watch TV, eat Marmite…
Judges tell them, was stealing the car an oversight?
You ran away from policemen and are not contrite?
Then threw stones, and PC Smith nearly lost his eyesight…
Would you like an X-box? To play with at night?
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Was this caused by the culprit’s drinking?
Or was he caught with the other man’s wife, smooching?
Were they flatmates arguing over the TV they were watching?
Or neighbours, one of them noisy, door banging?
Mayhaps it was a loud toilet flushing?
Did the victim really deserve a good punching?
What if, during lunch, one started farting?
Or an innocuous retort, like one of them, harrumphing?
Or a house seller, fiddling and gazumping?
Or not happy with how the other cooked his dumpling?
Whichever, there is far too much violence erupting,
And revenge attacks flourishing.
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This is sickening!
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“I don’t want to keep coming back to jail” Diddums then…
The threat of prison has not stopped you; you’re heartbroken?
Howarth, I don’t believe a word you have spoken…
Your sexual interferences seem to worsen!
My word for you has a hyphen…
You should never be forgiven…
Doctors and courts can’t cure or make your sins unhappen…
I’d chain you up in a pigpen!
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Vicious Scumbag!
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What the hell is going on in this country?
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So many more foreigners committing crime,
It had to happen in time…
Not enough people are anticrime,
So, we get more of the criminal slime…
Drug gangs, slave traders, murderers, autocrime…
Being allowed into the country all the time…
But what I say is not worth a dime…
For we are a world-race, mixed, and that’s fine,

Some drink Champagne, vodka, and wine,
Criminals, chancers, youths or smalltime…
They should all be given arsenic & cefmenoxime!
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What are the odds? Inchcock to find three houses?
In the last three efforts, I’ve found just one!
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Are they trying to keep us on tenterhooks?


Three years & ten months sentence?
For once, the judge didn’t show benevolence,

This leaves me in a state of ambivalence.
More than the 85-year-old bashing git below…
Is this really jurisprudence?
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A vicious coward, lacking any penitence…
Attacks an 85-year-old – gets a pathetic sentence.
Proving the laws an ass, and has idempotence.
He’ll be out in months, proving the Parole Board’s diffidence!
And maybe, the laws concupiscence?
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Every overpaid member of the Parole Board…
Should receive a Special Inchie Award!
For each freed early murderer, who kills again, they release…
They should be arrested by the police!
Stripped and tasered twice…
Locked up in a cell of ice…
I know this doesn’t sound very nice,
But these rich do-gooders, we must neutralise…
Freeing scumbags to kill again, they may think, is wise?
To innocent victims, they should apologise,
Then by hung, so they can say no more lies!

Just a passing thought…

Inchchcock: Ode, Diary & Blown-Up Feet & Ulcer

ODE OF THE DAY
With apologies for any grammar errors and drifting off topics

My worries & fears have grown fainter…
It’s not that I’m any less dafter…
I’m still scared stiff of cleaner Esther!.
I’m always in a panic, flutter or fluster…
But I had some good luck – what a flabbergaster!

I visited the EENT at the Queens Medical Hospital,
On my sixth visit, seeking cataract replacement, surgical,
Outlook not so bleak, but I was still sceptical,
The first Doctor was very sympathetical,
So kind that I felt almost emotional!

I waited to see the top Doc, obviously pedagogical…
For a final exam, to see if it was possible…
To make a lens to cover my cornea, which had a rimple,
My situation was becoming agathokakological…
A final exam deep in the eye, the fault may be congenital,
But the outcome was magical! ♥

It won’t be easy, but they’ll persevere!
I almost let out a loud cheer…
They put me on the waiting list; here, here!
Estimated wait, three months, and I thanked her,
My Smug mode engaged; it went nuclear,
Nothing can stop me know – well, maybe the Grim Reaper…
For the first time in months, I felt happier!


Then, of course, the other worries came to mind,
To suffer these Thought-Storms, I resigned,
Diabetes problems, Dentists as if designed…
To get me confused, my thoughts intertwined!

See above; mankind is so animalistic…
War, killing all tellurians, pathetic!
Humans have always been barbaric,
Yet we make some bionic?

Plenty of other ways to die than war,
Endless ailments attacking us for sure…
Covid, asthmatics, cancer, some with no cure…
Diabetes, heart problems & death in store…
Murderers, druggies, we’re killing more?

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NEMO MORTALIUM ONMIBUS HORIS SAPIT

0525hrs:  I woke and was a little surprised with the state of my feet, ankles and legs. Not a pretty sight!. But you can see from the last photos above that they have worsened! The water retention has given me rock-hard legs? A bit of a struggle to get out of the recliner this morning… And boy, Oh Boy, was it painful walking!
I had a mammoth job trying to sort out a pair of spectacles that I could see adequately with. It seems every day, sometimes the sight changes during the day, and I have to try other pairs? Still, at least I’m on the waiting list, at the bottom, obviously, but the prospects of getting the cataract done are here, at last and least!.
Is at the drilling, tapping and banging early today. Bless him!
Richard arrived, a little concerned at the state of my legs. He got the medications issued and gave me time for a natter, about the Diabetes sessions and how to get there, and other little grumbles. Hehehe!
I pressed on with this blog starting.

The DVT-Warfarin nurse arrived with a trainee along with her. Soon got the blood taken. They were both Angelic, caring, beautiful, appealing, kind, sweet gals. Not that I noticed myself, of course. On with the blog…

The landline rang. I could hardly hear whoever it was, were saying. They were on about the legs and feet? Keep your feet up? Maybe Richard had told Natalie, and they had called her? That was good on him. Back to blogging…
The reddening of the ankle seemed to be lessening as time passed. Of course, it didn’t last, but it cheered me up temporarily) The swelling had not improved, but let’s be thankful for small mercies, that’s what I say!
At last, I got around to finishing the top graphics and started on the Odeing… Accompanied by Herbert’s cacophony of mechanical sounds. Haha! Back to the blogging…
Meridian’s Natalie tuned up, and she had called the Doctor. She wanted to take a photo of my legs to send to the surgery. No problem, she took and sent off in seconds. The landline burst forth again, and I asked Natalie to answer it. The Doctor said she wasn’t concerned with the ulcer, just the swelling on the feet and toes. Said for me to put my feet up. Natalie also listened to my tale of the Diabetes Sessions and suggested that if they can’t move the location to Sherwood. A local volunteer company, minibus, I can’t remember the name, could give me a lift there and back for a low cost. She could arrange it for the sessions at Bulwell for me? I agreed and thanked her. Back to the blog…
Cleaner Esther arrived to see how I was, shed just finished doing the other flats, and checked on the laundry bag, “No need, you have plenty of clothes and towels!” Haha! Fair enough, I’m not going to argue with Esther!
Back to the blogging! A busy day, innit? Back to the blog…
It dawned on me that I’d not done the blood pressure or temperature checks yet. So I did them!
The SYS, DIA and Pulse were all okay; in fact, combined, they were better than they have been for the last four days now!
Shame about the body temperature, though. After four days of being as nearly perfect as possible, today, it was well down at 32.7°c.
The NHS input page indicated that the average for blood pressure was almost out of the red zone. Doing well there, methinks.
I got some chips, well, potato slices in the oven. It’s getting late now; it’s time to start feeding the innards!
Oh, I just had a weather warning flash up! 102°f! Hotter than yesterday! I can see through the balcony window that there is a decent breeze blowing the bushes about.

I can’t weigh up why my body temperature is so low? Hey-Ho!
I’ve sat for an hour or so, with my legs up on a chair, as instructed by the wonderful caring Doctor of mine. But typing side-ways on is bad enough without the cataract eyesight and jerking body limbs. Having to stretch to reach, and getting a jerk, is making me make even more cock-ups than usual. I’m so glad the Doctor isn’t worried about the ankle ulcers… I’m afraid enough myself, though. Hehehe! Of course, she doesn’t have to put up with the pain, does she? Tsk! And putting the feet up doesn’t seem to have helped the ulcers or water-retention in the slightest, does it? Grungleturds!

I’m now going to get the nosh prepped and served. The sliced potatoes have been in for longer than planned, 35-minutes, so they should be crispy enough.

I’m back… what a pillock! I left them on the counter near the microwave! They have gone all soggy now in the heat. What a Plonker!
I put them in the oven, hoping they would not come out too bad.

Botherations, testicles and ARGH!

I’ve lost heart now; every time a Windows update comes in, this seems to happen! It took me over a week to get it to work last time, and then, I think it was something Windows did to get it back.
Mayhaps I’ll sing a song, be happy… shout out at passers-by with friendly words of greeting, spread love and companionship to the shoplifters, muggers and bail-dodgers below, from the balcony… Or not. Still, I’m not going to get all worked up, swearing, spitting, depressed and make myself poorly with hatred and self-loathing. I’ll just carry on without taking any photos. I’ll not miss taking them and lovingly putting them on this blog. Ate the meal and took a picture, but… Humph!

Called, and she sorted me out with the medications. The gal was horrified at the state of my ulcers and legs after taking one glance and averting her eyes. Of course, it could have been the scary-looking, boing-boing belly that caused this. I tried for hours to get the SD card to work again… futilely! I now await the next Whoopsiedangleplop, Accifauxpa, Disaster, Cock-Up, foul-up, comedy-of-errors, snafu, omnishambles, or getting the trots! Not to mention walking into or tripping over something, involuntary right-leg Idiopathic Schuhplattler drop-something and flail-about right-leg dance.

Up and down sort of day!

In the morning, I booted the computer to find the SD Card reader working again? So got the missing ones on here; they are for your belated perusal.


The potatoes looked okay. But the flavour was, well…
View during the 104°f heat!
Evening sunset – Thunderstorms forecast.

Nemo Mortalium Omnibus Horis Sapit

Thought-Storms Released – with odeing

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.

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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!

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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?

The reappearance of Nicholas Holgate

Posted on May 4, 2022, by northkenthinker

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”:

https://www.grenfelltowerinquiry.org.uk/evidence/nicholas-holgate-evidence-read-26-july-2021

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:

https://grenfellactiongroup.wordpress.com/

 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!

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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,

They should all be charged with kleptocracy!

These parasites caused my encephalopathy!

May they go Forth & Multiply!

Inchcock’s Local News Snippets

Visitors to Nottingham, please take care,
They’ll be violence, so please be aware,
Knifings, we’ve more than our fair share,
Murderers, muggers, things are austere!

At night, folks go out for fun and cheer…
They’ll drink anything, gin, absinthe or beer,
Then they’ve no inhibitions, nothing to fear,
Until they start to feel odd and queer?…
Drugged without knowing it, poor dear!

Club girls may get spiked and get dizzy and quave,
Mugged, car stolen, or kidnapped and used like a slave…
You can get your pocket-picked on roads and alleyways…
Molesting, stabbings, shootings, anytime or ways…
Not many policemen around to help nowadays!

If you’ve been to Nottingham before, had a few stays,
You’ll be able to vaticinate our criminality & illegal ways,
But Nottingham has some things worthy of praise…
I’ll think of something one of these days…
Oh, and we have many prison breaks, escapes and runaways!

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Inchcock’s Local News Snippets

15 years for manslaughter for McGhee?
Life for the other two scumballs, see?
Killer Cox got life; in ten years, he was set free!
The Justice system is crap.. clearly…
Bet they’ll all be out again to murder freely…
No justice in this; they’ve been sentenced improperly…
Life should be for life, not released early!
Parole is cheaper for HMG, evidently…
129 criminals have been freed (UK) to kill again, freakily!
It’s the Judges and Parole Board that are guilty!

Fourteen pathetic months! Are the Judge and or Lawyers taking bribes or just the piss! Weapons, drugs, abuse, ignoring the court’s restraining order… already committed 33 offences, and the namby-pamby on the bench slaps his wrist? Is he supplying the inept, corrupt, guilty, ‘Free murderers to kill again’ Parole Board and other officials with drugs then? Grant will undoubtedly be able to build a reserve stock of cheap drugs while he’s inside. He’ll doubtless be freed in six months maximum to attack the lady again… Justice in the hands of cowards!

It seems that Nottingham’s cowardly bullies are turning their attention to easier targets nowadays. Old folk. Time for us old un’s to get tooled up – like the murderers who get life in prison and are freed by the shit-headed, ‘They didn’t mean it’ Parole Boarders a few years later to kill again… But no, better not, if we were to do that and we shot a mugger, we’d get sent down for longer than murderers do. Of course, gang-landers do have the advantages of having the drugs, young ladies and cash to back-hand the (A member working 115 days would be likely to receive between £30,000 to £40,000) murderer-freeing Parole Boarders. Just a thought!

Nine years for a brutal killer? Another pathetic sentence?Might be a good idea to let him board with his Parole Officer when he gets out in four years?

Tried and sentenced at last. Five years & nine months, plus an eight-month concurrent sentence for fraud. Nice!

I imagine that Daniel is laughing all the way to this prison after getting this sentence? He’ll be out within 7 months, I reckon?

At least they are keeping the crud-nuts in custody!

Oh, Dear, Oh Dear!

VERY NICE!

Inchcock Diary, Tuesday 24th May 2022 – With Ode to Life

TUESDAY 24th MAY 2022

Ode To Life – Part 33rds

I’d have loved to have written my verse cleverly…
Be intelligent, superior, educated, and academically!
Blend words in rhyme that folk view as appreciatory,
But Doreen’s Dementia makes me do it clumsily…
Not that the comments sound exactly derogatory…
My viewers’ total is abysmal, or worse, evidently,

I try not to write this blog grouchily…
Make it fun, folks, to read it happily…
I may, at times, add things that sound grumpy,
That’ll be of Doreen and Peripheral Neuropathy,
Though sometimes, to me, the reality is illusory…
And I’ve never ever won the lottery!

Like now, my plots and thoughts have gone hazy?
This can happen for days at a time, not momentarily,
Semi-logic can return, within a few days, ordinarily,
But of course, please remember this is not obligatory,
During my brain’s down-times, there’s still diversity…
Trying to control it brings much lachrymosity!

I often dream of acquiring omnipotency…
Of course, I can’t, so carry in my impecuniosity…
It’s not just money & wealth, of which I have a scarcity!
But also suasion, wisdom, rationality, logicality…
Folks tell me, I have endless inconsequentiality?
I think this is similar to insignificance or banality?
No doubt, I need help mentally… and exigently!

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TUESDAY MORNING

04:35: Rose for a wee-wee. Kettle on, sorted waste bags. Had a rinse, got partly dressed, and got the kettle on.

Getting dressed, I thought it looked like the right leg’s foot was darker than the left leg? But mustn’t complain, cause the rest of the leg and ankle looked far better than yesterday!

Took off the pad from yesterday’s INR Warfarin blood test and could not help bus picture my beautiful, precious, and pretty beloved Haematology nurse Hristina in my mind! ♥

Sphygmomanometerisationing was done next. The SYS was up 26 points to 140, DIA up by 2 to 63, and the Pulse had fallen somewhat to 77. Checked on the NHS site; The Ideal is between 60 and 100 beats per minute (bpm). That means it must have been high spot on, indeed perfect, for several weeks. The body temperature was well down again, low for several days; according to the NHS, 35°c is the optimum?

I got on the computer, and my brain froze. What I was doing, I had no idea, really. This has happened now and then since the stroke. It can often last for a few hours, like waking up, but with no memory of the period of blankness. I named them Mind-Blanks. Then you worry about what you’ve been getting up to! It only lasted about an hour or so, I think. It seemed that I had started another blog template and been working on the wrong one. I really got annoyed when I discovered this! I swore at myself, and I wanted to give up!

Richard the Carer arrived, and it helped pull me around. Not that I wasn’t still a little miffed ant the Mind-Blank happening. Even though it hasn’t happened for a week or two. I think? Rich’ got the Alert Alarm battery checked and gave me my medications. As we had a much-missed chinwagging session, I went to put the mini-hoover back on its charger and…

As I was bent down to reach the socket, Neuropathy Pete instructed his neurotransmitters to give me a flailing leg dance! I dropped the mini-hoover (I hope I’ve not broken anything), and I clung dearly to the electric shelf. It was all over within a few minutes, and no rumblings or injuries. That was due to Carer Richard’s quick response in getting to me in time. I’m pretty sure (although it was a short affair, it was brutal while it lasted) that it would have had me over had I been on my own.

Two cameras, a remote, and the SDH card reader have given up on me in the last few days. Mind-Blanks, Leg Dances, Dizzies, Falls and tumbles are getting more frequent. Doreen’s Dementia, Cataracts Kathleen, and Glaucoma Gladys have all been having a go at me!  Best if I say no more on the subject, methinks!

Took this snap of the rain, made a brew, and pressed on, trying to get the mess I’d made on WordPress understood and corrected; it was hard work that needed concentration. But, it went well for about two hours, progress-wise, and then Esther came bundling in to get the laundry. That shot my attention to pieces.

I began to make progress again. Esther returned with the laundry. Boy, can she talk? Hehe! Unfortunately, she does it when walking away from me and in the other room. Not the foggiest of what she’s saying half the time.

Well, I’ve got to get a rest. I’ll make some canned tomatoes and soya and use the old bread. After that, I can envisage myself just falling asleep until the evening carer wakes me up… there are about four hours in which I can make, eat the meal and some precious sleep… if that is possible.

Extra-chopped tomatoes with pieces of soya. And some slices of milk roll bread… well, half the loaf! Gobbled it up at my leisure slowly and enjoyed it. The Flavour rating for this one was 7.5/10! Washed the pots and was soon in the land of nod. Dream filled, though. No details are recalled, yet I still know that I had dreams?

An hour or so later, Evening Care Valerie arrived, and the shock of the chime bursting out and waking me shook me a bit… at first, I thought I was still in my dream. Hehehe! As I stirred and Valerie came, I realised that although I had got my jammie bottoms on, I was topless this time. Still, she didn’t mind my bulbous, adipose, abdominous, podgy paunch that bounced around in front of me when I stood up. Humph! Val got me sorted out, and I handed her some nibbles in thanks, and off she trotted, kindly taking the waste bag from the door with her for me.

I considered staying up to get on with this blog, but with all the cock-ups and mistakes I’d made earlier in the day, I decided to get back down in the c1968 second-hand recliner and get back to whatever the dream was about. And I did!

Ten minutes later, ♫Oh, Susana♫ rang from the door chime again. I whipped a jacket on quickly and went to open the door – It was Valerie back again.

She had gone back to the Meridian Office and found a letter from the DVT Anticoagulation Clinic changing the Warfarin dosages. Bless her, she realised she’d just given me the wrong dosage earlier and returned to give me more to agree with the new dosage roster. This should have been provided by whoever was in charge (surely?) to the night carer? But it had been left on the desk. Fortunately, the new dosages had increased, and Valerie gave me the extra tablet to put things right for me.

The thought was that had Val not found this new rota or the doses had gone down, not up, it would have been too late, and it meant I could be in a pickle medically if I had a bleed and an increased risk of a heart attack, blood-clot, and or stroke. Methinks Meridian, who has just put their prices up, has made a mistake. Be interesting to see if I get an apology this time. Valerie saved the day, anyway!

EMBARRASSMENT! As I was taking the Warfarin tablet, it dawned on me – I did not have my jammie bottoms on! I red-facedly thanked Val, and she shot off, Bless her cotton socks!

Back in the recliner…

Inchcock Today: Diary, Dream, Esccape & Ode

Thursday 19th May 2022

Woke at 04:20, and I rose from the recliner at 05:00hrs. Why the time gap? Cause I was getting memories of a dream I’d had written on the memory pad to put on here. Wee-wee, and onto the computer.

THE DREAM…

Everyone in the flats got a text message; no more new tenants were allowed in the apartments. In five years, whoever is left will be transferred into wooden bungalows on the grounds of the City Hospital. I was looking forward to living long enough and moving.

The social room at Winwood Court was converted into a pool room with about twelve tables. We all had to compete, and those with the highest scores would get the first choice of wooden cabins to move into. I was told by a Nottingham City Homes manager, “So? I pointed out that I was colour-blind and had cataracts, glaucoma, and saccades. Roger’s only got one hand, and Ethel is as blind as a bat… anyone considered not social enough will be sent to live in the Salvation Army Hostel. So let’s see some willingness and effort!” I apologised.

Blurry memories then, involving a ski slope, toolboxes, and a day trip out on buses for all of us to Skegness. Ethel and I caught the train home after leaving us behind.

On the day of the move, we all set off walking the mile and a bit with guards and Carers. We advanced in single file and long line, all with suitcases, wheelies, etc. Most of us got lost on the City Grounds. Well, I did. Then after finding the others, I was sent to a Bed & Breakfast place in Newcastle. They booked me a train for midnight.

I was sleeping in a corridor, and someone woke me. Somehow or other, I was in the final of the pool competition, and I didn’t win a single game in the qualifying stages? I don’t recall playing this match at all?

Suddenly, many of us were walking back out of the City Hospital grounds, same again, guards, staff, single file. We walked through a Council House Estate, but I had no idea where we were going and why. But I ended up in a coal cellar… Then shot awake!

I went to make a brew of JS Extra Strong… and clouted my right knee against the cabinet corner. Made the brew and left it to stew. Then needed to use the Porcelain Throne. Trotsky Terence was losing his grip a little on the evacuation. So, much less time was wasted on cleaning up.

I took an early morning shot of the view from the kitchen window.

I’m hoping that the JS food delivery will be early, and they will deliver the flowers for Jillie.

So, it will leave me plenty of time to get things ready to get down to Jillie’s house with the flowers, bank, and shopping at the Ozan store. I’m hoping they have some of the Herb veg pork in stock and have a nosey around for any other delights that may take my fancy. Hehehe! Apart from Jillie! 💙

Hello! 

Richard arrived, handing me an SD card I could have, damned decent of him, bless him. He had another call, so again could not stay for a chinwag, but I appreciated his generosity. He should be back again the following Monday.

The Sainsbury delivery arrived. Thanks to tp the incompetency of Money-Mad Fries, the $23 million a year boss at Liberty Global, I had no distractions from the no-signal internet on the computer. So I got on with sorting the things delivered out to storage.

As you can see here on the left, fresh foods are topped up and a couple of treats. But they have sent pork pate with pork, not the vegetarian, so that will have to be found a home. There is plenty of date on it, so maybe Richard can have it on Monday. Also, and as well, and besides: Three items short out of stock, but to avoid getting substitutes, like shoe polish for waffles, I ticked the ‘Do Not Substitute’ Button… Cunning? After packing things away, the fridge didn’t look overfull? Had I missed something? Bags of room in the refrigerator still. Have I lost a load of nosh or something? I pondered… I have been known to do this several times a day! Then realised, no yoghourts, no cakes and no leeks, I’ll make an order for Morrisons later.

Not the same story with the freezer, mind you. Well, cram-packed, that is. In fact, I’ve got freeze burns and bruises on my fingers as I fumbled about taking stuff out and rearranging things to make more room for the new stuff squashed and levered and bashed food into the drawers. I felt a smidge smug after sorting it all out! Hehe!

I made the order for Morrisons for Sunday. By which time there should be a little more room. I called Jillie to see which flowers she would prefer, and the gal opted for the roses; nothing romantic was involved in that, I’m too old, and she is too beautiful. But I still love her.

Off to get ablutions. No rush; I think I can take my time and still catch the 10:30hr bus down the hill. I’m not joking here: Harolds’s Haemorrhoids and Little Inchies Fungal Lesion were not bleeding! No bleeding, shaving, nasal clearing or teeth cleaning! Honestly!

These are never pain-free, as you would expect. But nothing was extreme pain-wise; even ointmentating the lesion had an acceptable Argh-Level!

Fair enough, poor old right-knee Arthur Itis and Cathleen Cartilage came off painfully when I was leaving after doing the medicating when an involuntary Neuropathic Schuhplattler drop-something and flail-about proper leg dance kicked off. I hit my knee on the door frame. I recall being even more annoyed than usual cause everything had gone so well in the session. Got dressed and checked the items needed, and I set off…

THE TRIP OUT!

I put the rebagged flowers in the trolley walker in carrier bags, with some plonk for the Wardens and Jillie. Out, locked the door, in the lift, along the link corridor into Winwood Court, to the Wardens Holding-Cell Offices. Haha! Dropped the Alstroemeria Bouquet for Generaloberstess, Ice skating champion, Warden Julie, and Desktop Dancer and Obersturmbannfuhreress Warden Dean this week. Wished the gals well and out to the bus stop… this was unbelievable!…

I arrived at the bus with almost perfect timing. Four other tenants, who I greeted, were at the bus shelter. I was standing near the kerbside with my bus pass in hand… The 40 Bus sped into and around the turning island… and ignored us all, didn’t slow down an iota, – and he sped back out again? The folks were livid! Shaking fists at the departing bus, shouting, swearing… I think this may have annoyed them somewhat!

I set off wobbling along with the walker-guide trolley. I couldn’t get annoyed with the bus driver until I found out why leaving us. He may well have just got a message on the RT about a family member taking ill? I set off down Winchester Street towards Jillie’s house at the bottom of the road on the left. The right knee caused me some discomfort en route, but knowing I was just about to meet Jillie eased things considerably. Hehe! ♥

I took my time and got to her door. It was a pleasure to see her smiling face as she helped me up the steps with the trolley. I handed her the roses, and I got a kiss for them and the plonk. She was working on and off in the other room. She made me comfy in a chair and put cushions around me – yer can’t ask for better treatment!

We had some chinwags, and later, she signed off work on her computer to go with me to the cashpoint and shop. What an angel!

As we were waiting to cross over to the bank, Jillie said: There’s a cashpoint at Ozan’s shop. Let’s go there. So we did! She helped me back down the steps, and we chinwagged on the short trip to the bank machine.

It was terrific shopping with Jillie. She looked after me like she would a grandfather; I thought of her as a daughter. She dealt with staff for me cause she knows my hearing problems, and I got some vegetarian and pork meats, amongst other items. We walked back up Winchester Street, where her house was, hugged, and departed. She left me at the bus stop, bless her cotton socks.

I’d just missed a bus, so I decided to walk carefully up the hill, taking some photographs en route.

Halfway up Winchester Street Hill, the clouds caught my eye again, and I took this snap on the right. It came out rather artistically? Well, maybe not, then. Getting towards where the road changes name. To the right, it becomes Mapperley Rise, and to the left, at the building you see, it continues as Winchester Street. I think years ago it led to the railway station, now gone! In fact, the flats were built on the site!

As I turned onto Chestnut Way, where Winwood Heights are, I noted on the verge the usual Nottingham collection of rubbish, and amidst the fag packets, sweet wrappers, empty bottles, chewing gum, thrown away cans and contraceptives, the flowers that always amaze me more than any other. The determined daisies. So pretty and yet simple. The blue can, maggots coming out of it? Hehehe! What’s this, alcoholic maggots and meat flies?

I crossed over Chestnut Way, passing the bus stop that people get abandoned at, Haha!). I knocked on the Warden’s office to report the bus, but I think they were on break, so I continued through the link corridor on my way. Not a soul in sight; it was oddly eerie until a man and woman came in the opposite direction, we exchanged pleasantries between us, and I went to the swipe door at the end.

The area built for mobile and disabled scooter storage is where the power points are located.

Then, on to the lifts in Woodthorpe Court.

Still nobody about. I pressed for the 12th-floor. (Well, it seemed a good idea as I live on the 12th, Haha! I can still be quick sometimes! Not physically, mind, my days of bungee jumping are over! I can’t see (Cataracts, Glaucoma and Saccades, Haha!) myself playing snooker, squash, or even the barrel organ again? I’ve not got a lot of hope of doing the Hokey Cokey!

I got through the inner lobby doors, wiping the blood off the wall after trapping my knuckle in the door as I fought to stop the wheelie-walker from going over.

Then whilst I was struggling through the apartment door with the wheelie-guide, I knocked the waste bags off the box, and one split open! Why do I bother?

Got it cleaned up and sorted. Put the trolley in the corner, brakes on, turned to go through to the kitchen with a little bag of nosh, and knocked nearly all of the clothes hanging on the hooks off onto the floor as Dizzy Dennis paid a visit!

I got the mock ham, sandwich fillers, and soft cheese portions. Ready to make the nosh later… Oh, and the bottle of Oyster sauce. I’ve never tried that before, and Jillie warned me not to use it a lot.

Then it was concentrating on getting this blog done. I spent four hours on it, and the evening carer arrived; it was Cheeky Charley, so pleased to see her; she’s not been for a week or two now.

Did some more blogging and then on to Facebooking catch-up.

Lovely day for me; seeing Jillie was the highlight. But walking down and up the hill had done me in. I’ll get some fodder and sleep, I hope. Finish this off in the morning… again, I hope. I wash, stripped off, and down to kip! Haha!

Friday AM, 01:30hrs. I’m back. Wee-wee and on the computer.

Uploaded the nosh picture and car park ones from yesterday. The first car park one showed a lack of RVM vans on the hatched no parking area and the small red car in RVM’s spot. RVM had parked at the back in a proper car parking space. Curious! Hehe!

The sourdough sarnies, veggie sausages and meat, cheese twist, yellow tomatoes, banana and mini vegan orange flavoured cake made up the evening meal. A Taste Rating of 7/10.

😴 Ode to Nemo Mortalium Omnibus Horis Sapit 😴

No Mortal is at all hours wise: to those giving generously,
R.A.O.B., Military, Masonry, things like them, you see?
GLE, GLC, folks who generally live life benevolently,
And many others working for a charity,
Does this ode verse lack a certain clarity?

This Ode, maybe a smidge short on facticity,
I always wanted to join brainy clericity,
But I was too thick and brain dead; that was a pity,
No education for me; I survived using astucity,
I shouldn’t be writing about this; I lack profundity!

Did my best in school but lacked the perspicuity…
Never got near to showing any sagacity…
Not guilty of showing financial rapacity…
For being bullied, being a coward, I’d got the capacity…
I’d have had a better life if I’d shown more pugnacity,

To others, I seem to confuse with abstrusity…
I’ve tried to retain unquestionable veracity, honesty,
Yet always a victim of con men and predacity…
I also try to avoid showing spite or mordacity,
I was born with certain appendages of great paucity!

I strove to avoid doing the devil’s work, infelicity…
Unfortunately, with a high level of inefficacity!
Always the victim, gullible, with incredible credulity,
My brain showing sporadic moments of reality…
But riddled throughout with psychoactivity!

Mornin’ all!

Inchcock Today: Thursday 12th May 2022: Diary with Ode

MORNING THOUGHTS

‘Tis not just the ending of civility and decency…
Nor the gallantry, gentleness and long gone chivalry,
That annoys and really seems to get to me,
Why bother, you said; you’ll soon be just history…

Good question! My reading of mankind’s history…
To me, human actions past and now… are a mystery!
Not that I believe all I read, certainly!
Nothing in the annuls is a certainty!

Human tellurians all lie and cheat to gain a better destiny…
Mostly to gain power, be the top dog, with greed for money,
Wanting to put nowt into the pie…but enjoying the honey,
Smiling at the opportunity for profit via anything phoney!

They’ll pretend to be doing their helpful duty,
But we know that it’s all on the QT…
But knowing we also fail in our duty…
Some even think that life is game and cutsie!

No rent to pay, they steal from their old Auntie,
The wine and dine while she has chip buttie…
The gals go the lads and the lads for tottie…
I think I’m losing the point of this dittie?

You do that when you’ve got Doreen Dementia, a pity…
Yet still, I try to create summat funny and witty…
Well, not often, but I still have the edacity…
If even a swell, the blooming audacity!

Recalling what I going to write is beyond doability!
My memory pad notes show indecipherability…
My nerve ends sends the brain messages… insufficiently,
They get orders back and jerk, jump obediently…

The right leg and arm flail, I may fall, it’s all a farcicality,
Gone on for ages now, so I have a familiarity…
It all affects my confidence and fatiguability…
The Doctors say any treatment is beyond feasibility!

Then there are other ailments, mental and rheumaticky,
They can be as risky, painful and tricky…
Like the fungal lesion bleeding on my dickie!
But, I must not moan and be nitpicky…
I just hope you find this ode a little bit witty!

Thursday 12th May 2022

Nocturnally, I shared the night with Colin Cramps again. His favourite targets were the right leg, left hand, right shoulder and side of the neck.

I lay a while, wondering if I could get back to sleep… but the need for a wee-wee arose, and I disentangled by my mastodonic-sized, wobbly epigastrium and torso’d body from the recliner.

As I was doing the balance exercises, I plopped backwards and ended up in the recliner again. I instantly felt the warm wet sensation from Little Inchies Fungal Lesions! Oh, Clump!

Grabbed metal Mickey and off to the wet room. Bit of a mess made of things, and the pain was pretty bad; cleaning things up and medicating them. On the bright side, (there always is one, you just have to find it, Hehe!). However, Harold’s Haemorrhoids were not bleeding from the fall. Had a wee-wee.

I washed and went to the kitchenette to make a tea brew but forgot to take it with me to the computer, which I found later. Tsk!

I booted the machine up and thought I’d try to get the photos on from yesterday. And after setting up today’s template, I tried my luck. At first, there was no usual response from the SD reader or computer. I spent a while swapping and moving the card in hope… then remembered the mug of Glengettie I’d left in the kitchen. Made another mugful.

Back to the computer, but the tea still did not get drunk. To my surprise, the card was recognised. So I got them in ASAP before the computer changed its mind. 

I was nervously on tenterhooks all the time, trying to rush but not dislodge the card and get each photo onto CorelDraw to touch up. (I don’t so much of that nowadays, you know, touching up. Hehehe! This on the right is a photo of the Spirit vinegar delivered yesterday.

Sphygmomanometerisationing results in Blood Pressure. SYS 149. DIA 72, and the pulse was at 79bpm. Which looked fair enough to me.

The Chinese (Hong Kong) is made by Shenzhen Relee Electronic & Technology Co. Ltd™, contactless thermometer, gave as good a reading as ever, at 34.8°c, another bit of good fortune there!

Later on last night, I had to get up from the recliner, rather grumpily (Yes, me grumpy, hard to believe, I know!) to get some more Phorpain gel to rub in the cramp ridden hands and legs.

I was glad that I did now. The ever later sunset was bootiful! What a hue!

Young Richard, the carer, arrived. He didn’t look too good. So I plied him with some of his favourite goodies. In a rush to get home, and I can’t blame him. Not sure if he’s due tomorrow or not. I think so.

A picture here from yesterday; I think so, anyway.

My favourite puffer clouds were out on display. I couldn’t see any figures or faces in them like we did yesterday, mind you.

An hour or two of doing the Ode for yesterday’s blog, the gurgling from within advised me to make my way to the Porcelain Throne. Which I did! I reckon the Trotsky Terence is about to take control in the rear-end evacuation department.

Pressed on with the blogging again, it’s taking all my time, but I like it! As Dick Emery used to say.

After the rain stopped, I nipped out on the balcony to take a photo of the end of the Chestnut Way car parking antics. The roadway on the corner at the end of the tower block was in a state! Mud had torrented down from Woodthorpe Grange Park and made a right mess for the poor old drivers to get through to get to their cars. Although the Red-Van-Man was okay, being parked on the yellow no parking chevrons, as usual.

.The right hand did a little finger manipulating on its own accord again this morning.

I go so far with the blog and am in a quandary about getting the ablutions done. I’ll explain; I think the Wilko order is due today. Deana might come with a Council lady with the spare key. So, if I go into the wet room, I’ll not hear the door chime. Even if I did, would I get to the door in time? I suppose this means I’ll have to stay dirty? Then be forced to stay up late to get the job done, then?

Still, he can’t get a signal to Nottingham to work!

Came good and early. Soon got me sorted. I did drop a beta-blocker… no, a Codeine when taking the medications, but I was lucky enough to spot it on the carpet. She took the waste bag with her on departing. I fang you!

Resigned to no internet availability from Fries again.

Got a nosh sorted out. Fishcakes with peas in them, potato lumps. Two mini cakes and a horrible lemon cheesecake. Taste: 6.5/10.

Went to do the washing up and tool this snap from the kitchen window. It looks like a microscope view of some bacteria. Hehe! Not one of my better efforts.

I phoned Jenny and Jillie for a natter about nothing. For once, Sweet Morpheus let me join him in slumber a little sooner than usual tonight. And only a few waking ups!

Inchcock v Alto – The Suicide Discussion

“Oi, pay attention, Inchcock; it’s your devoted, friendly, happy-go-lucky Alto-Ego here. Bringing you news and a…

Eh, erum… Oh, Sod-Off!

That’s nice, innit! I’ve come to warn you of the explosions in the gut, and all yer do is get antisocial wiv me?

Well, that’s cause I’m sitting here on the Porcelain Throne for the ninth time today, coping with the eruptions mentioned above in my stomach! You’re a little late in telling me…

Don’t get nasty turd-face, no need for insults! Anyway, if you want to nit-pick, I said explosion, not eruption, so there! Haha! I got here as fast as I could…

For an Alto who claims to have been in existence for thousands of years, you are very childish at times, mate… What were you doing in the guts anyway?

Obvious innit?

No!

Why do they keep sending me to thicko-idiots to threaten and get depressed? If yer must know, I was checking yer body for any new signs of ailment, injuries or the likes…

What for… No, no, don’t tell me… It’s so you can worry, annoy and depress me, innit?

Oh, yes, clever clogs! An’ I did it too! See? Your Blood Pressure has shot up, spittle is building in yer throat, and you’re in agony with trots… I bet Haemorrhoid Harold is bleeding as well?

Yea, putting it that way, you’re nearly right...

Owd on… nearly right? How am I not spot-on then, freckle-balls?

It proved yer lied when you first disturbed me.

You coffin-seeker! Lied, ruggish! Everyfing I say is John-Bull and Cosher!…

Yer? Like, “It’s your devoted, friendly, happy-go-lucky Alto-Ego here? Devoted, friendly, you? You are an unwanted blight on me mentality!

Well, thank you very much; I appreciate that. It proves that I’m doing my job successfully and adequately: “Assure at all times that your client is DFF; Depressed, Frustrated, in Pain. For extra Alto points, you human having suicidal tendencies a minimum of once a day…” “Achieving an 80% success rate is required” – Now that’s in the Alto-Ego job description!

So?

I proved I have the credentials for promotion…

How can you get a promotion when I’m yours, and you are mine? What did you call it? Client or human? You’ve already said you’re stuck with me, so what kind of promotion can you get clever clogs?

Gawd, you’re thick as a pancake with hebetude! When you kick the bucket, snuff it, I might be moved on to a politician, bank director or even Putin. Then…

Putin?

Yer that’d be cushty. We had a bit of a drawback with Putin, never been known before, but his Alto-Ego went mad. He’s had to be delisted. No doubt he’ll be moved to some war immigrant in another country. Putin with me by his side could rule the planet… not that it’s got much time left, mind you…

 Has it not? I expected as much...

Crap! You’re too thick to work owt out, Inchcock; you’ve been reading Billum’s blog, ain’t yer…

Well, yes, and he’s dead right...

You’ll be the dead one, Fungle-Knob: although I’ve not worked out the best way to nobble yer yet. I’ve thought about getting into Putin’s brain; just think of it…

Hang on, I’m getting confused here…

Nothing new there, dog-breath…

Can we start again?

Oh, so now yer want to converse with me? You want to make your feeble, befuddled mini-mind up! Dumbo!

You said you can’t hurt your human?

Oh yer, right, but only physically, now mentally, is another matter. And being as you are already halfway to being bonkers, discussions like these will soon tip you over the edge, and hey-presto, you’ll be dead, and I can put my bid in to be sent to Mr Putin, see… easy!

How are you planning to top me then?

I’m glad yer asked me brain-dead. I see there are three possible options.

One: You’ll get a heart attack from hearing the truth from me…

Two: You’ll do the decent thing and swig a litre of chlorinated bleach and drink it with ten Beta-blockers, Warfarins, and a good swig of liquid Codeine. I know they are regulated, but if you can time it for when you just get the prescriptions delivered, I advise you to take the whole packet of Morphine sulfate to be safe. Then stick all the remaining Enoxaparin Injections into your belly. (Not that it will matter where now). Then open the balcony window, make sure no one is below… No, no! Better not dive out of the window; with your eyesight, there may be someone on the pavement to crush when you land, and that’s not fair. Just stick with the bleach, medications and injections; they should do the job efficiently.

Three: you will have one of your tumbles when the neurotransmitter nerve-ends fail, and you fall forwards, trip over yer walking stick on the way down, and crack yer head a good belt on the sharp corner of the end counter… you’ll basically bleed to death, and be found the following day by a Carer, who after clearing out any valuables, will call the paramedics, but you be declared dead in your kitchenette floor, probably around 08:33hrs tomorrow. Oddly enough, your prescription delivery day, Hehehe! Well, you asked, you gormless dunderhead, Hahaha!

Thanks, I did ask, didn’t I? Well, that’s honest enough, Alto. Although I’m a little concerned at your going into great detail on option two? Suicide. It sounds to me like this is your favoured route to my demise?

Well, it’s the least bother for me, and I can shoot off and go Putin-hunting straight away. I’ll make my report first, of course. Should you plump for committing Hari-Kari, I promise I’ll make a good praising report of you and your actions to the Alto-Ego Controller. They don’t get many of those; I think Florence Nightingale was the last human to get one. You could live in fame in your death, mate!

I could live in fame in my death?’ Somehow, that doesn’t sound very attractive to me at the moment…

Ah, that’s cause you are temporarily not frustrated or depressed. That’s thanks to me, see. Bringing good news and advice to you again… Giving you thoughts that grabbed your attention and shooed away destructive emotions. I really hope you go for the choice to autodarwinate. It makes the most sense all around…

 Maybe for you, but not for me…

Whyever not, Numbskull? I’m sure you are going to say that Altos can’t die, so have no idea what it’s like?

  No, but that’s a good point; what’s your answer to your own question then?

Oh, dearie me, my ugly duckling. Is it not so obvious what I was referring to? I shall miss you your ignorance, unknowingness, innocence, duality, absent-mindedness, scepticism, ambivalence, and lack of sophistication when I’ve moved on… thankfully!

No!

Oh, you dense creature! What power I have given you…

Wot power ‘ave you given me?

How many people have the knowledge of when they are going to die?

How do I know? You’re bamboozling me again…

No, Knuckle-Mouth! I’m empowering you. You can pick your timing to take the suicide route, lock the door to prevent any interruptions, and just resign yourself to the nothingness that will follow, a certainty within minutes… minutes of pain, yes. Still, you will be well prepared for that, having led a pain-ridden emotional and physical life, so what does a couple of minutes of further pain mean to you? Nothing! No ailments, no food orders to get wrong, substituted items, nothing to forget or learn, no crime, no emotional topsy-turvy; a state of utter bliss is death! Which is where you will be going, mate – into nothingness – no noisy neighbour above you, no rent, tax or fuel prices rising to fret over.

Inchcock & Alto-Ego, launch into Q&A Odeing Mode…

  You keep harking back to suicide.

That is for you, my Button-Willy, to decide!

But will life never be indemnified?

Not until your death is verified!

Suicide? All my hopes will be pulverised,

Which is better than being lobotomised!

My friends will miss me, far and wide…

Friends, you? Now your telling porky-pies!

This conversation is like Morecome and Wise!

Death can be a pleasure, do you realise?

I’m not so sure… it’s a sacrifice?

In death, there’ll be no one who vilifies?

My ailment, all gone, pain defies…

Freedom, nothing left to visualise!

So, Covid has gone; no need to immunise?

You must get your thoughts strategised!

The thought of nothing does tantalise…

Alto sensed Inchcocks resistance to suicide weakening…

That’s the spirit, Inchcock, my old fruit…

Hold a minute, just wait...

Indeed, my old cocker, you take your time…

Take me time? What in or at?

Choosing which way to die…

I’m not sure how we got into discussing suicide?

Well, you wanted to know the best way to do it.

I did?

Yes, plan B you went for…

Plan B?

Yes, you decided you’ll do the decent thing and swig a litre of chlorinated bleach and drink it with ten Beta-blockers, Warfarins, and a good swig of liquid Codeine. (I know they are regulated, but if you can time it for when you just get the prescriptions delivered, you to take the whole packet of Morphine sulfate to be safe.) Then stick all the remaining Enoxaparin Injections into your belly.

Are you sure I chose this way and agreed?

Course you did Snot-Head, and it makes common sense, my friend! And once you’ve succeeded in suiciding, there’ll be no more painful battles with Trotsky Terence or Constipation Konrad! Now, this must be worth topping yourself for?

You really thought I was going to do it, didn’t you?

Well, yes! Are you not going to?

Too bloody true I ain’t going to.

Gragnangles! But I’ll be back!

Inchcock on the Throne realised Alto had truly flit…
He finished his evacuation, messy, but just a bit,
Pondered over suicide, blaming Alt-Inchie, the shit!
Putting it into my mind, a disgusting gambit!

All a part of Alto & Inchies’ mutual brinksmanship…
A strange sort of unwanted mental partnership,
Full of insults, bullying and unsportsmanship,
Alto’s getting nasty, pretending to be a prophet?

If he expects Gerry to top himself, there’s a blip…
Even suggesting it shows Alto’s unsportsmanship,
Suicide? No, he’d instead favour the opposite,
Even living with ailments and a financial deficit!

More critical now, Harold’s Haemorrhoids do bleed,
He cleans things, ointmentates, & takes some hempseed,
It’ll be painful; he mustn’t hesitate and proceed…
Agonisingly he did, then he wee-wee’d…

He turned his attention to what to self-feed,
From his fridge and freezer, he took a swede…
Leeks, mushrooms, tomatoes and bread, just a snead,
Prepped and got them cooking; it smelt good indeed.

Off to the wet room. where he passed wind and pee’d,
Settled in his recliner, he nodded off; he was so pleased,
Woke two hours later, surprised yet frustrated…
At the smell of burnt food, he recognised!

All his vegetables had been pureed!
Burnt potatoes, uneatable, he had to concede…
A Whoopsiedangleplop, he just didn’t need…
He cleaned the mess to the bucket he pee’d!

The meal he ate for dinner was not one of his best…
A can of peas, an out-of-date vegetarian duck breast,
The whole meal went in the bin, top join the rest…
Which annoyed him, and he began to get stressed!

Thought-Storms stopped him from getting to sleep…
His life, he began to despise and threap…
Suicide? Not a failure living, even in this muckheap…
His life is not good, but living he wants to keep,

Though he passes evacuations, the liquid then concrete…
Has cataracts, is deaf, tumbles over, and has terrible feet…
There are times when he finds life semi-sweet,
Screw Alto; his life is not yet over or complete!

He vows to ignore Alto-Ego, on his next visit…
Alto’s intrusions, he’ll try his best to prohibit…
He belched; the extruding wind tasted like horseshit,
Inchcock pondered, is it me or Alto, that’s the eejit?

Dizzy Dennis called; his head felt as if it was in orbit…
Thoughts coming so fast, he can’t cope, dagnabit!
He thinks this is becoming a nightly habit…
And he had Alto to return, the nasty dipshit!

But this time, Inchcock was determined, not frit…
He decided to keep up his flagging spirit…
Amidst words like Grongletits and Gawdammit!
He got up and this Ode he writ…
Hoping Alto stays in his pit!

Part of Inchcocks Make Them Laugh Series

The Fort Thomas Mystery?

THE FORT THOMAS MYSTERY

And, why is the Inchcock News Snippets reporter there?

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

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

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

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

I inquired what it was he was working on:

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

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

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

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

Billum: Not at all, transtemporal travel.

Inchcock: Sorry?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Inchcock: Er… Is it?

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

Inchcock: Er…,

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

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

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

Inchcock: Is it? Err, We?

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

Lock the doors, Alan!

Ode To The Outcome…

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

Time to go, lacking fear, and HRH was kissed…