Inchcock Reveals His Current Fears! – In Rhyme (Of sorts)

Believe it or not, Inchcock created this depiction of his Sock-Glide from memories of a nightmare, that the poor old fart suffered two nights ago. It’s so sad!

Inchcock Reveals His Current Fears!

Reading further may cause harm to your sanity!

Yes, he was young once… he still is, mentally!

Born, and got myself double-pneumonia,
Thrown in the canal, I nearly drowned in 1954,
I got rescued, only scared, wet and sore,
The medics said the boss is going to warn yer,
The Doctor said “You’ll never get brawnier”,
Next, I got shot, then the Duodenal Ulcer,
Top of the charts was ♫24hrs from Tulsa♫,
Then the hernia, and bladder cancer.
Had to have the ticker transplanted, years ago,
It doesn’t bother me now, though, 
Then I went and got shot again,
I knew my bad luck had to end, but when?
I stopped working in the Security industry, then!
I came off my motor-bike in the fog,
Out of hospital, had some police dialogue,
They fined me £20, speeding, I was agog!
Got a job driving a delivery van,
And became quite a Casanovan,
Got made redundant three times, lucky man!
Retired, well it was enforced of course,
But I had little remorse,
Got a part-time job, selling pickles and sauce,
When I reached 70, we had a discourse,
Then the Peripheral Neuropathy was diagnosed,
Got the tablets mixed-up, and overdosed,
They said stay indoor, well, I wasn’t opposed!

Then along came the stroke, of the ischaemic type,
Saccades, as well, of dear, this medical hype,
But I wasn’t one to moan and gripe,
I recovered, but physically, I’m a load of tripe,
They discovered I had diabetes,
Life became full of abstrusities,
My ailments seem to grow complexities.

Next, I’m using a walking stick,
Unbalanced, falling-over, it made me sick,
No choices then, at home I have to stick,
I fell, and gave my neck a crick,
I’m no longer the witty, clever-dick,
But I somehow cope, and that was fantastic.

Then along came to visit us,
The Corona Virus,
Isolation, no going out walking or on a bus,
Every day new instructions, what a fuss,
But at least I got rid of furuncle’s puss!
Until disabilities meant I couldn’t bend down,
And the worst, that really gets me down…
It’s bad enough doing your own syringes,
Is the bloody Sock-Glide, frame,
I gave it a go, I was really game,
But it keeps taking lumps out of my fingers,
And I don’t like these whinges,
Using the Sock-Glide means many cringes,
It’s not just the pain – mentally you’ll find it unhinges!

This claptrap was rit rote, written by Inchcock, with dedication and stupidity in support of the Peterborough & District Failed Philharmonic Orchestra Players, collection fund for the Bankers & Investors Roadkill Hospice Advocacy Society.

Inchcockski – Thursday 3rd September 2020: A chinwag, natter and food delivered. Who could ask for more!

TFZers, in the Cool-It-Cabin?

 Thursday 3rd September 2020

Estonian: Neljapäev, 3 September 2020

03:35hrs: I stirred late in the day for me. But late getting to kip, but I got almost five hours sleep in! So, that was nice! 

As I began to edge my elephantinely-stomached body from the c1968 recliner, the regular call for a wee-wee arrived. I got my balance and utilised the OGPEB (Overnight-Grey-Plastic-Emergency-Bucket), it was another SWAT (Sprinkly-Weak-Apricot-Tinged) configurated wee-wee.

I got the bucket, and it’s not easy carrying it while using Metal Mickey (four-pronged-walking stick), to the wet room and cleaned and sanitised the tub. I had a Wobbling-Willie-turn, but no injuries this time. The right hand assumed a Mr Spock salute afterwards. Hahaha!

I took a good swig of the anandrious, weak, not-very-effective Peptac medicine, in hopes of avoiding bother again from Duodenal Donald later on in the day.

I used the stick thermometer and was pleased to see that it was almost the same as yesterday, at 34.6°c. Slightly higher than it has been, but it is nearer to the recommended temperature for an old going senile, chap wot-like-I-am. Haha!

The BP sphygmomanometer gave forth satisfactory readings for the first time in months! Sys was well down. But, I anticipate things will go back up again tomorrow. Ah, well!

I had to make an imitation dash back to the wet room, in response to the sudden tummy ache. And rumblings from within the innards!

Things started as they have been like for several days now. I got down on the raised plastic seat, and the evacuation started at its own pace and then stopped part-way. Out came the crossword book, I winced and grimaced with the pain, and waited for yonks for the action to restart. (Actually, I had one of my most successful Throne-Crosswording sessions-ever) Smug-Mode-Class-3-Adopted! When things reactivated, it was a case of ‘Ooh, argh, yikes’—Khaki-coloured, difficult, foul-smelling, and so messy. But no bleeding from either Phuvana Furuncle, or Harold’s Haemorrhoids. Smug-Mode-Upgraded to Class 2!

Poddled off to the kitchenette, taking this shot of the morning view. I got some new spuds in the crock-pot on low heat.

Then I made a brew of Glengettie tea and got onto the computer. As I sat on the swivel chair, PAP (Psoriatic Arthritis Paul), presented me with some sharp, persistent pains. However, only in the right knee? With the odd failings on Nicodemus’s Neurotransmitters, the occasional SSS shakes, and the knee, it was not an easy job updating the Wednesday blog. Especially with many trips to the wet room for the SWAT (Sprinkly-Weak-Apricot-Tinged) configurated wee-wees.

But, with my being a super-fit, robust, educated, and full of vim and enthusiastic young person, I stuck at the task. Ahem! Got it finished and posted off to WordPress. Sent the Email links, went on Pinterest, WP reader, and finally on to Facebooking.

Disappointingly, Facebook would not allow me to update my photo albums? So, I didn’t! (Tried again twice later, but no go!) Grumph!

Went to get the ablutions sorted out. A stand-up Job, cause the window cleaner might be calling early later-on, don’t want to miss him. It was yet another, unexpectedly, grand, Fantastic-Ablutionalisationing-Session! Toothache Terence a little annoyed, just the one dropsy. No, I say NO, dropsies doing the shaving! Fantastic!

The medicationalisationing was the opposite of the washing, though. Nine dropsies, part-cleared the floor cabinet of medications, lost balance getting the PPs on, clouted the back of my right hand on the door handle as I went over! Ah, well, you can’t win ’em all!

Drilling noises from above, I assume it was the floor fitters, doing the lift lobby on the 13th floor. Made up a couple of small black bags and took them to the waste chute.

Back to the flat, at the computer, when a message came through on my latest model of the mobile phone, what I’ve got. I rang night-club dancer, and ILC Warden Deana to ask for guidance. She said she would call later on in the day to have a look and do the yearly Q&A routine. I thanked her muchly.

The sky suddenly went all dark, so much so, I got the camera and took a shot of it through the balcony windows from the computer swivel chair. I checked on Facebook to see if it would allow me to add some photos to the albums, of course, it wouldn’t!

I did some updating of this blog, but it was hard work, and the Neuropathy affected shoulder was beginning to ache dreadfully, now.

The door chimes rang out, it was the window cleaner chap. He soon got on with sorting the job out, and we had a bit of a natter as he did so. I paid-up, and he booked me in for 1st November for the next call. Off he trotted to the next flat in need of his services.

Half an hour later, Deana arrived. She helped me out a lot today. After investigating the message on the phone for me, she found it was for Fire Alarm testing? Which has been done a fortnight ago, then by the firemen who attended the false alarm the following week? She explained that I had a medical appointment on Saturday morning. They rearranged the test for Wednesday 16th, twixt 0800>1300hrs.

Deana then checked the balcony door that will not lock at all. Deciding it wanted levelling. She rang the Nottingham City Homes maintenance back and got an appointment for them to look at the balcony door, on Wednesday 30th, twixt 0800>1300hrs.

Then went through my personal details as needed. I signed the tablet, and Deana trotted off, to do more examining. As usual, I felt a little cared for after this yearly visitation. ♥

I got some fresh peas podded, and cooking in the saucepan. Then checked the slow-cooker potatoes.

The weariness and fatigue arrived and hit me hard today.

Got the medications taken, and served up the nosh. As part of my abysmal efforts at dieting, I had another fish fodder food dinner. Bootiful!

Smoked mackerel, Royale surimi sticks, new potatoes, tomatoes, Irish Farls, and some terribly undercooked garden peas. Fish vinegar on the fish and potatoes, butter on the farls, and sea salt on the tomatoes. A selection of seedless grapes on the side. 7.5/10!

Then the importantist part of the day, a search for Sweet Morpheus! I was too tired to do any logical thinking, and even the Thought-Storms were not bothering me. IKt still took me ages to nod off. I had to keep waking up and utilising the OGPEB (Overnight-Grey-Plastic-Emergency-Bucket), every one of the annoyingly aggravating STS (Slow-To-Start) mode. All with PMAD (Post-Micturition After Dribbling).

Although often broken, I did get about four hours kip in, so nae worries.

Taketh care out their,

Although, to be fair,

When I had hair,

Not a lot there,

It disappeared somewhere,

Just like the sanity, I share,

It’s only fair and square,

To say, raising smiles everywhere,

Is for what I really care!

Wrote in support of the Outer Peruvian Pregnant Kangaroo Appreciation Society

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!

Inchcock’s Doze, Prompted this Little Prose

Inchcock’s Doze, Prompted this Little Prose

Old Inchie fell asleep,

His nocturnal dreaming was so deep,

He managed as least, an hour of sleep,

He woke up, a quivering mental heap!

Here are the few bits, his memory managed to keep.

I was being pursued, by a mob, so violent and profligate,

Through corridors, offices all in an abandoned state,

They fired guns at me, I wondered what is my fate?

Then came across, a securely locked gate!

“Hello,” I thought, “You’ve had yer lot, mate!”

They caught me up, one with a tattoo on his forehead,

“Death to Inchcock, He must be bled”, it said,

Other’s followed on, I was surrounded,

But it was them, that became dumbfounded!

They removed their helmets, and put spectacles on,

One said: Ayup, he’s a right odd one!

I revealed and flashed my furuncles at them,

I squeezed the biggest boil, the pus you couldn’t stem!

 The purulence peppered into their faces,

Couldn’t have done a better job, if it was faeces,

They all ran off and were gone!

But the gang may come back, so to be sure,

I thought I’ll batter my way through this door,

I used my chin to batter my way through, why, I’m not sure,

But I remember, it was bloody sore!

I got outside, I was so elated,

Success? Surely this for me isn’t’ fated?

Victory for me? I was addlepated!

Out I climbed, and fell off of the roof!

Off to the hospital, to get medicated.

To the operating theatre, I was taken,

The anaesthetist smiled as he grabbed me by the neck,

As I saw the writing on his hat

And, I thought “Oh, flipping ‘eck!

And that was the end of that!


Inchcock was under the influence of liquid codeine, morphine sulfate, several pints of Strongbow cider, a swig of Dettol, and a bottle of Domestos lemon bleach.

But his suicide effort failed, so he wrote this ditty instead.

Hahaha!

Merci Mon Amis!

Rainbow inspired photographicalised ode

1Mon04

5Fri05

On the computer, picking at my cold sore,
I drew the curtains, above is what I saw,
For beauty, one couldn’t ask for more,
I was gobsmacked, as I looked in awe!
Life wasn’t so complicated or obscure,
There was hope yet, I was sure,
I forgot all about my credit score!

5Fri007c

My zoochosis meant nothing, against this delight,
Magnificent colours and bending light,
Some pale, transparent, others being superbright,
I took in the gorgeousness, as well I might,
I forgot the hassle of Monday and yesternight.
I wanted to steal this inspiration, get the copyright!

5Fri12

How did the phenomenon occur, I lacked the insight,
It even beats the heavenly blue moonlight,
A plane flew by, lucky devils on that flight!
Not that I don’t love the days twilight,
What an incomparable, wonderful sight,
It’s even more desirable than toasted Marmite!

5Fri11

Rainbow, that’s an excellent euonym,
My self-control wandered, I felt grim,
Mind facts were substituted with skrim,
Dizzy Dennis was afoot, a thought-storm brewed!
For moments the brain froze, and logic stewed,
My head cleared, after a prayer and a hymn.

5Fri019

I no longer drink, or use tobacco,
Don’t play any instrument, no piano,
I do overeat and love a fresh tomato,
Eventually, semi logic I did re-bestow,
Thus ended this thought-storm fiasco!

5Fri03

No peace, no rest, from the unbalanced mind,
Sometimes from life’s hassle, I wish I could resign,
Oh, to find an existence that is gentle and kind,
Peacefulness, tranquillity, are so hard to find,
Even around here, with its lanes, tree-lined,
Why is life, so complicatedly designed?
Have I any right, to moan and whine?
The body and brain are both on the decline,
Red Dwarf’s on the box later, so never mind!

1Mon04a

I’m Determined to destroy Depression!

I’m Determined to destroy Depression!

2Tue08a

I decided, in a dream, I had yesternight,
Depression, I’ll resist, beat and outfight,
I must be strong, determined, not contrite,
I’ll be honest with myself, not like a Blairite,
My approach, will-power, must be definite!
I’ll have courage, like a brave medieval Knight,
And continue to show my vigour and fight,
Although my confidence may be finite,
This misery, I will surely try to expedite,
I must give this depression, no respite,
Ridding myself of this soul-destroying plight,
Who knows if I can, I just possibly might?
Then hopefully, I’ll get some sleep tonight,
And for supper, I can have some toasted Marmite!

Created during an aberrant spell of semi-confidence.

No Brexiteers were harmed during the production of this waffle!