Inchcocks Future Fun Newspaper Headlines

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Future Sports, Covidity, and Politics, unsung,
Including Boris, Cummings, even Cameron,
I threw myself into creating these, then the phone rung…
Told me the Bank is closing its branch… that’ll be fun!
A bill from the Council, Carers Fees, that stung!
Two weeks ago, Meridian arranged a direct debit…
About as reliable as Norman Tebbit!

Here they are; I hope you get a smile from;

Inchcocks Future Fun Newspaper Headlines

I fang You!

Inchcock’s Make ‘Em Laugh Series

Billum, treats Inchcock’s Ailments

A bit of fictional fun in Ode here

I hope it brings a smile and a laugh!

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It All Began…

T’was months ago, when Billum said, “You need curing!”
“I do?” I replied Billum’s words had got me wondering,
We continued with our badinaging,
The result, revealing a fascinating thing!
Bill continued with a medical debriefing,
He’s a clever chap, quite a scientific boffin,
He’d worked out how to mend the ailments that got me coughing!

He could cure or ease many an ailment without any drugging!
His lad Alan had had a look in…
Did the mechanical engineering,
Medical engineering? That got me fearing!
H.R.H. Lisa, had the first aid kit ready… encouraging?
At this point, I had to ask… is this going to be hurting?
And can I and H.R.H. Lisa do some flirting?

The procedure would take a few days, but no haemorrhaging,
Chances are, Inchie, that you’ll not feel a thing!
Lisa will be there, and take your care under her wing,
But flirting? No, or you really will be hurting!
I thanked him, asked Billum if it involved my contortioning?
“Well, you might jerk about a bit; that’s nothing…”
“You’re used to Shaking Shaun, un Peripheral Pete bugging!”
“Once we set up the various electrics…” Lisa was earwigging…
“Worry not, Inchie… for Billum is not a fledgling!”

“This electroconvulsive therapy will soon have you jogging!”
Then we’ll make you a meal and give you some noggin!
“That’ll be marvellous Lisa, I’d just love some snogging…”
“No, I said noggin, not snogging; oh, dear, your hearing!”
“The syringing, I’ll do that for you! It’ll be astonishing!.

Billum and Alan helped me with the plans on travelling,
The transport I could afford needed ambushing…
I nicked the lorry and got to near Ohio, without any bathing…
Poor H.R.H. and Billum did a bit of nose-clenching!
But soon Billum took charge, first my showering!

Getting over my fears needed establishing,
My worrying, Billum started extinguishing,
He got out his plans to explain, and I stopped flinching…
“I’ll tell yer, in simple terms, what you can be understanding…
We all sat down, and I started listening…

And let’s face it, you’re loaded with them! Electroconvulsive therapy (E.C.T.) is a procedure done under general anaesthesia, in which small electric currents are passed through the brain, intentionally triggering a brief seizure. E.C.T. seems to cause changes in brain chemistry that can quickly reverse symptoms of certain mental health conditions.

Lisa at your side throughout. We know how you love her so, so we’ve asked her to give the odd squeeze of your hand, keep gong close to you so you can smell her perfume, and hear her words of comfort… But try not to get too excited! Remember, it’s all part of the procedure. We won’t be bothering with any anaesthesia because we will have H.R.H.

After having some of H.R.H.’s special Chilli Con Carne and a cream cake, we will be doing it in the basement laboratory.

Hahaha! Nowt to worry over Inchie, E.C.T. is good on older adults who can’t tolerate drug side effects. A muscle relaxant is usually used during the procedure to stop the patient’s muscles from moving during the seizure. Still, we’ll skip that cause with your Peripheral Neuropathy; there ain’t a cat in hells chance of you not twitching.

“Fair enuf!” At this, one of the cats jumped up on my knee and rubbed its chin against mine! Nice!

We’ll throw in a bit of Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation (T.M.S.). We think we’ve improved the procedure by swapping bits here and there. Alan worked out that the hyperparameters programmed into the medical device were used to deliver magnetic therapy to the brain by reducing the max-pooling in the convolutional neural networking of the design of the machine. Naturally, this means that your Body Mass Index (B.M.I.) and hypertension will be of less concern than they usually would be, you see?

There’s no worry about quantum entanglements, blue-shiftings, or Lagrangian points. These have all been factored into our plans. As with fasciculations and diaphragmatic flutters, There will be a chance of you horripilationing, but that is of no consequence, as you know.

“Oh, good!” No idea what Billum was on about. He forgets how thick I am, I think. After a lovely nosh, down to the basement, I was led…

A shame, really, but I woke up then!

Part of the Inchies Make Them Laugh-In Ode Series

Inchcock’s Sad Ode to his Youth

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

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

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Inchcock’s Sad Ode to his Youth

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

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

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

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

Inchcocks Memories

Chinwag With Alto-Ego Inchie!

Confounding Confusionableitis!

Time for a proper chinwag with Alto-Ego Inchie. Who I consider as much a mental ailment like all the other medical ones. I am determined to free myself of his persistent, nagging interference in my thoughts. His mission it seems to me is to make me feel guilty, inadequate, inconsequential, ineffective, and insignificant.

Which he has in fact already successfully achieved.

Although, possible beyond the understanding of anyone normal mortal, and maybe anyone who does not have a cruel, Alto-Ego, nagging away, analysing, mocking and criticising your every decision, and choice, one makes or decides on.

This natter took place last night as I lay in bed, with the notepad near to hand, and took place in several episodes! Sleep was certainly not an option for me…

Inchcock Opens The Chinwag Session:

Inchcock: I can sense your sneering and contempt Inchie, and I have to say you are a bane!
Inchie: Huh! Do yer fink I like being stuck in your brain!

Inchcock: Then go away, stop giving me mental pain!
Inchie: What the hell do think it’s like in here? In your dithering, feckless, vacillant thought-filled indecisive brain?

Inchcock: That’s it, go on, put me down, mock again…
Inchie: From human contact, you should refrain…

Inchcock: You said that when we last spoke, now again?
Inchie: Oh, a comeback from Inchcock, I’ve heard better insults from solid lepidomelane!

Inchcock: Erm… lepidomelane? Wot’s that then? Explain!
Inchie: When you read fings, facts you should retain!
Inchcock: Did I read about lepidomelane?
Inchie: Yer! In 1963, yer pea brain!
Inchcock: I’ve got Vascular Dementia, mental pain…
Inchie: Oh shurrup! Abarght time yer took yer Novocain?
Inchcock: You’ve changed the topic, confused me, yer know that makes me go brain-lame!
Inchie: Course I do, you pillock, I’ve had enough of this game…
Inchcock: What games that’s then, are you on cocaine?
Inchie: Yer coming owt with the insults tonight Inchcock! Enough! This topic’s getting too urbane…
Alright, I’ll piss off then!

Inchcock almost nodded off, when Inchie Returned!

Inchie: Hey-up, I’m calling back in defiance!
Inchcock: Why? Have no cognisance!
Inchie: Thought I might catch you on the loo, by chance…
Inchcock: You ‘horrible scumball! You no allegiance?
Inchie: Allegiance? Any idea wot that means?
Inchcock: I learnt that when in my teens!
Inchie: Huh! Gonna give me more gibberish?
Inchcock: Well, thanks for your pertinent attendance…
Inchie: Eh? Playing tricks? Do you mean good riddance?
Inchcock: Well, yes, I do, I’ve had enough of your cruel words!
Inchie: Wot, me? You’re the one spouting insulting words…
Inchcock: Am I? I was just making some lemon curds…
Inchie: What out off… Turds?

Inchcock ignored the Alta-Ego – With Difficulty Mind

He mellowed a little, and went deep in thought, until Inchie returned, and was ready to mislead the interloper…

Inchie: Wotsup, dogbreath? Pissed-off again, blockhead?
Inchcock: Oddly I thought that is what would be said…
Inchie: What’s yer game, that was said well mannered?
Inchcock: It’s up to us both, kill this mutual arguing, time to get together, and start apologising… not endangered!
Inchie: What? Am I being outmanoeuvred?
Inchcock: No mate! My wish is for you to get scunnered!
Inchie: You mean like, we get together and schnockered?
Inchcock: That’s it, we can have our relationship bettered!
Inchie: Summat wrong ‘ere… you and me, get stonkered?
Inchcock: Yea… let our animosity be withered!
Inchie: Why? you dare not… your lily-livered!

Inchcock: Hahaha! Such a poetic turn of phrase!
Inchie: Well, I’m not used to giving praise…
Inchcock: Oh, it’s easy, ns so many ways…
Inchie: Worra yer mean?
Inchcock: We could take time out, play the Steinways…
Inchie: Yer…
Inchcock: Go on holiday, as stowaways?
Inchie: Oh…
Inchcock: Have a drink, see where our hands stray…
Inchie: Hang on, are you after me body?
Inchcock: No, you haven’t got one, although you can have some control over mine, anyway ♥,
Inchie: Not ‘aving that… but then I couldn’t… could I?
Inchcock: not sure, but I’d risk it if you will. I’m free on Wednesday?
Inchie: Erm… I’m not used to this, who’s gonna pay?
Inchcock: You pay in enjoyment, we both can on the day?
Inchie: Hey, hey, hey… Could we just stop arguing, and have a laze?
Inchcock: Certainly, and we could have a few hoorays?
Inchie: I feel my emotions coming ablaze…
Inchcock: I could bring some bottles… Chardonnays?
Inchie: Surely it can’t be done? No ways!
Inchcock: You Pratt! You’re only in my mind! Best then if we return to our mental, non-verbal affrays!

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Inchcock was arrested and rushed to the Psychiatric Hospital by paramedics, after being caught making rigorous love to his non-existent Alto Ego Inchie, in the balcony of his flat this evening.

The Doctor told the Inchcock Today reporter: “We managed to stop his weeing with excitement, and finally convinced him was not having sex for the first time in his life. He is currently being treated for Psychotic Manic Depression.

Luckily the Doctor on duty had treated Mr Inchcock several times before over the years and had a straight jacket to hand.

Inchcock is expected to be released in a few years, providing he doesn’t kick the bucket earlier! (He’s getting on a bit)

Part of the Inchcock Make ‘Em Laugh Series

Inchcock: Confusions In Ode

I woke up; well, I got that bit right; here’s a tidbit…
No leaks from Little Inchy, nor bleeding too…
I actually thought waking up deserved a plaudit,
Checked the overly stomached body, legs two…
Shaking-Shoulder-Shirley twitching at my body audit,
The bruise on the knee had turned from red to blue,
Down the Protection Pants; crumbs from a biscuit!
Nocturnal nibbling guilt did ensue…
Then working out what day, month and what time is it?
The innards erupted, wind escaped from the rear. Ooh!
A massive dump I was about to inherit…
Probably due to last nights far-to-large bowl of chilli stew?
A visit to the Porcelain Throne was urgently due…
It was agony, messy, bloody, and massive, I can tell you!!

The Social Worker asked if I’d like to take up embroidery?
Is she serious, or is this tomfoolery?
Last month when she called to see me dress,
It was like a shockumentary!
She saw me struggling to dress and making a mess…
Getting my socks on buffoonery!
Putting the trousers on was full of stress,
I fell over; that did not impress!
Then saw my arm shaking as I shaved; it was bloody!
Viewed the sock-glide battle, which always causes me distress…
Now she thinks I can thread a needle?
Good God, I struggle to get Little Inchy out for a piddle!

I try to avoid getting the reputation as a badass,
Like I did when I was drinking from a beer glass,
I’ve a new reputation now, well two, one as a tight ass…
The other, rather unfairly as a wiseass!
I just get myself down on my palliasse,
Pass involuntary wind from my flatulent ass…
Sorry about sounding a bit crass…
And wonder what the hell I’ve done with my bus pass?

The last time I went to town it went all askew!
I got soaked waiting at the wrong bus stop, for a No22
Not been out for weeks, a hobble is long overdue,
Finding the bus pass might be an issue…
And remembering where the bus goes to…
What times it runs, get on the right one, first go the loo!
Walking: more painful now than doing jujitsu,
Get some food, veg, fruit… a melon, honeydew?
For the toilet, disinfectant and a Brobat blue,
The bank, my cards ready for a renew…
Oh, Inchcock, you silly old Moo!
Going out today you can’t do…
DWP will be calling to give me an interview…
That’ll be a confusing hullabaloo!

A few close shaves, but no disgruntled attitude,
Made beefburger, broke my tooth when I chewed,
Then dropped the mug when I brewed…
Onward I pressed and continued…
Time for the Porcelain Throne to be used…
I didn’t make it in time, now I’m really screwed!

Talk about being embarrassed – more disgruntlement,
Cleaned, washed, refreshed, out to the apartment…
A letter here, there’s an increase in rent!
Time to get lively, a shake-it-out session to augment…
Or just go deeper, into unhingement?

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Produced in Support of Protection Pants Makers

Ode to Maintaining One’s Sanity – Part Four or summat

In an odd mood this morning, folks, sorry, The early morning perkiness indicates me; Has done a bunk, I fear! Grugglebogness! Worries over the increase in carer fees, but my stepdaughter Jill (not really, but she ought to adopt me!), is helping me out again and investigating why I have been told I will be paying it from last Monday, but no one has told me how much it will be? I fret so easily nowadays. Hehe!

There was a time long ago, I w fascinated by Dennis Wheatley,
His character, Gregory Sallust, I thought was top quality,
Cunning, dedicated, loyal, brave with great chivalry,
I’d get back from the local hostelry,
After drinking and revelry…
Fall up or down the stairs accidentally,
Badly affected, alcoholically.

Working and drinking made my entire constellation,
For years, there was no guilt, and no contrition,
Boozing gave me a social connection…
I enjoyed it, beer and me had a cohabitation,
My taxes paid, drinking gave me no consternation!

Then one day, suddenly I decided out of the blue,
To stop my drinking ale, swearing never again to do!
The hardest thing I’d ever done, I can tell you!
I’ll not go into my suffering hullabaloo,
Never since have I drank plonk or used a corkscrew!

Now, so many years later, life is barren…
Of so-called friends, all abandoned me again,
Now I am an aged, sickly doyen…
Miserable, grumpy, but clean-shaven,
Clean-shaven? Why was that written?
I always wanted to be a Tibicen,
A flutist, but that’s probably not relevant,
I’m wandering here a bit, having a vent,

Not a vent… Erm… having a mental orbit!
Feeling a bit of a twit,
Misspellings lost words, things miswriting…
I’m losing it again, Gawdamit!

My confidence is getting titchier,
My mood is definitely schmaltzier,
My trips to the Throne frequenter
My Gawd, that’s four times this morning…
What is happening?
Each visit gets messier!
Stomach aching and is paunchier!
The passing of wind is getting noisier,
Evacuated product is meatier!
Every frequent wee-wee grows oozier!
It’s a good job that I’m no longer boozier!

It’s the memory that confuses me most,
I try, and I’ve not yet given up the ghost,
The brain nowadays is a far outpost…
Gives me access once or twice daily, at most!
But still, I remain chatty and verbose…
Seeking peace and inner glasnost,
And the ability to do my blogpost!

The Carers come twice a day; most are congenial,
Show patience, as I get confused, me being demential,
Some take my rubbish to the bin, others are contractual,
The good ones outweigh the not so good; it’s factual!
I usually get the shakes and a wobble…
Some chinwag, they go to that trouble,
This leaves me in a contentment bubble!

I like to think that I am still trainable,
But memory loss is always unavoidable,
Although, day to day it can be changeable,
That’s when I can get feeling unamiable…
And, I believe there is only me blameable,
Guilt can make contentment unavailable,
Thinking at times that I should be throttleable,
Then a kind act is given, and I get the unattainable,
And life is temporarily less circumscriptible,
Then no longer think I’m gullible or sulliable!

Some mornings I seem to transmogrify…
One leg fluid-filled, ‘tother thin, don’t know why?
Then there is Saccade Sandra, in my right eye,
My spectacles, the optician has to rectify,
He’s a snotty bloke, but at least I know why…
Last time I visited their pig-sty,
I warned the Lady of Peripheral Neuropathy, why?
Cause I’d had it bad, arm and leg shaking, me oh my!
The arm shot out, making her test lenses fly…
Her stare said she wanted me to painfully die!
The ladies hatred, I could not nullify!
So, going there again could make me cry!

This mornings carer, not ringing the bell, an oversight?
No, she never does; I didn’t hear her, her voice is light,
Crept up behind me, didn’t half give me a flipping fright!
Did she say good morning? Well, she well might…
But I didn’t hear her in the dark light.

“Sit down!” she suddenly boomed out,
Sticking her finger out towards the chair,
I took the medications, with trepidation about…
But I didn’t sit in the chair, to be fair…
I thought she wanted to give me a clout!
I chatted about it being so dark,
She was not ready for chin-waggings remarks,
Yet departed, happy as a lark?

Depression began to activate…
I found it hard to concentrate,
The Porcelain Throne was again much used,
Messy, tacky, splashes and floused…
The Throne today is much overused!
At last, it was done and cleaned. I did vacate…
Leaving the hot tap running, I did not appreciate!
No chance of a shave and shower now, mate!
I was disoriented, irritable, not focused,
In a massive fed-upperdness, I was circumfused,
I need to get myself refocused
Sod-it! Back to the Porcelain Throne, I had to navigate!

This below is the wet room, which contains the much overused Porcelain Throne. Today, I discovered that it includes 242 wall tiles, 54 cracks in the floor, and 78 on the ceiling. Which also has 14 lumps and a damp patch. The cross wording did not go well; two clues were solved in a total time on the book of three hours.

The most used room of the day!

Part of the Inchcock’s Make ‘Em Laugh Series

Inchcock Today: Maintaining One’s Sanity in Ode – Part Two

Sanity is something that does not come readily…
Insanity, now that comes easily to me, for free!
It wasn’t a good start to life for newborn Inchy,
The poor little mite had a nasty squinzey…
Handed Inchy over to her, by the midwife, Elsie,
Inchcock, her newborn less than 3lb baby…

A Verse from Inchcock’s Alto Ego

His Ma said: I Don’t want it, throw it in the Trent!
When he heard of this, years later, t’was a rent!
No wonder the lad grew up, a smidge belligerent!
And always felt unwanted, unloved, different…
Had he known the misery coming in a torrent…
He’d have settled for drowning in the river current!

Back To The Real Inchcock’s Odeing

My lack of schooling stunted my working activity,
Thus starting my wander into psychoactivity?
I was determined to actively maintain my morality,
Improving myself, was the task of great enormity,
Things went wrong, and life ended up a bit shitty!

I proudly continued to work hard, showing my stupidity,
Made redundant four times, and then the insanity…
Duodenal Ulcer, Reflux Roger, Heart attack, hit me,
Peripheral Neuropathy, Saccades, deafness you see,
Then the stroke – medical problems constantly…
The fungal lesion, piles, problem in the lower-region vicinity,
But, did it bother me? Nae, nor even the poverty,
Press on blindly, bumbling, fumbling along, is the key!

I had to show faith, belief and positivity!
The body was getting a bashing, feeling rickety!
The memory, well, short-term, almost hilarity,
Is there any help? A bonkersness charity?

Control, concentration, became a travesty!
Sometimes I can control my passivity…
But worryingly, is my current oversensitivity,
During the day, I can feel quite jaunty…
Then sink, thinking self-pity,
But without any clarity?
The mind working somehow in duality?

Of wants, needs and desires, there’s a deficiency,
Simple tasks grow in perplexity…
Depressions show ever more confusion, density,
I fail to attain the slightest moments of tranquillity,
Thought Storm rage, wee-wees show violent fluidity,

For Porcelain Throne sessions, I’ve grown an affinity!
I know; this is something of an abnormality…
I suppose, all a part of my growing mental-duality!
Depression, anxiety, am I becoming a dilettante?

I intended today, to try and stop being so whiney,
She just kicked off again; Shuddering-Shoulder-Shirley,
I just rubbed in a dollop of Phorpain gel – gently!

There is something I await, pretty eagerly…
Summat I have to do bi-quarterly…
Even though I’m now quite elderly…
Inject Enoxaprin into my tummy.

Well, that was nice, two injections into one dummy,
I suspect you’re finding this ode a little crumby?
That I throw in the odd bit of codology?
Enough of this danged cybertechnology!

Whoopsiedangleplop!

Oh, I forgot about going to the clinic, neurology,
Is there a department called Forgettology?
Where they can mend a wayward memory?
A shame I’ve got this mental and physical instability!

I suspect you’re finding this ode a little crumby?
That I throw in the odd bit of codology?
Enough of this danged cybertechnology!
I’m off to get my bus pass, after making a mug of tea!

The Nottingham Lads True Tales of Woe Ode

Inchcocks Ode In Memory Of Grizelda ♥

Sunday 7th November 2021

My thought drifted to back, Grizelda, so jovial,
She was tall, hairy, and rampantly ever-sexual…
Her visit to England was most beneficial,
To me, although at times it was ethereal…
I even thought of things matrimonial,
Her sex appeal oozed from her, unanalysable,
She was forceful, but not unsurmountable,
Many would call Grizelda gladiatorial…
I’d call her, thank heavens, indefatigable!

Part Of The Nottingham Lads Make Them Laugh Ode Series

Inchcock’s Visit to Doctor Frazakerly

My Most Memorable Visit To The GP, Ever!

My regular GP was 82-year-old Doctor Foley,
Who I rarely needed to call and see,
I went this time with blood in my pee,
I arrived and logged in with Nurse Emily…
Who said there a locum today, Doctor Frazakerly,
I waited my turn, reading a magazine called Jamboree,
The semi-naked girls in it surprised but sated me.

Emily called out, “Next patient, the Doctor is free!”
I entered the surgery of Dr Foley,
Doctor with pipe tobacco on his chest greeted me,
Told him my problem, “Lay on there, we’ll have a see…”
“Blimey,” he said, You’ve got a little one just like me!”
Hmm? Methought, this could get somewhat tacky?

He took a long time examining Little Inchie,
Should I make a dash now to get free?
I liked his gossip, though, familiar words, not snotty,
He swore a bit and declared his love of Notts Country,
So we spoke a while and assessed recent results in football?

Got me off the bench, telling me he used to live in Dundee,
Got me to strip to the waste… “Does he fancy me?”
The stethoscope was utilised, breath in, out for me…
Blood pressure taken told me to provide some wee…
My wee-weeing, he said he needed to see…
Came with me the WC…
The flow was bloodless and trouble-free.

He examined things again, we returned to the surgery,
Checked out my piles and then the boil on my knee,
He was pleasantly taking his time unctuously,
Check the lungs, tapping and chatting away cheerfully,
He cleaned his pipe, refilled it and said with some glee…
“You’re a delivery driver?” Showing his dedication and coactivity…
He wanted to do a grope test, for Hernias? I did agree…

He took his time while mentioning the new Notts County goalie,
Told me the East stand price is going up to 1/3d (5½p)
Eyed in my earholes, checked sight on the card, Blimey!
Thorough? I’ve been in here for about an hour and forty,
That’ll make me popular; I may get a thump, certainly vulgarity…
From the other patients, they’ll be going looney!
Getting dressed when all done, he even helped me!
Thanked him and left; I didn’t wait around… I did flee…
Missing trouble with the patients, homeward in haste I was bound!

I rushed straight back to the house, and my fiancee,
Got halfway there… I’d left the bike outside Dr Foley…
I wailed like a banshee!
Annoyed at my stupidity!

Part Of The Inchcock True Life Make Them Laugh Series

Self-Angering Whoopsiedangleplop! In Ode

Puggleclumpdimwit!

Even for me, I made a Whoopsiedangleplop an hour ago that turned my stomach – Started Anne Gyna and Duodenal Donald off – and made me so angry with myself…

Inchcock is a Grangnanging Stupid Old Git!

No idea how I did it – but I lost Wednesday’s Ode I’d been working on for about four and a half hours! Nine verses! And, I thought, it was pretty decent… The hour-and-a-half above, I’ve been trying to find it or find out what the hell I’ve done to lose it… Got the Doctor’s in the morning, so have no choice other than to make it again.
I apologise in advance cause the frame of mind I’m in right now is not conducive to Funny Ode creating!
This means staying up late to get the Ode done… I’m not expecting it to have the usual humour or be any good, the mood I’m in, but I’ll try…

Inchcock is a Pathetic, Useless Pillock!

I told the Social Services lady how much I had in the bank,
Of course, they’ve raised the total allowed, but I was frank,
She offered me an hours help with shopping and laundry,
It’d cost me £280 a week… Holy Lordy!
I said no, I was referred to the Revenue & Benefits, thanks!
She asked if I had money in any other banks…

Inchcock is a Pickleglobknob Idiot!

Nottingham Revenue & Benefits man rang me on the phone,
A 2½hr interview followed I was in the ether-world zone,
My concentration dissipated, off it had flown,
I thanked him with a weary groan…

Inchcock is a Dolt!

He said he’d sent the paperwork to sign & return,
Of course, no help was given, I soon did learn…
Result in today, on a downer now, scowled and had a gurn!
Excuse me, to the Porcelain Throne, I’ll have to adjourn…

Inchcock is a Gnatwrangling Turd!

Unhappy at the elision of the actual cost, though,
Still a secret? Why do they not let me know?
They told me how to pay, and punishment if not…
Added fines if you miss a payment that cheered me a lot!

Schluberdubersnarl, Inchcock!

The limit for money, I thought I might be below, but no,
The figure has gone up; this is not good, you know!
The decision didn’t leave a warm afterglow…
I nearly cried; that could have ruined my eyeshadow,
Blimey, I made a funny! And not getting any Sympatico!

Inchcock is a Senile Old Git!

Ah, I’ll be making beef stew for later; my hunger does grow…
Hello, it’s already late, mate… Carer due, Doctors tomorrow,
I’m still angry with myself; there is a self-pitying sorrow,
Life at the moment is annoying, no zest… hollow!
It’s me that is annoying me… that what I’ll have to forego…
The hidden costs of the carers do rise… Oh, blow!

Inchcock is a Senile Old Git!

An ‘orrible Day Again!