Vital Advice for Nottinghamian Senior Citizens, Part one – In Rhyme, of sorts

BNC01

They’re dangerous, uncouth and some are blind,

The ignorant swine are uncaring, and what’s more,

They often hit you, coming silently from behind,

Leaving your hand arm or elbow, feeling sore,

They test your sanity, patience and mind,

They’ve no warning bells or horn, that’s for sure,

Belting along the pavements, they are a bind,

It’s no use if you beg and implore,

For them to leave more room, not be so unkind,

The few who reply, use sneers, curse-words obscure,

To roads and cycle paths they should be confined,

Their insults, two fingers you’ll have to endure,

Best to use your walking stick – hit ’em on the jaw!

BNC02

But that’s no solution, not a good idea, you see,

Cause they are young, fit and violence-loving,

They offer scowls and are threatening to me,

Some ride at me, I have to do some manoeuvering,

Which ain’t easy with the walker to push, you see!

Empathy, sympathy, and understanding they are avoiding,

Making this old fart, run and flee!

 Taking their photograph may get me a beating,

But don’t give up the struggle, become an attritee,

Join me on my hobbles, bring a Glock, that’s the thing!

BNC03

They don’t scare me though… well, not too much.

Alright, the law-breaking and getting-away-with-it ‘Gits’ do!

‘Bonkersness’ An everyday pleasure for old folk!’

2019 April 17

It’s a shock, when you wake up, not feeling unwell,
Take your medications, and rub in the Pain-Gel,
The heart monitor might well need a new Duracell,
You wonder around without clothes on, au naturel,
But you don’t realise, till someone does tell.

You and youngsters are on a different parallel,
You worry about your leaks, do they really smell?
Will someone be waiting for you, down in hell?
Sticks to your dentures do marzipan and caramel!

You’ve a shoebox flat to live in now and dwell.
But you call it an apartment, so your pride can swell!
Retentativeness goes away, you’ll forget how to spell,
Your short term memory will never again excel!
Steps, climbing, will make you fear any stairwell.

Doctors, dentist, you’ll be part of their clientele,
Podiatrists, Opticians, analyst, maybe the as well?
Audiologist too, you’ll not hear your phone or doorbell,
Psychoanalyst, avoid talking about your death-knell,
Well, they have a profit to protect, and service to sell.

We’ll lose our logicality, patience and sense of smell,
And when the time comes for to heaven to travel,
Here’s the really-surprising bombshell,
We can’t take clothes with us, even if they’re brocatelle,
No knick-knacks of gold, silver or tortoiseshell,
But I ain’t got none, anyway – so farewell!
I wonder if I’ll see Dad, Mam, or maybe a pterodactyl?

 

2019 Aug 01

Lament to the end of the Weevil War – or is it?

Lament in Ryme

To the End of the Weevil War – Or is it?

Willmott Dixon started to upgrade my minuscule flat,
New windows were installed, that started the waring combat,
EIBWBBBs (Evil Ironclad Boll-Weevil black biting beetles) and a bat,
All came in and immigrated, hibernated, and that was that!
T’was eighteen months ago; and a long time is that,
They ate the food, and I was often bitten at!

Aug18p06b

It cost me hundreds of pounds,
Bug killers and traps did abound,
My coughing was the loudest sound,
But the poisoning of my lungs was allowed,
No help came, although I protested very loud,
I got the blame, NCH responsibility they disavowed!

4thur03a

I found the battle, very fascinating,
But no signs for months of their abating,
They found my apartment very accommodating,
And with the little Weevils, I started acquainting,
Although mixed in with some aberrating,
At least their bites had no sting!

4thur03a2

Spraying Rentokill three times a day became a realisation,
Their cunning skills at survival caught my appreciation,
The Rentokil put me more than them, into aestheticisation,
The numbers grew rapidly of their aggrupation,
If I was ever to win this war, this losing altercation,
I needed more help, stronger ammunition!

2017d

My health suffered from this losing situation,
My battle plans were in need of analysation,
I planned to use bleach, and soda as acidification,
But they just swam in it, I was losing with ambiguation.

aug18e

Of victory, I had no hopes nor anticipation, furthermore…
The effects of the spray left me with a cough and snore!
My further pleas for help, others did ignore,
Until another flat got the Weevils, they got help from me for sure!
Slowly the Weevil numbers faded, not so many anymore…
But occasionally, they’d return, these nasty, Weevil detrivore,
Last week, they came onto the keyboard while I used CorelDraw!
But yesterday was the first day when I saw them no more!

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Oh, sod-it! I just went to make a mug of tea and spotted this. Tsk!

5fri001b
Oh, Woe is me!

Rambling deep thoughts from Inchcock: In pathetic rhyme

Unfortunately, old Inchcock had one of his self-pitying moods this morning.

When he found he had new boils, acne and the Furosimide induced Wee-Wees were mega-active, with the tsnunami-like splashbacks being unavoidable!

Then he checked his fluid-filled containers he calls legs…

5fri004

Ah, that’s new boils on his back, bum and now new growths on his knees, as well as some more blood papsules showing on the pins!

These could be just a few reasons for his sad Thoughts Ode today? Hehehe!

jan04 2019

Created spontaniously from the mind of Nottingham City Homes Pensioner; in a moment of insanity and a blood of Furosemide induced Wee-weeing!

Christmas Day Morning: Inchcock ‘Aching All Over’

I woke up this Christmas Day Morning:

To find that the only parts of my horrendously Billy Bunter like body, that didn’t Ache or Hurt, there the left index finger and the right side of my right elbow!

I found myself singing, Johnny Kidd & The Pirates song, as Aching All Over in place of their, Shaking all over. The idea came to get some humour out of feeling so poorly, and I set about making this graphic, putting my version of the song in the yellow letters.

Dec 25 2018

Christmas morning, and all I could do was create this bit of fun.

Sad, innit?

Hehehe!

Hope you have a laugh, and a jolly good holiday!

TTFN.

 

Inchcock’s Ode to his beloved EIBWBBBs!

Just a few thoughts and recollections about Inchies EIBWBBBs

(Evil Ironclad Boll-Weevil black biting beetles)

Dec 24 2018

Having got acquainted with my beloved EIBWBBBs, who arrived when the new windows were being fitted in the apartment, I think I would miss them now if they were to move on to another flat. We’ve had many happy times together:

Oh, how they loved the new Spare Room Window, with its holes in the filler and plaster and the cracks to hide and play in!

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Of course, the new balcony being built brought them out in their hundreds, only to be slaughtered as their Guardian, Inchcock, spent hundreds of pounds of the last eight months of their sojourn in flat 72!

AA01

Above and below, the EIBWBBBs favourite hideout, the Wet Room. With its holes in the wall where could escape into the kitchen to the walk-in cupboard, climb in the wash basin for a swim, on the curtains so they could play at dive-bombing Inchcock when he has a shower… best of all, they had the escape route down the drain on the floor!

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When the balcony door was installed, they had a wonderful time coming in through the cracks in the plaster and holes in the sealant.

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The Kitchen was popular with the little mites.

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Not Classified but interesting!

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Before arriving here, as inmate 72 at Woodthorpe Court, I’d never seen a Weevil before in real life.

I have now!

Hehehe!

Bless ’em!

Inchcock’s Thoughts of the Week – In abysmal imitation rhyme.

Despite, the old hero’s Diarhorrea Trotsky attack, his Accifauxpas, tumbles, toe-stubbings, Haemorrhoid Harold’s Return, his Bleeding Fungal lesion, visits from Dizzy Dennis, Shaking Shaun and Shivering Sandra, his leaving the hot tap running again, and falling asleep in his computer chair (Him, mot the tap!), and his depressed state of mind: He is proud to present this week’s Thoughts in even more pathetic rhyme than last time!

Dec 23 2018

quip

 

 

 

 

Ageing can be a little Confusing – Inchcock’s Explanatory Ode

The pointlessness, confusion, mayhem, of morning thoughts, will no doubt affect the elderly. Even the alcoholic, chain-smoking, ones are at risk!

If perchance you can make any sense of these Inchcock Thursday morning ponderations wot he wrote this morning, then it is time for you to seek more help and support. Age Concern – PDSA or the snug in the Lions Arms?

Should you reach this stage, my personal advice would be to avoid thoughts of the National Health Service, Grenfell, the Government or Brexit!

4Thu01

1Mon01

Inchcock Today: Morning Thoughts: In a rhyme of sorts. Plus RIP to the Weevils. Hehe!

1Mon001

I wondered what each streetlight and house light might be hiding?

Each morning light out there,
Someone in despair?
Someone washing their hair?
Alcoholics here and there?
Old chap asleep in his recliner chair?
Up there, a plane in the air?
A shoplifter in their lair?
Perhaps a millionaire heir?
A vicar with a prayer?
Someone eating a fresh cream eclair?
Someone hearing burglars downstairs?
Old folks playing solitaire?
Even someone happy somewhere?
Someone, to admit voting for Tony Blair?
Someone with their Cocaine, necessaire?
A street-sleeper, future billionaire?
Someone battling nasty spyware?
Someone short on their bus fare?
A cross-dresser in his lady’s wear?
Someone singing ♫Be my Teddybear♫?
A mugger waiting in a thoroughfare?
Terrorists, planning guerrilla warfare?
Someone trimming their armpit hair?
Politician, changing his nom de guerre?
A Christian, reciting the Lord’s Prayer?
Looking for a policeman, full of despair?
Some might be out, taking in the night air?
Some with a food cupboard that’s bare?
Stealing a car, phone or a Frigidaire?
Some in places, not wanting to be there?
Loyal, abstainers or having an affair?
So many bodies and minds in disrepair?
In Brexit, they find nothing fair-and-square!
Voters for Brexit, Oh yea!

Are we all going as mad as a March hare?

I thank you!

1Mon01

A few WHERIBWBBISA Official Photographs of Weevils attacking in flat 72 Woodthorpe Court over the last few months or so… You get to like ’em after about six months!

A few from November:

 

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A few from October:

 

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A few from September:

 

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A few from August:

 

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A few from July:

 

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A few from June:

 

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RIP

Evening Skies, from Inchcock’s Kitchen Window – Part of the The Nottingham Lads True Tales of Woe series

Evening Skies, from Inchcock’s Kitchen Window

2Tue26

Views that started Inchcock’s brain rambling off, thinking, pondering over and worrying about everything. Frustrated that he can do nothing about anything nor even comprehend, understand or communicate with his own mind!

2Tue07b

The sky tonight: It’s polymorphous really did impress me,

The dying sun, struggling through the darkness, expressly,

Should have inspired a song, probably from Elvis Presley,

Magnificence flowed, from apex to apogee,

The above line is wrong, I couldn’t find another word to rhyme, you see!

2Tue08a

Ah, the joys of living up high up in the clouds, primarily,

Where I can feel abandoned, sometimes get a bit dizzy,

Seek happiness… but that’s another story,

Viewing this landscape installs much inner psychoactivity,

I had to break off a while, I’d had too much curry,

So off to the Porcelain Throne in a hurry.

2Tue09

As to the reason for the natures ostentatiousness, I’m not privy,

Why mankind’s existence? Finding out is no tantivy,

No point in searching, so close to my logging out of life’s activity,

I blame my failure, on my brains under-activity,

Also on my abundant  impecunity,

My lack of faith and the absence of any divinity!

2Tue10

I’m aware my brain has an impaired cognitivity,

My physical condition deteriorated, no longer of its high-quality,

Ailments abound, and the midriff is a superabundant mass, too much quantity,

My life’s actions have had little bioactivity on others, that’s a sad pity,

Relationship-wise, there’s been a paucity!

2Tue10a

Fellow workers seemed to be more successful, with greater superiority,

They had confidence; that bosses mistook for ability!

Too late for me now, as I approach my senility,

Now I’m classed as having a disability,

I mean apart from my natural stupidity!

2Tue11

Porcelain Throne evacuations, now show great fluidity,

This occurs now with a pungent consistency,

The monthly medications increasing, remind one of mortality,

The brain wakes in the morning with even more veracity,

Often with thoughts lacking in reality,

But I do my best to keep my humour and morality!

2Tue12

I try to keep my medical appointments with accuracy,

I do my bestest, to avoid any turpitude and degeneracy,

Keeping my perambulations regular and ambling, not sprightly,

Sometimes I forget to take my medicines nightly,

When I do miss them, I accept the pains, quite quietly,

For it was me who caused them by acting deficiently!

2Tue12a

I wrote these words in a mood, benignantly,

I dream of helping others to have a laugh, but not confidently,

For I fear that humour’s now being received with severity,

Not with a smile, merriment, or joviality,

Still, the photographicalisations came out chromolithographic.

 

I blame folks worrying, over the UK’s Brexitaliticalisationing!