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

Nervously, I departed, my beloved Woodthorpe Court,

Wondering, if I really ought,

But off I poddled, my expectancies at nought,

Taking my quandaries, feeling relatively taut,

My nerves on edge and tension straught!

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

Feet under the wheels as brakes,

As I sat holding the trolley,

Then I got the nervous shakes,

Sure I would overspend my lolly!

Got to town, and nearly got ran over,

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

A van nearly hit me, moreover,

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

I made my way to the Poundsaver store,

Searching for milk tubs, Frazzles and more,

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

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

They had milk, but I got Frazzles & more,

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

I had a walk around the City Centre,

Limping now, I felt even ancienter,

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

Then one of the Pavement cyclist’s flew by,

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

I never saw a policeman. I wonder why?

It looked like rain in the sky,

So I went inside, to keep myself dry!

The Exchange arcade, it was barren of folk,

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

Rent £78,000 per annum, it’s no joke,

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

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

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

Some time in Slab Square, I spent,

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

My frustrations I wanted to vent,

The knee hurting, my money spent,

Getting home to Codeines was my intent!

To the Queen Street bus-stop,

Struggling with my purchases from the shop,

On to the L9 bus I did hop,

Well, struggled, and into the seat did flop,

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

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

I did feel a right twit!

No injuries, I felt tired, but quite fit,

Off to Woodthorpe Court, I did flit!

Not a soul in sight, for a talk,

So I struggled along Chestnut Walk,

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

Into the decorative, welcoming lobby, I did walk!

I tooketh a photo, getting into the lift,

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

I’d bought some pressies and a Christmas gift,

I was feeling proud, not peeved or tift,

For once, my thoughts were not all adrift,

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

I’d seen folk arguing, and one shoplift,

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

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

A Little Trip To Merry Nottingham – Photographically & Poetically told

4Thu19

I arrived on Parliament Street, greeted by the smiling populace,

A cheery smile on every face,

Oh, how I love the place,

Mind you, I had my can of Mace!

4Thu19a

I called in the Poundland shop,

Shoplifters were arguing, having a strop,

I didn’t want to eavesdrop,

So I didn’t stop!

4Thu19b

I notice pedestrians crossing the road against the red lights,

But all was eerily quiet, no fights,

I bloke chucked out of Burger King, what a sight!

Another chap was as high-as-a-kite!

Then two gals started a cat-fight,

I ran away, and well, I might!

4Thu19cClumber Street, I rested, the knees were stinging and tight,

Along came two men, one on crutches, the other on a bike,

I told the biker, it wasn’t right,

Driving so close to me on a bike,

He told me to take-a-hike!

4Thu19d.

Why do folks do this, I wonder why?

Two imitation policemen stood nearby,

They said and did nowt,

Cause they have no clout,

I moved on and gave a sigh!

4Thu19ELong Row, above the Yorkshire bank,

1833, bet these were built with pride and swank,

But such architecture goes unnoticed, to be frank,

By youngsters, with acne and a look that is blank,

To them, workmanship & beauty is not worth a Franc!

4Thu19fLong Row businesses, failing so so much now,

This shop used to be Burtons food store,

Where you could buy pork, bread or a cow,

I miss it more and more,

I can still smell the meat, somehow,

Though we couldn’t afford it, we were poor!

4Thu19gAh, another pavement cyclist, for short, PC, I’ll call them,

One hand on his handlebar, texting on his phone in his hand,

He even spat out some horrible phlegm!

Some say they should be banned,

But not by the Greens or Lib-Dem!

4Thu19HA gathering of Nottinghamians resting,

Unemployed, students, and shoplifters?

The bored, the drunks, and Brexit debaters?

Look at their faces, it’s interesting,

They all glare at me, as if they hate us!

4Thu19iCity Centre, Long Row, and, the Slab Square,

Architecture by Fothergill Watson, who was the absolute best!

The man was a genius, with skill and flair!

Better than all the rest,

And, I’m only being fair!

4Thu19JQueen Street, I nearly got hit by yet another PC,

Delivering food, perhaps pizza, burgers, or a fricassee?

Maybe once again, one will run into me?

But I carry my taser, just in case you see!

 

This rubbish was wrote during an evil spell of the dizzies and shakes,

By Inchcock, while he ate his supper, of cheesy cakes.

I fank you!

Inchcockski: Searching for Sanity & Logicality – In bad Rhyme!

Gerald James Timothy Algernon Archibald Inchcock

The Nottinghamian lad knows he is losing it, big time.

Mentally and physically, getting help is hopeless,

 He gets uptight, but he’s completely harmless,

Depressed, untidy, ill and charmless,

He can’t commit suicide, he ain’t got the time,

Even his words don’t properly rhyme!

 

WDP 1Lda

Inchcock: Sadly searching for Sanity

Somewhere, in his tortured labyrinth of a brain,

Lies logic, intelligence, but he can’t find them today,

The brain is active but rarely reliable or decisive,

Also, hesitant, feeble, and the memory’s gone away,

 Some details it retains, and admires he does say,

Mostly about medications, Red Dwarf and Will Hay,

 But his desire, longing for sanity, will not go away!

 

WDP 1L

 However, his efforts, hopes and plans are derisive,

 The mentality-seeking strategies are not conducive,

At least not for 74 years… that’s including today,

He redoubled his spiritual side, and started to pray,

Again in hopes, he’d be semi-sane again, one day,

He talks to his EQ, that’s hyper-sensitive.

 

WDP 1Lcb

He wrote to an Agony Aunt, that was digressive,

 He revealed all, and thought that was impressive!

She said she couldn’t help, and she was sorry,

But why did she throw herself under a lorry?

Inchy thought that was a touch impulsive and excessive!

Regaining logicality, will he ever find a way?

Or remain an idiot, until his dying day?

Another thing, why do his wee-wees always over-spray?

 

This blog was produced without a warning disclaimer.

No claims made for any educationalistical prowess of the author.

Donations and mental assistance will be gladly accepted.

In the event of the writer snuffing it, kindly donate to the Outer Peruvian Pregnant Kangaroo Appreciation Society, Nottingham Branch. 0115 999999.

Thank You

WDPT02L

A volgivagant life brings on mental strife!

A volgivagant life brings on mental strife!

WDPT06R

Formulated by Inchcock, while he was medicationalising Little Inchies Fungal Lesion

5Fri02


Thought of the Day

2020 ttJan 11

Disclaimers:

No animal life was harmed in the production of these odes.

Allergies: They do contain a nut, & can cause laughter (Maybe)

These thoughts have been veganistically prepared.

The contents of this blog discourage suicidal tendencies.

Remainers & Leavers are encouraged to enjoy.