A Little Chunter from Inchcock. In bad, nae, terrible rhyme!

1Mon05.jpg

A Little Chunter from Inchcock

In bad, nae, terrible rhyme!

It’s the day of the criminal, there is no more law,

Empathy, understanding have become just folklore,

I don’t see Police officers in Nottingham, anymore,

 Pavement Cyclists, beggars and shoplifters galore,

Street sleepers, who survive with skills of a detrivore,

Druggies, alcoholics, muggers, both old and mature,

While families dine, smoke cigars and drink their liquor,

All the time, making the poor, feel even sicker!

Disabled with Fit for Work Assessments, have to fight and bicker,

A blind chap got told he can work on a cherry-picker!

Jobseekers told to do psychometric tests, Glory Be!

But if you’re lucky, you’ll live to retire just like me,

But it isn’t what you thought, no rest and freedom, see,

Heart attack, Duodenal Ulcer, and I live on the twelfth-floor,

Peripheral Neuralgia, then a stroke and Arthritis, core!

What next I thought, and the lock broke on the door,

It was mended within three weeks, no need to be sore,

My hot water system went down, so I called help once more,

After nine days of being lied to, ‘We are coming today for sure,

Staying in and awake eight-until-ten, no chance of a bedsore!

But they mended it! It leaked, my clothes wet, the water did pour!

I slipped on the liquid, ending up injured on the floor,

Luckily, the stroke nurse called, so help came to the fore,

Depression and self-hating I began to explore,

I complained at the lack of help, this just caused a furore!

Now the haemorrhoids have returned, bloody and sore!

 

I fank You!

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

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 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

 

 

 

 

Inchcocks Thoughts & Views on this Sunday Morning: In sort of rhyme…

7Sun03

Also written in the hopes of sum clever psycologikal doctor mite be able to help Inchcock in his fite for sanitty, edukasion and luv. FanK you.

The morning sky was coloured a soft dark blue hue!

Will someone want to speak to me today, but who?

I could do with a chinwag or gossip, one’s overdue!

What are other folks out there today, got to do?

Will they wake up all mixed-up and confused too?

Will I keep my sanity, bladder control, empathy and virtue?

Will today be peaceful, or full of blunders and hullabaloo?

Will I get to clean the wetroom, of Weevils and mildew!

Will I be able to think clearly today, or will I misconstrue?

Will I have Faux Pas, Whoopsidangleplops, make a Boo-boo?

Fall-over, dizzy-spells, fall asleep, bleed… I have a deja vu…

But I’ll stay cheerful, well, I’ll do my bestest to try too!

If fit enough, have a game of squash, bungee-jump or kung fu!

Phone Mrs May, or my Vow of Celibacy, I could renew?

In the above two lines, I’m afraid that I fibbed to you!

I hope anyone reading this, has a better day, I really do!

The £300 second-hand recliner, needs oiling, too!

My nocturnal-nibbles cut down on, nothing to suck-on or chew!

My fungal lesion’s swollen, tender, bleeding and gone blue!

Just another lonely Sunday for me to get through!

Ah, I know what I can do…

No, I don’t… Yes, I do, I’m going to…

I’ll sing a song… but that will upset the neighbours too!

Well, they already rightly think that I’m a little cuckoo!

But that’s a fair assessment and point of view!

Oh, dearie me, I’ll have to discontinue!

Must hobble-off now for yet another poo-poo!

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!