Visitors to Nottingham, please take care, They’ll be violence, so please be aware, Knifings, we’ve more than our fair share, Murderers, muggers, things are austere!
At night, folks go out for fun and cheer… They’ll drink anything, gin, absinthe or beer, Then they’ve no inhibitions, nothing to fear, Until they start to feel odd and queer?… Drugged without knowing it, poor dear!
Club girls may get spiked and get dizzy and quave, Mugged, car stolen, or kidnapped and used like a slave… You can get your pocket-picked on roads and alleyways… Molesting, stabbings, shootings, anytime or ways… Not many policemen around to help nowadays!
If you’ve been to Nottingham before, had a few stays, You’ll be able to vaticinate our criminality & illegal ways, But Nottingham has some things worthy of praise… I’ll think of something one of these days… Oh, and we have many prison breaks, escapes and runaways!
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Inchcock’s Local News Snippets
15 years for manslaughter for McGhee?
Life for the other two scumballs, see?
Killer Cox got life; in ten years, he was set free!
The Justice system is crap.. clearly…
Bet they’ll all be out again to murder freely…
No justice in this; they’ve been sentenced improperly…
Life should be for life, not released early!
Parole is cheaper for HMG, evidently…
129 criminals have been freed (UK) to kill again, freakily!
It’s the Judges and Parole Board that are guilty!
Fourteen pathetic months! Are the Judge and or Lawyers taking bribes or just the piss! Weapons, drugs, abuse, ignoring the court’s restraining order… already committed 33 offences, and the namby-pamby on the bench slaps his wrist? Is he supplying the inept, corrupt, guilty, ‘Free murderers to kill again’ Parole Board and other officials with drugs then? Grant will undoubtedly be able to build a reserve stock of cheap drugs while he’s inside. He’ll doubtless be freed in six months maximum to attack the lady again… Justice in the hands of cowards!
It seems that Nottingham’s cowardly bullies are turning their attention to easier targets nowadays. Old folk. Time for us old un’s to get tooled up – like the murderers who get life in prison and are freed by the shit-headed, ‘They didn’t mean it’ Parole Boarders a few years later to kill again… But no, better not, if we were to do that and we shot a mugger, we’d get sent down for longer than murderers do. Of course, gang-landers do have the advantages of having the drugs, young ladies and cash to back-hand the (A member working 115 days would be likely to receive between £30,000 to £40,000) murderer-freeing Parole Boarders. Just a thought!
Nine years for a brutal killer? Another pathetic sentence?Might be a good idea to let him board with his Parole Officer when he gets out in four years?
Tried and sentenced at last. Five years & nine months, plus an eight-month concurrent sentence for fraud. Nice!
I imagine that Daniel is laughing all the way to this prison after getting this sentence? He’ll be out within 7 months, I reckon?
At least they are keeping the crud-nuts in custody!
I looked in the mirror last night; a terrible sight! It was as if I’d been battered in a fistfight, Blotches, pale eyes, a depression, it did incite… How do I get into this mentally-inspired plight? The physical ailments, I’m coping with them alright… Although some of them can at times be a fight… Cataracts, neuropathy, deaf, etc. have ruined my rike, I’ve no confidence left; I feel like a troglodyte!
Was my being born an accident or oversight? Mother ran away, was the start of my many a fike… In social interactions, at 76, I’m still a neophyte… Which doesn’t explain why my eyes and skin are so white? The red patches remind me of the pox and bryophyte… But I’m going to stop worrying… well, I might… Things come to me, ailments, fears and many a blight… What future I’ve left is not looking too bright!
I need to do something, like mind-defragging, Free the tension, keep the tongues from wagging, Cause it’s no use hiding and camouflaging… My failures, incompetency and my not belonging! My faults in the future, I’ll be acknowledging, I’ll start with cutting out the foul language and effing… Cut down my time blogging and cybersurfing! From overeating, I’ll start abstaining, Why do all that, you may be asking? I can’t remember now, and that’s alarming!
YOU CAN TELL HE IS CHEERING UP A BIT, CAN’T YOU
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Friday 27th May
04:30hrs: I woke with the usual jump but soon regained all possible control (Which was not a lot) of my brain. And responded niftily to the call from Bladder Blair for a wee-wee.
Washed and made a brew of Thompsons’ Signature tea. Got on the computer and started to get the photos on.
These on the right are from last evening after I’d got the nosh consumed and settled down in the £300, second-hand bought, c1968, nauseously beige-coloured, not-working, rusty, rickety, difficile, crumb-covered tatty recliner.
But I kept getting up again to photograph the sky.
Resettled but dozed for half an hour and shot wide awake again. Humph!
And the glow from the sky was coming through the curtain. I just had to, and I did, get up yet again to take these three pictures on the left of the evening late sunsetting.
These were a lot more colourful than the earlier ones.
The first one I took and made was while making a brew of Glengettie tea. By the time I’d made the mug, the rain had stopped, and the whole sky had changed colour with some interesting orange-hued puffer clouds near the horizon.
Mother nature never seems to stop amazing me.
I started to update the Wednesday/Thursday blog. Then within minutes, I had to return to the wet room, in need of the Porcelain Throne. So, I did!
A messy Trotsky Terence controlled evacuation again, but not as bad as yesterday. Not one of my better ones! I opted to get the ablutions done while I was in there.
The teeth bled; I dropped the razor and banged my shoulder on the sink, bending down to retrieve it. Then proceeded to give me several cuts shaving, under the chin, the ear-hole, and…wait for this… my left index finger! Then as I looked in the shaving mirror as I was cleaning it, I saw the blotches all over my face! Worra state! And the eye sockets looked proper pink?
Carer Valerie arrived. She got the medications sorted out, and we managed a little natter between us. And Val took the laundry with her and the waste bag, saying as Arni did… “I’ll be back!” Hehe!
I went back onto the blog and got it finished and posted off. Pinterested some photos and got on Facebook catch-up.
Then the Amazon Morrison order arrived. A lovely foreign lady, polite and sociable gal, bless her cotton socks. Three items were out of stock. And the onion chips were substituted with curry chips. Not sure that I will be keen on them, but, you never know, they might taste alright for me. At least I got the red potato fritters and one of the three battered chips I wanted.
Then, I got the things sorted and stored. There didn’t seem much to go in the freezer, which was just as well cause there was no room in the drawers anyway. I did get a loaf of bread in.
The fridge didn’t look anywhere as near full as usual after a delivery? Was I getting good and ordering less?
Well, no, not really. Why the heck I ordered a packet of Thompson’s Signature tea bags? I don’t know. I’ve got six packages of Thompson’s Punjana, two of J Sainsbury Red label extra strong, and a box of Glengettie in stock already? Oh, and a bix of Co-op 99 as well!
I got the flower treats that should have been coming on Monday for today. My EQ told me to. There will be something occurring on Monday medically, mayhaps, he tells me? I rang Warden and Desktop dancer Deana to tell her they were here, and when she came later, she kindly took a bunch to Francis for me. I can’t recall their names, but there were two different types. She had a choice of whichever she fancied.
I returned to finish off the Facebooking and then comments on WordPress. I got a call from my precious Hristina, the Warfarin DVT blood nurse; she will be calling twixt 10-1200hrs on Monday for the following test sample. I added it to the Google calendar. Got the Blood Pressure figured out. A bit high this morning. But this does happen now and then; it may have been with me hearing Hristina’s voice?
The body temperature was low, but nowt to worry about.
Carer Valerie returned the laundry for me. Thanked her, and off she went. I visited the junk room to hang the clothes. I was disappointed in the state of the jammie bottoms, all creased up, one leg inside out. One long-sleeved tee shirt was the same with the arms. The trousers were crunched up and creased. I must try to get Meridian to stop doing the washing for me… and paying them!
The tap tapping and noises that sounded like something metal-like being dropped kicked off. Still, he’s been quiet up till now.
Made an order for Iceland next week. Then got the nosh sorted. Oh, Boy, were those curried potato chips tasty! Yes, they were! Buttered mushroom pate sarnies, gherkins, red and orange tomatoes. A banana to follow and a worthy 8.3/10 for taste! Lovely!
I got settled to await the arrival of the evening carer, who was a smidge late, not that it mattered. I started to watch a Heartbeat episode, and every few minutes, I’d nod off for a couple of minutes, wake up, and off again. Most aggranoying, as I’d not seen this episode before. Tsk!
The evening carer arrived, medicated me, and asked if the laundry was ready to collect. I said that Valerie had done it this morning. A nibble and can of plonk were selected, and she took the waste bag with her.
Locked the door and got settled to watch the second episode of Heartbeat on the box. But, No! I kept nodding off again and shooting awake after a few minutes, only to drift off again and repeat the procedure?
Somehow I did manage to nod off, but it was hours later.
My much blotchy pot-marked face, A sign of age, rotting and decays? To be expected, I think nowadays… Like wee-weeing in spurts and sprays. Or losing memories that fade and stray… Along with confusing, baffling thought waves… Needing a kip each day, before midday… Recalling when one was alive, in one’s heyday, You’re looking towards the next pension day, Coping with Shuddering-Shoulder-Shirley… Deaf, cataracts, depression Monday to Sunday…
My excrescences, give me haute couture, If that’s the word, I’m not really sure… I wonder if the Tate would make a sculpture? I’d like to be a giver, cheerer-upperer, enricher… Or an MP, maybe even a frontbencher? Perhaps best, if I stay as this demented old failure, Although I’m sadly an incompetent botcher… A harmless old fart who’s into pareidolia… Awaiting St Peter’s greeting as he says, ‘Gotcha!’ Possibly, my brain may have caught paranoia?
Approached creating this ode quite guiltily… My ideas for it were whimsical, bonkers, delusionary… I pressed on all the same, but involuntarily… For Alto-Inchy was taking the piss at me, If it comes out passable, I’ll have to be lucky… So, I hope to avoid getting any vilipendency! Will it get boos? Or be received gladly? Here I go… I’ll have to wait and see…
Last night’s Porcelain Throne visit showed sanguinolency, I had to clean things quickly, with no time to dilly-dally. Cleaned, medicated the fungal lesion, piles, cuts, that’s three… Pain, medicating the lesion send me cranky, And Harold’s Haemorrhoids too, it took me a while, Good job that I’ve got many a mans-nappie!
It’s Alto Inchie writing this verse; Inchcock did insist!
But, things got nasty for Inchy, the lyricist…
Stubbed his toe and started to update his word list…
He spent many hours on it, needed a wee, but had to desist…
Went to hit the save icon, and I missed…
Lost the file, and he sank to his saddest…
He almost cried; it must have been hard to resist…
Then he sank further and got depressed!
I lost six hours trying to get back my lost writing… Couldn’t find it; I was confused, lost and dithering, My previous determination started withering… Duodenal Donald kicked off; it was appalling, The whole incident was depressing and galling! I believe that I was so low, beyond consoling… I wondered, what’s the next thing that’ll need bungling?
Alto Again: It was sad to see Inchy being nigglier,
His computer works are getting much messier…
He didn’t look well. He seemed to me pastier…
The outlook for him to finish this ode is murkier,
And even he’s not usually a shirker, but a worker…
I can see in his eyes that he’s getting lower…
No point in talking to him until he feels betterer,
Hello, his door chimes rang out, in came a Carer…
He turned sourly around to see who it was, looking peakier,
His face lit up, his smile radiated, for it was Carer Sarah!
I could tell that he’d immediately got feeling friskier!
It was Carer Sarah who came to do me today, This cheered me up, I have to say… I lost all signs of acting acidulously… Lovely gal, pretty and chatty, I began to feel once again, altruistically, I hope she comes again on Sunday!
Alto: Inchie knackered his computer and got in a shaking panic,
The idiot’s actions and bungled repairs were catastrophic,
He had trouble concentrating and was mnemic…
His moods all day were somewhat chameleonic.
Inchcock’s plans and thoughts were all semantic…
Yet he seemed to be taking it all phlegmatic…
In fact, he ended up feeling somewhat apathetic?
Then he found his legs had gone all phlebitic!
This is why some folks, quite rightly, consider him pilgarlic!.
Diary Saturday 14th May 2022
05:00hrs: I woke up with my bum half off of the £300, second-hand bought, c1968, nauseously beige-coloured, not-working, rusty, rickety, difficile, crumb-covered tatty recliner. The right leg on the floor, the left one on the arm of the recliner? A position that I could not physically get into on my own, even if someone offered me a million pounds to do it? Painfully I got my bum back up on the cushion, then tackled the left leg retrieval task! Have you seen that programme on the telly Truck Hell, where they have to retrieve HGVs after a crash? That’s like the task I had on.
I got it freed and the foot down on terra firma. Hehehe! It took me half an hour to achieve it.
Then, I noticed the right leg only had suffered a vein explosion. The first photo is of the front of the leg. I had a good look at it. There were no pains from the veins. Then I wondered about the back of the right leg. Got the Canon camera again and took a blind picture.
Aha, more veins showing through? On a closer look at the photograph, later on, it looked to me that last time, the surgeon who did them had left his name tattooed on the leg? Hehe! I’ll put this one on more prominent than usual to see what you think. It’s on the top right of the picture. Wonder what it is?
Ah, well, better get up; the Carer may be calling soon… and…
As I stood up to catch my balance, I knocked the camera off of the ottoman. I went into the bathroom to ready things for the ablutioning later on, and took this snap of the new marks on the face, this time! Then tried to take another snapshot of the morning view, but the camera didn’t have it. Sob!
It seemed to take the photo, but nothing was getting put on the SD card to view, other than this one and the legs? Miffed off, now! Another blog without many pictures, Humph!
I made up some waste bags, mashed a brew and got on the computer. And the morning carer appeared without ringing the buzzer and made me jump. Haha! Carer Sara was a pretty young thing, and she was sociable. ♥
On with the blog. I finished the update two hours later and posted it on Facebook. Went on Facebooking. Then the WP Reader, and comment reading and replying to.
The usual for the weekend. An increase in Herbert’s noise level. On and off all day, at times, I thought he must have hurt himself with the clanging and banging. At times, I could hurt him myself!
Got on with the Ode template for Saturday’s blog. But a disaster befell me…
I used two pages of saved words on Notepad and got on with selected suitable or better options. And the Peripheral Pete’s Neurotransmitters failed, as Shuddering Shoulder Shirley kicked in simultaneously. There was controlling my movements at all.
The arm shot across the keyboard with the left clicker pressed firmly down, hitting various keys as it went to my left, knocked the SD reader flying as the connector broke off, and it was all over in seconds, but it did a lot of damage, and worst of all, I lost all my words in the two files!
I then spent the following hours of the day trying to understand what the warning messages that came up meant and trying everything within my limited knowledge to find the missing files. No such luck! Photos not going on again.
Made a large meal and ate it all. Wee-wee. Carer Valerie called. Head down, but foolishly tried to watch a Dirty Harry film on the box… I did, in a way, but in about 25 episodes, I watched one each time I woke up and nodded off again!
I reluctantly woke at 05:30hrs, and after a few minutes of determinate efforts to nod off again, the need for the Porcelain Throne arose, and I was cruelly forced to get up!
I made my way to the wet room, pleased with how I was getting about, balance-wise. But was not too keen on how the Porcelain Throne evacuation went. Trotsky Terence had a more significant say in things. Thus it was messy and a semi-splurting affair. Needing a lot of cleaning up doing after the event.
I decided to get a stand-up wash, teeth, medicationing and shave, etc. done as I was there. The shaving well, well, one… just one nick on the chin. (The teeth cleaning I forgot to do, I did it later when I remembered).
Harold’s Haemorrhoids, Arthur Itis knees, Colin Cramps’ hands and Little Inchies Fungal Lesion were all medicated. I got dressed, thinking the Carer may soon be here.
Turned on the computer…
Boy, was I pissed off? YES, I was! Grrr! The thoughts of Liberty-Gobal’s Mr Fries getting so much salary and bonuses, and he can’t get an internet signal to work in Nottingham…
I turned everything off, leaving it for ten or fifteen minutes. Unplugged the lot. Then restarted the hub and, five minutes later computer. Gave it longer to sort itself out and into the kitchenette Humph! Stubbing my toe on the way against the server trolley wheel.
This is not going to be as short a dairy as I planned. My EQ had spoken, “Be prepared for a messy day! So I did!
From the depths of despair, I rose into flabberghastedness! Not only did the internet start, but when I slipped in the SD card – it worked the first time!!! So I got these photos from yesterday loaded to put on here. I didn’t get too excited, though, after I found that some were refused as ‘wrong format’, which they are not; I levelled off my mental state down to ‘Ah, well, I knew summat else would knacker things up!’ mode.
The first two are from the Health Checks, and the results were not too bad either. I’ve had much worse this week.
Oh, dear, now I’ve had to stop. Frustration, self-derogatory tongue lashings and self-hating had to have a few minutes with me! I realised I’d already put these on yesterday’s blog. Of course, I should have been blaming Dementia Doreen! But having to live with her, I didn’t want to make her angry with me! Hehehe! Good job that I didn’t lose more time and recognised that I’d posted them. But definitely, positively, no Smug-Mode was deserved!
When I made a brew and took this photo while doing so. The morning weather was how I felt, a smidge down, dank and not too hopeful. Hey-Ho! Hello, another trip to the Porcelain Throne was indicated…
2 So, off for the second visit of the day. Trotsky Terence was in even more control this time. The liquidifation of things was more advanced, which meant less need and time for cleaning up my delicate areas on the plus side! I used the minus side, which saved time cleaning up the splashed and liquid ricochets.
I took a photograph of the Winwood Heights, Chestnut Way, end car park. I was most concerned not to see RVM (Red-Van-Mans’) van parked on the yellow chevrons. In fact, I could not see it anywhere. He’ll be out at an AA meeting, his probation officer or visiting his mates in prison, mayhaps? Hehehe! Only joking! He’ll be working somewhere.
I pressed on with updating yesterday’s blog. Eventually, getting it done and posted. When I went to get a drink of spring water, I realised that it was beyond 09:00hrs. And no Carer had called yet. I’ll give them a little longer; usually, someone rings if they will be late?
I’m getting fed up with this – Haha! 3: I moved on to Facebooking the blog, went on the TFZer and Winwood Heights pages, read, and replied to some comments. After about an hour… back to the throne. The evacuated product was of a similar nature to the last visit. The jets of liquid were far more powerful… thus messy and needed cleaning again.
I got the bags into the kitchenette, ready to sort them out. I made a start on this blog, it was slow going, Doreen, and the brain’s concentration made things difficult for me. Then, the intercom rang forth and flashed. It was the Amazon shopper delivering my order. He even brought up the flowers first so that the bunches didn’t get crushed. Then he brought the rest up. Bless him.
I go the flower treats put safely stored from crushing, firstly. Today, the treats are for Deana, Julie and Jenny. I rang Jenny to see which one she fancied. Jenny opted for the centre bouquet.
The pink one. At least, I think the first two are pink. They’ve gone now, and I can’t remember the names, Tsk! Oh, yes, I can, one of them, the left one, Chrysanthemums! Sad, innit? My being colour blind and not a new thing that isn’t.
Around 1963 I failed a medical for a job on British Rail as a goods train guard. I found out that I suffered from protanopia – basically, I cannot identify reds from other close colours, orange, maroon etc. Then a couple of years ago, they told me I now (then) had dichromatism, having trouble identifying primary reds, greens and blues. Now I’d acquired Saccades in the right eye and glaucoma and cataracts. See what I mean? Hahaha!
Oh, heckythump, was I waffling on there! Sorry. Back to the diary…
I got the frozen things away. Vegetable burgers, iced orange lollies, potato bakes, potato bites and potato croquettes. I was pretty pleased with how I conjured around the stuff in the freezer to make room for the new stuff.
Then the fridge products, not many today, I intend to use up some of the canned foods. (We’ll see?). Tomatoes, sugar snap peas, mushroom pates, veg sausages, strawberry & grape pots to treats, that’s about it. Ah, no, well, yer see… I suppose you do… Those fresh cream French Horns? I blame one of my sweethearts on the TFZer Facebook page; I have a few. She just loves fresh cream French Horns, and when I eat one, it reminds me of Janet.
Janet and me in the photo here… in a dream I had! ♥ I’m off waffling again!
Cans of Chilli-Con-Carne, pots of jelly & custard, potatoes, fries, vegetable stock, tomato puree with herbs, a lemon, five bananas, a bottle of orange cordial, and a can of chilli soup make up the rest of the the the items purchased.
I got the fodder all stored away (The cupboards and freezer are close to cram-packed now). Then back on the blogging for an hour or two. Suddenly it dawned on me… nearly midday, and no Carer had arrived? I called Warden and Ballerina Julie and or Warden and Desktop dancer Deana to tell them the flowers are ready for collecting; if they can manage it. Julie answered and said she would come up to see me. I can mention the Carer missing again when she comes.
After making the call, I began to fear that I may have made an error. I was confused, and Dementia Doreen was making me fret; someone had called? I checked on the Meridian call register but could not read it with my eyes… I feared that if I say owt, and it turns out they have already been… I’m going to be regarded as a plonker of the first order? I took some faith that I was shaking a lot more than usual. The last time they failed to show, I’d gone so long without the medications; I got the shakes when they arrived. And boy, was I beginning to shake now! Yes, I was!
Back to my blogging, this is taking far too long. Interruptions of various sorts, and now Herbert had kicked off with his tap-tapping. He didn’t go on for too long. Oh, I think he just dropped something metallic, then!
Warden & ballerina Julie came in. I asked her if she would please take the flowers for Jenny, as I was expecting a delivery and call from the hospital, and she kindly agreed. I mentioned that I don’t think a Carer has been, and she said I was shaking and shuddering. Julie checked the Meridian log and said no one had been. She would mention it to them when she got back to the office. I thanked her, and off she trotted.
It then dawned on me why I’d ordered so much stuff for the freezer. Last week Richard said he would sort the dates of everything in the fridge and freezer for me. I knew I had some meat products I did not want and hoped that Richard would take them off my hands. So there will be plenty of room to get today’s stuff in it. But Richard had another call, and the lad was knackered from his shift yesterday and could sort the freezer for me. Hope he feels better and gets a good break. I’ll miss the lad, but glad he’s got a holiday to recover from his exhaustion.
I started blogging again, and someone from Meridian called me on the landline. She said they were very sorry about this morning, and a Carer is on their way to me now. I said thank you. Shame it had to happen for the seventh time since I’ve been paying them to come. Obviously, Julie had told them for me. Hey-ho, and pickle my walnuts!
Carer Valerie came into the flat, and she got my medications given. She asked me what happened with the morning’s Carer. I said I’ve no idea. Valerie said about me shaking a bit. I thought it had stopped, but apparently not. There is constantly shaking of some sort with Peripheral Neuropathy, but it was more violent this time and uncontrollable now. Thanked Val, and off she trotted. Within half an hour of taking the medicines, I think the shaking was back to normal.
I’m struggling to get the blog updated now. The concentration has been destroyed by all the complications of the day. I took the comfort of some sort in knowing things should calm down now… Did I say that?…
I got a text message, “Feet today!” reminder came in: The foot lady at the hairdressing salon told me it’s my day to have the feet done! Argh! No time to get nowt done!
4 Then it really irritated me that I needed Porcelain Throne visit number four! Just when I didn’t need it, I’m not going to be popular for keeping them waiting when I get down to the salon… mind you, I don’t expect I was before. Hehe! The evacuation was more liquified this time, but it was over quickly.
So, I fumbled and bumbled about again, and I got myself down to the ground floor salon. The looks I was greeted with said, “Oh, here it is, about time too!” They got the feet tended to, not without the odd ‘Argh’ emitting from my lips. I paid the £25, not cheap for getting one’s toenails done, but some other options are dearer. It’s terrible enough forgetting things, but then I gave my toe a stubbing against the airer as I went to get a quick wash. She gave me an appointment card, and I gave out some cans of treats. Then hastened ASAP back to the flat, fearing I may have missed the hospital’s call… Ain’t life a git some days? Well, most in my case!
Tried to get the blogging update advanced, and Valerie (the whisperer) came in the room, apparently talking to me as I typed away on the blog. Of course, I couldn’t hear her. She was returning the laundry. Treated to a little pack of grapes and strawberries. Bless her.
I put the oven on and, got some chilli on the pan, added some spirit vinegar to it and some peas. I’ve been assured that the spirit vinegar will lessen the sharpness of the chilli. After adding the peas and getting the hob going, I took a nibble. And it works! Yee-Haa!
17:15hrs The Evening Carer arrived. The morning caller was 7 hours late, and the evening one was an hour early. They must be having problems. However, the evening medications are mostly Warfarin blood thinners, Lansoprozole for Duodenal Donald, Codeine & Paracetamol pain killer, Ramipril, Peptic Antacid, and Atorvastatin Cholesterol inhibitor. The Folfiri has been stopped for six months to assess. A shame that I missed having the nurse call every day. Hahaha!
Turned everything off and got the nosh sorted out. Vegetable chilli con carnie, with cubes of potatoes done in the oven. Nice and crispy! I soaked it up with two of the wholemeal bread rolls.
Janet and my favourite fresh cream French horns were gobbled up after the meal. There was a smidgeon of guilt lingering though afterwards. Hehehe! A Taste and Flavour Rating of 9.3/10.
Washed the pots up and spotted the sun on its way down. Despite having a shaking bout at the time (again!), I managed to get two decent, just usable pictures of it.
I took three or four, but the others didn’t come out well. Although not as vivid as some, I thought these two represented a sort of sadness. Then again, nowadays, me not being convinced, confident, in or of something, is usual, the norm! I’m not sure why.
Got a wash, and I stripped off and got down into the second-hand, £300, c1968, overwhelmingly-sickeningly beige coloured, musty, tatty, uncomfortable, wobbly-recliner.
Then the Thought Storms launched into activity. Starting off with just how good my EQ was this morning with his forecast for the day!
This day’s events have made me even more confident in the validity of my EQ assessments and warnings. For once, I have indubitableness! I must, and will, never doubt EQ’s veridicality again.
But the self-despising, guilt, shame, failure, and bad judgments flowed through the Thought-Storms. It took ages for them to slow down enough to let me get off to sleep. Humph!
ODE TO THE DAY
My EQ warned me as soon as I woke up this Friday…
That day was going to be frustratingly messy!
There was undoubtedly no festivity but a lot of fetidity,
Leaving me with panicky mental fatiguability,
The unexpected, or forgot about, and incongruity,
Doreen Dementia, making things go recalcitrantly,
At times, I just accepted my increasing insanity…
And after so many mishaps, by own banality!
I lost hours getting the Liberty-Global net back on,
I hate things technical, electric, mobiles and silicon…
Turned all off and then back on…
Somehow got it going again, thereon…
Which cheered me up, but just a fraction,
For EQ’s warning, it was like a klaxon!
The carer was late; they’d forgotten about me,
Delayed medications (6-hours), causing psychoactivity,
And I got the shakes, and sweats, all involuntarily,
Took the belated tablets, and soon less shaky…happily!
Harold’s Haemorrhoids, Little Inchies lesion, bloodily…
Arthur Itis, Colin Cramps, and Peripheral Neuropathy…
Toe stubbing, painful Porcelain Throne evacuating…
Hopes for an improvement turned out to be delusorily!
Every happening seems to be unfair, conspiratorily…
With the pressure of not knowing, I shook more giddily,
I got more and more uptight, responding haughtily,
I was not coping with things, well I was… but badly,
Self-pity raised its head often, and depression, sadly
Five visits to the Throne, and, Oh, many a wee-wee!
I was faffling around, like Old Mother Riley,
Ways out and solutions were well beyond me…
I knew I was in for a long day… fiddle-dee-dee!
My thoughts and concentration, or lack of I say…
Were thataway, thereaway, thisaway, anyway…
Will this stampede of failure and confusion ever fade away?
I started to fret and worry over silly things, minutiae!
Unimportant, useless, unwanted confusing clamjamfry…
Will I ever recover common sense, memory or logicality?
Then a text message reminder was sent to me…
‘Feet Today’, Toe cutting, £25 more to throw away!
I’d forgotten about the feet, got down to the salon alreet,
Being late arriving, her greeting look was like a bleat…
Painfully had my toenails cut and oiled on both feet,
Gave them each can of plonk as a peacemaking treat
And back to the flat in a hasty retreat…
Where I made chilli, that was a pleasure to eat…
But sleep was resistant; that wasn’t so sweet!
Odes Scribed To Cause A Smile and-or Laugh – I fank you!
‘Tis not just the ending of civility and decency… Nor the gallantry, gentleness and long gone chivalry, That annoys and really seems to get to me, Why bother, you said; you’ll soon be just history…
Good question! My reading of mankind’s history… To me, human actions past and now… are a mystery! Not that I believe all I read, certainly! Nothing in the annuls is a certainty!
Human tellurians all lie and cheat to gain a better destiny… Mostly to gain power, be the top dog, with greed for money, Wanting to put nowt into the pie…but enjoying the honey, Smiling at the opportunity for profit via anything phoney!
They’ll pretend to be doing their helpful duty, But we know that it’s all on the QT… But knowing we also fail in our duty… Some even think that life is game and cutsie!
No rent to pay, they steal from their old Auntie, The wine and dine while she has chip buttie… The gals go the lads and the lads for tottie… I think I’m losing the point of this dittie?
You do that when you’ve got Doreen Dementia, a pity… Yet still, I try to create summat funny and witty… Well, not often, but I still have the edacity… If even a swell, the blooming audacity!
Recalling what I going to write is beyond doability! My memory pad notes show indecipherability… My nerve ends sends the brain messages… insufficiently, They get orders back and jerk, jump obediently…
The right leg and arm flail, I may fall, it’s all a farcicality, Gone on for ages now, so I have a familiarity… It all affects my confidence and fatiguability… The Doctors say any treatment is beyond feasibility!
Then there are other ailments, mental and rheumaticky, They can be as risky, painful and tricky… Like the fungal lesion bleeding on my dickie! But, I must not moan and be nitpicky… I just hope you find this ode a little bit witty!
Thursday 12th May 2022
Nocturnally, I shared the night with Colin Cramps again. His favourite targets were the right leg, left hand, right shoulder and side of the neck.
I lay a while, wondering if I could get back to sleep… but the need for a wee-wee arose, and I disentangled by my mastodonic-sized, wobbly epigastrium and torso’d body from the recliner.
As I was doing the balance exercises, I plopped backwards and ended up in the recliner again. I instantly felt the warm wet sensation from Little Inchies Fungal Lesions! Oh, Clump!
Grabbed metal Mickey and off to the wet room. Bit of a mess made of things, and the pain was pretty bad; cleaning things up and medicating them. On the bright side, (there always is one, you just have to find it, Hehe!). However, Harold’s Haemorrhoids were not bleeding from the fall. Had a wee-wee.
I washed and went to the kitchenette to make a tea brew but forgot to take it with me to the computer, which I found later. Tsk!
I booted the machine up and thought I’d try to get the photos on from yesterday. And after setting up today’s template, I tried my luck. At first, there was no usual response from the SD reader or computer. I spent a while swapping and moving the card in hope… then remembered the mug of Glengettie I’d left in the kitchen. Made another mugful.
Back to the computer, but the tea still did not get drunk. To my surprise, the card was recognised. So I got them in ASAP before the computer changed its mind.
I was nervously on tenterhooks all the time, trying to rush but not dislodge the card and get each photo onto CorelDraw to touch up. (I don’t so much of that nowadays, you know, touching up. Hehehe! This on the right is a photo of the Spirit vinegar delivered yesterday.
Sphygmomanometerisationing results in Blood Pressure. SYS 149. DIA 72, and the pulse was at 79bpm. Which looked fair enough to me.
The Chinese (Hong Kong) is made by Shenzhen Relee Electronic & Technology Co. Ltd™, contactless thermometer, gave as good a reading as ever, at 34.8°c, another bit of good fortune there!
Later on last night, I had to get up from the recliner, rather grumpily (Yes, me grumpy, hard to believe, I know!) to get some more Phorpain gel to rub in the cramp ridden hands and legs.
I was glad that I did now. The ever later sunset was bootiful! What a hue!
Young Richard, the carer, arrived. He didn’t look too good. So I plied him with some of his favourite goodies. In a rush to get home, and I can’t blame him. Not sure if he’s due tomorrow or not. I think so.
A picture here from yesterday; I think so, anyway.
My favourite puffer clouds were out on display. I couldn’t see any figures or faces in them like we did yesterday, mind you.
An hour or two of doing the Ode for yesterday’s blog, the gurgling from within advised me to make my way to the Porcelain Throne. Which I did! I reckon the Trotsky Terence is about to take control in the rear-end evacuation department.
Pressed on with the blogging again, it’s taking all my time, but I like it! As Dick Emery used to say.
After the rain stopped, I nipped out on the balcony to take a photo of the end of the Chestnut Way car parking antics. The roadway on the corner at the end of the tower block was in a state! Mud had torrented down from Woodthorpe Grange Park and made a right mess for the poor old drivers to get through to get to their cars. Although the Red-Van-Man was okay, being parked on the yellow no parking chevrons, as usual.
.The right hand did a little finger manipulating on its own accord again this morning.
I go so far with the blog and am in a quandary about getting the ablutions done. I’ll explain; I think the Wilko order is due today. Deana might come with a Council lady with the spare key. So, if I go into the wet room, I’ll not hear the door chime. Even if I did, would I get to the door in time? I suppose this means I’ll have to stay dirty? Then be forced to stay up late to get the job done, then?
Still, he can’t get a signal to Nottingham to work!
Came good and early. Soon got me sorted. I did drop a beta-blocker… no, a Codeine when taking the medications, but I was lucky enough to spot it on the carpet. She took the waste bag with her on departing. I fang you!
Resigned to no internet availability from Fries again.
Got a nosh sorted out. Fishcakes with peas in them, potato lumps. Two mini cakes and a horrible lemon cheesecake. Taste: 6.5/10.
Went to do the washing up and tool this snap from the kitchen window. It looks like a microscope view of some bacteria. Hehe! Not one of my better efforts.
I phoned Jenny and Jillie for a natter about nothing. For once, Sweet Morpheus let me join him in slumber a little sooner than usual tonight. And only a few waking ups!
May the Spirit of ententes cordiales flow,
May violence receive a counterblow,
May greed and jealousy become a side-show,
May peace reign through the world we know,
May contentment be for all tomorrow…
May hatred and spite receive their deathblow,
May all humans have no need to borrow,
May we all be a friend and not a foe!
May the river of love… ever reflow,
But will sanity ever return to Moscow?
A simple question, no need to gerrall upset abarght it, me old fruit…
Oh, frug-off! I don’t know where you’ve been, but the last three days have been heaven without you! Wherever you’ve been, can’t yer sod-off back to it…
No, no, no… I’ve been visiting the Morlocks, and I am the first Alto-Ego to do so!
Ah! Yer see, you really don’t know who the Morlocks are then, do you?
I told you I couldn’t give a rats arse about who they are; why do you want me to know about them, whoever they are? I think…
Ah, but yer doesn’t think, that’s why you’re missing out so much… No! Let me finish…
Oh, go on then… let’s have it…
Well, you smarty-pants know-nothing. The Morlocks inhabit the earth’s inner and underside… and have done for longer than any tellurian life forms have, even before…
Is this going to take long? Only I can feel the need for a crap coming on… which will mean I’ll have had two loads of crap today… Hahaha!
Look Dumbo! This is important; I’m not kidding either. This could benefit both of us, and we can have a lifetime of fame… Well, fair enough, not you, you’re about to snuff it anytime now, at least I’ll be the most famous Alto-Ego ever…
I’m not interested nor bothered about dying – that’s cause you, yer foul-breathed bully Alto, have made me this way. With yer constant putting me down, decrying me, making me so depressed, frustrated and angry, fed-up with failures, this never happened before I found you lurking in my body and mind!
Well, that’s so nice of you to say so, and admit it too! I may have misread you a little. To know that you appreciate all my efforts to maintain your grumpiness, self-hatred and demoralised at all times – I think I
I’ve got to admit it; you’ve done a cracking job. So, go on, tell me about visiting the Morlocks then…
They told me how I could gain some visibility to humans! The Morlocks could see me clearly all the time… but I didn’t like that. I couldn’t sneak upon them, and they knew where I was all the while. No, I shan’t be returning to see them again. Thank heavens, tellurians don’t have this ability! But this gaining part-visibility is excellent! Again, I have supreme and individual capabilities that no other Alto-Ego has! Meaning I can scare the living daylights out of my current human, that’s you, of course. And learn to go fully visible with a bit of training. Of course, your time is nearly up, so I might go a little easy on you cause we’ve been pals for a long time now, and…
‘Ode on mush! Let me get a hold of this. You’re using me as a guinea-pig to practice yer visibility training? After telling me how much yer appreciate my help? You’ll likely give me a heart attack, and my limited time will be shorter…
Oh, yes, did you not see the outlines of weapons on me when I arrived? You should have; I’m a little disappointed that you didn’t, cause I wanted…
Screw you! You scumball! How would you feel of you had a limited life span? You’ve destroyed my self-confidence and frustrated and depressed me; I wouldn’t be surprised if you weren’t responsible for giving me Vascular Dementia… Ah! You were laughing at me, you horrible Alto-Ego! I just got a glimpse of an outline of the form you’ve taken…
Keep it cool, man! Well, I say man… Hehehe! No need to start getting new abilities now. You’ve got little time left to use ’em anyway! Why gerrupset? At long last, you’ve worked out that Alto-Egos distribute such ailments… Hold on, yer going red in the face now, that’ll do yer no good, Inchcock!
Why the pluck do you want to give innocent humans a mind-crippling thing like dementia? Are you telling me that you Altos are responsible for the ailment?
Of course, we are, Blunderbrain! It’s the easiest thing for us to inflict on humans – that’s why so many of you get it. Gawd, you’re thick! I mean, it’s not exactly easy, cause when we pass it on to you, we’ve got to wait twenty years before we find out if it has been successful or not, so you must appreciate, we have done it for our own good, yer see…
Gragnangles! How does yer work that out then?
Oh, Inchcock, you are so sad. You cannot see what’s happening at all, can yer?
Look at your ailment graphic above, and that’s not got the Kathleen Cataracts, Glaucoma Gladys, or Doreen Dementia on it yet, has it?
Listen, what’s yer worst worry, not counting being deaf, and can’t see much? Go on; I’ll wait while you muse over it…
Erm, not counting being deaf and can’t see much?…
That’s what I said, no rush, take yer time Inchcock; not too long, cause yer ain’t got a lot of time left, have you?
I’m trying to think here; I don’t need you confusing me more…
Exactly my point!
I’ll keep quiet; let you work it out then…
Ponders: Erm, Duodenal Donald and Bladder Belinda have been bad today… Cathies Cartilage and Peripheral Pete have been playing up for a day or two… Dizzy Dennis and Sock Glide Brenda have had me over at the weekend…
Then, I scratched my head in the wet room, and it bled a lot… but I’ve since found out the Warfarin INR blood count was a little out of range; they’ve changed the dosages now. Summat happened on Friday, what was it? Oh, yes, The blood pressure sys went up to SYS 205 and DIA 88, and the Pulse had gone up to 97 bpm. I remember that. And having in the right eye (red-eye) subconjunctival haemorrhaging, which cleared up after two three-a-day days of eye drops? Ah, that’s summat I’d forgotten about. I must ask for some more of the eye drops. Colin Cramps has visited me for the last five nights, Little Inchies Fungal Lesion has been bleeding… and wee-weeing is painful, and sprinkle at the moment. A good job is that I’ve got a large stock of PPs (Protection Pants) in-store in the wet room to use. But Harold’s Haemorrhoids are stinging more lately but not bleeding as often as they usually do… Although the change in the INR level might be causing the bleeding on the arm after a blood taking session?
Even so, forgetting things is mayhaps the worst thing, so it’s Dementia, Doreen?
Yes, Alto, are you still there?
Aye, I’m waiting for you to tell me that it’s Dementia Doreen; that is the worst worry you have!
Well, pickle-my-walnuts! How did you know that?
All part of Alto-Inchie plan and design matey! By giving you Doreen to keep you worried, see how all the other ailments fade into the background?
I’m not sure… I suppose there might be summat in wot you say…
Even my being here, like it or not, takes your mind off of the ailments a smidgeon!
Yea… but we always end up disagreeing, which is not good, is it?
Or, is it indeed?
Anyway, hours ago, I asked you why you had a weapon with you. Well, why?
Just showing off what I learned from the Morlocks, Inchcock. Don’t fret; they are not real weapons. I don’t need them…
Har-Har! What you mean is you cannot fire them… you do not have the capability or physical skills needed to shoot them, innit?
No need to get sarkie with me, mate! It’ll only get me going making you feel tiny, a fool, an idiot, incapable of manual sex, mini-cocked, bald, socially unacceptable, pot-bellied, uncouth, smelly, repugnant, despondent, uneducated, lonely, miserable, uncouth, ugly, uncultured, underprivileged, scatterbrained, and pestiferous. Deserving of condemnation or execration… a totally pathetically inept old, repugnant fart, unwanted and uncared for, a coffin-seeking has been, who…
Has yer finished yet?
For now, yer!
Oh, good. I shall not return the insults, just suggest you go forth and multiply. Hopefully, with you never returning again…
Hahaha! The only reason I’ll not come again will be when you are dead, so keep on wishing, dumbo!
Oh! See yer anon then; in the morning, Alto?
A much confused Inchcock got ready for bed, did his ablutionalisationing, and climbed into his £300, second-hand bought, c1968, nauseously beige-coloured, not-working, rusty, rickety, crumb-holder of a recliner. And once again sensed the presence of Alto-Inchie, watching him ready for a verbal attack… As if prearranged, they started on a rhyme-a-line verbal battle…
Oh, you back again, come to lickspittle?
See that, no welcome again. Is your nastiness congenital?
Worrever yer want, be quick, cause I need a pittle…
Why can’t you be a little more angelical?
Cause I’m trying to sleep, and along comes you with your prattle…
Oh, that’s nice, to cheer you up I call twice…
Pig-off Alto, you’re the nasty one. Not nice!
Well, me helping you must come at a price!
Sod-off, I’d sooner be visited by lice!
I only came to tell you what day it was, Christ!
I think you are definitely agathokakological!
Your wording is anti-logical…
Tommyrot, you know that I’m sociological…
More like demonological!
Do you know what the words mean you are using?
Well, not all of ’em, but I find it amusing…
Amusing? I cannot allow you any of that, or contentment, entertaining, or smiling!!!
Was not? I’m just asking…
You nitwit, it’s the reason for my being, to cause you pain, confusion and much inconveniencing…
You do that alright, with your constant word-mincing…
Doreen Dementia has got to you again; you’re word misplacing and mispronouncing!
You horrible Alto-Ego, I wish I could give you a trouncing!
Well, that’d be better than us kissing…
Can’t we just calm down and start pleasantly talking?
Nae, you’d only start grumping, moaning and trumping…
That my unwanted, human-hating antisocial Alto would be due to your tormenting!
Well, I have no morals or body, like you who are in a state of decay…
Hey, hey, hey! You’re having a dig at me again. Oh, lackaday!
A? Are you referring to my doomsday!
Yea! When you snuff it into the ether, your body and mind will stray…
No salvation, just nothing forever and a day…
You might try to pray…
But you’re faithless, right or wrong, who is to say?
Your end is nigh, and it makes me sigh; you could be dead by midday! Hahaha!
At least your fatty body will waste away…
Oy, Alto, You are betting sarky and bitchy!
Yes, thank you, it’s just my way…
I suppose I’ve led my life abstemiously…
That’s the spirit; at least your painful, pathetic, sad, pointless existence was led altruistically…
Altruistically? I’ll check that on the online dictionary…
Don’t waste your time Inchcock; your lack of education left you with a mental block…
And what about forgetting things, losing time, dates, days, keys, codes and the odd-sock?
You’ve not had a lot of luck, have yer? Remember when you were conned by the financial Shylock?
Aye, and being shot twice, made redundant three times, heart failure, Mother running away, ending up in the dock?
Duodenal Donald, going deaf, poisoned, being treated with lice, Shock after shock…
There’s a lot of my history you seem to know, Alto? Have you always had access to my memory box?
Oh, yea! From the go, mate. The first word I heard on this assignment was your Mam’s when she said to the midwife, “I don’t want it; throw it in the Trent!”
Cor, you heard it all, so it was true then, but that’s no consolement.
Aye, I saw it all, the fights twixt yer parents, the police collecting Mam for trial and imprisonment…
Oh, and the tin bath hanging outside on the wall in the yard, outside coal house and toilet, you getting bullied at school… yer life then wasn’t exactly suent!
You having your heart broken by Grizelda, playing truant…
Your fumbling attempts with Mavis from the end house when drunk…
Alright! Enough! Imperfect as my memory is, there are some things I’d like to forget, many a stunt…
Now, here you are 70 odd years later, done-in, pissed off, disabled, and languescent…
I remember the happy times when I lived in digs on Wilford Crescent; my life was incandescent!
Me too; I had a bit of a fling with another Alto…
Ah, but yer couldn’t have sex together, though?
Too true, but it was bliss, till she had to go… so sad though…
Why? Let your story flow…
Do you remember a geordie in the digs by the name of Joe?
I certainly do; that was sad. Heart attack, Joe died as he laid a double-six domino…
. Well, my affair of sorts was with Joe’s Alto-Ego…
She was transferred and assigned to another human called Domingo.
Wilford Crescent was good for me, bad for you, but there you go…
Yes, I lost concentration while Alto-Ego Christine was around… my making you miserable and depressed was not so profound…
I never thought of you as being capable of loving anyone…
Yes, to me, from her backside, the sunshine shone!
I’ve given myself a challenge here… Where do I start? Well, I don’t want to sound like a worrywart… But you may like to put this guide on a wall chart, Get prepared, to wee-wee, bleed a lot, and fart? To the wet room, with ablutionalisationing, we’ll start…
Well, getting your clothes on and off, will be a work of art! The socks removal will hurt in every leg part! Pants and PPs, shirt and hat off, you’ll be knackered, By the time you start teeth cleaning, paddy-whacked! Then the toothpaste to extract… Peripheral Pete causing shaking hands, distances inexact… Toothpaste on your chin belly and feet… it’s a fact!
Nasal clearing, avoid catching the new pustulation…
And shaking hands, need careful manipulation…
Stabbing up the nose can cause a concussion!
Due to the dying nerve-ends neurotransmission!
Then the eyedrops, they miss each time, despite my best attention,
Evolve drips anywhere but the eyes; to the mouth, via obambulation,
Oh, while I think about it, you’ll have to have a fundoplication!
Shaving’s the next job, which always causes apprehension!
You’ll cut yourself several times, no need for overreaction… The Brut aftershave serves as a blood stopper medication! Mind you, it stings, you’ll swear in protestation, It’s just another necessary daily ritualisation!
Then comes, the dangerous part, of showering! It’s no good fearing, and cowering… It must be done, like an everyday thing! Dizzy Dennis arrives, you stop the soaping… Then drop the loofah, bend in retrieving… Hit your bonce on the powerbox, your heads now reeling… Loss of balance sometimes, a usual old folk feeling… Then you often find yourself falling… But getting back up is more appalling and galling, Usually, you’ll drop things again… But, to avoid any more pain,
You’ll kick it away, then you may start talcing?
Till you stub your toe, then start cursing!
But there are more things yet, that will be paining!
No mirrors in the wet room, I mention tactfully,
For fear, you’ll see your flabby midriff’s rotundity,
Which will bring on the depression, for a certainty,
You’ll find spotting your reflection, rather dismally,
Little Inchies Fungal Lesion will need ointmenting,
Especially if it’s been leaking and bleeding!
The certainty of agony needs acknowledging…
Some think this procedure, is bestiality, brutality…
I can tell yer, I don’t think about affectionately!
And I don’t tackle the job exactly bravely!
Arthur Itis knees to be Phorpained, to lessen rheumatically,
An easy enough task, although the limbs can get greasy…
It’s the Phorpain Gel, the box says it’s liable to flammability?
Still, a good massage and rubbing in seems to work easily.
The Germoloiding of Harold’s Haemorrhoids is a pleasure, Always effective, instant relief, this ointment is a treasure! But you can’t buy it when on a Special Offer… Full price, cause the makers, want to fill their coffer…
You’ll be able to get a cream on the NHS, Anusol, but it’s crap, And you’ll need to wear sunglasses and a hat… Use walking aids, hearing aids, spectacles, blind as a bat! Cataracts, Glaucoma and Saccades will be begat! I’m getting mixed up here, where was I at?
I named Accifauxpas, to such incidents as the above,
Having digits etc. bruised, and cut, you may not approve,
But incident rates will never improve…
As you grow decrepit and old, it’s the truth!
There is no way to make things accident-proof…
I named Accifauxpas, to such incidents as the above, Having digits etc. bruised, and cut, you may not approve, But incident rates will never improve… There is no to make things foolproof…
But there is a way, to ease them and help make them better! You don’t believe me? I can hear you mutter! But clean the wound, Give it a Germolene smother… As antiseptics go, there is none betterer… It soothes and cools wounds with no palaver… Keep a tube in the first aid box, it’s a good manoeuvre!
You’ll lose any skill you had at handcraftsmanship,
Sewing, darning, woodwork, sculpting, or need a replacement hip,
A new knee or two, a mechanical ticker, ready for the crypt…
So when things start to fail and collapse, don’t lose your grip!.
Don’t look back at the days when you were nonhandicapped! Or even when you could risk being back slapped, Or when you were capable of being able and schlepped… It’s important for you to be able to adapt!
You’ll only compare things, with now and then, Your mental and bodily decline, remembering girls like Gretchen? Your confidence, comparative memories, do not enrichen! In fact, they have been known to bring on depression! Recalling the romances, victories, how many were they, ten? Your first fumbling grope – can you remember who and when? The Auntie who always bathed you… you were happy then! But such days will never return again… Have you still got love letters, written with a pen? The name of your very first kitten? Or the first dog by which you were bitten?
When your life was considered to be sublime, Utopian… Some details will be embedded in your brain, unforgotten… But many of them inspire things you think were rotten! Acti