Scribed in Support of the Lunatic Pensioners Tiddly-Wink Treasurers Release Fund
1958: My Headmaster Mr ‘Pot-leg’ Baines, said to me, with a twisted smile on his face; “Never give up, your bad luck will change soon…”
Fri 14 Dec 2018
Onward into the unknown!
A bit like life really. Hehehe!
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!
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:
A few from October:
A few from September:
A few from August:
A few from July:
A few from June:
RIP
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!
Have you noticed how things have changed, and are doing so at such speed, things seem to not get noticed so much?
Created in Support for the Whitechapel branch
of the ‘Bring Back Our Bent Bananas’ Campaign
If, by chance, you are elderly, poorly and unsteady on your feet,
A real challenge would be to hobble down Clumber Street,
Big Issue sellers, jugglers and street performers you’ll meet,
Mobile phone and TV sellers will collar you and browbeat,
Pavement Cyclist, skate-boarders infest this back-street,
Risks of being knocked over and ran into high, as for space they compete!
It’s safer if you persistently wave your walking stick about,
Not that this would save you from the muggers without doubt,
And you’ll probably fall over giving your head a clout,
The pick-pockets are good, they’ll leave you with nowt,
For shoplifters escaping store detectives, you must watch out!
Nearby competing take-aways, offer a variety smells, and a distinctive pong,
The first takeaway van offers goat meat sarnies, frogs legs and ox-tongue,
The next one sells Kangaroo, Ostrich and Beef from the Billabong,
Then the Asian chippy van, Japati with curried chips from Kawan,
Poo aloo, Pohe, and pickled pigeon from Choo Chong,
The usual that infest our City are there, to feed every tongue,
McDonalds, KFC, King Burger for which many Nottinghamians long,
So don’t fall over the packages that are where they don’t belong!
There will be some nice looking lasses as you hobble up and down,
Some so pretty and beautiful, they will hold you spellbound,
You lose your footing and fall to the ground,
Many Nottinghamians, will instantly gather around,
As they steal your wallet, they will pat you down.
Asking how are you, do you feel sound?
A cyclist or mobile scooter will hit you as you turn around,
So remember, Clumber Street is the criminals playground!
Created by a 70-year-old Nottingham Pensioner, in support and advice for those amongst us who are approaching maturity and senescence, but without having first prepared for the coming nasty onslaught of their failing faculties, loneliness and the consequences of physical and mental disintegration that are imminently coming.
* * * * * * * * * * *
First thoughts, can you remember your nightmares you’ve just had,
Have you passed water or anything else that might be bad?
Did you take last nights medications?
Or have any more confusing aberrations?
Is life real, or just a fad?
*****
You’ll test out your moving parts and ailments early on, slowly of course,
The Arthritis, water filled legs, ankles, hands one by one,
Is the Angina, reflux valve or ulcer giving you any bother at all?
Avoid when getting up, from having a dizzy or another fall.
*****
Moving quickly, must not be overdone!
What medical appointment have you today?
Will anyone call to see you? No, you reply in dismay,
Ah, you’ve to go to the clinic for your X-ray?
Or perhaps this in for next Monday?
Will you snuff it today, you cannot say!
*****
Then the serious stuff comes into your mind,
Which tea-bags to use, Yorkshire, Punjana or Co-op ninety-nine?
You begin to move, there’ll be a jolting pain down your spine,
You’ll have a little chunter, a curse and a whine!
*****
Bravely you grab the broken arm of the chair,
To ease yourself up, but you don’t get there,
Slumping back into your 1959 brown imitation leather armchair,
With steely determination you try again, ignoring the pain,
You must succeed, for you need to use the porcelain yet again!
The odds will be against you getting there are a crime,
You’ll stub your toe en route, this you’ll do more than one time,
Your piles will bleed, miss the bowl and think you’re going insane!
A cuppa will help, you put the kettle on while searching for your sock,
You’ll feel the wet warm dribble from your bleeding Inchcock.
*****
Then you’ll get another bit of a shock,
You’ve run out of your Dandelion and Burdock,
Looking at your kitchen clock, it shows it’s approaching only one o’clock!
At this stage, you’ll question your sanity and mental health,
Realising of stupidity, you have great wealth,
And you don’t really like your older self!
The end
Written in a moment of insanity inspired boredom and realisation
that the time is coming to reconsider the subjectivity of your
own self-detrimental thoughts are escaping into the ether.
Or something like that!
I felt the need to show my appreciation for the help given by the staff at this centre, so:
Here is the My Odes of Thanks to the staff at the Nottingham City Hospital Cardiac Rehabilitation Gym:
First a little talk, to get to know the other people there,
One chap called Ivan, even came in a wheelchair!
A cup of tea or coffee we even did share,
Then, to the gymnasium, that was small and square,
Thankfully, rope-ladder was in state of disrepair,
Of not overdoing things, we were made aware.
* * * * * * * *
The exercise bikes sent me Anacreontic,
Of course at that time, I wasn’t arthritic,
Nor, was I suffering from being a Cholestatic,
They almost had to drag me off the bike,
To do the running around the gym, that I also liked,
The bouncing box, made me feel a bit sick,
A football they let me take the corner-kick,
A didn’t charge me for the broken light, I felt such a dick!
* * * * * * * *
The swinging and lifting of the weights started then, it was a blast,
Muscles tensed, the barbell high, how long could I last?
I dropped it on me foot, they applied an Elastoplast.
There we were, all Old Age pensioners, all demanding equality,
Determined we were, awesome and gritty,
Despite no public loos nearby, that was a pity,
The rich getting richer, the poor can’t afford their electricity,
Limping along in pain beyond believability,
The police escorting us started to show their irritability,
Eventually, not without some physical difficulty,
We all arrived at the protest in the City.
* * * * *
This is where I fell off my walking stick, sadly,
I’d cut me knees, and was bruised rather badly,
I grabbed a nearby leg to raise myself up again,
And a policeman’s truncheon hit me head causing more pain,
They mobbed me and arrested me seemingly so gladly!
* * * * *
I didn’t protest, resist them or curse,
At the station, they provided me with a first-aid nurse,
A strip search and interview, then things got worse!
They said at the march, I had refused to disperse,
I said the hearing aid batteries had died,
One officer threatened to tan my hide,
I remained none aggressive, my smile was wide,
Needing my tablets including the Furosemide,
They gave me a Caution, Chapter and verse!
* * * * *
The sergeant, when escorting out of the station,
Shoved me down the steps, causing me irritation,
It developed into a confrontation,
I underestimated my risky situation,
As I clouted him, on his shin accidentally with me stick,
I was lifted off the ground without any hesitation,
And thrown in the cell at the back of the Station!
* * * * *
Oh course, this is all rubbish and not true,
But I was depressed and feeling blue,
So thought I see if I could offer you…
A laugh, from this pensioner’s point of view.
No Inchcocks were harmed in the production of this twaddle!
The Start:Mackeson was the beginning of my downfall I’m afraid.
Mother dear, to make me stop crying and giggling while she was playing Bingo or studying the horses form, she found out if she gave me the dregs left over from Dads bottles of his Milk Stout it would do the trick.
Fair enough, I fell out of the pram a few times, but there you are.
She soon extended this habit to meal times and evenings. Well, logical actually, it saved he having to make up bottles and washing the pots if she just filled my face with Mackeson.
It made her jubilant too, saving more time for nipping to the bookies and shoplifting.
I recall that when the police or debt collectors called, and we had to hide in the larder under the stairs, I usually got a bottle of Dad’s plonk stuck in my mouth. That worked too; I certainly learnt that if I started to pretend to cry when we were in the hidey-hole, I always got some plonk that amazingly stopped me making any noise every time!
Mother got arrestedIt had to happen, not that she got sentenced just a warning, but it meant she was away for a few days.or
During this time I was getting Mackeson withdrawal symptoms.
Why was Dad not quenching my ever growing addiction to the Mackeson? I was puzzled.
Then when Mother ran away to avoid being arrested again, I was in a right pickle. Cunningly I started asking Dad if I could go with him on his walks (To the pub, but then, I was not supposed to know like).
I was a cunning little dimple-cheeked rascal and soon found if I cried in the pushchair, he’s come out and give me a glass of shandy now and then. His mates when they saw me, used to top up the glass with some of their pints of ale, bless em.
Finding females!A few years later, the local older girls would start investigating my body, and demanding certain actions from me.
I had no idea why at first, but soon I was enjoying new experiences.
This, caused me to start using what money I had or could earn, to purchase some ale of my own. I was never sure at the time if I was drinking to invigorate myself or in celebration?
Mothers return and The MoveMater returned to the fold after being caught by the police and getting away with it all again! The three of us moved to a housing estate.I treated myself to my first little motorbike
I treated myself to my first little motorbike and almost stopped drinking at one point.
Then, about a year later one Friday night, I returned home from work and found the house in darkness. Got in, no electricity on, I wandered around in the darkness and discovered the house was empty of everything but the rented TV? Nonplussed and confused I actually opened the front door to see if I was in the right house – and there it was stuck on the door; An eviction notice! Nowhere to live, a neighbour came up and said she was looking out for me coming home so as to tell me about the eviction for none payment of rent by dear Mother again. She put me up for the night in her front room. The Saturday I got to work, and Mother called me to say she had found an ideal place for me to live in a lodging house. I pointed out that I had somewhere ideal to live until she decided to take the rent money from both me and Dad (Pair of suckers) and still not paid it!
I duly moved with my two suitcases to the new place. Sharing a bedroom with five other blokes, it was breakfast and evening meal at £5.5.0 a week, an awful lot in those days. Yet, I found it nice, as all the other lads were heavy boozers and I soon caught the flavour and habit. It wasn’t for three months that I found out it was an ex-prisoners dwelling.
Promotion Arrives – With more cash being available now for me to support the breweries, Tsk!I was then promoted to assistant manager and relief Manager at Tesco!
There was no stopping me then. Working long hours and days, out to the pub, back to the shop to work on restocking… it was a terrible grind, but the alcohol and being able to afford it lessened the blow somewhat!
Danger: Marriage prospects arrived!One of the girls at the Wimpey Burger Bar across on Granby Street in Nottingham seemed to take to me and fed me extras as she served me. Then it was a walk in Nottingham Castle grounds at lunch, bit of fondling and necking, and I was hooked!
Things moved quickly, and a deposit was put on a wedding dress, the banns organised at the church, I was all over the place mentally, but accepting it was going to happen. A flat was found, and it as when I was sorting this out, I got a message in the post; She’d decided to go back with her old boyfriend and was sorry!
That weekend the breweries profits were significantly increased!
I was In and out of the Forces in double-quick time!I made up my mind to join the RAMC.
Within weeks, they had decided I had failed the medical after all? Hernia bother they said?
I familiarised myself with the local breweries rather enthusiastically.
Back to NottinghamTesco took me back on, and I joined a local Angling Club in Sherwood, where I was now living in a great ground floor flat.
This was, without any doubt, the highlight in my Alcoholic period. The lads were all the same, and I felt at home. Every night at the boozer or club, weekends angling matches followed by drinking competitions. We used to play dominoes or Tip-it, but none of us sober enough to bother now.
But I was happy, contended and uncaring about this!
Grizelda comes into my life!Never has emotions, desires and complete utter passion come into my life like this!
She was a solid big gal, an East German Police Officer over here to visit someone I knew from work. She had stone biceps, was a wonderful hairy thing, and I fell in love with her instantly!
We had such a fantastic three weeks together. The way she would throw me onto the bed then… well, never mind, we enjoyed each other as much as was humanly possible to.When
When she left it broke my heart, and bank balance as I then recommenced the drinking with a vengeance! Tsk!
After my hernia lasering session, I stopped drinking.
It’s just as well because I might not have got through the bowel cancer and then the heart operations that followed.
Of all the things here, I only miss one, Grizelda Fruenburgher.
