“Oi, pay attention, Inchcock; it’s your devoted, friendly, happy-go-lucky Alto-Ego here. Bringing you news and a…
Eh, erum… Oh, Sod-Off!
That’s nice, innit! I’ve come to warn you of the explosions in the gut, and all yer do is get antisocial wiv me?
Well, that’s cause I’m sitting here on the Porcelain Throne for the ninth time today, coping with the eruptions mentioned above in my stomach! You’re a little late in telling me…
Don’t get nasty turd-face, no need for insults! Anyway, if you want to nit-pick, I said explosion, not eruption, so there! Haha! I got here as fast as I could…
For an Alto who claims to have been in existence for thousands of years, you are very childish at times, mate… What were you doing in the guts anyway?
Obvious innit?
No!
Why do they keep sending me to thicko-idiots to threaten and get depressed? If yer must know, I was checking yer body for any new signs of ailment, injuries or the likes…
What for… No, no, don’t tell me… It’s so you can worry, annoy and depress me, innit?
Oh, yes, clever clogs! An’ I did it too! See? Your Blood Pressure has shot up, spittle is building in yer throat, and you’re in agony with trots… I bet Haemorrhoid Harold is bleeding as well?
Yea, putting it that way, you’re nearly right...
Owd on… nearly right? How am I not spot-on then, freckle-balls?
It proved yer lied when you first disturbed me.
You coffin-seeker! Lied, ruggish! Everyfing I say is John-Bull and Cosher!…
Yer? Like, “It’s your devoted, friendly, happy-go-lucky Alto-Ego here? Devoted, friendly, you? You are an unwanted blight on me mentality!
Well, thank you very much; I appreciate that. It proves that I’m doing my job successfully and adequately: “Assure at all times that your client is DFF; Depressed, Frustrated, in Pain. For extra Alto points, you human having suicidal tendencies a minimum of once a day…” “Achieving an 80% success rate is required” – Now that’s in the Alto-Ego job description!
So?
I proved I have the credentials for promotion…
How can you get a promotion when I’m yours, and you are mine? What did you call it? Client or human? You’ve already said you’re stuck with me, so what kind of promotion can you get clever clogs?
Gawd, you’re thick as a pancake with hebetude! When you kick the bucket, snuff it, I might be moved on to a politician, bank director or even Putin. Then…
Putin?
Yer that’d be cushty. We had a bit of a drawback with Putin, never been known before, but his Alto-Ego went mad. He’s had to be delisted. No doubt he’ll be moved to some war immigrant in another country. Putin with me by his side could rule the planet… not that it’s got much time left, mind you…
Has it not? I expected as much...
Crap! You’re too thick to work owt out, Inchcock; you’ve been reading Billum’s blog, ain’t yer…
Well, yes, and he’s dead right...
You’ll be the dead one, Fungle-Knob: although I’ve not worked out the best way to nobble yer yet. I’ve thought about getting into Putin’s brain; just think of it…
Hang on, I’m getting confused here…
Nothing new there, dog-breath…
Can we start again?
Oh, so now yer want to converse with me? You want to make your feeble, befuddled mini-mind up! Dumbo!
You said you can’t hurt your human?
Oh yer, right, but only physically, now mentally, is another matter. And being as you are already halfway to being bonkers, discussions like these will soon tip you over the edge, and hey-presto, you’ll be dead, and I can put my bid in to be sent to Mr Putin, see… easy!
How are you planning to top me then?
I’m glad yer asked me brain-dead. I see there are three possible options.
One: You’ll get a heart attack from hearing the truth from me…
Two: You’ll do the decent thing and swig a litre of chlorinated bleach and drink it with ten Beta-blockers, Warfarins, and a good swig of liquid Codeine. I know they are regulated, but if you can time it for when you just get the prescriptions delivered, I advise you to take the whole packet of Morphine sulfate to be safe. Then stick all the remaining Enoxaparin Injections into your belly. (Not that it will matter where now). Then open the balcony window, make sure no one is below… No, no! Better not dive out of the window; with your eyesight, there may be someone on the pavement to crush when you land, and that’s not fair. Just stick with the bleach, medications and injections; they should do the job efficiently.
Three: you will have one of your tumbles when the neurotransmitter nerve-ends fail, and you fall forwards, trip over yer walking stick on the way down, and crack yer head a good belt on the sharp corner of the end counter… you’ll basically bleed to death, and be found the following day by a Carer, who after clearing out any valuables, will call the paramedics, but you be declared dead in your kitchenette floor, probably around 08:33hrs tomorrow. Oddly enough, your prescription delivery day, Hehehe! Well, you asked, you gormless dunderhead, Hahaha!
Thanks, I did ask, didn’t I? Well, that’s honest enough, Alto. Although I’m a little concerned at your going into great detail on option two? Suicide. It sounds to me like this is your favoured route to my demise?
Well, it’s the least bother for me, and I can shoot off and go Putin-hunting straight away. I’ll make my report first, of course. Should you plump for committing Hari-Kari, I promise I’ll make a good praising report of you and your actions to the Alto-Ego Controller. They don’t get many of those; I think Florence Nightingale was the last human to get one. You could live in fame in your death, mate!
‘I could live in fame in my death?’ Somehow, that doesn’t sound very attractive to me at the moment…
Ah, that’s cause you are temporarily not frustrated or depressed. That’s thanks to me, see. Bringing good news and advice to you again… Giving you thoughts that grabbed your attention and shooed away destructive emotions. I really hope you go for the choice to autodarwinate. It makes the most sense all around…
Maybe for you, but not for me…
Whyever not, Numbskull? I’m sure you are going to say that Altos can’t die, so have no idea what it’s like?
No, but that’s a good point; what’s your answer to your own question then?
Oh, dearie me, my ugly duckling. Is it not so obvious what I was referring to? I shall miss you your ignorance, unknowingness, innocence, duality, absent-mindedness, scepticism, ambivalence, and lack of sophistication when I’ve moved on… thankfully!
No!
Oh, you dense creature! What power I have given you…
Wot power ‘ave you given me?
How many people have the knowledge of when they are going to die?
How do I know? You’re bamboozling me again…
No, Knuckle-Mouth! I’m empowering you. You can pick your timing to take the suicide route, lock the door to prevent any interruptions, and just resign yourself to the nothingness that will follow, a certainty within minutes… minutes of pain, yes. Still, you will be well prepared for that, having led a pain-ridden emotional and physical life, so what does a couple of minutes of further pain mean to you? Nothing! No ailments, no food orders to get wrong, substituted items, nothing to forget or learn, no crime, no emotional topsy-turvy; a state of utter bliss is death! Which is where you will be going, mate – into nothingness – no noisy neighbour above you, no rent, tax or fuel prices rising to fret over.
Inchcock & Alto-Ego, launch into Q&A Odeing Mode…
You keep harking back to suicide.
That is for you, my Button-Willy, to decide!
But will life never be indemnified?
Not until your death is verified!
Suicide? All my hopes will be pulverised,
Which is better than being lobotomised!
My friends will miss me, far and wide…
Friends, you? Now your telling porky-pies!
This conversation is like Morecome and Wise!
Death can be a pleasure, do you realise?
I’m not so sure… it’s a sacrifice?
In death, there’ll be no one who vilifies?
My ailment, all gone, pain defies…
Freedom, nothing left to visualise!
So, Covid has gone; no need to immunise?
You must get your thoughts strategised!
The thought of nothing does tantalise…
Alto sensed Inchcocks resistance to suicide weakening…
That’s the spirit, Inchcock, my old fruit…
Hold a minute, just wait...
Indeed, my old cocker, you take your time…
Take me time? What in or at?
Choosing which way to die…
I’m not sure how we got into discussing suicide?
Well, you wanted to know the best way to do it.
I did?
Yes, plan B you went for…
Plan B?
Yes, you decided you’ll do the decent thing and swig a litre of chlorinated bleach and drink it with ten Beta-blockers, Warfarins, and a good swig of liquid Codeine. (I know they are regulated, but if you can time it for when you just get the prescriptions delivered, you to take the whole packet of Morphine sulfate to be safe.) Then stick all the remaining Enoxaparin Injections into your belly.
Are you sure I chose this way and agreed?
Course you did Snot-Head, and it makes common sense, my friend! And once you’ve succeeded in suiciding, there’ll be no more painful battles with Trotsky Terence or Constipation Konrad! Now, this must be worth topping yourself for?
You really thought I was going to do it, didn’t you?
Well, yes! Are you not going to?
Too bloody true I ain’t going to.
Gragnangles! But I’ll be back!
Inchcock on the Throne realised Alto had truly flit…
He finished his evacuation, messy, but just a bit,
Pondered over suicide, blaming Alt-Inchie, the shit!
Putting it into my mind, a disgusting gambit!
All a part of Alto & Inchies’ mutual brinksmanship…
A strange sort of unwanted mental partnership,
Full of insults, bullying and unsportsmanship,
Alto’s getting nasty, pretending to be a prophet?
If he expects Gerry to top himself, there’s a blip…
Even suggesting it shows Alto’s unsportsmanship,
Suicide? No, he’d instead favour the opposite,
Even living with ailments and a financial deficit!
More critical now, Harold’s Haemorrhoids do bleed,
He cleans things, ointmentates, & takes some hempseed,
It’ll be painful; he mustn’t hesitate and proceed…
Agonisingly he did, then he wee-wee’d…
He turned his attention to what to self-feed,
From his fridge and freezer, he took a swede…
Leeks, mushrooms, tomatoes and bread, just a snead,
Prepped and got them cooking; it smelt good indeed.
Off to the wet room. where he passed wind and pee’d,
Settled in his recliner, he nodded off; he was so pleased,
Woke two hours later, surprised yet frustrated…
At the smell of burnt food, he recognised!
All his vegetables had been pureed!
Burnt potatoes, uneatable, he had to concede…
A Whoopsiedangleplop, he just didn’t need…
He cleaned the mess to the bucket he pee’d!
The meal he ate for dinner was not one of his best…
A can of peas, an out-of-date vegetarian duck breast,
The whole meal went in the bin, top join the rest…
Which annoyed him, and he began to get stressed!
Thought-Storms stopped him from getting to sleep…
His life, he began to despise and threap…
Suicide? Not a failure living, even in this muckheap…
His life is not good, but living he wants to keep,
Though he passes evacuations, the liquid then concrete…
Has cataracts, is deaf, tumbles over, and has terrible feet…
There are times when he finds life semi-sweet,
Screw Alto; his life is not yet over or complete!
He vows to ignore Alto-Ego, on his next visit…
Alto’s intrusions, he’ll try his best to prohibit…
He belched; the extruding wind tasted like horseshit,
Inchcock pondered, is it me or Alto, that’s the eejit?
Dizzy Dennis called; his head felt as if it was in orbit…
Thoughts coming so fast, he can’t cope, dagnabit!
He thinks this is becoming a nightly habit…
And he had Alto to return, the nasty dipshit!
But this time, Inchcock was determined, not frit…
He decided to keep up his flagging spirit…
Amidst words like Grongletits and Gawdammit!
He got up and this Ode he writ…
Hoping Alto stays in his pit!
Part of Inchcocks Make Them Laugh Series
I woke up with a whopping great jump and jerk. It was of such magnitude it moved my body mass a few inches towards the edge of the second-hand, £300, c1968, overwhelmingly-sickeningly beige coloured, tatty, uncomfortable, wobbly-recliner. A few more inches would have had me on the carpet, cursing and nursing Harold’s Haemorrhoids! Hehehe!
Of course, that was the end of any sleeping, so I lay a few seconds to work out what day and time it was and any actions or activities required… But here was the watch? No longer on my wrist?
I soon found out what I’d done with it – fourteen hours later, I found it on the floor, behind the £300, second-hand bought, c1968, nauseously beige-coloured, not-working, rusty, rickety, difficile, crumb-covered tatty recliner.
Refilling the kettle, Shuddering-Shoulder-Shirley kicked off. Talk about bad timing! Harrumph! The water went all over the previously washed and dried cutlery and crockery, down the front cabinet of the sink and down my trousers, socks and slippers, and onto the kitchen floor…
I had to do other jobs and kept nipping back to see if Liberty-Global, the company with a 
Did the health checks, and the internet was back on. But to for long, ten minutes maybe…
Pee’d off with this already! The Iceland delivery arrived. 
incapable of providing a re
Herbert was giving it some hammer tonight; I wonder what he’s making this time. 
Washed and changed into the night attire, and I made up a bottle of spring water and lime juice. I did a couple for Carer Richard, who may come on Monday, and stored them in the fridge, so they will be nice and cold for him.
As I got down on the recliner to watch some TV, I took this snap of my legs. Not a pretty sight!
I thought the drops of blood on the cotton wool had created a humorous face pattern. I took this snap of it. Hehehe! 
.
Could we not put these animals in the army again?
Why do violent attackers get freed so soon, just asking?
A 21-year-old accepted to become a student?
So much nasty violence now, I’m feeling so languescent,
Another woman and child basher, his name, Mark Place,
♫A policeman’s lot is not a happy lot♫, they sangeth…
Desperate times for the countries diminishing law,
Andrious Sidlauskas: Lithuanian immigrant jailed.
Just thought I’d update you on how my luck is going…
.
and the mooring carer was almost due. ② I needed the Porcelain Throne. So, hoping for a better evacuation than yesterday, and having taken a few capsules of Dioctyl yesterday after the concrete-like evacuation, I bravely limped off and ventured to the wet room! Haha!
Another release, similar to yesterday’s but far more manageable in comparison. Which foolishly made me think, well, that’s better, perhaps things might improve today… What an idiot! You’d have thought I’d have learned by now, wouldn’t you? 
While in there, I thought I’d get the ablutionisationing done. So I did! The teeth and nasal cleaning went fine. The shaving too, only thee tiny nicks two on the chin, one on the ear lobe. I can recall saying my Alto-Ego saying something like; Let’s not get over-confident, Inchcock, no more banging into owt or tumbling over. I know you’re worried about the Carer coming but just take care!” 
Not a single banging into anything, only a handful of dropsies; I got the showering done post-haste without rushing
The only ailments hassle were Shuddering-Shoulder-Shirley and Cartilage Cathy. I got the kettle on as ♫ Oh Susan ♫ rang out, and Carer Richard came in. 
was kind. I gave him the new far too big to fit anywhere air fryer I’d foolishly bought. Exchange is no robbery, as they used to say. Hehehe! 
I made the brew and nearly moped the kitchen floor, but I left it for her to do as Esther might call. I got on the computer, but it was not good. The Peripheral Neuropathy nerve ends always start, contacting and losing it when I’m typing! It never fails. Grrr! So progress was snail-paced, made worse by all the errors and correctionalisationing I had to cope with.
I took a break and had a close look at the Fuji camera Carer Richard had kindly donated. Put some batteries in that didn’t work. Then looked on the web and found out how, or which way around they have to go, and wallah! It worked! I didn’t use it then, as updating Monday’s blog was so far behind. Got back to blogging…
The intercom rang, and it was the Iceland delivery that I’d forgotten all about coming. I know… Dementia Doreen strikes again! Because I could use neither camera, cause the computer card reader did not recognise them, I used an old one from file here; I’m getting fed up with this palaver every day. Got the fodder stored away and found an exciting occurrence, even for Iceland! ① The strawberries I ordered were on the last day before consuming; they sent them for free. ② Again, they substituted ordinary sausages for the microwave ones I’d ordered (Sent back). ③ Substituted water for another brand, same price. ④ No fresh peas. ⑤ No microwave sausages. Choices are getting sparse in all of the stores now, for supplies. Oh, dearie me!
He was working well all day today; he was noisy so often. But none of the bouts lasted for too long, so no complaints.
I eventually got yesterday’s blog completed and sent off. Went on Facebook, then WordPress Reader. Got around to doing Email checks and then WordPress comments. Had some long ones today, which put me further behind. Haha! But they are welcome; I love getting messages and comments.
She took the laundry with someone else’s, and I treated myself to a banana. Do you see the size of it? Miniature, I think, Hahaha! But they just sit me down to the ground.
Tried to get on with the blog again… Oh, no, such luck! The Amazon delivery arrived. In it were three things; ① Treats for the nurses, Carers and (kind only) delivery people, in the form of some cans of Southern Comfort Whiskey & cola. ② A tray of 12 cans of Beef Chilli (for Josie’s Sunday meals), and ③ 24 cans of garden peas, I got these cause they are hard to find nowadays after the Covid-virus estimated staff levels. Iceland has stopped selling them altogether. Sainsbury’s have put theirs up from 30p to 50p! Ocado’s only brand they sell now is £1.49 a can!!! So, I got these in before they rise anymore in price! Argh! It’s getting worse. The rents have just been 
increased, and electricity is going up by 15% this month. Get it while you can, I say!
Trapped a finger end in the cast iron lid, pulled my hand away sheepishly, and hit the knuckle on the edge of the metal lid.
I was reet wee’d-off when I hobbled back to the flat. I decided to try on the Fuji camera again and got it going!!! These are the photos I took with the Carer Richard gifted Fuji.
energy and willpower.
passing. 💜
realised I’d not had anything to eat today… Ooh! I tell a fib, I had the baby banana. Haha! 
The ♫ Oh, Susana ♫ tune brought forth my Caring Angel, Julia! 💖
Philharmonic Orchestra could have come in the flat and performed Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture around the Beige, second-hand, £300, c1968, uncomfortable, recliner…
A flipping hard slog with the Shaking Shaun interference… I like that word, but why?
I gave the deliveryman two boxes and a carrier bag. He filled with the delivered items for me, and he put them through the door in the hallway for me. I s
I’d not seemed to get much this time? Before sorting them out, I had a look on the web to see the order. A good few items are unavailable, and I’d ticked the no substitutes on them. Very risky letting Sainsbury’s make substitutes, I can tell yer! Still, some of luxury, spoil-the-old man foods had arrived, Hehehe!
A few minutes after getting fodder stored away, ♫ Oh, Susana ♫ chirped up from the doorbell, and in walked Carer Cassie. She’s brought with her the monthly prescriptions. While she was putting them away, I nattered away.
It then dawned on me… I could not find the Nokia! I always leave it to the computer’s right, as a rule. Where the charging cable can reach the phone from the socket?
Really weary now, just about done in, and the fodder had to be prepared, cause sometimes even hunger can survive the onslaught of weariness. (Ah, a touch of cleverness there, I thought?)
♫ Oh, Susan ♫ chimed out from the doorbell. I instantly morphed into a smiling, happy, hopeful and cheerful chap; the moment that I saw it was Carer Julie coming into the room!
I stirred back into pretend-life around 02:00hrs with a jump that left me in the £300, second-hand bought, c1968, nauseously beige-coloured, not-working, rusty, rickety, difficile, crumb-covered, grotty, tatty recliner, as the Thought-Storms started. I’d had a few earlier bursting awake episodes, but I got back to sleep pretty quickly. This time, Thought-Storms made sure I gave up on any idea of going back to sleep… Humph! 
of sloppy stuff followed on… Stinking, messy and a hell of a job cleaning up the wet room furniture and me, again! I cleaned the floor in the wet room a little… Oh, I am a good boy sometimes. Haha!,
I washed and made for the medical drawer and the Galpharm capsules, taking two of them! Well, things were very watery and gooey, so I thought it would be safe to take two. I just hope it isn’t going to be house-bricks on the next visit to the Throne… Please! 
I got the kettle on for a brew, and looked out of the window, taking this sadly very poor, in fact terrible, effort at photographicalisationing.
Then, as I closed the window, I trapped my finger, no bother at all. I possibly may have uttered or mumbled something like, “Oh, flipping ‘eck!” or similar.
The body temperature was taken on the digital machine. All the 3’s showed up. 
see what 33.3°c indicated… I am not confident enough to call anyone. It may well be that the machine is not giving correct results? I do 
not feel poorly and have been below 35°c for the last seven days or more now? Ah, well, on to the sphygmomanometerisationing…
and far lower than many results this month? I don’t usually fret over these things, but I hope the haematology nurse comes to do the Warfarin blood test tomorrow, and I can have a word with her about things.
On to the computer, and the photo reader was playing up again. Then… Well, fancy that, it hasn’t let me down since yesterday, and Frid, Thursday, Wednesday… Grrr!
Here’re the earlier shots taken from the kitchenette window. To all intents and purposes, the skyline looked as if it was a sunset, with the white stripe across it. Different if nothing else.
No cooking involved to be on the safe side… well, no, that’s not strictly true. I did some baked stone rolls in the oven for ten minutes. Then got them buttered, and sliced the last of the large Natoora black tomatoes, to have in the cobs. Chicken thighs and a banana to round off the meal. With not feeling up to much, I couldn’t eat anywhere near all of it, but I did gobble all the black tomatoes. 
On the plus side, there was no toe-stubbing, and the medicationings went much more straightforward than expected. 
The feet looked even better than the legs did. Well, apart from the feeling of worms under the skin on the old Ankle Ulcer area. Within a few hours of this itching starting, the pain usually follows. Hey-Ho!
I was pulled up in tracks – The window was ajar? The server trolley was well out of its usual position, over near the fridge? And the bowl I’d left clothes soaking in was empty, no sign of the cloths anywhere… Had I lost it altogether here?
The door chime rang out. I feared it might be Esther, cause she was in another flat when I rang her! But it was Josie returning her Sunday lunch tray and dish. It cheered me up when she said how much she’d enjoyed it this week! Smug-Moded! 
That reminds me, the lady who I took the Strawberries to, her name, which escaped me yesterday, is Frances! I think I may have a photo of the gal; I’ll have a look. That’s Francis on the left, with Penny in Woodthorpe Court lobby when it was being done up a few years ago.
I took a photographicalisation of Sherwood from the kitchenette window. The rain was falling at the time.
The rain suddenly stopped, and darkness fell rapidly. I bet there will be some beautiful sunset views to take later in, give in about an hour and a half, and I’ll be back at the window David Baileying.
Oh, I’ve done Facebooking for yesterday yet. Tsk! Treated me to a mini-lemon meringue pie and got back to the blogging work…
I was feeling a little dodgy, weak, confused again. It could just be the bang on the head, I suppose.
Bad news on the weather front warning.
She sorted the medications out and watched me as I took them. I took one of the Hemp capsules separately. It went down okay this time.
In desperation, I even put the TV on, thinking that the first set of adverts would send me off to meet Sweet Morpheus. Ha! They didn’t. However, it just boosted the rate of the Thought Storms. Humph!