Inspired by a letter published in the Daily Telegraph
The E-Mail
Having been bothered with the local yobs on my street, several times, and mugged twice. I’d like to give you an update on my situation.
Having spent the past twenty minutes waiting for someone at Nottingham Sherwood police station to pick up a telephone I have decided to abandon the idea and try e-mailing you instead. Perhaps you would be so kind as to pass this message on to your colleagues in Sherwood by means of smoke signal, carrier pigeon or Ouija board.
As I’m writing this e-mail there are eleven failed medical experiments (I think you call them youths) in Sherbrooke Road, Carrington, Nottingham
Three of them seem to enjoy insulting passing pedestrians and motorists, threatening them as the pass.
The remaining five walking abortions are happily rummaging through several bags of rubbish and items of furniture that someone has so thoughtfully dumped beside the wheelie bins.
Several of them wander off to set fire to the odd bin. When they get to house number 14, I am concerned they might cause a catastrophe, due to the location of a rusty Calor gas bottle between the bins. If they could be relied on to only blow their own arms and legs off then I would happily leave them to it. I would even go so far as to lend them the matches. Unfortunately they are far more likely to blow up half the street with them and I’ve just finished cleaning me windows.
What I suggest is this. After replying to this e-mail with worthless assurances that the matter is being looked into and will be dealt with, why not leave it until the one night of the year (probably their bath night) when there are no mutants around then drive up the street in a panda car before doing a three point turn and disappearing again. This will of course serve no other purpose than to remind us what policemen actually look like.
I trust that when I take a claw-hammer to the skull of one of these throwbacks you’ll do me the same courtesy of giving me a four month head start before coming to arrest me.
Cautionary Introduction by Inchcock’s psychiatrist Dr Uppopo Smyth-Robinson, MRCPsych, FRCPsych
Friday 1st August 2014
What a flaming night, I wus awake more than asleep… until it came time to gerrup, then I fell asleep! Cor blimey.
The cramps were ‘orrible, the nightmares every time I nodded off fer a few minutes, the angina, the piles… but hey-ho, I’m still ‘ere. (Well, I think I am… what is reality after all? – summat different to every person innit like?… is it?)
Took the bins out fer me and me neighbour – noticing how she had artistically decorated hers with maggots inside and out. I thought the bin men… sorry, I should have said Council Waste Management and Disposal Technician, would refuse to empty it – but no, he did? Nothing to do with her being a suntanned, nubile young thing that looks like a model and know it you think?
Set to work on me blogging and emails.
Gorra wash shave and brush-up, and had a walk into town. Then a hobble around town. Took some photo’s: One of a van driving down the pavement with his hazard lights on delivering?
Caught the bus home, and read a letter that I got from Age Concern- very nice detail about their ‘Age Concern Funeral Plan’ that I took out with em.
Naughty driver…
Promised a 28 day money back guarantee! Lot o’ good that’ll do me when I’ve croaked… unless they bury me alive and I get out of the grave and claim me money back! Hehehe!
When I got back to the house, it pored with rain, I observed a gang of six yobs in the opposite gateway across from me house. Four bigguns and two little uns. The rain stopped after a few minutes, but so did they. Kicking footballs and threatening passing drivers for nearly an hour.
I kept out of the way, cause they might have been the ones that mugged me last year, and now I’m in fear.
After they had gone, I updated this tosh, with the photo on the left, not a good one, but it proves they were there.
Made up some black bags of unwanted stuff for Sister Jane and Brother-in-law Pete, who will kindly sort it out for me. Phoned PEte, told him what was happening, and that the bags were ready at his convenience.
Oh ‘eck… I’ve missed me evening medications with all this hassle. Never mind, only an hour late, should be okay.
Awoke around 0500hrs, and greeted another wonderful day of excitement, jubilation, hopes, dreams, adventure, hysteria, passion and happiness.
Or, if you want the real truth, depression, accidents, frustration, discomfiture, vexation, pain, chagrin, nervousness, fear, loneliness, faux pas and decay. But I wont mention them.
Me hole…
Gorrup and entangled wiv me blog posting graphics and creations.
When I went out to take some stuff to the bins, I noticed the Virgin Media hole in the pavement was gerrin bigger… oh dear!
The cunning step that moves?
Then after feedin’ the birds, on my return to the hovel, I managed to trip ‘Up’ the step to the door. I now have a very pretty scrape down me right shin, and a bruised chin. Oh, that rhymed. Tsk!
Put some cream on me wounds, and while doing so, the tube burst!
Still, it didn’t bleed much, which means me Warfarin level might be a bit low… or is that high? Never mind.
While bending to clean up the antiseptic cream wot I squirted on the floor, Arthur Itis made an appearance in me knees. (Huh, and it had been so good up until then today)
Knees too painful fer meto pick up the seeds wot I split when ups-a-daisying up the door-step wot I swear moved on its own.
Received an email from me mate in America, Andy, with a funny in it that I thought deserved graphicalisating ( I know, no such word, but I like it) a bit:
I wonder who the modelled for the original artist/photographer?
Went off to town to see if HMV had got DVD I ordered in yet. “The Big Job” Made around 1959 I think, can’t find a date on the box. Comedy with Sid James, Sylvia Syms, Dick Emery, Jim Dale and other old comedy actors. Looking forward to watching it later on next week. after a long walk around Victoria Centre looking for the store that had relocated, I found someone official and asked him where it had moved to, naturally had moved to the only part I’d not walked through looking, at the far end of here I stopped and asked the bloke.
Feet humming a bit now, despite this I had a walk around town with the intention of taking some photo’s for putting on here. I remembered to take the camera, but early this morning when I was taking some off of it to put on here, I left the flippin’ thing on and it went flat… oh what a superior nit-wit I am.
Termination of compilation of the days activities at 1610hrs. Will commence tomorrows Inchy Today from that time, providing I remember to, the BT connection does not fail again, and the old laptop doesn’t die a sad death of course.
Today started off fair – then went pear-shaped and frustrating, then gained a bit of satisfaction.
Me pains were far less than yesterday’s were. No blood from me ablutions (apart from a bit when I cut missen shavin’ – Tsk!)
I spent ages and ages creating graphics for me Political post – then the computer crashed! Restarted. The internet went down. Shit, bother and… never mind, I lost it all. Grrr! Bloody BT!
Inchy’s School Leaving testimonial
I went out to the hospital, calling in the council offices on the way to beg if they could find me sheltered accommodation somewhere nearby to live in, and the nice chap made me an appointment to see another bloke this afternoon. Nice.
Then to the hospital, and got tended to quickly, booked in again for next week.
Then back to town, and caught the bus to ‘Bread and Lard island’ West Bridgford, to see me Sister Jane and brother-in-law Pete. He’s very nearly finished all his decorating now.
I had a dizzy walking from the bus and veered into some trees, opening me wounds on me mush. Double Tsk!
Inchy’s Last school report
Enjoyed me cuppa and natter, then Pete came in with a locked box they had been keeping for me and opened it – guess what, me school leaving testimony from the head master, and me last year report was in it! He took a photo of em, and emailed to me at home. Interesting… or not seeing the low grades wot I got… apart from English where I came top… I say top… first! Yahoo!
Caught bus back home, called in Tesco and Chinese shop to try and get some cheese seaweed, but none available. Treble Tsk!
Got back to the flea-pit, and worked on some posts for a bit, scared the laptop would fail me again.
Jane rang later to see how I was, and that was appreciated.
Ah well, as my Dad used to say: “It’s an ill wind that fails to find too many cooks on a Wednesday afternoon!”
As sent in to us by Gerald Inchcock Chambers (67), currently of The Upper Denture Care Home (Manure Cupboard), The Shed, Top end of Nottingham’s Central Cemetery, Between the graffiti’d Gravestone of Isaiah Milligan and the burnt out Ford Consul Classic at the back of the ice-cream van.
The odd MP will be a Europhile,
The odd MP will be antimissile,
The odd MP will be a bibliophile,
The odd MP will be like a crocodile,
The odd MP will be a homophile,
The odd MP will be erstwhile,
The odd MP will be infantile,
The odd MP will be infertile
The odd MP will be very hostile,
The odd MP will be a paedophile,
The odd MP will be unsterile,
The odd MP will be a technophile,
The odd MP will be versatile,
The odd MP will be unfertile,
The odd MP will be docile,
The odd MP will be verbally agile,
The odd MP will be extremely virile,
The odd MP will be volatile,
The odd MP will be worthwhile,
The odd MP will be invirile,
The odd MP will be fertile,
The odd MP will be a gentile,
The odd MP will be juvenile,
The odd MP will be socially vile.
All MP’s behaviour can bring up your bile,
All MP’s behaviour are full of guile
All MP’s behaviour can make you can only revile,
All MP’s behaviour can be often in denial,
All MP’s behaviour can be often puerile,
All MP’s behaviour can be often futile,
All MP’s behaviour can can make you think ‘Is it all worthwhile?’
MP’s all have a false misleading, PR made profile,
Depicting them as being honest, with a pleasant lifestyle,
Despite their nepotism, nihilism, and fiddling, all the while,
For their crimes of fiddling, and lying and acting purile,
They rarely face prosecution; hardly ever do they get to trial!
I was content living at the ex-offenders lodgings, but the cost eventually led me to move into a flat on Melton Road. It was far less than the full board that I was paying that had just gone up to £6 a week, at 17/- (35p), but of course meant I had to buy food and cleaners and stuff like that.
It was one room, with shared latrines and bathroom. But I felt more grown up somehow… for a while.
Within a week, the landlady’s rather buxom daughter arrived at my door holding a bottle of Walker’s Red Label whisky…
Things took place that I cannot fully remember but…
It seem I was legless when she returned back downstairs to her mater, and I thought it a good idea to cook some sausages…
The fire brigade officer woke from my alcohol induced sleep, and the landlady kindly threw me out.
From the flat, to another flat…
I was lucky, in quickly finding another flat on Ryeland Crescent.
Again, an attic room, with a woman and her, er… oh so scary daughters.
I had to avoid certain situations to be safe from them.
Then one Saturday night, they all went out, so I sneaked down and watched their TV. As I was watching Morecome and Wise on the set, a rather large built bloke burst in through the back door, demanding to see Christine (Scary daughter number two), and wanting to know if I was messing about with her. I indicated that I was not messing about with her, and she had gone with her family to the Odeon cinema.
“Oh, she don’t wanna go awt wi’ me though does she?” shouted the man, he seemed to be getting very het up. He blamed me for some reason, and started to trash the room – heroics called for here I thought (What a burke!) I tried to restrain him, and got the radio set over my head for me efforts, followed by a few well place thumps and a rather tear producing kick in the groin. We continued to struggle with one other for a while, until he suddenly stopped, broke down in tears, apologised and left?
I stopped the bleeding from my head, then spent the next couple of hours trying to sort the room out as much as I could, and rewired the plug onto the radio – still not really believing what had just taken place.
The family returned, I explained what happened, she did not believe me, went upstairs and packed my suit cases and I was thrown out again!
From the Flat to Digs off Huntingdon Street…
A mate from work took me in for couple of days, and I found lodgings with a family on Huntingdon Street. (Just off it actually, I can’t remember the name of the street though… mind you, I can remember the name of the landlady and her daughters!
Landlady Mavis, daughter one Audrey (night nurse at Rampton Mental Hospital very handy cause she could visit me during the day), and Veronica.
I was only there a few months, ’cause the landlady had designs on me, Veronica the younger daughter was unsure what she wanted, and Audrey… phew, she was rampant!
Moved to Carrington rented a small house…
The best thing about this place was Audrey would visit twice weekly, and left me feeling weakly… but oh so contented! (Ah memories)
It wasn’t me, any bloke would have done, and did regularly, but without doubt I learnt more from Audrey than any other gal. Plump heavy gal, massively hairy armpits etc, and what a personality. (Shudders with the thoughts, and regrets of no longer being acquainted with the sexpot)
Carrington to a flat at 30 Bingham Road, Sherwood…
Stayed here for many years, and was happy, oh so happy too. I think it was £9 a week.
Had the entire ground floor to myself, big front room, bedroom, cellar, bathroom/toilet, living room, kitchen and garden too!
Started me angling here, joined a local club, it was quiet and peaceful, I just loved it.
One night while I was in this flat is worth mentioning…
I’d been out to the local social club at lunch, but didn’t even get through my first pint, when I started to feel oh so poorly. So I returned to the flat,
Struggled into the front room, and plonked myself on the settee, around 1230 hrs. I remember waking around 1800 hrs and seeing the lamp lights through the window swaying, going back and forth, and thought I’d better have a look in the medical box see if I’ve got something to take.
I found a bottle of ‘Night Nurse’, and consumed a good swig of it, then laid down back on the settee.
I woke up in the morning (later found out if was 0700 hrs) naked and flat out on the garden lawn, with the landlady bent over me slapping me face.
A neighbour later told me I was dancing for hours in the garden, and trying to sing?
I’ve never tried ‘Night nurse’ medications again!
But the landlord sold out and the new one wanted to update the place, and charge £20 a week.
Dad thought it was a treat to take me on marathon walks occasionally. We’d take no food, just a bottle of tap water. We’d walk for miles and miles, always eventually stopping near an orchard in, Bingham, Plumtree, Ruddington, or Bunny, that sort of village-like place. Then him picking an apple or pear, then getting out his penknife and slowly, very slowly cutting off the skin, (which I got to eat) he’d slice up the apple, and I’d get my one slice… enough for a little un he’d say. Then on the way back, he’d call in the pub, bring me out a bag of crisps (with a little sachet of salt, always Smiths), open the bottle of tap water for me, then disappear back inside the pub for about three days… well it seemed like that to me. But at least he never forgot I was with him like Mother used to do. And; he always took me home – well someone had to do the housework! This trip out I went with me mate Jack – but it didn’t turn out how we’d planned it!
On one of the rare occasions that I was able to sneak out and have some fun (as I thought at the time), I joined a mate, and we walked out to Ruddington, to an orchard I’d spotted while out on one of Dad’s marathon walks earlier in the month – with the mischievous intention of scrumping some apples for ourselves.
I was up a tree, dropping the illicit apples down to Jack… when the owner appeared from nowhere…
Jack legged it through a small gate, but that escape route was then barred to me by the owners body by the time I’d got out and down from the tree – so I ran and jumped over a low wall of about 2ft in height, little thinking that the other side might be a drop of about 12ft into the deep mud of a field!
By the time the owner, and newly arrived police officer got down to me, the pain was slowly easing, and the bruising coming out on my face head, and shoulder.
I was unceremoniously handed up to the policeman – who told me I was to walk at the side of his push-bike back to Nottingham’s Queens Drive Police Station!
Telling me this he managed to skilfully and adeptly clip me around the head and ear-holes several times with his leather gloves, whilst pushing the bike with his other hand.
We arrived at the police station, and I was recorded by the desk sergeant, and unceremoniously placed in a bare wall station cell, with bars and door in the shape of a dome, with only concrete/brick slabs to sit on.
It reminded me of the Sheriff’s office cells in the Wells Fargo, Roy Rogers, and John Wayne cowboy films I’d seen at the flea-pit (The Grove Cinema).
But it still scared the hell out of me.
Eventually, some six hours or so later, a constable came in and removed me from the cell, telling me I was to go with Constable Merriman (and merry he certainly was not), to be taken home to Dad!
It seems somehow they knew when Dad would be arriving home.
Out of the station, then along Kirkwright Street. Again at the side of a constable and his push-bike. (A different constable this time) Who had the same excellently honed capability and skills of catching ones ankle with his pedals, clipping your ear-hole, and giving your chin a hefty accidental regular belt with the torch that hung on his tunic belt, painful, but I had to admire his skills even then as he drew blood.
As we got nearer to home, the crowds gathered as the officer took the route there via the middle of the road, down the cobbles into Brookfield Place, by then we had a group of about 12 spectators following us, then of course he (the officer) had to shine his torch in all the house windows as he passed them, and even tried out his whistle – thus the neighbours added to this spectator sport of ‘ogling the downfall of young Inchcock! ‘
He then proceeded to knock hell out of the front door, (this commotion ensured neighbours from over the end wall would not miss any of the total embarrassment of young Inchcock and also join in the ever increasing number of spectators), the door was opened by an already irate Father, because his young un had not been there to get his meal ready and light the fire when he got home, changing his face colour from normal colour, to red, blue, and back to red, as the Constable loudly explained to him: ” I’ve bought ‘this’ home ‘arry, (twisting my ear-lobe as he pushed me toward my irate looking father), caught it scrumping at William’s orchard – will you deal with it Harry?”
Dear father had got his belt off and in his hand before he’d finished replying to the Constable: “Oh eye, yer can rest assured on that one Bert!”
Three days later, I could just about manage sit down again without too much pain from my rumps losing battle with Dads infamous belt and buckle battering!
Currently a short portly-but-wobbly 67 year-old made redundant four times, dedicated NHS patient, with his new heart, arthritis, angina, prostate cancer, haemorrhoids, two hearing-aids wearing, bald, miniscule wedding tackle, knock-knees, hernia, bad eyesight, blood disorder and dizzy spells, oh… and depressed. The disasters, disappointments, successes (both of them), his failures, shattered dreams, false arrest, romantic frustrations, the rejections, inefficacious incidents, lack of education, along with the misfits misconceptions, misunderstandings, misadventures, misanalysis’, miscalculations, misinterpretations, misestimations, misfeasances, misperceptions, and miscellaneous miserable moments and occasions throughout his pathetically unsuccessful life will be revealed. Starting at his birth into the cruel world; that event alone was singularly distressing for all.
Starting at his birth into this cruel world, that event alone singularly distressing for all.
Note I originally intended to leave this emprise out of my Nottingham Lad’s True Tales of Woe, but decided even writing about it for the first time, brought a warm, comforting glow back to my lonely soul, so I put it in, despite the recent events in the news!
One Friday night, mother dear gently blew her fag smoke over me, as she cleared away my dinner things, (the enamel basin, mouldy crusts of the bread, and the empty Oxo cube foil) and spoke to me for the first time in two days, asking: “Would you like to go and stay with Auntie Mabel for a few days? She’s got a shed and garden you can play in?”
Perplexed by this magnificent offer, as I wasn’t aware of having an Auntie Mabel, I thought about the proposal, and thought it might be about time I spread my wings beyond the end of the terrace – so I gingerly accepted the invite, (unsure if it was actually an invite or an order to go) with reservations lingering about who the hell ‘Auntie Mabel’ was. (I’ve certainly never heard of her before or after this wonderful escapade).
So, that night, Mummy put a tea shirt, socks and undies into a ‘Marsden’s carrier bag, and off we went on a number 24 West Bridgford Urban District Council bus into the grand ‘Bread & Lard’ island of West Bridford. We dropped off somewhere near the canal. Then I was marched more than walked towards somewhere at Trent Lane end, and into the massive gardens of a foreboding big dark gardened house.
As mummy dear knocked on the door, it was opened immediately, with the ‘welcoming’ woman (Auntie Mable), ushering us in, and doen the steps to the downstairs kitchen. As we arrived in this kitchen, I knew something was very different to what I was used to… I thought for a while, and realised what it was, it had food in it!
I waited for the woman and precious mummy to conduct some business that involved the woman opening her purse and handing mater some cash. (This was not unusual, it’s the other way around that I cannot recall ever seeing happening).
So, with a quickly shouted: “Now you behave yerself for Auntie Mabel, she’ll bring yer back on Monday”, off she went, leaving little me sat on a stool sucking my thumb.
This heavily scented ‘Auntie Mabel approached, and offered me food the likes as I had never seen before, as she rubbed her hand up and down my young skinny legs.
* I liked that, but didn’t know why, but I liked it!
I was given a knife and fork to use, but didn’t know how to – this didn’t disturb ‘Auntie Mabel’ at all, as she produced some cake and ice-cream – again food I was unused to, but relished.
I was then taken upstairs, by the red faced, heavily lipsticked, nice smelling, plump, polite, slightly scary ‘Auntie Mabel’, who thought I could do with a bath. A real luxury here, and I didn’t have to bath myself – she saw to that.
*I liked that too, but didn’t know why!
It confused me a little, that certain areas of my anatomy were receiving a lot more attention than the rest of my puny underfed, scrawny body was.
* Again I liked that, but didn’t know why!
The drying off was with real towels too! Again certain areas got dried off with more attention than other areas.
* I liked that too, but didn’t know why!
‘Auntie Mabel decided as she was drying me off, that she’d like to take some photographs to remember me by, and this took about 2½ hours, what with all the “Must get you in the best position and lighting ‘my dear’!
* I liked that, but didn’t know why!
Time for bed she decreed, “Do you sleep with your mummy at home?” No chance I thought, but just squeaked a mild “No”. “Would you like to sleep with me tonight?”
* I liked that idea, but hadn’t the vaguest idea why!
“Please” I muttered.
I found out that the reason she was on her own, was that her husband was away on business, so we had to keep ourselves company so we don’t get lonely! She said.
No chance of that, I think we must have spent about 24 hours in bed! Still, I’ve always been up for getting educated.
* I liked that, and was beginning to understand why! Oh happy memories!
When we eventually rose up from bed, me being very sore, confused, but absolutely ecstatic, it was into the bathroom for another two hours.
* I loved that, but now knew why, and I was eagerly learning.
Then into the kitchen, for more food, (I must have eaten the equivalent to a months supply at home in three days)
The whole stay at ‘Auntie Mabel’s” consisted of the same and similar treatment.
* I liked that, but didn’t know why, but have been eternally grateful ever since!
I just hated it when it was all over!
She returned me home on Monday, offering one last concealed gentle caress and a couple of well aimed gropes as I entered the house.
How I begged to be taken back to see ‘Auntie Mabel’ again – but as mysteriously as she appeared in my life, she had heart-breakingly gone from it.
I spent the next two weekends searching to see if I could find her house again, but to no avail. Dad said had never heard of any Auntie Mabel either.
