INCHIE TODAY: Thursday 9th March 2023

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A bright morning with snow.

Bright-looking urine in the bag is good!

Down to just four visits today.

Email from Asda – order on its way.


Made a brew of Glengettie.

Asda order arrived.
.
Pondered on whether to have casserole for a nosh?
Put the rest of the fodder away.
Fridge before and after delivery.
Note that it is not full!
Tried the Vegan butter later. It didn’t
spread well, but tasted grand!

Took some more view photos of the light snowfall. See
above… Not the houses, which I reckon must either have
a Cannabis farm in the loft, that, or they are so rich
that they can afford to heat the attic? Hehehe!

.

The footfall in the snowfall, in the bottom field.

Later, a man and his dog caught my attention.
Well, it was the wildly wagging tail of the dog
mainly. Boy, that dog loved the snow!

During the day, I had the attention of Carer Josef,
Carer Adele, also & I think Carer Carolynne.
But since the arrival of
any name could well be the wrong one.
Sorry about that!

The snow gave us another covering.

Throne visit six attended. Every one of the
previous sessions were a watery-gurgling mess.
This one was the complete opposite..
lost out to the new King
of the Throne’s return – !
followed the evacuation.

Then, I walked into the door frame on my way out...
And pulled the  tubing
that was stuck in Little Inchie. Naturally, this left poor
.
Undaunted by this mini-series of acci-whoopS,
I made a refreshing mug of Thompson’s Punjana tea…
Taking the first drink of it at the computer,
gave me a nudge,
and the mug and tea dropped from my grasp!
Of course, I took this in my usual casual, calm,
devil-may-care-but-not-me nonchalance.
.
I was close to crying with frustration!

I made the meal of the day…
I’d forgotten about the potatoes in the slow cooker. Not that
I needed them; I’d gone a smidge.OTT without them.
The plant butter on the bread rolls tasted wonderful.

Did a bit on this blog, mostly getting things wrong, lost
all concentration as my eyes failed, and my head
drooped. I gave up!

Would you believe it? Another visit!

Inchcock Senses Alto-Egos Presence!

Alto-Inchy nearly became visible!

.

What the hell are you on about?

Do you believe in the Morlocks?

No…

Bet yer don’t know who they are?.

I couldn’t give a sod who they are or ain’t.

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!

Bollocks!

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?

Worrya mean?

Look at your ailment graphic above, and that’s not got the Kathleen Cataracts, Glaucoma Gladys, or Doreen Dementia on it yet, has it?

Well?

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!

Wot?

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?

Cheers, cocker!

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?

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!

Which sounds emotional, as she didn’t have one…

What?

Arse!

Inchcock’s Ode: Talking with my ailments – Part Two

Talking with my ailments

Introduction:

Part Two – Shaking Shoulder Shirley

After Inchcock was diagnosed with Peripheral Neuropathy, he then got told he was a diabetic. Then had a stroke. (He’s a lucky lad… Not!) Next, a Subconjuntival Haemorrhage in his right eye.

Then while recovering in an NCH (Nottingham City Homes) Care Home, Shaking-Shoulder-Shirley introduced herself. He presumes this is due to the (Nicodemus’s) Nerve ends dying. But the occasional Neuropathy Pete’s shuddering, shaking and jerking of the right side of his body and limbs rarely last for more than a few minutes at max. Usually, Shirley is a lot more violent for some unknown reason and can wear the old man down when she’s persistent. Shaking and lashing about. Her efforts recently have increased somewhat, time-wise, and Inchcock says, “After a long hour or so session, I’m convinced she is trying to wrench my humeral head bone free of the socket” Oh, and Inchcock also needed three stitches in a shaving cut!

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The Nocturnal Natter with Shirley

A mixture of awake, half-asleep, and dreamt discussions, wrote from notes and during the actual multiple chin-waggings…

Inchcock: I’m not sure why or how you came about… Shirley: Ha!, now you talk to me; I’m not as important as Bloody Boris bladder then, what’s that about?
Inchcock: Whaddya mean about?
Shirley: Yo started this ‘ere Talking to yer ailments series of blogs off wiv him… not me, who is far more painful indeed… innit, no doubt?
Inchcock: Well… it depends which ailment is worst at the time… giving me the severest clot…
Shirley: Argh, shurrup! You’ll know now why I’ve been giving the jerks and aches then? Cause yer doesn’t rate me was mean enough… yer, I’ll put yer in more pain than gout!
Inchcock: I wouldn’t and don’t doubt your pain-giving qualities at all; I’m already in pain, tired and worn-out!
Shirley: I suppose Bartholomew give it more to you?
Inchcock: Well, he has been lasered and still works,
Shirley: Cum on mush, look how yers treated me, bad or not!
Inchcock: I massage you twice a day with Phorpain gel
Shirley: Not like you, an old fart that still drinks bottled stout! Yer just an ungrateful old trout!
Inchcock: I…
Shirley: And another thing, I’ve never let the shoulder joint fall out!
Inchcock: Well, I doubt…
Shirley: I’ll tell yer to wot you done to me int past, Inured me you have, I remember the Colwick security stakeout!
Inchcock: Go one then, tell me all about it… it won’t make me freak out!
Shirley: Now yer makin’ me want to puke and pout!
Inchcock: Pout? Why? What about?
Shirley: Oh! Yer not bovvered about me puking then, yer an emotional wash-out!
Inchcock: I remember now, Shirley, Colwick, when we did an overnight lookout…
Shirley: Ah, year, that’s wot it was about!
Inchcock: When I was using the night goggles, from the back of the van… and from it, I fell out, giving you a good clout?
Shirley, you landed in a field, and blood did spout…
Inchcock: Blood? Who’s? No, surely not?
Shirley: It was me, and you bleeding.. have you no memory left or what?
Inchcock: Erm…
Shirley: The burglars arrived? You felt around in the dark for the R.T., went out of the van to take a nighttime photo, missed the step.., and fell on me! What an idiot!
Inchcock: Ah, yes… I fell on a broken tin pot…
Shirley: And it cut me! And you still never got the I.D. shot!

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Notes made for later use…

In the afternoon, Inchcock: Fell asleep…

Shirley: Oi, you Inchie! Are you ready to have anuvver talk wiv me?
Inchcock: Well, I’d like for me…
Shirley: Don’t tell me, you’re back on the Drambuie?
Inchcock: No, no, no, I don’t drink anymore…
Shirley: Sounds like an oxymoron, yer fibbing, you see…
Inchcock: No, I’m not, you’ve been hanging around for over seventy-odd years, must have noticed, so you must indeed acquiesce, concede, and agree?
Shirley: Oh, trying to get clever with words, I see?
Inchcock: Why are you so nasty and sarkie?
Shirley: Me? I’ll tell yer why, dumbo! In left Shoulder Lilly, never, always me, that’s what causes my incongruity! Why is it always me the doctors stick the hypos in?
Inchcock: Now look, we’ve grown old together, Shirley…
Shirley: Yea!
Inchcock: We’ve been through some tough times, we all suffer, Duodenal Donald, Anne Gyna, Reflux Roger, Deaf Darren, Hemorrhoidal Harold, Saccades Sandra all of them, oh, and Toothache Tiffany…
Shirley: Enough of this claptrap mush! But I do wish you well with this little ditty!
Inchcock: She suddenly returned into the ether; what a pity!

Time To Get An Iceland Order Done, methinks

A bit bare, innit?