Inchcock Today: Monday 16th May 2022

Monday, 16th May 2022

I was hoping for a better day!

Things stirred back to reality at 05:25hrs, after 6 hours of sleep and various periods of jumping awake. Making a total time being awake of two hours. Does that make sense? Sorry if not.

According to the best I can make out from the scribbled memory notes, the next occurrence was; P.Tarone Enight? Beats me!

I rose like a tried elephant from the c1968 second-hand recliner, grabbed walking stick Metal Mickey, and went to the wet room to get the Ablutions done.

But my dithering nature interfered, and I took the waste bin out of the wet room, emptied the others and made up some waste bags. Took them to the flat door.

It was drizzling outside, and as I put the kettle on, I took a photo of the road to the left of the kitchenette window. Plenty of trees on it get fresh air.

It’s no wonder I’ve never seen a for sale sign on the beautiful looking Cavendish Vale.

The skies were, I thought, ripe for a few minutes of pareidolia. I’m keen on finding figures in the clouds. But on this occasion, I failed to find any. Humph!

Well, apophenia, finding figures in anything, creases, reflections, cracks in floor tiles, and bulging veins. I’m experienced in that one, having more bulging veins than most people.

I made the tea, went to put the milk in, but diverted back to getting the ablutioning done.

Well, once again, it was a fair session. Fair enough, a few teeny-weeny cuts shaving, but no knocks and bangs, dizzies, toe-stubbings or tumbles. I didn’t engage the Smug-Mode… it’s early yet.

I even got out through the door without any shoulder-charging of the frame… Yes, go on then;

Got the laundry bag sorted. Made another mug of tea for the one I let go cold, and Dizzy Dennis gave me a few moments of concern… only a  short bout, maybe a minute at most. But it had me holding on to the stick and hastening to sit down. But Dennis disappeared, and I was fine when I stood up? There are no messages from EQ, but I think it may be another semi-harrowing day, somehow? 

Sunday’s photograph of the messy mud-slide onto the end car park on Chestnut Way. It has been known for Cataract Kathleen to do this to me! I hope I’ve not put this one on before?

This is this morning’s shot of the same area. I found some more of the indecipherable scrawl on the memory pad here, not the foggiest of what it meant. Try as I did, it remains a mystery,

A sudden robust rumbling from the innards!  I was all but too late, getting to the Throne in time in seconds. Trotsky Terence controlled the evacuation. Gawdawfull messy it was! Had to change the PPs (Protection Pants) I’d put on an hour ago! Ah, well, I got everything cleaned up.

Richard arrived late; he’d had a lousy shift, I think. The poor lad looked done in. He still had a look at the SD card for me. Putting it in and out to see if anything changed; and found that the card had split! He took the waste bags out with him for me, with my thanks.

I hope the new card works in the Canon and the reader accepts it. Praying here! I opened the card, full of hope and cut my finger on the plastic! Got it fitted in the camera (not the finger, the SD card), and I tried taking shots that I did yesterday to use here and test the system. Good heavens, it worked! So, I engaged in the use of the, with reservations. As you can see here, it worked.

Outside my Winwood Heights Independent Living block of flats, I hobbled out onto the balcony to look at what was. Conducted my Blood Pressure and temperature checks. SYS 154, DIA 68, Pulse 78, and the body temperature was a decent 34.1°c.

A couple of miles away, I took a zoomed-in shot of HMP, her Majesties Nottingham Prison. And thoughts and questions permeated through… “I bet they can see their prison Doctor or Dentist at any time?”, “They’ll get their cataracts done quicker than I get mine!” “They are not worried about the rent, electricity, food, transport, bus fares, etc. going up?” “Most likely, get their free computers mended for free!” They’ll not worry about forgetting to lock their doors either! Hahaha!

Gawd, he’s been at it again, almost one-stop since morning. Bang, tap-tap, scrape, thud, boing… I did not retaliate. After all, what is the point in haggling with the self-centred, impolite, insensitive, disrespectful, snobbish, haughty, pompous, pretentious, uppity, scoffing, contumelious, smart-alecky, and ineffable, cruel, unsympathetic, toffee-nosed, self-important, nyaff, noisy nasty man?
As luck has it, I like him.

Far too ridiculously late, I made a start on this blog. Of course, something had to go wrong…

Am I the luckiest person on earth, I asked myself?

Of course not!

That honour must go to Steve Fries, the bigwig of Liberty Global, Whose inability to send an uninterrupted internet signal to Nottingham earns him $23 million a year!

Jealous? Me? Yes!

Miraculously, it was only down for a minute or so this time; I felt almost happy about it! Temporarily!

I thought I’d better check to see if any messages or missed calls had been received while I was so busy being mucked about my Herbert and Fries. Still, Herbert entertained me with some clattering-about sounds.

Could I find the phone? No! There was worry but no panic initially. All I had to do, was go through all of my jackets and trousers that I’d worn since I last used the mobile phone (whenever that was). I vaguely remember putting it in a pocket and saying, “Don’t forget that it’s in that pocket!”

Within about ten minutes, I settled for Thursday, when the foot lady texted me telling me I was late for my appointment again… that was in the brain box! I engaged my Sherlock Holmesian Methodology, and first, I worked out when I last went out. Now, what was I wearing? Maroon jacket? Blur jacket? Black trousers, or green trousers? Was I wearing my trousers – nobody said anything.

After a heated discussion with myself, I narrowed it down to the green or black trousers; and the red or blue jacket, all of which were in the laundry bag. Then thought, aha! (I do that sometimes), It might be in the pyjama bottoms, two pairs of them in the laundry. I almost felt confident as I went into the back room to search for the clothing in the bag… I should have known better at my age and after many years of failed memory training!

Well, now I was getting hot under the collar! I smugly checked through every pocket and the bag… not sausage in there. (Not that I was after one, of course, a figure of speech and all that).

A lengthy search in each room and all the clothes hanging up in the front room and the hallway proved a failure, with no mobile to be seen. Of course, if I knew my mobile number, I could ring it and hope I heard it to locate it. Although if it was in a pocket, as I still believed it was, I might not hear it anyway… I rang the desktop dancer and Warden Deana to ask if she could ring the mobile for me, but to was engaged… oh, that reminds me; she is six weeks away from getting married; bless her, and a lucky fellow too… I digress again, sorry. I do tend to do that a lot.

I rummaged, rooted and ferreted about, delving into the most unlikely of places, all to no avail. Then a spark in the brain suggested that it may have fallen and gone underneath the cabinet or recliner? Worth a look, so I did…

I got the torch and was leaning on the arm of the recliner to get low enough to check the sides, with my intentions bravely being, if no success, to get on my knees to look under the chair. But as I was leaning forward and on my left leg – perfect timing from the Nicodemus’s Neurotransmitters, who gave me a flailing right leg out of control dance… Which naturally had me on the floor in seconds. The spectacles are now in a precariously loose state of repair. Also, I’ve got two newly bruised knees and a red cheek from hitting the arm on the way down!

As I was recovering and considering how to get back up on my feet, Deana came in at just the perfect time! She got me up, made sure things still worked with the legs, and laughed at the (at the time unknown to me) red patch on the cheek that looked like a clown’s make-up! Hahaha! Not really, but she should have.

Deana rang my mobile. I couldn’t hear it. But she found it, under the cover on the back of the computer chair… in a jacket pocket! I am totally losing it, and a twit!

Well, worra day! Again! It’s nearly 1700hrs now, so sleep looks like being late tonight. This blog is not halfway through yet! I pressed on with it like a mini but fat hero, determined to get it up to date…

♫Oh, Susana♫ rang out. I hobbled to the door (It was a pronounced hobble, the right knee was in some pain, Tsk!) and found Josie returning the jar that held the two meals for yesterday. Bless her, I could not hear what she was saying, but plashed a smile, mentioning Betty Bunter, bless her.

Arrived, soon sorted. Then, I had a go at catching up on Facebooking. Then comments on WordPress.

Got the nosh started. It is now passed 21:00hrs. It’s been another gruelling day. I caught my hand on the oven dish as I took it out of the oven. I believe I said, “Bother!”

Veggie burger, fries, tomatoes and some sugar snap crap Ecuadorian peas. I realised a small stale cake and an out-of-date, but I could not see the date, and tasting it realised it was rancid. The banana was okay, though. However, despite these minor upsets, the flavour rating given was 6.5/10.

Had a wash, and when I came out to do the pot washing, the great sky looked to me just like an oil or water painting.

I took my time taking the last photo, as it was zoomed-in and getting the Canon camera to hold steady enough for a decent shot was not easy. I probably had to take six or seven tries to get this last one, which is not very good. But retains something about it that I like.

I deleted the old snaps on the new SD card. Thinking it would be less confusing for Kathleen’s Cataracts, Doreen’s Dementia and me. But no, I only deleted two that had not been put on the computer yet! Hehe!

Getting to sleep was nigh on impossible; well, it was. The Thought Storms rampaging through the brain, self-hatred, shame, fear… I was in the right state. It’d been a messy day, but why this? I put the TV on, but that didn’t send me off. Utter worn-outedness did it in the end, around about 02:30hrs!

Still, yers don’t like to complain, does yer?

Alto-Inchies Ode on Inchcock

I’ve been a bit worried about Inchcock for many a day,
His brain has been loaded with worries & clamjamfry…
Doreen’s Dementia is getting more and more on display!
His memory is shot to pieces, bar some bits of scintillae,
He’s had two falls, one on Sunday, another on Monday,
His outlook, ideas and hopes become anachronistically…
If they come at all, his writing is full of godwottery!

But it wouldn’t help if he won the lottery…
He’s lost interest in anything financially…
His nest egg dwindling, becoming almost eleemosynary,
Worried over increases, rent, care, food, even his tea!
Electricity, travel, all risen in price, becoming too costly…
Will he get through it? There’s no guarantee…
If he tops hissen, what’ll happen to me?

Alto-Egos don’t always have it this easy,
Dominating Inchcock has been easy peasy!
Where will they move me? What human will I accrue?
Putin? His Alto-Ego could resign, but will he do?
I’d like to get at a human that’s evil, bloodthirsty!
For I fear I’ll get another docile twit like Inchie.

Written to create a laugh and or smile!

Inchcock Today: Diary with Odeing

Brief Diary – with Boringly Long Ode…

One hell of a Messy Day!

Friday 13th May 2022

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…

DOWN AGAIN

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!

Inchcock Today: Monday 2nd May 2022

INCHCOCK TODAY

Monday 2nd May 2022

Hehehe! Managed to get some photos loaded at last! Of course, remember which was taken when and why… will primarily be up to Doreen Dementia. So it’s likely to have a bit of guesstimating.

This would have been taken somewhere around, or close to Friday, or maybe Saturday morning. I’d guesstimate, judging by the sun’s placement, coming from the rear of the flats, leaving a shadow, about 07:00hrs?

Possibly Friday evening’s meal. I remember making this little feast because it was the first time I tried those savoury fries. They were delivered on Friday (I think)… see that? I can sometimes remember things, and others not! The sourdough veggie-beef sarnies were lovely; the gherkins and tomatoes went down well with some butter. The fries were a little disappointing; not a lot of taste. A strawberry cheesecake and mini cake rounded things off nicely. Flavour-Rating 7/10.

On Saturday (Mayhaps), the blood pressure was one of the best ever! The SYS at 128. DIA 65, the pulse is low, but not enough for any concern, at 75. The wee-weeing had eased off a little as well.

My Chinese (Hong Kong) was made by Shenzhen Relee Electronic & Technology Co. Ltd™, contactless thermometer came up trumps; with a temperature of35.3°c. The highest it’s been for many a month!

I found some strange botches on the legs when it came to doing the Phorpain Gelling on Saturday (?).

Of course, nothing new, but the legs have been so good for so long that I was surprised at this. Whatever they were, the purple patches appeared to be pretty fresh.

However, the normal state of the leg veins, with the superficial venous thrombosis (phlebitis), chronic venous insufficiency (CVI), iliac veins, femoral vein, saphenous vein, and popliteal veins, just seem to have disappeared under the folds of flesh? The tibial veins could not even be seen? Mind you, Cataract Kathleen, Glaucoma Glenda and Saccades Sandra, might be affecting my vision, I suppose.

I had a treat on Saturday; oh, yes, I did! I made some of the cheesy baked potatoes, the first I’ve made in a long time. It could, well should have been a higher score, but I overdid the buttering, which marred things. Taste Rating 8.5/10.

And with no stab wounds, cuts or injuries at all! I saved three halves of the delicious but over cheesy buttered potatoes for supper! Mmm! And boy, was I glad I did later on when I warmed them in the microwave…

Then I decided I’d make some more on Sunday, with the last Leicester cheese.

I was on the verge of going into a Smug-Mode… and I made a mess of bending down to pick up some cutlery I’d dropped while doing the washing up. I tumble forwards, banging into the fridge-freezer, and the pots and jars on top of it came tumbling down, as the machine quaked with having my flabby weight hit it! So I had to rewash them as well! Humph!

Hey-Ho! Serves me right! Since then, I’ve had a nagging discomfort in the lower back.

Getting settled for the night, I decided to look at the end car park from the balcony, and I took this picture on the left. Hehehe! Red-Van-Man’s lousy parking is getting to the other tenants now.

The evening Carer was Cheeky Charlie (If I recall correctly). Always pleased to see her, and she gives me a little natter each time, Bless her! ♥

The evening’s kip was full of waking ups with a jump. At least I did get off to kip pretty soon, though, so I shouldn’t complain too much. IT felt terrible on Sunday morning, though, as if I’d not had any time with Sweet Morpheus!

All went well. Only two nicks shaving!

Ah, much better this time; I reckon that Trotsky Terence is losing his grip on the innards, at last. A bit messy, so cleaning and sanitising were needed after the evacuation.

Colin Cramps gave me a right nasty pasting in the left foot as I came out into the kitchen! I took a snap of it; you can clearly see Colin’s grip on the toes? Huh! He doesn’t often attack during the day. He does every night, in the legs, feet, toes, hands or wrist, so often I rarely mention it nowadays; just take it as usual.

I started to prep Josies chilli-con-carne. Chilli, Light soy sauce, sea salt, chilli and salt mixture and beef seasoning. Then went on the computer for about three hours and forgot all bout it on the hob! I chopped the leeks and mushrooms, ready to go in later, got the beans and meat in the saucepan on low light, and added her favourite seasoning.

The meal was ruined, and I had a job to salvage the saucepan to use again! It took ages to get things sorted, and then I had to start again from the beginning!

I felt like a right idiot! Tosspot! Still, Doreen’s Dementia will not be denied. All I could do was pretend I wasn’t bothered, hoping that she could tell, and it pissed her off a bit, too!

What seemed like a month later, I’d got the second Sunday nosh sorted, put it for Josie and got it on the tray with the usual selection of nibbles and treats for her. At least it tasted good… well, to me anyway. I delivered it at the regular time to Josie’s door, 12:00hrs. To my surprise, she said she didn’t expect it with it being Bank Holiday. Doreen seems to have got us both in her grip… Hahaha! I’ve never failed to deliver her meal, whatever Sunday it was.

Although I tell a fib there. I did deliver it on a Saturday a couple of weeks ago when Doreen had convinced me it was Sunday. Hehe! I like doing it for her, it is getting harder, but I’ve no intention of stopping yet! IT WAS MISSED when I had the stroke, but as soon as I got back to the flat, it was served up every Sunday again.

Oh, heck, I’m back in the high red zone again! SYS at 161, DIA 69, and the pulse at 75. The body temperature thermometer recorded a decent 34.0°c. I’ve had worse, a lot worse. It’s the past four all being so low that caught me out.

I served up my planned cheesy baked spuds with some crispy onions. By gum, did I enjoy them… yes I did! Hehe! I didn’t overdo the butter this time, and they were much better than yesterday’s tasted. Flavour Rating: 8.9/10!

Monday: The sleep was even worse than Saturday night was! I just could not nod off! Turned the lights off, lulled the bobble-hat over my eyes, and fought with the Thought Storms… all to no avail! So I put the TV on if I want to watch something that can sometimes help me sleep.

But not last night. I found a film that I fancied watching, with Will Smith and Geoff Goldblume, and I watched it all the way through, over two hours! I was telling Carer Richard about it, he didn’t have much time cause he had another call to make. He told me it was Independence Day, as I could not remember. Sad, innit?

Grobbleknob and Knackleboings! I can’t win with these flipping Blood Test thingamajigs! SYS is even higher now than it was Sat and Sunday.

I wonder why this is? There will be a reason. Bound to be… However, this has often happened before. Last time it shot up for two days, then suddenly dropped?

I took another snap of the end car park at the end of Chestnut Way. Haha! I can’t tell if Red-Van-Man had moved, but the imitators, three of them, are getting scared of the white lines.

An odd occurrence with the waste bin near the computer desk. I threw away a used tissue, and it bounced right out from the bottom of the container? I had to get down on my knees to retrieve it from under the c1963 cabinet. I did so with only discomfort, no pain. Casually threw the tissue back in the waste bin, and… bugger me, it did it again! Another ferret under the wood had to use the picker-upperer this time to reach it, and to avoid everything odd that happens three times in a row scenario, I took it to the kitchenette bin. All part of the mysteries of Woodthorpe Court, with the hobgoblins, spectres, gnomai, phantasms, ghosts, grotesque succubae, extraterrestrials, ectoplasms that have been sent to taunt, irritate and terminate my already limited saneness of mind? Hahaha!

I took a snap through the part open balcony door. It looked nothing like this picture came out. Another mystery?

No, I doubt it. Probably due to the eye problems and, of course, my life-long struggle with achromatopsia,

The evening Carer should be here soon; time to get something to eat.

Here it is. A flavour rating of 7/10 was given. I soon got gesticulating and ate it all up.

Then the problem of getting to sleep was tackled. I had to put the TV on, which worked; I nodded off at the first set of commercials. But the springing awake with an annoying body and mind jerking jump began, repeatedly. No thought storms, though?

Nemo Mortalium Omnibus Horis Sapit

Inchcock v Alto – The Suicide Discussion

“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

Inchcocks Local News Snippets – Issue 44⅘ths

Mud Gorning

I’d just like to explain to you what happened. I thought I’d try it in odes, but after writing the poem below and reading it, that was maybe not such a good idea. So, I’ll tell yers, abarght wot happened:

Ocado had no ~Heinz burgers in stock again, so I ordered some frozen ones from Iceland to try. Which I did and got them cooked for the suggested length of time. And them to some baked beans in the bowl…

Not one of my des photographicalisations, I grant you. On top of the beans are the two ‘NoBull’ veggieburgers. They didn’t taste anywhere as lovely as the Heinz ones, but beggars can’t be choosers. I git into them and dipped the sourdough bread in the baked seasoned beans; I thought all was very passable… An odd choice of words, considering what was to follow…

This morning, I stirred around 04:00hrs, and a sort of gurgling from my innards caught my attention. No sooner had I got to my feet to catch my balance than it became clear that I needed to make way to the wet room and Porcelain Throne as a matter of some urgency. Which I did.

The evacuated torpedo was a little softer, although a lot larger than yesterday’s, but still not messy… painful, yes! Things needed a little cleaning up, and I used the Germolene on my rear end.

Back out and to the kitchen, tittivated around the kitchenette sink area, and made a brew of Thompson Punjana tea. I went back to the front room and got the computer on… And needed to hasten back to the Porcelain Throne again. ♫It’s not unusual to pass twice ♫ for me. I was surprised when I got down on the seat; the speed and splattering sound as the mish-mash landed. A lot of cleaning up was needed this time. Washed and back to the computer.

An hour later, session three was taken. Very watery, stinky and a lot of it. Where was it coming from? Why?

Another hour and trip number four was then needed. This time, embarrassment and shame… As I was whipping down the trousers, things started of their own accord and all (nearly) liquid! What a mess!!!

The morning carer arrived, and I hoped she could smell nothing; she didn’t say owt anyway, bless her. As she left, call number five started; I was not hesitating at all, and stubbed my toe, then hit my shoulder on the door to the wet room in my haste going in. I barely made it in time. At least there was not so much of it by now; there can’t be anything left there?

An hour or so later, I found there was something left in there, all liquid. There’s something oddly disturbing about sitting there expecting a torpedo, and all one can hear is liquid shooting into the water.

Summoning number six had a bit of body, and there was much less evacuated. Also, some of the real stuff (brown… well, no, more khaki, really, trickled out – so new PPs were used again. More cleaning and medicating, and back to the computer.

Number seven was short but not sweet! The splattering of some mud had to be cleaned up, and Germolening of the poor painful piles!

The last one, number eight (an hour ago), was noisy and back to the liquid format?  Since then, no signs of the Throne being needed, but the wee-weeing has gone crazy suddenly?

Sorry, I just needed to tell someone.

ODE TO THE DAY

To listen to the radio, I need a headphone…
Can’t hear anyone when they speak on the phone,
I’m passing wind, sounds like a trombone?
The innards are churning like it was a battle zone…
Then came my first visit to the Porcelain Throne…

It was reluctant, the torpedo as hard as a stone!
Seven hours later, I need a medical arbiter…
Eight more visits, nine in total, stomach still aflutter!
The last two evacuated more as water…
My bum is sore, daren’t eat… I’ve felt a lot better…
It brewing inside again; will it ever settle?
So, should I snuff it and die, lackaday!

Remember veggie-burgers, and stay away…
Resist eating them; I ate two NoBull ones yesterday…
I shan’t be eating anymore anyway…
Pain and queasy feelings of dismay,
I may get over it, I dare say, someway…
But I do feel grotty and giddy,
Now there are bouts of going dizzy…
I’ll do my best to press on anyway,
I’ve the door wide open for a quick getaway…
Crap-it, I need another one, instantly…

Was that the ninth or tenth? I flowed cruelly…
Far less this time, or am I getting delusory?
Or should word have been delusionally?
I feel hungry but dare not try owt gastronomically!
More food, make affects the innards to react harmfully?
Making me rush to the Throne more frantically?
I feel lethargic; the knees feel like jelly?
Surely the shits like these will be temporary?

I said this ten craps ago,
What to do? I don’t know…
I’m bent forward, really low,
Must look like Quasimodo?
I speak, it sounds like Esperanto?
Even my thoughts are akimbo…
Is it safe to eat dry bread or sourdough?

The Trotskies seem like they’ve lasted for an eternity?
They could drive me back to drinking whisky…
Oh, better not, with the stomach so empty…
I’m in pain, and dizzy, aching… no, really!
Each evacuation today has shown consistency…
I pray the next one will not show urgency…
Or I’ll have to make a long-distance delivery – Hehehe!

ON WITH THE LOCAL NEWS SNIPPETS!

Treating it as a hate crime? Why? Yes, it is a hate crime, but why draw attention to it? Unless the scumbags can be prosecuted to a greater degree for hate crimes than any other, I’m all for it!

Another hate crime? What’s going on? I hope the poor devils coming to the UK, running from Putin’s bullies, don’t get such a welcome!

I assume from the facts as I read last week that Nottingham has more students pro-rater than any other City. Indeed, that has been taken into consideration… or has it?

Same comment as above?

So, virtually attempting to murder police officers, endangering members of the public, and he gets 12 months in prison? Grrr! The namby-pamby legal system is no deterrent at all. He’ll likely still get his drugs and booze sneaked in by his friends…

I wonder if Russia can offer them any jobs?

That should be knife found, another cock-up!

I am not complaining about Van Der Merwe getting a decent sentence, but so should Barrass! Four years and eight months. I concur with this sharp sentence. But why do attempted murderers and the Barrass above get one year for trying to kill police officers and putting the lives of the innocent at risk? Not to mention his drug offences, stabbing, firearms and woman battering qualities?

Price must be laughing his head off! 18 Months of Community order? What’s that, then? 80hrs of unpaid work?

A bit embarrassing that!

Parole Board members… don’t forget to give him full remission!

Sad.

If it’s true, fair enough!

Well done to the private group who caught him!

Angeringly sad.

Bit of decent speedy job done there by the police!

Keeping my determination not to win!

LATE EXTRA!

Trust is something we do all the time without thinking. Doctors (Harold Shipman), Nurses (Beverley Allitt), and policemen (Wayne Couzens) are professionals that we rely on, trust! We can guarantee that the Parole Board will release convicted murderers to kill again! The facts are, we can never know for sure…

Ending on a personal note…

I’ve found the legend for the local postcode crime map.

Pink: Theft from a person
Dark Pink: Shoplifting
Dark Grey: Vehicle Crime
Light Grey: Violence & Sexual Offence
Light Green: Other crime
Dark Green: Drugs
Mid Blue: Antisocial
Light Blue: Bicycle theft
Orange: Burglary
Mustard: Possession of a weapon
Teal: Public order
Greeny-Blue: Public order.

Bearing in mind along with the Cataracts, Glaucoma, and Saccades, I also have achromatopsia (colour blindness), my choice of colours may not be of much help. Tsk!

A lot less crime in my area this time. But I know that the youths breaking into my flat did not make it onto the map? How many others are missing?

Inchcock Today: Diary with Tips in Ode

INCHCOCK TODAY

Morning Thoughts – In Ode

Tips & Advice for Whippersnappers

It’s not always good to be counterrevolutionary,
Or eat too many cakes, biscuits and confectionary,
Even when they are freebies, stolen or complimentary,
You can get CBD from an apothecary, but not for free!
Boots sell sugar-free cakes, chewing gum and toffee!

Don’t skimp on your health, even on dentistry…
It will hurt and cost, don’t be disillusionary…
You can get pain-killers, co-codamol from a dispensary,
You must obtain a job; this is elementary…
To avoid ending up broke and eleemosynary!

Avoid gangs, violence, and drugs, which seem customary…
For youths who end up injured or dead, sanguinarily…
Not that all young men think this is statutory…
Many, well, a few, the odd one, will live crime-free…
Sixty-five per cent or so will go to prison, you see!

This advice-ode is not meant to be a shockumentary,
Its advice is to avoid overuse of your Rosary…
Luckily for you, we have a cost-counting judiciary…
So drug-taking, muggings, don’t mean putting you away,
It costs too much to lock you up for more than a day!

The exception is murdering someone, to prison, you go away,
You’ll not worry about the cost of living, which is so inflationary…
A free Doctor inside, should you go into insanity!
Takes me weeks to get an appointment for the surgery!
A 20-year sentence, even if you’re a murdering mercenary!

You can get by the parole board with lies and trickery,
Being free within 6 years is not so extraordinary,
They’ll pay your rent, you’ll be probationary…
You can kill again, perhaps a mother and baby?
Get out again, sell your story for a documentary?

But let’s not be gloomy; think of the non-offenders,
Who cannot afford to go out on benders…
And don’t attack customers or bartenders,
They may be unemployed, clerks or builders…
Struggling to live and pay their bills, the poor bleeders!

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Wednesday 6th April 2020

04:00hrs: I stirred to life without any jumping or jerking. Most importantly, mental-healthwise, not a sign of the Thought-Storms! I made my way to the wet room for ablutions and an urgent feeling for a wee-wee.

I took the half-full NWWB (Nocturnal-Wee-Wee-Bucket) with me for emptying, cleaning and disinfecting. Not an easy job, but I’m using Metal Mickey to get there. But no problems were encountered! Tipped out the contents, rinsed and washed the bucket, and put some Dettol disinfectant in it.

I started to get the nasal cleaning done and had to make a slight change of plans…

It was a close call! Despite there being no rumblings or squelching from the innards to warn me, the movement began before I’d got my bottom on the plastic! Messy! Watery, splashed all over me and the WC! Start to a sudden finish in less than 30-seconds, I reckon! The cleaning up afterwards took a lot longer. Tsk!.

Back to the wash and brush up sessioning. The teeth cleaning went okay. Then that danger zone, shaving, was started. I thought it had gone well. But when I was starting on Little Inchie and Harold’s Haemorrhoids, I caught a reflection in the shaving mirror. I wished I’d taken the camera in now. Tiny trickles of blood down from the neck and chin area, onto my chest and man-breasts. Hehehe!

I got the lesion, piles and neck sorted out rather quickly too! It took ages, and I had pieces of paper towel all over me, but they eventually stopped leaking. These tiny shaving cuts don’t seem to respond to the aftershave as much as the larger ones.

I got the day clothes on, and feeling refreshed, I hobbled back to the kitchen to get the kettle on…

Humph! I had to hasten back to the wet room to utilise the Throne again! This evacuation was, what’s the word? A sort of follow-through; far less content and almost entirely liquid. More cleaning up was required.

Whoops Trotsky Terence was now in complete charge of any rear-end passings from the innards. This called for a dose of the Galpharm to be taken with the brew of Glengettie! Which I took the next thing.

Whoops Another flipping wee-wee, short and sharp again. These came all day long, so much so that Little Inchies Fungal Lesion started bleeding later on. I don’t think I’ve wee-weed so much before. Bladder and Bowels have been upset somehow?

☑ I got the Sphygmomanometer out and took the Blood Pressure readings. Sys 144, DIA 71, which was in the High Blood Pressure red, only just. It was lower than it’s been for a few days now.

☑ The body temperature was so close to target again. It has been so good for the last 3-4 days. Why? Not complaining. I just wish I knew what I’d done right, so next time it drops, I can do it again.

I got the Tuesday blog updated and sent it off to WordPress. Emailed the link. Then, I Pinterested some photographs. Just starting the WP comments, and Carer Richard arrived. He was looking a bit better than yesterday. He gave me a few minutes of chinwagging, which I appreciated. Especially as I could see how tired the lad was.

After Richard had departed, I went back to the WP Comments. Next, onto Facebooking. Then…

Whoops Dizzy Dennis arrived, and so much so, my mind got fogged. I worked (I think), on this blog for several ho