
“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




















Pink: Theft from a person


☑ 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 put the kettle on, sorted the waste bag, and put it near the door, in case this mornings carer takes it to the skip for me. Made a brew and refilled a water bottle for later. Then took this snap of the morning view.
Then got the Sphygmomanometer, manufactured for Boots, by ZDEAC (Zhongshan Daguan Electrical Appliance Company Ltd) in Guangdong, China. The BP was a smidgeon higher. The pulse was 80. good, that was, I think.
I got on with yesterdays blog catching-up. Which took me a few hours. Grumph! Thanks to Shaking Shaun and Peripheral Neuropathy Pete, both giving me some input. But Shuddering-Shoulder-Shirley was as good as gold to me!
I made a brew of Thompsons Punjana and nearly caused a Faux-pas! And took one of the CBD capsules by mistake for the Codeine. Cor, that was close! The nurse said not to take them in the morning, only on retiring.
I went to get the nosh prepared and cooking. And, by gum, the sun was blossoming now. I took a couple of the views on hand photographicalisationings for your perusal; the first towards my left, where the sun was.
The second one to the right, where I could get a prettier shot of the wonderfully blue, almost cloudless sky. I thought this one had a beauty to it.
Back into the kitchen, to take this picture of the pretty houses in front of the flats.
Tried to get a J Sainsbury order in, and Wallah! And, I got one in! For next Tuesday 0630>0730hrs! I’m doing well, ain’t I?
Got the nosh progress checked. All cooked, so I got the meal prepped and served up. Leaving the sink full of things needing cleaning up. I didn’t drop a single pea from the plate… yet! Haha! 
Off to the kitchenette, the sun was doing its best to show me the weak Sunsetting and the multi-coloured clouds. Nice!
Got changed into my night attire and remembered (No, I’m not kidding, I did remember) to take the Pure Hemp capsule. The nurse said it would take a few days to show any signs of improvement. I just hope that it helps me stay asleep for more extended periods. I’ve got to be patient, mind you.










These went reasonably well (Did I say that?) The most painful bit of agonistically applying the stinging Betamethasone cream really was nowhere near the pain it usually was? This was a good start.
Treating Arthur Itis, Colin Cramps, Shaking-Shoulder-Shirley, Ankle-Ulcer-Herbert. Harold’s Haemorrhoids, Saccades Sandra, Duodenal Donald, Back-Pain-Brenda, Little Inchies, Fungal Lesion were all medicated. The none Carer and prescription items were applied to many parts of the body.
Saccades eye drops. He was gobsmacked at getting some of the liquid into the eye, for once. Of course, he managed to get some in his nose and mouth as per usual.
A second hobbling speedily attended visit to the Porcelain Throne was followed by taking two Dioctyl® capsules. To counter Trotsky Terence’s return! Messy, very much so! Took ages to clean things up afterwards.
Carer Richard arrived. Soon got the medications sorted, and he made sure I took them and didn’t drop any, bless him.
He seemed to be cheery,




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I took the medications for the evening that I’d missed taken. Humph! Then I got the Health Checks done. 
Maybe today I can learn enough to use this Kodak camera properly? Or not!
utilised, and this took me ages! The bowl was then cleaned and sanitised, and I start to get the nasal clearing done. Put the ear drops in. Then started cleaning the teeth… 
Gmail to see what subs or not available were coming today on the Sainsbury order. Well, that is fortunate, no sourdough bread, but they had none last week either. And, no french cream horns, well, that’s assuaged my guilt at ordering them in the first place. Thank Lord Sainsbury!
I admitted him and was soon up at the door handing me the bags, which I put in the hallway.
I took the bags through to the kitchenette. I knew that I hadn’t ordered any kitchen towels, bleach etc., but there seemed many bags there?
How, or why had I ordered two packs of the misshaped cooked ham? How or why had I got a dirty-great container of orange juice?
The lean diced beef I knew was for making the chilli later on. The cucumber for making pickled cucumber arrived. I put the overordering down to Nicodemus’s neurotransmitters letting down so often.
As I was putting the things into the kitchen to sort them out. Struggling to find room moire than ever in the fridge and freezer, the intercom rang out.
I’d bought a lot of fresh foods. Tomatoes x2, leeks, Limoncello (for Josie), lemon desserts, Coz’s apples (they were dry, bruised and not very good tasting). Bread thins, garden peas shelled, beef chunks, crispy smoked bacon, more cooked meats (Tsk!), milk roll loaf etc.
Somehow or other, I got the stuff put away, and then thoughts of food, eating, my leaning towards eating, nouvelle cuisine, and epicureanism abounded in my mind… What to have for my nosh! I was certainly spoilt for choice! After only a few seconds (fast for me!), I’d opted to get the beef chunks in the crockpot, add oodles of chopped leeks, and the garden peas to be added later.
I got the beef and leeks in and added some seasonings: Sea salt, black pepper, Oxo and Best Bisto gravy granules, burnt chilli powder, basil, and a drop of balsamic vinegar that had been delivered. I forgot all about the tomato passata, though, Humph!
I spent a good while making up some waste bags and sorting them into the box on the walker-trolley in the hall.
As I titivated the crockpot contents and had a little nibble to test things, the landline burst forth. It was Jenny, updating me on the situation with the lack of ILC’s. Holiday (vacationing) time. Well, they deserve them, having to put up with us old antediluvian fogies! Hahaha! Jenny and I had a little natter, which is always welcome. ♥



23:40hrs: I removed my over-flabbily-bellied body from the c1968 recliner and utilised the NWWB (Nocturnal-Wee-Wee Bucket). A short sharp affair, with a lot of CMD (Cessational Micturition Dribble) to follow.
So, the half-hour or so handwashing exercise took me nearly two hours! Not to mention the scolding of two fingers fetching the kettle to the sink… Oh, I’ve said it! It’s a good job that I was in a slightly better mood today! I washed the long-sleeve jumper, the jammie-bottoms and the pair of long bamboo diabetic socks. The washed ones from yesterday were not fully-dry enough to put on today, so I got a couple of 100% short-ones to adorn after the ablutions to wear. 
I made a start on moving the stuff back into the cupboard, but soon lost interest!
Since the side-effect-ridden AstraZeneca Covid-19 vaccination was given to me a week last Saturday, SYS has also been higher, its the lowest reading today than for ages. I think I might be getting confused here, between the SYS and the temperature? Well, fancy that!
I found
Gotten Himmel! Look at the time! What happened, where did it go?
terribly bland, tasteless, watery. Savourless and unappetising. These Don Holio chopped tomatoes needed a warning giving-out about them for anyone unlucky enough to buy any. The Sainsbury crispy smoked ready-cooked bacon slices were very fatty tasting as well!
However, and leaving the pots in the sink in cold water to be cleaned when I have some hot water again, in the morning, at first, I was well-pleased that I was in time to watch the channel 11, Tales of the Unexpected episodes.


I tackled the pre-Dump Health Checks.
I made a brew of Glengettie, took the morning medications, and got a packet of the luxury Lemon Wafers out, for the nurse when she calls to take my blood. When she’s been, I’ll nip some down for the Jenny family, I bet Frank and Nora will love them.
The legs seemed to be regaining some muscle now, that Colin Cramps has had a ball with the legs and hands these last three nights.
The Ablutions went really well! In total, I had only six dropsies! Yes! The getting dressed was the opposite of yesterdays when I put on Tent-like new PPs. I adorned one of the blue ones, just the reverse, these were the ones sent too small a size. Things were getting a little squashed! Tsk!
I hand-washed the Afghanistani made turquoise thick-thermal long-sleeved jumper. Washed, rinsed, fabric-softened, rung and hung it up above the sink, to drip dry. The Coronvurus might be beaten by the time it dries. Hehe!
Washed, and went back to the kitchenette, the fog seemed about the same as earlier on.
small and XXL stock! Gragfackles!
I updated the XL Health Check log, and it was back to the Porcelain Throne again.
I went in search if a new bob-cap, I knew was in the junk room somewhere.
Chinese manufactured Head Heater, hat, was 2.6 togs?
Four hours later, I went onto the WordPress Reader section.
Returned, and made up a nosh. I rather spoilt myself. Milk Roll buttered pork sarnies, being the highlight.