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 hours, having great difficulty getting the photos to upload again.

Whoops Concentrating was hard enough as it was, but the wee-wees increased in frequency in the afternoon, and this really got to me. I was struggling with all the breaks I had to take. Things were taking ages as I had at times to work out where I was before the weeing! Grrr!

I went through to get the oven on in readiness for the meal making, and the view was staggering. I do love those puffer clouds!

Night Carer. Food. Horrible sleep.

Whoops Can’t get photos to load at all.

Fed-Up!

Inchcock Today: Diary wiv odes

Thursday 10th February 2022

Thought I’d Mention It… Great Music!

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

05:10hrs: I just waken up again with a jump. The sixth time tonight, I would have gone back to sleep, but the Thought Storms started off. After a few minutes, they just disappeared while I was right in the middle of a fretting session. The surprise of the Thoughts suddenly stopping made me forget what it was I was worried about. Hahaha!

Then in a heartbeat, the bowels started to evacuate on their own again… Panic, flap, up and nearly toppled over, bruised my leg battling against the recliner arm and leg as I tumbled a smidge, and dashed (yes, really, and wobblingly) to the wet room. Grrreat! I made it in time! But it was another messy affair.

I cleaned up the room myself, got some fresh Protection Pants on, returned to the front room, and took a Galpharm capsule. Which was a bit farcical in two ways… Taking out a tablet and Peripheral Neuropathy-Pete’s nerve ends contacted, I crushed the capsule. Not only that, but the nerve-ends went back to lot contacting, and I had to wait a while before I could open the fingers that half the squashed tablet firmly! Which I have to admit to laughing out loud too! I tested the fingers after they allowed me to open them, all seemed fine again.

Opening the foil again on the strip, and the entire sheet came off! How long it took me to find them all, I’m not sure, but it took a few minutes at least. Another smirk hit my face! Got a capsule swallowed at last.

As had to use the NWWB (Nocturnal-Wee-Wee-Bucket) three times in ten minutes. I shall ring Dr Nallamothu, Urinary Tract Infections office in St Annes, later today; I can’t go on like this.

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 tackled the Health Checks. I used the newer Chinese (Hong Kong) made by Shenzhen Relee Electronic & Technology Co. Ltd, contactless thermometer. A little low?

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.

The Carer, Richard, arrived a little later than usual. About 07:30hrs. But he seemed a little cheerier today and willing to have a natter with me this morning. He said it was his holiday-vacation starting tomorrow… Aha, that’d be why he was a bit happier today. I’ll miss having him call on me; he shows signs of caring. So, he gave him some nibble-treats, took the waste bags for me on his way out, and left me feeling less cheerful at the thought of who I will get as a replacement Carer? Tsk!

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 got the blog done and posted off. Viewed and replied to emails and comments. Went on Facebooking. Then did some graphicalisationing on CorelDraw. Got as far as here and realised I’d not yet viewed the WordPress reader… so I did! It’s getting late now, so I started this blog.

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.

Then I nipped back into the wet room, thinking I might have left the tap running… but all was okay.

Back into the kitchen, to take this picture of the pretty houses in front of the flats.

Huh! Back for a wee-wee yet again! It’s getting out of hand. Hehehe!

Then I got the number and rang the St Annes Centre to make an appointment with the Urologist. They will text me back with the appointment date and time?

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?

Looking a little glum now.

Herbert was upping the clanging about. I think he was struggling to get to grips with something metal. He seems to have mastered it; he’s back to the tap-tapping again now. Well done, stridulant Hebert!

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! Gorgeous tasting effort; everything was so delectable. The black tomatoes and the buttered peas and potatoes were as close to perfect as they have ever been! Taste Rating: 9.2/10!

There was just one… well, two things that slightly marred the pleasure. The poor teeth could not cope with the wonderful tasting Cox’s Orange Pippin apple. I shall have to work out how not to waste the remaining three apples in the fridge. With the two loose teeth, I simply dare not risk biting into them… Could this be the end of my apple-eating days? So, sad! Sob!

Off to the kitchenette, the sun was doing its best to show me the weak Sunsetting and the multi-coloured clouds. Nice!

I got all the pots and utensils washed and draining, as the now getting famous door chime rang out its welcoming ♫ Oh, Susana ♫ tune. It was the evening carer. It was Carer Elena. I think she’s taken to me as I have her. Very caring, and we had a mini-natter too! ♥ She took the waste bag out with her as she left. Such a pleasant lady. It’s a true shame I wasn’t 35 years younger. ♥ 00Hehe!

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.

However, I did make a mess of it. (Fancy that, hard to believe, I know, me making a mess of anything… Ahem!) I coughed as I was about to swallow it, and the plastic shell broke open! I got a mouthful of weed and seeds that seemed to get into every little hole, nook and cranny in my teeth. And believe me, there are plenty of them in my mouth. Danged useless Dentist!

I got settled in the £300, second-hand, c1968, Charity shop-bought, eyesorely-horrendously grungy coloured, haemorrhoid-testing, unfit-for-use, not working, recliner, in search of a long-lasting sleep… But no! Yet again, it was waking wide awake with a jump, what seemed to be every ten minutes or so. It was probably longer, though.

Ode to Lack of Sleep

Sweet Morpheus, hello? Can you listen to me, please?
I’m serious now; it’s not a joke, jape or wheeze…
I can’t sleep well or for very long, can you put me at ease?
I’ve not eaten owt to cause this… no fricassees, onion bargees…
No late scoffing any cobs of pickle and cheese…
No dreams of beautiful women in their negligees!
I don’t expect anything positive or guarantees…
If you can assist me, I’ll stop eating toffees…
I’ll be kind to animals, dogs, cats, chimpanzees…
Never again will I eat pickled walnuts or banoffee…
I need the rest, you sees?
For my arthritic knees…
If you can help, I’ll do good deeds…
I’ll even stop playing with my Frisbees!

The Nottingham Lads True Tales of Woe

Inchcock Today – Just a graphic wot I made

Billum treats Inchcocks Ailments!

Bill & HRH

Lobotomy Sorted Out The Problems

HRH Lisa, Problem Sorter Outer, Ether-Carer to Inchcock, Electrician & Nurse (and a cracking looker) was at hand throughout the operation. First Aid box at the ready. Backing up professor Billum all the way.
The electrics and life monitorings were handled by Alan.

Billum prepared for the removal of the brain. Amazingly, Inchcock felt not a single pain! He was put at rest, by HRH covering his head area in Phorpain, and giving him an iced lolly.
The kindness showed by Billum, was gobsmacking. (They actually had to smack his gob to bring him round later, when refitting the brain and reattaching his head; but that’s for part two to come later.) Billum had thought of everything beforehand, he’d been planning this procedure for over two days, in his glasshouse laboratory.
He explained that when the brain comes out, Inchcock may not notice any difference, but not to worry.

Because a false moustache, spectacles, hearing aids, a missing many teeth plastic mouth, and a BO spray would be adorned on the brain straight away; so that it would feel at home without Inchcocks mass of blubber and accoutrements surrounding it.
He even supplied mini-walking sticks, crutches, and had the foresight to keep giving the brain a clout now and then, so, as he named him, Brian the Brain would not miss Inchcocks pains from tumbles, walking into things ad the desperate pain from the overactive bladder, Brilliant!

I’m afraid this will have to be caught up with later, because Inchcock’s eyes are too bad to continue, sorry. He may have to skip a blog or two, or just put a few words on. The poor old git is not too good at the moment. The eyes and bladder are the two main reasons.

Professor Billum started with Inchcock’s worst affected area, naturally the brain, but Billum had to take it out first.

Cheers, each.

Inchcock’s Morning Musings – In Ode

Inchie Woke With An Idea For Today’s Blog Theme!

He went into Photographicalistical mode straight away. Well…

And after the traditional painful, challenging wee-wee,
He got his Canon camera and dropped it, accidentally,
Well, he’s getting senile now and rather elderly…
His thoughts and actions are slow, performed dottily,
He hurt his back, bending to retrieve it; he needed another pee!
Yet it still worked, so he took his first photo, jauntily…

He took it from the balcony,
The red van parked, again, illegally…
Yesterday, the lights shone brightly…
This photo came out fairish – a periodicity!

Clear morning, t’was no longer foggy…
The following two shots were taken in duplexity…
Top one to the north-east,
Second to the south-east,
Not so good these, my apology!.

He took an extra snap, using technology…
He’d zoomed in, to him that’s using gadgetry,
He went into a smug mode, as he did one correctly!
He even charged up the battery…
For him, that’s technological activity!

But the twerp couldn’t get the card to work
The computer was confusing the burke!
Card reader not recognised, he went berserk!
From his efforts, he did not shirk…
And by some miraculous quirk…
He got it to work, the jerk!

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

After making a brew of Thompsons Punjana tea, stubbing his toe, and dropping the milk bottle, he cleaned the mess up. Took his CBD.

The formula was frivolously formulated for phrasemaking while Inchcock was busy cutting himself shaving. He can’t recall what it was exactly but decided that as he continued with his ablutions and medicationalisationing, he might get inspiration or a vague idea for a new plot. But, by the time he stopped the chin bleeding and utilised the Porcelain Throne, the earlier plan of his blog’s theme had plodded off into the ether, lost forever…

Teeth cleaning, nasal decongesting, and into the shower. Inchie banged his shoulder against the power-box (Dizzy Dennis to blame). Swore violently. Took his shower, then set about doing his medicationalisationings.

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.

It was his last call, so he spent a little while having a chinwagging session with me. The lad’s gone through many similar procedures as I have, but poor Richard got them a lot earlier in his life. Which I appreciated.

He’s coped amazingly well with things. A caring bloke, too.

He seemed to be cheery,
And, off Richard did flee,
I had another pee…
Colour chart for the wee,
Was on number three,
Now six, it smelt musty!
Oh, back to the lavatory,
Oh, what a malady!

Well Into The Afternoon…

But no one had told Inchcock, the chatterbox…
Chattering to himself, sipping dandelion & burdock!
Thinking he may just wash his socks…
A message comes through on his voicebox…
Unsolicited mail, through his letterbox…
He forgets the socks: arrears in his Carer fees shocks!
Over £400 – Oh, Hollyhocks!
That’s not what he said, but it also rhymes with Bullocks!
He plans to get it paid by the following equinox!

Supplementary Information

A change of nosh style, I’m watching the size of my hips!
Vegetarian sausages, peas, swede and lentil potatoes…
C
hilli sauce, onion gravy, a banana, oranges…Oh, and chips!
I forgot to take from the fridge the tomatoes…
And now my rear quarters blows and blows!

The Nottingham Lads True Tales of Woe In Rhyme Series

Integrative Inchy Thurs, 18th March 2021 Photos and Rhymes – Lockdown Escape!

INCHCOCK TODAY

Thursday 18th March 2021

Mayanmar (Burmese): ကြာသပတေးနေ့ 18 မတ်လ 2021

Health Checks

4Thu08

Escape From Lockdown

4Thu09.

Out through the lobby, on the ground floor,

Decorations? it could do with some more,

It’s not exactly, haute couture,

Off I went, in search of a natter for sure,

I suppose I’ll spend a lot, and come back poorer?

Get some food, that’s epicure!

Visited the Warden Julie, then I caught the bus,

Gossip at the bus stop, that gave me a rush,

To town and into Wilko, the staff were peed-off and deamur.

4Thu19c

Getting out was wearying, but grand!

But I forgot to buy a new toothbrush!

On to Poundland, a barren shelves, empty place,

I took my time searching, it was not a race,

Wandered around limping at a steady pace,

Many items I could not trace,

The basket filled up at a worrying pace!

I was glad to get out of the place!

4Thu11.

I limped to the Bargain Buys store,

To buy even more,

Saw my first Escooters, Cor!

Later on I see many more, as many as a score!

I went in the shop, empty shelves were less,

But items were dearer in there, I must stress!

Lovely lady on the till; I paid my bill!

4Thu12

Out to Trinity Square,

Even less tellurians around there!

Starving pigeons, came down,

All I could do was apologise and frown,

Poor things, it isn’t fair!

4Thu13

Down Kings Walk, nobody there,

To chat with, on my way to the Slab Square,

And happened, I have to share…

4Thu14

My first Pavement Cyclist, of the day,

He came from behind me,

I shouted out; ‘Hey!’

He just went on his way,

His approach I did not see,

The Git!

4Thu20

On King Street, more Escooters I did see,

I5 mph they can do, so they say,

But they park them anywhere, in the way!

Faster than disabled scooters, how I pray…

The disabled don’t get in their way!

I saw them on pavements and carriageway,

Footpaths, even in a shop doorway,

Still it’s summat that adults and kids can play!

4Thu15.

I hobbled, struggling with the overloaded trolley,

To Queen Street, having spent too much lolly,

getting everything on the bus, was a melee,

Cartilage Cathy, was getting painful, I must say!

4Thu16.

 I had to hold onto the trolly, every inch of the way,

Knowing Colin Cramps would later make me pay!

Later in the day,

I limped back to the block and flat, with bravery!

Cathy Cartilage and Colin Cramps bad, and feeling bladdery!

4Thu17.

Sorted out the purchases from the painful shopping spree,

The Wilko bag first, toothpaste, cleaners for me,

Oh, and anti-diahorrea capsule I see,

I got one them straight away!

4Thu18

Then the fortune spent at the Poundland store,

I couldn’t have carried any more!

Medications, to make me feel less sore,

Gonna use the Chilli & Salt tonight for sure,

Baked beans as well, I saw!

4Thu19

Then the Bargain shop bag was sorted,

Nothing exciting to be reported,

As I did this, Cathy Cartilage became detorted,

And twinges from Colin Cramps contorted!

IMG_6811

The baked beans and chilli seasoning went down very well.

The innards rumbled, oh, hell!

Trotsky Terence might be building as well?

Washed stripped, and as to can tell,

Into the recliner, I fell,

IMG_6816

One fat leg, one thin, one hard the other soft and weak,

Colin Cramps kicked off, Phorpained, enough for a week!

Repeated this several times, I felt overmeek,

Colin continued his hassle,

The chances of sleep, were rather bleak,

To our saviour, I did speak,

His reply to me, was all Greek,

Colin Cramps continued, painfully he did wreak,

For painlessness I did beseech, and seek,

When I moved, the cartilage did squeak,

I was aching tired and weak,

WDP A01c

Yet contented, so to speak!

I passed involuntary wind, and had a keek!

Inputted Inchy – Tuesday 16th March 2021 Dairy

♥ TFZer Lillies Famous Lakeside Teas ♥

INCHCOCK TODAY

Tuesday 16th March 2021

Spanish: Martes 16 de Marzo de 2021

023:30hrs: I woke with a dang urgent need of a wee-wee! Argh! Panic ensued as I forced my grossly overweight bellied-body from the recliner, with visions and a sensation of the surging PMD (Pre-Micturition-Dribbling), building-up, getting stronger. Caught my balance and hobbled swiftly over to unused overnight NWWB (Nocturnal-Wee-Wee Bucket).

I had to give this liquid evacuation a new name. I gave it, SWROP (Slow-Weak-Resistant-Oversprinkly-Painful) title. Uncomfortable perhaps rather than painful, though. Many of these followed during the day. I’ll try not to mention them too often.

I took the medications for the evening that I’d missed taken. Humph! Then I got the Health Checks done.

The BP readings from the Sphygmomanometer showed much better results today.

Used the easy-to-use Chinese, made in Hong Kong, contactless thermometer, this result was pleasing too, at 37.2°c – 98.9°f. Not bad at all, methinks.

Microsoft Office allowed me access to Excel (that’s three days now that it’s worked, they are getting better – or are they planning for a more extensive freeze or calamity later?), and updated the log for the Cardiac Unit and DVT Warfarin Clinic. I’ve not been there for two years now, but they did say they will reschedule the cancelled appointment sometime in the future.

I inputted the figures for the blood-pressure onto the NHS site and got this graph up on the right. Which works out a bit better than yesterdays’ did. But still in the High Blood Pressure status, but I’ve been on that for months now. I’ve reported it to the nurse, who tells me that she doesn’t trust my BP machine. I mentioned the failure to get through to register my after-effects of the Covid-19 vaccination and can’t get through to the Doctors surgery. “Yes, they are swamped”, was the answer.

It’s a great feeling that gives one a warm glow in the heart when you are so well cared for: Well, so others tell me!

I poddled onto the balcony with the Kodak camera and put the Canon on a charge.

Maybe today I can learn enough to use this Kodak camera properly? Or not!

The first one, an accidental one as I struggled to open the window, would have been great if it was intended!

The two of the outside were possibly a couple of my worst ever efforts.

I tried to take a photo of the car park on Chesnut Walk, through the window. As you can, it was another disaster! And here I am now, having to use the Kodak for a few hours until the Canon charges-up. I don’t suppose it will worry David Bailey? Hahaha!

I got the updating of the Monday post finished. It cost me a few hours and several, well, many, wee-wees. Pinterested, a few snaps from it, then Emailed the links off.

Between SSS (Shuddering-Shoulder-Shirley) and Nicodemus’s Neurotransmitters going down, I suffered an inordinately long time getting rattled and making so many errors!

Made a brew, had a wee-wee, passed wind, sneezed and then returned to the computer, with SSS having calmed down a lot now. So recommenced on the computing.

I stopped, having remembered (Having remembered? – I don’t say that very often! Haha!), to take the morning medications.

I went on Facebooking. Then onto the WP comments responding, and visited the WordPress Reader section. Not much seems to be coming through today? Then…

Had a wee-wee (Hardly worth the bother, a dribble!) and made a mug of tea. Then started this Diary off. The attentions of Nicodemus’s Neurotramsmitter’s failing continued to irk me a little, but I just have to get uses to it; nothing can mend nerve-ends dying. It’s not going to get any better, so I made the best of it and calmed down.

The thoughts of the two food deliveries coming together made me wonder why I’d arranged for that – Pillock! I’d better get the ablutions done, then.

No showering, of course, far too early for that and the risk of disturbing my neighbours. The session was a mixed bag of ailments, Accifauxas and goof fortune!

As I got into the wet room, Porcelain Throne’s need arrived – and what a messy affair that was! Semi-soft, messy, stinking, sticky, brown and red gunk! Yet is went away in two flushes but left a lot of mess that needed cleaning up. The TP was not up to the job alone. Dettol and hot water and a thick, strong cloth were 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…

So many dropsies, I made my fingers sore with using the picker-upper so often! Haha! The shaving was problematical due to the drain not clearing the water away. I used the last of the f=drain-clearer and a lot of bleach, but it was not very successful! Glibblebonks! But still, only two tiny nicks in shaving, but one of the many dropped razors broke, and the foam spray can no longer work after the drop on the floor via the sink and my left knee! It broke after that was dropsied!

No other problems, as I didn’t put any socks on. Thus cunningly avoiding a battle with SSG Sock-Glide-Glenda.

I’m going to do any handwashing today, but I did move the thick quilted coat from above the sink to above the wall heater, as it had already-morphed into a damp-only mode.

I had a wee-wee, for what it was worth, and made a brew of Glengettie Gold. A text message came in from Iceland… wait for it… It said at the end of the wording, ‘You have no missing items! Well, that’s another first! Of course, being an experienced Iceland shopper, I knew they would have none of the split brown rolls in stock, so I ordered some bread thins and got them both! And little room in the freezer to use! Serves me, right!

I checked on 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!

Most, fortunately, I went to find the facemask for when the Iceland lad arrives, and the intercom flashed as I passed by it. Otherwise, I would not have known about it; either the sound from the box too low, or my ears were playing up; genuine good fortune that was!

I admitted him and was soon up at the door handing me the bags, which I put in the hallway.

The man was sociable with it. I handed the lad a choice of plonk, and off he shot, wishing me well!

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?

All became apparent when emptied and sorted the contents of the carriers.

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?

Why I ordered all the packets of chill chicken in different sizes?

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.

When the Sainsbury order arrives, I really hope I’ve not done it on their order as well; I’ll not have from in the fridge or freezer! Tsk!

I updated this post up to here and prayed I could hear the intercom when Mr Sainsbury arrives; hello, he’s here, and I did hear the intercom, just! The chap put the loose delivered goods in the box and carrier for me at the door, accepted a can of Vodka & lime mix, in thanks, and departed.

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.

The chap returned cause he’s found a box of Cornettos he’s missed in his van for me. That was nice of him!

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!

Cleaned up and kept stirring the mixtures as I did the cleaning and sorting the bag of treats for the lovely folk on floor nine. After the water in the pot was bubbling, I turned it down and added the shelled garden peas, stirring regularly but quickly so as not to let the contents cool down. I had a taste, and in response, I added a splash of the Squid vinegar to it.

I spent a good while making up some waste bags and sorting them into the box on the walker-trolley in the hall.

While doing this task, the weariness dawned on me, and I realised that either a blank-period or mind-fatigued withdrawal from awareness was on the way. I just knew. Unfortunately!

So, I decided to get the bags to the chute and nip down with Doris, Jenny, and Frank’s bag. The hobble to the chute-room and depositing of the bags went without any hassle… well, there was a block outside the hallway door to the lobby, who doing some electrical work, and was not too pleased to have to get down from his step ladder to let me out. Hehehe!

I went down to the ninth in the elevator, dropped the carrier at Jen’s flat door, and back up to the 12th-floor. If I recall correctly, I had a marathon wait as the cages kept passing by, going up and down and not showing much interest in stopping for me? Come think of it, it may well have been muggings here, or to be precise, Nicodemus’s Neurotransmitters, that did not sense my pressing the button, or failed to pass on the message to the brain, or Memory Mike, who had no idea what was going on at all? Hahaha! Yes, the weariness was coming… Boulderclumps!

I got back to my floor, and the poor electrician was upon his ladder again working next to the lobby door I needed. I waited patiently until he’s finished what he was doing. The lips visibly moved under his facemask. Not sure what it was he was saying, but the eyes looked rather keenly at me. Hehehe!

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. ♥

I got the nosh done, not that it needed much doing now. An expensive meal this one was. But worth it! Flavour Rating 9/10! I got the gravy mix and chilli-level right for once. And the lemon dessert went down well, too! This was one of my better efforts. Although the bank manager may disagree!

Weary-William had joined me, and the only thing I could do was to give in to him. I did manage to wash the pots before collapsing in the c1968 recliner. I seem to recall watching a ‘Parking Wars’ episode on the goggle-box; well, I started to anyway. Drifted off in minutes, but only for an hour or so, I sprang awake with Thought-Stormsrattling away in my head, so persistently.

Got up, and I took the belated evening medications. I got a drink of orange juice from the fridge and took a photo of the evening view. I looked much more vivid than it appears in this sad picture on the right here.

Back to the recliner and climbed into it. The Thought-Storms had gone, and Sweet Morpheus soon took over… Fantabulous!

Impure Inchy – Thursday 4th March 2021 Diary

♥ TFZer Actresses on stage! ♥


Thursday 4th March 2021

Spanish: Jueves 4 de Marzo de 2021

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.

No messing about, I got on the computer to create a template for today’s blog. Starting with doing a few graphics on CorelDraw. But, I didn’t get too far, the call to the Porcelain Throne arrived, so, off to the wet room. Incidentally, Cartilage Cathy was a lot kinder to me this morning.

It seemed to me that the daily PTDDSB (Porcelain Throne, Daily-Domination-Stakes- Battle) for supremacy in the evacuation was a close thing. Still, a comeback from Constipation Konrad had curbed the rampant messy tendencies of Trotsky Terence for once! So, I had a go at the crossword puzzle as I waited for things to kick-off. Just as yesterday, I didn’t solve a single clue! (Well, I’m consistent, if not capable. Hehehe! The movement started slowly and stayed that way, but no pain or bleeding, and as I said, it was a lot less mess to clean up. I still had to refill the tank by hand though, I think the problem is the fluffy too-thick toilet roll paper.

Back to the grahicalisationing, I went. Then made-up and started this template. Which took me ages to get this far with. Then, I went on to update the Wednesday Diary, at long last. I got it updated fully, emailed the link and went on the WordPress Reader section. Which I enjoyed considerably. Pinterested a couple of photographs, the read and replied to the WP comments that had come in. Some witty puns and quips came on this Thursday.

I was about to start collating the advance templates and realised the hours had shot by; it was time to get the ablutions tended to. As is usual with me, I got into the kitchen and got myself sidetracked once more.

I decided to get the hand-washing done first. But and however – guess who had left the hot water tap (faucet) to run cold? Yes, pickle-brain Inchcock had struck-again! Gawd-blimey, I this far too often! Hence decision had to be made (another Inchcock problem area!) My EQ told me there nothing to do but press on handwashing boiling the water in the kettle and saucepan, for more Whoopsiedangleplops were on their way! He also called me a name, a naughty one!

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.

Then, as I checked the dryness of the other things that were hanging above the kitchen window, with perfect-timing, Peripheral Pete went into an involuntary right-leg Neuropathic Schuhplattler dance routine! This caused me to drop the coat-hangars and the washing I had in my hand. Belt Cathy Cartilages knee against the floor cupboard, and hit my head against the heater getting back up again!

I made a start on moving the stuff back into the cupboard, but soon lost interest!

My new found emotions of satisfaction, semi-contentment and renewed hopes sank without a trace! I took some painkillers and moped my way to the wet room, leaving the clothes where they had fell on the floor, and swearing a little still, got to the wet room, totally uninterested in what I was there for! Pissed-off would be a quicker way of putting things!

Had I been aware of what was waiting for me, I wouldn’t have gone in! The worse Ablution session in months!

Ablutionalisticalisationing Report:

  • I realised there was no hot water to be gleaned from the sink tap for shaving! But felt sure I would manage using the hottish water from the shower-head without any bother (What an idiot!)
  • Have you ever had to keep going to the other side of the wet room, and with Peripheral Pete shaking me about like a good un, repeatedly, bring the shower-head, which only just reaches the sink, and spraying the tepid water all over yourself and the room? It’s not easy! The cleaning up afterwards wasn’t either!
  • The de-nasalising went well. No water needed, you see! One dropsy only!
  • The teeth-cleaning had a bit of discomfort.
  • Then the shaving began. I had to keep emptying the sink of the water that went too cold, turning up the thermostat, and dial, to get as hot that I could from the control panel, but it wasn’t scorching enough, even then.
  • The whole shaving job was farcical in the extreme. Although having said that, there were only five dropsies! A few little nicks and one cut under the chin. One the throat, two in the neck-hole, and one on the cheek.

I got belated Health Checks done next. The Boot’s, made in China Sphygmomanometer’s SYS reading was fantastically low! Grrreat!

At least I think it is; hang on, I’ll check on Mr Google later on.

The in Hong Kong produced, Chinese Harpin Xian Di contactless thermometer reading was, I think, a smidge high, but well down on yesterdays worrying high of 37.9°c – 100.22°f.

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 an NHS site on Google, where you can put in your reading for SYS and DIA, and you get an instant show of where you stand on the chart, with a black cross! Proof that I was right to worry when the SYS went up to 180 five days ago, well, that was well in the red area!

Gotten Himmel! Look at the time! What happened, where did it go?

I’d better close down and get my pre-planned, easy, tasty (I was well wrong there!) meal prepared. I’m afraid the beautiful looking Iceland bought tin of tomatoes was 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! The last of the sourdough bread saved the meal. A flavour-rating of 4.5/10 was granted. Reluctantly to a degree! Eurgh!

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 stayed awake until the first set of commercials, and Sweet Morpheus visited me, and off into the land of nod I floated.

And slept for four unbroken hours, which was so nice! Ahh!

Intangled Inchies Diary – Monday 15th February 2021

TFZer Lillie, at her weekend cottage


Inchcock Today

Monday 15th February 2021

Finnish: Maanantai 15 Helmikuuta 2021

05:00hrs: Woke up to pains from Cartilage Cathy, and where Colin Cramps had been having a go at me again, nocturnally! But, nothing, compared to the previous two nights. I drank no end of spring water yesterday, and as Tim Price says, it seemed to have helped! At least I got a few hours kip in, a decent four hours I work it out as.

As soon as I attempted to move my old aching limbs, and flobby-bellied torso from the Grotty, £300, second-hand, c1968, unsteady, not-working, incommodious, sickeningly beige-coloured, haemorrhoid-testing recliner to catch my balance. Cathy and Arthur Itis complained, and the knees were dodgy again, so I really took my time, gingerly hooked the wooden walking stick over my shoulder, and tried to walk to the kitchen, without using it. I got there without any hassle, but, as I mention, I was weary and planning my route near solid objects I could use if I did go over.

No wee-wee called for? I got the kettle on and cracked my elbow on the countertop, and calmy muttered some oath or other – good heavens, my voice was all nasal and croaky? There was mucus wanted to come out from the throat and nose, I got rid of a bit of it. But it was still better than two days ago, just the knees and Colin Cramp’s after-effects were any bothers. I talked myself into an even-keel frame of mind.

I tackled the pre-Dump Health Checks. The dependable, trustworthy, Chinese manufactured Boot’s Sphygmomanometer results were okay. SYS 161. DIA 70 PULSE 90. A good start!

In Hong Kong, the Chinese Harpin Xian Di contactless thermometer returned decent reading, lit up in the green. Of 36.7°c – 98.6°f. A smidge high, but well down on what it has been some days. So, no complaints from me!

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.

I’d let the tea go cold, so I went to make another mashing. Oh, the fog falleth!

I constipated on getting the Sunday Diary updating done, I’ve got to make a template for today. It’s all go! Concentrationalistically, I pressed on and got it finished, but it took me a few hours. Thanks to Nicodemus’s Neurotransmitters being so kind to me, I hope this continues for a while, Grrreat! Got it done and posted-off to WP. Then on Facebooking, but with my getting up late, it was time to get the ablutions done, before the nurse arrives.

I had to use the Porcelain Throne first. Despite my best efforts, nothing moved again, a couple of tiny meatballs, and they hurt on the way out!

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! 

Then, back to the Porcelain Throne, I fell confident of an evacuation this time.
Which just goes to show you
how wrong a man can be! Apart from a few more rock-hard walnut-sized lumps, a fair bit of wind, and the innards giving me some jip. Humph!

Washed, and went back to the kitchenette, the fog seemed about the same as earlier on.

I’ll have to dish these PPs, too inhibitive, far too small. Will, I ever get a pack of them that isn’t too large or too small? I bet Tena are making a fortune and clearing out there small and XXL stock! Gragfackles!

I did the Post-Dump, Health Checks.

SYS 162, DIA 71, Pulse 89, on the Boots Sphygmomanometer, manufactured by, ZDEAC (Zhongshan Daguan Electrical Appliance Company Ltd) Guangdong, China.

Body temperature at 37.2°c. Which is lower than it has been for a while, but apparently, still a midge high?

I updated the XL Health Check log, and it was back to the Porcelain Throne again.

No joy, things had not loosened, they’d done the opposite I reckon. Nothing moved, but I knew there was a significantly impacted dollop in there, praying to be freed! Oh, dearie me!

I went in search if a new bob-cap, I knew was in the junk room somewhere.

After an hour or so, I found it, at last, I keep my head warm at least.

The label, a Primark one, tells me this Chinese manufactured Head Heater, hat, was 2.6 togs? I got it on straight away, snug as a bug!

I made a start on the template for today, then began to work on it.

WordPress was messing about with the picture gallery, that confused me a bit.

Four hours later, I went onto the WordPress Reader section.

I came across this photograph on the SD card. Must be another one taken in error? But when and what, beat me. Any guesses?

Time to get some sarnies made up for nosh. Oh, I’ve not seen any signs of the nurse? I double-checked on the Google Calendar – Wot a plonka! It’s next Monday! Still, I can nip the nibbles down the Jenny, Nora and Frank. So, I did.

Returned, and made up a nosh. I rather spoilt myself. Milk Roll buttered pork sarnies, being the highlight.

Flavour Rating: 8/10!

Colin Cramps visited again, but not as bad as is usual.

Sleep came belatedly, whenever Colin eased off, the Thought-Storms took over. But I managed a four-hour nod -off!

TTFNski.