I was desperately worried after this visit.
When I arrived in England from Lithuania, where I was working for Tony Blair, to assess the business opportunities’ and desperate need for more immigrants from that country in England, the first thing I did was to phone Uncle Inchcock to let him know I’d arrived.
The recorded message I got, informed me that the line had been cut-off due to non-payment.
I hired a car, and made my way to Nottingham, and found his house, a very old two-up two-down end terrace dwelling in a dilapidated state, more cause for concern.
No answer to my knocking on the door, I daren’t have knocked any harder for fear of the building collapsing. His next door neighbour appeared and said: “Wotta you want eh?” I explained I was looking for the old gentleman who lives at number 36. The man said; “We no talka to ‘im!” and slammed the door shut as he went back into his house.
Someone across the road came out and asked if he could help. I explained everything again, and the man showed some concern in his voice as he told me; “Oh… Inchy, yes he’ll be at the hospital, it’s his renal treatment day today, tomorrow is his INR Warfarin level tests, and Wednesday is his day at the clap clinic. He’s usually back around two o’clockish”
“Oh good” I replied.
He then gave me the descriptions of the local muggers and who to avoid, and I thanked him and asked if he was a friend of Inchy.
“Oh by gawd yer, he lends me money every week yer know, I’m not working…”
I got back in the car and found an area that did not have used condoms, broken lager bottles and gangs of yobs lurking about, to park up and return later.
I returned and parked near his hovel. I could not believe my eyes when I saw him limping around the corner, wearing thicker lensed glasses as I recall, hearing aids, he was bald, his knees bent out of shape… yet he was whistling as he hobbled along. Oh dear I thought, more reasons to worry about him.
He didn’t seem to recognise me when I spoke, but that didn’t stop him bidding me; “Come in and have a cuppa tea, would you like a biscuit?” I ansered, but he couldn’t hear me.
Once inside the house, the smell almost made me puke, the old food laying about, tons of it out of date, magazines from the 1970’s, dirty pots, stacks of old crap he obviously wanted to keep for some reason. A laptop that ran on Windows 3.1, curtains rotting, and more medications that I’ve seen at a chemists!
I felt he needed some help here, not that I could do anything, with my having to get to Brussels for a meeting with Gordon Brown, Angela Merkel and Tony Blair next week.
His speech was inconsistent, slurred, and he kept forgetting what he was talking about.
His skin was blotched and spotty. I discovered he’s had recently had a new heart valve fitted, had angina, a dodgy reflux valve, arthritis in his hand legs and feet, his body was skinny but with a pot belly, bleeding haemorrhoids, only eight teeth left, was practically deaf, had dizzy spells, and stuttered a lot… but that didn’t last too long, cause as I said earlier, he keeps forgetting what it was he was struggling to say anyway.
My anxiety for this pensioner was growing.
Until I found out he had not got the £50 he owed me!
Lecture Advisor to Tony Blair
c/o The Kuwaiti Consulate