The waiting room is empty.
This is reassuring. I have been plucking up the courage to fix an appointment for some time, and although I believe in theory that being open and honest etc. about ’embarrassing conditions’ is the best way all round, when it comes down to it what I really believe is that this should be the case for everybody else in the entire world except me. I rootle through the pile of lifestyle magazines before I come across a Farmers’ Weekly, which I proceed to leaf through idly.
I am distracted however, and even news of beet drilling and developments in the tractor industry cannot put my mind at ease. Truth be told, I am a little nervous about seeing the Doctor. I have – thankfully – been a healthy individual in general throughout my life, if you discount my fatness, the odd migraine and my arse problem, so it is a little sobering to find myself in this situation.
I hear a familiar voice talking to the receptionist. John Twonil walks into the waiting area.
“Hello!” he exclaims. “What are you in here for then?”
I pause. I really have no wish to talk about things just yet. But I will have to talk to people sooner or later, and it might be good to share the burden a little with somebody who will understand.
I tell John Twonil the situation.
“Mpphhhhhhhhahahahahahahahaha!!!” he splutters, looking at me with a goggle-eyed expression. “Hohohohoheheheheheeheeeee!!!” He really is the most immature man, especially considering his age. I gaze at him sternly as he lifts himself up off the carpet.
“It is not at all funny,” I scold, maintaining my own dignity. “I am…”
“Hello you!” interrupts the Doctor, poking his head round the door. “You coming in then?”
I replace the magazine on the pile. “Yes,” I reply.
It’s always embarrassing when people make a complaint, whether they are male or female, Jonny. But you are British, and so complain you must. Just remember not to make a scene.
(Oh, it appears John has done that for you.)
I await with breath nominally bated for the guesses that will appear in your comment box. Perhaps we can set up a sweep for all players? Not sure what the prize for a guess-the-embarrassing-male-complaint contest would be though and I’m a bit uncertain about finding out. Just to be safe I will simply wish you a quick and reasonably boil-free recovery and stay out of any speculation that might involve words like ooze or flaccid.
Hope whatever it is isn’t too dire (piles, perchance?), but this should cheer you up: I just received my very own copy of SB&R&R.
Could of course have borrowed Diana’s but worried about sogginess and strange stains from salt water/suspiciously colored liquids acquired from reading said copy standing in waist-high sea water as per your instructions.
I just can’t wait for Ivan to start in on this one!!!
You are an embarrassing male, Jonny. It’s us that should be complaining.
If we’re going to play guess the ailment, I invite everyone to consider the auspicious alignment of the words “Norfolk”, “rootle” and “Farmers’ Weekly” when making their selections. Carry on…
I’m voting for gout.
My internet money is on a chicken-related ailment. You have the chicken influenza.
It can’t be *that* embarrassing if you can tell John Twonil.
Did the doc. say you must cut down on beer / alcohol to improve the situation? [Trying to guess…]
I hope you didn’t snap your banjo string Jonny. It would be a terrible shame considering how much you love banjos.
Hmm…[run through index of embarrassing male complaint]
…You hate unscrewing jar lids and carrying heavy stuff?
…You don’t mind asking directions from strangers at all?
…You can’t understand which way the nacelles on the Liberator are supposed to be facing s either way make sense in some sense
….You’ve never held a bit of wood whilst walking through a forest in approximation of it being a gun / weapon of some sort even though it contains nothing remotely as dangerous as the deluded primate wielding a bit of wood
…You have contracted a sports injury akin to Joggers Nipple or Tennis Elbow only this is Bowl’s Participant Thrush brought on by repetitive chaffing of wood against flannel and therefore you can expect cranberry and yogurt to play a major part in your short(s) to medium term future comfort
Can you get an ointment for it?
You’ve given yourself a mild hernia through over-enthusiastic banjo plucking?
Look, I write this little diary to get personal resolution from my problems. I do not expect people to start guessing games in order to MOCK me in my WOE and my GRIEF.
What’s so hurtful is the Johnny two nil has your confidence whilst we – as ever – teeter on the edge of your intimate circle.
I mean has he ever been mentioned before?
I feel a huff coming on.
Mock you?
Some people are so sensitive.
Maybe ‘guess’ is the wrong word, we’re trying to learn more about this problem, so we can be totally sympathetic.
heh.
I believe mock is correct. Also giggle at, tease, poke fun of and titter. But you asked for it, as usual.
Quite right, Jonny. Let’s skip all this tedious guessing business and cut straight to the fun part, where we just roundly abuse you until you dredge up another turgid recollection in a desperate attempt to change the subject. Fatty.
It’s a male complaint (not a mail complaint)? In that case I shall remain glued to the couch, until the fire brigade arrive, waiting for the next instalment. Oh yes.
Last night in Stansted airport the man in the queue in front of me waiting to go through security had nothing in his plastic liquids bag apart from a tube of anusol. Was that you?
I can never see that word (see ganching) without mentally transforming it to “a new arsehole”