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.