Which side of me will win?

The Knife of Vengeance

This morning I sprung out of bed before my alarm even went off, singing “Hip, hip hooray!”, then threw open the curtains, basked in the sunshine pouring in through my bedroom window and declared, “Good morning world! Isn’t it great to be alive?”

Bollocks did I.

Wasn’t too much of a struggle though, as I remember. I left in good time and got to work early, where I ate yoghurt banana and drank Irn Bru again. I can’t help it.

On the way to work I saw a graying, grizzled man of the type frequently seen in Boscombe, less frequently elsewhere. He sneezed really loud, swung his foot up sharply as if striking a volley at goal, then made a weird follow-up noise. I thought to myself, that’s Dave in 20 years’ time. I recounted this anecdote at work and everyone pointed out that it’s basically Dave now. Which, to be fair, is true, to be fair.

That’s not a subbing error, it’s an in-joke.

At lunchtime I had far too much pork, as is becoming customary on Fridays, then finished off some work and went to hospital. My suspicion that the nurse that had been treating me was making things up as she went along was almost immediately confirmed, as the three different nurses that saw me today all agreed that her notes were the mad ramblings of a lunatic, and that I should be on a different course of treatment.

So they coated me in a greasier, smellier marinade and wrapped me in tubegauze, or however you spell it. I think one of them was getting a bit carried away. She was slapping it all over my good skin and ‘accidentally’ touched my knob twice. I was wearing pants, and she rubber gloves, but I know a knob touch when I feel one. And that’s not a woman’s job, it’s mine.

I’ve also got tubegauze on my legs, which is new. It feels like I’m wearing stockings and suspenders, which a) makes me, against all odds, feel a bit sexy, and b) makes me want to watch ‘Allo ‘Allo.

I left hospital absolutely reeking of coal tar, as I still do now. At first I felt a little self-conscious about getting on the bus smelling like this, but then I realised most people would welcome anything that masks the usual bus odour cocktail of piss, stale booze and impending death, so I didn’t really give much of a fuck. Some people like the smell anyway. Not generally people who’ve ever had to be covered head to toe in it, mind you.

I got off a couple of stops early so I could drop off a letter at my GP’s surgery, then walked home and pretty much got on with doing this, after a bit of faffing about on Facebook, Twitter and Fantasy Football.

I’m done with the stupid cutlery related running joke after this one, by the way.


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