Tuesday, 31 July 2007

Old scratchy balls............

Being a few stone overweight, and not having the healthiest lifestyle in the world, I was worried when I started to develop the symptoms of diabetes. It had probably gone on for years if I’m honest, so the other day I plucked up the courage to go and have a diabetes check. I went for one of those one’s in the chemist. This was a lot easier than trying to see a doctor at my local surgery, as they have an absolutely mind bogglingly difficult appointment making system. I tried once before, and in the end gave up, and decided I would put up with the shooting pains down my left arm, tightening chest, and sweating!
The conversation went something like this………
Receptionist "Good morning, doctors surgery" (slight frostiness already)
Me "Ah, good morning, I would like to make an appointment please"
Receptionist "When would you like it for?"
Me "A week Wednesday would be great" (this was Monday)
Receptionist "No can do I’m afraid"
There was then a gap as I waited for her to explain why…………..The explanation didn’t materialize
Me "Er…..why is that"?
Receptionist "Appointments can’t be made more than a week in advance"
Me "So what do I do then"?
Hitler "You will have to phone back on the day that is a week earlier than the appointment you want to make"
It's a good job the Nazi's only used the 'Enigma' machine to encode their messages. If they had had the forsight to use 'Receptionist speak', the chaps at Bletchley Park wouldn't have stood a chance, and we might all be now dancing to a different tune!
Me "So that will be Wednesday then"? (An air of sarcasm tinged with desperation in my voice)
Hitler "That’s correct"
Me "Any particular time I should phone, does it need to be the exact time that I would like the appointment for, just a week early"?
Hitler "It doesn’t make any difference"
Me "So any time will be ok then"?
Hitler " No, I mean it doesn’t matter what time you call on Wednesday, because we won't be here, closed on Wednesdays"
Me – Slam phone down, and add her, and the whole surgery to ‘THE LIST’!
So anyway, off me and Miss Marple toddle down to the town last Saturday morning. We get into the chemist, and there was one person in front of me in the queue. This was a good enough reason for me to try and back out of the whole thing. I turned round and told Miss Marple that they were obviously very busy, and perhaps we should try another day. She then quite literally spun me round 180 degrees, and pushed me towards the counter. I asked for the diabetes test, and was told to wait over by a door at the back of the shop. I was informed that somebody would be over shortly to do the test. I waited, and after a few mins, a young assistant came over, and ushered me into the room. She must have been about seventeen, and seemed as nervous as I was. I was hoping this wasn’t her first test, because I knew blood had to be taken, and I didn’t want to be the victim of hypodermic homicide!, accidental or otherwise. Luckily the blood was taken with one of those pricker things. She said it wouldn’t really hurt; she obviously has never had the test. Once the blood had been taken, she proceeded to work her way through a list of questions. She started by asking me if I had eaten that morning, I said yes. She asked me what I had eaten, Bacon and eggs I said. She giggled to herself, I don’t really know why, and then the real grilling began.
Assistant "Greater thirst than normal"?
Me "Yes"
Assistant "More tired than usual"?
Me "Yes"
Assistant "Dizziness"?
Me "Sometimes"
Her "Double vision"?
Me "No"
Her "Weight loss"?
I looked down at my stomach, which seemed to be more lardy than normal, and meekly said "no".
Assistant "Irritability"?
I glanced over at Miss Marple who stood with her arms folded, and she raised one eye brow in a Roger Moore sort of fashion. I took this to mean a big fat YES!
"I suppose so" I said.
Then there seemed to be a pause in the interrogation. The young girl looked as though she was reading the last question to herself again; to make sure she wasn’t imagining things. She quickly glanced up at me, and then back down to the piece of paper in front of her. In a quieter voice than before, and leaning forward slightly, she asked ………" Do you suffer from itchy genitals"?
Yes apparently itchy genitals are one of the symptoms of diabetes! Christ knows why. I’m not so sure it isn’t some kind of doctor’s prank. At this point, I was imagining two doctors being given the task of listing the symptoms of diabetes, so people can make an assessment for themselves. It’s a Friday afternoon, they can’t really be arsed. They would rather be pushing the boundaries of medical science. Fighting the battle against cancer, or making a breakthrough in the battle to cure Parkinson’s, but no, they have got the tedious task of listing the symptoms of dia-bloody-betes. So there they are writing the list. When they get to the end, one of them makes a suggestion……..
Dr A "God this is boring, I mean, we are worth more than this. All those years at medical school, and I’m making a list of symptoms for diabetes"
Dr B "Yeah, I know what you mean, it’s just not right is it"?
Dr A "We could spice things up a bit"
Dr B "How do ya mean"
Dr A "Well, we could add an extra one at the end, you know……..just for fun"
Dr B "Like what"?
Dr A "Erm…..we could make it a bit out of the ordinary, a bit silly maybe"
Dr B "What you mean like a jokey one, we wouldn’t get away with that, would we"?
Dr A "Well they fell for the passive smoking one, hook line and sinker"!
Dr B Laughing "Yeah, back of the net" They do a high five.
Dr A "It’s got to be something to do with the old genitalia , that gets ‘em every time"
Dr B Sniggers "Yeah"
Dr A "How about this. Let’s say that, diabetes makes your genitals itch"!
Dr B "Oh my God………..come on, they will never fall for that"…………………
At that moment, I snapped back into reality, and realized I needed to give an answer.
I looked across at Miss Marple, who by now had raised the other eyebrow, and had topped it off with a slight smirk. I looked back at the girl, and with as much dignity and decorum as I could muster, replied in a crackly voice….."YES"
The girl looked straight back down to the piece of paper, and ticked the appropriate box.
With that, she took the blood sample and the questionnaire, and went into another room in which there was some doctor looking bloke. After about thirty seconds, she came back into the room. I braced myself for the news that I was a Diabetic, probably on the edge of death. Defying medical science maybe." How has he survived this long, without treatment", I could imagine the doctor bloke thinking to himself. She sat down. "I am happy to tell you, that you don’t have diabetes"………Well I was destroyed. Shattered, I must have, I thought to myself, I’ve got the itchy balls and everything! Then it suddenly dawned on me. Not only had I been apparently imagining the symptoms of diabetes for years, but now this young girl, who no doubt, had many friends, and who with my luck was the town gossip, knew that I had an itchy cock for no good reason!!!.
I have walked through the town on a few occasions since that day, and have taken to wearing sunglasses a lot. The whispering and pointing is probably in my imagination, but just once, I’m sure I heard some kid shout out……"Look, there goes old scratchy balls"……….

Monday, 30 July 2007

Monday monday........

Well, lets get the members of my household out of the way, and then we can get down to the nitty gritty of my entries – ooh matron (sorry). My wife, who genuinely astounds me, for the amount of patience and understanding she has, works in the forensic field, and therefore will be known hence forth as ‘Miss Marple’. We have two six month old Jack Russells, who eat horse crap, and dead rodents, and five cats, who supply the dead rodents. We live in a nice little house out in the fens, surrounded by fields and live next door to an elderly gentleman. Not much to complain about there then, you might say. I would agree with you, but somehow I manage to find an almost endless torrent of stuff to hasten premature death! I have a menial job, which is ok, and helps keep all the furry people in the manner to which they have become accustomed. So there is my life in a nutshell.
So, here we are then, Monday morning, the 30th July 2007. Woke up with a semi hangover. Lets get this out of the way right now…..I drink too much. Not in an alcoholic kind of way, you know, half drunk bottles of scotch in the toilet cistern and stuff, no, it’s just that when I have a drink, I HAVE A DRINK. I can’t seem to leave it at a couple, I’ve got to finish what I have. To me that is more sort of ‘honest’ in a mental kind of way. I drink for the effect of the alcohol. I absolutely can’t stand those irritating bastards (you see, I’ve started), that say "Oh well of course, I don’t drink to get drunk", well what the bloody hell are you drinking for then you prat?. Have a cup of tea. It’s a drug, it has an effect on the brain, that’s what it does. I have never ever heard a smack head say, "Oh well of course, I don’t take heroin to get high". You see, the conclusion that can be made from this is, social drinkers are liars, heroine addicts are the salt of the earth! Anyway, so up I get, wander about with all the usual aches and pains, and have to make the first decision of the day. Do I stand approx six feet from the toilet and aim, or lean with one hand on the wall at a forty-five degree angle. Yes, this is of course the dilemma of the morning glory. It’s a difficult choice to make, especially with an alcohol riddled brain. The six foot method is fraught with danger. The timing of the shuffle forward towards the toilet has to be timed to perfection, in relation to the decrease in flow. On the other hand, the forty-five degree lean can also be hazardous. Pins and needles can occur in the ‘leaning hand’, and in severe cases, cramp can occur in one, or both calf muscles. Phew, it’s not easy is it! The rest of the time before work, is spent with the usual crap that we all have to do. Toast making, ablutions, watching GMTV. God I hate GMTV. I don’t know why the hell I watch it!. The only part of GMTV that is acceptable, is Penny Smith. I know she is definitely a bit unhinged, but I find her very sexy. I don’t know why, but I get the impression she knows her way around the bedroom!....anyway, I would!. (Looks over his shoulder sheepishly, in case Miss Marple is in eye shot). The rest of GMTV is the biggest pile of inane codswallop that I have ever seen. It will never cease to amaze me, how they can switch from interviewing a five year old who is dying from cancer, and his distraught mother, straight over to "and next, do you want to win a years subscription to hello magazine, and a car worth ten thousand pounds?, well join us after the break"…..BASTARDS!. As I said, I don’t know why I watch it. Perhaps it’s the modern day version of the horse hair shirt! So off to work. If watching GMTV hasn’t sent me over the edge, then the journey to work will most certainly do the job. The list of annoyances attributed to driving is endless, and it would be tiresome to write them all down. So let me pick on the one that can act as a representative for the whole damn lot. BMW Drivers!. Yes I know it’s a bit of a cliché and all that, but it’s true. They really are a bunch of tossers. Yes I am generalizing, yes I am stereotyping, but that’s because it is true. If there are any BMW drivers reading this – or more to the point if there is anybody, reading this!, please let me know the answer to a question, that has bugged me for years. Do you have to be a dickhead to buy one, or are you transformed into a dickhead, after buying one?. Perhaps you can be either. Those who are already dickheads, get the certificate straight away, those that aren’t, have to go on an intense training course. Spend a week at ‘Dickhead School’. Lessons would include, cutting people up, thepositioning of the indicators, so that they can be ignored. Tailgating, and the most important lesson of all, how to plough down the outside of a line of traffic that is crawling agonizingly slowly along, and then think it is a rite, dictated by God, that someone should just let them in. Finally before receiving the certificate from King Dickhead at BMW, They are told that they are the most important people on the planet, and every other mere mortal should kneel before them. Blood pressure has gone up!. I am constantly surprised lately, just how well I can drive with minimal concentration! My concentration levels in general seem to be dropping, but especially when behind the wheel. As I was driving along this morning, I was thinking, I would actually much rather be clinging to the side of a speeding locomotive, with the smoke from the engine, flying past my face, than driving to work. -It can’t just be me that has these fantasies?.....Go on, tell me it is!.- I would climb onto the roof of the train, to be faced with two bad guys, one either side of me. A fight would ensue, with me using various kung foo techniques, and the two baddies would be dispatched, just as I dived down to avoid the oncoming bridge. Hoorah, the ten year old is not dead!. Anyway, here I am at work, and so not much to report. Will write later if anything exciting happens…….Probably be tomorrow then.

Saturday, 28 July 2007

Doddery old git in the making

Andy mule here. Wow I have got my own blog!....(whatever that means). Technology seems to be passing me by. Using a cashpoint machine is a white knuckle ride for me now! So what am I going to do with it? Well, I think i'll use it as a diary to give an account of the every day life of a bloke racing towards forty.....Can I really be nearly forty?, I mean how did that happen? It only seems a blink of an eye ago, that I was sitting in the cinema with my jaw on the floor, watching Star Wars. What happened to that ten year old? What's happened to all that space in between ten and thirty-nine? Ten years old was brilliant. Ten years old was endless summer holidays, you know, when six weeks was the rest of your life, now it's about a weekend! Ten years old was pretending to be Starsky and Hutch. I always had to be the less exciting Hutch, as my friend Peter had naturally curly hair, which seemed to bagsy him the much more exciting role of Starsky, much to my annoyance. I do remember once trying to use my mum's curlers to curl my hair over night. I thought this would give me a claim to Starsky. All that happened, was my mum found me in the morning with her curlers in , and a few visits to a child therapist ensued! Where it all really started to fall down however, is making Peter's younger brother David be Huggy Bear. Instead of being a black, streetwise, hip, funky, large hat wearing dude, who new "the word on the street", he was a small, very very blonde boy!....but it didn't matter. We were ten. Anyway, I digress. (this is something that happens on a regular basis, as I reach forty). I suppose what im trying to say is that, isn't it a shame how our attitudes change as the years roll ever faster by? The innocense and magic of the ten year old is eroded away, to reveal the tarnished grumpy old git underneath. That is why I have decided to write this blog I suppose. Maybe it's a self councellling thing, maybe it's an excuse for a bloody good moan, but most of all, I want it to be a safe haven for fellow 'nearly fortiers'! A place where we can put our collective cyber arms around each other, and tell ourselves, that maybe it isn't all that bad.......also, it saves my long suffering wife, from having to put up with my almost constant whinging, griping, and general heavy sighing!....Now it's your shift!. All the best, Andy. Hopefully write more drivel soon!

ps.....I can't spell! Yes I know there is a spell check......remember the cashpoint?.......

About Me

Smileville, Smileshire, United Kingdom
Don't let the bastards grind you down! peace and love x