Friday, October 31, 2008

Ruby May



I've had a bad back for a few weeks. Initially it was excruciating, but it's not so bad now and it comes and it goes. At the same time, or thereabouts I also developed a severe pain in my right bollock. I say pain, sometimes its pain, sometimes it's discomfort and sometimes it just feels downright weird. It would also come and go, to an extent, but never disappear and for the last week it's been quite alarming. So I took myself off to the G.P

I actually bumped into my GP in Sainsburys the other night and she asked me how I was, to which I replied, with a cheery smile, "fine thanks, how are you". I was hardly about to explain my bollock predicament while a teenage girl passed my plums through the scanner. I wasn't about to explain it to her anywhere, actually, what with her being a her.

We have two GP's in the local practice. The Sainsburys lady, who is very good, and her partner, who is very bad. Usually, you would do anything to ensure that you saw her, rather than him. Unfortunately, you can only book appointments a week in advance, otherwise you just have to claim it's an emergency and go along and sit in the waiting room for several hours, usually next to a young man with an extremely restless leg, and get whoever you get. This time I was in luck, and got him.

He is a strange but likeable chap. He always has a half eaten item of food on his desk, a Welsh cake on this occasion. He has a very Welsh accent and a distracted air. He asked me what was wrong and I told him about my back. Then I told him about my bollock. He invited me to stand up and drop my trousers and underwear; he then performed a perfunctory cough and drop. Then his phone rang and he answered it, leaving me standing there with my pants and trousers around my ankles. For about ten minutes. I genuinely think he had forgotten I was there.

Finally, he instructed me to make myself decent and take a seat, which I did. He said there was nothing wrong with my bollock and the pain was referred pain from my back. I said my back wasn't really hurting anymore and that my ball was, and also wasn't hanging right. He said everybodys bollocks hang differently: one is always higher than the other. Fuck me! I have been intimately acquainted with my testicles for 49 and a half years, and I think I know how they hang.

I told him that I was aware of the propensity of bollocks to hang skewiff, but that nevertheless, mine just didn't feel right. He assured me that, while they may not feel right to me, they felt perfect to him! He further assured me that they were a good size and very smooth! He then told me about the kangaroos ability to withdraw his balls up into his abdomen, then gazed into me eyes, with a triumphant look on his face.

He told me that I should keep taking painkillers and eventually it would all go away. He then said he had some ointment he could prescribe, and I said that I would welcome anything that might help, so he wrote the script. He said that I had to be careful with this ointment and I should wear gloves when applying it, because it is derived from capsicums and is very fiery stuff. He was very clear on this point. I asked, as politely as I could " you mean to say that this stuff is so potent I have to wear gloves to apply it and you expect me to put it on my bollocks!!!!!!!!!"

He chuckled and said in his lovely, lilting Welsh voice, "good God man, don't put it down there, it would be excruciating...................PUT IT ON YOUR BACK" It's a good job I asked, because I did put it on my back and it makes deep heat seem like an ice pack.
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