Sometimes, life is shit.

I went to see my GP the other week because of some minor issues with… well, with my shit. Not biggy. Ok, no big deal. Just minor issues, yeah, that’s no problem, other issues? Naaaaah, nuffink to even bother your busy GP about; DO YOU THINK WE HAVE NOTHING BETTER TO DO???? Ok, thanks… oh, by the way, my brother died of colon cancer 2 years ago- COME BACK HERE!!! HOLY SHITTTT!!! (First of oh so many puns to follow); TAKE THIS, GO THERE, PHONE HERE, YOU MUST BE SEEN WITHIN 2 WEEKS!!! HERE’S A REFERRAL, THEY’LL PHONE YOU YESTERDAY, ITS SO FUCKING URGENT, THE ENTIRE STRUCTURE OF THE NHS IS FOCUSSED ON YOUOUOUOUOU!!!!! You need… a colonoscopy!!

Nooooo, not one’a them, ffs. So, as always, my first thought, how to turn forced cattle-herding into a cramped room to have some third rate Gastro-enterologist who qualified in Azerbaijan and has questionable hygiene insert a camera up my… well, wherever, whilst I’m staring at cracks in the ceiling and peeling paint, into something a bit more… a bit more plush, bit more ‘comfortable’. With waiters, fresh coffee, making proper appointment times, Sky TV in the room. You know: I WANNA GO PRIVATE!!! But the GP insisted that the NHS would be the best. So a (reluctant) appointment was made with UCLH. It used to be ‘UCH’ when my daughters were born there, but it grew an ‘L’ along the way. Bit like ‘G’ for gay grew an entire alphabet in 5 years. And I have to admit, they were amazingly efficient and incredibly easy to contact. Who knew? But it’s probably down to the ‘2 week protocol’ for suspected cancers. (Spoiler; thank God, there was no cancer, phew).

And it was all swimmingly, easily, wonderfully simple and efficient. A great day out. Highly recommended. Except…

… for the ‘preparation’.

3 days before; stop eating all fruit, veg, brown anything, whole meal, anything healthy. Only white bread, white rice, ok, fish and chicken. I can manage. On the 3rd day, however, you can only eat… air. No food. Nothing. Except…

… for the ‘laxatives from HELLLLL!!!’ You take one packet the day before. 500mls of it in solution. It tastes like really salty fruit juice with way too much artificial sweetener, but it apparently ‘does the job’. Or, ‘does the jobby’, as they say in Scotland. You can drink water, and you need to, or black tea/coffee. Vile but efficient.

The following morning you take packet 2 and 3. Indescribably horrible, quite viscous and, well, disgusting. As you force down another 500mls. And this stuff takes ‘efficient’ and laughs. This is the nuclear option of laxatives. I wanted sympathy. Instead I had Lila and Joey in hysterics as I sprinted repeatedly to the nearest toilet. Sometimes even making it there successfully.

Anyway; it’s over. And I’m fine. And empty. Ready for a refill.

But just one little thought about local derby football matches. Did last night’s Champions League match count as such because Manchester City are owned by Abu Dhabi, and PSG by Qatar, which are pretty ‘neighbouring’ places. They could possibly share the same lawyers. As Man City employ dozens, and PSG will probably soon be called to do so as well. Because if you can beat Man City, a team who’ve cheated their way to superstardom; how else could you possibly achieve that? Unless you too have been very ‘creative with the accounts’?

That was a shit conversation. Needed to ‘share’.

Happy Days

A xxxx