In the land of until awoken by me mobile at 2.30am.
“Hallo mate. Can you come and get me. They’ve kicked me out”
“( Most expletives deleted) Fuck me where are you? You didn’t go off on one? (He has a very short fuse). Nah nah. They give me three different scans all shit so nothing new there then the consultant tells me I need an operation (I know that) and they should admit me but due to so many Covid cases in the hospital it was not safe for me. If I caught anything It would definitely kill me.
I am standing in the car park outside A&E, they won’t have me in the hospital for my own safety and it’s started to rain.”
” Nice to have a consultant with a good bedside manner. Bugger me If I can manage to run the wipers in the dark I’ll get down there. What are the going to do for you?”
“They’ll send me a letter”
So I tanked up on Red Bull (on top of me medication) and motored on down. Picked him up sheltering in a bike shed next to A&E. Massive queue at A&E now standing in the rain. Nothing more conducive than a flood lit hospital car park in the rain at 3am. Which way to the gas chambers?
On the way back hit a massive pot hole hidden by the rain and the useless angle of view of such a low motor. Massive jolt up me arse and across me lungs and kidneys. Felt like an Iron Mike special (actually a very nice man out off the ring, mostly. Held back the pain to get us back and then literally fell out of the car hardly able to breath.
Crawled back home, more single malt and so to bed. Call to Quack Emergency Line, long wait, refused to speak to call handlers and nurses (just take an aspirin) and insisted on a Quack I actually knew. Eventually got a call back – could be lungs bouncing of me ribs or damage to liver or kidneys or a touch of the Princess Di’s with heart jolted out of place.
“Any black in your poo? What colour is your urine? Any blood in your snot or spit.? You need to have a scan but I would not recommend one with so much Covid in the hospital at the moment. We’ll send you letter.”
“Should I take some aspirin?”
“Don’t make me laugh”
“Only joking. Happy days”
“Wait for your letter”
Me Quack is an old cunt I have known for years and past retirement but continuing to work until he can come up with a dodge to prevent a large chunk of his massive pension being trousered by HMG. Really knows his stuff.
Will update if I live to tell. Oh yes found a lovely fracture dent in the alloy and a fucked side wall. Seriously expensive and he wants me as a witness.
Nominated by: Sir Limply Stoke
Pooch Perfect is a new dog grooming reality competition show on BBC One where professional dog stylists compete in themed challenges. It has come under fire recently for “degrading” the dogs by painting their claws and giving them a ‘pawdicure’ with red nail polish and glitter and dyeing their fur into bright colours.
