I finally went to the doctor's today. I've been putting it off for ages. And ages. And ages. I finally went. My poor little gammy ear and zombie foot genuinely need attention.
You see, I always find it a bit embarrasing going to the doctor's. I always want to clarify that I'm only here because my girlfriend wanted me to go. I can easily put up with any of life's physical hardships without any medical attention at all because I'm so hard.
A bit like Rambo.
I'll just sew the bast#rd up with a knife and a bit of thread.
"Okay Mr Margerrison, there's no need to be nervous. What exactly is the problem, what can I do for you?" he said in reply. This unnerved me because he pronounced my name correctly. Is he a listener? Only listeners ever get my name right.
Right, yes, anyway. I sit down, stop pointing at him and explain that it's my ear. It's full of wax.
"Okay" he said "we'll take a look, it's probablyfull of wax, lets look in the healthy one first".
Out comes the big shiney torch thing they stick in your ear. Apparently one ear is full of wax and the other is utterly clogged up with it. Fine. That's fine. Disgusting. Fine. But disgusting.
"We'll get some olive oil in there and have them fizzed next week shall we?"
What? Olive Oil? What?
Clears his throat and shouts: "OLIVE OIL !"
Not very medicinal is it? Next he'll be giving me leeches. Apparently the chemists sell olive oil for people like me (who think putting a cooking ingredient in their ear is silly) so I'll go pick some up. It's no different, they just sell it to you in a little bottle.
God I hate doctors. Apart from The Doctor out of Doctor Who. He's ace. What did he just say? Oh yes, I almost forgot. I tell him about my foot.
"Right, this is in your notes. How did you get on with the steroid cream we gave you?" he asks.
"I bet you didn't really use it did you, you little pervert. I know who you are. I've read your silly little blog where you've, each day, been chronicling your athlete's foot adventures. What a pathetic speciemin you are." his eyes seemed to say.
I explain that it hasn't seemed to work really.
"Steroid creme will usually work on something like that. Lets have a look at it shall we?" he replied.
"Good lord what an idiot you've been, leaving this thing for so long, letting it rot away. What did you think you were doing bragging about it on that website? Unbelievable. I can't understand how scratching something like that can give you pleasure. You've no self-fu#king-respect have you?" said the silence he left, as I took my smelly sock off.
"Oh" he gasped "urgh" he added.
"Yes that's right, it's fuc#ing hardcore isn't it? See I told you I was hard. Can't cure that with olive oil can you?" I thought to myself.
"Rightiho, well, I've seen worse. You need some blahby blah creme** on that. It'll soon clear up." he chirped.
*I add a swearword here because that is what tough guys do. Everyone knows that. You c#nt.
**Yep, that's what it was called. So what? Obviously, I can't actually remember what it was called. Blahdy blah creme probably. Whatever. My poor foot has already stopped itching and I've only applied the creme once.