First dribble, first poo, first sneeze… As you get older the firsts are less obvious but no less mucky. My bungee jump in New Zealand. New Zealand itself. My first parking ticket for infringing a two minute parking zone by 94 seconds. These quality experiences just keep rolling in, like plastic bottles on a Dorset beach.
And tomorrow? Well I have an operation. A general anaesthetic. Woopdedoo. I know I’m fortunate to reach 58 years 3 months and 13 days without so much as a local but now it’s here I’d rather not.
Still the alternative is to continue with what looks like a pair of socks rammed in the pocket of my jeans and a tendency to climb stairs like John Wayne. Thus, needs must old chap and off you jolly well go, nil by mouth and a smile waiting to be clipped on post op.
Much of my life has seemed gently absurd for which I am grateful. If I am a plaything of the gods, as I have long suspected, then I feel like I must be a favourite beanie baby rather than an unwanted tea service. Rarely have I been thrown across the room. Circumstances have cuddled me threadbare for the most part. And if, because of a crucial design fault, when man was designed, allowing for some of our shopping to droop rather, I need a safety net inserted, well I’m not about to complain. I mean look at all the positives
1. I’m not allowed to do any heavy lifting for a period; I intend to milk this.
2. Apparently I am likely to be offered free and legal narcotics; if so and I post tomorrow during a morphine induced fug I rather hope I indulge in the most egregiously rude flights of fancy. Then I can apologise to what is left of my readership on Saturday.
3. Tomorrow is, as luck would have it (ha!), Friday the 13th. I have a series of black cats lined up to cross my path and I am assured a set of ladders will act as a guard of honour as I enter the hospital. I am not superstitious. I will report tomorrow on whether I have changed my views.
4. This has to give me material to write about. For instance the consultant has warned me that there are high chances I have not one but two hernias. Yippee – Twins! ‘When I’m in there, I’ll have a look around…’ Somehow this statement of intent merely triggered an image of John Cleese in Fawlty Towers when he takes the lid off his gourmet meal expecting duck only to find a blancmange. He stares then starts rooting around looking for the missing game.
5. I will put my feet up for a day at least; all sorts of chores will be beyond me so I will have to write with a clear conscience. Grim, huh?
So, because this is not meant to be downbeat or intended to elicit sympathy – please save it for those really in need of your compassion – check out the latest #1000speak project on bullying – I leave you with some images from my garden in this spring-like sunshine.
And finally, as I said at the top the cause of this hiatus (ha x 2!) is the crap way the male reproductive organs were designed. The late great Robin Williams explained why.