One of those days – or the perils of speaking without thinking

I had “one of them evenings” yesterday.

I got home from work to find the doctor had written to me. They wanted to remind me that diabetes makes you go blind, and in order to make themselves feel superior (because I’ve got diabetes and they haven’t), they’ve arranged for me to have some photos taken of the back of my eye so that they can work out a date and time when blindness is going to happen. They went on to tell me that the tests are really horrible, and I shouldn’t think of doing anything else for the rest of that day because I’ll feel rubbish. Now I know perfectly well about the blindness-inducing effects of diabetes – I also know about osteonecrosis, which they seem to be saving for another day – but I’d managed to push it to the back of my mind, and didn’t welcome a reminder.

In the same post was a letter from my good chums in Burgess Hill, containing a note saying “A little pressie just for you, luv Bel”. Unfortunately the envelope had a hole in the end, and contained nothing other than the note :-( . This makes me inordinately sad – someone I like has gone to the trouble to do something nice and thoughtful for me, and their effort has been wasted. Finally, before going to Hospital Radio, I went for a shower and ended up with a tepid bath because when I tried to turn the shower on, the control broke and refused to work any more. Subsequent screwdriver-based investigation revealed that it’s broken in an unmendable way, so for the sake of a piece of plastic worth about 20 pees, I need a new shower costing about a million quids.

Anyway, two hours later I had some of my composure back – I’d decided not to go and burn my doctors’ surgery down, for example – and during our Hospital radio show, my friend and co-presenter, Rockin’ Rob, was telling me that when he went to the gym, his towel had somehow been knocked onto the wet floor, leaving him with about six square inches that were dry enough to dry himself on when he’d had his shower. With this as a feedline, I related my own shower-based disaster tale, in the course of which I used the immortal phrase “So there I was, standing there with my knob in my hand…”.

No-one phoned up and complained. They were probably all reacting the same way as Rob – as an aside to which, it’s really difficult keeping talking with a straight face when your co-presenter is rolling around on the floor laughing.

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