(no subject)

Monday began with a vaginal swab, which is never the *best* way to start the week.

The medical practice at the top of the road with which I'm registered is - as far as NHS practices go - pretty good. They have a 'lady doctor', which is handy when you need to go in with the opening gambit: 'I've got a problem with my bits.'; and the practice nurses are quite understanding about a woman's natural reluctance to have her old IUD pulled out.

But the trouble with gynecology, is that it's never going to be *fun*. Knowing you're about to get an ice cold speculum shoved up your vagina (because it's against health and frigging safety to warm it up to body temperature under the hot tap these days - exactly *whose* health and *whose* safety I do not know, as I'm sure 5 degrees warmer would do a hell of a lot for mine) is nothing like those happy memories of having your polio vaccination on a sugar cube and strawberry flavoured antibiotics.

You don't even get a sticker anymore.

But still, they do try to make it as pleasant as these experiences possibly can be. Pasted to the ceiling above the bed on which you lie, whilst waiting for those words "Ankles together and knees floppy", is a cheery poster of an orangutan, with the back of his hand pressed to his forehead like some hairy orange goth.

And, as you ruffle yourself upwards on the rough extra wide paper towel they put down to catch all those superfluous dollops of cold KY, you can admire the pretty flowery curtains they draw for the 30 seconds it takes you to 'get yourself ready' (I've never quite worked put why you need privacy to take your pants off and lie down before they come in and shine the flashlight up your nether regions, but there you go.)

And to be honest, I've yet to come across the pastel shade which will have the sufficient calming affect to counteract those fateful words 'Now I'm afraid this is going to be a *little* cold'...

I would like to say that the week got better from there on, but seeing as Thursday was a parents' evening I'd be lying. There comes a day when you realise that you can no longer find socially acceptable ways of telling parents that their children are stupid, and the best SMART target for the objectionable little shits is simply not to produce any further generations in order to stem the spread of their intellectually inadequate genes.

Still, at least the weekend gave me the chance to introduce lupercal to the experience that is rollercoater, heading up to Alton Towers for the last ever day that the Black Hole was open. Seeing the face of a man who has just ridden Oblivion for the first time is a joy indeed.

Apparently there were two goth parties this weekend, of which I managed to remain blissfully oblivious until it was too late. One of them was even, I believe, eddy_'s moving in party at wherever he's moving in up the road. Which seems rather odd indeed as he's still here, and some people's Friday evening, rather than at a party, was spent cleaning up the chicken bones that he'd left unsecured for veelow to distribute around the kitchen.

Which reminds me - I should take out the rubbish.

For now it appears to be Sunday evening once more, with another Monday morning looming like a large viscous puddle of cat shit around the corner.

Still, at least there's no vaginal swab tomorrow morning...

( the small print )