Trumpet Street

I was back at hospital today. I’m at day nine post-op and my throat is still painful. I have problems swallowing. I’ll resist the obvious Carry-on gag - (gag! There’s another one). I was prescribed with painkillers that were developed with poorly rhinos in mind so I’m afraid I keep drifting off and feel……

After collecting my prescription from the pharmacy, I sat on a bench outside the hospital entrance waiting for a friend who had kindly offered to collect me and take me home. After a few moments, a large man in a tweed suit waddled up and sat next to me before lighting up a cigarette!

“You inconsiderate tweedy bastard! How dare you invade my personal space in this way? You wobble over here, park your big fat flabby arse, light up a death stick and your revolting smoke has carried straight into my face. Well, I’m recovering from a throat op but don’t let that worry you, you incautious, self-centred, thoughtless wanker” I said (but only to myself - later when thinking back to the incident).

I’ve never been forthright. I often wish I could be the type who says what he sees and if you don’t like it, good. I suppose I’m what you would call soft and you can call me softy and ofty as you please. If I think that by sounding off I’ll hurt someone’s feelings, I’ll keep my gob shut. As my old mum says “It’s nice to be nice, if a little dreary and boring”

During an insecure period in my life I considered changing my name to make myself more interesting. You see, a name creates a mental image and expectation before you even meet the person.

If you were heading for a crucial business meeting with Wally Gubbins, you'd fancy your chances of being able to dictate the direction, tone and result of the meeting. If, however, you were to negotiate with Peter Topes-Bastard, you would understandably be wary.

If you were set up on a blind date with Nora Slack or Enid Pegg, you may be tempted to forget the time and venue of the intended liaison. On the other hand, if you were set up with Roxy LaBoom or Suzi Lix, you'd me mad to give it a miss.

I was going to be either Kurt Xerox or Clint Sterling

The drugs are kicking in so I’ll sign off before I start bridge wig keyhole tit complete gobbledygook.

Posted by Stephen Cree on Friday, August 11, 2006 at Friday, August 11, 2006 | Permalink