My fucking back is up the spout again. It’s been a bit shitty for a few months if I’m honest with myself but like most things that border on the serious, I’m very good at ignoring it. Something trivial and you won’t hear the end of it. Did I mention the hangnail? Horrific.
I decided yesterday that I had to go and get it checked out as it was fucking smarting. I think my experiences with the chiropractor pre-date this blog but I’m sure I’ve harped on about it… Anyhoo, I needed a place near to work and decided to try an osteopath, for a laugh like.
The fundamental differences between the two practitioners is simple, the former cracks and snaps the latter massages and presses. But that’s it. Both, cost the same, each feel the other is less competent and you always require more than one fucking session. It’s the rules.
The other thing I forgot about these characters is that one is required to strip down to ones shreddies. I hadn’t taken this into mind when I booked the session and boldly declared I couldn’t care less if the practitioner was burbling purple sea-creature, so long as they could make the fucking pain stop, I was indifferent.
Stood there is my less than adequate underpanties with a piss o wet patch, my gentlemans’ crushed into the shape of a shoplifters fist and still in my socks featuring a single toe window, I’d concluded that I’d looked better, especially as my spine was doing most of the alphabet every time I so much as breathed.
She didn’t half bang on this bird. I just wanted her to get on with it, not teach me fucking exercises for later, I needed her to sort out the problem, this session was costing me 45 bloody quid for stuff I could find online! Then she mentioned a single awful word that stopped me dead in my mental vitriol. ‘Scan’. I ignored it, the idea of having anything to do with, even a precursor to, back-surgery is more awful than the thought of David Cameron being immortal. During the examination (which was quite a relief) and after, she kept using the ‘s’ word. Apparently, my fucking spine is a lot more fucked up that I’d been led to believe.
If you think I sound gullible, that this was a ploy to empty more of my precious coffers she also pointed out the NHS would do the whole fucking lot for free, gladly. Apparently it was better that way because it’s cheaper than paying for a chair-bound cripple.
Ignoring all this and the pending loss of my job, flat and marbles I skipped off into town to meet Urban Woo and some chums to do a pub quiz. Chuckles and beer, just what I needed, I rounded off the night with some intellectual chit chat after discovering we’d come second (only because we didn’t know the fucking lyrics to boy/girl bands, thank god) and got back on the tube in time to arrive home for 10.30pm. For the first time in over a week I exchanged actual spoken words on the ‘phone with IC which cheered me immensely and settled down for the remainder of the evening with Family Guy and then something I couldn’t quite see unless one of my eyes was closed.
August 19th, 2008 at 9:41 am
This back pain o’yours is nothing. Last night I stubbed my toe on a blanket box, and it didn’t ‘alf smart. You should count y’self lucky you’ve only got a bad back, mate.
Anyway, you’re a liar. Clair says you lot came third in that quiz, not second. I trust her word more than yours because,
a.) She’s a woman and they only lie about the big things,
b.) I’ve met you and you’re a slippery customer.
Admit it, you’ve been caught in a web of lies, you fat liar.
August 19th, 2008 at 10:38 am
‘A blanket box’? Eh?
What the hell is that for? We’ve not had blankets down this way since the 40′s, surely you noticed there was a duvet on that spunked-up bed in your hotel? Perhaps you didn’t know what it was and had to sleep in the bath because the duvet (pro ‘Doo-Vey, it’s French) confused you? I’ll wager that’s what happened.
August 19th, 2008 at 10:43 am
We keep towels in it. It sits at the bottom of the bed. A lot of people have them. Idiot.
Anyway, that doesn’t answer my accusation that you’ve lied. LIAR!
August 19th, 2008 at 12:02 pm
No answer for that, have you? You’ve been caught out, and now you’re keeping schtum and hoping your one reader doesn’t abandon you when they discover he or she’s been reading a web of underhanded lies. You’re a disgrace to the internet.
August 19th, 2008 at 12:16 pm
You keep towels in a blanket box?
Isn’t that like keeping fruit in the medicine cabinet, or something?
August 19th, 2008 at 12:56 pm
I use sheets and blankets, so FUCK YOU, yeah?
August 19th, 2008 at 1:07 pm
Do you JQW? Do you have rickets, powdered egg, a ration book and gas lamps too
August 19th, 2008 at 1:08 pm
JQW – you also listen to classical music and wear bowler hats. And beat your slaves. And ride a penny farthing.
August 19th, 2008 at 2:34 pm
There’s nothing particularly strange about keeping towels in a fucking blanket box, you fat bald liar.
I see you’re avoiding my accusations by concentrating on my household furniture. I know the truth, liar.
August 19th, 2008 at 2:39 pm
Look we came 2nd okay, SECOND. Claire was as drunk as as Princess Michael. Of Kent
August 19th, 2008 at 2:43 pm
That’s right – keep spinning that enormous web of lies.
August 19th, 2008 at 2:49 pm
That’s the pot calling the kettle black, that is
You told me you were Terry Wogan
August 19th, 2008 at 2:57 pm
When did I tell you I was Terry Wogan? Never, that’s when! See? Another length of spidery yarn’s been added to the web. Carry on, you bloody liar.
August 19th, 2008 at 3:13 pm
DRUNKER!!!!
Especially after you wimped-out, you great jessie, and we ended up dancihg to shite songs in an eighteenth-rate late night dive.
But not drunk enough to know that we came turd – whoops, third – in the quiz.
August 19th, 2008 at 3:14 pm
“First prize: CASH, lovely CASH
Second prize: Two tiny bottles of wine
Third prize: Milky Bars and Kraut biscuits which I enjoyed eating.”
- The Urban Woo, 19th August 2008
OUT OF THE HORSE’S FUCKING MOUTH*! Proof that you, Piqued, are a bloody liar.
*Clair’s not a horse.
August 19th, 2008 at 3:15 pm
Edna’s comments add to the mountain of gathering evidence, I see.
August 19th, 2008 at 3:26 pm
Oh.
I thought we came second
It was an honest mistake
At least I don’t go around telling everyone I’m Wogan, or Lewis Hamilton
August 19th, 2008 at 3:28 pm
‘Honest’, he says! You don’t know the meaning of the bloody word, sir.
*wins*
August 19th, 2008 at 3:34 pm
Can we leave the blaspehemy out please NC
I’m surprised at you, being Christian and all that
Your favourite band is Stryper…
(fucking awful this is)
August 19th, 2008 at 3:40 pm
*tiptoes away, realising that it takes a woman to REALLY fuck up relatiionships between men*
August 19th, 2008 at 3:52 pm
It’s not you Edna
Mother always said I was too good for him
August 19th, 2008 at 3:59 pm
…anyway, I was paying more attention to ….well, you know *adjusts small bosoms, cock head to one side in Les Dawson styee*
August 19th, 2008 at 4:02 pm
Christ almighty that video was appalling. Everyone else has forgotten stuff like this. You should be ashamed – because of your memory, the flame still burns.
Anyway, I’m not a blasphemer and you’re a proven liar.
*wins*
*again*
August 19th, 2008 at 4:13 pm
I’ve just read your comments on the Guardian’s site. Incoherent swill of the highest order, o’course, but nice to see consistency in these fickle times we live in.
August 19th, 2008 at 11:57 pm
I do have powdered egg, gas lamps and a bowler hat, actually. Should I worry?
August 19th, 2008 at 11:57 pm
And let’s not forget my large supply of vintage monocles and naval capes.