Flushed With Success....... And Copious Amounts Of Loo Roll

Despite being markedly closer to death than birth, I have until recently managed to avoid any of life's more debilitating and embarrassing ailments that invariably see you regarded as 'over the hill and under the doctor' as my gran would say.

That all changed the other day when I developed a variety of symptoms more commonly associated with grazing herds of cattle and flatulent hippopotamus.

 This in itself would once have been highly amusing but my stomach also seemed to forget when and how often potty time was. You could say that it was 'driving me round the bend' if you really wanted to tell a CRAP joke,..................

................Anyway I thought it prudent to visit my local physician.

To say I was not overly looking forward to this experience would be a major under-statement as I feared a thorough cross examination of the intimate details of my malady coupled with some kind of poking and prodding. 

It would be weird if you didn't feel a certain amount of dread as you wait for your 10 minute slot in the medics consulting room but this, I should stress is not something that should be allowed to get in the way of getting the expert help and advice you need.
Men in particular seem reluctant to admit they may need to 'have it looked at' when it comes to anything amiss between the waist and the knees.

To be frank, I think the average man would rather spend a morning ironing at the mother in laws than have someone gazing up their hairy harris, or worse, fiddling with the odd assortment of gentleman's unmentionables housed securely inside their sturdy pair of Calvin Klein's. 

This is especially true if they're past 50 as this will normally mean the insertion of a gloved digit in a northerly direction up the old Khyber pass to check the prostate is behaving itself. That's usually thrown in on the house!

I digress though, as being someone who promotes himself as an International man of mystery, incredibly sexy and ready to deploy to any corner of the globe at a moments notice, it was completely against my nature to sit, with some trepidation in the waiting room watching Homes under the Hammer thinking, Hmm, A bidet, that looks just the job, I must get one. 

As it turned out I needn't have worried as the doctor who had the somewhat dubious honour of providing the consultation was;

A)   A man. This made the recounting of my story less difficult though I have no idea why? As if a female doctor would have anything more than a passing professional interest in my bowel's dodgy performance.

B)  The aforementioned male doctor was a very affable chap who quickly passed me on to my local hospital "because even if I did an examination today I would still want you to have this looked at by having a colonoscopy"

This brief moment of relief was cut cruelly short as I was handed a small booklet outlining what a colonoscopy entails. It would not be a surprise if my squeals of terror where heard somewhere in Northern France! 

A pole up my arse?? Are you serious???

I left immediately and on the way home called in to the DIY store where another helpful young man asked:
"Can I help you sir?"
"Yes I'm interested in buying a bidet" I replied, "oh and I'll need some industrial strength sani-cloths.......scented please, Floral valley if you've got it"

"I'm on it" he said, enthusiastically.

Yeah, me too shortly, I thought despondently.