…but I don’t mind because my laptop is now repaired and I can now look at motor cycle reviews with gusto. My current fave is the Triumph Street Scrambler. I hope I stay young enough to get one. It will be a close run thing though.
We are all just tubes. A (sort of) control centre at the top, a means of locomotion at the bottom, and reproductive organs somewhere in between.
Just tubes. With a pesky consciousness.
- The post about my boring wife is fiction. As is any mention of ear-lids. I don’t have any such things. Well, I do have a wife but she’s not at all boring and we haven’t been married for 41 years. I also have itchy ears sometimes so maybe…
- My love of motor cycles and spaniels is real. I have one of each. I’d like more of them both but…
- The suggestion that t’is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all, is bollocks.
- Kids! Who’d have ’em?
- Speaking of which, there are too many people on this planet. What can we do about it?
- ‘Virago’ is a great name for a motor cycle. Not so good a label for a female.
- I believe in equality. Everybody should be equal in all things. ALL things. ALL the time. I also believe in justice and democracy and fairness and sustainability and multi-culturalism and peace and love and honour and dignity and respect and… has anybody any idea what these terms mean? I don’t, but I believe in them nonetheless because they sound good and to oppose them invites justified criticism. What is ‘justified criticism’ anyway?
- Prostate glands are such a pest.
That is all, for now.
Time and spaniels wait for no man.
I’ve been told by my doctor (and others) that my last post, Boring, boring, boring, is a disgraceful exercise in gender stereotyping. She (and others) say I should be ashamed. I am. I apologise unreservedly and will never do it again. For ‘wife’ now read ‘male friend of longstanding’.
I thank you.
I went to see my doctor on Friday. I had noticed something unusual just inside my ears. Both ears. There seemed to be growths of skin blocking the ear canal. They were like flaps that occasionally closed the ear completely resulting in a total, if temporary, loss of hearing.
She took a look, then shone a light down them from a stainless steel looking pointy thing, and took another look and said,”Hmmm,” the way that doctors do.
She said: “How unusual!”
“I’m going to try something,” she said.
“OK, feel free.”
She walked over to the bookcase in the corner of her surgery and ran her finger along the spines of books on the top shelf. They were medical text books. She selected one and returned to her seat behind her desk. She opened the book, seemingly at random, and started reading from it, aloud.
I gathered, as she read, that the subject was the endocrine gland, the hormones it produced, and the associated chemistry. It wasn’t very interesting but I sat obediently and, to the unobservant, listening intently. She continued reading. After 5 minutes I became irritated and felt my attention wandering but, being overly socialised and therefore tiresomely polite, resisted the urge to interrupt her.
She droned on and I felt something moving in my ears. Her voice grew fainter until it faded away completely. I was deaf.
She looked up and mouthed: “Can you hear me?”
I shook my head and replied, rather loudly she observed later: “Not a thing.”
She stopped reading and strode around her desk to peer down both my ears with the stainless steel pointy thing. I felt my hearing return.
“Can you hear me now, Mr Taylor?”
“I can, thank you, Doctor. Most strange, eh?”
She returned to her chair and looked at me, sympathetically, I thought.
“You lead a very boring life, don’t you?”
“How did you know?
“You’re married to a very boring woman, aren’t you?”
“Tell me about it,” i replied, making use of a modern idiom. “41 years.”
“She talks a lot?”
“I’m thinking you try not to listen?”
“I try… but, I mean…Doc… 41 years of it!”
“Hmmm,” she said again, the way doctors do. “Your body has come up with its own solution. It has grown earlids that shut off your hearing in the presence of prolonged boring talk. Much like I just made you experience by reading a section of that medical book.”
I was flabbergasted and sat quietly, contemplating my ears. And my marriage.
“Do I need an operation, doctor?”
She laughed. “Not at all, Mr Taylor. Your earlids are keeping you sane and means there’s no need for me to prescribe earplugs for you. Just don’t mention them to your wife.”
“You mean, keep quiet about them?”
“Exactly, Mr Taylor.”
When I look at life set upon a cosmos sized grid, I can’t help but think that anything humans do is not worth a fig and that anybody who thinks otherwise is a fool.