2019 was more than a bad year. It was truly an annus horribilis for me. If it was a blind date it would be where a hairy bloke in a wig turned up, drugged and imprisoned me and made me call him Shirley. In some ways it was even worse than 2018, the year of my operation. In 2018 I only had one big ‘de-prostation’ problem to deal with. 2019 would stand out for practically one major issue per month right up to December.
You may have gathered that I am not filled with the Christmas spirit or it’s festivities. In fact, if Santa was somehow really unfortunate enough to have consumed a mince pie laced with strychnine you can guarantee that it would be myself and Ebenezer sitting down comfortably and smug, talking about the shock and horror of Father Christmas’ surprise demise.
Then we would consume the remainder of the packet of mince pies.Read More »
Not the best word someone could use when I told them what my blood pressure figures were.
It was a couple of days after I had spent the day wired up to a portable blood pressure machine so that the surgery could get an average blood pressure reading.
It was an interesting experience walking, sitting, eating and sleeping with this thing. It gives a warning bleep and then seconds later would noisily go about its bicep inflating business.Read More »
Fresh on the back of the last event where there were two prostate cancer speakers, I find myself at another and in the same situation. This time however, smart casual scarecrow had been replaced by slick Pete. Hair was cut so sharp you would think I saw a barber on the train, a funky dress shirt, crisp jeans and my best shoes. The only downside was I probably looked a lot more affluent than I actually was and this is not the safest part of London. Tread carefully.Read More »