Terrance Gonzo tries to think of the sun while snowbound with the medics

Leaving my house for the London snow today I had a fair idea what would happen. Both the doctor and the dentist (whom I would see consecutively) would participate in a deranged contest to see who could insert the most amount of objects into my frankly unwilling body.

Said the doctor: ‘if you could just take off your trousers, roll over to the wall and lift your knees up to your tummy.’


‘Can I put my finger in?’

‘Knock yourself out Doc.’

I could feel her digit scraping the top of my brain.

Thankfully I was bid to roll over rather quickly.

‘Can I touch your testicles?’

Incredibly she said this with a straight face. Despite our history.

You can imagine my relief that no sort of pipe or device or smartphone had been used to navigate the ills of my rectum.

But my mind was cast back to a time I’d been hospitalised with a hunk of beef lodged in my gullet.

After two days of spitting sputum into cardboard bowls a doctor inserted a camera up my nose and down my throat to:

a) get a better look at the wedged Sirloin


b) see if he could dislodge it by ramming the camera right down into my gizzards.

It was an absolute delight. And it didn’t work. Indeed I was told that if the beef didn’t go down of its own accord by the next morning a bar would be rammed down my neck to do the job.

That night I had a dream that I had to swallow the beef for the good of the ward and as I awoke I had the magical sensation of the cow morsel slipping down my throat. After some mash and yoghurt I was turned loose on the streets. I didn’t even know what hospital I was at.

Today I knew precisely where I was and after leaving the doctor’s a strong need to see nature engulfed my spirits. With an hour between appointments I strolled into Hampstead Heath.

As I traversed the Heath my mind was again cast back, this time to an afternoon with an ex-girlfriend, who, as symmetry would have it, was the lovely woman who’d escorted me to A&E with the aforementioned bovine block. I remembered the last time I’d had sex with her had been on the Heath. I recalled that after the event I went to the shops to procure some liquid refreshment for us both, walking past the vast crowds thinking: ‘I bet no-one’s had sex as recently as me.’ The cosmos ordained I was never to know her lovely flesh again.

I checked my watch. It was time to go.

Next up today was the dentist, with his myriad scraping tools, drills, and saliva-sucking pipes. I got through it.

The sun didn’t shine as I left the dentist; the snow pelted my face, the whiteness cleaned away my morning.

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