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Post by OldStokie on Jan 30, 2004 17:00:20 GMT
As some of you will be aware, having touched on the subject a few weeks ago, I am having some ongoing hospital tests because they are trying to discover how anyone of my advanced age could be so fit and well and also so mentally agile. So, the latest test was to send me for a barium enema. I will go into the gruesome details but I must warn the faint of heart not to proceed further if they are easily offended by medical procedures.  Ufortunately for me, my appointment was the day of the 'great snows' but, me being the organized individual I am, I set out in plenty of time and arrived half an hour early for the 'event'. On ariving at the xray department, I was asked to slip into a gown and dressing gown and sit in the waiting room. "You can keep your socks and shoes on sir but take EVERYTHING else off! If you feel cold, you can put your coat on. You're early so you'll have a while to wait." So, I did as I was told and changed. Those of you who know me well also know that I wear one of those suede coats with fur around the collar, much like that footie commentator who's name passes me by. I emerged from the changing room looking like an Arab in the arctic. I had my flat cap on [most of the heat escapes from my bald pate] this great coat, a blue dressing gown that came just below my knees and a pair of brown socks protruding from the top of my 'Sketchers' boots which OSS brought me back from America. I stomped my way to a seat between a bloke and a woman. I was impervious to their sniggering and amazed stares. After a while, the lady on the other side of the bloke on my right was called into the xray room. That left me and this bloke chatting. He was from 'Castle and kept an allotment up Silverdale. He was about my age so we got on fine chatting about life during the war and he mentioned that he kept a few sheep on his allotment. He used to keep pigs there at one time and our conversation ranged from the collection of pigswill in the days when everyone had a 'Pig Bin' to my recent brush with another species of four legged creatures, goats. By the time I was called in to the xray room, we were almost blood brothers - all that was needed was the ritual slitting of wrists and we would have been. I left him sniggering in his chair. I never saw him again which was a shame because we got on like a house on fire. Anyway, I marched into the xray room and was told to "take off all your clothes please." I did as I was told by this guy who wore a housecoat with so many colours in it that he looked like Joseph. Suddenly, a woman blurted out..."NO! Leave your gown on!" This just at the point where I had taken everything off and had slipped one arm and my head from the gown. There I was, all tangled up in this bloody gown and Joseph in his technicoloured dreamcoat was desperately trying to untangle me and cover me up. "S'ok me duck" I said, "I used to work down the pit and it dunner bother may!" "It Bothers me!" wailed this woman. So, I gave it to them with both barrels! "Now what did you say to me?" I asked this bloke. "You told me to take EVERYTHING off and that's what I've done! Blame him missus not may!" Anyhow, eventually they got me back to some resemblance of decency and plonked me on this flat metal trolley. By, it was blood cold! Now remember how they'd made such a fuss of me taking off EVERYTHING! Well, this wench sticks a tube up my arse and plasters it ip with sticking plaster so it doesn't plop out. So much for being shocked! "Right sir, we're now going to pump some fluid up your rectum and then some air." "Will it hurt?" "No sir, but it will be unpleasant. Please clench your buttocks and try not to allow any of the fluid to escape!" So, they pumped away. All the time they were pumping, this woman chatted to me about my name and the intracacies of our genalogical background. Apparently, she had the same surname and had researched it back to the early 17th century and was quite proud of her achievement. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I, too, was a genealogist and had reseached my name back to the year 1635. But, my Paternal line is not what she thought because my old grandad never married my grandmother. However, I am digressing and just telling you this to keep you all interested. A bit of fluid and a bit of air. That was the procedure. You all know what it's like to have a crap. Well, this is the opposite and quite a strange feeling. Usually, when one gets the gripes, one farts and relieves the situation. This was the opposite - and it was blood painfull! I was beginning to blow up like that scene out of 'The Young One's' where blew up like a balloon. My guts was rumbling and gurgling and filling up and all I wanted to do was fart. Conclusion. OS is a superb 'Fart Holder'.
Eventually, they finished with me when the woman was at about 1695. I was told to go into the wc, relieve myself, get dressed and bugger off. So I did. The only problem I had was that having 'relieved myself', I wasn't sure that I had. However, in for a penny, in for a pound and I got back in my little car. I was now dying to fart again! What should I do? Go back to the hospital and 'fart' or try to get back home to do 'it'. It was beginning to snow. A blizzard was starting so I thought, "back home James!"
I set out towards Hartshill Bank and the traffic drew to a halt! Start, stop, start, stop, start, stop etc, etc, etc. And all the time I daren't fart! It took me the best part of an hour to get down Hartshill Bank and as I turned the corner at the bottom, I overtook all the cars in front of me and dashed to the big roundabout on the A500. I had to stop. I couldn't make a dash for it because the roads were slushy. I got across and the lights were on red. King of buttock clenchers by a country mile is OS!
70 MPH on the A50 and I soon arrived at Dresden Mansions. I shot in the house, made it to the toilet and farted and farted and farted and farted and farted until I couldn't fart any more. I didn't just 'fart' but I don't need to draw you a picture - do I?
Two hours later, I was still farting but now I had one of the boy's nappies on so if a fart wasn't a fart, I was ok.
I'm fine now and have stopped farting. The only problem I have now is that my crap is like lead. It simply won't flush down the toilet! Don't know how long this will last but I hope it clears up before I see you all tomorrow. 
OS.
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Post by Lakeland Potter on Jan 30, 2004 17:22:31 GMT
Well, I for one feel better for that, Mick. Remind me to tell you the one about the Italian doctor (who should have been on stage, he was so funny) and the gay nurse - when I had to have both my nether regions and my todger probed a year or so back. The Gay nurse admitted under my probing questioning (which I did mainly to take my mind off the indignity of the situation)that he couldn't think of a job which could have given him more job satisfaction than the job he had in the renal/rectal examination department.
Why is it that hospital appointments (which should be a source of great worry) are also the source of so much mirth?
Good story - I was hoping that your absence from the airwaves meant we could look forward to a good wake - I like a good wake! ;D
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Post by jimmygscfc on Jan 30, 2004 17:23:54 GMT
Mick, never mind PMSL, what about SMSL ;D I had the same about 10 years ago and it's just how you describe.  Got that bloody foreign film yet?  |
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Post by Pricey on Jan 30, 2004 17:28:44 GMT
Superb!
;D
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Post by OldStokie on Jan 30, 2004 17:29:43 GMT
The 'wake' will follow in its own good time John. Can't have that until Winger had made me infamous. I hope to be a 'farting star' one day. But, that's another matter which is strictly a 'side of the nose tapping' job. Yes. 'hospital humour' has its place amongst the various species of humeri. Best of all, it's true. ;D Say thee termorrer. Him as is my avatar is due any minute. Must dash. Mick. |
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Post by OldStokie on Jan 30, 2004 17:33:19 GMT
Jimmy, just a quickie. Yes, got 'Life is Beautiful' from Amazon. You were absolutely right. I wept like a baby at the end! Perhaps I should change my name to 'Old Softie'.  Love the Italians even more now! Seeya, Gotta dash. Mick. |
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Post by Hooky on Jan 30, 2004 18:00:28 GMT
Mick ... this a classic, you have real talent for telling a tale mate. I know I speak for kathryn as well, when I say I hope everything is fine with you . with any luck she will be up and about and able to attend the wigan game  I doubt she will make it through an OBPU, so I might drag her along for an hour or so, and then go abck to my mums... If she comes the game that is...she might chicken out of a match against TP's might Red N white army. |
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Post by johnnymarr on Jan 30, 2004 18:08:42 GMT
 Dont like the sound of the probing bit I never knew that you could be probed up that region Fornside????
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Post by Pricey on Jan 30, 2004 18:36:37 GMT
Bloody hell johnny, there's always one sick bugger that has to take it further!  |
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Post by Lakeland Potter on Jan 30, 2004 19:12:43 GMT
I suppose, technically "tubed" is a better word than probed, Johnny. ;D Stop it, the memory is bringing tears to my eyes! |
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Post by Linx on Jan 30, 2004 20:37:42 GMT
PMSL CPO(A)OS. That took some guts! |
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Post by johnnymarr on Jan 30, 2004 22:52:02 GMT
sorry lol
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Love the Italians even more now! 
I doubt she will make it through an OBPU, so I might drag her along for an hour or so, and then go abck to my mums... If she comes the game that is...she might chicken out of a match against TP's might Red N white army. 
Dont like the sound of the probing bit
