My chances of turning into the Singing Detective (pre-medication and pre-stint-in-hospital) may be receding after a trip to see my new doctor. My new doctor is lovely. Sadly she away when I last visited the surgery so I got a less attractive locum inserting a digit into an orifice. This is a shame as I wouldn't mind my proper new doctor sticking her finger up my arse at any time.
Sadly she only asked me to drop my trousers so she got a glimpse of my superhero underpants but I could tell she was impressed by my smalls fashion sense as she gave me a new prescription of anti-hystamine tablets, a tube of steroid cream and some other lotion to rub on the affected bits.
Applying the cream wasn't pleaseant and it wasn't pretty and if there are two unsexier words in the English language than 'steroid cream' I have yet to read them. And I have read a huge amount of filth.
Having a body plagued by unsightly rashes made training very interesting, though, and rather than opt for the explain-to-everyone-I'm-not-contagious line I decided to cover up by wearing a base layer under my do-bok.
This was great as it meant I had no more skin eruptions but it was really hot and I sweated buckets. So it was a week of steroid cream and sweat. Nice...
On the plus side I had a cracking birthday and I also came across this brilliant quote by Ancient Greek poet and soldier Archilochus:
'We do not rise to the level of our expectations. We fall to the level of our training.'
I reckon that's on the money.
PS. I also got the new iPod.
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