When the truth is found to be lies
and all the joys within you dies

This week I have committed the cardinal sin of allowing my employment to interfere with this important blogging vocation. It won’t happen again.

Vaso-constriction is where one’s body pulls blood to its core. It does this automatically when it perceives a threat. For a man, having your testicles held, one in each hand by a stranger, while he checks them for lumps, is perceived as threatening. To make matters much worse you‘re lying with your shirt open to the waist, shoes off, socks on, trousers and pants round your ankles, so that if there was a fire, you know you would trip over, bang your head, suffocate to death and be found by the firemen like that. Lying there with your hand on your bobby and your arse in the air.

He would go back to his wife that night and over steak and chips would say:
“Jesus, we found a right perv today, love.
Fucking pyromaniac.
He was jacking off to the flames and choked himself with his tie the filthy bastard.”

And that’s the thing isn’t it? If you were bollock naked it would be fine. But lying there half undressed, 12 stickers and wires on your chest listening for any signs of gayness or any hint of molestation from the medic as he remarks about things being fine in that department. Do they put a secret sign on your records?

You want to say:
“Look, I can do better than this. I’m not talking sexual arousal, but maybe if you put the fucking heating up a notch and stopped making remarks to yourself when your rummaging, and shaved off that fucking moustache“… Oh I don’t know.

Getting dressed, what he did say was that he wished he had my blood pressure and eyesight. Fucking quack bastard.