Urinating on Nurses, and other Such Traumas.

"HnnnI wazznnlike illnnn killnnn priests!"

I'm ill.

Kind of. What I mean is my voice is ill. The rest of me is ok now. Well, fairly anyway. I look perfectly healthy so you wouldn't think that something inside is a bit peaky. This must be how people with Gonorrhea feel. Peaky and burny. My problem is however, that if I were to read this aloud I would sound like a cross between Selma Blair from the Exorcist when she was suffering from an acute bout of exzema and killing priests, and Sooty's best pal Sweep when he was suffering from an acute bout of depression and killing Sue. It sounds like my voice is breaking all over again, which is rather upsetting, because going through puberty was horrendous enough the first time. When I need to speak to members of the public I explain myself by saying that I have a fancy dress party to attend later, and that I'm going as Bjork having an orgasm. At least I now know what 80's movie start Bobcat Goldthwait feels like.

"Don't Hide Like a Little Bitch. Come at Me, Pussy"

My house has been ever so slightly plagued recently, as the Missus too has been consistently ill for the last few months. Well her eye has been. She has a chronic eye condition, which instead of healing keeps reinjuring itself, meaning many trips to the hospital in agony for her, and many undeserved bollockings for me. When the condition errupts her eye gets all swollen, bruised and weepy. So when the Missus and I are outside together I get vicious accusatory stares from strangers which say "You abusive bastard", so I offer them a stare back which says "Meh". We make quite the fetching couple; her with her eye looking like she's gone 10 rounds with Mike Tyson, and me with my voice soundling like a knife fight to the death between a baby and a cat. So as you can imagine, with all this bollocks going on daily, my house hasn't exactly been the cheeriest place recently. Still, it could be worse - I could be Nick Clegg.

It has also got me to thinking about this country's NHS. Truly a remarkable institution which should be considered sacred. Of course it isn't perfect; the waiting lists for treatments are at times ridiculous and there's a fighting chance you'll leave hospital with some kind of super duper mega bug which with eat you arm, then your spleen, then kill you. Some nurses have the bedside manner of Hitler's SS and some doctors are dismissive egotistical twats, but they could be worse - they could be Nick Clegg. I think we should spare a thought for the aforementioned nurses etc. They work in extremely stressful conditions, are poorly paid, understaffed, keep ridiculously long hours, and yet they still do a fantastic job and are always there when we need them most, even when so many patients are rude and/or abusive to them. But enough of that, lest I begin to sound like a politician fishing for a round of applause on BBC's Question Time.

What My Mind Sees When It Walks into a Hospital

As I write this I am currently in hospital with the Missus as she waits for another appt for eye doctors to do more eye treatments with eye equipment and give her eye medicine for, surprisingly enough, her eye. If only they gave her a fucking punch bag to take home rather than eye drops it would save me almost as much pain as they try to save her. I hate hospitals. Being in one immediately makes me feel like I am surrounded by death and disease on all sides. I look around and I see a stream of empty, soulless, haunted faces, and those are just the hospital cleaners. Every time I visit a hospital I expect to see four diseased looking horses parked in the senior management car park next to the Jaguars. "Paging Death to the Cardiology department, that's Death to Cardiology. Thank you". I've received surgery on various sports injuries etc so often in the past that when I see a porter ferrying a patient on a hospital bed, my first instinct is to shove the deathly ill looking patient off and hop onto it myself. That's why I decided to give up sports and be a lazy bastard instead.

"Now Kieran, Urination Does Not Equal My Affection"

When I was young I was a very sickly child, which involved a lot of hospital trips with both my parents until I decided I was a big brave boy, then I only wanted my dad to come with me. When I was young I was told that when I was born, my first act as a new life into this world was to pee on the nurse who was trying to weigh me. I weighed 10lbs, however if she had weighed me before I had anointed her with my own personal seal of approval I might have weighed 11lbs. My dad always recounted this story with great fatherly pride, which as a child I mistakenly associated with approval and acceptance. That's why every time I attended a hospital I would immediately pee on the nearest nurse. For some unfathomable reason he didn't seem quite so proud of me anymore, especially when the shouting and swearing and threats of police involvement started. So now when I see a nurse in the corridor I run up to her, scream "ARE YOU HAPPY NOW DAD?!" and run away again, crying.

Well I best go now, as I can see a nurse coming towards us and I really would rather be somewhere else instead. Like Syria.

Kieran x