...Back in the Shire

WARNING: This blog contains information of a sensitive nature.

So I went to Somerset for the week, and seeing as I haven't got round to actually registering with an NHS doctor in the four years that I've lived in London, I thought I'd make the most of the practice that I was still a member of and get something checked out.

When I was away in Canada, the immense heat irritated a sweat rash that I had developed around my inner thighs. That's a nice way of saying my testicles. Bollocks. Nuts. It's been quite painful, so I wanted to see if they could give me some 'jockey itch cream', as my friend calls it.

I arrived. Smiled. And the lady led me towards a room. It wasn't the usual room that I go to, and I soon realised why, when the lady said, 'your doctor's ill today, so you'll be seeing a stand-in, okay?'

...right...

The lady opened the door to reveal the most gorgeous young doctor in the history of medicine. To which I said out loud...'oh for fff...'

She must have just graduated from med-school because she was definitely younger than I. There was a second when we looked into each others eyes. She didn't know what was coming. I bloody well did.

So I sat, and she asked me what the problem was. I wanted to say 'your age and beauty, sweet cheeks' but didn't.

I told her the issue I was having with my bollock n thigh. We both knew that it was only a matter of seconds before the big question came, although, bless her heart, she did try to fill the time with some ridiculous questions just to prolong.

And then....

...'Do you mind if I take a look?'

...'No, be my guest(!)'

...'Oooh, impressive!' (she may not have said those exact words)

I bent over and, at one point, remember lifting one leg slightly off the ground. I looked like a dog relieving itself.

But she gave me some cream and it's actually doing the trick.