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Monday, May 18, 2009

It's been a rough couple of days for Oscar the Grouch...

Bin Laden
And that's not the only close shave to have taken place in Brighton over the weekend. The sun almost came out on Saturday, so I pruned Chloe...

Short back and sides.
Look at that straight edge. That’s craftsmanship, that is. You could use her as a ruler.

Anyway, I can't be certain there wasn't a paparazzo outside with a long lens trained on my bathroom, but on balance, I don't expect this haircut to attract the same level of press attention as the last one. There are only so many slow news days in one year, and frankly the only fame I'm interested in is the one with Erica Gimpel.

But fame and beauty aside, you've got to have your health. So I went to see my GP this morning. It's a month now since a stranger in an underground room fondled my privates and gave me a cocktail of drugs, so I thought I should let my doctor know that it's done absolutely nothing for me. Ciprofloxacin might be good at treating urinary tract infections, but it's piss poor for my prostatitis. So having completed the last week of a four week course of frequent pain, I went straight back to my GP to demand some answers. Or failing that, Trimethoprim.

A lot's changed since I was last at the surgery. For a start, they've cleared the waiting room of newspapers and magazines to prevent the spread of swine flu (or possibly just to stop you reading about it), meaning you've got nothing to look at but the back of a box of tissues. And frankly I'd finished that two minutes after I arrived. But to compensate for the lack of entertainment, they've rigged up a speaker system which was pumping out the hits of Whitney Houston, as performed on the Bontempi organ. I've never heard anything like it. I can only assume it's a new form of anaesthetic. It was certainly mind-numbing.