I had my little visit to the hospital yesterday.

I had it all planned out. I was going to go in, they would remove the cauliflowers from my nostrils and I could go home all bright, breezy and happy.

It wasn’t like that.

I had the mandatory wait on a plastic chair for about two hours and then my name was called. I followed the nurse in and was sat down opposite a bloke of Indian sub-continent origin who conformed my name and date of birth before he took ot the mandatory blank page and did the mandatory stare at the blank page before writing something. Déjà vu, huh?

Eventually a nurse came in and said the Professor was on his way. Sure enough he arrived. This surprised me a little as usually the Grunts get to do the work while the Professor remains unseen in his sanctified office. Not this Professor. What’s more, I had read up on this chap and his credentials are a lot more that a tad impressive.

He poked and prodded and gave a thorough inspection of my cauliflowers. He then ushered me into another room which was the Torture Chamber. I sat back while he stuck several needles in me. Have you ever had a hypodemic nurdle stuck up your nostrils? I don’t advise it. He the proceeded to remove bits of my nose both outside and in. He then stitched up the holes he had made, so at least I have a souvenir of my visit.

He sat back in front of me and after a little pause he gave his diagnosis. I have to admit that the floor kind of disappeared for a moment. It’s one thing to read about it, but to the word spoken is a lot more scary. He said he couldn’t be sure as they would have to send off the samples for biopsy. I asked him what percentage sure was he. 98%. Fuck! I actually said a resounding “fuck” but nobody seemed surprised. There were two nurses there who were lovely. After the Great Pronouncement they were all over me, squeezing my hand and all but giving me little cuddles. One gave me her card where she had added her mobile number and I was to phone her any time I had a question, or just wanted to talk. They were a lovely lot and I include the Prof.

So we chatted about the future and its possibilities. Some of the words were mildly scary, like “CT Scans” and “MRI scans”. Other words were more scary like “prosthesis” and “reconstructive surgery”. But we have to wait weeks for the biopsy results.

It transpires the my little joke in my last scribble [“Grandad has no nose”…..] was maybe not so funny after all.