Jaundice

I went to the doctor's today.

I don't know about the apostrophe placement there. Is it the place of the doctor? Or the place of several doctors? Or is it just a plural? Maybe you go to the doctors in the same way you go to the wolves.

Wolf Health Care is of a poor standard, though they've successfully combated child obesity by removing chunks of flesh. This may seem excessive, but it is in keeping with their lycanthropic oath.

Anyway, I went to the doctors's's's.

I wasn't too happy to be there. But I did keep thinking: there could be a blog post in this.

I think in italics.

Things I have thought are of greater significance than things of which I have not thought. I need to indicate this in text formatting.

But my thoughts aren't bold.

I don't have that kind of conviction.

People who went to public school think in bold. Just like their fathers did.

Another inky string to their nepotistic bow.

You can't become Chief Executive of a major corporation if you think in italics. It's the natural order of things.

I did keep thinking: there could be a blog post in this.

In the doctorz, I mean.

But nothing particularly interesting happened. I thought I might get involved in a Curb Your Enthusiasm-style argument with someone in the waiting room.

"Excuse me! I was reading that magazine."

"Whaddaya mean you were reading that?"

"I was reading it! You want me to draw you a picture?!"

"But you put it down!"

"Only for a second. I was gonna pick it back up!"

"If you put it down, you put it down. It's up for grabs!"

"I ONLY PUT IT DOWN FOR A SECOND!"

"OH, SO, WHAT -  I SHOULD NEVER PICK UP A MAGAZINE, IN CASE SOMEONE MIGHT BE READING IT?"

"IT'S MY MAGAZINE!!"

"IT'S COMMUNAL!"

"THERE'S A WHOLE PILE OF MAGAZINES THERE!"

"IT'S NOT ABOUT THE MAGAZINES! I DON'T EVEN WANT TO READ A MAGAZINE! IT'S THE PRINCIPLE!"

"OH, FUCK YOU!"

"NO, FUCK YOU AND YOUR GODDAMN MAGAZINE, YOU SELFISH PRICK!"


But that didn't happen.

There was a mother and her young daughter in the waiting room. We didn't get into an argument.

I really enjoy listening to parents talk to their children - especially if they're nice and thoughtful (the parents, I mean - children are amoral at best). It's really interesting hearing how people chose to explain the complexities of the world to their offspring. Their choice of words, the level of detail they go into, the comparisons they use - all demonstrate something about the person's character.

I enjoyed listening to this mother talk to her child. At one point, they started reading a story book which turned out to be about the Nativity.

The mother said something like: "Do you remember hearing this story before? About the special baby?"

SPOILER:
The special baby was Jesus.

I love the idea of referring to Jesus as 'the special baby'. Because it's entirely accurate, and conveys a lot about the story, but doesn't quite commit to him being the son of God.

I liked that mother.

The only other interesting thing that happened in the doktuhss was when I was waiting in the... doctor room? There must be a more specific name for that.

I was looking at the shelves and saw, right at the top, a yellow ring-binder, which was labelled 'Yellow Fever'.

How devilishly apropos, I thought. And then tweeted, amused by my own turn of phrase.

Also, yellow fever seems like a really old-fashioned disease. I don't even really know what it is. I always thought it was when a white man lusted after a Chinese girl.

AHAHA. RACISM! PURE, UNADULTERATED RACISM!

I'm Chinese. So, who's racist now?

Me?

Well yes.

But what about now?

Still me?

Oh.

Damn. I just looked it up, and that racist expression isn't even original. It's even on Wikipedia.

I can abide racism only if it's entirely new.

I looked up the disease on Wikipedia too, hoping to get some funny material out of it. But it's just a horrible disease.

I need to start choosing my battles more carefully.

I choose The Battle of Edgehill!

(This is like an episode of Pokémon)

So, my DOCKtourSS trip didn't yield too much fruit.

I then bought a light bulb that was the wrong size and came home.

I don't like buying light bulbs. I think it sends the supermarket staff a subliminal message that I'm out of ideas.

I'm not out of ideas.

I may run out of energy, patience or good will, but I'm never out of ideas.

Look, I'll show you:

IDEA #1

A "Really Crazy Golf Course" that has black circles painted on the ground instead of holes. When you complain to the staff, they insist that there are holes. You get angry, they call the authorities, everything gets out of hand (especially your putter, which is made of ketamine).

IDEA #2

A new tax system based on the number of DVDs you have of the series Scrubs. (If you have any Scrubs DVDs, you pay 98% tax. I call it the Fraudulent Imagination Tax.)

IDEA #3

A cross between a lake and a rake (sabotage your neighbour's bonfire).

See? I have ideas. And a light bulb that doesn't fit. But still, who needs a light in their bathroom? Everything in there is better done by touch.

That was my day.

If this was Curb Your Enthusiasm, I'd have contracted yellow fever on the way home. And would perhaps have got into some kind of misunderstanding about a 'special baby'. But luckily, this is real life.

Interesting stuff, you might be thinking.

Or interesting stuff, if you went to Harrow.