FROM MAJOR TO MINOR.

You can get all sorts of side effects with diabetes and in thirty years on insulin I've had a few and  one of them, anyway, was playing up, not responding to the usual stuff.  It was a Saturday and doctors working outside of a few hours a day, for a few days a week is unheard of; all those facilities lying idle,  labs, clinics, x-ray suites, operating theatres deserted, while Doc and his Mrs are playing golf, or trawling the antique shops, or maybe off for a weekend in some fabulous resort, courtesy of PharmaCorp.  Amazing how something so inherently acute, so seven-days-a-week,  operates only on a  nine-to five, Monday-to-Friday basis.  Bastards. So I strapped myself into the Citroen rocketcar and roared off to the town.  The McPharmacist was behind the counter.  This stuff, it's not working any more;  is there anything else? Aye, you need such and such.  Okay I'll have one, emmachisett, as they say at the car boot sales. Och, nae charge I'll put it on the minor ailments thingy, you're well eligible, just sign here.

How very civilised, I thought,  the knowledge of the minor ailments scheme coming back into my mind.
If you're sick, anyway, and you get some pisssant little complaint -  sore throat, sore arse, boils, whatever - you just go and see the chemist and he or she  gives you some stuff, gratis, or for free, as we say, here in  the land of linguistic ruin.  I guess the thinking is that a) it will save a  more costly visit to some useless, greedy, indifferent doctorbastard and b) it may well prevent something minor becoming something worse.  Now, we are not rich here in Ishmaelia, even so,  I could easily have paid for that medication but there are many, further along the have-not  shore, to whom  an unbudgeted-for five or six quid is  significant.  It cheered me up for the rest of the weekend, knowing that we had reached a stage  at where  the state had taken some of the sting out of illness and people won't be in pain or irritation or fear, waiting for doctor to open up for his miserable few hours a day, won't have to go and sit in some shithole waiting room, reading doctor's cast-off Country Life magazines,  tyrannised by gargoyle, misanthropic, sour-faced harridan-bitch receptionists, with wheezy people coughing  germs all over them  but can just wander into a chemist's and get a bit sorted. Mr George Bernard Shaw remarked that all professions are a conspiracy against the layman, and he was correct but anything which breaks the stranglehold that GPs have over people's lives, even if it means switching to the mercies of another over-rated professional, is to be heartily applauded.

There is something so liberating, so egalitarian,  about a quick, discreet consultation over the counter, as opposed to sitting, stiff-arsed, for an hour  in a waiting room and then creeping into doctor's  grumpy, wee cell, like a supplicant, knowing full well that the horrible know-it-all bastard hasn't washed the hand that he's just had up some old geezer's arse and if you dare ask him if he has he'll strike you off and no other fucking doctorbastard will touch you ever again.  I'd hang one in ten of them, see what happened to their work to golf ratio then. But in the meantime, if I possibly can,  I am only going to have minor, free market style ailments, and I'm going to be the chemist's best customer. Fuck it, they get paid, don't they, just not as much as Doctor Shit does.

stanislav, it all shit is.

stanislav get letter off nutter in Aberdeen, professor of bottoms is.

Dear Mr stanislav, is best not croak from bowel cancer and no need is, Jock Tribesman government of Alex Lard committed is to Immortality for all Jocks or people living in here, only not English oil-stealing bastard who can all fuck off and die, so here is simple little test kit, is fun for all the family but only you can play. Just to follow simple instruction:

Go in shithouse, put hand in rubber glove and poo into. Can also poo into jamjar or any other similar clean but disposable container and not for fucks sake re-use because rhubarb jam is not so good made in shitjar and maybe fucking poison Vicar when come is for afternoon tea and hypocrisy How you is Mr stanislav, eh, Jesus special place has in heart for plumber, D'ye ken, the noo, and Polack, too, Our Lord was very fond of Polack bastards, Matthew 3 verse 1, Take what ye have and give unto the Pole, is the Word of God, man, How can ye doubt it. I say, Mrs stan, this jam's jolly good, meaty sort of jam, is it a Polack recipe ? I will have a wee dram wi' ye, just the one. Ah'm away over to see Angus at the fairm and get blootered wi' him.

Can also fold thickly several sheet of bogroll, only not Izal, fuck me, no, place in toilet pan, do quick-fire, no-messing-about poo and hope it floats long enough on bogroll to be rescued from drowning, poo sample is fucked, you see, if go in bogwater and have to start all over again and maybe not ready is again for few hours or even tomorrow, all depends. And anyway not every bastard can just do one poo and stop in mid-dump, is it, and would probably just bombard floating Andrex platform with kilo or two of hot poo and sink to bottom of pan and whole shit sampling process is fucked. Is no fucking wonder, is it, that NHS is fucked, people sending out fucking rubbish advice like this and probably come from desk of shit-sampling-solyoushunsRus senior manager on hundred grand and free carpark space. Most people find is best to do poo straight in hand with glove on and not fuck about, if poor bastard is and no glove has can use crisp packet, or Dorittos; if was nurse, after all, no big deal would be. Nurse! Mr McFadden in bed two shit the bed again, the dirty old bastard, just pop down and clear it up,hen, there's a good girl, only I'm having a right good gossip here. And don't waste time washing hands after, patients need to be fed lunch, chop-chop.

Toilet paper method is crap, really, requiring jump-up from bog and turn around with trousers round ankle and arsehole not wipe or nothing because no time is and no place to put used bogroll would be apart from wastepaper bin filled with old Bic razors worn out and blunt as fuck because mean fucking bastard husband use twenty times rather than just scrap after one shave and only cost ten fucking pence to start with but is every morning Oh Fuck me, can get one more shave out of this bastard, waste not fucking want not eh, and maybe in rush to rescue turd on toilet paper and keep dirty bottom with cheeks apart can fall over and crack head and drown in fucking toilet, with lungs full-up of soggy Andrex fill-up with shit, maybe with cancer in, and no point was trying to avoid bowel cancer in first place, because has drown in shit, innit, instead, anyway. And all thanks to lunatic professor in Aberdeen.

Don't embarrassed be, every bastard has to do this but is best just to keep door close in case of passing Liberal Democrat might feel hungry and come in

and say Oi, stan, can do dump on my face, is no problem will just lie down here because of pressure of work and constituent bastard whining about 'bus fucking stop and hip replacement and give you fifty quid, alright hundred, alright but two-fifty is tops and better be good shit, hot and fresh and big and steamy and smelly and not shrivel-up, miserable little turd, like from Treasury Bench lesbian comes out, fuck me, is one sourfaced, constipated looking, miserable fucking bastard that Angela Eagle, and need good rogering off decent bloke if would do her a favour, only not stanislav, and good colour, too, brown, and not black. Or fucking yellow.

For shit-sampling to be success must take in bog, also, ballpoint pen and cardboard stick and packet of testing envelope. When fresh poo has got in hand take cardboard stick, provided, and get little smear of poo on end, is not much, just a bit and squash onto testing area of little envelope, and then take different bit of poo, from different part of hand-held turd, onkly not with sweetcorn, and squash onto the other testing strip and stick down that section of envelope, only not for fucks sake by licking edge otherwise get hospital acquire infection without even going near hospital, then write date on with pen. Will be hard because right hand is full of turd and must very best do with left hand, if has shelf in shithouse/bathroom/ahn sweet is best put envelope on shelf and clutch with edge of left hand and write as best as can, taking great care to hold other hand, with poo on, some distance away but not up in air just in case can fall off on fucking head. Once date is on envelope can now dispose of turd from hand and best is to just shake off, over bowl and hope that turd fall off when hand is directly over bowl and not onto carpet, not that fucking carpet should have in shithouse but is ahn sweet so ok is, or worse fucking still into glass with teethbreeshes in which most people keep generally close to toilet on account of how everybody now all oral hygiene conscious is but moron just the same and clean teeth in nice warm germy ahn sweet bathroom full of shitbugs and airborne sanitary towel germ and blockage of warm spit and gumblood and scraps of food in fucking vanity unit sink Ubend which no bastard ever empty until bathroom flooded is and need fucking plumber and never even pour-down some Dettol or Tesco value equivalent product which can't tell the difference from and is only half of fucking price, not even that, is just decades of spat-out rubbish go down hole and fucking fester and monstrous, invisible little army of germs come storming up pipe and parachute in fucking mouth and down to Doctorbastard is with case of DirtyBastarditis Poisoning, Oh, fuck me, Doctorbastard, Irritable Bowel Syndrome has got and need three month off from work is, best make six until fullpay runs out and Doctorbastard should say Fuck off dirty bastard and clean fucking house up and never mind Glade Air Freshen Up, get Jeyes Fluid and pour all over filthy fucking gaff and try turning off heat and open fucking windows but of course is in meaningful relationship dialogue with patient and got no balls has and instead of do proper doctoring refer every bastard to nutter in Aberdeen and do shit test is having to, as above. But is not just one time, balance turd in hand and write left-handed on envelope on top of cistern or on comfortable design feature shelf in airless, windowless ahn fucking sweet germ factory but is three bastard times has this fucking nonsense to do, and would soon be expert and job could get in circus, juggling turds and writing left-handed, with trouser down round ankle and unwiped arse if was any fucking circus left apart from fucking government and house of fucking common and Royal fucking bastard Family of para-fucking-site like Charles, Prince of fucking Wales, and cardboard cut-out Duke and fucking Duchess of this that and fucking other with fucking hundredweight or Euro fucking equivalent of scrap iron costume medals and fucking sashes and fucking ribbons as though useless shower of fucking inbred German ruffians and ponce and pimp just stepped out has from Gilbert and fucking Sullivan Comic fucking Opera set in Ruri-fucking-tania and expect stanislav to bow and fucking scrape at useless fucking idle slags, good for fuck all and up against wall should go. Is fucking twenty fucking first fucking century, innit, can drop fragmentation bomb right on Paki school playground from Washington DC and yet still bowing and fucking scraping is like was New Mediaevalists and stanislav garden party should go to and stand like cunt and useless fairy bastard prince says Oh, and you are a plumber, how very thrilling that must be for you, but not for me, fuck no, carry on, there's a good chap. stanislav bet fortune that Prince of fucking Wales poo stuff procedure doesn't have to do, get royal footman, keeper of the royal shithouse and get him to do it all,

I SAY, WIPE ONE'S ARSE FOR ONE,
THERE'S A GOOD CHAP.

Yes, Your Royal Highness, just poo right here in my hand, if you will be so gracious, oh, Fuck me, Sir, isn't that a magnifent Royal turd, Your Highness is so clever and my goodness, Sire, such an aroma, I'm getting Saxe Coburg and I'm getting Battenberg and if I'm not mistaken I'm getting a hint of Coldstream Guard, Sire, but that'll be from last night, Your Worship.

Would rather fucking have cancer and die than do all this shit, catching poo in hand and jumping up and down in shithouse like demented person with anal fixation, or Herman the German. Herman has special little tray in his toilet so's can examine each and every turd, make sure it is fit for Thousand Year Reich, mad fucking bastard, no wonder all German bint is dyke. Every morning Herman says Ach du Lieber Gott, Mein Frau, look at the size of dis bastard, is like from dambusters, nein, big bastard is, nothing wrong is mit Gunter's bowel, Ja? Can have close examination, bitte, ov your movements' mein Liebschen, Oh, Ja, is pretty little ones, nein? Dirty, filthy bastard is Herman.

But have good idea, can just follow dog, Buster,

on evening dump walk, or morning, or afternoon dump walk and poke little stick in BusterPoo and send off to mad professor, all stuck down in triple envelope. Mind, is good job living in country now and not suburbia, Buster was sick one time, well not just one time but this time VetBastardUlike but not very much said Oi, stan, here is tinfoil tray and just follow Buster around street and when is in mid-stream and leg cocked just shove tray underneath and get sample for me and get sent in laboratory and that'll be twenty nine pounds, please and tray was just piece of junk like faggot and peas come in from Spar CheapShop4Uis but stan and Mrs try to be good citizen and do like told by professional thieving bastard and take dog, Buster, out round streets armed with tinfoil tray. Buster over shoulder was looking like his people has turned into deranged dog-murdering bastard perverts and sitting down and refuse to budge and po-faced Presbyterian bastard neighbours in Inverness

is all peep from curtain and go Oh fucking dear, so it is, lookit what they're doin tae yon puir wee dawg, JesusMaryandJoseph, d'ye think we should call the Jock RSPCA or the polis, lookit, they're chasing him again and the bloke's trying to get underneath the wee man's howsyerfaithers, so he is, Oh my goodness, I heard about they Polish men but Ah didnae ken they was intae this shit, and in broad fucking daylight, when is the guvinment going tae do something aboot they damn foreign devils coming over here; d'ye ken ye cannae get a book in English doon the library, they're all fucking Polish, excuse my language, but how do they read all that shit all full up with zeds and vees and doubleyoous and queues and cees, fuck me, that's a desperate lingo, d'ye suppose it affects their teeth, or the way they breathe, no wonder they cry so much, but in the name a Gawd that's no reason for them sexually molesting the puir wee dawg, look he's doin' it again, the noo, out there in broad daylight, and the Inverness shops, they're all filled up with beetroot and cabbage in vinegar and vodka, and chocolate-covered rice crispies; Aw fer Gawd's sake, Angus, they've got the puir wee divil and they're squeezing him, so they are, intae a frozen food container and his puir wee bit a tinkle's coming oot and yon man, in the overalls, he's jumpin' up and doon in delight, so he is, and so stanislav not have very happy memories of chasing dog, Buster, for a urine sample and nearly get run out from town on tar and fucking feather off sour old Jock fishingwife, would no point have been saying Look, Mrs in dog own interest is and not for fucking fun am chasing bloke round street and try and catch piss in tub for analysing,like lunatic with head stuck up dog arse, what you think, stainslav crazy bastard is ? No fucking point, but now is in country living and no bastard neighbour has, because if neighbour saw stanislav poking about in dog shit and putting in envelope and drop in village postbox, shotguns would be out. Anyway will try to sort things out, compulsory not is to do poo nonsense, and just as fucking well. Maybe can email professor and say shit in the post is, honest.