Not so perfect timing

“We have VIP tickets tonight for Paleo,” says Mr. Jules as we get off the plane.  Now this is music to my ears coming second to my favourite sentence of all time: ”You have been upgraded.” 

I skip along to the taxi thinking a few hours kip and I will be ready to boogie with my glass of champagne overlooking the main stage wide awake with jet lag, perfect timing.  Then I open the mail and see that some time back in April I scheduled myself for a Colonoscopy TOMORROW!  (Nothing serious just a routine check that we all decided to get done since Mr. Jules’ lovely Pa passed away).

“I can still go! I can still go!”  I say excitedly.  Mr. Jules passes me a prescription for some horrific sounding liquid to be taken THE NIGHT BEFORE.  It turns out I am to spend the evening alone with my new bestfriend the Lav.

Alone in an empty house on a summer’s evening trying not to feel depressed I force down the liquid.  I try to enjoy myself: have a bath, shave my legs whilst catching up on my Jonathan Ross podcasts but the liquid takes over with the verocity of the alien in John Hurt’s stomach.  I decide to just sit it out in the loo.  To make matters worse I can hear the Paleo music from my bathroom.  It is indeed a mightily depressing moment to be sober and stuck in a lavatory.

The alarm goes off at 6am and round two starts up.  Mr. Jules appears, having decided to sleep with Lexi on the pretext of not disturbing me, but taking one look at depleted old me, he replaces the mirth with concern.

The Doctor is the standard Swiss, everyone outside the medical profession is an idiot type, but the nurse is Irish!  There goes all my ”posh” French vocabularly regarding the inner workings of my abdomen and we have a giggle.  It also helps that she is a Catherine Tate clone.

I am given the all clear.  There will be other invitations to Paleo.

Copyright Jules Ritter July 2008