Coolest Job Title in the Universe

Forget international playboy, tennis star, rock star, deep sea diver, train driver, Ming the Merciless, or Emperor of the Universe, this is the job for me.

This is what I want to be when I grow up.

This is what I want on my passport under profession, so that when the immigration official reads it, the blood drains from his face, he backs away in horror, averts his gaze, and waves me through with one shaky hand, as the other one clutches at his throat as he tries to get a rasping breath.


Your Uncle Simsqu is coming to visit. Won't that be nice?

This makes the Child Catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang sound like Mother Teresa

Anyway.

My M-I-L had a triple bypass operation (all good now), and a few weeks before the operation she went into the Hospital to meet the various professions involved, as they explained to her the procedures and what was going to happen etc.

I'm afraid we've run out of trolleys...

She met the surgeon, theatre nurse, intensive care nurse, anaethsetist, and had a very informative day. At about 2,00pm, she had just one more visitor to see. As she sat there, in came a lady in a white coat (should have been a long black cloak with a red satin lining I think), and said these words that turned my M I L's blood to ice:

"Hello, I'm The Vein Harvester"


Now this won't hurt a bit...

The Purple Beast

Friend of mine been a bit out of breath walking up hill and with a few other symptioms. Went to the doc to check out the old ticker. To protect his anonymity, let's just call him Bob. That is not his real name. His real name is Martin.

Anyway, Bob sends me a text to update me as to his physical wellbeing, a favourite topic for us retirees.

Tooth back in place. Hearing aid mended. Angiogram being scheduled.

In due course he has his angiogram and gets the results, which were OK: nothing too serious.

Bob had the angiogram through the groin.

Now, I'm no expert, but last time I looked, my groin was not particularly near my heart. Consequently, you have to shove a fair amount of tubing through the groin area to reach the heart

Are we there yet?

Personally, I would have gone in somewhere a bit closer. Like the armpit. Possibly the back of the neck or up the nostril. I don't know. I mean, if you are trying to get to Glasgow, you're better off starting at Grimsby rather than Penzance aren't you?

Anyway, as I say, I'm no expert. No, really.

So they let Bob out saying that the area might be a bit sore for 24 hours, with maybe a little swelling of the general region, due to the 40 kilometres of rubber tubing shoved up his groin.

I text him to arrange coffee. He replies

Won't be able to come out to play today. Groin area swollen and painful. Walking not a good idea, unless I want to do John Wayne impersonation.

So I go for coffee on my own and text him Howyadoin Big Boy?

Bob replies Just back from hospital. They said there is more swelling than usual but they are not worried. They might be if it was THEIR scrotum the bastards.

Me: you know some people would pay good money for serious groin swelling?

Bob: Unfortunately my secret dream to be hung like a horse has not been fulfilled. It may take up to two weeks to recover. They say it's a bit worse than usual. Let me know if you want photos

Me: I suspect if I type "swollen groin" into Google I'll get all the photos I could possibly need.

Next Day:

Bob: Back at hospital. Scrotum and willy now a problem. Scan being organised. If willy drops off, I'm gonna sue the ARSE off them.

Me: Oowwwwwwwwww I'm sitting here bent double and rocking back and forth with my legs crossed. Send me a selfie if you think that will help

Bob: My willy is now purple. I think a selfie would be inappropriate

Me: Purple is fine. It's green you have to worry about. This is going to make a great blog

Bob: DON'T YOU DARE!!

Me: Of course not: was only joking. What do you take me for??

Bob: Just so we understand each other. I don't want it trending all over the internet

Me: NEVER! In any case, I would only refer to you as my good friend Richard Swelling.

Bob: Just back from scan which showed nothing horrible. Very tired

Me: So I guess a shag is out of the question?

Next day:

Me: How is The Purple Beast today?

Bob: Looking sorry for itself: it had more people looking at it yesterday than in the last 20 years. It is a ridiculous colour. Doc says it will take a few days for the pain to ease and up to 2 weeks for the swelling to reduce.

Me: I am having lunch in Costa with the missus and her mum, so will tell them all the details.

Bob: If they want visuals I shall have to charge a reasonable fee

Me: Have just briefed the mother-in-law and she is looking very queasy. What sort of visuals could I get for 50p?

Bob: on second thoughts, I don't think showing her some purple willy porn would be appropriate. How old is she?

Me: Eighty five last May. Au contraire Blackadder. After due consideration she now sounds quite excited at the prospect. Have you considered setting up a website? There's a fortune to be made. I'll be your pimp.

Bob: It will be black soon. 

Me: WHOOAAA!!! Just choked over my black pudding and pickled walnuts

Bob: That's a pretty good likeness as long as the walnuts are purple

Me: Seriously I need a photo. For all I know this could quite literally be all mouth and no trousers

Two days later

Me: How you doin?

Bob: Swelling going down, but terrible night's sleep. Doc said I could take the bandage off now. Getting the sticking plaster off was fun. I practically gave myself a Brazilian. The purple beast is still too horrible to see the light of day though.

Me: Ouch. With regards to the Brazilian, have you considered wearing a mankini to show off your new look to best effect?


I suspect this is probably a better view than from behind

Bob: "Pervy 70 year old thrown out of cafe in purple willy flashing horror"

2 days pass. and then I am informed:

Bob: Successful Number Two's after three days.

Me: Quantity? Consistency? Colour? Ease of Production? Come on buddy, my Blog fans require DETAILS!

Bob: YOU PROMISED NO BLOG!!!

Me: KIDDING!!! I wouldn't do that to you

Bob: I know you wouldn't really. Do you want samples?

Me: Yes please. I'll send over a 50 gallon drum for you to fill at your convenience

3 days later

Me: What news?

Bob: Swelling appears almost back to normal

Me: So that's just the twelve inches then?

Bob: You better believe it Big Boy. Bruises changing colour to a sickly yellow. Still painful, Getting annoying now

Me: OK let's leave it till next week and meet for coffee. You should be leaping about like a young gazelle by then

Bob: Okay I'll brush up on my bossanova moves in preparation

Me: No wonder they call you snakehips

And finally 2 days later:

Bob: The Purple Beast has finally returned to its lair having frightened every nurse in the Hospital



Thank you and Good Night

Purple

That teaches ME to be more careful with my wardrobe and attire in future

So I'm out shopping in Muswell Hill this morning, and the missus pops into Boots. I wait outside. Suddenly this geezer approaches me. He has Daily Mail Reader written all over him. Flatcap beetroot face sour yet pompous expression with a whiff of savagery.


Big Issue?

"You look the right colour" he says, looking at my jumper.

I look down, and just as I realise I am wearing a purple jumper I am aware of him trying to thrust a UKIP pamphlet into my hand, which I hastily withdraw, as if he's trying to give me a steaming warm freshly minted dog turd.


New design (and face value) for the pound coin if UKIP get in

"YOU MUST BE JOKING!!" I say, and back away. He is a little deflated.

I continue. ""You do realise this is Muswell Hill, where all the liberal trendies live, don't you?"

"Oh, that's as maybe, but we are doing really well here"

"I don't believe you," I say.

"Yes, yes, we are a party to appeal to all sectors of the British population. For example, did you know we have a local black candidate?"



Puzzled, I said "what the hell's that got to do with anything? The very fact that you think mentioning one of your candidates is black shows me that you find this significant. Am I supposed to be impressed? You're a bigot and you can't even see it."

"You can't call me a bigot."

"Okay, let's give you the benefit of the doubt and just call you ignorant."

We were almost shouting at each other, creating quite a crowd, when my missus turned up and herded me gently on. Me and Mr UKIP parted company hurling insults as each other.

And the election is still three months away.

Could all get nasty, we can only hope.

WTF is so funny?

I am becoming increasingly concerned, as I research the pensions market and consider how best to maximise my retirement income, that any annuity, income drawdown, enhanced annuity, fixed term annuity, invested annuity, or any number of the new products coming on stream from april this year, carries a statutory obligation encoded in the terms & conditions of pension providers that recipients of aforesaid products must agree to inhale vast quantities of nitrous oxide on a regular basis so that they always look like a bunch of hysterical hyenas.

We've just nicked this from the Waitrose carpark 


Have I had my breakfast yet?


I've just pissed myself again

and here is a picture of a bunch of saddoes comparing urine samples. Fortunately the nitrous oxide has taken the edge off the whole proceedings

Why'dya do it?

To Kiss the Sky in Crouch End yesterday evening


I don't look a lot better inside, but I do good cocktails, and they're cheap

for Mojitos with the missus, who meets me from work (hers not mine). Very nice, relaxing start to Friday evening.

Then onto The Belash

I look like something from the 70's because I AM something from the 70's, and what's more, I've still got the same crockery, tables, cutlery, glassware and decor.

Great little place: haven't been here for decades. I don't think anything has changed.

I look at the menu: My heart skips a beat: they do a PHALL!!!

The phall is a ridiculously hot concoction that I think was probably invented for the uber-macho lager drinking boys night out crowd in Birmingham. I suspect it is as authentically Indian as Egg & Chips. I have not seen it on an indian menu for at least thirty years, but as this menu looked like it was forty years old (here it is, half of it anyway), it's probably the only menu left in the UK with Phall still on it. (so that's what that huge orange stain was)


Here's a picture of a chicken phall

Touch me if you dare

and here's a picture of the chef preparing it




...and can I recommend a side order of Andrex with that..?

So of course I went for it.

It is now the next day, and for the last half hour I have been sitting on the toilet with an ice-cold pack of moist wetwipes clutched in my shaking hand, listening to rainforest music.

Oh...Oh God. Not again


You will have to excuse me

Mathematics

I have always liked mathematics - I am in fact a specky dweebo - and have decided to take a maths course.


...and that pesky roadrunner is mine!!

Have been at it for a month or so, and my next chapter is entitled:

"Triple volume integrals using non-Cartesian coordinate systems"

It's not as interesting as it sounds.


Yo Hicks! You've fucked up the annular area of integration!

Ooooh that felt good

So I'm 60 this year and I need to sort out the pension. Forms forms forms and more forms. And they all start with the question: "What is your National Insurance Number?"

Can I find it?

It is not on my tax returns. Don't have things like wage slips, tax code forms or P60's as I have been self employed for 150 years. Not on any correspondence. I have looked everywhere.


Well, I've found your library card from primary school, but no sign of your NI number

I ring the NI dept. and flick through some ancient correspondence in an ever diminishing hope of finding my NI number while waiting on the line


Christ if I hear Greensleeves one more time...

Finally some bloke answers

"National Insurance Department can I help you?"

"Yes I cannot find my NI number. Can you tell me what it is please?"

"I am not at liberty to divulge such information over the phone. If you pass the security procedures, we can post it to you"

Balls. "Oh...er...OK well, that will have to do"

I give him my surname
My first name.
My middle name.
My date of birth
My address
My postcode
My driving license number
My spouse's name
My mother's maiden name
The name of my cat

"Any previous addresses?"

"Er...well...not for 30 years...let me see...ermm...it was...89 Wilton Road. Yes that's it.

"Postcode?"

"WHAT?? You seriously expect me to remember a postcode from 30 years ago?"

"There's no need to raise your voice. I require the postcode."

Listen Sonny Jim, if I let you in, they'll ALL want to come in

"I don't know: would you remember a 30 year old postcode??"

"You have failed security..."

"Hold on...let me just look it up on google..."

"Sorry, I cannot continue with the conversation..."

"Here it is! I have it! N4 6RH"

"I am sorry. Once you have failed security we cannot proceed..."

"But I've just told you!!"

"You will need to fill in form CRAP068796/BALLS/001 and post it to us...thank you for contacting the National Insurance department

click

Son of a...

Armed with the new info, I ring again.


Greensleeves was all my joy...

"National Insurance Department can I help you?"

BASTARD - it's the same twat again. I think of disguising my voice, but suddenly realise there is a slight possibility he'll recognise me when I give him exactly the same info he'd just had



So I just say,

"Oh yes, I rang before and now have the requisite information"


"Hello? Are you still there?"

"I cannot help you if you cannot pass security..."

"Yes I KNOW that, but I now have the relevant...hold on a minute... I've got it!!"

I can't believe it. As I have been desultorily sorting through old correspondence, I suddenly come across a tax code note. It is so old it's written in cuneiform

- Apparently it says you owe the Inland Revenue 2 goats
- Groats?
- No, goats

"Wow, it's really old" I say to the jobsworth, "Do the NI numbers change?"

"Once issued, the numbers do not normally change throughout the recipient's lifetime."

"Could you just double check it for me if I give you the number I have here?"

"We are not at liberty..."

"Look, I am going to give you the number. All I want to do is for you to check against your records."

"Well..."

"There cannot possibly be a security problem here"

"Ummm...well...should be in order. Please tell me the NI number you have."

"I'm sorry, Before I can divulge that information to you I shall need to do a security check. What is your inside leg measurement?"

Click


BOOOMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!