The Old Fart’s Reunion

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Abstract

dwiches — you know, the ones they give you when they’ve seen enough of your back passage.</p><p id="cf9b">Lovely food at our day hospital. I only hope they wear gloves when making them — wish they’d give you a beer to wash them down. All you get is a cup of piss, weak tea or coffee.</p><div id="27bb" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/my-saturday-morning-and-my-palace-of-black-and-white-dreams-b4aa707fad77"> <div> <div> <h2>My Saturday Morning and My Palace of Black and White Dreams</h2> <div><h3>My own celluloid heroes</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*-gfAZH5U9kdxw9bP)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="5f42" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/51-years-ago-but-i-remember-it-as-though-it-were-yesterday-5649f47a750"> <div> <div>

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A fun day out

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio from Pexels

My doctor’s waiting room reminds me of an old fart’s reunion. We’re all regulars, and no doubt we’ll reconvene that afternoon at the Pharmacy to collect our meds. While waiting, we discuss our bowels, arthritis, piles, the big C — depression.

Lately, the big issue’s been CRAFT disease. You know it — Can’t Remember A Fucking Thing. We’re all suffering from it to one degree or the other. Jeffrey’s memory’s taken more of a hit than the rest of us. Sad. He was always the smart one — but not now.

It seems only yesterday we’d meet at the hotel for a beer once a week. Now our bladders can’t take it like they used to.

Next week I’m due for my colonoscopy and trust me, that’s a fun day out. The last time I woke in recovery, to see two of my mates eating their sandwiches — you know, the ones they give you when they’ve seen enough of your back passage.

Lovely food at our day hospital. I only hope they wear gloves when making them — wish they’d give you a beer to wash them down. All you get is a cup of piss, weak tea or coffee.