All right, already. I do know that part of my faithful audience is particularly faithful to News of The Old Man. So this is I... updating that faithful part.
You may remember that, to add to his ordeals, The Old Man had developed a naughty cancery spot on his physog. (Don't worry... these things are widely spread down here in Sunny Cornwall.) And so The Old Man has had to slap ointment on the thing just about every night for the last six weeks.
(You can remind yourself of the details by checking out the relevant Post here.)
Last Friday came the last ointment slap.
And not a moment too soon, say he.
He does not want no more of this. And wanders around bemoaning that they shoodda just cut it out, and let that be an end to it.
Truth to tell, instead of the small pink area that originally graced his mush, The Old Man now sports a zonking great face scab that looks more angry than The Old Man hisself.
I do feel a bit sorry for him. He says he feels like a freak.
A few days on from the last ointment slap, it must be said that the scabbed area is looking a bit calmer.
And now we wait to see if the skin doctors will bother to recall him. (You cannot tell anymore.)
But I tell you... as far as I understand the history of this ointment... it was originally developed for a far more intimate place of application. Knowing what I do now about its effects - I have to say - should I be that unfortunate (or interesting) as to develop that original complaint...
I would tell the prescribing doctor: "No way, Jose!"