Tomorrow my female staff is having a few tattoos done and family and friends are teasing her about it because she's always been somewhat vocal in her dislike of tattoos. "Look at that pretty young girl with that stupid tattoo on her arm. Imagine what it's going to look like when she's fifty and wrinkled." Of course the "pretty young girl" is about nineteen and can't imagine what it must be like to be fifty any more than a fifty year old can imagine what it's like to be a jellyfish. In fact I believe that many nineteen year old human females look at fifty year old humans and think (or even say) "Eeww! Gross!" In the same way they would when they look at a jellyfish. Why then, is she having the tattoos? I hear you ask, not unreasonably. It's all part of the preparation for her radiotherapy. Tomorrow she will be placed into a machine and tattooed with four target dots so that when her treatment starts in earnest in about thee weeks time they can line her up, pull the trigger, or whatever, say FIRE! and she'll be zapped with a dose of radiation in exactly the right spot to exterminate any remaining cancer cells left behind after her breast tumour was removed a few weeks before. She's hoping that whoever does the tattoos will be talented enough to draw her four target dots in the shape of guinea pigs and intends to take a photo of Baci, Alfie, Tom and Toby with her to the appointment so that their likeness can be copied onto her skin. She'll also take along a photo of Paolo the budgie in case they need to do an extra dot for some reason.
My male staff also had to visit the doctor last week. It was time for his vitamin B12 jab which is supposed to stop him from falling asleep while out on his daily run. He was also having trouble with his hearing for some reason. Probably because he'd forgotten to clean his ears out for the last fifteen years and the vegetation growing within needed pruning. Anyway, because my male staff's hearing was temporarily impaired he asked my female staff to go with him in case he couldn't hear what the doctors was saying.
"Good morning." Said the doctor cheerily as my staff entered the room.
"What did he say?" Asked my male staff.
"He said good morning." My female staff informed him.
"What seems to be the trouble.' My male staff turned to my female staff again.
"What did he say?"
"He said what seems to be the trouble?" My male staff pointed rather superfluously to his ears.
"I can't hear."
"Okay," said the doctor. "We'll take a look in a moment."
Again. "What did he say?"
My female staff sighed deeply. "He said he'll take a look in a moment."
The doctor continued. "First though we'll give you a thorough check up."
"What did he say?"
Another, slightly more impatient sigh sigh. "He's going to give you a thorough check up."
My male staff nodded and the doctor turned to get some sample jars from a shelf. "I want you to give me a stool sample, a urine sample and a semen sample."
"What did he say?"
"Oh for Christ's sake!" Exclaimed my female staff. "He say's he wants your underpants."
I thought that was completely uncalled for. I know for a fact that my male staff changes his underpants meticulously every first of June. Well actually that's not quite true, he turns them inside out and puts them back on on the first of June. The actual changing of the underpants ceremony takes place on the first of December. It is often attended by a senior member of the Royal Family and is marked with a twenty one gun salute. Actually I made that last bit up...........it's only twenty guns.
In the end my male staff was given a clean bill of health, which means that my staff are free to travel to Botswana next week, when in his capacity as a reverse people smuggler my male staff (Ably assisted by my female staff.) will undergo a rigorous and exhausting series of inspections of luxury safari camps in and around the Okavango Delta region. They will be forced to rough it in big soft king sized beds in en-suite tents that you could hold a circus in. Fine wine and top shelf spirits will be poured down their throats and they will be force fed all sorts of exotic cuisine. It's going to be hell. Oh yes, and there might be time to see a few animals too. Obviously I have to go with them in spirit to make sure they don't get trampled by a rogue meerkat or torn apart by an irate impala. So, all being well I will recommence my regular weekly Monday blog posts on Monday the first of June, which coincidentally is the same day that my male staff is due to turn his underpants inside out.
Wile Uncal Billy's staff are in Africker me and Toby and Tom and Alfie are going to stay with Auntie Jody who like runs the Kweensland Ginny Pig Refyooge. We're all like looking fourwood to this cos as I unnerstand it there are like lots of gurly pigs there and evun if we are stuck in our own cages at leest we'll all be abull to smell them and if me and the otha boys get the chance to have sum thyme alone with one of them gurly pigs look owt werld! You'd betta like prepair yorself four a ninflucks of baby ginny pigs.