Bouncers

My female staff has now finished the first of six weeks of radiotherapy treatment that she has to undergo to mop up any remaining cancer cells having recently had a tumour removed from her right boob.  Naturally I am there with her to see that the job is done correctly.  I don't trust private clinics, they are too money focused and are just as likely to zap her with nothing at all to save a few cents rather than use the radio waves.  How would you know?  The whole radio therapy thing could be just a huge scam.  They stick you on an impressive looking machine that whirrs and clanks and hums but otherwise does bugger all.  The cure, if it occurs could quite easily be just a placebo effect.  The poor, simple human believes he or she is getting the latest, most effective treatment and so the cancer cells shrivel up and die like moths at a flame.  Did you like that analogy?  Not bad for a guinea pig eh?

Anyway, after the first treatment my female staff told my male staff that while she was having the radiotherapy she felt not only my presence in the room but also that of her late mum.  Then as the week went on she felt the presence of more and more of her late friends, relatives and animals.  It seems that the word had spread and people and animals were coming from all over Heaven and the Rainbow Bridge to supervise my female staff's treatment.  By Friday it was really very crowded in the treatment room and I was having to be very careful that I didn't get trodden on by some late human's gallumping great size eleven foot.

Both female staff's parents were there, her dad stomping up and down repeatedly looking at his watch when the radiographer was running fifteen seconds late.  Male staff's mum was there too, though she spent more time chatting to Hannah, my male staff's late family dog (a brindle boxer cross), and feeding her dried apricots.  When Hannah was alive she had her own tin of dried apricots on a coffee table in the living room and whenever she felt like a dried apricot she'd mooch into the living room and indicate with her nose to any human who happened to be in that room that they were required to remove the lid from her apricot tin and give her one.  Then once the fruit had been devoured she would lie on her back and compel the human to tickle her chubby pink tummy.

Also in the room was Best Friend.  You may remember her from an earlier post.  She was my male staff's middle-aged neighbour when they lived in a charming little English town called Oakham.  She and my four year old male staff really hit it off on their first meeting as my my male staff peddled his toy police car around the front garden, his fat little legs pumping like pistons.  He told the neighbour "You're my best friend" even though they had only just met, but for the next thirty something years until her death she was known to my male staff's family as "Best Friend".  Best Friend loved animals, particularly my male staff's family's boxer dog Jonathon.  Like most boxers he was prone to slobberiness - if that's a word.  While in Best Friend's living room one day he shook his head and sent an impressive glob of slobber flying up to the ceiling where it stuck and hung like some sort of avant-garde lampshade.  Best Friend's husband Tom got the blame for that, though how she thought poor old Tom managed to get about half a litre of slobber up to the ceiling is unclear.  Best Friend was introduced to my female staff by my male staff early on in their relationship, which I imagine must be the reason for her concern over my female staff's health.  Anyway, I thought it was kind of her to show up in the crowd waving a hand embroidered "Get well soon" banner.  On Friday Best Friend had Jenny, my male staff's hamster in the pocket of the pink floral apron that she seemed to be wearing whenever my male staff saw her.  Jenny and Best Friend got on like a house on fire and she was the first person to be invited to Jenny's state funeral when she crossed the Rainbow Bridge in 1964.  She wore her best red hat for the occasion and a solemn expression on her face as my male staff, wearing a plastic world war two American soldiers helmet lowered Jenny's little cardboard box coffin into her back garden grave.

My female staff's grandparents were there too - Nanna and Gars.  Her family's farm dogs, Bun, Bob and Jodie were there, not to mention the late farm horses - Merrylegs, Dandy, Sues, Polly, Threepence, Penny and Sandy.  This meant that the late humans really had to watch where they put their feet.  It also meant that I had to be very careful not to stand still for too long anywhere near the horses' rear ends.  In total I counted thirty seven spirits, both humans and animals (not including myself) present in the room making sure that my female staff's treatment was administered properly.  At times it became rather rowdy, and when the radiographer made an appearance she was roundly booed and my male staff's Auntie Ethel had to be restrained from whacking her with her walking stick by my female staff's mum, who then had to explain to her that she was, despite appearances trying to help my female staff.  Auntie Ethel was also a great animal lover despite having once had her arm broken by an irate and overly territorial swan while minding her own business walking next to a lake in her local park.

Anyway, due to the increasing interest, growing crowds and rowdy behaviour at my female staff's radiotherapy treatments the big guy upstairs has decided to employ a couple of bouncers for crowd control at my female staff's next treatment this Tuesday.  I must say that I find it satisfyingly apt that a pair of "bouncers" are to keep order at a breast health clinic.  The problem is that there is a distinct shortage of brutal bouncer types on this side of the Rainbow Bridge.  The best the big guy has been able to find are Liberace and John Inman so I guess Tuesday's treatment session is going to be interesting.  I for one do not want to miss it.

 

God's bouncers

BACI'S BALONEY

Dudes! Like gess wot.  You remember Uncal Geoff whose lap I like pidduld on a wile ago?  Coarse you do cuz Uncal Billy rote all abowt it in his blog called "Strictly Ballroom" on September 14th last yeer.  Anyway if yoo reddit yool remember that poor old Uncal Geoff got ackused aqueuesed akyoozed like blaimed for being incontinent by his wyfe Auntie Cath.  Well, Uncal Billy's staff went to meat them again at a restaurant for dinner and afterwoods wen they were all warking home Uncal Billy's female staff notist that Uncal Geoff had a whole in the frunt of his trowzas and she cood see his undapants and evryfink throo the whole.  When my female staff poynted this owt to Uncal Geoff he like blaimed my wee for like rotting a whole in his trowsers. Onustly! Yood think Uncal Geoff cood afford a noo pear of trowswers cuz he's like a solissitter and can print his own munny.