More evidence that Fran isn't shy of tackling the really big topics
We all have ear wax, yes? I looked it up and Auntie Google says it's there to moisturise the ear, to fight off infections, and to act as a shield, stopping dust, dirt, insects and presumably lost sparrows from finding their way inside your head and into your brain.
I'm liking my ear wax more, reading that. There could be nothing worse than trying to think through something complicated like difficult long division or the Times Cryptic Crossword or the concept of nihilism only to find a random small bird flitting about among your grey cells as though he didn't have a wife and three tiny children to feed.
But ear wax is all very well until it begins to proliferate as though in a bid to take over Warwickshire, like mine is currently doing.
The ear wax build-up happens to me about once every two years. Normally, I go to the GP surgery, see a nurse, chat happily to her while she irrigates my head with the warmed-up contents of the Amazon river, say to her when she's finished, 'Are you SURE you're not shouting at me?' and then walk home, at least a pound lighter and therefore looking forward to a family-sized bar of Cadbury's Fruit and Nut after my tea.
|The moment Fran realised the lipstick had been a mistake|
So, I rang the GP surgery to hear a long, detailed message about how, unless you are seriously ill, you need to fill in a form on the website.
Fair enough. I understand why, what with Covid 19.
I filled in the form.
I've completed shorter tax returns, that's all I'll say.
One question was, 'Is there anything that would make your condition better?'
'Yes,' I wrote. 'Having the ear wax removed.'
Next question: 'Is there anything that would make your condition worse?'
'Yes,' I wrote. 'Not having the ear wax removed.'
Was that rude? I was getting a bit antsy by that point.
After I'd also supplied my vital statistics, latest gas bill and a photo of my tights drawer, I pressed Send.
I received an email. 'Please ring the surgery for a telephone appointment with a doctor.'
I rang the surgery. 'I don't think a telephone appointment is going to hack it,' I explained.
I was expecting a terse response but the lady on the phone was hugely sympathetic. She regrettably informed me that the surgery no longer provides an ear wax removal service. 'I know,' she said, 'It's disgusting, isn't it, the way these services are disappearing. Well, I shouldn't be telling you this, but I got my daughter to do mine yesterday with one of those Chinese hot candle kits.'
I did wonder whether she was someone's mum, drafted in for the day to cover a couple of shifts.
Her other suggestion was to ring Specsavers. Apparently, some of their branches do ear wax removal.
So, it's feasible that an assistant at Specsavers could make a mistake and extract someone's ear wax rather than inspecting their corneas and be told, 'You should have gone to Specsavers.'
I rang Specsavers. My nearest branch that does ear wax removal is in Birmingham, a half-hour train ride away.
Train journey? That's not happening. Ear wax deafness is the worst problem I have at the moment. I'd like it to stay that way.
Then, whaddya know? Auntie Google, still helpful, told me there's a local Ear Clinic, and for the small sum of EIGHTY POUNDS, I can have my ears done.
I rang the number to book an appointment. 'As I'm paying so much,' I said, 'can I have the ear wax to bring home in a doggy bag so that I can start my own candle factory and earn some cash that way?'
The appointment is next Tuesday.
At least, looking on the bright side, once I've had the procedure done, and the bank manager rings to suggest that an application for bankruptcy might now be the best option, I will be able to hear him.
|Fran's ear wax candles proved hugely popular. |
(Until she told the truth about them.)