Dear oh Deary me!!

Today dear readers I had to evacuate my internal plumbing completely for the forthcoming investigations shortly therein to take place at my local hospital. To assist them in clearer vision I was ordered, by those of a medical persuasion, to consume two packets of laxative of considerable size. After mixing with a liter of water and then drinking said mix I was to contemplate my navel until called to act in the usual manner. To avoid complications the packets were and still are indeed, marked A and B.  Well, packet A and B when mixed tasted frankly rank and was similar in consistency to wall paper adhesive/paste, but without presumably the retentive properties of wall paper paste, indeed,  one expects quiet the opposite!  But, being of good stock I drank it and the 500 mils of water it was recommended to consume after the mixture and then sloshed about the house thinking up things to do that kept me within projectile evacuation range of the great white trombone in the loo. I noted the time of consumption as being promptly 7 of the pm and then interacted with my pewter and sorted a few sundry Christmas Cards to friends abroad.  Meanwhile all down south was as they say in rocket terminology "A OK"

At 8 of the pm nothing had happened and all was well and I had completed mail for Europe and was doing the states. And so firmly shut was my brown star that I had forgotten all about it. Control was as the say totally in tact.

At 9 of the pm I noticed a slight squeaking noise could be discerned if I turned down the radio and coming from around my lower bowel area. But nothing seemed to be in the offing as I completed the states and was about to package up the annual Christmas toffee and chocolate to friends in Germany. All in the sate of prostate seemed normal.

Then dear reader at 9-45 and 56 seconds of the pm there was a sudden cramping of by lower arse valve, a bit of a flush and a fetching cold sweat erupted on my brow. Not a second tooo soon I reached the object of my bottoms desire, planted it firmly while taking hold of the seat with both hands in the classic airline pose known as the crash position. Where upon I suffered what can only be described as a complete lower arse flap failure.

To say the evacuation was prompt would be to cheat oneself of a good anal ogy for the shear force experienced twas similar to a 5 G turn in a modern supersonic fighter, or a train hitting your car on a level crossing. My face contorted to the point of collapse as my tummy said "Get out" and proceeded to take the glaze off the china below. The noise was similar to......Victoria Falls... with a noise like a steel bridge flexing in a strong wind... There then followed a series of farts so loud and alarming that the dog took off at speed to pastures new and has not been seen since. But, what truly sums up this now quarter hourly experience is the strange side effect of cramped toes. In an attempt to anchor myself to the floor and avoid becoming airborne I seem to be trying to dig my toes into the floor. All very strange.

But by far the most dreadful thing is yet to come. It seems the perverts who prowl our health service bum department require that I arise at 6 of the bloody am and repeat the performance. Dear oh Deary me.