A small portion of One, see above, was removed for further investigation.
‘There’s a T.V. screen to your left so that you can see inside your womb,’ began the cove nestled between One’s thighs.
‘If it’s all the same to you,’ One countered, ‘unless you’ve got Breaking Bad on there, I’ll swerve it.’
One chose not to go down the ‘Womb with a View,’ joke route, being an inventive sort even with me pants off and me legs in the air.
‘Have you got anyone at home to look after you?’ came the enquiry.
Well we all know the answer to that sad question, don’t we Dear Reader, and so even though One could have done with fifteen pints of Vodka and a sharp blow to the temple to accompany the proposed anaesthetic, One resolved to remain schtum in the face of agony lest they try to ackle One up in One of those disgusting gowns and invite One to stay the night.
‘It’s the best cancer to get,’ said the medical bint, ‘not that it’s definitely that. We’re just ruling it out at the moment. Since it’s all contained we can just remove everything.’
‘Oh goody’, thought One, ‘just how the feck am I going to have that, move and start a new job all in the space of a couple of weeks?’
One need to get back into One’s Underground Lair ASAP since One needs One’s own space, and a portion of wall on which to hang a certificate One won at the South Molton Fatstock Show at the weekend.
One is the current ‘Heifer Most Likely to…’