The Hazards of Thinking Oddly.

I was engaged in pursuing a daydream on the subject of ‘why I could never have been a doctor.’ I had an image in my mind of a grossly overweight and excessively elderly man waddling into my surgery. He had grey, greasy hair, smelt strongly of the sewers, what few teeth he had were multi-coloured in which yellow and black predominated, and his nose was dripping constantly. He sat opposite me and said: ‘Me bottom’s awfully sore today, doctor. Would you take a look at it for me?’ Well, you’d rather be eaten alive by Sumatran Fire Ants, wouldn’t you? (Not that I can be entirely certain that there’s any such thing as a Sumatran Fire Ant, but it will suffice for the sake of making the point.)

But here’s the odd bit: I was engaged in my (lightweight) evening exercise routine at the time, whereupon I suddenly noticed that I had blood on both my hands. Two of my fingers were even stuck together where it had congealed. I finished the exercises (naturally), then went and washed it off. All I could find to explain this sanguinary occurrence was a hint of redness at the base of one of my fingernails, but there was no actual bleeding anywhere. And so a mystery was born, and there you go.

You know, funny things happen to me when I have odd thoughts. They always have.