A letter arrived next week to say they had found nothing. Later that week however that old familiar feeling at the base of my spine came back and I was rushed into hospital with the old abscess problem yet again. Waking up after the op in Broomfield Hospital I was in a general ward, but I’m with BUPA I thought as the elderly gentleman in the next bed lost his fight with his bedpan. A crash of pan on floor, a moan as the old boy followed it and off they slid down the ward lubricated by the bed pans contents. I’m with BUPA I thought again, I should be in a private ward and lapsed back to sleep.

In the morning the consultant a Mr something or other followed by his entourage of doctors, nurses and students stopped at my bed. ‘This is Mr Tickner who has Jeep driver’s bum’ explained the Mr pausing for the expected laughter from his minions. I butted in, ‘actually it was Vauxhall Cavalier arse’, which didn’t go down well. ‘Anyway’ he blustered ‘this is the third time Mr Tickner has had this operation so we have taken drastic measures this time and he will be testing out some new medication’. With that and with a twirl of his stethoscope he and his party moved on to their next victim.

 I didn’t like the sound of he will be testing new medication, what happened to the guinea pigs?

They called it jeep drivers bum because the seats in jeeps were uncomfortable and pushed in at the bottom of the spine. This could cause hairs to bend and grow into your lower back. Sweat running down your back would enter the body thus poisoning the abscess.

If some smart arse Doc has a better explanation then good all I know it’s bloody painful and I don’t wish it on any one, except for the bastard that clamped me recently.

A couple of days after the ‘op’ I was taken into a side room, stripped and put in a big round bath with a pull switch hanging above it. A pretty shiny black nurse, all smiles and teeth gave strict instructions. I was to let the hot water soak and soften the half a mile of wadding in my wound and then when I felt strong enough I was to slowly pull it out. Any problems then just pull the cord and I’ll come and help, giving me a reassuring smile she pulled the door shut behind her.

Well this is a fine to do I thought as I gently started pulling. After about half an hour I had about two hundred yards of pink wadding washing about my knees in water that had a very reddish tinge to it. Now I can’t stand the sight of blood especially my own so I pulled the cord. The light went out and wouldn’t come back on no matter how much I pulled the damn cord. I sat there in darkness thinking what a great place to bleed to death so I pulled myself out and crawled to the wall and felt for the door. Eventually I found it and painfully eased myself straight into the main ward crying pitifully for a nurse.

Unfortunately it was by now visiting hour and the ward was full of relatives, mistresses and friends. I must have cut quite a dash crawling across the floor buck naked with a mile of red wadding hanging out my arse.

I was moved to a private ward after that.

My pal Gary’s wife Carole picked me up and took me home sitting on an inflatable ring, boy was I sore.