COLIN and The Drunken Doctor

COLIN and The Drunken Doctor

Self harming is something I have never been able to understand, however Colin is not only a disciple, he is an absolute master. All types of machinery, garden implements, tools and even household cutlery are a serious threat to Colin’s wellbeing. Such is the high number of occasions upon which he managed to damage various parts of his anatomy that I can’t remember whether it was hand or leg which was damaged in the incident I am about to recount. Suffice it to say that he had managed to damn nigh sever something with a particularly nasty swipe from a chainsaw or a spoon. As this was some time ago, Colin’s mastery of French was minimal and he was reluctant to deal with a doctor by means of sign language alone. I can’t quite understand this because I would have thought that even the most dimwitted doc would be able to make a diagnosis based upon a large gaping wound with blood pumping out of it. Nevertheless he sought advice from the village idiot and so ended up visiting the medical profession’s equivalent of the drunken plumber – something nobody in the area would have dreamed of unless they had already been certified dead and even then, only if no other doctor was available. This attitude wasn’t based on rumour. Rather it was based on being able to see him sitting outside various bars getting comprehensively hammered whenever he was on call.

Thus, although common sense and any instinct of self preservation would have dictated otherwise, Colin found himself in the surgery awaiting the arrival of the quack. As could reasonably be expected the doctor entered by falling headlong down an entire set of stairs and ending up in a heap at the bottom. Possibly because I have more "holes in the body" experience than Colin, I would at this stage have been doing an impersonation of an Olympic sprinter, he however, was clearly more concerned with the blood loss and pain and so remained and put himself at the mercy of this mad, drunken horse doctor. You would need to have had a serious screw loose to have predicted what was to about to happen to the hapless Col. What are the odds of visiting a drunken French doctor, who happens to be an absolutely fanatical rugby follower, who hates the British and is verging on the criminally insane – 24 hours after the French rugby team has been totally humiliated by the English. The consultation began with a tirade about the luck of the English and the superiority of France and, as if needing support, the lunatic phones a friend in the hope the he will also berate Colin over the phone on the same subject but in better English. The three way conversation took 45 minutes, during which Colin’s career as a blood donor was looking increasingly shaky. To make matters even more bizarre, the friend was in what the French consider to be another region of France, i.e. Canada.

When the doc considered that the filthy, cheating Englishman was in no doubt about his parentage and what a despicable bunch his fellow countrymen were, he moved on to medical matters viz, some seriously ham fisted stitches administered without the aid of an anaesthetic. It’s a good job that Colin was not in need of open heart surgery because I have absolutely no doubt whatsoever that he would have been in a similarly conscious and pain aware state.

Much to my chagrin I was absent for this episode but heard about it in great detail later that evening. I promised myself that never again would I miss such an opportunity for hilarity at my friends’ expense. Within a year or so my dreams came true when a major tooth ache caused him to seek my help as translator with a dentist. Under normal circumstances he would have struggled to explain in French exactly which tooth was hurting and what he wanted done. When he was wild eyed and incomprehensible with pain and was dribbling like a moron, he stood no chance at all. Clearly I had to be present to translate whilst the treatment took place so you can imagine my glee when the dentist decided to first crack and then remove the offending tooth with an implement which looked for all the world like a crow bar. The icing on the cake, was that it seemed that the dentist had attended the same anaesthesia classes as the drunken doctor. Out of my great respect for Colin I will refrain from describing the spitting, girlish whelps and body contortions that ensued and it would be inappropriate to put into print the names that he called me afterwards. A fine day was had by all.

To the impartial reader my attitude may seem a little callous however it must be seen in context. I got cancer – we laughed. I lay on my nearly death bed – we laughed. Colin tried to cut off part of his body – we laughed. Colin goes to the dentist – I laughed – he couldn’t because his mouth was too bloody painful.

Cass 1, Colin 0