A few days later my wicked sense of humour gets the better of me. The two nubile blonde twenty-something physiotherapists tasked with getting me mobile again decide to wheel me down to one of the ward’s shower rooms and introduce me to the delights of the ‘raspberry’ wash. Sorry, for all you non-Met types out there’ raspberry’ is shortened Cockney rhyme for raspberry ripple, which is cripple, which is basically moi! Anyway, I jump, not literally, at the chance of getting into a lather with these two babes, so it’s a huge beaming smile and a head full of 1970’s porn flick images, and off we trundle. Damn, I need a ‘tache! Upon entering the completely tiled room, one of the babes turns around and locks the door, the other starts to unfasten the knots at the rear of my hospital gown. Bonza! With a wily old sneer and a flick of what’s left of my fringe I pronounce, in the best Swiss Tony accent, ‘I’d pay a fortune for this in Thailand’. Oh is that a pin I hear dropping in reception? Okaay, they’re not amused. Never mind, in for a penny in for a pound. ‘Look ladies, its about to get very wet and warm, you might consider removing an item or two?!’ “ We’ll be outside if you need us, any problems just pull the orange cord”. I snigger quietly to myself; it’s the little things in life that help you get through the day. However, six weeks later, when a friendly doctor lets me look over my medical records, I see the two 'health professionals' have entered, “Made inappropriate comments”. Don’t you just love the politically correct culture we are forced to live in?!
