2002-03-19 - 6:36 p.m.

I was thinking about popping into the unwelcomingly-named �Hospital Tavern� for a brace of stiffening ales, but entry looked tricky given the two people ON CRUTCHES trying to knock seven bells out of each other in a kind of comical manner in the doorway. It was kind of like jousting but without the horses or fair maiden dropping her hankie in a big conical hat. I decided against. And besides, I wanted to give my blood tests at least a fighting chance of dipping below twenty percent proof. Today was C-word Specialist vs Pablo II: This Time It�s Clinical.

Thanks to our efficient, streamlined health service, I only had to sit in the waiting room around 90 minutes whilst some shyster commando-wannabe tried to fob his war stories onto a senile old coffin-dodger who would break out into song every other sentence. Commando�s opening gambit was that he fought in Vietnam when he was 18 for the Australian army. �Where abouts?� chirped up the old boy. �Er�.in the jungle�� bluffed Rambo, obviously not used to being pushed for actual details of his fictitious military engagements. He moved onto tales of general training ground violence and how he �Once broke a man�s jaw in four places� (I imagine it was from the repeated dropping to the ground at being told such unbelievable bullshit war stories. This impressed the codger no end, and he was inspired to start on some convoluted story involving rucksacks and a trench, which was sadly cut short as he went off to fulfil his urine test commitments. Rambo spouted out (to no-one in particular): �God help us if there�s a war now. Young people today are more bothered about the colour of their mobile phones.� I was going to say �Than what? Indiscriminate killing as part of imperialist capitalist war strategies?� but I figured that might not butter any parsnips with his type. I merely pocketed my Nokia and tried to look mean.

So the examination. A bit of prodding. A bit of poking. A bit of me trying to answer detailed medical questions with the doctor�s arm down my throat up to his elbow. Mmmmm. Gotta love the fresh new taste of latex medical gloves. And�we�re none the wiser. There�s something there (I�m still holding out for the overactive saliva gland) but there�s no telling what (though I�m surprised Dr Orally Intrusive couldn�t tell � he was reading the bumps of my oesophagus like Braille) so I have to go back for scans. Boo hiss. PLUS I had to have surprise blood tests (like FOUR?) and to top it all off, there�s no mention yet of controlled medication, which is disappointing to say the least.

Still. In seven weeks, we�ll know. Remember, kids, the three greatest words in the English language are: �It�s not malignant.�

*If you�re from LA/SF, could you read yesterday�s and see if you can help? Cheers, me old muckers!