Last week I got my breasts out twice in public, and was asked to pee in a pot and give a blow job in the same afternoon. 2014 is shaping up to being an interesting year already.
I had decided to go private and have a basic health assessment — ascertain my cardiovascular fitness, liver and kidney function, have blood and urine tests, and determine my risk of diabetes, gout and heart disease. You know, have a bit of fun for a change on a Friday afternoon.
My first task was to provide a urine sample. After fasting for 10 hours and without the influence of my morning cappuccino, having to aim into a small pot while contending with a loo door with a broken lock was a tall order. With my hastily created mantra of ‘Piss, don’t miss. Fill, don’t spill’ ringing in my ears, I managed to do the deed. I was grateful, too, that said pot was left in the loo and collected by staff, rather than me having to hand it back, nice and warm, to the young male receptionist. That would’ve been taking the piss.
After stripping down to bra and pants, being weighed and measured, asked about my lifestyle, giving blood and having an ECG, it was time for a blow job. A deep breath, then exhaling into a tube for as long as possible would give my ‘lung age’. After the best of three attempts, the machine revealed I have the lungs of a 30-year-old. Great. Now all I need is the rest of him.
Later, after a consultation, and preliminary results indicating a clean bill of health, I was de-loused for good measure, submerged in sheep dip, tagged, and sent back out to fend for myself on the mean streets of Brighton. And my goal for next week? To keep my clothes on in public or I’ll get a reputation. If I’m lucky.