Pooh Sticks

The first phase of Operation Pooh Sticks is complete, thanks for all of your help. The fully filled ridges of the sample stick are, at this moment, residing in our local Royal Mail Post Box. I should have my results in a couple of weeks, and all being well, well, all will be well. Goody gumdrops.

The one time I would have liked to have been accosted by Plod and be questioned over whether my trip was essential. But are there any Old Bill about to annoy..........not on your nelly.

 

I am quite sure the pathology lab has received entire poos in (hopefully) cleaned out take away containers. I can’t imaging there is much that would surprise them.

At least they didn’t ask you to stuff a swab up your arse.

Having had a fistula (that went septic), I have learnt that visiting that particular type of doctor often involves a degree of humiliation. It’s something I can live with rather than not having medical attention and being dead.

It’s funny that stubbornness and pride stop people seeing doctors that can easily save you.

There are a lot of embarrassing bits that can go wrong. Please don’t make the mistake of thinking you should avoid getting ‘it’ seen to.

People should discuss this daft stuff. Make it normal. Make it acceptable. Thank you Iron for (humorously) raising awareness of this necessary but thoroughly awful situation.

Good on you for discussing.

 

Thank you and well said Cyborg.

In my case it's not the embarrassment, I have had to show, display and almost fell for the "just put your finger here" when I was having those knots tied when having a vasectomy. There's been discussions around my ring-piece and those long cotton buds pushed up my eye-piece. Embarrassment I can cope with. It's just that I have an absolute dread (as I am sure others have) of doctors and hospitals. I'm nearly always shitting myself and sometimes almost falling over in a swoon when I have to have something done. And, as some of us are aware, there's lots to be done as one gets a bit aged.

Whatever you get, it never gets better on it's own. But, in every case, it has been worth steeling myself and getting it seen to.

Maybe we should compare scars and let the whipper-snappers know what's coming.

I tried not to get old, it sort of crept up on me. I was stood waiting to be served in the local shop a few years ago and there was a long queue of old blokes with grey hair in big warm coats and gloves. I moaned under my breath and then thought, with a surprise, "ffs, I look exactly the same". When I got to the till I bought a Cadbury's cream egg as well.

 

Aha, serves you right. The instructions should say "Please poo and post as soon as possible."

The technique I settled on: Wash out and clean one of those larger yogurt pots.

The plan was to let first jobby go with the usual "bombs away" splash and then sneak the yogurt pot in for the second lump. Obviously my arse'ole was ready for this subterfuge, after the first lump it decided poo time was over. So I sat there like a lemon waiting with a yogurt pot clamped over my arse....poo time was over.
So, the next day (I'm very regular I'll have you know). Those little geezers who drive you in your head had forgotten about my plan. So I sauntered around, went down the garage, played with the drill and the vice, sure enough the blokes in my brain cavity were getting anxious. I even stopped to pick up my copy of Nacelle (under which was hiding the yogurt pot) on the way to the bog. Phew, just made it. Aha, yogurt pot in on second sausage and job's a good un. Finish off, do the scrapey fill the grooves on the stick, "click click". All done other than the smelly wipe and clean of the yogurt pot and into the recycle bin.

Enjoy my man. What fun. I bet you all want one now

 

I always thought it was illegal to send poo in the post. Maybe that only applies if sending to a politician?