The doctor is going to suck through his teeth, shaking his head at me and he’ll point at the X-ray showing the damaged remains of my liver.
It was Mr.DMs fault I’ll claim. He and Mr.PT took me to a pub in Leeds and forced me, very much against my will (..ahem..) to drink lots of beer with them.
Sigh…but I know it’s no good blaming them. D asked me only last week “How come you’re always one of the last ones in the pub at the end of the night?”
Is it because that’s when people start to open up and really talk about themselves? Is it because I don’t want to give them the opportunity to talk about me behind my back? Is it because I want to be one of the gang?
Whatever the reason is, it’s always good fun, until the morning after that is! Today I’m fine. I hope DM & PT are still talking to me after last night’s truth and reconciliation session…I’ve got a thick hide and I always make the mistake of thinking that other people have too. Ah well…thanks for your company lads.