I’ve been a fairly lucky lad over the years when it comes to medical interventions. What with being descended from a great believer in the healing power of Calpol and having the tonsils and appendix removed in the distant days of early childhood, I’ve managed to avoid seeing doctors in their professional capacity for years; this millennium I’ve been to see my GP exactly twice. And I’m more than happy with that state of affairs.

Unfortunately, to continue with some of my silly time wasting activities, the CAA requires that I prove to them that a) I have a pulse and b) I’m not blind. Which means finding an appropriate doctor, and asking them politely to check for me.

Thusly, at 7.30 this morning, I paid good cash money to be poked, prodded, weighed, measured, hit, stabbed, wired up, and drained. And all that was the first five minutes, the other hour was basicially spent with the dude gazing into my eyes and going, “oooh, you’ve a fucked up set of eyes”. Which anyone who saw my first passport picture could have told him…

But hey, he still passed me. More fool him, really. Which means that I now have no excuse to delay the written exams any longer. Fuck. I hate exams…