Has anyone ever had a grommet put in their ear? Eh? It’s normally associated with children I think. Anyway, I’m having one done on Wednesday and, in many ways, I’m not a child any more. I have, however, been ‘as a post’ since catching pantomime poisoning in the Indian Ocean last summer, so grommets it is. Seemingly, it’s only certain frequencies which I can’t pick up. Sadly, none of these frequencies are employed by Jamie Cullum on his Twentysomething Hertz record.
The procedure is simple. A nice man in a mask asks me what football team I support whilst holding another mask just over my face. The plan is that when my answers fail to make sense I have had enough novocaine and about to slip into unconsciousness for a while whilst another man in a mask takes a run up, cuts a big hole in my ear-drum and then whacks a rubber washer in there.
I fear that with my footballing allegiances, I’ll fail to make any sense without any gas and they’ll immediately think I’ve gone gaga and Dr Phibes will start his run up too soon, spearing my lug-hole whilst I’m still reminiscing about the last time the FA Cup was lifted in our glory (1953, fact fans). I say reminiscing, but that’s not really true. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t born. I’ve been to a couple of Millenium Stadium trips to LDV Vans Trophy finals and been on the winning side in each case, but that’s not going to convince the wildly staring anaesthetist who, I think, is actually Michael Jackson, of my sanity now is it? Is it?