2009-09-23
scratch card
It’s all very well having a big bucket of gloop to rub on your legs, but when you are in the office wandering off to the loos with said bucket isn’t much of an option.
Particularly in open-plan.
Yesterday, of course, I brought the stuff in and didn’t use it. I smother stuff on my shins in the morning and twice when I got home: once early evening and the other after my shower just before turning in. The leg itched a couple of times but nothing too bad.
Today of course, because I left the gloop at home (though I have brought the penicillin with me), not only is my infected left leg itching madly, but my right leg is copying it in sympathy. My boss, who knows I have a dickey shin has already told me off for scratching it, but I can’t help myself. The itch has gone beyond the point where I can ignore it (though it is surprisingly quiescent as I type). Half an hour ago I would have cheerfully gutted anyone who came near me with my bare hands: anything to take my mind off the itch.
I’m not sure how the plea in court would come across: “My client pleads guilty with diminished responsibility to mass murder on the grounds that his leg was itching like buggery at the time.”
Anyone who’d ever had an itch would exonerate me immediately. In fact it wouldn’t even come to trial.
Particularly in open-plan.
Yesterday, of course, I brought the stuff in and didn’t use it. I smother stuff on my shins in the morning and twice when I got home: once early evening and the other after my shower just before turning in. The leg itched a couple of times but nothing too bad.
Today of course, because I left the gloop at home (though I have brought the penicillin with me), not only is my infected left leg itching madly, but my right leg is copying it in sympathy. My boss, who knows I have a dickey shin has already told me off for scratching it, but I can’t help myself. The itch has gone beyond the point where I can ignore it (though it is surprisingly quiescent as I type). Half an hour ago I would have cheerfully gutted anyone who came near me with my bare hands: anything to take my mind off the itch.
I’m not sure how the plea in court would come across: “My client pleads guilty with diminished responsibility to mass murder on the grounds that his leg was itching like buggery at the time.”
Anyone who’d ever had an itch would exonerate me immediately. In fact it wouldn’t even come to trial.
scratch card
It’s all very well having a big bucket of gloop to rub on your legs, but when you are in the office wandering off to the loos with said bucket isn’t much of an option.
Particularly in open-plan.
Yesterday, of course, I brought the stuff in and didn’t use it. I smother stuff on my shins in the morning and twice when I got home: once early evening and the other after my shower just before turning in. The leg itched a couple of times but nothing too bad.
Today of course, because I left the gloop at home (though I have brought the penicillin with me), not only is my infected left leg itching madly, but my right leg is copying it in sympathy. My boss, who knows I have a dickey shin has already told me off for scratching it, but I can’t help myself. The itch has gone beyond the point where I can ignore it (though it is surprisingly quiescent as I type). Half an hour ago I would have cheerfully gutted anyone who came near me with my bare hands: anything to take my mind off the itch.
I’m not sure how the plea in court would come across: “My client pleads guilty with diminished responsibility to mass murder on the grounds that his leg was itching like buggery at the time.”
Anyone who’d ever had an itch would exonerate me immediately. In fact it wouldn’t even come to trial.
Particularly in open-plan.
Yesterday, of course, I brought the stuff in and didn’t use it. I smother stuff on my shins in the morning and twice when I got home: once early evening and the other after my shower just before turning in. The leg itched a couple of times but nothing too bad.
Today of course, because I left the gloop at home (though I have brought the penicillin with me), not only is my infected left leg itching madly, but my right leg is copying it in sympathy. My boss, who knows I have a dickey shin has already told me off for scratching it, but I can’t help myself. The itch has gone beyond the point where I can ignore it (though it is surprisingly quiescent as I type). Half an hour ago I would have cheerfully gutted anyone who came near me with my bare hands: anything to take my mind off the itch.
I’m not sure how the plea in court would come across: “My client pleads guilty with diminished responsibility to mass murder on the grounds that his leg was itching like buggery at the time.”
Anyone who’d ever had an itch would exonerate me immediately. In fact it wouldn’t even come to trial.